#I am filled with pure white hot dread

[sapphosboy]

AHHHHHHHHHHHH

[qqueenofhades]

ok fix-it time hilary you can do this i believe in you

prompt is a classic one--Aziraphale runs after Crowley after the "i forgive you" "don't bother" exchange OR the kiss does magically work like Crowley hoped

no i am not using english grammar and spelling today my feelings are too strong

Aha. Well, I wrote this fic yesterday, but it... might not entirely qualify as fix-it. My bad. To make it up, I offer you this: technically not either of the suggested scenarios, but still something to salve the pain, set at the end of Season 3 or thereabouts.

The late afternoon light is still and weighty: golden, heavy, purposeful, the sort of light that takes up space, that polishes floorboards and sets dust motes drifting, settles on the backs of furniture and the pages of books like a sleeping cat. The sort of light that fills the room almost tangibly, that stripes the bed and spills off it to the floor like too much olive oil poured into an amphora, back in the hot white heat of the Holy Land. Since he is, of course, a being of pure light, Aziraphale can feel it in his sinews, in the core of his soul, but it almost seems... wrong. Not the light itself, but that he's still allowed to touch it. He doesn't know if he's Fallen or not, or if such trite distinctions even matter. He only knows this. Them. Now.

Aware that it is incumbent upon him to start the conversation, he clears his throat and looks at Crowley, sprawled out on the bed with a fair show of his old insouciance, but Aziraphale can sense the fragility behind the flippant smile. Crowley's black-clad legs are jauntily crossed, his shoes kicked off, his hair a particularly vibrant red against the little-used, age-yellowed lace of the pillow cover; this bed, after all, doesn't get much use in the traditional sense. Aziraphale's preferred human vice is food, not sleep, though he knows Crowley is very good at it and might have to teach him a thing or two about that, about rest. He craves it, but he doesn't know where to begin. That seems applicable to any number of things right now, but he has to start somewhere, he supposes. He just doesn't know.

"Er," Aziraphale says at last, to Crowley's increasingly-strained expectant expression. "My dear, I... I am..."

He bites his tongue. He's rarely been in this position before, knowing that he's the one who needs desperately to ask for forgiveness -- real forgiveness -- and not at all certain that it will actually be granted. It's always seemed so slick, so easy, something to toss off as easily and unthinkingly as the humans say bless you when someone sneezes, and carrying about the same spiritual or emotional depth. Aziraphale feels mortifyingly ashamed of it, of himself. He shuffles his feet, twisting the hem of his waistcoat between his fingers. At last, to the carpet, he says, "I'm so very, very sorry. I've been an absolutely dreadful ninny, and I don't... I don't know if you can forgive me, but..."

"Angel." Crowley's voice is rough. "Bloody look at me, would you?"

Half-fearing to be dissolved by infernal hellfire on the spot, but knowing that he deserves it, Aziraphale looks up.

It's hard to read Crowley's expression, even more than usual. The glasses are off, but his slitted amber eyes are opaque, careful, wary, not quite sure what this is or what's going to come of it. The dead-silent moments that follow, as he weighs up his options, are among the very worst of Aziraphale's entire unending life. Then Crowley fractionally shifts his weight, opening up a spot on the bed next to him, a silent invitation. He doesn't say anything. Using their words tends to backfire tremendously, even if they need to get used to it. He just looks. He just waits.

After all this time, after everything, Aziraphale finally doesn't hesitate. In fact, he almost trips over himself as he blunders across the floor, falls onto the squeaking old mattress, and clambers into Crowley's arms. Crowley wraps them both around him with fierce, ferocious, furious strength, pulling Aziraphale down next to him, Aziraphale's softer, rounder corporal form fitting neatly into the hard lines and lean angles of Crowley's. Aziraphale rests his head on the bare triangle of throat where Crowley's shirt is unbuttoned, burrows his face into the sharp cleanness of Crowley's collarbone, and becomes belatedly, embarrassingly aware that he's crying. It seems beneath the dignity of a (possibly-ex?) Principality, but he doesn't think he can stop. He just wants to lie here and clutch onto Crowley for literally dear life, to mourn for all the time they've missed, for the simple, unbearable, shocking, agonizing, perfectly exquisite pleasure of holding his love close. "I'm so sorry," he says again, struggling not to let his voice crack too extravagantly. "Dreadful ninny. Absolutely dreadful."

"You were doing what you thought was right. What you needed to do to stop the Apocalypse, just... differently." Crowley's voice turns distant, his fingers absently stroking Aziraphale's hair. It feels strange and shocking and quite, quite lovely. "Can't really tell you off for that, can I? After all, I'm a demon. What do I know about doing good?"

"Hush," Aziraphale says, primly and a little watery. "Now you know that's not true."

Crowley lifts his head and regards Aziraphale for a long moment. He doesn't answer, just thinks about it. "All right," he allows, at deliberate length. "Maybe a little. I'm still very mad at you, though."

"I do understand." Aziraphale nestles again, and Crowley doesn't stop him. "But perhaps, even if I have no real right to ask it, you can... you might... one day think about... f-forgiving me?"

His voice trembles and squeaks. It takes all the courage in him, even more than when he stood up to the full hosts of Heaven and told them no, no more, not ever again, but he looks Crowley in the eye. He tries not to look too expectant, or too arrogant. He waits.

Crowley, for his part, looks mildly flabbergasted. He makes one of those incoherent nnngh noises that he resorts to whenever he finds himself at a loss for words, and shakes his head. "Idiot," he says, very softly. "Of course I bloody forgive you. Of course. Now if you -- "

He doesn't get to finish his sentence. That's because Aziraphale likewise screws up every drop of courage, takes hold of Crowley's collar, and lowers his head, terrified that he's about to muck it up. But Crowley just looks at him like he's luminous, like the light is still in him and he is the light itself, and tips his head just that bit, in order to settle their lips together.

The kiss is long and slow, soft and sweet. Crowley's hand flutters up to rest in the wild white tufts of Aziraphale's hair, and Aziraphale -- somewhat in terrified awe at his own daring -- nibbles experimentally on Crowley's lip. He's quite bad at it, but neither of them care, or can think about anything else, or do anything but heave short sharp breaths, half-laughs, muffled sobs. When they finally pull apart, Aziraphale says anxiously, "I hope it wasn't very awful?"

"Oh." Crowley's eyes are half-lidded, and in the sunlight, he too looks as if he is burning like a beacon, brighter than his favorite stars. The affection in his voice is greater than the wings of heaven or the reaches of hell, the heights of the sky or the depths of the sea, and his smile outshines them all. "Absolutely terrible."

[saint-viscera]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱: 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐚

CWs - attempted murder, violence, cannibalism **

This is a horror story reader discretion advised.

July 4th, 1991

The path they were walking on looked like a torn-up wound, straight from the earth, dragging Amma down so deep, she couldn’t make sense of anything. Her ears gave up, her eyes might as well have been closed, and her hands? Useless. It was just her and the wild, nothing solid to cling to. Dew, clear as glass, clung to wilted daisies, and the air carried a raw, freshly skinned smell.

“Motherfucker, I should’ve stayed at the cabin. I’m getting torn up by these mosquitoes, you prick,” Amma complained, as Rufus hummed, leading the way. “You hear me? I wanna go back.” She stopped as a copperhead slithered out, its eyes burning like hot coals. It coiled tight, like it was waiting for her to say something. Amma almost laughed, thinking how stupid it’d be if it spoke first.

She followed Rufus ahead, her feet dragging like they were headed to some altar, but there wasn’t any joy in it. Hell, what a shame to feel like a bride. In another life, they’d be married into a two-bedroom trailer, have black-haired babies, and she’d serve pancakes to pervs at a ‘60s diner. Neither of them fit into that fantasy, and a bitter rebellion sparked inside her at the thought of her parents disapproval.

She imagined her dad crashing the ceremony, fuming at her in a white dress, while her gun-toting husband spat fruit pits in his face. She giggled. Rufus glanced back, satisfied, misreading the humor.

The moment soured. He was mumbling to himself like he did when he had a secret idea he wasn’t ready to share. They walked through pure wildness. Sticks scratched the sides of her arms.

“This is as far as I’m going. Let’s turn back; it’s too far.”“Did you hear me?” Amma’s voice sounded uncertain and unheard just as he stopped. A vein in his neck seemed to tighten.

“It’s just around the corner, Ams. Be patient.” He buzzed with excitement, his grin widening. The gaps between his teeth stretched as he continued mumbling. She felt more alone as they neared a willow tree next to a dilapidated shack held together by bark and crumbling shingles.

Her father used to preach about a spirit, pounding his fist against his suede suit. “I feel the spirit here,” he’d say, almost angry. “It’s in my bones. God gave me this strength to lend to you today.”

Dread filled Amma’s stomach in the same way those sermons did, the same way her dreams of swallowing blood and skin made her choke. She stood paralyzed for a moment.

“This is special to me. Promise not to ruin it, okay?” Rufus held out his pinkie finger. She hesitated but linked hers with his. His grip tightened before pulling away. “I made it for you.”

The spirit was in her now too, pulsing through her veins, intoxicating her.

“Open it,” she rasped. The shed seemed to vibrate as his hand hovered over the lock. The air between them was thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.

Rufus unlocked the door, stepping back to let her enter first.

“After you, your highness.”

The sight of the stones with symbols carved into them didn’t alarm her at first.

It was the smell of game, faint splatters of blood from his kills that hit her. Tiny white worms wriggled through cracks in the wooden floor. It reminded her of hunting trips with her dad and brothers after Sunday sermons.

She wrinkled her nose at the mess of her “gift”.

“This where you keep those squirrels you’ve been shooting at?” Amma pointed to a box of coolers lined against the shed wall. The wet, twisting sounds made her wonder if he’d caught fish.

He stayed silent behind her.“Go on, open them for me,” he finally said, his voice flat. “Your gift’s waiting.”

Amma cocked her head.

“Rufus, you got me fish as a gift? Wow, I’m so impressed,” she teased, irritated that he was standing behind her.

The shed door shut with a click, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Get from behind me,” Amma said, her voice trembling.

“Open the cooler, Amma. Please.”

The “please” soothed her a little, made him sound like the Rufus she knew. Begging to be subdued. She bent down, her shorts chafing her thighs as she lifted the cover of the cooler. A foul odor hit her.

She opened it and gagged.

“That one’s full, so I’ll have to toss one to add yours,” Rufus said casually, stepping closer to peer inside, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Amma screamed.

It wasn’t fish. It was hearts. Bloated and floating in a murky soup.

Rufus placed his hands on her shoulders, gently squeezing.

“You trusted me. Now I’m sharing mine with you, babe.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her own pulse roaring in her ears. “You want to hurt me.”

The shed melted into a sludge of shadows. She should fear God, should have from the start. Lord, she was a fool. A rumble built in her, telling her to take, take, take before he took everything from her.

Rufus sounded almost sad. “Ams, it won’t hurt if you love me. Don’t struggle.”

“You want to hurt me,” she repeated, her hands trembling as they gripped her head. “YOU WANT TO HURT ME!”

Before she could move, Rufus lunged at her with a knife. She slapped at his chest, but he overpowered her.

“I love you. Don’t you get it?” he growled.

She saw his face, his cowboy hat, his scars, the gaps in his teeth. He was going to kill her. Her shoulder knocked into the wall, sending stones crashing to the floor. He roared.

“You’re ruining it!” His voice was pure fury now, the kind she recognized. Her face was wet, but she wasn’t crying. Fear God. Fear God, but it wasn’t working as he yanked her wrist, pulling her down.

Amma screeched, “You’re not going to kill me!” She imagined the leash around his neck, yanking it tight until it snapped, but her hands shook as she tried to push him away. He held her leg down, to keep her from shaking as he tried to get at her heart. But the knife in his hand knicked the length of her calf, as she screamed again.

He struggled to pin her down. Rufus was a blur of skin and rage, his knife aimed at her heart.

She closed her eyes, snot mixing with her flavored chapstick. Chapstick felt childish now. She was a child, after all, she hadn’t even graduated. And she was going to die, killed by the boy who claimed to love her.

The thought made her open her eyes one last time.

She saw the blue in his eyes, the gold flecks dancing like a wild dog. The back of his neck, the spot where she had bit him once taunted her.

Another stone crashed to the floor.

Fear God. No, fear me.

Amma let out a guttural scream, sinking her teeth into his neck, biting down with all her strength. Rufus howled in pain, blood spurting from the wound.

His knife clattered to the ground, and she grabbed it with trembling hands.

Fear God, fear me.

Rufus collapsed on top of her, but she shoved him aside.

Fear me.

She plunged the knife into his heart.

He shuddered violently, his body spasming as blood poured from his neck. The spirit enveloped her now, thick and suffocating.

She turned his blubbering body over, leaned down, and pressed her lips to his neck.

————————————————————————

Amma came out her trance, inebriated.

When it was over Amma was struggling not to chuck whatever she had scarfed down , she laid against the shed floor, gasping out of breath. Rufus was gone, and she scrambled off the floor to search for at glimpse of him with his knife ready to pierce her.

Her knees had been scratched raw by the nails in the floorboards of the shed. It was sunset and he was gone, but why?

“You’ve done something terrible.” Her parents said one night, snuck back in the house from running to her boyfriend who was good then. They gave up on any notion she was innocent. But Amma was a child then and she was child now.

She did something you weren’t supposed to speak of.

Her face was drenched but not in tears, she felt thickly submerged in something slow moving. Amma tried to get off her hands and knees to walk but they crumpled like the newborn foals she saw in pastures out this far from the city.

When she fell back to the floor, and slipped. Amma stalled in accepting what , no who it was.

Rufus Van Hauser.

She ate him. And it had satisfied her. The need to own what wanted to attack her was gone. But Amma as dazed,

The silence in the shed, nearly made her think she had lost her hearing. Her eyes flicked around in every direction. Something to latch onto and never let go of as she had done to Rufus’s body for hours, she needed an anchor.

His cowboy hat laid untouched inches away from her hand.

Splayed out, Amma grabbed for it hungry with need.

She laid against the cold floor, full and waited for morning to come. Amma was utterly alone since the beginning

————————————————————————

Six weeks later, August 15th, 1991

She left the shed and the cabin weeks ago and had burned her clothes and dragged Rufus into a nearby lake they used to swim in.

Amma sat on a bench, mute and determined to not speak to at stranger that pretended to be kind. She snapped at everyone, as she stared emptily and forced the edge of her ticket down into her skin. Anything to feel real and remember what had been done at the cabin.

She bought a ticket to a town, she’d heard before. Amma peered at it, ignoring the leer of an elderly man straining to the destination on it.

Serotha, Oklahoma. Adair County is its official seat. Shauna and her had known a guy there as teenagers. He could be in jail for all she knew but it was worth a shot. It was a dumb idea but Amma didn’t believe there was anything she wasn’t capable of surviving though.

The bus winded down the road in front of her. MegaBus, she chose specifically. Not a greyhound this time.

Amma stood up from the cold metal of the seat, gathering her new cowboy hat and leftover clothes in her ratty backpack she’d started out with. Nothing was left behind. Even Rufus , who now sat in her stomach, she thought strangely both bothered and content with this new reality.

The bus passengers were beginning to board one by one, and cut in the middle of the line, despite being cursed at.

“Hey watch where you’re going”. An older woman moved to grab her arm but Amma turned around and hissed.

“Try it and you’re walking away with four fingers”. She felt sick with herself using this new part of her as a threat. Had Rufus felt this menacing when he walked her to shed . A predator coming out of in plain sight.

“Friggin, animal”. Amma heard the woman retort before she relented.

She had no idea how right she was.

Still waiting in line, Amma decided to forget him for a moment and focus on Serotha. She pictured it as quaint hillside that looked like a hallmark card with wild thoroughbreds prancing around .

As the thought settled in, a slow ache began to bloom in her insides. It grew and grew till she pushed the man in front of her aside to throw up on the front of the bus. Protests erupted from the driver as she hugged herself from the onslaught of sickness from eating the boy who loved her.

When Amma boarded with her backpack , after cleaning up with pocket tissues, she placed her new hat on top of her eyes to sleep.

A baby cried from two aisles ahead of her. Hearing its cries, made her think of black hair and blue eyes. Not his, but another softer pair.

The bus surged onto Serotha, the baby cried louder from the motion and rang in her ears loudly.

It hit her then and Amma felt her heart drop.

There was one more thing she hadn’t run away from…

[cats-spilled-wine]

Light at the End of the Tunnel

A while back, I wrote this little story for a writing competition. And although I didn't even get an honorable mention, I'm still so proud of it! And, well... the more I write, the more I improve, so this really was only a lesson. A warm-up, so to speak ;). And getting some feedback from people other than family is always refreshing and appreciated.

Without further ado... enjoy!

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

“Make haste and be careful”.

Those were the very words now resounding almost painfully inside Ryder’s head, repeated by his subconscious every second. Often enough that they could be considered a vow he was desperately trying to fulfill, or a warning that could very well be his sheet-anchor. Yet, as simple as it seemed to be, he found himself struggling to keep the promise.

Still, he ran.

The frigid night wind wailing in the clearing akin to raw, disembodied chaos lashed his face mercilessly with its frosty whip. Puncture holes in his old shoes were mended with some of the icy powder that enveloped the gloomy landscape, driving cruel needles of pure, cold agony into his flesh.

He ran for what seemed like forever before finally collapsing, gasping for air. A bare hand – his, he realized – knuckles nearly white, plunged into the thick snow, seeking support for the limp, heavy body.

A frown slowly spread across the tired, miserable face, for the pristine white below him was now spotted with red drops. Pale fingers absentmindedly made their way to his blue lips, only to withdraw with hot, sticky liquid smeared on the fingertips.

Ryder whipped around when a low, eerie wail echoed in the forest behind him, filling him with dread. It sounded almost… victorious.

– Ailith – a barely audible, choked whisper escaped his throat, hoarse from the blood. Lacking any worthy words to honor his lost friend – his mentor – he simply knelt, while a stray tear tumbled down his cheek. – Thank you.

“In everything I do, I always have a good reason, remember?”. Ryder smiled grimly when an image of his partner flashed through his mind. “I am becoming old; you see, my hair hasn't always been touched with this noble white colour. I won’t be needed as much as you will be… with your hair still so plain”.

A smile warmed his face at the memory… like a ray of sunlight caressing a sea's surface, only to be immediately enshrouded and devoured by dark waves of the barbarous ocean. Determination flashed in his eyes, and Ryder stumbled onto his feet once more.

He didn’t know her well – if at all – but the countless hours they spent working together and the memories they created were enough for him. She was never eager to share her life story with him; only the skills he sorely needed for his missions. And he respected that.

He gritted his teeth and continued his journey. He would make her proud.

The merciless wind caused brown locks to obscure his vision, and it took every ounce of willpower and determination not to collapse every other step he took. The progress he was making was slow, he knew; but at least he was moving forwards. Trembling hands snaked around his torso, desperately trying to preserve some warmth.

“Warmth?”, a sarcastic comment wormed its way into his mind. “Whatever warmth your body held was lost days ago”.

So cruel, so true… it made him want to laugh hysterically. Alas, the only action his body was capable of was a pitiful shiver. Though tall and normally fit; he now looked no better than a corpse.

Another monotonous cry tore through the air, and Ryder stifled a powerless lament threatening to break free from his constricted throat. Every ounce of his soul, every fiber of his body screamed at him to run. But to no avail; he was already on the brink of running out of his reservoirs of strength. He couldn’t push himself to walk any faster, and instead continued stumbling forwards like a blind, helpless prey, not even feeling his bone-white hands anymore.

Without a reachable destination, without a mentor, he was lost.

Life… what was it if not a cruel gift?

Such a philosophical pondering, yet what else was there he could think about? For the dreaded sound drew nearer by the second, and a terrified yet resigned voice kept telling the stubborn adventurer that it would eventually reach him.

“Reach, shred and delimb…” 

Yet still, his legs kept carrying him forwards.

Perhaps Lady Luck has finally smiled at him, or his doom simply got lost somewhere in the blizzard; for in front of him, behind the thick curtain of swirling snowflakes, he saw the end of the clearing.

Having now something to motivate him, to push him to the very limit, he conviced his feet to move faster, and soon, with a sigh of relief, he disappeared into the thicket. As swiftly as he could – which was slow, so, so slow at best – he hauled himself onto a branch of a tall tree. Balancing himself on it was much more difficult than he predicted; but then again, he wasn't exactly in his best shape. And this proved to be an incredibly disastrous problem.

He clenched his teeth when he nearly lost his footing on the slippery surface for the seventh time already, sifling a curse. Slowly and steadily, he made his way to another tree; then another, and continued to do so until he felt satisfaction warming his heart, and teeth nearly shattering from him tensing his jaw.

However cruel the blizzard was, he prayed forlornly it wouldn’t stop. The swirling, frosty wind – along with the dancing snow – made detecting his scent nearly impossible.

Finding the most hidden spot on his tree, Ryder sat down and pushed his back against the bark, curling up in the hopes of warming himself. As content as he could possibly be in this pitiful situation, he froze and didn’t dare to move again.

He waited five minutes, then ten, and only when twenty slowly turned into thirty did he hear movement.

It was first drowned in the howling wind, and therefore barely audible. Nevertheless, the young man’s keen hearing picked up the sound he dreaded: a soft padding of feet in the snow.

He was well hidden and knew nothing would be able to spot him. This, however, meant that he, too, could see nothing of what was happening below him. Still, he didn’t dare to make the slightest movement, purposefully taking slow and deep breaths.

His hunter had most likely stopped under the tree he climbed first, and was now slowly crawling through the forest, carefully sniffing the air. 

Ryder suppressed a shiver when he remembered its claws, enabling the seft to climb. And although he knew it was too big to smoothly make its way up these trees, it could still try. Were it successful...

Now he was relieved that he had heeded Ailith’s lesson and made a “track maze” through the trees despite the poor state he was in, purposefully crossing the same tree more than once. He was exhausted, yes; but he wasn’t going to let his mentor’s death be in vain…

And adrenaline truly was a wonder.

Now he could only hope that he had done enough to not get caught.

Ryder managed to force himself to breathe, although as quietly as possible; it would do him no good if he suddenly gasped for air, as his pursuer would undoubtedly hear this.

He strained his ears, trying to pick up the faintest sounds. With bated breath he listened as the creature – the thing that has cost him so much already – slowly prowled through the snow, sniffing the air. He dared not move, and remained frozen in his spot, terrified.

To his surprise and utmost relief, his hunter didn’t linger and continued trying to locate him elsewhere. His trick had worked… it worked…

Truly?

Ryder remained still; he knew of the beast’s trickery and suspected a trap. Surely, he can't have escaped that easily? But not even a few minutes passed and a sharp, foul wail escaped the creature’s throat somewhere in the distance; a cry of desperation and frustration.

The man stiffened again when the footsteps seemed to approach once more. He could hear the beast moan, circle around in distress, and sniff the air desperately. All of this was – however – futile, and soon another scream of raw agony cut through the howling wind. Shortly, the hasty footsteps receded, and Ryder was left alone. 

It… worked?

He could feel the deep relief crashing into him with the force of an avalanche, for the creature had left for now.

But there was also anguish. 

An unbearable, racking despair, laced with the swirling and suffocating shadows of grief: his mentor departed from this world – and not in peace.

��Ironic, isn’t it?”, he mused, in his mind playing out the conversation he would have had with her, were she still alive. “Your whole life, you fought them during your many dangerous quests, yet they reached you during this seemingly effortless one… he said…”

And so, as dusk grew into a starless night, he continued his monologue to her, ignoring the steady flow of tears on his dirty and unnaturally pale face.

“It was supposed to be elementary…!”

“Why…”

~~~

Molly waltzed around the kitchen, big ladle in hand and mirth in her heart. She tiptoed to the stew on the fireplace, tasting it with concentration written all over her face.

– Not enough tomaaaatoeees – she sang theatrically, and reached into the opened jar on the counter with her ladle. She pulled out two scoops, dumped them happily into the cast iron pot, and mixed it all thoroughly.

– Dear me – she gasped, and continued her aria: – Could it be…! That it’s almost…! – Here she dipped the ladle in the stew again, sipped, smacked her lips and finished: – Do-o-o-ne! – she ended, prolonging all the vowels on a steady note and a high pitch.

Her shenanigans came to an abrupt end when a sudden knock came from the front door. Startled, she stared at it, wide eyed. 

Oh dear… if someone had heard her…

Her mind snapped back into focus when the knock was hesitantly repeated, and she quickly scurried to the vestibule, heavy ladle still tightly gripped in one hand. Her steps faltered, eyes flickering to the counter to stare contemplatively at the heavy meat knife. Darting over, she swiftly grabbed it, and only then did she tiptoe over to the door. Unsure, she peered out a small window, and furrowed her brow upon seeing a stranger. 

While her first instinct was to pretend that nobody was home, she was forced to reconsider when she noticed he seemed to be bloodied, nearly frozen to death and on the verge of collapsing.

After a quick debate with herself, she cautiously opened the door, shivering as cold air hit her with full force, sending snowflakes into her home.

– May I help you? – she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral and polite.

– Aye… – Concern seeped into her mask upon hearing the hoarse whisper, sounding as if it was forcefully choked out of a shredded throat. 

Upon seeing her reaction, the young man cleared his throat, ignoring the metallic tang of blood in his mouth and continued: – I know I am asking for much, but… would it perhaps be possible for me to stay for a night? No longer, you have my word.

– There’s an inn just ‘round the corner… – she objected hesitantly.

– It is a matter of… – He broke into another coughing fit. – Of keeping anonymous. You see, I cannot afford to make my face known.

– Are you being pursued, mister? – Molly inquired, intrigued.

– I’m afraid so, aye.

– Hmm… an assassin, perhaps?

– I’m no assassin, my lady – Ryder responded, forcing a tired smile onto his face.

– Precisely what an assassin would say – she chuckled, still very much unsure.

– A fair point – he agreed. – How can I know you’re not a graveyard wraith?

– Well, for one, I exist. – Molly chewed on her bottom lip, a frown indicating she was lost in thought.

Through her chaotic ponderings, she was still aware of the pleading gaze fixated on her. 

Finally, she relented.

– Very well. You may come in. – The woman smiled lightly and stepped aside to let the weary traveler inside. Deeply grateful, Ryder entered and sighed contentedly as warm air tingled his nervous system back to work.

“Safe, warm… you're safe…”

– Please, take a seat – Molly pointed at a chair near the fireplace, where the stew was almost done. – Food should be ready soon, if you’re hungry. You can freshen up before supper.

– I am forever grateful – he responded, collapsing on a chair with a groan. – Might I trouble you for your name?

Molly hesitated. He didn’t look disreputable… nay, he seemed honest.

– Molly – she curtsied lightly. – And you, mister?

– Ryder – the guest provided, and winced when the first wave of searing pain shot through his fingers, and up to his very shoulders.

– Are you alright?

Ryder dipped his head stiffly. It was good, the pain; at least he knew his fingers weren’t dead. But now he was up for a few hours of torture, since his hands and feet were paralyzed from frost exposure.

– I’m afraid I just have to wait through it – he hissed through the pain.

– Your clothes are all torn – she realized. – And your shoes… Why go out wearing such ratty shoes?!

– My mother wasn’t there to supervise.

Molly chuckled at the dry joke.

– I’m sure I’ll find something of my father’s that will fit you.

“Safe…”

~~~

By the time evening arrived, Ryder’s hands and feet were red and swollen. He managed to freshen up and felt better, now that he wasn’t covered in blood and dirt. 

As for his wounds… 

Although he took care of them as best as he could, some required proper treatment, so he’d have to find a medic once he reached his destination.

If.

When.

True to her words, Molly did manage to find a set of clothing, a warm cloak and thick boots that fitted him. Now, they were both sitting by the fireplace, eating stew with slices of bread generously covered in butter.

– Say, where are your parents?

Molly swallowed the piece of beef she was busy chewing.

– Oh, they’re away on a short journey.

Content and warm, they now felt more at ease in each other’s presence, while Ryder – slowly but surely – was recovering his strength.

– I believe this is one of the best stews I’ve had in my life.

The dark-haired woman smiled at the compliment.

– I’m glad to hear it. It’s an old recipe, but sure to mend a broken spirit.

– True.

– Forgive me, but I must ask; you’re running from something?

– Aye – he sighed.

– And what would that be?

– Sefts, I’m afraid.

Molly straightened and eyed him carefully.

– They’re but a myth, sir. A legend.

– A myth, you say? Nay. They’re real.

The young woman momentarily stopped chewing and observed him, furrowing her brows. Then, a soft giggle started building in her throat, and soon transformed into an amused chuckle.

Ryder’s mouth twitched as he frowned upon seeing his hostess’s reaction. When she glanced up, he quickly hid his annoyance behind a tired smirk.

– Pray tell, what do you find so amusing?

– A clearly exhausted traveler attempting to be humorous.

The man shook his head in mock disappointment.

– Perhaps I’m just no good at providing joviality.

– Perhaps – she snorted. – Not often do you meet someone with such a specific sense of humor.

– ‘Tis but a dry joke – he smirked, sighing inwardly. – Not much mirth in it.

Molly nodded, a little too eagerly for his liking.

Silence fell upon them, but not of the uncomfortable kind. They finished their supper, and the young man was pleased to find his hands looking now closer to normal. When the sun started to near the horizon, Ryder fell into a dreamless slumber by the fireplace, blissfully wrapped in warm blankets. For once, he felt safe and warm.

As for Molly…

Still a little suspicious, she quickly locked the door, and sneaked quietly into her room. As she was drifting off to sleep, she was taking comfort in knowing the key and knife were within reach, safely tucked under her pillow.

~~~

– I wish you luck.

Ryder finished tying his new boots and looked up to meet Molly’s eyes.

– Thank you.

– Are you sure you don’t want to stay any longer?

The woman stopped fiddling with her sleeve and stared at her guest expectantly. He answered with a firm shake of his head, sending his hair flying.

– I wouldn’t dare. But I am deeply grateful for your help.

Molly chuckled.

– I am glad I could be of service. And be careful, master adventurer… since your mother isn’t here to supervise.

Ryder grinned and with that, he was gone.

No sooner had he stepped through the door, a shiver ran across his body. Although the blizzard had nearly stopped, the air still sent icy needles through his skin.

Finally clad in proper clothing, feeling sated after a warm breakfast and having received supplies for his journey, he couldn’t be happier. 

The only element missing was Ailith.

The single tear that rolled down his cheek was quickly wiped, and Ryder was once again on the road.

He could only hope to find another shelter before nightfall. And to reach his destination before death did him.

As soon as he set foot outside the village, his eyes rapidly scanned the surroundings in search of danger and potential hiding places. But they met nothing, sliding easily over the plain swathes of a blindingly white landscape. One could even call it barren, with nothing but a few shrubs in sight, their sharp, lifeless twigs frozen solid.

And just like so, he continued his exhausting quest, which didn’t sound dangerous at all when called by its proper name: Ryder was a messenger. 

But do not be mistaken; he wasn’t just any messenger, nay. One of the few who could hold their own against dangers and potentially make it out alive after delivering a letter of great importance.

Not even five hours passed before he was once again feeling tired and cold, and had never been more grateful for warm clothes.

Finding a large boulder, he crouched underneath it and fished out his map.

Just as he remembered, a small town lay not an hour away from his current location. Up until now, he’d had no close encounters with the seft today – or sefts, he couldn't be sure how many were on the hunt – and hope fluttered in his chest. Perhaps luck would keep him safe…

Without another thought, he folded the map and continued his march.

Before long, he noticed something rather odd. His mind started to involuntarily lose focus, while warmth slowly spread through his body.

Ryder forced his foggy mind to figure out if it was a cause for concern, and soon enough, he remembered what exactly that meant.

He swallowed thickly. “This can’t be the end”.

What about the letter? And more importantly – ai, his priorities were considered askew by many – has he not vowed to make his mentor proud?

Yet everything seemed to point exactly in this direction: heavy breathing, exhaustion, warmth, being on the verge of passing out… 

Hearing double…

He strained his ears, and sure enough; either it was his footsteps that echoed in his head, or…

A low, guttural growl a few feet away sent a shiver down his spine, and his nervous system snapped back into focus.

The young man stumbled in panic, and felt the snow give way under him.

A sharp, muffled scream escaped his lips. Air roared past his ears, his body limp, feeling nothing but a void beneath him.

Finally, he hit a curved surface, and continued sliding down until the very bottom.

Ryder glanced around, eyes wide, breathing labored and erratic. It was pitch black; the only indication as to his location was the echo of his unexpected fall. Meaning he was probably stuck in a tunnel.

Except, he’d never heard of tunnels around here. But then again, maybe they were old and of no importance…

He wasn’t left alone for long to ponder on his current predicament. The only light, coming from the ceiling, was momentarily blocked, followed by a soft thud and a surprised yelp.

The man forced his tired legs to a sprint, and not long after, he heard the seft running after him.

It was hopeless. Unlike the predator, he didn’t possess night vision, or keen smell and hearing.

And he couldn't stop and face the beast, for his strength had long since waned, his sharp mind slowed, and his will… his will was already bygone.

He looked up, and unless his eyes were clouded by some spell, in front of him lights appeared. Not big lights, but rather small, colorful shining beads embedded in the surrounding stone, casting a soft glow on the floor.

But he could not feast his eyes with the view. 

He didn’t dare turn around. The only thought in his mind was to keep running; to run until he could no more. And yet, the beast’s soft padding seemed to be gaining on him.

And then, he heard nothing but the whistling of an air current, before feeling the damp, sticky bundle of heavy tangles hit him with full force and suffocating him with its overwhelming stench of rotting meat. Not the seft’s; its victims’ remains’.

Ryder felt the air leave his lungs when the beast smashed his body onto the floor, and in the last second managed to turn so that he was facing the gruesome creature, his adrenaline skyrocketing.

Groaning, he tried to keep the beast’s snapping maw away from his body with one hand, while with the other he desperately tried to grab his dagger. However, his body was void of its once impressive strength, and he needed both hands to keep at least some distance between his face and the creature’s sharp fangs.

But the seft was cunning, and wouldn’t let its prey get away again. It was so close, so close to fulfilling its own task… 

All of a sudden, its eyes shone with malice.

The man took notice of the creature’s change in demeanor, and shivered involuntarily. 

A muffled scream escaped his throat when the seft’s sharp claws pierced through all his clothes and sunk into his skin, tearing effortlessly through the tissue.

Tears of pain and frustration welled in his eyes when he realized he would not survive. The only thing he could do to feel better was to make sure the beast wouldn’t either.

Clenching his teeth, he put to good use the adrenaline rush and pushed his attacker with all his might, causing the seft to lose balance for a brief moment. Taking advantage of the creature’s momentary disorientation, he jumped to his feet and drew his stiletto. Within a fraction of a second the beast pounced again with eyes ablaze, and Ryder braced himself for the impact. And when it came, the dagger sunk into the creature’s heart, and the man turned to land on top of the seft staring into its round, yellow eyes.

When the beast’s body hit the ground, the man thrust the stiletto into its heart again, and again, and continued to puncture his hunter, the rage and frustration rising with every hit. Everything he had lost flooded his mind like a tidal wave yet again, and with a final cry of frustration, he impaled the seft’s head with the dagger.

Breathing heavily, he lifted himself off the bloodied creature, and shakily rose to his feet. Hesitating, he took one step and immediately, his legs buckled underneath his weight. He collapsed, reaching towards his side with trembling arms, and felt a steady trickle of warm liquid between his fingers.

Gathering what energy and strength he still had left, Ryder crawled towards the tunnel’s wall and curled up. Alone, bloodied, exhausted and freezing.

He didn’t make it. He wouldn’t make it.

He had failed.

Failed himself, failed his employer, failed his mentor.

He had failed...

There was no safety, no victory, no warmth, no “when” or even an “if”.

There was only the dark, raging void, its shadows extending their deformed fingers to grasp him and carry away. Away, to a place he did not know, didn't want to know. Not yet. 

Muffling a sob, he carefully took off his torn cloak and anxiously inspected the bloody marks in his skin.

He wasn’t surprised to see the claws had gone in deep, and managed to rip through his organs. The pulsating, agonizing pain was clue enough.

Ryder let his tears flow freely. There was nobody to see them, why would he bother hiding them? 

“No warmth, no comfort…” 

The only comfort were the tears. 

And then, just around a turn of the tunnel, a soft light appeared.

He forced his eyes open and observed, intrigued and strangely calm. 

Now…

He felt safe. Relaxed and fulfilled.

Pushing aside the dwindling pain and exhaustion, he crawled towards the light, wishing to inspect it before giving up.

Finally, he hauled himself forwards one last time and looked around. Squinting, he let his eyes get used to the light before scanning his surroundings.

He had reached the end of the tunnel.

Slowly, the young man stood up and stumbled forwards on unsteady feet, and before he knew it, he hobbled out into open space.

Vibrant green moss covered the moist earth underneath him, while in front of him loomed a dark forest. Impenetrable to light, the brushwood drowned in darkness. Every once in a while, a pair of eyes appeared in the thicket and observed the newcomer with curiosity, but no creature dared to approach the treeline.

And then, for a brief moment, darkness shrouded the whole world. Before he could fully comprehend what had happened, a deafening, ear-piercing screech stabbed through the silence like a jagged dagger. His palms flew to his ears in an attempt to block out the awful sound.

When it receded, small, glowing beads started to slowly descend onto the ground, lighting it with their colorful glow.

And among them, half-way to the dark woods, stood a person. 

Tall yet hunched under some invisible weight, jet black and white hair framing her sharp features.

It couldn’t be…

– Ailith – he croaked, his voice filled with disbelief. – I thought…

He broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

Ailith sighed and looked at the ground. As if hesitant to say it.

– Aye.

Ryder flinched when the world once again drowned in darkness, and his hands flew to his ears to block out another screech.

– How did you come back? – he inquired when the unbearable sound quieted down.

– I never did. – Before he could ask another question, she requested quietly: – May I see the letter?

The young man froze, mulling the request over.

– It’s confidential. You know I can’t – he declined gently.

– It will never reach its destination. You know this.

Ryder scrunched his brows, and reached for the letter, his hand trembling. Then, against his will, his arm extended towards his mentor.

Ailith grasped it lightly and tore the envelope open, before carefully unfolding the letter, appearing scared to see its content.

He’d never seen his mentor look so crestfallen, so disappointed and betrayed. Without a word, she returned the document to her young friend.

Unblinking, he scanned the paper.

– It’s blank – he whispered, searching Ailith’s face for clues.

The woman slowly lowered herself onto the ground.

– Ryder… – she murmured softly, gazing at him with sympathy in her eyes. – You were never supposed to make it. Neither was I.

– A suicide mission… – He paused, realizing what it meant. He followed his friend’s example and sat down – collapsed, even – burying his face in his palms.

The silence that followed was thick and seemed impenetrable, occasionally interrupted by the deafening screeches.

And a soft padding of feet.

[professorlaytonpuzzlingprofessor]

Big Climb, Big Fall

Is… is this thing on? Can you hear me?

  Statement of… Jean Descolauch, regarding an experience with… the falling titan.

Subject recording directly, uhm. On his own. With only this tape recorder as company. Huh.

  […Statement begins.]

  I think I have to introduce myself, don’t I? I‘m not quite sure who I am. I am one of many Descoles, I am the only Leek… I think. I am however living with my fiancé, that‘s what’s sure, and… there are plans of a wedding, but I‘m not sure how well that will go on with these recent events.

  I suppose it all started with that godforsaken book. Ex Altiora, it read. I figured out that much in the meantime. I had it with me that day, you know. I was planning on inquiring Hershel further about it. I don’t know what compelled me to act as I did, but- it- the book never reached Hershel. I threw it away. I threw it in the Thames.

I can’t even remember why. Maybe I finally began to distrust He- maybe I just had hoped the ozone smell would fade. But well, the book was washed away, the smell stayed, and that’s when the real trouble began.

I went along my day, finished my errands, and soon was set to head home. Then, there he was. A man appeared behind me. I‘m sure he wasn’t there before. I assure you- I‘m absolutely certain! I‘d have seen him on my way, I‘d have noticed and- well this is no matter now. He was there from one moment to the next one. Immediately, he grabbed my shoulder, leaving me no time to react, and sending… something like an electric charge through my body. I jumped and must’ve dropped my groceries, but the man did not let go. I finally got a look at him. He looked so… ordinary. Like any man you‘d see on the street. Any man you‘d overlook on the street. The look in his eyes, however… I don’t think I‘ll forget it. Like pure horror…. like he‘d seen the end of times.

I remember his words. It’s Eternity, he said. It’s Eternity up there. I hastily shook his hand off my shoulder, still distraught by the touch and I think I left him standing there to just, you know, run off, leave the situation to never think of it again.

  But for some reason, I stumbled.

    And then, suddenly 

    I‘m

        Falling

            A rapid shift in climate, a sudden loss of orientation.

And the pressure. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. Up and down were lost.

  There were only the clouds. 

  Grey, stormy clouds, as far as I could see. A harsh contrast to the violent sun of before. I kept falling- further and further, for endlessly long and ridiculously short. Time was gone, washed away by the dull grey that surrounded me.

  The adrenaline that filled me at first quickly washed of, replaced by a dreadful panic that did not allow me to think.

I hadn’t even noticed the lightning at first.

  I tensed, I tried to breathe. Blinding beams of light danced around me, appeared from the clouds and disappeared just as quickly as they came.

    Sometimes the light would come close enough to scorch my coat, but the fall would not allow a flame.

      And it was all so incredibly loud.

        I could almost make out words.

    We are one thing!

  Not afraid that it‘ll kill us!

    A horrible dance, a taunting song, a taunting song at my cost.

And it went on.

  And on.

    Join us, they sang. Chase the fall!

    A song in my ears. I felt lost. I felt loved. I felt.

      For Eternity!

        And I did. I joined them. I had nothing left to lose, after all.

    I suppose I reached out with my hand, because the light immediately reached back.

  Lightning, light my way, and so on.

    Have you ever been struck by lightning? No. No, of course not. 

You see, that’s the funny thing about pain. Once you risk it, you never expect it to be as bad. Until it actually strikes you.

  Would you like to know of this pain? Why am I asking. You wouldn’t let me leave this room if I didn’t tell you.

    It’s white, it’s cold, and yet it’s so very hot. Imagine being burned, being stung, being poisoned, all at once. From the inside out. 

  You want to scream, you want to cry, you want to hide away from it, but there is nowhere to go. It’s only you and the three hundred million volts of energy, clawing and biting its way through you, until there is nothing left to claw and bite through and you get tossed aside like an unwanted toy.

    In the brief moment before the electricity reached my brains to completely shut me down, I… I think I saw a figure through the clouds. 

  Blay?

          When I came to, I was back on earthly grounds. 

  I tried to get up, I suppose. I also suppose that I failed. 

Everything was hurting. Everything was numb. It still is.

    A horrible ache in my hand. My arm, hanging limp at my side.

My coat, burned to pieces.

  A lavender mark, decorating my fingers and spreading further and further up my limb.

    But the solid ground beneath me was all that mattered.

      [Statement ends…]

[cigaretteparfum-library]

I Isekai’d Myself From the Afterlife Before the Angels Had the Chance to Assign Me Heaven or Hell and Now I’m On the Run with Hot Guys in Another Dimension Because ACAB Also Includes Heaven Lapdogs

Yes, that is the title.

Genre: Isekai fantasy Rating: M(18+) Pairing: Fem!Reader/EXO Content: Isekai tropes, Fem protagonist, angels, mentions of various religious beliefs, nudity (not explicit), stupid jokes and scenarios probably only I find funny (thowwy), pretty excessive use of the word mid, Yixing and Kyungsoo got introduced in the last third, slightly inaccurate title because technically she already got assigned a place but whatever Word count: 5k

Taglist: @eternalnostos - once upon a time you said you wanted to read something I write should I eventually publish it .... Probably not what you asked for but hey. :>

01.

You were born exactly nine thousand and a hundred thirty days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-seven minutes ago—and during all those times, you have barely achieved anything remarkable.

    Despite all of your best efforts, people barely spare a glance to look at you. You were such a docile child that your own parents often forgot you existed; far too occupied by your more rebellious sister only an hour older. Your grades in school were okay: always a few decimals above the minimum score to pass; maybe exactly one point if you were particularly lucky. All the clubs you tried to join during those years were either inactive, got disbanded soon, or required monthly administration fees way above your allowance. You had a few friends in elementary school, in junior high, and then high school—but none so close that you managed to stay in touch past graduation. While most of your peers continued to university or college, you settled for a below minimum wage job at a minimarket chain. Money wasn’t exactly a problem, though, because your parents still financially supported you out of obligation and societal norms. You know them only as much as they know you—which is to say: not at all. But you know a little bit more about your sister who now makes over three times what you make by working in a bank, if only because she likes to boast and will literally not leave you alone.

    But the gist of it is this: You are mid. You are so mid that the word mid itself would rather not have anything to do with you. You are fine; not good, not bad—just fine. And because of that, you have only been cruising through life, letting each day pass without doing much except fulfilling the bare minimum of what you’re supposed to do.

    And that is why, precisely nine thousand and a hundred thirty days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-nine minutes after you were born, walking past a construction site where they were lifting a huge metal beam that falls right above your head and killing you may be the most remarkable thing that happen in your life—

    You die on the morning of your twenty-fifth birthday, but you don’t even actually make it past the last minute of your twenty-fourth year.

In a blink of an eye, you’re transported elsewhere.

    You stand in a long, singular line of people in the middle of pure white nothingness, among other people who look just as confused and disoriented as you. “What’s going on?” you hear someone ask before you get the chance to. “Where am I? Who are you people?!”

    YOU ARE INSIDE THE SPACE OF ASSIGNMENT, a voice booms. It comes from everywhere: it comes from your sides, from your front and back, and also inside your head. Your mind recognises it as something otherworldly, perhaps even divine—but it fills you with dread and sends a chill down your spine. Whatever the source of this voice is, you don’t like it. ALL OF YOU STANDING HERE HAVE DIED. WAIT FOR YOUR DEEDS TO BE JUDGED—YOU WILL BE ASSIGNED A PLACE IN HEAVEN OR HELL.

    “What the fuck—” another voice from somewhere in the queue shouts. “I’m an atheist! You’re telling me now that god and afterlife exist?”

    THEY ALWAYS HAVE.

    Someone else clears their throat. “Does this mean I have attained moksha?”

    I CANNOT SAY.

    “From what religion are you?”

    I CANNOT SAY.

    Amidst all of the chaos and shouting questions and confusion, you realise that you are now able to see something far ahead: some kind of a throne; or maybe a desk is more appropriate. A massive figure sitting behind it is bathed in bright light—no, the figure is the source of that bright light. You have to squint your eyes to see, but you think that figure has a dozen of folded wings on its back and several heads above what should be its torso, looking down at whatever poor bastard is standing before it. Once every few moments one of the wings touches something in front of it, and when that happens you move closer to where that being sits.

    You look behind you and there seems to be a far longer line compared to what’s in front of you. People die like flies, you realise. But the judging process—or assignment, as the voice said—goes about on par with the speed of which people are dying and appearing. The dread in your stomach multiplies by tenfold when you notice that the desk and the looming figure behind it are even closer than before. While all the new people farther behind are shouting many variations of the questions you’ve heard only moments before, you look down, trying to plant your feet on the ground—it’s no use; you keep moving forward either way.

    WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO FIGHT IT? the voice asks. You look up and there it is: the source of that voice.

    It’s an angel; you’re sure of it now. Four feet standing apart—your height barely reaches the middle of its shin. You crane your head back and squint against the light emanating from this figure, somewhere around its head—heads, to be precise. Two hands on each side extending to create wings that hold one massive sword—pointed directly at you.

    LET GO OF YOUR FIGHT. IT IS OF NO USE.

    “But I—” Your frantic eyes dart to the start of the line up ahead. You are now maybe only forty people away from it. “I’m just some gal. I never do anything good or bad. How am I going to be judged?”

    One person removed from the line. YOU ARE NEITHER THE FIRST NOR THE LAST TO BE NOTHING OF REMARK.

    In other words, you’re just one mid among billions of mids that the angels have judged—assigned. You shut your eyes close. Another person removed.

    YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. YOU NEED NOT TO BE ANYTHING OF SIGNIFICANCE TO HAVE YOUR PLACE ASSIGNED.

    Those are the same things you’ve told yourself over and over and over and over and over again in your life. When your parents asked what will you aim to achieve in life. When your sister asked if you ever dreamed to be something more—something less boring and mundane. You always said: It’s okay to not have high achievement. There’s no sin in being mid. The remarkable are few; the mids are majority of people.

    How quick death changes things. What used to soothe your insecurity is now what threatens to fling you over the edge of panic. You don’t even know panic attacks are a thing that can happen in death. You don’t even know that you can experience panic attacks.

    There is no relief in those words. Suddenly you realise how little you’ve made of your life. How little you’ve done. Your life flashes before your eyes as several dozen more people removed from the line: it’s nothing. From birth to death, you can’t recall any moments that make you particularly happy, sad, or angry; moments that make you feel ashamed or proud. There is only one thing—

    Regret.

    Suddenly you don’t want to die. Suddenly all of this becomes real: you’ve died, and there are only nine more people before it’s your turn to be judged. How did you even die? It wasn’t some grand defeat after battling an illness for a long time, like your grandfather; it wasn’t some tragedy born out of a heroic sacrifice, like your aunt—no; you died because you got unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and you didn’t look up. The construction workers probably didn’t even notice that you were there until you went splat.

    No, no, no. No no no no no. You absolutely cannot go out like this. There are so many things you have yet to do! In fact, the list is so long that you may as well say there are still everything to do. You existed, but you haven’t lived—you’ve never lived. And you can’t even blame it on other people—you were far too content to be nothing remarkable. Now, that feeling of content morphs into a feeling of loss. Fear. Regret. An insurmountable weight of regret.

    Two more people left before your turn. LET GO OF THE FIGHT, the voice warns you for the last time. THERE IS NOTHING ELSE THAT YOU CAN DO NOW.

    No, there’s still something. There has to be.

    The seven headed angel with a dozen wings and no limbs judges the deeds, and each time it makes its decision one of its wings touches what you now can see as a golden staff laid atop the desk. When that staff is touched, the person being judged disappears and the line moves forwards. An idea strikes. Maybe it’s some sort of a transportation device. Maybe, if you’re able to touch it ….

    But how? The desk is as massive as three adults standing on top of each other, and eleven more standing in a row. Only a part of it peeks through the top edge of the surface—you can’t possibly jump that high.

    Then you’ll have to climb.

    You move forwards once again, and as the last person standing before you is being judged, you squint your eyes against the light, trying to find something to grasp and hook your feet on to climb. Just touch it. You just need to try to touch the staff; that is your last and only hope.

    The other angel that spoke to you has moved back and you’re as good as non-existent to the angel doing the judging. The feet of the desk are intricately crafted depictions of people seemingly with eternal joy on the left and unending torment on the right, with each crafted body of a person about half of your height. Before you let your dying mind think and open the gates for the second-guesses to flood in, you dash out of line and start to climb.

    “Hey, look at her!”

    “Oi, what the fuck?!”

    “Is that allowed?!”

    As commotion begins to erupt and you feel a sudden heat coming from everywhere, engulfing your entire being, you grit your teeth and keep scaling the foot of the desk. You’ve never climbed before; never had to. But the fire lit inside your chest burns with only one thought:

    I want to live.

    A force tries to yank you away from the leg—must be the angel. You bite down, clamping your toes on the sculpture and your fingers clawed. The force grows stronger—it’s like being sucked by gravity right behind your back—but your will is even stronger than that. Who knew you had it in you? Then you hear the whoosh of something swinging before the pain of your back being slashed explode. You scream. You climb higher.

    INSOLENT HUMAN—

    I want to live.

    HOW DARE YOU—

    I want to live.

    GET BACK IN LINE.

    I want to LIVE.

    You get to the top and all seven heads of the angel behind the desk turn towards you. For a moment the light dims enough for you to be able to see the entirety of its seven faces, and it’s all eyes staring directly at you.

    And its voice, calm, a stark difference of the other angel huffing behind and above you, simply says:

    YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED HELL.

    “Well, fuck you!”

    You leap just before the gravity sucks you back, and for a split second, your fingers touch the staff.

    You touched it.

    The force that has been trying to keep you away from the staff—from the judging desk—flings you back, farther back, past the blurring faces of people staring in shock, and even farther back, until you pass the last person who has died during this moment, and you don’t stop.

    There is a constant sound that fills your ears as you shoot backwards, and it’s only when your throat bleeds that you realise it has been the sound of you screaming. The heat that engulfed you has morphed into fire burning your hair—your clothes—your skin—until you feel nothing as it has burnt all of your nerves and now begins to consume your bones as well. But your consciousness remains, floating somewhere inside your skull, even as you are blinded in all of your senses. And there is only one thought:

    I touched it.

There are noises.

    There are a lot of noises.

    And the smell—of something burnt, but also: the smell of dirt. The soft smell of dense trees you never noticed until the small forest near your house was cut down in favour of new houses. The pungent smell of insects. The smell of skin, iron, and sweat.

    You blink your eyes open and it explodes. Something vibrates in your throat—your vocal chords, screaming. Your limbs flail as you scramble to shut your eyes; the bright light penetrates past your lid even after you close them, and it hurts. It hurts so bad after those moments of utter blindness when you—

    When you flew.

    There are more noises, some that you’ve heard before: voices of people; of men. They speak in a language you don’t understand, but their tones are frantic and—maybe—worried. Hands wrapped around your arms, around your shoulders; they try to pry your hands away from your eyes but you cry and you cry and you try to push them away—or push yourself away—but you can’t make right from left and you bump into something solid and warm.

    You scream. You quiver. You realise you’re as naked as a newborn. You feel something soft wrapped around your body—a cloak. The voices soften and a hood is pulled above your head. Something flat and cylindrical pressed on your lips while steady hands flat on your back between your shoulder blades. That thing pressed on your lips is tilted gently and your head follows; cold, fresh water flows in.

    At that point, keeping your eyes closed, your own hands grab the water container. You expected your palms to meet a bottle, but it’s instead flat and wide. It doesn’t matter—you snatch it away from the hand that previously held it and greedily gulp down its content until you choke and you cough, spitting a little bit of water—somewhere.

    You gasp and you fold your body forwards, clutching your fist to your chest, you feel the rapid heartbeat inside. Under the shades of the hood you finally dare yourself to open your eyes, and you see your thick bare legs peeking out of the cloak—and the cracked, dry ground underneath them.

    You pull your hands away from your body, staring at them in awe as you curl and uncurl your fingers on your palm, not even caring about the water container you just dropped and now spills water into the ground. One foreign hand reaches out over your legs you instinctively press together to avoid contact—but it’s only interested in retrieving the container. The voice that belongs to the body behind you speaks again, calmer now, with a gentle tone that has a hint of curiosity in it.

    Turning your head around, you squint to look at that person. It is indeed a man: maybe a few years older than you, but not by much; strong brows, heart-shaped lips, and short hair. He speaks again, but you only shake your head.

    “I can’t—” Your voice is hoarse and it sounds alien. “I don’t understand—”

    The man speaks again—or maybe it’s a question, judging by his raised brows and higher tone at the end. You shake your head, and he gestures … something. “I don’t—”

    The other man speaks. He’s still cloaked and his face is shrouded with shadows, but you’re able to catch a glimpse of a dimple on his cheek and pouty bottom lips. He doesn’t speak to you—not now—and the other man on your right responds.

    Both of them rise and the cloakless man offers you his hand as he speaks gently. You tighten your grip on the front of his cloak wrapped around you before accepting his help. His grip is strong and steady, but not overpowering, as he pulls you up to stand. Your legs stagger for a moment, and both men have their arms stretched to keep you steady, but your feet manage to find their footing without you falling.

    Birds chirp as they fly in a group way above your head in the sky and the wind rustles the leaves and the grass—or what’s left of them anyway.

    As you look around, you realise that you are standing right in the centre of a massive crater where everything in it has died. Outside the perimeter trees stand and grass softly dances on the ground; it’s all green and lush—except the circle about as big as your city hall. Some dark, big logs lie on the ground, facing away from you; sticks cracking and splintering from them. Those were trees.

    “Am I alive?” you hear yourself asking. “Is this hell?”

    The men speak and they try to get your attention while your mind replays the last few moments that you remember: of your entire being slowly burning away, of the gravity pulling you away in that room of white nothingness, and that seven-headed angel telling you that you were going to hell. But how is this hell? Even the sculptures on that desk of judgement depicted torment as some representation of hell. This is … this is something else.

    And then you remember: you touched the staff.

    The staff. Maybe it worked. Maybe your spur-in-the-moment, entirely-bonkers-completely-out-of-pure-guess method worked. Maybe the staff was a teleportation device and when you touched it—

    One of the men—the one still cloaked—shouts. Your head whips towards him, then back around when you notice him pointing at something behind you, and for a split second before the impact: you see the staff flying towards you.

    “OW!” It thwacks squarely on your face with enough force you send you tumbling backwards. The men move quickly to help you up again just after they assisted you to stand—but then the cloaked man accidentally touches the staff and he hisses.

    He hisses?

    The cloakless man throws one side of your cloak to better hide your exposed legs after you fall, but you’re too busy trying to find that staff on the ground to spare a thought about decency at the moment. It’s laying a few metres away from you; rolling off after assaulting your face and maybe after the cloaked man accidentally hit it away. You scramble on all fours to quickly reach it and—there is no doubt. This is the staff.

    You hold the length in your hands. It’s much smaller now, but you remember its head—the part that peeked through the edge. It was four handles curving away from the centre like a fountain with a flat top; the base engraved with inscription snaking up to where the four handles depart from the staff. As you run your fingers over the engraving, you somehow understand what it says: Behold the power bestowed by the grace of The One, for it accomplishes function as desired.

    Below the engraving is thirteen rings that reflect lights with a rainbow effect to your eyes; the gold disappearing. It stops right in the middle of the staff where it turns into a smooth and naked surface, leading to its end where it mirrors the top with the four handles; only it has one right instead of thirteen.

    Slowly, you stand. You cradle the staff in your arms like a baby, then you let your grip on its girth loose until its bottom touches the ground; a booming sensation shakes you to your core.

    You look at the two men and they look just as startled as you.

    Your legs are still a little bit too unsteady for you to walk, even if you have been able to stand upright. The staff is quite sturdy and balanced, and while its top, reaching up to your chest, is slightly too tall for you to walk and hold it by its four handles, you can wrap your hand around the part the inscription is engraved instead.

    Just before you take your first step properly on your feet, you feel that chill of dread running through your body. The men all scream as they press their hands tight to their ears and you hear your name called by that voice you still remember from the space of nothing.

    YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND.

    The voice—as it was previously—comes from everywhere, but without even looking you know where the angel truly comes from. You turn your head to your left and there it floats on the sky: with its three heads, four winged hands, and four feet planted flat on air as though it’s standing on something solid. Your stomach churn—you are certain all of its eyes are fixed on you.

    It calls your name again with that same booming voice echoing inside your head. YOU HAVE DIED, AND YOU SHALL REMAIN DEAD. GIVE UP THE FIGHT NOW OR YOU WILL REGRET IT SOON ENOUGH.

    “RUN!” you shout to the men. “Go!” You limp past them. “Run away! GO!!”

    But then the wind blows and the angel floats right in front of you. That one sword—your back twitches when you remember its slash—pointed to the ground; not at you. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.

    You hold the staff up high. When the angel speaks again, its neutral tone now carries a hint of mockery. THAT STAFF ONLY OBEYS SERVANTS OF GOD ITSELF, the angel says. AN INSIGNIFICANT HUMAN LIKE YOU—

    “Behold the power bestowed!” you shout, completely ignoring what the angel is saying. “By the grace of The One! For it accomplishes—”

    YOU HAVE DIED, the angel lifts its sword, its blade glinting under the midday sun. TO DEATH YOU SHALL RETURN.

    “—function as desired!”

    The sword swings down and the earth splits in two underneath your feet. You stare up at the angel, somehow it doesn’t look as big as it once was—then your field of vision widens when each half of your cut body drifts away from one another.

    But I want to live, your halved brain thinks.

    HELL IS WHERE YOU SHALL FIND YOURSELF IN, you hear the angel continues despite being sliced clean in half. NO MORE CHANCE OF BEING JUDGED OTHER—

    The solemn and neutral face of the angel drops as your bodies rise and knit itself back into one. BUT THAT—

    Your hand wraps around that inscription engraved to the staff, its words clear in your mind as it vibrates under your grip, releasing an odd warmth that spreads to your whole body as that fire once again lights inside your chest. But it’s different than the fire that burns you down to your core; it’s not the angel’s fire—it’s yours. And the staff has responded to you.

    For the second time.

    “I guess I am an angel now, too,” you hear yourself saying.

    The angel finds its resolve back. It lifts the sword once again with harder determination on its faces. I SHALL NOT DETER. YOU WILL DIE—

    You open your mouth to scream, “Away!” and the staff burns in your hand when you swing it hard towards the angel. It can’t have possibly made contact with it, but as though blown by a torpedo the angel is flung backwards and away, flying far into the sky until it’s nothing more than a quickly fading glint of light.

    Your chest rises and falls with each deep breath that you take; the staff gradually loses its fire and with it—its warmth. You return it back to its position as a cane to keep you steady and you slowly turn around, finding the two men curled up on the ground, hands still flat on their ears, tears running down their faces.

    “You guys okay?” you ask, taking one unsure step closer. They may be strangers, but since you woke they have been nothing but helping, and you feel like it would be rude to pretend like they don’t exist. “I don’t know if I can help you stand, I’m sorry—”

    “What was that?!” the cloakless man shouts. “What just happened?!”

    “Long story,” you say. It’s actually not. “But anyway, it’s—”

    You stop. And you stare down at the two men while they try to push themselves off the ground with shaking limbs. “Wait,” you hold one hand out, “pause. I can understand you?”

    This seems to also be news to them. “I can understand you,” the cloakless man responds. “No, we can understand you.”

    The cloaked man tilts his head back under the hood. “You speak Wahjani? What was all that, then?”

    “Wahja—no,” you correct, “you are speaking my language.”

    “No,” he retorts. “You are speaking our language.”

    “No, I don’t!” You fling both hands out to emphasise, and you lose your grip on the staff. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you grumble as you try to retrieve it.

    One of the men speaks—but it’s back to that language you don’t know. You look at him, eyebrows knitted and eyes wide. “What?” you ask.

    He blinks, staring at you perplexed. He repeats what he just said but it’s no different—you still can’t understand a word that he’s saying. “I don’t,” you say through gritted teeth, finally reaching the staff, “understand you.”

    “What the hell?” the cloakless man mutters. Now it’s your turn to be perplexed. “You suddenly switch languages.”

    All three of you instantly shift your gazes to the staff in your hand. “Is it …?” the cloaked man asks, doubtful but intrigued. You drop the staff back to the ground.

    “Okay, now try saying something,” you tell them. They stare at you blankly, shaking their heads after a moment of silent confusion. You bend down to pick the staff up. “Okay, how about now?”

    “By the Gods!” the man in cloak points. “It really is the staff!”

    “It must be,” you agree, observing the decorated staff in your hand, running your thumb across the inscription. It did perform its function as desired: you wanted the angel to be gone, and it helped you accomplish that. But maybe it also fulfils other things you are not actively wishing for at the moment. Surely being able to communicate is something to want.

    You’re interrupted from your thoughts by an awkward clearing of the throat. You divert your gaze and see both men are looking away, with the cloakless man vaguely pointing towards your direction. “I suppose,” he begins, “if we are able to understand each other, it’s—eh—it’s best to let you know that ….”

    His voice trails off while his complexion deepens. You look down—and your borrowed cloak is open. You have been thoroughly exposed. With a yelp you turn around and fuss with the front of the cloak, trying to find a way to keep them closed. The staff has fallen off your grip—again—so while you’re able to recognise the voice that approaches you from behind to be belonging to the cloaked man, you can’t understand what he’s trying to say until he gently puts his hand above your hand, and he pulls two ties from a hidden pocket on the sides. You hold the cloak tightly closed on your chest and your stomach while he secures them with a knot above your waist. “Thank you,” you mutter, too embarrassed to look up. Then you remember that your hands are not holding anything—and the other man hands you the staff. “Thank you,” you repeat once it’s firm in your hand. “To both of you.”

    They each nod while looking away. You can’t blame them—you yourself wish you can simply disappear into the ground. Your breath hitches as you quickly bring the staff to your chest. No, no, I don’t actually want that. Please don’t make me disappear into the ground.

    After a beat of suspense—and perhaps recovery from the awkwardness for the men—you release your breath and hold the staff as a cane again. “Anyway,” you say in a low voice. The men lean their head in closer. “Thanks for all the help. And sorry for all the … disturbance.” You grimace. What a criminally massive understatement. “I’m—”

    Then you stop. Should you introduce yourself? That surely is the right thing to do. But if this isn’t hell, and somehow your wish to live—not merely existing—has been granted by the staff upon that first touch, shouldn’t you take this chance to start anew? A clean slate where you get to decide everything to do with yourself—including your name. You never quite liked your parents’ choice, anyway.

    With the men expecting you to continue, you quickly pick the first name that pops into your head. It’s just a placeholder, you reassure yourself. I can change that whenever.

    But when they repeat your new name back to you slowly, as though tasting the way it’s sounding, you realise that you actually like it. Maybe even by a lot. It fits you like a glove and fills you with more joy than you can ever imagine a name is able to.

    “Well, I’m Kyungsoo, that’s Yixing,” the cloakless man says. “We were just trekking through the forest when we saw a meteor falling down. When we came to check—”

    “There was you,” Yixing finishes.

    You heave a deep sigh as you turn to once again take in all of your surrounding: the dense and tall trees circling the crater where you wake up in the centre of. Then you aim your sight to the sky—the same spot the angel first appeared earlier. “Do you …,” Kyungsoo begins, almost unsure, “... want to tell us exactly what happened?” You look at him. “It was really confusing—there was a sound, then there was this bright light ….”

    “I told you it’s a long story.”

    “And the nearest town is about three days by foot,” he says. Then he adds with a nod: “Believe me—we have time.”

    You consider that for a moment. He speaks as though he’s entirely sure that you’ll come along with them. Of course, that’s a logical assumption: until mere minutes ago it seemed like you couldn’t communicate with them. You are definitely not familiar with the area, and for all they know you came from outer space as a meteor. Moreover, as you assume they assume: you are a woman, naked and alone, with nothing but a staff and a borrowed cloak. They’ve seen what you’re able to do, so maybe they won’t try to do anything funny. And from your point of view, it’s clear that sticking with them would be advantageous—if nothing else, you can find your way out. You look down at the staff in your hand. Especially when you don’t even know if you’ll be able to use this staff like you did earlier.

    “All right, fine,” you finally say. “Lead the way. I’ll tell you everything I remember.”

[ofangelsanddevils]

Illusion ch 9 Empty schools and spies

The next thing Liana knew, she was dreaming about the hit-and-run again. Everything happened the same as it always did, except near the end the dream shifted. She’d never been able to remember the driver's appearance. But this time, as Liana watched the car coming toward her sister, she felt a startled recognition when she stared through the windshield. She was the driver. She gazed horrified into a mirror image of her own eyes. Her eyes were vacant and cold as stone.

She was used to the sad and horrible feelings that her nightmare produced. Yet, suddenly as the driver, she found herself overwhelmed by a feeling of pure hatred. She wanted May to die. Liana had been promised power and she desperately craved it, so much so that she was willing to kill the person that she was supposed to watch over.

Waves of dread washed over her as she realized she was trapped inside her nightmare as the driver. Liana had to stop this horrible vision before she hit May with the car. She started screaming to wake herself up. She was desperate to be anywhere but behind the wheel when it finally collided with her sister.

As the car drew closer to her sister, Liana grew more frantic in her desire to awaken herself. She fought to awaken herself and with only the briefest of moments to spare she jolted herself out of her nightmare.

Liana was drenched in sweat, the foul taste of hatred lingered in her mouth. She lay sweating under th covers, her stomach churning from all the hate that she’d felt as the driver. "Thank the heavens that I awoke in time." She said aloud to herself.

Liana turned her head and glanced at the clock. It was five am, it was still early, but there was no way she was going to go back to sleep, even though it was Saturday morning. She didn’t want to risk falling back into a repetition of her terrible nightmare.

Her mind picked up the threads of thought from last night. She needed to figure out who Scott was and what if anything he had to do with what was happening to her.

Liana slipped out from under the covers. Her brain kicked into full gear the moment her feet hit the floor. And so did her stomach. She went for some breakfast. Her body couldn’t handle too much food after the black hate that her nightmare had produced. She opted for milk toast. She liked her toast very light. She set the old scratched white toaster on the lightest setting.

Liana let her thoughts wander as she waited on the toast. Liana was so caught up in her thoughts that the sound of the toast popping out startled her. She grabbed the toast and even though it was hot, she crumbled it into a bowl, and poured a milk and sugar over it. While she watched her bread soak up the milk, she wondered why Scott wasn't opening up to her. What was he hiding?

She needed to find someone else who knew about him. She almost choked on a bite of food as a thought occurred to her. His aunt! Doc Liz would know about him, and she knew that his aunt would love to have Liana back on the couch, so to speak.

If Liana could turn the conversation to Scott then perhaps she would learn more, or she could always sneak into his room if everything else failed. Liana caught her breath at the daring turn her thoughts had taken. She finished her food and rinsed the bowl out.

It was too early for her to call Doc Liz so Liana decided to shower, after which she made an effort by putting on some clean clothes. Thank goodness her dad had done the laundry. Liana didn’t want to take a chance of looking bad in case she ran into Scott.

Liana would pass the time researching demons on the internet at the school. As she headed out the door she wished her dad would stop living in the stone-age. She'd gotten after him so many times to get internet at their house, but he didn’t feel it was necessary. The things that her dad refused to allow, and the things he didn’t know would fill several large books.

For instance, he didn’t know that Liana made a habit of borrowing his keys to the school to let herself into the computer lab in order to use the internet. Liana justified it with the fact that it was either that, or use the city library and they only had three public computers. They only granted you thirty minutes then you had to let someone else use it.

Sometimes Liana felt bad for stealing her dad’s keys but in this situation she justified it by saying that the public library wasn’t open yet, so she had to go to the school.

The walk to school was quick and Liana would’ve enjoyed the sunrise that sparkled through the fall leaves that were still on the trees, if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with how she could induce Doc Liz to spill the beans about Scott.

The parking lot was vacant and the school windows were black with lack of lights indicating the emptiness within. Liana walked up to the front door and made sure to check her surroundings before she unlocked it and went in. She ensured that the door locked behind her before continuing up the stairs.

Only the security lights were on in the halls and she could feel the tomb like nature of the massive structure. She liked the feel of a deserted building. It always made her feel like she was in another world. It was like being at a mall after closing time.

Liana and her sister had spent so many years of their lives in this school, after hours and on weekends because their dad would bring them along when he worked late. Because of that there was always a hint of sadness for her now when she walked the halls of the empty school. She and May had made this school their playground, castle and private fort.

As her footsteps echoed on the cold tiled floor, Liana found herself wishing that May was with her. May used to accompany Liana to use the internet. She’d caught Liana taking the keys once and had promised not to tell their dad if she could come along and use the internet too.

The computer lab was halfway down the main hall from the common area right next to the library.

“Oh, May…” Liana whispered, as she reached the door to the computer lab. “I wish you were here to help me.”

Liana was about to put the key in the lock when she heard a shuffling noise at the end of the hall. She stared down the hall and saw a figure at the end, close to the front doors, silhouetted by the weak morning light filtering through the windows in the commons area.

Liana couldn’t make out who it was but he was coming toward her. She cursed herself for being so stupid as to set herself up for another demon attack.

As she readied herself to run, as screaming would’ve done no good, she heard Quinn’s voice;

“Liana, I thought you would be here.”

She was beyond relieved that it was Quinn. “How’d you get in?” She asked with accusation in her voice.

“The same way you did, with a key.” He dangled them in front of her then he pushed past her to reach the door handle. He deftly put the key in the lock and turned it. Flipping the light switch on, as he stepped inside.

“Your dad had a few copies lying around and I helped myself to one so I could use the lab on the weekends for my research.” Quinn admitted.

It made Liana mad that he’d taken her dad’s keys, and she wanted to say something to him but realized that it would be hypocritical.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, you know!” Liana said with irritation deciding not to accuse him of stealing, since she'd basically done the same thing.

“I’m sorry. Did you sleep well?” Quinn asked.

“No, but that’s okay. Why’re you here today, anyway?” Liana said changing the subject to something much less personal.

“The same as you, I’m here to do some research about demons and other nasty things.” He responded with a simple laugh, as if he didn’t know what to think of her silly question.

Quinn was wearing blue jeans and a red t-shirt with a comic book character on it. He'd pulled his dreds back from his face into a ponytail.

“Fair enough.” She said, even though she wished that Quinn hadn’t come. At least he seemed too preoccupied to argue with her about the way she'd treated him yesterday. He thankfully also didn’t mention his suspicions about Scott. If he had, then they would’ve started fighting again.

Three Oaks high school didn’t have the most modern computers so it took a while for them to boot up.

Quinn had chosen a computer right next to the one that she'd picked. Liana chose not to let it bother her.

Liana’s computer finally warmed up, and she contemplated what to type into the search engine. She could see Quinn typing away and then subsequently studying what he’d found.

She absently played with a lock of her dark brown hair as she tried to think of a topic to search by. Finally she settled on the obvious topic of guardian angels. She found out quickly that this was a mistake because most of the results were about trinkets or jewelry that a person could wear as a remembrance of angels. She tried again and continued to search through site after site. She started to feel overwhelmed as most of the information she found was useless to her.

After a while she did find one helpful piece of knowledge. On a new age website about how to connect with a guardian angel, she found the following:

“In order to call upon your guardian angel you need to know your angel’s name.” Liana supposed that this made sense. Most angels probably didn’t answer to “Hey you!” but the rest of the site was relatively useless. It said that if you mediated on your angel, then your angel would reveal their name in your mind.

Liana wondered how one could know that they had the right name and not some random name that came out of their own imagination? She certainly didn’t want to take a chance on having the wrong name. Like if she were attacked again and called the wrong name then no angel would appear. Tough luck for her.

She would’ve laughed at her train of thought if she weren't so worried about being attacked. She closed that search window. She wasn’t going to find satisfaction by mediation and hoping that she could stumble upon the correct solution. If a name was that important, she would simply have to ask her angel his name the next time he appeared. That's if he came to her rescue again. She shivered in fear at the thought that he might not show up the next time she was in danger.

After another ten minutes of useless new age sites about angels, she decided to do a search on demons instead. There were lots of sites that named the different kinds of demons that existed and what powers they held but it was all general information. There was nothing that described her demon. “Yikes, she thought, when had he become my demon?” It wasn’t like she wanted him as a pet or something. She started a search on how to get rid of demons as this was her end goal.

There were several sites about exorcism, but Liana wasn’t possessed, and hoped to stay that way for a very long time. According to the sites, the exorcism of a demon seemed pretty complex.

Liana was frustrated, she wasn’t getting anywhere. She gave up. She was going to check her email when she realized that maybe she could find something out about Scott, and what had happened at his last school.

There was nothing on the internet about Scott. But that wasn’t too uncommon. Liana had searched for herself several times and usually only a few social sites had ever come up. She still searched. It took her a few searches to find anything, but as she glanced through all the results she did stumble on something that caught her eye. It was an article written by a therapist who dealt with people who'd experienced trauma.

At first she was going to move on, but the idea of how to overcome trauma piqued her curiosity. After all, hadn’t she had several traumatic experiences? She clicked on the link. The article talked about the concept that when trauma happens, the mind can make up things in order to cope.

The therapist gave several examples; among them was that of a small boy who'd lost his whole family in a terrible accident, and how the boy had told the police that an angel had taken care of him until the police had arrived. The author stated that he’d heard this story second hand and had tried to verify it later. But when he'd traced the boy through several foster homes, his search had come to a dead end as the boy had run away from the last home and had been seen entering a condemned building that had caught fire shortly afterwards.

The therapist writing the article had then lamented his inability to confirm Scott Langer’s story first hand. Liana re-read that part. Scott! The story didn’t make sense to her. He wasn’t dead. Certainly they had to be wrong. Scott was very much alive. The author must’ve gotten it wrong. Scott just couldn’t be dead, because that would mean that he could be a ghost or���Liana gulped as she realized what the obvious conclusion was.

Right then out of the corner of her eye, Liana saw Quinn glance in her direction.

“Did you find anything yet?” His brown eyes were focused on her face so she closed the window hoping that Quinn hadn’t seen what was on the screen.

“No. I haven’t found a thing.” Liana replied.

He was already suspicious of Scott, and Quinn didn't need anymore fodder added to his fire of suspicion.

“Well, I found something. Come check it out.” Quinn said as he moved his chair over a bit so she could see his screen. Liana scooted her chair over and read his screen. He had indeed found some good information. The website had blood red words and a black background, which Liana found a bit cheesy but once Quinn started reading she paid attention.

“Demons or Daemons are evil spirits. Demons have the power for unlimited temptation, and will often offer what they will never actually deliver in exchange for willing followers. If given the choice they prefer to possess someone rather than make a deal. They're selfish beings and they want everything they can get their hands on. Demons prefer not to give anything even when someone makes a “pact with the devil.” They'll make a deal however if it gets them what they want. Even if a demon does actually follow through on a deal, the other person making the deal will always get the short end of the stick, as demons have a way of turning all pacts in their own favor.

Demons have the ability to possess the living, and sometimes the newly deceased as well as animals. Once someone has been possessed by a demon, there is sadly little chance of that person ever being free again. Demons prefer to possess people instead of trying to take a corporeal form of their own. It takes a lot of power for them to manifest themselves in the living world and they find it hard to maintain that level of energy over extended periods of time, which is why they prefer to possess people.

Demons love to harass people and will eventually destroy the person that they're harassing if they aren’t stopped. The more powerful entities can kill by simply suffocating their victims. Survivors of demon attacks have often described the attacks as having their souls, or life force sucked from them. Unfortunately, the more powerful a demon is, the harder it will be to destroy it. The most powerful ones can only be killed by the sword of Raphael the Archangel. This is achieved by cutting off the head, or piercing them through the heart. But this can only be done once they've manifested themselves in a physical body through possession of someone else.

Both angels and demons often dwell in the air. This is one of the reasons that they have wings. Unlike angel wings, demon wings are black and featherless and look more like bat wings. Most people today imagine that demons have short horns etc. However, most eyewitnesses that have seen demons have stated categorically that this is untrue. In fact most people have been sadly deceived by the ability of the demon to take many forms including the form of people known to the victim. Because demons have the power to take any form that they choose, they are adept at tricking their victim into believing that he or she is perfectly safe, when in fact they're in mortal danger.”

As Quinn continued to read, Liana felt her stomach tighten into painful knots. She’d heard enough to know that she was in real trouble. Some of what he was reading described her demon. Especially the suffocating feeling when the demon had attacked her. The demon wouldn’t leave her alone unless she could find a way to stop him. The thing that bothered her the most was the fact that the demon could take the form of someone she trusted.

Liana glanced sidelong at Quinn, a few of his dark dreads had fallen into his eyes and he was animatedly reading through the website. She wondered about him. Surely, he wasn’t the demon, was he? What better place for the demon to attack her than in a deserted school? Liana shook her head, trying to chase the paranoid thoughts away. That was Quinn, not the demon. Besides it was probably more likely that Scott could be the demon, especially if he was dead as the article on the internet claimed.

She shook her head trying to chase the uncertainty from her brain. She needed to pull herself together. If she kept this kind of thinking up, she’d never leave the house again. Luckily for her she had a guardian angel. He could certainly get her out of this mess. If anyone knew how to get rid of her demon he would. That’s if he would still talk with her. Liana let a whimper escape.

Quinn heard and glanced over at her. Liana's face was pale from fright and weariness. He stood up and held his arms open for her. She knew that it would only complicate things more but she didn’t care. Her life was already way more complicated than she’d ever wanted it to be. She stood up and leaned into him and allowed him to wrap his arms around her. She stayed there for a while. She could feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed. It was comforting.

“It’s okay, Liana. We’ll figure this all out. I won’t stop until I’ve figured out a way to get rid of this demon. I promise not to let anything happen to you.” Quinn whispered with his chin resting on her head. As he spoke, she could feel the way his heart raced against her own chest. She wanted to stay like that but after a few moments of sympathy from him, she pulled away. As she did she caught a hard gleam in his eyes.

“Thanks Quinn, I needed that. I need to get back home now. I appreciate all your help!” Liana said, as she turned to leave.

“Anytime!” His smile was warm as he regarded her. “Do you need me to give you a ride?” Quinn asked. For a split second her fear overwhelmed her again as she thought of the demon and if she would be attacked if she were on her own, but she shoved the uneasiness away and shook her head as she answered him.

“No, I’ll be fine. You can stay and keep searching for information.” She wasn’t going to let the demon attacks control her life. She knew she couldn’t always rely on others. She wished that she didn’t even need to rely on her guardian angel. But she would have to turn to him, once she figured out how to contact him. And of course she needed to apologize to him as well for not listening to him last night.

Quinn insisted on at least walking her to the parking lot. He held her hand as they walked down the hall. It was comforting. When they reached the front door of the school, Quinn leaned in and tried to kiss her, but she quickly opened the door and left him behind. As she walked through the parking lot, he yelled after her to take care of herself.

Once Liana was home she decided that it was time to call Doc Liz. She pulled the doctor's business card out of the drawer in the kitchen that she’d shoved it in and picked up the old black rotary dial phone. Doc Liz answered on the first ring.

“Hello, Doctor Liz Monroe speaking.” Liana didn’t know why but her counselor’s voice always reminded Liana of a washed up blues singer’s voice, only more feminine. It was this aspect of her that made the Doctor endearing and friendly.

“Um…Hello, Doc Liz, this is Liana Everett.”

“Oh, Hello, Liana! It’s nice to hear from you again. What can I help you with?” The voice crackled on the other end of the line.

“Well,” Liana swallowed nervously as she tried to find the right words; “I was wondering if I could come and see you this afternoon. I need someone to talk to.”

“I’m glad to hear that you’re willing to start counseling again, but I’m kind of busy today and I’m leaving town for a few days this afternoon. Couldn’t it wait until next week?” Doc Liz said.

“Well, um…some strange things have been happening, almost like hallucinations and they’re a bit frightening and I wanted to get some insight from you about them.” Liana proffered.

It was the right thing to say because her counselor immediately changed her tune. “What kind of hallucinations? Are they about your sister?”

“Yes.” Liana said.

“Well, I’m listening now.” Doc Liz replied.

“Yes, but I'd much rather tell you in person about them.” Liana said in her most forlorn voice.

“Well, I suppose that I can find some time for you. Can you be here in the next half hour?” Doc Liz said with a hint of exasperation mingled with curiosity.

It would take Liana about that long to walk to her house. “Yes, I can be there.” Liana replied.

“Great, I’m so glad you called me Liana. I know we’ll have lots to catch up on.” With that Doc Liz hung up before Liana could say anything else. Liana hurried to her room to quickly check her clothes and face in the mirror.

She was decent enough to go to Scott’s house and maybe run into him, but if he were there her plan to find out more about him would be ruined.

Liana was torn about whether or not she wanted to run into Scott. She realized that she was still contemplating herself in the mirror instead of walking to her counselor's house. She was already pushing her luck with her counselor, and she didn’t want to be late on top of that. Liana hurried out the door and started in the direction of her counselor's house. As she walked she thought about what she would say to her counselor.

She wasn’t going to tell her about the demon attacks or about her guardian angel, but she needed to come up with something to intrigue her doctor, and also something that would help her probe into the life of her nephew, Scott.

Before she knew it, she was at her destination. Liana strode up to the red door of the three story house and rang the doorbell. She knew that Doc Liz's office was on the first floor, along with a bathroom, a living room and a kitchen. Liana needed to find a way to get upstairs. Scott's room had to be on one of the upper levels.

Her counselor answered the door immediately as if she’d been standing right on the other side of the door simply waiting for Liana to arrive.

Doctor Liz Monroe was tall with long flowing blonde hair. It was the kind of hair that would make a person jealous, except she always kept it pulled up so you forgot that it was beautiful. Liana had only seen it down a few times when her counselor had pulled it out to fix it in a non-thinking moment during previous sessions. She also had this porcelain skin which belonged on a T.V. commercial for skin care. At any rate she was the kind of person that makes one feel wholly and completely inadequate as far as beauty goes.

Except for her voice which was old and cracked, like someone who'd smoked too many cigarettes. This made up for the perfection of her appearance by throwing in a bit of imperfection. Liana often wondered if she used to be a chain smoker. Liana felt bad for her. She wished that Doc Liz’s voice was as gorgeous as she was on the outside.

“Come on in Liana, I’m glad that you decided that you wanted to come back to therapy.” She gestured with her hand toward the living room. Liana walked into the living room and sat down on one of the couches.

The living room reminded Liana of what it would be like to be on an African safari. The couches were the color of lions, the pillows were leopard print and there was a picture of elephants and giraffes around a watering hole above the fireplace.

Apparently her counselor wanted to do this informally instead of meeting in her office. Liana hoped Scott wouldn’t be in the next room to overhear what she was going to say. As if sensing her hesitation Doc Liz said;

“Don’t worry! I understand that you’ve met my nephew, Scott. He’s not here, so he won’t hear anything that you have to say.” Then she encouraged Liana to sit on the couch. Liana was both relieved and disappointed.

“So, what’s going on exactly? You said you’re experiencing hallucinations?” Doc Liz crackled as she spoke.

“Well, not exactly hallucinations, more like waking dreams. You know the nightmare that I always have about May, well I was walking home the other day from school and I saw the car accident all over again as if it was happening right then.” Liana explained.

“Then what happened?” Doc Liz asked. She was leaning forward with interest.

“Well, I saw a car and it actually was there, but it turned out to be Scott in his silver Dodge Charger. I felt bad because I actually started to attack him.” Liana confessed.

“Hmm…he didn’t mention that part, only that he’d given you a ride home the other day, and that he was angry that you accused him of spying for me. Which he wasn’t doing by the way, in case you were curious.” She said as she stared pointedly at Liana.

Liana glanced down at her hands while guilt washed down her spine and knotted into her stomach.

Doc Liz leaned forward. “So, Liana did you want to talk about you, or did you want to talk about my nephew?”

“I did want to talk about me, it’s…”

The phone rang, cutting Liana off mid-sentence.

“One moment, Liana, I was hoping that the call would come through after we were finished, but it seems like he decided to call early. I need to take this. Hopefully, I'll only be a few minutes.” Doc Liz excused herself and went to her office to take her call in private.

Liana could hear her scratchy hello as she answered the phone, before the door to her office closed behind her cutting off the rest of her conversation.

Liana didn’t waste a moment. She was up the stairs in a flash. The staircase was next to the office. Liana hoped that the phone call would last long enough. The first door she opened on the second floor was a bathroom, and her luck continued to be bad as none of the other doors on the second floor led to his room.

Liana was torn. She didn’t know if she should go up to the third floor, or if she should go back down so that she wouldn’t get caught by Doc Liz. For a moment she didn’t know what to do. She decided to listen outside Doc Liz's office and see how the call was going, and then make the decision based on what she heard. Liana quickly ran down the stairs on tiptoe and put her ear to the closed door. At first she thought the phone call was over as Liana didn’t hear anything. Then she heard her counselor’s exasperated voice;

“Now see here, I’m trying the best I can to get the information that you want, but it’s not that easy. He’s not talking to me about it, and I don’t think that he will anytime soon. I’m not sure that he trusts me the way he used to.”

As Liana listened she found that she was a tad curious as to what Doc Liz was talking about. Liana wanted to stay and hear more but she needed to get into Scott’s room, and find out what she could about him. She silently turned, and headed back up the stairs. Liana could hear her counselor as she started to scream;

“At least I’m doing something! What’ve you done? Made my job harder that’s what you’ve done.”

Liana doubled her speed up the stairs, unconcerned about her counselor hearing her. Doc Liz was too busy yelling. Liana stopped at the third floor to catch her breath for a moment. This floor was smaller than it appeared from the street. There were only two doors to try. The first door was a guest bedroom, and the second door opened into Scott’s room.

Liana wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she opened his door, but his room appeared normal. There were the requisite rock posters on the walls and a few items of clothing strewn on the floor. Liana saw a full bed in one corner of the room across from the door. Scott was fairly neat, or at least he'd made his bed before he left town. His bedspread was striped red and black. Liana was suddenly struck with the impulse to pick up his pillow and see if it smelled like him. His scent was intoxicating, like a fresh ocean breeze or a warm sunny field.

But she didn’t have time for such nonsense. Liana glanced over at his dresser which sat next to his bed. It was an old white one that'd seen better days but seemed to stand proud that it could still perform its’ function. Scattered on it were a few sundries. She still didn’t see anything that would tell her more about Scott.

Liana decided to check his closet. It was on the opposite side of the room from his bed. She rushed to it and was disappointed when she discovered that it wouldn’t open. She wondered what he was hiding in there. She thought about breaking into the closet but decided against it. Liana hadn’t found anything so far that would tell her more about him, and she was about to give up when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. There was a red book under the edge of Scott's bed. She reached down and picked it up.

It was a journal and Liana knew she shouldn’t intrude but she had to know more about him. She opened it up to the last entry. However, before she could read anything she heard a door slam downstairs. She quickly closed it and put his journal back under the bed. As she did a newspaper clipping fluttered to the ground. She bent down, picked it up and shoved it into her pocket. She rushed to the door, but it was too late for her.

She heard Doc Liz at the bottom of the stairs calling her name. There was a creak of stairs as she climbed them. Liana knew she had to face the music. She opened Scott's door just in time to see Doc Liz taking the last few steps to the top of the stairs. Her face was ferociously angry.

“I expected better of you, Liana. I thought you wanted to get better and deal with your issues, but you only wanted to snoop around. You lied to me!” Surprisingly enough Doc Liz was speaking calmly, even though she was fuming.

“I’m sorry. I…” Liana was cut off with a wave of her counselor’s hand.

“I don’t want to hear it Liana. I forbid you to see Scott, or even speak to him outside of school. I know you have classes together, but other than that I don’t want you near him again. But don’t think you’re off the hook as far as therapy goes. You’ll come and see me once a week, and if you don’t come I’ll tell both Scott and your father about your snooping.”

Liana was horrified and her face showed it.

Doc Liz's eyes narrowed as she spoke again;

“Who’s the real spy, Liana? Perhaps Scott should be told anyway about how you were in his room? Maybe you should think long and hard before you say no to this deal.”

Liana remained mute. She still wanted Scott as a friend, even though she was turning out to be a terrible friend in return. Liana pondered how she would answer. She was sure about one thing, she hated Doc Liz, perhaps she always had. Liana made a move to walk past her. Her counselor stood in Liana’s way for a moment longer and then let her pass.

“Don’t forget that you have an appointment next Wednesday, let’s say five p.m. Your dad will be so thrilled to get my message that you’re returning to therapy.” Doc Liz said with false sincerity.

Liana ran down the stairs and out the front door, slamming the door behind her in frustration as she fought back tears of anger and shame.

[littlefreya]

Santa Baby

Summary: For over a decade, detective Walter Marshall kept a dirty little secret, thinking no one would ever find out about his past. Sadly for him, you are somewhat of a detective yourself.

Challenge prompt: the song Santa Baby.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Some sexy themes but mostly fluffy floof fluff.

A/N: This is for @toomanystoriessolittletime​​ Christmas challenge, which I am sadly a day late with. Remind me to never sign up to challenges. I stumbled upon erotic book covers that looked a lot like Walter (this and this) so decided it’s a funny idea. I never read these books, so I am not mocking it or the artist who drew it. Many thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for helping me out. Not beta’d, I own my mistakes.

Please feedback, comment, reblog if you enjoyed reading. 💖

Title: Santa Baby

It’s not that Detective Marshall was the Grinch or anything, it’s just that he couldn’t afford to be merry. With crime levels peaking during that time of the year, and sunlight being scarce, his body ran strictly on caffeine and stale doughnuts. 

The temptation to spend Christmas eve sprawled on the worn-out leather sofa in his office was quite strong tonight. But even big hulking bears had their weaknesses, and as exhausted as he was, he dreaded every morning he woke up without your warm body curled up beside him. 

With his energy level blinking red, he finally decided to call it a night and drive home. Heavy growling and thundering drums roared within his truck, the extreme Scandinavian black-metal he listened to served as a complete contrast to the soft snow that fell from the sky and quietly piled up on the sides of the road. Pausing at the street-light, he watched the little crystals striving to form on his windshield and melting just as quickly against the heat of the car. 

For a single moment, all the terrors of the night diminished by the little flame that was the reminiscent of you - his little firefly who led him through the darkness, tender as snow and wild as fire. Accelerating just a tad, he imagined you’d be asleep by the time he’d get there, and if not, Walter hoped to at least be in your good graces. 

Luckily, ther warm orange hues beaming through the windows assured him that you were still very much awake, and he couldn’t help but spare one of his rare smiles.

Muffled tunes of a familiar song played beyond the door, the bass vibrating through the polished wooden flooring and the walls. Slow and sensual like honey rolling off one’s finger, the jazzy beats filled the spacious house along with the sweetest scent of crushed peppercorn and red berries. Smiling wider, he held onto the doorframe and kicked off his heavy boots.

“Pet?” he called and followed into the living room, hearing you humming along with the lyrics.

“Santa baby, just slip a Sable under the tree for me.”

Oh, he was indeed in your good graces. 

Sitting on your knees with your ankles hunched below your ass, you wore a velvety Santa hat and a sheer, red nighty finished by fake white fur that outlined your breasts. Your hands held a shiny green present over your thighs, and you gave him one of those coy looks that made him want to fall before you and pledge himself as your servant.

Instead, he crooked an eyebrow and unzipped his thick winter coat, carelessly discarding it on the floor and making his way toward you.

“Have you been an awful good girl?” 

Sleeves rolled up; he crossed his muscular arms together while towering over you. His cobalt eyes drank in your sight, trying to decide what to do with you first. The scent of musky sweat mingled with dark cologne wafted over you within seconds, making your chest rise and sink in a primal instinct. 

“Oh, I’m definitely going down your chimney tonight,” he growled upon your reaction to his presence and sucked in his bottom lip with growing hunger.

“At least three times,” you dared him in return and then casually lowered your gaze to the box perched on your lap. 

The large man caught on the hint and carefully knelt before you. One of his hands reached to stroke his beard while his mind rummaged to figure out what surprise hid behind the shiny package. 

“Got something for me over there?” he wondered with a playful beam, “I thought we’re not doing presents until tomorrow morning.”

“Just a little teaser,” you answered. Your eyes shone brighter than the large decorated tree that stood at the corner of the living room. 

Being a detective, Walter could practically smell the mischief that drenched every teeny hair on your body. As usual, his naughty vixen was up to no good. It always made him laugh how bad you were in trying to surprise him, which worked in his favour. Walter hated surprises. 

Intrigued, he snatched the gift from your hands and shook it against his ear for shy second before beginning to unwrap it. His eyes briefly scrutinised yours, darkening, smokey with lust while he tore at the chrome paper and absentmindedly threw pieces of green wrapping all over the living room. 

You watched carefully, your cheeks rounding and filling, your teeth flashing with wickedness upon seeing the colour drain from his rugged face.

“Where…”

Walter paused and swallowed the lump in his throat. Fingers oily with sweat and knuckles turning white, dug into the object held in his hand.

“How did you find this?!”

The snort you’ve been trying to hold back for the last couple of minutes finally made its way out, followed by a fit of uncontrollable giggles that made you fall to your back with your hand held over your torso. 

Walter, on the other hand, was anything but amused. He always feared the day someone would dig up his dirtiest secret.

It was more than a decade ago when he was struggling to pay his tuition to the police academy that Walter found an easy and quick way to make money. As a British immigrant who barely had friends and blended with the crowd, he made the mistake of thinking no one will ever know about his short-lived modelling career for cheesy erotic novels. 

He should have known better. He might have been a professional police detective, but you had a skill for uncovering the truth.

“Where did you find this?” Walter repeated with a frown, clenching his jaw and waving the colorful book in the air.

Pausing your giggles merely for a second, you took a gander at the cover, focusing on the image of your dear husband’s open white shirt. There he was, the man you knew as a brooding, black-sweater wearing grump, lost in some green meadow with a half-naked chick. A deep dramatic gaze crisped his younger face, his nose inhaling the scent of her hair, and his hand laid flat upon her juicy rump. 

Oh the drama!

You tried to speak, but all that came out of your mouth was an uncontrollable peal of chuckles. The corny title of the book didn’t help either; his fiery love rod.

Walter sulked and suddenly shuffled to hover above you, one hand snapped at your wrist before the other discarded the book onto your sternum and joined in restraining your other arm. Led purely by instinct, your legs spread to straddle his wide waist and wrapped around his muscular ass.

Staring at your strong, intimidating husband, the laughter rolling from your lips slowly died down, yet the smile was still smeared between your cheeks, especially once you felt his groin pressing into yours.

“Woman!” the big bear growled at you, “I am not going to ask you more than once, where on earth did you bloody find this?”

“The second-hand bookstore,” you answered and glanced at the book lying upon your chest, “was looking for something raunchy to read when suddenly I noticed a familiar face.” You explained and then swallowed the dryness in your throat. 

“At first I thought I was hallucinating with all them Christmas carols eating into my brain, but then when I took a closer peek, I recognised my husband’s ‘fuck me’ stare.” 

Walter felt a burn rising in his throat and swerving to tingle at his bristly cheeks. If there ever was a moment when he regretted a life decision, that moment was now. He knew he’d never hear the end of it from you. You were dauntless and unyielding as the ocean, one of the reasons why he was utterly in love with you. 

Nostrils flaring, he tightened the grasp around your wrists and rolled his hips into yours, eliciting a small moan from your quivering lips. The thick bulge in his groin hardened at the calling of the hot, wet patch in your panties.

“Name your terms, woman.”

“You are going to read it to me,” you answered without even overthinking and gestured toward the book with your chin. “Every. night. before. bedtime. I want you to hold me in your big strong arms and read me a chapter from ‘his fiery love rod’, or else…”

“Or else?...” 

The fire from the mental suddenly illuminated your face, causing dark shadows to form over your irises and the hollows below your brows. “Your friends at the MPD are going to find out about this one,” you paused, “and the 12 others that you made.”

Taken back by your words, Walter gulped, his fingers became moist around your wrists as sheer horror seeped into his mind.

“You... you know about the others?”

You nodded at him and then snaked your legs around the back of his thighs to cage him in your grasp like a fickle dryad growing her roots around a helpless wanderer. With his attention faltering, you twisted your hips and rolled the two of you so you were on top. Fingers lacing into his, you pinned him down and leered over him with cascading triumph.

“12 books, all under our Christmas tree, detective, so you better be good to me tonight and satisfy all my needs.”

Adam apple bobbing up and down, Walter watched you with a mixture of awe and agitation. There was nothing he hated more than losing control, but damn if he didn’t adore his wicked queen, especially when you were in a joyous mood, which, as he found, tended to be contagious. The moments in which the grouchy detective felt at peace were rare to non-existent. It was only in the embrace of your thighs that he thought that for a minute, everything is going to be okay.

Noticing the muscles of his jaw somewhat relax, you reached for the Christmas hat and slipped it off your head, placing it atop of his curly mess instead. Your hands held firmly onto Walter’s shoulders, and with a careful twist, you flipped the two of you over once again and shoved him down your torso while blissfully chanting.

“Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight, hurry down the chimney tonight, hurry toniiiiiiiiiiight.”

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Disclaimer: I don’t own Night Hunter/Nomis or Walter Marshall

[moonbeamwritings]

the three times you kiss jotaro’s forehead + the one time he returns the favor

Summary: Jotaro didn’t find himself to be an overly affectionate man, accepting it reluctantly and dishing it out rarely. With you, though, he might as well be putty in your hands.

Author’s Note: This fic is dedicated to the lovely @jostepherjoestar​ who listened to me babble on about this idea. I’m also still working to chip away at requests, so keep an eye out! I hope y’all enjoy !!

!! slight tw for descriptions of nightmares/blood/mental health issues and spoiler warning for part 3 !!

Jotaro was certainly no stranger to affection. His mother’s goodbye smooches, pressed to his cheek while he ducked to meet her halfway; The way his grandfather would ruffle his hair the moment his hat was off his head; The girls from high school, desperately clinging to his arms and coat, making him squirm in discomfort under their hungry gazes.

And yours.

Your affection, so minimal and subtle in its delivery, never failed to make his heart race, to make his face heat up in slight embarrassment. You kept your public displays minimal, straying away from kisses and hugs in favor of wrapping your hand around his or keeping close to his side, arms brushing against one another.

At home, though, you held back less, never shying away from kissing his cheek or wrapping your arms around his waist, nuzzling against his back.

He never thought he’d be one for affection. Hell, he barely knew how to return the favor, but here you were, showing him you cared through such small, intimate acts.

i.

His computer monitor burned his eyes as his fingers danced along the keyboard in front of him, clock ticking away to punctuate the silence of his home office. The files spread out across his desk acted as a constant reminder of the deadline for his research paper. Jotaro sighed.

You, on the other hand, were out in the living room to give Jotaro the time and space he needed to get his work done. Your heart tugged as you looked at the time.

12:43 AM

The movie credits rolled on the television in front of you and you decided to take your leave, finally ready to wrap yourself in your comforter and drift off to sleep for the night.

On your way to bed, you saw the light from his office drift out into the hallway, casting oblong shadows onto the walls. Stopping to stand in the doorway, you admired your boyfriend’s form, quietly tapping away at his computer.

Without sparing you a glance he asked, “Heading to bed?”

You smiled as you stepped into the room, coming around his desk to hug him from behind. “Mhm, you?”

Jotaro quickly shook his head, pulling a hand away from his work to hold one of your forearms in his grasp, “Not yet. Sorry.”

You hummed, rolling your eyes. “You work far too hard, ocean man.”

He nearly groaned at the little nickname.

“But I’m tired.” You continued. “G’night, love you.”

“Love you.”

Hearing his reply, you hunched farther over his shoulder to plant warm, chaste kisses to his temple. Once, twice.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

You knew that telling him that would ultimately fall on deaf ears, but hey, you could dream couldn’t you?

He listened to your footsteps pad down towards the bedroom as his face warmed, reinvigorated by the soft kisses you pressed to his forehead.

ii. 

Jotaro appreciated you, so much so that sometimes it made his heart burst. He was bad at expressing it to you, either verbally or physically, but god did he love you.

Jotaro’s day at work had been… less than stellar, to say the very least. The data his lab had been collecting hadn’t been saved correctly, thus setting the lab back by a whole week, another researcher had practically berated his methodology in front of their colleagues, and to top the whole thing off, someone had spilled coffee all over the front of his favorite white coat.

In short, everything sucked.

His head hung low, hat having already been flung off when he began to drive home. His coat was at the cleaners, leaving him in his simple, black turtleneck.

Kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag in its usual place, Jotaro was quick to rest back against the couch, stretching his limbs out as he placed his head against the armrest.

“Baby? That you?”

Baby. The pet name made a ghost of a smile appear on Jotaro’s lips.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He called back, slinging an arm up to cover his eyes.

When you saw the state Jotaro was in, splayed out on the couch like a dead man, you frowned.

“Bad day, big guy?”

“Really bad.” His response was short, a grumbled mess hidden behind the sleeve of his sweater. As you made your way over, leaning down to hover above his tired form, all you wanted to do was wrap him up in your arms, shielding him from whatever weight was on his shoulders.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, not right now.”

Jotaro was a man of few words, but it especially made your heart ache when you could so plainly see how upset he was. You watched as he shifted his arm away from his eyes, gazing up at you, “Sorry.”

Closing the distance, you hunched lower to leave one, gentle smooch right in the center of his forehead, cradling his cheeks in your hands. The feeling of your soft lips against his forehead eased the tension between his brows, lifting the weight from his shoulders. It was as if your mere presence made his heart that much lighter. He was beyond grateful.

“It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll get it out of you one of these days. You hungry?”

Jotaro’s stomach growled in lieu of a verbal response.

You laughed. “Come on, handsome, I tried making one of your mom’s recipes.”

Maybe this day could be salvaged, Jotaro thought as your fingers came to twine with his.

iii. 

He saw Kakyoin, Avdol, and Iggy often, but no, not in the way that you’d think.

They haunted him. Dreams, nightmares filled with nothing but blood, gore, and the whirring roar of sirens. Their voices were often warped, both far away and so, so close that Jotaro felt as though he would go deaf. Accusatory fingers pointing in his direction as they leered, hurling insults his way. Your fault, selfish, fuck up. You could’ve saved us.

On this particular night, Jotaro was visited by DIO himself, descending his grand staircase with bodies littered behind him as blood raced down the steps.

DIO sneered as he hovered near Jotaro’s ear, whispering pure toxicity into it and trying as he might, Jotaro couldn’t land a single punch.

He was rocked off his feet as DIO kicked him away, knocking the wind from Jotaro’s chest as he toppled to the floor. DIO crouched before him, smirk more and more evident as his voice rose to a thunder. 

“It’s your fault, you know? How truly pathetic.”

Just as DIO reached out to grip Jotaro’s chin in his hand, Jotaro shot awake.

His breathing was labored as he moved to sit up, chest heaving as hot, wet tears began falling down his cheeks. Without realizing it, Jotaro had jostled the bed under his weight, waking you up as well.

“Jotaro? Baby, what’s wrong?”

You sat up next to him as you placed a warm hand against his back, rubbing it in soothing circles. He leaned over, curling against your side to rest his head on your shoulder.

“A nightmare, that’s all.” He replied once he found his voice, keeping his eyes closed as he willed his heart to slow.

“What can I do?”

“Don’t leave.”

The solution was simple enough, given you had no intention of doing anything of the sort. You didn’t think you’d ever heard his voice sound quite so small. Smiling despite the situation, you responded, “I think I can do that.”

This time, the kisses you planted against his forehead conveyed everything you wanted to say. I love you. You’re important. I’m not going anywhere.

The messages blossomed in his head, overgrowing and covering the images of DIO and blood, obscuring the anxiety and dread that found a home there. He allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep, comforted by your lips and your warmth against his skin.

i. 

Jotaro could tell you’d had a bad day the moment you stepped into his office. As he watched you frown while lingering in the doorway, his mind raced through all the ways you’d comforted him in the past.

Kind words. Soft touches. Forehead kisses.

“Bad day?” He asked, trying to emulate the tone of voice you typically used with him, hoping to convey even a fraction of the gentle, calming lilt you often gifted him with.

All you could do was nod.

“What are you waiting for then? Come here.”

He waved you over, pushing his desk chair out so you could slide into his lap, legs resting on either side of his hips as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck. Jotaro let a quiet moment pass as he relished in the warmth of your body and the sweet smell of your shampoo.

His movements were awkward as he began moving a hand against your back, smoothing circles into the fabric of your shirt. He was out of his element, you both knew it, but it was exactly what you needed.

“Wanna talk?”

He felt you shake your head against his neck. Letting out a quiet hum, he pulled away from you slightly. As you looked up at him, eyebrows creased in confusion, Jotaro left a warm, loving kiss against your forehead.

Your head returned to his neck moments later and he was quick to rest his hand against the back of your head.

He may not always know what to do, but if nothing else, Jotaro loved you. Plain and simple.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Yellow Lines

This was requested by @onechicagomayan who asked for this:

<He how are you? I hope so. I wanted to ask you if you could make a request with miguel? And if so, in which reader is a federal and falls in love with miguel, when he catches him she is forced to use the yellow raincoat but then she tells him that she is pregnant. In this story miguel is with emily, and if you could put some dialogue in spanish.

Thanks and sorry and if I made a bad explanation you can write to me.

I love your writing, a kiss.>

Hope you like this and its what you were looking for.

Warnings: Talks of cheating (I don’t agree with cheating, this is just for fic purposes). yellow rain coat and hot oil angst, does get a little intense and of course a mostly happy ending. I used goggle for the pinch of Spanish I used, so sorry if it's wrong.

WC: 1867

Enjoy x

Your palms were sweaty and the heat of dread raged through you fast, your heart beating out of your chest. It was only a matter a time before you were put into a situation that you could lose your badge, and here you were. The files on the Galindo’s built higher and higher and eventually it was time for you and Jane to be put in undercover when the opportunity arose. You had read every file back-to-back more than once; you were briefed on certain things and you had to check in once a week.

An ad appeared wanting a new personal assistant for the cartel boss and a nanny for his son. Everything had been set up, you applying for assistant, which you got and Jane for the Nanny which she got. Moving onto the grounds the following week to get as much intel as you could to finally get Miguel arrested and bring down his empire.

It was in the first week that you had realised that the Miguel you had read about and had been briefed about was not the Miguel you had started working for. He was just a business man in a dark world that sometimes did horrible things, but mostly he was a gentleman, easy to talk to and the stories he told you about his life before and after he started on this road intrigued you. Slowly over time, he started to open up about his marriage and how much they were struggling, he worried about business all the time and Emily getting involved with and in things he didn’t want her too and mostly how the lies had started to rip them apart.

It only took one over night in Mexico for the relationship to cross that line and although you both said the next morning it couldn’t happen again after waking up in each other’s arms, it did two to three times a week and now you were waiting for the timer to go off as you sat on the toilet of your bathroom, feeling like you were going  to be sick if that white stick showed what you thought it was going too. Your boss was already on your back about more intel, Jane having more than you and she just looked after the baby. But you were in love with Miguel, yes you were doing the wrong thing every time he laid on top of you, but now there was no turning back.

You reached for the stick on the counter, picking it up. You took a deep breath and turned it over, the word ‘pregnant 4-6weeks ’ in thick black letters on the tiny screen. Your stomach dropped and the tears fell, that was your career gone for 10 minutes of pleasure. You had to pull yourself together, you had a meeting with Miguel and one of the Galindo’s major buyers in 30 minutes. As you went to open your room door you were met with Nestor and Paco, both their faces cold,

“Y/N, you need to come with us”

“Is everything-“

“Let’s go, you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting”

You were even more confused when you saw Maria walk out into the backyard with Christobel instead of Jane. Nestor opened the car door for you and Paco got in the driver’s seat, he driving you towards the dress factory. Your heart started to pound in your chest and your stomach flip flopped as Nestor lead you towards the back room, Paco behind you. You had read all about this very room, but up until now, never been in it.

Nestor opened the door and you stepped in, fear filling you when Miguel whipped his head towards you, a look on his face that you had never seen before, Jane tied to his church pure and a portable stove with a pot on it next to him. You jumped when you heard the door slam shut and you saw the look wash over Nestor’s face when he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards Miguel,

“How long did you think it would take for me to find out?” Miguel raised his eye brow at Jane and then turned to you “Ven Y/N, ahora”

Nestor pulled you to Miguel and your body filled with fear when his hand went to your cheek, his eyes were filled with rage and you heard Jane’s sobs. Nestor walking to the set up turning on the stove and started to stir the pot,

“Miguel” you chocked “What’s going on?”

“Please, don’t treat to me like a fool. They put you in my house and you worm your way into my bed” his lips came to your ear and his hand left your cheek and went to your arm “You think because I had my cock in your mouth and I told you my feelings I would spare you when I found out” Miguel stepped away from you, walking to the pew grabbing the yellow rain coat that was hanging off the end of it and handing it to you “Put this on mi amor, show me how much you love me now” he barked.

Your hands started to shake and tears ran from your eyes,

“Miguel, please” you begged.

“Now” he yelled, his voice echoing in the room. You quickly put it on and Miguel grabbed your arm pulling you towards the pot making you look at it and you saw the boiling oil “You’re going to pour that to her and then Nestor will take care of you”

“Miguel” you sobbed.

“What did you think was going to happen? I’ am Miguel Galindo. Do you think the FBI is smarter than me? They should have trained their agents better, to not leave flies laying around where they can be seen”

“I’ am pregnant” you cried out.

“Liar” Miguel snarl.

“Por favor Miguel, I’ am not”

Miguel looked down at you and then nodded at Nestor who left the room. Miguel told you the follow him after he ripped the yellow rain coat off you throwing it on the floor and whispered something to Paco on the way past. Miguel guided you to a small office in the back of the factory and locked the door, walking to the small fridge grabbing a bottle of water,

“Why?” Miguel had his back to you “I let you in. I trusted you”

“Miguel, you can still trust me. I read the files. On paper you’re a horrible man but when I got to know you. You know how I feel”

“Just words” You muttered back.

“No Miguel. I meant everything I said” you walked up to him putting your hands on his back.

“I need to know what you told them”

“Nothing” you kissed his shoulder.

“Stop. Tell me now. What did you tell them?” Miguel roared at you turning around to face you.

“Nothing” you screamed back at him.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, sitting the bottle of water on the table and opened your messages to ‘Mum’ who was your boss and you handed him your phone. You watched Miguel’s eye brows frown as he read message after message from your boss telling you to get information or you would be pulled from the case, and either you didn’t answer or just wrote back ‘Need more time’

“You told them nothing?”

“No. Have your people check it out”

“It’s mine?” Miguel nodded towards your tummy.

“Si”

“I want you to do a test”

“Anything you need me to do to prove it to you, Miguel”

12 months later

It has been a massive whirl wind and roller coaster from that day in the warehouse. You held Camila in your arms as you looked out over the ocean from your unit in Cuba as you thought about everything that happened. Miguel was there for the birth; a paternity test was taken as soon as she was born, Miguel wanting to make sure that she was indeed his. The rent was paid for and there was money in your account every month for food and anything the baby needed. Miguel had snuck you and Jane out of the US through the tunnels to Mexico, making you both disappear. You sent to Cuba and Jane sent to Puerto Rico, with new names and a new life. Jane told never to step foot back in the US.

You hadn’t heard from Miguel in almost a month, you weren’t sure if he was going to tell Emily, but you were grateful for being far away from everything. You had seen the US news how the FED’s finally raided the Galindo house and you crossed everything that there would be no paper trail to you for you to get caught out and be brought back to the US.

You had just put Camila down after she fell asleep in your arms, when there was knocks on the door. You went and looked through the peep hole and gasped in surprise, swinging the door open to Miguel, his face scruffy and he looking tired,

“What are you doing here?” you moved out of the way and he walked in “Can you be traced here? I saw the news” you closed and locked the door.

Miguel didn’t answer at first walking in dropping his bags and throwing himself on the couch,

“No. For now. There isn’t a trail to you. I have new documents coming here tomorrow and we move into the new apartment next week”

“We?” you raised an eye brow at him.

A cry broke through the apartment and Miguel jumped up rushing towards the cry. You gave him a minute and then walked to door, leaning on it, your heart melting watching him cradle Camila in his arms,

“lo siento, mi princesa. I stayed away to long, Papa is here now” he kissed her forehead, Miguel looked up at you, a tear running down his cheek “She has your nose”

“She has her Papa’s long fingers” you smiled back.

“What we did, what I did to my wife, my son, was wrong” he muttered “But, I loved you”

“We did do wrong Miguel” you walked into the room “I still love you”

“You won’t when you find out everything. What was in those files was nothing”

Miguel kissed Camila’s cheek, putting her back in her bassinet and sitting on your bed, his hands going over his face and you sat down next to him putting your arm around him. He told you everything he did and then looked up at you with a tear-stained face,

“A lot’s happened” you whispered.

“I’ve made too many bad decisions. They are catching up with me”

“That’s life Miguel”

“How can you not look at me differently”

“Because I saw that other man that you are. Just Miguel, not Cartel Miguel. He is a good man; he is the father of my daughter”

“Can we do this? Trust each other after everything?” Miguel looked over at you.

Your hand went to his thigh and his went on top of yours,

“It’s not going to be easy, but I want to try”

 Tags: @beccabarba @alwaysachorusgirl @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @jemmakates @ben-c-group-therapy

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

For the BTHB: enemy turned caretaker with Villain whumpee and Hero caretaker ???

Thank you, your writing is amazing. Have a good day!!!

Thank you for the ask and lovely comment! I hope you don't mind that I gave the characters genders as my brain cannot write with neutral ones today, but feel free to imagine the characters as you like.

If you want to send in an ask: here.

Downside to the River

@badthingshappenbingo

Warnings: beating, intensive description of broken bones (including broken leg, ribs, and jaw), blood, minor vomit, losing consciousness, bathing, enjoying hurting others

~

Maybe she went a little too far.

Maybe, it was a possibility.

Likely? No.

Unlikely? No.

Did she? Yes.

Now, the real question was... did she care?

In the heat of the moment, that trilogy of words wouldn't dare cross her fired-up mind.

But afterwards? After the deed was done? After she tucked him into bed with a warm blanket?

Yes, she cared. She cared and regretted it.

Let's go back in time for moment, shall we?

July 15, 11:23 PM:

Her fist struck something hard, her ears heard a crack, but her heart felt victory. Her other hand dove in, earning the same satisfying sensation.

"Knock it off, will you?" The villain below her spat, blood circling in the sticky saliva. "I get your point ma'am."

Hero didn't listen. She kicked, landing a near-stunning blow on Villain's chest. He wheezed, coughing and wincing, but he didn't get much time for recovery before another kick sent him hurdling to the ground. He laid there, winded and exhausted, calculating his injuries for greatest to least- he doubted Hero would hurt him further; after all, he was already down.

Yet the otherwise positive premonition failed him. Hero slammed both fists into his temple. Way to kick a man when he's already down, Villain groaned to himself just as stars erupted in his already dimming vision.

He brought himself clumsily to his arms, legs still reclining against the wooden floor. They were on a bridge in the woods, a place that young couples would go for dates on. Though it was more than obvious that wasn't the intention for the late night visit.

Hero pounced, a flying fist meeting his ribcage. Crack! Hero pulled back for moment to allow Villain to collapse on the ground, grunting and moaning weakly, before hopping to her feet and jumping on his side.

"I get your point," Villain growled through clenched teeth.

"I doubt that," Hero retorted, and stomped on Villain's outstretched hand.

"Nngh," Villain replied, pulling in his hand instinctively, but Hero didn't allow for that form of comfort. She placed her shoe onto his wrist and pinned it down.

"Shut up, will you?"

Crrreeeeaaaakkkk

Hero stood up straighter, giving Villain minimal, but relief nonetheless. When the eerie sound didn't come again, she continued her pin of victory.

Creeeeaaakkkk

Hero looked around again, shrugged, but stopped. There was something different in the air.

It was raining.

Not just a drizzle, but a downpour.

Hero looked over the side of the bridge to see raging waters hitting the wooden beams.

Oh crap.

It was a flash flood.

Hero pushed herself away from Villain and bounded to shore. She jumped over pools of mud and water, leaped over fallen branches, and slid over slick slides of leaves.

Before sprinting back home, Hero took a glance over her shoulder at Villain who was struggling to get back on his feet. For a moment, a pure second of temptation, Hero considered going to save him.

No, she told herself, silently shaming herself for those types of thoughts. He is a monster. He brought this upon himself.

Hero looked up again to see the bridge collapse. Villain's arms and legs gave out as a beam smacked into his back, right by the shoulder blades. She didn't have to hear his holler to know the horrible sound that escaped his bloody lips.

As he fell, obviously dazed and disoriented, his skull smashed into a stray piece of wood and he was enveloped by the muddy waves.

July 16, 12:18 AM:

Hero laid upon her bed, aimlessly wrapping a strand of her hair around her index finger, making knots and toying with the invention. Her mind was wandering. Was he dead? Or dying? Was he alone and cold? Or was he not even awake, only his body awaiting inevitable death?

Hero looked out the window and into the dark sky beyond. The consistent tapping on her window told her that it was indeed still raining- pretty heavily at that. But the rain wasn't her concern.

"He is cold," she whispered silently to herself, shaking her head, blonde curls bouncing off her forearms.

She tried to concentrate on her Game of Hair-Knots, but her restless legs walked themselves to the window, her inquisitive eyes looking outside.

Where was he?

She forced herself back to her bed and plopped back onto the comfortable cushioning. She laid her head against the comforter. Should go back out there...

No. She aimed to defeat Villain that night. The task was over, mission finished.

She didn't defeat Villain. The storm did. The intoxicating flash flood that more than definitely was making Villain suffer with dreadful hypothermia.

Save him.

But he is better dead.

It's not right.

I'm saving the world.

You're saving yourself. Go!

Hero rolled onto her back, groaned, and ran down the stairs. She threw on a jacket, grabbed a flashlight and trotted through the booming thunderstorm.

July 16, 12:56:

"Villain!" Hero screamed over the gusts of bellowing winds. She waved her flashlight around wildly. "Villain!"

She was following the river. He had to have turned up somewhere. She shuddered thinking of the waterfall not to faraway from where she was.

It was too crazy of one, but if he fell...

Hero didn't want to think of the "what ifs".

After a few more minutes of looking, she came upon said fall of water. Heart lurching, Hero madly searched around it, desperate to find him before the drop off.

He wasn't anywhere in sight.

Hero ran down the hill that caged the powerful waves up. She tripped over sticks and branches, and even fell a couple times, but kept going.

She had to find him.

And that she did.

His body was laying haphazardly on a rock, completely limp and seemingly unresponsive.

"Villain!" Hero yelled and crouched next to the injured person. Shining the light over his wet face, she could see all the bruises she left, the odd angle his jaw was in, and the smeared trace of blood on his temple where he hit his head earlier.

She let the light wander over the rest of his drenched, and nauseatingly bloody, body. A large wooden beam rested on his leg. His leg, in question, was sticking up on the other side, bent inward with blood staining the pale material of his jeans.

Hero shot straight up to look closer at his leg. If she moved it, she knew it would upset his injuries even further unless, of course, she woke Villain up.

"Hey," Hero tapped Villain's cheek until unfocused eyes open. "Wake up," she whispered.

Villain took a moment to get his bearings, but the moment he did, he screamed. "Hurts, hurts so much," he sobbed. Hero kept her hands rested on his shoulder until he shook them off.

"Get your hands off of me," he growled, glaring at Hero.

She didn't blame him.

But she did ignore him.

"You are trapped under that beam," she informed the villain, pointing to the heavy board that laid upon his lower body. Villain's gaze, still full of hatred, followed her finger.

"I have to lift it. The second I do, drag yourself away. Got it?"

Villain seemed to realize how dire his situation was for he nodded his head. Hero gave an encouraging smile and proceeded to lift the beam.

"Wait," Villain said. "How bad is it?"

"Bad."

Villain noticeably gulped and furrowed his brow.

Hero lined up to the board and wrapped her arms around the slimy material. "Ready? On the count of three. One... two... three..."

Hero lifted while Villain pulled himself to his feet- or foot.

The wood slipped from her hands. Even though her muscles trembled from lifting the beam- thanks to the blessing of adrenaline- she looked at Villain, who was swaying on his foot.

Then she looked down, at his leg.

The bone was popped out of his pants, white and ragged, with cracks running downwards. Hero felt bile rise up her throat, but the nauseating feeling was quickly succumbed when she noticed Villain's eyes roll backwards.

"Crap!" She exclaimed and caught Villain as he collapsed into her arms. His head lolled on her shoulder, body the human equivalent of a ragdoll.

July 16, 2:12 AM:

Hero dragged Villain into the bathroom and quickly got him out of his sodden clothes and wrapped in countless blankets. His lips were an unnatural shade of blue, fingertips waxen in yellow candlewax.

"C'mon bud," Hero murmured, rubbing his wrists to stimulate warm blood flow. She periodically checked hie temperature and smiled as it increased by the decimal.

His hair was matted in dirt and blood- he needed that cleaned immediately before it got into any open wounds. Hero found so many, so many little cuts and deep gashes that she lost count. He would need stitches, antibiotics...

His leg. Surgery was a definite.

But bringing him to a hospital would be suicide for him.

But wasn't I the one who just wanted him dead? The one who left him for dead?

Hero shook her head. That train of thought wouldn't help the situation.

The moment his body temperature was raised enough to safetly bathe him without the risk of even more pain due to the sudden change from cold to hot, Hero filled the tub with warm, vanilla scented water, and lowered him gently into it. She took the showerhead and tenderly rinsed out his hair, picking out hardened bits of mud and dried blood.

He slept through her motherly care, sometimes groaning, but Hero was quick to soothe him.

The next task in cleaning him was shampooing his hair. She scrubbed her coconut scented soap into his hair, then rinsed, dipping his head back to avoid getting it into his eyes.

When the bath was done, Hero wrapped him in a thick bathrobe, tied the front into a bow and carried him to her room where she wrapped a blanket around his sleeping frame.

The last thing Hero did before sitting in a nearby chair was call her friend.

"Caretaker? I kinda have a situation here."

[happy-whumper]

Food Poisoning

Is this..actual content? Damn who would have thought that would happen again 💀🤣

For a bit of context, this is set before Olivia came to Nicolas, actually her last 'owner' before him.

psh psh @darklyria, come simp for the Evil bastard Man~

CW: Poisoning/Drugging, Starvation, Vomiting, begging, creepy/intimate whumper, noncon touching (non sexual), pet whump (if I forgot anything, please let me know and I will add it!)

5 days. It had been 5 days since Olivia had last eaten.

She was laying on her back on the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the aching emptiness in her stomach, another wave of nausea washing over her, causing her to tightly close her eyes.

Deep breaths.

Easier said than done, considering the just slightly too tight collar around her neck. Not quite tight enough to fully cut off her airflow but enough to cause her breathing to be labored and shaking lightly. She tried to swallow but her mouth was completely dried out, leaving an almost stale taste behind.

At the door stood two people, a man and a woman.Olivia didn’t need to turn her head to know that they were there. She didn’t know their names or maybe she had known them at some point and just forgotten.

Either way it didn’t matter, they never did anything to help her anyways. Just stood there, watching. Making sure she didn’t try anything stupid.

These times were still the closest she came to having some peace, the closest she came to being alone. But they never lasted long.

As if on command she heard awfully familiar footsteps approaching. Confident, determined and almost..relaxed in a way.

Olivia shivered, both from the dreadful anticipation as well as the almost numbing cold she had been feeling for the past days.

She tried to somehow prepare herself for what was about to come, knowing full well it wouldn’t have any use anyways.

As the door opened and a tall, blond man in a casually expensive looking white shirt walked in, Olivia had just managed to at least half sit up, still mainly leaning on her hand and elbow. Something about the man caused all the attention to immediately shift towards him, something he was clearly very aware of.

He was grinning, there was something smug about it, that made Olivia want to punch him, but since that wasn’t exactly possible she instead resorted to glaring dagger at him, only causing his smile to only get even more amused.

“Aw, well someone doesn’t look happy to see me…”

Clenching her jaw Olivia tried to push herself up a bit more, but failed because of the weakness in her muscles. “Yeah I wonder why.”

Nathan just laughed at that, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What’s wrong Princess, not in a good mood today?” The ‘nickname’ made her skin crawl and she wasn’t sure if the next wave of nausea came from hunger or pure disgust by the man looking down on her.

She didn’t bother responding, which he didn’t seem to care about too much. He stepped a bit closer, crouching down in front of her and firmly grabbing her chin, causing her to instinctively pull away. “Ah, ah, ah, what did I say about pulling away from me, hm?” His voice was still calm but she didn’t miss the warning undertone in it causing her to immediately freeze.

He chuckled lightly to himself, lightly brushing his thumb over her chin, causing a feeling of discomfort and disgust to send a shiver down her spine. “That’s what I thought,” he made a gesture to the man standing at the door, causing him to move out of Olivia’s view, leaving her a bit uneasy as Nathan started talking again, “Well, I actually have something that might cheer you up a bit Princess~”.

She felt her heart drop, her eyes immediately going wider. That never meant anything good…

A few seconds later the broader man appeared again, handing Nathan something she instantly recognised, only increasing the feeling of unease in her chest and causing the hairs on her arms to stand up.

“No! Get that..fucking thing away from me!” Rapidly shaking her head and almost crawling backwards, she stared at the short, black leash in his hand. The man in front of her just smirked at her reaction, a hint of impatience.

“Hm, I see someone’s decided to be… difficult today, hm pet?”, he leaned back a bit, lightly tapping has chin as if he was considering something, looking towards the man next to him, “I am not sure if such an ungrateful pet deserves to eat after all…”

At his last words Olivia's head immediately snapped up, a sudden feeling of desperation taking over her, still awfully aware of her empty stomach. “No, please I’m sorry I-”, his head turned towards her, lightly raising an eyebrow with an expectant grin on his face. For a moment she stayed silent, her mouth feeling even more dried out than before, swallowing hard and as a result feeling the tight collar press into her throat. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear and even though a part of her wanted anything but to give in to him, the bigger, more present and louder part was desperate, willing to do anything to just get something to eat.

“P-please Sir...I’m sorry I…”, she closed her eyes for a moment, almost forcing the words out, “I’ll be good Sir, I promise, please!” Her cheeks burned from embarrassment and humiliation but as she opened her eyes again and saw the satisfied smile on his face, she knew that it had been convincing enough.

“Hm, I love hearing you beg like this… So desperate, aren’t you princess?” Olivia bit the inside of her lip so hard that the faint taste of blood filled her mouth but she nodded, her eyes glued to the ground. “Y-yes Sir…”

“Good pet.”

About 45 minutes later, Olivia could finally remember what it was like to not feel hungry again, almost allowing her to relax a bit.

She lightly glanced up to Nathan who was sitting in a chair at the head of a conference room-like table, calmly listening to the other Man around the table talking and discussing. Despite the fact that she was kneeling next to him, the humiliation burning through her, she almost felt...grateful.

As if it hadn’t been Nathan who had starved her in the first place.

Suddenly a wave of dizziness came over her, prompting her to close her eyes for a moment, trying to fight the dazed feeling, not thinking too much of it.

The sudden feeling of a hand in her hair made her flinch, her eyes instinctively flying open, from the corner of her eye noticing the light smirk on the Man’s face.

She let out a breath, trying her best to just ignore it and focus on something else.

Only a few minutes later she once again started feeling light-headed, more severe than the first time, causing her to suck in a sharp breath, catching Nathan’s attention again.

“Everything alright dear?” His voice sounded almost concerned, if Olivia’s mind hadn’t been so woozy she would have picked up on the fake sincerity behind it. As it was though, she just nodded slowly, suddenly feeling nauseous, her eyes going wide, shifting on her knees.

Nathan chuckled lightly to himself, tightening the grip in her hair lightly, but she barely even registered it over the sudden stabbing pain in her stomach, letting out a pained gasp.

She quickly shut her eyes again, the nausea and dizziness getting worse by the second. It felt like the whole room was spinning, the floor underneath her shifting and turning, leaving her dazed and disoriented.

What the hell…

What she couldn’t see was the cruel smile spreading across Nathan's face as he leaned back in his chair, watching Olivia. More to himself, not loud enough for Olivia to hear, he chuckled lightly “Well that worked faster than I expected… “. He gestured to one of his ‘assistants’, signaling him to walk over to him.

"Yeah, Boss?" Nathan didn't even so much as turn his head, his eyes fixated on his pet, who's gaze was getting more glossy and distant. "Take my pet back to my room, I'll be there as soon as this here is done. Until then you stay with her and watch her. Wouldn't want to risk any...more permanent damage."

The man Paused for a Moment, getting a mildly confused look on his face, frowning lightly. "Uh… With all due respect Sir, you want me to play Babysitter?".

At that Nathan turned to him, raising an eyebrow "Is there a Problem? James, isn't it?", as the other nodded he continued talking, "Now I understand it that you're new here, so let me explain something to you. If I say something, you do it, you don't question me, you don't give any comments on it, you simply Follow the Order. I pay you enough for you to simply do that, don't you Think?" His voice had gotten colder now, a clear warning to not test his patience any further.

James nodded quickly, clearly a bit more intimidated now. "Oh yes of course Boss. Sorry." He lightly cleared bis throat and Nathan just nodded swiftly, turning his attention back to the men at the Table whose conversation had fallen quiet, the attention turned towards the Man sitting at the head of the Table. "Excuse me Gentlemen, just something small I had to take care of, please continue".

As the conversation slowly started again, the taller Man, James, Walked around the Chair, harshly grabbing Olivia's arm and pulling her up. The sudden motion combined with the nearly overwhelming dizziness caused her to stumble and almost fall, reflexively reaching out to the nearest surface, in that case the armrest of Nathan's chair, grabbing onto it as though her life was dependent on it.

Without turning around, Nathan put a Hand on Olivia's back, something that would have normally made her skin crawl but she was almost grateful for now.

"Careful. I would hate for you to damage my property."

By the time they were back in the bedroom, Olivia was sure that she was dying.

Every part of her body was taken over by an aching, hot pain, making her feel like she was burning from the inside out.

Her stomach felt like it was being cut open from the inside by a thousand tiny knives, leaving her almost breathless. In Addition to that she felt a burning fire build up behind her eyes, Lifting her arms up with a groan and pressing her Hands against her temples, granting a short Relief of the burning heat.

That Relief only lasted until the overwhelming nausea caused her to empty the insides of her stomach into the Toilet in front of her.

She couldn't remember how she even got to the bathroom floor but at that Moment she also didn't have the energy to Think about it, as the bitter taste of bile made her gag again, despite her stomach being completely emptied out.

Hot tears were running down her face, a ragged sob shaking up her whole body. She let herself drop to the cold floor, savouring the short alleviation of the cold, pulling her knees up to her chest, hoping for any sort of relief to the pain. But it never came. If anything, it just got worse the more time passed, making her feel like her insides were twisting and turning in cruel agony.

As a sudden, almost stabbing feeling went through her she wanted to scream, but her body was too worn out to bring up the energy, only managing a broken whimper. Olivia once again screwed her eyes shut, hoping that she might at least pass out so the pain would stop.

While she collapsed on the floor, James was standing in the doorway, his back turned away from her, frowning in annoyance. He hadn’t been paying too much attention to what exactly she was doing, still irritated about the fact that he had to ‘babysit’ now.

He scoffed, shaking his head lightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest, half glaring at the door across the room.

If I had known that this was part of the job I would have thought twice before taking it…

At the sound of a broken sob he turned around, narrowing his eyes but instantly freezing at the sight before him.

The girl, or 'pet' as his Boss referred to her, was lying on the stone tiles curled up in a fetal position, her breathing unsteady and interrupted by muffled sobs, her whole body trembling and shaking.

He felt his stomach drop, a sickening feeling spreading throughout his body. From the others he had heard about how his new Boss treated his ‘pets’, that it was just to be ignored, but this was the first time he had witnessed it first hand.

James didn’t even know her name and yet he felt awful seeing her lying there, her pale face almost matching the colour of the tiles her head was resting on and the pained whimpers escaping her throat.

But he knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to help her, no matter how much he wanted to. The others had warned him about that too, it would easily cost him his job if not worse and at the end of the day, it would only make things worse for her as well.

So all he did was stand there, watching her with an almost overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

About 10 minutes later, the bedroom door opened and the tall blond Man stepped through, a relaxed smile on his face. James had turned around again, not bearing the sight of the girl suffering any longer.

As Nathan walked towards him, his smile only seemed to widen, causing James to feel sick. How could he seem so...happy while another person was clearly in misery? He shivered lightly, keeping his gaze on the wall across from him.

Nathan glanced at him lightly from the side, smirking. “Now, was ‘babysitting’ really so bad?” James didn’t respond but the other Man clearly didn’t really look for an answer anyways, walking past him and crouching down in front of the girl who was still trembling violently.

If he hadn't known better, James would have thought that the way Nathan looked down on her was almost… caring. But that was only until he saw the sadistic amusement in his eyes, as he brushed a strand of hair that was sticking to the sweat drenching her forehead, to the side.

"You can leave now." He didn't turn around as he gave the command and James didn't hesitate to leave the room, not turning back once.

Olivia could feel the light touch, too exhausted even so much as flinch. She heard him chuckle lightly but it felt as though the Sound was muffled through a thick veil.

"Please…", her voice was barely above a whisper, shaking and unsteady, "Please, Sir I-i'm sorry, I-i-i..i'll be good, I promise!".

Another Wave of pain shot through her, forcing out a broken sob. "Please...please just m-make it s-stop...It hurts…"

Nathan just watched her with increasing satisfaction, fully enjoying seeing her broken down like that. "Oh you're so pretty begging and crying for me like this princess…"

Chuckling lightly to himself, he tilted his head to the side a bit. "Let's get you somewhere a bit more comfortable, hm?"

The last thing Olivia became aware of, was the feeling of someone picking her up, instinctively grabbing onto Nathan's shoulder for support to fight the new wave of lightheadedness before closing her eyes again, the darkness finally taking over and letting her escape into the temporary safety of unconsciousness.

Taglist: @starnight-whump, @jordanstrophe, @froggywhumpy, @whumpasaurus101, @as-a-matter-of-whump, @jojothepanwithoutaplan, @myst-in-the-mirror, @whumpsweetwhump, @darklyria

[moon-light-jukebox]

Risk - [Hotch x Reader]

Summary: Things on a case go badly because reader took a risk. The entire team is mad at her...but no one more so than her unit chief.

Pairing: Hotch x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Content Warnings: Rough sex, mild brat taming, pussy slapping, choking, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, Dom!Hotch.

Rating: Explicit

Request prompt: Could you please write a smut (hotch x fem!reader) where reader doesn’t listen to hotch’s orders in a case and she almost gets killed and on the jet on the way home there’s a big ass argument including everyone and it's whole BAU against reader and when they land back home reader is super mad and hotch tells her hes going to take her home and then they have angry sex

A/n: I didn't edit this as thoroughly as I usually do. All mistakes are mine. Hopefully the smut makes up for it. 😌 And I hope the anon that requested this likes it!

-- Risk --

The paramedics had ignored me the multiple times I insisted that I was fine. Luckily, they seemed to agree that I didn’t need to go to the hospital. It was still early enough in the day that the team might be able to fly back home if the local police didn’t need our help wrapping everything up.

I wasn't looking forward to the ass-chewing I knew I was about to get, but I couldn't regret my actions. I'd do it all again, even if that meant feeling a bullet burn across my upper arm.

Once I was released, I made my way over to the SUVs, seeing only Prentiss and JJ standing by them.

“Where is everybody?” I asked once I was close enough.

Both women stiffened at the sound of my voice. Prentiss turned away like I hadn’t spoken. JJ shifted her weight from foot to foot awkwardly.

“They’re wrapping things up with the local police,” the blonde woman answered. “Do you not have to go to the hospital?”

“Just a graze.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, her lips pressing into a tight line.

“I’ll get the others; maybe we can get the fuck out of here,” Prentiss muttered, walking away without so much as looking at me.

I probably deserved that.

--

The entire ride to the airstrip was filled with tense silence. Even Rossi wasn’t looking at me. Despite the awkwardness, I still couldn’t bring myself to regret my decision. A 12-year-old girl was going home safe tonight because of me; that was all that mattered.

Everyone else could just scratch their mad spot, as my grandma would say.

I was the last one to board the jet, already dreading the 2-hour flight home from Atlanta. JJ and Reid were on the couch, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss were in the 4 chairs around the small table.

All that suited me just fine, as I really just wanted to go home. I took my seat at the back of the plane, near the section that led to the bathroom. I was prepared to put on my headphones and keep my eyes closed for the entire flight home.

The plane had been in the air for about 20 minutes when one of them finally snapped. I wasn’t surprised that it was Morgan.

“What the fuck were you thinking, y/l/n?” He demanded, his voice low and harsh.

I didn’t bother turning my gaze away from the window. “I was thinking I needed to save Annabelle Richards, who is home safe now. Job done.”

Prentiss scoffed then muttered something under her breath.

“Kiddo,” Rossi began gently. “Yeah, you did the job. But you almost died. You ran in there like a hot head and almost got yourself killed.”

I couldn’t not look at Rossi. He sounded genuinely upset, and the older man had always been unfailingly kind to me in the months since I’d joined the team.

"I know," I conceded, meeting his gaze head-on. "But I couldn't see another way."

“So, you were just going to give up your life? We had no reason to believe they’d release her.” Morgan fumed, back in the game.

“It was our best shot.”

“No, it fucking wasn’t! If you hadn’t been so stupid you would have seen that!”

"Oh, very mature, Morgan. I didn't know we'd resorted to name-calling."

“He’s right,” JJ said, her eyes shifting from Morgan to me. “You were stupid and reckless. You almost died. If Hotch hadn’t taken that shot in time, you would have.”

I licked my lips, my eyes closing briefly. “I understand why you’re upset-“

“No.”

All the air in the room seemed to still at that one word. The voice we had all been waiting for had finally tagged into the match, The Entire BAU vs. Y/n Y/l/n.

I wasn’t prepared for Hotch to fucking stand up and start walking towards the back of the plane, his eyes boring into me. “No, you don’t understand why we’re upset.” His hand gripped the top of the seat in front of me, his knuckles were white with the force of his hold.

“Hotch-“

“Shut UP!” He pointed his index finger at me. “You don’t get to talk. You behaved like a spoiled child. I don’t know how they do things in Richmond, but you’re in fucking Quantico now. You’re a member of my team, and I cannot have rogue agents on my team.”

“What the fuck did you want me to do, Hotch?”

His eyes hardened even more. “I expect all of my agents to stick to the fucking hostage protocol!’

I was on my feet before I even realized I was moving. “She was 12-years-old, and she was screaming!’

“Because she was scared, y/n! She was a child trapped in a building with a mad man and she was scared! We had the profile! We all knew he wasn’t going to hurt her! She was his endgame!”

My fists were balled up at my side. “I couldn’t risk that.”

“Then maybe I can’t risk having you on this team. Sit down, I’ll deal with you when we land.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he snapped again. “That’s a fucking order!”

As you would expect, the remaining hour of the flight home was completely calm and filled with no tension whatsoever.

Not.

Spencer and I were the last ones to get off the plane; he was the only one who hadn’t spoken to me. “Are you mad at me too?”

He licked his lips, considering his words. “I’m not mad like the rest of them. I understand why you felt like you had to do it. I’ve broken protocol like that too. But I am mad because you’re my friend. And because of how you acted, I almost lost my friend.”

Out of all the words hurled at me tonight, Spencer’s actually cut me.

“Reid,” I mumbled out.

“Give them time,” he said, shrugging his bag up on his shoulder before walking away.

Time was not given to me, however. I was standing in front of the elevators when someone called my name from the bullpen.

I turned, giving my unit chief a blank stare. “Yeah?”

“Are you leaving?”

I blinked, then pointed to the elevator.

He wasn’t amused. “Are you going to take the train home?”

“That’s the plan,” I informed him, turning back to face the elevator, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I’m taking you home.”

My head jerked back. “No, you’re not.”

He took a step towards me, his face was set in a scowl that sent criminal running, and he towered over me. “You disobeyed a direct order twice today; I’m still debating on whether or not to put this bullshit in your file and you were shot.”

I mean…he’s not wrong.

“You’re not going to ride a train for 45 minutes when I can get you home in 20.”

I sighed, too tired to fight. “Whatever you say, Sir.”

--

The longer I sat in the front seat of Hotch’s car, the madder I got. How dare he yell at me in front of the entire time for doing my job? Where the fuck did he get off intimidating me into getting into a car with him? Threatening to put shit in my file when all I did was save a little girl’s life.

“If you have something to say, say it.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that he picked up on my mood shifting. “I thought members of the team didn’t profile each other.”

“You’re not acting like a member of this team, so why should I treat you like one?”

I had to bite down on my tongue to hold the string of curses inside my mouth. This smug mother fucker had absolutely no right to talk to me like that.

What had started out as cold anger now roared to life in my veins; I could feel my hands starting to shake.

Thankfully, he was true to his word and got me home in 20 minutes. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop before I was undoing my seat belt and grabbing my bag. I shoved the door open, turning around to face him while he still sat in the car, his eyes fixed on me.

“Thanks for the ride, Boss,” I spat out. “Since I’m clearly not compatible with your team, you’ll have my transfer request on your desk first thing in the morning.”

He opened his mouth to say something; probably something that would have made me even more mad. But I cut him off, I couldn’t stop myself. I was fucking seething.

"Fuck you, and your perfect team," I said, slamming the door behind me.

I didn’t want to hear another word from that man, so I darted into my building, taking the three flights of stairs rather than waiting for the elevator. I was still so fucking mad. And what’s more, I actually think I was a little hurt.

I expected the bullet wound to hurt, but I never expected the entire team’s reaction to hurt worse.

Reaching my door, I fished my keys out of my bag, more than ready to get this day over with.

I was so fucking distracted I didn’t realize anyone was behind me until my door was open. A large hand grabbed me by my hair and shoved me inside. I tried to struggle, but his other hand clapped over my mouth while he kicked the door shut behind him.

My pure fucking terror only lasted for a few moments. The man turned me, slamming my back against my front door.

“Hotch! What the fuck! You scared the shit out of me!”

His eyes were the darkest I’d ever seen them; my normally composed supervisor was shaking with fury.

“Good, then you know how it fucking felt to watch you run into that house today,” he sneered, his body pressing me against my door.

Adrenaline was pumping through my blood, my breath coming in fast pants. Hotch’s body was flush against mine, his eyes wild and his breathing just as fast.

“Is that why you’re here, Aaron?” I taunted.

His eyes flashed at the sound of his first name leaving my mouth. Those large hands that were on me a moment ago had been resting on the door, but he brought his left hand down so quickly. He placed it on my throat, his thumb resting against my jaw.

“You know why I’m here.”

“I know why you’re pretending to be here. Your excuse for being here is that I fucked up today. But that’s not why you’re here.” I lined forward, dropping my voice into a mock whisper. “I can feel why you’re really here, Aaron.”

And I could. I didn’t have to be a profiler to see how blown his pupils were, to see how his eyes kept straying down to my lips. I especially didn’t need to be a profiler to feel what was pressed against my body.

His thumb dropped down to the other side of my throat before it squeezed, cutting off just a bit of my blood flow. His right hand came down from the door to squeeze in between our bodies, going right for the button of my pants. I was stunned when I felt it pop open and the zipper lower right before his fingers ghosted over the skin right above the top of my panties.

“What am I going to find when I slip my hand into your panties, y/n?” His breath skimmed over my face; his lips so close to mine. “Do you expect me to believe your little cunt isn’t positively soaked for me?”

“It’s not,” I bit out, stubborn to the end.

Aaron just smirked at me, his fingers moving inside of my panties, down, down, down, until I felt one blunt finger run across my slit, not even spreading me open.

His nose brushed against mine. “You feel pretty wet to me, princess.”

I felt my core throb at his words, but I couldn’t let him win. “I’m not your fucking princess.”

“No,” he mused. “You’re nothing but a little fucking brat.” He removed his hand from my panties, bringing it around to hook under the back of my thigh. “And since you want to act like a brat, I’m going to treat you like a brat.”

That was all the warning I got before his lips crashed against mine, his hand leaving my throat to grab my other thigh. He lifted my feet off the floor, forcing my legs to wrap around his waist.

Aaron Hotchner’s kiss was as intense as every other part of him. He ate at my mouth, biting my bottom lip before running his tongue over it. He ground his hardness against my pussy, smirking against my mouth when I moaned.

“Such a needy fucking girl,” was what he said before he lifted me totally in his arm, stepping away from the door. He walked through the living room.

“First door the left,” I mumbled.

He chuckled while he pushed my bedroom door open. “So, you’re enough of a brat to fight me, but enough of a slut to direct me to your room?”

“Fuck you,” I bit out.

Aaron tossed me on the bed, his hands gripping the waist of both my pants and panties before he yanked them down my legs. He was on top of me a moment later, his hands tearing at my shirt, ripping the buttons off.

“You’re going to regret that.”

A tiny shiver of terror went down my body at his tone, because I believed him.

He yanked the cups of my bra down, his scalding hot mouth wrapping around my nipple at the same time that two of his fingers sunk into me.

"Fuck!" I shouted my back arching, pushing me into him.

I felt his teeth graze over my nipple while his fingers continue to move inside me. His middle and ring finger were pumping into my pussy, the heel of his hand grinding against my clit.

“Aaron,” I whined, my hips squirming. His mouth lifted from my breast, kissing up my chest until he got to my neck.

“What do you want, baby? Do you want me to make you cum?”

I nodded my head frantically, my hips trying to rock against him.

“Why should I let you cum?” His fingers curled inside of me brushing over my g-spot, pulling a loud moan from me.

I felt my orgasm rushing towards me, threatening to consume me right when his fingers pulled out of me.

“Oh my god,” I whined out, my hand moving down to try and rub my clit. I was right there.

His hand was like a vice on my wrist, stilling my movements. “Ah-ah, no. Bratty little girls don’t get to cum.”

“But I’m so close,” I pleaded, my voice a pathetic whimper.

His lips brushed against mine, softly, teasing. “If you want me to let you cum, then you need to prove you can be a good girl.”

Hearing Aaron Hotchner say the words “good girl” was almost enough to send me over the edge.

“Can you be a good girl, y/n?”

“Yes,” I answered, trying to press my lips more firmly against his.

Without warning his hand moved quickly, slapping against my pussy.

“Fuck!” I shrieked, unprepared for the sensation but so desperate for more.

“Yes, what?”

"Yes sir!" I corrected tears of frustration in my eyes.

He moved off of me then, unbuttoning his shirt before pulling it off his shoulders. “Finish taking your clothes off,” he instructed.

I moved to comply quickly, wincing slightly when I pulled my arm out of my sleeve. My bicep was wrapped in thick gauze, the skin around it looking bruised.

Aaron watched me while he took his pants off. “It’s so hard for me to look at you. Because I see you hurting like that and all I want to do is lay you on this bed and treat you like a princess.” He was naked now, and I tried not to stare at him. I’d seen him in workout clothes, I knew he was well muscled. But I did not know he was so toned and well defined.

His cock was hard, the head wet with precum, and it was bigger than I had expected.

I scooted up the bed when he climbed on, stalking towards me. “I just want to eat your pretty pussy until you cum all over me. Then I want to slide inside you and make you feel so good.”

Aaron’s body was over mine, his arms caging me in. “But I can’t do any of that can I?”

He moved away before I could answer. “No, I can’t. So, you’re going to prove to me that you can follow orders. I’m going to lay on this bed, and you’re going to put that bratty little mouth all over my cock. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” I said, scrambling to my knees.

“Such a needy little thing,” he repeated, lying on his back.

One hand braced on the bed, the other reached out to wrap around him. If things were different, I would have teased him, but this fucking need in my body was burning too hot.

I wrapped my lips around the tip of his dick, hollowing out my cheeks, relishing in the guttural moan he let out. I slowly started to bob my head, taking more of him each time I went back down.

“I should have known you’d be good at this,” Aaron groaned out, one hand coming up to grip my hair, guiding my motions. “That smart fucking mouth of yours. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about your pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

I moaned against him, rubbing my thighs together at his words.

“You’ve thought about that too, haven’t you dirty girl?” He was lifting his hips now, making shallow thrust into my mouth. “Come on, baby. Take it all the way down. I know you can do it.”

I tried to relax my throat, fighting my gag reflex as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “Come on, sweet girl. Try for me. Be my good girl so I can finally fuck that wet fucking pussy of yours.”

His words spurred me on, I squeezed my thumb in my fist, moving my head all the way down. I felt him hit the back of my throat; I started to gag, but I swallowed reflexively around him.

“Oh, my fucking god,” he groaned, pumping into my mouth a few more times before pulling me off of him. “There’s my good girl,” he praised, pulling my face up to his. Aaron pressed kisses to the sides of my mouth before his lips slid against mine.

He moved quickly, rolling me onto my back, shoving my thighs apart so he could settle between them. One of my hands fisted in my bedsheets, the other braced on his arm. My eyes were fixed on where our bodies were about to join. Aaron gripped his cock, moving it up and down my slit, coating himself in my arousal.

“Wrap your legs around me, baby,” he murmured, urging my legs higher up his abdomen.

I groaned when I felt the head of his cock slip inside me.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking tight, y/n.”

“Aaron,” I whined, shifting my hips underneath him. I was still so close.

“I’ve got you, needy girl.” He shifted his weight and then slammed inside of me, pulling a scream from my throat.

It didn’t hurt, just the opposite. I had never felt so fucking overwhelmed before.

“Please, please, please,” I pleaded.

One of his hands wrapped around my throat while the other gripped my headboard. He started a brutal pace while his hand squeezed against me. “Reach down and rub your clit, Princess,” he ordered his hips slapping against mine. “Come on. Make your pretty pussy cum all over me.”

He wasn’t even finished speaking before my fingers found my clit, circling it furiously. His grip on my throat loosened slightly, his thrusts becoming a bit sharper.

“I want to hear you fucking scream my name, you bratty little thing.”

“Aaron, Aaron, don’t stop. Please!”

With one more hard thrust, my orgasm crested, tearing through my body. I felt my pussy clamp down on his cock, pulling him over the edge too. He pumped inside of me a few more times, pulling every ounce of pleasure he could from me.

I finally came down from my high only to feel Aaron drop on top of me for a moment before he promptly rolled onto his side, so as not to crush me.

His arm wrapped around me, bringing me flush against his side, my head on his chest.

“I’m still mad at you,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

“I’m a little less mad now.”

I smiled. “I figured.”

--

Taglist: @rachelxwayne​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sickeninglyshoujo​ @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool​ @andiebeaword​ @imjusthereformggcontent @rainsong01 

@spncersreid

[r3volutionary-queen]

Chapter 31 Sneak Peek

In his arms, Darcy was laughing.

She lay back against his chest, her head slotting perfectly under his chin, and she laughed. It was sunlight to his soul, bright and pure and warm and kind and it softened every jagged edge inside of him. Steve pressed a lingering kiss into her hair and tightened his arms around her middle, making her giggle even more—a happy sound that he could have listened to for the rest of his life.

Below, Bucky sprawled across both of their laps, using their thighs as his personal pillows. Darcy’s fingers were carding through his long hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp until the man was all but putty in her hands. His dark head swiveled up, love-drunk eyes openly watching her before crinkling around the edges, squinting like two happy half-moons. That gray gaze then slid upwards and met Steve’s soft look.

It was like staring into a marbled sky moments before the sun broke through.

“Love you,” Bucky mouthed to him and Steve’s heart swelled and swelled and swelled until it threatened to burst.

In this place there were no shadows, no war, no death. In this place Darcy’s skin was not littered in scars and Bucky’s arm was warm and whole.

In this place Steve did not burn.

He would have been content to spend eternity here, if it weren’t for the tug on his shoulder, soft but insistent.

Steve jolted and inhaled on instinct, lungs gasping for air as he surged back into consciousness. It was not a peaceful float to the surface; it was sudden and jarring, like the leg of a once trusted chair snapping beneath him. Pain was the first thing to register, a raw kind of agony, as if someone or something had pried him open and scrambled all of his insides. Blood trickled down his shredded throat and he swallowed with a grimace.

Another tug and a voice, quietly murmuring—urging.

“Wake up.”

Blue eyes fluttered open; everything was a blur. Icy rain stung his skin like a thousand needles, cold mud seeped into his suit, and thunder cracked through the air, so loud and so deep it rolled over his skin and shook the ground beneath him. A second later, the sky splintered in a dazzling flash of light as white-hot electricity threaded the earth to the clouds.

And hovering over him, silhouetted against that bright flash of light, was a strange face. Strange because they were familiar; strange because they were dead.

Or at least they were supposed to be.

And then it struck him—

The stone.

Steve’s heart lurched in his chest. The world spun and tipped itself out before righting once more. He blinked and blinked again in disbelief, in fear, in hope, in a painful, terrified mixture of all three.

“T…” he started with a sandpaper rasp. “T’Challa?”

The Wakandan king’s mouth curved and brown eyes softened in relief. His dark brows rose and he dipped his chin, nodding once. “On your feet, Captain.”

Stunned, Steve could not move.

“Am I dreaming?”

“This is no dream,” T’Challa assured him softly. He lifted his head and spun on his haunches, looking at something Steve could not see. A light filled the king’s eyes, both kind and fierce. He glanced down at Steve where he lay, beaten and broken, and T’Challa’s words pierced right through his weary heart. “Hope has not deceived you.”

The words sank beneath his skin, cutting into the meat of his heart, and Steve’s eyes misted. There were things he wanted to say, to ask, but the words couldn’t make it through his tightened throat. For a long moment, he could not even breathe. It felt surreal, liminal.

Hope has not deceived you.

It was strange, almost, how hope felt more dangerous, more treacherous, than the very war surrounding him. A fight could destroy his body, but hope? Hope, or rather hope lost, could ruin his soul. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to truly hope and so when it bloomed in the center of his chest now, like a warm pool of sunlight cascading down his limbs and filling him to the brim, he shook under its raw power.

“Are there,” Steve swallowed heavily, his voice thick, “Are there others? How many?”

T’Challa watched him closely and the corners of his eyes fanned out in a warm smile. The Wakandan king shifted on the balls of his feet and held out his hand. “Rise and see for yourself.”

Steve opened his mouth to respond when an animalistic roar ripped through the air like a serrated knife. The blond stiffened, recognizing the Hulk’s bellow of rage instantly. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and before he could stop it, that dangerous, treacherous hope inside of him grew wings and took flight.

It rose up the length of his throat and surged out of his mouth in a single, wet, hysterical sob of a laugh. He clapped his hand over his mouth and his eyes screwed shut.

All around him, the rain continued to fall.

Finally, Steve sniffed and wiped his face. With a grunt, he slapped his hand into the king’s waiting palm and it was the strength of the Black Panther, not his own, that pulled him to his feet. Instantly, his back erupted in a blinding pain and he staggered, groaning, shoulders hunching as his muscles trembled and stretched. Steve shook and panted through chapped lips, trying to push past the all-consuming agony. His vision blurred, static around the edges, and then finally, he lifted his gaze to the battlefield—

And froze.

Over the last few months, Steve had grown accustomed to the feeling of shock. He knew what it tasted like, how it jolted through his veins, paralyzing him, but this shock was not one born out of terror or dread.

The shock that rolled through him now was one of awe.

The battle still raged; the rain had sunk the fires back into the earth and a white-gray smoke clouded the blood-soaked ground. Explosions flung mud in the air, coating the chaos of fighting armies in filth until it was near impossible to tell who was who. But beyond all of that, beyond the looming warships and the waves of Chitauri and the wolf-like monsters of Thanos, was something else entirely.

Amid the debris and the bombed-out craters and the piles of bodies littering the ground vast beyond number and recognition was an army—and not just any army.

It was the Avengers.

His team, his friends, his family; the world’s last hope. All of them, every last one he had watched dissolve into ash just months ago.

They were scattered but they fought like creatures that exhaustion, despair, and even death itself could not subdue. And even beyond that, a great host of Wakandan warriors were charging into the fray with what was left of the Asgardians and the Skrulls.

And for the first time since any of this began, they were pushing Thanos’ army back to the tree line; theywere overwhelming their enemy.

Wonder overtook him, and indescribable joy; it was beautiful—stunning, robbing him of all thought and word, and for a moment, Steve wished he could paint this.

The only thing that was missing—

Steve’s stomach dropped.

His mind splintered into a million pieces upon the realization and fear prickled along his skin like the legs of a thousand spiders. Panicked, Steve spun around wildly, searching the chaos for two familiar shapes.

“What is it? What is wrong?”

Snapping his head up, a wild kind of insanity tugged at the edges of his mind as he held T’Challa’s worried gaze. Because if the stone had knocked himout cold, he could only imagine what it had done to Bucky, let alone Darcy. In fact, he knew all too well what that stone did to her every time she touched it and the memories that flooded his mind had him in a blind terror.

“There’s a woman,” Steve gasped out, choking on the words, his eyes still roving over the vast, simmering field. Raindrops slid down his face, dripped from his nose, his jaw, his chin. “Darcy. I need to find her. I have to find her—she was hurt pretty bad and… She’s—and Bucky—”

A blood-curling scream.

Steve whipped around, heart in his throat. Somewhere to his right there was a high-pitched female scream—a wail, really—and Steve had never heard Darcy make a noise like that before, but he knew instantly that it was her.

His heart told him so.

Steve couldn’t see her, couldn’t see much of anything beyond the flurry of war and the blasts from the enemy’s weapons. He paled and his vision spun as a new and torrential kind of fear seared through every vein in his body.

“Go,” T’Challa urged at his side and Steve snapped his head around, panting and trembling all over. The king clasped his shoulder, tilting his head toward him. “Do what you must. We will meet when this is over, my friend.”

Unable to do anything but nod, Steve mustered up the very last of his strength (all he had left) and turned and ran into the heart of the battle. Even as the abyss of terror threatened to pull him under, Steve felt something inside of him shift, something endless and ancient, and suddenly his spine was carved out of steel. He was going to find her, both her and Bucky, and he was going to get them out of this place—even if it broke his back and heart and left nothing but his bones behind.

He was going to find them both and he was going to bring them home.

(GUYS IT IS HAPPENING. WE ARE LIKE 6K IN ON THIS CHAPTER SO PLEASE EXCUSE IF YOU'VE MESSAGED ME TODAY, I'LL ANSWER LATER BECAUSE THE FLOW CANNOT BE INTERRUPTED KAY THANKS)

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Heart of the Wild (Ch.1)

Notes: Here I am, with my favorite tropes and high-key copying the plot to my other fic, Wild Heart. Oh well, I had fun chilling and plotting it with my friend, @mha-girl674 while listening to Celtic Woodland music :3 This story is basically a little self-indulgent “re-write”, but Wild Heart is still up and it’s own fic <3

Pairings: Taishiro x reader, a little bit of Kirideku, and Miro x Tamaki next chapter

Setting: Hybrid Au in medieval times? Ig? Like they have villages and stuff. Idk, imagination :3

Warnings: Self Indulgent Spicy Plot with consensual and self smut thrown in around here and there. Characters are over the age of twenty.

Trigger Warnings: Heats, terrible parents (of the reader), and fear of non-consent, but there is no no-consensual touching, just chasing from an unknown character.

Hot breaths panted into the chilly air from within your chest. You couldn’t feel anything, other than the white heat burn within your feet and legs from the blistering cold. You’ve been running for who knows how long, heart screaming within your chest at the thrill of finally being free, and what a stupid decision that this was.

 It was in the middle of winter, and you’ve chosen now to escape. It was smart as well as stupid, for your parents, thinking that they had you metaphorically tied to a tight leash, would have never expect you to rush out into the cold dead of the winter night.

 They were wrong, but you were suffering. There was no food, lest hardly any shelter or warmth. Your scrap of a tattered cloak, barely weathered the unforgiving wind and snow. Yet, trudging on was the best bet, it was the only bet.  

 At least the cool weather flushed down your heat, but not the scent. Being within a tundra had scared you; not only that there were more ferocious, bigger hybrids that could smell you out, but as well as it was so open. Nowhere to hide, plenty to run, and you’ve practically already exhausted yourself, your natural cycle to breed didn’t help matters, either, for it drained energy, as well.

 Was this better than having your parents keep a constant watch over you? Planning to hand over you to who knows who, in exchange for some pretty fabrics and seeds? Granted that you’ve thought this through in what seemed to be a million times, but you didn’t know what laid outside of your little nomadic tribe.

 Gritting teeth, leaning against a boulder, you gasped as pain shot through your leg. You were use to traveling with your tribe, carrying things for miles, but not running in constant fear into the vast unknown, perhaps miles away from any place that was safe.

 A low whine had cut you out of your thoughts, your head swerving around as a musky scent had now reached you. A fox was staring at you intently, licking his bottom lip as his hands clenched the boulder just ten feet away. Your own rabbit ears folded back in fear, yet his scent had sent yours screaming. Of course, your stupid inner omega was processing the idea of settling down in the tundra raising fox kits, but you weren’t having it.

 It was tempting to just lay down and rest, but not get bent over by the first stranger that you saw, especially one so wild looking and probably was more feral than your clansmen. You bolted. He gave a short yip of frustrated shock, and he chased.  

 This is what you had been fearing for your whole life. If it wasn’t in the back burner of your mind, it was the hungry looks that your clansmen shot your way, the way your parents were only interested in you as a future bargaining chip, and of course, the prospect of getting used by a stranger, and bearing unwanted kits.

 It upset you, and undoubtedly made your resolve to choose your own mate, even greater, if you wanted one, at this point. You didn’t know where you were going, all you knew was that in your fear, the scent had gotten closer, giving the fact that the arctic fox was practically nipping at your heels. You yipped in surprise as pain shot through your foot, after suddenly tripping over a branch, the ground closed in as you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the impact of the fall hit your arms and side as you tumbled a little ways.

 It didn’t take you long to recuperate, as you scrambled backwards, fearing for the worst yet to come as your back had hit a solid trunk of a tree. Surprise had hit you, for the fox stopped dead in his tracks. Once a musky scent, was now flooded with dread as he stared onward behind you, and then back at you. As if making up his mind after a mental process, he growled in frustration as he let out one last angry yip, before running off.

 Relief had wafted to you, slightly, but you were left with more questions than answers. The tree of all things against your back, and the way the fox had fled in fear, motivated you to turn around. It was a forest, to your utter surprise and shock. Running in a blind panic, you weren’t aware of your surroundings, just the pure fear mixed in with your inner omegas snapping demands to breed, had made you rushed and unfocused.

 By the way the stretch of lush pines and firs, had the forest itself look so dark and intimidating. You had an inkling that the snow and cold, and possibly even sunlight, hadn’t reached within it’s mysterious depths, and it looked oddly inviting. You knew that the fox had fled for a reason, and that it was a stupid idea to even think of venturing inside, but you were out of options.  

  You didn’t want to freeze to death in the snow, after all. Steadying yourself up against the bare cedar you’ve bumped into, you took a step forward, wincing at the pain from your hurt ankle and sore legs. However, the lure of the possibility of safety, was more strong than your will to just lay down. Inching forward into the darkness, you let the trees within guide you. It was dark, at first, but of course, trees could only give only so much shade. Dim, was the more correct use of the word as you inched closer and deeper within the forest’s heart. Despite the atmosphere, the birds were singing to their heart’s content, as you could hear the sound of rushing water in the background somewhere.

 You jumped a little as your foot brushed up against something soft. Green, you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the little patches of grass and clovers littered across it’s floor. It was cold, yes, but not as cold as it was outside the fortress of trees. In what had seemed eerie and intimidating at first, now had filled you with an odd sense of serenity and calmness. The area around it had an odd, yet highly welcomed earthy smell with a splash of something sweet in which had you relaxed and sated the crawling of your heat.

 Why did the fox fear this place? It had seemed so safe. The hairs of the back of your neck had stood up as you stilled. It had took you longer to realize, that the forest’s unique scent, didn’t belong to the forest at all. Eyes widening in realization, your hands gripped the tree that you were leaning up against. Fate, so far, was kind to you, and although you didn’t want to push your luck, you were hopeless and out of options. Was it a bear? Even then, they usually didn’t let their scents be covered in trees like this. It was baffling, as well as a mystery to you, and you wanted to find out.

 Yet, exhaustion had finally taken it’s toll onto your weary body as you could feel your remaining strength just physically drain from you. Tired, hungry, scared, and hurt through the array of emotions, your body had decided that you were going to rest, whether you liked it or not. As you collapsed onto the forest floor, a shout of surprise echoed as your world turned into black.

…………………

 “-tch. Annoyin’ bunnies an’ their heats.” A huff of annoyance broke out into the silence. Once dark, life had filtered through your senses once again as the scent earlier, was the strongest here. Crackling of fire, warmth, and the scent had awakened you as you cracked open your eyelids.

 A house, you couldn’t help but wonder in awe. The fireplace had created a warm atmosphere against the darkened room, lighting up a place of comfort and furs from non-hybrids. You yourself, were in a bed, bandages were wrapped around your hurt ankle and arms as warm blankets had covered you. What had caught your attention most in the lit room, was the tall figure of a man stirring something within a kettle, back turned against you. What had surprised you most definitely, were the orange and black appendages that were his ears and long, swishing tail.

 A tiger? You had wondered. They were rare, here, and more rare if they were orange, those being in the east, not the north. Oddly enough, fear didn’t prickle you, but your heat, just stirring awake with you, had. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have, already, not literally save you from the cold and bandaged your wounds.

 Not wanting to startle him, you rustled a bit, letting the bed creak a little to get his attention. An ear of his flicked as he then turned around, giving you the full view of your mysterious stranger. Curious amber eyes, soft blonde hair, he wasn’t big, but he wasn’t slim, having a hefty amount of a belly fat on him, due to the winter. Years of work had shown on his shoulders, creating muscle mass as well as around his arms and upper chest. Only what has been covering him, was a loose pair of pants. You had to furiously mentally beat your heat and thoughts down with a stick as he then spoke.

“Ya look like a mess.”

 And there it was, the trickle of slick leaked out of you as your face burned with embarrassment and shame and you then covered your face with a downy pillow. A huff of surprised laughter at your expense made you peep out and give the best glare that you could manage, yet the stranger just gave you a grin.

 “I must say, yer lil’ reaction’s a bit different from a lotta other beings bein’ near a tiger. Name’s Taishiro.” To your utmost surprise, he let out a please little purr as he then turned back to the kettle. You gave him your name.

 “So, why is a lil’ thing like yerself doin’ out in the middle of here?” He pondered, as if he already knew the answer, but for conversation’s sake, you enlightened him, watching his tail swish with annoyance at your parents, and ears flickering with interest as you explored the forest.

 “What about you?” You turned to ask. His back stiffened a little, as if caught with surprise at the notion.

 “Came from the east, lookin’ for a new start in life away from my parents. I knew that a lotta others would fear me, but I didn’t know that they’d avoid a whole forest ‘cause of me,” He then took a wooden bowl and ladle, dipping the curved spoon into the bubbling stew as he continued.

 “-granted, I made some friends, even adopted some younglin’s. Strangers just usually don’t come ‘round here.” He finished, pouring the delicious smelling broth into the bowl, tucking a wooden spoon in it as he turned around.

 It was an odd atmosphere, and you were pretty sure that you weren’t dreaming, but for your sake, you went along with it.

“Are you lonely?” You asked bluntly. He froze, and then gave an indigenous huff as he set the bowl down at the table closest to you. Ears flattened and tail swishing, at first you thought that you made him angry, but he avoided your curious stare as he looked rather nervous.

 “Ye’re pretty wordy for somebody who jus’ woke up. Ya must be starvin’, here. T’s not much, but I figured that ya might be hungry.” He changed the subject as he gestured towards the bowl. Telling him your gratitude, you gripped it, lifted a spoonful of the soup, and took a sip. To your surprise, the sweet taste of carrots had mixed in heavenly with the starchy potatoes, crisp lettuce, and the slight bitter bite of spinach.

 “It’s delicious.” You admitted truthfully, not missing the way his ears picked up at the compliment.

 “Thanks to the trees blockin’ the cold, ‘s not hard to grow yer own food. I might be a predator, but I can live without meat.” He rambled, There was so much to say, and many questions left unanswered, but you knew that you were on borrowed time, until your natural cycle would bite back with a vengeance, later. He must have known it, too.

 “The worried look on yer face is a dead giveaway, Hon. I never housed somebody in heat, before, but don’tcha worry ‘bout it. Ya can stay here fer a while, seein’ that a hurt ankle might take longer to heal. I ‘ave some friends that I can stay with.” He rambled, but you looked at him with pure confusion.

 “You’re giving up your home temporarily? For a stranger?” You asked, baffled. At this, his tail swished, as if a little shy.

 “Temporarily. I don’t know what yer plans are in the future, but the forest doesn’t belong to me, ya can hang around an’ have yer own place, within the depths. I couldn’t just leave somebody there, sufferin’ and the brink of death, anyways.” He murmured lowly, but you could hear it clearly. Warmth that wasn’t heat, clouded into your chest at such kindness from the stranger. He was a stranger, yes, but you felt as if you could trust him fully, giving that his actions of helping you and not asking for anything in return, had screamed volumes.

 “Thank you, for everything.” You blurted out, and the corner of his lip twitched upward at your honest gratitude.

“Not a problem, Sweetheart.”

…………………….

 He knew the dangers of housing a slick, hot-blooded omega rabbit, of all beings, had included. What he didn’t expect, was the general bluntness and forwardness of the little thing. Not as timid or shy, but generally open and forward with emotions. Being in the early stages of heat, right now the bunny was coherent, but he knew that it would only last for so long before the true, ugly nature of one’s natural heat cycle, took over.

 “So, here’s what’s gonna happen, Hon. I’m going to stay far away. It’s fer your safety. I might prowl around my area and scent everything, keepin’ unwanted guests, away, but I’m not gonna barge in on yer privacy or be too close to the house.” He told you, laying out a plan. You nodded, setting the empty bowl aside as you listened closely.

 “-believe it or not, I know somebody who could bring ya rations an’ talk with ya after yer heat spells. He’s a dwarf rabbit, an’ already mated to somebody who I see as a son of mine. Since he’s an omega, like yerself, he should be more immune to yer smell. Green hair an’ freckles, can’t miss’im.” Taishiro explained, and you listened with interest, seeing that you weren’t truly alone in your being as well as dynamic.

 “Sorry that we won’t talk, much, but I thought that I’d best introduce myself ‘fore ya wake up alone and scared.”

 “I’m not scared.” You admitted, and he huffed.

 “Now, ye’re not, but if ya woke up alone an’ in a stranger’s house, ya would be.” He argued, and you let him win, seeing that you were too caught up in emotions, and just wanted to process everything. Noticing your state, he gave out a chuckle.

 “Alright, I’ll see ya later, when yer heat’s over. Ya kinda intrigue me, a lil’ bit, so I’m hopin’ that ya might stay, a lil’ while longer after yer heat.” As soon as he admitted it, his ears flattened with embarrassment as he huffed out a sigh, the apples of his cheeks reddening as he swiftly turned around, opening the door, closing it swiftly behind him.

 You bit your bottom lip. For an apex predator who was lethal as well as dangerous, he was almost as soft as a kitten, and you hoped that, at the very least, the two of you could be friends.

………………

  You were weak, you huffed, panting out hot air as one of your hands gripped the pillow, harshly. Usually, you didn’t have a face, or a body in your images as you tried your best to sate the flash of hot emptiness. It has always been nothing but hot and drowsy images of the blurred shapes of your pillow and furs in the past, leaving you unsatisfied and on the brink of frustrated tears.

 This time, you had kindle to feed that ever demanding fire of yours, licking sharply at the heels of your feet as you were on the brink of the edge. Smooth muscle, soft fat, warm amber irises, and that twinge of a smile, had pinned your focus. You felt guilty, but you couldn’t help it, nor could you think clearly of anything nor anybody else.

 He was so friendly and helpful to you, and here you were, ruining his bedding and furs with your slick, fingers deep within you, wrist hurting from the desperate climb, but no full relief avail. Your body couldn’t had waited, as soon as he left with that calming scent, a spike had hit you in where it had hurt, the empty ache shooting up in full demand.

 Where was this man? Your inner omega screamed, but you harshly shushed it, focusing on the edge, and how to clean the sheets, afterwords. In your blurred state, you knew that you had hardly knew him, but already, he was so far the perfect embodiment of what most beings had wanted in a partner. You admitted freely, that you were no different.

 Letting out a small squeak within the bitten pillow, harsh relief shot through you, as you clenched on your fingers desperately, your body trembling and tears pooling from the corners of your eyes at finally, finding a sudden rush of relief.

 You huffed, calming down from your euphoric high as you palmed your face against the pillow in which smelled exactly like him. You were in too deep, you couldn’t help but think, a little guilty for desecrating the hospitality by literally cumming onto his blankets with him in your mind.

……………………….

[smutty-ki113r]

Red©️

By: me

Damn this made me SOB. My artistic side coming out rn>>>

There is silence in the color white, it blinds in sight and engulfs ears in senselessness. It is the quiet in slow footsteps and holding back a word that fades inward. I have done everything possible to erase myself from white, a mere length of protection after being forced into color. The bleached shade is only vile poison, a splotch of paint that only serves to rip away the noise from the others. I despise it, perhaps because to me it is a blank page or acts as the purity that I was stripped of. Dipping my fingers in every tint of red and tracing them over my skin, coloring over myself so I can never be stained by another again.

Vibrancy fills orange, it rings through a room as uncontrollable laughter and burns tingles on the surface of your throat. It used to be my favorite color when I was a child, at least that’s what I’m told. Now it’s a painful second that I radiate after the lapse of a laugh, the shock of reality that comes with a distraction. A mere smile that I plaster when I make a lewd joke, it’s not even funny, but people laugh at me anyway. Humoring myself at the meaningless of my existence, or at a smart worded sentence I write that nobody will ever see.

There is liveliness in yellow, it moves through the dewy morning as the faint chirp of birds and sticks with candied feeling. There are people who wear it so valiantly, bright and joyful, enveloped in the warmth of the sun; their smile reflecting brightly from the blank of their canine. It blinds when you look at it, but you would give all the blues and purples for the moment of yellow. I wish I could wear lemons and honeys; but I will never be that delightfully sweet, just a spoonful of sour.

The rigidness of Green simmers within me, silent and cold when I feel it, pulsing between every heartbeat. Olive darkness through my skin, colored scarlet but it pumps green. My vision emerald, covering the world in a tint of jealousy at the people who have more, or those who are ignorant. How I long for ignorance, it truly is bliss. Envious at women for being women and men for being men, at the people who don’t need to paint their face to feel like they are enough, at the people who haven’t had to learn right from wrong. Viridescent in a polished shade of bewitchment that only reflects the craving I will never satisfy.

Perhaps I will never reach the vastness of the color blue, but I get near the end. Immersed in the indigo of melancholy and never getting close to the trench of the sea. Alluring in it’s depression that sinks so deep one never wants to leave; for the absolute beauty of rich cobalt that traces in lines down a cheek. Hot as it falls but frigid when it reaches the end of a face. The droplets echoing on the image of the surface of water, disturbing the image. I wish I could be shallow, so that words wouldn’t have to cut as deep. How can one not long for the blue, when it mirrors back the sun and creates the sapphire glimmer in a sorrow wave in joy.

There is no more appeal than in the pain of violet, colored in bruises and fragrant flowers. Holding within it’s hydrangeas and lilacs the interims of life, gradually losing its petals as they dwindle into dullness. Just a temporary grace, nothing lovely lasts forever just like every scar will eventually fade. The purple so rich on the surface until it dims into a lavender, but scars like that will always leave remains. A trace in the shards of amethyst will stay, sharp and excruciating if you brush upon it.

Glowing is the revelation of pink, soothing to the eyes and aching to the heart. Wounding those who risk to give and lose to be given. A pure gamble of roses, blossoming with every stolen breath that constrains as one falls in love. Heavenly music in the shared emotion of anticipation and satisfaction of being complete. Flushed as the beat of your heart palpitates in your ear, a harmonious melody that never seems to stop singing. As heartbreaking as it may be when you lose in the fated game, it’s a shame to stop listening to the symphony of pink that gives and takes breath from all life.

The elegance of black holds safety, it grasps attention so subtle it goes unseen as it blankets the light in it’s cold texture, evokes mystery in it’s uncertainty. I was made darkness, wicked and collided with all the other shades of the wheel. Yet I embrace it, rather than pushing away the only thing that can protect me. Fallen in race before I may even start, so far behind the crowd that it is indistinguishable. Nobody ever sees black until it’s put under a light, irony in its fate. You cannot stain the jet colored shade, all the glancing blotches and disdainful words pass through and you will never see it’s detriment. White is it’s only ruin, and it will only pigment if you are naive enough to let it.

Red is everywhere, it lives within the body and vibrates in the soul, on the hot surface of the core of the earth and the stroke of a ripped rose petal. Fierce as it walks, sashaying across to capture attention and breath, stealing looks of green and touches of blue when it rattles. Valiant in the passion shared in a kiss, sticky stains on the lips of white, staggering against black. Feeding into the fire of rage that burns on my fingertips, sizzling through the lines on my palm and shivering into my heart. It is the only color I have chosen, so I must not let it fade. Stupid in reason as I fail to stop it’s flow, beading at the surface of every line I draw. Falling into this carmine love with scars I trace, so I may never stop seeing it’s rich color; foolish with empty headed thoughts wisped out of thin air that justify my actions. Rambling nonsense about how my lines make me strong, how they let me take back my power when I am so weak I can’t bring myself to stop. Unable to live without them, cursed is the fact that to live I must die first. Dreadful is the ruby’s worth, insatiable to the eye so you can never avert your gaze. Horrid, that scarlet is not without a scar. Made black with the sin of others, dirty yet still untouched. A virgin in sex yet tainted in mind and soul, showering twice a day because I can still feel his hands on me; scrubbing till I’m an itched shade of faded pink because I can still see the imprints of his fingers on my body. The only cure is the cold of the water and the heat of the rage that I leak when I turn the faucet day and day again. Stinging on my tongue as I hold in the cries I wish I could give, burning flakes of spice at the poison he shoved down my throat “for the sake of love”. Avoiding in false promise, the reality of what I do to myself, sacrificing my skin for a sense of control. Painting my lips with the saccharine essense I draw out, wine and cherry flavored with a hint of mental. Rich maturity with a glass of vermillion, a beaming light of swaying love. For red is the color of love, therefore it must be aflame with passion. The hues of orange and yellow burning in unity, colliding in everlasting plight as they flicker into deep cardinal, mesmerizing and spreading through skin and blood. Evoking in soul the appetite of a carnal act or the sleek scar that only leaves behind the trace of the color Red.