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sailoryooons · 20 days

Note

Incubus yoongi x reader

Go wild with smut maybe theres fluff and angst too! Love your writing so much

☾ Pairing: Incubus!Yoongi x archdevil!Reader

☾ Summary:

Sunder (sun·der) transitive verb : to break apart or in two : to separate by or as if by violence or by intervening time or space Sunder (sun·der) intransitive verb : to become parted, disunited, or severed

☾ Word Count: 5,297

☾ Genre: Smut, Forbidden Romance, Angst, Fated Lovers

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Vague worldbuilding - this takes place in a Hell setting so.. Lots of talk of literal hell, implied violence and war, themes of classism/species racism, hint of political scheming, depiction of servants who are chained/collared, implications of sex work/incubi being bread specifically for sex work, honestly Yoongi and reader kinda give co-dependant vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, a little bit of overstim, cum eating if you squitn, multiple orgasms, bleeding/scratching/biting, possessive themes… um I don’t know the smut scene is more PrOsEy than straight-up smut.

☾ Published: Sunday, April 7 2024

☾ A/N: We are using Forgotten Realms (dnd) lore because I was randomly inspired to do so. You need zero knowledge of Forgotten Realms or dnd lore to read this - there is vague world building and references to a plot on the side that I imagine Yoongi and reader are a part of but that does not happen in this little one shot. I just did it for the tension and because I’m out of control. 100% change I got some dnd lore wrong - don’t care, I kinda made it my own in parts as needed!!! Thank you!!!

☾ A/N 2: Dear anon, I don’t have a clue what this is, but it was inspired by a very specific scene in the movie Troy when Paris (Orlando Bloom) sneaks up to Helen’s (Diane Kruger) room while the Greeks and Trojans are downstairs partying and he’s like hehe let’s bang it out. That’s it. I really hope you like this because sometimes I fill requests and I'm like ..... that probably was not what they had in mind and yet here I am, delivering whatever ??? this is ??

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾Filled Requests ☾ Masterlist Milestone Request Event ☾ Ask

Note: I don't use my tag list for requests!

A pair of dark eyes in the shadows around the party catches your attention as you listen to Archdevil Belial's drone about his victory in Phlegethos. The fiend’s words fall on deaf ears as your gaze narrows to a deadly point on the man lingering in the shadows across the room, keeping away from the revelry with a single chalice in his hand.

And he’s staring at you.

You feel your muscles constrict as you flick your gaze away, your heart rate picking up speed as you try and focus on Belial again. It isn’t a story you care to hear about - he’s been droning about his defeat of the Kelemvor worshipers on the fiery planes of Phlegethos. Hardly a battle as much as a skirmish outside of the city gates that demanded his attention.

Archdevil Belial is none the wiser that the creature he really desires to kill is lurking at the edge of the party, burning eyes on you as he cocks his head and glances toward the empty staircase that leads toward the living quarters.

There’s a twitch of irritation in your stomach as Yoongi turns and vanishes into the shadows. He is good at being seen only when he wants to, which works in his favor when he enters the hall of his greatest enemies, all in one room because of war meetings against the very fiend who now slips upstairs to your bedroom.

It was only a matter of time before Yoongi showed up - despite the level of stupidity it takes to show up in the hall of your sworn enemy. Yoongi likes to show off though. He likes to remind his enemies - and himself - that he is not so easily kept out of places that he wants to be.

Especially if those places he’s being kept from have you inside of them.

“Thank you for the conversation, Lord Belial,” you interrupt. The devil looks at you with his mouth open, eyes blazing as you interrupt him to dismiss yourself. You feel a small twist of satisfaction. “I must retire for the evening. I am returning home tomorrow before starting my campaign through the realms to ensure my father’s army are being… led properly.”

Belial’s face twitches in irritation. You’re above his station - though not too far - and decorum is everything in matters of spoken insult. “Yes,” he agrees. “It is important for our… figureheads to inspire. The Whip of Asmodeus paints a threatening picture, to be sure. It is hard to be of influence on the battlefield - we do appreciate your efforts off the field.”

A laugh like cutting glass bubbles from your lips. “You honor me.” You feel the ice in your mouth when you dip your head politely, pretending to be unbothered by the implication that you’re nothing but an empty threat. “I will see you in a tenday, Lord Belial, when I come to inspire in Phlegethos.”

With a curt turn, you cut through the party toward the stone dias. Those in attendance part for you like water parting around a sharp boulder, hurrying to get out of your way. Figurehead or real threat doesn’t matter - you’re the daughter of their lord and by rights their lady.

Your father sits on his throne of twisted bone and fire ahead of the party, crimson eyes drinking in all that happens from his seat of power. Yet he has missed something incredibly important that now lingers upstairs waiting for you. The thought makes your lips twitch in a smirk as you ascend the stairs to where Asmodeus sits, a giddy tingle in your belly.

A beautiful incubus boy sits next to the throne on the floor, a gold collar around his neck with a glittering chain that leads to Asdmodeous’ hand. The incubus looks at your father with adoration, gold eyes burning. Mouth agape. Breath catching.

You don’t know how much of it is performance. It’s always hard to tell with the lower level fiends what is real and what is an act. It’s part of the dangerous game they play, and thought you’re more accustomed to their kind - especially the one lurking in your room - you’re still unsure how to tell the difference with this one.

You catch the scent of honey and vanilla as you step nearer, though the incubus doesn’t look at you. You immediately feel the ebbing power of allure from the creature, battering your senses just being so close. Asmodeus seems unaffected by the battering power of lust radiating from the incubus, but you see the two guards behind him glance toward the creature on the floor.

You grit your teeth and ignore the twist in your gut, trying not to be irritated. Only one man has power over you this way. It isn’t the incubus’ fault that he’s doing what he was trained to do, but the sudden pitch in your stomach and dizziness you feel around him unsettles you.

“I am returning to my chambers, Father,” you murmur, bowing deeply. “I have grown wear of Belial’s peacocking.”

Behind him are two massive Orthons, no less than eight feet in height and wide like a troll. Their horns are curling and battle-scarred, ugly tusks showing from thick, fat lips. The beasts are hellish weapons from wars passed, now assigned to the personal guard of your father. You note that they also did not notice the shadowy incubus slipping into their party and up the stairwell.

It almost makes you tsk. Even for a creature as skilled and powerful as Yoongi, slipping past an entire party full of the most powerful infernals in the realms is impressive. He is, of course, more than just an incubus now, but still. The sheer magnitude of doing it successfully is not lost on you - and makes you worried for his sanity.

“Sleep well,” Admodeous voice rumbles, his voice like stones grinding together. “Tomorrow, you return to Malbolge and ready to set out on your campaign.” His fiery eyes turn to you and you feel the weight of the burning Nine Hells press against you. “They will feel the crack of the Whip of Asmodeous and know that we are mighty.

“It will be done.”

“She is as pretty as My Lord is,” the incubus boy purrs from where he sits at the foot of the throne. You glance at him, realizing that his golden gaze has broken away from your father and turned to you. Your stomach twists in equal parts anger, guilt, and disgust as you feel the lick of his power. “The House of Asmodeus is as beautiful as they are powerful.”

Again, it’s hard to discern if the incubus is performing or if he means it. Asmodeus pulls the chain hard, yanking incubus toward him. You hear his neck pop, though it doesn’t break as the creature wimpers at the sudden show of violence. “Do not speak to her, worm. You are nothing. She is the Heir Apparent and Princess of the Nine Hells. You are fodder.”

The incubus cowers, and ducks his head away from you, curling in on himself. The sensual allure to him lessens distinctly, the energy souring. You feel your fingers twitch as you think of Yoongi. It is not difficult to guess that Asmodeous’ newfound desire to humiliate and dissipate incubi and succubi are inspired by his hatred and inability to rid himself of Yoongi’s stain.

Swallowing thickly, you bow once more, slipping backward off the dias and toward the stairs that lead upward. No one guards them - there are supposed to be no enemies at this party - and shadow falls over them, the torches flickering as though watching you ascend.

Music and voices follow you up the stairs, the soft click of your shoes against the carved stone louder in the growing silence as you navigate to your bedrooms. The staircase winds and the sounds drift further away from you until it’s only the crackling of occasional sconces and your steps.

Two heavy doors in the west wing of the Citadel belong to your bedroom. The crackling energy of the arcana buzzing along them acting as a lock makes your skin tingle. You mutter the password and feel the pop of magic as it vanishes, allowing you to push heavily against one of the doors to grind it open.

The room is both yours and not. It was your room for most of your life growing up under the ruler of the Nine Hells, opulent and dark, full of old possessions and heavy, draping curtains to keep out the smoke and ruin, rich art painted by careful hands with red and purple splashed across canvas.

Now, it feels like a room that belonged to someone else entirely. You’re no longer the vicious little thing that thought would sit on the throne in Nessus one day. You’re no longer the unthinking weapon that Asmodeous uses to maintain order and public punishment.

A large bed stands on a lifted dais, covered in silks and piled high with pillows. They lay undisturbed as you close the door behind you and mutter the password again, feeling the static of magic seal them shut behind you. It would take a small army to batter through them, thankfully.

Your eyes scour the room. Embers burn in a smoldering fireplace, offering little light in the dimness of the bedroom. A large sitting area stretches to the right with leather chairs and velvet chaises, tables covered in untouched books and scrolls.

To the left is an open study, a heavy wooden desk in the middle of the room backed with bookshelf-covered walls and heavy chests locked with tombs inside. You see the cover of a journal flipped open, the only sign that Yoongi had been lingering in your study snooping.

Your mouth twitches at the corner as you look away from it. Yoongi leaving something out of place is only ever on purpose, a confirmation to you that yes - his visit has double meaning. You might be the primary reason the incubus and favored chosen warrior of a death god has snuck into his enemy’s home, but you’re not the only reason. Of course he is looking for any extra information he can use against his enemies.

It stings a little more than you’d like.

Stepping further into the room, you swivel your gaze back and forth, looking for a sign of the slippery man himself. A master of shadows, Yoongi is only seen when he wants to be. Strange, for a fiend whose very nature is to be seen and devoured, to give and to receive, to lure and enjoy. Most of his life has been spent in spectacle, and now he spends it in the shadows.

Warm breath brushes against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle. “I like this dress.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Yoongi’s callused fingers brush up your arm. It’s a ghost of touch but it makes your eyelids flutter shut, warmth thrumming in your stomach immediately. Unlike the incubus downstairs, you don’t feel a magnetic pull that is arcane here. You just feel the pull to Yoongi - a desire that is your own and fueled by nothing else.

He has no reason to use his charm here. It makes you shiver as you lean backward into him, eager to feel the solidness of his chest and smell the sweet wine on his breath.

“You always say that,” he purrs, the words low and scratchy. His other hand comes up to brush his fingers up and down your other arm, pulling you toward him full. You melt, fading into him faster than you should. “When will you learn that I will go wherever you are?”

“Even if it means your own demise? You’re in the Citadel of Asmodeus.”

“He’s killed me before.” Yoongi’s touch is more solid now, hands exploring your waist and curves, squeezing your flesh, pressing you against his waist. You rest the back of your head against his neck, inhaling cedarwood and sage. “I’m not so easily destroyed.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t want to recall the many times Yoongi has been wrenched away from you. Each time a little closer to permanence than the last. Time and time again, he has been ripped from your hands as your father attempts to destroy the fate linking you, to burn it until there is no tether there.

“You’ve been good,” Yoongi notes. His hand goes to the silk strings on the side of your dress, pulling them undone. “He truly thinks you no longer think of me? That he has succeeded where he has failed a dozen times before?”

“Yes.”

“His arrogance knows no bounds. He’ll think he’s a god, soon enough.”

You turn your head to the side, brushing your mouth against Yoongi’s. His lips are warm and taste of wine, urging your tongue to swipe across his bottom lip for a taste. “Is he not?” you ask against his mouth, fighting the need to shiver as one side of your dress falls open. “He rules the Nine Hells absolutely.”

“Oh come off it,” He laughs. “You and I both know that isn’t true, otherwise he wouldn’t be in a civil war. Plus… I have recently acquired Avernus and Dis.”

You straighten and turn around sharply to look at him, brows furrowing. For a moment, you forget what it is he’s said to shock you. You’re hypnotized by eyes dark enough that they reflect the stars when in the mortal world, a mouth that is soft and sensuous, a gentle, round nose that is opposed to the way he can turn it up at someone in a sneer. A faded scar over one eye - one of many that he's received over the years.

Yoongi is beautiful the way the moon is, distant and cold, but with a glow of softness that is often underestimated.

You had made that mistake before. A long time ago, incubi and the lower creatures of the Nine Hells hadn’t been a blip on your radar. They were nothing to a princess of the Nine Hells, someone whose entire purpose for existing would be to one day step into ruling over all nine of the realms crushed in your father’s fist.

Now, you know better. You’d been a silly, arrogant girl then, head filled with dreams of ruling over the dread cities and bringing the dukes and duchesses to heel. You’d never considered that perhaps your existence was more for appearances and leverage than anything else.

A puppet.

Belial, was, unfortunately, quite right about that.

“What do you mean you have Avernus and Dis?”

“The skirmish in Phlegethos was a distraction. The dukes and duchess’ have been so frenzied about making sure they don’t have any disruptions in their rule that Belial scrambled to deal with his, turning his eye away from the others. Mammon… well you know Mammon. He is not a concern, for now. He cares little who holds Avernus and Dis.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I had help with Dis.”

That sours your stomach. “Bel.”

“He has no love for Zariel. And he’s from Dis.”

“He’s a traitor. You’d do well not to trust him. Who knows when he’ll turn on you if promised something.”

“The Nine Hells are full of traitors.” Yoongi’s deft fingers undo the other side of your dress. “Including me. You think I would not sell out every single one of my fighters for you, hmm?” Yoongi presses a wet kiss to your jaw. You lean your head back to give him access to your throat. “You think I wouldn’t throw away being Kelemvor’s chosen and carrying his mantle for a chance to have you forever?”

“You do have me.”

“Not in the way we are designed.” His voice is a growl as he bites at your throat, teeth scraping. You feel dizzy in his arms, but he holds you steadfast. “You were designed for me by the wheels of fate, and I for you. All of this - war, death, political scheming - it stands in our way and I would betray the god who gives me my many lives to cut to the chase in an instant.”

The rage-laced words are an anger you’re familiar with. Two creatures born to exist for one another - more than fated mates. Your very existence tied to Yoongi’s is a matter of universal balance, two threads of fabric that must remain woven together, lest the realms collapse.

Divine Scales. Two lives bound together that must remain in balance for the rest of the world to exist. You and Yoongi are not the only Divine Scales in the realms, but you’re perhaps one of the most difficult to balance in a world set on keeping you apart.

You, the daughter of the Archduke of the Nine Hells. Yoongi, an incubus servant whose purpose was to lure, steal, and spy on behalf of Asmodeus. It was an unfit match that your father was set on destroying - his daughter an heir would not be tied to a lowly creature of lust and servitude.

“Careful,” you murmur as Yoongi peels the fabric from your skin. The air is warm but you feel a shiver anyway, nipples pebbling at the temperature change. “Your god might not like to hear you say such things.”

“He is not my god,” Yoongi mutters. His eyes are hungry, burning with desire as he drinks you in, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips. “He is a convenience. I need power to take control of the Nine Hells, he gives me power. You are the only being I worship. The only goddess I recognize.” Yoongi sinks to his knees and your stomach flips. He looks up at you, lips parted and pupils blown, eyes so dark you could spill into them and never find your way. “Let me prove my devotion. Let me worship the only divinity I’ve ever known.”

Yoongi’s words are a spell on you, and not because he’s in an incubus, created and bred to be alluring and lead mortals to the Hells to give up their souls. Yoongi’s words have power because he is Yoongi, a being who he designed to be your other half. Another being you love so entirely that you intend to sacrifice the realm you call home, that you actively betray the people you’ve known since you were a child in order to be with him.

These snatches with him are so few and far between. He fights a war against your father and his archdevils while you unravel them from the inside. Two knives carving away at the system which fights to keep you apart.

You forget about all of the atrocities committed and to come. You push away the anxiety that Yoongi is thwarting his power by coming to the seat of his enemy’s power, just because he can and because he wants you.

Instead, you focus on the way his mouth leaves wet kisses across your thighs. Yoongi’s fingers press into the back of your legs, holding you to him as his tongue lavs at a small scar on your hip, his teeth nipping the flesh.

Your world falls away as his tongue and mouth suck at your skin. Heat gathers between your legs, feeling the wet ache in your folds as Yoongi purposefully avoids going toward the apex of your thighs, instead showering your inner thighs, calves, and hips with soft kisses.

Strong hands pry your legs apart. You let him slide your foot over, widening your stance easily. You cannot recall a single person you have ever been pliable for. You are the Whip of Asmodeous, a sharp weapon made to force subservience and delve out punishment.

You are no whip in Yoongi’s hands. You are silk, sliding through his fingers as his mouth presses closer and closer to your heart. To everyone else, you are a weapon. To Yoongi, you’re just you. A mind to adore, a body to worship.

Your knees threaten to buckle when the first, slow swipe of his tongue runs up your drenched folds. Yoongi chuckles, the sound throaty. Gently, he lifts a leg and pulls it over his shoulder, providing a counterweight as you stand but also giving him access to your aching cunt, pressing his face close as he licks you from hole to throbbing clit again.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, a hand shooting to his hair. Your fingers slide through soft, silk strands and twist, rooting him there. He groans in appreciation, focusing his tongue on slow, up-and-down licks, avoiding your clit as he works. “Fuck.”

He hums, the feeling buzzing through your pussy as he closes his mouth over it, sucking gently. His mouth is wet and warm, tongue soft as it circles your aching bundle of nerves. Your legs feel gummy as you waver, holding onto him to keep yourself standing as much as you are to keep him in place.

Yoongi’s hunger can rarely be sated. He devours you, mouth eager as he sucks and licks at you, lips smacking loudly as he does. You barely register the obscene noise, canting your hips up into his mouth as the pleasure begins to build slowly.

A hand presses into your ass, pressing you harder against the flat of his tongue. Yoongi opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, looking up at you with fucked out eyes as he urges you to fuck his face at your pace, to use him like a god would use a conduit.

Yoongi is your conduit, and you are his. You vowed centuries ago to be his whip, a weapon at his command. He vowed to be your shield, your knife in the dark.

The powers of the Hells would keep you apart. Beyond the impropriety that someone so lowborn could be fated for one of the highest powers among the infernals, the two of you together are too much of a threat. Too much power tied to one another, a divine match that cannot be broken.

Still, they try.

The two of you have died before. Keeping you dead isn’t easy, though. Neither can truly die while the other lives and no one has quite managed to kill you both simultaneously - a familial crutch that Asmodeus cannot seem to overcome.

You’d die every day to have this moment with Yoongi, your breath caught in your lungs, sweat beading on the small of your back, head tilted back as your heart beats so loud it's all you can hear. You feel every part of your body coil before there is a moment of white noise as your orgasm crests over, your cunt squeezing, your hand pulling his hair.

Yoongi drinks you in like he cannot get enough. Gluttonous, ravenous man, pressing into your heat as he sucks. Your hands tug at his hair, the stimulation going from warm and fluid to sharp and biting. He grows a little when you pull his face back by the strands of his hair, a picture of madness with the lower half of his face covered in your slick, lips red and swollen, eyes unfocused.

You pull and he stands, knocking you back as he does. You stumble the remaining footsteps to your bed, mouths connecting in a tangle of teeth, tongue, spit and cum. You taste yourself on him, sucking his tongue greedily into his mouth as your hands claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

He complies, letting you push the shirt off his shoulders as he climbs over you, pressing a knee between your legs as he traps your lips in a searing kiss again. Your lips feel bruised where you kiss, his mouth demanding. His hands claw at your hips, pulling you down into his knee, grinding your slick cunt against his leg.

You let out a breathy sound, both from the feeling of pleasure blooming between your legs once again and the warmth of his skin, your hands rubbing across his chest, seeking to chase the inferno within. Yoongi has always been warm, but something hotter burns in him now. Something divine, vicious, and powerful lurking beneath his skin, the unlikely power of a god of death lurking just beneath the surface.

You know that Kelemvor, the God of Death and Lord of Judgement has chosen Yoongi as a conduit of power because Yoongi seeks the balance of the world - he is a part of the balance of the world. His very existence is paramount to a deity whose very nature is to maintain the scales.

It doesn’t stop you from wanting to eat away at the divinity under Yoongi’s skin, to drive out the influence that isn’t yours, to assert your dominance over a god and remind him that Yoongi does not belong to Kelemvor, he is not an extension of death. He belongs to you and you alone.

It is an irrational, violent bout of jealousy that overtakes you for a moment. Your nails rake down his chest a little too hard, leaving trails of blood beneath. You bit his bottom lip a little too hard, the taste of iron and salt spilling into your mouth with his tongue.

Yoongi smirks against your scarlet mouth, pulling back to look down at you. He knows what it is you seek. Yoongi always knows. Your minds are not connected, but your souls are and there is little you can hide from him. “You cannot rip him out of me, no matter how much you want to.”

“I will try.”

“Good.” He leans down and bites hard on your collarbone, making you gasp. “I will tear Asmodeous’ influence from you in kind.”

Your hands are less harsh as you undo the laces of his pants, pulling them down powerful thighs. Your viciousness cools in the shower of the whisper of his love against your ear and the scrap of his tongue against your skin. Every single part of you burns hotter than the deepest part of the Hells, driven there by him alone.

You love him - such a simple word could convey it accurately, anyway.

It seems too small of a word, unable to fit the fountain of want, desire, trust, and yearning that spills out of you into such a small cup. You don’t know if love can truly hold everything you feel for him, if it conveys that there is nothing god, archdevil, or fate that would stop you from being here with Yoongi, getting to touch him, to taste him, to whisper into his mouth as he presses the head of his cock into your weeping entrance.

“You’re mine,” you gasp, rolling your hips forward to meet the slow, powerful strokes of his cock. Yoongi cradles you to him, his hands gripping you tighter as he presses your bodies together, as though you could meld. “Mine mine mine.”

“I’m yours,” he agrees, voice throaty and strained. “Who else could I belong to?”

You have no answer. Stars dance behind your eyelids as you move to his rhythm. Yoongi’s skin is heated and sticky as he moves against you. You feel his heartbeat in exact time with yours, twin rhythms. Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel the muscle of his back and shoulder flex as he fucks you slowly, each stroke pointed and driving you to the edge again.

Yoongi’s mouth brushes yours. You breathe in his air, unable to put anything else into words, thoughts consumed with him. With how he tastes, with how he smells, with how he feels. Nestled in the deepest part of you, you feel home. It is such a rare feeling, only discovered here like this, connected.

It makes your breath catch, barely audible above Yoongi’s low groaning and the loud smack of skin against skin. Your heels dig into the bed, head pressing into the mattress as you throw your head back, unable to do anything but take what Yoongi is giving you.

His pace quickens, slamming into your cunt with enough force to break you. But you do not break - you could never break with him. You squirm in his hold, babbling and panting and trying to breathe as he drives you to the edge of madness - and then you peak.

A wild sound escapes you as you seize into him, muscles clenching, cunt spasming. Yoongi’s thrusts turn vicious, fucking you through your orgasm as you clench down on him with a vice grip. His fingers grip the back of your neck, pulling you toward his chest as he leans backward, your legs sliding as he seats you in his lap, fucking up into you.

“Imagine thinking they could take you away from me,” Yoongi hisses. His thrusts are sloppy and hard, spearing you and sending you hurtling right toward the edge again. You submit to him, head lolling to the side as he takes you. “Imagine thinking that you could defy a prewritten fate that you are mine, that you are anything less than what was made for me.”

A sob slips through your lips. You cannot think of a response, only able to cling to him as though to say yes.

“They cannot take you away from me,” he growls. “I will destroy this world again and again if they try. They cannot sunder what is here, they cannot rip you away from me any more than you can rip the stars from the sky.”

Just as you begin to teeter on the edge, Yoongi slams his hips home, clenching as he comes. “You cannot be anything else but mine.”

It sends you hurling over the edge again, so powerful that you forget where you are for a moment. It is intoxicating, this bliss that unfurls like the flowers of a petal. Nothing exists here but calm water and the scent and taste of Yoongi. There is no war here. No fight to keep you apart. No demands, no expectations. It’s just you and him. Like it was always meant to be.

Slowly, awareness creeps back toward you. It is a lumbering, lazy thing. You only feel somewhat aware that you’re in a bed and that you feel the heat of Yoongi next to you, the press of his mouth against your shoulder. The aftereffects of sleeping with an incubus are not lost on you, even as a powerful infernal.

Everything feels melted, like it could fall through your fingers like grains of sand. Perhaps you could float away if you tried, but Yoongi grounds you. The feeling of his hand on your hip and his mouth on your skin is the most solid thing that exists in this world in between, keeping you tethered to something real. Something substantial.

When you blink away the sticky high of the post-orgasm daze, Yoongi is watching you with soft, round eyes. The burning desire is still there, but at the forefront is adoration. Worship. Love. Anything stronger than words can describe.

“Are you okay?” he kisses your jaw before drawing back to examine your face. You nod, head heavy. “Too much?”

“No. Not with you. Never with you.”

His mouth twitches like he’s unsure. You nestle closer to him, closing your eyes as you’re cupped in the safety of his presence. “With Avernus and Dis at your command, you can take Phlegethos,” you murmur. “Mammon will give you Minauros if you can do that.”

“Hmm.”

Your eyes flutter open, watching as Yoongi closes his. You can tell by the twitch in his mouth that he is thinking. “I will deliver you Phlegethos.” He cracks an eye open and looks at you, seeing the hunger that burns there. “Belial needs a good whip to put him in place.”

“The Whip of Asmodeous?”

“No.” You grin. “The Whip of Kelemvor’s Chosen.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut #i forgot how to tag at this point its been so long #also raise ur hand if you cannot pronounce phlegethos

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dollsuguru · 2 months

Note

Hello! You can totally ignore if this isn’t up your alley but you could write something about suguru watching reader from afar while they grieve him for leaving? Either it’s super sad or twisted cause he feels happy that you love him enough to grieve him

I also could send in nsfw requests if you want those too

“the choiceless grief that drove him underground.”

contents: f!reader, mentions of guilt, stalking, & mass murder. both characters express grief in different ways. bit of callous/twisted suguru, a nod to his dacryphilia as well. mainly angsty but i guess at the core of it… it’s sweet? w.c: ~ 1.4k

a/n: rem, i owe you my life & then some! :’) thank you SO much for the concept idea! <3 i love delving into the twisted/not-so pretty parts of suguru so i hope you enjoy! :D

the premise of the situation is quite… haunting.

to mourn a friend, (‘a lover’ — his voice gently admonishes from the back of your mind), who isn’t dead.

he still roams around the aether — akin to a ghost. and here you are, grieving a corporeal phantom of your past.

both you and suguru have a penchant for nostalgia, him moreso than you. it’s why he’s here now at the foothills of mount mushiro, camouflaging himself into the shadows of the night, depleting his own cursed energy so there’s not a single trace of him left. he stands there in a vantage point hidden behind massive japanese oak trees, a lonely specter peering wistfully at his dearly beloved.

ex-beloved, rather, he should say.

it was of his own volition anyways.

your lack of cursed energy leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he remembers why he despises you so. the healed x-shaped scar on his chest burns and he wants to give you a matching one on your heart, as a reminder. you’re worse than a curse, he forces himself to seethe. heavenly restriction, huh? nothing heavenly about you…

a sick part of suguru wants to finally see you shatter — to watch someone as powerful as you break down and wail with such unbridled anguish, to hear your sorrowful screams pierce through the night sky like a gunshot wound to the head. something about imagining the way your tears would stick to your lashes makes his heart beat unbearably fast from within his ribcage. from sadness or intrigue, he doesn’t quite know…

he just selfishly craves to be the cause of it. to have you drown in tears of melancholy & be sundered by it like a tsunami of eerie desolation — to be plagued with devotion and corruption. just like him.

he wants you to get on your hands and knees and prostrate yourself to him — to lower yourself at his feet.

beneath him.

where you should be.

to apologize for being you. to apologize for coming into his life. to apologize for making him fall in love. to apologize for being his greatest curse. his greatest regret.

(regret for loving you or regret for leaving you… he’s not sure, yet. he’ll decide when he’s of more sound mind.)

yet all he gets is… just you… sitting there. expressionless.

suguru huffs quietly, his low-lidded gaze is heavy with fatigue and slight boredom. his soft exhales turn into smoky vapor in front of him, evaporating within seconds. he tediously redirects his amber irises back at you, observing you like a science experiment, scrutinizing your every move… only if you had done something, of course.

he notes that your stony face betrays no emotions, your body is rigid as if in living rigor-mortis. he surmises that the only thing that differentiates you from the zen statues around you is the gentle wisps of your hair across your face courtesy of the cold wind, crisp due to the night air.

before he realizes it, suguru’s fingers involuntarily twitch.

muscle memory.

(the same fingers have brushed against the plush of your cheek, caressed your hair & gently moved the strands away from your face. soft finger-pads outlined your lips gently, the shape of your cupid’s bow committed to memory. suguru figured the name was quite apt… he found himself wholly enraptured & in love.

hit by eros’ arrow the very moment he laid eyes on you — his lighthouse. his demise.)

a slight sniffle breaks suguru out of his reverie. he snaps his head back up at you, pierced brows furrowed and bright ochre eyes wide. he ignores the pang in his chest, his shock overtaking his senses leaving him paralyzed.

are you…?

your reddened eyes flit towards the foliage where suguru hides behind, and you softly rasp out a tired sigh. your lack of words are far more frigid than the midnight air, causing an ice cold shiver to run through suguru’s spine.

forcing the constriction in his throat back down, he exhales shakily, in a state of utter shock.

right.

heightened senses. superhuman physical capabilities. you always knew where suguru was before he ever knew where you were. a relationship of mutual indulgence — you pretend you don’t see him, and he pretends that you don’t know where he is at all times. as if you haven’t memorized his scent, his mannerisms, his soul. as if you couldn’t recognize him through physical vibrations alone.

just pretend you don’t see me now… indulge me one last time… please.

muscle memory.

you look away.

you focus your gaze towards the skyline of bountiful forest green trees, impeccable eyesight zeroing in on a tree with a heart carved around both his and your initials upon the espresso bark. the same tree where you had rested your head on suguru’s lap while he read his favorite books to you. the same tree where you had both shared your first kiss. the same tree where you had found out from a dear friend that suguru had murdered a whole village — some bullshit about him wanting to create a world with no curses. no non-sorcerers. no you.

you once playfully joked to suguru that you loved him more than he loved you. you remember the way his fists clenched at his sides, the furrow in his brow coupled with the immediate narrowing of his eyes, along with the slight snarl in his lip and voice pierced your soul as he resolutely scolded you — no one could ever love as deeply, as passionately, as genuinely as he loves you.

loved, rather, you should say.

what a fuckin’ liar.

…

in a blink of an eye, you disappear.

like a ghost.

you leave suguru alone to his own futile devices. he figures it’s fair, to indulge you one last time too, allowing you the ‘last laugh’, though he knows there’s no victors in this sick game that’s being played. he’s walked away from you before, it’s only fitting you do the same to him now.

his feet drag him to where you were hunched over before, his brain unable to catch up to what his body is doing. something glints in the moonlight, there in your stead, atop the plush green grass.

he crouches down, picking up the small photograph. the faded polaroid feels far heavier in his hand than he would think. a delicious shiver runs down suguru’s spine when he realizes his fingertips are touching where yours have touched. the bitterness that found its way in his mouth in the beginning washes away, leaving only a sickly sweet flavor that surrounds his mouth like pillowy cotton candy.

it’s one he hasn’t seen. you must’ve kept this with you all this time, he muses.

a photo, a candid, of him.

the pink sakura petals offered up a beautiful backdrop after a mission you two took in kyoto. back then, his smile was genuine & unbelievably wide — pearly whites on display, his pierced cherry red lips matched the camellia red blush that painted his cheeks — no doubt from your flirtatious comments of his beauty. his eyes were squinted, a photo you took of him while mid-laugh. he pushed his bangs aside while speaking to you, wanting to give you his full attention. the promise ring on his finger glinted in the sunlight along with the silver hairpin you gifted him moments before you took the photo, its amethyst gem dangling above his bun. a beacon of light.

a sign of devotion, of unending love. a promise.

suguru’s heart feels a bit heavier than he would like it to, yet the soft smile that graces his features is the most genuine form of adoration he’s exhibited since his defection. inundated with grief, you still held on to him.

an anchor of your past. a plague of your present. a welcoming calamity of your future.

“you still love me too, huh?” he softly whispers into the night, a sad smile on his face.

he gazes up at the moon. it looks quite beautiful tonight. he silently hopes you’re staring at it too.

thinking of him the same way he’s thinking of you.

#geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #if it’s in a jjk au TRUST my readers will ALWAYS have heavenly restriction… it’s just so delicious coupled w suguru’s character arc #my writings #personal

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milksuu · 12 days

Text

ᴀ ʀᴜʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀꜱʜ & ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ ───── ♛

pairing: evil!hiccup x f!mute!reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: yandere, implied kidnapping, obsessive/possessive behavior, mention of blood/violence, mention of death

synopsis: You regretted the day they left him for dead. And you’d regret the day you ever saw him again—he’d make sure of that.

A burnish gleam of orange blazed in the bleakness of night.

You watched from your hilltop window—the thatched roofs off the eastern slopes of Berk twisting and writhing in flames. Even from a distance, you heard the breaking moans of ceilings, the cracks and bends of collapsing wooden structures, and the piercing wails of scales met with sharp edges of iron. Despite The Red Death’s fall, dragon raids still plagued the lands.

Perhaps it was all a sign of retribution.

You were told to stay within the safe confines of your home. Your father hadn’t wanted to risk your life, considering how precious you’d become. The next Seer in line after Gothi, gifted with spiritual wisdom, healing, and authority of officiating the next chief.

But the price to pay had been steep.

The house was dark, not even the smallest candle lit. Nothing that would draw a glimmer of attention to the home. A creak ached the roof above, and you flitted your nose up to the rafters, drawing lines across the ceiling. Nothing but your shallow breaths filled the silent dark.

The hearth then erupted with flame and spark, jolting you from back to neck bone. Had you any voice, a strangled scream would’ve fluttered out of your throat. Twisting, you had almost forgotten to breathe. A figure shrouded in shadow and leather stood beside the crackling firewood. Light and dark danced in an undulating battle across the strangers’ features–revealing a horrifying familiarity.

“Hope you don’t mind if I warm this place up a bit.” That voice, boy-ish in tone, lacked any hint of innocence or niceties. He stretched a gloved hand towards the licking flames, doing nothing to warm the ice coating his insides. “Couldn’t help but notice you looked a little cold and—alone.”

A snap of wood made you flinch; addressing him with quivering lips and dilated eyes. Your long-lost greeting didn’t forebode well.

Every piece of leather tightened around his body as he shifted. Turning to ensnare you within his talon like stare. When embers casted a sheen across his face, you braced against the sight. Soft features long since abandoned, reforged into a visage of cold iron. Carved and littered with scars and nicks across his furrowed brows, cheeks, and clenched jaw line.

“Well, this is kind of embarrassing. Wait, no. That’s not the word I was looking for. More like—disappointing. That sounds like a better fit. For you and everyone else here.” Hiccup stalked forward, a contraption of metal clanking and scratching against the splintering floors. Each step clanged through you, until he stood one heartbeat away. “After all these years, I’d thought you’d have a bit more to say than a blank stare. Every night, I dreamed about how this conversation would go. Just like how I dreamed things could be better than what they were. Funny how you can plan for things to go a certain way, but then…”

He pressed his hands at each side of your head, the glass window behind begging to crack from the pressure. His scent permeated, forcing you to swallow. Once smelling of spring honey and rolling glades, now sundered to singe your senses like bone ash and lightning storms.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s a little different.” He placed a calloused finger into the dip of your clavicle. He dug and dug until your pained gasp fell deaf to his ears. Tilting his head, he curled the lip of his mouth. “So, just like Gothi, you gave up your voice. Good—great, actually. This works out better for me.”

The smile that crept over his lips never made it up to his eyes. Not like before. Those vibrant meadows sullied into a sickly, muddled green. Thick and ichorous. And dared you stare long enough, you could never trudge your way out. Although you already felt stuck within them, your hand slipped silently into the pocket of your dress, where your fingers brushed against the hilt of a dagger.

You drew it a mere inch before his hand captured yours, twisting until he pried it into his possession.

“Come on. We both know you were never good at fighting.” He chuckled, wagging the sharpest point between your trembling eyes. “I’ll admit it. I wasn’t either back then. That’s something we had in common…until I had to be. Guess that didn’t work out in anyone’s favor on this wet piece of rock. Now, did it?”

Your vision blurred. Screams of the village roared in your ears. Screeches of dragons pierced through the air, engulfed in smoke and fire. Having consumed so much in its wake, you felt the heat of chaos leech into the glass. Searing your back pressed against it.

“Woah. Hey, don’t cry. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he swept a rough thumb over a falling tear stain. “Not all of them will die tonight. I mean, just think about it for a second. Can’t be chief and rule over a bunch of burnt corpses. How counterintuitive would that be?”

“As for you though…” he continued, and your heart stalled as he traced the cold metal down your flush cheek and neck, pausing just above your breastbone. “I’m only standing here, watching everything and everyone turn to ash around us, all because of you. And don't tell me you don't remember. When you mended my leg. Somehow kept me from bleeding out. Just before the entire village abandoned me.” His clouded eyes narrowed down. “Including you.”

Releasing you from his pinning weight, your legs wobbled. As if he hadn’t just snatched your foothold underneath. Terror kept your feet webbed in place, watching as he twirled your dagger in his fingers like a child's play thing. Crouching near the fire, he mindlessly poked and prodded at the stoking wood. He picked away a scrap of charred chipping, before plunging the blade into the flank of the burning log. You gazed at him, chest tight, aching. How he hadn’t flinched when the fire slicked around his hand like oil.

He dragged the smoldering stump from the hearth, creating a scorched line. When the licks of fire seeped into the house floors, he rose, one vertebra at a time.

“If I’m being honest, I probably would’ve done the same thing.” He unhooked a masked contraption from his belt buckle and tightened it over his face. The eye sockets were of yellow stained sea glass, and the mouth of it appeared like a muzzle of iron teeth. “Leave something already weak, then crippled to survive on its own. Gambling on the high-stakes of death. So sure of the outcome, no one bothered to turn over a shoulder.” Hellfire rose and swelled in the reflection of his mask. “Maybe they should’ve.”

The rapid hunger of the hearth fire blazed and curled across the floor of the home. Heat lapped towards your skin, drawing out sweat from your pores. Dense smoke began filling the wooden death chamber. You inhaled the black snowflakes, searing your lungs once they melted inside you. You slapped a hard hand over your mouth, coughing and shuddering against it. A pang of panic willed your body to move. You attempted to open the window behind you, but to your horror, it had been welded to the frame.

Your eyes watered, hugging the wall as you traced it to the door. When the handle clattered against your pulls and tugs, a ghostly laugh floated around you. The metal was bolted shut from the outside. A bout of nausea cramped your stomach. Fear darted your eyes toward the stairs, where the flames hadn’t yet reached—but soon. Perhaps the window of your room hadn’t been tampered with.

You darted towards the steps, and before you could place one foot up, a black beast stalked from the darkness of the second floor.

The floating embers danced hauntingly over the onyx scales, and gashes rippled in the firelight. Revealing wounds healed twice, perhaps three times over. That body of night perfectly reflected it's master’s outward appearance.

And as you drowned in those feral slits of pure abandon, it was apparent they also shared the same broken, unmendable soul.

“Oh. You remember Toothless, don’t you?” Your face paled, backing slowly as the Nightfury slithered down the steps like black ink. A predatory growl rumbled above the snapping and collapsing wood around you. Hiccup sauntered to the dragon’s side, patting the thick of his neck, pulsing with power. Another laugh at your expense. “Looks like he remembers you.”

You fought the claw of unconsciousness raking over every part of you. Choking, straining against your hand pathetically covering your mouth.

“Since you did me a favor back then, I’m going to give you one chance to make it up to me.” The mask muffled his voice, but the wickedness screamed, rattling your veins. “You can either choose to stay here and burn with the rest of Berk or…” he lifted a hand, hardly an invitation, but a devilish bargain. “You can choose me.”

In the thick of your pounding head and chest, you considered burning to death was the wiser option of the two. All that he was—what he’d inevitably become—held no promise of a life worth degrading yourself for. Nothing about you would be spared. And it wouldn’t be long till you dropped on hands and knees, begging for him to take your life. To end his drawn out game of torture. One he’d carefully crafted for years and years.

Just for you, only for you.

Still, you clung to life. A measly mortal thread. Your shaking hand lifted, painfully reaching for his fingertips. One step forward, and the world spun in wisps of red and black. Your lungs and heart throbbed, practically seizing. A calculated arm caught you, cradling you wholly, close as any lover would.

“Good choice.”

You heard the waning words of approval, and through the fading light of your vision, something fastened over your face. Your last conscious breath had been clean, airy—a pleasant contrast to the toxic fumes.

Then, nothing.

#hiccup #hiccup x reader #hiccup imagines #hiccup haddock #httyd #httyd fanfiction #httyd x reader #httyd imagines #how to train your dragon #evil!hiccup #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #reader insert #x reader #fem reader

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chadhunkler · 19 days

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FISH INFORMATION TIME YEAYEYAYEYAEYAYEYAYEYAYE

Tagged by @sundered-souls , @oneiroy , and @iron-sparrow ! Thank all of u!!! ♥♥♥♥♥

B A S I C S

Name: Holuikhan Haragin

Nicknames: Holly, Holui, Hol, Fish

Age: around 25-30? But they have no clue, no sun to help keep time.

Nameday: 30th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon (But they don't know that either)

Race: Au Ra-adjacent fish from the deep sea

Gender: Female

Orientation: What is that (Probably pan, and prefers people she gets to know first)

Profession: Traveling spearfisher, trinket trader (unemployed)

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Well contained in a fancy bun, with all the ends just short enough. She didn't like it getting in her face during quick maneuvers undersea. On land, it looks a litle rough, accustomed to the water more. Eyes: Blue, with a variable brightness depending on if she wants them to glow bright or not. Bioluminescence yeyaeyayeyae Skin: Abnormally dark, absorbs light when underwater, also has bioluminescent properties to shimmer and glow, confusing prey. On land, the scales/skin have a hard time with how much light there is, she gets burned easily. To combat this, she has a parasol she takes everywhere! Tattoos/scars: No tattoos, maybe a few bite scars from battling fish.

F A M I L Y

Parents: The two most important people in her life - taught her how to hunt and gather, how to live in the depths she was born in. Siblings: She's probably got siblings, but she hasn't seen them in a while. Grandparents: Unknown. In-laws and Other: None. Pets: A large manta ray, a 'pet' of sorts, more akin to a summon. Helps her travel longer distances underwater by attaching to her back, also providing some protection from the sun.

S K I L L S

Abilities: Expert underwater hunter, using a variety of skills to conceal and confuse - kicking up sand, creating little lights to distract as she zips through the seas. Also able to eat most things with fairly low risk. Living in the deep sea's tough. Hobbies: Exploring and collecting trinkets! She enjoys searching sunken ships for harpoons, gold pieces, bits of armor, anything shiny, along with flowers.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Always happy! Enjoys new things, nothing scares her.

Most Negative Trait: Stupid fishe, too excited about the new world, will routinely get in trouble because of her instinctual curiosity.

L I K E S

Colors: ALL OF THEM!!!! Sure, bioluminescent blues, purples, greens are pretty, but she's more interested in the colors she's never seen before. Smells: Fish and fishblood. She's also taken a liking to a few underwater plants, keeps some close by both to help mask her scent, and just to smell for herself. (I had to look up if fish can smell) Textures: She needs things to be super smooth, or else it'll irritate her skin. ESPECIALLY beds - if the thing she's trying to sleep on isn't super silky, she'll just go sleep in the water, tying her harpoon to herself and sticking it in the sand so she doesn't drift far. Drinks: Originally it was all water water water. Once she surfaced, she quickly realized the power of fruit juice.

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Holly's not come across smoking yet. Drinks: She very recently had alcohol in a fruity cocktail, enjoyed it but felt strange afterwards. She got super dizzy, fell over multiple times. Drugs: She's been stung by a pufferfish once… Not good. Mount Issuance: If you consider the manta ray summon an issued mount, sure, but it can only be underwater. Been Arrested: What's that?

Thank you for reading! aaaah now it's time to tag others uhhh @shroudkeeper @rasenkaikyo @varrok @verysmallcyborg and @miqojak ! If you see this and wanna do it, go for it! I may or may not be doing two more of these for Kasha and Chad, lemme know if u wanna get tagged too!

#ffxiv oc #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv gpose #ffxiv #ff14 screenshot #ff14 gpose #ffxiv rp #ffxiv roleplay

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mrlarkstin · 19 days

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Eramus Larkstin

B A S I C S

Name: Eramus Larkstin

Nicknames: None

Age: 31 (Age he became an immortal dragon at)

Nameday: 29th Sun of the 1st Astral Moon

Race: Ishgardian Elezen

Gender: Transman

Orientation: Pansexual

Profession: Warrior of Light, Culinarian, Alchemist

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: A messy mop of dusty rose and dark red hair. The messy nature really shows just how busy he is. The feathers he braids into his hair are feathers from his lover Vrtra.

Eyes: Originally evergreen, the light poisoning turned his eyes a bright emerald, and now, thanks to joining with Azem, he has one orange eye and one green eye. Both his pupils are slit thanks to Vrtra's blood coursing through him.

Skin: Pale and covered in cream scales from Vrtra's blood that keeps him alive.

Tattoos/Scars: A red dragon in a tea cup sits on his left shoulder, a reminder of a friend who fell in the Calamity 5 years ago. He has scars all over his body, scars from his top surgery and scars from battles won and lost.

F A M I L Y

Parents: Biological mother has passed, his biological father lives in the Firmament in Ishgard. He was raised but a lovely Hyur couple called Marie and Fenris Furor. They are his entire world, he is working on his relationship with his biological father still.

Siblings: His adoptive sister Kaolin! Marie and Fenris' daughter!

Grandparents: N/A. He never met either set of his grandparents, hes not even sure if they are alive or not.

In-Laws/Others: Oh boy, lmao, he is married to both Vrtra and Estinien. So he has Alberic and all the remaining greatwyrms as well as Middie in his ear constantly lmao nothing worse then a father in law in your ear all the time!! He also has two kids as of 6.5! Harklan, his oldest son and Altan his youngest daughter!

S K I L L S

Abilities: A skilled culinarian, there is nothing he cannot make. He is also an excellent Paladin and has been blessed by Halone (Oathbreaker), Hydaelyn (Hydaelyn's Chosen) and currently by Vrtra (Vrtra's Valiant).

Hobbies: He loves to read, bake and cook, shop and travel. And nothing brings him more joy then just curling up with his family and spending the evening reading or cooking with them!

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Die hard loyal.

Most Negative Trait: Quiet, baring sins of the past alone.

L I K E S

Colours: Whites, greens, reds and golds.

Smells: Fresh cut grass, the forest after a rain fall, the ocean and a bakery.

Textures: Comfortable and soft fabrics!

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Nope!

Drinks: Only in the bath or during a celebration.

Mount Insurance: HE IS INSURED TO THE TEETH

Been Arrested: No, but he has killed a man and gotten away with it. He will take it to his grave.

Tagged By: @sundered-souls & @lilbittymonster Thank you!! This was fun!

Tagging: @ishgardenjoyer @weedsmokingcatgirl @asteriasfallingstarsandtears @ishgardmuffin @avalon821 @bnuuywol (No pressure to do it!)

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #gpose #eras lore #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv gpose #ff14 gpose #final fantasy online #ffxiv oc

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anqelically-archived · 1 year

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moment 1 · ͟͟͞͞➳❥ yuji itadori x gn!reader

word count: 0.6k

content: no manga spoilers, fluff

navigation | event masterlist

yuji itadori is a sweet boy.

no matter how rough he can get while he fights curses, he’s incredibly gentle when it comes to you, the most important person he has left. itadori spends his moments with you like they’re the best in the world.

you’ve been together with him for over a year, knowing him since you’ve been in middle school. it was funny how over all these years, he remains the same at his core. he’s awkwardly sweet, yet not afraid to talk to anyone around him. he cares about his friends and family, and he takes time out of his day to check up on them. it was no surprise why you fell for him.

it was also amazing how itadori wasn’t fawned over by plenty of people at your old school. as nice as he was to everyone, and good-looking too, nobody ever really approached him with romantic interest.

that was until you came along.

your family came from a long line of jujutsu sorcerers, so you were bound to become one. with your crush on your middle school friend and having nothing to lose, you confessed your feelings. that confession led to today— valentine’s day.

with your fingers intertwined with itadori’s, you roamed around the arcade. it was a spot the two of you frequented when you weren’t on the job or with your friends.

you don’t know how long it had been until you found yourselves sitting in front of a certain claw machine. inside of it were various anime plushies, and itadori seemed determined to get one in particular.

he hunched over the controls and had what you called his “extreme face”. it was what you called the expression he makes when he’s extremely focused on games.

when he failed for the 4th consecutive time, you laughed it off, “i don’t see why you’re still at it. we could just buy it from the counter, you know.”

itadori only pouted at you, “it has to be my hard work that gets it. i uh- it just has to be me!”

without saying anything more, itadori turned back around and inserted another coin into the claw machine. you only tilted your head, watching as he failed again. in turn, he grabbed his head in frustration.

“agh! this thing sucks!”

multiple people turned your way, but the pinkette quickly regained his composure and apologized. after he was sure they had stopped looking, he sulked. you were sure he muttered some thing sunder his breath, but you couldn’t hear it.

“here,” you stood in front of the machine in his place, “let me have a go.”

you inserted a coin into the claw machine before you gently gripped the controller. itadori watched as you were able to directly move the claw on top of the plushie. once you clicked the button for the machine to grab what was beneath, you ended up with it in your hands.

“that’s how it’s done,” you joked, holding it out in front of itadori.

he gently hand it in his hands, “eh… don’t really want it though.”

“hm? then why were you trying so hard to get it?”

you asked, but you already knew.

the plushie itadori was trying to get was from this anime the both of you watched. however, it wasn’t just any anime— it was your favorite of all time. you were sure that he was only trying to get it in the first place to give it to you.

embarrassment tinted his cheeks pink, “no reason… in particular.”

“right,” you ruffled his hair. “look, if you want to get me something, make sure i can’t see you fail to get it five times.”

he stood straight, “you knew!?”

“just figured it out, heh. but seriously, keep it, okay? just treat me to some (f/f) soon! i’m seriously hungry.”

“i’ll get you (f/f), but i’m also getting you something else. just wait for it,” he took your hand in his.

yuji itadori is a sweet boy, but he seriously sucks at claw machines.

note: i feel like i relapsed into my old kind of writing… it wasn’t bad or anything, just less details than i would’ve liked

please reblog for more!

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori x reader #yuuji x reader #yuji x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #itadori yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #itadori fluff #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #aqwriting

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pollsnatural · 13 days

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Masterlist of polls for other characters

"Love of my life", "my best friend" etc are just names for the tiers. If you think that in your ranking system a character is at the top of your list and is your favorite, then you should vote for S tier. If you think that a character is good but not your favorite, then it's A tier. And so on (only exceptions are E tier and H tier, I think that they just kind of represent mixed feelings).

The picture is taken from Supernatural wiki

Write in the comments/tags to this post who else you would like to see on this list.

#polls #spn #supernatural #lily sunder #supernatural tier list

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tojikai · 3 months

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— if i’m being #real y/n & gojo have no business being together. he treated her terribly and only decided to come to terms w/ his feeling for her when another man came around. he’s a loser & after what he told her he wished never met her & that she wasn’t their daughter’s mother… there’s no coming back from that. team toji. i want gojo miserable. i hope he heals from what happened w/ that loser naomi, though. you’re a great writer, too! hope you’re well 💖🧏🏾‍♀️

hi thank u soo much! this ask rekindled my hate for early sundered gojo LMAO but yeah that's a lot of pain to put aside. a total loser!

#🍭—kaitalks #f: sundered

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toomanytadpoles · 3 months

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Hot take...

I don't think that Larian is the kind of group of assholes who would say that the good ending for a character is one where their make up with their sexual abuser.

And I think the takeaway from that isn't that the other ending (which they have called the bad one) is instead the good ending.

But that the interpretation that they character was sexual abused was incorrect.

I think that means that Gale wasn't a child when he met Mystra. He was an adult; it was sometime after his study and apprenticeship at Blackstaff academy. Early and mid 20s is an adult, and he was/is normally a very confidant capable man who had a healthy relationship with his parents and is still close to his mother. He says he's never been nervous before in act 3. I don't think he would have qualified as vulnerable. He is when meet him because he is heartbroken, and his power are diminished (because he messed around with magic that ate them). His entire identify is tied to his magic, so he's absolutely f*cking lost. But that is only after the orb.

If we think Msytra met him more than five years ago, she wasn't at full power and godhood...

Astarion and Halsin are older than her...

Wyll is 24yrs old an Lae'zel is 22yrs old....who are they being paired with in fanart or fanfiction or in your own origin playthrough...

I sure see a lot of Wyll and Astarion cutie pie pairings...

If you're still reading - some math:

Year during current Game events 1492 DR.

Mystra (Midnight) was born 160 yrs ago (1332 DR)

Ascended to godhood 1358 DR @ around 26 yrs old

She Died in 1385 DR

And then was basically dead or bear-ly alive for 94-ish yrs until 1479 DR (her avatar was in a bear when Elminster found her (I am very funny))

Elminster brought her back (diminished) in 1480 DR.

[somewhere in here Gale and Mystra meet (after he had gone to Blackstaff Academy?)]

The Second Sundering ended in 1487 DR, and she has full god powers, her godly portfolio back, and the weave is quickly resorted to working order.

With that celestial dirt nap in mind. She’s 53-60ish yrs old when she meets Gale. 65ish during BG3 and she's only been a living god for 40 of those years. Has she been like 26 for 40 those years…how does ascension work?

Even including the time that she was less than fully alive, she is still younger than Astarian – 263 yrs (Idel Campiagns corrected age, he’s a least 239, became a vampire over 200 yrs) and Halsin is 350-ish yrs.

Why is it excusable to romance them as a human (or as a race with a similar lifespan) if the age difference is a problem?

If the power difference is the problem, then should non-magic users never hook up with magic users?

Ex: I don’t see swarms of people against Rose Tyler and The Doctor as a couple. She was 19 when they met, he was over 900yrs old.

Or Thor and Jane Foster in the MCU. She was about 26 when they met, he was almost 1,500 yrs old.

Both relationships have MUCH greater age differences, and each male character is a god or a bit more immortal at least. Why are those two couples ok? Why aren’t those male characters called groomers?

I think the whole thing has been a hotfix #17 issue of misunderstanding the intention and misreading what is given...

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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chaotictiamat · 7 months

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CONSUMPTION

Summary: You were reborn. Free from your urges. However, the job was not done yet until Astarion could taste the same freedom you now had. One more fight, what is the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Astarion x f!Reader/Dark Urge

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Angst. There are no happy endings here. Grief.

Song Recommendation: Poison & Wine by the Civil Wars

A/N: It has been literally ages since I've written anything, but I had this idea floating around in my head and had to get it out there.

_________

Everything had been so right, almost perfect. They were right their at the cusp of that perfection. That happy ending all the bard songs sung about. The crescendo building to a triumphant chorus. Until it was not. Until the notes broke and smashed together into a cacophony of sound that tore and sundered everything apart.

She had failed. Failed the one person in the world who needed her most. Failed the one person who had embraced her broken mind and dark urges. Failed the one person who fought so hard to free her. He witnessed her rebirth. He relished in her freedom. He basked in her light. When her heart beat once more and her eyes flashed open, they had sought his red ones immediately.

Relief. Joy. Longing.

They both knew, they had one more monster to fell before total freedom. Well, two really, but the netherbrain was a distant thought. A footnote in their story. In that silent stare, covered in her own blood on Bhaal’s temple floor, they promised each other they would bring him the same freedom she now had.

A promise broken.

It was such a stupid mistake. The fight with Cazador and his minions had been drawn out with her heart beating harder every time she caught Astarion suspended in that awful glow. They were one fighter short, but the remaining team members rallied around her with each arrow she loosed. One by one the enemies died. Bodies lining the platform. Some flung off haphazardly into the pit below. They could all see the fear creeping into Cazador’s eyes. The slight crack in his gloating facade. They were a pack of wolves nipping at their wounded prey and she howled her delight. Triumphant. She did not see the remaining werewolf lunge at her until she felt the weight of the creature crash into her small body.

The breath was knocked from her lungs. Her head cracking against one of the large stone pillars that seemed to echo throughout the room. The pillar was cradling her, saving her, and dooming her at the same time. There was shouting as the beast was shoved by Lae’zel into the chasm at the same time Shadowheart landed a bolt on Cazador. She saw the vampire lord vanish as her vision blurred. She saw Astarion freed, his crimson eyes locked on hers. There was a…desperation to that stare.

Then her world went black. When she woke up. He was gone.

It had taken her a little bit to piece together the tapestry of her folly. She had been knocked unconscious in one moment of hubris. After, in the confusion of Shadowheart running over to her and trying to halt the bleeding calling on her low magical reserves, Astarion had confronted Cazador. He had a choice to make and one Lae’zel had agreed to assist with as they both stared at her bloody form on the floor. Just like at Bhaal’s temple. Only this time there was no Withers to restore. There were only seven thousand souls to damn.

Oh, there was an Astarion there. He had the same piercing eyes, the same white hair that curled around his ears just so, and the same laugh lines that had endeared him to her so long ago. Yet, it was not him. It was a cruel and constant reminder of the person she lost. There was no warmth behind those eyes. His voice whispered promises of immortality and caressed her soul with words of love.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be mine? Forever?” He’d say as he’d pull her closer, the same comforting warmth as before. Her nose bombarded with his soothing familiar scent. But those words were brittle. Hollow. Always covered in a poison that was waiting to claim her. His eyes which once held a promise only wanted to devour now. Her. The world.

Everything.

She had placated him with promises of after. Once the brain was defeated. Once the parasites were gone. Then she would be his. He could be patient after all. When everything he wanted was almost in his grasp. He never even questioned that you would eventually acquiesce. It was a foregone conclusion.

That day had come so soon. Cheers reached her now from the remnants of the Elfsong Tavern. Their rooms had been surprisingly spared and a large crowd gathered below. Laughter. Singing. The sounds of a proper celebration, but in their room there was only the sound of her breathing lost in her thoughts. Until he was there. Somehow he looked flawless with the moonlight streaming in from the window. All pale blues on marble, his eyes were dark in this light but so very hungry. Her voice was tired, a mere whisper, anyone else might have missed it. “One more night, Astarion. Let me celebrate one more night with our friends and the city. Then…then you can make me yours.” She had seen the triumph flash in his eyes at her consent. The smirk that formed at his words, “I can give you that, my Little Love. The waiting will just heighten our passion.” He had pulled her to him then, into a searing kiss and for one brief moment, she gave in to that temptation. Pliant against his body, she molded herself to him. Putting everything she had into that kiss and imagining it was her Astarion. Hers. Forever. The thought evaporated quickly as she crashed back into reality as he nipped her inner lip with his fangs. Small droplets of blood formed which he licked up greedily as she gasped and he clasped her closer. She was drowning in his fire and he wanted her to burn.

He saved her then, pulling back enough to pepper a soft kiss across the corner of her mouth. A seduction. A promise. “I will plan everything to perfection.” He curled his fingers under her chin, her lip still bleeding from his bite and the blood mingling with his fingers. “It will be a most exquisite death.” He whispered the words across her skin causing goosebumps to form as he lapped the remaining blood from her mouth and slowly his fingers one by one. His eyes never leaving hers. He watched her tremble. Watched her shake. Sure on his claim before slipping out leaving her in the dark. As she requested. He was so considerate after all.

Her body was in motion as soon as he was gone. She pulled her pack up and slung it over her shoulder. It’s familiar weight brought a comfort to her she did not even know she needed. She had to slip out quickly before her friends noted her absence. Right now, they would assume she was indulging with Astarion. She only had a little bit of time to make this work, but there was one more place she needed to go first.

A graveyard.

She had found it by chance one day on one of the treks through the city. It could have been when they were looking for the hag or a murder victim. So many things that seemed so mundane now. But she had seen it, the name clear as day even under the vines. So here she was now.

Astarion Ancunin.

“Hello, my love.”

She collapsed. The weight of the world on her shoulders. The reality of all she lost. All she had, carved into the stone in front of her. She clutched the grass in her hands, feeling the blades and the earth, smelling the rich loamy scent of nature, and she cried. She wailed into the night like so many others around the city. Her grief was no different from their own. A shared grief in this moment for those they lost. And by the gods did she need it. Her tears fell onto the grass and stone as she remembered the little moments they had shared. The cocky grin of his before a perfectly timed shot. The challenge in his eyes for her to do better. The memory of hugging him in the shadow lands and feeling his arms wrap around her, tentative at first before pulling her closer. The shared bottles of wine and brandy before a fire curled up with Scratch. Their story. Unfinished.

The tears eventually dried. Spent. She looked up then at the sky. Clear and beautiful. Full of stars and she smiled. The first real smile since before they had entered Cazador’s manor. She pulled out a dagger. Plain. Simple. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you like I promised.” The words were said in time to her own carving. Chipping at the stone. Crossing out one death year. “But I promise you this. I will not forget you.” Little by little a new death year added. 498 DR. She plucked a nearby flower. Just a wildflower that had grown in this place. It’s white petals soft to the touch. It was a silly thought but she could almost hear the ghost of his voice as she laid it down on his grave. “Goodbye.”

Determination flashed in her eyes as she straightened up and trekked to a nearby shop. The Devil’s Fee was always open to anyone who could pay the price.

In the morning, a vampire lord stared at a fresh flower on an old grave. The sounds of a sleeping city slowly waking up began to reach him. None of their “friends” had seen her. Oh no, they all had assumed she was with him. Why wouldn’t she be? Her scent was easy enough to follow, ingrained in his memory as it was. He bent down and slowly picked up the flower, noted the fresh carving on the gravestone, and her lingering perfume. Seconds passed by like an eternity. “Run all you want, my pet. I already have almost everything…except you at my side.” Vermilion eyes seemed to glow then with his need, his hunger for his possession. The flower was crushed within his grasp, crumbling and drifting down in fragmented bits of petals and plant parts onto the grave.

“I will have everything.”

Fangs flashed in the morning light, the taste of her blood still fresh on his tongue and coursing through his veins.

“After all the hunt makes everything more…satisfying.”

#bg3 fanfiction #astarion x dark urge #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion fanfiction #astarion x tav

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