#aasb

[jo-harrington]

Over the years, her hand shrunk in yours. What was once a healthy, strong hand that guided you became small and weak, shriveled and brittle. Until one day, there was no hand left to hold at all.

Excerpt from the AASB Prologue: Annunciation

Ok Ok...so hey. Thank you to the wonderful, talented @irlplasticlamb for filling this commission for me. It took a while for me to find the right person willing to take this piece on and Vic took the most care and did, honestly, the most amazing job with it.

Knight and her Nonna...

[areyouwell]

also have a snippet cuz this dynamic is already super fun <3

[lampyoil]

Evangeline!!!!!!!!!!! I spent like 6 minutes looking for a full drawinf of her as a ref but we 🆙

Mlp version also.. Pony brainrot!! Ignore the background jusy being a galaxy i wasnt sure what to do ther gulp

@vivizzy !!!! ^_^

[deny-the-issue]

As Above So Below

Chapter Ten: A Different Perspective

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter coming soon

As Above So Below Masterlist

Summary: Your friends try to help you, and Silco attempts something reckless.

Thank you to @silcoitus for beta reading! <3

AO3 Link

Ko-fi Link

Taglist: @arcaneincorrectquotess, @lazycondensedmilk, @zauns-eye, @crunchlite, @alva-dore, @roxannadanna831, @astudyincontrasts, @mmartos, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @juniper-sunny, @roxnpens, @a-gal-with-taste, @artwithvivien, @leave-me-alone-doctor, @fantadym

[Explicit Language] [Demon!Silco] [Silco x reader] [silco x fem!reader] [gore] [angst] [medical equipment] [3.6k words]

Grim

He knew he shouldn’t have bothered you yesterday, but he was just so bored going from shop to shop with his mother. Seeing you Topside was too good to pass up. 

How could he have known you and his mom had such a violent history? 

Besides—that was like forever ago. He doesn’t care what his mother says; people can change, and you certainly did. You helped save the Lanes! 

What kind of monster would do something so heroic? 

The anger keeps his rationality from catching up to him. No matter what he says now, he knows there is a world of trouble awaiting him at home now that he’s run away. 

Starting from the tunnel entrance you caught him tagging, he zig-zags methodically through the streets looking for any sign of you or your home. Hands firmly tucked in his pockets, his lost feet kick some rubble out of the way as he trudges through the streets of the Undercity. Even in the daylight, the air has a bite to it, forsaken by the sun. 

With each abandoned street searched, uncertainty chills the obstinance within him, and he thinks about heading home. He can’t hide forever, and he knows what Ekko would say if he went to the tree. 

A heavy sigh passes his pouty lips, and with slumped shoulders, he turns down an unsearched path that leads back to the lift. The way is lit with dim electric lamps, unlike the others, giving a sense of welcoming from the otherwise dim atmosphere. 

His heart jumps with hope at the sound of a door handle turning, but the joy lodges in his throat like a pill at the sight of a stranger in a long black coat. The man sees Grim out of the corner of his eye and freezes. This was not a reaction of surprise but of calculation. Eyes unblinking, the man turns to face Grim. 

He steps back, the hair on his neck prickling with the sense of unknown danger. Like a flip of a coin, the man’s face relaxes into a welcoming smile. 

“Hello. Are you lost, boy?” 

Shaking his head, he answers nervously. “No—I’m just headed home.”

“To the lift?” The man inquires, taking a cautious step closer. 

Grim nods without thinking, an uneasy feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

“Do you mind if I join you? I so easily lose my way,” the man pleads. 

Grim shrugs, “Sure.”  

Ever the polite young man, Grim tries to hide the discomfort the stranger causes him. Shoulders tense, he averts his gaze when he starts the journey again. The man joins Grim’s side, matching his pace. 

“You must spend a lot of time down here,” the stranger breaks the silence, “but I wonder—do you know the history of the Lanes?”

“Only what they teach in school.” Grim knows that it’s the glorified version because of Ekko, but he withheld most of the details.

“Well, let me give you a little lesson on the way. They say a ruthless revolutionary started the war, but in truth, it was his daughter. He dominated the Lanes with an iron fist; so much so, people began calling him the Eye of Zaun after a local religious deity.”

This sparked Grim’s interest—he never heard this before. The culture of the Lanes only lives on in the people who lived it, but this man doesn’t seem old enough. Grim wonders how he knows and listens with rapt attention. 

“If you like, I could show you the statue that was built in their honor.” 

Grim wants to agree but listens to his gut. “My mom’s waiting for me, sorry.”

“Oh, but it won’t take long at all! It’s just around the bend, see?” The stranger urges, pointing around the corner. 

Grim turns away from the man to look in the direction he indicated. 

Brow furrowed, he squints at the dark alley in confusion. “I don’t see—“

He feels a sharp pinch in the side of his neck and then the stranger is on him. Grim thrashes against the man’s hold, but his arms and legs grow heavier by the second. It takes more and more effort to move until his mind feels as foggy as the Pilt on a cold autumn morning. 

He clings to consciousness just long enough to hear the man say, “I never understood why he gave it all up for a child.”

When Grim comes to, he has no perception of time passing. Groggy mind and heavy eyelids—the panic doesn’t set in until he tries to move his bound arms. 

He wiggles about trying to get free, but the effort makes him feel woozy. What happened? The stranger's face floats up from his cloudy memories. He did something. 

With wet cheeks and panicked, shaky breathing, he starts to look around for anything that could help. He spies a sharp scrap of metal on the ground some feet away, near the piled-up equipment. Horrific screeches drown out his grunts as the chair scrapes across the floor with each flail of his body. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sine sneers from behind, grabbing the back of Grim’s chair and dragging it back into place. 

“Piss off!” Grim spits, just as fierce. 

Sine stomps in front of Grim, brandishing a knife threateningly. “Listen here, boy. I don’t normally kill children, but it’s not a moral—it’s self-preservation. You kill one little shit and the whole city hunts down the killer. But that’s not the case with you, is it? The Lanes are treacherous—who knows what could befall an adventuring kid. Why, you could just disappear, never to be found again.”

For the first time in his life, Grim feels the icy tendrils of death licking at his back. The fear lodges in his throat as he holds back a silent sob. 

“So, be a good boy, and stay quiet. One more outburst and I’ll kill you in front of our mutual friend; is that understood?” Sine waits for Grim to nod before gagging him, pleased with his compliance. 

What does he mean by “mutual friend”? Dread seeps into his veins, slowing time to a crawl. Sine strolls past a set of doors on the far wall and hides behind one of the protruding metal beams. 

The minutes tick by, measured only in the sounds of leaky pipes and the groaning of a derelict building. Waiting, watching, feeling like a foot blindly searching for the next rung of a ladder that isn’t there. Grim’s thoughts spiral, dizzying, pulling him down into the pits of drug-induced sleep. 

In and out of consciousness, Sine’s voice rips through the vale. The next moments rush by like water in a stream, memories slipping through his fingers just as easily. 

He doesn’t know why he was let go, or even remember what you said. One fact remains in his frenzied mind as he staggers through the Undercity: you need help. 

Shredded knees and bloodied hands, he bolts toward the first human voices he hears. 

“ELI!” His mother cries as soon as he rounds the corner, running to catch him as he falls. 

He did it—he’s safe. 

He notices Ekko and another burly man standing close by, and relief washes over him at an alarming pace. Fearing he could fall asleep at any moment, he tugs the collar of his mother's shirt, urging her to listen. 

“I know you hate her, but she saved me. You need to help her, Mom! Please help her.”

“Where is she?” Ekko interjects, knowing instantly that he is talking about you. 

“T-the old factory—the bloody one…” Grim slurs, fading fast. 

It was up to them now to decipher what he meant. He did the best his frantic mind could muster. His mother looks to the others with pleading eyes.

“These knees haven’t run in a long time, but I can stay with him and call for help,” Ekko offers. 

She takes one last look at her son, kissing his forehead before making a makeshift pillow for him out of her jacket and placing it under his head. 

Ekko dials for the enforcers on his cell, anxiety twisting his face as he watches them sprint off. 

One last prayer echoes through Grim’s mind like a lullaby, singing him into slumber. 

I hope you’re ok. 

Silco

Molten breath fogs the window Silco faces with unseeing eyes, too stuck in his head to truly be aware of his environment. Face tense, brow furrowed, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Shadowy tendrils wisp off of him like smoke from a fire as his demon magic seeps through his cracking facade. 

Silco is seething. 

And you’re the cause. Of course, he could have handled that better—why didn’t he?! 

All of his bedroom furniture vibrates with the physical manifestation of his rage like a frightened animal. 

Precious and fleeting though it may be, life is worth living. Your life is worth everything. You see him and do not flinch. He is the visage of nightmares, yet you do not turn away; you embrace him in a grotesquely familiar way. 

Why did you have to wrap your fragile human hands around his demonic heart? Perhaps you remind him of himself in his past life. 

Damned if he knows. 

His face twitches and the glass cracks as the building groans under the building pressure of his unrestrained magic. 

Instead of staying by his side—staying safe—you’re running towards danger to get away from him. This feels fitting, somehow; like it’s what he deserves, and it cements his feet to the ground while his mind chases after you. 

A dusty, faded painting crashes to the floor as his mood grows more turbulent, finally pulling him from his stupor. Grumbling, he leaves his home in peace. He means to haunt the Lanes, but somehow always manages to fixate on the revolutionary statue like a nail to a magnet. 

What is it about this hunk of metal that draws him to it? He chose his name off the placard because it felt right. It’s the only thing that felt right in this new world. 

He knows he has lost so much—he feels it in his bones. He wonders as he peers at the metal figures before him. Was it a lover? A child—no, a daughter? Or perhaps a brother? 

He should tear the damn thing to shreds and be done with it! Someone already started; it wouldn’t be hard. But the flames of destruction peter out, extinguished by the cool breeze. With fresh air filling his lungs and caressing his face, he finds it hard to dwell on his emotions. 

Clean air mixed with earth from the sheer depth of the Lanes. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like victory running its fingers gently through his hair. 

Silco enters a familiar, meditative state, drinking his fill of lost memories at the fountain’s edge. Until the rushed sound of footsteps pounding across the stone ground pulls him back to the present, and his mind instantly thinks of you. 

Listening closer, there are two sets, their steps jumbling together in a cacophony of panic. With the stealth of a ghost, he hones in on their location and stalks them from the rooftops. 

Something is happening in his Undercity, he feels it bubbling in his chest like one of those infernal fizzy drinks everyone is obsessed with nowadays. 

He watches intently as the large man and blond woman bolt through the gate Silco himself broke. Why here, of all places? Did they not take the violence as a sign?

Silco grits his teeth as he prepares for another massacre. But when the pair enter the building, a scream follows soon after. Silco’s in the factory within the flutter of a butterfly's wing, rushing to the source with inhumane speed. 

He expected blood, he expected death, but he did not expect you. Your final breath rattles from your lungs and he just stands there. An all-powerful demon, completely helpless to save your already extinguished life. 

Silco pushes the woman out of the way roughly, cuts his palm with one of his claws, and places it on your stomach. Red light pulses from him into you, but nothing happens. He growls, high-pitched and broken as he fruitlessly tries to revive you with every ounce of magic he has. 

The crimson glow fades with a fizzle, taking his hope with it. Bowed and bent, he cradles you in his arms. The familiar feeling sparks something within—a memory. A recent one, at that. 

You talked of a scientist, didn’t you? If he could help a demon, it’s possible he could revive you. Is it mad and desperate? Yes. But you’ve left him no choice. 

With the look of a war-torn man, he rises, determined to carry you into the next life. The burly man looks to block his way but thinks twice about it, instead running to check on the woman. 

It’s the best decision he could have made. Silco is in a mood that would obliterate all who stand between him and this scientist. 

He walks to the place where the maniac fell all those nights ago holding your broken mask. The physical trail is long gone, but a demon’s senses are far superior to humans’. Even from a good distance away, he can smell the rotten decay of magic and meat. He follows the scent deep into the Lanes until he comes upon the cavern. Viridescent light seeps out of the mouth with echoes of someone tinkering within. 

Silco’s heavy footsteps are greeting enough, and when he stands in the middle of a cluttered laboratory with a surgical table in the middle, he feels an odd sense of nostalgia. 

“I see you too have forsaken death,” rasps the huddled form of a man emerging from a side alcove. 

Silco can see the human underneath the monstrosity of black oozing veins creeping up the man’s neck and face. The skull of one, perhaps. 

Silco brings forth your body, laying it on the table with utmost care. 

“Help her,” Silco commands with fire behind his eyes. 

The man drags himself closer and examines your body with a series of pokes and prods. “How much for the body?”

Silco grabs the man by his throat, snarling over him. “Bring her back to life!”

When Silco releases his hold, the man lets out a wheezy cough, desiccated hands leaning heavily on the table’s edge for support. 

“It would change her, possibly beyond recognition. The past experiments were quite—“ the man takes a long, gurgling breath, “unpredictable. This may be a side effect of the shimmer; the compound is as chaotic as the results.”

“Would another power source work?”

“If it is stable, the subject might undergo less transformation,” the decrepit man nods. 

Silco holds out his palm, igniting a blood-red, magical flame. The scientists' eyes light up and the veins crawling up the side of his neck wriggle and pulse with excitement. 

The cogs of his mind go to work, all too eager to begin his next experiment. With the flick of his wrist, one of his sharp nails slices a gash into the flesh of your arm but sighs dejectedly as the wound barely bleeds. Limping over to one of his many tables of equipment, he peers into a large, hand-written book. 

He mutters to himself as he runs a shaky finger over the page, “...blood from the living body.”

Silco’s conviction wavers, and he sinks further into despair. Looking down at your cold corpse, he hates himself for what he said to you. 

Spewing endless poison without an ounce of the care that resides deep within his cold heart; that’s the last impression you had of him. He wonders if you loathed him in the end. Gently, he removes the strands of hair covering your face, trailing a claw down your cheek as his face trembles, threatening to break. 

The scientist teeters over, pulling a tray table with a scalpel, fabric scissors, and medical pliers on it. Without an ounce of care, he goes to work, cutting a long line up your sleeve. 

“Silco, please fetch her blood from the freezer,” he asks as he hastily discards your bloody clothing. 

Silco’s demeanor perks up, hope restored. Confused about how he came in possession of such a thing but unwilling to question it, Silco remains vigilant as he strides to the large commercial freezer. It was big enough to hide a large human body, and it probably has at some point. 

Cautiously, he opens the hinged lid. Cold air freezes his face as he peers in. Vials upon vials of blood fill the interior, each with a different name. Yours is close to the end of an unfinished row, but surprisingly not the last. 

Did every one of these people willingly give him his blood? Unlikely—but he knows you did. You would do anything for the people you care for, even if you wouldn’t admit it. That’s where he was wrong. There is a fine line between suicidal and selfless. To be honest, Silco himself does not know where it lies, and he shouldn’t have pushed so hard. 

The lid closes with a heavy thump, and he offers the vial to the scientist. It quickly exchanges hands and is placed on the tray beside the scalpel, rolling to clank against the raised lip. The scientist works with surprisingly deft hands, and your naked body is exposed to the ambient air in no time. 

Without consulting Silco, the man begins to carve runes into your skin with the scalpel. Starting from your wrists, and traveling up your arms. 

Uncomfortable with how he’s handling you, Silco’s skeptical mind returns. “How did you know my name? Did she tell you about me?”

The man wheezes, and Silco cannot tell if it is from humor or bad lungs. “How much do you remember?”

Silco sneers at the strange question, defenses rising. But seeing you on the table made him remember his promise. 

“I remember nothing of my life before, only the carnage of the spell that brought me back to this world and everything that has happened since.”

The scientist hums, one brow raising with interest. “That is unfortunate, old friend. We accomplished quite a lot together before your untimely death. You may call me Singed.”

Silco blinks, stunned that this man has the answers he’s been looking for. Then, confusion twirls his mind in knots. 

“You knew me as Silco… before my death?” he asks for confirmation. 

Singed nods, continuing his work all the while. The runes are running down both your arms and one of your legs so far. 

That statue, those people—they call to him from beyond the grave, through the infinite webs the magic has weaved to shield him from the truth. It is no wonder he keeps finding himself at its fountain edge—why the deep, sinking loss weighed like an anchor on his soul. 

Nothing breaks a man more than love and loss. 

Singed finishes the line of runes down your torso and the scalpel clangs as he drops it onto the metal tray, his good eye closely inspecting his work. Next, he shatters the glass vial on the tray, picks up bits of frozen blood with pliers, and places them in some of the wounds in your abdomen. Singed thinks deeply for a moment before remembering the last step, then fastens the table’s straps firmly around your wrists and ankles.

Satisfied, he looks to Silco. “Empower the runes with your magic. It is imperative you do not stop until the magic has run its course. The transformation will be torturous, but, as we know, you cannot have eternal life without pain.”

Steeling his heart, Silco holds his palm just above your damaged abdomen. He falters as he thinks it through one last time. Would you even want this? 

Could you forgive him if you come back as a monster? 

He grits his teeth, the tension showing at his temples. Damn you! Damn you for dying on him. Damn you for growing on him like mold. 

Selfish though it may be, he has to try. 

Shadows seep from Silco’s form and his hand begins to glow as his power gathers. The room dims unnaturally, and Singed steps back just before a needle of red-hot light shoots into your body. 

A crimson wave of magic whips through the room when Silco’s hand is pulled flush with your wounds by the wild magic. The light spreads through the marks on your skin like wildfire until your whole being is lit from within. Wind howling, loose pages swirling around the room, glassware clatters and crashes to the floor while bolts of red lightning shoot from the illuminated runes and ricochet around the room like ethereal bullets. 

Singed quickly retreats behind a heavy door leading deeper into the cave, bony hands held above his ducked head for protection. Silco’s magic continues to build, a thaumaturgic tornado full of broken glass, torn paper, and scarlet hail. 

The destruction and sheer intensity are a window to what’s within him. Too much to control, he lets loose an inhuman roar as he unwillingly transforms into his demonic form. He towers over you like the beast he is, eyes and horns blazing with ruby flames as his torn clothing flaps in the arcane windstorm. 

Ethereal and dancing like the sparks of molten steel, Silco pours himself into you, willing to tear himself apart to imbibe you with new life. 

[evalli]

Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up, then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals! <3

Thank u... ;_;

I'll do the AASB playlist:

The Alien (Annihilation Soundtrack)

The Yawning Grave, Lord Huron

He Is, Ghost/HEALTH Remix

Which Witch, Florence + The Machine

Vex, Chelsea Wolfe

Bonus: All Must Choose, Ramin Djawadi :o)

[solynaceawrites]

AS ABOVE, SO BELOW [1]

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Fandoms: 七つの大罪 - 鈴木央 | Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins Characters: Estarossa, Mael, Original Female Characters, Original Male Characters, Moth (OC) Relationships: Estarossa/Moth, Implied Mael/Moth Tags: Alternate Universe, Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Slowburn, Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Horror Summary: There's a thin line that separates the planes, and a delicate balance to be kept. Moth, a demon hunter with a dark past, works to put any creature that harms a mortal back underground. Yet when her encounter with a devil hound ends with a strange mark on her wrist and seductive whispers in the dark, she finds her circle of trust growing smaller and the world more dangerous. The devil is playing his fiddle, and the tune is as alluring as it is lethal. [A vaguely modern AU in which Moth is a demon hunter, Mael is a priest, and Estarossa is a prince of hell.]

»»————-　⚜　————-««  

The city is suffocating. Weathermen offer apologies full of self-deprecation as the heatwave they swore would pass the city by digs in its claws like a cat curling up for a long nap. The air is thick and oppressively humid; hair and clothes stick, sweat-damp, to anyone unlucky enough to find themselves outdoors, while air conditioning units and fans chug to bring a semblance of relief to those taking refuge. Children idle indoors, dogs pant and sprawl in what little shade they can find, and the streets shimmer. There is no birdsong. No traffic. There is only the low, persistent hum of machinery pushed to its limit and the quiet rumble of distant thunder, too far off to yet be a true threat.

Yet covered in dirt and clots of blood and the remnants of a rather unfortunate cat, Moth finds that she cares little about the heat. In fact, she almost hopes that her heart gives out. Dying would be preferable to the hours-long trek through back alleys to reach her home while mud dries into another layer of skin, and even breathing as shallowly as she can through her nose she can still  taste the rank odor emanating from her ruined clothing.

Her boots squelch as she trudges down another narrow path. The viscera coating the soles is fast turning to glue where it comes into contact with the overly warm cement, and that faux glue is in turn slowly peeling her shoes apart. She reaches up to brush an errant lock of hair from her face and black flakes shake from her like fleas.

Fucking kelpie, she thinks, and kicks a can viciously.

Read the rest on A03!

[goldenfox3]

Suggestiveness, sincerity, and service with a smile.

Jody lends Stewart her mechanic. They hit it off better than expected, especially for John.

And today on my pairing roulette: Stewart/Tanaka 🥳

[pixiestickjoker]

just want to say,

as a die hard fan of as above, so below that has watched it so much, including on repeat for more than a month once,

papillon and zed definitely had a thing going on.

when papillon was getting pulled into the car and right before he died, he was only directly calling out for zed

he didn't call for george or scarlet, just zed

that is all

[birrdies]

my current wip has officially exceeded 80,000 words.

[morphitime]

Amazing artwork of my players for our campaign. 

Gragnar our Sorcerer Kobold who just picked a fight with death. 

Steel-Toed Sam our Rouge and hot mom of the group. Also, the only levelheaded/sane person in this madhouse. 

Phraan the Bard/Rouge who betrayed his country and sold his soul for love.

Seraphina the runaway prices who would do anything to find her dead husband.

Art By: https://twitter.com/LustriaVT - @lustriavt

Check out our camping: https://www.youtube.com/@AASBTTRPG

[neonmalware]

The Devil

[areyouwell]

Ut Supra, Sic Infra Masterlist:

Ch.1, Memento Mori – Remember Death

Ch.2, Alea Iacta Est – The Die is Cast

Ch.3, Acta Non Verba – Actions Not Words (coming soon)

[lampyoil]

I dare you to draw an AASB character

i didnt have my phone all day so this was the first thing ive drawn,, forgive this for being a bit under rendered im very sleepy

Still need to draw haniel..

[deny-the-issue]

As Above So Below

Chapter Eight: Back Breaker

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

As Above So Below Masterlist

Summary: You help with the barrier's construction, explore the shady Topside shop, and receive a just reward.

The Smuttening is here!!! I hope you all enjoy! Make sure you re-read chapter 7!!! I rewrote it completely!

AO3 Link

Ko-fi Link

Taglist: @arcaneincorrectquotess, @lazycondensedmilk, @zauns-eye, @crunchlite, @alva-dore, @roxannadanna831, @astudyincontrasts, @mmartos, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @juniper-sunny, @roxnpens, @a-gal-with-taste, @artwithvivien, @leave-me-alone-doctor @fantadym

[Explicit Language] [Demon!Silco] [Silco x reader] [silco x fem!reader] [vaginal sex] [oral sex] [edging]

It was tedious work at first, installing the new barriers. Well, you guessed it was. Ekko forced you to rest after hearing about your ordeal, earning you the loathed title, ‘Supervisor’. 

So there you sat, shouting out orders with as little animosity as possible. But no matter how snippy your words became, the workers all regarded you with the utmost respect.

It seriously pissed you off.

What did you do to earn a place among them, as well as their respect? It makes as much sense to you as why Grim would choose to sit beside you for his lunch every day, despite your confused silence. He never greeted you either.

On a particularly strenuous day of back-breaking lounging, you sigh and sit up from your crumpled position, cracking your back loudly as it snaps into the correct posture. Grim glances your way and quickly returns to eating his sandwich, earning your interest.

“Alright, I’ll bite - heh, get it?” you laugh as he cringes, and you continue with one hand gesturing to the food, “Why here?”

He looks down at the food, showing his youth in his plump face as he grasps the meaning of your question. Nervous hands start to pick at the sandwich’s contents as he speaks.

“Well–you know–how you uh–I mean,” he trails off, sinking into himself. 

“It’s alright,” you attempt to soothe, feeling way out of your depth. 

But you also feel a longing to help the boy; it’s a faint pull of the heart when he loses confidence that has your hand reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. Snapping out of the strange, maternal-like state, you quickly pull back your rogue hand to sit in patient silence. 

“I just,” he starts cautiously, voice wavering. After a deep breath, he flies out of his chair, whipping around to face you properly, sandwich in hand.

“You risked your life to help others - that’s awesome. Like, totally badass ninja-type shit!” 

A piece of meat slides off his sandwich, no doubt jostled from his exuberant display, and falls to the rocky ground with a wet slap, completely ruining his sudden bravado. 

Your lips thin as you suppress a smile, but when he slumps forward in defeat, your snort breaks the loaded silence. He cracks a smile, outright grins, then joins laughing, fierce and full of joyous mirth. 

You both laugh so hard that tears fill your eyes, and every time you make eye contact another spurt resurfaces, bubbling up uncontrollably and rendering you both useless. Sitting back to back is the only way you can catch your breath, and even then, you do it with a grin so wide your face starts to ache. 

Along with oxygen, pesky thoughts return to your brain, causing the smile to fade away. Maybe sitting too long has made you cranky, but you feel the need to say it anyway. 

“Don’t look up to me kid; I’m about the furthest thing from a role model you could get. Smart people take the safest path. What I did was reckless, and one wrong step could have been the difference between life and just another corpse in the gutter. Do you understand?”

Brow furrowed, he sticks his bottom lip out while he thinks, then shrugs when he looks at you, agreeing half-heartedly. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

You nod, satisfied with his answer. You're not responsible for him, after all. You have no right to teach this kid with your fucked-up version of morality, no matter how much he grows on you. 

“One last piece of wisdom -”

“Janna, you’re worse than Ekko,” he interrupts, rolling his eyes into next year.

“No, listen! It’s the most important thing you’ll ever hear, I promise.”

Grim sighs deeply but gives you his attention anyway. 

“Next time,” you place your hands on his shoulders to give weight to your statement, looking deep into his eyes, “hang on to your salami!”

You almost fall with how fast he pulls from your grasp, whipping away with an exasperated huff.

“It was for dramatic effect!” he shouts back at you as he stomps away, his angry voice laced with the amusement plain on his face. 

A smile comes to yours easily, and your next breath starts with a chuckle. 

Shit, I think I care for the kid.

A month passes quickly, and before you know it, the barriers are finished and you’re fully healed. 

You didn’t spend the whole month in the chair, you’re proud to say. Thanks to Silco’s magic, you were back to the picture of health within two weeks. 

The little village was your home for that time, and you hadn’t slept so wrong in your life as under the verdant canopy of the tree. Thoughts of Silco pervaded your mind, and the feeling of missing out - missing him, prevented any kind of restful sleep. 

Each night after, you retired to your home and hoped he would visit you, in dreams or otherwise. But he remained aloof, and you can’t help but worry you pushed him away, even from your sleeping mind.

Just like you have with every relationship in the past.

Perhaps he doesn’t know what to say, just like you. What would you talk about, really? You have yet to go to the shop, and you’re definitely not ready to talk about whatever you’ve been feeling lately. 

Distance is for the best, you suppose. 

Ekko’s hand rests on your shoulder, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Are you alright, kid?”

You stand up straight and nod, “Yeah! Sorry.”

“You’re standing in front of your finished grand plan and your head’s topside!” Ekko gestures wildly to the steel plate in front of you.

You smile at his enthusiasm but shake your head at the credit given. 

You point at the stout man inspecting the barrier with a broad, proud grin on his face as if he’s looking at his crowning achievement. “Talking about it and constructing it are completely different. The credit should go to him.” 

“I’m just the handyman,” the man grunts, smile disappearing into his rugged goatee as he turns away from the barrier, satisfied with his work.

“A handyman that owns a construction company, who funded all of this out of his own pocket,” you point out and he shrugs, continuing to walk away.

“You could just say ‘thank you’,” Ekko teases, patting the man’s back as he passes, wishing him well before returning to you.

“You did a good thing - you see that, right?”

The weight of where you’re standing begins to sink in as your mind grasps for a reply. 

The air was toxic in this tunnel until a few days ago, all thanks to the information you brought from the depths of the undercity. Information you brought. You. 

Your eyes turn to the barrier and you touch the cool steel, a stark contrast to the warmth that’s filling your heart. A tear runs down your cheek and you quickly rub it away, only for more to follow. You sniffle quietly and hide your face from Ekko, thoroughly embarrassed and confused. 

He pulls you into a hug, chuckling softly as he cradles your head to him, warm hands rubbing your back. 

“It’s alright, let it out,” he soothes, and you hiccup into his shoulder as you choke back a sob.

You hug him loosely at first, unsure, and then the wave of emotion lurches and you’re clinging to him like a beacon in a storm, sobbing like a helpless child. 

He holds you until your turbulent waters have calmed, leaving his shirt stained with the evidence of your heart. 

“S-sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you mumble, hugging yourself when you pull out of his embrace. 

“There’s nothin’ to apologize for! Now, don’t be a stranger; you’re always welcome here,” he pats your back reassuringly with a kind smile and shuffles off toward the village for his daily afternoon nap.

You smile softly and nod, staying by the barrier even as Ekko retreats. You’re not sure why you broke down like that, but you’re glad of it, in a strange way. The calm after the storm relaxes your body, washing away the tension you didn’t know you were keeping, and releasing the feelings you didn’t notice festering.

I like this version of me.

It’s an agonizingly sunny day topside, the type of day that makes your eyes scream, hiss, and water even through your sunglasses. The cool breeze from the river cools the little beads of sweat forming along your hairline, and you close your eyes as you lean into it, letting it soothe your discomfort, if only for a moment. The breeze cuts off, and you sigh heavily, fanning yourself with a flier you snatched along the way. 

It’s definitely the place you’re looking for; you can tell by the sort of people that come and go. They’re the same sort employed at Mort’s, people on the edge of society due to desperation in one form or another. But watching them earns you no new information; It only confronts you with the reality that waits for you after all this is over. 

There has to be a better way to find what Silco wants. 

Leaning back into the shade of the alley, you start to hate the very brick the shop is made of. It’s hot, sunny, and crowded. All things you try to avoid in one place. Why in Janna’s name did you agree to this?

You growl and kick the wall with your heel, releasing just a tiny bit of tension built over hours of watching the shop called, “Plover’s Temp Services”. You’re no sleuth. Otherwise, you would have tried your luck at night. A brick is your lockpick, and you doubt you want to end up on these people’s radar. 

The thought sparks a bad idea; If the shop were very obviously broken into, they would send someone they trust to investigate, someone you can tail. And you wouldn’t actually be robbing the place, so it should be easy to remain out of sight. Your eyes drop to the ground for the first time in hours, and as you blink away fatigue, you spy a damaged brick on the other side of the alley.

Are you going to be my friend tonight? I think so.

You smile a bit too wide, thrilled by the idea of breaking something but relieved to get out of this unusual seasonal heat. Back home, it is. If only to get a few hours of sleep before Project: Fuck Around and Find Out commences.

Sleep comes easily. You suppose you have the excursion to thank for that. Despite the darkness you wake in, you feel positively wired, rushing out of bed the moment your eyes open. The digital clock you’ve bought since your phone’s demise shines green in the dark room, telling you it’s the perfect time for sabotage. 

The air cooled to a tolerable, almost chilly, temperature, making your night walk to the elevator pleasant. As you climb topside on the slow lift, the moon shines brightly down at you with a million stars twinkling in the night sky. Your eyes widen in wonder, and you remain in awe as you leave the lift, taking a moment to lose yourself in the unfathomable depths of space.

Maybe there are some merits of being topside. 

You connect lines of stars and try to recall their names from your school days but come up woefully blank. There’s always time to learn them; you resolve to learn the constellation names after you help Silco. 

Would he learn them with you?

The thought brings a hopeful smile to your lips and leaves a lingering warmth in your heart as you come upon the shop. You duck into the alley, retrieve the brick with a gloved hand, and stop just before entering the street, destination in view. The adrenaline amplifies every ambient noise, but you focus your mind and listen through it. 

It makes sense that a district as commercial as this would be so quiet in the dead of night, but you hope there aren’t any guards or police patrolling. You look left and right, peeking out of the alley before pulling up your hood, and rush to the shop’s side as if its walls would protect you. A cold sweat slicks your brow as you peer into the side window to see the main room of the shop.

Your legs begin to shake the longer you hang around in the open, and you breathe a shaky sigh of relief as you spy metal filing cabinets through the back window. An uneasy knot forms in your stomach, full of anxious little wasps.

Should you really be doing this? Should you be committing a crime for a man you barely know, even for a good reason? 

You’re standing, breathing, alive, because of him. Knowing him isn’t necessary, you decide, as the brick smashes through the window with a brilliant CRASH. You quickly swipe along the upper ledge with the brick, clearing the glass before gently placing it on the ground. The latch flips with ease and the window opens with a triumphant squeak. 

With a job well done, you start to run away before slowing your pace to listen to your surroundings. It seems this section isn’t well protected at night; no one was immediately alerted. It didn’t stop your heart from nearly pounding out of your chest, or your hands from shaking. 

You hide nearby in an alleyway with multiple exit routes and attempt to bring your panting under control. Closing your eyes, you slowly but shakily breathe through your nose and out your mouth, hugging yourself to keep your hands still. 

What did I just do?

Maybe it’s the kindness Silco showed, or your recent accomplishment with the barriers, but the toxic thoughts fade away as soon as your breathing slows. An eerie calm washes over your mind, steadying your hands and heart. 

You know why, dammit. They can’t be allowed to send this city slipping into the past by polluting its very foundation. And once you find out who they are, your demon will do the rest. 

Wait, is that right? He’ll kill them just like he massacred the factory workers. Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to take this to the elected council? 

You dwell on the thought for a moment before dismissing it entirely. 

With what proof? And besides, they may want to punish Silco for what he did and find me complicit. 

With a defeated sigh, you settle in with your back against the wall, alert and waiting for the city to awaken and find your dirty deed. 

“What in Janna’s name?!” a man shouts, startling you from your sleepy trance. 

You wipe the drool from the corner of your mouth as you hear the man curse, keys jingling as he presumably opens the front door. That’s your cue!

The sky is paling with the first light of the day, and the city is just beginning to stir, you notice through sleep-filled, squinted eyes as you rise from your crumpled position. There must be a bakery nearby, and the scent of fresh bread makes your stomach grumble while you sneak closer to Plover’s. You stay in the dark alley, out of sight but within earshot. Lucky for you, The shop’s door has a distinct chime, easily told apart from the others—no need to stick your neck out any further.

Some time passes, and you can blend in on the busy street within line of sight, but far enough to not be conspicuous. You even pick up a newspaper and fake reading it just to be sure.

As expected, the first visitor to the shop is not an enforcer, but a man in plainclothes. He darkens Plover’s doorstep, and a thin nervous man runs to the door, greeting him with anxious hospitality. The visitor says something that sours the shopkeeper’s face before sidestepping the mouse of a man to enter the small building. 

You lose sight of him inside and can’t help but feel disappointed. His brimmed hat obscured his important features–you would have to wait to see his face. The plan is to tail him, anyway–why are you so restless? 

The visitor’s presence sets off your inner alarm, telling you to run. It’s probably because he’s looking for you, the one who smashed the window. 

You read the paper in bite-sized increments, eyes glancing up at the shop with every paragraph. After a time, Shadows approach the door faster than you’re expecting, and the visitor swings the front door wide open and peers out as if looking for something, or someone. 

Quickly turning, you blend into a nearby group walking away from Plover’s, and with fisted hands, you keep your wits about you. 

You saw his face, clear as day, and it’s not the first time. He’s a regular at Mort’s. You remember making his foul deeds disappear. More than that, you’ve seen the badge he keeps in his inner pocket when he flashed it to your boss on one of his many visits. 

Long, perfect hair tied back, so black it reflects blue light, and a face that could curdle milk with two beady, lifeless eyes. House Ferros sent their infamous fixer, Sine, to investigate a simple broken window. Panic electrifies your movements, barely stopping yourself from bolting to the elevator to get away from the man unseen. 

How could you be so stupid? Your nails dig into the palms of your hands punishingly. 

I’m connected to this. I’ve always been connected to it. 

Just as the lift is in sight, you hear someone shout your name. You freeze, terrified. Do you run? Wouldn’t that be more suspicious? A breath later, you turn to the source.

Grim comes hurdling out of the crowd and playfully punches your shoulder. 

“One second slower, and I would’ve gotten you good!” he exclaims with a smile as radiant as the sun. 

You stop yourself from looking behind you and instead lead Grim off to the side, out of Sine’s view. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks, looking in the direction you dare not before turning to you with a sly grin. “Did you do something fun?” 

You laugh and shake your head, “Yeah, sure, kid-”

“ELIJAH CROCKET, YOU GET AWAY FROM HER THIS INSTANT!” A woman shouts as she sprints to you.

You forget the danger behind you with the woman charging toward you like an angry bull, with eyes just as frightening. Grim shrinks beside you, face flush with embarrassment as the woman puts herself squarely in front of you. 

Her blond hair frames one side of her face perfectly while the other obscures, hiding a familiar, but faded scar across her forehead. You back away from the woman quickly, putting more distance between mother and cub. The sticky thorns of guilt wrap around your heart, and you look to the ground, unable to meet her gaze. 

You gave her that scar. 

Your feet stumble as you blindly back away toward the lift, hands clutching the hem of your shirt nervously. 

“S-sorry, I didn’t know!”

“I don’t want your fucking apology! Go back to where you belong!” she yells, throwing a protective arm around Grim. 

You bow your head, turn around, and sprint to the elevator. Shaking hands mash the button repeatedly, only stopping when the doors begin to close. Pacing the length of your enclosure like a caged animal, the situation plays in your head again and again.

“I didn’t know!”

A quiet sob shakes your body as the panic, guilt, and anger course through you as new as the day you decided to bludgeon her with that trophy. The feelings build to the point of no return, and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe. Unsteady hands run through your hair as you pace, muttering empty affirmations.

There is no stopping the eruption this time, and with a cry, your fists collide with the metal door. You clutch your hands to your chest and fall back against the wall, your heavy breathing drowning out the rumbles and creaks of the lift descending.

Numb, then stinging, your knuckles burn to the tune of your heartbeat, undoubtedly shredded. But your mind is quiet, rendered silent from your violent display, thoughts swirling endlessly.

What she said is true.

The lift lurches to a stop, brakes squealing, and doors roll open with a ding. You lift your head slowly and stare at the Undercity, its buildings empty and neglected. 

I do belong here. 

You sigh heavily and put one foot in front of the other until you’re in the fresh air of the lanes. Standing still, you close your eyes to feel the soft breeze on your skin so much cooler down here than on the surface. 

I came between her and her child; with a past like ours, her reaction was warranted.

Ekko will have something to say about this. You don’t know what, but you’re sure you don’t want to deal with it right now.

The promise of a shower carries you home instead of to Silco, and the warm waters wash away the last of the emotional grime clouding your mind. It allows you to focus on the only event that matters. 

You suppose the outburst from Grim’s mother could have called Sine’s attention to you, but you no longer care about the consequences. How would he know your face, anyway? The masks protect you from more than just blood. 

Grabbing the disinfectant, you grimace as you pour it over your knuckles, then cautiously dry them with a clean washcloth before wrapping them in gauze. The dull ache feeds your irritation.

Are people not allowed to change? Are you not allowed to change? 

A couple of decades isn’t enough time, apparently. You’re rotten to the core.

Perfect bait for a demon.

The thought should make you feel, well, damned, but you let out a breathy laugh, cracking a wicked smile.

There are people in this world who know your worth, and that’s enough for you to move on with only a pang of guilt remaining in your chest. 

A strategic choice in undergarments later, and you’re strutting to Silco’s with singular intent. 

You’re going to get your due. 

Technically, you declined that part of the bargain, but you hope with every fiber of your being that it’s still on the table. But hope doesn’t stop you from chewing your lip anxiously as you arrive on his doorstep. 

You lift your hand to knock when the hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

“Hello, stranger,” you greet, turning toward him with a warm smile. 

Silco eyes you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. 

“It’s been a while.” 

His chest almost brushes yours as he reaches past you to open the door, eyes never leaving you. The attention makes your skin bristle, and you almost lose yourself in his intoxicating scent, leaning back against the door. The open door.

“Shit!” you cry out as you lose your footing.

Silco is quick to catch you with one strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you to him. 

“Careful,” he taunts as he walks you backward and swings the door shut with his foot. 

He removes a strand of hair from your face and gingerly traces your jawline with his claw before taking your chin between forefinger and thumb.

“Do you have something for me?” he purrs, thumb ghosting over your lower lip.

“I found what you’re after.” You’re quick to answer, and after you muster the courage, you continue.  “The real question is–do you have something for me?”

Your mouth parts, and you kiss his thumbpad, long and slow, tempting him with a flutter of your eyelashes. His eyes darken as you drag the tip of your tongue along his digit, and a visible shiver runs through him when you gently suck it into your mouth. 

How long has it been for him? When was the last time he was touched so intimately?

A vein bulges in his forehead when you pull his thumb out with a pop and move on to kiss his palm, trailing up his wrist. It breaks your heart how touch-starved he is, and you look at him, pleading.

Something in him snaps, and he pushes you against the wall with a sneer, claws digging into your waist. You can feel the way his grip trembles like a rockfall just before it caves.

“I may hurt you,” he bares his teeth as he rests his forehead against yours, chest heaving. 

“That’s half the fun.” You barely have a chance to smile before he lifts you, hands gripping just under your ass. 

A flutter of heat erupts at the clothed contact, but he gives you no time to enjoy it. Arms and legs wrapped around him tight, he carries you upstairs faster than any human could. The bedroom door bursts open, the wooden frame splintering, but Silco couldn’t care less. With eyes only for him, you’re surprised when he kneels on a bed before releasing you to fall the rest of the way. Your ass hits the bed, and where there should have been a spring, there’s a deafening crack.

Silco’s arms cage you in on the mattress as the bottom two legs give out, dropping the mattress into a permanent tilt. You stare into each other's eyes with bewilderment before you break into infectious laughter amidst the cloud of dust. Silco cracks a smile, and the crows’ feet around his teal eye crinkle beautifully with amusement. 

“All according to plan,” he defuses, rising from the bed to gather some bedding.

“Riiight,” you sass, laughter turning into a cough from the dust. 

Silco’s eye narrows, but his face remains as stoic as ever while he begins to pile the blankets in between the bed and the floor. Frowning, he seems to think about something before it clicks with a slight upturn of his mouth. 

“Wha - HEY!” You grip the sheets as he lifts the mattress just over the lip over the frame and releases again, leaving you to slide the rest of the way to the floor with the mattress.

Okay, maybe he does have a plan.

Silco tops the blanket padding off with pillows, and then wraps his hands around your ankles, thumbs massaging soothing circles into your skin. “Do you trust me?”

You bite your lip, you nod, interest thoroughly piqued. He reaches, grabbing your chin firmly.

“Say it.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and your mouth begins to salivate. 

“I trust you,” you say softly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He leans on the bed and caresses your cheek, face inches from yours. “Good girl.”

It could have been a trick of the light, but an almost imperceptible stream of shadow leaves his mouth as he speaks. Within a blink, it’s gone, probably imagined. Real or not, your thighs quiver with his affirmation, and you kiss him passionately, hands gripping his vest. Tongues and teeth collide clumsily as his claws rip your shirt off, your nipples hardening into sensitive buds as hot skin hits ambient air. He barely stops to admire the view before descending on you, covering each breast with sloppy kisses of worship that leave you wet and wanting. 

“If I had known you were this sweet, I would have indulged sooner.” 

A sharp pain digs into your breast, and you cry out, yanking his head back by his hair instinctually. He looks at you with such unabated horniness that you stay your crude remarks and inspect the damage. Only his fangs punctured your skin, leaving a perfect impression of his teeth surrounding your nipple like a fucked up faery circle. 

His bark has bite, you find yourself thinking with a grimace that fades into a blissful smile. His face falls as he watches a tiny amount of blood bead to the surface, then bows his head apologetically, soothing the mark with a kiss. 

“Do you still wish to fuck a demon?” he asks sternly, looking into your eyes with dark sincerity. 

“Silco, if you don’t fuck me tonight, I’ll do a lot worse than bite you.”

Your words melt the tension taking root in his face, replacing it with amusement as he takes hold of your ankles and lifts. You claw at the sheets unsuccessfully as he rotates you so your head and the tops of your shoulders lay on the floor pillows, your body following the upward tilt of the bed. 

The perks of the position are revealed when he kneels, one knee on either side of your head, and slowly unbuttons his trousers. You can feel the warmth of him even through the rich fabric. 

His eyes never leave your face as he pulls himself free sinfully slow. The anticipation could never have prepared you for this. For him. thicker than any you’ve ever seen with small ridges running down the length, bulging slightly in the middle, and dangling beautifully just above your awe-gaping mouth. 

“Hm… no witty remark? What’s the matter, darling? Demon caught your tongue?” he shifts closer, cock swinging like the most impressive pendulum you’ve ever seen. You lift your head and catch him in your mouth, a cushion of warm, wet paradise that is your lips and tongue. He hisses between clenched teeth, his good eye closing as his other rolls up to the ceiling, forgetting himself for a blissful moment as you tease him with your tongue. When his eyes find yours again, he distractedly caresses your cheek as his other finds a hold under the waistband of your sweatpants. He barely has to pull to tear them off you, slightly dry-rotted fabric adding static to the rip. 

And when he gets a good look at your equally holy underwear, he frowns, pulling back so his cock slips from your mouth, dripping with your saliva. 

“Do you normally wear such ragged clothes?” 

“Perforated for convenience and chosen very carefully,” you say with a naughty smile, hands gripping the backs of his thighs to pull his hips closer. 

“In that case…” he tears your panties off with ease and parts your legs greedily, head bowing to mark your inner thighs with tongue and teeth.

Both hands grip your legs tight, claws leaving pinpoint imprints in the most delightful of patterns to rival that of his mouth. Slowly at first, and you take him until you’re on the edge of choking–until a little grunt escapes his lips, setting you afire with such lust you pull him closer with all your might, swallowing his girth with an ambition you never knew you had. 

Your fervor is met in kind with the devil's tongue delving stimulating you in ways you never knew possible. Twin moans, one distorted and the other muffled, all filled with the divine taste of each other. Forked tongue slips between your folds, dragging your dripping delight into a slick swirl around your peeking bud, causing thighs to quiver and rhythms to stutter.

You whine as he pulls back, resting his head against your thigh to gaze at your pretty, stretched mouth, his chin dripping with your desires. “Should I fuck your pretty mouth, pet? Would you like that?”

You sing around his cock, bobbing your head in an emphatic, albeit improvised nod.

Eyes closed against the onslaught of movement, your hands grab lower on his legs for more stability. You tilt your head back, wanting him deeper inside you, deeper than you can manage; all that pervades your thoughts is more, more, more. Even as your lungs burn and head swims. You’d rather have him than air. The need is greater, pooling between your legs and dripping into your frothed brain. 

���Eager, aren’t we? You’re throbbing for me,” he growls, each panting breath washing over your aching sex, hot as hellfire. 

You catch his smile framed by the strings of saliva still connecting his cock to your mouth as you take in well-deserved air, just for it to be forced back out again when he expertly latches onto your touch-deprived clit.

Your toes curl, and your eyes roll back. Suction and heavenly flicking strum a euphoric chord, sending you fluttering, quivering, and bucking with only his hands holding you in this world. And where you would have flown over the edge, you find your wings clipped. Among the worldly pleasures, something else is there guarding your entrance into the blissful beyond. 

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask, but as soon as you find the words, his cock is the only thing on your lips. The never-ending build of pleasure fuels your every movement, content to memorize every last ridge with the gentle trace of your tongue. 

How long you teased him, only your sore mouth can tell as he pulls from you with a pop. A whimper leaves your pouting, chapped lips, eyes too locked on the bulging veins on his cock to notice the one on his forehead. 

“Just fuck me, Silco! Use me! I’m yours. P-please!” you beg, almost at the point of tears, your body screaming for his touch. 

“Who am I to resist such succulent temptation?” He rises to his full height, towering over you with darkness obscuring the finer details of all but the inner flame of his corrupt eye. 

Strong hands guide your knees to your chest until you struggle to hold the position and start to crumple, head over heels. This was part of the plan as well, it seems. He pins you like that, straddling your hips, knees pushing into the soft mattress for support as he crouches. 

His cock lies hot and heavy across your ass, leaving a trail of sticky precum as he aligns it with your flower. Velvety head slips across slick folds, and you hardly recognize the wanton whimper that escapes your swollen lips as it brushes against your clit. With each thrust, the tip threatens to slip inside, driving you mad with each carefully measured failure. 

“Are you sure you can take me?” he asks sweetly.

You know he can feel the tremor in your thighs. See the way you open for him, and clench upon deceit. Yet, through the slick noises of his cock sliding along your folds, he asks. 

“Yes!” you gasp, “Yes, yes, ye–!”

He pushes in slowly, the tip stretching you more than anything you’ve taken before. Something inside you screams to break, cord so taut its tune is near inaudible. Ears ringing, body thrumming to every minute twitch, you plead and beg for more.   

No combination of sounds or words sways his movements, always giving you more time than you deem necessary to adjust until he’s nestled deep inside, one large hand on either cheek, holding your pussy to him like the fuck toy you are. 

The quiver in your legs spreads to your hands as yet another wave of a climax denied leaves you pulsating around his cock, begging for more. 

“Good girl, take all of me,” he purrs.

Through the small window his body makes before he slides back into your greedy cunt, you see his face get a little more ruined with each thrust. Hair falling forward, sweat beading down his temples, a small quiver in his thighs, the glimpse of chipped teeth through his open, panting mouth, the far-away, feral look in his mismatched eyes as he grows ever harder. You love all of it. All of him. Inside of you and without.  

“Your cock–hnn–belongs in me,” the words slip out of your mouth as you think them, brain so close to bliss you’re surprised you can speak at all.

Silco can only growl in response, pounding into you ever faster, chasing his pleasure. 

There’s a constant tremble in your legs now, with a stream of whimpering moans pushed out of you as he reaches unclaimed depths within. Chipped teeth bared, his breathing ragged, hips snapping, losing all their grace as he starts to unravel. 

Losing himself in the storm, his head leans on the mattress as a third support while his claws dig into you. With one last thrust, he pulls you flush against him, cock buried so deep inside you can feel the pulse of him throughout your entire body as he comes. 

Almost whimpering as he rocks his cock deep inside of you, his hips twitch as he comes down from the high. When he begins to pull out, you protest, clenching around him with all of your might. His hand smacks your ass playfully, and the delicious sting distracts you long enough for him to pull free, past the point you had any hope of holding onto anything but his seed filling you with a tingly warmth. 

Disappointment starts to nestle into your chest, but it only takes one look at his devilish face to know the night isn’t over. 

“Open wide,” he commands, teal eye glinting mischievously in the moonlight. 

Your body obeys before your mind can process, opening your mouth with the tip of your tongue resting just past your bottom lip. Silco doesn’t keep you guessing for long, tilting your hips forward. It’s not just your mouth he means, you realize. Releasing your muscles, his cum drips from your flower into your open mouth. 

The salty sweetness of his release coats your tongue in an otherworldly warmth. Your eyelids bat close as you swallow, the heat enveloping your stomach, and before long, your whole body is burning with desire. His cock twitches at the sight, retaining every last bit of hardness, and with a proud, lopsided grin pulling his scarred cheek upward, he speaks. 

“Since you have been such a good little slut, I think it’s time I let you come, don’t you?” 

In a flash, he rotates you, head now right-side-up and resting on the mattress. He’s quick to cage you in, even faster to catch your lips in a passionate kiss as he settles in between your legs. One hand holds your legs high on his hip as he grinds the head of his cock against your stiff little clit, your hips canting with each pass. 

“I want to see you fall, my angel,” he breathes into your ear, his damned voice still echoing in your mind as he parts you again, pushing into you with little resistance. 

You sigh in relief, feeling him fill you again. Somehow he feels like home. Your hands trail down his torso and cup his small ass, pulling him impossibly deep. 

Sweat-slick bodies stick to each other, your hips bucking, cock reaching just the right spot inside, clit grinding against his abdomen. The edges of your vision fade to black, leaving only lust and want to guide yourself over the edge. You almost expect it to keep climbing to unknown heights, unable to pass whatever barrier has held you together until now. 

Fantastically wrong, the tides carry you away so strong you can only cling to Silco as you ride out your long-awaited pleasure. Tears sting your eyes, and the overstimulation sets your body ablaze, but you continue to chase it. Rocking hips give way to another climax, and you cry out his name, hands shaking. 

Silco’s strong, slender arms wrap around you, holding your quivering body tightly to him, hands gently massaging your back while he whispers words of affirmation to softly catch you as you fall from the heights of ecstasy. 

So warm is his embrace that you drift into sweet unconsciousness to the dulcet tones of his voice.

“My beautiful, fallen angel…”

Next Chapter

[xidipsum-art]

Lucifer: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder Lucifer: But if you say Lilith is not beautiful, I will be forced to correct your vision

[rook-inthe-valley]

One of the Last Conversations We Had Before You Left

AASB RP Short Story; join the server here; auds are closed

Sheepsage was never fond of the den of shadows, for every warm breath she exhaled dissipated in its frigid grasp all too quickly; she herself shivered despite the thickness of her coat and resolve. There was never a thing that could quite shake her, like this beautiful, haunting graveyard. 

"Sheepsage."

And him. 

She wasn't quick to cut her gaze to him, like she might've done when they were younger. Instead, her eyes fluttered closed, reaching into the depths of her mind for patience. Patience and compassion, and maybe just a tiny murmur from the stars that splayed out against the ceiling of the den. Goldenbriar, Ashnose, even Gullkit or-

"Sheepsage."

"What?" Her voice was colder than the air around them, though she willed her anger down as she snapped her eyes to his. There was no telling what the tom cat would do when confronted with defiance; maybe once she would've been able to trust her anger to go undeterred, but warriors were missing. Warriors were dying. Slatestar's eyes had grown darker. "Has something happened to RiftClan in which you need my immediate attendance?" Her tone melted over the course of her inquiry, but she wasn't all that sure whether it contained a hint of authenticity. 

Shiverfur was unreadable, not that he ever wasn't, and Sheepsage didn't bother troubling herself with trying to pry something unknown from him. Her stomach churned with longing to greet him with a nose touch, or a lick over the ear, like she could calm the raging storm inside of his mind. Alas, Sheepsage had long conceded to its depths, too tired and too lost for such calamity to claim her soul now. 

"Is it wrong for me to want to visit with you?" Shiverfur spoke with such conviction that Sheepsage was inclined to believe he had woven stars into the night sky himself. Though, there was little hint of emotion in his tone, and she felt frustration flare in her chest. She had dozens of moons to practice her smile, however, and what a shame if she did not offer it now. 

Vapid and humorless, the warrior tilted her head towards him. "I suppose I cannot stop you from sharing my company." 

"I suppose you cannot."

They shared the silence like it was their last meal together; the molly drawn tall and unwavering, her tom cat companion unassuming and calm. It was in these moments they were quite a pair, twin souls of a rapidly diminishing flame. It was Sheepsage who spoke first, much to their mutual surprise. "My mother once told me stories of Ridgewalker and Riftseeker and spoke of loyalty like it was a disappearing breed," she whispered, the den hushing her words as though they were a cardinal sin, not to be heard above a murmur. "She said our true loyalties should be with ourselves, not some warriors dead and gone."

Shiverfur twitched his ears. "Do you believe her?" He prompted, and Sheepsage believed he was humoring her, asking questions where he knew answers just so they could both revel in conversation where there had been none for moons. 

Sheepsage snorted, a laugh dying in her throat before it could taste the air. "I do not believe nearly anything Juncosong tried to teach me, Shiverfur," she said his name like a prophet, similarly to how he had said hers like a prayer. "Though, I have to wonder if in times of unrest, the strongest loyalty we can feel is to ourselves. When is the last time you've been loyal to yourself, Shiverfur?"

"My allegiance lies with RiftClan, always." There was something short and ill-tempered in his voice suddenly, but so restrained that if Sheepsage had not been looking for it she may have missed it. She quirked her head, contemplative, and nodded. 

"Do you devote yourself to RiftClan, or to Slatestar?"

"Are they not the same thing?"

Sheepsage thought of Houndpaw then, eyes growing brighter over the moons they spent training together. And then she thought of how pale they had been, reflecting the cave floors, as they watched their clan split in opinion, in devotion. "I don't think they are anymore, Shiverfur."

Neither said anything, as was almost cyclical in the words exchanged to each other. The den of shadows grew impossibly colder, and Sheepsage began to see whisps swirl overhead, as if they were calling to her. She hoped Ashnose would be among them- maybe his presence would stitch two fractured hearts back together- and he would appear in front of them. Tell Shiverfur what to do, so that his burdens may lessen. Remind Sheepsage what it is to speak kindly, and to love as though her heart was not decaying with him. The whisps didn’t stay. There was no divine intervention, nor was there divine retribution; as always, they would make mortal sins trying to remain Gods. 

The desire to say I love you crept along her spine, and for a moment she almost said it, but refrained. They had learned long ago there was no use putting it to words, or attempting to reconcile like a pair of young lovers. This was no place for family anymore, and so many moons had floated them apart that Sheepsage wasn't so sure this was the tom she did love. The idea of putting that to words in and of itself was entirely futile. In lieu of an admittance, she uttered an apology, "I only speak to wonder when you've last been Shiverfur for yourself."

Her reconciliation was accepted, if the twitch of his whiskers was anything to go by. And as he rolled words around his mouth, figuring how to respond in a way that would satisfy both of them, another set of paws joined them in the den of shadows. 

Hesitation clung to Shiverfur, and whatever he was about to say was lost as Slatestar came to settle between them, eyes cast forward. "I don't see you here very often, Sheepsage. What troubles you?" The way he spoke was warm and familiar, with so much light in his voice that the molly had almost forgotten the darkness. Still, she couldn't help but to detect the twinge of suspicion that was becoming more normal every day. 

Do you think I come here to betray you? The Den of Shadows? If this is disloyalty, then Palecreek is a traitor. Sheepsage held her tongue and willed her defiance away. Instead, she aimed to appease, "I speak to Goldenbriar here. I like to believe she guides my heart when it is most troubled. Some days, I admit, I miss my mother, and my former mentor often reminds me I made the right choice by pledging my loyalty with RiftClan. With you." Satisfaction unfurled in her stomach as the suspicion eased from the dark furred tom cat, though not completely. 

Slatestar met her eyes, but Sheepsage did not look away from him. You cannot fool me, Slatestar, and you cannot kill me. What now? 

"Very well. I will take Shiverfur with me on my way out then, you'll need the utmost concentration to pin a spirit like my littermate down." The leader was not unkind as he departed from the den, having been somewhat convinced by the molly's practiced monologue. He didn't wait for Shiverfur to follow, and the deputy paused at the entrance of the den, his head angling towards Sheepsage. 

The warrior held the tom’s eyes as she drew in a breath. She wondered if they would ever be what they used to be, and with a rattling exhale, she said her own departing words, “I’ve always been loyal to you, Shiverfur.”

He opened his maw in a half smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he stared intently at her. Almost as though he could tell her heart was not where it used to be, as though he had caught the carefully decided words she used against their leader. She willed him to respond in kind anyways, to be her likeminded ally, but instead of and I to you, the deputy faced forward and let his words echo off the cave walls. 

“You have always been loyal to RiftClan...” Right?

Then he was gone, leaving guilt and grief to prey upon Sheepsage’s mind in his absence.