#good thing she didn’t get a damnation

[grubbion]

Thank god and Reagan for the Curses, Hexations and Department of Soul Revenue. In a routine audit they spotted this ludicrous misinterpretation of the by laws and her wife was swiftly and tragically collected the very next business day. All debts have been cleared, and collections is no longer seeking to resolve any outstanding balance with The Princess or her associated parties.

We at C.H.aD.oS.R. value a proper resolution to any cross commerce transactions. The Princess was informed of the original contract she had signed in her own years of loneliness, and how her attempt to avoid a payment has negatively effected her credit score and will be visible in all future credit checks. The original curse loan specialist was present and confirmed that the princess was of sound mind and willing body, not under duress of soul when she signed the contract.

The princess was cursed that her first husband will die a tragic death. The princess decided to have a wife instead.the person who put the curse on her did not check this would happen

[backwardsbread]

Hazbin Hotel Characters:

~Marriage proposals~

Warnings‼️: genderneutral!reader, established relationship, characterxreader, lots of fluff, Valentino existing, mentions of cannibals/cannibalism, possessive behavior, pet names used, mentions of divorce, some swearing.

A/N: How would the Hazbin hotel characters propose! I might do a vise versa, where reader proposes. But this one is the characters proposing to YOU. Enjoy~!

This is pretty long- I don’t know how to find word count, but if anyone wants more, drop a request :))

?Semi proofread?

Lucifer:

This man is a NERVOUS WRECK.

When he realizes he wants to marry you, he lowkey panics. Starts acting like you guys just now started dating.

He’s super anxious, trying to impress you, and prove that he’s good enough for you.

(Whether he’s trying to prove that to you, or himself, is up for debate.)

The two of you met on a whim. You didn’t really know it was the king of hell you were talking to when you first met.

How could this be the king?? He was so goofy. His playful demeanor immediately drew you in.

With even learning about how Lucifer was, it didn’t stop those fuzzy feelings towards him that bubbled in your chest.

It took him a long time to even get into a relationship with you, due to him being caught up in his past with Lillith.

But overtime, your affection is what gets him through the tough days.

He gets all flustered and embarrassed at your sweet gestures, trying to hide the fact that he’s realizing he wants you to always only be his.

As we know, he had a previous marriage and that commitment failed him before. He had a right to feel nervous of the subject that once bruised his soul.

But in his heart, he truly knows this is what he wants. He wants to spend his eternity with you if you allowed him to.

When the thought has finally settled, and he knows he’s ready to try marriage again, it doesn’t settle his nerves.

This has to be PERFECT-

He needs the perfect ring, the perfect setting, the perfect outfit. All of which he had easy access to, he is the king afterall.

Yet, nothing seems to be perfect enough. Nothing is enough, nothing he can think of matches how strong his feelings are for you.

Once he thinks he’s decided on what will be perfect, he ditches the idea to try and come up with something better.

He consults Charlie on this issue a lot. Including her in this is very important to him. He makes sure she’s comfortable with the idea of him being married to someone who wasn’t her mother.

Charlie is a bit put off by the idea, it’s strange to think about. She never thought of her father getting remarried, but the thought doesn’t necessary upset her. She’s more worried about history repeating itself.

Overall, she wants her father to be happy, and helps him prepare for the proposal in any way she can.

(Mostly moral support because this guy is in emotional turmoil over this.)

He’s in a constant inbetween of if this was the right thing to do. Was it too soon in your guys relationship? Was it too soon after his divorce? Would you even want to spend the rest of your damnation with the one who started it all?

With heavy encouragement and reassurance from Charlie, he finally has the guts to ask you the big question.

But….. when he takes you out on the date where he meant to propose…

He chickens out. (Or ducks out haha)

“It is quite beautiful tonight.. you know I love you, right?……. Good! Yeah-! U-Uh-.. oh my golly! Look at the time! How that darn old thing does fly-Haha! W-We should head home!- boy am I tired-!”

Rinse and repeat this process a handful of times.

You do start to get a bit skeptical of your partners behavior. You guys had been going on extremely fancy dates at least once a week.

And while you had no complaints on spending time with Lucifer, you did notice his strange behavior.

The way his mood would incline before your guys’ date, and then suddenly decline when it was over. Then having to take the rest of the week to heal his pride.

It was just a big rollercoaster of emotions. You were starting to worry you were the cause of his stress.

(I mean. Technically you were)

During one of his many attempts in asking you, he had already internally given up when he stumbled over his words in the middle of dinner.

Your date was coming to a close, and like clockwork, Lucifer’s chipper mood deteriorated.

His shoulders slumped, he was pouty, and dragging his feet on the way back to the castle.

Before the two of you can enter, you grab Lucifer’s hand, stopping him. He gives you a confused look, posture straightening to look at you.

You give him small pecks all over his face, in hopes to cheer him up from whatever was troubling him.

Your actions have the affect you were hoping for, as he laughs and steals your lips into his own, a wide smile on his face as he rests his hands on your waist.

His nerves seemed to dissipate as he felt an overwhelming sense of security and love for you.

His body was moving before his mind could keep up. The moment just felt right.

He pulls away from your shared embrace, reaching into his pocket, and getting down on one knee. He opens the ring box, revealing the glimmering jewelry within it.

You look at him in shock and he returns the same look, surprised at his own actions. Well there was no backing out of it now- (saY SOMETHING LUCIFER-)

It takes him a few seconds to recover from the shock and he’s tempted to just pretend to tie his shoe. But you knew his intentions and watched the nerves wrack their way up his body once again.

Before he can even speak, give a speech he had rehearsed probably a hundred times in front of his mirror, you say yes.

And the relief that washes over this man— the weight that lifted off his shoulders in that moment— felt amazing.

You bend down with him, smiling ear to ear and chuckling as you realized this is why he was so worked up the past couple months.

Tears fill Lucifer’s eyes as he slides the piece of jewelry onto your ring finger.

You kiss away the tears that slip down his face and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

His tattered heart feeling stitched back together that day.

Alastor:

We all know Alastor isn’t the biggest on romance.

He’s a true gentleman, of course, but public displays of affection and intimate relationships weren’t his cup of tea.

The two of you had know each other for years in the afterlife, yet it was only recently you had put a label on your relationship.

Falling for you was never part of his plan.

He first saw you as an prey, only a possible soul he could claim for his ongoing collection.

But your sickening sweetness unfortunately grew on him over time. He once wanted to take advantage of it, but he became too fond of you to corrupt it.

You moved from his prey to his acquaintance.

You lived in cannibal town where he would frequently visit.

You join the gossip sessions with him and Rosie, indulging in their banter. It starts by you just walking by and throwing a comment towards their conversation you were listening in to. Eventually you had your own designated seat at their table.

Rosie definitely saw the potential the connection you and Alastor had, so she subtly pushes the two of you to hang out more.

This leads to your relationship advancing from mere acquaintances to good friends. The transition quick due to Rosie’s persistence.

Anytime Alastor would visit cannibal town, he would make effort to pay you a visit. He just felt so drawn to your company.

His smile felt less strained, his body would relax, and he could do what he wanted while you served up some fresh pinkie fingers.

There would be occasions of Alastor realizing he’s dropped his guard around you, and he would be snippy and aggressive those days. In fear of going soft and losing his mojo.

The first time he did this scared you,

(I mean obviously, the mans body grows two-ten times in his demon form)

But after a talk with Rosie about it, you tried to be understanding. Instead of falling away or distant with Alastor after his little tantrums, you simply waited it out. When he was back to normal asking softly if he wanted to talk about it or move on.

It wasn’t clear to you when you guys really started being affectionate towards one another. It just kind of happened.

You knew Alastor to be a gentleman before formally meeting him. So him linking arms with you, kissing your knuckles, holding open doors was nothing new.

It seemed like everyone besides the two of you knew the true feelings you two had for each other before you guys did.

You were holding hands, seeing each other everyday, Alastor would give you his coat to borrow on colder days, etc. Just small sweet gestures the two of you would share.

It took an incredible amount of time for Alastor to come to terms with his feelings. He hadn’t done this before and had no control of what his heart wanted. It was scary.

Putting a label on what you guys had didn’t seem necessary. The two of you knew what you meant to each other in an unspoken agreement.

(Rosie did eventually pressure him to actually ask you out however. It was the gentleman’s thing to do)

(But enough backstory)

More often than not, Alastor found himself spending his nights with you. Not to leave until the morning or midday after.

The two of you practically lived together when the overlord wasn’t too busy with other matters.

We already went over how the two of you weren’t big on labels. It wasn’t until Rosie asked that Alastor had even thought about marriage.

“Sooo… when are you going to put a rock on your pretty thang’s finger?”

“Hm? I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“What?? You’re kidding right? That darling and you have been together ages! You wouldn’t want someone else swiping them away from you, right?”

“Hah! Never going to happen. Who in their right mind would try that?”

“…”

“You do know where we are, right?”

It had never occurred to the Radio demon before. You guys had made your relationship official of course. Anyone else who would try and court you and take you away from him would be simply insane.

But the thought wormed itself into his brain and flourished.

The thought of not knowing what you were doing 24/7. The thought of someone possibly stealing you away without his knowledge.

The thought of some undeserving sinner having their hands on what belonged to him.

It irked him.

After that conversation with Rosie, say goodbye to your privacy. You’re not going anywhere alone. He can’t risk someone even attempting to steal you away.

It was irritating how he was always tracking you, keeping a shadow with you at all times.

If someone even dared to hold open a door for you that wasn’t him or his shadow, he’d show up at your side in an instant.

It made you anxious and overall, you felt your partner didn’t trust you.

You did express these feelings to Alastor, but your words seemed to phase right through him. You had no idea what had gotten into him to make him (even more) protective.

You joined him in bed one night, as he was stilling up, enjoying a book with jazz music emitting from his aura.

You cuddle close to him, the feeling of fuzzy static that enveloped you a comforter for your slumber.

Before you can let yourself drift off to sleep, your partner closes his book with one hand, the loud thump making you jolt.

“Say darling, what do you think of marriage?”

The sudden ask has you dumbfounded, giving him a deer in headlights stare. (Hah-)

He had never even mentioned marriage before yet here he was now, smiling at you as he waited for your response.

You give honesty, telling him you never really thought of it yourself and you were surprised to hear the idea from him.

You did mention how the subject didn’t draw you away. You knew you loved Alastor with your entire soul. Your heart and soul were his without one of his binding contracts.

Once he hears your approval he snaps his fingers making one of his shadows appear, holding out his signature red coat to him. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, fishing out what he desired.

He pulled out a small box and handed it to you, his shadow dismissing itself from the scene.

You give him a confused look, before gently opening the box. Your eyes meeting the small band inside.

Oh- he was serious?????

You give him a puzzled look, while he just tilts his head at you, silently asking ‘too soon?’

Your eyes continue to track from the ring, to him, back to the ring, then back to him.

Your hesitation comes off as denial to Alastor, so he reaches out to take the box back. Before he can even lay a finger on it, you pull it to your chest protectively.

You give him a glare for even having the audacity to try and take this away from you. Your actions make him chuckle and hold his hands up defensively.

You slip the band onto your ring finger. Once it’s perfectly snug onto your digit, you pull your partner close to you, peppering his lips with small pecks. Scolding him in between your kisses for being so nonchalant.

He simply chuckles against your affections, telling you the ring will be a reminder you are always his.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Vox:

Vox is not one for settling down. No shot in hell.

Have you seen this man?? Holy hell take a chill pill.

A lot of Vox’s priorities lie with his work. He’s always pushing the boundaries of tech, eager to create something new and be on the face of it.

He never thought of dating. Being tied down to one person made him cringe. So the thought of marriage never even entered his system.

Then there was you of course. Messing up his plans.

How could he not fall for you? You were charming, beautiful, and down right too good for him.

(According to him.)

Your presence and the feelings you gave him made him feel threatened. He tried to put him a wall between the two of you, avoiding you at all costs.

But when he would look at his phone, seeing your icon pop up with messages to him. His fans would kick into gear, his cold heart ticking rapidly in his chest.

Yeah he had it BAD.

When you became a priority to him as well, it kind of threw a wrench in the balance of his schedule.

Yes he loves you but that fact scares him. He wasn’t exactly the safest demon to be around.

So he found it better that the two of you keep your relationship secret. Mostly spending early mornings and late nights with you.

It was difficult to manage. You wanted nothing more than to try hang out with your partner all day but he was always busy.

You would visit him at work, but on very rare occasion. You still owned your soul, which meant Valentino saw it as up for grabs, despite Vox’s warnings (threats) to not lay a finger on you.

As much as you enjoyed visiting your partner at work, you understood his reasonings for being uncomfortable with it.

Besides that, the chance of others seeing the two of you in public was way too high. You guys didn’t usually go on dates.

Your partner was more comfortable having you stay at home, having a double life without him. You lived with Vox, but outside of the time you two spent together, you had your own things going on.

Vox knew about it of course, he cares about you more than anything. He needs to know what’s going on at all times. And what you had going on outside of him was important to him.

He always has a screen pulled up in his monitor room while working. Just to see what you were up to.

The screen usually tracked a camera on you whenever you went out, it displayed your phone screen whenever it was in use, and showed your vitals on the bottom corner of the screen.

He didn’t trust the sinners that roamed these streets, rightfully so. Being able to track you gave him a source of comfort when he couldn’t always be around.

As mentioned before, going out on dates wasn’t really a thing. But Vox would usually clear up one day a month in his schedule. Just to spend the entire day with you.

(Of course he occasionally shuts down, checking how everything is going at V headquarters while he’s not around. Cant take this man entirely away from his work)

You’d spend those days cuddling, ordering in some takeout, and just catching up with each other. Getting in as much affection as you could.

The nights were soft and intimate. It was what you always looked forward to.

Vox had some things to do early morning on the day designated for the two of you. You did pout and complain to him, but he promised to be back as soon as he could.

Hours passed and you started to get a little bit peeved that your partner had yet to return home. Checking the time, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

You get dolled up, pack up a small container of snacks, and head to V’s headquarters.

Making your way through the crowd of demons and sinners. You head up the elevator, but it stops on Valentinos floor.

And with just your luck, the lustful demon is standing there, waiting to get on. When he sees your face, he grins wide and enters the elevator. Standing uncomfortably close.

He blows out his pink slut smoke into the small space, making you cringe and try to waft the stench away from you.

Valentino is touchy and that’s an understatement.

So when he bends down at your level, once again offering a job to you, your heart rate spikes.

Meanwhile, Vox is having a one sided argument with Velvette, the young overlord scolding him as she changed his outfit several times.

It wasn’t often Vox was used as a model for Velvette, but he had actually asked her ahead of time to design something special for you and him.

By ahead of time, he asked yesterday, not giving Velvette nearly enough time.

While he tuned out of his teammate reprimanding him, his watch buzzed, alerting him of your abnormal heart rate.

He gives a confused look, his screen going black for a second as he brought up his home security camera on his screen. When seeing you weren’t at the house, his eye twitched.

Where the hell did you go??

He was brought back, his face glitching in and out as he pulled out his phone, bringing up your location.

He saw how close you were and immediately thought the worst.

He zaps himself into the nearest camera, zipping through the electronics to find where you are.

Within a minute, he’s found you in the elevator, practically cornered by Valentino who was literally drooling on you.

The lights flicker in the elevator as it comes to a screeching halt. Cue your partner showing up with a crack of blue electricity, yanking Valentino away from you by the moth’s wing.

He puts himself in front of you, acting as a shield so you don’t have to be near Valentino’s poison.

“W̵̰̻͍̉̔̅̀̐͐͒͆̒̚ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ǎ̴̯̀͠t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ f̵̢̻͈̫̬̻͔̘̞͈̆̇̍̈̌͊ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓c̵̛̥͊k̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ y̶͔͗ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝k̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝ y̶͔͗ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓’r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕??”

(What the fuck do you think you’re doing??)

Vox’s voice glitched out, muted TV static layering his voice as the fans whirled in the back of his head. In a desperate attempt to cool him down.

Valentino doesn’t give much of a reaction, putting his hands up in feigned innocence.

“𝒟𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒱𝑜𝓍𝓍𝒾𝑒! 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻-“

“You better watch your mouth.”

“𝒪𝒽𝒽, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃’𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑒𝓉. 𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝒶𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝑔 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑒.”

Valentino speaks with sickening sarcasm. You look between the two, incredibly confused. Vox looks like he’s about to explode.

The lights flicker back on, and the door opens, Vox demanding his business partner leave.

The moth scowls at the both of you, before putting one set of hands on his hips, the other set of arms crossing across his chest. In the most sassy way possibly leave the two of you behind.

Vox waits for the elevator door to close before he can breath again. He’s muttering angrily to himself, one hand on either side of his screen as he tries not to blue screen.

You put your hand over his, his cold hand giving you a subtle shock of electricity as you touched him. You give him a concerned gaze, silently asking if he was okay.

Vox looks at you, shoulders relaxing just looking into your comforting eyes. Little bolts of electricity shoot out from the side of his screen as he tries to calm himself, his fans working overtime.

You set down the bag of treats you were bringing for him to hold his hands in your own. You give him a bright smile, concern not leaving your eyes.

You reassure him that whatever he had planned isn’t ruined. You could just pretend you didn’t know! You didn’t want this little run in to ruin your guys’ day.

You ramble on as he just stares at you, almost blankly, his screen fading from blue to a baby pink as he listened to you.

As you’re apologizing for causing trouble, he puts a hand up to stop your little speech.

He reaches into his pant pocket, pulling out a small halo shaped piece of jewelry. He holds your left hand in his own as he gets down on one knee in front of you.

I mean.. you knew he had a surprise planned, but seeing his actions didn’t fail to shock you.

He gives a little speech to you, stuttering and glitching over his words as he tries to explain himself.

For being a perfectionist overlord, this was one hell of a show.

He’s a blushing glitching mess, cursing to himself when he couldn’t find the exact words he wanted to say.

You grab the sides of his screen, looking him in the eyes and forcing him to meet your gaze. You’re saying yes before he can embarrass himself anymore.

He looks a bit shocked by your response, he can’t believe you said yes after that display he just put on. Before he can get the ring on your finger, he blue screens from shock and embarrassment.

You kind of chuckle and sit down beside your partner while you wait for him to reboot. Not like you could go anywhere with the elevator being stuck with the two of you inside. You do gently take the piece of jewlry, sliding it onto your finger and admiring its design.

Cuddling into Vox’s arm, you can’t help but smile brightly at the decorative piece snug on your ring finger.

It was perfect.

[twdfemmefetal]

Crush

Summary: Wait, who has a crush on you? A confession from Maggie makes you second guess every interaction you’ve had with a certain man.

Era: Quarry, Prison

Warnings: MDNI, Fluff, Angst, Violence, Swearing, physical altercation, reader gets hurt, strangulation.

You couldn’t tell if you heard her right as you stared blankly at Maggie’s mouth moving. “What?” You asked again, as if you couldn’t process what she had just told you.

“Daryl said he likes you.” She let out with a chuckle as she looked away from you and out into the distance of the guard tower. You swallowed hard feeling your mouth suddenly run dry, trying to slow your breathing. You didn’t know what to say, you were completely thrown off with this confession.

“How do you know? Who told you?” Maggie softly gazed at you from over her shoulder, amused at your now eager tone, “Daryl told Rick, Rick told Glenn, Glenn told me.” Your hands clammed up and you felt a bit uneasy knowing Daryl’s secret was now spreading around unbeknownst to him. You had always thought Daryl was cute, attractive, handsome-honestly you really liked him, but you knew the odds of it working out were slim, especially because of the way he acted around you.

Every moment you had with him seemed to be nothing but annoying to the archer, when you would ask him questions, try to get to know him. You didn’t think Daryl had any feelings at all towards people. He was cold, distant, but hearing the sudden confession made your heart swoon and pound into your ribcage. You tried to recall every single interaction you had with him, when you could have possibly missed the signs?

⭒

You couldn't help but shiver at the night breeze, mentally cursing yourself for giving Lori your only blanket before night time. She was pregnant-you would practically be signing yourself to damnation if you didn't do something to stop her whines and shivers due to how chilly the weather was getting, especially during nightfall.

But now, you were slowly regretting the decision and would have been fine now that you think about it, going to hell. Bet it would be nice and warm there.

"Ya cold?" Your thoughts were interrupted by a familiar southern drawl as you turned around and saw Daryl, leaned up against a tree, watching you. How long had he been there? With a raised eyebrow at his sudden shift of attention to you, you responded.

"No." liar.

"er', looks like ya need it more than me." Daryl grumbled softly and handed you his signature red flannel.

You muttered a quick thanks and took it, grateful for his hunter like observation skills.

As the night went on, the flannel wasn't enough, you were freezing as the temperature dropped significantly in the last few hours. Daryl eventually sighed as he got up from his seating position by the tree and started walking over to you softly.

"git' up," you looked at him with an arched brow and a puzzled expression while you got up from the ground. Daryl slumped down onto the spot and placed his back on the rock you had been leaning on.

"come er'" he grunted as he signaled for you to sit in between his legs. You couldn’t help but blush slightly as did he. Daryl’s ears were practically hot to the touch, never in his life did he think he would be doing this for anyone let alone you.

"Daryl I-"

"m' tired of hearin' yer teeth chatterin', come er' woman."His tone was laced in annoyance, instantly shutting you up. You softly positoned yourself in between his legs, feeling Daryl tense up but quickly relaxing after hearing you sigh in content after he wrapped his arms around you-- along with the big blanket he had been hoarding all to himself...bastard

⭒

The only good thing about being camped by a quarry, was having the opportunity to sun bathe and swim anytime you wanted. You knew it was the end of the world and the last thing you should probably think about was going for a swim, in a walker infested forest but you really needed some sense of normality in the world, so as part of a routine to keep some form of sanity in your life, you made it a habit of being able to sun bathe and take a quick dip in the quarry whenever you had any free time in the day.

After slipping into a black two piece swimsuit, you slowly made your way into the secluded part of the quarry that you always swam in, not wanting anyone to disturb your peace and wanting some more privacy from the others in the group, especially after you found shane watching you from his spot on top of the R.V. 'supposedly' keeping watch.

"Damn girl! wanna get out of there and put on a show for yer' ol' pal Merle?" You heard the familiar southern drawl of the older Dixon who managed to catcall you and every other woman in the group any chance he got.

While rolling your eyes, you turned around in the water and moved your hair to the left side of your body slowly ringing it out of excess water.

"Fuck you Dixon."

"girl's got a mouth on her huh' lil brotha, I bet I can shut her up real good if I shove-" Merle was cut off by the younger Dixon, before he could finish his disgusting rebuttle.

"Shut up Merle, les' go." You couldnt help but give the younger Dixon a soft smile as he gazed upon you once more before turning around, crossbow slung over his shoulder, and making sure the older one followed.

"Ill be back for your sweet ass later darlin'" You flipped off the older Dixon and popped your head back into the cool water once more.

To your suprise, just a few minutes later, you heard someone apporaching the Quarry once more and you fully expected it to be Merle until you looked up and saw Daryl.

"Hey Daryl." Your cheerful tone, and welcoming smile made him ease into your prescence. Daryl was used to always being on edge and ready to enter fight or flight mode with everyone else but you, he could practically feel all his tension dissipate from his body, once he knew you were close.

"shouldn' be er' alone ya know?" Daryl’s tone was laced with concern as he watched you swim through his harden gaze. You smirked and quirked your eyebrow at him.

"Aww Daryl, you don't need to be worried about me." You pouted at him playfully, while batting your long eyelashes. Daryl couldn't help but feel his lips tug into a smirk as he shook his head.

"Sun's settin'... ya should get out soon before ya end up bein' walker meat." You could see his face flash with concern as he looked up at the sky and around cautiously for any sort of threat. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how overbearing he was being and splashed him with some water, catching him completely off guard.

"Nope, Im good."

Daryl squinted his eyes, not feeling in the mood to play anymore, especially when he was concerned about your safety.

"M'serious girl, ain't gonna help ya later when yer ass gets attacked by the livin' dead."

"Why dont you come in here and make me."

And with that Daryl groaned waiting to call your bluff,

“Fine, ain’t my fault if ya end up bein’ dinner for em.” Daryl turned on his heels, expecting you to get out but he turned around once more and saw you swim further into the quarry and away from the shore.

Daryl groaned to himself in annoyance and started with his boots. You were the only woman he would do this for, only woman he would chase.

So when you heard the light splash of water and ripples coming from Daryl who was now fully immersed in the water and coming after you, you smirked to yourself and playfully splashed as much water towards him as you could until he was now wrapping his arms around you, pulling you towards the shore. You were now in a full belly laugh as you saw his long wet hair covering his face, but what really caught your attention was the flash of his toothy grin, and a small twinkle in his blue eyes behind the curtain of wavy brown locks.

⭒

Okay, maybe you had just been completley clueless at all the other times he had offered you some of his own dinner, water, and clothes to keep you warm, fed, and safe.

God how could you not have noticed? You couldnt help but chuckle at the thought of how clueless you had been. Daryl had never been like that with anyone else, and for that you were slightly glad about, you couldn't imagine how possesive you would have gotten if he acted kindly to every other woman in the group.

After your shift was up, and sunrise was now making the clouds cascade with red and orange hues, you felt a sudden feeling of mixed anxiety and nervousness. How should you act now that you know his secret? What do you do about it? Your mind had now been full of so many questions and thoughts that needed answers, so your feet naturally dragged you towards the only person who could give you answers. You headed toward the ward office that daryl had been occupying as his room.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your jean shorts as you raised your trembling fist preparing to softly knock on the door.

You heard some shuffling and movement along with a "com' in,” , allowing you entry. Even the sound of his grumbles made you weak to your knees.

You slowly but hesitantly twisted the door knob as you timidly made your way in the office room. Daryls eyes widen seeing you emerge from behind the doorway. He quickly got up from his laying position on the cot he was sleeping on and looked up at you more awake then ever.

"Morning Daryl, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something that's been on my mind?" Daryl swallowed hard at your timidness, never seeing you act like this before, you were confident, and energetic, this was a whole other demenour you've never carried, so he was worried.

"was' wrong?" Daryl tensed up, ready to kill someone for you if he had to.

"nothing's wrong daryl, opposite to that actually.." you couldn't help but giggle at his tone that was laced with concern over nothing.

"Do you like me?" You asked rather bluntly, catching him off guard. Daryl blinked at you with no words, not knowing how to react.

"what? nah." Tensing up and letting out a dry cough "who told ya that?" he chuckled lightheartedly, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

Your heart softly sank at how he quickly brushed it off. "Oh, no one in particular.." You shifted on another foot now feeling beyond humiliated. "alright, that answers my questions.... Im sorry to bother you, I hope I didnt make you uncomfortable." You couldn't help but stammer out, now assuming your face was probably fully flushed red.

"I's alrigh', ya didn' make me feel any sorta way.. don' lose sleep over it." Your lips formed into a thin line as you softly nodded to him.

"okay then, see you around." and with that you turned to your heels, making sure to close the door softly behind you.

Daryl sighed in dissapointment, as he laid his head back on the bed. Regretting not having the balls to admit his true feelings to you.

⭒

A few days had passed since the confrotation you had with Daryl, he avoided you like the plague. You were beyond humiliated by the whole ordeal but tried not to let it affect you. It was harder said than done, every corner you turned, as soon as Daryl's gaze connected to yours, he made sure to walk the other way, or use any excuse he had to make sure not to be in the same room as you.

Rick has asked you to go on a run with Daryl but to your suprise, Glenn was the one that showed up in his place. Your heart sank, feeling awful for how uncomfortable you might have made him feel to the point that he was willingly avoiding you any chance he had.

"Did daryl not want to come with me?" You softly asked Glenn as he looked at you through in between the shelves. His gaze turned pitiful, as he avoided eyes. "He didn't say that.. Just said he was busy." You nodded and continued with the task at hand, knowing any sort of distractions could be life or death at this point.

As you scavanged more shelves your eyes caught sight of movement just behind the register counter, you quickly drew your gun in an attempt to get the person to surrender. "Hey, come out with your arms above your head!" Glenn was quick to reach your side as he held his own gun up as your backup. You motioned your head to behind the counter and Glenn nodded, understanding that the person might be dangerous and armed, who was crouched behind it.

"Youre cornered asshole." Glenn said coming around the corner of the counter, gun raised. The quick movement alarmed the person, who quickly jumped up and tried to get the gun from Glenn.

You ran over only to be elbowed hard in the stomach from their rough tassle. "what the fuck." You were winded but the adrenaline was kicking in, and you weren't gonna sit down to catch your breath, not when Glenn was in danger.

You quickly tried to tackle the guy by putting your own gun around his neck, using it to try to suffocate him, this action only angered him as he swung his arms back, leaving a pretty shinner on your cheekbone. He took advantage of the opportunity of distraction and quickly pulled you to the ground by your shirt collar and wrapping his rough hands around your neck, choking you.

You felt tears and a burning sensation in your lungs as your vision soon clouded, almost instantly feeling the lack of oxygen get to your head. You tried to pull him off but failed miserably, before he could do more damage, you heard the bang of a gun go off followed with a splater of blood on your face. Causing the man to fall limp ontop of you.

With whatever strength you had, you managed to throw the man off of you and gasp for air, finally being able to see clearly now. "Holy shit, are you okay?" Glenn came around and helped you up, you nodded and flashed him a small smile. "Thank you, I've been better, now lets get the fuck out of here before walkers show up."

⭒

The drive back to the prison was miserable, you pulled the passenger sun visor mirror down and looked over your now bruised neck and cheekbone. Your neck looked worse than your face, seems the blow to your cheek wasnt as bad as the stranglation but, that was the closest call you’ve had to death, and you were shocked it wasn't a walker that almost took you down.

This is gonna be fun to explain

As the gates of the prison opened up and Rick and Carl were the first to approach you both, Ricks eyes flashed with concern when he saw your now purple finger markings around your neck and bruised up cheekbone. "We ran into a guy who went batshit on us but we took care of the problem." Rick's eyes softened as he looked you over, "Im good, dont worry about it." You flashed him your signature bright smile through the pain and helped unload the car of supplies.

As you were about to pick up a duffle bag, Rick intercepted,

"Ive got it, you deserve a few days off after that." Rick signaled to your neck, "Should get that checked out by hershel just in case." With a quick nod, you headed toward the prison cell block and straight to Hershel’s cell.

"So how bad is it?" you softly winced, as Hershel carefully examined your now tender neck.

"there will be swelling and bruising for a while, you might get a bit of a sore throat— seems he really got a hold on ya. Cheekbone is fine, might bruise up as well. Just take it easy on the talkin' and make sure to stay hydrated." You nodded and thanked him, softly getting up from the cot and making your way out of the cell.

Slowly walking up the stairs to your own cell, your eyes connected with Daryl's who seemed to already be fixated on you as he was on his way down from his guard room. You quickly avoided his lingering gaze and headed into your cell to relax.

Just as you were about to relax you heard a grunt at your door. You didn't have to really guess who it was, Daryl's presence was pretty much indistinguishable from others. "Come in." You said hoarsly, as the effects of the choking were now more prominent than ever.

"Heard what happen’d ,ya okay?" Daryl’s eyes flashed with concern as he quickly looked down at the marks around your neck. He inched a bit closer to you and softly brushed his knuckles to your cheek, so tenderly, as if he was afraid to hurt you. You couldn't help but instantly relax in his touch.

“I shoulda’ been there.” Daryl said just barley above a whisper.

“Im okay Daryl, plus it’s not your fault.” You couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at him blaming himself.

"You weren't even there." You chuckled once more and slowly pulled away from his touch.

Daryl looked back at you, eyes a bit watery, as if he was going to cry catching you by suprise.

"Yeah, I wasn't even there. I should'a been." He ran a hand over his face tiredly and leaned up againist the wall. "Told Glenn to cover meh', didn't know how to talk to ya after the other day."

Your ears perked up, your face flushed a bit remembering the humilitating moment of trying to ask him if he liked you. "Im sorry Daryl, I seriously didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-" You couldn't finish your sentence when you felt Daryl's soft lips smash onto yours with haste.

The kiss was tender, soft and sweet. You instantly melted into his touch as you felt his rough calloused hands on your hips, pulling you closer to his embrace.

After what felt like a heavenly few minutes of passionate kissing, Daryl pulled away, gasping for air as he leaned his forehead against your own. "I love ya, was too damn scared to tell ya before but I know what I want now. I want you, and I aint losin' ya." Your lip curled up into a smirk and you leaned back in once more to capture him in a chaste kiss, eager for his lips.

“I knew it! Bastard you made me think otherwise.” Daryl chuckled while tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, that managed to fall over your face.

“Seriously now who told ya I like ya?”

“Not telling you a damn thing.”

[star-crossed-fates]

Even My Damnation Spells Your Name

Chapter 7: Written in My Pulse

Synopsis: In a city of steel and stars, you fall in love with a man the world calls a monster. He looks at you like you’ve haunted every life he’s ever lived. Sylus is danger wrapped in silk, secrets stitched into every glance, every touch, every word spoken like a spell. He’s yours before you even realize what you’re remembering.

Because this isn’t the first time.

Dreams unravel you. Memories not your own. A dragon’s death cry. A kiss beneath bloodied skies. A love too eternal to stay buried. As the past bleeds into the present, you begin to piece together the truth. Some memories burn brighter than the stars, others wound deeper than any blade.

And love, no matter how timeless, always demands a price.

Pairing: Female! MC [Named] x Sylus

Rating: Explicit 18+ [MDNI]

Spoilers: Sylus's myth cards/memories. Please note: memories might be a little different than from game for story purposes.

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit smut, including various kinks: Praise, degradation talk, first time, CP, DP, anal sex/play, probably some Dragon!Sylus smut, maybe a lot of it. Many, many more that I'm forgetting to list. Consider yourself warned. - Unlikely to be completely canon. - MC is named. Her personality is darker than in the game, far more morally grey. - Switching between MC's memories/dreams/flashbacks and current timeline. - Other love interests will not show up in this. - Some plot, but not super planned out. Basically, this is a "what if the closer they became, the more MC remembers her life with him on Philos.

You don’t belong here. The thought cycles for the third time as you sip on a flute of champagne that tastes like carbonated disappointment. Gold glitter swirls in the glass because someone somewhere decided that Linkon’s high society needed their drinks to shimmer like fairy vomit.

Nina leans into your side, grinning like she’s just found the last donut at a debrief. You’re both tucked away in a corner like delinquents at a school function. The ballroom is polished marble, decadent chandeliers, and people with names like Worthington and Deveraux discussing fiscal policy and post-Wanderer tax relief. Truly thrilling stuff.

Some wear supposedly symbolic masks, but all you can think about is how the real masks are the invisible ones, plastered in false smiles and manicured charm.

Ethan appears before you like a bad rerun, smile too wide and tie too tight. You sigh internally.

“Anira, hey!” He greets an octave too high, clearly a few drinks in. “Didn’t think I’d find you all the way over here in the… anti-social corner.”

Nina slides away with a whisper of, “Good luck,” and you silently curse her betrayal.

Ethan leans in too close. “You look incredible tonight. That dress—wow. Didn’t know Hunters cleaned up this well.”

“I clean up just fine when threatened with mandatory attendance and department-wide guilt-tripping.”

He laughs, missing the dry edge in your tone. “You know, they’ve got this whole garden terrace upstairs. Real quiet. Real private.”

You blink at him. “That sounds like a terrible place to get murdered.”

He falters, smile wilting, but rallies. “I was just saying—”

“Ethan,” you interrupt gently, “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m not looking for a terrace murder or a slow dance. I’m just here for the open bar and my annual quota of forced social interaction.”

He opens his mouth again, but you’ve already turned back to your drink, tilting it toward him slightly. “Cheers.”

Ethan slinks away, leaving you in blessed silence, or at least the closest thing to it in a ballroom filled with violins and champagne flutes. You catch yourself staring into the glittered fizz, the sound around you fading like fog against the tide.

Days have bled forward, but a name-shaped shadow stretched across your spine continues to cling. His voice still murmurs in the silence between heartbeats, echoing down a corridor of thought that shouldn’t exist.

You’ve turned it over in your mind until it splintered beneath the pressure of logic. Truth is circling just out of reach, coiled and waiting, and whatever it is, it doesn’t feel small.

It feels seismic.

There’s a tremor threading below your skin, as though some ancient part of you is beginning to stir, rising slowly from where it’s slept in the hollowed chambers of your bones.

Even now, his voice lingers in your chest, curling like smoke through the latticework of your ribs, as if your body were built to echo him. Whatever that was—whatever it still is—etched itself into the architecture of your mind, a scar that glows when you breathe too deep.

You shift your weight, heels biting into your ankles with the elegance of a slow betrayal. Across the ballroom, Nina is contorting her face into a tragedy of epic proportions behind a flute of champagne. You stifle a laugh with a breath of a smile, slanted and too tired to bloom fully.

You’re supposed to be paying attention. To the speeches. The fundraiser. The orchestral swell of ego in tuxedos. But your mind keeps backsliding back to him. He lives in the part of your brain that won’t shut up at night, the yearning that never learned to behave.

The air shifts as if the room exhales all at once and forgets how to breathe back in. Everyone's attention snaps to the ballroom doors as if fate has just walked in. You follow their lines of sight, but truthfully, you already know who you’re going to see.

Sylus.

Stars curse you; he looks like sin dressed in shadow. Tailored black suit, the kind that drinks the light and kisses every sharp line of him. Silver hair styled like moonlight frozen mid-fall. Those eyes burning infernal, steady as eclipses, unbothered by the sea of teeth and secrets around him as if he’s already named every threat in the room and deemed them unworthy.

He looks like a god built for ruin.

He walks toward you without breaking stride. Every movement is smooth, intentional, and unapologetically lethal, like he could waltz his way into heaven or hell, and neither would dare stop him.

Nina appears by your side, staring at him with a kind of reverent awe. She leans toward you, eyes wide. “Anira… Is that him?”

You don’t answer, because Sylus is already standing in front of you with a little curve of his mouth that makes the room fall away. “Evening, hope I’m not late.”

Before your brain can even attempt a reboot, Nina barrels past you like a one-woman stampede. “Oh my god,” she exclaims, grabbing his hand like she’s meeting a celebrity. “You’re him, aren’t you?”

Sylus raises an elegant brow. “Him?”

“The mystery guy Anira’s been daydreaming about! The one she’s been doodling in the margins of her reports and drooling over during briefings—”

It comes out in one long, horrifying breath. You make a very specific, strangled, soul-leaving-your-body kind of sound. You are torn between three options: Launching yourself out the nearest window. Stuffing Nina into a decorative urn. Simply dropping dead on the spot and letting the gods sort it out.

Sylus’s eyes, twin shards of garnet dusk, cut to you with a glint that dances like a secret on the edge of his mouth. “It better be me she’s been drooling over.”

Your eyes narrow, but he’s already giving you a look—half-amused, half-daring—a sidelong little tilt of the head that sends heat pooling low in your spine.

“I’ve been daydreaming about food, actually,” you say coolly, folding your arms like a shield you know won’t help. “Particularly dumplings. Very romantic dumplings.”

“Oh, I see,” he sulks, as though deeply wounded. “So I’ve been replaced by steamed carbs.”

“Not replaced,” you correct sweetly. “Just… prioritized.”

Nina looks between the two of you, grinning like she’s watching her favourite drama unfold in real time. “Oh, this is way better than what I imagined. You guys flirt like it’s a sport.”

Sylus chuckles smugly. “I do enjoy a bit of cardio.”

You shoot him a look. “Try walking home.”

Nina gives you a not-so-subtle wink and excuses herself. “I’m gonna go find more champagne and definitely not eavesdrop from ten feet away.”

She vanishes before you can stop her, leaving you alone with a man who is absolutely going to ruin your night in the most spectacular way possible.

Sylus leans in just a little, just enough for only you to hear. “Dumplings, huh?”

“Don’t you have a zone to rule?”

He grins. “Later. Right now, I’m prioritizing.”

You stand there with your arms still crossed, trying to recalibrate while he towers over you like he belongs in this room and every room you’ll ever walk into.

“What are you doing here, Sylus?”

His eyes sweep across your face slowly, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he states.

You open your mouth to protest, but… you have. You’ve buried yourself in reports, doubled your hours at the range, and even let Nina drag you to a yoga class that almost snapped your spine in half just to keep your mind away from silver hair, red eyes, and the memories that are not your own.

He tilts his head slightly. “So I thought I’d come to you.”

Your heart gives a stupid lurch in your chest, and not even your snarky reflexes can save you fast enough. “Risky move,” you manage. “This room is full of Hunters.”

He shrugs, elegant and unbothered. “I’m not worried.” His expression shifts. Quietly, like it slips out before he can think better of it, he admits, “I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

It hits you right in the sternum. You blink, stunned for half a second. Of course, that’s when fate decides to intervene.

“Anira,” your name drops like a threat.

You flinch.

Ethan. You can already smell the whisky on his breath before he’s in range. He’s not sloshed, but he’s definitely had enough to inflate his ego to critical mass.

He zeroes in on Sylus, shoulders squaring like a cat puffing its fur. “This guy bothering you?”

Sylus straightens from his lean, smooth-as-poured-silk. “Not yet. Should I be?"

“You her boyfriend?” Ethan sneers.

You cough loudly, stepping between them before Ethan combusts from sheer alpha energy. “Alright, that’s enough testosterone for one evening.”

Ethan glares but backs off a little, muttering under his breath about needing another drink. Sylus watches him with amused pity, like a wolf indulging a housecat that thinks it’s a lion.

“Was that the part where I was supposed to be intimidated?” he asks mildly.

“Don’t tease him,” you grumble. “He’s harmless.”

“Mm. He wanted to fight me with his feelings.”

You snort. “You’re such an ass.”

“Only when it works,” he retorts, offering you his hand. “Dance with me?”

The moment your fingers brush, it’s like flipping a switch. The ballroom narrows to a single thread of gravity, and you’re caught in the pull. One of his hands finds the small of your back, the other cradles your fingers with maddening reverence, as if holding a live flame he’s dying to be burned by.

It’s entirely appropriate. Chaste even. It still makes your thighs press together under your dress. He sets your skin alight, nerves singing in tongues you never learned but suddenly understand. The music is slow and classic, but his fingers drift just enough to keep your skin buzzing.

It’s the kind of wanting that lives in marrow, that speaks in the language of forgotten nights and what-if dreams. Your traitorous mind can’t stop imagining the ruin of your name on his lips, shattered on pleasure, spat like sin, or moaned like prayer.

Either would wreck you.

You catch your lower lip with your teeth, and his eyes dip like you’ve whispered scripture. The space between you vanishes one stolen breath at a time.

Sylus moves like he’s written this rhythm into his blood. Every shift of his frame is perfectly measured, like he’s dancing along the edge of a blade and daring you to fall. His thumb traces a lazy circle in that tender hollow where your spine curves inward, a single motion that steals every coherent thought from your skull.

Your pulse hammers, frantic. Your breath stutters, catching like it’s tangled in lace. You’re dizzy with want, drunk on proximity. You wonder if he knows and is enjoying every second of your undoing.

You tilt your head back to meet his gaze and immediately wish you hadn’t. His eyes catch the chandelier light like garnets left too long in the sun, dark and burning, swallowing the fire whole. There’s hunger in them, old and barely leashed, that doesn’t ask permission. It prowls through your thoughts, curling into the hollow places you pretend don’t ache for him.

His thumb brushes a fraction lower, and your knees go weak. You curse these heels. You curse this dress. You curse the way your body is learning the shape of his with terrifying ease, already memorizing every shift of his weight, every breath he draws.

He’s not even trying, and still, restraint feels like a dying language on your tongue. You long to kiss him until the world forgets its name. Until yours dissolves between his teeth. Until your mouth knows nothing but the shape of him—his hunger, his heat, his name said like a secret too dangerous to keep.

Your entire body is trembling with the effort it takes not to crawl into his arms and do something deeply inadvisable right here on the glossy ballroom floor, in front of half the city’s elite and at least three people who’d probably faint.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you whisper.

Sylus leans just close enough that his lips nearly brush the shell of your ear. “Only if I’m losing.”

His breath is warm, and it sends a full-body shiver down your spine. Just when your mind starts conjuring images you absolutely should not entertain in public, he pulls back slightly to search your face with a tenderness that undoes you more than anything else.

“You look beautiful tonight.” It rumbles from him, soft as midnight rain and unbearably sincere.

You laugh, a breathless sound that barely escapes your lips. “And you look like the reason women make bad decisions in hotel elevators.”

He grins, slow as sin and twice as inviting. “Then I suppose the real question is…” He leans in, “Are you planning to make any bad decisions tonight, kitten?”

Bad decisions happen to be your favourite.

The air shivers between you, charged like stormlight caught in glass. Your blood has gone molten, your skin too tight for your bones.

And your mouth?

Your mouth aches with the ghost of a kiss not yet taken, like it’s already forgotten how to be untouched.

You don’t remember the drive. Only fragments like the blur of city lights smeared across the windows, the low hum of the engine swallowed by the sound of your pulse.

But his hand, you remember. Resting on your thigh like it had always belonged there, casual in its possession, maddening in its restraint. Each idle sweep of his thumb, an unfinished sentence on your skin. The way he looked at you parked beneath the hush of a red light, like he could taste the tension and was deciding whether to bite down or let you squirm.

Now, you’re inside a mansion that feels like it stepped out of another lifetime—sleek obsidian stonework with ceilings high enough to trap stars. The moment the door clicks shut, restraint fucking shatters. You’re on him like gravity has surrendered to want, hands splayed against his chest, chasing the rhythm of his breath as if it holds the key to yours. You kiss him like hunger given shape, a raw, relentless pull that strips the air from your lungs and replaces it with heat.

He stumbles back, laughter coiled tight in his throat but never quite escaping, his spine catching the wall in the shadowed mouth of the entryway. One brow lifts, carved in smug approval, but you don’t pause to admire it.

Your mouth is already reclaiming his. He tastes like dark promises and defiance, like a man who’s never known hesitation and doesn’t plan to start now. His hands find your waist, fingers flexing once, twice, before pulling you closer, until even the breath between you is stolen and shared.

You move like your body was born knowing the weight of him, the shape of him, and how to make him falter with nothing but touch.

You’re done holding back. His suit jacket slips from his shoulders, pooling at your feet without ceremony. Your fingers dive into the buttons of his shirt, too eager to care about precision. One snaps off and skitters across the floor, and his chest trembles with the unmistakable rhythm of a smothered laugh.

“Sylus,” you murmur against his neck, “don’t start.”

“I haven’t said a word.”

“But you’re thinking loud enough to make me bite you.”

He leans in, just enough that his lips almost brush your ear. His voice is smoke and velvet and amusement edged with hunger. “Then bite.”

So you do, just above his collarbone, sharp enough to make him hiss, sharp enough to make his grip tighten.

“Fuck,” he breathes, half-laugh, half-curse. “You’re dangerous when you’re done being polite.”

You pull back, flushed and furious with wanting, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. “I’ve been good. So good, Sylus. Letting you circle me like you’ve got all the time in the world while I burn under your hands. But I’m done playing spectator to your self-control.”

His smile could tear a lesser woman in two. “You’re ready to lose control?”

Your nails dig into the edge of his shirt. “No. I’m ready to make you lose yours.”

His breath catches, but it’s the silence that follows that undoes you. His smirk doesn’t just fade. It shatters. His crimson eyes darken, catching the low light like coals stirred from slumber, like he’s been pacing the edge of this moment for far too long, waiting for you to open the cage and invite the fall.

“If you’re going to break, then let it be against me,” he purrs, voice scraped raw. One hand finds your wrist and guides your hand slowly over his heaving chest. “Be greedy with me. Take what you want. Show me what you desire.”

He kisses you like he already knows the shape of your hunger. One hand at the back of your neck, the other splayed at your waist, anchoring you to the present even as he dismantles it. His mouth moves slowly at first, teasing, letting you lean into him with an impatience you don’t bother hiding.

You melt forward with no resistance, pressing against him like you’re desperate to blur the lines between where you end and he begins. Your hands roam across the taut landscape of his chest, memorizing every rise and hollow like scripture.

Sylus presses you into the nearest wall with intent. His lips graze your jaw, the scrape of his teeth followed by the velvet flick of his tongue at your throat. It’s a worship, indecent in how reverent it feels. A slow descent into delirium.

His fingertips trace the arc of your hips, slipping just beneath the hem of your dress as if coaxing permission from your skin. Every drag of contact kindles that feral throb that’s lived too long between your thighs.

You reach for his belt, unthreading it in a single fluid motion. His breath stutters, but he doesn’t stop you. He watches. Still. Waiting.

His eyes are fire made flesh, burning without smoke, without apology. He lets you lead, and that power in your hands is as heady as the scent of his skin.

His hands begin to rise, fingers trailing up your thigh. When he reaches the edge of where your restraint erodes, you freeze.

“Wait.”

It comes out too fast, too sharp. Your body tenses against him. Sylus stops immediately. Not just his hands, but everything. The teasing drops from his face like a veil being drawn back, revealing gentle concern.

He leans back just enough to give you space without letting go. “What’s wrong?”

You feel the words clawing at your throat—hesitating now that they’re at the edge of your tongue. Your face burns. Your hands tremble just slightly where they rest on his chest, and you hate that after being so bold, this is what trips you up.

You force the words out, fumbling, letting your eyes fall to the floor. “I haven’t… done this before.”

His fingers brush under your chin, lifting your face back to his. “Anira.” He says your name like a prayer dragged over embers. His thumb drags lightly over your lower lip, slow enough to make your stomach clench. “If you need me to go slower… or stop entirely… say the word.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiles, slow, molten, deliciously dangerous. “Good, because I don’t think I could.”

His mouth finds yours like a vow etched in flame. No longer a question, but the answer to every agony you’ve carried in silence. The kiss is deep and devastating, a communion that unmakes you by degrees, trading breath for longing, hesitation for fervour.

His fingers slip beneath the delicate straps of your dress, touch scorching where it lands. He traces the slope of your shoulders as though memorizing the way you unravel for him. Inch by excruciating inch, he guides the fabric down, letting it sigh to the floor.

The air bites at your exposed flesh, but you barely register the chill. His hands are already there, anchoring you to his warmth, stealing your breath before the cold can even hope to claim it.

His strong arms curve around you, and he lifts you from the ground. You cling to him out of instinct, legs curling at his waist. He carries you through the hallway without looking away, like letting go of your gaze might break the spell between you.

The bedroom door eases open with a nudge of his foot, shadows stretching across the floor in soft waves. He lays you down with care that borders on reverence, and he stands over you for a single breathless second—eyes aflame, chest rising like he’s been holding his need on a blade’s edge.

You reach for him, fingers curling into the open edges of his shirt, and you drag it down his arms, knuckles brushing against taut muscle. The fabric slips from his shoulders like water over stone, catching at his elbows before he shrugs it free.

He’s cut from tension and midnight shadow, each breath stretching across his chest like he’s straining to keep himself from devouring you whole. You sit up slightly, palms sliding along the hard planes of him, nails grazing the dip beneath his collarbones, and the way his breath stutters makes heat coil low in your belly.

“You’re not real,” you murmur against his skin, lips brushing his sternum. “You can’t be.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s ragged around the edges. “Then don’t stop touching me,” he whispers, voice frayed. “Remind me I am.”

Sylus kisses you like he’s trying to collapse time, like if he goes deep enough, he’ll find the first moment your soul ever touched his. You can’t tell if this is longing or memory, but it’s splitting through you, like lightning seeking its twin in the open sky. You arch toward him, drawn by instinct, or fate, or the echo of home.

His hands skim over your breasts, teasing you through the lace of your bra before sliding around to unhook it with a deft flick. The air hits your overheated skin, and you shiver, nipples pebbling in the chill. He takes your pert nipple into his hot, wet mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. You don’t even realize you’ve whimpered until he smirks against your skin.

He groans softly, his hand slipping down your stomach and between your thighs to cup your pussy through your soaked panties. The heat of him, the pressure, makes you rock instinctively against his touch. All you feel is need, ancient and aching, like your soul is crawling back toward someone it never stopped belonging to.

His fingers slip beneath the delicate lace, brushing against your dripping lips. You gasp, hips bucking as he parts you gently, circling your clit with feather-light strokes that leave you aching for more.

Sylus’s hands move like your body is a language he once knew and is now relearning, one searing syllable at a time. You can’t tell if you’re trembling from want or memory. Only that his hands are both the cause and the cure.

His fingers hook into your underwear, tugging them slowly down your thighs. You lift your hips to help him, breath coming faster now, anticipation coiling tight in your core.

When you’re exposed and wanting before him, the hungry way he looks at you sends a shiver racing down your spine. His palm slowly ghosts back up your leg, and he has this look about him, as if he’s both savouring and mourning each caress.

You’ve never pined for safety the way you ache to unravel in his hands, to be stripped down to whatever soul he can summon from you. He holds you like he’s memorizing the shape of your surrender. Like he wants the echo of it on his palms for the rest of time.

“You undo me.” His breath is hot against your throat as his fingers glide through your seam, teasing and exploring as you tremble. “Every fucking time. Like you were made to break me open.”

He circles your clit with maddening slowness, drawing out your pleasure. You drown in sensation, in him, in an echo older than memory, rising too wild for the cage of your skin. Breath forgets you when he touches you. You become shards of want scattered across his palms, his lips, the low burn of his voice when he whispers your name.

One finger slips lower, circling your entrance tentatively before pressing inside. A broken whimper escapes your lips at the unfamiliar intrusion, the stretching sensation as he works you open. Your inner walls flutter and clench, trying to draw him deeper.

Your hips rock to meet his strokes, chasing the burgeoning bliss. He adds a second finger, pumping slowly, carefully. Letting you adjust to the feeling of him moving inside you. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles as his fingers thrust deeper, pushing you to the edge.

You run your hands over him like you’re mapping starlight, tracing muscle and shadow, wondering how something so solid can feel so celestial beneath your fingertips.

The tension snaps. Your release doesn’t shatter; it blooms. Fire unfolding in your belly, in your chest, in your throat, until all you can do is cry out his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

Sylus gentles as he works you through it, panting heavily as your pussy spasms around his plunging fingers. He doesn’t withdraw until he’s worked every last shockwave from your writhing body.

Your fingers brush the sharp lines of his hips, tracing the edge where fabric clings too tightly to skin. He watches you with maddening stillness, like a creature caught between indulgence and self-control.

You toy with the button at his waist, slip the fastening loose, and his breath hitches, not loud, not sharp, but enough to make your pulse stumble. The zipper yields with a sigh, metal teeth parting like a secret you’ve coaxed free, and when you ease the fabric down over the sculpted lines of his thighs, he finally moves—just enough to let them fall away.

Your breath catches at the sight of him, thick and hard and intimidatingly large. A pearl of moisture glistens at the swollen tip, and your mouth waters with the urge to taste.

The sight of him makes your breath stall in your throat. Like he was never meant for anything so mundane as clothing, like his body was carved to be seen in shadow and low light, to be touched in reverence.

Sylus settles his hips between your thighs, the hot brand of his heavy cock nestling against your soaked slit. “Do you want it, kitten?”

Do you want it? Holy fuck. There’s no word for the way your body aches. No language is vast enough for the need. It’s not just want—it’s famine. It’s centuries of thirst. It’s a hunger born before this lifetime, one your soul remembers even if your mind does not.

Every nerve in your body sings a single answer, louder than breath, louder than blood. You want it like you’re drowning and he’s the only air that’s ever mattered. You want it like it might destroy you, and you’ll fucking thank him for the ruin.

In answer, you reach down and wrap your fingers around his shaft, marvelling at the girth of him. He hisses through his teeth, hips jerking reflexively into your palm.

You give him a languid stroke from root to tip and guide him to your entrance. Even in the haze of desire, you tense instinctively. He's so much bigger than his fingers, hard and hot and heavy.

Sylus pauses, sensing your hesitation. He brushes a tender kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and the corner of your mouth. "We can stop," he reassures, voice settling low, a promise dragged over gravel, like he’s swallowing fire to keep you from burning "If it's too much, we can—”

“I think I’ve been waiting for you longer than I’ve even been alive," you interject. 

Your legs wrap around him and urge him forward, breath catching as he begins to push inside. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of him filling you inch by devastating inch. Your body yields to the insistent press of his, inner walls fluttering and clenching around his length.

“Breathe for me, sweetie,” he cajoles, brushing his lips to your ear. “You’re shaking. Is it too much?”

Your fingers find his back because you need to feel the way his muscles shift, like coiled storms under your palms. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He goes slowly, letting you adjust. The burn of it, the mind-bending stretch, has your toes curling. You make a choked little sound, low and pleading, hips rising as if your body is begging without your permission.

He bottoms out with a wrecked moan, buried to the hilt inside your tight heat. Your eyes flutter closed, breath coming in shallow pants as your body slowly relaxes. You feel split open, impaled on his girth. Every breath shifts him inside you, scrawling voltage down your limbs in a feverish script only your bones can read.

Experimentally, you roll your hips. Sylus groans, low and guttural, fingers digging into your thighs. Emboldened, you do it again, revelling in the drag of him, the exquisite friction. His breath tangles mid-air, suspended on a thread of sensation, as your body sinks him deeper.

Your hips shift restlessly, needing friction, needing movement to ease the building ache. He answers with a slow, deep stroke that makes your body chime in celestial static, constellations stuttering across your nerves like Morse code from a god.

A low moan escapes your kiss-swollen lips as he sets a steady rhythm of long, measured thrusts that have every vein and ridge of him sliding along your walls, hitting places inside you that you never knew existed.

It's all so new, so intense, that you are stripped of thought, pared down to pulse and craving and the echo of his name in your bones.

"Anira," he pants, voice fracturing on a moan, like the first crack in obsidian threaded with zeal he no longer bothers to hide. “You’re going to make me come just by squeezing me like that.”

When he moans your name, it doesn’t sound like a man losing control; it sounds like a man remembering something sacred. You’d let him ruin you a thousand times if it meant hearing your name in his mouth again.

Your head falls back, lips parting on a silent cry as his cock drags over that sensitive spot inside you again and again. Every kiss, every thrust, feels like falling upward, like being pulled into some higher place where pleasure doesn’t have a name strong enough.

“S-Sylus.” His name breaks from your lips like a spell that’s been waiting lifetimes to be spoken again.

“Say my name again,” he urges in a threadbare whisper fraying against your ear like it might fall apart. “I want to know how it sounds when it belongs to you.”

You recite his name like the word existed before time and your mouth was made to speak it. He reaches between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen pearl, sweeping over the sensitive nub as his hips stutter out of rhythm.

The added stimulation has ecstasy cracking open the sky behind your ribs, and every nerve becomes a burning sun. It’s as if he’s dragging the heavens through your skin, one breath at a time.

Your cunt clenches around his pistoning shaft, pulsing and fluttering as your orgasm rips through you. Your thighs tremble, toes curling as he fucks you through it. You are no longer a person, only sensation strung on the edge of his breath.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and damp against your skin. You feel him throb and swell inside you, stretching you impossibly wider. His body trembles, and he mutters, half-formed and desperate, trying to tether himself to restraint. His control has always been a fortress—cold, towering, impenetrable—now it crumbles for you. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

His words dissolve into a rugged groan, hips snapping forward as he spills himself inside you. You feel the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he empties himself in long, shuddering spurts.

He repeats your name like it’s salvation, like you’re the shore his body crashes against, again and again, until he’s nothing but waves and you are the sea that drowns him.

For long moments, you lie tangled together, his softening cock still buried inside you as you both come down from the high. Your cunt throbs, pleasantly sore and still fluttering intermittently.

Reluctantly, he withdraws. You both hiss at the sensation, oversensitive flesh protesting the movement. A trickle of his release seeps out of you, warm and wet against your thighs.

He rolls to the side, pulling you with him until you're draped across his chest, head pillowed on his shoulder. You lie there in the hush that follows the storm. The world outside doesn’t matter. It’s just you and the man who peeled you open like a hymn and worshipped every fragile breath you gave him.

Your legs tingle in the most exquisite way, and your lips are swollen from too many kisses and not enough of them all at once.

He exhales, the sound low and molten, and you glance over to find his crimson eyes half-lidded. “Are you alright?”

You nod, a little dazed. “I think I’m dreaming.”

A slow, crooked smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “If you are, don’t wake up.”

You shift, your body sore and sated, and curl in closer. His scent pools in the hollow of your throat—red sandalwood and the scorched-sweet edge of burned amber.

Neither of you speaks. There’s no need. He brushes his fingers through your hair, over and over, like he’s memorizing the texture of trust. Does he feel it too, this impossible thread stitched between your bones and his?

“Say something,” you murmur into his chest, the words muffled by his heartbeat.

“Something?” he echoes, amused.

“Sylus,” you tut.

His breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel the slowly steadying rhythm of his pulse in your chest as you lie against him.

His voice cuts through the quiet. “You always wanted me to speak. Every time, like… you needed to hear it to know you’re not dreaming.” You shift against him slightly, tilting your head to look up at his face, but his expression gives you nothing. Just an unreadable calm, like the surface of still water veiling the pull of a hidden current far beneath. That odd, unwelcome feeling creeps up your spine.

What does he mean?

Fuck. I hope the wait was worth it. 😅

 Chapter Masterlist 

A03 [Cross-posted] 

Taglist: @mcdepressed290, @animecrazy76, @harmonyrae, @for-hearthand-home, @redseablooming

Take care everyone and enjoy! ☺️

[isa-grapes]

beverlin will always be THAT BITCH to me. like. it’s the duality of being in love with the chosen one and being in love as the chosen one. it’s the both of them saying “he’s too good for me.”

like erlin will never be as strong or brave or significant as Beverly. he isn’t the one who killed the gods or the devils, he isn’t the one time was reset for over and over, he isn’t the one who saved the world. he was just one of the pawns on the board, the body on the altar. loving a hero of the realm casts a hell of a shadow. your hands must seem so small against his. how are you supposed to deal with that? when you’ve never been good with a sword, when all you do is give yourself over to other people?

and bev’s love is dangerous, because power is a magnet for risk. you kidnap lois lane because she doesn’t punch as hard as superman. you lock erlin in a crystal because the heart of a hero is the only part that’s flesh. there’s always a prison gem or an eternal damnation, and bev can’t shake it off. he’ll never be able to just sit one out because part of being important is that the personal things aren’t anymore, part of being important is that you never really get to go home. you don’t stop moving, something always needs to be saved, someone always has to intervene. your life isn’t your own. a hero is selfless. he puts himself aside.

bev walks, erlin trails. erlin rests and bev has to stay on his feet. it’s this inherent distance that they didn’t ask for, that they can only bridge if they really mean it, right? but it works. it works because they love each other. because they’re wrong when they say “he’s too good for me.” because an angel needs the ground when his wings are failing. and a cleric needs something to worship.

[dropsofpluto-writes]

If Only In Dreams (Hotch x Reader oneshot)

Summary: You've been Jack Hotchner's babysitter for quite some time now, but his dad is what keeps you coming back, even if it's only in your dreams. Until now, that is. 18+, minors dni

Warnings: smut, piv sex, oral sex (f receiving), voice kink, plot if you squint

Grad school was kicking your ass. Fully and completely. Classes and coursework was stressing you to the max, but you remained strong. Still, money was important, so you found yourself in the kitchen of SSA Aaron Hotchner’s home, making a simple meal for Jack to eat before he went to bed. It didn’t hurt that you loved Jack, or that your boss was amazing.

You supposed that you were a woman of simple pleasures. Sure, Mr. Hotchner was generous and kind, always overpaying you for the services you provided. But, by God he was one hell of a man. 

Neat, black hair that you were begging to feel, rugged features that even Michaelangelo couldn’t carve, and his voice. Surely he could recite the first 100 digits of pi and you would go weak in the knees. To your credit, it had also been far too long since you had cum.

But alas, you were just making boxed mac-n-cheese for his young son. Plus, there’s now way in hell he would ever hold you in the same light. You knew that he never spent his free time touching himself to the thought of your moans, your breath on his skin, the way you must taste, the way only your voice could scream his name. But, you imagined all that and more of him. Maybe that was okay. Maybe you shouldn’t violate the one good constant in your life.

“Jack, honey! Dinner will be ready in 5. Could you wash your hands and grab yourself a drink, please?” giggling to yourself, watching the young boy finally walk away from the biggest Lego tower that you’d ever seen him make.

“Yep!”

The two of you ate dinner at the kitchen table, mostly talking about Jack’s newest friend from school, but soon enough he was in bed, and you were cleaning up from the meal.

As you scrubbed the pot, silently cursing yourself for not putting it to soak before they sat down to eat, you found your thoughts were consumed by your employer. On more than one occasion, he had told you to call him Aaron, but you remained in your ways of calling him Mr. Hotchner. you had told him that you liked the formality of the moniker, but you were also terrified that if you were to call him Aaron, it would come out as a choked moan, as it had so many times in the confines of your own bedroom.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your reverie. The lock screen displayed a message from the man occupying your mind.

Is there any possible way you could stay a bit longer tonight? Got held up with paperwork at the office. I would ask Jessica, but she can’t tonight -H.

While you had never spent the night at the Hotchner residence before, you had nothing else of importance that evening, so you agreed without an ounce of hesitation.

Sure thing! Sorry you got held up, but I’m always happy to help. <3

Thanks a million, y/n. -H

You began to make yourself comfortable on the couch and continue with your homework, knowing you would likely fall asleep within the hour. Still, getting some of the work done was better than getting none of it done. 

“Goddamn it!” Halfway through the last assignment, your computer decided to die, and of course, you forgot that damn charger at home. After all, you hadn’t planned on staying the night. You instead occupied yourself with mindless scrolling on social media, eventually drifting to sleep. 

If your thoughts of Aaron during the day were criminal, your dreams at night would surely guarantee eternal damnation.

“Oh sweet Jesus, Aaron, just like that!” you dreamt of the man with his head buried in between your thighs, a rather common theme in your fantasies. The vision of the man you worked for was truly a sight to behold. Tendrils of his raven hair falling over his forehead, pupils blown in ecstasy as he devoured your pussy. He licked through your folds like a starved man. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders, allowing the man full access. His tongue gently circled your clit, engorged with pleasure. As he wrapped his lips around the bud, the all-too-familiar coil in your stomach began to make itself known, signaling your impending orgasm.

“Holy shit, p-please! You’re so fucking good, Aaron. M-make me feel so, so good.” Dream Aaron kept the pace, alternating between thrusting his tongue inside your and sucking your aching clit into his mouth, sending you rocketing toward the edge.

“Yeah, you like that baby? Want me to make you feel good?” you groaned at the loss of his mouth on your pussy, but as quickly as it left, he was back at it, devouring your aching cunt like a starved man.

Your orgasm began to build, feeling yourself reaching the peak, when the dam finally gave way, filling you with white-hot pleasure as you moaned his name.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

Fuck. 

You slowly opened your eyes to the dimly lit living room, and was faced by the gracious image of your boss. There he stood, suit jacket in hand, tie loosened, the top buttons of his tailored shirt undone.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked, hoping that the dull light of the lamp in the room wasn’t calling attention to the fiery blush creeping across your cheeks. Looking at the watch on your wrist, you noted the time. 2:45 AM.

“You were writhing around, and you called my name a few times.”

Were you imagining the knowing glint in his eye? His eyes had always been a point of interest for you, their inescapable depth equal parts comforting and chilling. No, surely he couldn’t know that you were dreaming of his face between your thighs just mere seconds ago.

“Huh. I’m not one to remember dreams too often.”

“Y/n, I am a profiler, and one of my duties is to know when a suspect is lying. Why don’t you tell me the truth?”. He walked toward the side of the couch where you were sitting, his presence both suffocating and bringing you to life.

There was a long pause before you replied, scrambling to think of anything that didn't make you look helpless and desperate.

“I think it was a -um- nightmare? Your tone was utterly unconvincing.

“It didn’t sound like a nightmare to me, Y/n,” the timbre of his voice sent waves of heat between your thighs. “It sounded like you were having a great time. Like we were having a great time.”

You had been caught. Like a deer in headlights, you froze entirely, not wanting to confirm or deny the truth laid before you. Somehow, a small part of your brain chose honesty.

“Yes. You’re right. I’m so sorry. If you need to find another babysitter for Jack I completely understand.” You sat up, hoping to look a little less helpless

“Now that would just make me a hypocrite, Y/n,” his voice was softer now, but just as lustful as you'd dreamt. “You were in my dreams, too. I dream about what lies beneath your clothes, what you’d look like in my bed.”

This couldn’t be real. Surely he was just embarrassing you to make a point. Still, you held out hope that he was being true to his word.

“Oh, God” was the only thing to escape your lips, just above a whisper.

“We can continue, or you can tell me to stop and we’ll never discuss it again. Either way, I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, please. God, yes Mr. Hotchner.”

“How many times have I told you to call me Aaron?” he questioned you, a devilish grin across his lips.

“Please, Aaron”

He was on you in an instant, lips crashing to yours. This was not gentle, nor did you want it to be. This was long-awaited passion. Your arms circled his neck, and his found your waist, picking you up as if you were weightless. He moved his head away from you barely, trying to read your face. All he saw was a hunger for himself, deep in your eyes.

He began to carry you in the direction of his bedroom, the one place in his home you’d never been in. As you entered the hallway, you made sure to be as quiet as you could, not wanting to wake the sleeping boy just a few rooms away.

Aaron tossed you onto his bed, a place you never thought you would actually see. You took him in, his looks, his sound, his smell- clean but still uniquely Hotch. He toyed with the hem of your shirt and brought it up to your navel, gazing deep into your eyes again to gauge your response. You removed the thin garment, exposing your bare breasts, flinging it somewhere near his nightstand. The cool air of his bedroom quickly spread gooseflesh across your skin, nipples puckering in response. 

He removed his own shirt and you pulled him closer to you with a foot behind his knee. You sat up to get a better view of his rolling muscles, a bit padded by age, not that you minded. As you admired his body, you couldn’t help but skate your hands across his skin, up his arms, over his shoulders, down his pecs, toward his abdomen. He had quite a few scars here, and you decided not to ask about their origin.

He leaned in toward you, kissing you again fervently. You responded in kind, aching to be one with him. You sighed into his mouth as your hand found his length, shocked by the size.

“Not just yet, my love. Tell me more about your dreams of me”

You were near naked in front of the man, but you somehow felt a pang of shame again.

He hooked a hand under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You eat my pussy,” you said, craving the real thing over the imagined scenario.

A low groan erupted from his mouth as he knelt down at the edge of the bed, gently pushing you onto your back. He parted your knees, kissing gently up your thighs, teasing you.

His hands snaked into the waistband of your shorts, removing them and your underwear at once. You were completely bare to him, and you decided that this was easily the best moment of your college experience thus far. 

He looked up at you from between your legs, and asked you once more, “Is this really what you want?”

“Yes, please. I need your mouth on me”

That was all the affirmation he needed. Quickly, he dipped his tongue between your labia, relishing in your taste. He hummed in approval as you moaned softly.

“So wet just for me?” He chuckled gently.

“Just for you, only for you, Mr. Hotchner”

He landed a soft smack to the outside of your thigh, just enough to sting.

“Call. Me. Aaron.”, he said, punctuating each word with a strong lick across your clit.

“Only for you, Aaron”

He made quick work of you, eventually inserting one finger, then two, feeling your walls pulse as you were brought closer and closer to the edge. His free hand reached up to your breast, cupping and kneading the flesh, then pinching your nipple. Your hands flew into his hair, eliciting a deep moan from the man ravishing you. Gently pulling, you let out a breathy gasp. 

“Oh, Aaron, I think I’m g-gonna cum”

Aaron sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue swiping a circular motion on its surface. You felt yourself hurtling toward oblivion, mind encapsulated by your boss. His fingers curled within you, keeping pace as you rode out your orgasm. 

Once you came down, you stared into his eyes, marveling at the man who was now leaning over your body. His cock was visibly straining against the tight cotton of his slacks, and you gawked at his size. 

“Need you inside me, Aaron. Need all of you so so bad.”

That was all the confirmation that he needed to release his dick. He was quick, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down his strong muscular thighs. You made a mental note to tell him just how hot he was. 

You saw his enormous length, red and weeping at the tip. It must be painfully hard, but all you could think about was how to get him inside you. 

He quickly gathered the evidence of your release with a gentle swipe of his cock through your folds, then aligned himself with your aching cunt. With a gentle thrust and a gorgeous moan, he pushed himself inside you, taking his sweet time to bottom out. You were overcome by a sense of fullness. The small thatch of hair at the base of him rubbed softly at your clit, adding to your euphoria.

He started to fuck into you, ravenous look upon his face. God, this man knew some things. With every thrust into you, he hit the sweet spot inside you, brushing against it with a fervor. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, willing him to destroy you. You would sell your soul to stay in this moment forever, but memories would suffice.

“G-gonna cum, sweetheart. Where do you want me?” 

“Oh fuck, Aaron! I’m on the pill, I don’t care, just please make me cum”

Instead of replying, he opted to press his thumb into your clit, making quick work of your orgasm.

You were surrounded by a white hot pleasure, the best you’d felt in eons. You look over to the man at your side, also coming down from his own orgasm. 

“Has anyone ever told you just how beautiful you are, Aaron?” you say, gazing at him with adoration.

“Only you.” His reply was brief, but he had a gorgeous grin spread on his face. You laughed softly, just happy to be where you were with the man you were sure you loved.

[showtoonzfan]

Okay so I saw S1E2 of HH “Video killed the radio Star” so here’s my thoughts on that, ⚠️SPOILERS⚠️

- So once again, the pacing is all over the place. In the span of 2 episodes we have to deal with introducing Adam and Lute, the main characters of the hotel, the three V’s and Sir Pen, and I don’t like how the three V’s are introduced in the second episode of season 1. Like…can we just let the characters we know breathe and get to know them before you introduce new ones?? Told you this was going to be like Helluva lol.

- So hell is freaking out that the extermination got moved to 6 months later, but Charlie of course isn’t the focus of this episode. It’s mainly the three V’s + Angel/Al/Sir Pen. It still bothers me that the reason behind redeeming sinners is not because Charlie is sick of Hell being a damnation but because she doesn’t want them to be exterminated. It’s such a drastic change from the pilot and the character motivation that it still throws me off sorry.

- So, I actually like Vox. I take back bitching about Christian Borle playing him because while his suave voice may not fit the twink design, he does a fantastic job either way as expected, making Vox an intimidating person. I had thought before that Vox was going to just be this dumb henchman, but I actually like how he’s the runner of things. He’d be so cool if he didn’t curse and talk like every other character in the show though.

- Good GOD Valentino. I already shared how I felt about him when the dialogue leaks came out, but I HATE how his character is just this idiot man baby who throws temper tantrums and legit needs to be “calmed down” by Vox because he’s such an idiot. Like…Velvette calls him a piss baby and Vox legit had to talk to him as if he was one, that’s how dumb this guy is. There’s a scene where Vox asks what they should do about the hotel and Val says “just put something inside, that’s how I get the bitches”- like…kill me. The fan interpretations were better. He was actually someone you didn’t want to mess with and had an intimidating voice, here he’s a whiny baby that you have to remind yourself is the same guy who forces himself on Angel. The Addict and comic version of this character is not the same as the one we have now. His voice is too high pitch, it sucks and his accent goes on and off constantly. Viv can’t write abusers for shit, she sees everything as a joke. Again, how are we supposed to take abuse seriously if this is how you portray your abuser. Crimson is more intimidating than this joke of a cockroach.

- Alastor has been gone for seven years, yeah that “Lilith is Rosie and Al is working for her”- allegation is 100% true like it perfectly lines up together since Lilith has also been gone for seven years. Only for Alastor, it makes no sense. Like…wdym he’s been gone for seven years. The pilot is canon and they state he’s been at the hotel for a week. Alastor was literally walking around town when Charlie was on the news. Do they mean that it’s been years since he’s done his radio show? Viv, when you retcon shit you need to specify. You’re just confusing everyone again.

- They need to explain why exactly it’s dangerous to make a deal with Alastor because all this vagueness isn’t helping the story. The whole reason Vox sends Sir Pen out to be a spy was to make sure Charlie didn’t make a deal with him, yet you literally have Vaggie making a deal with him like it was nothing in the last episode. I also fail to see why exactly Vox cares about Charlie making a deal with Alastor in the first place. Is it because he doesn’t want Al to have more power? Is it because he doesn’t want Charlie to have power? EXPLAIN.

- Yay more retconning and woobifying. So Angel Dust is a whiny wimpy bitch in this episode, he’s very out of character. When Sir Pen comes to the hotel, he’s extra pressed about that, when in the pilot he couldn’t even take Sir Pen seriously and was acting nonchalant towards him. Then when Charlie starts getting all giddy and complimenting Pen, Angel gets sad and jealous??? This is the second fucking episode of season 1. I thought the whole point about Angel and the hotel was that he didn’t trust Charlie nor take the redemption stuff seriously. Now apparently he wants her approval? And then when he finds Pen out, Pen insults him and that causes Angel to just fucking lunge at him and start punching. When did Angel get this goddamn sensitive. Why did the wimpy snake character who’s supposed to be a loser get under his skin THAT much? It’s even more jarring because the last episode Angel was literally saying he loves being exploited and in the pilot he’s presented as someone who could give less of a shit of what other people think, now a simple jab at him being a slut made him go off. Remember when Travis called him a slut in the pilot and Angel just laughed it off? What happened to that Angel lol.

- Vaggie has a line that flat out calls Angel a sexual harasser. And yet we’re supposed to feel bad for him and root for HuskerDust. Makes perfect sense Viv, fuck you. She has no idea what sexual harassment even is because she sees actual harassment as quirky funny jokes and paints it as genuine love. Pick a side. Is Angel an asshole who sexually harasses people or is he an uwu baby who deserves to be with Husk. Clearly Viv chose the second option.

- I liked Vox and Al’s song, tho I wish it was more singing instead of talking. Charlie’s song in the end was boring but at least it was short. I still don’t know how to feel about Pen being at the hotel tho. Like I get he’s a loser and not a big threat but him happily joining the hotel now is way too structurally fast. There’s a lot of things that feel like Viv changed at the last minute compared to the pilot and it shows. Pilot was better.

That’s it, not looking forward to the third one which is HuskerDust focused (female centric show my ass)

[willowscreativespace]

AEACUS/AIAKOS/EACUS HEADCANONS!!

regular headcanons .

stories from styx by : @imcasperfox

tagging: @squipio , @literallylink--who-tf-is-ravioli

(scheduled post)

• Considering he built the walls of Troy with Poseidon and Apollon, his hands are probably very calloused.

• Cerberus loves him. Like, refuses-to-move-from-his-side level of love. Aeacus has tripped over one of Cerberus' heads multiple times, but he just accepts it.

• He once rigged Minos’ throne to creak dramatically every time he spoke. Minos responded by making all of Aeacus’ scrolls burst into flame whenever he tried to read them.

• He gets extremely flustered if someone flirts with him. The idea of being romantically pursued makes him panic, and his default response is to start listing random Underworld laws until the person gives up.

• Even in a modern setting, he talks like he's still in ancient Greece. "Hail, brother, wouldst thou pass the salt?" "Aeacus, we are in a Taco Bell. Please stop."

• If you tell him he’s doing a good job, he will physically short-circuit. "I—I, uh, merely do what is necessary! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT."

• Aeacus never lets things go. If Minos screws up a ruling, Aeacus will remind him every single time they argue. “Oh, I’m being unreasonable? At least I didn’t send that one guy to eternal damnation for stepping on your foot—REMEMBER THAT, MINOS? BECAUSE I DO.”

• Whenever someone gets off topic, he’s so done. Like, if a guy is going “Bro please I didn’t mean to commit tax fraud” and starts sobbing, Aeacus just looks at his notes and sighs. “You’re literally here because you scammed orphans.”

• He runs the best spreadsheet in the Underworld. Hades once just found a file named “Don’t Touch This Unless You Want to Ruin My Life.xlsx.”

• His brothers call him “JP” (short for Judge’s Pet) because he’s the one who actually follows the rules. Aeacus hates it. “JP, just stamp the soul and let’s move on.” “For the last time, STOP CALLING ME THAT.”

• Minos and Rhadamanthus have an ongoing bet to see how long it takes before Aeacus has a full-blown existential crisis. They just push his buttons and watch. “But what if we just… let one slide?” “WE. DO. NOT. LET. ONE. SLIDE.”

• He corrects Minos and Rhadamanthus’ grammar mid-sentence. They actively try to use the worst grammar possible just to annoy him. “Me and Minos was thinking—” “MINOS AND I WERE—”

• He absolutely hates modern slang. Minos and Rhadamanthus use it incorrectly on purpose just to watch him suffer. “This one’s going to Elysium, no cap.” “STOP.”

• He can hear one of his brothers slacking off from a mile away. It’s a sixth sense.

• He gets way too into board games. Monopoly nearly destroyed the Underworld’s balance once.

• He keeps an emergency stress ball in his robes. He has popped several.

• He gets stuck with ghosts arguing over who actually invented olives or which poet was truly the best. "Sir, I do not care if Archilochus insulted your mother. You’ve been dead for 3,000 years. Move on."

• His brothers force him to watch shows just to see him complain about the inaccuracies. "That is not how sentencing works!"

• If a particularly good dog arrives in the Underworld, he bends the rules a little to let it stay in Elysium.

• “Yo, JP, pass the chips." "I have sentenced kings to Tartarus for less."

• “Okay, but I say this guy deserves Elysium.” “Objection. Look at his financial records.” “Gods, here we go.”

• He likes reading ridiculous excuses from the other souls “‘I only robbed him because Hermes told me to in a dream.’ Gods, I love this job.”

• If a lost soul is looking for their loved ones, he will personally track them down. “I found your sister. She’s in the Asphodel Meadows.” “You what?” “Go on, go see her.”

• If a child’s soul arrives scared, he takes extra time to explain things to them gently. “You don’t have to be afraid. It’s just like starting a new journey.” “Will my dog be here?” “What was his name?” “Cerberus.” “…” “Fine. Let him pet Cerberus.”

• If a married couple is supposed to be separated, he’ll “accidentally” assign them to the same region.“Whoops. Guess you’re together forever. What a shame.” “You can’t just—” “I can, and I did.”

[soft-persephone]

I Will Be Your End pt. 1

Vampire!Fontaine x Vampire!Black!Reader x Vampire!Abel Morales // John Boyega x Black!Reader x Oscar Isaac

Explicit // WC: 9.5k // warnings: blood, descriptions of corpses, mild body mutilation, death, violence, mild abuse, horror, smut // masterlist // Part 2 //

music: Good People / by Majid Jordan

AN: Biggest shoutout to @megamindsecretlair her Vampire Tyrone fics have required my brain chemistry and changed my life! She is the biggest inspiration behind this fic so if you even slightly enjoy this one, go check out theirs! It’s truly beautiful!

Apparently it’s too long to make into one fic, so I will wait until next week to post pt2

I hope you enjoy!!

-

Where the fuck she at?”

Fontaine threw a chair and Yo-yo ducked, it smattered into pieces upon impact. Not satisfied, he flipped the coffee table and attempted to kick a hole in the couch, but she stopped that shit quick.

“Taine, Nock it the fuck off! I know you mad and all, but we still live here, and we ain’t got nowhere else to go!”

His breaths were rabid and heavy. His eyes glowing hard.

“Where. The fuck. Is. She?” He huffed.

Yo-yo licked her lips.

“It’s bad, real bad. You need to get to her fast,” he opened his mouth, probably to ask her the same fucking question again, but she stopped him with a raised hand, daring him to say something, “I tracked her like you told me, but she’s smart.. real smart.”

“That ain’t nothing we don’t already know. Yo-—“

“—interrupt me one more time.”

He sighed, shaking his head before sitting.

Good, God… finally.

“So boom!” She smacked her fist unity the palm of her other hand. “She only stops to feed in small towns, usually a racist or someone who tried to put his hands on her or other woman, all untraceable to the cops n’ shit.”

His face goes blank. The attitude he once had gone. She cohdi feel the power radiating off of him in waves.

He’s putting the pieces together.

“She’s in New York.” Her lips formed into a line, waiting for his response.

“How many body’s?”

“It’s more than 50.”

Fuck.

Tyrone knew she’d be pissed with him for the first few years, but not like this.

He didn’t think she’d actually run away from him.

He looked at the antique book he brought you.

What is was about, he didn’t have fucking clue. This was a book published before summaries on the back were a thing. It was so old it barely had a title.

You loved reading, like Yo-yo, and history and shit.

It was the perfect gift.

But now.. he might not even get the chance to give it to you.

“Call Slick.”

-

“Are you alright little one?” A voice from somewhere asked you.

It was so rich. He kept talking and talking.

You hummed.

He should talk more.

You could barely feel the blood covering your body. The fresh dark flood of it was dripping from your mouth. Falling down a similar path as the last stickier dried up drops.

You looked up and saw his glowing eyes.

They were golden, but not like the harsh metallic gold that matched Fintaine’s grills. They were an old gold like the moon. An old golden hued moon that connected every ancient moment to the present. Witnessing the tragedy that had befallen what used to be her life that had now become the eternal damnation she didn’t deserve…. That she didn’t ask for.

You might hate Fontaine and what he did to you, but you weren’t stupid.

Vampires don’t pop up out of nowhere and for no reason.

Fear clings to you, but you fight it back down your throat, swallowing it before licking your lips.

“I’m.. I'm sorry,” you started. Your voice sounded foreign to you. It was hoarse, croaky, and broken, “I don’t know all the rules to everything. I won’t make any trouble.” Your heart sank, “I just needed to rest for a moment. I can le—“

“Nonsense.” He doesn’t raise his voice or yell. It was just as rich and calm as the first time you heard it. You lick your lips once more. “What makes you think I want you to leave?”

His mouth wasn’t moving…

“Maybe I saw someone in distress and wanted to help.” He was smiling now. It was poised and polite.

If you didn’t know any better, right now felt like meeting a person on any other day. Like taking a stroll on a random day, in the daylight. Just like you used to.

You’d be walking towards campus for class only to bump into a handsome mysterious stranger, he’d be nice and help you up. Insisting he won’t leave until he knows you're alright. He takes you to lunch.

Leading you to no longer care how late you would be to class, just wishing the day won’t end, so your new found stranger wouldn’t leave you.

Were you in distress?

You won’t play the fool and deny it. But you didn’t like the sound of it either. You didn’t know this stranger. Only his voice in your head and his old eyes.

What do you do now?

Barely blinking, he was closer to you.

You registered the fact that you were sitting on the ground. Your legs curled up, bending at the knee and strown casually to your side. A body strown on the opposite side of you. Brutally mutilated beyond recognition, his chest split in the center, his flesh and guts spilling out like a wild animal taken down by a predator.

He kneeled behind you, holding your back to his chest with one hand as he caressed your cheek with the other.

“Did you do this?” He asked aloud, the breath of his voice falling softly on your forehead, tickling gently at your eyelashes.

His eyes were even prettier up close.

He was prettier than Fontaine.

You cursed whatever foreign power within you that led you to think of him, even now.

“No….” You answered, your voice still hoarse, “It was a werewolf.”

He pulled you tighter against him. Firmly, but gently holding your head to the side by a handful of your hair.

His mouth danced softly on the skin of your jaw to your neck. Worshiping the area with such devotion, it felt sinful. It felt wrong. It felt worse than the curse of being a monster forever.

His teeth sank into your flesh, filling you with as much bliss as he was taking, he wanted to be full of nothing but you. He wanted to consume you.

“Who do you belong to?” You heard his warm amber voice in your head.

“No one.” You silently answered back.

—

It’s been weeks, Slick.”

“I said I wasn’t no miracle worker,” Charles huffed. “I said, I’d see what I could do and as we seeing, it ain’t a whole lot.”

“Fontaine kicked his chair behind him as he stood up and Yo-yo stepped between him.

“Uh-uh, none of that! You remember what happened last time you killed a witch?” She hissed. “Your not putting me through that again, Nigga! I won’t let you!”

Fontaine smacked his teeth before turning around towards the window.

“You sure you can’t feel her?” He placed his hand under his shirt one more time before reaching out into the bond. He didn’t need to touch his chest in any way when reaching out to feel you in the bond that made you all a clan. It was more to calm himself down.

“Nothing.” Yo-yo sighed.

He had everyone in their clan reaching out in the bond daily to feel you, for someone to be able to either feel your emotions, dream about you, or see visions on where you were or what you might be doing.

And it was all failing.

Your connection was growing weaker to everyone everyday.

The only thing your bond was putting out was an insane amount of power. It could knock out weaker members into walls or send them flying if they touched it. For someone of your status, it shouldn’t be possible.

The only times vampires tell stories of fledglings growing insanely strong in a short amount of time was before they tried to overthrow clans from their masters, usurping the line before executing them in front of everyone.

What Fontaine did after he was turned…

“At least she stopped feeding everyday all the time.”

“But she’s been learning things.”

Fontaine’s eyebrows rose together in confusion.

“What you mean? How can you tell?”

“I don’t know.. I just can.” She shook her head with a heavy emotion everyone in the clan was starting to feel. “Something’s different about her. I felt this new person in the clan and I know you haven’t turned anyone since her.”

“She’s in the middle!” Slick slammed his hand on the table. “That’s why I say give me all the details! Every single time!” He shook his head. “ there wouldn’t been no need, to pull out my whole crystal ball and shit!”

“Will you quit whining!” Fontaine huffed, “and can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Yo-yo said she feels a new energy in the bond she can’t explain.” Slick fiddled with the hem of his sleeves, “that means she’s found someone else to pledge allegiance to.”

The air went cold.

Fontaine usually has a better grip on his influence and how it can affect the air around him, but when he was upset it came off fast and hard, filling up the room with fear and trepidation that only made it worse.

“No.” He shook his head. “That’s not it.”

“Fontaine, calm down. No one’s saying she betrayed you. We’re just weighing all the possibilities th—“

“I said, no.”

The intonation of his voice changed to something dark and layered with a power that made Yo-yo and slick unwilling still and stop talking.

“She would never.” Fontaine punched the wall.

“She would never drink another vampire's blood.”

—

Abel, cupped water into his hands and poured it over your shoulders, letting it cascade down your chest and your back. The water was scalding, but his hands were warmer.

His hands were gliding over your skin as if he were attempting to create you himself, or he was worshiping the expanse of your skin. Comiting every curve, bump, stretch mark, and stray mole into his memory. Basking at the feel of you and cherishing each millisecond in fear he wouldn't get another chance.

“What.. happened to me?” You asked, “every moment before now feels like a hazy fever or dream I can barely remember.”

“Bloodlust.”

“Bloodlust? I went on some crazy murder spree?!”

“No,” he smiled at your shock and you somewhat relaxed. Still not liking what had become of view, “you drank quite a large amount of blood in a short amount of time, and instinctively once you're in that state your body will only crave more and more in want of being more powerful.”

“I don’t wish to be more powerful. I don’t wish to be anything.”

Abel frowned at you, but ignored your statement.

You were a little disappointed, but you understood.

You didn’t have any friends to confide in anymore, no one to share your experience of existence with. You had no connection with anything anymore, human or creature, nothing else made you feel like more of a monster than that.

“How do you feel?”

“Better, I suppose.”

“No,” he tsked at you, “how do you feel?” His eyes flashed down at you, and you felt his energy quickly fill the room washing over you in a cocoon of warmth, rivaling the bath water.

You sighed.

There’s nothing more you hated then actively practicing and learning about what you now were.

At least, that’s how it was with Fontaine.

You reached deep within yourself. At your spirit or aura.. perhaps something deep within your mind until you felt this new magical essence that now lived within you.

It was bigger, louder.. but it still bore no color.

“I think I’m stronger in some way, but I still don’t know what color I’m supposed to see.”

“You are,” he gently grasped at your sides and lifted you up out of the water, immediately ushering you into a towel, “much stronger that is.” He patted your skin dry , before grabbing a glass jar with oil in it.

“Smell.” He lifted it to your nose.

“Hmmm.” It was a warm boozy vanilla with a hint of something spicy. “I like it.”

“Me too.”

The silence was comforting as you let him cover you with the oil and knead it into your skin.

You can’t remember the last time you had felt so at ease.

He gave you a white sweater that had to be one of his and wrapped you in a blanket as you laid on your side next to him.

He kept his hands to himself and you hated it.

You longed to curl up closer into him and let him absentmindedly play with the locs of your hair. Much longer now that they’ve grown since you’ve died. With plenty of time spent avoiding Fontaine in isolation from him and his goonies, you learned to retwist them yourself.

“How were you turned?” He looked at you with such somber eyes. They were brown just as Fontaine’s but they were much much warmer. Soft things they were, almost wet.

Was she such a sad site? Did he pity her that much?

Was she something to be pitied?

“I’m not sure. I woke up like this one morning in a random bed away from my home and my family.”

His face scrunched together, not just in confusion but sadness.

“No,” he paused, searching for the right words.”Did you consent?”

“What?” You were offended.

Who would ask for this? Only a psychopath would ask for something like this.

“No!” You both winced at how harsh you sounded.

“I did.” He gazed into the distance, looking more somber.

“Why?” You hope you didn’t sound as in disbelief and rude as you felt.

“My… my wife was turned by some random vampire, and once she finally put the pieces together and figured out what happened to her and by whom, she told me, and I asked her to turn me.”

“Oh.”

“Once she did,” he glared at the wall, …

“I had a vision. A plan for our future. . . our family,” he quickly smiled before his face fell into something dark you couldn’t describe. “Generational wealth.” He turned to you with an indescribably smile. His teeth flashed, charmingly so, but his eyes were something else that did not match, “but this. I couldn’t even imagine anything like this getting in my way. Our way.”

“What happened to her?”

“She.. passed.” He lifted his hand to brush your cheek. “She wanted to, and I didn’t hold it against her. We’d been alive for so long.”

“Why didn’t you. . . pass with her?”

“You ask so many questions.”

Had you been alive you swore your face would have burned.

You averted your gaze and focused on his hand on your face.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s endearing,” he pulled you closer, nestling his head on top of yours. You now felt embarrassed for an entirely different reason. “It makes you seem so.. human.”

You sobbed.

“I didn’t ask for this. Any of it.”

“I know,” he placed his hand on the back of your head, suffocating you against his chest and you welcomed it. “I know.”

You will yourself to stop crying. You were done crying.

“I’m sorry this happened to you. When someone is turned it must be with consent. It’s a relationship built on trust. Without it, the bond between master and fledgling is painful for everyone involved

“I have no master!” You argued. “Fontaine.. doesn’t do that.”

“Then how does it work between him and everyone he’s turned.”

You sighed.

“I.. don’t really know. He and everyone in town was somehow turned by this old vampire and he compelled everyone to forget it and to be his slaves or test puppets or something,” you squeezed Abel’s back, holding him closer to you, burying your face drier into his chest, “Fontaine killed him even though he was begged not to, and somehow, they All lived and he was the new leader.”

Abel froze and you looked up at him.

“Is that bad?”

“N.. no.” He pursed his lips. “It’s just unheard of, impossible even.”

He pulled back from you for just a second, looking into your eyes. He moved his hand from your back to the temple of your forehead.

He was looking into your mind.

Fontaine used to try it all the time and you always forced him out somehow.

When he was done he held you even tighter than before. Staying silent.

You thought perhaps he was done talking and just wanted to spend time tucked against you, deciding to sleep and talk about the rest of it in the morning, but you felt his tears fall into your hairline.

You forgot just how horrific what happened to you was. You didn’t always hate him, but now you do. Not just him, but how you used to feel about him.

You’ll never forget that night, and you’ll never forgive him for what he did to you.

Another person, well, vampire, had experienced the story of how you came to die, and they wept just like you did.

You pushed your feelings deep down into the colorless energy within as you’ve always done, and you willed yourself to sleep, wishing for the chance to make Fontaine hurt as you now did.

“Uhoh, someone’s getting a little too turnt!”

“Leave me alone!” You laughed at your friend. “Finals are over, and I can now let loose!”

You might take school a little too seriously, but you came from a home where education was what saved your parents from poverty and they passed that same lesson on to you.

It might be strict to some, but as you grew older you only grew to believe it just as much as your parents.

You wouldn’t have anything if this school shit didn’t work.

You weren’t raised to hustle, you were raised to study, so that’s what you did.

But now it was time to party!

You didn’t always go out with your friends, so the nights you did, were always special. Your favorite food and drinks were always there when you were, and all your favorite people.

Usually you were really shy and reserved, but one or two drinks and the edge is off! You can let loose and maybe even dance. Who cares what anyone else thinks? You're having fun with the people you love and the people that love you!

You're making memories and forming your circle. You dreamed of the big fancy job you’d get one day to finally be able to take care of yourself and live in your own place!

“Uhhh.” Your friend called your name with a badly contained smile.

“Yeah?” You smiled back.

She smirked and then threw her arms around you with a laugh.

“Omg, what is it? Just spit it out already,” you laughed back.

“What would you say, if I told you there’s a guy here with a crush on you?” You blinked.

A crush? On you?

You believed you were pretty. You weren’t that insecure in yourself, people just tend to make it very clear that you aren’t their type.

But this was new!

Your stomach fluttered at the possibility.

“I don’t know!” You laughed again. “But whatever happens, happens!”

Your friend squeaked again and wrapped her arms around you once more.

She was so drunk. You smiled.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

You looked up to see cool dark skin, and a yellow gold smirk of a smile looking down at you.

“No, it’s okay.” You politely smiled back.

He was everything.

He liked that you listened. That you didn’t judge him off his looks.You like that he didn’t assume you were stuck up just because of how shy and introverted you could be.

Conversation was easy. Blissfully easy.

You both probably talked about anything and everything. The big personal life stuff to every miniscule thought and hobby.

He’d never seen Star Wars before.

You are a basic gym person at best.

Some music you both liked, some music he liked you never heard of and vice versa.

“How come you're not scared?”

“Scared of what?” You almost wanted to laugh but you held it in. You weren’t sure how he’d react if you did.

“Of me, or like,” he smacked his teeth, “you don’t act weird and stuff when I talk about what trips me up as a drug dealer or get that silent judgy look. People think that by not saying anything they're being polite, but they don’t know it shows on their face.”

“I don’t judge people based on their life or choices. Just by what’s on the inside. Not everyone has the same chances or choices. We’re all just trying to make it. No matter where we start in life, it’s all toward the same thing.” You stopped and pondered for a bit, searching for the right words. “It’s the government and shit they’ve gotten away with they have us all over the place. Until we can change the system or something like that. . . and yeah.” You ended dumbly.

“Yeah?” Fontaine was practically cackling at you. He laughed loudly. The sound coming from his belly, his low baritone sounds of joy flooded your senses. His yellow gold grillz shining in the low light of the room.

“Just, yeah.”

“Well excuse me for not being able to break down capitalism and its effects on the wealth gap and disparity in America and how it relates to race in one sentence. I've done it enough in school. Which is over now, and I'm tryna take a break from it all.”

You’d never felt so seen, so understood. You could see yourself in him, and he saw himself in you. You both had completely different lives, you had different ideas for almost everything except where it counts. Aside from the basic black experience and the trauma associated with that, or little quirks and social similarities they’ve grown fond of as a collective. There was something more.

A genuineness. A mirroring of the part of yourself that you couldn’t put into words. Tyrone was your person.

That’s why it was so easy to let him take you upstairs. To let his hands roam across the expense of your skin. His mouth was so warm. He lathes at your neck. Dragging his mouth down towards your chest. He sucks hard at your breast until your panting and writhing. He moves towards the next one, doing the same.

You can’t tell where your body ends or his mouth begins.

“You like that?” He looked down at you with half a pearly white smirk. When did he take his grills off? You didn’t know.

He was so calming. He crashed into you like a wave. When you first met on that couch you could feel him pulling you in towards him. The waters of his soul were cool and tranquil, and you’d happily float in the body of it all night. Now as things grew more intense as he mouthed at you, and you clutched at him just as desperately.

“Fontaine.” You moaned his name like a prayer.

He responded with a similar prayer of your name on his lips.

You were drowning in him. The wave of his entire being crashed against you, suffocating you as it flooded over and over your head until you were so far gone underneath the very waters of his essence, of him, you couldn’t breath.

“Who knew such a fat pussy could be so tight?” He lapped and lathed at your skin.

The slow growing ache within you was getting stronger and stronger. Your own desire was eating you alive, burning and festering within you. It was too much. Everything felt so good it hurt, so when he decided to bite down into your flesh, everything within you seized. Tightening in response, screaming for more.

“You like that,” he praised slowly into your neck, “i’an know you was like that.”

He pushed your legs up by your thighs. His hand sliding along your skin as if he was remolding you, reshaping you in his image before he destroys you with the very hands he pulled you out of the dirt with.

You whined, tears brimming in your eyes, but you couldn’t feel them. Fontain didn’t acknowledge them.

You wanted him to feel good. That’s all you wanted. You wanted to make him feel good so he didn’t leave you.

“—wanna be yours.” You mewled as he sucked harder at your neck once more until you made that sound again. He did it over and over again until you whined and panted for more, and he responded with another bite, much harder this time. His mouth staying on your skin much longer.

Waves and waves of pleasure flooded your senses. You arched your back to chase the feeling of his motuh, pressing yourself into him.

He released you with a wet slurp.

“You’on needa worry ‘bout that.” He pressed his dick against you, letting the head bump against your clit as he slid it along your folds. With each lazy movement your hips chased the feeling of his.

Fontaine responded by pulling his hips back, letting you feel every thick inch as he slowly pulled back until only the tip was inside of you before thrusting back into you. He set a slow enduring pace. Each heavy thrust of his hips caused a moan to fall from your lips.

He was branding you. With every thrust of his body into yours, with his hands on your body, with his mouth biting into your flesh. The sounds of his mouth on you matched the wet sounds of his slips slamming into yours.

He wasn’t just consuming you, burning you, he was molding you. Reshaping you not only into a new being but combining your souls. Molting them into one another, you didn’t know where he began and you ended, and you wanted more. No, you needed more. You needed him. You wanted to live for him. Exist only for him.

So you chased every feeling of his body, matching each and every movement of his hips, arched your back further to get that much closer.

It was a night you never forgot. A night you couldn’t forget. Each moment of bliss was now remembered with a matching thought of pain. With every new height of pleasure you didn’t know was humanly possible was now replaced with the thought that every single peak you reached was one step away from your life, your family, and what you used to be at your very core.

A robbery of your humanity.

But you didn’t know that when you woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours. Your phone nowhere to be found.

You were scared and alone.

But you remembered your night with Fontaine.

He took you away from everything, and you didn’t even get the chance to confront him about it while you threw up day and night. While you tossed and turned every waking moment with a headache that wouldn’t go away. While your stomach started to gnaw at your flesh from the inside out caving in on itself. You were hot and cold at the same time and always sweating. Everything started to blur and the sun hurt.

It didn’t help that the room was full of windows.

You had to resort to burying yourself in a hoard of blankets.

But when the moon rose high, you took your chance.

In your feeble weak state, you managed to travel around the foreign town you learned was called the Glenn. Hundred and thousands of miles away from your home.

You managed to find someone nice enough to talk to you.

“You a’right? You need to sit down? You wanta glass a’ water?”

“Please.” Your voice was horse and meak. You didn’t want to be so trusting of all these people you didn’t know, but they had to be better than Fontain or whoever the fuck he was.

You cleared your throat.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

You looked at the date, it could not be right. A chill ran down your spine and filled your entire body.

It’s been 10 years.

You couldn’t have been asleep for ten years! Were you somehow drugged out of your mind? Is that how? What has that sick fuck been doing to your body while you’ve been out of conscience for ten fucking years.

Fear and bile rose in your body and you threw up.

“Aye what the fuck!” You didn’t see what happened next as black clouded the corners of your vision and the world went dark.

However, you were still there.

And in a bath of darkness you focused on your grief and your anger.

You don’t know what has happened to you, but you do know one thing. Fontaine was going to die by your hands, and that thought of comfort let you slip into your first slumber of peace.

-

Yoyo treaded lightly around the corner. She stood still not to draw attention to herself. She watched as the slick black ornate car pulled up to the side of the restaurant. She watched as a man with heavily styled black hair and tan skin stepped out and handed off his keys. Impeccably dressed with a heavy wool coat too match.

“Shoulda went for a black one. Would have been real fresh too.”

Yo-yo bit the inside of her cheek.

“I mean the taupe beige isn’t that bad of a look. It kinda grows on you the more you look at it. But if he really wanted to ste—“

“Nigga, don’t nobody give a damn about his fucking coat!” She hissed.

Why Fontaine made her bring Slick along, she would never know.

“Slick opened his mouth to say something smart, but Yo-yo quickly cut him off.

“Shut up! There she is!”

They watched as he opened the door to the other side.

You stepped out in a gorgeous silk red number that had a leg slit and a low back. You had a white fur shawl that covered your shoulders. Gold dripping around your neck, ears, and a few of your fingers. There had to be some diamonds sprinkled about somewhere. With that type of money, there had to.

Situation aside, Yo-yo and Slick both let out sounds of approval.

“Shit, if I could get all that, I’d leave Fontaine sorry ass too.” Yo-yo murmured.

“As a man with certain avenues and multitudes, I can not hate another player. If you got it, you got it.”

Slick snapped his fingers, the rings on his hands clacking annoyingly so, and their clothes changed.

“What the fuck am I wearing?”

“What are you complaining for? He smacked his teeth. That’s what you usually wear.”

Yo-yo would have appreciated the little yellow thing she wore anywhere else, but not now.

“You saw what they were wearing! This place is classy! It’s nice as shit and they are not about to let a couple of raggedy asses in looking like this.”

“You see that’s your problem!” He raised a finger and Yo-yo had to interrupt him.

“Nigga, I know you not putting a finger in my face!”

“Will you calm yo’ ass down! All I’m tryna say is,” he dusted off his clothes, letting a harsh breath through his nose, “Fontaine made me come with you for a reason. It don’t matter what we wear, I can get us in.”

“Mhmm, you better.”

“Abel.” You warily said his name.

He guided you through a crowd with a hand tentatively placed on your lower back. Plush and luxurious with low thundering music. People were everywhere. But if you really focused and stilled your mind a bit, you could tell who was a vampire, and there were many, and who was not.

Abel was about to answer you, but a young light skinned man had interrupted the steady pace Abel and you were making through the crowd.

“H-hi.” He said softly and sweetly before cupping your face with a hand. He had to be around your age if you were human, boyish features made it too hard to tell, even if he had a beard. Close shaven and shaped well to match his face. . His eyes were a large bright brown as he battered them shyly at you. He had full lips that looked so soft and his lashes were so long.

“Um, hi?” You blinked, not sure what to do. Too many people were crowded around in their own world to care about what was transpiring between you.

You moved his hand from your cheek, and he took it as a sign to move his face closer to yours. You stiled. Even the slightest of movements would have made your lips touch.

“Can you bite me?” His voice was a sultry pant, almost a whine.

Blood rushed through your senses. You noticed it now.

The smell of it in the room. The humans straying around from vampire to vampire.

Something on your face must have changed. Maybe your eyes flashed because his lips parted just a tad more and his eyes almost rolled back.

You leaned in closer, your lips grazing his neck before you felt Abel’s hand slide from your back to your arm, roughly pulling you back.

“She’s on a diet.” He didn’t yell or raise his voice, but his tone was clear cut and dry with plenty of bite.

He raised your hand to reveal the glowing purple glow stick bracelet.

“Oh.” The stranger pouted his lips, causing a rush of something to burn deeply within you, “well,” he fiddled with his fingers, “when you're not on a diet can you come back? I’m here almost every night.”

You turned to Abel, not sure what was happening.

“She’ll think about it.” He patted him on the shoulder before placing his hand at your back once more and led you through the crowd.

Going up steps, he let his hand fall from you, but you couldn’t find it in you to step away from him.

“This is a nightclub for vampires?”

“And humans.” Abel said casually before stopping someone and ordering a few drinks.

“Wristbands are color coded.” He led you to a cornered booth before guiding you in and sliding after you.

“Red for feeding vampires, green for those willing to be bitten, yellow for humans who don’t, and purple for vampires who are on a diet.”

You looked at your purple wristband with a frown. A gnawing sensation swelling within you.

“But I—“

“— have had more than enough.” He sighed as he saw your face fall, “look. Bloodlust is a hard thing to come back from but enough time has passed where you aren’t jumping on any and everything with a pulse.”

You nodded at the reason in his words.

“Who are we here to meet anyway?”

Abel twisted the ring around his finger and crossed one of his legs over the other one.

“The vampire who helped me after me and my wife were turned.”

As the waiter placed down your drinks, a figure appeared out of nowhere. Eerily still and quiet as people bustled to and fro around him. His gaze fixed on you and Abel.

His hollow black eyes reflected the light and surrounding colors in a strange effect you could barely understand. His equally dark and plain clothing was just as off putting.

“He is ready for you.”

Abel took a quick swig of his drink and ushered you out of the booth.

He held you close to him as you both followed the strange man.

“Let me do the talking.” Abel whispered in your ear. “If he tells you to do something, just do it and don’t protest too much.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but Abel rose an eyebrow at you as his mouth twisted into a tight thin line.

“Most importantly,” he whispered in your face as you both climbed the steps to an intricate door to a room that looked over everything, “follow my lead.” His eyes flashed in the familiar old gold you’ve grown comfortable gazing at, but in this moment it made your veins run cold.

“Abel,” a man who looked strangely familiar to him, stood up from behind his desk to dutifully shake Abel’s hand with a formal and polite smile, “it’s been so long. To what do I owe this rare pleasure of a visit from you. Everything is well at the office?”

“Yes, everything is fine, but I have a request to ask of you.”

At that moment, the man looked at you and his eyebrows rose into his hairline.

“I see.” He corrected himself with another polite smile and motioned towards the chairs in front of his desk. “Let’s discuss this in a more comfortable manner.”

He and Abel looked alike, but they couldn’t appear more different.

This man’s hair was much curlier, but does this mean Abel’s hair could be equally as curly?

He was turned much later in life. The evidence in the salt and pepper of his hair and the thick beard that suited his features.

Despite their few differences there was so much they had in common. In the formal attire they both seemed to respect and their equally formal mannerisms, but it was clear this man held some sense of superiority.

Not only in how he moved and acted, but how Abel, the most powerful vampire you had recently met, treaded carefully around this one.

It would have caught you by surprise if you weren’t feeling suffocated by a strange yet powerful aura.

It had to be coming from him.

“Forgive my rudeness, let me introduce myself. I am Duke Leto Atreides although not quite a Duke anymore. That was quite some time ago.”

You cleared your throat and told him your name, introducing yourself just as politely.

“It’s no trouble at all.”

Leto looked at you a moment too long with an odd look, like you had shocked him somehow, before his face fell back into its usual demeanor.

You looked at Abel to see if you had done anything wrong, but he gave you a small nod to reassure you that you had not. However, his face seemed to hold a look of concern or wary at how the Duke was looking at you.

“What is it you came to ask for?” He cleared his throat before turning his attention back towards Abel.

“Well, it’s not so much a favor for me, but for her.” Abel crossed one leg over the other and corgilly clasped his hands together in his lap.

“She’s a fledgling.” He paused, licking his lips and dipping his head down momentarily. His eyes briefly glowed before he slightly shook his head, “she was unwillingly turned.”

The Duke’s head snapped towards you with a frown. His expression of formal politeness was no more. It was quickly succeeded by a cordial disdain, regarded with frown, on your behalf.

“Impossible.” He placed his chin in the knuckles of his hand. “Who would do such a thing? The event of someone unwillingly turned surviving is rare.”

“What!”

You violently twisted in your chair to face Abel and he stilled you with a hard look and an arm across your body to keep you from speaking and moving more.

“That is exactly my understanding as well, but she is alive and well and recently recovering from a bout of bloodlust.”

Leto stood up with a look of thought, and Abel followed suit.

You rise with a glare, your eyes looking between them both. You tried to keep your composure, but you were failing on every level. You could feel your anger coursing through your veins. Whatever magic that had your heart thumping surged throughout your body. Your heart beating faster and faster until you couldn’t feel it in your chest. It was racing at such a speed you couldn’t hear and your vision started to blur.

Leto had two hands on the side of your face, looking into your eyes as you stood frozen in your rage. When did he start talking to you? When did he put his hands on you?

“W—“

“— calm down.” His eyes glowed into yours. An iridescent gray blue. Almost a dark indigo of sorts.

It made you think of the rain. A thunderstorm and how before its clouds burst, the lightning cracks. Seconds after, it’s followed by thunder pounding. How once it ends, there’s an eerily still that falls on everything. The dark clouds recede and a bright and sunny day materializes in a bath of melancholy of not knowing what had just happened and why.

It didn’t calm you down, but it slowed your heart in your chest, something within you was still seething at him.

He didn’t weep for you as Abel did.

His thumb softly brushed at your cheek as he studied your face. A calmness bloomed across his face. His polite superiority is gone, revealing just a man— a vampire.

He looked like he found something he once longed for. Whatever it was, he now found in you.

You looked over to Abel. His expression is neutral,, revealing nothing to you.

“Um, Duke…sir?” You cleared your throat.

He practically leapt back. Except it happened before you could blink and he kept his hands awkwardly in front of him.

“Ah, yes.” He dusted off himself and brushed his clothes. “Forgive me. I got carried away.”

He looked at you once more, but now as if he knew you.

“Is there anything you could do to help her?” Abel's voice was strained with a cordial air, clipped with an agitation.

You reached out to him. Brushing your hands through his hair to rest momentarily on his cheek.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment. His brow furrowing and his mouth twisting to one side before he slightly moved away from your hand.

His face was back to normal, but a nagging feeling within you told him he wasn’t. It made you ache with a need to dissuade whatever it is. You wanted to repay him for all the moments he’s calmed you down and made you feel warm these last few days.

Being with Abel made you realize just how much distress Fontaine had you under. How rage got you out of bed in the morning and hatred got you through the day.

Being with Abel made you realize just how exhausting it was.

You were still learning how to exist in a calm state. How to let go of your thoughts and anger and take things one at a time.

“I can help break her tie.”

You shared a look with Abel. Your eyebrows rose into your hairline and your mouth agape. Leto’s words seemed to put Abel at ease. He unbuttoned one of the buttons of his suit jacket and held a fraction of a smile before he turned to face him.

“It will be very painful, but I—“

He paused. His ears tinging red as he cleared his throat and averted eye contact from you.

“May I,” he licked his lips, “may I have a taste of your blood?”

You looked into his eyes. It was a mistake.

They glowed with a dark unrelenting gaze. His bashfulness was no more, either way, heat rushed throughout all your senses. Your eyes fluttered as you looked anywhere but him.

“Yes.” You quickly stuttered out. “It’s—

“Are you sure?” He interrupted you and moved his head into your line of sight. Suddenly, filling up your personal space.

You blinked repeatedly and stared dumbly in response.

No one had ever asked.

You nodded silently and he only raised his eyebrows at you.

“Yes.” You said softly but with more determination than before.

With careful hands he moved your head to the side.

Burning, his mouth was burning you.

His mouth felt like hot coals being placed on your neck. He cradles your head towards his chest as if he had done it a million times. His mouth moves along your skin with the fury of a thunderstorm, swollen with the humidity of the summer air. Unrelenting and smothering, he finally bit down, something within you breaking. The evidence of its lightning touch was the thundering of your heart in your chest.

You don’t know what to do with your hands. You run them along his chest, his back. You push and pull at the fabric of his shirt, of him. All you could smell was him.

He was all you could feel.

Slowly raising his mouth from your skin, you both pant with heaving chests as you watch the small trail of blood that connects from his mouth to your skin.

Without missing a beat, he laps at the small holes left on your skin. You can’t help the moan that spills out of you, and he closes his eyes.

You slide your hands from his back into his hair.

Desperate to pull him in once more.

When he opens them, neither of you say a word. The glowing storm clouds of his eyes transform into something so dark it’s a wonder they still glow at all.

Without breaking eye contact, he swiped his tongue along his lips to taste more of your blood. Your eyes dart across his face, desperate to catch each movement.

He moved closer to you, mouthing along your neck and sniffed deeply at your skin, pushing his nose firmer against you. He breathed out of his mouth. The warmth of his breath searing into your pores.

You couldn’t take it.

“One more,” he panted into your neck. “Just one more.”

“Please.” You practically pant back into his mouth.

You aren’t aware of much of anything at this point. You're lost in tides of air and whirring winds and you aren’t sure you want it to end.

As he pulls up to you once more, you surge towards him in unison, unaware of just how much strength you were using.

He makes a small oomf sound as you thud into his chest. He puts his hands at your hips and holds you tentatively.

Your mouth clamps onto his neck with just as much fervor. You felt more desperate than he did. You felt like you weren’t as sensual. That you sucked and slurped at his skin like some rabid creature, but the sounds coming from you told you just how wrong you were.

His pants were growing short, sharper, almost transitioning into a low keening wine.

“Fuck.” He whimpered into your ear before pulling you off of him by your hair. An action you would have taken into offense if it was anyone else, but right now after what you both had done, you don’t know what the lines of inappropriate and appropriate were anymore.

“And here I thought I was the only woman for you.”

You both took a step away from each other. Leto straightened his posture and clasped his hands formally behind his back.

You stood wide eyed.

She had your face. Only a bit older in comparison, but you knew your own face when you saw it.

“I think it is past due time for Abel to have another lover.” A man had interrupted. And not just any man, but a man who was the spitting image of Fontaine, save for the African accent and no beard. His hair was much tamer in style, and he had an equal air of superiority that Leto carried, and he seems like the type to not play about it.

He was better than everyone, and he wanted anyone who crossed his path to know it. He barely made eye contact with anyone else in the room. The only reason he seemed interested in your existence was because of how you and Leto seemed lost in one another moments before.

“Forgive me, my love.” Leto cleared his throat and avoided eye contact with you as well. His ears tinging pink before he continued. “I assure you I have not taken up a lover of any kind.”

“No?'' She stepped closer to Leto and ran a hand through his hair.

His shoulders fell into a more casual posture, and his expression softened.

“She’s a fledgling.”

“I think it's time we made our leave.”

You turned towards Abel.

His voice did not reveal his feelings, but from the look in his eyes and the slight frown on his face, it was clear how he felt. A storm of guilt brewed in the pit of your stomach. You had only been with him for a short period of time, but you couldn't help the feeling that you committed some type of betrayal. However, not out of some loyalty, that he was some sort of only being you could be tied to, or that he was some sort of lover, but you felt some type of way about having that moment in front of him.

You still would have done it. You dont regret it in the slightest, but he shoulnd’t have been here to see it.

You sighed. Not caring to hide the agitation in your voice.

“I would love for someone to explain to me what that means instead of acting like I don't exist.”

Everyone turned to look atr Abel for some reason, and that irritated you even further. The rage boiled over within you. You could no longer see who or what was in the room, only what you were feeling.

“I know, through the magic, it feels like she's been a vampire for ten years, but if you’ve heard her story, it's only been for a short amount of time .” Abel said through his teeth.

“Well. . .” the woman who looked like you started. She eyed you up and down hungrily, “If she currently doesn’t belong to anyone. . “

“No.” Abel grabbed your arm and moved you behind him.

“I only made an agreement with him, and I don't have any allegiance to you whatsoever.”

“I understand her position of not being taught the proper edicate for how things work amongst us, but for you Abel there is no excuse!” Leto raised his voice. His eyes a startling eerie glow of a stormy blue-grey.

A wave of energy would have knocked you off your feet if you didn't grab Abel’s arm in time. He was much stronger than you were, so he didn’t seem to be affected by whatever invisible wave was swirling around in the room. He uncharacteristically glared at Leto. His apparent disrespectful attitude unwavering.

The man who had the same face of Fontaine looked you and Abel down with a pathetic disdain.

‘Where is the other one?” He asked as if he was offended that a copy of himself existed.

“What other one?” Abel spat. His eyes closing and his shoulders scrunching up as he waved his arms.

“What the fuck,” he yelled, his fangs bared and his eys glowing a dazzingly dangerous yet beatiful yellow, “is going on? What aren't you telling me?”

“Abel did you not tell them?” the woman with your face smacked her teeth and looked back at Abel with a glare.

“I was getting to it.” He looked much more sympathetic.

“It looked much more like you were about to put your tongue down another woman’s throat if you ask me.”

“Enough!’ she turned back to give the man a look. “Does it look like I care? If you can’t stand to be in the same room as Leto so badly, then you go find Jay!”

He smacked his teeth with a frown, and then suddenly looked over to you.

The sound and look on his face at that moment made him look so much like Fontaine. Anger rushed through your senses once more.

“Wipe that look off your face.’ He scoffed at you before making his way out the door, “I promise you, I hold no resemblance to whoever this other vampire may be.”

He spared one more look at Abel. This time with much less disgust.

“Follow me.”

Abel looked towards you instead.

“Go.” Leto commanded and Abel glared at him.

Silently, he followed. Not bothering to hide his frown.

You eyed him trepidly.

What was all this about?

-

Yo-yo didn’t like the sight of this.

A woman who looked just like you but at least ten years older walked in. Behind her, a man that looked just like Fontaine.

He kept his hair in a sizable fro on his head with a proper edge up that was faded at the temples. A smaller amount of facial hair that was way better groomed than Fontaine would ever attempt.

He was just as fancily clad as the other two men that looked alike.

“This is bad. She’s drunk that other vampire’s blood.” Slick whispered into her ear.

“Shut the fuck up before someone hears us in here!” She whisper-shouted at him.

They had snuck in, but whatever glamor Slick had placed on them had only lasted so long.

Yo-yo chewed on her lip as she watched you all sit down on a large couch. This vampire was just as strong as the one called Leto. Not only that, but she also had your face.

That meant big things. Things they couldn’t change.

A prophecy or some shit.

“Is that why you kept looking at me so strangly?” Yo-yo watched you ask. “Because you know. . .her?”

“He’s only ever met me like this.”

You nodded. Not really looking at either of them, making the woman frown in sympathy.

“My name is Shante.”

“Why do you all have our faces?”

Shante shared a look with Abel.

“Straight to the point I see.” She smiled. “I was the same way when it was my first time. I know it must have been hard and confusing.”

“Hard and confusing is an understatement.” You huffed bitterly.

She let out a short sigh, more out of nerves and not frustration.

You looked up at her oddly.

Yo-yo could only wonder why.

“I won’t hold you long or beat around the bush.”

“I think that’s best.” Abel clasped her hand in his.

“If you want to get technical, we are the originators of these faces and you all are our dopplegangers.”

You nodded, wringing your hands in your lap. “I think I know what those are.”

“You're always going to have a Leto and a Ghezo.”

Shante leveled at you with a serious tone.

This made you leap up with a hiss, baring your fangs.

“I don’t need Fontaine!”

“But you do.” Shante stood up and hissed back at you. “Without him you will never know peace. If you kill him, you might as well kill yourself too!”

“Good!” You screamed! Your voice sends a shock of power throughout the room making everyone still, even Yo-yo and Slick.

“What?” You broke the silence. “What’s so surprising about that after everything I’ve been through?”

“Forgive me,” Shante abruptly sat. “I didn’t know things were that bad between you.”

You sat with a self assured huff. Appearing more calm now that no one was about to tell you to get over your emotions.

“What makes you so sure, I need him?” You swallowed, looking straight ahead and not making eye contact with anyone. “What makes you think I could get over it?”

But everyone knew what you were really asking.

“I once was mad just as you were.” Shante said softly.

You looked at her with watery eyes.

“I was turned just like you.” Shante looked at her and Leto’s hands clasped together in her lap. “Ghezo had made a deal with someone. They promised him an eternity of power. . . But they also warned him about the cost. The people he would lose and now he’d never get close to anyone.”

She drew in a shaky breath and you cooled closer to her. She smiled softly. A tear falling down her cheek. Leto wiped at it with his thumb.

“He talked with all of us, his wives. Some said yes without thinking, but I said no.” She looked up at you, with a stream of tears falling down her face.

Yo-yo wiped a tear of her own as she watched you both cry. Slick put a hand on her shoulder, and she didn’t brush it away.

“I was in love with being human and the idea of cheating death didn’t sit right with me. Long story short, I woke up like this, against my will.”

“What did you do?” You whispered.

“I left him. I left my home. . . And then I found Leto.”

“So. . . You stayed with him and for some reason just forgave Ghezo?”

“I wish I could tell you more, but you and Abel have to find your own way. . . And Fontaine.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

Yo-yo couldn’t hear anymore.

“I think we got what we came for.”

Slick didn’t say anything. Nodding, he snapped his fingers, and they were both gone.

[futureauthor24]

HAZBIN HOTEL REWRITE: ROO

Instead of Roo being, y’know, the root of all evil, she is instead going to be a deity. The god of hell, mother of sins, etc.,

She created hell, but she didn’t make its society. Hell had been a place of pure darkness, but it was home to the imps and sins. The sins were created, but did not have the knowledge of who they were exactly, Roo did not tell them either. She raised them as if they were her kin. And in a way—they are.

Roo created the sins from scratch. Unlike God, she didn’t create them from a piece of herself, instead she had made them from her magic and they took form from the divinity of her magic

So yeh. Roo & the sins are family. Yay!

The imps were created in the image of the sins. Roo had grant the sins, citizens kind’ve. Or well, companions.

Succubus did not come about until Lilith, the first ever succubus fell into hell.

Roo despise humanity. She finds them to be imperfect, disgusting, and horrible species, as well as creations. She does not see what God sees in humanity.

Roo manipulated Lucifer & Lilith to give Eve the apple, making them believe that it would free Eve from the shackles of unawareness. It would free Eve and grant humanity, from there on, the free will to choose their own path

And they fell for her words of “wisdom”. They gave Eve the apple, believing it will help her, and the future of humanity. But instead… It damned Eve, and future generations for all eternity.

Which Roo had wanted, because the fate of humanity changed from that moment on. It created the path of… destruction.

A prophecy, long ago, when it was just Roo & God alone together, had been revealed from the universe.

“The stars shall fall, and the damned and the good shall cry out as their kind is faced with their end by the hand of the Antichrist, the first Nephilim.”

It was had only been a possibility. But due to the damnation of humanity, it was set in motion. No matter what, it will happen.

Eve’s soul ends up merged with Roo because Roo starts to find it inconvenient to not have a physical body, so she goes to the next best thing.

Eve is Roo, and Roo is Eve. One in the same.

After Lucifer & Lilith fell to Hell, Roo goes to the shadows, and she observes in the background; her presence unknown & forgotten. Time passes and Roo is not remembered. Not by the sins or by her creations. Every citizen in hell is unaware that they have a goddess, who is always watching.

Lilith, sadly, was having miscarriages after miscarriages. A cruel curse from God themself, since Lilith is a sinner, and sinners are not allowed to reproduce. However, Roo blesses Lilith with a child—a baby girl named Charlotte Morningstar, the first Nephilim: The Antichrist

Roo had created Charlie. Which was a struggle because she did not know how to create a omnipotent being. So she gets inspired by the way God created his human son— Jesus Christ.

Charlie’s facial features look similar to how Jesus looks, they could be twins. There are parallels to them; Charlie, the creation of Roo. Jesus, the creation of God.

They are two parallel lines that meet. However, Charlie is destined to end all creation, so there’s bit of a difference for how both stories end.

Roo does not give Charlotte a soul. Which is undeniably cruel and completely unnatural. It is not of a creation to not have a soul. Yet, Roo, a cruel creator does not gift her creation a soul.

Charlotte is born soulless. She does not feel, love, or hate. She has no dreams, no passions, or ambition. Which is unusual for a child. Until, one day, she is gifted by God and she is given a soul.

Which changes her future & path. Charlie was prophesied to end all-creation, y’know, a harbinger of destruction and all that jazz. But once she is given a piece of God, which her body is using as a soul, her path is now filled with endless opportunities and possibilities

Roo is absolutely furious and annoyed when she finds out. She hates humanity with her entire being, and she despises the rest of God’s creation even more. After a few centuries though, Roo gets over it, as best as she can.

Roo watches Charlie grow up. And sometimes, Roo even spends time with the girl. However, Charlie only thinks Roo is an imaginary friend. Charlie unlocks the mother inside Roo, and Roo softens. Maybe because of Eve.

Charlie reminds her of Cain & Abel. Her two boys. The ones that Eve didn’t get to spend enough time with. Everything inside her misses her two sons. Which travels over to Roo.

So Roo makes it her mission to find them. She finds Cain first. Cain was cursed with immortality as his punishment of mistakingly killing Abel. Roo was not able to break the curse, so she just drags Cain to the afterlife.

Cain’s curse does not change. He cannot die by any weapon or power, however, he just isn’t trapped on Earth anymore. Now, he is in the afterlife! It doesn’t exactly fix his curse, but at least he’s with his mom again?

Abel’s chilling in Heaven.

Anyway, Cain watches Charlotte grow with Roo. And, secretly, he spends time with Charlotte when no one is around. Charlotte is unsure if this friend is one of her imagination or not.

However once Charlotte is older, she does not see Cain or Roo ever again. But she does feel something or someone watching her when she isn’t looking. She’s not sure what or who it is.

She doesn’t try to find out.

Annnnnnnd that is my rewrite of Roo! With a splash of Cain! I imagine Roo to be the God of Hell, just as God is, basically, The God of Heaven. There isn’t much information about Roo in canon (None that I’m aware of). So I just made some lore myself. I made Roo the mother of sins to create an interesting dynamic, and to make a parallel of God and his children.

Also, there was tidbit of information about Jesus and Charlie. Basically, they’re twins, in a way. At least in my rewritten version, Charlie looks similar to Jesus, which gives certain people whiplash. Charlie and Jesus have the same birthday. It isn’t a coincidence. They’re similar, because Roo used Jesus as a inspiration to create Charlie.

Charlie’s the Antichrist. Jesus Christ. Antichrist. You see what I’m doing there? There’ll be parallels to them, and how they have the same story, but different endings to their respective story.

[sasssha199]

Chapter 8: “Well that happened.”

Read all of me on A03

Beware Smut ahead!

Pairings: Rolan x Fem Tav

Summary: Marlie and Sasha have just rescued the tieflings from Last Light. Lia found out about the terrible things Rolan said to Sasha while she was held captive and demands that he make amends to her friend. He tries and things get sexy…

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

“Damnation, how can I make things right if you won’t even let me speak to her.”

“You made her cry, Rolan.” Marlie’s voice is radiating impatience.

He says nothing for a moment, I hope he feels bad.

“She’s always crying…” he finally mutters. I roll my eyes, sending Marlie a vision of a dramatic facepalm. I hear her snort in response on the other side of the door.

“Not the point. Now go away.”

“I can’t.” Rolan's voice sounds strained, almost achingly so, “Lia will not give me peace until I fix this.”

“Not my problem.”

I get to my feet with a sigh and open the door of the bedroom I’m taking refuge in. “It’s okay, sis. I’ll at least hear him out.”

“No you won’t.” Marlie's tone is matter of fact, “I’ve got a Silence scroll I've been dying to use, let him say one more rude word...”

“I’d Counterspell it,” Rolan grumbles looking infuriated.

“Really Marlie, it’s fine. I’ll do it for Lia’s sake.” I turn and walk back into the room, Rolan’s quick angry footsteps follow me.

I plop down on one side of the sunken bed and gesture for him to sit on the other. He shakes his head, “This won’t take long.”

“Oh really?” I draw my legs up to sit criss-cross. “Go ahead then, stand there like you're on display.”

He lets out a deep breath between gritted teeth, before coming over to the mattress and perching at the edge of it.

“I…well... I…”

I blink at him, “Yes Rolan, you?”

He visibly gathers himself before responding, humility is very painful for him. "First of all, l apologize. For lashing out at you. Drunkenly, soberly. I should never have yelled…what I did.” He pauses in his intense study of the threadbare coverlet beneath him to look at me. He looks sober and coherent, for the most part. That’s good.

“Great,” I say, “I’m sorry too.”

He cocks his head, surprised. “For what?”

“I should’ve left you alone, after your rescue. I don’t know what I was thinking pushing your buttons like that when emotions were already running so high.”

“Oh,” he pushes his hair back over his horns, “my rescue, yes…it seems I owe you and your sister a great deal…” he’s not bothering to cover his ears with his hair today. They’re surprisingly delicate, almost elf-like. Cute.

“Look, as much fun as this is Rolan, just tell Lia we’re good, okay?” I reach out to pat his back, but think better of it half way there. “Tell her you groveled and all is forgiven.”

“You don’t understand,” Rolan turns his body to face me, “she wants me to DO something for you.”

I make a face, “Like what? Why?”

“You're very dear to her and, damn it, after all she's been through it's the least I can do." He turns away from me again, now addressing the far wall of the bedroom. "She suggested, perhaps, a magic lesson.”

I laugh out loud, he turns a darker shade of red but I ignore it. “Thanks, but that would be a waste of time. I’ve already had a "moment of magic" with your so-called Weave, it didn't go well. I think Mystra hates me.”

He scoffs and regards me with a golden eye, “I could almost believe that. But perhaps you simply had a terrible teacher.”

“I didn’t.”

“Obviously you did, if they failed to impart so simple a concept.”

“Rude, Rolan.”

He takes a deep deep breath and then in one smooth motion kneels down on the floor next to the bed. “Sasha."

I frown at him, what is he playing at?

He looks almost sincere, and pained, as he fixes that golden stare on my face. "Please, allow me to attempt this so that I can appease my recently kidnapped sister.”

“Get up, Rolan.”

“Zurgan, must you be so willfull?"

"Don't you Infernal at me! I don't WANT anything from you. You and I have done enough harm to each other."

He does not move, only glares at me, his tail flicking behind him in obvious irritation.

I look up at the ceiling, this has been such a long day. "Can you please just leave?'

"Not until you agree!” He punctuates this with a loud thump from his tail on the bed. I jump a little and we both look startled.

“Don’t go breaking your tail, now.” I snicker at my own joke, if only to keep the tears at bay. It works. "Fine. I'll agree to this, but just know I'm doing this for Lia, not for you."

“As am I,” he says standing up and brushing off his knees, “ Very well. Come over here.”

“What, right now?”

“Yes!” He looks like he wants to throttle me, I know how he feels.

As I move over to his side of the room he casts something that closes both the door and the window. “To minimize distractions.” He explains brusquely when I raise my eyebrows at him.

He holds out a clawed hand, I take it hesitantly. His grip is delicate but firm. “Wow, you’re really warm.”

He clears his throat, “Yes. Now focus. I will be the conduit…” his further explanation is straight forward only slightly varied from what I remember with Gale. He doesn’t require that I do any hand motions but is still very insistent that I get the verbal component correct. Since this is where I dropped the ball last time, my stomach clenches and I hesitate. He makes a motion with his head as if prompting me. I open my mouth, and I feel all the air leave my lungs in a rush, as if there’s a force emanating from Rolan that propels the words from my gut and out into the universe.

I stare at him wide eyed as an image consumes my mind, a bit like the tadpole connection.

I see myself naked and sweating, breasts bouncing, body writhing. My face is contorted with ecstasy as a horned person buries their sharp incisors into the soft flesh below my collar bone. I cry out as I feel their ridged member sliding in and out of my womanhood. Claws dig into my hips, grinding greedily with need. “Yes! Yes!” I scream, almost weeping with the intensity of it, I’m so close, so close to something. A hot wet mouth closes down over mine and the metallic taste of blood dances on our tongues. I open my eyes and it’s Rolan’s face above me, loving me. Fucking me.

I sit down hard upon the wooden floor. The air is knocked out of me, I see spots and I’m reeling.

“What…what…” it’s Rolan’s voice, he sounds breathless, he’s lying flat on his back, “what the FUCK was that?” He manages finally.

“I don’t- are you alright?” I try to crawl over to him but my legs feel weak. My core is throbbing almost painfully and I feel very…damp.

Something grips me, I look down and see Rolan’s tail is wrapped around my calf. I can feel the ridges pressing into my skin. “Ah, Rolan… would you please…”

I turn back to him and his face is inches from mine, his eyes are almost black, the pupils blown wide. “Is that what you want?” He licks his lips, “why would you show me that?”

“I-I didn’t." My heart is pounding, but I don't move away. "I don’t know what happened.”

“Liar.” He breathes, flashing his fangs. The kiss is messy, hungry, passionate. Heat radiates from every part of him. His hands are on my back, cupping my hips, caressing my breasts.

“Gods below-” my nipples harden beneath his ministrations and heat blossoms in me. His hair tickles my face and as I reach up to smooth it back my fingers brush the ringed base of his horns. He growls in response, pressing me down, climbing on top of me. He tastes like fire and spiced wine, he smells intoxicating, faintly of rose water.

Rose water, I've smelled that before, yes last time I worked the Weave with Gale...

I moan into his mouth, trying desperately to speak between deep kisses, “R-rolan...wait, ah-…”

I gasp as he drags his sharp teeth down the curve of my neck. Clawed fingertips graze over my skin beneath my blouse. His knees are between my thighs and I vaguely wonder if he can feel my desire.

“How dare you,” he mutters against me, "...maddening." He sounds absolutely ragged as his lips trace the line of my jaw, his hot breath burning.

I tug at his hair and our lips crash together again. His mouth is perfect, I whimper as his tongue sweeps against mine. I want more…I want it all…

And then he’s getting to his feet, adjusting his robes. I feel a strong pull as he moves away, his tail is still wrapped around me. He lets out an infernal curse, jerking it after him with his hand. The door shuts firmly behind him.

I slowly raise up onto my elbows and make my way to the bed. My hair has come undone, messy curls tumbling around my shoulders and into my eyes. As I go to gather it back, I notice a couple of scratches on the hand Rolan was holding.

Fuck.

I rub a finger on my tender lips.

What just happened? Was it the Weave, the magic? Or was that vision Rolan’s doing? Was it mine?

Marlie comes in after a couple of minutes, the sounds of chatter behind her increase as she opens the door. “You all right?”

“Yes,” I reply, I clear my throat, “I think he and I are okay now.”

“Oh good.”

“Yeah.”

[lavellansvh3nan]

A short fic post-Trespasser. Lavellan is heartbroken over Solas and has given the Inquisition to the Conclave. For the time being, her purpose is concluded and she’s not doing well. All their followers and friends have moved on to newer things.

This takes place from Dorian’s POV. I’ve always thought their relationship in Inquisition and briefly from what we see in Veilguard is one of the best aspects of the game. 💖

Dorian knows winter in the mountains has arrived when not even the fireplace could warm him at night. He was used to that enormous lump beside him, Bull, hogging his covers but offering heat in spades. But even his Amatus knew it was time to move on.

He blinked blearily, shuddering when he felt the icy winds battering the tower. Some of it managed to slip through the frost-kissed stone and chill his room. With barely anyone left in Skyhold, the upkeep had gone to shit fast.

The Iron Bull and his Charges had left a few days early to scout ahead, find them a place that was safe for all of them. He’d be following with the Inquisitor once he received word. That was, if his friend would even be willing to get out of bed.

It made sense at first. Every break-up came with devastation. Elliana’s had been…unique, he’d give her that. Finding out the love of your life who had abandoned you for two years was an ancient Elven god? Who took your arm and forsake you to damnation with the rest of the world that he was planning to end?

No, he wouldn’t fault her for being lost. But it had started to scare him.

Elliana Lavellan was the strongest woman he’d ever met. She’d saved the world more than once, she’d been a force of light and goodness, perhaps annoyingly so. She was the truest friend he’d ever known. So when he eventually dressed and made his way up to her bedroom, he found the door closed tight, the same state it had been in for weeks.

When they’d returned from the Exalted Council, he’d watched her dim. Day by day, hour by hour. People packed their bags and left with the Inquisition. She didn’t even bother to keep up with her normal sunny disposition. One day, she took to bed early claiming she was tired. That had been almost a month ago.

There she’d laid. Sometimes asleep, sometimes just staring blankly at whatever was in front of her. When she’d first returned to tell the tale of what Solas was, she’d cried into his shoulder while he’d held her in bewilderment. And then that bewilderment turned to rage.

She’d defended him. Loved him for years. Even when he had left after they’d defeated Corypheus, she’d been hopeful. Insisted he would come back. She’d waited. Waited patiently. Waited for so long.

It had…it had pained him to watch her hope. To catch her watching the entrance to Skyhold nearly every damn day, that eternal hope shining in her eyes.

Now those eyes were dull. Lifeless.

He’d quickly settled into a new routine as the Inquisition emptied from the halls. Wake, check on Elliana. Attempt to bring her some breakfast. Return around lunch to find it barely touched. Sit with her for a while. Blather on about gods know what. Pray for the first time in years that she might awaken from this state.

It was near torture for him, to watch his vibrant and radiant friend transform into a husk of herself. Her laughter never came. Her annoyingly sappy comments ceased entirely. The silence of her presence would claw at him.

All because of that damn heart of hers. That loving, relentless, foolish, brave heart of hers. It fell in love with a god. With pride itself. And pride could not love her in return, nor was it worthy.

Dorian swore he’d kill him. On site. Without another thought. He’d slay that bastard no matter what it took. Bull had agreed. So had a majority of their companions, everyone had thrown their weight into intel on where Solas had disappeared to. He’d get there. But for now, he only had one objective. That was to bring his friend back to life.

He had dressed quickly, something warm, semi-functional. He hadn’t been nearly as vain as normal. Mostly because the resources were just..gone. It was almost hilarious. One minute they were being waited on hand and foot, treated like heroes and kings. Today, he had to warm his own tea. How the mighty have fallen.

He took that tea and approached her door. He braced himself with a smile, something to try and comfort her. However, when he opened the door he was face to face with big blue eyes and limp red hair.

“Ellie?” He was surprised to see her out of bed. She normally didn’t leave her bed unless he dragged her. Seeing her standing there had nearly frightened him to death, but he was overjoyed. His smile became genuine and he moved to hold her shoulders with gentle pressure.

“You’re up! And here I thought it was another day of resting,” he tried to jest, but his voice was hoarse with relief. He waited for her to speak, but it didn’t come.

“Ellie?” He asked more gently this time, suddenly concerned she might be sleep walking. It had happened a couple of times before. He moved to tenderly brush some locks of hair away from her eyes and she blinked up at him. Awake.

She slipped from his grasp, hurrying down the staircase from her room. It caught him off-guard and he was left watching her for a couple of moments before his brain caught up with his body and he followed behind her.

“Out for a walk?” Dorian had no idea where she was going now. It was hard to keep up with her. She’d lost weight, but not speed, and she marched with tense determination. He was suddenly grateful that most everyone had left the castle. No one needed to see her looking so frail.

She beat him through the throne room hallway, and a sense of dread began to simmer in his gut when he watched her throw open the door to the rotunda. Where Solas had spent his time painting, reading.

Lying.

She stepped inside and he quickly followed, nearly lowing down Varric, who had emerged in from the cold of the courtyard. He looked just as shocked as Dorian was.

“I saw her pass,” he said, falling into step beside him. Dorian didn’t respond, instead, he hurried into the room and found Elliana standing in front of one of the frescos. He couldn’t see her expression, but she was staring pointedly at the colorful pictures on the wall. The paint had faded in the years since Solas had lived there, the room quiet and dark.

“What-“ Varric started to say, only for Elliana to suddenly grab a mug that was sitting on a nearby table and hurl it at the fresco.

It made both him and Varric jump. Dorian started to approach, concerned she’d hurt herself. He felt a firm hold on his arm before he could move. Varric, holding him in place.

“Let me go,” he hissed. Varric’s gaze narrowed on him and he shook his head.

“She needs this,” he said. Behind them, another crash. Elliana had thrown a vase full of old paint brushes at the wall. It had shattered loudly, splattering against the wall in what looked to be leftover paint.

That seemed to give the Inquisitor an idea.

She threw herself at the other side of the room, behind an old sofa. She pushed it aside in an impressive show of strength for someone who had not been eating enough, grabbing some of the old paint pots behind it.

Varric continued to hold Dorian back, but from where he was, he could see that Elliana’s face wasn’t blank anymore. It was angry. The most anger he’d seen from her in years.

Her teeth were bared, her eyes wild, face flushed red.

She threw one pot at the wall. It exploded in orange. Another red. Another purple. Soon she was out of paint to throw and stood there panting with her shoulders heaving.

It wasn’t enough. Dorian and Varric watched at she started dragging her hand through the paint and covering up those beautiful frescos. Her one hand she had scrapped over the old paintings, pulling colors at random to vandalize the work.

Dorian hadn’t heard it at first, but she was muttering under her breath. Something that grew progressively louder as her motions grew more frantic.

“How could you. How could you. How could you. How COULD YOU!”

She started to scream it then, a couple of times. Dorian’s throat closed at the way her voice gave out so quickly and how it turned to wordless yells of rage. She destroyed that room. Painted the walls with her pain. Finally sinking down in front of one of the murals of two elves and screaming once, loudly. It rang off the circular walls and out through the top of the tower in a final, poignant note. Then silence.

Then she started to sob. Something broken and so, so quiet. She wrapped her paint covered arms around herself and bowed her head. It was then that Varric released his arm.

Dorian was beside her in a flash. He gathered his dearest friend into her arms and held her while she wept. Her cries was so faint, yet her body shook with the effort and for the first time in weeks, she clung to Dorian. Held him like he was her lifeline.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she repeated, voice so filled with sorrow it sounded like he was talking to a child. He placed a hand at the back of her head and the other around her frame. It hurt to hear her apologize for her burst of emotion, but he knew that it was first real words she’d said.

She had sat with her grief, with her pain in a frozen state. It had seemed to take her all this time to process what Solas had done. That he wasn’t coming back.

Dorian often forgot thar Elliana had only been twenty-two years old when she’d been thrust into the role of Herald, then Inquisitor. She was young. So young, to have to endured all of this. Now, at twenty-five, she was coming to grips with it all. Maybe for the first time in all these years. What she’d become, what she’d gained, and all that she had lost.

It killed him to think that the Elliana he’d met at Haven was probably long gone. But the woman who leaned into him now and cried out tears of waiting and disappointment, he had to believe she was going to come out stronger on the other end. She’d already been so strong. He could be there for her while she rebuilt the pieces of herself that had been broken by Solas’ departure.

“I’m here.” Dorian had promised, helping her to stand and then taking her back up to her room to clean her and put her back to bed.

“I’m here,” he’d assured her as he rubbed her back until her tears stopped falling.

“I’m here, Ellie.” His voice had broken when he saw how small she looked in her bed. How this mighty and powerful friend of his has spent so long aching.

The late afternoon sun had just begun to bath her room, briefly banishing the cold that had plagued them through most of the day. It was then, when Elliana turned on her side and looked up at her friend.

She looked tired. She looked older. But she was looking at him. Maybe for the first time since she’d lost her arm. The trickle of light caught the orange in her hair and gold in her eyes. Dorian could have sworn that for a second, she looked like herself again.

“I know.” She whispered. “Thank you.”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 30 - Prank

@wolfstarmicrofic October 30, word count 530

Previous part First part

Sirius was getting bored. Remus seemed to be an honest, to hell, sweet, good guy, but damnation he was boring. They went to the local shop for strawberry bonbons, then to the post office to send a letter to his penpal, then they went for a walk in the park and back to Remus’s parent's house and that was it. For the entire day! Remus didn’t even watch television, he read. Book after book and not even spicy ones!!! Sirius was on the verge of combusting. 

“Remus?” He asked in a sickly sweet voice. Remus looked up from his book, smiling kindly at him. 

“Yes, Sirius?” Sirius bit his lip, he’d been planning something, but he needed Remus with him. 

“Could we go back to the shop? I fancy some of those atomic fireballs,” Remus closed his book and stood up, pulling a hand-knit woolly hat down over his sandy curls. 

“Of course, we can,” He grinned and happily followed Sirius back outside. 

Sirius rubbed his hands together. He was allowed to use a bit of magic in the upper world, especially if it was in the aid of a good prank, and Sirius was in need of a few good pranks. 

The little shop, owned by a dear old lady, who Sirius knew would never end up in hell, even if he tried to tempt her, stood in the centre of the village. It was like something from a postcard. Sirius wasn’t supposed to like it, but how could he not? 

They entered the shop, the little bell above the door tinkling as the door knocked against it, and Ethel greeted them. 

“Back again Remus dear?” Her voice was a bit thin in her old age, but Remus always had a smile for her. 

“You know me, Mr Sweet Tooth,” He joked, and she laughed fondly at him. Sirius had already stomped off to find what he wanted and Remus followed behind him. He handed the little box of sweets to Remus and ushered him back to the counter to pay. He’d tried just taking some before, but Remus had stopped him. It had been the only time so far that Remus had shown him anger.  “Just because people can’t see you doesn’t mean you can steal!” He’d growled. So now he let Remus buy the things he wanted. 

Ethel and Remus chatted for a bit while she rang up his purchases.

“Fireballs? These aren’t your usual thing, Remus dear.” 

“I have a friend that likes them, but he can’t get them where he lives,” 

“Oh, aren’t you just a sweetheart? You’ve got the heart of an angel inside you, Remus Lupin; I always said you did,” The smile Remus gave her didn’t quite meet his eyes as he thanked her for the sweets. Sirius tried to ignore the sadness that had crept into Remus’s eyes as he quickly finished off his prank. Suddenly, the taste of mischief was sour in his mouth. They left the shop together, the toffee apples on the counter now toffee onions, and for the first time a prank didn’t bring him any joy and he felt bad for what he'd done to Remus.    

Next part

[nostalgiclittlespace]

request: CG!Rosie and Little!Alastor

Plot: Rosie's trying to get Alastor to sleep but Al's being a cranky lil baby (Alastor's little age is newborn)

Hope you enjoy! Sorry if it’s scatter brained, I wrote this late at night 😅

SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC. DNI IF KINK, NSFW, PROSHIP, OR SIMILAR. DO NOT REPOST TO OTHER SITES

Title: A Fussy Fawn

Pairing: CG! Rosie x Little! Alastor

Word count: 940

Description: Despite Alastor’s insistence (and by that I mean his fussing) he definitely needs a nap. Good thing Auntie Rosie is always there for her fawn (fluff, hurt/comfort-ish)

A Fussy Fawn

Alastor was not tired.

He had made that clear on several occasions—first when Rosie suggested they have some quiet storytime, then when she tried cradling him with a bottle, and again when she offered him a pacifier.

Rather than the polite words or violent displays Alastor usually would have used to convey his thoughts, the upper rooms of Rosie’s Emporium were filled with fusses and shrieks at her attempts.  Though his powers had diminished to near nothing when he regressed, the radio sitting on the nightstand randomly switched channels and crackled with static and interrupted songs.  His shadows did not attack him or Rosie; instead, they too tried to soothe him by offering toys and gear at random.  Like Rosie, they had no success.

Yet, despite Alastor’s insistence, he definitely needed a nap.

The Radio Demon sat criss-cross on the red quilted blanket Auntie Rosie had made him many years before.  Cast aside plushies and toppled wooden blocks littered the ground around him, attesting to his displeasure as he whined once again.

“Young man,” Rosie said, soothing yet serious, “you know you will feel much better if you just take your paci.  Look, I even got your favorite one!”

Indeed she had.  The red plastic and its matching silk clip shone softly under the low nursery lights.  A small deer had been painted onto the center.  It even had his name on the handle!  

Nonetheless, Alastor showed no interest in the comfort item.

Rosie attempted to push the pacifier into his mouth, but to no luck.  As soon as the pacifier reached his lips, he popped it out of his mouth with a miserable screech.  He threw it away from himself, as if the silicone soother had somehow offended him.

“Alrighty then, no paci,” Rosie sighed, reaching across the play area for his plush alligator and offering that instead.  “How about this one?  Would you like to play with him?”

Alastor shook his head vehemently before flopping over onto his stomach in silent protest.  Well, actually it wasn’t all that silent.  Grumpy fussing emitted from his frame as he laid there like a slug.

After only a few seconds, his chest only took heavy breaths, his frame shaking slightly, and his ears pinned back against his skull.  As he cried miserably, Rosie sighed softly, feeling a loss for ideas.  Normally, Alastor would accept quiet time without question.  In fact, he preferred it to some of the noisier or messier activities they had tried.  So, what could have possibly interrupted their usual schedule?

Nonetheless, Rosie didn’t question his moodiness, nor scold him for his lack of manners.  Instead, she scooted a little closer and placed a hand on his back.  She found a soothing rhythm, tracing small circles like it was second nature.  To be fair, it most likely was.  

Despite being a cannibal, an Overlord, and having lived a life sinful enough to condemn her for eternal damnation, Rosie never lost her kindness nor her maternal instincts.  She took anyone under her wing, especially the children living in Cannibal Town.  Alastor was no exception.

The Radio Demon finally seemed ready to accept some form of comfort; Auntie Rosie’s comforting presence finally making some difference.  Unsteady as a newborn fawn, Alastor crawled a grand total of two steps before planting his face in Rosie’s skirt.  The dress’s soft fabric provided a gentle pillow, undoubtedly even more comforting than the blanket beneath them.

His fawn ears twitched as Rosie scratched them gently.  Gradually, they relaxed from where they had pinned backward and returned to their usual perked state.  His whines diminished too–instead replaced by soft sighs of contentment when Rosie pet his head just right.  Finally, he seemed ready to settle down.    

My, he certainly is one for dramatics, Rosie thought affectionately.  Even when this young, he must make a fuss about the little things.

  As Rosie’s fingers mused with his tufts of hair, Alastor’s body grew steadily limp.  As his blinks grew slower and his breaths deeper, his Caregiver carefully lifted him into her arms so he was no longer half-draped across the floor.  With motherly precision, she guided him into a strong yet gentle cradle.

With equal heed, she slowly stood up, then carried him over to the rocking chair.  Alastor stirred, blinking blearily as the movement disturbed his half-asleep state.  He whined sharply, threatening to undo all the work in soothing him.  However, Rosie eased away the baby’s complaint with practiced care.  Whispered hushes, a gentle rocking motion as she carried him, which continued as they lowered onto the wooden chair.  It glided back and forth, slow but sure.  

Rosie reached over to the radio sitting on the nightstand beside them, careful not to jostle Alastor’s delicate slip back into dreamland.  A couple dial turns later, the nursery’s smooth jazz resumed drifting through the air.  This time, Alastor’s powers did not disrupt the lulling notes.  He simply blinked slowly up at Rosie, who smiled back down at him.

“I think you’ve fought sleep for long enough, darling,” she chuckled.  “Rest now.  We’ll have plenty of play time later.”

Whatever had disturbed him, she could find out later.  For now, getting him to sleep was a much higher priority.

Thankfully, Alastor seemed to agree as his doe eyes drifted closed again.  He curled up, tucking his body closer to his caregiver’s.  Rosie, smiling fondly, reached for the spare blanket they kept on the rocking chair’s back, and draped it over him.   The peace enveloped the scene, Rosie’s worries melting away with Alastor’s miniature snores. Even if he is a bit cranky, Rosie thought, amused, he still is an adorable fawn.

[awardenandacrow]

FANFIC SNIPPET 36

NOTE: chronologically falls after snippet one

Please also note that I have been really struggling to create… anything. After yesterday. But, I’ve been playing a bit (I’ve started my second and Canon run playing Naimeryn) and I’m slowly dragging myself through early game, taking my time, recording all the cutscenes, reloading to catch ambient dialogue I want, etc etc. I’m working on dismantling the Fade bubble with Bellara at the moment, and these are the thoughts that have shaken loose. I hope you enjoy some early game shennanigans.

[running around Arlathan with Bellara and Harding]

——————————————————————————

Naimeryn gasped and grabbed for Harding’s arm.

“What is it, Rook?” She asked, reaching for her quiver.

“Is that —“ Naimeryn pointed up at the cliff, where a beautiful white beast stood, grazing. The sunlight seemed to glow off of its coat. “— a halla?” She breathed.

“Oh, yeah!” Bellara chirped. “Have you never seen one before?”

Wordlessly, Naimeryn shook her head. How could something so beautiful just… exist? In the middle of the woods?

“They didn’t let her get out much,” she heard Harding say.

“Who?” Bellara wanted to know.

“The Wardens,” Harding told her. “She’s lived in Weisshaupt since she was a teenager.”

“Oh. I’ve never met a Grey Warden before.”

Naimeryn finally tore her eyes from the halla and smiled at her. “And I’ll bet I’m *nothing* like what you expected!”

Bellara fumbled over a few syllables. Finally, she managed to get out, “why do you think that?”

“I dunno,” Naimeryn shrugged, following Bellara as she lead them further down the trail towards the base of the ruins. “I just get that a lot.”

…

“Are… we just supposed to jump across?” She heard Harding ask. From the bushes where she’d been trying to pet the nug, Naimeryn strained to see what Harding was talking about. As she did, she bumped into something large, glowing, and… humming?

“Oh! No, we can make a bridge,” Bellara was saying. “Look around! There should be a power Crystal around her somewhere.”

“This thing?” Naimeryn called, hefting the — Blight and damnation, nearly weightless! — glowing thing over her head, nearly toppling herself.

“Yes!” Bellara nodded. “Bring it over here and slot it in!”

…

“*Wait!*” Naimeryn grabbed both Bellara and Harding’s arms, allowing her staff to fall, only kept off the ground by her shoulder strap.

“What’s wrong?” Harding asked, but Naimeryn could barely hear her over the growing whispers in her head. She tilted her good ear up the path, dread settling into the pit of her stomach.

“There’s Darkspawn up ahead,” she hissed.

“Darkspawn?” Bellara asked incredulously. “There’s no Darkspawn in Arlathan.”

“I’m *telling* you,” Naimeryn insisted, releasing them, grabbing her staff, and continuing forward at a crouch. “Stay behind me. If there’s a lot of them, they’ll feel me coming.”

The three women crept up the side of the path, keeping to the bushes. As they came around a corner, Naimeryn spotted them.

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

i love my mom but man does it suck when she starts talking to me about god shit. because it always leads to her trying to guilt trip me into being more religious, saying things like, “it makes your dad and i very sad that you don’t believe in god” and “you’re depressed like this because you don’t talk to god.” when i tell her that choosing not to go to church anymore is one of the few choices in my life that i don’t regret, she gets upset with me. sorry, going to go on a little bit of a rant about family and religion here (specifically catholic/christian), but i’ll stick it below the cut.

usually this convo comes up when my cousin is mentioned, because my mom and my aunt will gush about how my cousin goes to church every sunday. this happened today actually. they ignore the fact that my cousin is still a horribly spoiled, selfish, honestly terrible person who yells at/doesn’t bother to help her physically disabled, sickly mom. my “wonderful church-going” cousin who left to go on a vacation to hawaii with my shit uncle, leaving my aunt alone at home even though she had covid AND had recently broken her back. which led to me having to take 2 weeks off of work at the last minute to go stay with my aunt and take care of her. during those 2 weeks, my “wonderful” 20-something-year-old cousin would repeatedly call my aunt to cry and complain that she wanted to come home because she “didn’t feel good.” and my aunt, laying in bed with her broken back and various other health issues, would baby her. oh, but my cousin goes to church, so that means she’s such a good person! i just don’t get it.

one of the reasons i refuse to go to church anymore is because of this backwards-ass hypocritical way of thinking so many people there seem to have. there’s just this feeling of insincerity to it all where people show up once a week to pat themselves on the back for being “good people”, then gather in the lobby after mass to gossip about the one trans woman who recently joined the congregation (unfortunately this isn’t an example i made up). or later go to the supermarket and yell at an underpaid employee. or go on a hawaii vacation and leave your mom home alone with a broken back.

i attended church from age 1 to age 18. as i grew older, church started to feel more and more suffocating. it got to the point where i was having anxiety attacks during mass. i tried distracting myself with drawing on the pamphlets given out at the front door. and when i was banned from that, i resorted to drawing on my skin, which didn’t last long. i ended up sneaking earbuds in and hiding the wires under my hair and clothes so i could drown out the sounds of church with music. i would just stare at the floor and try to just focusing on breathing, but it was just all too suffocating. i was told that the reason i was feeling and acting this way in church was because “the devil was talking to me.” “the devil” was trying to take me away from church and god, so i needed to stop feeling like this and just pray. that time i started crying in the pew because it all became too much and i felt incredibly overwhelmed? that’s the devil. pray about it. uh, actually, mr. jesus, it was because i have bad social and generalized fuckin anxiety. and also very likely autistic but i haven’t been officially diagnosed until this day. so yeah.

thinking back on it now, it was kind of fucked up. but i don’t blame my parents for how they acted. sometimes i feel a little angry and disappointed about how they handled things, but i don’t blame them. because as i watched kids be baptized, i would hear the priest tell the parents that it was their responsibility to raise their kid to be a good god-fearing person. that it was their responsibility to keep their kid from “straying from the light” and avoiding damnation. i know my parents were told the same thing when i was baptized. that it’ll be their fault if i “stray from the light” and end up getting sent to hell. i just see it as guilt-tripping bullshit. it was my choice to not go to church or follow the religion. i hate that this system has told my parents they should feel guilty about this and that it’s their fault that my soul won’t be saved, because they didn’t “guide me in the lord’s way” good enough. i hate that this system has made me feel like i’ve failed my parents. it’s bullshit.

i’m sure there are churches out there who contain genuinely good, accepting folk. and i’m sure there are people who find comfort in having a religion. i’m glad for them. i’ve just personally have some negative experiences with religion and I’ve learned that it’s just not for me.

i try my best to be a good and kind person. i try really, really hard. i just don’t go to church anymore. the fact that i don’t do this one thing shouldn’t devalue all my efforts.