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sprout-fics · 3 months

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Oh Muse, Tell me of the Things Done by Golden Aphrodite

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader)

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 5.6k Warnings: None Tags: Greek Mythology AU, Greek God inspired, Human sacrifice reader, God of death and wrath Ghost, Size difference, Size kink, Praise Kink, (Marriage kink if you squint?), PiV sex, Aftercare, Eros and Psyche inspired, Cliffhanger A/N: Part two dependent on reception

They call your fate a tragedy.

It’s a necessary one, the temple priest says, as you weep at the steps leading up to the grand mausoleum- inlaid with gold and obsidian. You wrap your arms around yourself as they tell you of your duty, inform you of your sacrifice. The statue of the god of wrath and death looms tall and menacing behind him, his bone white mask a single flash of pale amidst the dark, swirling robes that cover his limbs. You shiver as you look upon it, flesh cold as you imagine your final moments pleading at his feet.

A sacrifice, they say.

One to appease the god as death ravages your city, an holy offering innocent, beautiful and pure to quell his anger and rage. Eyes rest upon your trembling shoulders in a mixture of hope and pity, and you know even if you cry out none shall aid you. Your destiny is to die at the hands of a god so that they may live, and if it means your life is called for, they shall offer it for you.

You do not scream or struggle as they take you into the temple, you do not speak as they wash you and smooth aromatic oils into your shivering skin. You do not even look at them when they clothe you in a dark chiton and allow a veil to flutter over your despairing, tear-rimmed eyes.

When they close the altar doors behind you, you dare not throw yourself against them in one last bid for freedom.

The altar is dark, black marble columns stretching high above you and vanishing into a ceiling that the candlelight doesn’t reach. Lanterns litter the steps leading up to the sacrificial altar, with opulent offerings of jewels, weapons, and polished bones stacked high. Shadows dance between them, casting long and sinister against the temple walls. Your bare feet skim the cold stone floor as you ascend, tracing your hand against the frigid, dark mirror surface of the altar. You were not told what to do, only to wait.

So you wait, and you wait longer, sitting upon the edge of the altar, trembling and holding in your cries until they break apart inside your throat. The chamber is silent as the grave, with not a breeze or whisper of warm air to comfort your frigid flesh. Eventually only the sound of your hiccuping sobs fills the emptiness, as you weep for your fate, for the tragedy that has befallen you, for how they shall remember your name in poems, until at last you fall asleep splayed upon the dark altar and awaiting your demise.

As you dream fitfully of the ever after, the candles waver and snuff out with a cold gust of wind. Dark eyes regard your pliant form prone atop the piles of offerings.

and quietly, arms reach forward and cradle you to him as you are taken away.

---

When you awake, it is in somewhere new.

You come to far more gently than you anticipated, soft dreams still clinging velvet to your slumber. It takes a moment for you to realize that you’re no longer curled tightly atop the hard surface of the altar, but rest instead upon silk sheets and soft, plush bedding. The veil still drapes across your face, and as you delicately lift it, your surroundings are revealed to you.

It’s a large chamber, far larger than the temple, but sparsely furnished. You lay upon a bed fit for a man larger than any you’ve ever laid eyes upon, adorned with dark sheets and embroidered with gold thread. Torches flicker with a strange black light against the walls- silver dancing along the outer edge of flames. The blazing hearth does the same amidst a mantle of dark stone, stretching upwards into a ceiling you’ll never reach. A mirror and a basin stands in the corner, and beside them curtains blow in from the balcony, where dawn glows yellow against the horizon.

You’re alone.

You’re careful as you creep from bed towards the balcony, the wind ruffling your gown as you stand at the precipice. Below, a stark mountain valley yawns dark and fathomless without end.

The door groans as it opens.

You flinch away from the sound, spinning and feeling terror pool low and vile in your stomach at the sight that awaits you.

It’s him.

Taller than any man, a being of pure power, the god Ghost stands at the doorway clad in billowing dark fabric, his dark eyes boring into your shivering form from behind the stark white of his skull mask. The sheer size of him is enough to send goosebumps racing down your spine, his immortal stature ensuring you scarcely come up to his chest. The strength of his limbs is curled in tight muscle discernible even with his cloak, and when you meet his eyes you think of the space between stars- a void into which no light escapes.

He takes only three strides to cross the chamber.

You cower backwards until your spine hits the railing of the balcony, and as you glance over your shoulder the valley wind roars from the depths. You wonder if it is a more fitting end to hurl yourself from here than face whatever slow death the God of Wrath has ordained for you.

He stops just at the threshold, regarding you as you look up at him with tearful, terrified eyes. At this nearness you can sense the pure energy that rolls off of him in waves, a strangeness that speaks of something far from human, an unfathomable power that your mortal soul will never fully understand.

“Don’t.” Is the first word he ever says to you, looking past you to the valley. He reaches out his hand, not an inch of his flesh visible beneath his gauntlet of white bone. “Come.”

You stay where you are, heartbeat fluttering as you eye his outstretched palm.

“If I was going to kill you, I would have done it when you were asleep.” He intones, voice deep like distant, rolling thunder. There’s a strangeness to it you cannot place, the tone of it ringing between your ears in a distant echo, otherworldly.

“Don’t hurt me, please.” Are the first words you return to him, desperate as a thing wheezes from your lungs.

Ghost stares at you unblinkingly, and despite the black ichor that paints his gaze, his eyes look almost kind.

“Come away from the balcony.” He tells you, his voice softer.

You cast another glance down at the dark valley, swallowing hard, before at last reaching your hand forward and settling it in his cold palm. He draws you inside, out of the wind, and you find yourself hovering near the hearth with its strange, dancing flames.

“Your name.” He tells you, watching as you hesitantly warm yourself, carefully looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

When you tell him, he repeats it. Slow, purposeful, as if tasting a foreign fruit for the first time. It shivers through you, as if he somehow has wound magic through the sound alone.

“You will stay here.” He tells you under no uncertain terms. “In my palace. No harm shall come to you here.”

You blink at that, face falling open with confusion as you turn to him fully.

“Why...?”

Ghost regards you coolly, but when you focus on his eyes you can swear they crinkle with a wry smile.

“I have no reason to hurt my bride.” He explains simply.

“Your...” You echo, blinking. “I...”

“You were given to me.” He tells you, advancing upon you until he’s mere inches away, one arm braced on the hearth so he bends over your smaller, mortal form. “As a sacrifice. I saved you. Your life is mine by rights.”

Fear pulses bright through you, limbs awash with dread as the blood drains from your face. You had expected death, but the daunting reality of this, of being given to a god as a bride...

Ghost must see the terror in your eyes, for he removes himself from you, striding towards the heavy, ancient door.

“I will not touch you unless you ask.” He states, voice lower. “You are free to roam this palace as you like. There is food in the banquet hall.”

He pauses, observing you as you hesitate near the hearth.

“I will return at dusk.”

and with that, your new husband vanishes.

----

True to his word, no one stops you from roaming the palace.

It’s a massive structure, with towering black columns and high ceilings. Obsidian, marble, and gold accentuates every corner, and you find treasures and trophies displayed at every turn. You are entirely alone as you wander, bare feet skimming against the cold tile as you take in your new home. Each room reveals a new wonder. A bath with glimmering water that billows steam from golden fountains, a garden with dark roses that creep along stone walls, a library with scrolls in tongues you don’t understand, and a banquet hall filled with food that doesn’t seem to rot.

You eat until your stomach is full, and with every bite the food tastes more delicious than the bite before. You scrub yourself in the bath, and when you exit you find fresh garments awaiting you, embroidered with glimmering thread. The finery is beyond anything you dared imagine, and quietly you feel your reservations departing you as the thought of possibly escaping ebbs slowly from your mind.

Dusk finds you back at his chambers, watching the shadows grow long against the walls as slumber slowly descends upon you.

You’re on the brink of sleep when the bed dips, and a bare hand curls gently against your cheek. In your half-dreams, you nuzzle into the touch with a languid sigh, feeling the air fan across his palm. Ghost is silent as he lays beside you, observing your restful face with half-lidded eyes. His mask lays on the table beside him, disposed along with his cloak and armor.

You see nothing when you’re roused by the sensation of him tucking you against him, the world engulfed in darkness. Hypnos whispers across your senses as your eyelids flutter, trying to discern the shape of him as he presses in close behind you. Ghost tucks his legs under yours, his massive frame curling around you and his nose burrowing into the junction of your throat and jaw, where he draws in a heavy breath.

“Sleep, mortal.” He whispers there, one massive arm wrapping across your front.

True to his order, and engulfed in the warm sensation of his body pressed against yours, you find the gossamer veil of sleep draw over you once more.

He’s gone again come morning.

You awake alone, and find yourself missing the presence of him.

The banquet hall is refreshed with food of all kinds- delicacies from far lands you’ve never traveled to. You spend an exorbitant amount of time in the baths, dozing gently as steam billows around you. In the library you find a collection of war poems that you devour with eager eyes until the sun begins to slope towards the horizon, and oddly you do not find yourself entirely bored despite being alone in the massive pantheon to which he has left you.

Yet as darkness descends, you find yourself awake in his bed, waiting for him.

When he at last appears, as the moment where all light has drawn away from the horizon, the dark candles snuff out in a cold billow of wind. Plunged into darkness, the only sensation available to you is a hand caressing your cheek.

“Little bride.” He rumbles as the bed dips before you. “Were you so eager to see me you chose to forego sleep?”

Hesitantly, you raise a hand to press his own against your face, feeling the immense size of it dwarf your own.

“Yes.” You tell him in a scarce whisper, as if you’re revealing a tender secret. Your heartbeat thrums loud in your ears, fluttering inside the cage of your ribs as he draws closer. You try to remember the words you had meant to say- a thank you for saving you? Awe at the splendid riches allowed to you? A quiet plea to leave, one which you don’t truly mean?

You reach forward in the darkness, finding the shape of him broad and strong against your palm. There’s smooth skin of scars that litter his immortal flesh, across the wide breadth of his chest, down to his waist, traced across his arm and shoulders and the massive span of his back. He’s bare to you, and you can’t suppress a shiver at the mere thought that you are laying with a God.

“You’re frightened.” He notes at the shake in your hands, attempting to draw away from you.

“No.” You tell him, a hand gripping tighter to his to prevent his retreat. Words clog your throat, lips parted with breath as you feel his coal-dark eyes bore into you in the inkinesss of his chambers.

“Touch me.” You whisper instead.

When he bends to you, he swallows the sigh that pours past your lips.

Ghost defiles you in the way warriors do- pure strength tempered by careful restraint. You splay under him bare, his hands smoothing over your flesh like admiring a masterful weapon. He memorizes the curves and softness of you, humming notes low and deep into your skin as he drinks in your scent like ambrosia. He spends his time admiring the outline of you in the darkness, fingers dipping between your legs and spreading you over large, calloused fingers until you mewl and grip at the fine silk sheets.

“Sweet little thing.” He rumbles, pleased, as you offer him high, keening moans, head tossed back against the pillows. Wetness dribbles down your thighs, coats his hand just as he licks greedy and hot into your open mouth that chants his name. His towering frame bends over you, hauls you to his waiting hands with hardly any effort. Your hands scrape against his shortly shorn hair as he lays claiming bites across your throat and collarbone and Ghost moans against your skin like the pain and pleasure are twin beings.

“Ghost.” You chant in a hymn as his worshipers do when his clever tongue drinks down your arousal at your entrance, and the answering growl that he responds with sends pleasure fissuring down your spine like the earth split open. His hands hold you still as you buck and writhe with your climax, broken sounds filling the empty chamber so loud you think your shout can be heard at the far reaches of the palace.

He shushes you when at last he sheathes himself inside you, the girth of him splitting you wide enough you whimper into his chest. Yet he holds you to him, noses into your hair and whispers low, soothing words as your legs quiver.

“Good.” He purrs as you go pliant against him with a keening sigh, arms looped around his neck and nails digging into the flesh of his spine. “Perfect little bride. They were right to offer you to me.”

You think the nectar of the gods must taste like the glide of his tongue when he kisses you.

Ghost plays the symphony of your flesh like poets play the harp. His massive frame hunches over yours, the sheets tangled around you and his fingers entwined with your own. Each roll of his hips has you choking on a plea, has him huffing hot breaths and growling filthy praises in your ear.

“Made for me. Just me.” He groans, voice grinding deep in his chest as he ruts into you. Slow, measured, infuriatingly not enough. The drag of him inside you threatens to pull you under into madness as you mewl and squirm, desperately chasing the touch of him. “Made to take me, made to be in my bed, in my palace.”

It’s possessive, almost wild with the force of his claiming you. You go to him willingly, tears watering your eyes as you choke on a sob of pleasure. Yet it’s not enough, as he draws your pleasure higher, higher, burning you alive like the inferno of the heavenly sun but refusing to push you over the precipice. You plead his name, dig your fingers into the dip of his spine, ask for divine mercy that he keeps just beyond your mortal reach.

“Say my name.” He tells you, the sound of your coupling echoing out into the chamber- wet and debauched along with your desperate gasps.

“Ghost.” You sob, clinging helplessly to him, laying kisses upon his bare face in the darkness as an offering to the altar of him. “Ghost.”

In return, Ghost bestows upon you your own name, snarling it wild and feral against your lips as you at last fall apart beneath him. You choke on a cry of his name as something great and tender snaps abruptly inside you, races outwards along your limbs with such sudden ferocity you wonder for a moment if you’re been burned alive. Yet the pleasure itself drowns you like the deep and bottomless ocean- a surrender where you try to claw your way to the surface and instead allow the depths to take you.

Ghost growls as he buries himself fully inside the wet clutch of your heat, emptying inside your heaving form with a long, low groan. You feel the spend on him leak from your joining, collapsing against him as you try to remember how to breathe. Ghost adjusts so you lay sprawled atop his broad chest, rising slow and purposefully beneath you as you tuck your head under his chin. A war-worn hand strokes lazy paths against your skin, and you hear him hum with a deep satisfaction at your consummation. You feel claimed in the best of ways, not as one of his beloved war trophies but as his.

When you finally grow restful against his chest, you prop your chin up and try to find the shape of him in the darkness. He’s absent of his mask, you know, and curiously you try to discern his features in absolute blindness. You wonder if he’s as handsome as you dare to dream.

“Why can I not see you?” You ask in a whisper, and Ghost’s hand stills where it traces along the ridge of your spine. He’s tense, and it startles you when he speaks with his voice pitched low, authoritative in a way he’s never spoken to you before.

“As long as you remain here, you will never see my face.” He tells you, his chest vibrating under your palms. “I will care for you, protect you, and you will be mine, but you never see me. Understood?”

You don’t, really, understand. Confusion wrinkles your brow at the enigmatic declaration, but Ghost eases under you as you nod anyways, and the comfort of his gentle touch resumes, and assuages you of your worries until you fall asleep.

In the morning he lingers in your marital chambers, the pale light of dawn glinting off the armor he has donned before you awoke. He sits at the edge of the bed, a bone white gauntlet stroking with surprising gentleness across your brow. You catch it with your palm, kiss across his ivory knuckles as he huffs a warm breath of affection.

“I will return.” He tells you softly, and steps towards the balcony, only to vanish in a billow of smoke.

You lounge in bed in his absence, feeling the pleasurable soreness of your lovemaking imbue itself in your muscles and limbs. Even after a full rest you find yourself exhausted, and it isn’t long before you curl back into the sheets until the chariot of the sun reaches its zenith. Even then, you wince to yourself as you creep from bed, roused by your empty stomach and the mess between your thighs. You don’t make it farther than the basin at the edge of the room before your legs threaten to fail you, and you resign yourself to a few sips of water and washing what you can before collapsing back into bed.

You’re still there when he returns, and Ghost pauses when he hears your empty stomach, hums with dissatisfaction when you tell him of your troubles. With no effort at all, he lifts you into his arms and walks in the way gods do- only several long strides before you find yourself at the baths. Candles cast shadows against the walls, dancing hypnotically as Ghost deposits you at the edge of the water, pausing to disrobe himself of all but his mask before once more lifting you and walking into the baths with you in his arms.

The moan that bubbles up your throat at the heat that ensconses your weary limbs prompts a laugh from the God above you, who releases you only enough to reach for oils at the tiled edge. Ghost is careful, deliberate as he washes you, and despite your protests he insists, as if the act itself is another means of proving his devotion. Yet he can’t resist grazing a rough thumb over your nipples until you squeak, dipping his fingers between your thighs in slow, lazy circles until your legs tighten around his wrist.

Ghost takes you like that, holding you flush to him as his fingers work deftly inside of you, plucking at something bright and powerful until your voice fills the chamber with gasping, wanton pleas. You grip at him as you gush over his palm with your climax, a whimpering sound caught in your chest as he lauds affections into your slick skin.

When you are at last clean and sated, Ghost wraps you in his own cloak before you find yourself in the banquet hall with grapes being lifted to your lips. You know the tale of the goddess taken to the netherworld and having eaten the fruit there, know it meant forever tying herself to a place of death. Yet as your lips close around his fingers as the morsels are fed to you, you can think of no other realm in which you’d rather be.

and silently, you wish you could see the face of the man who has taken you as his bride.

The days are spent as such. You become accustomed to the palace, teaching yourself its interior so you can navigate it blind. You spend hours in the baths, dozing with your head cradled by your arms on the tiled edge. You devour the poems in the library and write your own thoughts on parchment beside them which you find in boundless supply. In the afternoons before Ghost returns you walk on long strolls through his gardens which seem ever changing, blooming with iridescent blossoms and fragrant lilies bright like starlight. You find a harp which seems to offer no sour note despite your lack of familiarity, and wind beautiful music through the obsidian and onyx halls of his home. You find yourself wanting for nothing- not food or shelter or finery of any nature. In return, you offer your love to the God who has claimed you, and to you he returns the same.

Ghost returns to you at sunset, and most nights find your form tangled with his as he takes you whimpering and breathless against the sheets. He seems to know your body like a swordsman knows his blade, invents new ways to pluck at your desire until the only thing you can offer him is reedy, desperate sounds of his name, reminding him you are his. Afterwards he tends to you, and even then you kiss the other shell of his mask as steam billows around you in the baths as your bare bodies embrace.

You find yourself increasingly nocturnal if only to spend the long hours of darkness in his company, talking and touching in the absence of any illumination. You ask him of the poems in his library, of the trophies that adorn his palace, of the emptiness between these walls and how he bore the loneliness that came before you. You ask him of the offerings given to him by his worshippers, of immortality and all things of a god-like nature.

You never ask him to show his face.

Instead you map it with delicate touches in the darkness, trying to instill in yourself an image of his likeness behind the mask. His jaw is strong, and along it you think you feel the smooth skin of another scar that snakes up towards his ear. His hair is short, and you wonder if it is the same dark color as his ember stare. His lips are soft as they press to your skin, as if he himself is the acolyte to your divinity.

As the weeks turn into seasons, and the high winds of autumn reach the mountaintop, he tells you of how he became a God.

Gods are not born. They are chosen, he says. Those of great valor, of devotion and strength are lifted into the pantheon and blessed with immortality, with divinity beyond that of human comprehension. Outliving those who once knew them as human, their legends are inscribed in the songs and poems, spoken of in many tongues until their following becomes great and loyal.

When you ask him with quiet reverence how he became immortal, Ghost’s form goes rigid with something you think can only be fury.

“I was betrayed.” He tells you, voice filled with murderous intent.

He tells you how he was once a soldier- a warrior that some claimed was already a demi-god. Yet he was mortal when his commander betrayed him, abandoned him on a hill of battle upon which Ghost was buried beneath a pile of rotting corpses, slowly suffocating under the weight of dead men. He had clawed himself free with savage intent, feeling rage become the only emotion known to him. It had taken days for him to free himself of the putrid flesh and decay that surrounded him, and it was only once he stood upon the pile of death that he breathed in his first gasp of immortality. The wrath became him, and he became wrath, or so the legends are said.

When you ask him how long ago this was, Ghost does not answer you.

You try not to think of what will happen when he witnesses your final, mortal breath.

and you try not to wish to see his face before you die.

“Are you hideous?” You ask him teasingly, drawing circles on his bare chest as his fingers idly soak themselves in the spend between your legs.

“Far from it.” He replies dryly, and you place a giggling smile upon his grinning lips.

You try not to dwell on it. There is so much you have to be grateful for, after all. A warm bed, a blazing hearth, clothes, a home, food, endless entertainment, and most importantly a husband who swears his devotion to you every sunset.

Yet in the daylight you find yourself missing him, and in the hollow place of his absence you try not to let temptation take root in the emptiness.

It’s on a cold morning when you find a snake in the garden.

You’re bent over a swath of coal-dark dahlias when you hear it slither behind you. When you turn, you’re greeted with mahogany dark eyes and shimmering green scales. Yet even as you flinch away the serpent doesn’t deign to chase you, regarding you curiously as it speaks in sibilant, seductive words.

“I see the God of Wrath has found himself a muse.” A feminine voice purrs, amused. “Which mortal realm did he steal you away from?”

“I wasn’t stolen.” You retort, shying away as the snake curls closer around your bare feet. “I was an offering.”

Sinister, the snake laughs at you. “And has he refused to let you leave? Are you too afraid to try? He may kill you, hermosa.”

“He wouldn’t.” You manage, tucking yourself up on a pedestal where your dress drapes over the edge. “He loves me.”

“Oh?” The snake asks, curling around the base of the stone, where the light reflects upon its shimmering body. “Are you sure, little muse?”

“Of course.” You reply quickly, even though a shadow casts longer upon your heart with every word spoken by the serpent.

The snake hums thoughtfully, winding itself around the stone slowly, until at last it raises its smooth head to the level of your gaze.

“Then why hasn’t he shown you his face?”

You falter at that, hugging your knees defensively and brow furrowing with dismay. The serpent plucks at the secret doubt inside you that you quietly tuck away at every sunset, that you feel thrum under your fingers as you trace the planes of his face in darkness. You try to conceal it, hardly ever speak of it, but you can’t help but wonder why Ghost refuses to show himself to you.

“Maybe he’s a monster.” The snake goes on. “Grotesque and rotten. The only way he can have your love is if you never see him.”

That can’t be true. Your husband is beautiful and strong, and you know even if he was hideous you would still love him for his fierce protectiveness and tender care. Even if his visage was obscured by scars of battle past, you would still love him.

“He doesn’t trust you, little muse.” The snake hisses quietly, and it sounds strangely pitying, a sadness which you feel plays upon the harp strings of your ribs. “Can you truly be wed to a man who does not believe in you?”

“Ghost loves me.” You repeat in a whisper, mostly to yourself.

“If that were true, he would love you even if you saw his face.” The snake offers, tongue flickering in your ear.

Something dark and viscous simmers in your stomach like tar, and you further hunch in on yourself, uncertain.

“Away with you.” You say at last, refusing to look at the serpent, who laughs wickedly as she winds herself into the bed of dahlias, and vanishes.

That night, when Ghost lays with you, the whisper of his affections feels sour against your skin.

You lay awake even as he sleeps behind you, his massive form curled around you and bracketing you in his warmth. The darkness looms long inside your thoughts, where the words of the serpent echo into the void where light fails to illuminate the face of your husband.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Yet you know of Ghost’s warning, his oath that you will no longer be his if you see his face. To risk the love he has given you for such a temptation seems sacreligious, a sin for which there is no return.

He doesn’t trust you, the snake whispers.

In the morning, you feign sleep while you hear him depart to realms unknown.

He’ll return after dark. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

You do not find the snake in the garden.

He doesn’t trust you.

“You’re mine.” He huffs, dark and deep against your lips in your bed that night, and you shield your cry of desperation behind a moan. You give everything to him, your entire being, lay it bare before him as the offering you are, knowing he will keep you safe and love you with fierce devotion the way warriors love their oaths.

He loves you.

He leaves at dawn.

but he doesn’t trust you.

The wick burns against your fingertips as you light it.

You approach the bed with silent steps, your bare feet skimming across the stone as they did in the temple at the altar as you’d sacrificed yourself to him.

He loves you.

He’d taken you, spared you, made you his bride. He gave you his palace and all the treasures within, and with it came his love.

You see the broad, scarred plane of his back as you draw closer.

He hides behind a mask, refuses to let you see the one thing that nobody else has ever seen. Not even you, his offering, his bride, his muse, his beloved.

The candlelight illuminates his face.

and you feel your breath catch tightly in your chest.

He’s breathtaking.

The word ‘divine’ does not compare to his likeness, with his eyes closed and his lips parted in sleep. His alabaster skin shielded from the sun is written with scars, but the stories told by them seem like the songs of great poets, wild and magnificent in the way of feral things. Long, blonde lashes swoop gently over his cheeks, still rosy with the exertion of your lovemaking, face slack and open in his slumber.

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

Even when his dark eyes open, look upon you with despair, he’s still beautiful.

“No.” Ghost speaks in a tone you’ve never heard, full of grief, and it stabs through you like a blade. “How could you?”

“Ghost-” You try, reaching for him as he raises himself from bed, drawing to his full height and towering above you. Yet your fingers are just short as he draws away, towards the balcony.

“Leave.” He tells you, his voice hardening with fury as a cold wind begins to billow around his form, cast in starlight.

“No-” You try, panic bubbling up your throat as you try to move forward to him, pleas for forgiveness upon your lips. “Ghost-!”

“LEAVE.” Ghost bellows as smoke churns wildly about his immortal form, the cold wind slicing against your skin and preventing you from drawing near.

“I love you!” You cry in desperation as tears form, and the mantle of his cloak descends upon his shoulders, bone white replacing his face.

Ghost doesn’t respond, not as he becomes wrath, not as his eyes look upon you with betrayal and despair. You try to move forward, to touch him once more, but when you reach out your hand, skim your fingers against the outline of him-

He’s gone.

As the cold wind retreats, and with it your husband, you collapse to the floor and wail with your despair.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x you #my fic #my writing #call of duty x reader #cod x reader

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aemondsquill · 1 year

Text

Forgive Me, My Lady, For I Have Sinned

Aemond Targaryen × Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Aemond is mean to his wife. Groveling ensues.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, terrible smut, oral (f receiving), Aemond is a rascal, slight mean!aemond, unedited we die like men A/N: heyyyy pookies thank you for being so patient! This is mostly just me practicing how to write smut since im not super familiar with it so just lmk what yall think

It was rare for Aemond to be absent from your shared chambers. Ever since your betrothal, the two of you would sneak through the winding halls of the Red Keep in search of each other’s warmth. It was scandalous, of course, but the Prince simply could not quell his growing passion for you, his lovely little woman. At first, he dreaded the thought of marriage—seeing how his mother was often discarded in favor of a dead woman by his ever-decaying father. It wasn’t until his lone violet eye landed upon your sweet face at the feast celebrating the announcement of your impending nuptials did Aemond feel a surge of protectiveness over you. He couldn’t help the flush of shyness that reddened his cheeks when you shared a sweet smile with him.

The several moons into your marriage had been utterly blissful. Aemond was attentive, often finding himself bending to your every command. In private, he was affectionate; always finding some way to hold or touch your warm skin or sharing tender kisses that left you both breathless and yearning for more. He often threatened lords who would boldly stare at your figure from afar, but he shielded his cruelty from you, not wanting to frighten his little wife. Nearly every night Aemond found himself nestled between your supple thighs, showing you just how much he worshipped you—licking and nuzzling your clit with his aquiline nose, hardened from the sweet moans and whimpers that fell from your lips. The thought of you being only his to please and breed made him feel nearly rabid from arousal—like a dragon with the scent of blood.

Married life seemed to agree with Aemond.

With war looming on the horizon, Aemond felt the increasing pressure beginning to chip away at his sanity. Long, torturous hours were spent locked away in the Small Council chambers and away from your cunt. This particular evening, Aemond was battling a searing ache behind his scarred socket, allowing him to only hear bits and pieces of various war tactics they could deploy against the Blacks. If he had to hear Tyland Lannister bitch about the dwindling funds that come with the cost of war he was going to smash his head in until his pretty golden locks are stained red.

With delicate fingers, Aemond applies pressure to his brow, desperate for any amount of relief.

His savior came in the unlikely form of his brother, the rightful King Aegon II.

“This meeting is adjourned, for fuck’s sake my cups have run dry and I’m in need of a whore.” Aemond rolled his eye at his brother’s vulgarity, but was thankful none-the-less. The only thing he wanted was to crawl into his feather bed and feel his little wife’s warmth, but alas, only he could be so unlucky. The ending of this meeting only means that he has to return to his study and attend to more sensitive matters of the Crown, but he was one step closer to being with his wife.

The fire flickering in the hearth cast long shadows in his study, where he sat behind a large desk made of darkened wood. Countless letters adorned with ornate wax seals littered and ink stained his pale fingers as he continued a correspondence with whatever small house that needed placating, the throbbing in his temples only increasing tenfold.

Sleep seemed to evade you with the absence of your husband, the empty bed next to you growing cold from his desertion. The chill from the flagstones caused you to jolt as you stood up from your bed. You plucked your dark blue silken robe from the plush settee and pulled it onto your frame, tying it at the waist. Determined to catch at least a glimpse of your husband, you opened the heavy oaken door of your chamber and began your search.

The Small Council chamber and library were both empty. Your heart sank a little in disappointment when the thought of giving up crossed your mind.

That was until you spied a glowing light coming from beneath the door to his study. Giddiness tickled the inside of your chest as you entered through the portal and found your dearest Aemond seated behind his unkempt desk.

His eyepatch lay discarded amongst the piles of parchments and his long, elegant hair tussled from his growing frustration, yet he remained just as beautiful as ever. The site nearly steals the breath from your chest.

He did not look up, seemingly deep in thought.

“Husband? Are you nearly finished? I haven’t seen you since we broke our fast and I miss you dearly.” He looked up at the sound of his little wife and sighed heavily before shaking his head tiredly. “Perhaps you would benefit from a bit of rest?”

The inquiry was innocent enough, but Aemond could no longer bite his tongue as the last bit of his withering patience was fractured. He stood suddenly, looking down at you grasped your jaw in a firm grip, not enough to hurt, but enough to startle you.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he sneered, “unlike you, I have more responsibilities than just being a broodmare, so I would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from parading yourself around like a common whore and return to my chambers.”

The cruelty he tried so hard to protect you from spilled from his lips so easily. Your eyes watered as you gasped at his words.

“You do not mean that, my love” you whimpered, tears cascading down your cheeks. You gently wrapped your fingers around his wrist, urging him to release you.

He only pulled you closer so he could growl into your ear, “do you wish to tempt the entirety of the Keep, hm? Should I allow every knight to have their turn with you? Would that sate your desires, wife?” His words dripped with a venom he had never used with you before.

You felt your heart crack painfully as you looked up at him with wide doe-like eyes that shined with unshed tears.

The sight of your anguish seemed to pull him out of the rage that had blinded him so and he released you suddenly. Guilt swarmed his veins and he felt sick that he had been the cause of your pain.

You scrambled away from him, holding a hand over your lips to stifle your cries.

Aemond wished for Vhagar to devour him where he stood. Tears of frustration burned his eye.

You stumbled through the halls, blindly searching for your chambers.

Once in the safety of your room, you collapsed on the settee, sobs wracking your body.

Your chambers were cold and lonely when you were finally lulled into a dreamless sleep.

You sent your handmaids away after they dressed you in a scarlet gown the next morning. You didn’t have to stomach to break your fast as the words from last night seared themselves into your memory. The ache that bloomed behind your breast had yet to subside. Your eyes were red and tender to the touch.

The words from your favorite tome seemed to melt together and you sighed before placing it at your side, content with just watching the flames dance against the stone hearth.

The heavy door to your chamber creaked open. Annoyance ebbed inside you.

“I already told you I do not wish to break my fast,” turning around you were met Aemond looming in the doorway. His eye was wide and shimmered with emotion.

No words were said as he approached cautiously, as if afraid of your wrath.

You only looked down at your hands, which were nervously twisting in your lap.

The proud Dragon Prince of the Seven Kingdoms fell to his knees, resting his head against your thighs. You couldn’t help but tremble in his presence, whether from fear that he would lash out again or from the desire you still had for him.

His warm hands enveloped yours as he pressed delicate kisses to your fingers, the tenderness causing your chest throb in sadness.

After a moment, he lifted his head and met your watery gaze with his own. Slowly, his fingers slipped around your ankle before gently wandering up your calf, lifting the ornate hem of your dress in the process.

Your breath caught in your throat as he reached your knee. You placed your hand on his suddenly, intending to stop him from advancing, but you helplessly felt yourself guide him closer to where you needed him.

Once your thighs were adequately exposed, he pressed spongy kisses to the soft flesh. You could feel the heat of arousal weigh heavily in your lower belly, your breathing coming out as soft pants.

Aemond intently watched your face contort in need as his kisses and suckling traveled towards your slickened cunt.

His leather-clad arms circled around your hips and pulled you closer towards to edge.

He licked a fat stripe against your dripping cunt and you gasped, fingers weaving through his silver locks.

Aemond moaned at your sweet taste, the vibration nearly overwhelming your little pearl. His tongue was soft against you, almost gentle as he continued to devour you.

Your arousal leaked onto the cushions below you as your mouth fell open, his lips circled tightly over your pearl, suckling gently.

Two slender fingers prodded against your drenched hole before fulling sliding in. The feeling of being stuffed with Aemond’s fingers nearly sent you over the edge. His fingers stroked your walls in search of the rough patch that made you see stars.

You moaned and clenched around him as he massaged the spot in a come hither movement. You couldn’t help but grind your hips, hurdling towards your peak at an unrelenting pace. Sweat beaded at your hairline and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at the intense pleasure only Aemond could give you.

His eye was still trained on you in awe, as if you were a goddess and he a devout follower. In a sense it was true. He would worship the ground you walked on had you commanded him to.

“Cum against my lips, little wife, let me taste you.” His voice was husky with lust and you whined as he sped up the thrusting of his fingers. Aemond’s chin shined from your arousal.

The sight of him desperately lapping against your cunt sent you over the edge, waves of pleasure rolling through you as you screamed his name.

Your vision returned as your peak began to subside, your panting slowing down. You sagged against the cushions, feeling boneless.

“Give me one more, my love,” Aemond pleaded before prodding at your pearly with the tip of his tongue.

You writhed against him, completely overstimulated.

“I-I can’t…” you whined, “ ‘s too much.”

His violet eye darkened, your pleas only spurring him on as dove back in to devour your cunt. Your moans only grew louder as you tried to push his head away, the overwhelming sensation bringing tears to your eyes.

For a moment he allowed to you catch your breath as he spoke.

“I’m going to lick your cunt until you forget the insults I cast against you in my anger. I need you to see how I wish to worship you”, he pressed a kiss against your fluttering cunt, causing you to jolt.

“My sweet wife, you did not deserve my wrath.”

He planted another kiss against your pearl.

“I kneel before you and beg your forgiveness.”

A harsh suck caused you to yelp.

His words touched you. Your gentle, sweet Aemond had returned.

He kitten-licked your pearl unit you felt the familiar coil tighten in your belly, your second peak rapidly approaching. You moaned and wept at the sensations of his lips against you, lust clouding your thoughts.

Your second peak nearly fractured your mind as white-hot bliss buzzed through your entire being, the only thing tethering you to reality was your grip on Aemond’s hair.

Aemond watched his beautiful little wife in fascination as your peak subsided.

Silence enveloped the room once more as you attempted to recover from your husband’s groveling.

Finally, clarity reached you and you were able to consider his words. While you were deep in thought, Aemond smoothed down your dress, but remained kneeling in front of you.

“I cannot find it within myself to forget the vile words you said to me. You hurt me greatly.”

Aemond’s eye widened, but he understood.

“I just need time. I love you deeply and I appreciate your apologies thus far,” you couldn’t help but smirk at your last words. Amusement sparkled in Aemond’s eye.

“Allow me to apologize once more, little wife,” his words were coated in lust. He stood and took your hand gently, before leading you to your shared bed.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd fanfic #aemond x fem!reader #hotd imagine #hotd #smut

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beautifulplaceofyouth · 1 month

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JJK FF/ROYAL GUARD

CHAPTER TEN | SERIES

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Ch. 7

Ch. 8

Ch. 9

Ch. 10

When you keep bumping into your personal royal guard by accident not knowing he is your guardian angel

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook!fallen angel!royal guard! × fem!reader!virgin!princess

Word count: 2.1k

Rating: 15+

Genre + warnings: Fluff, paranormal romance, historical fanfiction, Kook being cold and mysterious, being his sexy self. Caring and possessive!jk! Really horny towards his princess, being a big seductive tease. Dead bodies - corpses and much blood. JK kills everyone who dares to hurt his princess. MAKES PROMISES TO BE SAFE. The story isn’t real, just my imagination running wild so just enjoy reading!

a/n: Finally a small update, guys! I will stop making excuses and will hope you will not kill me for vanishing like every time I promise coming back sooner but still...yeah. I hope you forgive me.

You were standing by the large window.

The castle’s walls seemed to surround you.

The windows let out on a long stretch of fields leading to the border of the woods.

Since your fallen angel left, it has been three hours since Jungkook disappeared. Three more hours without food; three hours without hearing news or seeing anyone besides the servants running around like little heads in a tornado.

It made you restless.

Your legs started moving before your mind did. The white dress was fluttering behind you while you walked through the corridor.

It’s been three hours.

Three more hours and no updates. Your thoughts were racing and your stomach was growling. But there was nothing you could do, nothing you can say, until Jungkook returns.

As you turned the corner into the hall where the servants and guards resided, you stopped suddenly. Something was wrong.

You frowned.

As you neared the palace exit, a witch-maid stopped you before you can leave further.

“I’m sorry, my queen but the king didn’t allowed you to leave the castle for safety reasons. We still are under attack,” the female servant said apologetically. “Please return to your chambers.”

She tried to take your hands, which you quickly pushed away.

What were they thinking?

That Jungkook would come back in less than ten minutes?

No. Jungkook wouldn’t. Not now.

He is probably dead. Killed by vampires, maybe. Maybe captured in battle and taken prisoner. What if he got hurt?

No. He’d never let a vampire touch him unless…unless…

You ran outside and searched in every part of the grounds. No sign of him anywhere.

Then why the hell haven’t you heard anything yet?!

‘I’m not letting any vampire near my guard,’ you thought fiercely. ‘And if they do get near my angel, I swear to God...’

Looking up, the sun is barely visible. A thin veil of clouds covering half the sky, dark grey.

There was no sign of any vampire in sight.

Where the heck is everyone if there is attack?!

Tears welled in your eyes as you sat down on the ground and leaned your back against the stone wall of the castle’s exterior. There was a small pond a few meters to your side, a beautiful blue lake reflecting the sky above it. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, casting an eery orange light over everything in the vicinity.

Your heart was beating fast, threatening to burst through your ribcage. Tears stinging your eyelids, you felt your cheeks getting wet.

You wiped your tears off angrily. You are being foolish.

Jungkook wouldn't be dead. He can fight for himself but he knows how much you love him and if something happened to him…

Oh god, please don't let something happen to him. He’s strong but he's too young to die. Please God, let him be okay. Let him survive.

Jungkook’s POV

The sun was setting when Jungkook flew over the woods of his territory with his sword in hand, prepared to defend his home.

As he descended closer, he noticed many vampires fighting against the guards on the other end of the forest clearing.

With the sharp edge of his sword ready to strike, he landed heavily between several vampires, sending them flying to different parts of the field.

His presence was enough to scare most of them away, leaving two vampires with their backs turned towards him who weren’t afraid of him whatsoever.

Without hesitation Jungkook lunged forward with his sword and stabbed one of the vampires in the back with all his force.

His opponent fell, unconscious and bleeding, but still alive.

Jungkook ignored him as he jumped to the other vampire, slashing his blade across his throat before landing behind the first one again to stab him in the back.

Two vampires had surrounded Jungkook.

One with blonde hair, the other with red. They charged at him simultaneously.

Jungkook dodged each of them with ease.

Suddenly, the blood lust filled air vanished.

A cold, piercing sound echoed through the forest.

In a matter of seconds, the second vampire was dead. His eyes staring wide open as if asking for help and pain. The red head also fell lifelessly onto the ground.

Blood flowing from his neck, he didn’t have a chance to scream.

Slicing remaining vampires in half, the blood was the only thing left on him when he finally finished. Seeing his guards dead, he could only watch them fall and the bodies turn pale and gray, their skin wrinkling and turning into dust.

The other vampires that were still around looked at him with horror and shock.

They wanted to run. They wanted to kill him.

But they couldn’t move, not a single muscle in their bodies dared to move; not even their hearts.

“You’ve been warned,” he snarled,” Attack what’s mine again, you will be taken as my trophies for all eternity."

The vampires began fleeing after that, screaming in fear and terror.

Jungkook took out the swords he used in the fight, sheathing them neatly once again, before turning to look around.

Death’s scent was everywhere. Blood was smeared everywhere, along with some pieces of flesh scattered throughout the area.

The bodies of his guards lay sprawled all over the ground. Their faces twisted and bloody, covered in dirt.

Jungkook closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

Now since the danger was gone, the only thought on his mind was you.

When he opened his eyes, he could already see you.

You were walking out of the forest, your face pale and frightened.

He didn’t need to look at you to know that the blood from these deaths must have affected you greatly. As if sensing him, your eyes met his, a look of complete devastation and sorrow filling their depths.

“Jungkook,” you whispered in fear, looking around the field as though searching for enemy still lurking by but there was no one left alive except for the king himself.

His jaw clenched when he spotted you, knowing you have disobeyed his order for you to stay at the castle. His guards haven’t stopped you from leaving and now you’re here, in the middle of the battlefield which is no place for someone like you.

Looking like an angel in a white dress, Jungkook looked ready to kill again when you slowly approached him.

The wind was playing with his raven hair, dancing through his bangs and causing small droplets of sweat to roll down his body.

He looked like a predator waiting for its prey to come close and bite it.

Your gaze flickered between the corpses laid on the ground, their eyes frozen in fear and pain.

Y/n POV

Seeing your angel in the middle of that made you realize how strong he really is.

The blood was on his armor and even his face scarf. His eyes were the only thing holding you steady as you dared to walk forward.

His chest was rising up and down.

“What are you doing here, princess?” he asked harshly, making your body shiver.

You looked down at the ground, ashamed of yourself.

Why were you so careless? You shouldn’t be here! It’s dangerous. Too dangerous to be out here alone!

How long have you been standing here? Did you hear the screams of vampires earlier? Did you hear them running away?

Did you hear them dying? Did you understand what was happening?

Your hands trembled as you looked at the bodies laying on the floor; lifeless.

“Answer me.”

He didn’t wait for a response, he grabbed your chin roughly, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Princess. Why are you here? Answer me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your heart thumping painfully inside your chest.

After a moment, you answered in a weak voice, “I just wanted to go for a little walk. I lost track of time and ended up here.”

His grip on your chin tightened and his lips curved in anger.

“You’re such a liar, love.”

Before you know, he kneels in front of you. Putting his sword on the ground, he takes your hands in his.

“You shouldn’t be here. What you did was dangerous. How can I protect you when you don’t listen to me? You would have been captured on the way here, possibly killed by those bloodsucking monsters!”

“I’m sorry Jungkook. But I just wanted to make sure no one hurt you. I know you can defend yourself just fine but…”

“It doesn’t stop you from worrying. And I appreciate it very much, but you don’t have to do this. I am stronger than these creatures.”

“But you don’t always have to be. You’ll get attacked by them sooner or later, you know. You won't be able to take them down with a sword on your own. Sooner or later, they'll find you.”

“No they won’t. This forest is protected by powerful magic. My kingdom is safe as long I’m here.” He explained, trying to reassure you.

“But not enough to attack this place?” You inquired quietly.

“Someone tipped me off. That’s why they got inside. No one without my magic permission can go through the barrier of this land. Its separates the human world.”

“So they can still be out there and continue to attack,” you said bitterly.

“That’s why I must kill them all.” Jungkook declared, determination in his voice.

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to escape and fall down your cheeks at any moment.

You quickly wiped away any evidence of your weakness before looking into his eyes with a determined look of your own.

Before you can chicken out, you step closer to him when he is back to standing position. His eyes darken when he notices the movement, his nostrils flaring when your scent washes over with the death smell all over the field.

It was like a flower has bloomed in the middle of the grave, filling his whole being with the sweet fragrance of your happiness and life.

You stood on your tiptoes while he stood on his, looking at him intently in the eyes.

His gaze never wavers. Neither does yours.

Neither of you breaks eye contact until finally you pull him towards you, hooking one finger underneath his mask, playing with the seam of the fabric slowly.

“What are you doing, darling?” His voice is husky, full of desire for you even it was wrong in that moment.

How can you touch him like this after he has slaughtered every vampire? He had blood on his hands and corpses still laid all around you so how come you’re not afraid to touch him?

“Making sure you’re not hurt,” you whisper, lifting his mask to reveal a strong jawline who can cut steel and lips that look tempting yet deadly.

He stares back at you, the intensity in his eyes making you want to drown in his eyes forever. He grabs your waist, pulling you against him tightly, his hand caressing your lower back, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin cloth of your dress.

“You’re making this harder for me, princess. You can’t stay here longer. It’s dangerous,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, his hot breath fanning your cold skin as he whispers.

"I don’t care.” You say, closing the gap between your lips and pressing them softly onto his.

At first, he tried to push you away.

But the minute you parted your lips to deepen the kiss, he gave up.

As your tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting each other, you wrapped your arms around his neck while he gripped both sides of your waist.

He lifted you easily in his arm and you placed your legs around his hips, holding on tightly when you felt yourself getting dizzy and lightheaded.

Lifting up into the sky, you almost scream when you realize that he has intended to fly you back to the castle. His wings even through the mist shine with the specks of light that peeked from the clouds.

Not daring to look down because of your fear of heights, some minutes later you brace yourself for landing when he flaps his wings to stop his speed abruptly, causing you to cling onto him like a koala.

When he puts you down gently on your feet, you let out a soft sigh of relief.

Jungkook pulled you in his arms, cradling you close and soothing you as best he could.

“I’m sorry, baby. Didn’t want to startle you like that. I just can’t imagine you walking through that mess. It must have been terrifying.” He whispered tenderly, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You leaned into his touch, melting at the sound of his deep, rumbling voice calling you baby in that loving way of his, feeling warmth blossom inside your chest.

Feeling safe. Protected.

“You need to stay indoors while I go back to finish the job. Someone still can be lurking in the shadows and watching us so we have to take precautions,” he says sternly, grabbing the hilt of his sword and taking a few steps backward as he looked behind him.

“Come back to me safe, please.” You pleaded.

He sighed as he turned around, walking towards you again.

He reached out to caress your cheek once more before giving you a soft smile.

“I promise you.”

You nodded as he took off with a flap of his wings. The air surrounding him seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow, the wind caressing his skin like a lover as his figure disappears among the thick mist in the distance.

p.s. All images and gifs are not mine, some of the edits are mine edited but not every picture. All the credit goes to their rightful owners

DO NOT REPOST THIS WORK AS YOUR OWN BECAUSE THIS IS THE ORIGINAL OWNER’S STORY

If you like, please reblog or like the post so I can post the next chapters :)

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #royal guard #virgin princess #Princess Royal #fallen angel #paranormal romance #bangtan boys #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfction #historical romantic fiction #bts fluff

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

✰ 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 - 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “This is just a hookup." "I know." — Fed up of your antics, Simon gives you a time and place.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. reference to interrogation/violence/torture, sensory deprivation (pitch black), power imbalance, references to masturbation and voyeurism, finger sucking, gagging, against a wall, p in v sex, unprotecte- i know, I’ve got issues.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Skittering chills crawl up your vertebrae as you wait impatiently. The shipping container previously used as an interrogation chamber didn’t make for the cosiest spot, but Ghost hadn’t left much room for argument when he’d informed you of the rendezvous point.

“Container 12, 11 pm.”

He’d delivered it with authority, that barking order that rang out over the coms when bullets whizzed by your ears. Who were you to deny Lieutenant Simon Riley? Refusal equated to insubordination— you couldn’t have him thinking you’re undisciplined.

Casting your eyes over the inside of the container, you grind your teeth together. Dried, rusty-coloured flakes of blood peel from the metal ridges of the walls, and a chair lies discarded on its side in the corner. Standing here alone is unnerving, though you’d never admit it. Perhaps that’s what Simon had in mind- a test of endurance. He was late for the meeting by around five minutes; surely there was no other explanation?

It’s only as you begin to settle into reluctant resignation that the creaking door of the container screeches, pushed forward. You’re, admittedly, relieved to see him. Golden flood-lamp light spills across the floor, haloing Simon’s hulking frame before he shoves the door closed again.

“Lieutenant,” you address him by rank, squinting in the darkness but keeping your voice as steady as you can muster. It’s pitch black, but you’re almost convinced you can see his ghoulish mask sneering at you in the darkness. “You’re late-“

“You’re early,” his gruff voice cuts through the blackness. It sounds odd, the bluntness of the Mancunian accent bouncing off your eardrums. He also appears closer than you realised, his voice abnormally loud for the distance you assumed lay between you.

They were right; he really did move like a spectre.

“You needed me, Sir?” You query, but the words seem to shrivel and die in your throat when a gloved palm settles across your chin, tilting your head up.

“Don’t think so,” he answers, his warm breath fanning over your face. There’s amusement flirting with his tone— only slight, but with your senses on overdrive, it rings in your ears like he’s set off a gun beside your temple. “Think you need me.”

Heat burns beneath your skin, but you grit your teeth and steel yourself against the shock of Simon fucking Riley making such an astute observation.

“Sir?”

“Don’t play coy,” his tone is flat, words slightly muffled as though he had something in his mouth, “Think I don’t hear you? Always moanin’ my name when I’m on watch.”

He’s walking you backwards, stopping his advancement only when your back hits the cold metal of the wall.

You don’t have a chance to dispute his damning point, his naked fingers pushing past the plush of your lips and pressing against your tongue. It’s as though your body falls in line immediately, following his silent orders like a good little soldier. You trace his fingertips with the tip of your tongue, sucking on the length of them as he hums.

“Always raisin’ your voice, hopin’ I’ll hear you. You want me to join you? That it?” He asks, his monotonous accent pooling deep in your abdomen as he continues to call you out for your reckless behaviour. Any of 141 could have overheard.

You open your mouth to speak around his digits, but Simon preempts your pathetic attempt to make an excuse. He pushes his fingers in until his knuckles brush your lips, halfway down your throat. You gag around the intrusion, hand grasping at the bulletproof vest Ghost still wore after returning from his latest mission.

“Fuckin’ dirty girl,” he groans over the filthy sound of your chokes. You can hear the clinking metal of a belt in the darkness, the rustle of khaki fabric and the rip of a zipper. “If I give you what you want, are you gonna stop those pathetic little whines?”

God, it’s ridiculous. You practically trip over yourself to nod the affirmative to his question. Muffled swears rumble in Simon’s chest, intelligible despite the close proximity. You’re already scrambling to pull down your cargos; embarrassment soothed only by the blackness that swallows and shrouds you both.

Ghost grunts softly, pulling his saliva-soaked digits from your mouth. The disappointment of feeling empty doesn’t last very long, his drenched fingers brushing over your pussy lips and plunging deep inside you without warning.

“Fuck,” he practically spits at the squelching sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers. You gasp loudly as he curls them back, brushing against your walls and coaxing a sensitive spot that ripples bliss through your core. “This— This is just a hookup.”

You nod over and over, probably looking like those stupid Churchill-Dog bobbleheads he’d see in taxis at home, babbling the same words over and over as he teases that mind-melting spot inside you that has your thighs trembling; “I know, I know, IknowIknowIkno-“

You feel it before you hear it, the huff of breath before the rumbling growl of dying resolve. A large, bruising hand grabs your thigh and hoists it over Ghosts’ hip. The position settles for only a moment, your tight, orgasm-teased muscles just creaking at the sudden change before Simon’s cock sinks into your dripping core.

The wail of bliss ricochets off the metal walls of the cargo container. Ghost is quick to press his naked palm to your mouth, suppressing your pathetic little mewls as he inches inside of you. You can hear his haggard breaths, can feel the ebb and flow of his exhales as he presses his masked forehead against your own.

“Hoh- Fuck-“ Simon groans out, only slightly rocking into you once he settles balls deep. It’s barely there, but the gentle thrusts have you clawing at his sleeves. Your eyes roll back, his pubic bone grinding just right against your needy clit.

“This is just a hookup-“ Simon insists through gritted teeth, but as a shaky moan falls from his mouth when he begins to thrust into your tight, wet heat forcefully, you start to wonder if he’s attempting to convince you of himself.

You realise he’s losing that battle when he spills inside you with a gasp of your name, quickly followed by an almost desperate ‘just one more-‘

join the taglist here:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog1 @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @gummyfang @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction

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will80sbyers · 28 days

Note

Do you still have the list of movies that inspired ST4? I had a picture of it but I lost it and I haven't been able to find it since. Please and thank you in advance.

Yep!

Long post warning lol

300

2001: A Space Odyssey

47 Meters Down: Uncaged

12 Monkeys

28 Days Later

13th Warrior

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls

Altered States

Amelie

American Sniper

Analyze This

Annihilation

Aristocats

Armageddon

Assassins Creed

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Arrival

Almost Famous

Batman Begins

Batman V. Superman

Basket Case

Battle at Big Rock

Beauty and the Beast

Beetlejuice

Behind Enemy Lines

Beverly Hills Cop

Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey

Billy Madison

Black Cauldron

Black Swan

Boondock Saints

Borat

Bram Stoker’s Dracula

Burn After Reading

Broken Arrow

Blade Runner

C.H.U.D

Con Air

Cast Away

Congo

Constantine

Children of Men

Cabin in the Woods

Crank

Casablanca

Carrie

Crimson Tide

Clueless

Dukes of Hazzard

Don’t Breathe

Death to Smoochy

Doom

Dark Knight

Dogma

Deep Blue Sea

Dreamcatcher

Drop Dead Fred

Die Hard

Die Hard 2

Die Hard 3

Don’s Plum

Dances with Wolves

Dumb and Dumber

Edward Scissorhands

Enter the Void

Ex Machina

Event Horizon

Emma (2020)

Forrest Gump

Fargo

Fisher King

Full Metal Jacket

Ferris Bueller

Fallen

Fugitive

Ghost

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Ghostbusters

Good Fellas

Girl Interrupted

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Get Out

Good Will Hunting

Hackers

High Fidelity

Hellraiser 1

Hellraiser 2

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Hidden

High School Musical

Hurt Locker

Heat

Hunger Games

Highlander

Hell or High Water

Home Alone

I am Legend

It’s a Wonderful Life

In Cold Blood

Inception

I am a Fugitive from Chain Gang

Inside Out

Island of Doctor Moreau

It Follows

Interview with a Vampire

Inner Space

Into the Spiderverse

Independence Day

Jupiter Ascending

John Carter of Mars

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

James Bond (All Movies)

Julie

Karate Kid

Knives Out

Kingsmen

Little Miss Sunshine

Labyrinth

Long Kiss Goodnight

Lost Boys

Leon: The Professional

Let the Right One In

Little Women (1994)

Mad Max: Fury Road

Magnolia

Men in Black

Mimic

Matrix

Misery

My Cousin Vinny

Mystic River

Minority Report

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Neverending Story

Never Been Kissed

No Country for Old Men

Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

North by Northwest

Open Water

Orange County

Oceans 8

Oceans 11

Oceans 12

One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest

Ordinary People

Paddington 2

Platoon

Pulp Fiction

Papillon

Pan’s Labyrinth

Pineapple Express

Peter Pan

Princess Bride

Paradise Lost

Primal Fear

Prisoners

Peter Jackson’s King Kong

Reservoir Dogs

Ravenous

Rushmore

Road Warrior

Rogue One

Reality Bites

Raider of the Lost Ark

Red Dragon

Robocop

Shooter

Sky High

Swingers

Sword in the Stone

Step Up 2

Spy Kids

Saving Private Ryan

Shape of Water

Swept Away

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Superbad

Society

Swordfish

Stoker

Splice

Silence of the Lambs

Source Code

Sicario

Se7en

Starship Troopers

Scrooged

Splash

Silver Bullet

Speed

The Visit

The Italian Job

The Mask of Zorro

True Lies

The Blair Witch Project

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

Tangled

The Craft

The Guest

The Devil’s Advocate

The Graduate

The Prestige

The Rock

Titanic

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

The Fly

Tombstone

The Mummy

The Guardian

The Goofy Movie

The Peanut Butter Solution

Toy Story 4

The Ring

The Crazies

The Mist

The Revenant

The Perfect Storm

The Shining

Terminator 2

The Truman Show

Temple of Doom

The Cell

To Kill a Mockingbird

Timeline

The Good Son

The Orphan

The Birdcage

The Green Mile

The Raid

The Cider House Rules

The Lighthouse

The Book of Henry

The A-Team

The Crow

The Terminal

Thor Ragnarok

Twister

The Descent

The Birds

Total Recall

The Natural

The Fifth Element

True Romance

Terminator: Dark Fate

The Hobbit Trilogy

Unforgiven

Unbreakable

Unleashed

Very Bad Things

Wayne’s World

What Women Want

War Dogs

Wedding Crashers

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape

Welcome to the Dollhouse

Welcome to Marwen

Wet Hot American Summer

What Lies Beneath

What Dreams May Come

War Games

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Weird Science

Willow

Wizard of Oz

Wanted

Young Sherlock Holmes

You’ve Got Mail

Zodiac

Zoolander

#stranger things #ask #st4 #st4 movies

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luxlightly · 5 months

Text

I Said To You in Your Blood, "Live!" - a Gabv1el fic (AO3 link in the reblogs)

“And when I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood, I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’ I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’" - Ezekiel 16:6

Gabriel dragged himself forward, slumped against a wall of Hell, wings drooped and dragging on the floor behind him.

Of course he'd returned. Where else could he have gone?

Where else do angels go when they fall? To die?

And he was dying. It was a strange and impossible seeming notion. Something he would have laughed at the very idea of just a few days ago. How could you kill the Hand of God? Ridiculous.

As ridiculous as that Hand being bested by a mere machine, built by mortal hands for profane purposes.

Crude, merciless…

Beautiful.

He'd grown so used to the beauty of Heaven. Clean, pristine, and perfect. A cold, calculated beauty of carved marble, precise and willful. Flawless and impersonal as the Father himself.

How could a machine, dripping with blood and gore, built of an unholy mix of flesh and steel, with frantic, desperate movements and torn, jagged edges have, at first meeting, been anything but hideous to him? Repulsive in all ways?

And so how could their fight, and his defeat, have felt anything other than violating? Something that stained him, made him imperfect and unworthy of the Light that was stripped from him?

And so it had. So he had been at war with himself. Had felt corrupted, defiled. Impure. So he had begun their second fight with hate and desperation to cleanse himself of the stain of their first.

Then something changed.

Imprecise movements no longer felt imperfect. They became natural.

Organic.

Alive.

Life is frantic. Is desperate and uncalculated. Is imperfect and unpredictable.

His fights for Heaven were about death. About punishment. One sided executions and exterminations.

Fighting with the machine was about life. The fight itself had felt alive.

And Gabriel…Gabriel had felt Alive.

More than he'd ever remembered feeling. He'd felt the movement of combat like music, like the pounding of drums and the thrum of blood in veins. Excited and full of life. And so did fighting become like dancing, unable to be lost, only lead.

He'd laughed.

It had felt so incredible. To fight the way living things do. As animals clawing to survive. To want to bite and scratch and claw and cling to life for every second he could. To be desperate in his desire. He'd understood so clearly, in those moments, how creatures of flesh and blood were in the image of God. How could such fighting, to cling to that living flesh, be anything but the most reverent form of worship?

And so how could one’s partner in such a dance, be anything but the purest and most true kind of beauty? Blinding and breathtaking?

Then, all too soon, it was over.

Cast down again, for the second time in his existence, Gabriel tasted defeat and, for the first, he tasted blood.

And it tasted divine.

It filled the cold void left behind where the Father's Light had been torn away from him and it tasted so much the same, yet somehow purer. The Light he'd been granted, the metered grace he was allotted by the Council so long as he served their will seemed, by comparison, like a shadow or reflection. The lingering warmth after a farewell compared to the fiery heat of sudden embrace.

How could it be warmer than God’s Light? If the fire of God was so much warmer in the blood of Hell, then what burned in the Council chambers of Heaven?

How could he, cast from grace and laid low before the machine, feel closer to the Divine than he'd felt while basked in His Light?

There could be only one answer: because the Light that the Council had to offer him was not Divine. Maybe it never had been. After all, if God was really dead, how could the Council have His Light to give, anyway?

And if it hadn't been His Light, His Will, then what had Gabriel been sustained on? Only the Council’s approval.

He forsook it. Better to die, consumed by the flames of Hell than live sustained by the cold indifference of Heaven.

At least consumption is akin to embrace, in the way that hunger is akin to desire.

His legs losing their strength at last, Gabriel finally slumped to his knees, breathing ragged and vision blurry.

The way he'd cut down the Council, had bathed the chambers of Heaven with their blood, had seemed to rejuvenate him, at least temporarily, at least long enough to finish the grim task. But now, his connection to the Light of the Father severed for good and the last remnants of its warmth drained from him, he felt his end very much at hand.

Ridiculous as it would have seemed, mere days ago, to contemplate his own death, it would have been even more so to contemplate his own life.

His existence was a constant. It had no true beginning or end. It could not be covetted or cherished because it could not be quantified. It simply was. He could not want to live any more than the sky could want to hold its place above the Earth. Than the wind could desire to blow or the celestial bodies desire to continue their journey through the endless void of space.

A force of nature could not want. Could not hope. Could not hunger, not for food, nor life, nor love.

But Gabriel did. For the first time, he faced his future with something other than cold, perfect acceptance. In its place was a hot, bitter disappointment and a gnawing, desperate hunger.

He wanted to live. Damn him, he did not want to die. He wanted to see the Machine again, as he had promised he would. He wanted to fight for the sake of fighting. He wanted to live and to feel alive.

He wanted to drag the eyes of the God that had abandoned him back to that chaotic dance and dare Him to find it beautiful. He wanted the eyes of God to weep for the beauty they'd turned away from. To mourn every second they'd spent not beholding it. The way he mourned it, now.

Perhaps it was that desire, more so than anything, that brought him back to the depths of Hell. A vain hope to fulfill his promise and to feel the embrace of life one more time before dying, however briefly.

He did not rouse when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He had no strength to fight. If one of the denizens of Hell wanted to end him now, it would only be speeding up the inevitable.

With his faith so shattered, Gabriel was not sure if he believed there was any force that could intervene in the affairs of Earth, Heaven, and Hell in the way he'd once called “miracles”, nor did he have any name to give thanks to for such an act, but the gratitude he felt when the owner of the footsteps appeared before him could not have been greater if he had known it to be an act of God Himself.

“Machine…” he breathed. “We meet again…as I said we would. Sadly…I do not think we shall face each other in righteous combat a third time. Still, I am…glad to see you. One last time…”

V1 dripped with fresh blood. It must have freshly killed. Its wings raised, encircling it like a golden halo in Gabriel’s blurred vision. Blue, gold, and red swam before his failing eyes, shimmering and ethereal.

“Divine…” he whispered.

V1’s inner mechanisms whirred and it tilted its head, inquisitively. It seemed to inspect him, clicking and humming. Its hands grasped and released its weapons, seeming unable to fully process or deal with an encounter that was not immediately violent.

It knelt before him, looking him over for some cause for his current state.

Gabriel laughed, weakly, strangely endeared by the robot’s apparent concern. Strange, for a being that had only known him as a threat.

How to explain the Light of the Father to a machine? How could it possibly understand what it meant for him to be cut off from it, or why he had been?

“I am…hungry,” Gabriel said. “Empty…dying.”

The Machine stood again, looming over him. Gabriel wondered if it would leave, assured that he was no threat. After all, what use did it have, with its limited time, to stand around and watch him die?

Instead, as it had nearly every moment he knew it, it surprised him.

With a screech of metal against metal, the Machine dug a clawed hand into its own chest, peeling back a small patch of the metal plating to reveal the pulsing mass of flesh and mechanics that comprised its innards.

Hot blood poured from the self inflicted wound and onto Gabriel's helmet, flowing down and dripping into the holes above his mouth.

Gabriel was stunned for a moment, then almost laughed.

Of course. Its whole idea of life revolved around blood. Life, health, food; blood was synonymous with all of them. What other thought could it have had to help him, than to try to feed him the way it fed?

A misguided effort, of course, but nonetheless meaningful. It had to fight for every second of life that blood afforded it, and it likely knew the supply was dwindling, yet it would harm itself and willingly part with its most precious life force, in the hopes it would help him.

Gabriel opened his mouth beneath his helmet and let the blood trickle onto his tongue. Misguided or not, he recognized a sacrament when he saw one, and he would not dream to waste it.

Again the taste of divinity alit on his tongue and he shuddered. The hunger is his gut that had first been sparked the moment he'd been struck down the first time by the Machine and that had been kindled by the taste of his own blood, then fanned to flame by the slaughter of the council roared up in him as an inferno.

He tilted his head back and shifted himself to kneel before the Machine allowing blood to pour more directly onto his supplicated form.

Like liquid fire, it bathed his skin and coated his throat, lighting him up from the inside the way the cold reflection of Heaven had never dreamed to compare to.

“Machine!” he choked, a desperate plea he hadn't meant to utter for a desire he didn't understand being dragged from somewhere deep inside him that knew what it was to struggle to survive, even if he didn't.

Luckily, the Machine understood what he could not.

It guided him to his knees, pressed close to it for support, and guided his hands with its own to the wound on its chest, held his hand in its while an instinct Gabriel never knew he could have harbored dug their clasped fingers into the metal and stripped back the plating even further.

Life blood bathed him and Gabriel cried out with a mix of relief and need. His arms encircled the Machine, clinging to it like a lifeline as he pressed his face to the now gaping wound, feeling its pulsing, churning, whirring insides against his armor and skin, which both seemed to drink up the blood as eagerly as his mouth.

He wanted to pray, but couldn't. For there was no prayer he had known to fit such a sacrament, nor any that he could conceive of that could be more reverent than the worship he was already partaking in.

He wanted to reach in with his hands and pull out its innards while it did the same to him. He wanted to tear it open with his teeth and taste where the metal and flesh met.

He wanted to understand how animals could eat their prey alive.

He wanted to know that only his blood filled it, fed it, while only its fed him, like a heart passing blood between its chambers, like the two raw wounds that they were, pressed together so close they shared a heartbeat.

He wanted them to hunger for every drop of each other and never be satisfied.

He wanted. He hungered. He lived!

And yet, a gentle push was all that was needed to unclasp his hands and send him toppling back against the wall behind him, gasping for breath.

Blood continued to sink into his armor and skin and for a moment Gabriel felt the urge to peel off his helmet and lick the fading drops up before they disappeared, but he suddenly realized he could not fully recall what lay beneath that shell of white and gold.

V1 clutched at its chest as its body began the work of repairing the damage, sealing up the opening and fusing the metal back together.

Gabriel felt his own body similarly set to work on repairing itself. Energy seemed to return to his limbs and he felt that he once again had the strength to stand.

“Let Us make man in Our image. In Our likeness…” Gabriel quoted, in a daze.

V1 tilted its head at him again.

“For the life of every creature is its blood: its blood is its life.”

Gabriel shook his head and laughed.

“We're so much more alike than I'd even thought possible, Machine. The Father's Light has always fed both of us, hasn't it?” he said. “If God is dead, then what in his abandoned Heaven could be left of his Light that is not lesser than that in the lifeblood of those He made in His image?”

He looked to V1.

“You…saved me. I owe you a debt of gratitude. But… I don't understand.”

He shook his head.

“Blood is finite. It's running out. Why share any with me? Why cut down the little time you have left to save someone who only ever tried to kill you?”

The Machine turned away, as though lost in thought.

Gabriel wondered if it even really understood, itself.

At last, it turned to him and, in a garbled, robotic tone that seemed to take great effort for it to produce, it said:

”I A M H U N G R Y”

Somehow it seemed to look past him. This creature of war who never knew a life beyond bloodshed. Whose purpose died before it came to be. Whose life, since its inception, had been a clawing, desperate, and ultimately doomed fight for just a little more time. A little more life Even in hell, even if it's only ever filled with pain and death.

“I think I understand you, Machine,” Gabriel said. “I used to think your being here was pointless. A remnant of a dead war that could only know hunger. Could only bring destruction. But this is what you feel, isn't it?”

He put a hand to his chest.

“I want to live, Machine. I want to fight for every bloodsoaked second I can squeeze from this existence, no matter how brief. I'll fight until I'm torn to pieces for one more moment. If it means I get to keep feeling what it is to be alive.”

He looked up at V1.

“And I want you to be alive. I want to fight you again. I want you to never let me forget this feeling. You…make me know what it is…to want something.”

V1 blinked its optic, slowly, as if in agreement.

Gabriel staggered to his feet and pulled Justice from its sheath. He pointed it at V1 before laying the blade flat across his palms and bending one knee, holding the sword up to V1.

“If the Divine can still live on, even in the blood of His dead and damned creations, then maybe this fight is not one doomed to end once you reach the bottom of Hell,” he said. “Take my sword. And my vow that if I cannot find a way to replenish the energy of the Divine, then I will meet you at the center of Hell and Splendor and Justice will cross one last time as we duel for the last drops of blood in creation.”

V1 took the sword from Gabriel’s hands and brandished it, feeling the perfect balance of the expertly crafted blade.

“We will meet again, Machine. Until then, may your woes be many. And your days few.”

---

Me, pointing at a big blackboard with insane scrawlings covering it: "Here's how gabriel can still live"

I've never played ultrakill but I am not immune to the eroticism of the machine. Written all at once at 3am waiting for my pain medication mo kick in. bone app the teeth

#ultrakill #ultrakill spoilers #gabriel ultrakill #gabv1el #fellas is it gay to fight the homies like animals #blood tw #gore tw #it's ultrakill #v1 ultrakill

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eleanorblythe · 7 months

Text

Raphael (BG3) X Original Female Character/Tav/Reader - One Shot

This man has taken over my soul (bad pun intended). I wanted to write smut - and I’m sure I still will, but I need foreplay (I’m a whore, but I like to tease)

This is insanely OOC I’m sure for our favourite devil - but sue me I wanted soft/romantic/not-at-all-lovesick Raphael.

Also I’m not entirely up on D&D lore it is just to serve the story so apologies for any inaccuracies!

“You can’t die! Get up, damn you!” Astarion yelled over the sounds of fighting all around them. She plummeted to the ground gasping and clutching at her side. A demon had managed to get it’s claw hooked into her waist, piercing through her armour and was currently draining away what little life there was left in her. She tried to remove it in vain and felt the edges of her vision blurring and darkening.

The rest of the companions were more determined than ever to kill the last of the demons to reach their de facto leader. The final demon went down with a horrid screech and the gang rushed over to her crumpled body. Astarion lifted her to rest against his front.

“Come on now, darling, open your eyes,” Astarion murmured trying not to let the waver show in his voice. He cradled her head carefully and lightly shook her. Her eyes fluttered open, but her expression was distant, glassy, she briefly met his eye and tried to gasp out his name.

“Hold on, please, hold on!” Shadowheart begged as she desperately started casting healing spells. Nothing was working.

Gale quickly starting going through his scrolls, trying to find something - anything - that would work. Three scrolls and many spells later and it was still the same. Even revivify could do nothing to bring her back.

They watched as her eyes became cloudy, losing the glittering life in them and her grip on Astarion’s hand went limp. For a moment everyone was completely silent. The party could do nothing more than gape at each other.

Out of the corner of their eyes they saw and felt a flash of light and heat of flame.

A devil had arrived.

Raphael took a moment to take in his surroundings before settling his gaze on his little mouse, bloodied and bruised in the lap of the vampire.

“What are you doing here, devil?” Astarion spat.

“I’m here because I need to protect my assets,”

“Bit late on that front,” Gale murmured bitterly.

“Indeed.” He regarded her lifeless corpse. He would not show panic. He would not allow a single crack to break through his haughty, cool visage.

He bent down and delicately took her broken body into his arms.

“Fear not, mortals. I’ll take it from here.”

“Where are you taking her?” Shadowheart demanded.

“Somewhere, where she might yet live,” and with a snap of his fingers he had disappeared into a cloud of smoke and sulphur.

The companions, lost without their leader, could do nothing more, except head back to camp to inform the others and hope - pray - that the devil would make good on his word.

No one had the heart to say they didn’t see it as likely.

—————————

Raphael appeared in his House of Hope, he glanced down and saw her pale eyes staring unfocused past his shoulder. He hurriedly carried her through to his boudoir, away from the prying eyes of the debtors prowling and snivelling in the corridors.

A Cambion carrying a mortal, in a bridal carry, through his bed chambers was not a sight Haarlep expected to see, he sat up from his best ‘come hither’ position on the bed and slinked over to Raphael who had knelt just before his rejuvenation pool.

“What’s your favourite misadventurer doing in your arms, Raphael? I didn’t think she was that desperate,” he teased.

Haarlep had expected admonishment, punishment, a sharp lashing from his master’s tongue. He instead looked down and saw his master…distraught? No that was too strong a word. But he saw the unmistakable glint of fear in Raphael’s eyes.

Raphael lay her down on the cold marble floor, making sure to cushion her head with his hand as he did so. He had to close her eyes. Those doe eyes seemed to stare into his soul. If he had one, he thought bitterly. He scanned over her armour and saw the gash, on her side. He tried to remove the claw, but it kept catching on her mithral underlayer.

Modesty be damned.

He snapped his fingers and she was left in her underwear. He splayed a hand over the soft skin of her abdomen to give him purchase as he started to pull the demon’s claw out of her body. Despite the fact she was technically dead and therefore unresponsive, Raphael made sure to take care when removing the blight from her body.

It took a considerable amount of effort but with a final grunt Raphael held a bloodied, slightly iridescent shard. He examined it and soon discovered why her companions efforts to heal and save her from death had been in vain. These particular fiends carried something akin to an anti-magic venom in their claws. Raphael clicked his fingers again and produced a healing potion, lifting her up to rest against his shoulders and bringing the sustenance to her cold, dry lips.

“Drink up, little mouse,” he murmured, almost to himself and watched the red liquid disappear down her throat. He waited.

And waited.

It wasn’t working.

Was she too far gone?

He saw only one other option. He glanced up at the rejuvenation pool and quickly gathered her in his arms as he hasted to get to the water.

“But master…your clothes!” Haarlep was scandalised, but Raphael paid him no mind. He all but stumbled into the water and dunked her underneath, holding her there for a few moments before bringing her back to the surface. The murky tint of blood flowing out of her and dancing in the water like ribbons spreading out before them. He held her face, with his free hand that wasn’t keeping her close to him, tenderly, oh so tenderly.

And still nothing.

No quiet thrum of life rumbling beneath her skin.

Just emptiness.

Loss.

That, he could not abide.

He told himself it was all in service of the crown. He needed her to get it. A scheme, centuries in the making, and he had left his fate, his future, his right in the hands of a mortal girl.

He told himself that it didn’t affect him when he saw how her gaze lingered on him while he would grandstand to her and her companions. He told himself that he didn’t notice and delight in how her breath would catch, when he would step close to her.

He told himself, that she was merely his favourite customer. Despite the fact she had remained steadfast in refusing each of his offers. Clever girl.

He told himself he wasn’t falling for this mortal.

This infuriating mortal.

This precious mortal.

This dead mortal.

He stroked his thumb across her cheek. He was split down the middle. A part of him wanted to corrupt and use the last remnants of her soul to turn her into a lesser devil, why let such a useful resource go to waste? But another part, his wretched human part, wanted to mourn, he didn’t want to see someone relatively pure and with an unpolluted soul twisted and made into something wicked. Something awful.

Something like him.

He whispered her name into her skin and kissed a pulse point on her neck. Feather light. Barely there. As if he was waiting for her to turn to ash in his arms.

He suddenly felt her chest heave and a strangled and desperate gasp escaped her. She thrashed and fell under the water. Raphael’s grip tightened and pulled her back to the surface. It wouldn’t do for her to come back from death only to drown immediately after.

She was frenzied and pushed against whatever was keeping her trapped. She spun around and felt a warm hand smooth her hair away from her eyes.

“R-Raphael?!”

“Hello, little mouse, although, right now, perhaps more ‘drowned rat’?”

She breathed a confused laugh. Then fainted.

“The mortal reaction, I suppose,” Raphael said softly. He scooped her up again and walked out of the rejuvenation pool.

Haarlep watched his sodden master carry the dripping mortal…to his bed?!

“I suppose I’m to kip at the foot of the bed?” Haarlep purred.

“You will do no such thing. You will leave these rooms, while she remains here.”

“But who will warm your bed at night, your little mouse?” Haarlep was incensed and a little taken aback. Not once had he ever been banished from Raphael’s bed chambers.

“Get. Out.” Raphael laid her down on top of the covers and went to retrieve a towel. His attention was entirely focused on this…thing and her needs. Haarlep knew Raphael had taken - let’s say - a special interest in the adventurer and her little gang of misfits, but watching Raphael use a soft towel to carefully dry her face and arms, holding her reverently as he worked, like she was fine china - Haarlep was speechless. He stomped off without another word, lingering just long enough in the doorway to see Raphael take a strand of her hair and tuck it behind her ear, like how a father would act, tucking a sweet angel into bed.

Haarlep knew - even if his almighty master didn’t.

She would be the ruin of the entirety of the House of Hope.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate oc #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #raphael #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #fanfiction

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diecastor · 1 year

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#Hot Chamber Die Casting.#Cold Chamber Die Casting.#Injected Metal Assembly.#Multi-side Die Casting.#die casting #die casting company

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bloofinntoona · 1 year

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Of Serpents and Whispers: To be Ominis

Part 1 of the Ominis Gaunt series: Of Serpents and Whispers

Word count: 1.2 k

Themes: Angst, gen, TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of pain from the Cruciatus Curse

Pairing: (to come) Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader, Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Summary/Author's Note: I wanted to expand Ominis' story since his background and storyline wasn't as polished as the other main student characters. Will dive deeper into the story further on!

Darkness.

Ominis Gaunt saw the world differently compared to other people. Being born without the ability to see, Ominis was used to navigating the world through his other senses. There was more than meets the eye anyways. Visuals are overrated. Ominis could feel the coldness of winter through the prickly sensation of snow falling on his skin, or how refreshing it is to inhale the scent of dew-covered leaves in spring mornings. To be quite honest, it was an advantage to block out the snide looks that his family gives him on the daily.

Some might say that being born into the House of Gaunt is a blessing. The Gaunts were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Ominis thought otherwise. Behind the splendor of the Gaunts’ massive manor, there was darkness weaved into the family name. Like many of Slytherin’s descendants, the Gaunt family was obsessed with keeping their lineage pure. Magic had to be kept between Wizard-kind only. These words were burned onto Ominis’ ears ever since he was little, as well as the screams of muggles when his family casted Crucio and other dark arts on them. They said that they did it for ‘practice’ and because ‘muggles are beneath us and they don’t deserve to live’. Ominis begged the differ. He could see neither muggles nor pure-bloods alike. It doesn’t matter. everyone was the same through his light-grey orbs.

Ominis Gaunt wished he was born into a normal family when his own parents made him stand in front of a cowering muggle. The boy couldn't see the terrified expression of the man, yet the gritting teeth, the wails, and pleas sent shivers down his spine. He could feel the wand in his sweaty grip slipping and falling down, the sound echoes around the chamber. Ominis thanked the universe that he couldn't see the disgusting looks of his snickering siblings, taunting the youngest of the Gaunt family. He heard a loud slap and felt a stinging pain on the backside of his head. “You foolish child,” his father grunted, “how many times do I have to tell you to cast the Cruciatus Curse on this… creature.”

Ominis’ tears well up, shaking his head profusely. “Please, father, I cannot do this!” The nine-year-old boy fell down on his knees, begging for just a little bit of mercy from his family.

Yet it was all for naught. “Avada Kedavra!” screamed his father, followed by a loud thump! Ominis couldn't hear the pleas from the man anymore. He sits down, hugging his knees, blocking his siblings’ cruel remarks. Despite his inability to see, he can feel his father’s disappointed gaze burning onto him.

“Crucio!”

Ominis could only feel pain. His whole body stung, it felt like there were a thousand knives jabbing him all over his body. On top of that, he couldn’t scream as he felt a hand squeezing around his throat. The boy thought he would die there and then, yet the pain subsided after what it felt like hours.

“You are no son of mine.”

Ominis’ relationship with his family was never the same after that. Not like it was good before, but he could feel that Gaunts’ wished he would disappear. He solidified his hatred towards the Dark Arts, promising himself that we will not wield it. This view was shared with his favorite family member, his aunt Noctua Gaunt. Ominis didn’t get to see Noctua a lot as his aunt was deep into studying Salazar Slytherin’s past. He didn’t mind though, he loved hearing stories about the Hogwarts Wizarding school that he will attend. Not only Ominis was keen on learning more about magic, but it was an invitation to get away from his dreadful family.

Despite not hearing back from Noctua after a while, he was beyond delighted to receive the invitation letter on his 11th birthday. Ominis ran his hands across the scruffy envelope paper, feeling the pointed folded edges. He flipped the envelope, opening the seal to produce the parchment inside. He ghosted his fingers against the paper, reading the invitation through the Braille letters embossed. It only took him a day to quickly pack his belongings and head to school.

Being the only blind student is one thing, but carrying the Gaunt name did make an impact in between the first years. It didn’t help that Headmaster Black escorted him into the sorting hat ceremony. What a pompous twit, Ominis thought. Gone were the expectations of having new friends and living a normal life at Hogwarts. Ominis sat down at the end of the long table.

However, an arm around his shoulder took him by surprise. “I’m Sebastian Sallow! And this is my sister, Anne!” chirped the boy. He grabbed Ominis’ arm, resting it on what Ominis suspected was a little girl. “Sebastian, don’t be rude! Sorry, my name is Anne. We saw you were sitting alone, so we thought we introduce ourselves?”

Ominis chuckled and introduced himself, “I’m Ominis Gaunt. Pleasure to meet you.” The children talked about how excited they were to be sorted. Ominis knew that he would be sorted into Slytherin, but he was pleasantly surprised to hear that his new friends were sorted into the same house.

The universe might not hate him after all.

The Hogwarts students were convinced that Ominis, Sebastian, and Anne were joined at the hip. Wherever one went, the other would follow. Contrary to popular belief that Sebastian was the most mischievous of the trip, it was Anne who was the biggest troublemaker. Ominis would use his family name to sweet-talk Headmaster Black from giving the twins detention. He didn’t mind, Sebastian and Anne were his found family. He would rather spend his holidays at Feldcroft. The Sallows loved to have Ominis at home as well, making the small house livelier after the loss of their parents.

However, good things don’t last forever. Ominis could vividly recall the blades of air passing through his skin as he flew to Feldcroft one night. Sebastian had sent him an owl notifying that Anne was cursed by the goblins. The boy was horrified to see one of his best friend crying, writhing on the bed. Daresay it reminisced him of the muggles that his family liked to torture. Ominis couldn’t do anything but to hold Sebastian as he cried in his arms.

Seasons changed. Anne had to pause her studies to rest at home. Sebastian was able to joke around again, but Ominis knew that he had a new goal in mind - to save Anne. It’s not like Ominis didn’t want to try, but after dealing with Dark Arts throughout his whole life, he understood that there was no cure. At least a cure with minor consequences.

As if Ominis’ life wasn’t eventful enough, he didn’t expect that there would be a new student joining the fifth year. Sebastian said that it was pretty comical seeing an older student walking towards the stage among the short first-years. Ominis did hear Sebastian murmuring that the new student was pretty, yet he dismissed it since Sebastian was a notorious flirt anyways. It took them by surprise that the sorting hat announced “SLYTHERIN!” after being placed on top of the girl’s head.

“Well, this shall be fun.” Sebastian chuckles as he helped Ominis to stand.

“Yes, it shall be.”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #ominis #ominis gaunt x reader #angst #ominis gaunt angst #hehe #ominis gaunt fanfic #will do more parts if it do well hehe

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thorns-fixations · 11 months

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What It Takes To Survive - Sub Zero / Reader SMUT 18+

Non-Con WARNING

Screams and shouts filled the air as the smoke and flames engulfed the structures that made your town, darkly clad warriors seizing all of those they could get their hands on, slaughtering the men and the resistors in a merciless bloodbath. You sprinted desperately, shoeless, throughout the wreckage, heart pounding in your chest as you attempted to duck and weave through collapsed buildings, your long sheer nightdress now weighed down by mud that you had rushed through to escape the warriors. ‘The forest, run to the forest,’ your thoughts echoed in your head, making a dash of pure desperation for the trees that surrounded your town, fresh tears gently rolled down your face, the fear of what happens next escaping your eyes with the aid of the stinging smoke that filled the air and had harshly invaded your lungs. You had just managed to navigate through the last row of buildings towards the forest when your ankles swiftly twisted around each other, being caught up by some weights and rope that had been thrown to slow your escape, you fell to the ground with a heavy thud, your arms barely braising your body for impact before the collision. Panic rushed through your mind at the idea of being caught out by the warriors, you had only just entered adulthood by your clan’s standard - there was so much you were meant to do, so much you were looking forward too with the other girls who had come of age at the same time as yourself. It wasn’t meant to end like this, not at the end of an assassin’s blade, alone, watching the life you knew being destroyed before being released into the arms of death himself. You composed yourself as much as you could, twisting around to reach the weighted rope that had wrapped around your ankles, grabbing the ropes, you began to pull at them, unaware of the assassin slowly approaching you from the wreckage you had come through. The sound of metal chains froze you solid where you sat amongst the grass, eyes still locked onto the rope, your heart sunk into your stomach, your breath catching in your throat, the tears once again falling from our eyes silently as you dared yourself to look up in the direction of the noise. A lone assassin stood between you and your town, angry orange flames climbing meters behind him, the hot colour contrasting to the mans vibrant blue armor garments a silence stood heavily between you as his eyes raked over your body – the bright light casted from the fires behind him emphasizing the sheerness of your nightwear, a dress normally never worn outside your chambers. The sheer cloth garment softly draping over your naked body left nothing to the imagination, you had not experienced a great deal of men, but you knew how to recognize the dangerous lust that grew in your captor’s eyes as he looked down at you. He began towards you, crossing the space that sat between swiftly and confidently, never breaking his eye contact with you.

‘Scream, run, fight, don’t just sit here, what are you doing – he will kill you, and if he doesn’t – just run!’ Your conscious screamed inside your head, frantic at your inability to move, his stare alone enough to render you frozen in time, unable to defend yourself, unable to run and hide – only able to move your head slowly to meet his glare as he approached. Now directly in front of you the man lowered himself towards the ground, inches away from your face – freezing cold mist leaving his mask as he breathed, the low temperature a welcome adjustment to the heat that had tortured you during your escape. He grabbed your wrists with demanding force, clasping metal shackles around them, the restraints are cold and heavy – your arms quickly drop towards the ground when he releases them from his hands.

“Behave, or die – the option is yours, Woman.”

The man spoke clearly before slicing through the rope constricting your ankles with the dagger on his thigh. He stood upright again before sharply tugging on the chain that connected to your wrists, lifting you up off the ground, painfully demanding you return to your feet. You quickly scrambled to regain your footing as he walked back into your town, the loud screaming that once filled the air had stopped, replaced by the weak cries of the women and young children you had once laughed with. The man stopped you in front of a small group of women – girls your age, a few a bit older, before shoving you to your knees with them, freezing your chain to theirs, you huddled to one of the girls – a close friend, someone you had spent days with, dreaming of future life’s, joyfully discussing people you found attractive, now at the mercy of the men who have massacred those you loved.

“Why are we separate from the others?”

You whispered to your friend nervously, met with a silent shake of the head as a response, she didn’t know either. You silently awaited your fate together, miserably watching the assassin’s gather bodies from the town and return them to an area nearby, setting the fresh corpses alight in a tower of death, the smell was horrible, one you never thought you could forget. A harsh looking man in red approached your group with an amused smile across his face, his enjoyment sending shivers across your body.

“Stand them up.”

The man commanded some plainly decorated assassin’s close by, who hurried to fulfil his order, ripping you all to your feet by the heavy chains that bound you, you stood in a line, anxiously awaiting any explanation of your fates. You saw the man nod at another of his clansmen who had been crafting something in a nearby fire, out of sight from the group – the man approached him with a grim answer to your worries, he held a glowing red brand proudly, the insignia matching the icon the assassins wore on their chest. You felt yourself go numb upon your realization.

“You ladies are lucky enough to be joining our clan’s live-in entertainment and service teams upon our return to the Lin Kuei Temple – Of course, as our property, we must brand you as such.”

One by one the scorching iron landed on the shoulder blades of the group until you had all been marked. You all stood together, defeated, dreading your new futures, you watched them destroy your home and you watched the man in blue return – this time in the company of two men, one in grey and another in the same shade of blue as himself. The colour-clad assassins mingled between themselves for some time, you knew who these men were, and how dangerous they could be – it would probably be best if you stayed on their good side and obeyed them where possible. As if he knew you were thinking about him, the man in blue – whom you assumed to be Sub Zero, upon seeing that he was the larger and elder of the men in blue – turned and walked towards you with haste, the other men completely undisturbed by his sudden departure from the group. Upon reaching you he disconnected your chain from the others and lead you forcefully away from the town square, you struggled to stay on your feet as he dragged you through the smoking remains of your town towards the temple you often spent time in, made from stone, it had survived the flames that suffocated the rest of the town. He led you through the halls towards the monk chambers, you felt sick at the blood that now stained the walls of the structure, you tried not to imagine the fate of those who were here throughout the attack. You were pulled into a room usually kept vacant for any travelling monks or people of importance, the room was larger than the others and held much more comfortable furniture, a large shelf bed as well as some upholstered chairs with a large fire pit along the wall. The man pushed you towards the bed, dragging you on your stomach toward the other side, attaching your chain to the top left post, trapping you on the mattress on your knees, you looked up at the man from your vulnerable position, you watched with dread as he removed his armor and clothing, his body was large and muscular, scars littering his skin. You tried not to look, you really did, so much so that you turned your face away from the man when he removed his pants, a deep chuckle filled the room, you heard footsteps move from in front of you until you felt the heavy weight of him crawling over the bed behind you. You shut your eyes tight, preparing for the next few moments… moments that didn’t come, you opened your eyes, mildly confused at the absence of the man, you could have sworn that you felt him climb onto the bed behind you – perhaps you were mistaken-. Your thoughts were cut off as you felt your nightdress lift from your legs and over your ass to drape over your back, you felt cold breaths over your core, your thighs quivering in retaliation.

No, no this couldn’t possibly be exciting you, the idea of being at the mercy of this man, this monster shouldn’t be filling you with lust!

“N-No!” You squeaked, almost pathetically, recoiling away from his breath, disgusted in your body’s reaction to the man’s presence, an amused noise came from behind you.

“No? Are you sure?” the man teased, running a single calloused finger down the wetness that had formed at your entrance, “Perhaps you should tell your body that “the man chuckled. You stayed silent, embarrassed by his comments, you shouldn’t be reacting this way.

“Well- alright then, we will do it your way” the mans voice dropped into a threatening growl, licking a forceful stripe from your clit over your entrance. You gasped at the sudden sensation before you felt his tongue forcefully enter you quickly making a wet mess of his saliva and your forbidden excitement, his cold tongue sent shivers through your heat as he continued to hungrily eat you. After a little while he pulled his mouth away from you, allowing himself to watch down at you. You had become a mess in front of him, desperately gasping for air between moans, a painful open hand slapped and grabbed your ass, causing you to wince and yelp in pain. Amused at your obvious mental battle, he placed an ice cold digit on your clit, placing an unfair amount of pressure behind it – just enough to make you moan and scream as your lust and disgust battled for supremacy, he could certainly have a lot of fun with you back at the temple but time was not his ally right now. Aware that his clansmen would soon come looking for him, he took himself in his hand, slowly down his length a few times before sliding his velvety head through the wet mess he had created, unfortunately for you, he didn’t give you much of a chance to prepare for what was coming next. He lined the head of his cock up to your entrance, in awe of the size difference between the two, an intense burning sensation startled your body as he forced his head into your entrance, the wet sounds of the union quickly overshadowed by the mans long moan of pleasure. The tightness surrounding him forced primal growls from his mouth as he slowly forced every inch of himself inside of you, the sensation sending you wild, his long, thick coldness slowly stretched you to his size before you finally felt his body against the skin of your thighs and ass. Two large, cold hands grabbed at your hips, you cherished the moment of stillness, a tiny chance for your body to adjust to him, a tiny chance cut very short.

You felt him begin to move out of you slowly before quickly snapping back completely, a moan screamed out of your mouth in retaliation before he sped up, mercilessly using you for his pleasure, his thick cock slick with your arousal, an applause of wet slaps echoing through the room as he assaulted your cunt. You felt your body go limp as he continued to fuck you, load moans falling from his mouth as roughly snapped his hips into you, almost desperately shoving as much as he could of himself into you, he growled at your weakness before freezing your chains and shattering them. His hand quickly grabbed your shoulder, flipping you onto your back and effortlessly spreading your legs open as far as they could go, leaning over you he wastes no time sliding his cock back into you and thrusting his hips into you as hard as he could. Your arms wrapped around his body instinctively, scratching and clawing his back, your moans echoing through the temple, his powerful thrusts soon became erratic as his moans grew louder, you watched as his head threw back, sweat glistening down his fit body, the muscles in his upper arms tensing as he chased his high. His eyes dropped back to you and his mouth curled into a mean smirk

“Like what you see, whore?” he growled through unsteady breaths, his hand weaving into your hair and pulling down forcing your face upwards “Open your, u-uoh, open your mouth, I don’t want cum to leak out and ruin my horses saddle on thew way to the temple”. You reluctantly opened your mouth as he pulled out of your body, stroking himself over your mouth until he reached his climax, filling your mouth with his thick salty orgasm.

#sub zero #sub zero / reader #sub zero x reader #bi han

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years

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Taste of You [Loki x Female Reader] 18+

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Your insatiable lover, Loki, just can’t get enough of the taste of you. When you need to decline him one morning, he surprises you with an unexpected meeting in the palace gardens. (w/c 3.1k) Warnings: Smut. Oral sex (F). Detailed descriptions of female anatomy. 18+ advised, NSFW, minors DNI!

"I'll die, Y/N, is that what you want?" "'Loki, you will not die, you don't need to be so dramatic all the time", you said abruptly as you shimmied in to your day gown, casting your eyes over your shoulder and instantly regretting it.

The God of Mischief was stretched out on your four poster bed, the morning light inching through the curtain illuminating his facial features and chiselled body as he rested his broad shoulders against the headboard, brow furrowed in displeasure.

"And here was I thinking you liked it." he huffed, as he turned his gaze from you to face the breeze coming in from the balcony.

For a moment, you felt yourself step towards the bed to reassure him- then you saw the briefest twitch of a smirk as he registered your approach.

"Nice try, my Prince" you murmured, smiling. That had been close. Thwarted, he turned his full attention back to your direction, eyebrows raised and rising to rest back on his knees before you, completely naked with his hardening cock proudly displayed.

"Do you know how many ladies in this palace would move the nine realms to have my mouth between their thighs for just one night?" He edged closer, his knees sinking into the mattress as he reached forward and placed two large hands on your waist.

"And men too, I'd wager", you winked, "but I have to go. Of all people, I don't wish to keep your mother waiting. You know how much this consult means to me for the Vanaheim research."

You met his gaze, an endless sea of intermingled shades of green and blue stared at you widely as he searched for a gap in your resolve.

"Ten minutes." he pleaded, "I just need a taste of you."

"Loki, no...ten minutes becomes two hours, you know this! I have to go, I'm sorry. I'll see you later". You broke from his touch reluctantly, not risking a kiss which could easily spill into what he craved.

"Yes, you will darling...'" the husky tones of your lover followed you like a heavy scent as the ancient mahogany door clicked shut.

___

The columns of the palace halls stretched before you on the long walk between your humble chambers and the Royal quarters. Polished marble brushed against your draped sage green gown as it slid effortlessly across the stone, dancing around your feet. You had never really questioned why Loki relished giving you oral pleasure so much. The game of cat and mouse the two of you played for years within these very hallways had culminated one evening in the common room you were passing...now...the one with the fireplace the width of the bi-frost. It had been unseasonably cold and after lighting the fire with his magic, the two of you didn’t move from that room for two days. It had been the most exhausting two days of your entire life, but also the most precious. After you had settled by the fire to warm up, and it became clear that the games were over and his intentions to court you were made exceptionally clear, he had kissed from your mouth to your navel and then not re-surfaced from between your legs for three hours.

Whether learned or innate, he had a way of keeping you just before the peak of pleasure, teetering on the brink of absolution. The way that his lips and tongue played with you was a symphony, rising and falling with the needs of your body and mind. Comfort, lust, joy and need were travelled within his touch as he bore himself into you, knowing exactly when to move his tongue up or down, when to flatten and when to flick, where to touch your needful flesh with those purposeful hands as he tended to your soul in time with his own. His own arousal was ever-present, pressing against the flesh of your palm when you reached to stroke him, but he never gave in.

Delayed gratification was a strong drug. He enjoyed the chase of your orgasm, ensuring that every one was carefully cultivated within its own time and not merely stacked. He had his ways of circumventing your post-climax sensitivity, lapping at your sex just below your most tender spot to prolong the high while preparing for the next. It was utter freedom. Time was a sensation for him, not a rule, it rolled in circles like his light brushes of your clit. It didn’t exist when he was watching you writhe and sigh under the effects of his touch.

You nodded to Lady Sif as she strode past you, the ‘good morning’ which was forming on your lips dissipated as she blanked you, charging ahead with her sword clicking at her armoured back. You smiled. After her affection for Thor had turned to Loki, however fleetingly, she had never forgiven you for ‘stealing’ him from her grasp that night. You couldn’t blame her. Her presence made you realise that you were almost at your destination. Time flew when you were fantasising about your insatiable Prince, in your daydreams as well as in your bed it seemed. You smoothed the front of your gown, turning to the door where you knew Frigga would be seated inside waiting for you and resolved not to think of her naked and impossibly sexy son, who was waiting for you for quite a different reason, for the duration of your meeting.

An hour later, you bid Frigga farewell and bowed lightly as you concluded your discussions. Her slim fingers reached out and brushed your cheek, smoothing over your jawline. You raised your eyes to meet hers, so like her son’s despite their patchwork family origins. "My Lady?", you questioned. Your relationship with Loki was known in some circles, but his parents were always a point of contention with him. He preferred to keep them in the dark in matters of the heart, fearing what trials exposure would bring. "Sometimes, my dear – the only person my son can effectively hide feelings from is himself’" You blushed, cursing that you had forgotten the power of the graceful Queen before you, "do not be embarrassed child. I am happy that Loki is opening his heart at last. I trust you will take care of him". You lowered your eyes again, a nod in place of words was all you could muster, "...as I trust he will take care of you." She winked. Did she just wink?

"He’s waiting for you outside by the way" she smiled, her eyes crinkling, ‘it seems you are much in demand this morning’. You felt blood rush to your cheeks again as you wished her a good day and made your way to the door, opening it gently to peer out before making your exit.

The corridor was deserted. Could she have been mistaken? Was she playing a trick on you? Perhaps beautiful eyes were not the only trait they shared. A fresh breeze teased your hair from the open palace doors nearby – Loki wouldn’t mind waiting an extra ten minutes in your room, surely.

You made your way towards the palace gardens, down the spiral exterior stairs carved from the ancient foundational rocks which gaped over the waterfalls running to the lake below. The lush greenery around you sang with effervescent radiance, foliage wrapped around the stairwell columns that gently tickled your hand as you made your way down the steps away from the towering palace. A few minutes walk brought you to your favourite place on Asgard, a garden which was filled with spring blooms even in the depths of winter, protected by Frigga’s magic. Cherry blossoms brought from mid-guard rustled and swayed as you swept your dress to the side and sat on the stone bench in the shade of a huge lilac tree, closing your eyes and drinking in the heady scent.

‘Hello, darling’

You looked up to your right, trying to keep the surprise which would give him so much satisfaction out of your eyes as you drank in the sight of your royal lover leant against a wall not ten feet away.

He’s waiting for you outside

One day, you would need to find out how they did that.

‘I see you managed to tear yourself away from my chambers, were you not able to find my journal?’ you casually leant back on your hands, hoping that it was not obvious that the effect he was intending with his sultry stare was having the desired response from your loins.

He sauntered towards you, pausing a few feet away so you could take in the view, "Your journal? I prefer to read minds pet, much more interesting’" He was dressed in his casual attire, still looking every inch of royalty. His knee-high boots encased leather clad legs, his muscular thighs flexing underneath the fabric begging to be handled.

An emerald green silk tunic, fitted to perfection, clung to his chest with untied threads which dangled tantalisingly around his neck. His shoulder length hair gave no indication of the dishevelled state that it had been in early this morning after your strenuous late night activities, it was tucked behind his ears revealing his sharp jawline down to his smooth neck which still bore the love-bites you had placed there at the height of passion. He could remove them with a flick of his hand, but he chose not to. He wished to be marked.He reached out and put his thumb to your lips, his long fingers brushing your cheek and then sharply inhaled, ‘ooo, thinking of my pleasuring you whilst speaking with my mother – how... inappropriate’ he growled as his eyes flashed dangerously.

You didn’t have time to respond as his lips crashed down to yours, propelling you backwards as his hand slid up effortlessly to stop your back hitting the stone. His tongue wove it’s way past your defences as a moan escaped you, your bodies melding to one from the top down as the kiss deepened. You would never understand how he caused you to completely lose yourself in him. Breathlessly, he pulled away, the bated danger in his eyes replaced by a deep longing, ‘do not decline my request again. I need you. I need to taste your essence on my lips, to bury my tongue inside your beautiful cunt, please do not resist me darling…’

You looked at him, stunned. You had never seen him this needy for you. His appetite for sex was legendary but oral sex in Frigga’s garden? That was something else. He kissed you again, harder this time and less tender, his hand moving to your hips as he looked to gain purchase on the folds of your dress.

‘Say yes’ he growled in your ear, his warm breath igniting the embers within you that had been smouldering since you left him this morning. ‘Yes, Loki’, you managed to squeak, the thrill of the location and his need for you overtaking your reservations. That was all he required. Suddenly he was a man possessed with want, a stranded desert traveller discovering a well of fresh water.

His weight left your body as he slid to the ground, his calves and thighs settling together as he adopted his favourite position to service you. He teased your dress, discovering the layers best placed to grant him access, finding a well placed slit at the side of the gown, ‘good girl’, he muttered, ‘you came prepared’. You were entranced by his concentration, not even noticing as the words slipped from your mouth, ‘all my day gowns are in this style, Loki’ and his face turned up to yours, the mischievous glint you loved so much shining brightly in his eyes, ‘Noted.’

Suddenly his hands were underneath the fabric of your skirt running up your calves, the cool air brushing over your exposed skin like clean cotton. He leaned in and placed a deep kiss on your inner thigh, sucking lightly as you moaned your approval. At his gentle coaxing, you spread your legs wider, just enough for him to lean into access what he craved. You heard him inhale as he drank in your scent followed by a low moan as his anticipation was reaching its apex, ‘darling you really are sensational’ he murmured as his eyes met yours as deep pools of lust, his black pupils eclipsing the nautical hues that usually adorned them.

You closed your eyes, bracing for the feeling you knew was about to wash over you. You didn’t need to wait long. Loki flattened his tongue against your sex gently, allowing you to settle before he slowly swirled around your apex. The long strokes lapped from the back of your vulva to the top, circling round to suck your folds between his lips.

His flattened licks ebbed and flowed in pressure as he smothered himself into you, diving deeper before ascending, sending vibrations to your throbbing core which edged you higher and higher to where you knew he wanted you to be – on the plateau of climax. Your hips thrust to meet his mouth, urging him to go faster but he never did. Loki knew what he was doing. From your sitting position, you observed the sight before you as your body surged with need. Loki, Prince of Asgard, on his knees before you. His dark curls falling around his face, his face buried between your thighs with only his eyes visible, closed in trance-like concentration at the pleasurable task at hand, low primal groans escaping him as he lapped at the font of your lust for him, taking what he craved, suckling every drop of wetness you produced at his gifted tongue’s command.

‘Loki,’ you whispered breathlessly, ‘I want to see it, I want to see you…’, and he knew what you meant. Without missing a beat, he angled himself lower as you bent forward. Slowly and purposefully, his gaze never leaving the sight of you watching intently, he licked once from your base, dipping his tongue inside your dripping pussy, then to the tip of your clit, stopping to gently suck and draw you outward before repeating it all. Fuck, he was so hot. The view of him eating you out was almost too much to bear.

You mentally recorded the sight of his pink tongue searching for your sex and landing, sliding purposefully inside you...the slight hollow of his cheekbones as he sucked at your delicate lips tenderly on exit, the flash of a furrow in his regal brow as his cock strained against its confinement below. You moaned, leaning backwards once again – the pressure building now spurred on by your mind spinning out of control with lust. Your hands wound into his hair, pressing him further into you with urgency, willing him to make you come before you lost your senses.

One of his hands snaked up to your chest and pushed you backwards in response, you did not resist. Next, when he raised your leg to rest your foot on the edge of the bench, you were undone with need, completely at his mercy. The cool breeze hit your core as your God continued his quest to outdo himself with the amount of pleasure he could bestow, his tongue sliding perilously close to your asshole with the deep angle. He was lapping intensely at your hole, tantalisingly close to your clit, creating the most exquisite build up that made you buck against him feverishly, your body begging for release. Your moans were louder now, his name dropping from your lips. You had forgotten where you were...or didn’t care.

You looked across at him, one arm was wrapped around your calf to keep it elevated, the other gently caressing your leg which was still planted on the ground, shaking gently.

His eyes met yours, feeling his lips curl into a smile against your pussy. Two moistened figures appeared at your delicate asshole, rubbing gently as you keened into him. "Lokiii…" you groaned with unadulterated pleasure, the overload to your sense was tangible. You were overcome with the need to come in his mouth, have him slide his incredible cock inside your pussy and make him flip you over and take you up the ass at the same time. In this moment he could take all of you, any way he chose. "Come for me, darling", he murmured from underneath you, "slowly".

You slowed your breathing, focusing on his rhythmic ministrations, alternating between licking up your folds to the centre of your clit and dipping inside your heated core. You felt your tipping point approaching rapidly now that he had commanded it, like rolling down a hill. Your hands returned to his hair, grasping for purchase against the coming crescendo. Strong fingers interlaced with yours as he drew one of your hands down. Squeezing it, your nails dug into his knuckles as the wave of your climax began to break.

You came. Hard.

The arm encasing your bent knee braced against you, pushing you open as he helped you ride out your climax. He lapped firmly, savouring the hot cum flowing freely from you as your hips seized and pushed back into him. Pure pleasure rolled across you as you stared up at the sky, birdsong and moans of your lover intermingling with your own cries of ecstasy.

"Loki…", was all you could manage as he slowly rose above you, rearranging your dress and fluidly sitting you upright as you re-centred yourself. "I know, my love", he whispered..."but we have company, so I think it’s best we make an exit". You looked at him with marked concern as his eyes twinkled, his mouth and chin covered in your slick wetness. His hard cock was proudly visible stretched against the tightness of his trousers. From above you, in the direction of the staircase, you heard the familiar clinking of armour in motion, palace guards. "Seems you have created quite the security alert, my little screamer". He laughed quietly as you flushed even pinker.

"Loki I…what if someone saw? What will we tell them?" You fumbled with your dress in an effort to look presentable as his chuckle deepened. Two fingers heavy with your scent raised your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "We won’t tell them anything darling, we’re going straight to my chambers. I’ve not nearly had enough of you yet."

And with a snap of his fingers, the two of your were gone.

#hot loki #lokismut #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki oneshot #loki x reader #loki x you #dom!loki x sub!reader #softdom!loki #sexyloki #loki avengers #loki marvel #thor fanfiction #loki of asgard #loki reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x yn #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki laufeyson x you

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

Text

Midnight Blades {Epilogue}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: The final prophecy comes to fruition as this journey reaches its end. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, threat of violence WC: 1318

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty || Part Twenty-One || Part Twenty-Two || Part Twenty-Three || Part Twenty-Four || Epilogue

18 Years Later The Princess of Dragonstone woke suddenly and peered around her dark room to find what had disturbed her sleep. She could hear the sea meeting the shore beyond the castle walls but nothing else seemed amiss as she pushed the blankets away and climbed from the bed. The curtains billowed gently with the breeze that carried the scent of salt and she opened them to step out onto the balcony.

The silhouette of Vhagar lay down on the sandy beach with the smaller body of the Princess’ dragon, Fenrys, not far away. Moonlight cast a glow over the sea and the stone cliffs that surrounded Dragonstone but still she could not see what had disturbed the night.

Her older sisters, Queen Aedira of Westeros and Queen Selaena of Scythe, had flown off on their dragons after celebrating the Queen Mothers’ Name Day so she knew it wasn’t their jovial songs, that they enjoyed after a few casks of wine, that had woken her. At a loss, she turned back to her bed and spotted him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Megaera said quietly, lest her guards outside the door overhear and come to investigate.

“You said that last time,” Jesper said with a smirk as he stepped out of the shadows.

“If anyone catches you in my chambers, I-”

“No one will catch me, Meg, but if it comes to it I can always use my charm.”

“Charm?” Megaera laughed. “You Dornish Princes are so deluded.”

He took a seat in her chair and picked up the book she had left on the side and flicked it open as he spoke, “You wound me with that wicked tongue, princess.”

“Jesper,” Megaera groaned as she reached for her book and tried to pluck it from his hands but he moved quicker and moved it from her reach so he could pull her across his lap instead.

“Yes, my sweet?” he asked innocently as his lips caressed her neck.

“My father would have your head if he knew what we were doing.”

Jesper groaned and tipped his head back. “I do not want to think about your father right now.”

Megaera reached up to stroke the prince's dark hair that fell in waves to his shoulders and savoured the scent of cardamom that wafted from the silken strands. “You can’t come here anymore, I’m serious. The Lords of Westeros will be arriving with their son’s for the tourney next week, my mother expects to find my betrothed among the winners.”

Jesper’s hand dropped from her hip in shock as he realised the dreaded day had come and it sent the book tumbling to the side table, clattering into the tea cup loudly. Meg jumped from his lap as the door handle rattled the lock and her guards called out.

“Run,” she whispered quickly as she pushed him towards the balcony. Jesper reached the railing and looked over to the drop that would easily kill a man and he turned back. “What are you doing?”

“If i'm going to die, it will be at your side,” he said stoically as he stood beside her, the guards finally shoving the spare key into the lock and turning it.

“Stars, forgive me,” Megaera pleaded as she pulled Jesper’s sword from his scabbard and stepped behind him as the door burst open. She pressed her knee into the back of his and he fell down hard on them before she held the blade to his throat.

“Well done, your highness,” Ser Pollick praised as he sheathed his sword and smirked at the Dornish Prince on his knees. “Your mother will be proud.”

—

You woke in a cold sweat as you dreamed of the night you had almost died, or perhaps you had died for a brief moment. The gentle wind blowing through the curtains seemed to whisper the echo of Grammy’s words with each swish of the sheer material, Three Queens.

It had been a long time since you thought of the prophecy but you felt them now as if they were close enough to touch. Unable to go back to sleep, you untangled your legs from Aemond and slipped a thin robe around your body to keep the chill at bay.

You could never have pictured yourself living on Dragonstone after finding Aemond half dead in the dungeons and the brutal deaths that were lost to the island. Yet somehow it had become home in the years since you and Aemond abdicated the thrones for your daughters.

The Iron Throne had become Aedira’s not long after her 21st Name Day. She had been gifted time in a way that you and Aemond had not - she had the years to find love, marry and raise a child of her own before the responsibilities of the crown were placed on her head. Now she ruled justly with the King Consort, Viserys II, and had the support of Princess Jaehaera and Prince Aegon on their council.

You had then ruled Scythe with Aemond until Selaena matured and you both decided to retire to Dragonstone so that neither Queen was far away on dragon back. Selaena had yet to marry but she was content to rule on her own though she still hoped to change her title to King one day.

Your thoughts drifted to your youngest daughter, a woman in her own right and no longer a child. You could see the longing for adventure in her violet eyes every time you caught her staring out across the sea from her balcony. She was most similar to you, though like her sisters she looked like her father, and that was perhaps why you weren’t ready to unleash her on the world just yet.

The clash of armour pulled you from your thoughts and you were already opening the door to your chambers as the guard ran towards you.

“The princess-“

You didn’t wait to hear anything else as you sprinted to Megaera’s room, swiping the soldier's half sword as you passed him. The door to her room was already open as you shoved the guards aside and found your daughter with a blade to the throat of the Dornish King’s eldest son.

“Meggy,” you sighed in relief as you saw she was unharmed.

“Thanks for waking me, love,” Aemond growled with a sleep-laden voice as he caught up a moment later, his breeches callously buttoned and his shirt missing as he rested the flat edge of Dark Sister on his shoulder. “What trouble do we have here?”

“Prince Jesper of Dorne by the looks,” you said as you saw Megaera’s hand tremble as it held the blade over his skin. “You’re certainly a long way from home.”

Megaera’s eyes darted around the room that had been filled with armed guards and you saw her breaths coming in short bursts as panic creeped in.

“You can let the sword go, sweetheart,” you said softly as you took a step closer.

She shook her head and the prince hissed as the sword nicked the skin above his clavicle. An apology formed on her lips but she bit them back and Aemond chuckled as he mistook the refusal to release the blade as bloodthirst to end the prince herself.

“The punishment is yours to give,” Aemond said. “You captured him in your chambers, not even the Dornish King could refute the claim for his life given this situation.”

Meg was close to tears as she looked to you for guidance.

“The choice is yours,” you assured her with a nod, “whatever you choose to do with the Crown Prince, we will support you.”

She let out a shaky breath as she dropped the sword, the metal clanking loudly as it hit the stone floor. “Mother,” she whispered as the prince looked up at her, not an iota of retribution in his eyes. “I wish to marry him.”

—//—

Author’s Note: thank you so much to everyone who has followed this story, I love you all so much and appreciate every comment and reblog that motivated me to keep going. You are all beautiful Queens and I hope you know it 💕

—//—

Taglist: @hopebaker , @xcharlottemikaelsonx , @eddiemunson17 , @ninjabritches , @solacestyles , @hideing , @missusnora , @marrianena , @jonsncws , @dudfahsn , @queenofterrasen418 , @naeviahope , @averagethottie , @evilcherries , @delusionsofnostalgia , @le-who-zer-her , @readsalot73 , @thewew , @m-indkiller , @blackundertaker , @insxgtt , @adoringanakin , @dark-night-sky-99 , @hiatuswhore

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic

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trickstarbrave · 4 months

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this fic is still not done but. i wanted to post another part

part three can be found here

nerevar and voryn reunite :)))))))

i still have to write up more stuff about nerevar now officially joining house dagoth. and how annoyed he'll be about the whole thing.

They arrived in Blacklight as expected, waltzing into Blacklight’s palace with identification. When they pulled Nerevar from the cart, still wrapped in the blanket looking exhausted, a little filthy, and miserable, the guards looked at them with heavy skepticism, but allowed them entry regardless.

Nerevar had to admit, at least to himself, he was anxious. Somewhere in between the bouts of numbness and feeling empty and unreal, there was fear of what was to come swirling in his stomach, and he was sweating excessively despite the cold weather--and that was saying nothing of the way his thoughts were racing, replaying events, all while everything happening around him seemed to be going far too slowly and far too quickly at the same time.

They exited the propylon chamber back in Kogoruhn, and Nerevar’s stomach flipped. Being back once again in the familiar walls should have brought him some comfort, but it didn’t. Years of happy childhood memories couldn’t wash away what happened six months prior, after all, nor the knowledge that he had been brought here to die. In the air he could still faintly smell Voryn, and that fact alone had him trembling, the urge to bolt stronger than ever.

He would have said he wanted to see Voryn one last time, but even Nerevar knew that would be a bad idea. Voryn would only be hurt more, in the end, even going so far as to refuse to let them hurt Nerevar and getting hurt in the process. And Nerevar knew he wouldn’t be able to accept his death as he had up until now if he was back in Voryn’s arms once more; he’d refuse, clinging to Voryn and begging not to leave him again. His heart was unsteady even just thinking about such a thing, his resolve crumbling bit by bit.

As soon as the servants saw Vemyn and Odros had returned with Nerevar in tow, the reaction was immediate. Not quite chaos--but things definitely turned busy, servants darting around as they rushed to get things into place.

The chief healer, Llevena, quickly arrived as well, flanked by two more healers. Nerevar recognized one of them as the other who inspected him to make sure he didn’t have a claiming bite before his exile, though the memory was only making the encounter more sour as he remembered the humiliating experience of being touched, inspected, and even undressed while he was in heat when all he wanted to do was curl up and hide.

“We found him.” Vemyn announced to her, before stepping aside and letting the guards drag Nerevar off to follow behind Llevena now.

“Thank gods,” Llevena sighed, Nerevar struggling a bit as he was pulled now.

“Be careful, he’s already combative.” Vemyn scoffed.

“Have the potions and scents been helping?”

“To a point.” Vemyn replied, walking behind them as Nerevar was led down hallways he didn’t typically enter. This area of Kogoruhn was typically used for magical research of various kinds, though it did also include where healers tended to have their offices and conducted studies. Normally if he was injured though a healer came by to see him outside as the caravan was unloaded or they came to his room per Voryn’s request. “He has been able to keep food down though.”

“That’s to be expected.” Llevena sighed. “Alright, get him on the table. We need to get him ready.”

Anxiety hit Nerevar again. Were they going to do some experiment on him? He dug his heels in more, using all the strength he had left to try and break out. One of the other healers foolishly tried to grab him herself, and Nerevar didn’t hesitate to instinctively bite her.

“Ow--fucking--!” The healer swore, before casting a healing spell on her hand. “He fucking bit me!”

“He’s a distressed omega in heat, what did you think was going to happen?” Llevena snapped back. “Where’s the robe?” The third healer pulled out a red robe, cast a spell, and before Nerevar could process it, she was pressing the fabric to his nose.

All of Nerevar’s muscles went lax for a moment, his eyes fluttering shut. The robe smelled spicy, musky, nostalgic, and warm.

It smelled like Voryn. Just like him too--the scent fresh and strong, enough to make him feel absolutely weak. It was enough of a distraction for them to hoist him onto the table, pinning him down, though he could still stroke at the red fabric with one hand to soothe himself. His body recognized it before his brain fully did, but this scent was Voryn in rut, a few pheromones of distress and anger on it, though mostly it was…

Nerevar growled as a healer pulled his shirt up, trying to kick. Someone besides Voryn was touching him, and he hated it. Llevenna grabbed a different section of the robe--one further down the body where the scent was even stronger, and pressed it closer to his nose. A loud keen escaped him as his body grew warm and fuzzy to the point Nerevar felt dizzy. They were touching his lower stomach, but his brain wasn’t fully processing it, instead getting intoxicated off of Voryn’s scent.

Finally, after a few more moments, it began to wear off. His brain quickly realized Voryn was not in fact there, and he remembered he was being held down to a table. He began struggling again, growling and swearing, as he felt them gliding something across his lower stomach. Was that--a brush? That didn’t seem right that they’d be writing on him with a calligraphy brush, but whatever it was it was ticklish and irritating and--

“Done.” Llevena wiped sweat from her brow.

“I’ve never seen someone write a seal on someone so fast.”

“I’ve written hundreds of these.” Llevena replied with ease, and Nerevar was finally allowed to yank his shirt down and curl up in on himself. Upon glancing down briefly before the fabric coveredit, Nerevar saw there was in fact daedric writing on his skin--black letters as though written on a spell scroll--and no matter how much he tried he couldn’t wipe it off.

“Should we clean him up?” One of the healers asked.

“I’m not bathing him after he nearly broke my hand biting me!” The other snapped, and Llevena glared at both of them.

“Just hurry and get him to the room.” Llevena scowled, rubbing her temple. “Besides, his alpha will want to clean him anyways.” Nerevar tensed at that.

‘His’ alpha? Nerevar had no fucking alpha. He was unmated. They already knew that and made it clear.

Did they bring him back not to kill him, but instead force him to mate with someone else? The thought was nauseating. He didn’t want to mate right now--all he wanted was to go to sleep. To bury him face in the robe now clenched in his fist, to stop thinking, and to go the fuck to sleep. He’d prefer just the poison than whatever sick plans they had of having another alpha claiming him just to torture Voryn.

And sure enough, as the guards went to drag him off he really tried fighting them, hurling profanities, swearing at them, scratching and biting whenever possible--though it did little given their armor and his weakened state. Then, as he was trying to get away, he heard the sound of magic being cast, and a wave of calm washed over him.

“I thought the scent would be enough to keep him calm but I suppose not.” Llevena sighed again, Nerevar going limp, being carried over Beryl’s shoulder.

It was a long walk, Nerevar dazed the whole time, his eyes closed as he instead breathed in the scent of Voryn all over again, the mental high coming back.

And then he was back on his own feet, swaying, standing in front of Voryn’s door.

Was he dreaming? It felt like he was. The scent was pouring out of the room though--tinged much more strongly with rage, anger, and a deep sadness. The guards knocked, earning a loud growl from Voryn this time, before they spoke.

“We found him, young master.” The growl stopped, and loud footsteps approached. The door was thrown open, Nerevar still dazed, and Voryn dragged him into a firm embrace.

“Neht--!” A deeper warmth bloomed in him, this one different from the dizzying high he felt before. Right now he felt sparks wherever he was touching Voryn, much more compliant as Voryn tugged him in and shut the door behind him, locking it.

“Oh thank gods you’re alright.” Voryn whispered. “You don’t know how worried I was…” Voryn took him to the bed, nuzzling him and stroking him to scent him thoroughly. “Nerevar--”

If he was dreaming, Nerevar didn’t want to wake up. He cut Voryn off by wrapping his arms around Voryn’s shoulders, tugging him down into a kiss, his body feeling warm and right after so long. Voryn’s hands were all over him, much more welcomed than being tugged around and manhandled like before, his body eagerly leaning into it. Voryn straddled him, kissing him back just as deeply, even going so far as to wrap one of Nerevar’s legs around him so he could press himself firmly against Nerevar’s body.

Ah, this was perfect. Nerevar never wanted this to stop, his previous fears about dying completely gone. In fact, every negative thought vanished from his mind as the kisses grew lazier and lazier on Nerevar’s end, his body feeling heavy. Now that all of the stress had melted off him he felt so very, very tired, and back in the safety of Voryn’s arms all he wanted to do was get some sleep properly.

“Mm, Neht,” Voryn mumbled against Nerevar’s lips as he pulled away slightly, before chuckling at how tired Nerevar really looked. “... Why don’t you rest for now?” Voryn asked quietly. “I can get you cleaned up tomorrow.”

“I… I don’t want to sleep.” Nerevar confessed, struggling to keep his eyes open. “I don’t want to wake up with you gone.”

“I won’t be.” Voryn whispered, before curling up with Nerevar on the bed. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, I promise.” He pressed another soft, lingering kiss to Nerevar’s lips, the gentleness enough to leave his head spinning.

He tried fighting it, desperately trying to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t help but feel like this would be over when he woke up; he’d leave this wonderful dream behind, and instead be in a prison cell, left hurting even more than before.

But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep his eyes open for much longer. Voryn was gently rubbing circles on his scalp, holding him close, the smell so strong and vivid and right. He finally felt safe and comfortable in Voryn’s arms, all of the exhaustion from the past six months catching up to him. Not even those potions they fed him could compare to this peaceful bliss.

His eyes fluttered shut, and against his wishes, he found himself sleeping peacefully.

“Mmm~” Nerevar groaned in delight as he sank into the warm water, relaxing.

When morning came, Nerevar was shocked to find himself actually in bed with Voryn. Voryn was already awake, rubbing soothing circles on his stomach, smiling warmly at him as soon as Nerevar opened his eyes. He was so shocked in fact he yelped and nearly fell out of the bed, knocking a few pillows onto the floor in the process, but Voryn tugged him close once more.

Nerevar had apparently slept about 16 hours. Double than usual, though it made sense given how exhausted and stressed he was. When he was on the run in his ‘exile’ he was sleeping less than he should, maybe only around 6 hours at most, though it never felt very restful and he was constantly waking up all hours of the night, sometimes rushing off to scrub his skin raw in a bathing house in an effort to get the phantom scent of Voryn off him.

“Enjoying yourself?” Voryn asked, climbing in behind him. Nerevar’s cheeks flushed slightly, his ears twitching.

“Yeah,” Nerevar admitted. “I really needed a bath.” It had been a good week since he had a proper cleaning, and even longer to have one with some decent hot water to soak in. Towns he stayed in on the run didn’t always have hot springs to get hot water from and bathing houses that did offer hot water from fancy Dwemer boilers (that House Dagoth so kindly introduced to the chimer) were expensive.

“I’m glad I get to finally clean you up properly.” There was genuine mirth in his voice, combined with relief.

Nerevar still wasn’t used to this, as Voryn rubbed soothing circles on him. Voryn had already scrubbed him down before they got in to soak, as per bathing customs of Resdayn, taking his time and doing so with surprising gentleness. They used to bathe together when they were young, but that had stopped when they were preteens, just before they presented. The closeness was nice but he just… Still hadn’t processed what Voryn had told him.

They were fated mates. The reason he went into heat early all those months ago was likely because of Voryn’s pheromones all over him all day, his body knowing deep down it was his mate. The reason why they were both overwhelmed by the desire to mate properly was because the draw was already in effect, desperate to have a bond properly formed already. The reason for his declining health too was the very same: his body was under high stress being apart from his destined mate, getting only worse and worse by the day. Had he fled to Skyrim it likely would have done him in within a few months, and doomed Voryn along with him.

Nerevar tried to deny it initially, before the evidence became too much to ignore. The potions Vemyn and Odros fed him on the road was a special one—a brew used to soothe the pull of a fated mate bond by tricking the body into thinking their mate was nearby, at least enough that the worst symptoms faded and made them more functional. By Azura, they wouldn’t have bothered dragging him there alive if it wasn’t for something important, a fact he only realized in hindsight now that paranoia and anxiety weren’t clouding his senses.

He owed that healer in Tear an apology. If he had been willing to listen, he might have been able to see Voryn sooner. But at the time he could only focus on survival, and feared encountering House Dagoth again would only mean death. Maybe he’d write her a letter and say she was right, maybe send her a bit of coin too while he was at it. She had been taking him seriously, unlike any other healer, and he was too stupid to see it.

But the fact was still shocking. It still hadn’t fully set in, if he was being honest. Voryn? His mate? It felt absurd. He had ambitions in life, yes, but he never coveted the position of being Voryn’s mate. Instead he hoped to use his skills in battle—if not here than perhaps in a different place or for a different house—and prove he was skilled in leadership and politics while he was at it. Being Voryn’s mate wasn’t anything he’d even considered; sure, he was prepared to use his connection to Voryn if need be, but he’d already earned Voryn’s friendship genuinely. But being his mate was…

Higher status than even a spouse. If Nerevar did, for whatever reason, aspire for political power by sleeping with Voryn, the most he could have hoped for was doing so in secret, or maybe to become a concubine. But they weren’t even just mates but fated mates, a bond that was a source of envy to many mer.

Voryn rubbed circles on his lower stomach now, and Nerevar’s brows furrowed as he once again inspected the daedric script on his stomach. Reading it upside down also wasn’t doing him any favors in understanding, if he was honest.

“What even is this…?” Nerevar asked. It had to be important given the healers went out of their way to do so when Nerevar was so difficult. They knew what an extremely distressed omega was like, and that Nerevar would be potentially beyond that, but still chose to hold him down and put it on.

“A seal to protect you from conceiving temporarily.” Voryn explained. “Given your health I don’t think they believed potions were a good option right now, nor did they want you risking a pregnancy like this either.”

Ah, that made sense. They just found Nerevar and the last thing they needed was Nerevar dying from complications of a poorly timed pregnancy. Fated mates suffered immensely when their partner died, after all. Perhaps that was Nerevar’s instincts when he realized that, and responded by desperately trying to protect his own life for Voryn’s sake.

“Ah.” Nerevar sighed, before leaning back.

“You lost far too much weight.” Voryn frowned. “A lot of your muscles have softened too.”

“I barely wanted to practice with my sword, let alone had the energy to.” Honestly, that was another sign something was deeply wrong with Nerevar; he loved the sword more than anything, since he was a child. Not just the sword, but moving his body, training with weapons. He liked spears and axes too, enjoying the way they forced him to work other parts of his body. Not moving around made him all the more miserable, as he lost his passions entirely. “I also just… Couldn’t eat much.”

“Don’t worry,” Voryn whispered. “You’re back, and you can eat your fill again.” Nerevar chuckled at that; his nausea was gone now that he was back in Voryn’s presence and he was hoping his appetite would return soon as well.

“You’ll feed me again?” Nerevar asked teasingly, before Voryn kissed his ear, earning a gasp, followed by laughter at how ticklish it felt.

“Yes.” Voryn replied, smiling.

“… When did you want to do the claiming bite?” Nerevar asked. The healers said there wasn’t a guarantee the symptoms wouldn’t start back up if they didn’t form a bond soon. The relief wouldn’t last forever after they were kept apart for so long.

“We should at some point today.” Voryn answered, before nuzzling into a scent gland on his neck. Nerevar shuddered and keened softly; even the healers just looking at his neck before had him a wreck. No doubt it was his body panicking about the chance of someone else claiming him instead of Voryn. “The sooner the better.”

“You could have earlier.” Nerevar replied.

“You were exhausted.” Voryn frowned. “I wasn’t going to bite you when you were about to fall asleep. I want you to be awake and fully conscious of what I’m doing.”

“I’m awake right now…” Nerevar whispered back teasingly, and he quickly felt Voryn tense up.

“… Gods dammit Nerevar,” Voryn groaned, before licking at his scent gland. Instantly, his body heated up, lust pumping through him as instinctively his head tilted, giving Voryn more room.

“A-ah, here?” Nerevar asked, gasping and moaning softly. “In the tub?”

“You’re the one who said such a cocky thing,” Voryn nipped playfully, and Nerevar keened, his hips squirming. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“Mm,” It felt good, but he knew that wasn’t quite how he wanted it. His body was so desperate he would have just accepted it, but if given the choice… “Your bed, claim me in your bed…”

“On my bed, properly?” Voryn asked as Nerevar moaned. “Right where you belong?”

“Yes,” Nerevar hissed. Fuck did it sound hot when he said it like that. “Fuck yes~”

Nerevar found himself being tugged out of the tub, Voryn kissing him the whole walk back to the bed. Private bathing chambers was another dwemeri invention, only for nobility in chimeri culture, but something Nerevar was insanely grateful for at the moment. They almost slipped once on the tile in their passion and due to not drying off properly first, but Nerevar managed to catch them on the doorframe, one arm tightly around Voryn’s waist.

“Should I touch you first?” Voryn asked the moment Nerevar’s back met the sheets. “Or should I just claim you right now?”

“Can you even wait a few minutes to touch me without claiming me?” He challenged, only to laugh as Voryn gave the back of his thigh a squeeze.

“I don’t know, do you trust that I can?”

Nerevar smirked back, leaning in to kiss him again, before guiding Voryn’s hand between his thighs.

“Touch me while you’re doing it?” Nerevar’s lips brushed Voryn with every movement, their breaths mixing. He let out a muffled moan of pleasure as Voryn’s fingers found his dick, before Voryn’s lips trailed down to his jaw and neck.

“Oh gods,” Voryn’s voice was trembling. “I get to finally make you all mine…” Voryn groaned, before he sunk his teeth into Nerevar’s neck.

The moment Voryn’s canines sunk in, claiming him properly, Nerevar felt his body alight with pure pleasure, unable to even think properly. His mouth opened as a long, loud moan ripped its way out of his throat uncontrollably, body trembling in pure ecstasy, Voryn’s fingers still working at his cock. Voryn even went so far as to keep his teeth in there, digging them a bit deeper. A mate touching the spot of a claiming bite after the bond was formed was pleasurable, and it wasn’t uncommon for mated pairs to relive the ecstasy and re-establish their bond by biting again, but feeling his teeth remain there had him dizzy. The white hot pleasure stopped, leaving able to think semi-properly, before waves and waves of pleasure followed and his eyes rolled back again.

“Too much~” Nerevar groaned. “It’s too much, it’s—Voryn~!”

After his second orgasm, Voryn finally let him go, removing his teeth from Nerevar’s neck.

“Ah…” Nerevar starred up, dazed, “Fuck…”

“Do you see why you needed that seal on you?”

Nerevar panted, unable to reply. Nerevar was still recovering and hadn’t even eaten a proper meal yet. He didn’t actually consider Voryn mating with him immediately until his little joke went too far, and he couldn’t tell if it was a good idea to let Voryn knot him right now while he was at it.

“Ah, will you actually…?” Nerevar asked, spreading his legs a bit wider as his voice trailed off. He was rewarded by two fingers slipping inside him.

“You know I want to,” Voryn whispered. “But you should eat properly and get more rest before I do.”

“You want to so badly, don’t you…?” Nerevar moaned softly, his eyes going half lidded as he smirked up at him. “You know I’ve hardly been able to get off without you Voryn…” It was the truth, and he was hoping it would have an effect on his alpha. “I missed your touch… I missed you so badly…”

“Fuck,” Voryn swore before his lips crashed into Nerevar’s, “Filthy little scamp,” He growled, a softer, more playful one than one of aggression. “I should. I should take you and knot you, just like you deserve. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Nerevar hissed. “Yes, knot me~” Gods did he miss Voryn’s knot so badly right now, his cunt aching for it.

“Not yet,” Nerevar groaned in response, though Voryn also sounded heavily disappointed himself, “I want you to rest a bit more.”

“Voryn,” Nerevar was about to start up again, but Voryn hushed him.

“Just wait a bit longer to eat and relax, and then I will.” He promised. “Just think of it like this—you’ll feel better with more energy to enjoy it then.”

He had a point. Given how little he’s eaten he wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t exhausted and hungry halfway through, ruining the mood. Reluctantly, he let the issue go, sighing. Voryn equally reluctantly removed his fingers and pressed a kiss to Nerevar’s cheek.

#nerevar is still acting like a feral cat in the beginning. lol #nerevoryn #nerevar #indoril nerevar #voryn dagoth #my writing #omegaverse au #not sfw

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