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knoxmares · 6 months

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how filling - che'nya x dom(ish) top amab reader

MINORS DNI

tags: che'nya exhibiting some yandere behavior, stuffing, emeto, mentions of sickness, implied fwb relationship, slightly under-negotiated kink a/n: unofficial sequel to this fic. you don't have to read it to enjoy this one, but there's some details that are carried over

You’re smirking before Che’nya even opens the door, his genuine look of shock being just what you predicted.

“Surprise…”

“Wha-“ his wide yellow eyes blink slowly as if he thought you were a hallucination. You suppose this is your first time visiting him at the Royal Sword Academy, and it gives you satisfaction knowing you’ve caught him off guard for once.

“Gonna invite me in, kitty? You know I’m really not supposed to be here, so there’s no telling what goody two shoes might report me.” You glance down the dorm hallway, which is thankfully still vacant. Unfortunately, you don’t have Che’nya’s disappearing ability, which allows him to be effortlessly sneaky.

“You never need an invitation” he eyes you curiously as he steps back to let you in, wrapping himself tighter in the blanket that’s draped over his shoulders. You swiftly step inside allowing yourself to scan the dimly lit room, which you’ve only seen in pictures and video calls. Considering you are childhood friends, one would think you would have visited him at some point during the three years you’ve been enrolled at separate schools, but he dropped in on you so frequently there was never a need to.

“How are you feeling?” You set down the bag you brought on his desk. You had brought him some food since he had told you he was slowly getting his appetite back.

“A bit better I suppose” he pouts slightly shuffling back over to his bed. “I’m going to start going back to classes tomorrow.”

“Oh really?” You join him on his bed, and you notice his soft look of surprise when you leave no distance between you two. “I hope you’re not pushing yourself to go back too soon. Someone has been bringing you your work, no?” You can’t help but reach out a hand to try to assess his condition yourself. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, and it feels normal, but you press it to his cheek for good measure. He purrs at your actions, holding your hand against his cheek as he nuzzles into it further.

“You’re not worried about getting sick?” Che’nya looks more like himself than ever glancing up at you seductively with a smirk on his face. “Or maybe you just missed me too much.”

“Says the one who’s texted me nonstop telling me how miserable he is and complained that he had no one to take care of him.”

“No one as fun as you at least” he teasingly kisses the back of your hand that he’s still holding against his face.

“You really must be feeling better” you surmise. If he hadn’t sent you pictures of him looking peakish or voice messages of his terribly hoarse voice, you might believe he exaggerated his sickness to get you to come over. Though you were still suspicious of his intentions when he sent you a picture of him in his bed yesterday, dressed in lingerie and claiming to be “sooo bored.” You couldn’t deny part of you hoped that same lingerie was hidden under his blanket now.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come over when you were sicker”

“It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to come at all, but I’m glad you did” he gives you a toothy grin. “And you brought me something” his eyes glance over to the bag you brought, ears twitching with anticipation.

“Don’t get too excited. I just thought you might like a home cooked meal now that you’re eating more. You are keeping your food down now, right?”

“You made me food?” The second part of your sentence gets ignored as the thought of you preparing something for him evidently fills his head. His starry-eyed gaze keeps shifting from you to the bag, so you figure you might as well offer it to him now, which he readily accepts.

“It’s not anything special. You know I’m not much of a cook, so I just made you your favorite stew and also a strawberry tart, but you don’t have to eat it today of course” Your humble words do nothing to dull his excitement, his eager eyes never leaving you as you take out the stew and use your magic to heat it for him.

“Here you go” You try to hand him the bowl, but he gives you a sly look exposing his bare chest as he pulls his arms out of his blanket.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t seem to have any spare hands at the moment” he shrugs his shoulders as he displays his arms that seemingly have no hands attached.

“How curious…” you steal his common phrase giving him a knowing look. “I guess I’ll have to feed it to you then.”

“I guess so…” Che’nya looks at you innocently, but you can imagine the playful flick of his tail being concealed by his blanket.

He happily accepts spoonfuls of stew, letting out occasional hums of pleasure between bites. Before you know it, he’s cleaned out the bowl and is asking for the strawberry tart. You attempt to get him to hold off to ensure the stew settles well in his stomach, but he insists he’s fine, so you get out the tart.

“And you made this?” The hunger in his eyes appears deeper than a desire for food.

“Yeah. Trey had a busy week, so I didn’t want to bother him with it. I followed his recipe though, so I think it turned out well”

“I’m sure it’s delicious” he assures you. “Especially since you were thinking of me while baking it” he doesn’t even try to veil his delight over the thought. He opens his mouth expectantly and you feed him a bite, choosing not to comment on the reappearance of his hands.

“Mmmm,” he licks his lips as if to savor every crumb. You offer him bite after bite which he chomps on happily.

“Okay maybe we should stop here, and that way you’ll have some more for later.”

“No” he whines. “It’s so good. I don’t want to stop.” He looks at you through his lashes pleading with you. “Please, feed me more.” Against your better judgment, you give in to him.

“Ok… but if you push yourself too far, that’s on you” you warn giving him another bite. He lets out an approving nod, humming happily. You can’t deny it does stir something in you seeing him eat your food so earnestly. You believe your own eyes must be filled with hunger when the blanket slips off his body, revealing him to only be wearing boxers. The band sits below his stomach which has a noticeable bulge.

He rubs it lazily as he takes longer breaks between bites. You assume he’s getting full based on his deeper breathing, but he has yet to refuse a bite, his soft smile never leaving his face. While he seems as content as ever you find yourself shifting in your spot, trying to ignore the feeling of your cock straining against your pants.

You came here as a friend you try to remind yourself, but the praise that falls from Che’nya’s lips doesn’t help your situation.

“Mmmm, I missed being able to eat properly, but now you’ve ruined other food for me. How am I supposed to enjoy anything when I know I could have your cooking instead? It feels so good being full of your food, so you have to cook for me more, okay?” He rubs his belly with both hands as if admiring the bulge himself.

“My belly would definitely get bigger if I got to eat your cooking all the time” he giggles to himself. “Wouldn’t you like to see that” He looks at you suggestively, and you can hardly hold yourself back any longer, moving your body so that you’re straddling his lap. He looks at you with amused curiosity, gently bucking up against you when you rub your hands across his stomach just like he was doing moments prior.

“I would actually” you smirk “But for now, how about you eat these last two bites for me”

“If that’s what you want” he whines a bit when you move your hands, but he looks at you with heavy lust as he wraps his lips around the fork you offer him. He pants slightly as he licks his lips, and you can’t help but offer him the last bite straight from your hands.

He doesn’t immediately take your fingers in his mouth, which is how you know he is reaching his limit. He takes a moment, seemingly steeling himself for the last bite, but eventually opens his mouth allowing you to place the last piece of tart inside. He closes his lips around your fingers, making sure to lick the tip of your fingers before he chews the bite in his mouth.

“Look at you, kitty. You actually ate it all” You go back to rubbing his stomach, letting your fingers drift a little higher to tease his nipples.

“Ah,” he lightly gasps. “I know I could fit more” he slightly lifts his hips so he can slowly grind against you.

“I should have known you’d be insatiable, even when you’re still recovering.” You lean back, letting your fingers lightly trace the stain of precum that marks his boxers. He’s all too eager to help you take off his only piece of clothing. He hisses in pleasure when you finally take him in your hand, but he’s quick to insist you rid yourself of your clothes too.

Just as eager to feel his touch, you don’t argue, swiftly getting off him so you can fulfill his request. You lay beside him now, his hands immediately going to stroke you. Your intermingled moans fill the space between you as you get each other off. You take your other hand and rub it against his tip, causing his hips to jerk. His head falls against your shoulder as he lets out a strangled moan, and you continue your movements.

“Please… I’m ready for you…” he manages to pant out. “…wanna be full.”

“I don’t know if you should take me.” You can’t help but still be concerned about his limits.

“But I wan-“ He interrupts his own sentence with a cough, barely managing to cover his mouth. He pauses for a moment, but another harsh cough racks his body, most likely remnants of the sickness he had. He slowly sits up, facing away from you as he sits at the edge of the bed. Even though he stopped coughing, he still sits frozen, hand covering his mouth.

“Che’nya?” you have a feeling you know what’s wrong and those thoughts are soon confirmed when he starts his next coughing fit. Instead of covering his mouth, he instantly reaches for the wastebin by his bed that’s half filled with tissues. He clutches it tightly his cough suddenly turning into retching.

At the sound of him emptying his stomach into the wastebin, you quickly move so that you’re by his side. You soothingly rub his back as he continues to vomit, waiting patiently for him to get it all out.

“Fuck” he rasps out, a trail of saliva still hanging from his bottom lip and tears dotting the corner of his eyes. He wipes his mouth then takes a deep breath as he looks up, closing his eyes. Your hand that’s on his back drifts up to the nape of his neck where you twirl a piece of his hair around your finger.

“This is where you say I told you so” he looks at you from the corner of his eye, managing a small smirk. He doesn’t even wait for you to answer, softly chuckling to himself. “But I would do it again”

“My food was that good, huh?” There’s doubt laced in your words.

“Hmmmhmmm” he hums, his eyes are closed again, and you wonder if he’s feeling another wave of nausea, but he puts the wastebin back on the floor instead. “What can I say? I’ll always want all of you”

“I know” are the words you choose to say after a beat of silence. Instead of further acknowledging his feelings you bring a hand to his stomach, rubbing small and gentle circles across his abdomen.

He lets out a sound that is both a sigh and a moan. You haven’t even touched his nipples and yet he seems to be turned on, his dick twitching. “I think I want you to fill me up even more now” he admits.

“If that’s what you want” you graze your finger over his nipple while planting a kiss on his shoulder. His breathing becomes ragged as you tease his skin between your teeth. You play with his chest for a bit longer before asking him where he keeps his lube.

Che'nya lays on his side, massaging his stomach as he waits for you. Despite his flushed face, his tail still moves with eager anticipation as you settle in your place behind him. He's quieter than usual, only making a soft pleased sound as you push your fingers into him.

“More” he begs, and you oblige, finally lining your cock up with his entrance.

“Let me know if you need me to stop” you remind him before pushing your tip in. You slowly bottom out waiting until he gasps for you to move to continue with your thrusts.

“Fuck…you feel so hot and tight around me, kitty” You snap your hips into him a bit harder. “It feels so good”

“Ah- “ Che’nya grips his bedsheets tighter, and you hear a gurgling sound come from his stomach.

“Don’t stop” he whimpers feeling you hesitate. You place your hand on his stomach and feeling it rumble beneath your touch, you fuck into him with new fervor.

“Aghh” he gasps and leans over off the bed just in time for a thin stream of vomit to make it mostly into the wastebin. With Che’nya’s walls squeezing tightly around you, you reach your climax with a couple more thrusts. He holds your hand that rests on his stomach and whines as he feels you fill him up.

Keeping yourself buried in him, you move your other hand to his cock to help him finish, which only takes a few strokes. You take in his dazed expression and faint smile, feeling an urge to kiss his sweat slicked skin. He whimpers at the feeling of your lips on his neck, his classic Cheshire grin appearing as you trail slow kisses up his jawline.

“Yup,” he sighs blissfully. “I would definitely do it again”

#now that i have this very indulgent fic out of my system i can work on those drabbles #che'nya x reader #cw emetophobia #emeto #cw sickness #stuffing #twst smut #twst x male reader #twst ☆ che'nya !

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snzyspencer · 4 days

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probably unintentional- haha that's up to you though!

Finally getting around to responding to this ask about unintentionally sneezing into someone’s mouth. I’ve been trying to think of snzarios that aren’t the typical “two people are about to kiss and one person sneezes” so have my first of hopefully a few different scenarios.

CW: Contagion, illness

Person A and Person B are in the midst of a wrestling match. B is recovering from a cold, but their nose is still dripping like a faucet.

They’re squared up with A, they can feel snot running down their upper lip, causing a tickle.

They can feel a sneeze coming, but they just have to wait a few more seconds until the match is over.

B has pinned A to the mat; A’s mouth is open, panting with exertion. The seconds seem to stretch into minutes— B barely has time to recognize that they are going to sneeze before they let out a strong, wet sneeze right into A’s face and their open mouth. Two more sneezes follow, and B is barely able to move their head to the side so these ones graze the side of A’s face, spraying the mat below them.

B swears their cold isn’t contagious anymore, but Person A and anyone who rolls around on that snotty mat afterwards would beg to differ when— after a day or two has passed— they wake up with equally dripping noses.

#snz kink #snzblr #snz blog #snz fet #snz fucker #snz #snzfucker #sneeze kink #snzario #snz scenario #sneeze #contagion #illness #sick #cw contamination #cw contagion #cw illness #cw sickness

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cyanide-drinkerxx · 2 months

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Happy birthday @pixelatedraindrops !! This is my first time ever drawing a character sick, I hope I didn't do too terrible of a job lol.

Our little guy Makoto here doesn't feel well and is cozy in bed to try to feel better. He's got a heated water bag under his blankie to ease his stomach pain and a weighted cat plushy. Hopefully the ibuprofen kicks in soon!

This is... pretty messy since I didn't have too much time but I think it's okay <3 happy birthday!!

#cw sickness #makoto kagutsuchi #rain code

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fairy-writes · 7 months

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Okay okay, hear me out of this one please; a request, Viktor has a significant other that is also pretty ill and has been ill for a while, how would that go on about? I know just how hard it is on other people that have to "deal," with someone chronically ill so would he be more understanding of it because he's also chronically ill? Would they take care of eachother?

RETURNING THE FAVOR

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

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Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing(s): Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Reader has cystic fibrosis

Notes: I tried my best to research cystic fibrosis, but I am bound to get something wrong, so please be patient with me!

__________________________________________________________________________

Viktor came home to your coughing.

Deep soul-wracking coughs that made you hunch over and gasp for breath.

The kind that brings tears to your eyes.

The kind that leaves you tired and achy, and your chest hurts, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

He sets aside his work bag and carefully toes off his shoes before using his crutch to make his way down the hall toward your shared bedroom. You initially refused to share a bedroom with him when you both moved in together. Something about your coughing keeping him up at all hours of the night. But once you discovered that the coughing kept him up regardless because of his worry over you, you relented and moved your things into his bedroom.

Viktor knocks quietly and opens the door after hearing your hoarse “come in” through coughs.

Your lung infection must’ve come back if you’re coughing this much…

Maybe he could call your doctor and get you checked out later this week.

You’re hunched over the master bathroom toilet on your knees, spitting phlegm and holding your head in your hands as your chest heaves. He can hear you gasping from where he stands in the doorframe.

“I’m home.” He says, and you wave half-heartedly but don’t look up as another bout of coughing hits you. His already present frown deepens, and he leaves your side for a moment to get your medication and various other things to try and help loosen the mucus in your chest.

He comes back with your breathing apparatus and medication. By then, you’re leaning against the wall, head tilted back, chest inhaling as deeply as your condition would allow. You open your eyes when you hear his crutch thumping against the floor of your apartment. A weak smile crosses your lips when you see what he’s holding.

Viktor sets his crutch aside and carefully lowers himself to the ground, stretching his bad leg out in front of him. He can see you sag in relief as he carefully administers the medication via breathing apparatus. And that makes him sag in relief.

“Feeling better?” He asks more than an hour later as you stand over a steaming, bubbling pot of water. The steam is supposed to help thin the mucus building in your chest and allow you to cough it up more easily. It was something your doctor recommended that you figured you’d try. You shrug,

“As good as I can be, I suppose.” You say weakly and smile at him when he puts a mug of tea next to you on the counter.

Taking a break from the steam, you press a kiss to his cheek. His brain stalls, and he stares. Seeing this, you elaborate.

“You’re too good to me.” You wheeze, and he rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless.

“You do the same for me. I’m just returning the favor.”

You wake up to Viktor’s deep wheezing.

It was one of the upsides to sharing a bedroom with your lover. You would always know when he was having issues. Because you knew he would never bother you otherwise.

Dreamland slowly dissipates, and you are brought to the world of the living. Viktor is hunched over the side of the bed; hands fisted in the bedsheets as he tries to take a deep breath. So far, all he can manage is pathetic little gasps.

So you slip out of bed silently and leave for the kitchen before coming around to his side of the bed. He jumps when you put a hand on his shoulder and sit at his side. You press a warm washcloth to his mouth for him to breathe in the moisture. It had worked marginally for you, so you hoped it would work better for him.

He accepts the rag gratefully and breathes in the moisture and steam.

“Look at us. We’re a bunch of sorry messes, aren’t we?” You say, and he lets out a raspy chuckle. He isn’t wearing a shirt, so you retrieve the chest rub from the bathroom and start massaging it into his back and chest. It sometimes helps you, but it helps him more often than not.

As soon as his breathing eases, he lies back in bed with you and holds your hand. You would typically sleep with your head on his chest, but seeing as you just put chest rub on it, you didn’t want it on your face. So, holding his hand, it was.

“Why do you put up with me?” He asks as you are slowly dozing off to sleep. You give him a look but answer nonetheless.

“Why do you put up with me?” You retort, and he looks over from where he had been watching the stars out the window.

“Because I love you.” He says easily, and you grin,

“There’s your answer.”

#arcane league of legends #arcane viktor #arcane #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #cw sickness #fairy writes

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aew-kun-age-regression · 10 days

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Gonna try an eat some plain hula hoops and hope helps with nausea 🤞🏻

#agere blog #aewlittlerambles #sfw agere #sfw littlespace #sfw little post #little space #agere little #sfw little community #cw sickness

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kudossi · 1 year

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you will blaze like fire (and lack the oxygen to keep yourself burning)

Dandelionkit blinks. “I want Lionblaze to mentor me,” she says, her voice barely above a mouse’s breath.

Squirrelflight crouches over her, tail draped around Dandelionkit’s thin shoulders. “I’m sure he’d love to,” she says quietly. “I’ll ask Bramblestar if he can, okay? But only if you eat your herbs.”

Dandelionkit looks down at the chewed-up bundle at her paws, eyes impossibly tired. “Do you think he’ll name me Dandelionblaze?”

Despite herself, Squirrelflight purrs. She runs her tail along Dandelionkit’s white-splotched back, hoping to encourage her to eat. “If that’s what you want,” she says. “I once knew a cat who picked his own name, too. I’m sure you can have a say.”

The pale ginger she-cat nods, beginning to lap up the pulp. “I’d like to be like him, momma. Lion,” she clarifies, as if Squirrelflight wouldn’t know. “He’s so strong.”

“You’ll be strong, too,” Squirrelflight says, willing herself to believe it. “Stronger, if you eat your honey. Lionblaze never took his herbs.”

The small kit manages around half the pile before she gasps, little sides heaving. The herbs come up with bitter, awful-smelling bile, and then Dandelionkit coughs and coughs and coughs, frame shaking and rattling and spasming—

(Squirrelflight has never felt so helpless.)

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violettduchess · 1 year

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hi violet, can i req for gilbert, prompt forbidden love? if it's ok i'll leave it up to you whether if it's gonna be a fic or hc :) thank you

A/N: You all voted for this to be an Angel / Devil AU and here we are.

CW: death, sickness, war

Gilbert x Reader

Word Count: 2650

1095: the Holy Land

The first time you see him it is over a rising cloud of brown dust, stamped from the earth by a cacophony of hooves and sandaled feet charging at each other. Sunlight glints off curved steel and chain mail as blades from both sides bite into flesh, punctuating the haze with red droplets.

Through the blood and dust you see him, walking amid the chaos. He is, quite simply, the most beautiful being you have ever seen. Every movement exudes grace, from the bend of his torso to the tilt of his head. He is so arresting that you stop in your tracks, frozen under the burning sun, watching him across the din until he turns his head. Fatefully, his gaze finds yours. His eyes, the clearest, deepest red you have ever seen, pull you in, like a fishing line cast into the ocean. You find yourself moving towards him, the epicurean tide drawn to the beauty of the ethereal moon, breathless with something. Time stands still, all sound dwindling into nothingness. The screaming of men, the groaning of the dying, the frenzied cries of horses, it all fades when he smiles, your heart suddenly caught in the curve of his lips, the line of his jaw.

And then he sees you clearly, as the dust begins to clear, as the last man lays gasping, calling for his mother. He sees you and his beautiful face darkens with an emotion you are all too familiar with. The shadowed mask of fear.

You blink and he is gone.

1348: London, England

It is nearly a millennium before you see him again. You step outside of the small, dank house, the smell of sickness lingering in the air. It clings to you, the sheen of rot and ejecta, and you are grateful for a moment’s respite. It is then you see him, walking alongside the rickety wooden cart piled high with bodies, some still oozing sickness from their sores.

“Bring out your dead!”

The man pulling the cart and yelling is sweating, salty droplets of water leave tracks in the dirt caked on his sallow skin. His heartbeat is too fast, too erratic but he fights it, the fist squeezing his lungs, wanting to get just one more footstep further away from this thing they call the Black Death.

But then his voice is gone, his knees buckling as his heart finally gives up the fight. Gilbert, draped in robes the color of twilight, kneels in the dirt road beside him. You watch as his pale hand touches the man’s face and soothes back his matted hair. He speaks and whatever you expected his voice to sound like, it is not this. Not like the soft sound of the wind sweeping across rolling plains. Not like the velvet depth of night, when darkness blankets the mortal world.

“Hello Richard." He is gentle, so very gentle. "My name is Gilbert." He cups the man's face with a tender hand. "It’s ok, my friend. There is nothing to fear. It’s simply time to let go.”

Like a being transfixed, you watch as he guides the soul from its prison of flesh and bones, and with a wave of his hand, sends it on its way.

“You look so young.”

The words leave you before you can stop them. You know speaking to him is forbidden and yet, somehow, it feels as natural to you as sunlight.

He looks up at your words and again, the flicker of fear burns in the red brightness of his eyes. He rises slowly and you admire the way he conquers it so quickly.

“I’m older than you.”

He knows he should not answer you and yet he does, turning to face you fully now. You tilt your chin upwards, letting him look, letting him drink his fill of the sight of you.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

Something dances across his face, tears his gaze away from your form.

“My duties were elsewhere for a time.”

The story behind his words is in his eyes, straining to be freed. His lips burn with the need to tell you more.

And then the bell tolls and you both look in its direction.

Time is fleeting. You have work to do.

With great effort you turn away from him, walking toward the next sad building reeking of death. When you look over your shoulder, past the curve of your leathery wings, you find him watching you.

And you smile.

1839: Mazatlán, Mexico

The winds and water have washed away the small town on the coast. There is nothing left of it, aside from bits of broken buildings and bodies lying in watery graves.

An old woman with a broken back lays, panting heavily as the light slowly fades from her dark eyes. You approach her, your heavy robes trailing in the dirty water and mud. When she sees you, her breathing quickens, her eyes widen and her fingers, old and gnarled and broken, scramble to touch the worn silver cross that has hung around her neck for the last sixty-eight years. Little does she know it too has been lost in the storm. You kneel beside her and she whimpers, her whole body trembling as you reach down, laying your hand on her forehead.

“Por favor,” her voice creaks, “por favor.”

“Begging won’t save you now. You know the life you led. The women you sold. The children.” It doesn’t matter what you say. They can always understand you.

Her body spasms as you reach for her, the real her, the essence inside. Her last words die unspoken on her lips as you send her soul to its journey's end..

Rising, you scan the debris, feel the call of so many souls and you are weary. You make your way towards the beach, stepping over the rubble until you have reached the soft, white sand and smooth gray boulders. You slump down against one of them, tired. The sand is soft, the boulders warm with collected sunlight. You have learned to appreciate the simple things of this plane of existence. The sound of the ocean. The smell of the salty air.

“So even your kind needs a break.”

That voice.

He is standing above you, backlit by the sun, and you wholly believe he is worthy of the countless prayers shot to the heavens by pleading lips.

You can’t help but smile. “Come sit with me. Take a break yourself.”

He smiles back and your heart cracks open, bursting with something newborn and unexpected. Something you can’t give a name to, yet.

“Isn’t there a story about a garden and a serpent that starts this way?” But he lowers himself until he is next to you. His arm brushes yours and it feels like holy fire.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Your voice is softer than usual as you watch the roll of the waves along the beach. A single shoe made for a tiny foot bobs alone in the water. Its former owner is his responsibility. Babies always are.

“You’re doing your job.”

“No, I mean here. With you.”

The words sound as loud to your ears as the waves crashing into the rocks scattered about the shallows. Embarrassed, you start to move away from him, from his warmth and his light and his heavenly smile.

And then you feel his hand wrap around yours, the dawn grasping the dusk, and he pulls you towards him.

Falling into his embrace is easy, so much easier than you ever would have believed, easier than you could have dreamed. Easier than all the rules that say it is forbidden would have you think it is. He is light and warmth to your shadow and shade. You drink him in, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close against you. He gasps softly into your hungry mouth, stunned by the feel of you.

His kind have always been told a litany of warnings to stay away from you. That nothing good will ever come of associating with devils. That he would burn in the pit fires of hell if the rules were ever broken. And oh he is burning, just not the way they described.

As he pulls you against him, your softness yielding to the planes of his body, he does burn. He burns with a singular need to kiss you, to touch you, to claim you as his. He burns with a desire far more dangerous than hellfire. It sharpens him, hardens him, shifts his purpose with every movement of your lips against his. Your mouth is ambrosia. Nothing will ever taste as good ever again. He will forever be thirsty for it. The feel of your hands, pressed against his back, just under his wings, is branded into him, changing him, claiming him.

It is only the tolling of the celestial bell that falls like an ax through the haze of your lust. The call to work.

“I must go.” He looks over his shoulder, then back to you, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that makes your fingers ache to touch it. “We’ll meet again.”

He stands slowly, spreads his large, white feathery wings and in a rush of wind, a flash of light, he’s gone, leaving you alone on the beach with the mournful sobs of the dying, the monotonous lull of the ocean’s waves and his kiss burning on your lips.

October 1916: Somme River; Picardy, Northern France

It feels wrong, rushing to meet him with the thunderous sounds of war rocking the world, and the deadly fog of mustard gas rising like a cobra to sink its fangs into shaking men. Even you shudder as the shrill cry of artillery shells and the spitting rage of the machine guns echo hell on earth. Men are dying in record numbers but it is precisely for this reason that you can meet. The bloody ground with its endless sea of death and destruction masks your movements from anyone who may wonder where exactly you are. Too many souls departing too quickly. Everyone is busy, thanks to men and their thirst for war. Angels and devils alike roam the ravaged fields, answering the call of the doomed.

He waits for you behind a burned-out house amid charred, leafless trees. You gasp when you see him. One eye is covered by a swath of black silk.

“What happened?” Your hands are on his face, now familiar to your touch. You have loved him for almost a century, a drop in the ocean of time, and yet, short as it may be, it feels essential. Sacred.

“They know.”

Those two words sink into your heart like a stone, dragging you down into a trench of despair. He has lost an eye in punishment. There will be more coming. The sky above you explodes orange against gray.

There are so many words that they stifle your speech, stacking one behind the other in your throat. None of them will change anything. None of them will save you. He reaches out, pulling you into the shelter of his embrace, a tender kiss placed on the top of your head, between your short, black horns.

“It will be alright. I have a plan.”

You tilt your face up to look at him as the world rumbles, heavy tanks rolling like moving fortresses through the dead fields.

“I will come for you. Give me time.” He sounds so sure.

Dread crawls up your spine with tiny, grasping claws but you nod slowly. You trust him.

He leans down, pressing a light kiss to your lips, a small beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounds you, the darkness that fills you. Then he steps away, unfurls his pristine wings, and vanishes, leaving you alone amid the wreckage.

2023: St. Anne’s Nursing Center; Regina, Canada.

The old man sees you, although his eyes stopped working years ago. Ignoring the exhausted muttering of the overworked nurse, his drawn face, etched with lines and mottled with brown spots, turns towards the doorway where you stand.

You are never who they want to see. You with your black wings and horns, with your fiery eyes and ashen skin. You, devil. His heart, worn and faded, skips its final beat as you walk over, curling your cool fingers around his frail wrist.

He wants to scream but all that comes out is a wheeze of fetid breath. Holding his wrist in your hand you lean down, lips close to his ear.

“It’s time.”

Every last living cell in his body wants to fight and you sigh, tightening your hold on him. It’s not a pleasant end when they fight, especially once they realize where they are going. And this one has reason to fight. His soul is as tainted as can be, a history of violence and hate and a pile of bones that will eventually be unearthed in the far corner of his remote property. Too many for just one person.

He submits, his soul needing to be pried from its cage of weak bone and flaccid muscle before you are finally able to send it down, down, down where it belongs.

There are others here, dancing on the edge of this life and the beyond, but none require your attention. Not today. You leave the now still body, making your way down the generic beige hallway and across the dated, olive-green tile of the entrance until you are outside, breathing in the cold, clean winter air.

Above you, the sky is black, the moon only a sliver of silver amid the twinkling stars. You’re about to move on when you hear it. The unmistakable beat of wings.

You turn and you see him, dropping down to the ground in one elegant movement. What you see brings both hands to your mouth, snatches the breath from your lungs.

Gone are the soft white feathers of his wings. They have been plucked out, burned away. The bloody leftovers re-formed into the stretched black leather of bat wings, darker than yours and wider. His robes are darkest obsidian, his hair midnight kissed by stars. And sprouting from it, the surest sign of what he has done: long, black horns, curled like a ram’s and deadly sharp.

“No…..no……” You know what this means and it brings you to your knees, right there on the icy pavement. His red eye is aflame with determination as he walks over to you, leaning down to take a strong hold of your arms and lift you again.

“It was the only way.” His voice is steady, gentle but sure.

You shake your head. “You are Fallen. You know what He will do. What you will have to do to prove yourself.” The Morningstar is cruelest to those just like Him.

Gilbert brushes your soft hair back, his skin pale as bone, now cold as ice.

“I will not only endure it, but I will conquer it and prove that I have earned a place among His agents. Perhaps….even….conquer Him.” His expression softens as he cups your face, his thumb stroking the line of your cheekbone. “I can master anything. You are by my side. You,” he pauses, his voice a whisper that roars louder than thunder, “are the reason for it all.”

And then his mouth is on yours and you melt against him, love for him clouding the danger of his words, the fear of what is to come. You wrap your arms around him and you return his kiss hungrily, greedily, covetous. His teeth sink into your lower lip, his wings extending to black out the sky before wrapping themselves around you, his hands grasping at your robes, yanking handfuls of it away from your skin until he can take hold of the soft underside of your thighs. With a deep growl he lifts you, pulling you against him, his unbound lust finally free.

After all…..he too is now a devil.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #gilbert x reader #forbidden love #angel devil au #cw death #cw sickness #cw war #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #broken heartstrings #violettwrites

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laurzzz · 20 days

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Omg i love the idea of moon just being so gentle AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Now new question. If we where sick. How would they react? And im including eclipse here. Who would take what role and how would they execute that role? Like who brings food? Who would stand guard and constantly worry their little robo-heart? Who would be fully chill and calm the other down? Who would make sure they got enough rest yet still got out to get fresh air?

Also sorry for all the questions! Do let me know if ya want me to chill out with them! Im just in love with this au and i havent even begun reading the fic yet!!

WAH I love these questions YIPPEE alright lemme think hmmmm oh also! Possible spoilers for the entirety of the fic! Both on what's already written out and are yet to be written.

All under the cut! It got long. Wordy ass bitch here LMAO

The Princess (Y/N!) isn't a sickly person hence why they're able to keep up with the training that the Assassins give them. It wasn't explicitly stated in the fic but the Assassins have given difficult training to the Princess that only certain soldiers/knights in their kingdom can match (which is how the Assassins are as skilled as they are).

Being able to keep up with their training while also keeping her royal identity impresses the two Assassins. But! The Princess isn't superhuman nor is she a robot so in moments where you are finally down with a cold or soreness that's too painful to handle (which she blames the weather for or just allergies because she can't let anyone find out about her training) you would just stay in bed and hope that the two Assassins would understand somehow.

And they would.

They wouldn't be able to take care of you due to the nature of the dynamics so far but let's say that the Princess gets sick during training. As this is the only time they can meet-up and be close to one another. Perhaps, food poisoning. The Princess got hungry, they were out of the castles, and her stomach did not mix well with the food— being used to the things she only ate at Castle Emily.

You'd just thrown up, and your stomach buzzes with the sensation of a thousand bees flying inside it.

It's awful. Your legs are faltering as your breath tries to catch up with the imbalance in your body.

Your thoughts linger to the pastry that the darker assassin gave you from the markets. That must've been the cause.

A gentle heavy hand runs down your back, soothing it with a rub, and another. A cough follows through from you before craning your neck up at the assassin dressed in deep dark blue and iron armory.

"Please hold out a little bit longer, Your Highness.", he sighs with the glow of his burning red eyes dimming down to the usual dual hues. "Sun will return with the remedy potions soon."

Basically, Moon will comfort you all throughout the sickness as Sun acts as a runner for the errands. As for Eclipse... well we won't really be on good terms with him until the much latter half of the series. But I like to think, at the moment, that he would be the worrier out of the three robo-siblings. Despite it though, he would still keep his encoded rationality and strive to give you the best treatment as possible while ordering Sun and Moon to do this and that for you during your ill health.

#food #majestic oppositions #im down for all the questions genuinely!#it took me a bit to write this all down as i kept thinking of what eclipse would be like as a character #atm my thoughts are focused on his character as a driving piece to the lore #nothing casual and sweet like this #so thank you for bringing it to consideration on my end!!#cw sickness

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