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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: In which your friends are idiots who think gallivanting around a haunted castle surrounded by lava is a great idea. And then there's a dragon.

ie. Or, I watched Shrek this afternoon and could not stop thinking about the memes of the Prefect being Donkey and Malleus as the Dragon.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

‘Treasure beyond your wildest dreams!’ Ace said.

‘Knowledge long since lost to time!’ Deuce corrected.

‘Yeah, okay, but what is it,’ you asked.

And neither of them had an answer.

Abandoned castles suspended over a sea of bubbling lava were not your preferred holiday destination. You’d told Ace this several times. You’d begged, pleaded, to please just be normal for once. But noooo. Both the snarky, ginger, bastard and the other half of his singular brain cell had apparently decided that suicide ala boiling rocks sounded like a perfectly lovely plan for your Saturday evening.

“I’m just saying,” you huffed as the rope bridge swung worryingly beneath your feet, “taverns are a thing. Faires. Market runs. Casual side quests that won’t wind up with us being flambeed alive.”

“But there’s treasure!” Ace complained, the muddled light off the lava below illuminating his pout in a way that made it look especially punchable. “I heard there’s this really awesome magical sword! Or maybe it was a shield or something—”

“Or something,” you grit out. “What if it’s a book, huh? You can’t even read.”

“We can try!” Deuce returned, a spark of that familiar determination zipping through his blue eyes.

“Or we can sell it,” Ace said, which was certainly the more likely option of the two.

One of the rickety, wooden, slats cracked beneath the low heel of your boot and tumbled down into the lava below. Maybe it hit the gurgling pool of death with a hiss, or a whump, or some other cool sound. But all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

“Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“I mean, maybe,” Ace shrugged. “But at least you’ll have a cool new sword propped up at your grave or something.”

You managed to make it all the way to the other side of the horrible death bridge without plummeting to your doom. Except now you were standing at the foot an equally horrifying castle. It was massive—grand on a scale that seemed entirely impossible for something constructed in the heart of a volcano. Its dozens of ebony spires clawed at the sky. The walls crawled with grey ivy and thickets of thorns so dense that you couldn’t see even the barest hint of brick beneath. It looked evil in the way that cursed tombs felt evil—eternal, and still, and oppressive. Like a creature in its own right rather than just an agglomeration of black stone.

Ace drew his sword and Deuce readied his axe. You sighed and plucked at the strings of your stupid fucking lute, and wished once more that you’d had the foresight all those moons ago to take the cushy internship position Lord Crewel had tried to offer you. But, no. You’d wanted to be an adventurer.

The massive double doors of the entrance swung open with an eerie groan. A pair of stern looking gargoyles stood guard as the three of you cautiously made your way into the castle. You swore you could feel their eyes following you—that you’d seen them flex jagged claws into their stone perches in an aborted attempt to dive after you.

The inside of the looming fortress was no more welcoming than out. Dark, emerald, stained glass windows lined the walls—smothering any of the warmer light from the volcano and tinting the entire hall a sickly green-grey. The stone floors and walls were elaborately carved with the faded stories of dynasties long since passed, but what had once surely been immaculate craftsmanship had shifted and cracked with age—crushing floors into tight slopes and littering already narrow walkways with heavy debris.

“We just have to find the tallest tower,” Ace hummed, swiping at a few dangling trails of thorns with the blunted edge of his blade. “And then the highest room in that.”

“The treasure is never in the highest room in the tallest tower,” you complained. “You just heard that in a drinking song once.”

“Is that true?” Deuce frowned, looking terribly betrayed.

“No way!” Ace snipped. “I told you! An old crone read my fortune in her bone dice, and she said to always check the highest room in the tallest tower! Because that’s where I’d find my greatest treasure!”

“Maybe the greatest treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way?” Deuce suggested helpfully.

“No.”

So you split off from a grouchy Ace and dejected Deuce to try and find some stairs. Every room in this stupid castle was swimming in so many shadows that you could hardly tell right from left, let alone if there were any kinds of secret doors or passageways that may lead to an equally secret tower. The chamber you’d found yourself in now was gigantic, and each tentative step you took echoed discordantly through the ashy gloom. You kicked miserably at a loose rock and it skittered off into the darkness with a dull thunk. And then something… odd, began to happen. That darkness began to move—to rise and unfurl like a great set of wings on a beast. And—oh. Oh no.

“Would you look at that,” Ace whistled under his breath, neck craned all the way back as he squinted at what was most definitely the tallest of all the towers this creepy castle had to offer. “Guess what, nonbelievers. I found the—”

“DRAGON!”

Whoosh went the great swathe of emerald fire as it exploded down the barren hallway and nipped at your heels. You dove out into the open courtyard just in time to avoid being roasted alive, and the gargantuan monster behind you let out a roar fit to shake the earth. A quick tuck-and-roll left you crouched behind a fallen pillar, and the dragon’s bright, green, glower turned on you and your garbage hiding spot with a rumbling snarl. Its rows of sharp, white, teeth closing just above your head—missing its mark by barely a hair’s width.

“Gotcha!” Deuce snarled, his armored fists dragging the dragon away by its tail. Or, well, tried to. Because the dragon was a hundred feet long at least, and your blue haired friend probably looked like nothing more than a pesky rat darting between its feet. It turned and snapped at him irritably, taking a great, big, step forward in a bid to get a firmer stance to attack. You threw yourself in the other direction to avoid being trampled.

“Go!” Ace called, charging in from the other side. “Quick!”

Because at the end of the day, they were still both your brave, tanky, warrior, friends. And you were just a very, very, squishy bard who really would not fare well against a particularly motivated goose, let alone a dragon. So you skidded through the rubble and onto your feet, and started to sprint back into the castle’s halls—hoping maybe you’d be able to find a bit more cover.

There was a great clatter, and both Ace and Deuce yelped. You looked back hurriedly to see the pair of them clutching onto the dragon’s tail for dear life as it whipped them back and forth through the ash and debris cluttering the ground. With one, final, great, sweep, the dragon pitched them into the air and sent them careening through the roof of that ‘tallest tower.’ You muttered a hasty incantation and the sparkling outlines of soft feathers danced along your fingers. You hoped you weren’t too far. You were probably too goddamn far. But you hummed frantically under your breath nonetheless and entreated your middling magic to give them a soft landing.

And then there was another wave of green hellfire raining down over your head and you turned and ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Even if you’d been a champion sprinter, there was little good it would have done you against a beast whose stride was longer than you were tall. You made it back into some hall or other, and into another cavernous room, and then you were pinned into a corner—the dragon looming over you like a vengeful wraith come to take its due.

It was gigantic. Probably the biggest creature you’d ever seen. And it was sleek—all lithe muscle and glossy rows of black scales that glittered oddly in the dull, grey, light. Its wings spread wide behind it, spanning the entirety of the vast chamber. They looked like the sort of wings that could stir up a hurricane. The curling horns atop its head seemed sharp enough to gore a man or twenty, and the purple crests lining its skull were tapered down flat in a way that reminded you a bit deliriously of a pissy cat pinning its ears back before it swatted at you.

Its lips curled back over pointed canines as it snarled at you, and you were showered in a swathe of hot sparks.

“Oh, what large teeth you have,” you squeaked, and when the dragon dipped closer to bellow into your face, your reeled back with a splutter. “I—I mean white, sparkling, teeth!” you rattled, nearly incoherent. The dragon’s snout twitched away, almost like you’d startled it. “I mean, I’m sure you hear this all the time from your food, but—wow! Just! Very lovely! Definitely the prettiest smile I’ll ever be eaten by!”

Slowly it lowered its great head, and you could see the neon glare from its narrowed eyes.

“Not that you have to eat me,” you added hurriedly, hoping to whatever Gods could hear you that your smart mouth could finally be useful for more than just talking circles around assholes in bars or weaseling your friends out of shitty contracts. “I’d very much like not to be eaten. But all the same, we did intrude in your home—and it’s definitely a very nice home—so I’d totally get it. And I guess if I did have to die today, knowing that my life would be in the hands of something so magnificent is certainly reassuring.”

The dragon seemed to preen a bit at that. You could see the sharp crests beneath its horns soften as tension bled from the beast’s posture. It ducked in close again, and this time you felt a sharp pull of air rush past your cheeks as it sniffed you. Its nostrils were the size your head—bigger even, maybe. You didn’t want to think about it, but the dry heat of its breath puffing into your face made the entire thing a bit hard to ignore.

“Did I mention what a charming home you have?” you rambled on. “Very aesthetic. The gargoyles at the gate were a lovely touch.”

The dragon made a low, warbling, noise in its throat that wasn’t quite a growl, but wasn’t particularly… reassuring, either. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

It ducked away—not far, just enough to reach one of the large, carved, walls at the outskirts of the room. Its long neck slithered out before pausing pointedly over an archway. It took you a long moment to realize it was gesturing to something. Another gargoyle from the looks of things—this one almost entirely crumbled away under the strains of time. You could just barely make out the shape of its square jaw and taloned fingers.

You nodded so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Yes! I see! Very beautiful! Such fine craftsmanship!”

The dragon cooed at you. Swear on your life and all the money in your back packet. An actual, honest to God, coo. Fuck, maybe you’d managed to charm your way out of imminent dismemberment and death after all.

It ambled closer once again, a curiosity lighting its eyes and warming those neon irises into something that was less poisonous-hell-fire and more mellow-evening-in-the-forest.

Amidst all the rippling waves of ebony scales, your eyes caught on the smallest smear of crimson. Just a touch of red—right along the spikes of its tail. Carefully, cautiously, slower than molasses, you stepped forward with your hands raised. You whispered a handful of familiar words under your breath and your palms glowed fuzzy and blue. Dragons were supposed to be inherently magical, right? So this one would certainly understand that the string of syllables you’d babbled out were good, and helpful, and not at all a provocation. The dragon was looking down at you with lidded eyes, its gaze a bit unfocused. You gulped.

“I’m sorry my friends messed with your tail,” you apologized, gingerly holding your fingers out to hover over the abrasions without actually touching. “They were just trying to protect me. If—if that makes it any better.” The minuscule wound began to knit itself back together neatly beneath the pulses of your magic. “I do tend to need a lot of protecting—I’m not much a warrior, if that wasn’t completely obvious by the everything about me—so I can’t really blame them for being a bit gung-ho about it.”

After a moment or two, the scratches had faded back into solid, matte, black and you drew back with a content hum.

“There! All fixed!” You gave your most winning smile. Please don’t eat me, your brain chanted on endless repeat. Please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me—

The dragon reared back and settled on its haunches with another heavy puff of sweltering breath. You could feel the heat of it prickling all the way up your arms. After a long, long, moment of silent consideration, the dragon leaned forward again and rumbled deep in its chest. When you only stood there, properly petrified, it huffed again and bumped its nose against your sternum, nearly toppling you over.

“I don’t—” you started, nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

With another sigh that sounded entirely too put upon, the dragon lowered its great head. The air itself seemed to grow heavy against your shoulders, and you could taste the cloying bitterness of strong magics on the back of your tongue. Black miasma oozed from beneath the dragon’s talons and melted along its scales. The caustic scent of ash and petrichor burned along your nostrils, and you had to pinch your eyes shut and cover your nose to keep from coughing. You managed to sneak a peek past your fingers just in time to watch the shadowed outline of the beast collapse. And out of that puddle of black goo emerged a man. He was tall and lithe, just as the dragon had been, with glowing green eyes that were terribly familiar. They were framed with thick, dark, lashes and sat perfectly on a face that was nearly too handsome to be human (well, it really wasn’t human you supposed, so that little tidbit probably accounted for said inhuman beauty well enough). Recognizable eyes and stature or no, the curling horns atop his head would have sealed the deal plenty well enough on their own.

He shook off the shadows twining around his ankles with a lazy twist of the hand and then turned to you with a curious little hum.

And holy fuck Mister Dragon apparently had no sense of shame, or maybe just no qualms about social niceties and practicalities, because his human self was wearing about just as many clothes as his lizard form had been.

You squeezed your eyes shut with a squeak, and then double covered them with your hands for good measure.

A chuckle rolled through the air—as dark and pleasantly rich as the finest of chocolates. And then there was a clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back, and back, and back until you were at least half-way sure it would probably be safe to open your eyes again without infringing on his decency.

“You are fascinating, Child of Man,” it—he—hummed, low in his throat. His thumb dragged down to hook beneath the curve of your jaw and support the finger tucked up under your chin. “And it’s been so, very, long since I’ve been fascinated by anything.”

“Uh,” you replied, like a perfectly functional human being.

The dragon’s lips curled up over his pointed teeth—still just as sharp and white as they had been when he’d been so much bigger and scalier.

“I think I’d like to keep you,” he said with a nod to himself, as casually as one may talk about picking up extra groceries from the market.

“Uh,” you said again.

“You did mention that you needed protecting,” he continued, tapping a clawed finger against his own chin. The small smile quirking his lips twisted into something smug. “And that is certainly something at which I would excel.”

Your head was swimming.

“I—I mean. I’m honored that you—that… you—” You couldn’t even think the words, let alone get them past your brain and out of your mouth. You cleared your throat and fought to keep your eyes level with his clavicle and nowhere else. “D-Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?” you laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m sure my friends will probably be on their way back down soon—and—I mean, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, slow and serpentine.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He canted his head to the side, long strands of that inky black hair of his spilling across his shoulder. An amused sort of grin worked its way along his mouth. “Dragons are not keen to give out our true names so readily, but you seem like a clever one. Tell me—what do you think I’m called then, hmm?”

You glanced up quickly at the horns atop his head and couldn’t help yourself.

“Tsunotarou?”

He let out a bark of laughter that seemed to shake the walls.

“Oh,” he trilled, looking positively delighted. The hand not curled beneath your chin reached down to snag your own, and he brought your wrist up to his lips. You could feel the imprints of his canines against the soft skin there. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 1

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queenshelby · 5 months

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MINI SERIES: THE SLAVE

PART THREE OF THE DARK & SEXY SERIES

NOTE: This is a series of one shots and mini series for Cillian Murphy & Tommy Shelby in which he acts totally off-canon. Most of these shots are very dark in nature and you should read their individual warnings. All of these shots are requests from readers. Co-written with @darkshelbyfiction! ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18. MINORS DNI.

PAIRING: TOMMY SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

WARNING: NON-CONSENSUAL LOSS OF VIRGINITY, CAPTURED READER, SLAVE READER, TOMMY GETTING OFF ON PAIN

NOTE: AGAIN THIS WAS A REQUEST AND I FELT A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE PUBLISHING IT...VERY DARK!

It had been two days since you were brought to Birmingham from your home country after promises of prosperity and wealth.

But the cost for this was higher than you ever imagined when you were sold, by your very own father, as property to the highest bidder.

Now you had arrived at Thomas Shelby's estate, which stood majestically against the backdrop of lush greenery and manicured gardens. The mansion, built centuries ago, seemed to command the landscape around it, much like how its owner commanded people within it.

A maid named Nadia greeted you at the entrance, leading you up the grand staircase that spiraled upwards into a series of breathtaking domed ceilings and magnificent chandeliers. Each room presented an extravagant spectacle of artistry and craftsmanship; it was as if every corner had been meticulously designed to overwhelm even the most jaded observer.

Despite the opulence surrounding you, something felt unsettling about the silence that enveloped the house. As far as you could tell, there was no one else here except the maids and yourself. This was not just a house, but a fortress - an impregnable bastion constructed on foundations of isolation and distance.

"This way," intoned the maid, gesturing down a long hallway lined with oil paintings depicting scenes of aristocratic splendor. The air smelled stale - it had been many years since anyone had breathed life into this grand edifice.

"I will show you to your room," whispered Nadia, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.

As she walked ahead, you noticed her movements were careful, almost rehearsed, as if she had done this countless times before.

Her gait betrayed an unnatural rhythm, a pattern formed by habituation rather than choice.

She knew the layout of the house inside out, each twist and turn etched into her memory like grooves on an old vinyl record.

You followed her silently, allowing the grandeur of the mansion to wash over you.

Every now and then, you caught glimpses of your reflection in the polished marble floors, a ghostly image of yourself trapped between reality and illusion. You found yourself feeling strangely calm and collected, despite the circumstances that led you here.

Nadia finally stopped outside a door adorned with intricate carvings and gestured you into a room without windows.

"This is where you will sleep and perform your duties," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. There was something eerie about the maid, an unspoken understanding between her and the master of the house.

Slowly stepping into the dimly lit chamber, you took note of the opulent surroundings: velvet curtains hung from gold-plated rails, plush rugs lay scattered across the polished hardwood floor, and delicate porcelain vases filled with fresh flowers graced every surface.

However, the abundance of luxury did little to ease the unease that settled deep within your gut.

The maid turned abruptly, locking eyes with you. "At night, the room will be locked securely so don't attempt to leave. If you need anything, ring the bell by the bedside table," she told you before fluffing up some of the cushions on the bed.

"I never..." You trailed off, swallowing back tears that threatened to betray your bravado. You forced yourself to maintain eye contact with the maid, knowing full well that any sign of weakness would be exploited mercilessly. "I have not done anything like this before. I was told that I had to because a lot of money was paid for my services, but understand please that I have no experience," you then stammered, knowing full well that you had been purchased to perform sexual acts for your benefactor.

"The fact that you are so innocent, and young is precisely why Mr. Shelby has purchased you," Nadia responded coldly, turning away to adjust a lamp on the nightstand.

"Now, let me explain to you what is expected of you around here," she continued, softening her tone slightly.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, and your palms slickened with sweat, though you managed to nod affirmatively, meeting her gaze steadily. "Firstly, you must address Mr. Shelby as 'Sir' at all times. Do not forget," she warned sternly.

You swallowed hard, nodding again.

"You will be allowed to leave your room with another maid, between eight o'clock in the morning and eight o'clock in the evening, but not otherwise unless Mr. Shelby is with you," Nadia explained, adjusting a silk pillow propped by the headboard.

You tried to picture a day spent in confinement, the mere thought sending shivers down your spine.

"Mr. Shelby will inform you directly when he requires your services. Most often he will come here to use you for his pleasure, and he usually expects to be attended to at least twice per day, occasionally more often. You should prepare yourself mentally and physically for his needs because it can get quite overwhelming sometimes," Nadia explained and your breath hitched, but you managed to control the panic rising within you.

"And if I refuse?" you asked, causing Nadia to pause and look at you. "Refusal is not an option. Mr. Shelby doesn't tolerate disobedience. You must do whatever he asks."

Your hands shook involuntarily, but you clenched them into fists to prevent further trembling. You nodded weakly, fighting back tears.

"What he wants...is it...painful?" What you didn't know, what you couldn't comprehend, was whether the physical pain of intimacy would be more bearable than the emotional agony of submitting to someone else's whims.

"Sometimes, but he's gentle enough," Nadia replied matter-of-factly. "Now, you must get ready for tonight. He will be visiting you at 8 o'clock and expects you to wear nothing but a pair of undergarments of your choice," Nadia said before directing you to your wardrobe. "You will lie on the bed and wait for him, understood?" she asked and, again, you nodded.

"I will be back after he is done with you to change the sheets and provide food and water," Nadia then finally explained before she left you alone in the darkness, save for the faint glow of your bedside lamp. You heard the key turn in the lock, sealing you in the room. You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process everything she told you.

On the bedside table you found a bottle of lubrication next to a bottle of painkillers, both small comforts in the face of the reality of your situation and, when you looked around the room, you also found other items such as restraints hanging neatly from hooks in the wall. You shivered, feeling your anxiety rise.

Then, just before 8 o'clock, there was a knock on the door. You flinched, jumping to your feet and nearly knocking over the lamp.

"It's time," Nadia called through the door. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

You stripped off your clothes, leaving you naked in the dim light of the room. You pulled on a pair of cotton panties, their thin fabric barely covering the shame you felt.

You then laid down beneath the thin sheets and waited for your new master's arrival. The tension mounted as the seconds ticked by, the sound of footsteps echoing loudly in the silent mansion.

There was a creak of the door opening, and an intimidating figure emerged from the shadows. His presence loomed large, filling the space with an aura of dominance and power. He wore only a robe, his toned body visible underneath. You bit your lip nervously, unable to tear your gaze away from those imposing features.

Thomas Shelby, you reminded yourself – a name that would forever haunt your dreams. His cold blue eyes swept over you, assessing your worth.

You stared back, holding his gaze, refusing to cower.

"Welcome, Love," he rasped, his voice like gravel underfoot, but you remained silent, swallowing the lump in your throat. He moved closer, looming over you like a storm cloud, his scent of sandalwood and spice filling your nostrils.

"I trust Nadia has briefed you on your duties?" he queried, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

Your skin recoiled at his touch, but you refused to pull away.

"Yes, she did," you mumbled hesitantly, your voice cracking under his scrutiny. He studied you carefully, tracing the lines of your jaw with his fingers.

"Good girl," he crooned softly, a strange sense of pride swelling within you. Your resolve wavered at the compliment, but you steeled yourself, reminding yourself of the reality of your situation as he touched some of your bare skin not covered by the white sheet.

"Relax Love," he then said softly as the heat of his hand seared through your skin, sending quivers up your spine. "You will get used to this after a while," he went on to say and his voice was comforting, yet the words stung like venom.

Your breath quickened, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, and your hands instinctively curled into fists beneath the thin white sheet covering you. You wanted to scream, but instead, you simply nodded, unable to find any words to respond.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes appraising your form beneath the covers. "I am going to have a look at you now, eh" he said suddenly, reaching down to lift the edge of the sheet away from your body.

You squirmed and turned red, trying to cover yourself. But he pushed your hands aside gently, staring at you with a mixture of lust and admiration. "I cannot wait to feel your tight little cunt squeeze around my cock when I claim you," he whispered, running his fingertips along your inner thigh, causing you to shiver uncomfortably.

"But first, let me have a look at this little virgin hole of yours, eh?" the man said and his words sent a wave of unease coursing through your veins. You could feel the sweat trickling down your face, mingling with the tears pooling in your eyes. You bit your lip, struggling to contain the sobs threatening to erupt from inside you.

With a gentle tug, he pulled your panties down just enough to expose your slit and your heart pounded against your chest almost painfully.

"I have been told that your opening is particularly small" he murmured, trailing his fingers over your slit before parting your labia slightly, exposing your tiny clit.

"Ow!" you gasped, wincing at the sudden stretch caused by his fingers.

"You do have a tight opening indeed," he grinned wickedly, licking his lips.

Thomas gazed at it with fascination, reaching between your thighs. You tried to close your legs, but he firmly held them open, pressing a dry finger against your entrance, probing it gently.

"Look at that," he breathed, leaning forward to get a better view. "It's barely opened up yet," Tommy groaned as he probed deeper, widening your opening until he found your hymen—a thin membrane that separated you from being fully broken. His fingers brushed against it, sending stinging pain shooting through your core as he toyed with your opening.

"Now, be a good girl and hold still for me," he cooed, pressing the tips of one of his fingers against your entrance. "I need to stretch you out a bit, ready for later," he went on to say as his finger pressed harder, forcing its way into your most intimate space. It felt too big, too foreign. The pain was excruciating, but you did your best not to make a sound.

"There we go," he muttered, thrusting deeper until his entire pointer finger filled you up. "That's a good girl. Now, let's see if I can get a second one in there," he told you before reaching for the bottle of lubrication he kept on the nightstand and squirting the viscous liquid onto two of his fingers.

"Hold still for me," he reminded you before swiping his fingers across your outer lips and then pushing not one but two fingers right into you.

You cried out and arched your back, biting into your own fist to stop any louder sounds from escaping.

"Shh," Thomas hushed you, rubbing soothing circles into your hipbone as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

His fingers felt cold and slimy inside you, sliding easily past your resistance, tearing at your hymen with each thrust.

You closed your eyes tightly, gritting your teeth as the sensation of being stretched and torn overwhelmed you.

The sight of his fingers stretching you like this turned him on; he couldn't help but groan and squeeze harder, making sure you knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Such a good girl," he praised between grunts, watching your petals pulse around his digits, growing wetter and slicker with every stroke.

"See how hard you make me?" he moaned, opening his robe and grabbing hold of his erection, stroking it firmly. "I really want to fuck you now," he determined before he withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed.

"Now be a good girl and turn over and lay flat on your stomach, face down against pillow," he commanded gruffly, pushing your upper body onto the mattress.

You hesitated, wanting to turn over and hide your nakedness, but fear of displeasing him kept you lying facedown.

"I am going to use some lubrication, but it is going to hurt a lot more if you don't relax Love," he warned sharply, pulling your waist upwards and spreading your legs apart.

As you lay on your stomach and your heart hammered against your chest. The thought of being penetrated by him sent chills down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to block out the inevitable.

You whimpered softly, trying to prepare yourself for what was to come, and Tommy smeared a generous amount of lube onto his cock, coating it in a thick layer of slippery fluid. You flinched in anticipation as he positioned himself between your legs.

"This might hurt a bit for the first few days, but you will get used to it after a while. The more we do it, the easier it will get," he said while aligning himself with your entry point.

"Now," he continued, his tone stern. "I want you to stay completely still when I penetrate you," he added, applying another dollop of lube to his shaft.

You remained silent, swallowing loudly as you attempted to gather your courage. You could hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears; the rhythmic, thunderous pounding was deafening.

"Do you understand?" he asked quietly and you nodded. Your muscles tensed, ready to endure whatever came next.

Thomas placed the head of his penis at your entrance, teasing you with a slow push. You exhaled loudly, gripping the sheets in your fists.

"Relax and let me in," Thomas urged you, nudging the tip of his member against your entrance. "That's it," he sighed, feeling your body yield under his command. His cock slid into you, stretching you wide open, and the friction of entering you caused a shudder to ripple through his body.

"Ah," he groaned, reveling in the exquisite sensation of being enveloped by your warm, tight channel. "Such a good girl," he groaned as he savored the moment, basking in the sensations that coursed through him. Then, he began to thrust, filling you up inch by agonizing inch until every last millimeter of his erection was buried deep within you.

"So tight," he groaned, bucking into you with a force that seemed to shake the entire bed. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight."

"You are going to be such a good little whore for me, eh?" Tommy murmured into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck.

"You will take my cock many times a day, love," he growled, his words a dark promise that sent a chill down your spine. "In the morning, afternoon, and evening."

You swallowed loudly, unable to meet his gaze. Your heart hammered wildly against your chest, and you struggled to suppress the sob that threatened to escape.

"Every time I come through that door, you'll be ready for me, won't you?" he asked, his grip tightening around your hip.

"Because I'm going to fuck you whenever I want, Love." Tommy snarled, punctuating his words with hard thrusts.

For almost an hour, he used you like this, treating you like a rag doll that belonged to him alone until, finally, he was ready to ejaculate inside your raw opening.

"I am going to cum inside you now, Love," he informed you, his cock twitching violently against your vaginal wall.

"Do you want me to fill you up with my seed?" he asked you, his voice laced with lust, his fingers tightening around your hips.

"Yes, sir," you managed to reply, your voice hoarse with exhaustion.

He smiled down at you, satisfaction shining in his eyes. "Good girl," he praised, pumping his cock a few more times before letting out a guttural yell and filling you up with his essence.

As he collapsed next to you, panting heavily, you could feel his warmth radiating into your channel.

The remnants of his semen trickled down your leg, leaving a sticky trail behind.

"That was a lovely experience, wasn't it?" Tom said, his voice still coarse from exertion. "Now rest. I am going to fuck you again when I come back from my business deal tonight" he added, his gaze lingering on your tender, swollen lips.

He moved his hands to cup your breasts, palming them gently before pinching your nipples.

"You are going to learn to enjoy it Love," he whispered, his voice harsh and commanding. "And when you do," he paused, his breath hot against your cheek, "you are going to beg me for more," he determined before putting his robe back on and calling one of the maids to help you clean up.

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #tommy shelby #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby smut

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dfortrafalgar · 2 months

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I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling The Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings.

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men

Chapter 19

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28 hours.

Those were Law’s least favorite shifts. Where his bedroom was a temporary call room with a stiff twin-size mattress and a single flat pillow, and where his companion was his hospital pager and not the warmth of your body next to his. Not like he got much sleep to begin with, not with his pager going off in the ungodly hours of the morning due to the sheer spontaneity of cardiac events.

After 28 long, grueling hours, the warmth of the summer sun finally graced the skin of his exhausted face as he stepped through the hospital’s entrance doors and walked through the parking lot to his car, placing his work bag in the passenger seat. Normally, he’d head straight home to hold you in his arms and bury his face in the flesh of your belly where you were the most soft and warm, but today he had a different plan. From the inside of his bag, he procured a small box, placing it securely in the empty cup holder below the center console before putting his car into gear and driving to his destination.

It didn’t take him too long to get across the city where he miraculously found street parking in front of his destination. He placed the box safely inside the pocket of his slacks, reaching into his car’s ashtray to procure a few coins for the parking meter. Stepping out of his car and onto the sidewalk, he gazed at the sign of the building in front of him.

SABAODY’S JEWELERS

A longtime, family owned business known for their exceptional craftsmanship of handmade jewelry, Law was very familiar with the owners. After all, it was where he had your engagement ring made. He palmed the box in his pocket as he took a deep breath and walked through the entrance.

A black-haired older woman sat behind the front counter, casually flipping through a newspaper as she moved an unlit cigarette around her lips. Her sharp, analytical eyes darted upward at the sound of the bell on the door signaling Law’s entrance. She smiled upon seeing the man, folding the newspaper and uncrossing her legs to stand from the stool she was perched on.

“Trafalgar Law, it’s been a minute! How’ve you been?” She excitedly leaned over the counter, her v-neck tank top revealing a bit more cleavage than Law was comfortable with, but he smiled fondly at her enthusiasm.

“I’ve been well, Shakky, thanks. How’s Rayleigh?” The man kept his hands in his pockets, fidgeting with the box.

“Oh you know, can’t get him to sit down. Not even for a moment,” Shakky joked, removing the unlit cigarette from her lips and placing it on a small napkin behind the checkout register. “How’s the wife?”

Law’s smile grew a bit wider at the mention of you. “We could be better, that’s kind of what I came in here for.”

The older woman’s eyebrows quirked upward in confusion as she watched Law pull the small box from his pocket, opening it and placing it on the counter. Inside was a tiny plastic bag filled about halfway with a dusty, gray powder.

“Are those…” she started.

“Ashes,” Law replied, finishing her sentence for her. “We’ve… uhm… we’ve been having some fertility issues, to keep the story short.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” her voice was quiet and apologetic as she stared down at the tiny bag. It seemed she picked up on what the ashes were from almost immediately, making Law relieved that he wouldn’t have to explain any further, not thrilled about reliving the sight of his dead baby in a bedpan.

“I was wondering if you would be able to make these into two pieces, I’m thinking of a ring and a necklace. I don’t really know how jewelry works, but I figured you’d be able to come up with some ideas,” he offered, keeping his hand on the box as if to protect it.

Shakky’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Of course I could, I’ve done many cremation pieces before. Do you mind if I take a look at them?” She made a small motion towards the box, catching on to the way Law’s fingers remained positioned around the tiny bag to snatch it away for safekeeping.

He pushed it forward, wordlessly giving her permission. Shakky’s long fingers gently picked up the bag from inside of the box. It was astronomically tiny, the small amount of ashes barely being more than a teaspoon in size. Her heart clenched at the sight. She was always so fond of you and Law, owing the heart surgeon a great deal for assisting with treating her own husband’s atrial fibrillation. To think that such a sweet couple have had to go through something so traumatic, it made her soul weep at the thought.

“I have a fantastic idea,” she piped up, looking at Law. “Come with me to the back, I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

Law followed her as she rounded the counter and trekked through her small storefront, past display tables full of handmade bracelets, earrings, and necklaces. She pushed open a metal door in the far back of the shop, entering what Law presumed to be her workshop, or at least a small part of it. He watched as she placed the box with the ashes down onto the countertop before she approached a small plastic storage container and procured a tiny fabric drawstring bag. She emptied it into the palm of her hand, revealing a small, simple gold ring band with a flat, circular pendant in the middle.

“This was an experiment I was doing with plant ashes, so it’s not for sale, but I’d be able to do something like this. I melted down glass, mixed the ashes into the glass, and cooled and shaped it to fit into the face of this ring, similar to a gemstone. I’m able to change the color of the glass depending on what you might want,” she explained, moving the ring around under the light so Law could get a good look at the details. “Considering how there’s… well… not many ashes, I think this might be the best choice.”

The tiny piece of jewelry was indeed quite beautiful, even if it was just an artistic test. The way the ashes were embedded into the colorful glass gave it a quartz-like appearance that glittered under the fluorescent lights of Shakky’s work room.

“What kind of colors can you do?” he asked, officially intrigued.

“All kinds, but I typically do white and blue for glass pieces,” she offered. “The blue is a light, sky blue color, similar to an aquamarine.”

Law nodded, contemplating. “Are you able to do one that’s more plain?”

“I’m able to do whatever your little heart wants,” she teased.

The black-haired man grinned. “Can you do blue glass for the ring and white for the necklace? The necklace is for me,” he asked, tracing his collarbone with the pads of his fingers.

Shakky smiled from ear to ear, clutching her test ring in her palm as she excitedly nodded. “Law, dear, I’d be honored to do this for you and your wife. If you want to hang around, I can have them done in about two hours.”

“That quick?” he asked, exasperated. “I don’t want you to have to drop your current work just for me.”

“Boy, did you see me doing work when you walked in? If you call doing the daily crossword ‘work’ then I’m concerned about what you do on your breaks!” She tossed a joking smile at the man as she slipped her test ring back into its fabric bag, placing it back into the storage container it came from.

“I’ll meet you by the front to pay–” Law began before Shakky cut him off.

“Nope, on the house.”

“Shakky, this is work,” he argued.

“It might be, but this is special for you and your wife. Consider this part of a gift from me for all you’ve done for myself and my family,” she said, her words laced with tenderness. “If you really want to repay me so badly, bring me a six pack later tonight before I close.”

Law smirked. “You got yourself a deal.”

Shakky sealed their arrangement with a hearty, friendly smack to his shoulder, making him wince slightly. She was far stronger than her outward appearance let on. “See you in two hours, kid.”

Law exited her back room, making his way past her various display tables and shelves to the front of the store before exiting out the front. He pulled his phone from his pocket, navigating to your contact and calling your cell phone.

It rang about three times before the receiver clicked and your voice spoke through the speaker.

[Hi, baby! Are you on your way home?]

Law thought you must have had some form of supernatural ability, the way your voice was able to consistently brighten his day every time he heard you. “I’m actually downtown, are you free right now?”

Small shuffling sounds could be heard in the background. [Once I’m done cleaning out the cabinets I will be! Do you wanna meet somewhere?]

The man chuckled. “Why are you cleaning out the cabinets?”

[I was bored and didn’t want to be alone with my own thoughts.] You had a point.

“Well stop cleaning, meet me at Cafe Brook. I want to see you,” he chided through the phone, his voice giving away the smile on his face as he spoke to you.

[Aye aye, captain! I’ll see you in a bit, I love you!]

“Love you, too, baby,” he replied before the call was cut off. He shoved his phone into his pocket and began the short walk to the agreed upon location.

—

Law was waiting outside the restaurant for you and grinned as you approached, a sundress adorning your body and your bag slung over your shoulder as you walked with a slight skip in your step. While your husband wasn’t much for PDA, that didn’t stop you from taking his hands in yours and pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Hi,” you said with a small giggle.

“Hi,” he replied, wrapping his arm around your waist to guide you into the small cafe.

It was late in the morning nearing the end of the brunch hour, so many of the tables were empty leaving you and Law with a wonderful table in the corner by the sunlit window. You hung your bag on the back of your chair before you took your seat, adjusting your dress under your legs while Law immediately took a sip of the complimentary tap water on the table.

“This was such a nice surprise!” you said, jovially. “Why were you downtown?”

Your husband shrugged, keeping his smile content, trying to hold in what he was scheming. “Just had to run some errands, that’s all.”

You rested your head in the palm of your hand on the table, your eyes gazing at him knowingly. “You’re not trying to surprise me, are you?”

“I would never. You don’t need surprises,” he replied, tossing a mischievous smirk at you.

You laughed, poking your tongue out at him. “Well, whatever you were doing, I’m always happy to get brunch with you. Especially after such a long shift… how was it, by the way?” Your own hand clutched your cup of water, your fingers releasing some of the condensation and causing droplets of water to flow down the outside of the glass.

Law groaned as a response to your question, making you smile sympathetically. “28 hours of pain,” he griped. “Everyone always waits until three in the morning to have urgent health issues.”

You reached your hand across the table to pat his forearm. He responded by adjusting his arm so his hand could hold yours. “Well, now you have two days off!”

A waiter came by and passed out some small paper menus, but the two of you almost immediately decided on what to order. A plate of curly fries to split, a hearty breakfast sampler for Law after having eaten very little in the last 28 hours, and a toasted blueberry muffin for you. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you gazed around the interior of the restaurant. The entire joint was trying to be old-school rock and roll themed, but it harshly clashed with the rustic wooden entryway and wall sidings. The entire establishment was a strange cacophony of design choices, made even more humorous with the multiple posters and framed platinum records of the famed jazz musician Soul King Brook, who’s name was the inspiration for the establishment. (No one actually knew if Brook had anything to do with the place, though.)

“Hey, remember how my friends came over last week and left that basket of stuff?” you asked, alerting Law’s worried attention from the frightening poster of the almost skeletonized pop star.

“Yeah, what about?” he asked, giving you his full regard.

“So I was actually texting Vivi again yesterday,” you stated. “She gave me the names of a few counselors in the area who specialize with women’s health and pregnancy issues… and I think I’m going to try one of them out just to see what’s up.”

Law straightened his shoulders. “That… sounds like a fantastic idea.”

“You think?” you asked, slightly nervous about his opinion.

“Of course, I think that’d be really good for you to help you adjust to everything that’s happened,” he clarified.

You smiled, feeling your chest flutter with his support. “If my first appointment goes well, would you want to maybe come with me?” you asked. “I mean… you know… you deserve support, too.”

Law felt his own chest clench at your words. You were right, he was just as damaged as you were over the whole situation. His mind flashed back to Shakky’s jewelry store, where the woman was most likely hunched over her work table shaping hot glass as they spoke. He nodded slowly, albeit enthusiastically. “I think that would help me a lot, if I went with you.”

“Even just to talk everything out with a professional,” you added, hoping to solidify his decision.

Your husband nodded once again. “Exactly.”

The smile you gave to the man made his face flush with heat. Your beaming grin, a sight he seemed to have missed more often since your second miscarriage, the smile that bore the heat of one thousand suns and yet filled his entire soul with the fuzzy comfort that only you could provide. He fell in love with you more and more each time he saw that brilliant smile.

Your food came out from the kitchen and was passed toward you, Law’s mouth instantly beginning to salivate at the sight of the greasy bacon and eggs spread out on the porcelain, next to a generous helping of homefries and whole wheat toast. He watched with a small smile as you took a delighted bite out of your blueberry muffin that was cut in half down the middle and slathered with a smear of butter on each side.

—

“Law, why are we at Sabaody’s?” you asked, your voice riddled with skepticism as your husband led you by your hand the few blocks it took to get from the restaurant to the jeweler’s. Law had received a text during your meal that made him appear jumpy, and he remained that way until you had finished eating and paid the bill.

“No reason,” he replied, the weakest excuse known to man as he pushed open the door to the storefront, beckoning you inside.

Shakky rounded the corner out of her work room, smiling upon seeing you. She held two boxes in her hands, but quickly placed them safely in a small brown paper bag which she promptly handed to Law.

“Oh, dear, it’s so good to see you!” she called, making you smile as she dipped down for a friendly hug.

“You too, Shakky! How’s your husband?” you asked, figuring the same question must have been asked by your own man.

“Constantly running at 100% capacity,” she responded with a sarcastic eye roll. She turned her attention back to Law and tossed him a wink. “All set!”

“Thank you so much, Shakky, I really appreciate it,” he answered, reaching over the checkout counter to shake her hand.

You watched their interaction with profound confusion. “What are you two scheming without me?”

“Nothing,” the older woman responded, a coy grin on her face as she waved the two of you out of the storefront.

Law kept the bag clenched in his hand as he walked, his opposite hand holding you as he led you back to his car.

“Law, I parked down the road,” you indicated, but he quickly opened his passenger side door and ushered you inside.

“I know, but this is important,” he uttered. His words sounded rushed, almost panicky, making worry begin to sprout in your mind. What in the world had he done?

You watched as he rounded the front of his car and plopped himself into his driver's seat, closing and locking the doors around you with the switch below the handle. He nervously fumbled with the bag, pulling out the two boxes that had been handed to him by the older woman.

“So… I… uhm…” he was frantically tripping over his words, a far cry from the man you had met for brunch almost three hours prior. “I might have gone behind your back and done something.”

You stared at him with concern. “... Okay…?”

Law’s hands were slightly trembling as he opened the smaller box, revealing a brilliant silver banded ring with a small blue glass pendant in the middle. It glittered in the sunlight, the tiny but stunning faux gem casting blue hues reflected from the sun on the top lid of the box. He passed it over to you, watching as you gently took it in your hands and gazed with wide eyes at the subtle piece of jewelry.

“Law…?” You looked over at him as he opened the second box, revealing a similar small pendant necklace on a thick, sturdy silver chain. The stone on the necklace was a simple white stone that looked similar to an opal.

“At the hospital, after you fell asleep and before we went home that night, I tracked down the nurse that took our baby and asked her to bring me to the mortuary to have someone cremate him,” he explained. “His ashes are in the jewelry.”

Your eyes were wide as you took in his words, gazing back at the bright blue glass pendant on the ring. Your voice was trembling as you struggled for words. “You… it…”

Law reached his shaking hands over to you, pulling the ring out of the box and taking your right hand in his. He slipped the ring over your right-hand ring finger, feeling inwardly satisfied as it fit perfectly on your digit. He laced his hand with yours, your eyes never tearing away from the pendant on the ring.

“I got the ring for you, and the necklace for me,” he whispered, leaning closer to you over the center console.

Your eyes darted upward to meet his own, tears brimming in the corners as you bit your wobbling lip. With a blubbery laugh, you gave him a small, playful shove on his shoulder. “You need to stop making me cry!”

Law chuckled himself, pulling you in for an uncomfortable hug over the center compartment in his car. You eagerly wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your head into the junction of his neck. He could feel your smile on his skin as you sniffled into his shirt.

“Law…” you mumbled, pulling away from him to gaze at the ring. “I can’t… I can’t believe it…”

Your husband was smiling, a content grin that held the same amount of sadness that you still felt in your heart after losing your unborn 12-week-old. His attention was torn from your soft face as you reached over for the other box in his lap, pulling out the necklace and unlatching the clasp. Your hands trailed around his neck to link the chain around him, watching with fondness as the white pendant sat perfectly in between his collarbones.

“Looks good on you…” you sighed, your hands tracing the tan skin around the pendant, the feeling making goosebumps rise on Law’s skin. “Our baby…”

“Now he’ll still be with us wherever we go,” he whispered.

You wiped away your tears with the collar of your dress. “When did you get so sappy?” you asked, jokingly.

Law grinned. “Well, admittedly, one of my nurses gave me the idea. She told me her sister lost a pregnancy, and they had the remains cremated and made into little rocks that they spread through their favorite hiking trail.”

“That’s so beautiful,” you cooed, your tears slowing down. The new ring on your finger brought you a strange sense of comfort you had yet to feel, something almost akin to closure. It was a small patch in the cracks that made up your broken heart, cracks that your husband was slowly learning to rebuild, and that you were doing to his own.

“God,” you sighed, leaning back in your seat. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Law’s hand brushed over your cheek. “I should be asking the same thing.”

You stared blankly out the front windshield before asking, “Can we just have Shachi or Penguin pick up my car? I don’t want to leave you.”

Your sudden question made Law snort out a laugh as he pulled out his phone. “I’d be more than happy to ask, my love.”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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gloomwitchwrites · 6 months

Text

Spiced Wine

Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief alcohol use, dancing, fluff, romantic tension

Word Count: 2.2k

During a winter festival, you dance with a stranger.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

Winter is knocking on the door.

There is a thin dusting of snow upon the ground. All of Erebor and Dale is out this evening with little regard for the chill. The solstice begins tonight and with it comes the changing of the season along with celebrations to mark the end of the harvest.

You stand just outside Erebor’s massive doors. A large crowd enters, seeking the warmth within the dwarven halls. King Thrór is hosting a massive feast full of food, lively music, and dancing. While Erebor is the host, all of Dale is invited, and that also includes many of the surrounding communities.

This will be your first time entering the dwarven kingdom, and you’re nervous. Sweat blooms in your palms, and you aren’t sure whether you should see this through or turn tail and go home.

But if you return home, you will be alone, and you’re sick of being alone.

Your life in Dale is pleasant, and you enjoy working in one of the few bookshops, but it is almost always only you. Most of your family is gone or dwelling in faraway places. There is only you to rely on, and over the last few years, more and more of the men in Dale have been…forward with their intentions.

Their attention is nice, but it’s also exhausting. Every time the bell over the door rings, you expect it to be a customer. Most of the time it’s one of the many single men wishing to speak with you. You have to put on a smile and get through it as best you can.

You want to enjoy yourself tonight, even though you’d rather return home. Fortunately, you haven’t noticed any of your admirers, and you’re silently thankful for it. The last thing you need this evening is to chase off your group of men. They’ll follow you around, and then everyone else will avoid you.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you turn your nerves to steel, and walk through the massive entryway and into the main hall of Erebor. You follow the crowd, moving with them as they veer to the right, entering through several small archways.

As you near, you spot several tables. There are masks resting upon the wood in little rows, and you silently thank all the gods you know. Walking up to the nearest one, you consider your options. Before you is a beautiful assortment, each mask unique and different. The craftsmanship is exceptional. You settle on a gold mask that will cover everything but your eyes and mouth.

Securing it in place, you feel much lighter than before. With the mask, your flock of men will not find you, and even if they do, they might not realize that it is you that they’ve found. From there, you become one with the crowd, walking beneath more arches until you’re herded into the grand banquet hall.

The walls, ceiling, and floor are all made of smooth stone. The ceiling is high, and the pillars that support it are intricately carved with the images of dwarven kings from ages before. Hanging from the ceiling are strands of lights and different flora from around the area that thrive in the frigid temperatures. Those same plants are also around the room in various arrangements and displays.

The large room is separated into two sections. On one side is the food and drink. There are long tables there as well. People gather around the tables of food and near the massive barrels where people fill their cups. A good many attendees are also seated at the long banquet tables where they talk amongst themselves while they eat. The other side of the room hosts the music and people dancing.

Everything is warm and comforting. With the mask, you’re beginning to relax. You can do this. Walk the room, chat with a few people, eat some delicious food, and partake in a glass or two of strong drink. Then, you can return home, and curl up in bed with a book as the snow falls.

Starting at one end, you do a small lap, eventually making it to the large casks where people fill their cups. You delicately reach for a goblet and present it to one of the dwarves who guards the taps.

“What will it be, lassie?” he asks with a kind smile. His wrinkles crinkle when he grins.

“What do you have?”

“Well,” he begins. “There are lots of options, but there is spiced wine that just came in. It’s strong, flavorful, and filling. You won’t need much to make your toes warm.”

You laugh. “That sounds lovely.” You hand him your cup and watch as he fills it almost to the top. “Thank you.”

You take the cup and bring it to your lips. The flavor bursts on your tongue and your shoulders sag with happiness.

“Good, isn’t it?”

You nod and lightly wipe at the corner of your mouth. “Indeed. Many thanks.” He inclines his head and starts speaking with a new guest.

As you step away, you sense a change, as if someone were watching you. Pausing, you scan the room, making sure to not appear obvious in your observation. Has one of the many bachelors from Dale noticed you? Do they see you at this moment?

When you don’t notice anyone staring, you push out into the crowd, doing slow sweeps with the turn of your head. Still, nothing and no one grabs your attention. Frowning, you stick to the perimeter, stopping to chat with a few people you know.

Deja, the woman who runs the flower shop next to the bookstore you work in, leans against a nearby pillar. A man has her cornered, talking her ear off, and she’s not even paying attention. Finding your in, you saddle up beside the man.

“Deja! I’ve been looking for you!”

At first, she frowns, but then she grins mischievously and grabs your outstretched hand. The man sways a bit, and nods in confusion, stumbling off to find another woman to talk at.

“Didn’t recognize you under that mask,” she laughs, the two of you making a home against the wall.

“Trying to avoid notice,” you reply, sipping on your wine.

She snorts and leans in. “I don’t think you’re successful.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

She points her chin to a spot across the room. You follow the direction and immediately freeze. There is someone watching you. It’s one of the dwarves and the finery he wears is a deep royal blue. Interwoven into the fabric are threads of silver and metalwork that speaks to influence. He wears a silver mask that matches all that detail work. His dark hair is neatly braided, and pulled back, but you notice the soft waves and the way he holds himself.

“You’re mistaken,” you laugh nervously, this time taking a large gulp of your drink.

Deja shakes her head. “Then why is he heading this way?”

“He isn’t,” you insist, and Deja laughs loudly.

“Hand me your drink.”

“What?”

Deja snatches the cup right out of your grasp. “He’s going to ask you to dance.”

You’re about to snap back, but Deja is right. He is right there in front of you and Deja is walking away quickly, enjoying your spiced wine.

“May I ask for a dance?” The stranger presents his hand, palm upward. The rough timbre of his voice is surprising. Your body responds to it, a small piece of you buzzing with pleasure.

Maybe it’s the spiced wine finally making its way into your system. “Of course,” you answer, taking his presented hand.

Your stranger leads you out into the group of dancers. The song that begins is slightly upbeat, and you allow him to take the lead. It is a song and dance you are not familiar with, but he makes it easy to keep up, and you don’t stumble over your feet or his.

His control is impressive. Elegant, but strong. Purposeful. There is power in every step, as if he is in battle and not moving through a coordinated dance.

“I do not know your name,” he says, spinning you into his arms.

You move away, and for some odd reason, your body doesn’t like that you do. It wants you to curl back into him. It is such a strange sensation.

“And I do not know yours,” you tease, not knowing where this sudden flirtatiousness is coming from. Is it from the wine? Surely not. You didn’t even drink half of it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re wearing a mask, and he is a stranger. There are no stakes.

The music cuts out, and then the two of you are face to face. Mere inches apart.

The music swells and begins a slower tune.

“Another? So that I may know your name?” He asks so kindly. You cannot refuse him.

Nodding, you allow him to slip an arm around your waist and pull you close. You lick your lips, preparing to give him your name, but notice how his blue eyes track the movement of your tongue. It sends an immediate heat to the space between your legs.

You give him your name, and he hums softly like it pleases him to hear it.

“I am Thorin,” comes his reply. He looks expectant, as if waiting for some sort of reaction, but the name isn’t entirely familiar. There is a slight sense of knowing, but it escapes you.

Perhaps the wine is doing more than you previously thought.

“It’s a pleasure.” You bow slightly, and you notice a bit of color blooming near the edges of his cheeks.

The two of you slowly move with the crowd of dancers. His hand on your waist is like a brand. It is hot, as if melting through the fabric of your dress to touch your skin. It feels like a new crush, like one you had when you were younger, and your emotions ran wild.

While the hand on your back is fiery, Thorin’s strength is palpable. The way he guides you across and around the dancefloor is a testament to that. Even wearing such finery, you see the ripple of muscle underneath. Your own hand, which rests on his shoulder, also clearly picks up on his strength.

There are plenty of men in Dale who are warriors. Several of them even actively pursue you. So why is Thorin any different? Why is your body responding to him like it’s as natural as breathing?

At this point, you cannot put it all on the wine. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel pursued, nearly hunted down every day. He is not pushing, and that is a welcome respite from the many months of men wearing you down, hoping that you’ll simply give in.

“You are from Dale?” he asks, guiding the two of you into a turn.

“Yes. I run a bookshop there.”

He smiles and you instantly melt, loving the attention. “You’re a reader then?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“When I have the time, I do enjoy it. Yes.”

The people around you fall into a dip and Thorin responds in kind. When he brings you back up, your foreheads are nearly touching, and your mouths could easily close the distance if one of you made the first move.

Perhaps it’s only a second, but the two of you hang there in that moment. Close, but not closing the distance. Thorin’s blue eyes are piercing. Sharp. They are like steel swords. You are cut through, down to your core, and you are unable to look away.

The music tapers off, but Thorin does not pull away. He does not remove his arm from around your waist. And you do not remove your hands from him.

“I should go,” you murmur, but make no move to break contact.

“Should you?” asks Thorin, his head tipping to the side as he examines you.

And you do draw back from him, even though it’s painful. Thorin releases you, but remains unmoving, his hands slightly outstretched before him as if you’ll step right back into them.

“Thank you. You’re a lovely partner to dance with,” you say just as the music begins to swell again.

Thorin bows deeply, and the gesture momentarily steals your breath.

“Enjoy your books. Perhaps you may find me amongst your shelves one day.”

He turns and leaves, disappearing into the crowd. Turning on your heel, you bolt for the door, your chest heaving as your heart hammers.

Deja steps into your path and her hands grab your shoulders. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes,” and you almost choke on your answer.

She frowns, her brow creasing. “Did he hurt you?”

“No!”

She sighs, her relief spreading across her face. “Oh, thank goodness.” Deja releases your shoulders and places her hands on her hips. “I’d end up in Erebor’s dungeons for assaulting the crown prince if he had.”

“The what?” you splutter, eyes round and alert as you turn around to look for Thorin.

“Did you not know?” asks Deja skeptically.

You swallow, and don’t answer.

“By the gods,” laughs Deja. “What did he say to you?”

Gripping the front of your dress, you turn back to Deja. “He said he might come to the shop.”

Her eyes widen a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across her face. “He likes you.”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss.

Her laugh is loud as she grabs your wrist and guides you to the exit. Tucking her arm around yours, she pulls you in close. “You’re giving me detail of this encounter.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

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anghraine · 4 months

Text

I caught up with my re-watch of the second episode of Rings of Power! The episodes are long and have a lot going on, but it was fun and enjoyable—more than the first, actually, since it wasn't trying as hard to introduce everything and could breathe more.

I really liked the beginning with Galadriel in the sea, staring up at the stars before she starts swimming. Very apropos.

I thought Nori et al's stuff would be kind of tedious (I've never been super into hobbits or proto-hobbits), but tbh I find everything about it delightful to watch.

Arondir and Bronwyn are maybe the prettiest onscreen pairing I've ever witnessed. Their little theme/motif is also really nice and not overwrought the way the music sometimes got in the first episode. It suits my sense of their story being a bit like marginalia that doesn't exactly fit into the grand sweeping main narrative of Middle-earth, but is getting some spotlight anyway.

And now we've got Celebrimbor for real, with warning bells all over him! (Not literally.) I appreciate that almost the first thing he does is mention Fëanor, and he and Elrond immediately dive into a conversation about the Silmarils and craftsmanship, and Elrond seems deeply ambivalent off the bat. Him saying "So much beauty, and so much pain" about them/Fëanor's craftsmanship while wearing a feathery outfit that is hard not to associate with Elwing is ... yeah. You'd know, Elrond.

Celebrimbor's slightly snarky explanation that he asked for a massive team to build his tower forge thing and Gil-galad "has sent me you, instead" kind of worked for me? Robert Aramayo doesn't look anything like my idea of Elrond but I love his difficult-to-pin-down yet determinedly pleasant performance of Elrond's emotions and mannerisms. I also like Celebrimbor's robes.

And, oh man, seeing Khazad-dûm in its heyday? HELL, YEAH. The music is doing some of the lifting but mostly it's just fucking awesome to see. The show is clearly lingering on it with a lot of love and attention, which it's really nice to see the dwarves getting.

I liked getting references to Aulë from the dwarves (no, it's not what dwarves would ordinarily call him, but it's a reasonable concession to comprehensibility for people who aren't, well, us). During the whole challenge thing, Elrond is referred to as an Elf over and over and over, which I'm kind of :\ about as a firm proponent of Half-Elves Are Not Men or Elves, No Matter What Ultimate Fate They Chose. Elrond seems pretty uncomfortable with it (though that may be more about his relationship with Durin), but also does more or less accept it as a descriptor.

Nori was still trying to figure out the Stranger, which somehow is not boring, and meanwhile her father's ankle breaks or sprains or something as part of festival preparations. The Harfoots collectively treat this as a huge deal and are asking if he'll be able to migrate, which is not exactly framed as super ominous, but definitely seems significant and at least somewhat ominous. Nori is clearly pretty freaked out.

The first part of the episode is sadly a bit sparse on my girl Galadriel (though she got so much attention in the first episode that it's understandable), but we got back to her, still swimming. It'd be a bit unbelievably impressive from other people, but I can believe it for her. She sees the raft of survivors before we do, which I liked as a little detail.

The raft is really spiky, appropriately enough for a raft with Sauron on it. It's kind of hilarious that almost his first line is "Looks can be deceiving." No shit, lmao.

The survivors+"Halbrand" and Galadriel have this brief and slightly weird interchange about Corsairs, which strikes me as an odd reference both geographically and in the time period we're in.

Then there's a SEA WYRM that shows up out of basically nowhere and causes havoc resulting in the deaths of everyone except Sauron Halbrand and Galadriel. A coincidence, I'm sure.

Then we cut back to Elrond and Durin, and finally find out why Durin is so mad at Elrond. It turns out that Elrond basically ignored his existence for 20 years while he was doing ... things, and Elrond didn't even realize it'd been so much time because a couple decades is nbd to him. Angst and other difficulties around different lifespans = one of my most favorite fantasy tropes, so I'm onboard for this particular drama.

It's a little surprising that Elrond of all people would make this mistake, but then again, Elros himself lived so long that 20 years would have been a tiny fraction of his own lifetime, too. (Now I want lifespan angst or anxiety or something with Elros being the one who's "welp, it's really been that long?")

Anyway, I enjoyed how serious and fraught the whole discussion is and then the cut to comedy when Elrond arrives to apologize to Durin's wife, Disa. IDK, I didn't feel it was undercutting Durin as a character or his feelings, even while poking a bit of fun at his sulkiness—e.g., when Disa enthusiastically tells Elrond to make himself comfortable, and Durin is like, "But not too comfortable."

I love Disa's appearance, by and large. The patterning on her outfit is so cool and different. She's generally a delightful character, and I appreciate that while there's an element of calculation to what Elrond is doing, he seems genuinely interested in her and her work. The narrative itself feels really interested in the dwarves and their culture at this point, and I just enjoyed that a lot.

Meanwhile, back to Galadriel and Halbrand/Sauron. It's still really funny to me that there was so much indignation over Eminem Sauron being insufficiently hot, and then actual Sauron turned out to be this currently bedraggled but very conventionally attractive guy.

I like his little head tilt as he's ostensibly figuring out what's going on and his little "You're a deserter, aren't you?" As if he doesn't know who Galadriel is, hah.

When he says "My people have no king," it feels like a pretty blatant call-back to Boromir in Jackson's FOTR, but of course it's inverted, ultimately. Halbrand is a shadow Aragorn, not a shadow Boromir, and is himself (supposedly) the king he's rejecting. I'm not going to go on too much about it because I have a whole post about it here.

Anyway, Galadriel condescending to Sauron is kind of delightful. Sure, she's mistaken in assuming he's mortal. But everyone should condescend to Sauron, actually!

Back to Bronwyn, who is a bit more interesting in this episode, she actually makes it home and tries to convince her village that something is very wrong, but no one believes her. They seem kind of ridiculously stupid, tbh? Maybe not ridiculously—I can believe they would actually respond that way (I lived in the shadow of Mt St Helens for years, I know very well that historically sometimes that's the response to clear warnings of disaster). But come on, people.

Then there's Arondir in the horrifying claustrophobic tunnels with the glimpses of horrific claws. It is very successfully claustrophobic, especially when MICE start running all over him as they're trying to escape. Agh, the special hell. Then he emerges in a pool of water, only the water is super gross also, and he's focusing on the bubbles of something pursuing him only to get grabbed by a different claw monster.

We don't see him again for the entire rest of the episode and that's alarming!

I was taking little notes while I was watching, but at this point that got interrupted and I ended up watching the rest of the episode with other people and didn't take notes. But general thoughts:

Durin's final change of heart wrt Elrond and decision to take Elrond's offer to his father was a bit oddly offscreen, and it's kind of needlessly mysterious about what advantage the dwarves have over the Elves, but the show has already given us enough through both exposition and the behavior of the characters that it's not hard to buy.

Sauron saving Galadriel with Finrod's dagger is like. Hmm. Well. Yeah, that's a lot. I really like the scene of their raft in the storm—not much actually happens apart from it looking cool, but it did look really cool! And I love the imagery of Sauron desperately trying not to be drowned by the wrath of the sea, aka what will actually happen to him! :)))

I love how mysterious the Stranger is and basically everything that Nori and Poppy choose to be. Things like Poppy's "I don't speak firefly!" just work much better for my personal sense of humor than ... like, dwarf-tossing.

Theo's whole deal with the sword is ... menacing in a way where we know enough to know something is Very Wrong and related to Sauron, but not really what's going on with it. And the thing Bronwyn and Theo fought and killed was super freaky. I liked the abrupt cut to Bronwyn showing the decapitated head to the stupid villagers and them being like, "hmm. okay, guess we're moving now."

Aaaand Galadriel and "Halbrand" have been discovered!

#anghraine babbles #tv: lotr #legendarium blogging #long post #elanor brandyfoot #poppy proudfellow #arondir #bronwyn #my little piano: music is magic #celebrimbor #elrond #durin iv #galadriel #elros tar minyatur #disa #sauron #legendarium fanwank #theo #rings of power

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snowmist-hashira · 1 year

Note

I love love your way of writing. It's so beautiful :(! I have a big sister vibe when it comes to Muichiro and if you don't mind, I want to request a modern AU platonic Muichiro x Older sister reader ÙvÚ

So Shinobu, y/n's girlfriend, agrees to go with Mui to buy y/n something special (he forgets what y/n likes often, so he needs some advice.) Y/n, at the same time, is also buying him gifts (but will only give them to him a week later when his birthday comes.)

So Mui calls y/n if she's home yet. She says no, she's with Shinobu. He knows she lied. Y/n also asks him why he's doubting her answers. But he wouldn't blatantly say that he knew y/n was lying because Shinobu, her girlfriend, is hanging out with him tonight without her knowing.

So they're both trying their best to keep their secrets until someone has to give in.

Please take your time and have a nice day/night ÒvÓ I'm not best at explaining things so if it gets confusing, please write however you interpret it 😩

[Chapter title: Playful Exchange]

[Requested] Muichiro Tokitou x Reader

Wattpad:[KNY Fanfiction] (One shots) Tokito Muichiro x Reader Archive:Kimetsu No Yaiba: Tokitou Muichiro x Reader Master list:♠ Information ♠ Word count: 1,343

Artist link: https://twitter.com/oekaki_eririn

Always stalking Eririn's art masterpieces, I love them-

Pls adopt me. XDDD

I am open to requests for Muichiro x Reader content, and I also enjoy engaging in roleplays. If you're interested in either, please feel free to check out my pinned post for more information. ~ ♠

This request was the earliest one in the queue, and it's my first time writing a platonic scenario, so I apologize if I didn't capture it accurately. I'm sorry for the delay, and I hope it still meets your expectations!

"Do you think nee-san would like this?” Muichiro questioned, gesturing towards a pendant that appeared too large for a woman to wear. Shinobu responded with a smile, shaking her head softly.

"She doesn't prefer extravagant accessories," Shinobu replied, using hand gestures to direct Muichiro's attention to some simpler bracelets displayed at the vendor stand. Muichiro leaned forward, examining the accessories with interest. Muichiro examined the simple bracelets that Shinobu had pointed out, his gaze focused on their design and craftsmanship. He carefully considered whether Y/n would appreciate them.

Shinobu couldn't help but chuckle softly, finding it endearing how Muichiro, despite being Y/n's younger brother, was struggling to find a suitable present for her. His usual absent-mindedness had caused him to forget what Y/n liked, but he still had the sincere desire to buy something for his older sister. After all, who knew Y/n better than him? Except, Shinobu as Y/n's girlfriend.

"These bracelets seem more understated and elegant," Muichiro remarked, voicing his thoughts. "I think nee-san would prefer something like this. It's not too flashy but still beautiful."

Shinobu nodded in agreement. "Yes, I believe she would appreciate the simplicity and subtlety of these bracelets. They would complement her style well."

Muichiro gently picked up one of the bracelets and turned it in his hand, admiring the delicate details. "I think I'll get her one of these.”

“Do you plan on wrapping them out?” Shinobu asked.

Muichiro pondered Shinobu's question, considering the possibility that Y/n might not be at home when they returned. He wanted to surprise her with a beautifully wrapped gift, but the uncertainty gave him pause.

After a moment of contemplation, Muichiro replied, his voice gentle. "I do have gift wrappers at home, but I'm not sure if nee-san is there at the moment. It might be best if we wait until we know for sure before wrapping the gift."

Muichiro reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, dialing Y/n's number. After a few rings, her older sister answered the call.

"Oh, hey Mui!" Her voice came through the phone, accompanied by some muffled voices in the background, indicating she might be outside.

"Are you home right now?" he inquired, holding the phone close to his ear to catch Y/n's response. Shinobu leaned in slightly, trying to listen in as well.

“Nope, I’m not. Why?” Y/n returned a question. Muichiro felt a sense of relief as Y/n confirmed that she wasn't at home. It meant he could proceed with wrapping the gift without worrying about spoiling the surprise.

“Nothing. I just wanted to ask.” He said, not wanting to reveal his surprise.

“I’m with Shinobu right now, so don’t worry!” Y/n replied.

Muichiro blinked in surprise at Y/n's response, he glanced at Shinobu, who was trying to suppress her laughter, and a puzzled expression crossed his face.

"I see…?" Muichiro replied cautiously, unsure why Y/n would lie about Shinobu being with her. "Well, if you're busy with something, I won't keep you. We'll catch up later then."

Y/n's voice held a hint of nervousness. "Oh, um, yeah, you sound like you don’t believe me though.”

“Ah-? No…” Muichiro hesitated for a moment, glancing at Shinobu, unsure how to respond. Enjoying the unfolding scene, Shinobu simply offered a small smile. Muichiro had kept the plan of having Shinobu, Y/n's girlfriend, accompany him in choosing a gift for her a secret. He wanted it to be a surprise and didn't want to give it away too soon.

"Anyways… Have fun with Shinobu, nee-san," Muichiro finally said, bidding farewell and ending the call. His confusion lingered as he turned to Shinobu, who continued to chuckle.

"Did Y/n just lie about me being there with her?"

Muichiro nodded, Shinobu’s amusement subsiding as she noticed his confusion. "It seems so. I'm not sure why she would do that. Maybe she has her reasons?”

Little did they know, she too was buying a present for her younger brother, Muichiro, and Y/n used Shinobu as an excuse to avoid raising any suspicion. However, what she didn't realize was that Shinobu was actually spending time with Muichiro at that very moment.

“Crap…” Y/n muttered a curse under her breath, uncertain whether Muichiro had seen through her lie or had deduced her true intentions due to his sharp observational skills.

After ending the call, Y/n quickly sent a text message to Shinobu, requesting a favor. She asked Shinobu to cover for her in case Muichiro asked about her whereabouts, requesting Shinobu to say that she was with her. Y/n hoped that this would provide a plausible explanation and alleviate any suspicions Muichiro might have.

Receiving the text, Shinobu's laughter echoed through the air as she read Y/n's message, clearly amused by the amusing scenario unfolding. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she shared the message with Muichiro.

“Can nee-san be doing something illegal- Is that why-..” Muichiro's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden dark thought that crossed his mind.

"No, no, that's not it at all. I highly doubt Y/n would be involved in anything illegal.” Shinobu's laughter continued, her hands swaying dismissively.

“… Right.” He shook his head quickly, dismissing the idea.

Shinobu's amusement was evident in her expression and demeanor. She found the unfolding scene between Muichiro and Y/n to be quite entertaining, appreciating the playfulness and lightheartedness of the moment. As she observed the interaction, she couldn't help but feel a fondness for the bond shared between the two siblings.

Both Y/n and Muichiro were completely unaware of each other's true intentions, which only added to the adorable and heartwarming nature of the situation. Both of them were fully focused on creating a special surprise for the other, and their determination to keep it a secret only added to the charm of the moment.

After settling the present to Y/n, Muichiro went back home, his heart skipped a beat as he entered the house and was met with the surprising sight of Y/n standing there, holding a wrapped box in her hand. The shock was mirrored in both their expressions, and for a moment, silence enveloped the room, filling it with a sense of anticipation and curiosity.

Muichiro found his voice first, his eyes widening slightly. "Nee-san, what... what is that?" he asked, gesturing towards the wrapped box in her hand.

Y/n blinked; her surprise evident. "I could ask you the same thing, Muichiro. What's in your hands?" she responded, her voice filled with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

Realizing the coincidental situation, they found themselves in, Muichiro and Y/n couldn't help but exchange a brief moment of laughter, the tension dissipating as they shared the realization that they had both prepared surprises for each other.

Breaking the silence, Y/n spoke with a sheepish smile. "I... I was actually preparing a surprise gift for your birthday. I had no idea you had one for me as well."

"It's still a surprise until I unwrap that box.” Muichiro replied.

“Sadly, I couldn't do the same for mine," He added, his words expressed with a tinge of disappointment, recognizing that Y/n would be able to see his gift as he couldn't wrap it.

"For you, nee-san." He revealed a beautifully crafted bracelet with simple yet elegant designs and handing it to Y/n.

Y/n's eyes softened as she received the beautifully crafted bracelet from Muichiro. Her gaze shifted from the gift to her brother, a mixture of gratitude and affection in her expression. "Thank you, Muichiro," she said, her voice filled with warmth and appreciation.

"I'm glad you like it, nee-san," Muichiro responded, his voice filled with sincerity. "I wanted to choose something that would remind you of our bond and the love we share as siblings. Every time you wear it, I hope it serves as a constant reminder of how special you are to me."

Y/n nodded, a soft smile gracing her face. "You'll have to wait until your birthday to see your gift, though," she teased playfully.

"I'm sure it's a wonderful surprise, and I can't wait to see once I unwrap it."

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yeehawbvby · 6 months

Text

Silver and Gold, Blood and Snow (Gortash x GN!Dark Urge)

Rating: Teen+ (Mentions of canon-typical violence)

Summary: Midwinter is a tenday away, and it has Gortash reminiscing of your holiday celebration just a few years prior.

Author’s Note: This was written as a Ko-fi request for the wonderful @liquid-coffeebear !! It takes place before the events of BG3, but after Durge got Orin'd. The Durge's race, height, gender, etc. are all left completely ambiguous. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I do! :D x

Check it out on ao3!

Snow was bountiful in the Lower City this winter.

Enver watched from the balcony as children played outside his fortress: trudging their way through the knee-high substance, pelting snowballs at one another, and letting even the weakest hit knock them down, just to have an excuse to lay atop the soft white sheets beneath them. He viewed passersby buying gifts for loved ones from the local booths and shops, arms full of burlap, and burlaps full of toys and jewelry and clothing galore. He gazed at the warm-blooded Dragonborn denizens walking freely in their typical daywear while the humans, halflings, and everyone else shivered beneath their copious layers.

The Lord had never been one for people-watching, more focused on his duties and plans for the future than those whom he’d spend it with. For some reason, though, he felt nostalgic this year.

He thought back to when you were around. Before Orin had… well, you know.

There was one Midwinter’s eve in particular that stuck out in his memory, as vivid as red on white. You had just finished wreaking havoc, as was your specialty; you would regularly fill the city’s citizens with dread, and leave them with a submissive and naïve hope for a better future that only their Lord could potentially grant them.

Blood had been splattered across the walls of every building you entered that day – the Upper City palace Enver had resided in at the time being the only exception – and in turn, crimson smears stained every inch of snow you stepped in. Of course, as a courtesy towards those you’d slain, you decorated their corpses with ribbons, and garland, and any other festive decor you could rip down from proximate displays. It was the least you could do, really.

In the midst of the chaos, you found time to steal a present for Enver. He’d complained at first that he had enough gold to buy himself anything he wanted. He appreciated the gesture, of course, but what need was there for such menial yearly practices when he could have all of Faerûn – perhaps all of the world – in his palm within the coming years?

You huffed, demanding in spite of your kind eyes that he take the damned gift before you slit his torso open and replace his viscera with it.

You truly were a being after his own heart.

He’d laughed, wordlessly taking the hastily wrapped box from you. After turning the lengthy object over in his hand for a moment, he peered up, only to view you staring intently at your own feet. Shyness was a rare look on you. It fueled Enver’s curiosity, prompting him to finally tear the parchment away from the wooden vessel.

Opening the small metal clasp revealed to him a set of golden gauntlets. There were two arm coverings that looked as if they could be a perfect fit for his person, and for his right hand only laid somewhat of a glove piece. Along with these came a set of rings, some of which resembled claws.

The ore had been molded into serpentine designs, yet within the right-hand adornment laid an empty crevice. It looked as though it was meant for a jewel of sorts, but the poor soul these had been lost to hadn’t had a chance to insert it yet.

Enver tilted his head, poring over every detail of the accessories. The back of his mind wondered just who these were originally for – certainly it must have been an elite, given the intricate craftsmanship – but his consideration evaporated as he realized it mattered not.

The poor soul was long gone anyway.

For the first time in ages, someone had rendered him speechless. He looked up at you, whose gaze was back on his. Your eyes glimmered with a hope you clearly hadn’t wanted to be seen. You knew he respected you as his equal; that he trusted you with his life, to rule his world alongside him… yet you seemed to search for his praise..?

It was silly, really. Of course you’d earned it. These were perfect for him. He closed the gap between the two of you, placing the box in your hands so he could try the gauntlets on. The rings fit splendidly. The arm pieces could use some adjusting, as they were a bit too snug, but it was nothing his personal smith couldn’t fix.

Using one of his newly equipped prosthetic nails, he tugged you closer, planting a kiss to your slightly chapped lips. It was all the approval you needed.

In the present day, Enver looked down at the gauntlets. He rarely removed them – they’d become an integral part to his aesthetic. The empty slot that once was now contained his beloved Netherstone. Not only did your gift have sentiment, but it served a grander purpose than you’d ever come to know.

Enver missed you. Orin was a fine accomplice, but if anyone was to be Bhaal’s chosen, it should have been you… and if anyone was to share his companionship, it needed to be you. His heart felt empty in your wake.

He headed back into his chambers, requesting a cup of mulled wine from one of his servants. The same blend you’d shared on that cold Midwinter’s eve.

This Midwinter was just a tenday away. Perhaps he’d have a lonely celebration of his own this year. He’d relax by a fire and drink in your honor, reminiscing of old times and musing what could have been.

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fullofbees · 1 year

Text

Unholy Sacrament

The time has come for Diavolo to produce an heir for the Devildom. There's no one else he trusts more to help.

CW: Smut, Pregnancy (Mentioned), Breeding, Creampie, Oral (F Receiving), Mild Cum Inflation

Word Count: 3,647

»»----------► Reader is Female

“Here, this should help you relax.”

…

The teacup in your hands is nothing less than perfect craftsmanship. Glossy pink flowers decorate the side, their outlines gilded and equally polished. The watercolor gradient in the petals contrasts with the alabaster background, making it look like the teacup was blushing. A thin handle curls away and back to the side, its golden sheen the ultimate display of royalty. Another painted flower sits at the bottom of the cup, the angle giving the impression that the flower is blooming up and out toward the drinker.

It felt much too delicate for the Devildom. Much too elegant for your current situation. It was too pure in the face of what you would do tonight.

Golden tea swirls along the cup’s sides, giving the flower a caramel filter, the sight reminding you of honey. It has long gone cold, but still, you cradle the cup, resting it on your lap as you stare into the ceramic. In the tea, you find your own gaze, two disembodied eyes mirroring the uneasiness you felt. It is an uncanny feeling; to stare into the cup and have the cup stare back.

Gracefully paced steps echo on the stone behind you, growing louder as the person nears. You can’t believe half an hour went by that fast.

“Have you finished?” the person asks.

The barely empty cup answers for you. Barbatos appears in your field of view, bending to remove the cup from your grasp. “Still nervous?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “It’s just an enormous amount of responsibility to take on.”

Having begun clearing away the dishes of cream and sugar, soft clinks ring out into the night air as he places them on the tray. “You are always free to change your mind.”

“No,” you quickly interject, “I’m excited, I really am. I’m going to do this.”

His hand finds your soldier and gives a reassuring squeeze, “Just remember, the Devildom will always be in your debt.”

You smile, warmed by his kindness towards you. “Thank you, truly. I think I’m ready to go now.”

“Then I’ll let the Young Master know.”

…

Diavolo had invited the House of Lamentation to an impromptu dinner. Everyone was buzzing with curiosity over what it was for. Except for Lucifer, who knew exactly what was to come, yet never gave in to his brother’s pleas for a hint.

That’s how this night had started, with you and your friends gathered around the dinner table.

“I’m glad you all could make it on such short notice,” Diavolo announces with glee, “I don’t like interrupting your free time.”

The table reassures him that it is no trouble. His eyes become passive for a moment while he switches to a calmer, more authoritarian side of himself.

“Unfortunately, I do have a second motive for inviting you here tonight.”

The buzz grew stronger.

“I have to ask you all a question regarding the future of the Devildom. As its future king, I am responsible for its legacy, and an heir is part of that legacy.”

Confusion overtook curiosity. What did an heir have to do with all of you?

“While my antecedents chose a child-bearer from the Devildom, I believe taking one from another realm will help to secure all the work we have done to foster harmony amongst our worlds.”

“Is it even possible for an angel to bear the child of a demon?” You ask with genuine interest.

Diavolo’s expression softens, ever so entertained by your humanity. “No, it is not possible. Only humans have the ability to mate with angels or demons.”

Realization dawns on you of what he is asking, but you want to hear it from him.

“I understand you all have an intimate relationship together, a kinship I am glad to have watched grow. I know what I am asking is sudden, but I believe the Devildom will find it easier to accept a half-human offspring if said human is one they already know.”

You’ve been nervously wringing your hands underneath the table, fiddling with a napkin that is torn from the tension. Millions of thoughts rush to the forefront of your mind. Has any other human done this sort of thing before? How did their pregnancy differ from a standard one? Would the brothers be able to handle such a situation? What will the House of Lords say? Would you have to leave the House of Lamentation? What if the child hates its human half?

A hand covering yours startles you out of your trance. You meet Asmodeus’s glittering gaze as he squeezes your hand to remind you that you’re not alone. “Are you alright, love?”

Looking around the table, you find that everyone is watching you, strangely calmer than you expected.

“I’m fine,” you assure, “What were you guys saying?”

“We agreed that the Devildom citizens would accept you without question. If you decide to bear Diavolo’s heir, then you have our full support,” said Lucifer.

“Really? You’re not opposed to the idea?”

“Demons have a more flexible idea of relationships, darling,” Asmodeus explains.

“Plus,” Satan adds, “We pledged ourselves to the future of the Devildom when we first arrived, and an heir is a necessary part of that.

“If you do not wish to do it, then you will not be forced,” said Lucifer, “What do you think about the proposal?”

Diavolo quickly interjects, “We don’t need a decision immediately, so please, take some time to think it over.”

Despite all the unknowns that lie ahead, you don’t need time to figure out your answer.

…

When you told the future demon king your answer, you had not expected him to want to try conceiving that night. After all, if your response was not needed soon, then surely an heir could also wait a bit longer. Sensing your anxiety had returned, Diavolo suggested you have some tea outside, hoping some time alone in the fresh air would help to soothe your worries.

Barbatos had disappeared with the teapot and cups only a few minutes ago, leaving you alone amongst the hum of the nighttime wildlife. Insects, resembling the fireflies you had back home, danced above the water of the pond. Memories of catching them with your cousins appeared in your mind; the tiny bugs flashing against your skin as they crawled on your hand, poking holes in the lid of a jar to keep them in, the eventual squeal of the cousin who was squeamish around bugs. You smile at the fond thoughts, wondering if demon children like to catch them as much as human children do.

Diavolo approaches behind you with tentative steps, wondering if you’ve changed your mind. He kept reminding you that you were allowed to say no, yet even with all your nervous twitching, you adamantly refused to back down. Truthfully, he is not surprised. In the time that he’s known you, you’ve always been stubborn to change once your mind is set on something. He wonders if your child will be the same.

You turn around in the lounging chair, a warm smile greeting as he arrives at your side. His worry about your state eases a little.

Clearing his throat, Diavolo says, “I can’t thank you enough for what you are doing for the king-”

“Hey, Dia?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve never really been formal with me before… it’s kinda weird,” you giggle.

He joins in with your laughter, “My apologies; it’s a nervous habit.”

“It’s okay. I know this is a weird development in our relationship, but… I’m still the same me.”

Diavolo extends his hand to you, which you graciously accept, standing from your seat. “I know; that’s why I chose you.”

You squeeze his hand, “Just promise me you’re not gonna treat me differently, okay?”

“I promise.” He releases your hand, instead bending down to pick you up into his arms in one fluid movement.

“Eep! Dia!” You manage to squeak out, arms instinctively grasping his shoulders.

He laughs at your reaction, his usual boyish grin overtaking his face. You merely blush and hide your face against his neck in embarrassment.

The trek to Diavolo’s room is usually short. But the Prince keeps teasing you, pretending to lose balance and his grip on you before correcting himself at the last second. He laughs and says your squeals are too cute to keep him from doing it. On one particular “trip,” his prank causes him to bump his hip into a decorative vanity. This time you howl with laughter, tears forming in your eyes.

By the time you reach his door, you’re both trying to catch your breath. Any unease you felt after dinner has dissipated. Given how much of your time is spent at the House of Lamentation, you sometimes forget how silly Diavolo can be. Despite his royal heritage, Diavolo was fun-loving, humble, and quite the troublemaker when it suited him.

Paused in front of the door, Diavolo says, “Last chance to back out.”

You shake your head, “I’m not changing my mind.”

Diavolo nods with a smile before turning his back to the door and using his weight to force it open.

The room is ornate in its simplicity. A round coffee table sits surrounded by two single gray sofas and a black pin-stripe couch. The furniture sits on top of a plush red carpet, darker red fabric detailing flowers and vines, surrounded by a golden border. Above hangs an unlit chandelier. Diavolo’s bed sits against the far wall, large black drapes fastened to their posts with matching black bows. A soft-looking, red cushioned bench sits at the foot of the bed. The sheets are plain white, but the bedside lamp with a shade made from colorful mosaic glass decorates the linen with rays of rainbow. Three pillows sit on top, two white and one red. You can imagine Diavolo insisting that three white pillows would suffice and Barbatos countering that a pop of color would keep the theme in balance.

“Your room is so lovely, Dia,” you say.

Having crossed the threshold of the doorway, Diavolo gently sets you down on his mattress. “I’m glad you think so. I don’t think about the aesthetics too often as I rarely bring visitors here.”

You tap his knee playfully with your foot, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Diavolo laughs, “Only the ones I plan on impregnating.”

You pause, face flushing as the heat races down your body.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, “I didn’t mean to-”

You interrupt him with a wave of your hand. “It’s okay! I mean… it was kinda hot.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Diavolo sports a downright devilish smirk. He leans down, hands resting at the sides of your hips, effectively placing you in a cage of his own making. His eyes slowly drift down your body, taking in the sight of you underneath him, watching as your thighs draw together in search of friction.

“Does the thought of being filled with my seed excite you, my dear?” He purrs.

Words fail at this moment, so you manage to nod. Diavolo’s hand moves from the mattress to hold your chin. For the first time, you fully comprehend just how large he is. An immense stature with muscle to match, Diavolo is, simply put, thick. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I need to hear you say it.”

The heat you feel in your body only grows in its ferocity. You place your hands against his chest, hoping to feel that he’s burning with the same hunger. The quickened pace of his heart beats against your palm. You’ve never felt this close to him, so close that you can feel his life pulsing underneath your fingertips. You want to always feel this connection.

“Yes,” you answer.

He drags his thumb across your lower lip. “Yes, what?”

You whine, still somewhat embarrassed at what he wants you to confess, “Dia….”

“Good girls answer when asked a question. I know you want to be a good girl for me. You don’t need to resist.”

It feels as if your stomach has leapt into your ribcage with how excited his words make you. After all, he already liked you enough to entrust you with the future, his future. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Please, fill me with your seed. Fuck me so full that I can’t possibly take anymore.”

Diavolo eagerly rushes in to kiss you, the momentum knocking you flat against the mattress. You don’t care though, because his lips are soft and his breath hot. Your hands abandon his chest to find purchase in his hair. Tugging on the strands rewards you with a muffled moan that sounds like music.

You part with a gasp. Diavolo wipes away saliva from your lower lip with his thumb. Standing straight, he begins to undo the buttons and clasps of his RAD uniform. You follow suit, removing your shirt and tossing it on the bench. After undoing the button and zipper of your jeans, you manage to wiggle the denim down your legs, where they drop to the floor. The reality of your arousal dawns on you then, the soaked fabric of your underwear cooling in the open air. Demons have sharper senses than humans; you wonder if he can smell the growing slick.

Thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties as you begin to slide them off, but firm hands gently push yours aside.

“Please, let me take them off… Your scent is driving me wild….” Diavolo pleads, answering your earlier question.

“Yeah, fuck, okay….” You say.

“You smell so good, baby,” he hums as he slips the panties down your legs. Instead of setting them aside, Diavolo brings the lacy garment to his face and inhales over the visible wet spot. He groans, the sound from deep within his chest as he takes in the smell of your lust.

He is devoid of all clothing except for silky black boxer briefs. The bedroom lights cast golden highlights onto his warm amber skin. You know Diavolo did not fall; he was born and raised in the Devildom, the supposed place of foulness opposite to the Celestial Realm’s opulence. Yet standing before you now, he is Adonic, defying. He is the distant light that beckons you in the dark.

You can’t help but press your hands to his chest again, meeting the rounded yet firm muscle of his pecs. Trailing your fingers down, you follow every dip and curve of his sculpted body, until you reach the vibrant red happy trail that disappears below the silk. When you look back up, Diavolo is watching you fondly. The shadows from this angle make his eyes seem darker. They remind you of honey.

Having tucked away your panties into who knows where, Diavolo slides his boxers down, kicking them away when they gather at his feet. You don’t get the chance to further ogle him though, as he drops to his knees and pushes your legs apart. The sight before you is something you want to remember forever. The would-be ruler, the powerful and all-mighty Lord Diavolo, sits at your feet like a parishioner before their holy idol. His hands idly massage his reverence on the insides of your thighs, eyes studying the sight of your wanting cunt like its scripture.

“Forgive me for delaying, but I want to taste you. I need to know what you feel like on my tongue.”

Both of you moan at the first leisurely drag of his tongue through your folds. All is forgiven.

Having savored the first taste, Diavolo buries his face into your sopping core, sinking his tongue into your entrance. His nose brushes against your clit, sending a jolt through your body that makes you grip his hair for stability. Eyes gaze up the plane of your body, watching the fruits of his labor as he pulls one pleasured whine after another from you. Every lip bite and eyebrow furrow is testament to the bliss he is providing.

Your core tightens further, thighs shuddering in his grasp. A hand slides to the back of your knee, positioning your leg so that your heel sits on the edge of the bed, opening your body further for him to devour. His tongue circles your clit as his hand now grabs the cup of your bra, dragging it down until your breasts spill out the top. Mesmerized as they move with the heaving of your lungs, his fingers pull at one of your exposed nipples. You keen under the sensation, back arching, which only further pushes your breast into his touch.

Diavolo hums in amusement as one of your hands lies over his, keeping his hand on your breast as you lace your fingers together. The soft, rumbling feel is the last push you need. With a cry of his name, the sensation in your core becomes too much, pleasure and relief washing over you. Diavolo stays still against your cunt during your releases, letting your slick overflow onto this tongue. Fingers further tangle in his hair as you gently roll your hips against the muscle. The slow wind down is much needed.

When he finally parts, strings of your essence mixed with his saliva connect them still. Diavolo licks his lips, standing back to his full height between your legs.

“Ready for the fun part?” He asks.

“Oh, that wasn’t supposed to be fun?” You joke between breathy pants.

He laughs, gently pinching your thigh, “Filling you with my seed is going to be even better.”

Your face burns as you giggle. Diavolo gently moves you to lie on your right side.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He grabs your left leg, slinging it over his shoulder. A pleasant stretch runs up the back of your leg. He adjusts so that his left leg crosses over your right, kneeling next to your thigh while your calf dangles off the edge. His right leg stays extended against the floor, giving him the leverage and support he wants.

This new position leaves his cock pressed to your sex, feeling impossibly hot and heavy.

“I knew for a while that I would need to make an heir, but I didn't want to approach you just yet….” He starts, lazily thrusting his hips so that his cock slides against your drenched slit. The swollen tip glides over your clit, only to pull back and teasingly dip into your entrance.

“I was worried that I, ah, wouldn’t be able to properly fill you,” He huffs. “ I haven’t touched myself in weeks…”

Large droplets of precum join the already sticky mess as the apex of your thighs. Thoroughly soaked in your juices, Diavolo now firmly positions the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“I’m going to make a mess of you,” he whispers as he easily sinks his cock into your warmth.

A low, drawn-out moan escapes you as he sets every nerve in your body alight, pleasure rippling up your spine. The weight surrounding you grows heavier, and when you open your eyes, you’re met with Diavolo’s black and gold horns. Four large wings unfurl from his back, fluttering softly with the jolts of pleasure he’s receiving. The hands that cradle your extended leg to his chest now grasp desperately with black talons.

His pace becomes relentless, desperate to finally have the release he’s denied himself. Your body bounces against the mattress with each powerful thrust. The wet meeting of skin on skin and his moans drown out all other noise. The tingling sensation begins to rebuild in your core. Diavolo’s thrusts are becoming more erratic.

One more brutal thrust, burying his cock as far as he can manage, is the only warning you have to the hot fluid that fills you. It overflows around your joining, the excess flowing down until it pools on the mattress underneath you.

However, he doesn’t stop there. His claws curl around the back of your knees, pushing your legs flush against your chest. Diavolo kneels fully onto the mattress now, molding your body into a perfect mating press. His thrusts pick back up, fucking his cum back into your waiting cunt. The new angle has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. Your voice is powerless as the air is knocked from your lungs. A high-pitched whine manages its way out, and Diavolo chuckles breathlessly.

“I want to get you pregnant so badly, baby. You’re already so full, but I know you can take more….” One hand slips underneath you both, gathering his spend that has already gushed out. “I won’t waste a single drop. Not with you.”

His cum coated fingers press to your clit, “Can you see it? You, full and round with our child… you’d look glorious, like a Queen. My Queen.”

You’re barely registering his words, the double assault on your sex rendering your thoughts obsolete. The added stimulation has you spasming around his cock.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come again!”

The second release arrives just as suddenly and hard as the first. You can feel the subtle stretch in your abdomen, the flesh bulging as it tries to accommodate all of Diavolo’s seed. Still, not all can fit, and a new gush slips down with every twitch of his cock.

Exhaustion creeps in, legs feeling like concrete weights against your chest. Utterly boneless, you hope Diavolo still has some strength to carry you to the bathtub. Barbatos will place fresh sheets on the bed while you clean up. You’ll drink some water, then fall asleep cradled safely in your new lover's arms. A two-day nap sounds like heaven.

Yet, Diavolo doesn’t move. He’s still buried deep within you.

Still hard.

After catching his breath, Diavolo leans back, a relaxed and giddy smile on his face.

“You’re doing so well, darling. I believe you’ll easily last the night.”

•••✦ ❤ ✦••• Submit A Request | Read on AO3 •••✦ ❤ ✦•••

#diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me #fullofbeeswrites #obey me barbatos #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo smut #diavolo x mc

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binenbaumaj · 8 months

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quietwingsinthesky · 9 months

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You'll Figure It Out When You Get There (+podfic)

(Other Links: Dreamwidth - FFNet - Pillowfort - Squidgeworld)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's Relationship: Glamrock Freddy & Gregory & Vanessa Additional Tags: Angst and Humor, Road Trips, Post-Vanny Ending, Post-good ending, Character Study, Vanessa has issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, you know just the dead kids that populate every fnaf game, Post-Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach, Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach Spoilers, Conversations, Developing Friendships, Families of Choice, (they aren't quite there yet but trust me they will be one day), Implied/Referenced Mind Control WC: 2423 Summary:

Vanessa doesn’t know exactly what she’s supposed to do now. It turns out there is no 12 step program for recovering from being manipulated and possessed by a child murderer who likes to dance around in a rabbit suit. or, an ex-security guard and a piece of stolen property have a chat while Gregory robs a gas station blind.

Vanessa doesn’t know exactly what she’s supposed to do now.

It turns out there is no 12 step program for recovering from being manipulated and possessed by a child murderer who likes to dance around in a rabbit suit. Except it was her suit, she made it, she remembers making it, even if she can’t remember a lot of other things that she knows she should. She remembers cutting and sewing and becoming, and she remembers that she was proud of the craftsmanship. No. Step back. Separate. He was the one who gave her the design, and He was proud, that specter in the code that she gave the form He wanted.

She remembers listening. Mostly, always, listening.

Whispers through a keyhole. A door she unlocked.

Her computer is gone. Her security badges and hat and uniform, gone. Her job, her life, everything, gone. His voice is... His voice is, but it is also quieter than it has been in a long, long time. Vanessa finds she can’t prefer the silence it leaves. The radio of the van they stole has one broken dial, the one that controls the volume, and if she turns it on and fiddles with it quick enough, she can get the sound to a reasonable volume before the music blasts out. Sometimes, the volume dial jumps erratically, out of her control, and there will be a sharp note that makes her ears ring and makes Gregory jump. Usually, though, she can make it before it’s too late.

Vanessa is still here. She’s still alive, which is more than a lot of people can say.

Gregory’s alive, too. That’s more than a lot of children who meet her- No, separate, met Him, can say.

Vanessa’s never killed anyone. Vanessa’s killed children. Vanessa can’t remember anything. Vanessa can remember everything, but all it is is screaming whenever she tries to sleep.

Gregory’s alive, and that’s not because of her. There’s a head in their van. It talks. For once, Vanessa does not feel crazy when she talks back. Most of the time. She thinks she owes something to the bot, Freddy. Gregory can drive, and he knows how to hotwire a van, and how to connect an animatronic head to it to keep Freddy’s battery from running out. She’s not sure she wants to know how he learned all of that, but she definitely knows it means that he could ditch her, if he really wanted. She’s also pretty sure the bear convinced him not to. Probably some old protocol demanding that lost children get brought to the nearest adult that can help them find their parents.

Gregory doesn’t sleep unless she’s made it clear she’s going to as well, and not until he’s checked and double-checked Freddy’s battery and connection to the van. He sleeps with his Faz Camera clutched to his chest. Vanessa knows now from experience that being flashed with that thing can leave you half-blind for a good five minutes. She’s learned not to wake the kid up. At least, not from a distance where she’s still going to be blinking spots out of her eyes for an hour.

If she had it her way, she’d sleep a lot less than she does, but that would mean Gregory sleeping less, too. She’s got some sort of responsibility here. So, instead, she bites into her hand in the middle of the night to stay silent and ignores the whirring of robotic eyes as they focus on her. The first time, he’d tried to say something. She doesn’t really remember what. She ignored him, wiped her tears, and tried to go back to sleep. She hadn’t succeeded, but he also hadn’t tried to talk to her again when she did wake. He watches, though. Those robots were programmed to watch as much as they were to perform.

"Why did you help him?” she asks. She’s leaning against the open back door of the van, waiting for the tank to fill up. Gregory is inside the gas station. The security guard part of her feels like she should reprimand him when he inevitably comes back with things he didn’t pay for. The hungry part of her just wants some jerky. Freddy is currently under a sheet. She doesn’t particularly want some nosey gas station attendant walking past the van and seeing an animatronic head, not when the major property damage and theft Vanessa and her unnamed child accomplice/victim caused are still all over the news. She’s not sure if law enforcement has conclusively pinned the “disappearances” on her yet.

At least as long as Fazbear Entertainment is involved, they’re going to remain “disappearances”. Less dirt on the company name.

“I... do not know.” Freddy says after a long pause. His ears click and turn under the sheet, and Vanessa reaches over automatically to keep it from sliding off. “He is a child. It is against our programming to harm children. My friends were malfunctioning.” She winces, and she’s glad he can’t see it. That’s her fault. No, His fault. But her fault. For giving Him the chance. For unlocking the door. She chains it now, a thousand locks, but that just means more keyholes, more places where the whispers escape.

“If programming is all you have, you should have turned him over to me. You had a lot of chances.” She shoves her hands in her jacket pockets and digs her nails into her palms. Freddy whirs. She’s starting to recognize the different sounds his small movements make. That’s the sound of his eyes moving. It’s a small victory in her mind that he can’t see her.

"He did not trust you.”

“So, you decided to listen to a seven year old who you knew broke in.”

“It was the right choice, Vanessa.” Freddy says, and she knows he’s trying to stop her line of questioning. She doesn’t want to argue with him. It’s messed up that the closest thing she can consider a friend is a robotic head. She had coworkers, once. They were almost friends. Luis used to exchange emails with her, casual stuff, jokes... concern when she stopped emailing him back, and then silence. She wonders if he tried to get in contact with her again when he saw the news. She’s got no way to check.

“Had you seen him before?” Freddy’s ears quickly click backwards, and his voice comes out slightly offended.

“Fazbear Entertainment does not record, monitor, or store guest information using facial recognition software without consent.” Vanessa snorts.

“You know, most nights at that place were pretty quiet. I did a lot of weird stuff to pass the time. Including reading all the stuff guests had to sign to get in there.” The clause about recording had been in very small print. Vanessa had to take a picture of it with her phone and zoomed in the photo to read it properly.

“Fazbear Entertainment, on occasion, uses facial recognition to record, monitor, and store guest information.” Freddy concedes. He almost sounds embarrassed. “But I have no information about Gregory before I met him in my room. He did not have a guest profile.”

“That’s a no?”

“He did not have a guest profile.” Freddy repeats.

“And didn’t sign the waiver. Shit.” She glances over at the pump, then at the store connected to the gas station. She can’t see Gregory. She’s not worried about him. He’s survived a lot worse than shoplifting. “Legally, you’ve never seen him before.”

“Legally, I have no record of Gregory.”

“What about illegally?”

“Vanessa, I am not allowed to collect information on someone who did not sign the waiver.” She lifts the sheet just enough so that he can see the look she’s giving him. She’s been told she can be pretty intimidating. She hopes the dark bags under her eyes and her messily tied back hair help the effect rather than just making her look like a walking disaster. Not that that wouldn’t be accurate. Freddy blinks at her and then looks forward again.

“You know you're stolen property now, right?” Vanessa pushes. That is a bit of a sore point.

“After meeting Gregory, I went through the video footage I had access to. Without being able to connect to the main office, it was not much. A week.” He answers. “Gregory is in the footage. I believe if I had more memory storage, he would also be in that footage. He knew his way around the Pizzaplex very well.”

There was no record of Gregory in the system, ever. She asked him where his parents were, to return him to them. He didn’t answer. He didn’t blink hijacking a van, at leaving town, at stealing food. He hummed Freddy’s stage shows without missing a note when he was bored, all the way through. He wore a pair of shoes she knew were sold in the Pizzaplex gift shop.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she admits. “I don’t know how to take care of a kid.” Especially not one who doesn’t trust her, and who has every right to never trust her. She’s pretty sure that, if push comes to shove, if He ever gets so loud she can’t do anything but listen, Gregory won’t hesitate to push her under her own van.

(And then to lie to Freddy and say it was an accident. She had cameras all over the Pizzaplex to watch. She saw what Gregory did to the other animatronics, the ones who hunted and hurt him.

Freddy has, had, access to those same cameras. When Fazbear Entertainment designs something to watch, it watches.)

“I am very good with children. I can teach you!” Freddy says.

I am very good with children, someone whispers through a keyhole, a door she checks the locks of every day. I can teach you.

“You think that a healthy diet consists of pizza, fries, and milkshakes.” She says, louder than she intends.

“The menu of the Pizzaplex was looked over by multiple nutritionists!”

“Did any of them approve it?”

“...We also failed restaurant inspections less than 50% of the time?”

“I worked for that place, and I still don’t know how you avoided lawsuits.” Vanessa says as she tugs the pump from the van and puts it back. The machine accepted cash, which she has... enough of. Enough to last them a little while longer. They can wait for things to calm down and maybe then the kid and his robot buddy could hack something and get them new identities. She has no idea how hacking actually works. She thinks she did some, once. She did what she was told, and the computers listened like she listened.

“Gregory, you’re back!” Freddy says as she gets into the driver’s seat, and she glances into the back of the van. Gregory had scrambled inside, shutting the doors behind him. He sees Vanessa looking at him, and he tenses, tries to hide the stolen goods he was pulling out of his pockets. Vanessa bites the inside of her cheek.

“What’s the haul, kid?” she asks. Gregory just stares at her. She tries not to think about the fact that she didn’t eat breakfast today. “I’m not going to arrest you for shoplifting.” Gregory looks down at the items and then over at Freddy’s still covered head. There’s a slight yellow glow where his eyes are. He’s looking directly at Gregory.

“I paid for this.” Gregory lies. She raises an eyebrow.

“That’s the right thing to do, superstar.” Freddy says. “Shoplifting is illegal, Vanessa. Please do not encourage him to do crimes.”

“You,” she points at Freddy. The yellow glow flickers up in the direction of her finger. When Gregory tugs the sheet off a moment later, she sees that his gaze is exactly on her finger. Not one to be deterred, she continues, “Are Literally. Stolen. Property.” She turns back to the wheel. “He stuffed you in a duffel bag.”

“Yes, but-” Freddy stalls. Makes a clicking noise. “Well-” Click. “See-” Click. He finally gives a metallic sigh. It’s not a very pleasant sound. “Gregory, please do not steal anything that isn’t me.”

“I won’t,” Gregory promises. He’s lying again.

Vanessa starts the van. She fiddles with the radio, stops it from getting too loud. They should keep going. For how long, how far, she’s not sure. Maybe, if they get far enough, she could open that door in her head and see that there’s nothing behind it. (She doesn’t actually believe that. She has read the newspaper articles, the old speculation about restaurant after restaurant, child after child, and she knows better than anyone, He is the kind of curse that lingers.) Maybe they’ll at least get far enough away that she can get a real job. She doesn’t have any references now, but if that goddamn place gave her anything besides the nightmares, it gave her the experience she needs to work a night shift.

Something pokes her in the shoulder. She looks.

“Here,” Gregory says. She reaches back to take the beef jerky from him. He jumps back the moment she has it, before their hands can touch, and then he sits back on the floor next to Freddy. She can see him looking at his Faz Watch. The text that appears on it is too small for her to read, but at least she knows who he’s talking to. Freddy is the only thing connected to the watch. No one else. Gregory has nightmares too, but he doesn’t have Him and His words on a screen that know everything. Gregory just has Freddy, and Freddy might know more than he lets on, might watch and watch and watch, but Freddy will protect him as well as a head wired into a van battery can protect a child.

Vanessa is alive. She has a van. She has a goal, nebulous though it may be. There is a keyhole in a door in her head that she can hear the most horrible things through, but it’s locked still and will stay that way, as long as she can manage. She’s got a piece of beef jerky to eat for lunch, and maybe later, she’ll teach Gregory how to dine and dash, if he doesn’t already know. He probably does.

No one is telling her what she is supposed to do.

(She cannot choose whether to listen. She can choose whether to heed.)

She’s just going to have to write that program herself.

Step one...

#podfic #fanfiction #fic: fnaf #fic: gregory fnaf #fic: vanessa fnaf #fic: glamrock freddy #fic: genfic #fic: 1000-5000 #fic: pg-13 #fic: stolen van verse #fic: glamrock freddy & gregory #fic: glamrock freddy & vanessa #fic: gregory & vanessa #fic: post-canon

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quietwings-fics · 7 months

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You'll Figure It Out When You Get There

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's Ship: Gen (Freddy & Gregory & Vanessa) Additional Tags: Angst and Humor, Road Trips, Post-Vanny Ending, Post-good ending, Character Study, Vanessa has issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, you know just the dead kids that populate every fnaf game, Post-Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach, Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach Spoilers, Conversations, Developing Friendships, Families of Choice, (they aren't quite there yet but trust me they will be one day), Implied/Referenced Mind Control Part 1 of stolen vans, broken radios, and dry batteries, or: assorted thoughts on the savior ending Wordcount: 2423 Summary:

Vanessa doesn’t know exactly what she’s supposed to do now.

She remembers listening. Mostly, always, listening.

Whispers through a keyhole. A door she unlocked.

Vanessa is still here. She’s still alive, which is more than a lot of people can say.

Gregory’s alive, too. That’s more than a lot of children who meet her- No, separate, met Him, can say.

Vanessa’s never killed anyone. Vanessa’s killed children. Vanessa can’t remember anything. Vanessa can remember everything, but all it is is screaming whenever she tries to sleep.

At least as long as Fazbear Entertainment is involved, they’re going to remain “disappearances”. Less dirt on the company name.

"He did not trust you.”

“So, you decided to listen to a seven year old who you knew broke in.”

“Had you seen him before?” Freddy’s ears quickly click backwards, and his voice comes out slightly offended.

“Fazbear Entertainment does not record, monitor, or store guest information using facial recognition software without consent.” Vanessa snorts.

“That’s a no?”

“He did not have a guest profile.” Freddy repeats.

“Legally, I have no record of Gregory.”

“What about illegally?”

“You know you're stolen property now, right?” Vanessa pushes. That is a bit of a sore point.

(And then to lie to Freddy and say it was an accident. She had cameras all over the Pizzaplex to watch. She saw what Gregory did to the other animatronics, the ones who hunted and hurt him.

Freddy has, had, access to those same cameras. When Fazbear Entertainment designs something to watch, it watches.)

“I am very good with children. I can teach you!” Freddy says.

I am very good with children, someone whispers through a keyhole, a door she checks the locks of every day. I can teach you.

“You think that a healthy diet consists of pizza, fries, and milkshakes.” She says, louder than she intends.

“The menu of the Pizzaplex was looked over by multiple nutritionists!”

“Did any of them approve it?”

“...We also failed restaurant inspections less than 50% of the time?”

“I paid for this.” Gregory lies. She raises an eyebrow.

“That’s the right thing to do, superstar.” Freddy says. “Shoplifting is illegal, Vanessa. Please do not encourage him to do crimes.”

“I won’t,” Gregory promises. He’s lying again.

Something pokes her in the shoulder. She looks.

No one is telling her what she is supposed to do.

(She cannot choose whether to listen. She can choose whether to heed.)

She’s just going to have to write that program herself.

Step one...

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

#fanfiction #teen and up audiences #1001-5000 #fnaf #genfic #freddy & gregory #freddy & vanessa #gregory & vanessa #gregory fnaf #vanessa fnaf #glamrock freddy #post-canon #angst #humor #stolen vans verse

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urwendii · 6 months

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Serie: Mai Mae and Ossë Roadtrip To Middle Earth part 6 / ?

Tag list: @cilil @helenvader @mamanmae @endeavoringdaydreamer @light-of-the-two-trees

It was a first, perhaps, in the history of Lothlórien, that two Maiar and a Noldo of the House of Fëanor sat at the same table than the Lady of the Woods.

Galadriel was staring ahead, her face completely devoid of emotion while Maedhros felt decidedly uncomfortable to be in the presence of his youngest cousin and actual sole Noldor survivor in Middle Earth. Mairon on his part seemed well too pleased in observing his surroundings — after trying and failing to invade the Realm for thousand of years— and finally be able to take in appreciation the fine craftsmanship of the Silvan Elves. Ossë, being his regular self, was crouched on the chair, half balanced on its rear feet and looking as if he was 10 seconds away from bursting either in songs or laughter.

"So." Said Maedhros after the stretch of silence had turned far too uncomfortable and lengthy.

"So." Galadriel replied tersely, eyes narrowing at the trio.

"We should be grateful if you were to allow us-"

"No."

Maedhros fumbled with his next word, the vowel ending up a drawn-out hum.

"I will allow you and Lord Ossë, but no Dark Lord shall reside under my protection."

Mairon pursed his lips amusingly.

"I am already within your borders."

Galadriel had an expression of someone who had tasted a particular bitter food, and immediately glared back at him.

"An unfortunate circumstance I would have prevented were it not for the disappointing lapse of judgment of some of my guards. You aren't welcomed there Sauron."

It was Mairon's turn to look sour at the ancient moniker. Ossë waved a scaly hand then, his demeanour seemingly focusing back in the present situation.

"My Lady we understand that it might be difficult after all to forgive Mairon here present but we have good intentions."

Everyone heard the loud snort and Maedhros gave Mairon a deadpan look. Trust the Maia to add fire on oil.

Galadriel suddenly stood up, her composure frosty as she stared them down, pristine white gown giving her the look of a mighty icicle in the grey afternoon.

"This is my Realm, that I have defended from you for two Ages without the help of the Valar."

"Indeed, you only had one of my rings to do so." Mairon interrupted good-natured, the cheer of his tone belied by the ominous dark in his eyes. Maedhros and Ossë exchanged an uneasy look. Now was not the place for the former Dark Lord to lose control of his temper. But — Maedhros thought drily — Artanis, as he knew her then, had never been one to back down a fight. Except that that had been some seven thousands years ago and as it was the current Noldo Princess, turned Queen of her own Realm, was more composed than in his memories.

Instead of jumping over the tables to provoke Mairon in a fistfight, what she might have done when freshly arrived in Beleriand, she simply squared her shoulders and lowered her voice to a glacial tone.

"Rings made by Celebrimbor, unspoiled by your corruption!" she hissed.

"Knowledge he only had because I taught him, you Elves are so quick to take for granted what you are offered."

"Offered? whose idea was it in the first place Annatar?"

Mairon has risen too, face flushed from anger.

"I came to you with a pragmatic plan and was only met with scorn and disdain."

Ossë looked like he was witnessing the showdown of the millennium, and was definitely gleeful to witness the argument. Maedhros was reminded of too many family arguments and too many unpleasantness.

"Enough!" he boomed in his most Eldest Sibling voice and then glared at them.

"I'd rather not revisit the memories of what you did to my nephew Mairon. For everyone's sake, let's move on from this conversation. What was done is done and there is no way to change the past. Trials and sentences have been made accordingly. We are here to ask shelter for a few days before making our way to Amon Lanc."

Galadriel remained haughty and poised, eyes never leaving Mairon. "And you will trust him in that place?"

The former Úmaia rolled his eyes.

"I have ways to keep him in check." Ossë spoke at last, eyes glittering in mischief.

"If not..." her lips curled in a frightening smile, "Do remind him of our last confrontation upon Dol Guldur."

"Have i gone formless again or is anyone going to have discussions about me as if I weren't in the room?"

In a fashion that reminded Maedhros that Artanis was indeed from the house of Finwë, she replied with a choice word in Mairon's own black speech and even Maedhros — not one faint of heart in the slightest — felt himself blush.

"You shall remain on the borders of my Lands, accommodations will be provided and you will be kept under strict supervision."

"Thank you!" Ossë exclaimed happily, wrapping one arm around Mairon's shoulder, who for his part had still been locked in a glaring context with Galadriel.

Maedhros had an suspicion the tension was just starting and it would somehow escalate to higher levels the longer they remain there.

And he longed for a nap. It sounded delightful even. The golden leaves of the Mallorn trees sang of home and he just wanted to drift in dreams made of better things.

"By the way my lady! Would you perchance know where I could find a body of water? I am parched and these two have forced me to remain inland for far longer than I am comfortable with. What a cruel device for my noble person! What a hardship that my existence must be so! What a—"

Maedhros tuned off Ossë's dramatics.

He was so tired.

#mai mae & ossë roadtrip in middle earth #idk about this one #this is for my former fandom ;)#i could write an actual standalone fic on these interactions tbh. or extend this to an actual chapter #anyway they triggered Maedhros' Eldest Daughter Mode :(#hes so tired let him nap!!!!#Ossë being Osse....#again theres no actual chronology in these #also reminder you can ask me at all time to be on the tag list

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stupidrottencat · 7 months

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The church's bells tolled as a woman in a nun's habit ambled passed the wailing and grieving family of yet another unfortunate victim with an air of aggrievance for the families whose loved ones have been taken at a much earlier time than God intended. A man in a cassock looked upon the weeping crowd with despair, “Sister Perdita, this is the fifth murder this week. The police can’t find even a trace! It’s as if this evil is not of man.” The priest had uttered, turning his attention to the woman.

Perdita’s eyes widened in realization and she whipped around to look at the priest with shock, “You don’t mean that there is satanic influence, right? These victims are people who come and worship God twice every week! How would Satan get his claws around their souls that easily, Father Williams?” Perdita spoke as she trembled at the mere thought of Satan waiting outside the church to claim these people of God. “Perdita, I need you to examine and purify the old Inn in the woods. I believe there is a connection between the dead found near there and the inn itself.” Father Williams spoke with quiet confidence, “ The inn has a fitting name as well, the Demonic Inn. It can be found past the rundown mall a few miles south of the abandoned Wardens house.”

Perdita with a sense of righteous justice and hope for the end of the murders, left for the Inn. Past the rundown mall, down the trail by the Wardens house, and continuing south through the woods. The woods were quiet except for the occasional chirp or song from the birds. It was unnerving of how desolate the woods appeared. Perdita was exhausted from walking miles in steep, unstable, and muggy terrain. The birds stopped chirping. They stayed deathly silent, seeming to shudder in fear of something she couldn’t sense. Two thuds sounded to her side before stopping behind the large blueberry bushes. Through her muddled mind she finally registered the sounds. ‘Footsteps’. The word rang through her mind like the death toll she heard at the church. Perdita turned and looked at what had made the steps, only to watch as a tall shadow walked out of sight away from the now barren bush.

Thudding and panting, Perdita ran as hard as she could deeper into the woods. She caught sight of a cream and vibrant red building through the trees. Through her exhaustion she pushed herself to make it to the building. An inn with cream walls, red highlights and beautiful flowers and bushes as decorations. Upon the wall the words written in gold read, ‘Demonic Inn’. “No, no, no. This can’t be it can it? It must be an illusion or deception of evil to lure people into a false sense of security.” Perdita muttered to herself. As she collected herself and prepared to walk in she took note of a familiar smell, it was difficult to put a name to, yet it was eerily familiar.

As she pushed open the door a ring sounded out, announcing her entrance. The lobby had sturdy red fabric chairs, a dark brown wooden table carved with amazing craftsmanship, books laying upon its shining finish, and potted plants scattered here and there. Ahem. The obviously faked clearing of the throat sounded masculine in origin. She went to politely apologize for the gawking but as her mouth opened to begin the sentence caught in her throat. The desk had a gold nameplate with ‘James’ written on it and what can only be described as a demon behind it. He had ebony fur covering his heavy set body, glowing eyes that seemed to pierce the soul of anyone looking, two large horns, one snapped half way off and the other with a gold ring around it, tusks that looked like ivory and clawed hands with no arms attaching them.

“So, do you want a room or not?” James spoke with a tired and sarcastic tone. Perdita pulled out a vial of holy water and ran to the desk causing James to stand up and take a quick step back with surprise. “Return to the hell you came from, satan spawn! Let you never harm anyone again!” Perdita splashed the water onto the now much taller demon.

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with this.” James said absolutely drenched in the holy water, “You do know holy water only works on demons and devils, yeah? Well I’m not either of those so unless you want to actually get a room and stop being rude to employees just doing their job, leave.” Perdita stood in shock. “I'll take a room.” She was barely able to force it out of her own mouth. “Alright then,” James wiped his face off with a black handkerchief with gold embroidery and sat back down, “here is your key, you’ll be staying in room 123. Not to be confused with G123 which is on ground level.” James said using a slightly louder voice than normal, before flipping the nameplate face first into the desk and leaving through the ‘employee’s only’ door behind him. Near the door was a picture that read ‘E.O.M Phil’. Phil wore a black tophat with a red lace and spider lily on it, he seemed to cover his face with a white mask that only had eyeholes. ‘Employee of the month, huh? Maybe he has something to do with the murders.’ Perdita let thoughts rush through her mind as she ascended up to her room.

‘117, 119, 121, 123… 123!’ Perdita turned back around to open the door she had just past. Inside it was illuminated by the opened window next to the door and a few lamps, the bed looked newly made and held a tv as well as plenty of decorations.There was a bathroom off to the side with a shower and bath combo, mirror, sink, and toilet. She flopped on the bed after locking the door then she realized the sheets were nice and toasty, as if they had just been dried. As the hours ticked by she could not sleep, no matter the position, how sleepy she was, or how comforting the bed and feather soft blankets were. The sound of a sheet rubbing against the floor caught her attention, thinking she was just imagining things from lack of sleep, she tried to go to sleep. There it was again, much clearer now. It came from outside her room, right next to the window. Perdita slowly got up to look out the window when a large crash rang through the halls. She dashed out her room to see a dark cloaked figure dart to the stairs.

Chasing the figure down stairs and through a winding maze of halls, she finally caught up with them. Grabbing their cloak, the figure let out a horrified scream, “Please don’t kill me! I’m just the janitor!” The cloaked figure turned to her to reveal nothing but glowing eyes in the pitch black opening of, what she now realized was, a black blanket. “What? You’re just a janitor? Was that why I heard noises in the room beside me?” She said with confusion very evident on her face. “Yeah? Can you let go of me now, please?” The figure said, looking at her with teary eyes. “Oh, of course! I’m terribly sorry. May I ask your name?” “It’s Atticus. Nice to meet you, bye!” Atticus then turned around and shuffled over to the counter.

Perdita then realized she was in a cafeteria of sorts. The walls were still the cream color and it had highlights of red and gold. The chairs looked as if you could sink into them and never want to climb out, the tables had red cloths draped over them, and she saw the unmistakable face, or mask, of Employee of the Month, Phil. Phil’s photo showed one very unsettling thing though. He walked on his hands and feet, if you could call them that. They seemed more like if he had put his hands and feet in cups and covered them in a black full bodysuit. He didn’t appear to have clothes other than a bowtie, tophat, and a nametag that read ‘Phil’. His body was an inky black that seemed to be a fabric of sorts, however.

She walked over with careful steps toward Phil when she noticed he seemed to be in a conversation with someone in the kitchen. The chef who went quiet and stared at her was thin, much too thin. She could see his ribs and wore an animal skin cloak that only covered his collarbone in the front and mid back on the tail end. The cloak let no light touch his face and he had very thin, long limbs that allowed him to stand almost as tall as the ceiling itself. As he stared at her quietly, Phil turned his head to look at her then trot over. Perdita tenses in fear yet keeps a confident face. “Sir, are you the manager of this hotel?” She questions Phil, only receiving a blank look. “He doesn’t speak ma’am. But yes, he is the assistant manager.” A deep, raspy voice echoes through the kitchen's opening. The tall man Phil was ‘chatting with’ came out with smooth long strides. “My name is Annex, I’m the chef of this establishment. A pleasure to meet you.” He spoke eloquently despite his scratchy voice, “Oh. I was wondering if you know about any murders nearby.” When she said this both seemed to flinch back as if struck. Annex swiftly turned and went back to the kitchen, while Phil walked out of the cafeteria on trembling limbs. “You should try to get some sleep, ma’am. You’re welcome to breakfast in the morning.” Was all Annex said before continuing to cook. Perdita went back up to her room, not without getting lost here and there.

She got very little sleep. Walking to the bathroom like a zombie, Perdita flinches at the sorry sight of herself. The bags under her eyes reached a new color of dark blue, her hair was a rat's nest, and she seemed much paler. ‘Wow, I better fix myself up before going to investigate why Annex and Phil reacted like that. Wait, Annex said I could go to breakfast. Maybe I could find information there.’ As she started cleaning herself up, she caught a whiff of the familiar scent she had smelt at the entrance of the inn. Once again she couldn’t put a name on it, only this time she felt a sense of dread with it. As if a once comforting smell turned sour and rotten. Finishing up as quickly as she could, she rushed out to get away from the smell.

“Glad to see you miss.” Annex was the first to notice her at the cafeteria door. James, Phil, and Atticus were all there with their breakfasts. Atticus looked as nervous as a man with only eyes on his face could look, wringing his hands while chewing, his plate was almost polished. Phil’s and James’ plates looked untouched, and if looks could kill, Phil would be dead 5 times over. “Y’know Phil, you are the sorriest assistant manager I’ve ever worked for. Not only are you a pain for all of us, but you give everyone more work than you do!” James kept digging into Phil when Annex spoke up, “Will you shut up already? We have a guest and this feud you have on each other needs to stop. It’s annoying and pointless.” James and Phil whipped their heads to Perdita and Atticus gave a small wave before quickly and quietly leaving. “You look dead.” James called to her when she went to grab a plate. “Well isn’t that a way to treat a lady!” She refuted, “Oh sorry, didn’t know I was talking to a lady.” He said before resuming eating. Perdita gaped at him and Annex came out of the kitchen at a swift speed. When he got in James' space, he smacked him in the back of the head, “Be nice! She is our first customer in months!” Annex spat out. ‘If they haven’t had anyone come in here in months, then they couldn’t have been part of the murders.’ Perdita clears her plate and returns to her room after saying her goodbyes.

‘I have enough information to return to Father Williams.’ Perdita packs her things and goes down stairs to give James the room key. “Thank you for this time, James.” “Have a good one.” James replied without looking up from filing his claws. “Miss.” Annex’s voice called out before she opened the door, “Annex? What is it?” “Please watch your back, there is someone after you.” He said before turning and leaving. James had paused his filing and he and Perdita watched as Annex left, “As vague as ever.” James then continued his filing.

‘What did he mean?’ Was all Perdita could think about while trudging through the cold woods again. In an instant, a cloth covered her mouth. Perdita gasped in surprise, breathing in the chemical. Then it all went black.

She heard a voice, distorted and the words were unintelligible, and the smell was back. She then recognised what the smell was. It was a combination of frankincense, myrrh, and flowers. The same smell Father Williams always had permeating around him. The voice cleared up before her blurred vision did, a much too familiar voice dripped with venom, “Annex did try to warn you, Sister. Yet, you left without so much as a pocket knife.” Her vision cleared to reveal Father Williams standing over her in a dim, cold, and moist room. The floor was concrete with what smelled and looked like blood in a summoning circle with sigils and 5 skulls at each point of the pentacle. Each one was human. Only one was missing. “You will be the last one needed for the ritual to be completed! I will finally be released from this hell!” Father Williams spoke in a manic and almost insane manner, “Why are you doing this?” Perdita’s voice came out slurred and slow. “I have been stuck here for years! These excruciating reminders of what I’ve lost being replayed over and over! They get to live the life I want! One I deserve! All they did was do my work! I had done everything and they just played it out! Yet they reap the benefits? No more. No more, no more, no more. No more!” Father William had slowly descended into even more mania and hysterics.

He picked up a curved and twisted red stained dagger, “This is my freedom!” Right as he raised the blade to plunge it within her heart, thudding footsteps pounded closer. As if a herd of raging cattle thundered toward them, Father Williams whipped his head to look in panic, “No! No! They will ruin my freedom! I want to be free! Why do they want to save you? You are nothing but another sacrifice!” He cried out, keeping his attention to the door. The footsteps rumbled closer before stopping behind the door. A jingling of keys and murmuring resounding before a sharp, rage filled roar shook through the room, “Just bust the door down!” The door flew off its hinges with a deafening crash. Father Williams looked like a ghost as 4 familiar employees walked through the doorway. No words were spoken as James darted towards Father Williams and started ripping shreds out of him. Annex and Atticus hurried to her side to help her up and hide her eyes from seeing the absolute carnage that James was wreaking.She still heard the ear piercing screams. She heard the sickening sound of bones splintering and hooves clacking against a wet, concrete floor. As Annex and Atticus led her out of the room, Phil and James stayed behind to finish him off.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this.” Annex whispered to her, “We never wanted this to happen. He drove this place to ruin.” They sat in the lobby. Atticus put a soft blanket over her while they waited on the two others to join. Two sets of hoof-steps echoed through the main hall. Phil and James were soaked in blood and slumped in fatigue, “We want to send you off, Ma’am. Will you let us?” Annex’s voice was soft in worry, “It’s only fair isn’t it?” Perdita’s shaking voice showed just how shaken she was.

“You can keep the blanket miss.” Atticus then retreated behind James. Annex handed her a silver necklace with a cross on it, “Hopefully this will help you.” He looked down, then backed up a few steps. She immediately clipped it around her neck. Phil raised his hoof, on it was a blue, dried flower. “It’s an amsonia.” James spoke for him. She gently took the flower and looked it over before putting it in her bag. James then held out a folded newspaper. “Whatever you do, don’t read this until you’re out of the woods.” His tone was deadly serious. She looked into his eyes with slight fear. “Okay.” She nodded before getting up, “Thank you all so much. I owe my life to you all.” She walked out after hearing various ‘Goodbyes.’

She stumbled her way out of the woods. Her heart dropped. The newspaper held the words, ‘Inn burned to the ground with employees and owner inside! March 13, 2006.’

The inn wasn’t there. It was burned in 2006. They all died in 2006.

Hope y'all enjoyed this! 🙂 I intend to continue with these characters and more!

#Demonic Inn #Phil #Annex #James #Atticus #monsters

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