#i crave nothing more than to sink into the ground and cease to exist

[thalassic-p4rk]

the spoonie experience is driving somewhere and then having a random flare up and suddenly realizing you don’t have enough spoons to drive home and now ur sitting on the floor of a store getting weird looks while you wait to miraculously gain enough energy to make it back to ur car and then not crash and die

[waiting4inspiration]

Wild (Hvitserk x Reader)

Summary: After your city has been raided by heathens, you and most of the city’s women are herded in front of the leaders who decide which ones they would like to warm their bed

Warnings: NSFW! +18 (if you’re not 18, then please go away), SMUT, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids), dark!Hvitserk (I think that tell you everything) Non/Dub-con, strong language

A/n: I honestly have no idea where this came from… I’m so sorry… It just got fucking intense wtf

Your mother had always that your mouth would lead you into a situation you wouldn’t be able to get out of. It’s one of the reasons why you hadn’t found a husband yet because what man wanted that wife that didn’t know how to hold her tongue. You definitely weren’t like the other women in your city. Especially the ones that cower around you at the giant, barbaric men that stand in the room.

The city had been invaded by a great heathen army and every good-looking woman was dragged to the main hall of the castle that had been overtaken by them. Looking around the room, you notice a few familiar faces, but they all show the same look of fear. All except you.

You refused to show any fear to these invaders and even tried fighting them as they dragged you out of your house and into the castle. Your action obviously caused you to receive a slap to the face, but that didn’t stop you from cursing at them. 

The door bursts open, causing a few women to shriek in fear as three men enter the room. One of them walks with a crutch, limping slightly behind the other two. The men share some kind of a resemblance, leading you to think that they might be brothers. 

Their eyes scan the group of terrified women in front of them. They speak in a language that you barely understand. It sounds familiar though. Maybe one of the languages your father tried to teach you, but you can’t be certain. It’s harsh sounding, the rough sounding tone perfectly portraying their appearance. As they speak, you recognize one word they say. Slave.

One of the men finally walks forward, causing the women around you to stumble back in fear as the man makes his way towards someone who he has his eyes fixed on. 

The woman freezes when the man lifts her head to examine her face for a second. He then says something to two men who walk forward to grab the woman by her arms and drag her away.

“Hvitserk?” the man with the crutch says to the man beside him. 

Hvitserk’s eyes scan the group of petrified women with a smirk on his face. When his gaze lands on you, he pushes himself off the wall he leans against and tilts his head. 

You stare at him without a hint of fear in your eyes and you don’t cower like the others around you. When you notice his gaze on you, you don’t lower your head. Instead, you lift it in confidence. 

He stalks towards you, expecting distress to show on your face. Instead, you keep your expression firm and your head high. 

When he reaches you, his cold stare causes you to silently gasp as you run your eyes over his face. His eyes in return travel down your body, run over every curve and lingering on your chest for a moment. 

He speaks something to a man to the side who walks forward, grabbing your arm roughly. You once again start to fight your captor, trying so desperately to free your arm from the man’s grip. You know that this man that has chosen you to want you to warm his bed tonight. You tell by the way he licked his lips when he examined you like you are his prey. 

Looking back at the three men, the one with the crutch seems to be enjoying the fight you’re putting up as he gives a small chuckle. You hear him mention something about you being a feisty slave, though you’re not sure if those were the actual words he said.

“I will never be a slave. Not to you,” you sneer at the man that has picked you from the group. He smirks at your words, sharing a chuckle with his brothers. “I’d rather walk over burning coals than serve any of you.”

The words fall out your mouth before you can stop them. You know it was the wrong thing to do, but you couldn’t stop it before it happened. You were born with no filter between your brain and your mouth. 

The man with the crutch lets out a deep, cynical laugh as the man continues to drag you out the hall. Though you don’t struggle as much as you near one what you suspect to be your prison, you still attempt to pull your arms out of the man’s grip.

You’re shoved into a bedroom before the door swiftly closes behind you. The bed is unmistakeable, staring at you like the eyes of a monster and a trickle of fear works its way up to your throat when you hear the door lock behind you. 

Looking around the room, trying to look for an escape, you give up when the windows in the room won’t even open. Leaning against the wall, you sink down to the ground, realization hitting you about what will happen to you.

You’ve heard so many stories about these heathen and what they do to the women of the placed they raid. No doubt the same thing will happen to you, if not worse and all because you refused to show any fear and because of your damn tongue. 

When the door opens, you jump to your feet when you see the man that chose you walk into the room. His dark eyes immediately land on you as the door closes behind him. Stalking towards you, you keep your back against the wall, your chest heaving as you wait for the inevitable to happen.

He now stands in front of you, standing so close you’re sure he can hear your heart pounding. Leaning forward, he pushes you into the wall even more as he latches his lips to your neck.

The feeling of his warm lips on your skin causes your knees to almost become weak. He takes the skin between his teeth, roughly biting down to leave a mark. You let out a sigh to hide the moan that wants to make it’s way past your lips. 

There’s no denying that the way his lips attack you neck cause heat to grow in your core. You’d be lying if you say that it doesn’t feel good and it would be a sin to deny that you crave more. His movements against you are like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. Sinful, but so alluring. 

You’re turned around, your cheek pressing against the cold wall as the man behind you presses his body against you. “You should be careful what you say. My brother wanted to take you up on your offer,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. “And yet, it’s fucking attractive that you don’t act like those crying women.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whisper in confidence, telling yourself more than telling him. 

His breath that hits your skin as he laughs sends a shiver down your spine. “Good.” Grabbing the material of your dress, he effortlessly rips it apart. It falls to the ground as he grabs your hips, pushing you towards the huge bed and letting you fall on it. 

He hovers above you, his huge frame preventing you from any means of escaping. Lying now completely naked beneath him, you try to push him away and cover yourself. You’re still a Christian and therefore still a virgin. His predatory glare is completely foreign to you and makes you uncomfortable.

“Stop wiggling,” he hisses, pinning your hips down with an arm. You stop pushing against his grip when you feel his mouth land on your inner thigh, kissing it lazily as he works his way up to your core.

When he finally latches himself on your lips, his tongue lapping up the wetness that has pooled between your legs, you let out a throaty moan as you drop your head against the pillow. “Oh, God!” you gasp, your fingers finding their way to the man’s hair.

“Your God has nothing to do with this, sweetheart,” he hums between your legs. You can tell he’s done this many times as his tongue flattens against your folds, working its way up until it runs over a place that causes you to moan in ecstasy. 

You’ve never felt this way before. It’s something completely new to you but something inside of you was loving it, making you push aside everything you were taught. Surely if something like this exists, it’s the work of God. 

With each thrust of his tongue, your hips roll against his face. He continues working on that sensitive spot with his tongue as he glides two fingers inside you. The feeling of something foreign enter you causes you to tense, your walls clenching around his fingers. That slowly eases away as he starts pumping them in and out.

You don’t know how to explain it, but the euphoric feeling every time he moved against and inside of you built up inside of you before it became too much. An undeniable pleasure ripped through you, causing you to let out a scream as your body jolted and your legs tremble. Your vision was blurred and you didn’t even notice him strip himself of his clothes before he’s hovering over you again.

He pushes your legs farther apart as he settles between you, placing his lips back on your neck. Slinging your arms over his back as you feel his cock press against you, you dig your nails into his skin as he pushes himself inside your entrance. 

The sensation of him stretching your walls, not giving you time to adjust to his size when he starts pounding into you causes you to scream in pain, pushing against his body. “Stop,” you whisper, barely audible.

Hvitserk notices your discomfort, ceases his moves briefly before placing his lips over yours. “Relax,” he orders, looking down at you with dark eyes before he starts moving again. 

Moaning into his mouth when he kisses you again, you grip his shoulders as his hips move faster. When the pain subsides a bit, your hips push up against his. This causes him to go just a little faster, a little deeper and he pushes back harder until your pinned beneath him, unable to move.

Kissing your neck and shoulders, leaving marks all over your skin, the feeling from before builds up again. Every sensation you feel makes you fall over the edge, coming with a powerful tremor and a loud cry. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, his movements inside of your become rougher, you feel his cock twitch inside of you before he groans in your ear, releasing his seed inside of you, coating your womb. 

He looks back up at you before roughly kissing you again. His hot chest presses against you and you groan when he pulls himself out of you. “Now, let’s see what that tongue of yours can really do.”

Hi, so, sorry. It got really long cus I got carried away, but I feel like it’s also a bit shitty because I was distracted like 100 times when I tried to write this. So sorry if it sucks, but I hoped you still (kind of) enjoyed it.

[thegoldendice]

Love Is A Battlefield

Fandom - American Horror Story 1984

Pairing - Xavier Plympton/Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - Suicide, Violence, Mental Heath Issues, Sexual Content, Language, Religious Content

Chapter - 9/12

Read on - ao3, ff.net

Fic Summary - The year is 1984. You're a poor student living alone in L.A., plagued by your problematic relationships with a false friend and a disturbed ex. You meet Xavier Plympton, an aerobics instructor with a dark past, at the gym where you’ve taken a reception job. You quickly develop feelings for him, and you learn to your relief that he likes you too. Soon a deadly series of events befall you and the people in your life. Overwhelmed by tragedy and with your blossoming romance cut short, you are left a wreck. Six years later you discover that while Xavier is dead, he hasn’t quite departed. You soon realise that if you are to be with him and finally achieve true peace and happiness, you must take your own life and become a Camp Redwood ghost.

Chapter Summary -  Ray hears of your decision to stay at Redwood and feels compelled to change your mind on spiritual grounds. 

You watch as specs of dust dance and swirl around each other within the slice of afternoon sunlight that enters through the cabin window. You feel at peace now that Xavier has come to accept your decision. He lies beside you, eyes closed but not asleep. He can't sleep in fact, however, he has been able to learn how to shut everything out, to gain an emptiness of mind that imitates slumber. It's the closest thing you will have to actual unconsciousness after your change. That is, once you have learned the technique as well. There will of course be other things to get used to, such as the loss of time. According to Xavier minutes, hours, and days will continue to pass in the outside world, but you will cease to be aware of their passing. The only change you will be aware of day-to-day is the weather, but temperature won't affect you. Should you wish to, you will be able to run around naked on a wet winter day. You will no longer feel hungry or crave nourishment of the edible kind.

You feel a little sad at the thought of the simple, human things you will lose. You try to remind yourself that you will have all the time in the world to grieve those losses, and Xavier will help you. As for personal relationships – you have none to mourn. You have a mother, but no father to speak of. Memories of a series of substitute dads ranging from lacklustre to downright maniacal arise. You will be glad to never think of any of them ever again. Your mom won't miss you. She spent the majority of the last six years attempting to have you institutionalised. You plan to write her a letter and post it when you leave the camp to get the supplies you will need to end your life. You will tell her you've gone travelling. She'll never find out what happened to you. Your brother, a self confessed waste of space, has been absent for years.

Xavier stirs at your side. You turn to look at him, taking in his dishevelled appearance. You spent the last few hours exploring each other's bodies, revelling in mutual joy and passion. You are continuing to realise how lucky you are, not only to have met someone you are so emotionally and physically compatible with but to have been given the chance to remain with them even in death. Darkness has tarnished both of your lives, casting an ever-present shadow over your existences, but because of this, you have a deep understanding of each other's personal trauma. You lean in to kiss his forehead and are rewarded with a soft, sweet smile. He keeps his eyes closed, but breathes a deep sigh of satisfaction. Breathing is the one thing Xavier hasn't been able to let go of yet. You suspect you will try to hold on to it as well, a small reminder that you were once a living thing.

You are about to close your eyes to try and drift off when a knock comes at the front door, shattering your peaceful bubble. You see and feel Xavier’s muscles tense.

“Who's there?” he calls out.

“It's Ray. I need to talk to Y/n.”

You look at Xavier, feeling suddenly confused. “Why the hell would Ray want to talk to me? I don't think he ever said a single word to me back in L.A.”

“I think I might know. Ray hates it here, he always has. He has it in his head that we're all damned. The idiot probably wants to try to convince you to leave.”

“Montana couldn't.” You shrug, highly doubting Ray's ability to change your mind.

“Sure, but she's super laid back these days. Ray probably thinks he can nag you all the way to the fucking entrance sign. Honestly, Y/n, he will try.”

With that, Xavier hauls himself out of bed. He gets dressed and tosses your clothes towards you. You loathe the thought of having to see another person in your current state. Your hair is all over the place and you seriously need a shower. You kick yourself for leaving your car parked halfway up the road to the camp, thinking about the wet wipes you keep in the glovebox. For some reason, rather than drive all the way here, you had the urge to ditch the car just off the dirt track and walk the remaining twenty minutes to that mouldering wooden sign. It had seemed like a good idea at the time - a chance to breathe some fresh air.

You hear Ray knock again, harder this time.

“We heard you, just wait!” Xavier snaps in the direction of the door, his good mood completely gone. You wonder if he's worried that Ray will actually have some kind of effect on you.

“There's nothing he could say that would convince me to change my mind.” You try your best to sound reassuring. “I know everything now, right? There are no more secrets?”

Xavier frowns as you pull your shirt over your head.

Fuck. Why is he frowning?

“There's one more thing. It's not a big deal, that's why I didn't tell you earlier.”

You breathe evenly, trying to remain calm.

“What is it?”

“Remember I told you that Ramirez is here?”

You nod warily.

“Well, he has some kind of satanic deal going on that allows him to leave. So... we all take it in turns to make sure he stays. We kill him again and again, every time he revives. That's the only thing I haven't told you.”

You sit down on the bed just as Ray bursts through the door. Xavier swings around swiftly, but you are able to catch the furious look on his face first.

“What the fuck, man!? You can't just barge in here!” He yells.

Ray takes a step back, throwing up his arms defensively. “You were taking forever!”

“I was getting dressed.” Your voice comes out expressionless. Your disappointment that Xavier has, once again, kept something important from you leaves you feeling numb.

“I'm sorry. Really sorry.” Ray looks past Xavier to find your eyes.

“It's fine. You wanted to speak to me?”

Ray casts a sheepish glance in Xavier's direction. “Uh, yeah. Alone, if possible?”

Xavier looks at you. You nod, but make sure to smile at him. Despite the fact that he has made another mistake, you don't want him to worry.

“Fine.” He sighs, his gaze boring into yours. “I won't be far away.”

With that he leaves, but you notice him make sure that the cabin door is slightly ajar. You remain seated, looking towards Ray expectantly.

“I uh, I just felt I had to come. Montana told me about your plan. I think it's a really bad idea.” Ray shifts from foot to foot, unable, now, to meet your eyes.

“Why?” You ask.

Ray hesitates, then comes to sit beside you. You cringe a little internally, you are not at all comfortable having another man so close to you in the space that you have come to associate with Xavier and sex. Especially a man you really don't know. You hope that whatever Ray has to say, it will be quick.

“Look, Y/n, this might sound stupid but I need to say it. If you kill yourself and sentence your soul to an eternity here, you'll never be able to... move on.”

You try to remain patient. “I know that Ray.”

“But you'll never get to Heaven.” Ray says, the volume of his voice rising as he grows desperate.

You are surprised. You didn't realise that Ray was the religious type. You glance at him to see him twisting the edge of the blanket around his fingers. You feel a little sorry for him. He really is trying to help you.

“Ray, I don't want this to sound harsh because I actually appreciate what you're trying to do but, I'm not religious.” You strive to sound calm but firm. ”I don't believe in an afterlife, or Heaven and Hell. I'm sorry. I know that you probably see suicide as a sin, but I just don't. Why would I chose to die years down the line and cease to exist when I could stay here? This is better than a complete void.”

Ray remains silent for several seconds, staring at the floor. You brace yourself for an outpouring of overzealous rhetoric, but it doesn't come. Instead, Ray stands, turning to face you.

“I can't make you leave, and there's nothing I can really do to stop you. I know your type.” He blurts out angrily. “I've done my part. Just know this, I won't help to bury you.”

With that Ray leaves, stony-faced. All you feel is shock as a wave of sadness builds within you. You hate confrontation, especially when you are feeling so vulnerable. Xavier re-enters the cabin seconds later to find you crying silently. You feel him sink into the mattress and wrap you in his arms, rocking you gently and making shushing sounds.

“I'm gonna kill him.” Xavier growls.

You look into his blue eyes, sniffling. “No, you're not. He just wants to save my soul.”

“I know. I was listening at the door. Self-righteous ass. Him, not you.”

You let out a choked laugh, eyes still watery. You don’t even care that Xavier fucked up again. It’s not his fault. You really can’t expect him to be as aware as a human when he’s been stuck here for so long. He must see Ramirez as completely insignificant.

“I'd really rather you just left Ray alone. This must be hard for him.” You sigh. You had no idea that your decision to end your life would cause such an issue for someone you barely even know. “He will just have to learn to live with me.”

“Okay.” Xavier wipes a final tear from your cheek with his thumb, happy to adhere to your wishes. “I suppose we have some plans to make then?”

“We do.” You smile at him. “But first you need to explain this Ramirez situation to me properly. Am I going to have to join in the killing?”

Xavier shakes his head firmly. “No, absolutely not. I want you to know that you never have to do a single thing you don't want to here.”

Your smile grows bigger as you collapse into Xavier’s hug, relieved that he is beginning to learn what your needs are.

Notes:  So I imagine that Ray wasn’t overly fussed with his religion in life which is why it’s not a thing in the show, however since his death he’s become quite preoccupied with it. Hope this fits for everyone. Also I have nothing against Ray but he just seemed to me from what we learned in the show like the type who would be most unhappy with Y/n’s plan.

[ijenblue]

The day my girlfriend started drinking with Abbacchio (and why she never will again)

Giorno x Drunk and Needy!S/O

You were never the type to drink often, but Abbacchio was. And when you’re best friends with Abbacchio, that means you’re gonna spend a lot of your nights trying to keep wine bottles from his long and crafty fingers. But tonight, you were feeling a bit down. You didn’t have the energy to keep the alcoholic on his leash and stop him from turning into a drunk mess. and so you thought:

If I can’t beat ’em, join 'em

It didn’t take long for the alcohol to take effect. You didn’t quite enjoy the taste of wine as much as Abbacchio did so you had found yourself digging into your boyfriend's stash. You didn’t want to drink anything important or valuable so you pulled out the bottle of Disaronno and mixed a generous amount with coke. From the first five sips, you started feeling your buzz drowning out your feelings of loneliness. Abbacchio only encouraged you to drink more and more of the concoction till you felt your lips becoming a little loose and your better judgment slipping away. Now, what do you think usually happens when two best friends are alone and drunk off their ass? Because that’s exactly what happened.

Abbacchio was the quiet drunk this time around. Usually, he would be the one complaining about little things while you listened but tonight the roles were reversed, You had been feeling some type of way about your boyfriend and his absence lately; your drunk mind and Abbacchio somehow convinced you that now was the best time to get it all off your chest.

“He’s almost like a ghost, you know? I know he’s there for me and all but sometimes I wish he could just not do anything for a day. Maybe he’d see how touch-starved he makes me.” You trail off, sipping on the dark drink that started to lose its bitter taste.

“And He’s an asshole!” Abbacchio adds from the couch across from you. He has his long body draped across the leather with his legs kicked up on the armrest. His nearly empty bottle is clutched in his hands as he speaks. You laugh at his words before agreeing.

“And He’s an asshole...” You add softly, laying back on the couch and closing your eyes. You had to admit you felt a little dizzy but you didn’t want to think you were as drunk as you really were. Something about...denial? You didn’t have the patience to mull on how drunk you were now.

“He’s a cute asshole though. No..not cute...what’s the word, Abbacchio?”

“Annoying, full of himself...” He pauses to think of an actual answer while taking a swig from the bottle. “Sexy?”

“Sexy! That’s the word!” You slur your words slightly while laughing at nothing in particular. “A sexy asshole! It’s like...I want him to hold me and all but I also wanna yell at him for not holding me. Am I crazy? Am I crazy Abbacchio?” You repeat louder to him and he only shakes his head as an answer.

“He just doesn’t know how to have a girlfriend and be a Don.”

You pause to think about his words. That sounded correct to your drunk mind. It sounded way too close to home and yet you never considered it. But drunk you was still kinda sad that he never really talked about it.”Abbacchio, I think that’s the wisest thing you’ve said today.”

“Shut up. Your drunk anyway.” You giggle at his tone.

“Yeah, we’re drunk anyway.” You giggle some more before shooting straight up, a thought having just fluttered to your attention. “You know what I would do if he was here?”

“What would you do (y/n)?” Abbacchio indulges you with the question and sits up slightly to hear your answer. He really wasn’t eager to hear it but he figured he’d get things between you guys over and done with now. You hadn’t noticed yet, but Giorno had quietly walked into the room and paused to asses the scene. Abbacchio shakes his head at Giorno before settling back into his seat.

“If Giorno was here, I’d give him a piece of my mind ya know? I don’t ask for much but I wanna let him know, ya know? ‘What, do I have to cut my leg off to receive a hug or something? Does it have to be our anniversary to go on a date?’ That’s what I’d say...” You trail off with sad eyes.

Giorno is about to open his mouth to say something when Abbacchio holds up his hand silently, asking him to ‘shut the fuck up and listen’ with his eyes. You look over at Abbacchio and sigh.

“I must be boring you huh? You wanna go daw a bunch of fours on Mista’s face while he sleeps?” You suggest, starting to stand on wobbly legs.

“No! I mean- I’m not bored at all, you can continue.” He says quickly before drinking more and settling his eyes back to yours. “What were you saying?”

You give him a weird look before plopping back down on the couch. You doubted you could make it to Mista’s room anyway. “What was I saying? Oh right! And after I give him a piece of my mind, I’d give him a kiss. ‘I know it’s hard being the head of Passione and all...But I need some attention too.’ That’s what I’d say. I would hold him close and kiss him all over and beg him not to leave me soon. And if everything goes alright, I’ll be Mrs.Giovanna someday.”

Both Giorno and Abbacchio choke on their spit at the sudden words. You eye Abbacchio as he coughs but quickly turns to look behind you. You heard someone else choke at your words and you were near devastated to see Giorno’s guilty face.

“G-Giorno? How long were you- when did you- Where you listening to our conversation?!”

“No. I mean...Yes, I was.” He kept his eyes locked on yours and that made you want to sink into the solid ground and cease to exist. Even your drunk mind scorned you for your loose lips. But soon, Giorno’s eyes soften and you could feel the genuine worry in his ocean eyes. You couldn’t bear his gaze any longer so you turned to your drink on the coffee table.

I’m too sober for this, you thought to your drunk self as you reached for the glass. But Giorno was quick to call out to you and prevent the bad decision.

“Let’s get you some water instead.” He calmly states as he lightly grips your wrist. You hadn’t noticed when, but somehow he was now standing tall next to you with a face like stone. “It’s late,” he states a matter of factly before shooting Abbacchio a glare and helping you still your disobedient legs with his shoulder. “Let us head to bed.”

“W-Wait! I wanna keep drinking with Abbacchio...” You protested weakly. Your body was starting to feel heavy and your head was spinning, but feeling Giorno’s warmth next to you made your heart beat just a little faster than it had already been.

“(y/n) we should really go to bed. Abbacchio is going to have to be up early tomorrow anyway.” Abbacchio sighs audibly and stands from his spot. He really didn’t have to be up early but now that the Don was displeased with him getting his girlfriend drunk and in her feelings, he was sure there would be extra work for him in the early morning as payback.

“I’ll be fine (y/n). You need the rest.” Abbacchio chides in and assures his best friend that she isn’t missing anything. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” he waves goodbye and is soon seen disappearing behind the door to outside.

You turn to look into Giorno’s eyes and slightly separate yourself from him to try to walk on your own. You bit your lip as you attempted to still your steps, thinking of nothing but the words you said and Giorno’s worried expression. Once it’s apparent to Giorno that you won’t make it to the room alone, he appears by your side with a warm hand on your shoulder.

“If you don’t feel okay to walk up the steps, just let me know.” He informs you, not wanting to annoy you by being too doting. But that’s the thing, you wanted him to dote a little. You wanted his affection, his touch, his everything. You craved him so you nodded at his offer.

“Please...” you said weakly while wrapping your jelly-like arms around his neck and hopping into his arms. The skin contact felt amazing and you couldn’t tell if it was from being under the influence or from you being touch starved for the past week.

He quickly scaled the stairs and swung open the door to the room you shared. He placed you gently onto the blankets of the neatly made bed and helped you undress until you were comfortable enough to sleep. Lastly, he brings you a cup of water and brings it to your mouth to drink. Then’s when the tears came.

“I’m a mess, aren’t I Giorno?” You asked as you felt tears fall free from your tired eyes. “You don’t have to take care of me, I’ll be fine...” You sniffed as you wiped your tears away.

You had to do a double take when the sound of Giorno’s deep laugh resonated throughout the room. It was very...unexpected from a focused guy like him so you were startled at first. Had you done something funny? He squats to your level and brushes your messy hair from your face.

“You're so cute amore mio.” He says with a voice like silk. “Do you know what you do to me?”

You shake your head, your face flushing at his words, and he guides your shaky fingers into his much larger hands. He grips them lightly, warming up the fingers you hadn’t even noticed were cold. His eyes saddened for a moment, mulling over the things you said in the conversation with Abbacchio. He felt terrible, and his silence on the subject was eating him alive. He wanted to wait till you were sober to approach the problem again but he couldn’t hold it in.

“I’m sorry for neglecting you.” He says in one breath. He’s trying very hard to keep eye contact with you but your eyes were already watering at his words. One of his hands travels up your arm, leaving a burning trail from his body heat. “I want to show you just how much I treasure you and your incredible patience with me.” He leans in to place a chaste kiss upon your slightly parted and wanting lips. The taste of earlier decisions invades his tastebuds but he pushes through it, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer to him. When you part, you trip over words to say and take a moment longer to think for once tonight.

“All I ask is that you touch me more.” He chuckles at the slight slur in your words and finally climbs into the bed next to you where he can cherish you more.

“You don’t have to tell me twice tesoro.” He whispers to you, letting his hands roam your body freely. “If it’s my touch you desire, then I’ll never let my hands leave your body.”

__________

-a later conversation-

“That’s the last time you drink unsupervised.”

“Why? I wasn’t unsupervised! Abbacchio was there!”

“You threw up twice last night. Besides, Abbacchio doesn’t count as supervision.”

“Well, then when are we going to sit down and share a drink together?”

“Oh, you don’t wanna drink with me tesoro.”

“Why is that?”

“Because then you’ll be up all night screaming my name~”

[deviationdivine]

Nighttime Fear (RK800-60!Prompt Request)

He is a fear you succumb to until his true face reveals itself... 

Word Count: 2.2k

tw: Angst, Language, Smut Themes

a/n: Follower/Reader Appreciation Drabble | Prompt: “Then perish.” - originally a request 

You never knew daylight could be so violent…

Night becomes a better way to die most assuredly. Revelations unfold live as all falls down in a blink. Broadcast for all to witness and this conversation stops before it begins. No more fight in endless hope. Endless despair replaces unkindly but final. It fails. There is no more chance. Gunned down, left to rot in the snow like nothing. 

It sickens you to watch. So much it hurts to see what they have done that you no longer have courage to face this truth. All those androids - obliterated. 

Switching off television does not switch off panic. Silence only drives the stake further center of your heart. 

Connor! 

Where is he? They won’t take him. Please.

Your body sinks. Attempting to bury into safety of cushions they are nothing more than a fabricated security. Soft surroundings but hardest of hearts turn to stone and shut down the life that remains. 

Laying a head atop arm of the couch, one single harbor to anchor, you stare off. Nothing in particular holds interest or thought. You merely exist. Waiting, praying for a sign but part of this so-called strength that carries you throughout is cracking. Drawing eyes to door it is a foolish hope because he will not come. Appearing over threshold enables frantic, happy swoop of your arms to snake around his tall form. Even if it may be awkward still but it will be worth your sanity. 

Sleep overtakes tears, doubts and ultimate fears. Exhaustion defeats you and silence becomes your tomb. Then a thunderous crack commands your door.

Banging in a louder echo is overactive imagination. You are so tired. It rouses you sharply drawing you from the position weariness placated you to. This time it is fierce. Movement brings out not only a jolt up to feet but thudding of heart. 

Another crack, specific and unremitting for entry vibrates its surface. They will not leave. 

Caught up confused as you wake so quick pulls you to answer. A small hope bubbles but immediately fades. No, of course it is not who you think. How can it be? 

Still you unlock with vigor. Opening quickly ready to pounce on whoever decides to come here when everything falls apart around the city. Those plans cease their existence meeting those eyes. 

A brief shock rattles. He is no illusion. Solid, alive and –

“Connor?” 

Chocolate fire cinders down to the quick of your soul and he does not verbally greet. He physically bounds. 

Strong, insistent hands clash with your soft humanity to drag you inside as his mouth collides. The android slams the door shut blocking out any who will come to interrupt. He has you now. He will take every last piece to mark with his scent claiming tender flesh in brutal domination. 

Thumping you heavily into wall unleashes every caged carnivore hungering behind his walls. Free and broken he will choose how this deviancy spreads fire just as you infect subconscious acidity. 

What’s gotten into Connor?! He’s an untamed beast sweet in temperament but ruthless in vivacity. Nearly weeping at the magnitude of passion you are at his mercy. You like it. No. You love it. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would enjoy the roughness so well. Already your legs tremble, a tight twist forcing an unbearably pleasant pool between legs.  

The moment he purposely slides his leg, pushing knee between and into your groin you gasp uncontrollably. Spreading your legs apart, leaning his tall, lithe frame into you so headily; a shudder unmakes whatever composure is left in the physical armor you adorn. 

He tears through. Casting aside a shield of your making, he dismantles self control. At his mercy, whimpering into the android’s surprisingly hot mouth, desire pools center of your orbit.

Long fingers invade past the swatch of fabric, searching for your heat and he finds the sweet slickness, wet splendor that gives all of your cravings away. An open book your pages spread and the android enjoys the moans pouring salaciously up throat. 

He bites into the skin clamping over pulse. Internal analysis floods vision. Arousal spikes in a shiver he absorbs like a parasite living off your essence.

You grab back at him. Needing to be closer than you have, melting away mortal flesh with his corrosive love. Scalding transcends this spiritual plane that grounds you. For him you will, must float.

Oh, please yes.

Take this turmoil befalling Detroit away. There is only a ravenous prince made of plastic and synthetics. But you do not care. He is exquisite fire boiling the blood through tissue.

“Connor, I-I want you,” whispering up into his lips ascends your spirit. “I’ve wanted you since you first…!” 

A yelp overtakes the rush of confessions in his abrupt snag of hips. Forcing you from between his chest and wall he roughly moves your body. Stronger than anything you will ever witness the android hoists effortlessly, hungry, needy for the slick warmth his fingers kissed. He wants it around him in a luscious sheath all for him. 

Dropping you down upon freshly washed bedding pumps more than a frantic heart. Anticipating drives your body in reaction to what’s to come. Knowing how quickly he scanned interior of small flat only drives this ache. He made haste to plant you sprawled on the bed, which seemed so much further away in the beginning of this dance. 

Cool fingers snake underneath your shirt riding up the fabric slowly. His lips twist in a predatory grin. Something devilish prickles, needles stabbing at you while watching his face. How can he appear so different but so right? Never have you witnessed such hunger in his eyes. It crumbles you. Gladly you dissipate, allowing swift undress; your head thrusts to pillow, fluffy groundwork to soften the blow of this love. 

A wet flick touches skin traveling up torso greedily tasting. This android’s tongue becomes a weapon bent on destruction. Oh, how you want to be destroyed. 

“Mmm,” a huff answers him sweetly. 

He is neither sweet nor gentle. Your back arches as you desperately try to stopper your cry of pain. His bite is sharp. Sinking into flesh, pulling mercilessly like tenderized meat off the bone. 

Even as kisses crash harsh in a bid to brand you eternally there is something gnawing. Despite wanting this with Connor you cannot help but wonder how different he seems. Not a word spoken, simply feasting upon you as a banquet readily displayed for a private party. Realizing that this is his private affair all you can do is lie back in wait. 

“Connor, are you-?”

“Be still!” the android’s voice deepens, growling impatiently.

Pining arms above head, sliding atop he breathes artificially into your shoulder. Inhaling you pushes the android’s strings, groaning between the friction of plastered bodies. 

Writhing beneath his heavy frame to a private tune in your mind does not completely blind. As he pulls back from between your legs to remove jacket it’s the first time this fatalistic passion subsides. You see it then. The serial number: 313-248-317-60. 

60

Your eyes widen at the dawning realization. Wafting over arousal and increasing a tremor in your stomach. All of it washes away as a stain slowly ebbing from its tarnish. Goosebumps attack now in an entirely different way and when he slithers back towards you, coiling up your previously willing, shivering body you internally scream. 

“You’re not Connor!” 

Pushing at his chest hurls you off the side of bed. Landing in a tangling thud increases your anxieties. All this time it wasn’t even him. It was - 

“Who the hell are you?!” 

Crossing arms over chest doesn’t prevent the fact he’s already seen everything. Maybe not every piece because you still have jeans hanging on hips, unzipped but all the same. 

“Tsk. I wondered how long before you saw my serial.” Standing tall, moving away from unsettled bed brings him close as an imposing force to punish your wildest dreams. He analyzes the quick pace of your heart still thudding in arousal. “I would have made you scream. That can still be arranged.” 

Everything down to the last detail is Connor except it’s not him. This can only mean one horrible thing. 

“I have his memories uploaded,” the Cyberlife enforcer needles you. Smug he is victorious because destruction felled the original prototype and his alcoholic waste of a partner. “Memories of you. So sweet, so soft. Driving the disease of deviancy in every circuit. He - loved you I think.” 

Tears collect abundantly listening to truths in all too familiar husky voice but somehow raspier, darker. The voice of Connor reverberates out of a mechanized monster. 

“When I uploaded them I felt a curious urge,” RK800-60 explains partially his desire to destroy. 51 fell to knees riddled with entirety of magazine. Still it was not enough. It did not satisfy to use one mere kill shot. Aggression flooded his sensors overheating processors and the only way to appease became a symphony of gunfire. Slaughtering instead of simply stopping rages this beast inside and still it claws to break out. He narrows burnished, bleak and terror, a game of wolf and rabbit. How juicy you remain on his tongue little rabbit.

“I wanted to be the one.” He admits his own deviancy. “The victor. I am Connor as much as Connor was he. I can be yours, Y/N.” 

Yours? Oh, God! No! 

“Get away from me!” Screaming angrily, repulsed with how much you adored, begged for what he was about to give brews an incredible guilt. How long was this going to go on? What if you never took notice? What if he was too powerful in his fervor, exalting you to heights unknown you could not to stop yourself from -? 

Impossible to comprehend because this is not your Connor. You would never want anyone else. 

Are you so sure? 

A tiny voice out from the dark questions each breath that spills from your lips, each thought that convinces yourself. How sure are you? 

Standing here facing a torrent of unfathomable, plentiful carnage, his carnage glorious and gratifying. He pushed you to the wall ravenous. Immediately you responded in a tango of fantasy rivaling the most sacred of secrets in the heart. He hurled you to the bed insatiable. Light bloomed inside aching to be taken, pulsating for his majesty. 

You wanted him. A violent storm laying waste to foundations those same ones held for what he represents. Connor. He is gone. It is so obvious. 

A flood happens bursting the dam shielding your strength. This thing that is not him….how you crash into his sea. Turbulent and bottomless waiting to drown you and he almost did. 

“I want you to get out…” 

Weakness. Savory wetness. He smells it. The android reads beyond words. All vitals point to what you really want. RK800-60 tilts his head in sadistic satisfaction. 

“I will make a deal with you, Y/N.” 

The minute he speaks everything sinks down into your stomach. This time it is not the affectionate twist of butterflies. Taking flight for who you naively believed to be Connor; your eyes trail up the identical android equally tall and piercing insides with dark hubris. 

His eyes may be the same color but something deeper shimmers. An endless abyss made of pure malignity. Deeper than the most subterranean sea trench pulls you down until air no longer bathes lungs. 

Quicksand is more merciful. How far you sink is your choice. 

“Pretend none of this ever happened.” The android offers a calculating solution. Humans are known to be fickle. As he stands here now, watching as a bird of prey, hawkish but serene in his imposing stance. 

RK800-60 holds onto that machine persona. An influx of software instability following unwarranted connection to 51 does not completely vanquish Cyberlife’s protocols. 

He is the assassin a wisp in the night moving undetected, shadow and smoke, night terror divine. Silent necrosis spreads across city infectious, crippling all in his name. His actions mean an unsuccessful end to revolution but it does not have to end for you. 

“Forget that Connor stepped foot inside Cyberlife Tower. And love me instead.” 

Is he insane?! 

“No.” Absolute disgust slips around one syllable but it is every pain, each denial you can stab into his artificial exterior. No. You cannot. If you do can you live with your decision? Throwing away the memory of the original for a copy that uploaded his memory but is still not him.

Sixty’s smug aura evaporates. Watching you move hastily snaps his fingers onto your arm. Wrenching you close they release to steeple around your throat, holding vice with minimal pressure. 

“Then perish.” 

Hissing against ear jolts you into him and he revels the synthesis of horror and prurience. Willingly you allow contact without much fight before he encircles you this way. 

RK800-60 fondles your earlobe with the tip of his tongue. “I will fuck the heart out of you. Little rabbit.” 

“OK.” 

Weakly you give in. From the beginning he knew you would. What does this make you? What hell will you bring forth? 

Self destruction will be your fate for this. Somehow writ in stone moment you allowed him to enter. Now he enters your mouth all forked tongue and demoniac consumption. He eats you alive. Yet you welcome it. 

You cannot let go of this face. Even in the possession of a fearsome pretender. 

[honeykngdom]

sacrilegious | demon!sweet pea x reader

SUMMARY:  I was wondering if you could do a story where sweets is a demon? idk maybe reader finds out or something. maybe he has a sweet spot for her.  WARNINGS: cursing, mild violence , mentions of death WORDS: 2600+ | RATING:  ☁ ♕ A/N: I’m not entirely sure where I planned on going with this, but I would be open to continuing and doing a part 2 if people were interested. I’d have to do a little more research on what kind of demon I wanted to use specifically, but I think this is a pretty interesting start .. lemme know whatcha think! 

It’s been thirty-six days since I had first seen her, and she had first seen me. Not that I was counting, or anything, but just that I was cautiously much more aware of her existence as a whole. Her presence, once a quiet lull left lurking in the background, now seemed to be at the forefront of my thoughts, and her face filled my long days. Her name consistently remained on the tip of my tongue.

You like her, don’t beat around the bush.

To be frank, she terrified me.

 She wasn’t as easy as the other humans to read, and not nearly as gullible or ignorant. During a moment of weakness, she had been able to see a part of me I had been carefully hiding from the rest of the world. And at that moment, I hadn’t realized that the situation had been compromising. I had been having harmless fun, or so I thought.

 I’ve spent decades enjoying various types of music and food, dipping my toes into so many different environments and cultures, but had never felt quite so cozy than I did here in Riverdale. The Southside was nothing if not glorious, and every sadist’s dream. I had been able to find a skin that fits right, utilized what I was for a greater purpose, felt like I belonged. The Serpents embodied everything I was and stood for, and so brandishing the double-headed snake felt like nothing but second nature.

 It was a Saturday night and being twenty-three and careless; I took to the Wyrm’s neon fixtures and smokey pool tables in need of release. Whiskey and I had a longstanding friendship and mutual agreement, but I suppose it might have been the mix of Fogarty’s tequila that loosened my grip.

 But I felt good. Better than that, even, I felt satisfied.

 Being a divine spirit, immoral or otherwise, I never quite had the luxury of feeling utterly content with anything. Not in food, not in knowledge, not in sex, and certainly not in power.

 Why else would I still be here?

 But being here, surrounded by these people, enjoying each and everything I craved all at once, it was exhilarating. And, in that small moment where my realities blended and the lines blurred, I found myself stumbling out of the men’s washroom, struggling with my zipper. The heavy thrum of the bass mixed with the loud, overlapping conversations made an erratic melody in my head, but the faintest hint of despair mixed among the chaos pulled my attention away from the bar, and towards the rear exit that led to the parking lot.

Smoking had become an ugly habit, truthfully, but one that seemed to feed the insatiable monster within me. In spite of the darkness that consumed me as I ventured into the night, I was able to register the heat signatures of the duo standing across the lot. One, roughly six-foot-two, and the other much smaller.

Oh, look. Snacks.

Naturally, I couldn’t kill one without killing the other. I certainly wasn’t overly picky with my meals but knew very well I couldn’t leave a witness - especially not one as delectable as she was.

Fixing my leather collar, my long legs carried me forward as I pinched the cherry off my cigarette and tossed it in the general direction of the butt-bucket bolted to the side of the post. The closer I ventured, the easier it was to make out what they were saying;

“Let me go!” cried the young woman, her voice not so soft given her plea.

It was met with a snort, followed by another rough shove. The chain-link fences moved against each other, and by the looks of it, if the perpetrator didn’t settle down, he was going to draw far too much attention to himself.

Amateur.

“You’re on my side of the tracks, bitch,” he snarls, gripping onto the front of her jacket to pin her to the fence, “I told you what’d happen if I caught you down here again.”

Fear illuminated her features, sinking into her bones. It was obvious. It could have been pitch black, and she could have been silent, I still would have been able to feel her anxiety pulsating from inside the bar. Her figure, now surrounded by a thick wavering aura, began to look smaller as she tried to pull her arms into her chest to cover herself.

Time for some fun.

“You know,” I interjected as I stepped out from the shadows, hands steady in my pockets, “Most people don’t waste their time with pleasantries. So go ahead, show her. What’s gonna happen?”

“Why don’t you fucking mind your business, Serpent?” the man retorted over his shoulder, not really paying me as much attention as I wanted.

My fists clenched tightly at my sides, nails digging into the flesh as the heat travels from my chest and into my face.

“That��s a big mouth for such a small person.” I replied coolly.

“Even bigger fists.” he responded, lifting his chin as his boots echoed in the empty lot. The man takes an advancing step, brown hues boring down profoundly into the mine.

I lifted my mouth at the corner, head tilting to the side, “That so? Wanna see mine?” There was a moment when the male’s body tensed in reaction to my words; he narrowed his eyes almost appearing to do a double take as I take another step forward.

“Get lost,” he spat, turning back to his victim; she looked past him to where I stood, face not painted in relief, but in terror, as my features came into the light. “This isn’t any of your business.”

It was in this moment that I could feel the slip. My eyes darkened, vision switching from straining against the darkness of the night, to crystal clear shapes and heat signatures. Perfect for hunting. My hand shot forward, gripping the man by the throat tightly; my upper lip twitched in anticipation, feeling the heat bubbling angrily in my core, screaming, aching, pleading to be released.

Never fucking satisfied.

Letting that feeling get the better of me, I gripped his wrists tightly in my hands, then twisted them back until I was met with deafening snaps as the cartilage and bone gave way under my strength, “On this side of the tracks, everything is my business.” I whispered into his ear, unable to contain the slight joy that graced my lips as he screamed mercilessly in my arms.

And in the next instant, he ceased to exist.

Way to play with your food, you pig. We didn’t even have any fun.

I looked up to where the woman stood, paralyzed in fear.

Well I mean, there’s still her -

I had full intentions on finishing what I had started; I picked up the lifeless body from the ground, hauling him over my shoulder as the woman took off.

There can sometimes be nothing more terrifying than the very dead of night. When night creeps in and washes away the everyday hustle and bustle of life that once filled every corner of a house, even the most confident of people can be left feeling as if something is watching them. In the silence that accompanies darkness, every last sound can appear deafening. And for some, the things that go bump in the night are the things of our nightmares.

I must have been one of hers.

“For fuck sakes,” I growled; I’d just have to enjoy him later. I knew there was no real measure of distance she could put between us that would make her safe. Her scent was left in a trail behind her, like a beaming arrow guiding me to her. Discarding the body into the dumpster just behind the bar, I wiped my hands on the back of my denim and lifted my nose to the sky.

It took me a moment, focusing on the path her scent had made, visually envisioning where exactly she was - heading west on Chopin, towards Bo’s convenience store. Within seconds, I was stretching my long legs behind her, listening to her heart erratically beating in her chest, pumping the deliciously warm life-force within her veins. She smelled sweet, almost too sweet like a heavy sugar icing that came with the pre-made store bought cakes.

We were just passing his shop doors when I grabbed hold of her by the elbow; she protested against my restraints, kicking my shin rather roughly in her attempt to evade, but alas, no such luck. I pulled her into my side, turning into the alley just behind the shop only to have her pressed against the brick.

Even in the darkness, it was easy to see the way her blood raced up into her neck and flushed her face with a lovely pink. Her eyes were wide with fear, lungs filling with air in short gasps. I loosened my hold, but did not put any more distance between us, “I’m not going to hurt you.” I uttered softly, “That was a stupid idea.” I continued once she had calmed herself enough.

“You -” she breathed, mouth pulled back into a grimace. Her eyes wandered over the length of my body, my shoulders, drinking in every last feature. She knew me, she knew who I was - or, rather, who I was supposed to be, “You killed him.”

“I did the Southside a favour.” I argued.

“You snapped his arms like they were twigs,” she replied, her eyes narrowing as she glowered up at me, “And then his neck. You picked him up like he weighs nothing -”

“To be fair, you don’t weigh very much either.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

I let my brows raise, “Can we? Talk about you?”

She paused, her heartbeat stuttering for the briefest moment. After a few seconds of deliberation, she tries to wiggle her wrists in my grasp, “Will you let me go?”

“Will you run from me?” I countered.

What are you doing?

She shook her head slowly, meeting my gaze with a quiet ‘I promise’ that was barely audible to the human hear. Carefully, I removed my hands from her wrists, watching as she rubbed them with a slight wince; I offered an apologetic smile, and although it was measly, she seemed a little more at ease being in control of her own body again.

“Why did you run this time?” I asked after a few moments, bringing another cigarette up to my lips, lighter flickering against the breeze.

“You were going to kill me next.” she deadpanned, taking the smoke from between my lips to inhale deeply; her shoulders seemed to relax more visibly with her next exhale.

“You’ve seen me before,” I reminded her, stealing my smoke back, “I didn’t kill you then.”

“Why not?”

Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure why I hadn’t. My shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, leaning my body against the brick next to hers, “I followed you home that night.” I began after a few moments, “I was going to. Kill you. In all of my decades on this earth, I’ve been very good with keeping what I am a secret, until you and your pesky camera.” She glances up at me impishly, hands disappearing into her pockets. “I sat outside of your window for hours, waiting until your mother’s Vicodin kicked in and the wine put her to sleep.”

“What changed your mind?” she asked, this time her voice a little less stable, much quieter.

You.

Involuntarily, I gnawed on the inside of my cheek as I mulled over the several possible answers - all of which was true to an extent, but none that would be satisfactory, I was sure. “Why didn’t you scream?” I watched her features drop into a scowl at my words, “It’s not often people see me like that without becoming hysteric or jumping into a sort of frenzy,” she doesn’t meet my eyes this time, choosing to keep her gaze fixed on the ground as she reached for the cigarette I extended towards her.

She flinched, momentary fear replacing the ease that settled over her bones. There it was again - undeniably sweet and sickly, thundering in her chest, pumping through her veins. “Honestly? Mythological creatures fascinate me.”

I felt my brows pull together, “Do I look like a myth to you?”

“You know what I mean,” her eyes flutter in a gentle roll, inviting me to follow her as she began to drift towards the street again. “I was more concerned with getting home to figure out what you were, more than I was actually worried about you killing me.”

“That’s .. incredibly careless, actually. Are you sure you’re human?” I teased lightly as I settled into a leisurely stroll alongside her.

“Just barely.” she quipped.

“Don’t worry, me too.” I glanced sideways down at her, and winked. Immediately, her skin lit up with a soft pink. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

She shook her head once, “No, but I’ve got a thousand questions.”

I wasn’t entirely sure I had any of the answers she was looking for. I mean, of course I did, I just wasn’t sure if talking about it was going to make things worse. 

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of tires running over puddles and the wind in the trees. Riverdale had become eerily quiet, and not in a comforting way. It wasn’t until I recognized what street we had turned onto before I realized we were headed towards her home.

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.

“Sweet Pea,” I replied.

“Your real name.”

“That is my real name.” I assured her; it wasn’t a total lie. That was the name I received when I had first been initiated, that was the name that stuck. It had been an odd choice, but given that I appeared far scarier than my name sounded, it made me the perfect candidate to take care of the dirty business.

Not very many people expected a six-foot-five body of muscle to come out with a pair of pliers after they’ve been told they’re sending in Sweet Pea. Truthfully, I took far more joy out of handling those situations than the others would have.

“You really expect me to call you that?”

I shrugged indifferently, “You can call me whatever you’d like. I’m not picky.” We came to a slow crawl, stopping just outside of the pathway littered with wilting flowers and weeds. The lights inside the home remained off, but the light above the door came to life as we ventured near.

She looked up at me from under her lashes, bottom lip caught between her teeth; I had seen this before. Many times. I was no stranger to body language, and I could read her loud and clear; I had been intimate with people before, and never once had it posed an issue. People, men and women alike, were incredibly needy and driven by carnal desires, making prey such as the girl before me irresistibly enticing.

But I had never, ever, been intimate with someone that knew what I was.

“How about I call you tomorrow, and take you out for breakfast since you .. took care of that guy.” she offered, holding her cellular device out. “You eat breakfast, right?

I took it from her fingertips, “I prefer my cattle live, but I suppose fried bacon will have to do.” I joked, noticing the way the corners of her mouth threatened a smile. “I look forward to hearing from you.” I mused quietly, holding the phone back out to return it to her.

“Goodnight, Sweet Pea.” she murmured, twisting the knob on her front door.

I couldn’t help but crack a smile, “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

[jenovahh]

Wild Greens Choke Tended Gardens - Ch. 2 - Antirrhinum (Snapdragon)

This...dream again.

A sky of fire and brimstone.

The air is naught but ash.

Robed figures run for their lives.

A terrible beast lands before him, its many eyes staring him down.

He is without a weapon. Always has been when he dreams of this place.

The beast roars, the people scream, and yet he remains still.

Not out of fear.

Not out of bravery.

“Zenos!”

Someone takes his hand.

It’s so warm in his, so soft.

The monster bellows again, charging an attack.

The hand pulls him out of the way.

“Don’t be so stupid!”

Suddenly he is nowhere and everywhere, time and space stretching out before him in a sea of white. He stands on his feet, dressed in leisurely attire instead of his full regalia.

“What were you thinking?!”

Zenos can’t help but smirk, watching as the dream warps into a lush garden, filled with plants of all kinds, ones certainly not native to Garlemald. The dreamscape tantalizes all of his senses. The vibrant green of the many trees, the feel of the lush earth beneath his feet. The sound of a bubbling creek reaches his ears just as he can taste the freshness in the air.

“I was thinking of when you might show up to rescue me as usual, my friend.” He smiles. Only here would such an action be normal.

“By the gods, you’re so reckless…” his friend sighs, exasperated.

“It is hardly reckless when it has been the same song and dance since childhood.” Zenos murmurs, beginning to walk through the garden. “You know this.” He doesn’t bother to see if his friend follows. He knows they will.

“Careful; one would think you enjoy my heroic efforts.” Their voice is teasing yet...sweeter somehow. More feminine. That's strange, he thinks.

Though he knows it will do him no good, Zenos turns to gaze at his friend, unsurprised that all he sees is mist.

It has always been this way, since childhood as he had said. He would have dreams of the end of a star, of rivers filled with blood, people dead in the streets. Even as a child he had been afraid, unsure what to make of such visions, until he had seen something else like him.

“Don’t be afraid!”

They took his hand then, too.

“I’ll be by your side so it won’t be scary!”

Faceless and formless, he had known this friend since the first time they appeared in his dream, providing him his one and only companion even if it was in his mind. He liked everything about them.

They liked to spar. So did he.

They liked to wrestle. So did he.

They liked to learn about magic, and all kinds of things. So did he.

It was the only piece of childhood Zenos had, born and bred to succeed his father on the Garlean throne.

He chose not to overthink their presence, not wanting to acknowledge whatever implications that this constant mental companion entailed.

Especially when they started being...affectionate.

His mother had passed before he was given the chance to know such comforts, and his father was too busy ruling to do something as simple as give his son a hug. He had known solitude the majority of his life, except for these dreams where he...craved their touch.

As children it had been innocent things such as holding hands as they frolicked through the fields to bone crushing hugs when he would tell them of their accomplishments. Only as he approached adulthood did the tone shift, holding a heated edge he was unfamiliar with.

He hated to admit the fact, not sure when things changed or why they changed. He knew such desires did not come from within; his friend was not a representation of himself. It was almost as if they were their own person, learning and growing with him.

“My friend,” Zenos begins, still staring at their incorporeal form, “what are you?”

It is silent save for the sound of water racing over riverstones, of the wind whistling through the leaves of the trees.

“What do you want me to be?”

The question throws him off kilter, not expecting a question in turn. Pursing his lips for a moment, he thinks of his answer. “You have been my friend since our youth. You are everything I could possibly ask for in a companion, even if you exist only in my mind.”

Their form shimmers for a minute, almost solidifying for a moment. “But what if you have a soulmate?”

He frowns immediately at that, a sense of betrayal weaving through his chest. “You would have me believe in something so preposterous?”

Their form shimmers once again. The dream space begins to warp and tremble, his body feeling heavier.

“Would it be so wrong to be happy?”

He opens his eyes slowly, body feeling heavier than usual. He’d dozed off at his desk again, grunting as he sits up straight, twirling his wrist to release some of the tension.

It is another sunny day in Kugane, able to see the elite walk through the streets below from the comfort of the Garlean consulate. While he had plans he wanted to tend to in Ala Mhigo, his father requested him to be present in the East, and so here he was at the behest of his father. It wasn’t like he had a better way to spend his time.

He hadn’t meant to drift into dreams, lips pulling downward as his sky blue eyes scans over paperwork upon the lacquered table. Sighing, he begins to actually read the documents, seeing more trade routes, more night watch reports, but even then his mind begins to drift back to his dreams.

The concept of soulmates was not new to Zenos. He had heard of it, mostly from savage races, as it was not a common occurrence in Garleans, for they spat at the concept. No amount of destiny could override the value Garlean society held for matches of power, of blending strong, affluent families together. His role as the prince would be no different. His father is sure to have a slew of women of his choosing prepared for him, all of them wealthy, pure blooded, and able to sire an heir.

Zenos was ever grateful for his sire’s continued good health. It delayed the eventuality of having to rule his homeland.

He was thankful he did not have a soulmate, not wanting to be bound to some weakling that was meant for him and him alone. This empty world had already disappointed him enough. Whatever bride he was given could be ignored, much like how his father cast his mother aside. Such a line of thinking filled him with dread and bottomless loathing for the day he would no longer be able to roam the lands in search of worthy prey, forever tied to the cold halls of the imperial palace to rule from a throne.

Something in the reports thankfully catches his eye, leaving him to abandon such a dismal line of thinking. Officers have received word from scouts that the Warrior of Light is making trouble in the Ruby Sea.

The Warrior of Light… he muses. He had heard of them. The one who ended Gaius’ reign thus dumping his occupation in his lap. Savior of Eorzea, ender of the Dragonsong War. 

Eikon Slayer.

Already he could feel his blood rush at the thought of meeting such a powerful foe. Could they be the challenge he had been waiting for?

He had to go and reprimand the Doman wench anyway. He had tasked her with keeping the regions subjugated beneath her heel, only to have the Warrior of Light come and disrupt their hold on the Confederacy, and the Ruby Sea by proxy. If he was quick, perhaps he could even make a slight detour and put himself in the path of this supposed legend.

Standing from his desk he summons a servant to set the preparations of departing for the Ruby Sea in motion. More servants arrive to help him dress in his armor, his thoughts focused on meeting this Warrior of Light. Already he anticipated their duel, impatience sinking its claws into his very being until it became a singular thought.

Unfortunately as the prince, he was required to have an entourage of guards to “protect” his person. He would love nothing more than to track down this legend himself, to enjoy their duel freely. They were more for show if anything, or at least from his perspective, a way to see if those who attempted to approach him would be good sport. Anyone who could be cut down by his guards certainly was not worth his time.

His presence is immediately felt as their ship sails across the sea, but it is not the only thing he feels. The usually radiant ocean is overtaken by a sudden storm, clouds darkening unnaturally, the seas churning fiercely. His eyes turn to the Kojin island where the eye of the storm stares back peacefully, even as his soldiers yell over the winds for him to go back inside. Their intent was to dock at Onokoro, news of the prince surely being enough to squash any potential uprisings, but those clouds...

“Change course for the isle of the beastmen.”

The soldier next to him sputters, surely seeing the storm as well. “M-My lord,”

“I would not question my motives, lest you desire to show how well you can swim in the open ocean in full armor.” Zenos drones, not even bothering to watch as the soldier frantically apologizes and makes their way to the control room to do as he was told.

The rain pelts against his armor, rolling off the polished metal as they draw closer. The ship is big enough to dock at the raised cliff, knowing that the primary method of entrance is via an underwater tunnel. The beastmen he sees already appear frantic, some of them unconscious upon the ground making him wonder if it was the Warrior of Light’s doing. The eye of the storm is calmer as expected, but as he turns his gaze to the sky he notices it is because the clouds begin to part.

The guards deter any Red Kojin from getting any ideas, enabling him to look around the isle for the Warrior of Light. That storm was not natural by any means. He knows they are here.

As he crests the slight incline, they find the responsible party for the defeated beastmen. A young girl and a woman stand surrounded by the turtle-like creatures, the girl with her rapier drawn and the other with her fists upraised, the two of them ducking and weaving through their seemingly endless numbers.

One of his guards moves to draw his sword and with an outstretched hand, he ceases their movements. “Hold your fire.” He orders, feeling as if he’s seen these two before. “I believe the guest of honor will not show if we kill them.”

“Of course, my lord--”

“S-Susano is slain!”

He turns as one of the shelled beasts comes running as fast as he can, not even caring that he nearly bursts through the imperial guard. “S-Susano is slain! Slain by the shell-less one!”

The Kojin all give worried and angered mumbles, the two females eyes finally taking notice of him. “Is that--”

“Zenos?” The blonde one snarls, immediately turning her attention to him. “What are you doing here?!”

While loath to waste his time with this riff-raff, perhaps they can provide him some answers. “The Warrior of Light. Where are they?”

The two women tense immediately, shooting him distrustful glares, immediately going on the defensive. “And what do you want with her?” The younger one hisses, already turning her rapier to him. While weak, even he could admire her tenacity.

“I would be willing to forgive this uprising you’ve started if you can deliver her to me.” Zenos hums, watching as their scowls twist further. “It would be no problem for me to squash this little rebellion underfoot. However, I find myself amenable to cutting my losses, if you can bring me the Warrior of Light.” To help the message get across, he rests his hand upon his revolver. “Something tells me you know her.”

“Because we’ve already met, you fool.”

Attention turns to the newcomer, her blue eyes blazing unafraid as she steps forward. With her robes drenched and her wavy hair all over the place, she looks even worse than he saw her last.

But there is a fire in her eye that confirms his suspicions.

“I’m A’yana Salvia, the Warrior of Light.” She huffs, her tail giving an angry flick. “And you are going to let my friends go, peacefully.”

Zenos can’t help but stare blankly for a moment, unused to the notion that someone felt they could order him around. Especially someone who he had defeated before, granted he also wasn’t in the habit of leaving them alive for them to be so bold a second time. “Oh?” He chuckles, turning to face her fully. There’s not an ounce of bravado in her voice, her stance showing she intends to back up her unspoken threat if he doesn’t release her friends. “Such bravery from someone surrounded by imperials and beastmen. What leads you to believe I would allow your friends to walk away?”

Her eyebrows pinch together as she crosses her arms across her chest. “You had come looking for me, have you not? Sorry to disappoint you once again, but I am the Warrior of Light and the Warrior of Light is me.” She tilts her chin up, looking down her nose at him. “You are strong, but I am willing to lay down my life for my friends. I would do whatever it takes to allow them to escape.”

She is still weaker than him, this he can tell, but there is no denying the set of her jaw, the resolve in her eye. “Tell me then, hero,” he drawls, more interested than he’d like to admit. “The storm that was here but a moment ago. Were you the cause?”

Just as distrustful as her friends, he watches her eyes narrow at him, deciding on whether to tell the truth. “No. It was caused by their primal which I defeated.”

He senses no dishonesty from her, piqueing his curiosity. So, she did live up to her title, the Eikon Slayer. She did not have the strength to best him in battle, but held the power to vanquish a primal…

Smirking, he prepares himself for what he hopes will be a mildly entertaining show. Turning to the beastmen, his tone promises retribution should they fail. “Beastmen. Unless you would have us raze your home to the ground for your failure…” he can’t help but grin as he faces her once again. “....kill them all.”

Hell breaks loose as the beastmen begin to move toward her, the Warrior of Light drawing her globe and beginning to move. Her friends move as well, fighting off the beastmen that begin to attack. His eyes never leave her, observing her each and every move. She is clearly untrained in combat, relying on instinct and adrenaline to keep her head from being cut off. He begrudgingly has to admit that she moves well, moving as if she were a step ahead, confidence in every step she makes as the beastmen fall to her one by one.

Like this, it is easy to see why Eorzea has championed her as such, the Warrior not even breaking a sweat as she fells the Kojin as if they were insignificant obstacles, unworthy of her time.

Is this what he looked like in battle?

“Lyse, Alisaie, run!”

Jolted from his thoughts, he barely moves in time to dodge a spell of hers, though it catches the majority of his soldiers, clustering them together before launching them in different directions. As they gain their footing, he’s surprised to find she’s set her sights on him, knowing just how well their last battle went, and how poorly it could end this time. She seems no less deterred, astrolabe twirling as she slowly dispatches his soldiers.

Such selflessness is wasted on her abilities, he muses, finally drawing his sword. Distantly he hears cannon fire from the North, her friends shouting that the Confederacy has begun to take back Isari. Though obviously reluctant they make a break for it, high tailing it out of the beastmen’s compound.

“Are you so eager to die?” He questions, taking slow measured steps toward her.

“Who said I was going to die?”she sneers, dodging another blow from his men, sending them flying. “All I needed was time.” With an elegant twirl, bright stars blind his vision momentarily, his soldiers groaning in pain. Gritting his teeth, he opens his eyes just in time to see her running away, annoyance hurrying his movements as he takes off after her.

His long strides allow him to catch up effortlessly, drawing his sword to summon lighting that will block her path. Sparks fly as lightning tears through the ground before her, erecting a wall she cannot get past. Her face betrays her feelings, her ire clear on her feline features as he slows to a stop. “I did not think you the type to run.” he calls out to her, enjoying the familiar weight of his sword in hand. “Though I suppose that is the natural instinct of cornered prey.”

“Why are you even here?” She asks, astrolabe still drawn, ears pinned back.

“I had come having heard reports of the Warrior of Light’s presence in these parts…” he hums, watching how her chest rises and falls. Taking a closer look he can see her exhaustion, most likely having used the bulk of her energy subduing the beastmen’s primal. “As I had not read any descriptions of their countenance, I would not have thought a weakling such as yourself could hold the title.”

Her eyes flash dangerously then, and something in him burns bright. He doesn’t know what it is, but he can’t help the smile on his face.

“The Warrior of Light...it makes sense you would run. Surely after being used to vanquishing whatever an enemy sets in your path, you would find yourself lacking after defeat at my hand.”

“Be quiet!” She snarls, tattoos glowing for the briefest of seconds and he hears something snap behind him. He barely dodges a broken piece of coral meant for his head. That’s all the distraction she needs to finally get one spell off on him, the magic nicking his skin uncomfortably before dissipating.

A temper… he ponders, shifting toward her again. “So the Echo isn’t your only blessing...you also have the ability to control vegetation, but not without cost to yourself as I had observed at our last duel.” he muses aloud, giving a swing of his sword. She dodges the wave of magic he sends at her, allowing him to close the gap. She dodges sluggishly, his blade barely slicing the first layer of skin. With a solid kick to her stomach she stumbles, but does not fall. “With blessings such as these it is easy to see why you would struggle against me. You are used to overwhelming your enemies with nothing but pure luck.”

“Shut up!” She roars, tattoos glowing brighter this time as more coral sharpened into knife-like points attempt to skewer him, quick on his feet to evade their attacks. Her eyes shine as he takes in the determination in her eyes, an elation filling him at seeing how desperate she is to kill him.

Her assault doesn’t last for long, her markings ceasing their glow as she collapses to the ground, eyes rolling back in her head. The coral falls to the ground limply, nothing but useless husks without her magic flowing through it.

He moves to see if she’s truly unconscious, until something wet trickles down his neck. Reaching up he removes his helm, the leathery pads of his gauntlets swiping across his skin. Bringing it to his lips, the familiar tang of blood coats the tip of his tongue, the raising of his eyebrows barely perceptible.

Perhaps our gap in power is narrower than I first thought.

His feet move on his own accord, until he stands above her, taking in her fair features. She breathes normally, and while he is no medicus he can still see the exhaustion in her bones. He wonders at her power; what is it’s source? Surely that savage god Hydaelyn cannot bless her with such ability, an ability that seems to take so much out of her. A mystery...

His soldiers finally reach him, having pulled themselves together. “My lord! The savage, have you--” they stop their prattling as soon as they spot her still body on the ground. “Is she,”

“She lives.” he murmurs, eyes not having left her prone form for a second even as he returns his helm to his head.

“Do not bother to sully your hands, my lord. I shall finish,” the soldier doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before he’s slit their neck in a single swipe of his blade, their blood dripping down the metal.

“Pick her up and bring her with us.” He drones, and he can hear them shuffle behind him as they decide who he was speaking to. “Quickly.” he sighs, sheathing his sword as his men move to pick up the unconscious savage from the ground.

He can’t explain his actions.

He did not enjoy killing; it was merely a by-product of battle, a way to punish those who failed him. Such incompetence was not fit to live.

But her…

His eyes have yet to leave her still, blue eyes following her as his subordinates pick her up rather roughly. They split the task between two of them, somehow unable to manage to carry one small woman. It bothers him for some reason.

“Give her to me.”

The two soldiers shuffle back over, one holding her by the legs and another by her arms. He can’t help but roll his eyes even if they won’t see it, stooping to take the woman from their hold and carrying her in his arms. A hunter should shoulder his kill... he thinks, turning to leave the isle.

“M-My lord?”

“Silence. Carrying this savage, this...beast, does not require usage of both of my hands. It would be nothing to sling her over my shoulder and slay you for your ineptitude.” He barks, quieting the soldiers immediately. “I would question Eorzea’s savior-- take her measure.”

Not wanting to be killed for doing something as bold as to question his reasoning, the soldiers all mumble their affirmations and quickly get in formation, making their way back to the docked ship.

His heart feels as if it is racing.

It is a strange feeling, given that even during most of his training he doesn’t even become short of breath. He is in peak physical form, and yet…

He cannot stop himself from clutching the woman in his arms a little closer to his chest.

Even when they board the ship, it is hard to shake the discontent of putting her down in a cell, unsure what to call this magnetism he feels deep within. He deposits her in the holding cell with deceptive gentleness, seeing no need to bind her in chains. They’ve already confiscated her weapon, and there is certainly no plant life for her to manipulate down here.

The Warrior of Light, A’yana Salvia…

Even if uttered within the confines of his own mind, something within him begins to change.