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adonis-koo · 5 months

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wicked • 17

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 8k

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Note: it’s actually difficult to believe it’s been eight months since I’ve updated, went through two jobs, a friend group and a boyfriend who gaslit the absolute fuck out of me and made me experience female hysteria 😍 I wrote this chapter the night he broke up with me so it just has that nice little extra touch of ✨ intensity ✨ enjoy lovies and I will be back hopefully sooner then last time with another update

It felt wrong, packing a small case of clothes while so many things at the castle had yet to play out, and Wheein’s life was hanging in the balance of it.

You had no intentions to trudge your way to the barracks but here you were; early morning where all of the guards were training and the person you were looking for was watching them, hands on his hips as he called out to one of them to tighten their guard.

You hadn’t planned on talking to him today, but leaving without so much as saying a word felt wrong, and perhaps after everything that had happened you were searching for sober reassurance.

“Jungkook.”

Everybody froze at the sound of your voice, you ignored all the eyes on you, after having lived in Penumbra for almost a year, you had somewhere along the way gotten used to all of the eyes that constantly followed you.

The guards exchanged awkward glances with one another, Jungkook looked surprised by your appearance, eyes glancing over you as if you were a hallucination, but after a moment it was evident you weren’t going to disappear upon blinking.

He glanced between you and the guards before he waved them off, “Keep going.”

You couldn’t stand the hopeful look in his eyes, almost a bit bashful as you walked in line with him further away from the barracks, “How can you expect me to leave the castle when Wheein is in a dungeon? And furthermore sending your aunt to try and reconcile with me?”

Jungkook frowned, “Well I doubted you wanted to see me after my drunk display- which truth be told I hardly remember anything I said, and It’s probably for the best that I don’t, Y/n…” He sighed as he stopped, “It was only a suggestion, it crossed my mind about the estate because truthfully I think you would like it there, and it would be safe,” His hands tenderly grabbed your shoulders as your lips curled in anger but you said nothing, “And I think it would be good for you to put all of this out of your head for a few days. I’ll continue to handle things here and if things change with Wheein trust that I’ll be able to take care of it.”

Your expression didn’t change as Jungkook frowned, “I would also like to remind you that she’s been one of my closest friends since I was a child. You’re not the only one who cares for her.”

You begrudgingly looked away from him but your expression softened, a stab of guilt surging through your stomach at the realization that he was very much right, “I know, I’m sorry I just-”

“Don’t be,” Jungkook replied, “You have a mean bite but I can appreciate your loyalty. I can’t undo the past but I want to make things right. I…” Jungkook paused, looking hesitant his eyes darting away from you and then back to you once more.

You offered no words forcing him to sigh, as if it was difficult for him to admit, “I want to be with you Y/n, not as two people amicable due to marriage or friends on uneasy terms…” He bit down on his cheek, unable to hold your steely gaze as his hand hesitantly reached out, tenderly stroking along your jawline, “I want more than that with you, I want all of the fire and all of the rage, I want the pain, the hardships. I want you, all of you, every flaw that makes you, you.”

You hadn’t even realized your eyes had blurred until his thumbs were tenderly pushing your tears away, “Is this a declaration?”

“It’s a promise.” Jungkook’s eyes held such a softness in them filled with something you still felt uncertain to assume, “You told me that you wanted to bear the deepest parts of yourself to me, all of your insecurities, the parts you don’t like about yourself, the parts you may even hate, so I am standing here to tell you to show me, show me all of it, and I will still take you as you are.”

He was saying many overwhelming words to you, but you knew he was dancing around the most important word, you could see it in his eyes, how it lingered on the tip of his tongue.

But something was stopping him from truly confessing it.

Perhaps even after all of these months, it was still too soon.

Evidently so given your circumstances.

“I don’t want you away from me,” Jungkook admitted, a frown slowly forming on his lips, “But if that’s what it takes, I would wait a lifetime if it meant your forgiveness, if it meant a second chance to be with you.”

“Is that why you’re willing to send me away?” You sniffled, “Otherwise you’ll continue to drink and wake me up in the middle of the night?”

“It wasn’t my finest moment,” Jungkook gave a weak smile, “But you can’t deny it got my point across didn’t it?”

Just his smile made something in you crumble, a vast desire to embrace him here and to forgive him, surely you could put this all behind you…?

But a bigger part of you didn’t want to rush this, you didn’t want to be complacent anymore, that was how you got into this situation, how you immediately jumped to Claudin’s offer rather than confide in the person you were married to.

It was such a raw feeling, you could feel it licking at your very soul, trying to tame your desire to throw all caution to the wind once more.

And for a brief moment you could feel Jungkook have the same reaction as you, as if it took every fiber in his being to not beg you to stay, you don’t know if you could stand your ground against him again if he came on as strong as he had last night.

“Just for a few days.” You whispered out as he frowned, giving you an understanding nod.

“You’ll love it there.” His hands finally let go of you, somewhat reluctantly.

And then it was silent for a long moment, tension still lingering in the air and both of you clearly hesitant.

“Then…I’ll see you in a few days.” You mumbled and Jungkook nodded once more. It felt like the ground was trying to engulf your feet as you turned around, feeling oddly empty at your goodbye, waiting for something that wouldn’t come.

What was it you had hoped for? A hug…?

Maybe a kiss…?

But then again, it felt as though you were no longer deserving of those things, Jungkook may have done things to hurt you but you had also done things to hurt him, how could you both love one another if you couldn’t trust one another first?

You wished Jungkook had reached out for you, to at least give you some form of affection before leaving, but he also knew this was true, and let you leave with no grief.

It left you feeling empty inside, but this was for the best.

You journeyed over horseback for the day, trying to leave your fretting heart behind as you nervously glanced back at the far away sight of the castle, what if something developed with Wheein?

You felt as though you were betraying her just by leaving, more than anything you were desperate to get her back, perhaps that was why Jungkook was sending you away, as if he sensed your desperation would only heighten the longer this went on.

Dare you say, he feared the worst might happen if you stayed.

Your grip tightened on your reigns, once more trying to put it out of your mind, taking a deep breath you took in the heady scent of the pine tree’s the surrounded you, the Estate was much closer to the mountains then you had anticipated, by midday you had journeyed far enough that snow had already reached the ground.

“Are you nervous?” Yoongi had slowed his horse down to ride next to you, his eyes however still scoured ahead for possible danger.

“What do you mean?” You frowned as you glanced at his back, hearing a branch snap as your eyes darted towards the left of him.

Your faithful companion Fenrir having accidentally broke the branch he had been carrying in his mouth the past hour he had grown fond of, a whine leaving him in disappointment as he picked up the bigger side.

“Journeying away from the castle during these trying times…” Yoongi glanced back at you, a frown of his own, “It can’t be easy leaving with everything that’s happened.”

You didn’t reply for a long moment, Yoongi slowed down to ride beside you as he curiously took in your expression.

It was silent for a long moment before you finally relented, “It is difficult, but…After a long night, I figured this was probably best. It seems like my involvement in things only tends to make them worse. And truthfully there's no telling what lengths I’d go to at this point to get Wheein back.”

“Oh?” Yoongi looked curiosity once more, “I didn’t realize you had such a taste for danger.”

His joke made a smile finally tug on your lips, “Neither did I before coming to Penumbra. It seems this kingdom has a way of bringing out the primitive nature in me. But then again, it seems people have always looked down on me when I think of it.”

“On you?” Yoongi scoffed in amusement, “Dryad Matron of Eunoia? It’s difficult to believe, you’re like a pillar of light to the commonwealth of Penumbra, it used to drive the Prince nuts during your engagement.”

“It did…?” You peered somewhat hesitantly at him.

This made Yoongi grin, “Oh yes, when news of your engagement first broke out it had the people ecstatic, it had him gagging every second he heard good things of you.”

“This is hardly making me feel better…” You winced, though a small part of you was amused to hear this, though you wish you could say the same.

It always seemed to you that people in Penumbra didn’t fully grasp just how much people feared them on the outside world, instead poking fun at the titles they had earned as if it was a little joke.

The whole two years of your engagement are two years you’d rather die then live through again, the anxiety that kept you up at night, the endless amounts of tears you cried, the emptiness it left inside you how no one even tried to comfort you.

Looking back you understood, nobody wanted to feed you lies to comfort you, but at the time, you didn’t understand, it felt cruel.

“Not everyone feels that way about me, evidently from what I saw in the Underside.” You replied, somewhat reminiscing on the horrendous memory of the mock version of you.

“You shouldn’t pay that any mind,” Yoongi scoffed, “The humor is juvenile there, everything it stands for is juvenile, even it’s name; the Underside was a joke, a mockery meant for every royal that has to say it’s name with seriousness, point being- they don’t respect anyone who won’t give them money.”

You only shook your head, “It’s not just that though, there has always been a small part of people and court alike who haven’t liked me, even long before I was engaged to Jungkook. I was known for having a temper,” It made you smile wryly, “-The Bitch of Eunoia, that’s what they ran around calling me behind my back. It was horrendous in Kimhae.”

“Was it now?” Yoongi looked amused by this, “That in some ways does, and doesn’t surprise me.”

“The court ladies in Eunoia often liked to call me that as well. But it was very pronounced by Kimhae court men. When I was younger, I used to wear traditional Eunoian attire when i’d visit. Apparently shoulders and knee’s used to drive them crazy. I had one of the aristocrats boldly ask me if I was an exotic woman of the night, willing to pay for me.”

Yoongi’s jaw had dropped making you laugh as he gestured you on, “What did you say?”

“Something along the lines of calling him a perverted old man whom ought to have his loins cut off for making such a comment to a women- let alone a Princess.” The memory made you smile as you shook your head, “The Bitch of Eunoia…why is it men are allowed to be angry Yoongi? Why is it women are shamed so?”

Yoongi let out a hum, “This is indeed a good question, but perhap it’s because they know a woman's scorn could even bring heaven out of the sky. I’m not all too surprised about Kimhae- but you said Eunoians called you this as well?”

Your smile became saddened, “By many court ladies yes,” You scratched your cheek in thought, “I was always lonely as a child…the war took a toll on me, I was temperamental and childish. But the court ladies as children, also liked to mock me and egg me on. As we grew older they grew closer and I still stayed a distance away. They’d find any reason to pick me apart or give me more work to do. They were practically leaping for joy when the news broke that I was engaged.”

“Why do you think that was though?” Yoongi asked, “That they didn’t like you?”

You shrugged, you had never really thought about it much, rather you preferred to keep the past where it was rather then dwell on it, “I suppose it had a lot to do with the fact that while we were all training to be healers I excelled more at it, it came naturally to me and they ended up putting me in the tents before the others. They all assumed it was from favoritism…Maybe it was,” You pondered on this briefly, “I just remember thinking it wasn’t fair.”

“Fair?”

You didn’t elaborate on the word for a long moment, feeling something akin to guilt bubble in your stomach.

You glanced off into the distance where the mountains towered high, it made you feel so tiny in comparison to its greatness, and briefly you felt awe.

You always admired nature, how vast it was compared to you and all your humanly troubles, you turned to it and it’s kin when you needed comfort and in these moments you could turn to it when you were also troubled with words.

It was difficult to adequately explain to people the rage you had felt since you were a child, anger had always been in your bones, from the moment you were born. Your mother used to tell you, that when she gave birth, you had come out of her womb with a roaring cry.

You craved to be vulnerable, to be soft and tender, to be all the things you were not, and you were many things, just not those.

Many people people heard you, they just never listened, didn’t understand.

“I had a lot of resentment as a child, to everything, the war, my parents, our country. I didn’t want to be a healer, I didn’t want to have to watch people in my care die, I didn’t want to attend the burnings or hear the whales of agony and pain, the cries of mourning, the people who blamed me for not being able to save their loved ones.”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel haunted by those memories, watching the lifeforce leave someone's body as you tried to stop the bleeding, the maimed limbs and mangled bodies that were beyond your skill or help.

“I didn’t want to be made to go past our lesson times to keep studying, or made to go back in to practice when all the other girls were allowed to play. Or put in a tent over night while they all slept. It wasn’t fair.”You mumbled, perhaps still a lingering tone of resentment.

The past was the past, it couldn’t be changed, you had come to terms with this, but if you stopped and really thought about it, old feelings old eventually begin to resurface, it was why you tried so desperately to just forget about it.

At one time you blamed Penumbra, you hated it’s people for what they did, what they caused.

But then you married Jungkook and you journeyed here yourself, and saw with your own eyes, that these people, were simply people, who were also victims of their own royalty.

You felt the soft grip of a hand on your shoulder, “I am sorry, for what it’s worth,” Yoongi held a face of sympathy, “We all felt the same, or…I suppose a mutual feeling on the opposite side of things. Children being forced to enlist into a war we didn’t want to wage with little choice…”

You gently grabbed his hand giving it a small squeeze, a weak smile on your face, “It wasn’t fair for any of us. We’re all a bi-product of our parents' sins. It’s up to us now to break that cycle.”

You had arrived to the estate by nightfall and it was shrouded in tall pine and fir trees, the aroma had you closing your eyes for a moment to savor it, just as Jungkook said, it truly was beautiful.

Snow covered the ground in a few inches, and a chill was left in your bones, but you settled in rather nicely, Yoongi had managed to get a fire going rather quickly and it was quiet in the solitude of the estate.

For once, it was nice to be able to breathe without being watched.

The first two days had went by surprisingly quick, but you had found a natural rhythm in nature, you went on long peaceful walks, kept yourself wrapped in a blanket while sitting on the terrace taking in the crisp cool air.

You had even spent the evening watching the snowfall outside, enchanted at how it came in big fluttering puffy balls, you had heard of snow before, but you had never actually seen it fall from the sky, like a thousand little gifts from the heavens.

It was dull and gray out today, the same as it had been for the last week now, at the estate was unsurprisingly no different.

Today however you had Yoongi set up some haybales in the pit area where guards would typically be trained, it was run down now, old boxes used as storage had been broken down and were hazardously strewn everywhere, long nine inch rusty nails sticking out of wooden pieces at razor sharp jagged angles.

But with Yoongi’s help you both had piled it up safely away and got a decent bit of space ready for training.

“Too stiff-”

“Ah!”

It was a second too late, you had already released the string, sending the arrow flying, it had veered off target as the string slapped your forearm with a sharp snap causing you to drop it.

Fenrir suddenly popped up from the ground where he had been laid out the last half hour, head cocked in concern at the noise that escaped you.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Yoongi groaned, “You can’t hold it with a stiff arm! Look at this!” He got up from his spot as he held up your arm by the wrist, “It looks like somebody gave you a lashing! Jungkook will have my head if it isn’t heal by tomorrow.”

Your lips twisted into a sulky pout, “I am trying!”

“Not hard enough that’s the fifth time within the hour,” Yoongi whistled out as he let you go, Fenrir walking up to you as he sniffed your hand, giving it a lick before nudging it.

You rubbed your forearm, that was undeniably sore and throbbing with pain before placing your hand on Fenrir’s head to give it a nice long rub.

He had grown remarkably big in the last month, almost as big as you now, just a five or six inches shorter, it made you give a sad frown, at how big he was and soon he’d become a monstrous size…

You’d simply have to build a bigger stable you supposed.

“Aim comes naturally but holding a weapon does not,” You sighed as you placed both your hands on Fenrir’s head, now giving him generous rubs and pats that had him giving a toothy puppy grin that made you smile, “I’ve practiced here and there with a bow but with everything going on, I just haven’t made it a priority.”

Yoongi sighed, “Natural ability will only get you so far, discipline if a far greater advantage Princess, thankfully we can start working on this daily, I think it’d be good for you to have a hobby.”

“I have hobbies.” You frowned as crossed your arms.

“Such as…?” Yoongi gestured.

“Well…” You could think of several as a matter of fact, but you had given them all up once you had moved to Penumbra, the thought made you frown in realization, you had been so caught up in all the highs and lows of your new life that it was true.

You had hobbies, you just never participated in any of them.

“I suppose it would do me some good to work on it,” You sighed as you relented, “I still feel a tad guilty though, shouldn’t I be honing my skill in swordsmanship? Jungkook once told me that it’s expected the Crowned Prince and Princess are supposed to be the best at it.”

“Well…” Yoongi stretched the word, “This is true but, I don’t think somebody is going to fault you for not being the best at it. I’d like to think it’s an expectation from those born in Penumbra, not those who marry in. Not only this but if you are inclined to another form of weaponry, then it’s as simple as that.

“As long as you have some form of sword training then it’ll do,” Yoongi shrugged, “What matters is personal protection, some training is better then none, but having a form of training you’re good at is even better.”

“You Penumbrian’s certainly like taking precautions.” You sighed wistfully as you picked up your bow once more.

“The more the better,” Yoongi said, “Guards are great, but what happens when you’re caught without any? Learning to defend yourself is vital.”

You glanced down at your bow, “I understand but…”

“But?” Yoongi asked.

“Well, I suppose a part of me just feels odd,” You replied, “I grew up being taught to save lives, not take them,” You rubbed your neck in uncertainty, “When I took the Dryad’s oath, it was a promise to myself and my ancestors that I would abstain from our carnal nature. That I would never take a life nor would I consume its flesh. Animal or human. Even though the chances of me having to defend myself in such a way are so low, it’s odd to train for it, after taking that oath and living by it my whole life.”

Yoongi let out a small smile, “Then don’t view it as such.”

“What do you mean?” You tilted your head.

“Sword play is considered an art form in Penumbra, you can view a bow in the same light. It’s quite a beautiful thing really, it’s not just aiming and shooting, it’s how you hold it, the type of arrow you use, the weight of your feet. A lot goes into it.”

You thought on this for a while before nodding, “I suppose you are right.”

“Min Yoongi! I’m looking for a Min Yoongi?”

A voice called out that had you both glancing around the courtyard before seeing the courier at the gates glancing around before meeting his gaze.

“Yes?” Yoongi called out, walking up to meet him.

“I have a letter for you sire! It was urgent from the court” The courier dug through his bag before handing it to him, giving a short bow to you and then departing.

You glanced at it anxiously as you exchanged a look with Yoongi, was this about Wheein?

Yoongi opened the letter, reading it before he sighed,

“What, what is it?” You asked, anxiety in your voice.

“It’s not about Wheein,” You let out a breath in relief as Yoongi continued, “But it is a request for help.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Yoongi sighed, “There’s a watchtower just east of here, about an hour away give or take on horseback, apparently they’ve been dealing with a gang of bandits up there. Supposedly they’re going to siege the tower.”

“They can do that?” You asked in surprise.

Yoongi shrugged, “I suppose so, I don’t know what they think I can do about it.”

“Well you said you were an assassin before you became a knight? So surely that counts for something.” You said, setting down your bow on a lonely bale of hay.

Yoongi sighed as he folded the letter back up, “Even so, I won’t just leave you here by yourself.”

You frowned, “It’s only us here, and it’s secluded so I won’t be in any real danger, and you said it was only an hour away. I doubt you’d take long in taking them down.”

“Are you just trying to get rid of me?” Yoongi asked in mild amusement.

“I would never!” You said, “But I’d hate to see something unfortunate happen that could be prevented, you’re far closer then someone is to the castle. It would make the most sense for you to go.”

Yoongi sighed, “Even if I’m over cautious, it doesn’t sit right leaving you here all by yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be alone!” You replied, grinning as you gave Fenrir a solid pat, “Fenrir will defend me! Jungkook and I have been working on commands. Sit!”

Fenrir immediately complied.

“Very fierce.” Yoongi said dryly.

You held up a finger, grabbing a piece of wooden box that was free of any nails off the ground, “Fenrir,” He perked up at his name, “Attack!” You threw it causing his gaze to follow it with a loud snarling howl, his jaws crunching the board in half immediately grabbing the smaller end.

Running back to you before dropping down on his front paws, tail wagging as he tried to get you to chase him.

Yoongi looked a bit more startled at the thick board of wood that had been crushed as he nodded, “Okay, a little more fierce than before…” Yoongi thought about it for a long moment, “I suppose if I left now I would make it back by supper….Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

You gave him a small smile, “It’s only a few hours, I think I’ll be able to manage.”

Yoongi still seemed hesitant but he nodded, “I’ll go gather a few things then and be off. The sooner I leave the sooner I’ll be back.”

“It’s one night,” You smiled, “And then we’ll be back at the castle tomorrow.”

You had waved Yoongi off before you continued on with your day.

Spending another few hours training with your bow you had eventually given up once the string of your bow hit a particularly sensitive spot on your forearm.

The rest of your day had been spent taking walks along the trail’s with Fenrir before eventually settling inside, roaming the halls and exploring empty rooms.

And eventually the afternoon came.

But slowly the sun began to set and a vague feeling of dread followed along with it.

Yoongi…would’ve been back by now, right?

Or perhaps it took him longer to clear out the bandits.

You nodded at this as you stayed curled up in your large chair, Fenrir curled up beneath your feet as he let out a sigh, as if sensing your discomfort and unsatisfied with it.

Continuing to read, time went on and soon the sun had set.

You had managed to get a fire going on your own and had lit the candles in the hall, making the estate feel less consuming then it had before but it didn’t quell your anxiousness as the hour went on later.

Yoongi would certainly be back by now…

You were certain you’d manage the commute back to the castle if you had too but…You wouldn’t feel right just leaving without him, but you also had no way of sending a message to the castle for help without going back yourself.

You felt at a loss for what to do, as you roamed the main hall, pausing at the sound of the gate opening. Opening the doorway you hurried out to the courtyard.

“Yoongi, I’ve been waiting all day, you worried me sick!” You stopped short at the sight ahead of you.

“Not who you were expecting?”

Di Jin’s smug smile was the last thing you saw before the sudden blow to your head caused your vision to go dark.

“You look lost.” Jimin commented as he plopped in a seat right next to his dearest friend, both sat out for breakfast on the terrace.

“Was it a good idea sending her to the Estate?” Jungkook stared down in hard contemplation, his food untouched, “If something happens I won’t be able too…!”

He inhaled sharply as he forced himself to lean back in his chair, but despite the motion his body refused to relax.

You had left two days ago and he felt a void ever since.

Jungkook didn’t realize how much your presence had filled every inch of the castle until you had left, and now, he felt utterly useless, it was one thing for you to be mad at him, it was another for you to be gone.

Jimin looked amused but felt bad for him nonetheless, “Nothing is going to happen to her, the estate is nice and tucked away, the entire court has forgotten about it anyways, it hasn’t been used in years. You did a good thing.”

“Did I?” Jungkook finally slumped.

He had been constantly replaying his last memory of you, the conversation you both had before you left, the memory of you looking up at him for a long moment as if silently yearning for some form of affection.

It left Jungkook’s hands twitching and an unfamiliar ache in his chest, he couldn’t even describe how it felt. And he was honest when he spoke with you the night before, true he didn’t remember much, but what he did remember was straight from his heart, he thought he knew many things.

But after meeting you he found out quickly that he knew nothing at all.

Tomorrow, surely you’d be back tomorrow. You hadn’t given him an exact timeframe, but surely when you said a few days, you had meant no more then three?

“What if I-”

“No.” Jimin cut him off, “The whole point of her going was to get out of the castle and by default away from you. Not only that but what if something happened to Wheein while you were gone?”

Jungkook sunk back in his chair, that was right…He had promised you he would take care of anything that might possibly happen.

He wouldn’t let you down.

“Have you found any evidence yet?” Jungkook lowered his voice, his gaze lingering on the far side of the table where Claudin had been dining with a group of court ladies.

Jimin frowned, “Yes but the problem is getting it open,” He huffed, “I was able to slip into his room last night, it was empty but he has a lock box beneath a hollowed broken floorboard piece, seems he was in a hurry when he left, otherwise it wouldn’t have been left afar.

“Regardless I haven’t been able to crack the lock. Whatever is in there, it has a master’s lock on it. I’ll need at least another dozen picks before I even come close to cracking it.”

Jungkook sighed as he shook his head in disdain, “Of course when we need Yoongi he’s gone.”

Their elder would be able to open it within the hour if he was here.

Jimin frowned as well, “I’ll try again this afternoon.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, “That’s early for you.”

“We’re running out of time Jungkook,” Jimin sighed, sinking back into his chair as well, eyeing Claudin with a certain wryness, “I keep hearing stirrings from the guards about how they’ve narrowed their search, but they’re hellbent on saying it was Wheein.”

“Sire,”

They both paused at the sight of Taehyun, a frown on his face as he glanced between them both, an anxious look as he bowed slightly, “It’s the council…they’ve summoned you. It doesn’t sound good, you should come as well Jimin.”

Jungkook glanced at his friend but said nothing as he stood up, not liking this one bit.

The walk to the throne room was swift and Jungkook wasted no time in arriving, the other council members had just arrived as well.

Clearly he wasn’t the only one uncertain of what was going on, other members had started hushing whispers to one another, all glancing in Jungkook’s direction occasionally as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he glanced at the empty throne the seats on its left occupied by his aunt and uncle whispering to one another.

They both glanced at him once before quickly looking away.

The tension felt suffocating and the longer it lasted the more anxious Jungkook felt, seconds turned into minutes and the whispers began to get louder.

And all within a moment, the doors open and a sweepingly silence took over the room save for the sound of boots against the ground. Dae Seong walked with confience in every step before standing before everyone on the throne.

“It is with confidence I have come to announce something of the utmost importance,” His voice boomed, “The attempted assassination on our Crowned Princess, was indeed committed by her maid Jung Wheein, we have reason enough to believe it was her as all the evidence points as such. Her form of punishment will be burning at the stake, tonight at the height of the moon. I ask you all join me on this divine distribution of punishment,”

Groaning softly your vision was blurry at first, and the first person to appear in your vision was not who you expected.

“Not so quick witted now are you Eunoian Bitch,” Seohyun sneered, her smirking figure beneath you as your vision of her doubled.

Your mind was confused as you only remembered Di Jin being here, your eyes closed briefly only for a sharp pain to spread through your side that you recognized as being kicked in the side by her.

Groaning your eyes opened and her eyes beaded, sneering at you as another voice spoke, “Come along now Seohyun, why don’t you go see if that insufferable knight has managed to come back yet, I will finish our business here.”

She eyed you warily but said no more as she left and soon Di Jin stood in front of you, “You have truly been a pain in my ass since I was enlisted to kill you, I only hope you realize that.”

There was no remorse in his eyes as he pulled the wickedly curved knife from it’s sheath and a sadistic smile curled on his face, “Don’t worry Princess, i’ll make sure you have a slow miserable death.”

Despite your sluggish movements, adrenaline had shot in your veins as you realized you were about to die, you had too much to live for still. You needed to see what would come of Eunoia, you needed to make sure Wheein was okay, that you would keep your promise to Jungkook.

You couldn’t die, and you would fight if it meant living to see it.

Your mind was slowly coming out of it’s haze as Di Jin stepped closer to you, realizing you were in the courtyard near the hay bales, the pile you had cleaned early next to you, your arm reached over to grab one of the planks, three long rusted nails sticking out of it.

You swung it with as much force as you could towards his legs, it made contact, the nail piercing his skin with a wet noise as he cried out in pain, falling back on the ground as he growled out. “You dumb bitch, a pain until the end!”

You attempted to crawl away, heart pounding in your ears as you scurried but he was still too mobile, yanking the plank out of his leg with a growl of pain as he managed to get on top of you, you caught his wrists as he attempted to plunge the knife in your throat, “I’ll enjoy watching the life leave your eyes. I’ll be sure to bring your head back for your little husband to see one last time.”

Your strength was already failing as you winced out, the knife slowly coming closer to your skin as you whimpered out as it pierced the first layer of your flesh.

It was an indescrible pain that had you yelping in pain,

“I’ll make these last few moments the most excruciating and perhaps if you beg me enough, I might just end your pathetic little life girl,” Di Jin grinned leaning in closer, “Maybe if you beg me more i’ll give you a little more than just a long death.”

He pushed the knife a little deeper as blood spilled from your skin making you cry out, his body weighing heavier on yours and his lips suddenly pressing to your ear, “Something tells me you’d prefer that over this.”

Something about his lips pressing against your skin lit something primal inside of you, every sense heightened inside you as your lips parted taking a wide bite into his neck, you could taste it first, the metallic flavor of blood running across your tongue and dripping down your throat and then his skin was next, uncomfortably soft and tender and next was the cartilage, it was rubbery and had hard bits in it, next was the sensation of something warm and wet against your face.

Di Jin could no longer properly speak, his grip suddenly loosened on the knife as you yanked the large chunk of flesh straight from his neck, grabbing the knife as you yanked it away shoving him down as you managed to get on top of him.

The chunk missing from his neck was ghastly, blood pooling on the ground, oozing everywhere and squirting from various places and he was gagging loudly, choking on his own blood.

Anger trembled in your body, it wasn’t enough, even with chunks of flesh missing and blood covering your face, skin hanging and cartilage visible it still wasn’t enough, before you could even think you plunged the knife into his neck, eyes blurring as you watched him gurgle, choking on his own blood as the life left his eyes.

Your hands were shaking as you waited for him to jump back to life to kill you, and then you slowly realized your vision was blurred from tears, your heart pounding as you took a shaky breath yanking the knife out of his neck before you let out blood curdling scream slamming it back in his neck again.

Jungkook’s betrayal.

Wheein being taken.

Exiled from your own kingdom.

Being forced to wed.

Made into a healer as a child.

Bone.

Blood.

Ash.

The mourning bells rang in your head and you could vividly taste the metallic on your tongue stronger than ever as the taste of raw flesh lingered in your throat.

Blood splattered upward as you stabbed the spot over again, all of the rage searing in your veins as Di Jin’s form became disfigured, his neck nearly separating his head from his body as you shoved the knife in deeper.

Hearing the wet gurgling noise as you heaved a breath, staring at his cold dead eyes staring back at you, the next scream was not your own, but it came closer within seconds before the door to the estate opened.

Seohyun was heavily bleeding from her left thigh, sporting a large bite as a loud snarl came from inside the door, shakily you stood up, “Fenrir, wait.”

The large wolf paused, and that's when you noticed the large gash on his leg, causing him to limp, rage quelled in your veins again as you limped over, Seohyun looked pale a ghost at the sight of you.

From the moment this woman met you, she had given you nothing but grief, attempted to humiliate you, belittle you, try to win a lost battle, attempt to kill you, and now she had hurt your precious companion.

Even with a mangled body behind you, it still wasn’t enough.

Tripping over her own two feet she fell down as you walked over, “We can talk about this Y/n!” Her eyes were as big as saucers, “Please! I’ll leave Penumbra and- and never come back.”

You felt nothing for her as you stood above her, watching pathetic tears drip down her face for a long moment, finally you knelt down, “If Penumbra has taught me anything Seohyun, It’s that some people do not deserve my forgiveness, nor my kindness.”

Her lips parted rapidly, her throat scratchy, and for the first time, you saw genuine fear in her eyes, “B-but you’re a Eunoian,”

Her words were pointed, bargaining, pleading even- if you listened close enough, “Eunoian’s don’t kill.”

Your lips slowly lifted into a joyless smile as you let out an uneasy laugh, “Well,” Your smile dropped, your hands were still shaky, unbridled rage still taunt in your veins.

The primal urge of need to prove her wrong, prove all of them wrong, that you would never again be looked down upon as weak or underestimated.

Your hand grabbed her neck, causing her to let out a choked sob as you squeezed it tight enough to choke her airway, yanking her nearly nose to nose with you.

“We’re not in Eunoia, are we?” Your nails dug into her neck, not stopping until you felt the blood from her skin oozing, you shoved her back before you stood up, ignoring her blubbering, tears trickling down her face as you walked away, “Fenrir.”

“Please!”

He let out a growl, “Attack.”

Her cries of agony were left of deaf ears as you walked back over to the corpse of Di Jin grabbing the knife from his neck and yanking it out before taking the sheath that went with it, adjusting it on your waist.

Collapsing on the ground away from him you noticed your hands for the first time, shaking, trembling as your vision blurred once more, scarred and covered in blood, just what had you done?

Fenrir’s mouth was covered in blood, but the whine didn’t escape your ears as he tenderly tried to sit down in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” You ushered, grief strong in your voice though uncertain of who it was for, yourself, your country, your companion, you reached out for him, gently rubbing your hand down his neck, “But we have a long journey ahead of us Fenrir.”

The bells were ringing and a somber air had taken over, Jungkook had nearly lost his entire wits, his father had banished him from the room, not wanting to hear another word from him about this.

Being told he was too sentimental fell on deaf ears, he didn’t care, it was his friend, it was injustice, it was corrupt. He hated it, he hated that despite being the crowned prince, his son, his father simply didn’t care.

All Jungkook could do was wait for Jimin to unlock this damn box. But it felt as though it was too late, he was banned from so much as leaving his room, guards at his door there to keep him boxed in but this wouldn’t stop him.

pulling the cloak over his head, he opened the window, the bricks were jagged and uneven enough that he could easily climb down, he did it often when he was younger, much to the blindness of his father.

Scaling the wall, Jungkook got down, feet planted firmly on the ground as he kept the hood over his head tight as he made his way to the courtyard. A crowd had gathered, all wanting to witness the supposed assassin.

Nobody paid mind to him with his identity concealed, it would be soon now. If he couldn’t get evidence to get Wheein out, then Jungkook would take matters into his own hand. He didn’t want to have Wheein leave Penumbra, but if this is what it took to keep her safe until her innocence was proven, this is what he would do.

He owed so much of his existence to her, he couldn’t let this happen.

He wasn’t going to let this happen.

The bells stopped as Dae Seong stood up from his throne on the wooden stage they had set up, “We have all gathered here to see the execution of the assassin who tried to kill our crowned princess! Her very own handmaid, this is the killer, our own flesh and blood, and the punishment for a traitorous woman is fitting, burning of the steak!”

Wheein was brought out, her hands tied behind her back, her eyes had dark circles and she was crying as she shook her head, “Please! I would never do that to Penumbra! To Y/n! Please you have to believe me!”

But her cries were in vein as the crowd boo’d her, all shouting vile words her way as they dragged her down to the large wooden steak pyre that had been set up.

Jungkook shifted in his spot as he watched them begin to tie her up.

“Are there any last words you would like to impart to us traitor?” Dae Seong looked at her with pure disgust.

Wheein’s lips quivered as she parted them.

A loud bloodcurdling scream interrupted her before she could speak, the crowd tensed and everyone seemed alert, Jungkook was towards the front, having intended on getting her off there the right moment, but he quickly turned around to see people quickly departing and creating a path.

And the next thing he saw was hardly comprehensible.

You, covered in blood, your face was a horrific sight with it’s dried crimson color covering your mouth all the way down your neck, but what was even more horrifying was what was next to you, Fenrir limping beside you, a corpse held in his mouth.

Women screamed and men gasped in horror as they all moved.

The looks on the royals faces were indescribable, Dae Seong most of all, “What is the meaning of this?”

You stopped in front of the throne, Fenrir as if knowing this was the destination, dropped the body from his jaws, it smacked the ground with a wet echo, the head finally detaching from the body as it rolled towards Dae Seong.

You don’t think you had ever seen an expression quite like what Dae Seong had, and you were sure this would be the only time.

It was silent for a long moment before you finally spoke, your throat raw and scratchy, “That’s your assassin, he tried to kill me again just hours ago.”

Dae Seong’s look of shock slowly twisted into one of rage, “Where is your proof of this!” He stood up from his throne towering over you with a growl, “What does a girl like you have meddling in business you don’t understand and taking the lives of those who were helping!”

“Am I standing in front of you not proof enough?” You snarled back, “From the moment I have come to this kingdom I have been nothing but disrespected, disregarded, used, and seen as nothing more than a tool to further someone’s agenda. And i’m sick of it.”

“Even when it comes to my own life, you stand in front of me questioning it!”

“Why I ought too!-”

“I have it!” A voice cried out, Jimin was running from the side entrance of the courtyard, a notebook in his hand as he panted, his eyes widening when they set on you, ‘Y/n!? Are you okay? I have it, I have proof that Di Jin was the assassin! Here, your majesty.”

Dae Seong snatched it with a certain level of venom as he looked through the book, but slowly as his eyes read through, an unreadable look took over his face.

Exhaustion began to take over, your body beginning to sway.

Dae Seong closed the book with a sense of finality, “Very well,” He aid with gritted teeth, anger still simmering in his eyes, “Perhaps, you do have the grit to survive here princess.”

You didn’t hear his words though, your gaze had went down to the body of Di Jin, and swaying backwards you collapsed into an abyss of darkness, nothing more then multiple people calling your name.

#bts #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader smut #prince!jungkook #bts au #Jungkook imagine

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ghouljams · 14 days

Note

professor ghost on love's bday: she doesnt like to make a big deal of it and he cant wor up the nerve to give her his gift himself, so he leaves it in her office. its a manuscript, a scribbled out on curled pages, unfinished thing that ghost had to write down so the words would stop screaming in his head. all the edits he has to make to his old work since love came into his life.

Not edits, no, a new thesis entirely. If his first book was a meditation on grief, a thesis on the state of belief in misery, an exploration of predeterminism and fate, then this one is a true love letter. It's frankly embarrassing, but he can't stop thinking about it. None of the words are right. His writing is frantic, messy, nothing like the cool explanatory tone of his other books. He has no references to cite. Or- no, he has plenty of references.

He thinks of Aristotle, of his single soul theory(bullshit, Ghost rejects, my love is whole, she's too much to be half of me, and if she were what a terribly presupposition: that we are all divided into Joy and Sorrow like me and my love).

He thinks of Plato's Symposium, of breaking love into three parts(But that's too small, she can't be broken down into parts: eros, philia, agape. She makes him want to be better, she is passion, she is love in all forms, love to the point of inspiration, love to the point of consumption, to change and be changed. How could he break her into smaller pieces when he wants all of her?)

Ovid maintained that romantic love should never be consummated, that in its purest form it should grow beyond its physical needs, becoming transcendental. What does it mean that his skin craves her every touch, that he can't sleep without her dancing through his dreams? How is he supposed to maintain his distance when she presses to him at every opportunity? When he can't find anything but sorrow without the sight of her?

Ghost scribbles on his papers like a madman. He finds notes on receipts, on the backs of paper bags, in the margins of his books. He reads over the notes Love has left him and feels his heart squeeze in such a pleasantly hurtful way.

Behaviorism perhaps. It's all quantifiable, he just needs to find the right numbers. Or maybe aesthetic philosophy would be better? Feelings which cannot be captured through written language.

Yet the scribbling takes over his work. His walls covered in post its and pencil marks, his laptop running like a jet engine as he pours what must be incomprehensible drivel into his word processor. Ghost pushes his fingers under his glasses, feels the press of the bridge into his forehead, begs for his brain to be quiet, for his stomach to stop clenching each time he thinks about Love. He drags his hand down to cover his mouth, breathing as deep as he can manage through his nose. It all feels heavy, impossibly heavy.

None of it is right, none of it feels big enough, encompasses enough to describe the way he feels. None of the philosophers talk about the actual feeling of it. They don't talk about it hurting, don't mention how much he craves the pain of her.

Maybe he's a masochist.

He sends the draft to his editor with an apology.

"2.5 kids and a dog, eh?" Is the only response he gets.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x oc #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #ghost x oc #oc: love #professor!ghost #professor au #I smell another best seller #Ghost does his best work when he uses his emotions for his philosophy

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paymechildsupport · 15 days

Text

Sigh, shameless Sukuna smut

ftm!reader, -- this is purely self-indulgent

!! - monsterfucking / tongue fucking / getting hit from behind / simultaneous oral / overstim. / dacryphilia / stomach bulge / <3

--------------------------------------------

★。＼｜／。★

Bent over, back arching, eyes rolling, tongue lolling out getting your brains absolutely fucked out by the King of Curses.

Draped over his throne, where no other body but his has touched, -- looking so pretty and perfect impaled on his cock(s). Large, strong hands gliding to a place on your thighs as his impossibly sharp talons sink into your skin. Droplets of blood collect at the half crescent slits, slowly lapped up by something warm and wet.

Two mouths, spawned on each of his massive hands, made long, languished strokes up your thighs, idly licking the drenched skin.

A low chuckle comes from the large mass at your back, -- more like a rumble, Sukuna's well-defined chest right against your curved backside, reverberating with the sound.

Another sharp thrust and he hits your cervix, slotting right into you like a lost puzzle piece.

You can't help the labored groan falling from your lips, whimpering pathetically as Sukuna continued to take you harshly from the back. He was merciless, driving you beyond overstimulation, -- projecting into a whole new state of being. His hips made rolling thrusts, each one sending another spike of intense pleasure to your core, -- building up and desperately chasing that high. A shuddering sob escapes, --

"S-Suku- *hic* -- sukuna.. -- I ca- *hic* I can't-- I can't I- OH~-"

You keel over, Sukuna quick to snake a thick arm around your waist to keep you propped upright. He only grunts in amusement, not slowing down for a moment.

You instinctively squeeze once more around him, earning a pornographic moan from Sukuna's lips, making you freeze. Perhaps the biggest surprise was how much of an absolute whore Sukuna could be when it came to sex.

He was loud, unafraid to make his pleasure known.

And he moaned like a bitch, high pitched and everything.

He straightened up, running a hand through his hair while grinning, a sex-crazed gleam in his eyes

"sh-Shit, damn...--- hah...-! sSo tight... fuck"

Your clit throbs, beating, -- fat tears stain your face.

Sukuna bends over, kissing the shell of your ear,

"Mmm..~ such a filthy boy" he cooes and you start shaking

It's not soon before you're puddy in his arms, cresting waves of high pleasure drowning out all else as you allow yourself to go lax and be used like the good boy you were

Because you were a good boy, - you were his good boy n' you--

Suddenly, an acute pain spikes your inside and you squeal at the sensation of Sukuna spawning a mouth on his cock. Fully immersed inside, the new mouth savors the taste of you, lapping up your walls hungrily, tickling the farthest corners.

The tongue, there was so much of it, -- and soon you felt sickeningly full, already from the sheer size of him, but now with the addition of his girthy tongue you felt like you were actually gonna explode

Sukuna's hand softly rubs your stomach area, relishing in the way your screaming intensifies and your breaths stutter when he runs his index and middle finger over the slight bump in your stomach. Smiling wickedly, he thrusts, deep, -- simultanously forcefully palming the bulge, sending you completely over the edge.

Screaming, yelling, -- sobbing,- you're fucked beyond dumb by Ryomen Sukuna in his domain.

★。／｜＼。★

------- ----------------------------

silly :3

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petrichorium · 1 year

Text

“you broke up with nagi?”

you yelp at the sound of a voice behind you as you leave your apartment, dropping your key as you spin around and clutch your purse instinctively.

it’s reo. he’s leaning against the half-wall across from your door, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with some kind of contemplative frown marring his features.

“mikage, fuck, you scared me.” the familiar face has you relaxing. he only continues to stare you down, and you realize that he’s actually looking for a response; you clear your throat and shift a little awkwardly. “uh, yeah. it just wasn’t working out.”

his frown deepens. it’s distinctly ugly, you think—the furrow of his brow, the way his nose crinkles.

it’s now that you take note of his clothes—the jumper he wears is a pretty blue, certainly costing more than six month’s rent, and the jeans are expertly fitted. this is a singular visit, he hasn’t stopped by on the way to his work. you figure he’s taken the day off; perhaps for this specifically, or perhaps to support nagi. it isn’t your business anymore.

nor are you reo’s business anymore.

“what are you doing here?”

you watch his brow furrow further, that contemplative frown returning in full force. his eyes dart to the side, lips pursed, and he crosses his arms again.

for half a moment, you watch him. when he neither moves nor begins to speak again you decide to finish locking up while he ponders whatever it is that’s nagging at him.

you turn, glancing down to scan the concrete floor for your dropped key. the glint catches your eye a few inches away from where it had fallen—you crouch to pick it up, acutely aware of the pencil skirt and heels you’re wearing for the office.

when you rise to your feet you feel reo at your back before it fully registers.

how he spanned the distance so quickly and silently is beyond you, though you’re inclined to blame those professional athlete abilities. it doesn’t much matter either way when you spin around and find that he’s now right before you.

you lurch backward, shoulders slamming into your closed door, staring at him and his proximity with wide eyes.

“mikage…“ you trail off as he tilts his head.

“do you think i hate you?” the words are off—quiet and absent-minded, like he’s talking to himself, not you. it’s only magnified by the way he stares not at your eyes but at your lips.

you swallow thickly. “i don’t really care. nagi liked me, that’s all that mattered.”

“you don’t care…” reo gives a little huff. he pulls away just slightly, eyes flitting sideways as his hand flies up to ruffle his hair.

“reo—“ you start, and then catch yourself, but the damage is done. his eyes widen and his arm drops and he draws closer, closing the distance in a single step. at the same time he reaches out with his hand to brace against the door behind you, trapping you between his arm and the barricade next to you. you forget how big he is until times like this—until he crowds you up with your back to the wall, and every bit of your vision is filled with him, and he’s so close you’re surrounded by the heat of his body and the smell of his nice luxury cologne.

“to be honest i always did hate when you were around.” you feel his laugh fan over your skin, warm and husky. “but when he told me you’d broken it off with him, i was furious.”

“reo,” you say again, and you’re not even certain what it is you’re pleading for anymore.

“all i could think to do was come here to see you, couldn’t tell you why, but now… well.” he’s careful not to touch you, only to hover, and that’s worse somehow—it has your heartbeat quickening, your stomach flipping. it has you turning your head away and inadvertently baring your neck to him, a motion he takes full advantage of as he dips his head to almost-but-not-quite brush lips against your pulsepoint, and your breath hitches, eyes closing. “now i understand it.”

“stop,” your voice is hoarse, almost breaking, “nagi—”

“push me away, then.” it’s low, whispered like a secret, and he still doesn’t touch you but he keeps you pinned here, a butterfly under glass. as if to prove this point he presses closer, one polished leather shoe sliding forward between your legs, his free hand sliding behind your back. “push me off. i’ll leave. or…”

he drags that featherlight touch up your neck, along your jaw; stops just over your lips, eyes heavy-lidded and halfway to closed. you feel the words against you more than you hear them, spoken so quietly—like if he doesn’t say it aloud it isn’t a betrayal of his best friend.

you could kiss me.

and, really, it’s on reo—nagi, you remind yourself, isn’t your responsibility anymore. reo is the one betraying him. when you press forward, no more than a centimeter, it’s that thought which propels you. when you reach out to tug him in with a fist bunching that handsome sweater, you disregard how much you still care about your still-fresh ex.

and when you come to your senses a fraction of a second later it doesn’t matter. reo surges after you, encouraged by the minuscule taste of a kiss that you’d given him. if you’d thought him overwhelming before it’s nothing like now, as his arms close in and he presses you flush between him and your own front door.

his hand slides in behind you and sprawls, hot and heavy, wide at the small of your back; the other finds your cheek, cradles it gently but insistently as he gives you no choice but to tilt your head up towards his for easier access. in the back of your mind you feel like a horrible person for comparing, but it’s difficult not to—reo’s kiss is desperate, fervent, stark contrast to the lazy way nagi always kissed you. it’s messy, with clacking teeth and a questing tongue and the obscenely loud sound of spit-slick lips. your head would have slammed into the solid wood behind you if not for his hand cushioning you, and you can’t help but melt into him, falling limp in his hold.

before long you’re forced to turn your head and break away for air, chest heaving as you catch the breath he’s stolen from your lungs. he has no such need. his mouth doesn’t leave your skin, but in the absence of yours he turns his attention to sucking what will inevitably be a deep, lewd mark just beneath your jaw at the pulsepoint he’d been so interested in before. and it hits you then, exactly why he’s fixated: months ago, it’d been a mark right there that had revealed your relationship with nagi to him.

the revelation snaps you out of whatever spell you’d been under and you yank your hand back from his chest like it’s been burned. it slams into the door handle, still yet to be locked by the key you clutch in your other—which gives you the only thought you can manage with your mind so fogged by the feeling of his lips on your neck. you still fumble a bit, but you turn it, let the door swing back from behind you and feel the swoop in the pit of your stomach that accompanies your body dropping.

now you thank everything for those pro athlete instincts, because just as quickly as your support falls away reo is there to wrap his arm securely around your waist and, before you can even react, turn the pair of you around so that you land on his chest and he takes the brunt of the fall.

“ow— fuck, are you okay?” he’s sprawled out on the floor of your foyer, one arm around your waist as he blinks away the shock. that jumper is ruffled, bunched up the side to give you a little peek at the taut expanse of skin beneath, as he rubs at the back of his head with his free hand. ironically, you think this suits him better than the stiff, polished mannerisms he typically employs. there’s a boyish charm to the wide, dazed look and the little purse of his lips, the way his hair is now mussed. you’re almost inclined to giggle before you remind yourself, quite sternly, that reo’s charisma has always been a little overwhelming even when he isn’t trying. still, you soften, even easing into his hand at your waist.

but then he pauses in his motions, and lifts his head, and his eyes jump to the now-still door before meeting yours—and you fling yourself back, breath hitching as you settle on your haunches as far away from him as you can manage in a single motion.

“was that on purpose?” he asks, leaning forward to sit up and reach out towards you, all wild-eyed and hazy. you scramble back even further.

there’s a glint to those eyes now that they’ve fallen on you, something you don’t dare to name. something that makes you want to slam the door in his face and never return to your own apartment for fear of what you’ve trapped within; something you’ve only ever seen when he’s looked at nagi but only now realize can be turned on someone else, something you hope desperately is a fluke.

(the following day, when you arrive at work to find your desk flooded with hundreds of deep purple roses, you know it was a futile hope.)

prequel

#reo x reader #reo x y/n #reo x you #bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #mine.🌧#char.🌧 reo #OKAY SDFHV OKAY THERE WE GO #if there r mistakes...... shaddup #JHSBDFJHB #i hope this isnt too tonally confusing #reader is Very Ambivalent okay we'll just blame it on that #and pretend it wasnt that i was very ambivalent abt how i wanted this to go LMFAOOOOOO #n e way #enjoy ig

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vigilskeep · 2 months

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do you actually have a ranking or like. rundown of each love interest's particular brand of insanity re: tranquil beloved...? or if that's too big an ask perhaps the highlights.. i am sitting so attentively reading all of the ones you've detailed thus far

in no particular order

zevran: cruel to the end to ask him to have his love’s blood on his hands again, but if he believed it was what they would have wanted, it would be the gentlest, tenderest, of assassinations

morrigan: what power does a templar possess that is beyond her ability to reverse? she will claw the answer from the far corners of the earth and the furthest reaches of the fade before she abandons what is hers

leliana: once, the chantry sunburst was a comfort, a sign of refuge in a world of darkness. now she can only see the one burned into their skin, the wondrous gifts the maker gave to them stolen in the maker’s name, the cruellest game he has played yet. could she keep her faith through such a test? would she even want to?

alistair: there is a hollow in his life that can’t be laughed around. a sick weight in the stomach, remembering flipping his runic token between his fingers in distraction through every chantry lecture where they promised this was necessary. he’s angry. he’s beginning to think he might be a very angry person, really. he’s beginning to think he’s got good reason

fenris: he wonders if, when the lyrium was touched to their forehead, it burned the way his does. he thinks better of asking. there was a time when magic felt like a curse on them both that he couldn’t break. he wants it back

anders: history always repeats itself. there are certain inevitabilities, foregone conclusions, lessons the circle teaches well. you escape, you get caught. you love something, they take it away. you destroy the last thread tethering a mage to humanity—you’re that brutal, that cruel, that stupid—and all you’ll have left is an abomination

merrill: she never understood tranquillity until it was this close; she could never really believe it was possible. it doesn’t matter. her love’s not quite here right now, even as she chatters away to them, but it doesn’t matter. you can fix anything, as long as you’re willing to pay the price

isabela: it’s her own fault, really. her own fault, for taking a chance on someone so targeted, so foolish, so—brave. her own fault for believing them, when they promised she wasn’t going to lose them. she should leave. there’s nothing left for her here. but it’s gotten so hard to run away

sebastian: this changes nothing. his love is as cold as the portraits that line the halls of the palace in starkhaven, as silent and empty as the chantry statues that offer no guidance for what will come. he still kisses their cheek, takes their hand, walks at their side. he is still a husband; he still has his vows, and one more to add to the rest—to find who blackened the maker’s name with this, and teach them what His judgement truly looks like

#these are simply the first thing that comes into my head. also i stuck to the first two games bc i dont know all of those other guys #hope this helps! :)#i am willing to accept other suggestions and scholarship on the subject

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infinitystoner · 4 months

Text

Underneath the Tree

AO3 | Masterlist

✨part of @sarahscribbles’ Christmas Collection; header by @inklore✨

Summary: You’re expecting to spend the holidays without your other half. So when Loki reappears the night before Christmas, you indulge in a little merriment to make up for lost time.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Tags/Content: Holiday Surprises Befitting the God of Mischief, Romantic Reunions, Fluff, Smut (Fingering, Cunnilingus, Anal Sex), Soft Dom! Loki, Established Relationship

Rating: Explicit; 18+

Author’s note: Here be the Yuletide filth! I realize butt stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s actually really soft and sweet (and not overly explicit). If you like my writing, I hope you give it a chance. xx

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention as you pad across the kitchen floor, unnerved by the unmistakable feeling of being watched. You abandon your post-bath time snack on the counter, clutching at your bathrobe as trepidation gnaws at the back of your mind.

With the curtains drawn, only the glimmering lights on your Christmas tree illuminate the living room. It’s hard to see anything beyond silhouettes and shadows. A quiet night like this amidst the bustling holiday season is a rare treat, and you should be grateful and relaxed, but you just can’t shake the feeling that you’re not alone.

You try to ignore the frantic beat of your pulse thundering in your ears as you inch closer to the tree. Did someone break in while you were in the shower? The rational part of your brain knows it’s downright laughable to entertain such a thought. A security breach is practically impossible thanks to Tony’s impenetrable tech. Unless…

“You’re back,” you say cautiously, voice no louder than a whisper.

A surge of longing permeates your being, doing little to appease the rapid beating of your heart. The familiar shuffle of centuries-old leather catches your attention, all fear melting away as you turn to see a formidable figure emerge from the corner.

Loki.

“I’m back,” he responds simply.

He closes in, his gaze never leaving yours, the purposeful sound of his heavy boots on your hardwood floors resonating through the space. Loki’s presence is a solace you can’t quite articulate—but suddenly there’s a warmth filling the cracks that etched across your heart when he left. And there’s a calm wrapping around your solitude like a cozy blanket on the coldest winter night.

You study the god before you, the Christmas lights casting a soft glow over his figure. His dark curls fall in waves atop his shoulders, regally framing his perfectly sculpted features. His brows slant upward as he drinks in the sight of you, a dimple appearing along his cheek as he returns your smile. When he slides his hands around your waist, your stomach somersaults at his touch.

You take a deep breath and reach up to cup his jaw, savoring the coolness of his smooth skin. Loki leans into your palm, closing his eyes and exhaling a deep sigh. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes. You can’t resist the urge to pull him into a tight embrace, humming as his strong arms wrap around you in response.

He tenderly presses a kiss to your temple, tugging you closer against his muscular chest. The scent of ancient forests, leather, and musk—along with something sweeter you can’t quite place—invades your senses. Finally, he breaks the comfortable silence.

“Did you miss me?”

Loki searches your eyes, a hint of apprehension marring his beautiful face. He’s only been gone for about six weeks—which is nothing compared to the months you previously spent without him. But how did you ever think you’d be okay spending the holiday without him?

You glance up at him with feigned exasperation.

“Of course I missed you, you silly, gorgeous man. But did it ever occur to you to knock? Or call ahead? Perhaps send a raven?”

A devilish smirk adorns lips. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

“But what if I’d attacked you? I wasn’t expecting you back until after–”

“Attacked me?” Loki chuckles, sitting on the sofa and pulling you onto his lap. “Now that I’d like to see.”

“Is that so?” you ask, caressing the gold plating embellishing his chest and trailing your fingertips across the high collar of his leathers, stopping only when you reach the sharp juncture of his jaw. He peers up at you as you straddle his hips, and the glint of mischief in his eyes is exhilarating.

“Mm, perhaps later, my little vixen.”

With a flick of his wrist, a fire roars to life in your hearth. Beyond the crackles and pops of the blaze, a familiar Christmas song begins to play and you swear more twinkling lights appear on your tree. You’re not sure if the night can get more perfect than this.

“What is the phrase you mortals are so fond of this time of year? Season’s Greetings?”

“Something like that.”

“You know, we host a similar winter festival on Asgard,” he explains as you tuck his hair behind his ear, exposing the column of his neck. “It’s rather extravagant. Hedonistic, some might say.”

“So, you willingly left the decadence of Asgard. To spend Christmas on Earth. With me.”

“Is that really so inconceivable, my love? I am, to borrow another turn of phrase, quite smitten, I’m afraid.”

“Just wanted to be sure,” you tease, but a familiar tingling sparks in your core at his admission. Sometimes you can hardly believe this man—this god—fell so hopelessly in love with you. Of course, you have your issues like any other couple. Dating an alien who once tried to take over your planet does not come without consequence. But, oh, the way he’s looking at you now makes it all worth it.

“And I believe this is a holiday spent in the company of those you care about, is it not?” he continues. “Besides, Mother quickly picked up on the fact I was more distracted than usual and blessed my departure.”

“Must remember to thank Frigga for this Christmas surprise,” you joke, pretending to jot down a note.

The curious arch of Loki’s brows soon contorts into an expression of ecstasy as you begin to work your lips along the column of his neck, nipping at his skin.

“Gods,” he quietly says, shifting beneath you and tightening his grip on your waist. His low rumble of pleasure is a sound you can happily lose yourself in. With a final press of your tongue to the erogenous zone below his ear, you lean back, but Loki is quick to capture your lips in a blistering kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close and savoring the taste of him. A trace of mulled wine lingers on his mouth, and you wonder if he left Asgard in the midst of the aforementioned Yuletide celebration.

“So, are you going to tell me?” you murmur against his lips. “Or am I to believe it was only the thought of startling me in the middle of the night that drew you away from your royal duties?”

“What?” Loki’s brows furrow in sincere confusion, his mouth agape.

“You said you were distracted…”

“Oh, yes. That.” The knowing glance he gives you in response sends a jolt of arousal coursing through your body. He clears his throat, running his hands under the curve of your ass before rolling you over onto your back.

“I was distracted by you,” he says, pulling your robe open. “You infiltrated my every waking thought, you infuriating woman.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” you giggle, biting your bottom lip as he magicks away his armor. His alabaster skin is ethereal under the amber glow of the blazing fire, every dip of his chiseled torso cast in devastating shadows, muscles rippling beneath his taut skin as he leans over you. Your fingertips ghost over the fine smattering of hair below his navel, their sensuous journey interrupted by a band of leather. You whine, tugging at his trousers.

“Patience, darling,” he snickers, kissing along your collarbone. His tongue flits along the valley of your breasts and a white hot heat coils in your hips. Loki tilts his chin up, darkened eyes piercing your very soul. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth as he moves against your skin. You arch into him with a gasp, fingers digging into the broad expanse of his shoulders, his lithe muscles rippling under your touch.

“And we’ve both been so very patient, haven’t we?”

A wolfish grin creeps across his face as he tenderly pushes your thighs toward your stomach, his hands pushing your knees outward as you offer yourself up to him. You’re completely exposed, but any hint of inhibition dissipates as you note the unadulterated lust in your lover’s eyes.

Loki inhales sharply, greedily consuming what little air is left between you. Within seconds his mouth is warm against your cunt, and a broken moan escapes you. You twist your fingers into his hair as your entire body shudders in response to his enthusiastic movements, your frenzied mind attempting to process the situation. Twenty minutes ago, you were content with the idea of crawling into bed with a tin of shortbread and a good book. And now? Well, if you’re not careful, you’re going to come before things even get started. Loki realizes this and lightly grabs your wrist, removing your hand from his hair and guiding it behind your knee.

“Here,” he says, his hand engulfing yours as he presses it firmly against the back of your trembling thigh. Your pussy clenches at his simple command as you obediently move your legs further apart, contorting your body to his will. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you—all of you—as you settle into the new position, your back relaxing into the softness of the cushions beneath you.

The soles of your feet brace against his clavicles as he dips back between your legs, sucking at the soft flesh along your inner thigh before returning his attention to your core. When his eager tongue glides past your cunt to circle the sensitive area further down, you nearly levitate off the sofa.

Loki groans as he laps at you, his sinful slurps creating an intoxicating melody in your mind, the Christmas music long forgotten. You choke on air as the calloused pad of his thumb finds your clit, languidly rubbing circles as his tongue continues to explore your hole. The novel sensation is nearly enough to send you over the edge.

Thoughts of experiencing Loki this way had dwelled in the dark recesses of your mind for months now. You’d shamelessly pleaded for it during your last night together all those weeks ago while in the throes of passion. But Loki, with his silver tongue and roguish charm, was infuriatingly persuasive and surprisingly sensible. And so you had agreed to wait.

“Don’t tempt me, little one,” he had coyly responded as he slid the tip of his cock along the curve of your ass, trailing down until he made contact with your cunt. Yet the intensity with which his fingers dug into your hips as you begged for more let you know he wanted it just as much as you did.

“Something to look forward to,” he’d mumbled into your ear as he pressed his firm chest against your back, the sheen of sweat coating your skin intermingling with his as he buried himself inside your cunt for the third time that evening.

Your wait, it seems, is over.

“Norns, you’re divine,” Loki says, lifting his head to peer at you across your heaving torso. He continues rolling his thumb over your clit as he kisses along your stomach, his soft curls falling across your exposed skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Shall I keep going?”

“Yes,” you rasp, doing little to conceal the urgent need in your voice. “But don’t we need the–”

You nod toward the bedroom, alluding to the bottle of lube tucked away in your nightstand. But the words catch in the back of your throat as a cool, lubricated finger nudges where Loki’s mouth had just been. You glance down at the god, furrowing your brow as you observe a flash of seidr ignite the space between you.

“Well, that’s convenient.”

Loki lets out a breathy laugh as he looks up from his spot between your legs, his eyes dark with desire. His raven hair falls in a curtain around his face as his gaze darts back down to your center.

“I’m giving you exactly what you asked for.” Loki grins, slowly pressing his middle finger inside you. You nearly sob as your anticipation is engulfed by a rush of euphoria.

“I’m giving you all of me,” he adds, an exhilarating ache rippling through your core as a second finger joins the first.

“Oh my god,” you cry out as the blend of forbidden and familiar pleasure overwhelms your senses. Loki’s fingers steadily move inside you while he licks a wide stripe through your folds and you toss your head back with a hiss.

“Relax, love,” he says softly, wrapping a large hand behind your knee and guiding it over his shoulder. As you settle into the new position, Loki’s gifted tongue swirls around your throbbing clit, the skillful drag of it sending adrenaline searing through every nerve ending in your body.

“You’re doing so good,” he continues, his voice ragged and deep as he watches you squirm beneath him.

“S-so good,” you echo, keening at his praise. “Loki—fuck—you feel so good.”

He continues to gently move his fingers inside you, pushing deeper with each pump until you feel his palm flatten against your cunt. You slur his name, winding your fingers into his hair once more in an attempt to ground yourself. It doesn’t work.

“More. Please,” you beg, the words tumbling from your lips without conscious thought. Loki responds by stilling his motions and removing his fingers from you. You huff, pushing yourself up into a seated position and forcing Loki to shuffle onto his knees to avoid sliding off the edge of the sofa. What the hell?

“Loki…” you caution, your heart wildly beating in your chest as he tauntingly returns your gaze. He simply laughs, clearly amused by your little display of assertiveness.

“Feisty tonight, aren’t we?” he says, hands trailing up your thighs and around the curve of your ass. You both know you’re at his mercy tonight. “I knew I saw your name on the naughty list.”

“You’re not playing fair.”

No, he’s just playing on his own terms. Taunting you like he always does—a cat toying with his mouse.

“I’m merely trying to determine exactly how much more you can take,” he drawls as he nuzzles his nose along your neck.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you respond coyly, running your fingertips along his leather-clad erection.

You know he can see right through you, can sense the way he’s driving you mad. And before you can give your next bratty retort, Loki tightens his grip on your ass and forcefully pulls you toward him. As your bare chest makes contact with his, a shiver rolls down your spine.

“Oh, I think you do,” he says, reveling in the power he possesses. You moan into his mouth as his hands roam your body with a hunger that leaves you breathless. All that matters is the feel of his tongue against yours, the touch of his cool hands on your heated skin. Your pulse quickens as Loki pulls away to admire you, his eyes glazed over with lust. You need him. All of him. Now.

“And I need to hear you say it.”

“I want this, Loki,” you concede breathlessly. “I want you.”

“Words cannot convey how much I want this—want you—in return, my love.” A reassuring smile spreads across his features as he coaxes you to lie back down. Your heartbeat thrums with excitement as you comply with his request, and as you open your legs for him once more, you feel his eyes burning into your skin like a fiery brand.

“You’re sure?” Loki asks quietly, dropping his mask of dominance a moment as he brushes a finger along your slit, skimming the delicate skin between your ass cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Y-yes,” you whimper as he finally—completely—undresses himself in a wave of gold.

Stunning, you think, taking in the vision of Loki kneeling between your legs. His chest heaves with each shallow breath, his cock resting heavy against his muscular thigh. You let out a small whine when his hand leaves your body, wrapping it around the base of his shaft instead. He tosses his head back, and the small grunt that tumbles from his lips as he begins to stroke himself is positively sinful.

“Say it again. Please,” he chokes out, tugging the foreskin over the glistening, swollen head of his cock.

“I need you, Loki,” you say, shifting against the blankets and cushions.

He’s unwaveringly graceful as he guides your legs around his hips, positioning himself above you as the tip of his cock presses into your tight entrance. The pressure is beyond anything you’ve experienced before, and for a fleeting moment, your eyes widen in trepidation.

“Breathe, darling one.”

And so you do. Loki guides your breaths as he steadily stretches you to what you’re certain is your limit. You begin to lose yourself as the heady scent of sex wisps through the room like tendrils of Loki’s seidr, entwining with the heightened groans of carnal bliss.

“Talk to me. Are you okay?”

“So full. But… but good,” you manage to say, and it’s the truth. As your body relaxes into his movements, everything becomes more comfortable. Your hands graze down his back until they find the firm swell of his ass, pulling him deeper.

Loki growls out an old Norse curse as he bottoms out—his hip bones flush against the back of your thighs. You’ve never taken this much of him before, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You clench in response.

“My perfect girl,” he praises. With controlled precision, he starts to rock into you and every throbbing inch of his cock drags against your walls in the most delicious way. Soon, his fingers are circling your swollen clit and the pressure in your hips becomes too much to bear.

“So perfect,” he repeats between grunts, your body writhing as he brings you closer and closer to release. Like a caged bird set free, you soar higher and higher, the world spreading beneath you in all its glory as you ascend toward the stars. With one final thrust, you come undone.

Loki presses his forehead to yours as a strangled whimper rips from his throat, his own orgasm quickly following yours.

You stay like that for a while, a tangle of limbs and heaving breaths on your sofa. Eventually, everything comes back into focus: the fire, the music, the twinkling tree.

“That was quite the gift,” you say as Loki settles beside you.

“Certainly, you don’t think that was your only gift?” He tuts and casts you a rakish wink. “Your next surprise awaits you in the bedroom.”

You giggle as Loki stands and scoops you into his arms.

“Honestly. What kind of imbecile gives their love only one orgasm on Christmas Eve?”

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#loki x reader #loki smut #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki #loki x you #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #merry christmas ya filthy animals

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stedefxckingbonnet · 6 months

Note

PLEASE WRITE BEING IZZY'S LOVER (gn) AND IZZY ACTUALLY SURVIVED BECAUSE IDK THEY EITHER MISSED OR THE LOVER MANAGED TO SAVE HIM OR ANYTHING I JUST NEED TO SAVE THIS MAN 😭🙏

I GOT YOU!!! Here's my little fix-it fic, all! Writing this made me feel a bit better because my god I finally brought myself to watching the finale even after knowing all that happened already and wow I was not okay. But perhaps this fic is me turning poison into positivity in my own way? Yeah. Yeah! I'll leave it at that :) This one is a bit shorter but, it's short and sweet, I thinl!

I didn't really want to recount the battle itself, just more-so the aftermath, so please keep that in mind whilst reading in case it feels like I dove in a bit too suddenly and quickly!

Keep the requests coming, all! I love you all so, so dearly.

Love,

Lavinia

My Favorite | Izzy Hands x Reader

Warnings: light angst (but there's fluff GALORE and it ends happily, i swear!), some strong language, brief mentions of being shot, tending to an injury/mentions of injury (non-graphic descriptions)

Word Count: 1481

In your periphery, you couldn't help but notice Izzy suddenly hunched over, clutching his stomach. Everyone else managed to continue charging forward with their weapons, but you had other plans, and knew that both you and Izzy would be better for it. You rushed over to him without any hesitation, slinging his arm around you gently as you ushered him back to the ship as quickly as you could. His breathing staggered and the sound of it motivated you to move even faster.

You managed to rush him back to your quarters; in case the rest of the crew came stumbling onto The Revenge again, you would be able to focus on the most important mission of your life—helping Izzy Hands survive.

"I'm alright, love," Izzy breathed out, looking up at you as you cleaned the wound and prepared to bandage it.

"Clearly, you aren't," you laughed sadly, fighting back tears as you worked.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he sighed as he spotted you scrambling all over the place, very clearly in a panic about all of this. You so badly wanted to stop right there and scold him. You didn't have to do this? Was he fucking kidding? Of course you had to do this, you wanted to do this. You wanted him to be okay, needed him to be. You wanted to take away the harm brought upon him. You wanted to see him live another day and many, many more. You craved to see him go on to send you another one of his not-so-discreet-anymore smiles that got you through the toughest of times. You don't have to do this? How could he be so foolish? He was by far the most intelligent aboard the ship and yet, he still managed to say such a silly thing.

"Did you hear me?"

"Oh, I heard you," you almost seethed. "And once again, I will be ignoring your request."

"You manage to go and do that so much and yet, you're still my favorite," he weakly shook his head as he looked up at the ceiling and laughed under his breath.

You stopped in your tracks, for just a moment. You figured you could—Izzy was all patched up and all that was left to do was sit with him and make sure the bleeding stops and give him food, water, anything else he needed, and you were beyond happy to do so. You needed to be sure he was okay. But what he had just admitted to you earned quite a bit of a shock from you, a shock you couldn't quite process running all around the room. "I'm your favorite?"

He laughed once again, coughing immediately after and reaching to clutch his abdomen once again. You immediately sat down beside him, not realizing you had started to gently touch his cheek. "Isn't that fucking obvious? Everyone else sure as hell knows it."

You couldn't help but laugh yourself. "I guess? I don't know. You're my favorite too, you know."

"Oh, don't bother lying just because I'm injured," Izzy teased, reaching out to flick you in the arm.

"I'm not lying!" you threw your hands up in a playful surrender. "I mean it, Izzy. You know I do. And I don't want anything happening to you. I don't know what I'd do if you..." and with that, the tears began to spill out. Izzy knew there was no use trying to sit up, but he was able to extend his arm around you.

"I signed up for this," he shrugged.

"As long as I'm around, you are not dying any fucking time soon. Okay? You got that?"

Izzy's lips formed a smirk. "I love it when you get feisty."

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes as you giggled. Though suddenly, your expression hardened, and even Izzy noticed you were about to say something of the serious vein. "You really scared me back there, Iz."

Izzy could only sigh—he knew that none of the words he could muster would be enough to relieve you just yet, or even at all. And what was he supposed to say, anyway? That he was sorry he let himself get shot? Sorry that he didn't immediately seek help? Sorry that you had to see that? That he was so fucking exhausted of the life he's made for himself after all?

You made your way over to the foot of the bed, carefully sitting and stroking his leg. "I'm sorry," you suddenly lamented.

"Why are you sorry?"

"You just really scared me. I didn't want to lose you but I don't want you feeling bad about it either because it wasn't your fault you got hurt," you sighed, averting your eyes from his gaze.

Izzy slowly sat up, rubbing your upper back before gently wrapping his arm around you and resting his head upon your shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere, you know. I promise."

"I know," you exhaled. "I just...I could have lost you, and that thought absolutely haunts me every time we raid or duel or see another ship at all, or even just roam about the Republic of Pirates, but I know this is your life and what you're used to and I would never yank you away from—"

"I don't want any of it anymore," Izzy suddenly admitted. "I'm tired. So fucking tired. And I don't even know how many wounds my body can take anymore."

You laughed sadly, craning your head over to look at him once again. Even after the years of suffering and pain that remained on his face at times, he was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. And, he was healing as of late—you could see that, everyone could see that. "Well, what are you saying? And no, it isn't obvious—"

"I want to live," Izzy assured you. "But not this life. A different one."

"What would that look like to you?"

"I don't know," he whispered, almost ashamed of this answer.

"It's okay not to know. I'm up for anything as long as you are right there beside me," you reassured him as you planted a gentle kiss upon his forehead.

"Really? You'll stay with me?" Izzy asked in disbelief.

"I love you, Izzy. You. Not because you're Blackbeard's first mate, not because you're a pirate. Because you're you. You're Israel Hands. You are clever and caring and proud and you have so much else to offer this world, away from the sea. Beyond all this."

Izzy lifted his arms up from his sides, wincing as he did so, his hands flying back to his abdomen. You smiled softly as you ever so carefully wrapped your arms around him, making sure not to squeeze so tight. One of your hands made its way up to the back of his head as you gently ran your fingers through his hair. You suddenly heard him whimpering and it brought tears to your own eyes. At last, he spoke. "Fuck you."

You couldn't help but giggle as you sat back up once again.

"I love you," Izzy spoke sincerely, hoping with every part of him that this came across. By now, your face was in his hands, and he looked at you in such a way that truly did confirm his tenderness, his endless adoration that he reserved for you and only you.

You knew exactly the response he was searching for. He knew that you had love for him already—you were never exactly subtle about it. And he never exactly minded it. "I know that, Iz. I promise you."

"Suppose we should say goodbye to everyone?"

"We will. I just want to be here with you right now."

"I wouldn't mind that."

You lay down beside Izzy, draping your arm over his chest as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. He hums happily as you do, and he instantly settles into the warmth you provide. Before you know it, your eyes flutter shut and even in your dreams, Izzy Hands is there and you are together and you are living without fear and judgment, and the only thing you're stressing about is what to make for breakfast that day even though he'll always mumble, "Anything will do, darling." Perhaps whatever life the two of you should lead will come to you in your dreams and you will eagerly share these ideas once you awaken. In this moment, you were just grateful to get to spend the rest of your life with none other than him, and it almost didn't matter what endeavors you embarked on alongside one another from this moment forward. You finished the ditty Izzy was humming before you succumbed to the sweet dreams he wished upon you, and you looked forward to your dreams that were about to come true in just a few hours.

#ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #izzy hands x reader #ofmd season 2 #x reader #izzy hands my beloved #ofmd s2 #fanfic #ofmd izzy hands #fix it fic #fix it au #izzy is alive and well wdym?#fluff #light angst #requests open #keep the requests coming #please request #established relationship

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moodymisty · 2 months

Note

Mayhaps some Angron/fem reader with 7+12+54 from your kink list if you’re up for it? He seems like the kinda guy that would bite and definitely wouldn’t be gentle about anything in the slightest

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Authors’s Note: Suedo-continuation of this fic. Time to ride that massive Nucerian dick all the way to the pearly gates. Or at minimum to the infirmary. I've been beating my head on this for ages and it has dust on it, but enjoy.

Summary: Angron returns to Terra from a crusade, and finds himself wanting.

Relationships: Angron/Fem!Reader (reader from my StolenHistoritor!series)

Warnings: NSFW, Rough sex, Biting, That World Eaters dick hit different and by different I mean it rearranges your insides like a blender

Word Count: 1227

Lady of the World Eaters.

You don't like the title; But no one knows what else to call you. Simply put it was the only title that appealed to your current stature, even if it doesn't perfectly fit.

You aren't his beloved, you don't know if he can even utter such a word, but you know there is something here that he deems special. Perhaps there just isn't a word for it, in High or Low Gothic.

Angron’s Macgragge-born Historitor just doesn’t ring quite as well, either. Is a bit of a mouthful as well.

Angron's wing of the massive Imperial palace is its own world in an of itself. You could only assume that the other Primarchs have similar living quarters that are appropriately grandiose, though it's only speculation; You haven't seen them and probably will never will.

But you had just gotten out of a bath when Angron returned. The loose piece of clothing you put on simply to prevent from getting cold hit your mid thighs, shapeless and thin. It wicked up the water against your skin slowly, until you felt mostly dry.

The loud thud of boots on the stone floor had gave him away, but for a moment you had assumed it was simply the sound of patrolling Custodes; Until it continued closer and closer, and then stopped.

Angron entered, lacking the brushed and scratched bronze armor you're so used to him wearing. Instead he wore a more comfortable- at least you assume so- pair of trousers that tucked into thick, furred boots. He lacked any sort of top, as despite Terra being quite frigid currently, he had little care about it. If he's anything like his Astartes, his blood runs so hot it would take a chill beyond what Terra can produce to make him shiver.

You stood there frozen, half dressed and standing damp in the middle of a dim room. He looked down with an unreadable expression from his overwhelming height. It felt like minutes, but it was more than likely only a few moments.

But you'd never felt so small as you had then; Unable to know what he was thinking. It was always hard to, but even then it seemed like he was impossible to know where he was in his own head.

As while you've kissed him, and he's returned it, it's never gone much farther. You had assumed the Nails had taken it away; His ability to feel something as intrinsically human as desire.

But apparently, he still can.

“A-Angr-“

Your voice comes out in short gasps has he fucks you, fists clenched. It feels like he’s in your stomach, and he can only just bury himself to the hilt. You’d fear what would happen if he pushed it even farther. If he lost just a bit of restraint.

Perhaps it’s another part of the Nails’ torture. That the one person he's found that actually loves him he can’t even touch to the fullest, that they aren’t made for him and could crack under the slightest misuse.

He hasn’t said a word, other than sharp breaths and grunts, his hand on your hips bruising as he pulls you to him. You had been on your knees, but it was not long before your fell to your stomach and laid nearly flat on the massive ocean of a bed.

Your neck aches, you know he's broken skin and blood probably trickled down your neck, only now having relief that he can no longer reach it. The angle would be too severe, he stands too tall to be able to press his face into your neck while he fucks you.

It had felt good at the time, now it complains and aches, and you'll have marks serving as an easy reminder to you'll need to cover up.

Your hands grip the bed with your nails threatening to tear the fabric, intricate and expensive; Far beyond anything Angron is used to. You know he's refused most of Terra's more frivolous things. Perhaps that's yet another reason why his fellow primarchs have been so surprised by your existence, perhaps.

Your face feels hot, skin boiling as your stomach ties itself in knots, tight like it’s going to snap. You haven't looked towards him in awhile, you can see his shadow and feel his bare skin against your own, but for some reason you can't gather the will to look over your shoulder. Perhaps it's the embarrassment, as he brushes against nerves to deep inside of you that you gasp and squirm underneath him. His grip keeps you held firm however, as even though escape is the last thing on your mind, you'd never be able to do so anyways.

He is still be going to leave your battered and bruised for days, however. Even with his grip on your hip being so soft for his own strength. But his gentleness in context has left you trying to swallow moans instead of screams.

You attempt to keep most of the swears you utter under your breath as you cum, fingers tight around your one mouth as he simply continues to fuck you.

It’s so close to pain, but you’re used to teetering that knife’s edge with him. That how it feels at almost every moment you're around him. You barely notice it, anymore.

You can feel the moment he finishes inside you from the way he slows, and you hear his fist clench around the metal of the bedframe tight enough to crunch it. More restraint. He's always trying to keep the Nails held back.

You can also tell just how much; When he pulls out you can immediately feel it leak from you, slick against your thighs.

He pulls away, and you can still hear his sharp exhales through his nose. You don't know if it's because he's actually winded like yourself, with a racing heart and flushed skin, or that the Nails are biting at his mind again.

You roll, giving a soft groan in pain as you look up from underneath him.

You feel so small.

One of his hands reaches towards you and grips your jaw tilting it; You barely manage to hold in a wince as he observes your battered neck.

He’s silent. Angron is surprisingly so whenever you’re around. You always wonder what he’s thinking. He notices the bruising and droplets of blood on your neck, at minimum. That even the most gentle abused caused it. You hear him let out an exhale.

“You should go to the apothecary.” He’s blunt. You lay more comfortably in the bed underneath him, but you still feel pinned under his eyes. If he was someone else you'd think he was wanting you to leave, but from the way he's looking at you and keeping you caged, that seems to be the last thing he wants.

“It doesn’t hurt,” You say, and he hums. “I’ll wait till tomorrow.” The blood has stopped, anyhow. It'll be more painful to leave him and spend an hour there than it would be to just lay here. The entire time you've still felt his hand on your hip, skin warm. It drifts down slightly more towards your thigh.

He shifts and moves to once more press his mouth against your neck, but gives you little more than an accepted noise of understanding.

#Angron x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #Angron/Reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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chucksfavouriteprophet · 1 year

Text

Heal - III

Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader (female)

MASTERLIST

👣 Summary: Steve and the others return to the compound to find it in disaray.

Warnings: Descriptions of sexual assault and forced knotting/bonding, self-hatred, angst, vomit

Word count: 1,724

🫀Part II

That afternoon, the others returned. At first, nothing seemed out of place, and the Avengers went about their usual business unloading the quinjet and cleaning themselves up. But it was after that when things started to feel a little different.

It wasn't unusual for Bucky to be keeping to himself, so Steve wasn't expecting to see him instantly. After a few hours he checked the gym, expecting to find his old friend there, but it clearly hadn't been touched since he'd gone away. He wasn't overly concerned; he hadn't seen you either, and usually you were hanging around the living area and would normally have at least welcomed them all back and asked about what exciting things had happened on the mission. Sure, you weren't necessarily close, but it wasn't implausible that you had gone out for the day together.

Alarm bells didn't ring until a good few hours after their return, when Nat made her usual silent entrance into the kitchen where Steve was reading a paper and Bruce was ruining a perfectly basic pasta dish.

"Hey Bruce, did Y/N go out today?" She tossed an apple in the air absentmindedly and slid onto the counter to watch him fumble about the stove.

"What? Er, no, I mean, I don't think so. I haven't seen her. Clint might have."

"Clint might have what?" The inquisitive archer piped up as he entered room with burning ears.

"Seen Y/N today."

He shook his head with a shrug. "Now you mention it, I haven't actually. Or Tin Man, but let's be honest that's not exactly a surprise. He's not exactly Mr Social."

Steve rustled his paper and set it down on the table. "I haven't seen Bucky either. I assumed him and Y/N had gone somewhere."

Nat and Clint both looked over at each other and snorted as Bruce jumped into action as the water boiled over the sides of the pan.

"Together? I'm not sure about that Steve. But hell, you know the guy better than any of us." Taking a bite out of her apple, Nat pushed herself off the counter and made her way to the door. "I'll see if Y/N is in her room, that's probably the best place to start."

Whilst you were in your room, it wasn't quite the scene Natasha was expecting. Your curtains were pulled tightly closed, and you were curled up in the sheets shivering.

"Y/N? Hey, you alright?" She peered round the door, frowning at the strange odour that wafted around. You grunted, and she took that as a sign to come closer.

"Christ, you look like shit. You sick or something?' Concerned, she reached out to rest a hand on your burning forehead but you shied away.

"Er, yeah. Just a bit under the weather, but I'll be fine. How was the mission?" Despite the fever that had started to ravage your body, you pulled the duvet up around your chin as though to seek warmth.

"Fine, easy. Look, are you sure you're fine? No offence but it kinda smells weird in here...are you due a heat or something?"

You gulped and squeezed your eyes shut. Engaging in conversation was the last thing you wanted to do right now.

"Yeah I guess so. Got new suppressants, maybe I'm reacting badly to them." The lie came out too easy.

She nodded, not entirely fooled but not willing to push you. It might have been dark in the room but she could tell you didn't look your best and probably needed to rest.

"Okay, well I'll come check on you in a bit. Call if you need anything, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah sure. Thanks, Nat."

You waited until you heard the click of the door close before you rolled over and lurched for the bin tucked under your bed. Your stomach was beyond empty now and you thought that perhaps you were literally puking your guts up at this point, but it didn't stop the nausea from consuming you. You had no clue how much time had passed since you'd gone to see Bucky, but you knew the crew were due back that evening so it couldn't have been long. Most of that time you'd spent swimming in and out of consciousness, the fever slowly rising and the pressure in your head expanding. But it was the pain in your stomach that was the worst. Your body was craving your alpha's touch and suffering without it. Your weak legs were sticky with slick and your pussy was crying out for attention. Whenever you were conscious, you tried your hardest to satisfy yourself, but it barely helped. Orgasm after orgasm only relieved the pain for an hour or so, and each time seemed shorter than that before.

You knew what this was. You'd heard of it, but it was rare because when most omegas bonded with their alpha, it was part of something bigger and something meaningful. Sex was a huge part of that, and usually lasted for days after. A physical bond in your gland might be the sign of a bond, but it needed to be cemented with passion and knotting. For some omegas, just the first knot that accompanied the bonding was enough, but for most it took a few in the days after for the mark to settle.

Clearly, that was the case for you. Except you hadn't had Bucky's knot since the incident, and he certainly wasn't going to give it to you any time soon. Which meant the bond was starting to fade and your body was freaking out. Your hormones had dramatically changed the second you had been marked and now you were reliant on your alpha's knot to keep them in balance. Yes, there were suppressants to help for periods when an alpha and omega were apart for prolonged periods of time, but that wasn't exactly an option right now. So everything was going crazy and your body didn't know how to handle itself. Neurons were firing in all the wrong places, and your body was reacting in strange ways. Sometimes your muscles contracted into spasm, sometimes they locked and became rigid. And you guessed it was only going to get worse.

All you could do was ride it out. You couldn't exactly tell the others what had happened, or Bucky would be done for and you were hardly in a condition to defend him. So you just had to handle yourself until your body settled down and realised it wasn't going to get the knot it wanted and the bond faded. Seeing as you felt like utter shit, you figured it couldn't get much worse so you were probably at the peak of it. You could easily spend the day in bed claiming to be sick or having a bad heat, and in the morning you could try and talk to Bucky about what had happened.

In your delirious state, it never crossed your mind that the Avengers might question why he had locked himself in The Cube.

Bucky hadn’t answered any of Steve’s texts or calls, which wasn’t unusual seeing as neither of them had quite got to grips with 21st century technology. But his bike was still in the garage, and nothing seemed to be missing from his room, so Steve knew something was up.

He didn’t want to check The Cube, because he didn’t want his best friend to be there. If he was, it meant something truly awful had happened. But it was the only place he hadn’t looked, and if Bucky was there, Steve was sure he would need his support.

That didn’t stop his heart from breaking at the sight of his comrade.

"Oh man...what happened?" Steve was slow with his approach, but as soon as he heard Bucky whimper and his chest stutter, he knew he wasn't facing the Winter Solider.

"I fucked it man, I really fucked it." Steve could tell by the rawness in his voice that this was the first time he'd spoken in a few hours.

"Y/N..." it all made sense now. You hadn't been around the compound either that evening, and if Bruce and Clint didn't know what had gone on, that meant it had to be between you and Bucky.

Steve's oldest friend looked up at him like a lost puppy. His stringy hair was greasy and hung lifelessly, mirrored by his purple bags cushioning sunken eyes. Track marks ran down his cheeks from crying, but it was clear he was all cried out now. Sitting like this, curled up on the floor in the corner of an isolated room made Steve's blood feel like ice. He had vowed Bucky he would never be in this position again, and yet somehow here they were.

"What did you do, Buck." It was more a statement than a question.

"It was just a nightmare. Just like it always is. But you weren't there, Steve. And-and she was. And it felt so good, man. She was comforting, ya' know. I actually felt safe.

But I let it go too quick. He-he still had me in his grasp and he didn't want to let go...I don't know what happened, but I hurt her. I really hurt her Steve."

He really didn't want to ask. "Is she alive?"

The nod was small but it was there. That was all Steve needed to let the breath out he was holding.

"But I bonded with her. I forced myself on her. I marked her."

The silence that hung over the pair spoke a thousand words. Steve knew sometimes Bucky didn't know how to control his alpha side, and he knew that often the lines were blurred between the Winter Soldier and his innate alpha. So he knew how big this was.

"But it wasn't you, Buck. You were him, right?"

With a snort, Bucky turned away. "What difference does it make? The Solider is gone now, Shuri made sure of that, so whatever traces he leaves are just memories. You can't blame him anymore. Only me."

"We'll fix this, Bucky. I swear. But you can't stay here."

"Steve, I'm not leaving this cage until the bond has worn off. And then I'm getting as far away from here as I can, before I do even more damage. And you cannot stop me."

🫁 Part IV

Bucky Taglist

@elliebee01 @littlemiss-yeehaw @lolitsthings @missvelvetsstuff @spnexploration @justlovelifeblog @1-800-call-a-milf @raajali3 @broadwaybabe18 @vicmc624 @gostodosopa @kjah97 @sageandravens @kaz11283 @bucksdonkey @alright-i-guess @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @icequeen1371 @deandreamernp @almosttoopizza @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #bucky x female reader #alpha!bucky #omega!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #alpha bucky barnes #bucky barnes series #alpha!bucky x reader #alpha!bucky series #alpha!bucky barnes

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house-strong · 2 years

Text

— THE SHIELD and his princess ʾ ⋆

summary ; criston cole is many things – but a teacher he is not. after learning his duties as a sworn kingsguard, who is he to disobey an order from his princess?

pairing ; targaryen!reader x pre-green!criston cole

notes ; written at 2 am after i saw a sad criston/rhaenyra edit so here’s this,, also the beginning of me writing hotd imagines if this goes well?? 😏😏😏🤝

the festivities that were thrown in king’s landing was beyond ser criston. with pleasant music, girls batting their eyes and giddily running around, mixed with the loud roar of the crowd was enough for a man of his low stature to get drunk on. the feeling of adrenaline coursing in his veins as an opponent swings their sword, as metal clashes with metal and the song that rings from each weapon – it is a calling that criston knows is his.

dismounting the targaryen prince and earning the princess rhaenyra’s favor was a blessing he thought he was dreaming of. but, being summoned to court on the account of being chosen as a kingsguard – gods, that was the highest he had ever felt.

much to his delight, permanently residing in the castle of king’s landing was something he favored over the endless and scorching sands of wasteland he once called home. though the city did have a foul stench that burned his nose hairs from time to time, he had grown used to the taste of sea salt on his tongue and the terrifying roars of dragons that filled his ears.

he had also grown fond of the silvery wisps of hair of a certain targaryen princess.

ser criston was still young, merely in his twenties, when he had sworn the oath of a kingsguard. no land and no titles was an easy thing to get behind as he was a lowborn knight with little to his name, but an oath of chastity? to father no children, or feel the love of a wife? who was to say that a fleeting feeling of hope was treason?

“ser criston?” your voice breaks the young knights trance. he blinks rapidly, fingers drumming the helm of his kingsguard armor that rested at his side as he tries to remember what you were saying – did you ask him a question? was it about the upcoming celebration of princess rhaenyra’s marriage to laenor velaryon? or, perhaps if it was about taking a stroll through the red keep?

he clears his throat and looks down at his feet, clearly ashamed, “forgive me princess, it seems that my mind carried me away.” ser criston peeks up from behind a stray wisp of brown hair, only to see a bright smile directed at him. he can’t help but swallow the queasy feeling in his stomach and smile right back.

“i’m rather curious about swordplay,” you reiterate, glancing down at the massive book that rested upon the table in front of you. you take a moment to uncross your legs and recross them, getting comfortable into the seat. your hand tenderly touches the parchment, “it says here that it’s a bit like.. dancing.”

a look of confusion sweeps across ser criston’s face as he takes in your words, “now that you say that, yes, it is quite a bit like dancing.”

you hang for a moment, deciding your words carefully. being a princess had its downsides, and right now, being unable to attain swordplay as a hobby wasn’t gratifying. even at your command, the other kingsguard would have asked permission from your father.

“would you show me?”

ser criston opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. to refuse an order given by a member of the royal family could have consequences, but to injure a princess would possibly be even a worse fate to imagine. he winces at the thought. he exhales slowly as he weighs his words carefully, “i’m sure you would find actual dancing more attractive than swordplay.”

you unfold your legs and rise from your seat. your black gown falls back into place around your legs and moves with grace as you approach the knight. dark fabric peaks up at the sides of your shoulders and gathers near your collarbones, highlighting the bone underneath. he sucks in a breath. your hands clasp behind your back and heels click against the smooth stone of the floor. ser criston is still as you approach, but watches you carefully with black, beady eyes.

“if i wanted dancing, i would have asked for dancing.” you say, voice clear and almost commanding. almost. his knees feel weak when you stop merely a length away – he can smell your perfume wafting in the air and filling his scent glands with pure delicacy. he almost sighs at the scent. after a moment of silence, “do i need to command you, ser criston?”

the kingsguard feels a blush creep up his neck and crawl into his cheeks as he comes to a realization, “no, you do not, princess.”

you beam triumphantly and rock side to side in place, “it’s settled then.” you turn on your heels and return to the abandoned book on the table. at the same moment you settle back in the chair, a handmaiden walks in. “i shall see you tonight, ser criston.”

ser criston watches the servant carefully before returning his attention to you. he bows slowly at the hip, maintaining eye contact as he rises. he mutters the word princess as he does and turns heel to exit your personal quarters.

between being summoned to escort princess rhaenyra and attending a kingsguard meeting, along with guarding the door to the kings private quarters, ser criston is constantly thinking about what the night will ensure. so much so that the day passes rather quickly and night had befallen the capital.

with a full, warm belly and aching limbs that are screaming for more rest, ser criston returns faithfully to your quarters with two wooden swords in his grasp. he is not surprised to see ser arryk guarding your door.

“ser arryk,” he greets, giving a momentary dip of his head as a sign of respect. the other follows suit but with a curious gaze casted towards the mock weapons, mumbling ser cristons own name on the brink of a yawn. “be at ease, i’ll be with the princess tonight.”

with another head dip, the former kingsguard wordlessly departs from your door and strolls down the hallway. ser criston watches him leave before entering into your quarters.

he enters and smiles at the silhouette of your figure against the castle walls. he shuts the door behind him and approaches, his boots offering a soft thud in the silence. he rounds the corner and finds you in front of a mirror that is angled away from him.

“ser arryk, i thought i said i wished to not be disturbed,” you say without turning around, running a comb through the locks of your silver hair.

“i’m offended that you mistake me for ser arryk,” ser criston says, enjoying the way that your face lights up with happiness once you turn around and eye the two wooden swords he had brought. “although, i’m not quite sure how we’re going to dance in your room.”

your hands quickly twist your hair into a plait, binding the end with a leather bind before rising from your seat. it’s then that ser criston notices that you’re wearing your dragon-riding attire. he smiles to himself and follows you into the main chamber of your room.

“i have a place in mind, follow me,” you say, tidying up your perfumes and oils before leading the way out of your door. you exit the royal apartment courtyard, smiling at any servant or lord or lady that passed your path. you lead ser criston to the castle wall that bordered the harbor. waves crash against the rock and sends salt flying into the air, giving the air a less-than-pleasant taste.

“this isn’t secluded, princess,” ser criston says with uncertainty. you, however, shrug carelessly and smile at the obvious nervousness that radiated off the young knight. you move forward and gently take one of the wooden swords from his hand. it feels odd in your grasp and the handle is surprisingly rough against your palm, but the balance is easy to manage. you give it a small twirl, trying your best to show control.

“never mind that, ser criston. where do we begin?” you stand straight, wooden sword hanging limply by your side. you watch him with curiosity as he sucks in a breath. ser criston should have prepared himself for this night of teaching.

“let’s see your stance.” at his words, you try your best to shuffle into a mock fighting stance. however, your legs are bent awkwardly and your position is open. ser criston almost lets out a small guffaw. you glare as he stifles his laughter. “here, allow me.”

ser criston moves closer and adjusts your position. he fixes your legs and squares your shoulders, putting your hands in the right spot on the handle of your sword. he pauses for a moment and meets your eye, and it’s then when it’s noticeable how cool it is outside and how much warmth radiates off your bodies.

he clears his throat and shuffles away, “how does that feel?”

“a bit better,” you admit, relaxing into the stance. you twirl the sword once more, careful to not hit the kingsguard, and notice how it actually feels a lot more smooth in your hand.

“let’s try basic maneuvers,” ser criston says. he begins showing you some movements and remarks what each movement is. a forward slash, a parry, a sidestep, and a block. watching him move is enrapturing and the book you read earlier was exactly right – it was a dance and ser criston made it look flawless. he had light steps and quick movements, magnificent enough to draw you into a trance. he concludes his tutorial with, “my princess.”

“you make it look easy, ser criston,” your voice is on a borderline whine, but you ready yourself and mimic his movements the best you can. your movements are wobbly and unrefined, years of practice not as obvious as it was with ser criston’s movements.

“i’ve had years to learn, my princess, and i’ve fought in more incursions than i want to count.” his voice is almost reminiscent as he confesses towards his experience in swordplay. “you will learn, in time.”

“you will teach me?” you ask, your brows raising in surprise at his words. he stays silent for a moment, but then nods after some wordless contemplation.

“if that is what my princess wishes, then yes, i will.”

warm, brown eyes meet yours as you two share a look for what feels like a century. ser criston debates whether or not that was appropriate to say, whilst you fight the tears that well in your eyes. years after begging someone, anyone, to enlighten you about sword fighting and being turned down, all of a sudden has changed within the night. you drop your sword and rush forward, wrapping your arms around the light armor that ser criston wore. you feel him tense, but he soon relaxes into your hold and returns the hug with a hand on your back.

“thank you, ser criston.” you say earnestly. though it’s supposed to be serious, ser criston enjoys the way that his name rolls off your tongue in this moment and finds himself blushing. he thanks whatever gods there are for the dim, warm lighting of the torches lined on the walls.

he clears his throat and readjusts his grip on the handle of his practice sword, “pick up your sword and we’ll start from the beginning.”

#criston cole x reader #criston cole imagine #criston cole fic #hotd imagine #hotd fic #hotd x reader #ser criston cole #ser criston #ser criston x reader #hotd fanfic #criston cole fanfic #asoiaf imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #*mine: writing

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dont-f-with-moogles · 8 months

Note

gosh, i'm blushing as crazy as i write this, but for your smut prompts, maybe.... 17 or 11.....

Smut Scribbles 11. “Louder. Let me hear you.” 17. “Hands behind your back.” (Tch. So greedy 😉 )

Dangerous Game (NSFW) Characters: Levi x Hange Word Count: 992 words It hadn’t happened the way that Levi had repeatedly dreamed it. In his fantasies he had always imagined his body lying beneath Hange’s, their thighs wrapped around his waist. Countless times he had conjured the sensation of their mouth on his neck; nails scraping his torso whilst, in reality, his own chest rose and fell in rapid movements. Sweat-soaked sheets had tangled about Levi’s legs as he gripped himself, convinced that his own touch was theirs; that his closed fist was actually the heat of them enfolded around him. With complete abandon his hips had pressed forward into his hand, strokes quickening as he relished the surge of pleasure which coursed through him.

A bed would have been far safer; concealed behind locked doors and spacious enough for the two of them to sprawl upon, limbs entangled. Not here, with Levi’s hands splayed against cold brick, back arched against Hange’s chest. There was hardly enough space to stand upright, what with the boxes, bottles and cleaning rags scattered all around them. A cluster of brooms stood in the corner; one misplaced elbow would send the entire array clattering down. Even Levi’s feet were planted on either side of a stack of buckets. In the corridor beyond, the sound of encroaching footsteps echoed; an unnerving reminder that several thin planks of wood nailed together were all that stood between them and the humiliation of exposure.

And yet, all of Levi’s misgivings vanished as Hange’s breath lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. Like electricity, a shiver rippled down his spine, setting every nerve alight. Hange’s lips met his ear.

“Stay just like that…”

Teeth grazed his earlobe. There came a jingle as Levi’s belt buckle knocked into the wall. Then Hange’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pants. The sudden flood of heat was almost unbearable. Sweat broke out over Levi’s skin; his nerves humming. Every fibre of his being was seeking - begging - for them to tighten their grip. Even as Hange obliged, curling their fingers around his cock, Levi willed them to tease their hand downwards. He willed them not to let go. One second parted from his body would be enough to drive him to madness. Levi’s hips rolled forward of their own accord, helpless to the languid movements of Hange’s hand as it slid down.

The cupboard door rattled in its frame, startling them both.

“Shit!” Levi reached down to where his trousers were slung about his knees. The placement of Hange’s hands, one upon his wrist, the other enclosed around him, kept him rooted to the spot. There was no scraping of wood; no sudden rush of air or light spilled upon them. Perhaps another door further along the corridor had slammed, causing theirs to jolt violently. But no consolation could slow the rapid drumming of Levi’s heart. The thunder of his pulse was deafening; it would drown out the footsteps on the other side of the door. And that’s when they would be caught. It was inevitable. Levi drew in noisy, frantic breaths, desperately willing his heart to slow.

Lips pressed at his nape. Hange’s hand began moving again and Levi’s body nearly caved in on itself. Moist palms slipped against stone. His foot knocked into the buckets. Heat exploded in the pit of his stomach, pooling like molten lava down to where Hange’s fingers were wrapped around him. Each time they pulled back sparks flew like flint on stone. Hange’s chin was buried in the crook of his shoulder, their lips brushing his jawline. A deep flush burned at their touch, trailing upwards to where their breath warmed the skin behind his ear. Levi bit his lip, breaking apart the syllables of Hange’s name. He could feel their smile; lips curving against his neck before they closed around his earlobe. Levi’s head sank into his outstretched arm, his rolled shirt sleeve muffling a low moan.

“Don’t, Levi…” Hange’s whisper was as dark as smoke. Their teeth grazed the shell of Levi’s ear as they sucked the skin clean. Still, their hand worked him in steady, measured strokes. Only, a little quicker now that they had found their rhythm. A thrill ran up Levi’s legs as his muscles tightened. Sweat gathered at his temples, in his hairline, at the back of his neck. He was lost to the fire searing within him; helpless as sweet agony took hold and consumed him. Skin aflame, he pressed his face further into the folds of material and bit down.

Then Hange’s movements ceased altogether. Their tone dropped lower. Pitch black. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this after all?”

Levi’s body protested; his skin cried out for contact. He shifted against the wall, turning a fraction to follow their voice. Unexpectedly he felt their fingers clutch his chin, holding his head firmly in place.

“I want you to be louder, Levi. Let me hear you.” This time, when Hange’s teeth sank into his earlobe, it was not entirely playful. Levi gave a little gasp as they pulled back sharply. The sting of his flesh throbbed. “Or I’ll make you put your hands behind your back.”

Their other hand had seized both of his wrists, raising his arms over his head and pressing his hands to the wall. Levi could have easily broken the hold but a weakness had washed over his body. He was a victim to their lips, to their hot breath in his ear. Hange’s other hand slid down to grasp him once more. Hot, open-mouthed kisses branded new marks into his neck.

“H-hange…” Surrender fractured Levi’s voice. He gave in to the heat of their body against his; Hange’s hips gently grinding against him in time with their movements. A low groan escaped his throat as Levi’s head sank back against Hange’s shoulder. They were unrelenting; kissing where he longed to be kissed, touching where he needed their hand to touch, until Levi thought that his legs would give out altogether. ... (Haha, hope you liked it and don't mind that I combined the two! 🖤🖤🖤) Anyone who's enjoying these and is partial to a little not-so-safe-for-work drabble, choose from the Wheel of Prompts here! 👉 Smut Scribbles

#dom!hange again #maybe I ought to switch this up a bit?#levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange #levihan #levihan smut #levihan drabble #levihan fic #n.sfw #smut scribbles #my writing

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danses-with-dogmeat · 8 months

Text

P is for -- Preston Garvey

🥺 Just... sweet, lovely Preston. I'm so so glad he won. I often say that the winners deserved it, but Preston DESERVED it, you know? I love him, I love y'all for voting for him, I hope you sincerely enjoy this ❤️

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

Pair: Preston Garvey x g/n! Sole

Dialogue: “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Word: Prolong

Rating: SFW

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 800

“Psst.” Preston knocked softly at Sole’s bedroom door. "Uh, you're in there, right, babe?"

His heart was in his throat, after all that had happened, all that they’d told him when they returned from the Institute. Preston just remembered being beyond grateful that they’d come back to him at all, that they were alive and safe, and he’d told them just as much.

But they... they hadn’t agreed with him, and damn, but that killed him.

“Sole?” Preston tried again, his voice still weak from disuse.

All the patrols over the past two days, that’s… all he’d done. Even Sturges hadn’t heard his voice. No meetings, no missions, no small talk with settlers, barely any contact with anyone at all. No… All Preston had room for right now was the worry in his heart for his partner. His general, his love, god, his life now… and they were hurting, beyond anything they’d ever shown on the surface before, and instead of craving his help, falling into his arms or crying on his shoulder, they’d just… shut him out.

Was that… normal? Was it okay? Should he press them in order to help, or give them space and let them come to him?

Preston had always, always come to Sole in his times of uncertainty, of desperation and depression, seeking words and touches of comfort, their advice, their warmth.

If Sole didn’t do the same, well… What was he supposed to make of that? Was he doing something wrong, or was it just the way that his partner chose to cope with their own hardships and emotions? On their own… it was hard for the minuteman to stomach it.

“Come in.”

The monotone words jarred Preston back to reality, and he damn near charged into the room at the sound of their permission being granted to him.

“Hey, Sole.” His voice was softer, higher-pitched than usual, like if he spoke any other way it would just break them into pieces. “I… just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Preston closed the door behind him, and approached slowly, then kneeled beside his partner where they were seated on their bed.

Sole looked… well enough, he supposed. Perhaps a bit disheveled, with the dark circles under their eyes and their hair unusually gnarled, but Preston tried to bar himself from becoming too outwardly worried about them. Still though, he wasn’t quite sure how to approach… Or what to say.

Tell me how to help you, love, and I'll do it.

“Okay?” Sole croaked, and already, he felt ashamed at his wording.

Of course they’re not okay, not after everything they’ve been through. How could I have--? Ugh…

Preston grimaced at their reaction.

They must be better at this than I am.

No wonder they preferred being alone to this.

“Not really."

He was relieved when they continued, until what they'd actually said hit him.

"But… I think I’ll make it...”

Preston felt a painful pang ring throughout his chest at their words. Though they held hope to them, Sole's voice didn't quite reflect it.

“Look, Preston…”

He held his breath, hearing his own heart pounding in his ears as they trailed off forebodingly.

“I’m sorry.” Sole said with a deep exhale. “I know I’ve been shutting you out, and maybe… I know it’s not fair to you, that you want to help, but… I just don’t know if that’s even possible.”

Another agonizing ache squeezed at his heart, and Preston tentatively rose to sit upon the bed next to his partner. Sole made no move to stop him, and so he set his hand over theirs on the mattress, his warmth passing into their own cold hand through his caress.

“Well, with your permission, sir/ma'am, I’d like to try.”

Sole’s vibrant eyes, now seeming more monochrome, more dull than he’d ever remembered seeing them before, set upon him as their brows raised in question.

“Even if it’s impossible, like you said... you’re worth trying. More than worth it, actually.” Preston tried to smile at them, but he was afraid his worry continued to show through. No matter what expression he tried though, he was certain that’d be the case.

“Thanks.” Sole whispered it so low, it could hardly be deemed a breath. But still, Preston heard it.

“C-can I… Can I hug you?” He asked, even as he unwittingly scooched closer to them on the bed.

“I think I’d like that.” Sole said, the barest, thinnest hint of a smile shining through their expression as they half-heartedly opened their arms to him.

It was incredible, Preston couldn’t help but think, the way their hugs healed him. The way Sole’s touches bled comfort straight into his body, their hand in his felt like a bond strong enough to hold the two halves of the world together, his head on their shoulder made it seem like he could withstand just about anything, like this world of theirs' was… manageable, even with all of its faults, its violence, its tragedy.

He wished the feeling could last him-- them both-- forever.

And Preston hoped that even half of what Sole's comfort did for him was shining through in this one tight embrace. If it did, then maybe, just maybe, it truly was possible for his partner to be okay again.

#2k event #2k celebration #secret event #fallout #fallout companions #fallout npc #fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions #preston garvey #preston #fo4 preston #preston x sole #sole survivor

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crepesuzette2023 · 5 months

Note

Hi! I really love your writing. Might I suggest kiss #23 — John/Paul in relief?

Thank you! <3 here you go: Kiss fic game—23: In relief (John & Paul)

1965, US Tour, on a plane headed to Portland, OR. When Larry Kane headed to the cockpit with that pinched expression on his face, John knew something was wrong. Larry must have seen something—come to think of it, he’d been quiet for a while now. It wasn’t like him.

George kept talking about the Beach Boys, and John pretended he was listening, but he actually listened to the hum of the engines. It sounded all right—or did it? Then the plane lurched. People yelled over each other. “What was that?”— “Are you all right?” Everyone rushed to the windows. “Oh my God!” someone shouted—a woman—and the plane stopped, actually stopped moving, or so it felt, engines stuttering—a louder voice ordered everyone to return to their seat—but John had to see for himself.

“Shit!” someone shouted. “Jesus!”

Flames shot from one of the engines, pretty and wrong. Then the smoke came, an endless plume, black and thick.

The fear in the cabin assaulted John like a monster, each mouth a grimace, bodies twitching, the first hysterical sobs bursting from a stranger’s throat. The plane would crash with them in it, all of them in this terrible fear, together.

He barely knew what he was doing when he pushed through the crowd to the emergency door.

The plane was roaring, and John felt as if it was him who was on fire, flailing and desperate to get out, away from the screams.

When he tried to open the door, actually got hold of a handle, the screams reached a pitch high enough to split him open. Someone yanked him back. A couple of sweat-stinking men in suits worked him against a wall. He fought them, and it helped, wrestling against them helped, and now George was shouting, too, and pointing at the door John couldn’t reach anymore.

“You can’t do that, it will kill us all,” a man shouted at George, blocking his way, and George continued arguing. Arguing. Perhaps he thought it was better that way, with all of them being sucked out of the plane and falling into the sky, instead of crashing in a pulp of metal.

John’s panic burned itself out like the engine and left him rattling in a cold state of numbness, but not for long. As he staggered back to his seat (as if it mattered where sat), he saw him. Paul.

Oh God, Paul.

John had forgotten Paul was on the plane—no: refused to think about him. Here. With them, about to die.

Shaking, John felt his way to Paul, and sat down in the seat next to him. The plane was still a pandemonium, except the demons were now trying to stay calm, to move less, so as not to tax the engine. It stank of sweat and of drinks soaking the carpet, and of vomit—not Paul’s—Paul was beyond airsickness. Motionless. His lower lip bleeding.

The thought of both of them dying like this, mixed up with strangers—falling for a long time before the crash, knowing it was over…

It couldn’t happen. Not like this.

John wished they weren’t together, and yet he was glad they were—and now Paul was moving his hand, just a little, on the armrest between them. His hand looked like a ball of pale flesh and bones, all rolled up and twisted. John placed his hand on top of it.

Paul turned away, looked out of the window, at the smoke and the city of Portland down below, tilted as the plane descended.

“Paul,” John said. “Look at me, love.”

There was something greater than fear in Paul’s hazel eyes: an acceptance that made John shiver. But neither of them looked away.

They didn’t say anything, and they didn’t stop looking. Not when the plane circled over the city and found the stomach-turning trajectory that brought them in line with the landing strip, not when they touched down, and bumped up, and stayed down. Not when the cheers erupted and the plane was dragged through a sea of white lather, not when it finally came to a halt.

As soon as they got permission, every human being on the plane couldn’t wait to stand up and squeeze towards the exits, but John and Paul remained seated.

Alive, their eyes said. Together.

And it was here, inside a smoking, damaged, foam-dripping metal cylinder that had delivered them to Portland for two shows before another plane would swallow them and take them elsewhere, that Paul leaned in to kiss John on the lips. On the side of his mouth, lightly enough to come up with an excuse if someone saw, but a kiss nonetheless. His lips were dry and warm and tasted of blood.

“All right?” John asked, and Paul nodded.

John let go of his hand and stood up. “Out the way, everyone! Beatles, women, and children first!”

They laughed. It was over. No death yet.

#just me writing #mclennon #mclennon fanfiction #beatles fanfiction

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barbex · 1 year

Note

happy friday! perhaps "The smell of ozone during a storm" for fenders? :)

Happy Friday! Thank you for this prompt for @dadrunkwriting, predictable as I am, I made it another fenders ficlet.

And this ficlet gave me the opportunity to use, for the first time, the ultimate fanfic line: "letting out a breath he didn't realise he was holding". I feel like I leveled up.

---

"I'm not sure this is a good place to camp for the night," Hawke grumbles.

Fenris can find no fault in the location. It's high enough that they will see anyone approaching, and the cliff at their backs protects them from attacks from the other side. For camp locations they had, this is one of the better ones.

Hawke takes several breaths, sniffing the air, and wrinkles her nose. "Smell that? I think we're getting a storm."

Fenris takes a breath and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It smells metallic, like magic.

Anders groans as he leans forward, rubbing his knee. "I think you're right, my knee is fucking aching today. That's usually a sign of a storm incoming."

"We're too exposed out here." Hawke grabs her packs and gestures to Varric to come. "Maybe there's a cave or an overhang."

Anders follows her, and Fenris walks behind him, following in his footsteps. It's an unspoken agreement between them that Anders will make sure that Fenris won't hurt his feet while he walks barefoot. Not that his feet are as sensitive as everyone seems to think, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

The air crackles with energy. Whipping around, Fenris searches for the source of this magic. He can even smell the magic in the air.

"It's not magic," Anders says quietly, so that only Fenris can hear it. How he knows the reason for Fenris' nervousness is beyond him.

Anders holds out his arm. "See?" The hairs on my arm stand up. "It's the thunderstorm."

"What is that smell?"

"You smell the storm?" Anders frowns. "Not everyone can smell that. It's called ozone. Must be something with the electricity in the air."

Fenris looks at the clouds piling up above them. "To me, it smells like magic."

"Really? Magic smells like thunderstorms?"

"Yours does."

Anders stops, causing Fenris to bump into him. "My magic smells of thunderstorms?"

"In a specific way, yes."

After a while, a smile lights up Anders' face. "I'm a thunderstorm, I like that." He walks on, the smile still dancing on his face. It does something strange in Fenris' stomach.

Hawke actually finds a cave in the cliff face, not far from their original camping place. By the time they duck into the cave through a low opening, the wind has picked up and the first drops of rain fall. It turns into a massive downpour that the wind blows into the cave, forcing them deeper into it.

"You see anything?" Hawke asks him.

He forgets sometimes that elves have better night vision than humans and even dwarves. He glances around. Faint blue lines in the rocks tell of trace lyrium, and marks on the walls and remains of fire pits show that this cave has been used for protection before. "It looks safe. There is an old fire pit over there, it still has some unburned wood in it."

"Let's make some fire then." Hawke kneels down, whispering with Varric as she strikes a flint against kindling in the fire pit. Their shoulders bump and Varric says something that has Hawke giggle. He envies them sometimes, how easily they sit with each other, joking, touching, telling each other everything. He glances over to Anders, who still stands close to the mouth of the cave, staring into the storm. Rain hits his boots and the hemline of his coat has turned dark from the water.

He walks towards Anders, stopping next to him without touching him. "Hawke started a fire."

"I'm not cold." Anders keeps looking out into the storm, strains of his hair fluttering in the wind.

"It won't be as dark anymore." Fenris puts his hand on Anders' arm. The scent of ozone fills his nose as Anders' magic flares up. He quickly pulls his hand away. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." Anders shakes his head. "I shouldn't be so jumpy anymore. I mean, you're obviously not out to get me, you even..." His eyes glimmer wet as he looks at Fenris. "You even care that it isn't too dark for me. I don't understand why, to be honest, that's not something you —"

"I care." He blurts it out, not knowing where that confession will take him.

"Why?"

"Must I explain everything about me?"

A dry laugh breaks out of Anders. "Everything? You never explain anything. You are a mystery, with more contradictions than I can count. In my mind, you stopped calling me an abomination like a day ago and maybe stopped hating me a week ago. And today you tell me that my magic smells of thunderstorms, and I'm not even sure if you mean that in a good way."

"I do."

"Do what?"

"Mean that in a good way." The ground seems to tilt under his feet and he barrels on with all he knows. "I like the smell of thunderstorms. I like the smell of you. I stopped calling you an abomination a year ago and I never hated you." He points at Varric and Hawke sitting next to the fire, staring at them with wide eyes. "I want that, with you."

Anders looks at Varric, at Hawke, and then slowly back at Fenris. "I'm so confused."

Fenris clenches his fists in frustration, his gauntlets creaking. "I want it to be easy. With you."

Something softens in Anders' face. "I'm afraid we're not good with easy. We're both hurt people, and stubborn."

Frustration and anger threaten to overwhelm him. His markings flare up in bright light. "But can we not try?" The howling wind outside is all Fenris can hear as he watches Anders' face go through a book-worth of emotions.

"Do you really want that?" Anders finally asks.

"Whatever 'that' is, yes. My knowledge is limited, but I want to try."

Anders looks at him for a long time. "Yes," he says at last. "We can try."

Fenris lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. They stare at each other; the wind blowing Anders' hair in his face. "Anders." Fenris rubs his neck, feeling the tips of his ears go red. "I don't know what the next step is."

Relief spreads over Anders' face. He steps closer, cradling Fenris' face in his hand. "I can help with that. The next step is that you kiss me."

Fenris wipes the hair away from Anders' face, angles his head, and kisses him.

"Whoohoo!" Hawke yells. "I knew it!" She turns to Varric. "You owe me two Sovereigns."

"I do, yes." Varric shakes his head as he winks at Fenris. "Never would have thought it possible."

Anders snickers, breaking the kiss, and presses his forehead against Fenris'. "Neither did I."

Taking Anders' hand, Fenris leads him over to the fire, settling down on their mats. He keeps Anders close to himself, their arms and legs touching.

Anders' thumb strokes over the back of Fenris' hand. "Do I really smell like a thunderstorm?"

"Yes, you do."

Blushing adorably, Anders presses against him. "I like it."

Fenris squeezes his hand. "Me too."

#dadrunkwriting #fenders #Fenris #Anders #fenders fic #Fenris x Anders #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #my writing

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omgkalyppso · 8 months

Text

WIP Whenever

Finished Astarion's personal quest last night and have started a WIP to do it my way. Spoilers below the cut. And 2k words. I just couldn't wait to share this with whoever.

warnings for gore and maybe unreality and regular vampire behaviour

I want Astarion to become a vampire. I want the Szarr Siblings to devour Cazador. I thought that Mephistopheles should have shown up OR Raphael and that this would have been a good moment to get the player to doubt Raphael as a liar and actually have been the source of Cazador's information. But instead of having either of them show up, because I haven't beat the game and might still like Raphael at the end, I am instead throwing Kanchelsis (god of vampires, located in the Abyss) into the mix. I want to write Astarion stabbing (and biting) Cazador in preface to this, I need to correct the writing I'm about to share, and probably add a bunch of like Perspectives, maybe. And I want Étoile and Astarion to talk about / argue about vampirism.

“Is… Is it over?”

Dalyria's gentle voice washed over Astarion, shaming him in his grief. Quickly and quietly he yearned for her death so that he could be alone with his pain, even despite knowing she shared it. He hissed through his teeth, catching his breath as he resisted shoving his fingers into the holes the dagger had wrought through Cazador's chest.

Was it over? Would he ever be sure?

“No.”

Astarion grimaced as he watched his siblings approach. His head flickered away from them and back, unable to stand the sight, unable to deny them absolution. Gravely, he declared as he stood, “Drink from him. If you like, if you can.”

Pale Petras was racing forward as if unleashed by the offer. Leon and Violet shared a pained glance. Yet all descended upon Cazador like ravenous wolves— like a hoard of vampires, as Astarion continued to speak half under his breath, half delirious in shock.

“Just a mouthful. Just a drop. Before— Before he rots and curdles like his affection. Before he grows to ash like his fucking mendacious promises. Drink, as he would drink from you.”

While his companions looked on in horror and curiosity, Astarion watched unseeing, disassociating from the impossible sight of Cazador laid low.

Angry, desperate clawing hands tore flesh and clothing as the vampire spawn fought to devour their late Master. Their fingers twisted in his broken body, in his eyes and in his innards, cruelly grasping for a fraction of the euphoric vengeance that their brother Astarion, had managed to claim only moments ago.

Étoile wished to reach out, to touch Astarion and to reassure him, but didn’t want to demean him in front of his rivals and siblings. They were still unclear about the culture of strength among vampires, and what were displays weakness, and when those displays were acceptable. The thought that they must have all consumed worse than a vampire-lord-a-few-moments-dead flipped around in Étoile’s stomach, numbing them to the grotesquery on display.

It was subtle at first, but steadily neither the vampire spawn nor the adventurers could ignore that the overpowering smell of blood and death, was being overtaken by the scent of sulfur. It was sharp and jarring and repugnant, and soon all eyes were being cast around in fear as the vampire spawn released the gore that had been Cazador.

Fires leaped around the edge of the ritual platform, and as the vampire spawn retreated further from the flames, Cazador’s corpse burst into radiant orange as well.

“Mephistopheles?” Étoile wondered aloud.

“Shit,” Astarion cursed in answer. Instantly he felt returned to himself, made sensate by the threat of infernal retribution. He looked to Aurelia and explained, “It is from the Archdevil that Cazador learned of the ritual. Perhaps it was to him that the sacrifices were intended to—”

As quickly as they’d roared to life, the fires quieted to nothing, sputtering into air and ether. The atmosphere rang with emptiness, beyond the squelched flames; not Silenced magically, but muffled as if by the will of the profane.

All who were present felt their ears pop and their perception twist, as a ghoulish miasma instantly filled the space and cast everything in a pale silver glow.

If a portal phased in and out of the plane before them, it was for the heartbeat of a second, in a flash of darkness and horror. It felt to Lae’zel like looking into the darkness between the stars. It felt to Wyll like looking beneath a bed, and somehow knowing you were looking into the endless maw of a monstrosity. To Étoile, it felt like looking up from within a well, with no hope of rescue. Astarion however, saw in the emptiness what he had always felt in Cazador’s gaze. The familiarity of the sensation did not ease its discomfort.

Whether the sign of the figure’s arrival was real or imagined or beyond their ken, now a man stood before them. The miasma had not faded with the flash of darkness, and it blurred and distorted the man’s edges. It spread his smile a little too wide, perverted his stature so that his height was impossible to discern, and warped the reds of his eyes so they drew one in like the flame to a moth. He was beautiful, with curled ears and long silver hair bound and impeccably imperfect, with strands loosened and caught in his braid. Some strands framed his elegant and unsettling visage, like flowers upon a grave, or the crimson stripes on the deadliest spiders.

Étoile felt their soul quiver in peril. They knew him for what he was, and so had lost their tongue to speak it.

The stranger turned his gaze on Astarion and Astarion’s desire to consume filled him like no emptiness he’d ever felt before. He could weep and bowl over and bite and beg. It disgusted him, triply so when the stranger smiled, and the sweetest release of vampiric hunger rushed his senses though no blood passed his lips.

Astarion barely had time to process that the stranger was lauding him.

“Astute, my young vampire.” His eyes drifted across into the darkness upon nothing or presences unseen, and Astarion held his throat warily as the stranger spoke on, “The souls of seven thousand and seven vampire spawn, promised to the Archdevil Mephistopheles to fuel the birth of a Vampire Ascendant.”

The stranger’s gaze drifted over each of the vampire spawn before him, and the others cringed as Pale Petras whimpered, “Please.”

Unperturbed, the stranger said with finality, “Souls which are rightly mine. For exultation. For condemnation. For apotheosis.” He raised a hand and all attention shifted from his gaze, bringing a smile to the stranger’s lips. “You need not worship me, and I will be your God regardless.” His slender fingers had the vampire spawn transfixed, but this sentence broke the attention of the others, watching nervously as this being of riveting power teased his audience with the promise of touch. “Your souls do not belong to the Hells.”

With a grimace, the stranger folded his arms together and declared, “Though they did belong to Cazador, for a time. No longer. A relief I’m sure, and a boon to me now that you are not bound for another plane. This is where you belong. Your longing, your power, your hunger. All fuel me, your Lord Kanchelsis.”

As he sucked in a nervous breath, Astarion recalled all he knew of the god of vampires — or rather, as he quickly recalled, the demi-god who claimed dominion over vampires. Kanchelsis was once a vampire risen to the level of a god, and with that in mind Astarion wondered how close a Vampire Ascendant would be to Kanchelsis’ power, which radiated off of him, and whether this influenced The Rake’s gratitude in their halting of the ritual.

Could he have been a God, if the moment hadn’t passed? Could he still?

“I know you only as Cazador’s spawn, Patricide.”

Kanchelsis did not phrase it as a question, and nor was it a command which compelled Astarion to speak, but the demi-god’s meaning was not lost to him, and there was no fight left in him after Cazador’s defeat. No more fight than a fleeting reactionary expression of disgust towards being equated to Cazador’s son and creation.

“I am Astarion,” he said, tight lipped and unyielding. With a grimace, Astarion realized that no amount of instinctual reverence could force him to address Kanchelsis with respect — not ‘my lord,’ nor by title. He would not trade one master for another.

“Astarion,” Kanchelsis repeated, slowly, as if committing it to some great memory. More than that a body such as this could hold. Then Kanchelsis tilted his head and smiled again, and Astarion felt some of his siblings dare once more to breathe.

“You’ve done well with them,” Kanchelsis declared, and despite the cryptic nature of the statement, Astarion’s posture tightened for fear of Étoile, the fool Oathbreaker Paladin who stood not ten feet away, but if Kanchelsis’ gaze found Étoile it was transitory, as the lord of vampires continued to admire the grizzly tableau that had been Cazador’s ritual.

“When I go,” Kanchelsis said to Astarion, “I will take knowledge of the ritual with me. For your part in putting it back into obscurity, I will offer you a boon. Not for you to demand, of course, but for you to deny if it does not suit you. The ability to sustain yourself on the denizens of the Nine Hells. To command them with no more difficulty than the average person. You have already made an enemy of Mephistopheles, and it is only by my power that he has not come now. One day, whether the next, or in ten thousand, he will find you for this. The power I offer will not save you, but… It may have its uses, by then.”

“A boon?” Astarion confirmed. “Not a trade or a … an accord?”

“If it was ever such an exchange, as I say, you have completed your side of the pact,” Kanchelsis agreed, amused.

Astarion’s gaze drifted to the earth for a moment, considering. He asked, “And I would still be able to drink mortal blood? There isn’t exactly an infernal invasion on which to gorge myself.”

“Yes,” Kanchelsis said, dark and eager. “You are a vampire now Astarion, or will be, after a rest. No longer a spawn after drinking of your former Master.” His unholy eyes shone with promise and Astarion swallowed his discomfort. “You may drink, and turn, and ruin as many men, women and children as the Material Plane can house. It is only through this that we are joined. Only by this that I might empower you.”

“Then yes,” Astarion conceded, leaning forward in his unexpected enthusiasm, nearly falling forward in his exhaustion. “This sounds … most agreeable.”

Besides Mephistopheles, Astarion wondered about Karlach’s warning of Raphael, and more, any time spent with his companions was almost guaranteed to drag them closer to Zariel and the rest of the Hells. Kanchelsis was at least correct in his assertion that the Infernal Realms were no place for a vampire. A vampire. He was…

After so long, he was soon to have the powers that Cazador flaunted by his very being. He could … accomplish so much. Rival the Absolute, not in concept but in power, raising the dead and the inept in masses to fight this cult for the city of Baldur’s Gate, for control. Only, there was no time to amass power of that nature, and no means to control what could otherwise have been seven-thousand soldiers at his command from Cazador’s dungeons.

Astarion was pulled from his thoughts as Kanchelsis stretched the nail at the end of his index finger across the length of its twin on his opposite hand. Astarion scoffed, realizing that even with their gods, that everything to do with vampires was in the blood.

He hazarded a look to his companions and found them too contemplative, and with nothing of their horror from earlier. It was vindicating that even the ultimate of his kind, the vampire lord Kanchelsis, was less abhorrent than Cazador had been.

Kanchelsis rolled the side of his finger over the side of Astarion’s already bloodied lips, blooming a new, inescapable sensation over his person as he licked his lips, accepting the droplet and the boon. It was exactly what it was. Drinking the blood of some unholy god. Not that Astarion was fool enough to believe he could survive the drinking of the blood of a holy god. Lathander at least would render him to ash.

“Exquisite,” Kanchelsis declared, and Astarion couldn’t tell whether he was being complimented or if there had been some other aspect of their exchange that Kanchelsis was commenting upon.

With a wave of his hand Kanchelsis called upon Cazador’s dungeon, expunging its secrets and siphoning its magic. Runes, increasingly hard to decipher, floated and danced around Kanchelsis’ bloodied fingers, but his expression remained impassive as he left his audience with a parting credo, “In Darkness. In Blood. In Glory.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #astarion #oc tag: étoile #please don't give me spoilers. i don't mind if i'm wrong right now. i can rewrite or ignore anything i need #i haven't written this much in a single project in a long while

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