#sinner names are surprisingly hard to come up with

[randomly--accessed--memories]

I think I've decided on Vox's kids' sinner names: Nereus and Ondine

[kurogane2512]

omg femchief!reader x chameleon!!! imagine chameleon sending dirty thoughts and praises in your mind as your working. It becomes unbearable to the point you’d start touching yourself in your office..

“Chief~ i need you so bad right now..~”

As she says this you can slightly hear faint moans…

“Mmh~ Just thinking about you makes me wet~!”

You start to get flustered and now you can’t focus on your work.

OMGGJSMSND THIS GIVING ME BUTTERFLIES BRO LMAOAOAKENFJFJF

This is giving phone sex vibes but somehow even better?!?😩😩

Fem!reader

You were drowned in paperwork since morning, so much so that Nightingale had to come in herself and shake you a little to get you out of your working trance whenever she had to say something. Your focus was impeccable sometimes and since you had a lot of pending work to complete before weekend, you were determined to not be distracted.

Fortunately, not many Sinners disturbed you either. Everyone was surprisingly kind enough to leave you and take care of their own problems, unless it got out of hand of course. But how could Chameleon not decide to toy with you during all this? You first heard a whisper, so close to you ear as if a feather brushed past so you paid no need. Then you suddenly heard a faint call of your name, "Chief....~". It was so loud in your head that you broke your focus and had to look around to see if someone was calling you but your office was empty.

Strange, you thought. Were you hearing things due to stress? Maybe a coffee would be good now. You finally put down your pen and rang up Nightingale's office number to ask for a coffee when suddenly the same voice resounded in your head again.

"Aah~ Chief....!"

You retracted your hand from the telephone and held your head. You knew that voice well.

"C-Chameleon?"

"Oh, Chief~ Come here and do me, I need you so bad mhm~"

You were not mistaken. It was definitely Chameleon and she was.... moaning? Was she actually moaning in your head?

"Aaah! Chief! R-Right there~ Yes.... oh you are so good at this!~"

She was pleasuring herself thinking of you. But was she actually doing it or simply playing with your head?

"Ahn~ Fuck me, Chief! Yes....I'm cumming~"

Your face was red up till your ears. Her sultry moans and whimpers kept ringing in your head, making you turned on as well. You didn't realize when your hand roamed down your pants to unbuckle the belt and slip inside your underwear. You circled your clit while pinching your nipples through your shirt, leaning back on the chair and softly moaning. How could she turn you on with her voice alone? No, it wasn't just her voice. Somehow, you could vividly picture having sex with her in your head, doing exactly the things she moaned out about.

You could see her on top of you, clothes discarded as she straddled your lap and your hands played with her breasts. You could see how she held on to you as she rode your fingers, throwing her head back in ecstasy every time you hit the right spot. You could see how you pinned her on the bed and proceeded to pound into her deep and hard, making her see stars as she cried out her release. You imagined all of that as you fingered yourself and released as well, resting on the table as you breathed out and came to your senses.

You were astonished. She was too much. You quickly fixed yourself and cleaned up before walking to Chameleon’s cell to talk with her. She was leisurely sitting on the bed and watching some movie, all innocent and unaware of what she just did in your head. Oh, but you knew she was well aware. You knew that she knew why you were here, why your face was all red and your breath haphazard.

"How may I help you, Chief?~" She asked with a smirk as she stood up and watched you come inside, oh she was so excited for what was to happen.

[ptn-imagines]

Can I get headcanons of Raven,Zoya and Hella(platonic) reacting to fem cheif acting nochalant to Hella calling her mom

(coughs) I'm alive! Here's your request and thank you for your patience.

Raven, Zoya and Hella reacting to f!Chief reacting nonchalantly to being called “mom” by Hella

Raven

Honestly? Raven’s first reaction is to laugh. Really, really hard. It’s funny to her.

When her giggles fade away, though, she’s all smiles and sparkles, as Raven tends to be.

“Aw, isn’t that adorable, Chief? Looks like you’ve got a chick all of your own, now!” She will keep making comments like this, and god knows that neither Chief nor Hella will be able to stop her.

As something of a mom herself, not to mention a teacher, Raven likes to give Chief “parenting tips” from then on out. Some of them are a little silly. Some are things that Chief already knew. And other things are complete godsends that Chief has no idea what she’d do without.

Also, if she wasn’t inspired to write parenting help books before, she is now. As with most of Raven’s self-published textbooks, they fall into the category of “surprisingly useful but lacking in professionalism.” Still, Raven’s advice certainly won’t hurt a child… but Chief nevertheless figures it’s best not to mention how helpful the book actually is.

Raven also definitely drags Chief into chats about their kids. She’s a proud mama bird and will brag about Crache and her achievements until the cows come home. Naturally, she’s also incredibly supportive and proud of Hella, too – she’s her teacher, after all!

She will also absolutely prod Chief into accepting the title of “mother” to other kids in the Bureau. Hecate, Oliver, Dolly, OwO, Yanyan, Lynn, you name it and she’s already assigned the role of “Chief’s kid” to them. Good thing Chief had pretty much already accepted that role!

She also makes jokes that Chief can be Crache’s stepmom from time to time. Crache hates it. Raven’s kids, when they find out, won’t shut up about it. It definitely fuels the Raven x Chief gossip train that’s going on in her class.

Zoya

After the shock fades, the first thing Zoya feels is… warmth. She feels warm and fuzzy inside.

At first she has absolutely no idea why she’s feeling like this, and it baffles her. Okay, Chief didn’t care that Hella called her mom, that’s cool, why is it making her feel all weird inside?

It takes a few days for it to click with Zoya that what she’s feeling is affection. Seeing the Chief be accepted into a maternal role, caring for a young Sinner, made Zoya feel affectionate towards her.

Okay, great, she figured out what the weird feeling was, but Zoya still doesn’t understand the why. She thinks to her own life as a point of reference. Sure, Horo looks up to her as a role model, but Zoya always saw herself as a big sister/mentor figure to her, not so much a mother.

The answer, when it finally comes to her after another few days of dwelling on it, hits her like a bolt of lightning. It completely freezes her in her tracks as she tries to process the realization she just had: she felt affection because the Chief behaving motherly towards Hella? She found it cute.

Frankly, this realization opens a whole can of worms that Zoya is not emotionally equipped to face right now, so she seals that can right back up. But some things can never be fully repaired to the way they once were, and well, Zoya tries to comfort herself by thinking that surely she isn’t the only person who thinks of the Chief in such a manner. Surely.

Hella

Hella is, in a word, mortified. It was embarrassing enough that she’d accidentally called Chief mom, and it was even more embarrassing that Chief had accepted it so easily!

She still tries to play it off as an accident or a joke, though. She would rather the ground open up and swallow her than be seen as Chief’s daughter for real! Besides, she’s a proud, independent Syndican who relies on herself. She doesn’t need a mother!

…And yet… there is that tiny part of her, that part of her that made the slip-up in the first place. The part that she hates. That part of her that is still a terrified little girl, who wants nothing more than the comfort of a maternal figure. No matter what Hella tries, she can’t fully deny that that part of her exists.

…but Ninety-Nine is the only family she needs, so the idea that Chief is a mother to her is ridiculous, and anyone who ever believed that crap is stupid!

But… the slip-ups happen more and more often, and each time, Chief takes it in stride. Every time, it makes Hella burn with embarrassment, but as time goes on, she begins to realize that… hey, this isn’t so bad.

Of course, she still has her pride. She’ll never openly admit to see the Chief as a mother in a public setting. But in private… Well, maybe then it’s okay to willingly call the Chief “mom,” and to cling to her for comfort after a nightmare and to otherwise be vulnerable around her.

Of course, she still makes sure that Chief knows that if she leaks a word of this to anyone, she’ll bash her stupid skull in! (The whole Bureau knows anyway, but not because of Chief, and they’ll feign innocent for the sake of keeping her skull whole and un-smashed.)

[bearw-me]

Greetings Mal, as you have requests open I humbly request a Emily x g/n! reader romantic oneshot. Primarily fluff but some light angst with a quiet/pessimistic reader. Based around a wingless angel who supports Emily's ideas and helps her whenever possible. They have developed some feelings for Emily but would never admit or believe it to be a mutual feeling, she finds out through someone else and ultimately makes the first move.

ugh, i adore your request! especially the reader- consider me excited to write this one!

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

𐐒 includes : emily x gender neutral!reader 𐐒 cw : fluff, slight angst, confessions 𐐒 summary : having feelings for an angel is an impossible feeling, especially if she's as perfect as the seraphim Emily, and your an angel without wings. 𐐒 word count: 1.3 k 𐐒 note : lowkey proud of this

Angels, whenever the word popped up into your head, it was always the image of her: A beautiful blue, bubbly seraphim who's name the heavens must've envied. . . at least. . . you know you did.

"Hey! I was looking all over for you!" Emily, as if right on cue, appeared from the clouds over head, her big blue eyes giddy with excitement as she hovered in front of you.

"Oh. . . what for?"

"Come on silly! I thought you knew everything," she teased, taking your hands in hers, swaying them as she continued "We have a meeting with Sera and the other angels today! I think it might be about. . . about uh. . ."

'Her hands are so soft. . . and small,' you smiled to yourself, trying not to focus too hard on the contact with her. Instead, you tried to follow along with her words.

Right. . . a meeting with the other angels.

Emily leaned in closer, the highest pair of her wings fluttering around your faces as she whispered "I think it might be about hell and the sinners!"

You smiled as the young seraphim broke out into a squeal, throwing her hands up as she continued her hovering dance around you.

"I can't believe it! Oh this is so exciting! Come on!" She took your hand again, firm but just as surprisingly soft as the clouds.

You lifted a foot from the ground, your heart, your head, oh heavens- everything in you wanted to go up there into the sky with her. . . but-

"I'm sorry Emily," you gently let go of her, letting your eyes flit away from her confused expression. "I don't think I'll be attending this one?" You cringed at the forced excuse. . . and at how unconvincing your tone was.

"What do you mean?" This time, when Emily approached you, she let her feet kiss the ground, tucking her wings into herself. "I could really use you there you know."

She didn't try touching you, but you could tell she could see your hesitance.

Lute, Adam, Peter. . . even Sera. Especially Sera. They would all be there, obviously.

You took a deep breath, nodding before you could think against it. I mean, one glance into her eyes and you knew it was over "I'll have your back in there Emily. . . you know I always do."

She bounced on her toes, building up to a ginormous life squeezing hug that you were not against!

"Oooooh! Thank!! You!!!" She pulled away, just far enough for you to see her smile stretch ear to ear. "We'd better hurry, I think it starts at noon!"

"Uhm, actually Emily, I'll walk, I have something to do. . . but I promise I'll be there!" You waved awkwardly, watching the bubbly angel swiftly take off towards the clouds.

She seemed to have left with all your good thoughts. You sighed again, a long drawn out, achy breath.

They'll all be there.

Adam, the first man in heaven and the most often to point out your flaws. "How the fuck could you be an angel without wings? What are you? Fallen?" The memory of his words stung, and as you walked towards the grand hall, you didn't even notice the fact you kept rubbing your shoulders.

Lute, the second in command who'd always look down the bridge of her nose at you. She didn't say much to you when it could be helped. . . maybe she respected your position next to the seraphim's.

You winced, seeming to drag your feet the longer the walk took.

Sera.

No matter how hard you tried, with Emily, with her. . . it was written all over their faces:

How could a wingless angel like you ever compare?

Entering the grand hall wasn't too bad, you took an empty spot near the door, the meeting already far into its session.

"They are requesting another meeting with heaven," and angel, down in the center spoke up to the surrounding balconies. Seraphim's and saint's alike glaring down grimly at the request.

You tuned out, hoping to stay a little bit smaller where you sat, and absentmindedly letting your gaze flicker about the room.

Just across and at the front of the room, the two most familiar seraphim's sat, Emily's round face and eyes twisted into hard features as she listened onward.

She was so passionate about things like this. Its probably the thing you admired most about her. . . that she could just say whatever she wanted and stand tall against whoever opposed her.

Maybe that's why you took the position to work for her and assist her anyway you could. Too bad the young seraphim caught you muddled in your own thoughts today.

"This could lead chaos!" The speaker warned, almost pleading the heavens not to go through with this next request.

Muttered and anxious whispers filled the room, a cacophony of unease. . . and that's when Emily noticed you staring at her.

Her bright blue eyes softened for a split moment before her eyes fluttered to the ground.

'That seemed. . . weird,' and just like that, another sickening thought appeared to taunt you, 'Maybe what the other angel's were saying about my wings finally got to her!'

But maybe. . . maybe it was true. Or maybe what they say about your wings, or lack thereof, was true. Maybe it was supposed to hold you back from her. From telling her the truth about how you felt.

With a hard swallow, you kept quiet, trying to engulf yourself in the meeting now that it mattered more than your feelings.

"No! Hell deserves a chance! We need to hear them out!" Emily's lite voice reminded you of bells, even when she was angry.

The young Seraphim pleaded to those around her, then her eyes tilted up to Sera, who already looked conflicted.

"They deserve to be heard out at least! Don't they?"

"Of course they do."

The room suddenly spun around to you and you felt your heart drop into your stomach. Did you really just say that?

You turned to Emily, who's smile appeared brighter than the sun "They deserve to be heard out," you repeated.

"I can't believe you did that!"

"I can't believe I did that," you repeated again.

After the meeting had ended, Emily pulled you to the side as the other angels poured out of the grand hall; out of earshot, almost out of sight.

"Aw!" Emily's hands snapped up to her lips in a perfect prayer.

Your self-pity and anxiety washed away the moment you noticed her eyes were welling up with tears.

"Thank you!" She threw her hands over your shoulders, embracing you tight "Thank you so much for saying that in there!"

You let your hands stay glued by your side, afraid to hug her back for many reasons, but appreciating it nonetheless.

"Oh!" Emily recoiled from the hug, making your heart clench again at the empty feeling you had "Someone told me something today. . . It was kind of. . . erm." She trailed off, rolling her eyes as if she were looking for the right words.

"Emily, I don't want you to think-"

"I know!" She took your hand into both of hers, pulling you down so that you could lean down closer to her "Someone already told me! And I'm not telling you whoo~"

"What. . . are you talking about?"

The nervousness came from. . . well it came from just about everything, welling up like a thunderstorm around your heart.

What did she know about you? What did the angels tell her?

"I just wanted to say thank you, for everything you do! and give you this," she said simply, before propping herself up onto her tip-toes and placing a soft, drawn out kiss to your cheek.

[markerofthemidnight]

Do you know when the next part of the One-Winged Angel fic will be out? Its really good and I keep checking back similar to how if you keep checking the fridge every 5 minutes it will magically restock with more food 👉👈

Well, I’d be happy to answer!

Honestly… I’m not exactly sure when I can get it out. Honestly it’s, like, 60-80% finished depending on how long the end bit gets, so… I could mayyybe get it out by tomorrow if I pushed it but that’s assuming I can muster up the motivation.

I’m the kind of person who simply doesn’t operate according to schedules. I do things when I feel like it, and that’s the end of things. However, I’ll try my best to get myself back into the mood to write it again!

Here’s an itty-bitty preview to thank you for your patience:

***

Chapter 3 - Room 40

Lute awoke from uneasy dreams to find that her head was throbbing. It wasn’t as bad as it was last time she was awake, and her legs felt a lot better now- as well as her wing, though not by much- but it was still painful.

She got up, finding it surprisingly difficult to raise her head, as it had become mysteriously heavier than normal. When her hand reached to her head, she felt a familiar yet strangely different sensation: the horns of her mask.

Right, she never actually removed her helmet, did she? The face was knocked off, but she certainly still had it on by the time she tore off her wing….

When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a dim, expensive-looking room covered with mahogany furniture amidst scarlet wallpaper. She’d never seen a room like this in her life… but it reminded her of the lobby, the hotel lobby where she lost her wing.

Did that Sinner… take her to the hotel? No, no way: the hotel collapsed- very nearly with her inside. She couldn’t actually be there anymore: it was impossible.

As she thought hard looking for an answer, her hand grasped the mask’s horns again… and she felt something that made her stop in shock.

She felt her hair. Right next to one of the horns. Rough, dirty, probably stained with dry blood.

Her hair was feelable through the mask. But… how? The only was that was possible was if… if…

As she felt the horns one more time, she noticed that they felt… detailed. She could feel every tiny line from the keratin that made horns up: real horns, not fake ones.

…She had grown horns. Real horns.

Like a demon.

A monster.

A Fallen.

***

Now, of course, this preview takes up like… 10% of the chapter, at most. It’s also like… a quarter through, I think? The chapter actually opens with a surprisingly light-hearted scene with Charlie and Vaggie. Two fun facts:

The chapter’s title, Room 40, was naturally named after the number of Lute’s new room in the hotel. However that room, in turn, was named after the fact that 40 is apparently a biblical number associated with trials, change, and fresh starts. It’s why the Great Flood lasted 40 days.

The opening sentence of this scene was inspired by the opening sentence of Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis: “As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.” (that does not happen to lute here but at the same time the horns aren’t the only change she went through overnight… remember how much it was stressed in Chapter 2 that her legs weren’t feeling so good?)

And in case you’re wondering, no, my fics usually never have this much thought put into them.

I’ll see you when the next chapter comes out!

[badgerwithagun]

I have an annoying problem. Like many of the degenerates on this twisted site I sometimes try to make up characters to interact with the actual characters in a show. I’m not great at it, but it passes the time. However, I have now created an OC I utterly adore and want to do more with. The only problem is he’s a Hazbin Hotel OC, and there’s less than 10 episodes for me to insert him in. His name is Sir Marius, he was a crusader knight. He, just like many other crusaders went off to Jerusalem because the church said God wanted them to kill a bunch of people. This turned out to be innaccurate. He killed a bunch of innocent people, only to be kidnapped by some survivors from a destroyed town, who after burning him emotionally by pointing out that no god who loved humans would order this, then burned him literally. On a large pile of wood. Can you blame them? He ended up in Hell and decided the only way to atone for his sins was to defeat the Devil in single combat. This obviously didn’t work, but surprisingly each time he was just thrown out instead of being gloated over and destroyed. After being thrown so far and hard he broke through the surface layer and entered the catacombs beneath Pentegram city (it’s been there since the dawn of hell it’s definitely been rebuilt many times) he found a creature. A Great Wyrm of the ancient world, contained in a magical bubble by some sinners. After freeing the beast he and it come to an understanding, and he rides the titanic serpent to his destiny, breaking down the castle walls and entering the Prince of Darknesses chamber. However it turned out the reason Lucifer couldn’t be bothered to destroy him was because he was moping over the loss of his pet, which Sir Marius just found. He was given a job as keeper of the royal menagerie, and it turns out delivering baby acidic giraffes gives a far greater feeling of accomplishment than being raised as a weapon. He met Charlie when she was a tiny child, and became very attached to her. With Lillith’s disappearance, Lucifer’s descent into duck based depression and Charlie seeking independence, he takes it upon himself to serve as his bodyguard (whilst subconsciously seeing her as the daughter he never had. You can’t judge your all off drawing OCs frenching Alastor) He thinks Vaggie and Charlie would be an adorable couple but doesn’t know they are in a relationship. When he finds out he will be shooketh and wonder if every time they asked to be alone it was so they could make out. He sometimes proofreads Niftys fan fiction whilst feeling guilty.

He could be described as Asexual, but he just describes himself as a charred corpse in cased in armour forged from regret and dark magic, so sex isn’t really on his mind. He does however have a girlfriend, an ancient, terrifying skeleton creature that doesn’t speak English and is probably among the first sinners to reach hell. They meet up and have picnics in the forsaken mountains every now and then. I keep trying to insert him into Helluva boss, but that would mean giving him more friends and I can’t do that.

[mediadiscord]

Hellboy's Back For Another Go Around

I can't believe I'm saying this but in the past almost two decades we will have 3 different actors portraying Hellboy. The first was in 2004 with Hellboy being protrayed by Ron Perlman which was amazing and I am a huge fan of it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kA9vtXbbhVs Four years later we got the sequel with Ron Perlman coming back and it too was a fun movie. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yjivaeh5YOk That was it until about 2019 where the popularity of Stranger Things dropped David Harbour into the role in the 2019 movie Hellboy. That movie was not very good and Dre and I recorded our review in the parking lot after we saw it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GTp04EmrKA Surprisingly the majority of the people who saw the movie didn't like it as well and all parties involved decided to not move forward with another sequel. The need to do more Hellboy movies must have been someone's dream, because it was recently announced that we are getting a new Hellboy film that will kick off a new series ove movies, if it works, featuring a young Hellboy portrayed by Jack Kesy. This does leave room for the actor to age as he would, but not age out of doing the role. In my mind I feel like we're going to have a more agile and fast moving Hellboy if he's going to be portrayed to be younger. The new movie will be based off of the three part comic series of the same name The Crooked Man. If they do a pretty much panel to screen adaptation then each comic could take up thirty minutes which would make this movie around 90 minutes. Not quite a story heavy movie, but probably filled with action. I like Hellboy as a concept, I like the world he lives in, the people he interacts wtih and the villains he fights. I haven't read too many Hellboy comics, but from what I did read The Crooked Man seems to be an interesting choice for a villain As in life Jeremiah Witkins possessed in death his abilities to capitalize on misery, to drive hard bargains and to corrupt others to his way of thinking. He had gained in death the ability to teach witchcraft to others, give at least one person eternal youth, telekinesis, the making of illusions and to raise as undead some sinners buried in the churchyard. Most likely he also had a direct hand in the crafting of such magic items as Tom's lucky cat bone, the horse's bit, and the witchballs. Fandom When the trailer comes out I'll have a better idea what they keep from the comic and what they add and I'll do a follow up on what he looks like and what characters are included. Read the full article

[whaleofatjme1920]

In a Mirror Image (Eyeless Jack X F!Reader)

🌸 In a Mirror Image

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, language, cheating (both physical but it's not like, in your face, and emotional)]

Part 1

The flowers that grow like weeds in your lungs bloom thicker and thicker every day. Your vision clouds with blue more often than not, and you can’t think about anything but the blossoms and blood that paint the bathroom with a hue you’re already much too used to. It’s a painful existence, and it’s getting worse. One of the most wretched parts? You’re deteriorating so fast that your vision no longer services you. You are blind, unrendered to see. You still choose to live in a delusion, and you are amongst the only who choose not to acknowledge it.

By now, everyone knows but only one other than you refuses to acknowledge it.

You hear Hoodie arguing with Jack more often than not. It seems the blond haired proxy is angry over what Jack has done to you and because he knows what Hanahaki does to those it takes root in.

“You’ll fucking kill her,” Hoodie seethes as he gets in Jack’s face for the fourth time this weekend. “Look at her-”

“I am!” Jack shot back, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Who are you to come in here and speculate on something that you’re not a part of?” He growls. Normally, Jack likes talking to Hoodie, but not when Hoodie’s on a mission to prove Jack a sinner.

“I wasn’t even aware you still had one,” Hoodie retorts through grit teeth. “I can’t believe you. Look at the flowers Ja-” and before he can continue tearing into Jack, he hears your bedroom door open.

While you still share the room with Jack, neither of you are in it at the same time. You’ve taken residence up on the living room couch with Kate and Jack more often than not stays with Leia. The room you share is usually empty, much like your heart.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Hoodie suddenly greets you as you tiredly walk into the kitchen where the two men had previously been in a standoff. “Did you sleep okay?” He asks, voice so much softer and gentler with you than what he had just been using.

You shake your head as you take a seat at the table. “I can’t sleep,” you say.

Hoodie’s brows furrow in sympathy before they knit in frustration when Jack sits next to you. He watches as Jack snakes his arm around you before he presses an empty kiss to the side of your head.

“No?” Jack says in a sickly saccharine tone. “I’ll see what I can do about that. Does that sound good to you?”

You nod slightly, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “That sounds good,” you murmur back.

“Anything for you,” he hums as he pulls you in closer to his side.

“You disgust me,” Hoodie hisses to Jack as he gets up and pushes in his chair roughly, making the table bounce. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jack for a second as he leaves, roughly slamming the front door behind him.

“What was that about?” You ask, feigning innocence. You refuse to open your eyes to the situation you are in.

“He’s having a bad day,” Jack answers. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he hums as he presses another kiss to the side of your head.

The butterflies in your stomach are dead, but the flowers blood evermore.

“You’re still sleeping out here?” Kate hums as she takes a seat next to you on the couch. She looks exhausted and she’s covered in blood. Her mask is cracked too.

“I guess,” you yawn as you shift slightly from your not so comfortable position. “How has your day been?” You ask as you reach for a glass of water only to see it’s not there.

“Let me,” Kate says as she gets up once more. She knows you’re getting worse. After getting you a bottle of water from the fridge, she comes back to your side. “I’ve had a busy day. Met with an independent named Nyein. They remind me of a big cat,” she finally answers as she opens the water bottle for you.

You take it and begin to slowly sip from it - it stops the flowers from blooming ever so slightly. Your airway opens just a little bit. “Do they now?”

Kate nods as she flips mindlessly through the channels. “They said they’re falling in love with a human. Bad business,” Kate winces, her dark eyes watching you carefully. “I hope they don’t…”

“It’s bad business,” you suddenly say as you feel petals fill your mouth. You cough slightly and the small little forget-me-nots fall into your lap, thankfully free of blood this time. You take one of the flowers into your fingertips and observe it gently. “I hope they’re okay.”

Kate puts her hand on your thigh, lightly squeezing before finally settling on the early evening news. “You wanna burn these blue fuckers?” She asks as the flowers in your lap remain stagnant save for the buds that unfurl at an alarmingly fast pace.

You feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. “Yes.”

Morbid, your flowers have been springing up everywhere. They’ve infested the temporary house. So, you and Kate went around the place, plucking every single one before starting a bonfire in the backyard.

Toby, who considers himself a bit of a pyromaniac, was immediately summoned by the fire the two of you had cast in the backyard. He’d been out on a grocery run, and honestly, he had wanted to get out of the house.

The dynamics of the house had become uncomfortable to him. What with Leia and Jack sneaking off together and you coughing up a full greenhouse, he has been stressed. Toby can’t stand Jack and Hoodie arguing all the time as it reminds him of the life he tried to escape, and Masky can offer so much but ever since he renounced his love for Jay by force… It’s been hard. Toby knows it’s been hard for everyone involved.

He crosses through the house, sneers at Leia’s room, and then exits through the back to the scent of fire. He sees Kate’s arm around you as the fire blazes slightly blue.

“W-What are you g-gals up to?” He asks, coming to your other side so you remain in the middle.

“Burning stuff,” Kate nonchalantly replies. “You care to chuck anything in?”

Toby glances at you as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. “If I d-d-did, I’d be u-under c-charge for killing a-a-another under the O-Operator’s care,” he muses. He’s referring to Jack, of course. He takes in the scent of burning plant matter and blood and frowns when he remembers it’s yours. His hand reaches yours and squeezes gently.

You squeeze back.

Your experiences with Leia are lukewarm at best, and cold at worst. She’s something, she really is something. There’s moments when no one is in the temp house with you except for her alongside you, and those moments are tense, sharp, like a knife and burn colder than the depths of the sea.

The most memorable conversation you’ve ever had was the one that triggered a domino effect that would lead to a black hole in your chest.

“You’re still up?” Leia’s honeyed voice questions softly as she takes a seat across from you on the back porch at the glass table.

You find it more stifling inside so you choose to spend your time out. The weather is warm, afterall. The sun shines and fluffy clouds the size of whales swim overhead. You have a glass of pink lemonade made from a pouch Hoodie and Kate had picked up earlier. You find that the tang is enough to keep the flowers down.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” You say in passing before you sip from the glass. You enjoy watching the rabbits in the backyard. They hop around without a care in the world.

She begins to thread her fingers through her long silver hair, braiding it. “I just think you should be resting,” she says. “You look so tired these days-”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Touched a nerve,” she sighs. “You know you’re getting worse, right?”

You shoot her a glare, but you know she’s right. You’ve actually been holding out surprisingly longer than most people with Hanahaki Disease. Most people succumb to it within a few weeks of coughing, but you’ve managed to hold out for damn near an entire year. That’s almost unheard of. You’ve been hacking up flowers, their stems, roots and blood ever since Leia came into your life.

Everyone tells you that you’re getting worse, but you should have been dead months ago.

“Stop it,” you growl.

“You’re killing yourself,” she continues. “You could just… Let it all go, y’know?” She hums as she continues to fishtail her silver strands. “Renounce your feelings for him and save yourself.”

You grip your glass and set it back down roughly on the table. “That is literally none of your concern,” you repeat, eyes narrowing at the blue eyed beauty across from you. “Acting like you care-”

“I do, though,” she cuts you off. “I know that the Slender Man has big plans for you, but with you wasting away like this… You’ll never live long enough to see them through.” She flashes you a look of concern, but you can tell it’s fake. It shines like pyrite.

“What, so you can take my place just like that?” You bite back. “You can’t even wait until I’m fucking dead?”

Leia giggles and you hate to admit that it sounds pretty. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Daddy always did say I got what I wanted.” Her eyes drift off and you’re able to see she’s no longer thinking about you, but someone who once loved her. She finishes the braid. “Happy six years to you and Jack. Give him all my regards, won’t you?” She stands up, eyes the rabbits feasting on the clover in the grass, before she plucks your half empty glass from in front of you.

“Leia-!”

“It’s not like you need it,” she chuckles.

“It’s a special day,” you said to Masky, a small smile on your face. “It’s our six year anniversary.” Your posture changes to attention as he closes the door softly behind him. He still smells like cigarettes, but it’s a pleasant scent you’ve found comfort in where others find it a nuisance.

Masky put a smile on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. “You need me to draw a portal or something for you?” He holds his arms open to you as you fall into them, part because you’re so weak and secondly because he knows you need the affection - even if he can’t feel it.

You feel light come to your eyes as you nod after leaving a note for Jack in your shared room on his nightstand.

‘Dear Jack, happy six years! I’d wait for you to get back, but I have a surprise for you at the field you gifted to me for our first anniversary. I await you with happiness. Love, R.’

Masky drew the portal in the living room, a mess of swirling cloud-like silvers and blacks before he laid eyes upon the place you once shared only with Jack. “It’s super pretty,” he says, dark eyes scanning over all the wildflowers. There’s weeds on the path, like no one has cared for it in a while. ‘How poetic,’ he thinks. ‘It’s an allegory for your decayed relationship with Jack.’

“No it’s not,” you giggle as you bring Masky down one of the weed and chicory covered paths to the gazebo. “But it’s special to me,” you hum as you take a seat.

Masky follows beside you. He doesn’t take a seat, mostly feeling it wrong to impose on a space that is Jack’s despite his respect for him falling so far from what it used to be, but takes in the scent of dying flowers all the same. It’s summer, and instead of the sun warming the soft petals, it’s burning them. When you cough up more flowers while waiting for the man who still holds your heart (and refuses to return it) you’re less than pleased to see that they blend in with the untamed mosaic.

“Are you still tired?” Masky asks softly as he lights up a cigarette. “You can rest, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

You glance over to Masky before you rest your head in your hands, wondering where your lover is. You listen to the wind as it blows through the leaves. You listen to Masky’s hum, and eventually, you fall asleep.

You wake back up sometime during the night in your bed and not in a position you normally sleep in. It looks like whoever delivered you back here was extra careful with handling you. You only wake up because Jack has accidentally turned on the light.

“Shit, my bad,” he apologizes, quickly plunging the room back into darkness. “Did I wake you?” He knows he did.

“No,” you lie. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” That was the most rest you’ve had in months. “Where have you been?” You ask quietly, still choosing to remain buried in the sheets.

Jack slides into bed next to you and gets comfortable. He smells like perfume you don’t wear. Through the faint light of the hallway that peeks under your door, you can see he’s got dark marks on his neck and jaw. “Leia wanted to show me her childhood home. Place isn’t run by Zalgo anymore, so we took a trip out there.”

“Did you now?” You hum as you feel tears prick your eyes.

Jack can see you in the dark. His vision at night far surpasses a human’s. He just chooses not to acknowledge it. Jack knows that his relationship with you is gone, and that you’ve been coughing up flowers for the past year. He knows, and it hurts him. Hurts him deeply that he’s the one causing you such pain, but at the same time, he’s a coward. He chooses not to let you go cleanly because his relationship with Leia is so finite.

He knows she only wants him because at the time he was unattainable. Now that she has him, it is only a matter of time until she does to him what he’s done to you. He understands that fully, but he refuses to leave the safety net that is you because he is selfish. His feelings for you aren’t nonexistent, but it’s that kind of fondness one has after the deed has been done, a love based on past memory and sentiment rather than what will and can be. It has reached his threshold, and you both are too caught up in security rather than what is healthy.

“I did,” he says as his mind rushes a mile a minute. “What did you do today?”

You wonder if you should answer that honestly or not. Would he even care? “I stayed here today, nothing special.” You feel the flowers unfurling in your lungs.

Jack hums once more, his back now facing you as he slowly succumbs to sleep.

You met Masky in the bathroom again, hacking your lungs and more of those fucking flowers up into the bathrub and the sink. Hell, you even got some in the toilet. Your body is growing weaker and weaker by the day. The fact you’ve held out for a year is astronomical, but you know you’ll be being taken from it eventually. No one survives Hanahaki when their lover’s feelings aren’t returned. It either gets returned, or you lose them all entirely.

He almost lost you. You broke the mirror when your body went limp as the vines and flowers crawled out from your lungs, through your esophagus and out of your mouth. If it was an art installation piece, Masky might’ve thought it beautiful, but the fact you went cold and limp and the flowers were blooming at a rapid pace - one he thought he couldn’t keep up with.

Masky, despite not being able to really feel anything, panicked as he took you into his arms. Did he genuinely care for you? No, but he cared to whatever extent the surgery left him with. He fretted because you are under his direct care. He cared so deeply because he too had seen many good proxies and independents lost to it. He cared because a part of him remembered what it was like to have daisies and rhododendrons fill his lungs. Normally, you only have one type of flower to clutter your lungs. Science says “just because.” An old wives’ tale says “love truly lost.” In his case? Jay’s death. Nothing was the same after that.

Masky took no hesitation in scooping you up into his arms and running out of the house to the forest to be closer to his boss’s energy. The Operator could fix this should he will it. He didn’t care that the lights in the house went on from his concerned proxies - the ones who had been sick over what befell you since you came into their care. He didn’t dare let you go as he trampled through the brush in the dead of night, using only the moon.

“Sir!” He calls out frantically. “Sir! I need your help!” He can hear your heart get slower and slower.

And just like that, the devoted father came to his child’s cry.

“My child,” he greets, instantly swooping down to look at your pained, flowery visage. “Did I not tell you to handle this?” He chides softly as he takes you into his arms. The sound of static only grows louder and louder.

“I thought she could,” he says, his tone clearly apologetic. “Please, just… Just fix this for me.” He watches the Operator closely as the tall man holds you in his arms.

While you are not exactly his child directly, you are also still under his care. Leia did not lie that the Operator sees good things for you. Without any other words, the tall man is gone, giving you to gods know who to perform a surgery that should be considered the only humane way out.

He returns to the house where Hoodie, Kate and Toby eagerly awaited him, clamoring around him and pecking like hens wondering where you are. He says that you’re in the hands of a god.

You floated in the ether, your body a galaxy. You watched as your chest was torn open - looked like by the hands of an independent that had talons to rival an eagle.

‘There’s so much,’ she says, her mouth turning into a frown as she worked on carefully removing the clusters of flowers. ‘How is she not dead?’

The Slender Man continues to observe, not offering the doctor any words.

The spirals and swirls inside of you continue to swirl before the flowers get torn out, one by one. The roots that cling to your lungs are stubborn, but with every single one removed, the lights of a different universe go out. Snuffed. Lost. The cavity in your chest grows wider until it births a black hole.

‘How much longer?’ The Slender Man asks, watching as the independent calls in another to help her rid your body of weeds.

She shakes her head as she continues to root them out. They bloom under her touch. ‘I have no idea - she must’ve felt so strongly-’

‘They just keep coming up, Sir,’ the other interjects, her four eyes scanning you rapidly.

The black hole begins to suck up the stars and nebulas that comprise your system. It feasts on you, making every part of what made you you, disappear in its depths. It grows larger as it consumes you. It grows heavier. It grows more powerful.

‘We’re almost there,’ the taloned independent says, her wings fluttering softly to emphasize her point. ‘I’ve never seen it this bad before.’

‘Fix this,’ the Slender Man seethes, his patience wearing thin. He knows your body will not be able to handle this much longer.

The black hole reaches its mass, and slowly, it begins to consume you. It overtakes you, bathes you, and leaves nothing left when it has taken all that it can. Your body is empty. You are a shell. Glimpses of blue, grey and reddish brown flash in your mind’s eye and through the eye of the black hole, but you cannot place the feelings you used to associate with them. You remember, but you do not feel.

The last of the flowers are pulled. The taloned independent is exhausted, and her partner is just as tired. ‘Good fucking lord,’ she breathes out, exhausted from the late night gardening session. ‘In all my years I have never seen that awful disease take hold of an individual that bad,’ she notes. Her bird-like eyes watch over your open chest to make sure they’ve fully cleared it out.

A single forget-me-not sprouts, and the Slender Man is the one who plucks it. Just like that, the flowers, their roots, all evidence you’d ever had life inside of you, is gone. Withered and wilted away.

The black hole takes all that you have to offer, and you are back to consciousness, no longer floating, no longer a home to the vibrancy of the universe.

What came after was a bit of a blur. The Slender Man had brought you back to the safe house you had called your home for the past year surprised to see that some of his favored children were still away, waiting for you as the light of the sun rose over the grass. It was a new dawn.

“How is she?” Hoodie asked, immediately springing up.

“Fixed,” was all the Slender Man said, his gaze shifting from you to your group’s leader. “Masky, I’m entrusting you to watch over her as you have been through something similar.”

“Of course,” the dark eyed man says as he takes you gingerly into his arms. “I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else.”

“One last thing,” the tall man in a suit hums. “I am taking Eyeless Jack from this house. Leia will stay with him.”

“It’s probably for the best. We trust your judgment,” Masky replies.

The Slender Man’s head gently cups Masky’s cheek before he leaves them with the sound of static that dissipates as fast as it appeared.

You spent the first few days after your surgery under bed rest. The Slender Man had healed you but he still worried for the state of your lungs. You needed the rest, and you were pleased to have it. Other than that, you felt… nothing. You were numb. Fleeting feelings of happiness or thankfulness, maybe something melancholic would slip through but ultimately, you were nowhere near your old self.

Jack was not allowed anywhere near you. That was one of the first instructions given to him when the Slender Man had popped into his head. While he did not have an opinion on Jack’s unfaithful behavior, he was more displeased with the fact he’d kickstarted the disease in you. The Slender Man thought that if he started it in Leia, then perhaps everything would turn out alright.

So, he sent the two out with a different group - which mostly meant Jeff, someone the Slender Man knew detested behavior that Jack had committed.

It was not easy for Jack to share the same space with Jeff after word had gotten out about you.

“You’re my best friend,” Jeff had sighed one late afternoon, refusing to even acknowledge Leia in the room. “But that? That was fucked up.”

Jack hummed and kept his gaze on Leia, who looked at him with nothing short of adoration. “Sure.”

Jeff sighed once more and stood up. “You don’t feel an inch bad, do you?”

“No.”

“You’re a shitty guy but you’re an even shittier liar.” Jeff broke the door with how hard he’d slammed it on his way out.

Jack really wasn’t the same, that much was apparent. He’d slowly been becoming more withdrawn and quicker to agitation. Of course, he’d take it out on whoever was around to deal with it. Leia included - it just came in a different form. One in which she’d never complained. But when things were rough between them, things were rough.

Jeff could hardly stand the two most days, so when he’d sneak out, it was with his dog to come pay a visit with you. And he hated how dull you had become.

“Masky used to be a lot more personable,” Jeff would say. “Life of the party when we could get him out of his pseudo-philosophical bullshit. Then he hurled flowers and we knew something was wrong.” Jeff’s hand rubs your back gently as a sign of friendship.

“And then?”

“Then he got that stupid surgery and now he’s just existing. No further purpose, just existing because some pale guy says so for his benefit.” Jeff huffed and looked up at the setting sun.

You found your gaze following his.

“What you’re doing right now,” he began. “It’s no way to live.”

“Would you have rather I’d succumbed to it?” You asked, not adding any inflection to whether you’re happy or sad, hurt or even offended.

“In all honesty?” Jeff tore his eyes from the pink and blue sky. “Yeah. This,” he gestured to you. “This isn’t you.”

Everything you’re supposed to feel feels dampened. Instead, you nodded. “Note taken.”

Jeff frowned.

The first time Jack was able to see you after your surgery was nearing halfway to what would have been seven months. It’d been a rough time without him seeing you, mostly because the guilt had been devouring every humanity he had left. Nothing could fill the void.

Like the first time you had met him, it was an accident when you crossed paths once again. You had been clearing out a house one fine winter’s evening, doing what had been asked of you before you got the faintest scent of something familiar and something you once recognized as comforting. You furrow your brows, weapon at your hip as you slowly and quietly come down the stairs.

Your lips are pressed into a thin line as you peer into the living room. Snow falls outside the window.

“Reader?” A male voice asks, turning around from the hallway. “Is that you?”

You tilt your head slightly as you register the mask you’re looking at. Eyeless Jack, mostly just known as ‘EJ’ or ‘Jack’. You’ve never really spent any time with him though outside of little jobs, so you have no idea who this is or why he sounds so happy to see you.

“Uh, hi, EJ?” You say as you walk at a leisurely pace down the stairs.

Jack freezes momentarily as he comes to greet you in the living room. He’d almost forgotten that when the flowers are removed, so too are the memories alongside feelings.”It’s… It’s good to see you,” he says as he looks down at you, wondering if he should touch you or not.

“I guess it’s nice to see you too,” you say. “What are you doing in this area?” You inquire. You vaguely remember the Slender Man not wanting you two to be in the same area.

“Just out and about,” he answers as he scratches at the back of his neck. “Leia wanted to uh, hunt down some of her sisters - I - it doesn’t matter,” he suddenly finishes, feeling much too awkward to even look at you. He knows you don’t remember, but he certainly does. Looking at you… He has a fresh slate.

“That’s nice,” you say in a tone that’s clearly disinterested. You walk towards the living room windows and look into what is now a cold winter’s night. You can see the snow still falling. If you want to make it back to Masky before he gets worried, you’ll need to head out almost immediately. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Jack slowly comes to your side and puts his attention on you, watching as the snow continues to fall. “Yeah, the prettiest,” he says softly, desperately trying in vain to hold back on scooping you into his arms. There’s something scratching at the back of his throat.

You nod once again and zip up your coat. “They’re expecting me,” you say, gearing up to brave the snow.

“Do you need any-”

“No,” you cut him off. You’re not sure why it comes out so harshly, but you figure it must be a remnant of a memory you no longer have access to. “I can manage on my own.” You brush past him and open the front door, eyes momentarily clamping shut at how cold it is before you step onto the porch. The sound of the crunching snow is satisfying.

“Stay safe out there,” Jack says softly, not moving from his place as he continues to gaze out the window at the falling snow.

You turn your head briefly over your shoulder, “and you as well.”

Jack hears the door close and you walk off into the night, back to a group he was barred from. That tickling in the back of his throat grows more and more prevalent until he clears his throat. Feels like there’s something on his tongue. He coughs a few more times before holding his hands in front of his mouth, displeased to see the small blue petals he knows will bloom to full flowers in a time frame that is too long to be considered fair.

[linasofia]

Penance

Part 2

Warnings: ⚠️ Please don’t read this if the thought of a priest breaking his vow of celibacy might offend you. Smut, masturbation (F), oral sex (M receiving), light spanking.

Relationship: Father Quart x Female reader

Summary: After Sunday mass, reader gathers her courage and seeks out Father Quart on his office, but nothing could have prepared her for the punishment he administered.

A/N: This is the second part of this fic. You can read the first part here. This fic doesn’t follow book canon.

The Cathedral’s bells are ringing, calling me home like I’ve been on a long journey and finally arriving at my port. I leave the foggy cold weather and step inside, where the soft and friendly light fills my soul with warmth. Behind me, the heavy wooden door closes with a dull thud. My sinful heart is pounding hard in my chest when I once again walk over the beautiful old stone floor, the sound of my steps now mixing with others. People of all ages talk quietly around me and I follow the flowing stream of bodies to the center of the church and gratefully find myself a seat on a pew placed somewhere in the middle. I nod at the mother and daughter next to me. Just a short greeting as my nerves will not cope with small talk today. The girl looks at me with her big brown innocent eyes and I offer a small smile. Then I avert my gaze and let it wander over the rows of people in front of me, quickly filling the pews. The rich tones of the organ fills my ears and the crowd silences. I close my eyes to block everything out except the music, and it does wonders to my tense body.

My heart leaps in my chest as I hear Padre’s voice. His deep and full baritone wraps around my soul and warms my skin. Slowly I open my eyes and see him standing at the altar, wearing the green chasuble that makes him look even more unattainable. A shiver runs over my deceitful body when the memories of our meeting yesterday wash over me. I didn’t dare to look at the confessional booth when I entered, afraid that my sins would be written in my face. Now, seeing him only meters away, I know for sure my eyes would betray me if anyone cared to look close enough. So I lower my head and try to focus on my own hands, slightly trembling in my lap. As I try to breathe deeply I suddenly know he has found me. I can feel his gaze on me and the sensation makes my heart pick up speed. When I lift my head and meet his eyes, heat spreads on my cheeks and all along my neck, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him. His voice remains the same, but he holds my gaze steadily and it makes the skin on my chest flush under the fabric of my dress. Then he finally breaks eye contact and I let out a soft pant, realising I was holding my breath.

He proceeds with grace and gives a wonderful sermon and I lose myself in his voice again, listening to the enchanting melody that seems to float between the massive stone walls of the Cathedral. I find it impossible to not get affected by his voice and I squirm in my seat every time his gaze briefly lingers on me.

After giving The Dismissal, Padre leaves with a final glance at me. All around, people stand and head for the doors in small groups. I’m in no rush so I remain seated for as long as I can. When I finally stand up and walk, I move slowly along the pews. I find it hard to meet people's eyes and the color of shame is visible on my cheeks. With every step I take, it only seems more clear to me that I’m standing out from the rest of the good people in this crowd. Not only am I a sinner, I performed a sin right here in our beautiful Cathedral, and yet I’m willing to succumb to my lust again.

The administrative part of this huge place is surprisingly easy to find. A golden plate next to the door tells me I’ve come to the right office. Father Quart’s name is written in traditional italic. My heart threatens to escape my chest and I have to take a few deep breaths before I quietly knock on the door.

”Enter,” the answer comes immediately and I push the handle down and open the door. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight in front of me. I have only seen him in his formal clothes before, but now he has changed to a dark blue shirt and a pair of well fitted black trousers. A black leather belt accentuates his hips and the clerical collar signals his status.

”Father,” I greet him softly and close the door behind me.

His office is modest, with a desk, chair and a huge bookshelf. On one of the walls hangs a stunning painting of a landscape that reminds me of the Alps and on the opposite, a big wooden cross.

”You came back,” he says with a questioning tone in his voice and the look in his eyes is so intense I have to lower my gaze to prevent him from setting me on fire.

”Yes,” I confirm, suddenly feeling a hint of insecurity.

He slowly takes a few steps closer to me and he catches my gaze again and scans my face, searching for my feelings, I’m sure.

”Why are you here?” The tone in his voice shifts and he sounds more like the priest I met yesterday. A stern shadow falls over his beautiful face and reflects in his voice. It does sinful things to me and my body answers his question for me with a wave of arousal that causes the skin on my cheeks and chest to blush once more. He notices it of course and his stare falls and rests on the visible evidence of my response.

”Say it. You need to say it out loud,” he demands and is immediately rewarded with a restrained sigh slipping out of my mouth.

”Please forgive me Father, but since yesterday you’re all I can think of and you even came to visit me in my dream.”

”I see.” He takes the final steps and is now standing close to me, invading my personal space in a very inappropriate way and I shiver in his presence. I want him to touch me, I need to feel his hands on my skin.

”And I sinned again last night when I was alone,” I whisper.

He circles and stops behind me. A click from the door's lock is heard and the sound makes my mind fuzzy. It takes an eternity for him to speak, but when he does, he leans in behind me. His lips are just inches from my ear and the husky voice makes my body tremble. The intimacy of the act awakes every longing part of my body.

”After you left yesterday I had to pray for myself, to refrain from taking action on my sinful thoughts. Today I could see fire in your eyes when I spoke and I had to force myself to not get trapped by it.”

He takes a deep breath, filling his senses with my scent no doubt, and his lips brush gently against my earlobe when he continues.

”You make me question my choice to live in celibat. I don’t like that. It makes me want to… punish you.” The last words slip from his tongue barely audible.

His threat makes the spark of fire inside me fully ignite and the ground sways when the blood in my veins turns to lava. It’s almost painful. I close my eyes, and without even thinking I say,

”Please do.”

The sharp inhale between his teeth sends another shiver down my spine and it lands deep in my core.

”Do you really want me to punish you?” He hisses and his warm breath teases the sensitive skin on my neck.

”Yes,” I breathe shortly.

The silence is so thick around us, I’m convinced he can hear my heart racing in my chest. I can feel his fingers tremble when he very gently strokes the side of my neck and pushes my hair to the side. When he spreads his warm hand over my skin he swallows harshly. He adds pressure, then a small push, and when I don’t immediately move, he speaks with a voice that has dropped to a dangerously dark murmur.

”I want to bend you over my desk. That is your penance.”

The surface of the desk feels cold against my skin. My elbows rest on the desk and I place my hands flat down on the smooth surface. I can feel the heat radiate from his body against my leg. With an agonisingly slow movement he grabs my dress by the hem and pulls it up above my thighs to let it rest at my waist. My exposed flesh makes him moan. The sensual vibration dances with the tortured sound from a man who still battles with his feelings and determination.

”You came here without your underwear.” It’s not a question, more of a statement and his voice is thick with want. The universal language of lust is ringing in my ears, even Padre knows it.

”This is the point of no return,” he says quietly as he runs his fingers over the curve of my bum and the anticipation makes it impossible for me to form any type of answer. The skin under his hand stings as he delivers my first punishment. I bite my lower lip hard to prevent myself from moaning his name in the most inappropriate ways. Panting, I feel his slaps bite at my skin, making me susceptible, sensitive and hungry for more. When a loud moan escapes my throat he stops and caresses my flesh gently.

”It’s enough,” he rasps and lets the soft fabric of my dress shield me from him. How I long for him to open the buttons on my dress with his long, delicate fingers, and let it fall to the floor. Just like he did in my dream last night. Slowly, I rise from the desk and turn to face him. He doesn't back away from me, and I meet his glare. Those beautiful blue eyes, that I’ve never before have been allowed to look at from this close a distance, are darker now and the battle inside him is on full display. His gaze drops to my mouth and when I wet my lower lip expectantly I can hear his breathing hitch.

”May I kiss you, Father?” The question falls from my lips before I can stop myself. I want him more than anything and the electrifying tension between us now is more than I can take.

”No.” His answer confuses me deeply and yet he keeps staring at my lips. I open my mouth to question him, but no words come. His large hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch by the unexpected touch. It rests heavily and burns my skin through the fabric. He meets my gaze again and in his eyes I now see determination and he gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

”Kneel.”

I drop to my knees in front of him and bend my head down. When he places his hand on my head I clasp my hands.

”What is it that you want?”

”I want to taste…you,” my voice sounds restrained. I don’t really recognize it myself but his reassuring hand makes my body melt.

Without a word he lifts his hand from my head and I follow it with my eyes to his belt. The huge swelling under his trousers makes my heart skip a beat as I realize that he is just as affected as I am. Patiently I wait for him to unbuckle his belt and open up enough so he can reveal the most secret part of him. My eyes widen when I finally see him. Large and smooth like a perfectly carved marble statue. I hold my breath and just wait.

”You may.” The words echo in my ears and I can’t hide my smile as I lean forward and let my lips greet him. His scent fuels my arousal and I’m helplessly lost when I taste the leaking evidence of his state. The heated skin against my wet lips and exploring tongue makes me forget everything around me. My inner fire begs for attention and finally I can’t ignore it any longer so I give in to the throbbing feeling, pull up my dress and let two of my fingers slip between my folds. Slickness covers them and I know I will not last long. I drag a dark moan from him when I intensify the pace and tighten my lips around him. The sound of my sinful actions is more heavenly than the organ playing before and it pushes me to go deeper. I can feel him getting closer to his relief when he unexpectedly drives his hand in my hair, twining it around his fingers. Effectively he has taken control over me and when he tilts my head further back I meet his eyes. Lust, pure and raw as well as fire dances in them but he waits for me to spill the rest of my sins into his divine goblet, and then he will make me drink it. With a muffled moan I come undone and he follows me quickly, his hand grabbing my hair tightly.

Panting and with his taste on my tongue I remain on my knees, watching him adjusting himself and pulling the zipper up. He extends his hand and I take it, letting him help me on my feet. My face feels flushed and I’m certain my hair is a mess after the rough treatment of his fingers. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering at my cheek. Then he speaks with a voice much softer than before.

”You are a good girl, aren't you?”

”Yes, Father.”

”Then you understand that you can never speak of this. Not even during confession.”

”I understand, no one will ever know.” I utter the words slowly and he nods approvingly.

”You need to leave now.”

”Goodbye Father,” I say with a hint of sadness in my voice. Why does it feel so final? I turn and walk with hasty steps to the door. With my hand on the handle I turn to face him.

”I’ll be in confession service next week, if you want to lighten your heart for me.” His voice holds a softness but in his eyes the small fire flickers again.

”Thank you, Father.”

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Tagging just a few people who might be interested @laurfilijames @lathalea @i-did-not-mean-to @legolasbadass @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @legolaslovely Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[herstarburststories]

Home in a Motel Pool

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Dean and you have some fun in the motel's pool.

A/N: This one took a little longer than I thought, but here it's! Wet Dean in motel pool for us. So canon compliant of me, I know I know. This piece is my submission for @deanwanddamons 's 1st Blogiversary and 2K follower celebration with the prompt in bold. Congrats again, honey! And it's also my part for @anaelsbrunette 's YAS’S POC READER CHALLENGE with the song Home by Depeche Mode. Thanks for the extra time and the marvelous challenge!

Warnings: sex in the pool, p in v, dirty talk

Hunting was brutal. Even when the hunters won, it was a victory with no triumph-- there would be someone dead, always a corpse and loved one weeping as a reminder that you and the Winchesters couldn’t save everyone. You’d come around the town, tell the folks what they wanted to hear to get some information, kill the thing, and luckily save a person or two. It was a page from the emptiest stage, a show for a crowd of three: you, Sam, and Dean. Their own critics and praisers, doctors and patients, sinners and saints.

And if your hands were melted and molded into killing machines, you better pray for your heart to be made of anything but gold. That job didn't leave space or time for tenderness. In order to hunt the prey, you must become ferocious. Attack anything on sight, sing to the loneliest sound that’s the gunshot in the dark, pretend that you’ll make amends only to end up befriending the glorious end of the line that often came too soon.

Thing is, it wasn’t just about that. It would be easier if it was all about perfect soldiers and ultimate killers. A black and white world stained with crimson red would be the ideal, but there were always more colors.

Certainly, it wasn’t the most illustrious job one could get. If anything, it was unfair and underpaid and the seed of violence. Every hunter happened to do things they never could speak about, and all the blood got so normalized to the point red is just the color that pointed you were doing it right. like a good grade or a father’s head pat. Where was the seat on the table for any gentless to sit down in the chaos? In the thankful hugs from the mothers of the rescued children, in the pranks the boys came up with against each other for no other reason but childish nostalgia, in the nights where the three of you stopped and sat on Baby’s hood to watch the stars in silence, in the way Dean’s tough hands touched your cheek so lovingly, in the smell of the Impala’s wheels burning against the streets. Summarizing, when saving people wasn’t reasoning enough, kindness appeared glistening in the middle of the pandemonium, as a paragon of something good in cruelty.

Just like this moment.

‘’My body aches in places I didn’t even know that could hurt.’’ You groaned as you got out of the classic black car, hand on the back of your neck to apply some pressure. Even being thrown against a wall by some demon hurt less than sleeping in the backseat-- sweet mundane problems.

Sam scoffed before adding insult to injury, ‘’At least you were sleeping and didn’t have to hear the same cassette three times.’’

‘’Quit whining, you two. I was the one driving through two states.’’ Dean said in a huff, swirling the keys as the three of you walked towards Bonita Motel’s entrance. He placed an arm around your waist, his own way of showing affection in quietude. Your hand slipped inside his leather jacket’s pocket. ‘’Sides’, Baby’s backseat is comfortable and Zeppelin is awesome.’’

The youngest Winchester refrained his response to an eye roll and a mumble among the lines not when played three times in a row. You, though, turned your head to the side and offered your stubborn boyfriend a cynical smile.

‘’I prefer a bed.’’

He aimed at you with his signature lopsided grin, the one he knew that you loved, while you passed through the main door of the establishment. ‘’That’s not what you said last week.’’

‘’Guys, limits.’’ Sam pleaded, shaking his head at Dean’s comment before turning around. He made a chatter that quickly got old with the woman behind the counter, gaining two keys. The long haired hunter tossed one at his brother, who quickly grabbed it with his free hand.

‘’This is a good motel…’’ You commented as the three walked upstairs, the gleaming blue sight caughting your brown eyes. Your whole body shone as if it was really a beach and not only a cheap motel’s pool. Dean and Sam had never gone to the beach, but you grew up with salt aired weekends, a collection of swimsuits, and a loud family on the sand. You missed the sensation of being held by the ocean so dearly. It wouldn’t be the same, nothing was after you jumped in Dean’s Impala in New York; hustling for some other life, a better one like your parents when they came to the United States. Yet, a pool could be diverting and cozy. Pulling away from your man’s hold, you approached the small chlorine miracle. 

‘’There’s a pool!’’ You pointed out, as excited as a kid in a carnival. ‘’We should take a swim.’’

‘’You guys go. I have some research to do.’’ Sam nodded at the pool with his head, denying the request with a sleight of hand as he opened the lock of the room 209. ‘’Have fun, kids.’’

The green eyed man clicked his tongue when his brother disappeared with the craike of a door. He wasn’t exactly against the idea of jumping in the pool - apart from the germes, but his paranoia wouldn’t mind that much, not after trying endless motel’s bathtubs. The drive here had just been too long. Besides, if that crap motel had a well-cleaned pool, it probably had vibrating beds. He could use a massage. ‘’I think I’ll get crash in bed.’’

You arched an eyebrow. ‘’Didn’t you say that Baby’s backseat was comfortable to sleep?’’

‘’How taller than you I am, sweetheart?’’ He smirked as you walked back to him like you always did, your own north star in shape of a magnetic force of a man,

‘’Shush.’’ You slapped his chest playfully, wrapping your arms around Dean’s neck. ‘’Come on. Most motels we go to barely have a door, much less a pool. I miss going swimming. It’s a sunny day…’’ The childish joy in your tone metamorphosed into a newfound malice. ‘’You’ll get to see me in a bikini.’’

The Winchester wiggled his messy brows at your statement, suddenly reinvigorated as he placed his arms around your waist to bring you closer. Forget the body ache and all that, that was a way better reason to be sore in the bones later. ‘’You made some good points.’’

‘’I always do.’’ You kept the adamant tone, even when you could feel his breath on your cheek, those green eyes so livid when looking at you. God, you had to put a period here before things escalated and you two ended up getting to right in the middle of the hall. You attempt to make a joke: ‘’Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter.’’

He knew it was a prompt from The Little Mermaid-- you two had watched two days ago in Tupelo, in a vintage television after killing a Ghoul, while Sam got some junk food. Yet, the kind of smile that brought to his face held anything but purity. A simple conversation became double-edged with Dean Winchester. You two often ended up breathless, either from fighting or from doing more entertaining dances. You should’ve seen that one coming.

‘’I know another wet spot.’’ He’d say, unholy significance trapped in each word as his right hand started to motion over your skin, guiding his greedy finger under your skirt. Your mouth was set in a grim line, a surprisingly determinate attempt to hold back a moan. You and Dean could do it in the pool, unite the good infant memories with the tent-like emotions of adulthood to make a grand deal.

‘’You’ll get all of me wet.’’ You kissed the corner of his lips, smoothly pulling away with a wink. So much self control. ‘’Hurry up, cowboy.’’

You grabbed your bag and rushed to room 208 to change your clothes, leaving an astonished, mildly turned on Winchester behind. Getting in the bathroom, which didn't stink for once, you swiftly changed into the bikini. A jade green one, directly from Brazil’s brand Cia Maritma. If you squint your eyelids hard enough, you could still put a name to each face that was with you when you wore it for the first time in the calmer days. All the long gone friends and the daily sunbath in your caramel skin.

Decided to leave the past well enough alone, you just smiled in melancholy and turned around, facing your reflex in the mirror. You looked hot. Dean surely would agree about that, especially with the way the top brought up your breast.

Arriving in the room to your boyfriend ready for the swim, you couldn’t help checking him out. You were attracted to the way the righteous man’s body was built since the first glance, addicted since the first touch. His shoulder, the freckles on his nose, and the way he wasn’t all defined, yet had the muscles right in the certain spots. You took off your hairpin, hair falling on your shoulder into a brown sea, like the waves crashing against the ocean rocks. The smell of your sweat and orange monopolizing the edges of everywhere, mainly Dean’s senses. He relished on how soft your skin was compared to his, how your accent tingled his insides, and the way you swing your hips while walking. Your boobs almost jumping at his face because of the tiny bikini only aroused him more.

The place had to get some credit. For a dive motel, it was more than they’d picture. Manageable bathrooms and safe locks, the pool glimmering blue with a small tree by the right side. It was gorgeous.

A dazzling breeze whispered through your bodies, causing you to shiver slightly and Dean to get sweet smelling sheets clinging to his knees and feet. Fucking tree. You could taste the friction swallowing the atmosphere, a report of what was near.

Before you could say anything, Dean grumbled as he pokes a leaf away. ‘’It’s gonna rain.’’

‘’It will.’’ You agreed, holding his hand to pull him closer, well-aware that your body would scare away any linger of adorable grumpiness. ‘’But who cares about raining when you’re in a pool?’’

It's the kind of question that doesn't need an answer, it briefly exists to make Dean distracted in wonder just now, a pause between seconds as you jump in the pool first. The water splashing around with a brutal sound. Your body seems to recall an old memory, how you made a lark of anything with your siblings in the sea,  how you used to feel like the beaches were a peculiar way of God to show the living how his touch would feel like. Every fiber of your body missed this.

Dean went in too, emerging to the marvelous sound of your laugh. He glanced at you, now less of a hunter and more of a man. The drops on your face could easily be confused with tears, yet the way you grinned and threw water at him couldn’t leave space for any other world but happiness. The Winchester often noticed your longing for cultural things that you no longer had in the palm of your hand. It was stupid, he even felt somehow resposible for taking you away of everything you ever knew only to coaxe you through the road not taken— full of bumps and blood and undecked halls. Then you’d smile, you’d wrap your arms around him like you were doing in that exact moment, and he would see that the drops all over your face are flickering with your chortle.

What other choice would Dean have, what other option could he ever make himself pick, if not to place his hands on your hips? So it goes. He put his rough hand on your, each tender touch seeming to make the bruises there clear up.

The hunter was leaning in to kiss you as a wave of water met his face.

‘’Ops!’’

He narrowed his eyes, spilling out the water. ‘’You are gonna pay for this.’’

‘’I’d like to see you try, Kansas boy.’’

Yeah, you once were raised in the water, such an important part of your identity which you didn't wish to lose, yet slowly slipped beyond your reaches. But you had Dean, you had adventure, and you had the motel’s shitty pool. If you could find contentment in that, you should know that who you were wasn’t lost. You were still the five years old who played in the plastic pool, the seventeen girl who grabbed your cellphone’s lantern and went looking for what was making a noise at 3am, the twenty years old who jumped in a car with two hunters and a craving for finding her true home. You were all of them at once. 

Heaven sent the only true friend you could call yours and you’re under his lips. Dean’s crashing his mouth with yours, hungry like an animal after your playful war. You two are soaked, and so is your pussy. He pressed your against the border of the pool, your back to the wall of it. The water rushes in and you couldn’t care less. When did a bikini start to look like too much clothing?

Breaking the kiss, the Winchester glanced at you. The green of all the wild gardens localized in his orbs, dappled with stars and desire. Waiting for his touches, enjoying when he took his time with you was always worthwhile. Today, though, you needed him fast and dirty and raw.

There was nothing you'd rather than spread your legs, so you did it. Dean’s smart fingers quickly ripping your panties and brushing against your heat. He let out an annoyed huff, missing the satisfaction of your wetness around his digitals, how he knew you were a mess for him and him only. The pool’s water didn’t let it much evident, he’d have to fuck you even harder, make sure you were still needy for his cock.

You whined, clinging to his touch with a swing of hips. His hand covering your pussy as Dean applied some pressure, savoring the way your body winced and your eyes shut close, a beautiful moan leaving your lips. He couldn’t wait to eat you out later after he made you come in this stupid pool. Hedonism made his blood thicker-- like he was a calm sea before you, and now his waters were violent and hungry for destruction. 

He pulled his hand away. ‘’Dean…’’

‘’Don’t worry, sweetheart.’’ His throbbing cock entered you, voice even deeper as he spoke. ‘’Gonna give you what you want.’’

You placed your legs around his waist and he held your thighs underwater, the sky spilling out its own water above. It didn’t stop two. Your hand on his shoulders, nails sinking in seemed to be a combustible for Dean to go harder inside of your. His hips attacking yours as his mouth kissed your neck with bites.

‘’Dean, please.’’ You pleaded, warm walls squeezing his long dick. ‘’More.’’

‘’All my cock is for you, honey. You get all of it, fucking you, scratching you open.’’ The eldest Winchester said, his voice so low and sensual. You could come only from his talking. ‘’That’s what you want, huh? You want me to fuck that pretty cunt, mark you up inside this shitty pool.’’ His digital reached your clint and you growled. Dean kept his dick inside you, unable to pull away from the heavenly sensation of being inside you. ‘’Wanna know something? I can’t wait to come inside that tight pussy right here.’’

He increased the rhythm, pounding you even faster and rougher as you tried to keep up, the lack of synchrony causing his cock to reach and pull inimaginable pleasures inside you, all turning more brutal and necessary. The pool had its own waves, your and Dean’s movements causing a chaos ocean chaos in it.

The heat and the sickliest, you were drowning in pleasure with each thrust to a desperate beat that his heart echoed. All your pretty noises tangled with his breathless howls. The rain’s drops becoming one water with the pool as you and him became one with your intertwined bodies, only to grow apart again and come back in need for more.

Your and your lover’s figures distorted on the reflex of the pool water, washing away any piece left of purity as you moved in a hurry when you finally reached your orgasm. Your cunt tightening around his hardness was too much to bear, making Dean come after you.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathless faces with closed eyelids darting together. The heat calmed down by the water. Dean dared to look at you, but not to pull away. His cock remained inside your tight cunt and he caressed your cheek gently. That woman pounded from within and is pinning him down to earth, like you are his own gravity, the glimpse of relief, the lover’s photographe that gives the soldier’s battle a meaning.

‘’There’s a saying in my country.’’ You said suddenly, opening your brown eyes as he lifted his head to greet yours with his forest ones.

Dean captured your small nose, your desirable lips, your big eyes, your gorgeous tan skin, the signals he had map of on his lips. His thumb still stroked your face as his cock took its time to weaken inside your pussy. ‘’Yeah? What’s it?’’

‘’Quem está na chuva é pra se molhar.’’ He arched his eyebrows, a silent request for an english version. The Winchester knew around ten words in your mothertongue. Half pet names, half cussing. You pecked his plump lips. ‘’There's no literal translation, some things just lose their core if you try to put them to another language. It would be like if you are in the rain you want to get wet. It would be another way to say if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.’’

‘’I gotta say, you look pretty hot when you say those things.’’ You smirked. You rolled your eyes playfully, fingernails tenderly fondling the back of Dean’s neck under his haircut. ‘’Do you miss it?’’

‘’My country?’’

‘’Yeah. Not just your country but your language, your friends, your life there.’’ He shrugged, secretly scared of the answer. ‘’It’s not like we go to the same places you used to go to. I see how many bikinis you carry around.’’

Which was the main reason he booked that motel. You didn’t need to know that. The childish joy you had with the surprise was enough for his credit.

‘’No. Well, I still speak my language when I’m mad at you.’’ Dean chuckled. Whenever you two got in a heated argument, your inner latina would come out and jump at him in both languages at once. It was supposed to be serious, but mostly got him all hot and bothered. Your accent was just too sexy, especially when you were angry. ‘’But no, not really. I miss situations and people, but not how it was. It was a good life, but it wasn’t the one I was supposed to have.’’ You pulled him to you by his neck. ‘’I thank you, you know? For bringing me here. For showing me home, Even for the tears and the fear. I finally I’ve found where I belong.’’

Tranquility engulfed the atmosphere momentarily as comfortable as a silent sleeper, the rain no longer coming, giving stage to a sunny sky. You and Dean, twisted together like that was all serenity you could relish on. You both quiet in the afterglow, his cock no longer hard but neither wanted to pull away. He laid his head on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. He certainly would bring you to a beach as soon as he could, maybe pop the pretty question on his knees there. For now, thought, he could enjoy thar simple moment.

‘’After my house was burned to the ground, I didn’t think I’d have another one. I was always rolling around the country, never really stayed in a place for too long. I didn’t want to call some random walls my home and have it destroyed in my face again.’’ Dean said, his thumbs caressing your thighs underwater. Since his first breath near you, he knew he was a goner. Even better, he knew he wasn’t a goner, a nomad, or a lonely wolf anymore. Dean Winchester once swore he would never come back home after what happened in there, and then you appeared. The hot latina who kept up with his stupidity and didn’t think twice before calling him out on his bullshit, and was always there for him and actually loved him-- not besides the job, but with all the things being a hunter included, all the ugly acts he had to go through. You believed he was good and worthy. His house burned, but you gave him a home. For the first time in so long, Dean felt warm and happy and loved. ‘’But you gave me a home. Without the apple pie life and all that. You, me, and Sammy-- fighting the good fight, just the three of us. This is my home.’’

To be a hunter was to be gauge of the deadliest trap ever laid, always carrying the heaviest cross ever made like a soldier’s duty that wouldn’t end with a couple years of trocious war. This treacherous slope was forevermore. A hunter life, all the fraunds and the paid phone calls and the running away with laughs empty of joy, the song from the wrong side of town. But fuck, all the saving and the excitment and the hustled love made a dance for the melody and suddenly it was worth it. All the tender parts, the new restaurants every week, the jokes in the car, the hidden chortles in the dark places. Sam. Dean. Dean and all this am out of love and loyalty he gave to you.

Everything was worth it to be in his arms.

He brought you back home.

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[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

16. Sinful dreams

Prompt used- massaging them | WARNING- implied smut | shout-out to everyone reblogging and commenting on these. Ps. Sorry for no update yesterday ( it's hard to keep up )

" well hello the man who thinks it's his house" harry gave Draco a grin who had presumably came to his house while he was out shopping using the spare key Harry had given him.

" I needed a change of space. Did you bring my biscuits ?" He asked

" I would go shopping and not bring your biscuits, you really are Dim witted " Harry placed his palms on the kitchen top before he took out Draco's biscuits and threw it at Draco in the living room who immediately caught before it would've fallen to the ground and get cracked up.

" what are you even working on ?" Harry asked as he started putting things into the refrigerator.

" just grading some papers " Draco replied opening the packet of biscuit and eating it slowly " still as delicious as ever " he groaned. Chuckling Harry turned to see Draco eating his biscuits, he seemed like Someone who had just been given his Christmas gift.

" I thought you already did them ?" Harry asked

" well turned out the question I had basically wronged of every student was infact right, I was the one who made a careless mistake in the question paper, so now I have to recheck every paper and grade them over again " he sighed as he simultaneously went back to grading his papers

" sometimes you work harder than I do " Harry gave a light laugh as he got his juice box and went into the living room to sit with Draco.

" well being a professor is hard. You should see the answers sometimes. They're worse than yours " Draco groaned changing the answer sheet.

" hey, I wasn't that bad. I just didn't like potions because of snape " Harry defended himself as he watched Draco grade the papers. He randomly picked one of the Answer sheet of a kid named ken wood, chuckling almost immediately after reading the answer

" I remember I wrote the exact same answer once and it turned out to be surprisingly right which I see you've crossed at "

" what?" Draco huffed as he took the sheet from Harry, Peering over the answer and as if upon realising his mistake, sighing he corrected the answer and grade all over.

" you do work hard " Harry's Voice echoed as he went into th bedroom.

" you've got no idea Harry, if only one day you accept that job at school, you'd understand " Draco voice echoed as well from where Harry heard it.

He soon came back in the living room carrying his guitar and sitting down next to Draco's feet, tuning it instantly.

" no joke honestly, I am thinking over it. I do enjoy working in the Muggle world but sometimes i just feel like it's better being really who you are and being with people of your sort " Harry explained

" well Ms. McGonagall would be very glad to have you " he replied.

" you're gonna play ?" Draco asked as he finally noticed Harry had set his hands to play

" you don't want me to ?" Harry asked looking up at Draco

" yes please, I will kill myself if I have to do more of these with no source of enjoyment " Draco rolled his eyes..

Smiling Harry started to play lightly. When after the war Harry set out on his path to discover himself and trying out new things, he had instantly fallen in love with playing guitar. It took a great deal of practice but Harry had successfully learned how to play it last. Often he plays for his friends if they ever go out on a trip or if they're stressed out and he had played on a bunch of their bonfire nights. For Draco it had always worked out pretty greatly. He loved listening to harry play, he played it to so whimsically that he mostly found himself lost in the tunes and just hearing Harry hum along as he played. It was soothing and mildly attractive to Draco, not that he's ever going to tell Harry that but he liked to imagine that he already knew and that was why he used to play it more attractively each time.

The thing was Harry never really realised if he ever started to sing lightly along playing or humming, Draco never pointed. So when Harry was lightly humming and singing to the song, Draco found it much easier to grade his paper more fastly and without wanting to kill himself however in between he had groaned because of craning his neck downward and harry immediately took notice of it.

" what happened ?" He asked concerned putting away his guitar.

" nothing, just my neck hurts now from all the looking down just like I have to look down on you " even in slight he hadn't missed the opportunity to tease Harry who flipped him off.

" here, let me massage " Harry got up from the floor and went behind to sit over the edge of the couch, his feets alongside Draco's body.

" you sure, you know- ooh " he immediately moaned in relief as Harry started massaging the bottom of his neck.

" better ?" Harry asked

" much better " Draco mumbled as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back a little enjoying Harry's hands over his neck.

" you overwork yourself Draco " Harry complained knowing Draco, he probably had time but still tries to do everything beforehand

Draco hummed in response. It soon became ritual between them for Harry to give him massages whenever he was tired or very much worked out and harry happily complied. It was only during one Massage when everything became weird, Harry was simply giving Draco a massage when he had accidentally moaned loudly when Harry has massaged a specific spot on his back. Assuming that none of them heard it, Harry resumed giving him a massage when he elicited the same moan out of Draco and suddenly it became too much for Harry to go on and had to immediately stop Because of the sudden sensation going down south.

" Why'd you stop ?" Draco asked embarrassed

" oh nothing, I - I just need to use the restroom " Harry said as he not so subtly got up from behind Draco and ran for the bathroom to cool down but nothing really worked. Hearing Draco's moan was like a cardinal sin and harry had happily became a sinner. His voice rang over and over in his head which only troubled everything. All he could think about was how beautiful his moan had sounded and how in many more sinning ways he could elicit the same moan. Inappropriately thinking about Draco only worsened everything because the images he had thought about Before of Draco now had a sound and it only turned him on more and more.

Harry was leaned against the kitchen sink waiting for his hard on to go away when there was a knock on the door. He must've been in there for longer than Draco could've anticipated because now he was concerned about Harry.

" is everything alright, Harry?"

" yeah, ev- everything's fine " everything was not absolutely fine, how voice sounded much more strained and he was fighting urge to shove his hands down his pants for relief

" you don't sound so fine, open the door Harry " Draco commanded from the other side of the door

" you go, I'll be out in a few" Harry leaned furthermore onto the sink, almost palming over his jeans

" I'll break the door open if you don't open it right now, I'm giving you 3 seconds "

" 1"

" 2 "

" 3 - I'm openi-"

Huffing Harry opened the door " what ?"

" nothing-oh" Draco eyes widened as his eyes fell over Harry's prominent bulge. They remained in a moment of silence where Harry looked anywhere but Draco's face while Draco found it hard to resist to not stare at Harry's pants.

" i- I don't know how it happened- think you moaned and I've just have had pretty off days and somehow- nmph" it was too late for Harry to continue that sentence since Draco had shoved harry inside the bathroom, pining against the sink and kissing him over the lips. One of his hands making its way under Harry's shirt while the other one enclosing him between him and the sink. Travelling his hands on Draco's neck he made the kiss more heated and rough. It was beyond anything Harry could've ever imagined Draco's soft lips could've done but once his lips were against Harry's, it had aroused a wild sensation in him to have him right here and right then. The kiss became more sloppier with each second, not hurriedly but am urgency to discover what else he could do. The hand pressed against Harry's chest under his shirt was exploring the deeper depths of his chest and slowly moving downwards, Which continuously made Harry release moans he had only thought he could produce with a man. As if the heat was unbearable between them, Draco separated for air and travelled from Harry's lips down to his jawline, pressing small kisses before he has finally reached his neck and pressed warm kisses.

" ar- fuck - you sure ?" Harry moaned as Draco resumed kissing and licking over Harry's neck. His grip on Draco's neck had travelled into his hair and grasping enough to make him lose his control.

" I've always wanted you Harry " Draco moaned in his ear. He would've collapsed on the ground if he wasn't pressed against by Draco's body. Biting his lip he suppressed his desperate moans only for a few seconds until he found it hard to resist when he had managed to kiss Harry's sweet spot and initiated giving him a hickey. Losing control Harry rutted softly against Draco in a desperate attempt to gain any sort of friction for relief which made both of the men's moan in pure ecstacy of the moment and deepening kisses.

" you want to move to bed ?" Draco asked as he went back to kissing Harry's lips.

" thought you'd never asked " Harry mumbled against his lips and held onto Draco's neck, wrapping his legs around his body as Draco placed his hands under his thigh and carried them onto the bed and resumed kissing each other, losing one article of clothing one by one until none were left.

It was the night that had officially ruined their friendship, taking things to next level , doing things to each other they had only dreamt off but who would've known that their dreams of having the other men pressed against the bed, desperately moaning their name would've come true.

Requests open

I couldn't come up with any better idea for this prompt. Sorry if it seemed rushed.

Day 15- nobody can ever be you | Day 17- their own song

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “In the Ambience.”

Had a conversation on discord last night where I became aware that I left Sunny and Adam’s interactions at a place where it was sort of nervous and awkward. So thank you DZ for talking that through with me.

I am not really well versed in writing relationships, and I didn’t want it to overshadow the rest of my writing, so I pulled back from it, but I think I pulled back too hard. So if you care about the Sunny/Adam dynamic, I wrote a story this morning to acknowledge that. Hope you like it, and I hope you all have a great day. 

She got up in the dark, with only the dim ambience of soft blue lighting to accompany her. She stretched all four arms, and rolled her neck. It struck her as mildly interesting in that moment, how something so small could connect them to humans, The thought was fleeting as she took another step forward to kneel down on the floor. There, in a little alcove in the wall, she had set a volcanic rock from Anin, dried moss, and other paraphernalia from her home world. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath resting her hands together.

Praise and respect to the spirits of Anin. Praise the fathers and mothers of war gone to their rest below the moss and the earth. Praise their spirits that watch from the sky and peer through the ether down upon us.

She continued the slow mantra in the style of Prayer learned from Naktan and pulled her concentration to her core ignoring anything and everything around her. A deep state of meditation overtook her. She would never have done this if she  thought there were any chance that she was in danger, but below she knew Earth glowed like a sphere before their orbiting ship. There was no worry of invasion.

She thought she heard something at one point, but chose to ignore it as she continued her mantra.

Eventually, and after an unknown amount of minutes, she stood and turned slowly to find-

She stopped, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“What are you doing.”

Adam burrowed his way further down into her blankets nuzzling his head up against her pillow, “So warm, and comfy!”

She tried not to smile, “You dumbass.”

He pulled the blankets tighter around himself, “You know, I did come here to talk to you, but I actually really am comfortable, so come back in two hours.”

“I-”

He closed his eyes and pretended to snore loudly.

She rolled her eyes as she watched him theatrically pretend to sleep. She looked around mildly for a moment before picking up another pillow and glancing at the door. She casually walked over, dropped the pillow on his head and then held it down as if she intended to smother him.

That got him up and moving.

Before long the two of them were grappling for the upper hand, him trying to put her in a choke hold, and her using her lower arms to pinch him.

He yelped, “Ouch! Pinching is illegal.”

“SIssy.”

He clamped his legs around her lower arms pinning them in place. SHe struggled for a minute and then went limp.

SHe could feel his smug smile, “I win, I beat the saint of Anin. Everyone bow at my feet.”

“You say that, but if this were a real fight, you’re the one with a self destruct button.”

“Self-destruct button…?”

“Meaning if this were a real fight, I would have punched you in the balls.”

“Please don’t”

Finally he let her go, leaving the two of them to lay on her bed, sheets scattered on the floor around them, and her pillows in disarray. Adam put his hands behind his head and sighed.

She glanced over at him, “I don’t suppose you came to just hang out. Here on Admiral-ly business?”

He groaned pulling one of her pillows over his face, “Please smother me for real this time.”

SHe leaned up on one of her elbows, “Why?”

“I don’t wanna be an adult anymore,” She tilted her head to the side watching in amusement as he attempted to throw a childlike tantrum, but only really had the energy to kick his feet once, “It’s boring and lame and they wont let me wear heelies to important meetings…. Children don’t have to pay taxes.”

She laughed, pulling the pillow from his face, “Adam you are many things, but ‘adult’ is not one of them.”

He grinned slightly, “True enough.” He sighed again and rested his head back against the pillows, “I just want to get back to what we are supposed to be doing, exploring the universe and making cool alien friends.” He threw up his hands in frustration, “But Suddenly I find myself embroiled in stupid annoying politics that I don’[t understand, being used by people who are, lets face it, WAY smarter than me, constantly finding myself getting manipulated.”

She huffed, “They aren’t smarter than you Adam, they’re just manipulative, and you aren't.”

He sighed, “Fair enough.” Then he looked at her, bright green eyes reflecting the soft ambient blue light, “I just, I miss this, I miss us, I miss hanging out and doing stupid shit, and all of the things I could do when I wasn’t so important and this operation was smaller.”

She smiled rather sadly reaching one hand over for his, lacing the four of her fingers through the five of his, “Well someone has to do the hard things, who better than you.” 

He glanced over at her raising an eyebrow, “Or you, miss saint”

She rolled her eyes again, “Can’t seem to get you off of that. I’m still the same person I used to be.”

“But with power.”

She elbowed him gently and he grinned, “But really, I am proud and impressed and…. Let's be honest super super smug that ‘I’ know you personally.”

“I know, I am pretty terrific.”

The two of them laughed for a minute before settling down again. He glanced over to her little shrine on the wall, “What were you doing just then?”

She looked up at the ceiling, following the lines of metal and rivets with her eyes, “Praying to the spirits of Anin.”

Embarrassed, he shifted, “I didn’t know you were….. Well I didn’t think you were all that religious?”

SHe shrugged, “Don’t feel bad, it’s sort of a new thing. Back before all this, it was sort of just stories to me. Like I believed it because that was what everyone believed, but I didn’t really accept it, or feel it the way I do now. After everything with my mother, it was hard to feel connected to something I felt I wasn’t a part of….. But then after visiting my mother, after becoming a saint for a religion I never really followed…. Well it started to make more sense. It feels real now in a way that it never did.” She turned to look at him, finding him watching her, the UV blue stripes in his skin glowing blue.

“I believe in the spirits of Anin more than I ever have.”

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand, “I’m glad to hear it.”

They lapsed into silence for a long moment staring up at the ceiling before, inevitably he broke it, “So this makes you like, space Moses.”

She frowned and turned to look at him, “What is a Moses?”

He grinned, “A guy from one of the Earth Religions. You know guy follows god’s directions to lead his people away from slavery, climbs a moutain, recieves the word of god, comes down to give it to the people, that sort of thing.”

Sunny tilted her head slightly to the side, “Are you religious?”

He paused, frowning, “I…. well I…. don’t really know. My family has been some flavor of Christian for a long time.”

“Christian?”

“Uh yeah, The general idea is that there is one all powerful deity who created everything. He has rules and laws that you are supposed to follow, The general tenants of this specific religion mostly boil down to, love everyone and don’t be a dick, which humans are notoriously bad at. You sin you go to hell, a very bad place after you die, and if you are a good person you go to heaven. Problem is everyone is a sinner and breaks the rules, so really no one was going to get into heaven.”

“That sounds bleak….”

“Well that's where the other stuff comes in. Basically this all powerful deity sent down his son in human form to live a perfect life, so when he was martyred he took on the sins of all of humanity and paid for them in the greatest act of mercy to open the gate for the rest of us into heaven.”

Sunny shifted as he tilted to the side to lay in the crook of her arms, “Of course that is just one religion among tons on earth, we aren’t really as cohesive in our beliefs as Drev are….. As for me…. I’m not really sure.”

She tilted her head to the side, cheek resting against his hair, “After seeing space, I become more and more convinced of some….. Thing that created everything, but beyond that it's sort of a tossup.”

She ran one hand through his hair, course but still soft somehow.

“You know my name comes from that religion.”

She turned her head to look at him, “Oh.”

“Adam was the first man.”

“WHat do you mean.:”

Adam shrugged, “He was supposedly the first man that god created, from the dust of the earth…. I think?”

She gave him a sidelong glance, “Look, and you get to be the first idiot in space.”

He snorted and poked her in the ribs.

“There were PLENTY of idiots in space before me, believe you me.”

“Mmm I don’t know, you are pretty dumb.”

He laughed, grabbing a pillow and hitting her with it. She rolled over so she was lying on top of him and then went limp.

He struggled, “Get your big ass off me.”

“Oh no, I have been attacked by a sudden acute case of the, my spine doesn't work anymore disease.”

“If you don’t move, you’ll suddenly find yourself with a case of fist in your face disease.”

She laughed and rolled off him, making su7re the hard parts of her carapace were sticking down for maximum discomfort. 

He grunted.

They returned to lying down next to each other in the half darkness. Sunny reached over and turned on some quiet music in the background as the two of them sat and talked, and laughed.

“I can’t wait to get back to deep space.” He closed his eyes and hummed softly at the thought, “Just the crew and the darkness and nothing ahead of us but an endless frontier.”

Surprisingly, she found the thought to be more than a little comforting, and closed her eyes thinking about the vast reaches of blackness and the endless spinning galaxies. 

“And while we are out we can drop Conn into a pulsar.”

He snorted,

“That billowy bastard would survive and you know it.”

She huffed, “Still though, if I have to hear one more smug lecture how he has a child with you, I’m gonna wring his scrawny neck.”

He grinned teeth flashing blue in the light, “Is someone;.... Jealous?”

Sunny laughed, almost tipping him off the bed and onto the floor with her mirth, “Yes Adam, I am totally jealous, really I am. I mean who wouldn’t want to have a child with YOU, big dumb, dork. Really the perfect place to put my superior genes.”

“Superior genes, says someone who can’t reach the top shelf.”

She kicked him foot clanging off his prosthetic, “I am a foot taller than you.”

He placed his hand next to his ear, “What was that, I can’t hear you over how short you are.”

Sunny shook her head, “At least I have binocular vision and both my knees.”

“And weird neck nostrils, don’t forget about those.”

“Oh yes so I can house them on my face like you and your bigass nose.”

“Low blow, low blow.”

“There are…. Lower things…. I could make fun of.”

He snorted, “Can’t make fun of it if you’ve never seen it. You on the other hand, walking around in the nude.”

“You’re welcome. Who wouldn’t love.” Sse gestured to herself, “This.”

“Mmm yes,.... chitin , very sexy.”

“I am a gift to the universe, and should be appreciated by everyone.” He brushed a hand through his hair, “Well I find that real gifts are gift wrapped, so jot that down.”

“Oh yeah, like a prank gift when you put something lame in a box for something cool.”

He frowned at her, “You wound me,. My feelings are so very very hurt. I might even cry.”

“I drink human tears.”

“That, that’s really gross.’

She laughed and then they lapsed into silence. She could hear him breathing quietly next to her in the darkness, his chest rising and falling under the ambient blue light. She looked across the room to where her saint armor was hanging in it’s climate controlled case illuminated to a pearly sheen.

“Adam.”

“Yeah.”

“You know I’m just kidding about calling you dumb riught.”

“Yeah I know.”

“I’m proud of what you’ve been doing.”

Adam turned to look at her rather incredulous, “Me, of what? I haven’t been doing shit.”

“So we are just going to ignore you overthrowing a maniacal politician while simultaneously piloting a 2,000 year old spacecraft?”

“That was more Conn and Eris than it was me,”

“It was your idea.”

“Lets not forget Admiral Kelly.”

Sunny pulled him closer, “I am sorry, I will not be accepting anything other than you acknowledging that you did a good job.”

“Screw you.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you.”

He sighed, “You’ve been talking to Ramirez WAY too much.”

She was only slightly smug as she rested her head back against the pillow, “I really should get up and train.”

“We should.”

Neither of them movies.

“Alternatively we could just…. Lay here…. All day and do… nothing .”

She looked up at the ceiling for a long moment and pretended to be in deep contemplation before “Well it’s official, you have convinced me. You and your silver tongue.”

“I am a master negotiator.”

He shifted position putting one arm behind his head, “Think about it, by this time tomorrow we will be back to space exploring and doing what we should have been doing all along. I can’t wait.”

“That makes two of us.”

[heroofpenamstan]

—OC PROFILES: JOANNE & MICHAEL

tagged by the lovelies: @shallow-gravy​, @shellibisshe​, @belorage​, @honeysides​, @strafethesesinners​, @faithchel​, @blissfulalchemist​! thank you, dears! x since i’m tragically late to the party as per usual, not going to be tagging anyone since i assume most of my mutuals have done it, but if you want to go right ahead and tag me too so i can see! :”)) also, fair warning: 80% of the questions i answered at ungodly hours overmedicated on paracetamol and it shows because re-reading this in the morning was a Yikes

GENERAL

name: joanne burton alias(es): jo, annie ( mike exclusive ), burton, dep, jr. deputy, rook, traitor, sinner, wrath/pain in the ass ( john exclusive ), rabbit ( jacob exclusive ), heinous fucking bitch—( also john exclusive ), black widow ( new dawn au ) gender: cis. female age: 29 birth: 30th october, 1988 place of birth: meridian, idaho spoken languages: english; may or may not recite some hebrew lines over the holidays sexual preference: bisexual occupation(s): junior deputy of hope county, montana/menace to all cultists everywhere ( in a certain radius of said hope county, montana, anyway )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: brown hair colour: black height: 157cm ( 5′2 ), or approximately 7′11 when balancing on michael’s shoulders to peer inside john’s windows scars: split right eyebrow ( thanks, jake ), minor cuts and incorrectly healed bruises and gashes, scarred bullet wound on left hip ( you’re welcome, jake )

FAVOURITE

colour: orange or yellow or cyan, or whatever is more stupidly eye-catching and not at all fit for her current environment song: i’ve been thinking by handsome boy modeling school food: various stir-fries, fruits and protein ( or anything that she claims to be “healthy” when, truly, bitch is one step away from living off of instant noodles and canned pineapple and cigarette buds from dutch’s stash ) drink: beerherbal teas and infusions

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, but passing the police academy was already a pleasant enough surprise for her had sex: today? no. two weeks ago? probably had sex in public: probably said two weeks ago gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes, but we don’t talk about it kissed a boy: yes ( derogatory ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate ) gotten tattoos: yes, loads: most were practice scribbles for her ex-girlfriend, and the only true meaningful one she possesses is lydia, scrawled into her pinky in remembrance. otherwise, john seed do not even engage with that rusty ass tattoo gun— gotten piercings: yes, loads multiplied; if there’s a place for a piercing in her ears, she has them. also, an old septum piercing she hasn’t worn in a hot second been in love: yes, loads squared ( girl rents out her heart on the weekdays and cries about the scratches she notices on saturday, but still repeats it all over again come monday; falling in love for her is easy, but actually loving someone and getting over her self-loathing to do so is a whole different ball game ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: she’s probably on hour 31 as we speak ( someone knock her out pls )

ARE THEY

a virgin: whitehorse has heard enough horror stories in the break room between her and joey to last him a lifetime a cuddler: closeted cuddler, yes a kisser: most definitely; woman has to play up her natural assets scared easily: her response time is too lagged for that jealous easily: depends; she’s more jealous of what she should have/could have/would have had in a general sense than being jealous of a particular person or a thing trustworthy: in her own way, yes dominant: disgustingly so submissive: not in this lifetime in love: very much so single: very much so part 2

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: yes, but it’s more by means of unintentional yet severe substance abuse thought of suicide: not as often as one would assume; joanne has a very strong sense of self-preservation, but tends to run from her bleak reality by means of one harmful way or the other attempted suicide: once or twice during her lowest points in life wanted to kill someone: on the daily have/had a job: girl had juggled three part-time jobs; there is nothing she fears anymore have any fears: ( see above ) to fall back into old bad habits, loss of control, death, failure, a bad future, poverty, being abandoned and forgotten, long stays at a hospital, the judges, the bliss, the power of john’s hair gel

FAMILY

sibling(s): micah burton ( older brother ) parent(s): abigail burton née belman ( mother ); jim burton ( father ) children: asher seed ( daughter in new dawn au ) significant other: jacob seed ( circumstantial lover/”could do without” mentor/#prisonwife #prisonhusband #imkidding #kinda ) pets: boomer for the cuddles, cheesecake for the throttles ( bitch naturally attracts the judges but will forget her dog 101 and run away like what does she think will happen then?? )

GENERAL

name: michael scott-hughes alias(es): mike, mikey, mickey ( mary may exlusive ), mike the bike/fall’s end’s bicycle, resistance’s poster boy, manwhore, cassanova, the archangel ( joseph exclusive ), the antichrist ( also joseph exclusive ), war dog, hughes boy ( fairgrave exclusive ) gender: cis. male age: 30 birth: 6th july, 1988 place of birth: fall’s end, montana spoken languages: english, russian, basic chinese mandarin and turkish sexual preference: pansexual occupation(s): residential shady, shady man ( international arm’s dealer, most recently demoted to local resistance leader and occasional general goods store co-owner )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: green hair colour: brown height: 181cm ( 5′11 ), and 6ft on tinder jkjk man’s confident enough to not grasp for that extra inch, unlike someone ( john ) scars: heavily burnt left hand ( from trying to fish out his ex girlfriend’s boiling corpse r.i.p. to that steaming puss— ), gash on his right temple, nicely healed gun wound on left shoulder, not so nicely healed amputated right hand ( man’s not having the best time in my canon, is he ), various incorrectly healed cuts and bruises

FAVOURITE

colour: green and rustics song: wild world by yusuf/cat stevens food: unlike the faker above, michael actually likes to cook and eat healthy meals, so anything from salads to veggies to oatmeal to soups will do ( and meat; man’s been a vegetarian for a grand total of 4 days in his entire life ( or 14, if you count the time he got abducted to john’s bunker womp )) drink: sugary drinkswhiskey, fresh juices, “water can be so, so sexy, annie—”

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, though michael really busted his ass to self-educate on subjects that will be beneficial to his line of work had sex: we stopped keeping tabs and numbers nearly ten years ago had sex in public: we stopped blinking at these types of shenanigans nearly ten years ago too gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes? no? maybe? ( mike’s too afraid to even think about it, but hopes he hasn’t fathered any babies any time soon ) kissed a boy: yes ( affectionate ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate² ) gotten tattoos: yes: the sword of damocles on his left inner forearm, intertwined snakes running across his right ribs, a tiny smiley face on his ass lord save him gotten piercings: yes, and everyone hated his attempt to revive the 90s with his lil earring like c’mon you already have a reputation of being a sleaze— been in love: yes, but surprisingly not as many times as one may think ( truthfully, three times: mary may, lana, joanne mary may again ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: sometimes it just cannot be helped

ARE THEY

a virgin: maybe in a past life as an amoeba a cuddler: yes ( try to escape his hold during a summer night i’ll give you 5 bucks if you can break the deadlock ) a kisser: he just exists to smooch at this point scared easily: truthfully, he’s quite desensitized as is, so it’s really hard to truly rock him jealous easily: no; though he might get a bit petty and bitter if someone mentions merle and mary may becuase, like, c’mon, mary—merle briggs? trustworthy: one of his better traits, but past events have shown that boy tends to lose some of his morals for love dominant: yes submissive: yes part 2 man will accommodate and switch it up in love: often single: loosely, often

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: michael has bad mental health trips stemming from having a lot of insecurities as a child; these may evolve into bad habits and pure recklessness on his part to prove his worth thought of suicide: these thoughts don’t come often, but when they do, it’s harder for him than most to shake them off and recover attempted suicide: once, during the boiling pit incident wanted to kill someone: yes, but it comes more from need than want usually have/had a job: yes, though no retail until he was 30 and stuck providing hope county with slugs and bullets have any fears: loneliness, rejection, abandonment, repercussions and consequences, not being good enough, powerlessness, loss, the angel pit, the process of dying

FAMILY

sibling(s): none, but: jackson hughes ( uncle ) parent(s): jessica hughes née scott ( mother ), david hughes ( father ) girl i have his whole family tree drawn up like you wouldn’t believe children: andrew hughes ( son in new dawn au and maybe canon ) significant other: mary may fairgrave ( childhood sweetheart/awkward ex/once in a rare cosmic event fuck buddy/volatile lovers ) pets: peaches loves him she doesn’t; she just wants to chew on his hair

[mummybear]

The Sinners

This Is Day 12 Of Roleplay May

Words: 3155

Warnings: Smut, Swearing, Rough Sex, Spanking Teasing, Blow Job Under A Desk, Sex On A Desk, Edging, Orgasm Control, Roleplay, So much dirty talk..... Think that’s it.

Characters: Priest Dean, Priest Sam, Nun Reader, Unnamed Priest, Friend Of John’s (George).

Parings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The Winchesters and the reader are called to investigate murders at a church, but when Sam solves the case before Dean and the reader leave. What will they do? Now that they finally have a little alone time, will they take advantage of the situation?

This was some of the hardest and most strange acting you’d ever had to do since you’d started living with the Winchester brothers, maybe even since you’d first started hunting. But here you were, walking around this massive beautiful church, taking in every one of the locals who looked on respectfully. 

Sam had quickly found out that this particular church had recently been remodelled, although if you would’ve shown up before checking, that would’ve been immediately obvious. Which is what had led the three of you to to easily conclude what had probably angered the spirit after such a long time.

You were dressed as one of the sisters, blending in surprisingly well, trying to remember everything you could from the film sister act, since that was the only form of reference you could call to mind. The brothers had sent you in a day ahead of them, they were due to turn up at any time now, joining as two new priests.

Turning the corner and you take another set of steps down, heading down to the dungeon where people were known to have seen the ghost. Dean was certain that the ghost was most likely to have been a bishop, who had died here in the late nineteen hundreds and whose body had been discovered in the basement. Things had become increasingly serious lately, ending up with two nuns and a priest being murdered in the basement, which is why the three of you had been called by an old contact of John’s, George, since he had known something was seriously wrong. He was someone who’d assured you that this wasn’t just some made up ghost sighting. 

Your hand hovers over the iron blade, which is hidden just under your skirt, with the gun holster that you have fastened to your thigh. The door slams closed behind you and your heart starts beating wildly in your chest, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you carefully pull the knife free and you whirl on the closed door.  But there’s nothing there, you can’t be sure but there’s every chance it’s the ghost. Adjusting your grip on the knife, you slowly walk a little further inside.

The musty smell hits your nose stronger the deeper that you go, holding your arm over your mouth and nose as you walk while keeping a tight grip on the blade. Then you reach the final chamber of the basement, proof that way back in the day this place had been a torture chamber of some kind. There were thick chains and shackles hanging from the walls, thick and dark blood still visible on the surface. There were also signs of blood on the floor still, from the bodies that had recently been found.

Beside you was a large sturdy table, with a few dusty books and piles of papers on top. There were a few old and broken windows on the floor, that were leaning against the wall. Your distraction is short lived, when you hear something that makes you stop in your tracks.

You hear heavy footsteps behind you, echoing off of the basement walls, causing that shiver to roll through your body all over again. When you turn this time your knife is poised to attack, however the person behind you is faster and catches your wrist in his hand and tuts.

“I think you need to work on your aim there, sister” 

There’s no mistaking that voice, hearing it every morning you wake up and every night you go to sleep. Grabbing your knife from your hand, he flips it skilfully before handing the handle back to you and you can almost hear the smirk on those plump lips. His torch shines in your face so you have to squint a little, but the light quickly moves away shining on your body.

“Glad to see you could finally make it, father Winchester.” you smirk up at him, licking your lips when he leans in closer and your back hits the cold stone wall behind you.

He looks fucking amazing, you had no idea this was a kink of yours, not until Dean was stood in front of you dressed in it. 

“I was doing a little research last night and I found out a very interesting little fact about the murders that have happened down here in the last month.” Dean reveals keeping his voice low.

“Oh yeah, what’s that then?” you ask quietly, feeling him press his body closer to your own.

“So get this, turns out the priests and nuns around have been getting a little too familiar. Sexually,” he grins wiggling his eyebrows, you can’t help but laugh at the massive dork in front of you.

You have your own idea of where this is going but you play along anyway.

“Really? Well I can’t say I blame them father.” you practically purr, slipping your hands inside his jacket, letting your fingers glide slowly down the thin black fabric covering his firm chest.

Dean’s smirk grows as he bites into his bottom lip, “Is something on your mind my child?” he asks with a slight change in his voice and his free hand not holding the torch gently grips your hip.

Licking your lips you nod slowly, looking up into those gorgeous green eyes. 

“Yes, there is. All of last night I had some very impure thoughts about you. I may have even let my fingers wander.” you answer seductively, feeling his grip tighten as he growls your name in warning.

“Such a bad little girl. I thought we had this conversation last week, you don’t touch what’s mine, especially when I’m not there. Did you come?”

His question takes you by surprise, even though you probably should’ve expected it. 

“Yeah, I did. Made sure I moaned your name though, just like I do every time, even if I did have to be really quiet about it.” You smile cheekily, knowing that you’re pushing all of the right buttons when he drops the torch on that large table beside you and his hand pushes under your skirt.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me here sweetheart, you wait until I get you home.” Dean groans, brushing his fingers over your wet but covered slit. You roll your hips against his hand as his lips just barely brush yours, “it’ll take a little more than a few hail Mary’s to save you here, safe to say you’ve earned your spanking today, don’t you think sister?” 

“Whatever you think is best. You are the boss.” 

“It’s a shame you didn’t think about that last night really sweetheart.” 

Feeling his phone vibrating you slip your hand inside his jacket and pull out his phone from the pocket, unlocking his phone you smile, humming under your breath. You look back up at him and show him the message from Sam. “Looks like we have some free time baby, perhaps you should just punish me right now,” 

Gripping your jaw roughly he presses a firm kiss to your lips, your hands fist in his jacket when he pushes your panties aside and two of his thick fingers slip inside your opening. 

“I want you to meet me upstairs, in that empty office. But first, I’m gonna get you close and you're not gonna come, are you?” 

“No father, I'll do whatever you want,” you gasp as he curls his fingers inside you and drags your bottom lip between his teeth.

He chuckles in the back of his throat releasing your lip, “of course you will my dirty little sinner. Maybe you’ll finally learn to do as you’re told.” Dean grunts when you move your hand over the bulge in the front of his pants. Kicking your feet apart. his fingers speed up and he adds a third, causing your begging whimpers to fill the echoing space around the pair of you, you cling to Dean tighter when the heel of his hand rubs perfectly against your clit.

Your chest is heaving and your blood is pumping hard in your ears, “Dean, please stop.” you whine desperately, feeling your pussy starting to clamp down around his insistent fingers. 

“Pretty sure you can do better than that, can’t you sweetheart? I dare you. Give me even more reason to spank that ass red.” he growls as your head falls back against the wall, fighting every single part of you that’s desperate for release.

You cry out loudly when he finally removes his fingers and you slump against his chest, hearing the lewd sounds he makes sucking his fingers between his lips, licking and sucking your slick from the thick digits.

“You’re lucky you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Now, be a good girl and meet me upstairs and I might let you finish.”

You lean back against the wall to support yourself, when he finally releases you and grabs the torch, throwing you a quick wink he leaves the basement. Your head is spinning, only Dean had been able to wind you up this way. His voice always drove you almost as mad as those skilled fingers of his, not to mention his perfect thick cock which always had you begging him. You were nervous about doing this, but the excitement by far outweighed your nerves.

The minutes tick by and you regain your breath and readjust yourself, quickly exiting the basement. You slowly make your way towards the office Dean had told you about, smiling politely and nodding your head at the other sisters who pass you, doing your best not to show that you were rushing.

You see him sitting at the desk when you start making your way towards the room, he looks up as you walk in and you meet his eyes. 

“Father, I heard you wanted to see me,” your voice is so innocent and quiet, Dean has to suppress the groan that’s threatening to leave his chest.

“Yes I did. Please, come in sister. Close the door behind you,” that filthy smirk on his lips is the polar opposite to how his voice sounds. Bowing your head you do as he asks and lock the door behind you. “Skirt up. Spread your legs and bend over my desk for your punishment.” he instructs you, keeping his tone even and his voice quiet.

You can’t help but smile, when you see the pile of stuff he’d quite clearly swept off of the desk as soon as he’d got inside the room. You watch him as you pull the skirt up your legs slowly, until you have to ease it over your ass and up around your waist. Seeing him stand from the chair and walk around the desk, you bend over the cold wood and spread your legs, hands gripping the other side when you feel his large warm hands smoothing over your ass cheeks. 

“Forgive me father,” you whimper, hearing him groan behind you when he squeezes your ass cheeks roughly.

“Oh baby girl, this will help. How many do you think? Is ten enough?” he rasps voice much rougher than before, all you can do is moan into the table, feeling the arousal shooting straight to your core. “Answer me, you know the rules!” Dean demands, as a hard smack connects with your skin. 

You manage to muffle the scream of surprise behind your hand, not missing the chuckle that it pulls from the man behind you. “S-Sorry father,” you whimper as your grip on the table tightens, “Whatever you say is right. I trust you,” you breathe out shakily, dropping your forehead onto the table as the second slap comes down just as hard on the other cheek, pulling a shaky moan from your already parted lips. 

Dean quickly rips your thin panties from your body and tucks them into his back pocket.

You cry out against the wood, rolling your hips back into his hands, the next three slaps are against the same cheek, just as hard as the first. Your whimpering his name as his hand smoothes over the tender skin. You can feel yourself sweating against the table, stomach clenching and your pussy fluttering around nothing. He quickly evens out the slaps on your other cheek, three hard slaps coming down in quick succession on the other side. You have to stop yourself from clamping your legs together, when his fingers slip easily between your dripping folds.

“Such a good girl for me baby, look at that sexy ass. So fuckin’ pretty, all red for me baby.” he groans loudly. Your ass feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible, every nerve ending in your entire body is at attention. You’re so close already, with the way that he’s been edging you and you know he knows it. “You doin’ okay baby?” Dean asks gently, bending down to press his lips to your ass.

“So good, so good Dean” you whimper breathlessly.

Your entire body clenches and your eyes squeeze shut when he slaps your pussy, nowhere near as hard as the ones on your ass but it feels amazing nonetheless. Quickly followed by another sharp slap, which almost makes your legs collapse beneath you. 

“You did so good baby, so fuckin’ perfect.” he praises you, pressing gentle kisses to your skin, his tongue running through your sensitive folds.

There’s a knock at the door as Dean helps you up from the desk and presses his lips to yours, “Under the desk, i promise we will finish up as soon as I get rid of them,” 

Sighing you lower your dress and slip beneath his desk, whimpering when the heels of your feet press into your tender ass. Hearing the door unlock as you get as comfortable as possible.

Dean takes his seat at the desk, careful that when he pulls the chair in he doesn’t hurt you. 

“Come in,” he calls just as you get an idea, sliding your hands up his thick thighs and you quickly unbuckle his belt as the door opens. 

Dean’s legs fall open and his muscles tense when you unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper.

“Father Winchester, I’m sorry to interrupt. I was told you might know, I was just wondering if you’d seen sister Y/N, she seems to be missing,” the young priest asks nervously, as one of Dean’s hands slips beneath the desk and pushes into your hair.

You tug his pants and boxers down just enough to release his thick length, holding back the moan when you seal your lips around the head of his cock. 

“As far as I’m aware she had to leave. Family emergency,” Dean explains quickly, biting his lip when you take him as deep as you can.

Dean’s fingers tighten in your hair when you start to bob your head over him, sliding easily up and down his length, enjoying the way that his free hand is clenched around the arm of the chair. “Oh, my apologies sir. Sorry for bothering you, I’ll leave you to your work.” 

Dean realises that he suddenly doesn’t trust his voice, with a stiff nod of his head, he holds up his hand and the young man leaves. 

The second the door closes, Dean pulls you up from the floor and presses a rough but chaste kiss to your lips, “Fuck I love you,” he groans standing from the chair.

“Love you too baby, we should do this more often,” you grin, pulling your skirt back up around your waist, loving the way he licks his lips watching every bit of new skin that’s revealed to him.

When Dean pushes you back, he lifts you, dropping your ass carefully onto the desk. Pulling you right to the edge, he lines his cock up with your entrance and slides right inside your wet heat. Your legs hook over his hips as you lean back on your hands. 

“Just might have to take you up on that sweetheart,” he groans watching his cock slip inside you and back out with every slow thrust of his hips.

You throw your head back as your climax starts to build all over again, “Fuck, so close” you whine, as your lips part, “Have I been a good girl father?” you question behind your moan, as Dean slams back inside you.

“Oh you’ve been such a good girl for me sister, let it go when you're ready. Come all over my cock,” Dean growls, feeling your pussy clench around him, your whimpers slowly getting louder.

“Look at me,” he finally demands, as he picks up a more brutal pace and his hand presses over your mouth. You look at him breathing hard and fast behind his hand. Your entire body shivers, your eyes start rolling as your body aches and arches. 

You scream his name behind his hand, sweat covering your clothed bodies. Your entire body shaking as you fall apart around him. 

Dean pulls your shaking body against him and your arms wrap around his neck, your forehead drops against his shoulder, clinging to his back tightly. Dean pulls your legs higher, those strong fingers digging into your thighs and you know he’s getting close, hips are stuttering and his grip on you is unyielding. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, my dirty girl. Gonna make me come.” Dean moans loudly against your shoulder, teeth dragging across your skin.

You press your lips to his ear, “You make me so wet Dean, come on baby do it, fill me up.” you pant breathlessly, as your knees dig into his ribs. Dean whimpers, his grip on your thighs tightening when he finally lets go and his orgasm hits him hard, his hips slow down. 

Neither of you wanted to let go.

Then Dean’s phone starts ringing again. Finally Dean pulls his softening cock from inside you, a whimper falling past your lips as you sort out your clothes, already missing his touch. 

“Sammy, calm down!” Dean laughs quietly, nodding although the younger man can’t see him, tucking his cock back in his pants, you help him do them up as he continues to talk. “Yeah, we’re on our way. Okay, yeah. We’ll see you soon,” Dean replies, before hanging up the phone.

“He’s panicking isn’t he?” you ask with a smile, your breathing finally returning to normal. 

“Oh yeah, big time. I am the big brother right?” he chuckles, watching the way your smile only grows, “Filthy fucking mind, you have.” Dean grins, pulling you into a sweet kiss.

“Right, I’ve got the dirty mind father.” you smirk, sliding off the desk with a pained whimper. “You’ve got a lot of ass kissing to do when we get home Winchester, literally.” you warn him playfully, straightening his collar and brushing down his jacket.

“Oh with pleasure sweetheart, now let’s get out of here.” Dean winks, unlocking the door, with you following dutifully behind him.

Tags: @chewie-redbird @julzdec @lettersofwrittencollective @stiles-o-dylan24 @mogaruke @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @dylanholyhellobrien @desireepow-1986 @emichelle @lilulo-12 @22sarah08 @deanwanddamons @simsadventures  @charmed-asylum @nicole-lynne @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @defenderrosetyler @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @mylovelydame21 @sunshineandwings86 @peaches009 @captain-shannon-becker @heimdoodle @plushpyrate @winchester-wifey @fandom-princess-forevermore @flamencodiva @hobby27 @akshi8278 @littlelonewolfgirl @ladywinchester1967 @screechingartisancashbailiff @maddiepants @spnfanfic-reblogs @holylulusworld @mrswhozeewhatsis @sonofabringmesomepie​ @mrsjenniferwinchester @hhiggs @pisces-cutie @trina44sb @heartsaved @matsumama @adoptdontshoppets @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore

Pond Tags: @aprofoundbondwithdean @manawhaat @thing-you-do-with-that-thing  @nichelle-my-belle @notnaturalanahi @deanscarlett @roxy-davenport @impala-dreamer @samsgoddess @frenchybell @scorpiongirl1  @deandoesthingstome @deansleather @curliesallovertheplace @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @waywardjoy @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @kayteonline @supernatural-jackles @wevegotworktodo @quiddy-writes @babypieandwhiskey @supermoonpanda @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog @memariana91 @plaidstiel-wormstache @teamfreewill-imagine @chelsea-winchester @becs-bunker @castieltrash1 @supernaturalyobessed @ruined-by-destiel @winchester-writes @evilskank-inthemegacoven @maraisabellegrey-blog @faith-in-dean @winchestersmolder @bennyyh @clueless-gold @deanwinchesterxreader @winchester-family-business @there-must-be-a-lock @just-another-winchester @cas-backwards-tie @winecatsandpizza @firefly-in-darkness

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Holy Milkshake (Walter Marshall x you) (with visuals)

MASTERLIST BLOG

Characters: Walter Marshall x You

Summary: For you, ‘taking the sinner to church’ would be possible. But, not for Walter. He knew everything about you, even with the way you think that he’d taken methods of setting up a tracking device to follow you; getting him infuriated to see you having a ‘little date’ with the stalker who has murdered his exes. 

Warnings: Blasphemy. A twisted stalker. Reader being sly, also naughty and not asking Marshall for help. Date rape drugs mentioned. Suggestive content in the end. Ahem. The use of the word brat. OC named Vergil. You can imagine whoever you want for Vergil. 

Words: 1,5k +

A/N: OOF! PAPA BEAR MARSHALL! This is my first oneshot/drabble for him! I’m sorry if this look rushed! I’ve written this for only an hour and a half. This was supposed to be a drabble, but..Surprise! Ahe! I was inspired by the GIF collection of Demivampirew, which resulted for a oneshot. Mwohahahaha.I don’t even know how it ended up with Marshall sounding like a zaddy in this one. Oof!

Taglist: @fangirl-inthe-us​ @rahdaleigh​ 

REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE IT A LIKE, IF YOU’VE LIKED THIS SHORT ONESHOT! THANK YOU! 

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. Credits to Demivampirew for the GIF collection. 

MY WORKS ARE NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Banana fudge milkshake.

It surprisingly tasted too sugary with every sip as your friend chattered for about an hour already since the moment you agreed on the so-called date you despise of.

The drink piped through the pillows of your lips. Your mouth wrapped on the red and white striped straw that didn't help the slight quiver of your mouth; used as a pacifier to soothe those agitated nerves you had as you were sitting before the 'friend' you thought who had no malicious intentions.

Maybe, it was a bad idea to never inform your boyfriend who could maintain the rounds of psychotic men with handcuffs and rails as a way of dealing the whole rendezvous you've planned to make.

Everything was going smooth. Probably, only an ounce of squeezed up faith as you could see the light and where this was going. If only you could start and try to slide in the conversation he somehow didn't want you to interrupt on; talking about how he was so happy to have a date with you, all those bullshit of beating around the bushes then the real discussion will surely go north.

Until, you've seen that familiar sweater who slid on to the chair beside the criminal named Vergil; the whole 'take the sinner to church' was definitely traveling down south to jail because of his sudden appearance.

You've choked on your own milkshake and coughed out some that went straight to your throat at the image of your tired, roughly bearded, curly haired police officer; sitting his sinewy, wide back on the chair with a tight, disappointed frown.

Well, someone looks mad.

"You're one word away from being tackled to the ground," the man beside him jumped from his interruption, making the chair shriek from being shocked at seeing Marshall sat beside him, all brooding and serious.

It was an ear-piercing sound that caught some of the diner's attention. You've given them a tight lipped smile before they went on to their daily activities and conversations inside the restaurant as you looked rather safe especially that Marshall was already with you.

Your boyfriend continued to give you a glare, his perspective solely on what he was seeing in front of him. His precious little lady sitting in the same table with her perverted stalker. He definitely couldn't believe that you've taken it too far, trying to help this person to change when it needed stones and brutal punishments or long life realizations for a rotten man like Vergil.

Walter was undoubtedly disappointed and furious.

His bright Cerulean eyes were sharp, brutal and piercing as he continued to focus on you, "Your car has multiple bags of heroin and drugs that can tranquilize people if taken in enough dosage---fucking date rape drugs," though, the message was sent to Vergil who was beginning to shit bricks as soon as he'd seen the gun tucked in Marshall's pants.

Walter grabbed onto his hand cuffs, abruptly throwing them on the table as he continued to spit fire. Shoulders tense and his expressions livid, "It's either you put these on," he hissed after throwing the cuffs towards Vergil, his eyes fixated on you as it was silently telling you how displeased he was for your acts, "---or I'll do it myself. But, you'll regret it."

You've let out a sigh. Deep inside, you were relieved because he would save you from Vergil's annoying chatters but somehow irked to know he had you tracked or have given you a tracking device to soothe his protective and utmost crazy antics for trying to keep you safe; out of harms way.

"You were following me, Lovey. Where's the tracking device?"

Your boyfriend gave you a scornful, tight lipped smile. A sudden change of his features that got your heart racing on how attractive he still was for getting his pants in a twist from your shenanigans.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

A grin was sent to him, "My milkshake brings all the boys to my yard?" and you couldn't help but motion for both men who sat before you with Vergil obviously trying hard to think of an escape plan.

He'd faintly shook his head in sheer disappointment.

"Funny." Walter gave a sluggish, nonchalant response as he rolled off his shoulders, leaning his crossed arms on the table as his anger was boiling in a temperature that tells; you were in a much more danger than having lunch with your stalker, "This guy over here---" he gave a curt nod to his side, "---This perverted asshole has retrieved belongings from you---some definitely personal items and you think he'll read a bible or repent over the women he killed if you calmly tell him all about it?"

You fidgeted and chewed the straw in your mouth, watching Walter seethe and heavily sigh from your response, "People change."

"Not dumbfucks like him, sweetheart." he spat, jaw clenching to the extent of seeing the muscles in his neck strain.

Marshall briefly gave him a glimpse as he called out the elephant in the room, quickly regretting because of how he wanted him to rot in the jail for years or forever, "---Don't you, Vergil?"

Vergil began to shake his leg as he sat, nervous and utterly anxious for what was about to come. His face turned red in rage, breathing staggered as he gave you glare; feeling betrayed when he should've been scared for his life because you knew his secretive, twisted habits. Stalking his target, knowing their houses and where they lived, grabbing onto personal things that his target loved using or wearing; panties, bras and those sorts before finding ways to befriend you till he could manipulate and end up loving you up until the point that he could kill for you.

The toxic type of love that seemed to be out of hand in which he has murdered his exes due to jealousy and other unreasonable explanations.

"I knew it! I fucking knew you were plotting this whole fucking thing with your fucking bodyguard over here---"

Marshall gave him a grumpy retort, "Boyfriend is a much more better term,"

Vergil's forehead was popping out veins as he exclaimed, thoroughly in fury for what you've brought him in, "Your boyfriend's part of the police force!"

You languidly blinked back, sipping on the last bits of your milkshake. Did he really not know that he was part of the police force? you puckered your lips at the silent thought; droning as you went on in admiring how you've raised Walter's hackles.

"---He cares and just loves me too much. He followed me. Didn't text him, tho. But, I assure you. He's no twisted stalker like you, Vergil. You certainly need to rot in hell,"

Walter knew you were liking this whole safeguard thing. It was all an act from you because he could see the tiny flicker of mockery in those beautiful eyes; knowing that you've gotten under his skin from the sudden tea party you've worked on.

Though, a pity party for you.

Walter gave him a glance, nodding towards the door where two police officers stood and waited for the catch, "Now, you'll meet two men out on the threshold. In less than one minute, if you're still here planning on kowtowing to lessen the punishments then you're a dunce."

Your boyfriend eyed him sternly, motioning for the handcuffs that rested on the table; saying its hello to its new capture, "What will---what---"

Vergil stammered and shakily took the handcuffs in front of him, scoffing when he heard Marshall grumble with a knowing tone of his that poured a little bit of his accent.

"You're under arrest for fuck's sake. Not quite complicated to understand, isn't it?"

Once the stalker was out of sight, being harshly taken by your boyfriend's co-workers; you couldn't help but emit a shaky breath, palms sweating a lot more than it ever did when Vergil was around because this time you were enthusiastic of what was about to happen in between an enraged police officer and his deceitful little woman.

"Oh, Lovey."

You've heard another set of metal chiming against each other. Yet, this time; the handcuffs were thrown towards you. His face etching in complete seriousness and disappointment. Though, inside those ocean eyes, you knew there was a hint of mischief and passion.

"Put these on." he rasped in full authority, his beard looking so inviting for wanting a short visit in between your throbbing heat since the moment he came to interfere.

"---Because you've been bad, sweetheart," pause. "---and I have zero patience for brats like you,"

You squirmed against your seat, hastily grabbing onto the handcuffs thrown on the table with a grin on your face, subtly looking outside to see your boyfriend's truck parked at the far distance before plucking the manacles off the table and sliding off the seat; with your lieutenant paying for the lunch he loathed, feeling his eyes heavy and thoroughly deprived of seeing your face after nose diving in murder cases he had been working on for weeks.

Marshall hated to see you leave. Those peepers trained on how you've dramatically swayed your hips while you waved the cuffs in the air.

But, he loved watching you go with that naughty derriere snapping from side to side.

THANK YOU FOR READING! STAY SAFE WHERE EVER YOU ARE, BB’S! Watch out for people who have wicked intentions for you! Don’t trust easily!

[gorewhoreonthedancefloor]

Elizabeth is a Guro-Sue.

Summary: Elizabeth Alby has been working at a London strip club for several years, and she's always kept herself aloof. She has secrets, and fantasies, but she's in it for the long game. When the strip club is finally bought out and taken over by someone nice, a man she can befriend and manipulate in order to get what she wants, she's excited.

But her old boss just can't keep his sleazy self away.

She's not about to lose out on a chance to better the club for herself and all the dancers. Maybe it's time to finally give in to what she wants to do oh so badly. Again...

A/N: This is a piece detailing my OCs second ever murder - the one which pushes her into continuing her enjoyment of such. It's set in an original universe based around a strip club called The Deadly Sinners, which features several of my OCs as well as friends of mine! If you're interested in getting to know her more, feel free to ask anything you like! And consider following my new gore centric twitter as another way of talking! I'm very open to expanding the universe and talking about my characters and what makes them tick, etc. In present day, Elizabeth is 28, and has a kill count of maybe a dozen+ kills. This is just the beginning...

WARNING: Explicit detail of murder, violence, and death. Involves stabbing, head trauma, broken bones, and additionally sexism and sexual misconduct. Please do not read if such topics may trigger you!

~🔪 Enjoy 🥰🔪 ~

2015.

About an hour ago Elizabeth had been in the back office with Alix, the new owner and boss of the club. She'd met him almost a year ago when he walked into the club and draped himself over a bar stool. He didn’t square up to any of the girls, didn’t stare them down with carnivorous hunger - he just laughed with the bartender. Elizabeth walked up to him, ready to offer him a dance, but he beat her to introductions. 

"Oh Jesus, you’re a stunner! Sorry, sorry, where are my manners?! Forgive me, I get a little tongue tied around beautiful women, and if I can be so bold, you’re one of the most breathtaking women I’ve ever seen.”

Usually compliments don’t leave Elizabeth speechless. She’s used to them. They’re like white noise for the most part. Him though, Alix, he was different. He had wide eyes, and a smile to match, and he looked at her like she was a friend before he even knew her name. It was like the rushing wind that encapsulates a person when they’re falling from a 50 story building. She felt like she’d finally taken the cleanest, deepest breath in a long time. 

Now, Alix is the new owner of the strip club, and he has big plans to refurbish everything. He wants to tear down walls, redecorate the whole place, give dancers a better backstage area - for a man who’d made the decision to buy a business on a drunken impulse, he was surprisingly serious about making it something. 

The construction team will start working early afternoon tomorrow. An hour ago Alix had been telling Elizabeth his plans, what he wanted to do with the whole place, and that, to her surprise, he wanted her input. He really respects her, and all the dancers. Having a boss who treats her well, looks in her eyes and not over her scantily clad body, it was the kind of unbelievable luck Elizabeth didn’t believe in. 

The pair left each other in good spirits, excited for a new start, buzzing on a shared hopeful high. Alix offered to walk her home but she'd respectfully declined, wanting to enjoy some quiet before she was home. After a few blocks, she reached in her handbag and realised she forgot her keys in the office. She turned around and walked with an urgency to pick them up - ironically, she had the spare key to the club Alix gave her, but not the ones to her flat. Her dad and sister were out of town, so she had to go back…

That’s when she saw a shady looking figure at the club’s entrance. He couldn’t see her from the distance, and if he did, if he caught a glimpse of her when looking over his shoulders in a haste, she’d just look like any other blurry figure walking home. It wasn’t a break in, he had a key, and knowing that, Elizabeth realised who it was. So she waited, let him enter, and snuck in herself a few minutes afterwards.

Now, Elizabeth stands behind the bar, filling a shot glass with vodka, and throwing it down her throat swiftly. She makes it look easy, cracking her neck and muffling a cough in reaction to the burn. It's how she likes to start her shifts usually, with liquid courage. 

Now it’s 3AM on an ordinary Tuesday. The rain has suddenly begun to pound the pavement outside, loud enough to rattle the building - it punishes the world, cleansing the treacherous stains left by sinners.

Vodka splashes out of the glass and onto the bar. Elizabeth takes the nearby rag and wipes it up. She turns around and peers into the wall mirror behind the bar shelf, liquor lining the wood and obstructing a clear view. She pulls out the dark red lipstick from her bra. It's accustomed for her to look her best at every given opportunity, addicted to perfection. She runs it over her plump lips, pouting and popping them to rub in the smooth colour, then stares at her reflection for a minute. Honey brown eyes stare at her, understanding what is about to happen has to happen...  

Now is the time to kill someone again, and not just any random patron off the street. She gets to revel in the joy that her old boss, Stewart, will die by her hands.

She's been working at the club for around 5 years now. It wasn't what she had planned, but it kept her safe in a way she couldn’t explain. She only started working there as a side gig, to get some decent money while she studied. The plan was to be an electrician, get a secure job working on the railway lines. She enjoyed tinkering with electrics. She got her qualifications with ease, but nowhere would accept her at the time. Whether it was the lack of positions available, or the familiar judgement that a woman like her couldn’t possibly be competent, she will never know. Life got hectic, after her mother's death everything began falling like the devil's dominos. Stripping should have been a cash grab, but she adapted to fit the narrative that the dancers she worked alongside became like family.

She’s well liked, though mostly from a respectable distance, with only a few exceptions. Some people find it hard to know what to say around her - she’s usually so quiet, with a look like she’s always thinking. She's never been a shy character. The correct term is aloof, bordering impassible, and smart. She let her co-workers find comfort around her, and she gave patrons the illusion they were her saviours. Everything Elizabeth did was calculated to cater her neverending poker game, and now, still in to win at life, no one truly knows who she is. 

No one knew she thought about murder every day. No one knew she craved the crazed euphoria of killing someone, that which she felt when she’d blugend her mother to death. Every day for the past 4 years she’s been wondering if she’d get the chance to relive that high, planning over and over again in her head when she would do it, who would be her victim - she didn’t expect it to be on a whim like this.

It’s titillating just thinking about it. Damn near erotic. Since she started working at the club, she’s had to deal with the sleazy stare of her boss almost on the daily, knowing his eyes linger on her ass, while his hand cups his groin. He licks his lips staring at her tits, and when she meets his eyes with her evil glare, she can see the unsure arousal lingering in his pupils. He’s putried, truely, pleasuring himself in his office during work hours after watching a performance. Stewart is a predator. He preys on his vulnerable staff, and uses them to gratify his animalistic cravings.

"If you want to rake in the money, sweetcheeks, you’ve gotta smile more. Guys like tits, but they don’t like miserable bitches, kay?”

Elizabeth had imagined his death a thousand times over the second he said that. When he dared to raise his index finger under her chin, condescend her in such a way, she hoped there would come a day she’d get the courage to kill him.

After a few more minutes priming herself like a proud peacock, she reaches into her handbag and pulls out the hunting knife she keeps on her at all times. She used to just have a switchblade, until she passed an antiques store one day and saw the beautiful blood red hunting knife calling her name. She conceals the weapon in her thigh high boots, checking the handle is at a viable point she can grab it with ease. Wrapping her hand around the sturdy rubber, a rushing anticipation of her murderous excitement buzzes through her fingers and up her arm, just like electricity. Her heart is racing. 

She leaves her coat over the bar top, walking out from behind the bar on the first floor and heads downstairs. She can hear his grunting every so often, the slamming of desk drawers and flustered footsteps as he searches for something. Last time she saw Stewart, he'd been wishing Alix the best of luck. Now he's breaking in the day before renovation is scheduled. 

She stands outside the office door and knocks. Light, flirty knocks. A loud gasp followed by a rough, irritable command to enter. Elizabeth hides it well but she's beyond excited to gut Stewart like a fish. She wishes she'd been more prepared for the moment - wishes she made plans, figured out specifics and wasn't going off instinct. There were so many nights she thought about the how's, knowing if she had to feed that beast inside her, it had to be perfect. This isn't perfect like she wants, but it's perfectly good luck, she can't bear passing up the opportunity.

As she walks in, she sees Stewart sitting behind the desk, leaning back, cheeks furiously red and his forehead clammy from sweat. His thinning hair is swept back, more sweat than gel, and clearly only styled by his hand brushing it back. He looks like he always did, in a tight white shirt and scruffy tie, the years of loneliness aging him more than his crow's feet. His lips pull up into a shark like grin when he sees her, all teeth on show, and he chuckles, darkly, kind of like he's been expecting her. Out of all the girls, it's clear that Elizabeth was his favourite, and she plays into that favour by popping her hip to accentuate her curves. His eyes unashamedly fall down her body, taking in the sights, and though it repulses her to let him have the pleasure of just looking at her, she knows the payoff is worth it.

Maybe she can gouge his eyes out while he screams for mercy, deprive him of the tools he wastes on depraved thrills. She's had so many fantasies where she wriggles the tip of her knife's blade into someone's eye socket, and pops their eyeball out their skull.

"Lizzy, sweetheart...what're you still doing here?" He asks, almost timidly, like he's nervous, but still maintaining a confidence he can no longer afford. Elizabeth gently closes the door behind her and leans back on it, crossing her legs over one another. His line of sight hasn’t actually met her eyes yet.

"I left my keys," she nods toward the set on Alix's desk, and smiles when Stewart visibly gulps. "But then I thought I heard someone rustling around in here. Strange to see you here." She pushes herself off and struts seductively toward him. The space between them is only a few steps, but Elizabeth manages to walk it like it's a runway. She leans her head to the side, looking at the mess of paperwork on his desk. "You looking for something?" She asks, just barely above a whisper. Stewart's hot breath pours out on her arm, distracted, then jerks back to the subject matter.

"Oh, yes! Uh I left some paperwork, very important documents, uh confidential actually, so you should--"

"All of this is Alix's." She picks up one of the sheets and inspects it. It's a building permit. She looks over the other papers - a scattered mess of plans and expenses and permits but all distinctly Alix's. Elizabeth hums and sits against the edge of the desk, crossing one leg over the other. Her legs are long, gorgeous, and she knows he wants to touch them. He practically looks enslaved to her beauty, he's forgetting about being caught up to no good. "Nothing here is yours."

"Right. I'm still looking," he answers too easily, but the sweat on his brow is a give away. Elizabeth chuckles under her breath and places the paper back down. She shakes her head at him in disbelief.

"You should have gotten a business partner to help you run this place." Her tone is devilishly flirtatious, dripping in false promises. She looks around the cramp office and shrugs. "A second set of eyes to help you spruce the place up. Maybe then the club wouldn't have been failing and you wouldn't have had to sell it."

His mocking laughter hits her hard. Her gaze snaps back to him.

"You're so naive, Lizzy." Stewart muses, too cocky for Elizabeth's liking. He wiggles his finger in her direction and chuckles. "But naivety doesn't mean shit when you're a stripper, so who cares!" And with that he starts rummaging through the drawers again, unbothered by her presence.

Her blood boils with a heat as intense as a volcano. It takes every inch of her being to resist grabbing the bunch of pens in the coffee cup on his desk and ramming them down his throat. He's still chuckling, like he's the funniest man to walk planet earth. She hates him, truly, but she doesn't let that show on her face of course. All she can do is keep smiling. 

She crosses her legs over, exaggerating her leg outwards so he notices how long and slender she is. She tosses her hair over her shoulders and leans back accentuating her breasts. It doesn’t take a lot to distract Stewart. Her leather skirt and bralette reflect under the dim office light, clinging to her figure, squeezing her curves like a boa constrictor. Her mesh top sparkles like it's covered in every constellation, it’s a wonder she can breathe carrying such beauty. His fingers ache to feel her melt. She tips her head to the side and bites her lip, hypnotising him. 

"What did your girlfriend think of you working all those late hours surrounded by half naked women?” She smirks when he laughs.

"I don’t have a girlfriend.” He pushes himself out of his chair and rolls his shoulders. He’s nervous, hands shaking at his side and sweat dripping down his brow. God she wants to slice the skin off his face and make him screech in agonising pain. If he could read her mind, he might run for the hills. “What about you, Lizzy,” He places his hand beside her and leans in uncomfortably close. “What does your boyfriend think of you, dressed like this,” he motions his free hand around her breasts, “Alone in your bosses office?” 

Elizabeth is almost insulted that he thinks he even has a chance with a woman like her. Of course she represses the disgust in favour of chewing her bottom lip, reaching out to toy with the loose tie around his neck. "Ex boss," She corrects, smugly. His breathing gets heavier, halting only when she harshly tugs on the tie to bring his face mer centimeters to her own. He pathetically puckers her lips, and she snickers, looking at him darkly beneath her eyelashes. 

"Do you really think I’d care what a man thought of me?” Then she throws him back forcefully, standing up and dusting herself off as he stumbles to regain his footing. The force practically winds him. “Besides...I don't have a boyfriend. Boyfriends annoy me too much."

Stewart bumbles through an exasperated laugh, insulted by her statement as if it somehow could apply to himself. He straightens his tie and puffs out his chest theatrically. "You've obviously never been with a decent guy."

"A decent guy?" Elizabeth repeats. "Does such a thing exist?"

"Of course they do."

"Where?"

"Well me for starters!" Stewart blurts out, too wound up to consider the implications of what he's admitting. Before the words settle, she's already looking at him with disdain. A wicked smirk slithers across her face and she rolls her eyes, to his annoyance. "Hay, I'm a nice guy!"

"Nice guys don't break and enter places that don't belong to them," she sharply closes the space between them and backs him up against the back wall, her sweet devil's grin swapping for solid rage. "Nice guys don't make advances on their barely legal employees. Nice guys don't cut corners paying the people that keep their shitty business going."

"Woah, what are you--"

"Why don't you save the bullshit and just fess up to whatever the fuck you're actually doing here, hmm?" She puts her hands on her hips, staring him down. There's a tense silence, his eyes wide and frantic, thoughts visibly racing in the wind of his dilated pupils, and Elizabeth wonders if the pounding drumming of her heart is as ear shattering for him as it is for her. 

She could slit his throat so perfectly at this angle. One sharp sweep of her blade, watching the flimsy pale skin tight across his neck rip too easily, allowing blood to spill and move like a glacier. She could wedge her thumbs into the tight wound and bury them further into his flesh, feel the rigged bone surrounded by squishy meat and warm blood. He'd feel her inside of him, invasive, denying the boundaries no one should know, and she'd laugh as he slowly dies. She wants to rip him apart like a wild animal on a hunt. 

The cracking of bone. The squelch of flesh. The adrenaline rush. It's always just out of reach.

Stewart looks intimidated, but just as Elizabeth starts to enjoy the clouding of her twisted fantasies, he laughs boisterously and daringly places his hands on her hips to move her over. He picks out another folder from the drawers and opens it up, looking over his shoulder to laugh at her, looking at her like she’s some hysterical woman. All Elizabeth can do is stare back at him in disbelief, the clouds suddenly vanishing in favour of making him a clear cut target. Him with his sweaty upper lip, the uneven stubble shading his jaw, his figure a few weeks skipped from the gym - he who dares to break into what isn’t his and still look down on her. It’s a bloodthirsty rage, almost delusionally so, she wonders if it’s all a hallucination, but his laugh is sharp and loud, and she wants to rip his tongue clean out of his mouth.

"Look, babe, you should get out of here, alright? You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Elizabeth doesn’t move though, just stands her ground, secures her stance and practically growls at him. He rolls his eyes and drops the folder he’d been flicking through on the desk with a loud thud. 

“Fucking hell, what’s it gonna take to get you to fuck off, huh? What, money?” Stewart asks, ridicule thick on his lips as the corners of his mouth curl upward. He digs into the pocket of his trousers and fishes out a worn out wallet, waving it in her face aggressively. She doesn’t flinch, even when he throws it to her feet forcefully and glares at her. “There ain’t shit to even give you.”

Elizabeth softens her brows. She looks down at the wallet splayed out on the ground; bare of any family photo, like most the men who ask for a dance do have. “I don’t want your money.” She replies through her teeth, eyes looking up at him under her lashes. She clenches her fists and squeezes - tries to pop the tensions wrapping around her bones, making her fingers stiff, eager. Then she lifts her head. “I want you to get out.”

Stewart laughs again. This time as he looks up and down her body, it’s with disgust. “Or what?” He mocks, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. He sticks his tongue in his cheek and scoffs when she doesn’t respond immediately. “This will always be my place, it don’t matter who’s name is on the deed--”

“That’s not how it works--”

“Shut the fuck up, okay?!” He bites back at her, specs of spit flying from his lips, his eyes filled with impatient irritation. Elizabeth’s shoulders drop, something snaps. Not like a flimsy stick, more like an aged, cracking tree finally giving in to the woodsman’s axe. The falling weight, the impending thump, it’s all so familiar and yet intimidatingly unrecognisable at the same time. Stewart closes the space between them. He’s only an inch or two taller, but the way he juts out his jaw and looks down at her even with his head held high, he must see her as an insignificant little mouse. “You’re nothing special, sweetheart. You’re just another pretty face in a town with dozens of ‘em!” 

The muscles in Elizabeth’s body burn almost uncontrollably. She’s minutes away from a forest fire, it festers uncomfortably in her fingers. She digs a pointed nail into his chest and pushes him back, seeing shock briefly flicker across his features. “You’re a disgusting waste of space.”

He lets out a mocking laugh, clearly becoming more frustrated at her stubborn disdain. There’s a brief pause, and before she has time to react, Stewart grabs her by her shoulders and shoves her forcefully against the back wall, unconcerned when she grunts from the pain. Her hands grip his wrists to move him off, but he manages to keep her there, trapped by his sweaty palms. He leans in close with his teeth gritted, a smug, infuriating grin lifting his features.

“You think I give a toss what some slag thinks about me?” He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head, clearly enjoying how she struggles to push him away. “I need money, darling. I know some nasty fuckers who’ll leave me in a body bag if I don’t pay ‘em back, so I’m not about to let some skank get in my way!” He takes a deep breath, and growls softly, looking down to admire the plush of her breasts against her see through top. His hands slide down to grip her hips, force her to stay in place, perfectly for his pleasure, setting in the uneasy claustrophobia. 

Elizabeth already hates affection, it sets off alarm bells in her head, the overwhelming disgust ricocheting through her nervous system. The weight of his hand bruises her bones, aches her something fierce, she wonders how long it will take before the ground beneath her feet caves in.

“The things they’d do to a girl like you. I’m not against telling them who you are, the slut that prevented their pay back--”

“I’m not afraid.” She says through her teeth, quietly, confidently. She can feel the boiling adrenaline coursing through her system with every rage inducing second ticks by. She takes his hands and moves them with an uneasy calmness, offering them back to him like he'd lost them.  She lets her hands return to her sides. She tickles the top of her thigh, inching close to the handle of her hunting knife. “You’re a sad wannabe gangster, and nothing more. If I gave even half a shit, I’d pity you.”

Stewart’s face tightens with a frown. He growls some generic sexist insult and attempts to grab her again, but Elizabeth is faster. She finally reaches into her boot and whips out the knife, plunging it deep into his stomach before he knows what's happening. The impact of the knife rips through cotton and flesh with laughable ease, the burst of skin ripping around the weapon's teeth practically ricocheting through Elizabeth. The anger he had is replaced with fear. She loves it.

She keeps him steady with her hand firmly against his collarbone, eventually turning them around so he lands against the wall she was pressed against seconds ago, with the knife still firmly in her grasp, in his abdomen. Taking a guess, she figures the blade is caught amidst the small intestine, probably snagged the bottom of a kidney, maybe even severed a ureter too. She looks up at his face and smiles wickedly. Blood begins to trickle from the wound and down the pooch of his belly. Watching his face slowly fade a ghostly complexion fills her with glee.

A pitiful plea fumbles past his lips, but she can’t hear it over the drumming.  Her heart thumps like it wants out of her chest, pounding so violently like it's going to crack a rib. Her senses have never been so sensitive, the adrenaline sending her on high alert. She’s always so composed, always trying to be perfect, and now…

She pulls the knife from his body swiftly, dragging his breath on the end of the blade, and watches blood come through the flimsy wound opening, staining his shirt a crimson red. She brings her bottom lip between her teeth and flares her nostrils, mesmerized by her work. Stewart tries to beg for help, taking back the cruelty of his ego, but it’s white noise, only encouraging her to make her own music with the tunes of his screams.

She takes his chin in her hand and grips him tight, nails digging into his cheeks harshly. She lines up the knife with where the tear in his shirt indicates the wound and pushes it back inside, catching his flesh and tearing his torso open more than it previously was. She pushes the knife in deeper this time, up to the bolster of the handle, and twists the blade to grotesquely shift Stewart’s organs. The slippery feel is obvious even without skin contact. More blood begins to pour from his wound urgently. Angling the blade upward, she catches something squishy and tender, and swiftly rips it in a flash as she recoils the knife back to her side. Stewart groans in agony, as he has been doing throughout; Elizabeth was just too excited to notice.   

Tears spill down his face, wetting her fingertips where she still has his face in her hold. She tuts and shakes her head. "Here, let me distract you from the pain," and without wasting a second, she grabs a fistful of his hair and swiftly slams his face down on the desk. A loud sick, wet crunch bounces off the walls, his nose certainly broken. Blood pours from his nostrils and he howls like a wounded animal, dropping to his knees, hands pressing against the agonising pain in his belly. 

Elizabeth moves around to be in front of him. She kneels to get eye level and waits until he finds the energy to look at her. He's fading, it's clear in the whitening of his skin. She enjoys how the look of death illuminates the little colour left in his eyes. An endearingly manic smile lifts her face. The memories of her mother etch their way across Stewart's busted, bloody face.

"Fuck you." She whispers, pronouncing every letter with finesse, punctuating the words with venomous hatred. Stewart's face is more blood than skin, but she can still make out the aching fear as he realises he's about to die. Elizabeth wants to drink it up, savour it in a bottle so she can enjoy it again and again and again. She's been waiting for this. She's needed this.

As he opens his mouth in an attempt to speak, she quickly strikes upward with the knife and forces the blade to puncture through the bottom of his jaw. The jagged teeth tear without strain, pushing through his skin and tongue and the roof of his mouth like they’re delicate pieces of tissue paper, but the blunt surface of his skull catches the blade and brings it to a halt. With his mouth open a crack, Elizabeth can admire the grotesque bursting of his flesh. It resembles the inside of a cherry cobbler.

Stewart tries to scream, but his voice drowns in his own blood. The sound is horrendous, just garbled nonsense as he convulses and regurgitates blood, everything finally shutting down. Specs of blood fly from his mouth, a river of red pours out the corners, and Elizabeth holds eye contact all the way through to the end. When his body finally sags, his eyes hollow of any remaining life, she keeps staring like they have the secrets to eternal happiness. Maybe they do. Maybe this is her happiness. In the ravenous, depraved violence of a murder so messy, she can finally feel something real, something that makes her think everything in her life wasn’t all in vein, but rather were the stepping stones that brought her to her wonderland.

After a few minutes enjoying the glamorous solace, she takes a deep, cleansing breath, closing her eyes. Her heart and mind are both racing like they’re trying to outrun one other, and her senses that were so frantic in murderous pursuit begin to steady. She feels hyper-focused. The million questions filling her mind slot into place perfectly one after another, filing away for later inspection. Who was after Stewart? Will they try to come looking for him? Did he tell anyone where he’d be tonight? Important, but they can wait. Now, the seconds she has in the quiet, looking at the blurred reflection in the framed picture on the wall ahead of her, she listens to the cruelty that’s been haunting her for so long.

“This world’s gonna eat you alive, Lizzie. I can see it in your eyes, you have no fight in ya. Why are you such a weak little bitch, huh? Ever since you were small, I knew you’d amount to nothing...just a pretty face, nothing more.”

Her mother’s voice has been taunting her for too long. She carries on living, thriving, trying to forget her wicked memory, and she continues to abuse her. Things get harder, the stress eats her alive. Merry men throw their wallets with no care, supporting coke stashes, and hiding their wedding rings like they were method acting their bachelor days. Lingering hands, security that didn’t care, and the eyes of a predator always lingering out of view, no matter where she went. Elizabeth was the prey, just like any of the girls, relying on the generosity of vultures. All these years, the repressed rage her mother fueled just getting worse in the lion’s den. Killing the first time was like taking a deep breath before drowning again. Now she can really breathe in the fresh air. She feels clarity better than she ever has.

Elizabeth cracks her neck and pulls the blade out on a deep exhale. She stands up as Stewart’s body collapses in a heap on the floor. Now she has to dispose of his body, clean the office, and act like nothing happened. Tomorrow a construction team comes by to knock everything down and rebuild. Death won’t matter as long as it’s hidden, and Elizabeth doesn’t feel a shred of worry over covering her crimes. She has a plan.

Now she knows what she wants. She wants to tear people apart, see what's on the inside. She wants to do this again, and again, and again...