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ceilidho · 9 months

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prompt: ghost and you are the only survivors of a military plane crash. you spend weeks alone in the wild together. (ns/fw)

In the years you’ve worked as a flight attendant, you’ve never experienced a plane crash before. It’s exactly like what you would’ve expected.

Clear skies rapidly turn grey outside the tiny windows to your left and right; you notice it almost instantly because it casts a pall over the interior of the aircraft. It makes the small group of men that you’ve been travelling with sit up a bit straighter in their seats, only a few of them looking genuinely concerned. Military men often do; it’s in their nature to worry and fret. You feel it like a twinge in your gut, like something telling you that you don’t usually fly through dark clouds.

The soft ding of the seatbelt sign comes on a handful of seconds later. The turbulence only a few moments after that.

Pilots are trained to avoid cumulonimbus clouds like they’re a harbinger of death (and they are). Even large airliners avoid crossing the path of a cumulonimbus. Your pilot should’ve known to divert and fly around the cloud, avoiding the possibility of flying through a thunderstorm altogether. The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom for everyone to fasten their seatbelts and you notice distantly that his voice seems frazzled.

Your hands grip the seat as you strap in. This is exactly the kind of scenario you’ve prepared extensively for, but in the face of it, your stomach tosses and turns. Practice can only hope to ape reality; it often falls short.

From across the aisle, you lock eyes with the lieutenant in the skull mask that politely refused a beverage ten minutes ago. The plane jostles you violently in your seat as it passes through a rough patch of turbulence. Even the lieutenant, twice your size and rooted into his seat, his hands clamped around the arm rests, grunts when he’s rocked side to side.

There’s a loud pop outside the aircraft and the plane teeters dangerously to one side. The bags in the overheads bash against the doors, the plastic squeaking under their weight.

Someone screams. The other attendant sitting across from you is already shouting, “Brace! Brace! Brace!” The mantra bursts from his chest along with spittle and the singular, quivering note of fear. There’s not much more you can do but follow his lead, dropping your head to your knees and wrapping your arms around your legs.

Your stomach drops when the plane descends far too suddenly. You would’ve been pulled back against the wall if your arms weren’t wrapped around your legs. You have enough time to peek up briefly to see all of the other men assuming the same position, some with their heads pressed against the seat in front of them before the aircraft nosedives and there’s a sharp whistle in your ear and the lights flicker ominously in the cabin and something tears and tears and tears and—

Then it’s dark.

Your grip must have loosened because the world disintegrates after you hit your head. There’s only a faint buzz and something ice cold, something that grips you from the inside and slithers over your skin. The aftermath of a crash is so quiet for the devastation it brings.

The big one in the scary mask is the one who drags you from the wreckage, lifting you into his arms when you’re still too dazed to do more than whimper pathetically. Fear and pain and adrenaline have crumpled you up into a little ball.

“Keep your eyes open,” he says, and maybe it’s a shout. His voice is so loud. When you open them, you nearly close your eyes instinctively when you see the gaping hole in the plane where it’s been torn apart.

“Where are—” it hurts to speak, but you have no choice, “—the others…”

He doesn’t respond. That makes it worse. You slip your arms around his neck so he can hike you closer up his chest. Slung over his shoulder is a black duffle bag that he must have pulled from the overhead, or what’s left of them. When your head turns on a swivel, you startle at the sight of the other attendant still strapped in his seat, his neck snapped back at an odd angle.

You turn your head away.

“My leg hurts really bad,” you sob, fingers clutched in the sweat-matted fabric of your saviour’s shirt.

He palms the back of your head and tips you just enough for you to meet his eyes. Something dark shutters over his face for a split second. If your eyes weren’t filled with tears, you might’ve noticed it. It passes fast though, too quick for you to register it in these conditions.

“‘Gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he says, gentler this time, rough-sounding like he’s not used to using that tone. “Gonna get us out of here and then I’ll check your leg. Just hang on to me.”

It’s hard to catalogue every moment because you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the man shift you in his arms whenever he clambers down the side of the mountain your plane must have flown into. There’s debris from the wreckage scattered around the rocks, the other half of the plane not too far away. When your eyes blink open briefly, you see how decimated the other half is.

There aren’t any other survivors. Only bodies. He doesn’t stop for them.

Far off from the wreckage, he sets you down onto the soft earth and rifles around in the bag he took. There’s a first aid kit with supplies that he uses to wrap your ankle, which is swollen and tender. The adrenaline crash is nearly more violent than the plane crash you just survived. It wracks through your body as the lieutenant strips your shoes and socks, gently manipulating your foot in his big hands. You notice he’s also lost the mask.

Ochre yellow and green plains spread outward from the mountains. You remember from the flight maps on board that you were somewhere over Mongolia, but the exact mountain range eludes you. This could be the Khangai or the Sayan or the Altai, but you have no way of knowing.

“Is there a…a phone in the bag? How’s anyone gonna know we’re out here?” You sound helpless, smaller than you’ve ever sounded.

He shakes his head. The tight ball of tension in the middle of your chest grows tighter. The thought that you’re stranded in the mountains in Mongolia, thousands of miles away from home and no way to get help is almost enough to send you into a panic attack.

A hand cups under your chin to tilt your head up. His face up close is exquisite and haunting—weathered in the way that career military men often are, burn marks and old scars littered across the delicate skin, lips perpetually chapped, and a nose that looks like it’s been broken way more than once. You can’t look away.

“Someone’ll be looking for us,” he says. It’s reassuring only because he says it like it’s a certain thing. “Don’t know if you saw who was on that flight roster. A lot of important men were supposed to arrive in Germany at twenty-one-hundred hours.”

You nod, tears still dribbling down your cheeks even when he swipes his thumb across to rub them away. He’s not wrong. There was a colonel on your flight after all. Dead now, hot corpse still steaming in the wreckage half a kilometre away, but he would’ve been important enough to warrant an immediate rescue.

You go still under his touch. “You weren’t on the flight list.”

He shakes his head. “Never am.”

“But you were with them?” You remember someone on the flight addressing him by his rank. It was early on in the service, when you were still strapping down bags and doing cross-check, making sure everything was in place. But you remember, even then, seeing that there were more bodies on the plane than names on the list; you’d brought it up to the captain, but he’d brushed off your concerns. Maybe he knew the reason behind the lieutenant’s name being held off the passenger list.

It’s all moot now anyway.

“Can’t bring a ghost on a flight,” he says darkly, like it’s a joke. Like you’re in on it together. “Can’t put it on the roster at least. S’bad luck after all.”

It’s a monstrous joke at a time like this. Your life feels cracked in half and the scarred brute of a man that pulled you from the wreckage makes jokes like it happens to him every other day. When the sky splits later that night and pours out a lake’s worth of rain, it feels appropriate. You huddle with the lieutenant at the base of a densely branched tree and shake.

Five weeks in the mountains go by slowly.

The shelter he builds is haphazard but meticulous, composed of various materials that Ghost scavenges from the plane wreck. A door becomes a makeshift roof. He makes you sit and wait as he collects dozens and dozens of branches, chopped down from the surrounding trees and fashioned into a lean-to. Padded with moss and leaves.

“I can help with getting the leaves,” you protest when he catches you hobbling around and carries you back to the nest of blankets and tarps that he’d pulled from the plane. He goes back every so often to see what remains and what can be used. It’s the only time other than when he hunts that Ghost leaves you alone for even a second, preferring to be within arm’s length of you the rest of the time.

“You can help by sitting your ass down,” Ghost grunts without even looking up at you.

You frown, fingers digging in the dirt by your feet. It’s a silly complaint but there’s never anything to do but wait.

In the early morning hours, Ghost goes off and hunts for you, when the world is still quiet and the animals are still asleep. They’re sluggish when dawn still hasn’t peeled its pink belly off the surface of the world. Ghost comes back with a deer slung over his shoulders one week, his knife still protruding from its neck, and your stomach only twists a little bit. Not used to seeing where your meat comes from.

There’s not much choice when you’re on your own in the elements. Every day, you expect to see a helo appear over the horizon, and you end each night crestfallen when it doesn’t.

It’s not like you haven’t completed basic training, a prerequisite to applying as a military flight attendant, but admittedly it’s been several years and basic never taught you to hunt for your food. You did other things that seemed, at the time, inconsequential to your career path, like learning to rappel and how to wait an hour for your NCO to show up for PT in the morning.

Even if your ankle hadn’t been badly sprained, you wouldn’t be much help. Ghost’s remarkably self-sufficient. It makes you question whether he’s done this before—whether he’s gotten stranded in the woods for weeks on end and had to learn to live hand-to-mouth.

“Have you…where’d you learn all of this?” you ask him in the dead of night, when the wind is a shrill hiss through the trees and you cower close to him in your sleeping bag (also salvaged from the wreck, though his has a tear down the side of it).

Ghost is quiet for a moment. “All over the place. Been doing this for years, love; had to learn.”

“Anything ever like this?”

Even with the absence of his mask, it gets so dark at night that you can’t see his face. You can hear the wry smile that plays on his lips in his voice though. “I’ve had worse days.”

There’s a story there that you see like a fish darting under the water. Too quick for you to catch with your bare hands.

You wake up with your cheek pressed against his pillowy chest most days. It’s embarrassing at first, but you learn to let it melt off you when you meet Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing there but piercing blue. They root you in place most of the time but they never tell you to move.

It takes a while before your ankle starts noticeably healing. In the intervening weeks, Ghost almost dotes on you, in a rough, untested sort of way. Like he doesn’t have much experiencing tending to another person besides himself for weeks on end. As the weeks drag on, it morphs into something unrecognizable, like a wounded animal healing wrong.

It starts when Ghost insists on sharing sleeping bags. It’ll be easier for him to pull you close if something tries to drag you off in the night (and doesn’t that thought put you on the brink of a panic attack until he shushes and soothes you). It escalates when you make the mistake of tending to the meat hanging over the fire while he fiddles with the little radio he’d dragged back from the plane, and the look he gives you when you tell him that supper is ready borders on reverent.

It gets even worse when he has you both strip your clothes off on a particularly cold and rainy night, wrapped around each other for warmth.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking,” you hear him rumble, big hand drawing a line down your back. You do tremble at that. “C’mon, get closer. Gonna warm you up.”

You wake up in the middle of the night when your ankle is starting to feel solid enough that you think you can manage to go off on your own to relieve yourself instead of waking Ghost up again. That’s the plan anyway. Before you’ve even managed to crawl all of six feet away from your sleeping bag, a rough hand pins you by your shoulder to the ground and the heavy, over two-hundred pound body of your companion drapes itself over you.

“Where the fuck do you think yer going?” Ghost snarls.

For the first time in a week, there’s a moment of genuine fear. It’s like realizing for a split second that the animal you’ve let creep up behind you is a lot more dangerous than you thought it was.

“I have to pee,” you whisper-hiss, heart still skittering in your chest.

He’s silent behind you while he mulls that thought over; you think maybe he’s still half-asleep, his body acting on instinct before his brain’s ready to take over. The tension only releases you when he finally picks himself up off you, but it’s immediately made worse when he insists on accompanying you into the woods.

He doesn’t even turn around while you pull your underwear down and squat. Ghost’s eyes are bright in the dark, trained on you like it’s the thing that gives him purpose.

Things change in the woods. There are people who are only one bad thing away from reverting to their neolithic mind; as the weeks go on, you see the way his eyes change when they fall on you, no longer detached but gluttonous.

There’s a brown bear that slouches past your camp one day, sniffing around only because it’s curious, and Ghost all but completely obstructs your vision with how he shoves you behind him. He puffs up big when the bear gets too close, keeping you hidden until it snorts and ambles off, not interested in the pair of you.

Do animals act like this? He curls you around him in sleep, legs tangled together. When you soak in the lake under the glare of the sun, he slips into the water and comes up behind you until his hands close around your waist and he tugs you closer to the edge, away from the deeper parts. It’s testament to how long you’ve been out on your own that you’re no longer unaccustomed to the feel of his hands on your bare flesh.

His lips on your bare shoulder are a little less commonplace, but you only shiver and stare out at the mountains.

Then one day, you look up into the sky away from the sun and there it is, a black dot on the horizon at first. You scream for Ghost, who’s skinning a fish on a damp log near you and start waving your arms wildly in the air, unbridled joy streaming out of you. He’s quick to pull his mask on when the chopper lands a few hundred yards away and two similarly dressed soldiers spill out.

You ignore the stiffness in his body as he sits beside you in the chopper, pinning you against the side. Ignore the way he answers for you when the men start asking questions.

What does it mean to come back worse?

“Wha’s that, love?”

“Trauma bonding,” you repeat, swallowing nervously. It’s months later, but the weeks on the mountain and the forest still haunt you. The real world seems flimsier now that you’re back in it, less real somehow. Here, no one hunts for their food. “The therapist said that we trauma bonded. And—and that’s why you won’t—”

Here’s where the words can’t seem to come out on their own.

He sleeps in your bed these days—can’t stand to be more than a room away from you at any given time. Follows you into the bathroom when you need to clean up at the end of the day, crowding you into your too-small shower. The you from a month ago wouldn’t have been able to imagine inviting a six-foot-four soldier into your apartment, but—and here’s where your brain scrambles a bit to catch up—you didn’t invite him in.

He lifts a brow. The mask comes off in your apartment, so you’re able to see the way his lips slip into something unimpressed. “Why I won’t what?”

You swallow. “You know. Leave.”

“Do you want me to leave, love?”

That’s the crux of it. The heart of it. You really don’t. In the dark sometimes, if the wind rustles outside your window just right, shrill like those weeks in the forest and out on the open plains, your heart pounds in your chest until it grows so tight that you think it’ll just stop.

“No,” you whisper in response to his question.

Most nights, you wake up drenched in sweat, still half in a dream where you turn your head and the other flight attendant is staring back at you with wide, empty eyes. Blood dribbling down from his head. Where a plane is ripped in half, grey metal strewn across a mountain and the valley below is a dark pit where you go to die.

Then you roll over in your bed and Ghost is there, already awake and cupping a wide hand over your cheek, laying kiss after kiss across your face. Murmuring that it’ll be alright, that you’re safe. That he’s got you.

His breath is hot on your skin.

You let him roll you over and spread your legs when he says those things. Let him be a bit filthy after being so kind to you in the woods.

He spits on your pussy and rubs it in with a coarse thumb, chuckling when you yelp all breathlessly and squirm away. Sometimes when you fuck, he gets rough with you and slaps it, but he’s always tender with you after a nightmare, content to sooth you with his mouth on your pussy until you’re close to hyperventilating.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” Ghost breathes, spearing you on his turgid length, barrel chest heaving when he finally crams it all in. Always a bit too big for you to take without crying. “I got you, I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It’s a new development, but it feels older than time. You could’ve let it happen in the woods and you might have, if no one had ever come.

“Look at me, sweet girl,” he tuts when you turn your head to the side, holding your face in one hand until you have no choice but to stare at the bulk of him straining over you. He has shoulders like mountains that roll when he pushes into you. “Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?”

You don’t want to acknowledge what this is: that you found something in the woods and it followed you home.

#cod mw2 #ceil writing #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod

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sakkiichi · 8 months

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COVER ME IN SUNSHINE.

Ways in which your kid calls his dad. Will he get to hear a ‘papa’?

ft. Scaramouche/Wanderer, Albedo, Xiao, Childe, Kaeya, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: pure fluff. Reader is referred to as ‘mama’, you and the character have a child. They’re all girl dads.

a birthday present for my dearest @bunny-rambles 🩵 i’m wishing you the best day today and always, hun ! ilysm, thank you for always being by my side. I hope we can celebrate many many more birthdays together, mwah <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ note: about this fic… i struggled quite a little with it, and i’m sorry it’s not my best piece… this was a totally new concept to write for me, but i still hope you can enjoy, bunbun, dear ♡

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Wide indigo orbs meet his furrowed gaze.

Scaramouche is not amused.

Or at least that’s what he wants whoever sees him right now to believe. Namely, you.

Tiny hands cup the Wanderer’s cheeks, big eyes, so similar to his, staring up at him in wonder. The little girl in his arms squeezes his face, a pout forming on her father’s lips. Giggles erupt from her smiling lips, the corners of Scaramouche’s mouth unconsciously tilting upwards.

“You’re amused, huh?” Your husband asks, rocking the baby in his hold. She stares at him, her little arms flailing upward, giggling happily.

“Moochie!” She babbles, trying to stand on the wanderer’s knees, her hands reaching for his hat.

“Hey, hey, now!” Kunikuzushi pouts, securing his hat. “That is not a toy and I’m not Moochie…”

“Moochie!” His daughter repeats, poking his cheek.

He sighs.

“Not Moochie…” Scaramouche’s ears take on a rather rosy tone, especially when your giggles are not exactly inconspicuous, your attempt at keeping hidden just outside the living room, obviously half-assed.

“Pa-pa. Not Moochie.” He repeats, bopping his little one’s nose. “And here, play with this.” He offers, handing his baby a doll curiously identical to himself.

Your eyes soften from your spot when you observe the fond smile on your lover’s face. He might feign annoyance, but when it came to your baby, all the facade was scattered to the winds. Storm clouds and lightning seemed so far away when he was surrounded by the blue skies and birdsong that dawned with your daughter’s hand grabbing his finger.

“Pa..” The little one begins, lifting the doll, as if indicating that it indeed represents her father.

“Pa…” Your wanderer prompts, as he points to the cloth mini version of himself.

Then, the girl’s eyes focus somewhere beyond her dad, tiny hands wiggling and waving, the plush doll still in her grasp.

“Mama!” She exclaims, making to reach for you, trying to climb over the sofa’s backrest, where it not for your partner’s protective hold.

Finally stepping out from your hideout, you walk towards them.

Familiar warm arms wrap around the no longer broken puppet, as your precious baby rests between your two heartbeats. Yours, steady, undeniably human. His, bloomed anew, thanks to you; with a newfound tune, sweeter, gentler, thanks to his little one.

Scaramouche closes his eyes, lashes of now starlit midnights resting on his perfect cheekbones. His head leans on your shoulder, your lips feather-light on his dusky hair, as your hands gently lift his hat a bit.

Your girl grabs one of her father’s fingers once more, the handmade mini wanderer kept close to her chest.

Yes, storms were definitely over for days to come.

✧ ALBEDO

A tug on the leg of his pants and familiar unintelligible noises pull the alchemist out of his task.

Albedo’s features soften when he spots the cause of his distraction.

Putting the notebook he was currently scribbling on aside, he crouches down.

“And who do we have here?” The chalk prince asks, smoothing the golden locks on his baby’s small head.

“Mama?” She replies, her tiny hand pulling on her dad’s clothes.

The gesture is followed by one of Albedo’s gentle chuckles, eyes like northern stars on clear nights bright at the sight of his daughter.

“Mama’s not here now, little princess.” He explains, as he picks the baby up. “They will get home soon, though.” Your child stares at him as if unsatisfied with the answer, head slightly tilted to the side. “How about we have some fun in the meantime?”

Giggles that always reminded Albedo of sunshine days at dragonspine are the answer that follows.

Taking his little one’s two hands in his, the chief alchemist helps his daughter take a few trembling steps, the baby happily padding on the wooden floor.

“There we go, princess!” Your lover chuckles, sitting the girl securely on the beige couch. Teal eyes flecked in emerald follow your partner’s movements, as he rummages through your living room’s drawers.

A few seconds later, more incomprehensible joyful babbles follow, when he sits by your daughter’s side, his hands expertely setting the supplies he retrieved on the low table. She stares at him intently, her gaze drawn to the vibrant crayons cluttering the tabletop’s surface.

“What should we draw today, my princess?” Are Albedo’s words, as he hands his child a light blue pencil, its tip dulled so she can’t hurt herself.

“Snow!” She exclaims, her tiny feet kicking back and forth in excitement, eliciting chuckles from her dad.

“You want to paint snow, my little cecilia?” He asks, combing through her blonde strands. “Alright, how about we paint you, mama and papa building a snowman?”

“Yay!” Your baby reaches for the blank paper, wonder and excitement written all over her rounded features, her tongue sticking out the corner of her small mouth. She always loved to draw and paint, especially when it was with Albedo. And even if her pictures often ended up turning out as just criss-crossing lines or messy splotches, you and your husband always kept every single one of them, displayed as priceless masterpieces on the fridge’s door, the living room walls or your study.

After a few minutes of focused work, three figures start taking form over a background of messily drawn blue snowflakes.

“Look, dearie.” Albedo calls. “Who are these?”

His girl looks up at him, a huge smile on her face as she bites the pencil.

“Mama! Me! And Papa!” She answers proudly, pointing at each of the figures.

Albedo’s eyes widen, gilded sparks reflected in the cloudless skies of his irises at his daughter’s words.

Those last two syllables.

His own pencil falls out of his grasp, clattering to the carpeted floor. In this moment, nothing else exists, save for the jingling echo of his daughter’s angelic tone.

“Papa?” She asks, tugging on his sleeve.

Albedo picks the little girl up, rising her as she laughs, unaware.

“Can you say it again, little princess? ‘Papa’.”

“Papa! Papa!” Giggles leave her throat.

Softly, Albedo places a kiss on her kid’s forehead, hugging her as the both of them lay down on the sofa.

When you got home, silence greets you, broken only by even breaths. Smiling to yourself, you brush a kiss against your husband’s and your daughter’s hair, a new painting adorning the walls after you gently throw a blanket over the sleeping figures of your two treasures.

✧ XIAO

“Do you want to hold her, Xiao? She’s been looking at you for a while.” You chuckle, your gaze softened when it sets upon your yaksha.

Golden eyes, not unlike the child’s currently on your arms, shadow in fear and shame for a moment.

What if he hurts the baby? What if his karma taints her somehow? What if-

“Xiao.” Your hand finds his gloved one, centuries of bloodshed written in the concealed scars. “She’ll be okay.” You reassure, a gentle squeeze, as your fingers slot between his.

The adeptus glances in his daughter’s direction, her round amber eyes curiously observing him.

Your husband’s jaw sets, his lips drawn in a taut line. If someone were to look at him now, they may think he’s sulking, the furrow of his brow apparently an indication to steer clear.

You, however, know better.

“Here, I’m with you, love.” You softly utter, placing your daughter in her father’s arms.

The baby stares up at her dad in awe, her little hands fiddling with the necklace he always wears.

She’s so small… such a pure and precious being… will she be safe with him?

Just as these thoughts plague his mind, the girl curls up in his embrace, nuzzling against his toned torso.

“See? She adores you, Xiao…” You tell him, knuckles brushing against your baby’s soft full cheek. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?” She turns around, a smile drawing on her lips, as she buries herself further into Xiao, whose cheeks have gone as red as the carmine lining his eyes.

“H-hello, little qingxin…” Xiao greets her, awkwardly rubbing her back.

In response, his baby tilts her head slightly backwards, the molten suns in her stare illuminating her father’s rusted gold gaze.

“Papa!” She goes, a little clumsy, it sounding more like ‘dada’.

The vigilant yaksha’s eyes widen, his heart feeling like a million bright lanterns floating towards a starry sky.

“Xiao! She said ‘papa’! See? She loves you!” You excitedly chant, hugging your husband’s waist, as you pepper kisses all over his face. “You are her first word, dear, our baby adores her dad so much. I knew she would!” A smile tugs at your lips, lids fluttering closed as you rest your cheek on Xiao’s shoulder.

His hands hover around his daughter, his hold on her delicate, as if she was a newly bloomed flower whose petals could vanish if the wind blew too strongly.

“Papa…” The girl repeats, her chubby cheek squished against’s Xiao’s form. Her eyes are droopy, a little yawn escaping her as she settles more comfortably in her father’s embrace.

Your adeptus heaves out a sigh of relief, the warmth of a familiar fireplace swarming all around him, as if candid candle flames were running through his veins when the soft snores of his daughter reach his ears.

The conqueror of demons’ mask would be shed for tonight.

✧ CHILDE

Small hands are glued to the window’s glass panes, a pair of bright blue eyes staring awestruck at the image currently taking place in your garden.

Flashes of crystalline cyan flit across the air as Childe wields his double blades, merging them into a spear, his muscles taut at the effort.

The little girl’s tiny hands curl into fists, as she leans forward in anticipation, marine gaze following her father’s movements.

He reminds her of the illustrations she’s seen in the picture books Teucer has shown her before.

She must get closer.

Looking over her shoulder, your daughter makes sure you’re busy with something in the kitchen.

Her plan can be put into action now.

Crawling towards the door on all fours, she realizes she’s nowhere near tall enough to reach the handle.

Oh, but she takes after you, and will not be deterred by something like this.

Silently, the baby makes her way towards the dog you took in. He’s big and fluffy and very peaceful, often keeping company to the little girl. With a gentle pat to his side, she looks up at him with those big blue eyes and, despite his instinct to keep her safe, the puppy obliges to her demand.

Folding his paws, the animal lowers himself to the ground, allowing your daugher to climb. A vivid spark flashes through her ocean eyes, tiny hands securing on her companion’s fur.

And just as she was about to reach the door opening to the garden, a familiar voice that’s lulled her to sleep many a night stops her in her tracks.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, little lady.” You stand a couple feet away from her, hands on your hips, your concern masked with masterfully feigned anger.

Your baby stares up at you, that oceanic gaze puppy-like, much like her father did when you were mad at him.

“Mama…” She mumbles, her little hands signaling to where Childe is training outside, sounds you can’t understand leaving her pouty lips.

You sigh, kneeling to pick her up, rubbing your dog’s chin gently.

“So you want to see papa training, don’t you, little troublemaker?” You prompt, smiling as you tickle her belly. She giggles, wiggling her legs in your hold. “Alright, just this once, and because he’s almost finished with his routine.” You warn, softly pinching her cheek.

Once outside, you both stare at the harbinger, you, with heating cheeks; your daughter, in admiration and wonder.

Then:

“Papa!” She calls, energetically waving to her father, as you have to struggle so she doesn’t fall out of your grasp.

Suddenly, Ajax’s hydro blades vanish, a rare glow present in the eyes that are so like his daughter’s. A wide grin spreads across his sun-kissed features, arms opening as he runs towards you and his baby.

“Papa! Papa!” His daughter repeats, as your husband hugs the both of you.

No matter how cold Snezhnaya’s blizzards blew, Ajax would always have his personal patch of sunshine in you two.

✧ KAEYA

Calla lilies surround the scene, their russet-hued petals aglow in the blue shimmer of the statue of the seven standing amidst the lake.

Dusk approaches, the sky still dyed in shades of tangerine and cherry blossom, the sun, a glimmering halo right above the horizon.

Over frondous grass spotted in sun and shadow, a blanket lies, its baby blue pattern fading into the multiple colors of the snacks scattered above it: portions of cake you baked the afternoon prior; sandwitches carefully cut in triangle shapes; handpicked apples and sunsettias, cut and placed into plates by your lover.

But perhaps the most vivid color of them all was that of the couple sitting atop it.

A couple and their daughter.

“You really liked this pie, didn’t you, little lily?” Kaeya coos at his baby, her chubby cheeks littered with crumbs of the soft cake she’s been devouring all afternoon. Two pairs of ice blue eyes meet each other beneath the setting sun, the girl’s giggles eliciting a chuckle from her father’s lips as he carefully wipes her face. “Mama will be mad if you stain your dress, little princess.” The cavalry captain points out, in mock scolding.

His reprimand is met with a bashful smile and his kid cuddling into him, her tiny hands clutching his clothes.

“Kaeya, don’t tease her!” You swat at his arm playfully, soft laughter leaving the both of you as your husband smooths over your girl’s hair, placing a soft kiss on her head.

“Don’t pay any mind to papa, now.” You reassure her, tenderly brushing over her chubby hands. “He’s a little silly sometimes.”

The girl looks up at you, those iceberg toned eyes wide in wonder at the world that she still has to discover around her.

You ruffle her hair, as she turns around in Kaeya’s embrace, settling on top of his legs, staring up at him.

“Papa!” She announces, taking ahold of Kaeya’s long braid, playing with it. “Papa… prince!” She points out, as she grabs one of the dolls she brought: a boy wearing a crown.

With a knowing grin, you shift closer to your lover, leaning against his side.

“Yes, little sweetheart, you’re right, papa is a prince.” Kaeya’s hand locks with yours over his shoulder, fingers laced together, the warmth of his touch so paradoxical, given the freeze he commands.

“And that is why you’re our little princess.” The knight tells your baby, as he places a stray calla lily on her hair.

“Princess!” She happily babbles, rising her arms.

Instances like this… they truly stoked gentle flames around the captain’s heart, oftentimes concealed behind apparently crystalline walls of frost. As long as he had the two of you, at least during brief moments like this, there would be no need for practiced facades.

Across the distant horizon, even dusk seemed to delay, allowing a few more seconds of luminous skies for the family sitting below it, a flickering smile crossing the anemo archon’s face of stone.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Slate skies expand above him, his opal eyes restless oceans in the tears they contain, painted lashes dripping in midnight droplets.

Rainbow roses seem to weep too, their petals downcast, the sunrise shades of their blossoms muted in the downpour.

Neuvillette stands alone, the garden of your shared home melancholy; the trees too bare, the grass ashen, the flowers wilting.

Save for the pitter-patter of rusted silver droplets, silence reigns the scene.

The hydro dragon’s mood had a tendency to be mirrored in the heavens over Fontaine, after all.

Sighing, the Chief Justice takes a sit by a bush of lumidouce bells. Fitting, for someone whose shoulders slump not unlike the petals of the periwinkle hued blooms.

“Neuvi, love.” A familiar voice calls him, gently. “What are you doing out there in this weather, dear?”

Long argent locks of hair shift, like seafoam by moonlight, when he turns around, water, from the rain, or his tears, or both, running down his cheeks.

“Someone has come to see you, my love.” You softly utter, beckoning your husband towards the porch, the impending cacophony of his racing mind and falling downpour partially silencing.

Neuvillette’s features warm up a bit the moment he realizes who you’re talking about.

A little girl placidly rests between your arms, eyes of crystalline dusk looking up at her father. Unlike his, hers are rounded, lacking the dark circles frequently etched under your lover’s.

“Look who’s here, little rainbow.” You coo at your daughter, who tries chasing after your wiggling fingers, right as you playfully poke her belly. “Papa is here, do you perhaps want to play with him?”

The baby looks at you, one of her tiny fists on her mouth, as her eyes crinkle up in crescents. Then, she turns towards her dad, arms reaching out.

“Papa! Papa!” She laughs, inclining her flexible small torso towards him.

Neuvillette’s gaze widens, placing his hands around his little girl, protectively cradling her in his embrace.

“Papa is here, sunshine.” Your lover assures her, as he leans down to kiss her nose.

In the distance, a familiar arch shoots across the heavens, the violet of goodbyes and separations shifting into rosy affection.

Golden replaces dull steel, flecks of it dotting the grass, remnants of rain clinging like emeralds to the verdant stems.

The sun is out. The hydro dragon cries no more.

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happypanda101 · 5 months

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Finally posting my entry for Decembers bird month! @far-side-skies

Meet Princess Fukayna Mariam Robin Gastor, the future ruler of Terra Giza, a collab terra I made with @far-side-skies and @grimm-the-6th/@ashe-alter. Terra Giza is well known for their papyrus (thick paper) production and it's one of the main reasons why Cyclonia is in alliance with them. As heir to the throne, Fukayna is expected to take her parents place as ruler of the terra. There's just one problem. They believe their daughter should be married before she can, much to her distain. This has led to many problems, including poor Austry (Grimm's oc) suddenly being pronounced her fiance when he's trying to negotiate. Fukayna is his 18th fiancé lol. It's only more annoying when her parents believe they need a man to help her but she's a lesbian. So uh, yeah, no interest there. Fukayna is striving to prove to her parents that she can be a good ruler, with or without help, and that she definitely doesn't need to get married. She's tired of the old fashion way and wants to start something new. She's a confident young woman who knows what she wants, sometimes being too overconfident, but has a caring heart. Wanting to improve and be a good ruler for her people. Hope you like her!

#storm hawks bird oc challenge #storm hawks bird challenge #storm hawks oc contest #storm hawks oc #oc original character #oc #my art #storm hawks art #fan character #storm hawks #far-side-skies

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rainymeadows-art · 2 years

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My character for @far-side-skies‘ OC challenge this month is Eddie, a crystal artificer and the secretive crew member of Atmos’ superstar singer Rosario Stellaris (to be drawn at a later date)

#storm hawks #sh #oc #original character #oc challenge #art challenge #far-side-skies #storm hawks oc

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luminnara · 2 months

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Unheavenly Creatures | Feyd Rautha/reader (NSFW 18+)

Summary: Feyd Rautha has taken a liking to you, a handmaiden accompanying your mistress on a diplomatic visit to Giedi Prime. He decides it's time to add another darling to his collection.

Warnings: knife stuff, blood stuff, mentions of murder, sex, a lil cannibalism, sex sex sex, dubcon-ish tones? lots of biting, it's feyd rautha it's not gonna be all sunshine, but he is also not as terrible as canon entirely so idk

Word count: 6k

Check out my feyd rautha playlist!

Tags: @austinswhitewolf @aeilani @maneater17 @serrendiipty

The Harkonnen palace was a cold place, not in the sense that the air was crisp and you could see your own breath, but rather that the austerity of its halls and monochromatic decor felt positively frigid. As if even the buildings weren’t meant to harbor life on this toxic, forsaken rock anymore. Everything you had seen of Giedi Prime so far had felt the same—stark, brutal, inhospitable. A barren wasteland with blinding white skies and dark acid rain.

And yet, House Harkonnen seemed to thrive beneath the black sun, growing numerous and powerful and rich. Before arriving, you had heard horror stories, rumors of what Baron Vladimir and his nephews were like, none of them pretty. When you had been informed you’d been chosen to accompany your own House’s leaders on a diplomatic trip to the Harkonnen homeworld, you’d considered pretending to be sick to get out of it. Faking your own death had seemed like a valid option at that point.

But with little choice of your own, you were forced to follow along as a handmaiden, and from the moment you set foot on Giedi Prime, you were determined to keep your head down and hope that the meetings went smoothly so that you could return to your own planet as quickly as possible. As you walked dutifully behind your Lady, hands folded and eyes trained on your feet, you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose at the putrid, chemical air, unaware of the dark eyes watching you.

“My nephew, na-Baron Feyd Rautha,” Baron Harkonnen rasped, his voice like dry gravel. His words had you glancing up to finally look at what the Harkonnens considered royalty, and what was supposed to be a quick peek turned into a curious stare. The Baron himself was a large man, and he was levitating, wearing a long black robe that touched the ground even while he was so high above it. Tubes connected him to what you could only assume was some sort of breathing apparatus, a dark, spherical thing floating behind him. Standing behind him to his right was a much younger man, dressed in black and staring directly at you.

You felt a chill fly up your spine.

Feyd Rautha tore his eyes away from you and inclined his head in acknowledgement, looking to your Lord and Lady as formal pleasantries were exchanged. You kept your eyes down once more as you finally moved indoors, where the air was fresh and stale at the same time, and the walls were imposing and cold.

You followed along as your Lady was given the grand tour, a journey that ended at the guest wing. You were shown to your room and all but locked inside, left alone to inspect your temporary lodgings. If the rest of the palace was bleak, this was entirely featureless—a single boring bed sat in the center, a small table off to the side. There were no windows, not a shred of natural light despite how high the ceiling was. How anyone could willingly design such a place was beyond you, and you counted yourself lucky to only have to endure it for a short time.

Dinner was served that evening, hosted by the Baron and his nephew. You were permitted to join, dressed in a plain white gown as you sat in silence, doing your best to disappear. You could feel Feyd Rautha’s eyes upon you as you ate and tried to ignore him, cutting into what must have been meat and realizing it was rare at best, perhaps an organ from some large beast. Nonetheless you ate it, finding it adequate and perhaps even tasty, eating in the calm and measured manner expected of you back home.

Suddenly, Feyd barked a laugh. “A pet at the dinner table?”

You glanced up at him and found yourself fascinated once more. His pale skin, nearly white, was completely smooth; you had yet to see a Harkonnen with hair, though you did not know whether they removed it or simply never had it in the first place. His blue eyes were so dark they appeared black in contrast, and as he grinned at you, all you saw were black teeth, and it was somehow beautiful in that brutal, gruesome way of Giedi Prime.

“Do your pets always dine with you?” He rasped, his tone mocking.

“Na-Baron, she is not a pet,” your Lady said sternly, and you felt safe knowing that she would defend you. You were loyal to your House for a reason, after all; you knew your leaders would bring you home safe and sound. “She is my attendant.”

“You must forgive my dear nephew,” the Baron said. “Your customs are not ours.”

You expected a rebuttal, but none came, and Feyd Rautha’s eyes remained glued to you as you ate.

-0-

The negotiations seemed to stretch on.

After dinner, you had helped your Lady retire for the night and then returned to your chamber, laying in bed as you stared at the distant ceiling. All the stories you had heard of the Harkonnens swirled in your mind, and you thought of their recent extermination of House Atreides and shuddered. Your House was desperate to stay in their good graces, you knew, and who could blame them? No one wanted to end up slaughtered like the Atreides.

You told yourself that you were safe. Even if the Harkonnens had lured your Lord and Lady to Giedi Prime under false pretenses, you were only a servant; there was no reason to kill you as well. Aside from Feyd Rautha’s comments at dinner and the stark discomfort of the palace, nothing had happened to make you believe you were a target, and though you knew it was borderline blasphemous, you took some solace in the knowledge that it was more worth their while to kill your masters than you.

When you finally relaxed enough to close your eyes, however, sleep came surprisingly easily, and your dreams were simple and comfortable.

In the morning, you prepared the Lady for the day, and then she and the Lord entered their meeting with the Baron, leaving you alone. There was nothing to do but wander the guest wing, though that only occupied you for a short time as there was absolutely nothing to look at. Nothing in the way of art decorated the walls, and the architecture was so smooth and so plain you quickly grew bored of it. You doubted you would be permitted to participate in anything that even semi-resembled entertainment, and as minutes stretched into hours, you realized your feet had taken you out of the guest wing and into a corridor you had no memory of.

You turned in a circle, seeing nothing and no one familiar, and made the decision to continue on. Surely someone would have informed you of any off-limits areas upon your arrival, and with absolutely no guards in sight, it couldn’t be that bad for you to wander this area as well.

Your steps echoed around you, breaking the oppressive silence of the hall. The architecture was bafflingly different compared to that of your home, where wood and warm stone blended together to create buildings that felt welcoming. On Giedi Prime, everything was harsh and inhospitable—including the people and their homes.

Though your interactions with the Harkonnens had been brief thus far, you could confidently say that they weren’t winning any popularity contests, except perhaps amongst themselves. Nearly everything you’d ever heard about them was bad, and so far, you mostly found them strange; the Baron was fearsome in the way a sick, desperate animal was, with those eyes that followed people as if he were wondering what it would be like to crush their necks in his hands just because he could.

His nephew, on the other hand, was fearsome in the way a predator was. His movements were smooth and confident at dinner the night before, his eyes calculating as if counting how many moves it would take him to press a knife into your gut. You had heard of Feyd Rautha, the pretty boy of Giedi Prime, but you had never seen him before yesterday, and quite frankly, you had expected something else…but then again, what had you even expected at all? The na-Baron was surely cruel just as his uncle was, but he seemed…different.

The clang of metal followed by the sound of a muffled thud startled you out of your thoughts of Feyd, and with a start, you realized you were standing outside a closed door. It was the first noise you’d heard that wasn’t your own all day, and your heart pounded as you quickly stepped back. Perhaps you should run, lest you be caught outside the guest wing. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter at all, as no one has explicitly ordered you to remain in your chamber. And, above all else, perhaps you were curious about what lay on the other side of the door, and you took a step forward again.

It was only a heartbeat later that it opened, revealing Feyd Rautha.

“Well, well,” he said, voice rough, “what do we have here?”

He was dressed in all black, in what you assumed were casual clothes for the Harkonnen royalty.

“Apologies, Feyd Rautha,” you said quickly. “I was passing by and heard a sound.”

You could feel his eyes raking over you as he listened. Then, a smirk crept across his lips, and he help up a bloody dagger.

He did so slowly, and you knew it to be an attempt at intimidation. He wanted you scared. He wanted to shock and disgust the outsider who came from another great house, who had surely never encountered anything like him before.

But you were tougher than that. You may have been a handmaiden for a spoiled aristocrat, but on your planet, hunting was common. You’d had your fair share of field dressing game, and you weren’t one to shy away from a knife.

You eyed the dark blood dripping from the blade, then focused on his face once more. “I apologize if I have caused an interruption.”

“Not at all,” he said, brow twitching as he tilted his head slightly. “Though you are to address me as na-Baron. Only my darlings may use my name.”

“Of course, na-Baron. My apologies.”

“Why are you not in the guest wing, little pet?”

“I have nothing to do, na-Baron.” You shrugged.

This time, he grinned, baring black teeth. If he expected you to cringe away, he would be surprised to find that you seemed almost unimpressed with the display. “So you walk freely, as though you own this palace. I could kill you for the insolence.”

You looked at him boredly.

“I could gut you.” He took a step towards you. “Stick this knife into you. Right. Here.”

He was standing before you, the tip of the blade poking your belly, still grinning. At your lack of reaction, however, the grin faded slightly, nearly faltering.

“Not there,” you replied, a bit amused by his lack of skill.

“What?”

“If you aim to gut me, that’s a terrible place to start.” You wrapped a hand around his and moved the knife over slightly. “This is better.”

He watched your face. “You’re a Bene Gesserit witch.”

“No,” your lip quirked in a small smile. “No, I’m experienced in the ways of hunting and traditional field dressing. Our House is known for them.”

“You’re a hunter? A weak, little thing like you?” He pressed the blade against your dress and laughed.

You considered stepping back, away from the na-Baron and his knife, but you recognized the growing fervor in his eyes. He wanted to hunt, to pursue, to drive the blade forward until he could feel your blood on his skin. Feyd was like a hunting hound, eager to follow the scent of his prey, easily triggered by the chase. So you stood still, studying his pale, smooth face.

“The Lord and Lady enjoy hunting on the estate.” You finally answered. “I often assist in dressing the game after.”

“But have you killed?”

“My uncle took me hunting when I was young. I learned much about the ways of nature and the hunt.”

“You speak so formally,” he taunted, leaning in.

“I do, na-Baron,” you replied curtly. “I do not wish to offend.”

With a sick smirk, he leaned into you even further, lips brushing your ear. “Have you killed a human?”

You watched him from the corner of your eye, and he watched you.

“Na-Baron, I fear I’m lost. I’ll return to the guest wing promptly if you’ll point me in the right direction—“

“Don’t change the subject, pet.” He drew back. “Lying to me is unwise.”

You swallowed hard. “Why do you wish to know?”

“You’ve caught my eye, little one,” he withdrew the blade, leaving the smallest stain on your dress. “And you’ve already told me all I need to know.”

You felt a chill, the back of your neck tingling as you watched him raise the bloody knife and lick it clean. Feyd Rautha was dangerous. More dangerous than you knew.

“Return to the guest wing,” he rasped. “I must attend to my darlings. They grow lonely without me.”

You stared, perplexed, as he strode away, an uneasy feeling washing over you as you turned and hurried back the way you had come. The sooner you could leave Giedi Prime and its unnerving House, the better.

-0-

“What?”

“Hush.” Your mistress scolded you, but you barely heard her.

Your head was too busy spinning.

“You are to remain here,” your Lord repeated. “In the employ of the na-Baron Feyd Rautha.”

Your heart dropped in a sickening way.

“You’ve been so very good to me,” the Lady said. “You’ll serve House Harkonnen very well, I am certain of it.”

“But I-I—I’m…” you paused, trying to catch your breath and quell the panic tightening your chest. “I’m loyal to our House, milady. And I want to return home, to the palace, and serve you.”

“Baron Harkonnen was insistent,” your Lord said flippantly. “It seems Feyd Rautha approached him sometime after our meeting yesterday, and this morning as we finalized the agreements, it was decided you’d be included in the negotiations. Imagine that, a fresh alliance with House Harkonnen and a fine sum for a handmaiden!”

“You…sold me?” You asked, your voice sounding incredibly small.

“Now, I’m sure you’re nervous, but really, these Harkonnens are nothing to worry about. Those nasty rumors back home are simply that, and I’m sure you’ll be well taken care of. Now, we must depart at once, and you are to be shown to the na-Baron’s chambers.”

“Ta ta, dear one!”

And just like that, your entire world was shattered.

As you followed a Harkonnen servant through the corridors, you kept your head down. You felt furious and lost, anger twisting in your gut. So much for loyalty—never before had you been made to feel so easily replaced, and yet they had given you away so willingly you could hardly believe it. Whatever negotiations had been made, whatever new deals struck, you had been deemed unimportant enough to your House to simply be left in the care of a dangerous man, and now you felt your very life was suddenly in grave danger.

“We have arrived, milady,” your guide said timidly, hunching her shoulders and clasping her hands tightly as you turned to look at her.

“Thank you,” you replied, brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “Am I to…enter?”

“Yes, milady,” she seemed to bite the words, not angrily, but in an effort to get them out quickly.

“Is Feyd Rautha inside?”

“Yes.” Came the whispered affirmative.

The bald woman was nearly trembling, and you felt as though perhaps you should be, as well. Feyd Rautha had been intimidating every time you interacted with him, and now that he had made the baffling decision to demand you remain on his planet, you were beginning to think you ought to fear him.

But he was only a man, you reminded yourself as you faced the door. Not a god. Not some supernatural being. The na-Baron was flesh and blood.

With a deep breath, you opened the door.

“You enter unannounced?” A familiar voice rasped.

Feyd Rautha was indeed inside what appeared to be living quarters, and the room seemed lavish by Harkonnen standards. A large bed with black sheets sat against the far wall, before which was a simple sitting area featuring oddly shaped sofas, all black as well. A mirror was mounted on the wall near the bed, and you chose not to wonder about its placement. You spied two doors on either side of the room, and in its center, stood the na-Baron.

“I was told to come here,” you said, voice tinged with irritation.

“And so you have,” he smirked, twirling a dagger in his hand as he approached you. "Obedient."

When he reached you, invading your space and nearly brushing against your chest with his, he caught the way your nostrils flared angrily and grinned. His black teeth, previously so fascinating, brought only annoyance now, much like the rest of him.

“May I ask what exactly is going on, na-Baron?”

“Oh, I simply couldn’t let you leave,” you felt his blade as the flat of it pressed up against your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “I had to have you, pet.”

“I am not a pet,” you spat, unable to contain yourself any longer. “And I demand to know exactly why I’ve been sold as one.”

The knife was pulled away as Feyd circled you. In the mirror near the bed, you could see him looking you up and down, appraising you freely now that the two of you were hidden from the rest of the galaxy.

“Your masters gave you away easily,” he said, stopping behind you. “They did not realize your true potential.”

“My potential?” You hissed, head jerking to the side to watch him from the corner of your eye. “And what might that be, na-Baron?”

In a blink, he had leaned in, rough hands suddenly gripping your sides as he brought his lips to your ear. “Call me Feyd.”

His too-hot breath on your neck and the tone of his voice caused your anger to stutter. “I-I thought only your darlings called you by your name?”

“Oh, it’s a clever pet,” he taunted, nipping your earlobe sharply. When he saw that you stayed still and didn’t flinch, he seemed pleased. “What do you know of my darlings?”

“N-nothing, I don’t even know what that means,” you answered truthfully.

“My darlings,” he began, a hand moving up to brush through your hair, short in the style of your position—former position—within your—former—house. “Are the most beautiful creatures. They are very special to me.”

You were in danger.

You knew it.

“I want you.” He said simply, pressing his lips to the back of your neck, and you knew he meant in every way. “Give yourself freely.”

“Why me?” You asked, mustering your courage to speak above a whisper.

He chuckled at that, running his tongue up your spine to the base of your skull. “You are just right, the perfect addition. You are unafraid. You have a taste for meat. And you have killed.”

You were silent for a moment, jaw squared. “I never told you that.”

His hands were creeping over your hips now, across the front of your dress. When he spoke, his voice was low and heady. “Who was it?”

Another long pause came as you wrestled with yourself, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth as you finally tried to speak.

“My father.”

As Feyd Rautha let out a guttural groan at your admittance, you stared at yourself in the mirror, and nearly didn’t recognize the person you saw.

“You and I are alike, pet,” his hands squeezed at you harshly while his nose pressed into your hair. “I killed my mother.”

A part of you felt sick at the suggestion that you were anything like the monster that was Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. Another part of you felt a strange comfort in the knowledge that you weren’t the only one in the room who had committed parricide.

“I haven’t shared that in a long time,” you admitted.

“Did he fight it?”

You could feel his arousal as he pushed his hips against you, the sensation bringing an unexpected fire to your core.

“Yes.”

“Did he deserve it?”

You stared at yourself in the mirror and saw an unexpected harshness in your eyes, the polite handmaiden now completely absent, replaced by what you had feared you truly were ever since the day of your father’s death; a killer.

“Yes.”

But if you had feared that you were bad for it, that you deserved punishment, Feyd Rautha seemed determined to prove otherwise. He turned you in his arms, never letting go, and brought his lips to yours in a greedy kiss.

“I need you now,” he breathed, almost sounding vulnerable for a moment.

“Take me,” you said against his lips, determined not to stop and think about what exactly you were doing.

If you were going to be kept and tortured by a Harkonnen prince, you may as well enjoy your last moments, right?

Feyd Rautha guided you to his bed in a way that was somehow both smooth and rough, gentle and demanding. He didn’t want to break you, but he wanted to see how far he could bend you before you snapped. He wanted to test you.

Your dress was quickly thrown to the wayside, torn by his dagger, his clothing following suit. As you lay on your back, fully bared to him, he crept over you, eyes taking over your body as he continued his earlier appraisal.

“So strange,” he muttered as he brushed his fingers over the soft hair between your legs.

“Are you…truly hairless?” You asked, eyeing his smooth groin. “You don’t…remove it?”

“Hair is…barbaric.”

You could have laughed at the irony of him of all people calling you a barbarian.

“I do not hate it on you,” he decided after careful consideration. “Perhaps you will keep this, for now.”

You had the odd feeling that you should feel grateful for the honor.

“It will set you apart from my other darlings,” his body moved over yours, eclipsing you as his hand reached between your legs.

He stroked you there, rubbing in a way that wasn’t gentle, wasn’t harsh, and wasn’t patient, all at once. When his lips captured yours once more, your mind spun—but it was a decidedly more pleasant spin than that short while ago when your entire world came crashing down. Feyd Rautha, while somewhat terrifying, was exhilarating, and as his fingers plunged inside of you and his kisses turned into demanding bites, you thought that perhaps this wasn’t so bad.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice husky. “I want to hear you.”

Your whines and moans filled the heavy air. Feyd Rautha sought to conquer you, you realized; as you came, it wasn’t so much a favor to you as it was an ego boost for him. Either way, you benefited, and as he sheathed himself within you and his hips began rocking back and forth, you were glad for the warm up.

“F-Feyd,” you panted, nails digging into his back as you wrapped yourself around him.

He answered you with a low moan, face hidden in your neck. The na-Baron was merciless, driving into you over and over…but the heat that bloomed inside of you, that feeling that stemmed from your belly and ran all the way to your fingertips…was exhilarating.

He leaned back, one hand gripping your hip harshly, no doubt leaving bruises. The other found your throat and his fingers wrapped around it, squeezing, reminding you who he was. The heir to the Harkonnen throne. The pride of Giedi Prime.

Feyd Rautha.

Your face tingled as he held you, eyes seeking out his. The blue was nearly black, his pupils huge, like a big cat hunting in the dark. He was watching you, frenzied, feral in his ministrations, as if you were his prey and he had finally caught you. Just as your vision began to tunnel he let go and you gasped, gulping in air as he suddenly pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, manhandling you easily as you sank down onto him once more.

His hands were like a vice, pulling your hips down as he pushed up into you, still fucking you mercilessly even in this new position. You would never have expected this from him; you felt too powerful on top of him, too in control of someone who gave you every reason to assume that he wanted to be. That he would be the one weighing down on you, that he would forever and always be hovering over you as he made harsh demands. He was, truly, not as harsh as expected...not that you had ever, for a second, expected to be there with him.

He watched your tits bouncing above him, so much flesh laid bare for him to enjoy, and he soon pulled you down. When you expected him to return to your swollen lips, however, he instead moved his mouth to your chest, greedily sucking and biting your soft skin. He sank his teeth into you, reveling in your sharp gasp, answering it with a beastly groan that was so low and so loud you half imagined it must have shook the walls. The sound had your stomach twisting delightfully, your head fuzzy as Feyd Rautha pulled you closer, closer, closer, until you hardly knew where you ended and where he began. Half-formed thoughts swam in your head, none of them coherent, all of them about him as you desperately clawed at the arms that held you so tightly. He had wanted you, and now he had you, completely, all of you, in every sense of the word.

In that moment, you didn't hate it, or him, or that place; you wanted more. You wanted more of him. As your orgasm mounted, breaths coming in gasps, eyes glued to the pale man below you, you felt happy. Later, you would try to reason with yourself, tell yourself that it was simply chemicals in your brain that brought this on, but in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to do this over and over and over again with him.

"Yes," he rasped, voice muffled by your breasts. You felt the wet heat of his tongue in your cleavage, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth as he pulled you down onto himself. "Take it."

"Feyd," you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as your fingernails dug into his scalp. "Feyd!"

It came out as a half-scream as you felt the sting of his teeth, and it was enough to push you over the edge, plunging down into the abyss that was Feyd Rautha's love. His breath stuttered as his hips drove up against you, a growl sounding from deep within his chest as he came inside of you.

You felt his heart pounding as he held you, a sheen of sweat covering his smooth, pale body. You slumped over him, arms falling onto his shoulders limply. You thought you heard him laugh lightly.

"Good," he said, more to himself than to you.

He moved you easily, rolling you off of him and onto the bed as he pulled himself out. You felt slick and thoroughly used, not in a bad way, but in the way you imagined lovemaking should feel. You had never expected to feel such passion from Feyd Rautha, of all people. From a Harkonnen.

"Come." he stood and slipped his arms under you, scooping you up. Your arms immediately hooked around his neck, and as he carried you to one of the adjoining rooms, you wondered at how natural it felt to be with him now.

The door opened to reveal a steamy, dark bathing room, a large basin filled with dark liquid positioned in the floor. Feyd Rautha sank down into it and as you leaned your head against his shoulder, you heaved a sigh. The liquid was thicker than water but thinner than mud, like nothing you had ever felt before, and it was warm, soothing your bitemarks and sore muscles.

"What is this?" you managed to ask after several minutes of silence.

"Hmph." Feyd Rautha laughed, his whole body moving with the sound. "Oil and blood."

He paused, waiting for your reaction.

"...Ah." you said, wrinkling your nose for a moment as you looked down at the bubbling goo. "...It's nice."

His lips spread into a wide grin. "You don't find it disgusting, my darling?"

"It feels too nice to be disgusting right now."

Feyd Rautha moved a large hand to the side of your head and held you against him, pressing a kiss to your temple in a way that was almost tender. "Rest now. You will need it."

Too tired to ask why, you simply nodded, sinking into him as the blood bath steamed around you. If this was to be your fate now, you didn't mind it; and if he killed you tomorrow, at least your final day had turned out somewhat enjoyable.

-0-

"Do you like it?'

The question was simple, only four words, and yet it was never one you had expected to hear Feyd Rautha ask.

You had been living in his chambers for a week, sleeping next to him, eating with him, wearing what he chose and accompanying him wherever he went. You saw more of the Harkonnen palace--the training room was a frequent haunt, and you realized that it was the room you had wandered to on the day of your first conversation with him. You saw more of Feyd Rautha, as well, and you noticed how quickly he often decided to kill those around him.

But not you.

Never you.

He had yet to do anything worse than bite or scratch, occasionally bending your limbs too far when he tested your physical capabilities in his bed but always letting you go just before any real injury occurred. You often felt the smooth metal of his blades, but they never cut deep; he mentioned once that perhaps he would mark you with one soon, leave a scar that only he would ever be allowed to see, but he had yet to enact that fantasy. You weren't sure if that was good or bad.

Now, you stood before him, wearing a simple black dress that clung to your body and shone as if it were always wet, and your head felt too cold.

"I...don't hate it," you decided as you looked at your reflection.

"Good." he ran a hand over your smooth scalp.

"Will it grow back?"

"At first." he said in his accent that was growing more and more familiar to hear. "Eventually it will stop."

"And the rest...?"

He smirked, turning you to face him. "I told you, that will set you apart from my other darlings."

At the mention of their collective name, a hiss sounded from across the room.

You twisted your head to the side, spying the two women you had been introduced to three days earlier. One--who you had learned had been Feyd's the longest--sported a thick black line down her forehead today, but they were otherwise identical. They watched you curiously, bald heads tilted as they looked at you with big, black eyes. Their dresses were similar to yours, and as you glanced back at the mirror, you realized how you really didn't recognize yourself anymore.

Your teeth had been stained black already, your hair and eyebrows shaved and then the skin treated with something that the servants had explained would keep the hair away. You had already undergone one strange Harkonnen beauty treatment in what you had come to learn was a medical spa, and it was the only one that had frightened you--a strange machine had bared down upon you and done something to your eyes, injecting something that changed them and yet didn't change them, causing them to become big and black like Feyd's other darlings. You actually thought your eyesight was better now, somehow.

You matched them now, you realized, like a member of a set. Feyd Rautha's third concubine.

It was an upgrade from your last job, you supposed.

"It suits you." he pressed his lips to the base of your neck. "My darling."

"Thank you, Feyd," you said, growing more and more used to calling him by his name with every time you said it.

You felt him smirk against your skin. He was no doubt very pleased with himself, having managed to completely transform a murderous handmaiden into a sinister harpy in the course of only one week. Granted, Giedi Prime's days were significantly longer than on your home planet, but it was still a commendable haste.

"Come." he rasped in that gravelly voice you were beginning to love. "All of us. It is time for the arena."

He set off towards the door and you waited for the others before falling in behind them, moving as if the three of you had always belonged together.

"Will there be food?" one of them asked in a harsh, hissing voice.

"Yes," Feyd said gleefully.

"Hearts and lungs?" the other asked hopefully.

"Only the best for my darlings."

"Human?" she demanded clarification.

Feyd looked back over his shoulder, his eyes finding you even though he knew you had not asked the question. "Of course."

You stared back at him, swallowing hard. Human?

He grinned, and the others looked at each other excitedly. They both glanced to you and you gave the best black-toothed grin you could, not wanting to give any of them any reason to be displeased with you. Not after you had done so well all week.

Feyd Rautha led the way to the arena you had learned he loved to fight captured Atreides soldiers in, and after a short preparation (during which he killed at least two servants), a guard led him away while you and the others were taken up to a viewing room.

When you stepped inside you saw that a feast had already been laid out, platters of rare meat covering a short buffet table. As sunlight--or a lack thereof? Giedi Prime's sun continued to baffle you--light the room in that strange, black and white, infrared way, you stared at the food. You recognized it. Despite its human origins, you had no reason to be disgusted by it--because you had already eaten it, on that very first night, when Feyd Rautha had watched you cutting into your meal and commented on your presence at the dinner table.

As the others approached, picking out their favorites--lungs for one, a heart for the other--a grin found its way onto your face. Yes. Perhaps this was exactly where you belonged.

The crowd outside erupted in a roar of cheers as Feyd stalked into the sandy arena, and as you settled in next to the others to watch, you smiled to yourself. There was nowhere else you'd rather be in that moment than on Giedi Prime, eagerly awaiting the moment you could return to Feyd Rautha's chambers and celebrate his victory.

PART TWO

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #unheavenly creatures

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justporo · 4 months

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Hear me out! Tav brought a statue of Astarion to the camp but Astarion does not recognize himself in it and does not understand why their leader spent 5000 gold on a random stone man. Meanwhile the party is betting on how long it will take Astarion to guess whose statue it is.

5000 Gold

"He's not... he's not gonna figure it out anytime soon, is he?"

"Sshhh!"

Shadowheart shushed Karlach with an angry frown and a single finger thrown to her lips.

The two of them - along with your other companions observed the scene unfolding on the other side of the camp. Right where a delivery had just been made - and quite an uncommon one.

A giant stone statue, depicting... Astarion - and almost fully nude at that.

You couldn't resist when the offer had been made to you at the carnival at the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate. 5000 gold had felt like nothing for the punchline you had been about to make with having a statue be made of the one companion that couldn't remember what he himself looked like.

And Astarion, upon discovering Tav's most recent purchase, had started to throw a temper tantrum immediately, almost fainting when he had heard the paid sum out of your mouth.

The vampire had worked himself into an outright frenzy, screaming, hissing, gesticulating towards the statue, then back to you, then to the skies. Meanwhile all you could do anymore was biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting into the biggest laughing fit of your life.

The rest of the group kept observing from a safe distance.

"Istik", Lae'zel mumbled under her breath. But even the sober githyanki could barely hide a smile.

Shadowheart shushed her as well. Wyll had just been silently shaking his head for the last couple of minutes. Shadowheart had started taking bets on how long it would take the oblivious vampire to realise the cruel trick that was being played on him. Karlach, being way too optimistic, had already lost some coin to the cleric with their estimate of a few minutes.

Only Gale who had been busy this far with some of his thousand books had missed the whole spectacle so far. Just now had the wizard realised that something was going down. He eyed the fighting trio of you Astarion and stone Astarion and then the group of bystanders, trying to decipher the situation. When he couldn't make any logical sense of any of it he went over to the small onlooking group. "I appear to have missed something? What is-"

Shadowheart hissed at him to shut up, causing Gale to flinch back with a hurt facial expression. Wyll though wasn't impressed by the cleric and enlightened his friend: "It looks like our clever leader Tav has taken up the offer of getting a stone statue of Astarion for a bargain of 5000 gold without telling anyone. And now we're betting how long it's going to take him to realise it's him."

Shadowheart stared the Blade of Frontiers down. Wyll merely shrugged his shoulders. He'd faced more fearsome creatures than the cleric aplenty.

Gale just blinked several times at him, letting the words settle. Then a grin spread on the wizard's face. "I bet 100 gold it's gonna take him at least until the end of the day."

Shadowheart's furious expression lightened noticeably and she stretched out her hand to Gale. They shook on the bet. Then everyone turned back to the two Astarion's and you to continue watching the scene.

"Why in the nine hells would you get a statue of some random guy - he isn't that... Well, he is quite handsome!" Astarion yelled at you while you had to hide your face in your hands desperately trying to pull yourself together.

The vampire didn't let up: "Well, if only it had been me, then I would have understood, darling, who wouldn't want that as a piece of decor, but-"

That was it, you broke. Hysterical laughter started shaking you, up to the point where you doubled over and could barely breathe between laughing and crying from laughing.

The vampire meanwhile went through the whole spectrum of emotions known under the sun in a matter of seconds. Angered, confused, flustered. And then finally something in the elf’s brain clicked together.

He stared at the statue then at you, back to the statue and suddenly his hands wandered over his own face as if to grasp it's lines and shapes.

"You...," he started and stopped. Through your tears you were sure you could see the vampire's pointy ears turn bright pink. "That IS me!"

You were barely able to nod as another fit of laughter shook you. Astarion’s mouth opened several times but no sound came out. A rare occasion to the see the sassy rogue so void of words.

Meanwhile, a bunch of moans could be heard from the other side of camp where Shadowheart collected her won gold from the others.)

"Why would you-", Astarion began and his expression was barely readable while your laughter slowly died down and you were able to kneel back on your feet.

"Didn't you say it yourself? He's quite handsome, isn't he? Now you get to see for yourself again."

Astarion pointed an angry finger at you about to throw another fit but then his eyes fell on the statue again. Now with knowing what it was and what it meant it shut him up immediately.

He took a few steps closer to get a better look. His anger at you momentarily forgotten as he gazed upon his own image for the first time in over 200 years.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion #astarion x reader #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #karlach #gale of waterdeep #lae'zel #drabble

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lxkeee · 3 months

Text

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

-PART FIVE

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Seraphim Angel! Fem! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Angst (for now)

Warnings: Depression and mentions of self h*rm.

Notes: Heads-up, this chapter is filled with the Caeles Family trauma/lore lmao.

PART ONE | PART FOUR | PART SIX | NAVIGATION

Two angelic beings—currently in their human forms, sat across each other outside their garden, early morning sunlight streaming past the leaves of the large wisteria, they sat underneath the tree, a tea table in the middle with of course, a steaming and freshly brewed lavender tea and a platter of tea sandwiches to go with. The smell of roses and lavender is present around the garden as the sun rises through the horizon, calm and gentle cool breeze caressing their skins as they enjoy this peace and quiet. They are in the mortal realm at the moment, they didn't want heaven's ears to listen.

Xavier can be seen talking animatedly to his mother, his eyebrows furrowed as he did so, his hands moving around comically as he explained something to the older woman. [Y/n] sighs and nodded, bringing back the teacup into the table.

“So you're saying that Sera approved of this cleansing without the other's knowledge?” [y/n] asked with a small hum, bringing the teacup to her lips once more, pinky extended, she sipped her tea slowly before bringing the teacup back down to the table, making sure to use her pinky as a cushion to avoid making unnecessary noise.

She was awestruck, in disbelief by the information Xavier told her. Unacceptable. Sera's decision mocks the heavenly hierarchy, who is she to play God? Sure, God left her in charge as the higher being is off to who knows where but the reason God chose Sera is because the Seven Virtues were busy with work in the mortal realm. To think she made a major decision such as this without consulting the Seven virtues is unacceptable.

[Y/n] was bubbling in fury inside, as the angel of kindness, she can't imagine what the sinners are going through with the cleansing. Sera's decision is truly unacceptable. It felt like Sera didn't respect the status of the seven virtues and that is something she cannot allow. She worked so hard to be here, to where she is now. After Lucifer messed up and left an empty spot with the seven, she worked herself to the bone to fill that spot and is now one of the strongest and Sera couldn't even consult one single virtue to this decision. Blasphemy.

Xavier looked worried as he could tell that his mother is beyond pissed despite the gentle and calm look on her face, but he knows her. He could tell just by how tense her shoulders are, how deep the exhale she let out or the way her left eye twitched.

“I am glad you told me, I'll request a meeting with the others soon but I doubt it'll happen immediately as everyone is busy here on earth.” [y/n] sighs, picking up a small tuna sandwich and taking a bite of it. Xavier nodded as he took a sip of his own tea, nodding at her.

“I couldn't let Sera get away with this, after all.” He answered, looking away from his mother and to gaze at the garden. [Y/n] chuckles, her eyes darkened a bit as she follows where Xavier is looking—at the mini pond of the garden, two ducks and two swans swimming around. Surprisingly, a duck and swan were playing with each other. It brought a smile to [y/n]'s face, remembering the times she and Lucifer would play together in the skies, laughing and giggling. Times were easy and peaceful before. Oh how she wished she could turn back time.

Xavier's eyes narrowed slightly as he watches the two birds swimming around. A sigh escaping his lips before turning back to look at his mother once more.

“What do you want me to do for the time being?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest, [y/n] smiled as she looked at her son, he grew up so fast. Proud of how far he came in life, though, she still felt a little guilt and sadness within her as she remembers how she neglected him during his toddler years, she was far too depressed that just one look at her son she would spiral into depression as Xavier bears so much resemblance to Lucifer. Her negligence to Xavier caused the boy to hate his looks so much to the point he tried to carve out his face with his weapon, thankfully Azrael was there to stop him and it served as a wake up call to her and realized how her actions affected Xavier so much. It took awhile and lots of therapy for her to finally face her son without having a mental breakdown and she apologized to the boy over and over again for the horrible things she had done and it took some serious therapy for Xavier too to accept his face—though, he hasn't fully accepted it but it isn't as worse as before.

[Y/n] sighs softly, shaking away the depressing memories. She's healing now and finally getting better, she doesn't need to look back at the negative memories. She smiled at Xavier, a look of adoration in her eyes, proud of her son for all the things he did for her. Her pride and joy.

Placing her hands on her lap, she gave him a small nod, “Just continue doing your duties, I'll take care of the rest, hmm?” she suggested with a smile and Xavier nodded, “Alright, I'll leave you to deal with it mother.” he says and [y/n] hummed in agreement.

[Y/n] took out her phone, typing something. Her fingers danced across the screen as she pressed the letters.

You: @everyone, when will you guys be available for a meeting? Seen by Michael, Azrael, Gabriel, Uriel

Michael: I won't be available for a couple days, I am unsure about the others. Why? Did something happen? Seen by [Y/n], Azrael, Gabriel, Camuel

Azrael: Did someone mess up? lmao Seen by Michael, [Y/n], Gabriel, Camuel, Uriel, Jophiel

Camuel: It's rare for you to actually summon us for once @Y/n Seen by Michael, Azrael, Gabriel, Camuel, Jophiel, [Y/n]

You: I am requesting for a meeting as a certain Seraphim left in charge is currently playing God. Seen by Michael, Gabriel, Camuel, Uriel, Jophiel, Azrael

Gabriel: What the fuck? Seen by Michael, [Y/n], Camuel, Uriel, Jophiel, Azrael

Azrael: Hey, watch your fucking language ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ Seen by Michael, Gabriel, [Y/n], Camuel, Uriel, Jophiel

Uriel: Well... That is certainly news.. Seen by Michael, Gabriel, Camuel, [Y/n], Jophiel, Azrael

Jophiel: Indeed. Seen by Michael, Gabriel, Camuel, [Y/n], Uriel, Azrael

Michael: We'll have a meeting in a week, all of us are far too busy at the moment. Thank you for telling us, [n/n]. Seen by Gabriel, [Y/n], Uriel, Camuel, Jophiel, Azrael

Michael: Is the schedule fine with you guys? @everyone Seen by Gabriel, [Y/n], Uriel, Camuel, Jophiel, Azrael

Jophiel: The schedule is fine, I guess I'll meet you guys soon. Seen by Michael, Gabriel, [Y/n], Uriel, Camuel, Azrael and everyone heart reacted to his message

[Y/n] turns off her phone and slips it back to her pocket, Xavier looks at her with a raised eyebrow, “So...?”

[Y/n] chuckles a bit, “I already told them and we'll have a meeting in a week or so. We'll handle it, don't worry.” she says, sipping her tea. “I am sure Michael will do something about it.”

“That meeting certainly didn't go well for me.” [y/n] muttered in annoyance as she left the office of the Seven. They just finished holding the meeting and Michael thought it was a good idea to make her take care of it, Azrael offered to help her but he has his own plate of responsibilities to finish, he is the angel of death after all. “Why did I have to lose the rock-paper-scissors?!” she whined to herself, pouting slightly.

She looked down upon her hands to see it shaking and pale, she's scared of going down there, she's afraid of what'll happen to her if she ever sees Lucifer again.

Contrary to popular beliefs, [y/n] doesn't consider Lucifer her ex-husband, no divorce ever happened and even after all the pain she went through, she remained loyal and always acted upon her vows to him even if he wasn't here in heaven with her.

Her eyes landed on the gold metal band around her ring finger, the very ring that Lucifer slipped into her hand when they got married. She didn't have the power or the courage to remove it.

She won't remove it unless Lucifer actually tells her to, unless Lucifer says it to her face that he no longer loves her or needs her.

She'll let him go willingly once he tells her all those things. But for now, she'll hold on. No matter how bruised and wounded her hands are, she'll hold on. She hopes that they will be a complete family one day, heck, even Charlotte can join. She'll treat the girl like her own daughter. She just wants her family complete, is that too much to ask for?

She dreams to give her son the father he deserves, Xavier didn't say it but as his mother she can tell how envious the boy is when he looks at other families. The longing look in his eyes, he's jealous that Charlie had the father—the very same father that left him for another family.

Her steps faltered as she finally arrived at her own office, opening the door and quickly got inside and locking it. Her back pressed against the door, her body getting heavier as she slid down to the floor.

Looking up at the ceiling, the ceiling of her office, the chandelier with apple and duck crystals hanging from it—she commissioned it in memory of Lucifer.

“Some people long for a life that is simple and planned”

She softly sang, standing up from the floor, her eyes softening as she gazed outside the window of her office.

“Tied with a ribbon

Some people won't sail the sea 'cause they're safer on land

To follow what's written”

She sang softly, her feet gracefully bringing her across the room, reaching to her desk. Her hand opened the cabinet of her desk, grabbing a small black box. Opening it to see a gold necklace with a pink crystal heart pendant. Sighing before closing the box once more and returning it back to the drawer.

“But I'd follow you to the great unknown

Off to a world we call our own”

She says softly, her eyes downcast as her voice became significantly lower. [Y/n] remembers Lucifer giving her the necklace for their first anniversary.

“Hand in my hand

And we promised to never let go”

A tear streamed down her cheek, remembering the promises they've made for each other. The room was tinted pink from the rays of the setting sun, shadows casting into her dull office.

“We're walking a tightrope

High in the sky

We can see the whole world down below”

The memories of them flying together in the skies, laughing and joking with each other.

“We're walking a tightrope

Never sure, never know how far we could fall”

Lucifer catching her when her wings gave out.

“But it's all an adventure

That comes with a breathtaking view

Walking a tightrope

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you”

Despite fearing for her life, she trusted him to catch her always when she falls.

[Y/n] sighs softly, her steps light as a feather, graceful as she dances as if Lucifer is there with her. Slow dancing in her office like he's with her.

“Mountains and valleys, and all that will come in between

Desert and ocean”

They promised to never let go of each other regardless of what comes in-between them.

“You pulled me in and together we're lost in a dream

Always in motion”

She listened to all of his hopes and dreams of the future, future of the world and his future with her.

“So I risk it all just to be with you

And I risk it all for this life we choose”

She knew what she was getting into when she dated him, he was the most beautiful angel of all of creation. Many wanted him but she trusted him to only want her.

“Hand in my hand

And you promised to never let go

We're walking a tightrope

High in the sky

We can see the whole world down below”

With a flex of her wrists, golden dusts of her power came of her hands, forming a faux Lucifer. She still remembers what he looked like. The Lucifer made of golden dust smiled at her, holding her body close as they waltzed across the room.

“We're walking a tightrope

Never sure, will you catch me if I should fall?”

[Y/n] was crying softly, Lucifer wipes away her tears with his thumb, leaving specks of golden dust in her cheeks. Lucifer twirls her and dips her, effortlessly catching her. He pulls her up to allow her to stand.

With a sad smile, [y/n] waves her hand and the Lucifer made of golden dust gently disappears like a dust in the wind. [Y/n] extending her hand, as if to stop the love of her life from disappearing once more. Even if it was just something she conjured up with her powers.

“Well, it's all an adventure

That comes with a breathtaking view

Walking a tightrope

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you.”

[Y/n] grabbed her handkerchief from her pocket, dabbing the fabric onto her eyes. No matter how much she tries to dry her eyes, tears never seem to stop falling.

“After all these years, I am still a mess without you.” she whispers, eyes gazing outside the window of her office, the sunlight shining down on her like the universe is listening to her anguish. She grips the fabric of her dress, on where her heart is beating and aching.

“What happened to death do us apart? Why did you leave me Lucifer? WAS I NOT ENOUGH?!” She asked, screaming in anguish and as always, no answer to her questions.

“I need you, Lucifer... I still do...” she whispers, defeated as she dragged her emotionally heavy body to her office chair, slumping down with a loud and choked out sob.

With shaky breaths and trembling hands. She calms herself down, calming herself down. She still has work to do.

TAGLIST I:

@valerie-36 @blackbleedingrose @adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @ok-boke @random-3455 @izzieg3987 @snoozewritezz @dreamzaremyrealityy @hcneyiced @witchbunny1210 @ghostdoodlen @aikobakugou @just-here-reading @dzhanett-blog @des-deswain5621 @cocomollo @haleypearce @onyxstarhigh06 @nirvana5874 @shaebutter-baby

#hazbin hotel #lxkeee updates #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne

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