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dragonsholygrail · 1 month

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In The Wind

Astarion Ancunin X Reader

a/n: This came to mind specifically because of the scene in 2005 Pride and Prejudice where Bingley is trailing after Jane and touching the ribbon on her dress. So keep that in mind bc it haunts me in the best way

summary: After your tunic gets torn in battle, you and Astarion head to a shop to get materials to get it fixed. Astarion, trapped in thoughts surrounding you, decides to do something to properly show his appreciation

word count: 2k

The day was cool, the breeze blowing through the opened door of the fabric store you and Astarion currently walked through. The others were Gods knew where but Astarion didn’t particularly care where they were. His thoughts were on you. More and more he found that his thoughts always came back to you.

Baldur’s Gate was loud. It has always been loud. Something Astarion remembered specifically. But he found the sound drained out as he stared down at a beautiful ribbon. At first he couldn’t exactly say what about it had caught his attention. What kept it. But upon reflection he noted how it reminded him of your eyes.

Cursing himself under his breath, Astarion threw down the ribbon and glanced away from the pile of fabrics. But just as his eyes lifted from the box, they fell right onto you. You who stood right in the sunlight, whose hair flowed through the wind that passed through the store.

He couldn’t look away from you, once again not really believing that you somehow cared about him. You were so… good. It was honestly almost nauseating. But it was also something he admired about you. It made him want to be better. To be better than what he was before. Most importantly for him. But he couldn’t deny he also wanted to be better for you. To be someone you could be proud to love.

Astarion walked around one of the makeshift aisles of the store. You were busy as you looked over some of the patches of fabric while Astarion was busy as he watched you. He didn’t blame you for not having noticed his stare. You were on a mission after all. Your tunic had been badly torn in your party’s last battle. The tear could easily be mended by you and the enchantments on it could be replaced by Gale if he was going to actually be helpful today.

But Astarion knew you weren’t the most gifted tailor. At least, not better than him. He could do a fine job, he’d been doing it with his own clothing for longer than he’d care to admit. A rare warmth spread through his chest as the idea came to him. When you least expected it, he’d take the fabric from you and fix your tunic before you even noticed it would be missing.

Something in him told him he just had to do this. To show you he cared, at least enough to do something as little at this… and to show you that you weren’t making a mistake as you stuck by him. Astarion closed his eyes as he shook out those unwanted thoughts. Not wanting to think about any of that or what it meant.

When Astarion opened his eyes he’s met with you walking away, a long piece of fabric hanging from your belt. A brief shot of panic ran through Astarion as you walked away, only deeper into the store to pay for fabric. Yet that didn’t shake away the fear. Astarion cleared his throat in order to push down the panic and put it with the rest of his emotions he was ignoring before he headed after you.

He doesn’t say anything, knowing he doesn’t need to. He knows you know he’s there. The wind blew through the store once again and your scent wafted straight into Astarion’s nose. He closed his eyes as he continued to follow you. He relished in the way you smelled. Focused and memorized it, knowing he could pick it out of an entire crowd of people. Aware of the fact that he could find you in an instant if needed. But still he preferred to remain close. Have you stay in his sights.

As he opened his eyes and looked back upon you, his eyes moved down your form. Not stopping until they halt at the fabric on your belt. He hand reached out and lightly fiddled with the end of it that flowed in the air after you. Neither of you have stopped walking, Astarion not thinking as he walked behind you. His attention completely focused on the fabric and the way it hung off of you. On how beautiful it would look on you.

He then noted how soft the fabric was. How easy or difficult it could possibly be to work with. A plan already had formed in his head at how he’d stitch it into your tunic. It would be flawless, just as all his other work had been prior. Just as his thoughts shifted into imagining your reaction, your voice broke him out of it.

“Are you trying to pickpocket me?” You ask softly, not having bothered to check back and glance at him. Astarion blinked back, hand still gripped onto the fabric, though his eyes found their way to the back of your head. Before he realized what he’s done, an easy grin was on his face and a joke had slipped from his lips.

“You, my darling? Never,” Astarion jested, both of them keenly aware of the fact. He gave a little tug on the fabric for good measure and was rewarded with the sweet melody of your laugh. You shook your head as you both turned a corner, seemingly in search of an attendant.

“Oh, don’t give me that. No one is safe,” you teased right back but for some reason Astarion felt his grin drop a little. His brows furrowed as he quickly thought over your response. The word ‘safe’ having run repeatedly in his ear. He wanted you to feel safe. With him. He wanted you to know that you were safe from him. Whatever that meant he didn’t exactly know but it was what he felt. From what he could pin point.

He debated even telling you all this. To have allowed himself to randomly unleash his soul to you in the middle of a random shop in a city that held so many memories for him. But then he started to think about what you’d say in response. How you would react. Emotion begun to rise within him at the idea of admitting any of that to do. So instead he simply continued the light and fun banter.

“Well now I suppose I must for fear that I have something to prove.” Astarion gave another tug to the fabric, though this time a little bit lighter in order to have kept up the playful atmosphere. As your laughter echoed throughout the store due to his actions, all those pesky emotions subsided.

You lightheartedly pranced forward a few steps in a weak attempt to get your fabric out of his reach but Astarion followed right on your tail. Both to stop you from getting away and to stop any other displaced emotions from coming forth from your distance.

“Or you could simply not steal my fabric from my person,” you responded with laughter still in your tone. Astarion tsked as he shook his head at you. He picked up his pace, walking closer to you now. He adjusted his grip on the fabric, getting ready for his next move.

“No, darling, I’m afraid that doesn’t seem to be an option,” he said smoothly before he harshly tugged on the fabric for the third time. It slipped from your belt with ease and curled right around Astarion’s hand. You immediately felt it and a gasp ripped from your throat.

You turned around, finally facing Astarion since you both walked in here. You looked breathtaking. Astarion could marvel at your beauty for hours. At times he’d almost swear it’s greater than his own. Almost. But he especially thought your beauty shined most spectacularly in the sun, and it had hit you just right in this moment.

“Ah, Astarion! Why must you do this?” You asked with a light grin on your face. Astarion mirrored it, holding the piece of fabric slightly above his head as he knew you wouldn’t be able to reach it. That didn’t stop you from trying as you stepped up to him to try and reach for it. Your body pressed against his and instead of feeling like he needed to back away, not wanting to be touched, Astarion found himself leaning into you.

“I believe you practically asked me to do this, love. Begged me to almost as much as you beg for my attention,” he boasted, his expression smug as you continued to try and grab at the fabric. He’d lower it briefly just as you’d reached for it but then quickly bring it back up. You laughed again, shaking your head at him. Astarion didn’t realize until that moment that he had been counting the number of times he had made you laugh. The revelation sent a tremor through his chest that he’d rather just ignore.

“My dear Astarion, I think that tadpole in your mind has finally driven you to insanity,” you said with a light scoff. Astarion’s face dropped into a deadpan at that, though he couldn’t help the quirk of his lips still present.

“Dear me, how humorous you are, darling,” he responded back flatly, though a teasing note was still clear through his tone. His attention zeroed in on you once again as you snickered back at him. Astarion fell deeper into his focus, his ears ringing till he felt a deep pounding surrounding him. He didn’t realize before it was too late that he had focused on your heartbeat. It sounded light. Happy. Because of him.

While he remained distracted, his body sagged in place, not paying attention to his momentary lack of posture. You don’t hesitate to use that to your advantage as with it he had lowered his arm that held the fabric. You reached up, your arm having stretched as far as it could go before you swiped up the fabric right from his grip. A noise of victory left your lips and it effectively alerted Astarion. He blinked back, breaking out of his thoughts. It only took a couple of seconds for him to realize he didn’t have the fabric anymore. He met your smug look with a bit of disbelief as his eyes connected back to yours.

“I try,” you replied playfully to his previous comment as you winked at him. Astarion stood there frozen for a moment before he added another mental tally as you laughed once more. You strode off to barter with the owner as Astarion stood off to the side while he waited for you.

He couldn’t understand how easy this all was for you. How open with yourself you had always been. Especially toward him. He… didn’t know how to do stuff like that. To let you in so easily. But stitching this for you, even without your initial knowledge, that he could do. It was the only way he knew how to express what you meant to him. It was all he was ready to do. For now anyway.

So as you walked past him after you purchased the fabric, Astarion stayed particularly close. As you both entered the hustle and bustle of Baldur’s Gate’s streets, there were a lot of things around you both that served as proper distraction. Astarion struck when the time was right, just as another vendor started a loud argument with a customer, you looked over and that’s when Astarion reached out and slipped the fabric off of you with the lightest touch he could have managed.

He gazed down at it with a smile on his face and a sense of victory in his heart, his thumb brushed over it lightly as he reminded himself of its softness. But when you started to turn your head back to him, his eyes jerked up and the fabric disappeared within the confines of his inventory. You snorted as ruckus that continued off to the side and as you looked at him, Astarion plastered on another one of his signature grins.

It was only after you chuckled at him and looked back forward that Astarion found his grin had softened. He looked toward the streets just as you had as he counted down the minutes till you both got back to camp and he could get started. He wondered if you’d like it and what you’d say when you found out. Most of all though he wondered if you’d know what it meant. If you’d see through him as you always seemed to. Strangely, this time around he kind of liked that thought.

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cordeliawhohung · 1 month

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anyway, say thanks to the brain worms in the discord server for this one

dark!gaz/soap x fem!reader

Kyle and Johnny catch sight of you in a bar, and decide that you're much better off with them.

cw: non-con, dark content, alcohol, roofies, kidnapping, the boys are not very nice

Bars weren’t your usual haunt, yet your date for that night managed to make you comfortable despite the crowded and stuffy building. Tucked in a booth in some out-of-the-way corner, the two of you nursed your drinks as you got to know one another, slowly testing the waters to see if it was worth seeing one another again. Though he had been a stranger at the beginning of the night, you found yourself sincerely enjoying his company. He was a bit of a nerd, whose eyes lit up when talking about the storyline to his favorite games, and you found it cute the way he had to keep adjusting his thick-lensed glasses while they slid down his nose.

It wasn’t until he got up to use the bathroom that your eyes started to wander. Not on purpose, of course, as you would never be rude enough to abandon a date for someone else while the two of you were actively out. No, your eyes only wandered because someone else approached you, and it would be a lie to say he wasn’t the most goddamn beautiful human you had ever laid eyes on. His complexion was impeccable with smooth skin save for a small scar on his cheek, and the slight stubble made his polite smile more alluring. What really got you were his eyes. They were an enchanting dark brown that glistened in the dull yellow lights that lit the area, and you found your throat growing tight at the sight of him.

“Evening,” he greeted. Fuck, even his voice was nice, and his tone was smoky and suave. All you could do was sit in your seat and stare up at him as he leaned a hand on the table, almost as if silently begging you to allow him in. “You look a little lonely. You haven’t been left high and dry, I hope?”

Chuckling, you shook your head as you adjusted your attire, a little self conscious about having a specimen such as that stranger look at you. “No, no my date’s just in the bathroom.”

Though there was a flicker of disappointment in his gaze, he did a good job at obscuring it for the most part. Instead, his smile widened, and he nodded his head in understanding.

“Ah, so you’re tellin’ me I’m too late, then,” he chuckled. “Everythin’ going good, then? He’s not a nutter?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his concern, his sincere concern. Not only was he perhaps the most beautiful man you had ever seen, but he was a gentleman as well? Didn’t take rejection poorly at all and confirmed that you were safe? You wished your date had chosen some other pub to go to that night, because you were certain this man was attempting to put a spell on you.

“Everything’s all good, thank you,” you confirmed with a smile.

“Great. Well, if things start going south…” The man paused to look over his shoulder and gesture towards the bar. Among the other patrons, you quickly caught sight of the man he pointed out, as his mohawk stood out like a sore thumb. Then again, he was probably one of the largest — dare you say, beefiest? — people there, and it would have been impossible not to tell him apart in a crowd. “My friend and I will be here for a few hours still, in case you need us.”

Once again you gave him a polite smile as you thanked him for his offer, and he sauntered back over to his friend with a courteous farewell. It was perhaps the kindest interaction you had ever experienced with a stranger in a pub before, yet it left you flustered all the same, so much so that you hardly realized that your date had returned until he sat across from you in the booth once more. Praying he didn’t notice your state of mind, you quickly raised your drink to your lips where you downed a few big gulps with the silent hope that you would forget all about that handsome stranger lest you looked like a whore to your date.

Luckily the two of you picked up where you had left off, and for a while you had forgotten all about that man. You listened to your date talk about his studies in computer science, and an indie game he helped design, and you watched as everything began to tilt. Lights flashed in your face and when you tried to blink them away they wouldn’t leave, and you found your chest needing to heave in order to get a good breath in. Something felt wrong, yet you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of your date, so you tried to hide it by taking another gulp of your drink.

Nothing soothed your dizzy vision or your fuzzy mind, and it got so bad you couldn’t even understand what your date said anymore. All your energy focused on trying to keep yourself upright in that booth, but you wanted nothing more than to lay down. You were certain the cool wood of the table would feel intoxicating against your feverish skin, maybe you could do it, just for a moment…

“What’s going on here?”

That voice was one you didn’t recognize, and when you looked up to see who spoke, you could vaguely make out the fuzzy features of a large man with his hands leaned on the table. He was angry, with a sharp voice and a thick Scottish accent, but you didn’t know who he was. You felt like you should know, but you couldn’t place a name to his face.

“Did you drug her?” the man questioned further.

“No! I didn’t do anything!” your date attempted to defend.

“Bull-fucking-shit, look at her!”

Something grazed your arm, and usually you would jump at sudden sensations like that, but it felt so disconnected from your body that you didn’t even realize something had touched you until a voice prompted your attention.

“You alright, doll?”

It was that kind man from earlier, and his voice was just as calm and polite as it was when he spoke to you before. You felt a response flit across your tongue, but you couldn’t make any sense of the words you said. A fit of shouting erupted from somewhere in the bar, and you felt the table shake, but you couldn’t find the emotions within you to care.

Suddenly, things felt too heavy, as if the gravity of the earth increased tenfold. You realized you were standing, though you didn’t remember getting up from the booth, and the only reason why you hadn’t collapsed was because of the firm arm around your waist. Eventually cold air hit your face, and you felt your feet stumble along the pavement before you were gently placed into the back seat of someone’s car. You didn’t even bother trying to keep sitting upright, and instead laid yourself across the seats as you curled in on yourself.

“Don’t worry, doll,” you were assured, “Soap and I will take good care of you.”

A strange sort of darkness enveloped you after that, and it was the closest thing to death you had ever experienced. There were no dreams, or images that attempted to comfort you as your mind rotted away; there was nothing. Just an emptiness where you didn’t exist for a while.

When your mind slowly started to drift into consciousness again, the first thing you noticed was the sound of smacking. It was as if someone consumed a meal without worrying about slurping too much, and the noises were loud and obscene. Your vision flickered back to life, and you were met with an unfamiliar scene. The ceiling above your head was not the ceiling to your bedroom, nor did it look like any ceiling you’d find in a hospital. Your head rested against something too firm to be a pillow, yet too soft to be the floor, and you did your best to get a better glance at your surroundings.

You looked down at yourself only to realize you were completely naked. No underwear, no bra, not even your socks; every single article of clothing had been removed, and you were given nothing to cover yourself with. Two firm arms wrapped around your midsection from behind, and you realized that semi-soft surface you leaned against was a person who had you held in their embrace. All of that was bad enough, but you felt your stomach lurch and your still fuzzy mind scream when you saw what happened between your legs.

That mohawked man you had seen at the bar earlier that night laid sprawled out on the bed in front of you with his mouth greedily devouring your cunt. You watched in pure horror as his tongue lapped at you, dancing along your clit and down to your tense hole, yet the sensation didn’t feel pleasant. It all felt muted, like you weren’t really there. He grunted into your heat as his hands gripped your hips like he was afraid his meal would run off without him, and he continued to devour you like it was the only thing that brought him pleasure.

As if suddenly regaining control of your body, your hips bucked forward with a whine in some sort of odd attempt at escape, only to be held down by the man shamelessly eating you out. A dark chuckle reverberated in the body behind you, rattling your spine with the sensation, and you felt a pair of lips press against your bare shoulder. The man between your legs paused his assault on your cunt in order to look up at you with a wet-faced grin.

“Have a good nap, bonnie?” he teased.

Panic attempted to rise into your chest, but there was some sort of emptiness that prevented it from fully manifesting. This was wrong, really wrong, you knew because of the tight feeling in your core and your breath hitching in your throat. You couldn’t fully recall how you got there, stuck between two men, but you knew that the haziness of your mind must have had something to do with it.

“What…?” Once more your mouth tried to form words but they would leave your lips half finished. The hands wrapped around your center slowly wandered up to your tits where you felt yourself being squeezed at, which prompted you to further stutter. “I… don’t…”

“Remember what I said?” the man behind you spoke up. That beautiful, dastardly man. “Soap and I are taking care of you, so just relax, yeah?”

The man between your legs, Soap, pulled away from you and sat back on his haunches as he assessed you. His eyes were a pretty shade of blue, and had he not just violated your unconscious body, you might have considered him handsome. Instead, the sight of him made you close your eyes and twist your face away as if you couldn't stand the sight of him. You wanted to vanish, to turn into mist and drift away into the stale, sweaty air that threatened to suffocate you, and right when you thought you almost managed that feat, you were painfully brought back to reality when you felt two thick fingers force their way into your cunt.

The stretch burned, your body not yet fully prepared for it, yet you had already gotten so slick with Soap’s spit that it didn’t matter, he was able to do it with ease anyway. Your legs strived to flail and squirm, yet you hardly had the energy or ability to do so, and failed miserably. Soap’s fingers danced around inside of you accompanied by a symphony of lewd squelches and a throaty laugh.

“Nice and wet, she is,” Soap crooned. “What’dya say, Garrick? Wanna have a go at her?”

Whatever his response was, you were unable to make it out, but you did feel him wiggle out from behind you. Every muscle in your body spasmed as you were lowered onto the mattress, and your eyes flickered open just in time to watch Soap slip off of the bed and for the other man — Garrick? — take his place. Warm hands gripped the exposed flesh of your thighs, and you felt yourself get yanked closer to him, and the sudden movement nearly made you puke.

“Please- I-” you gasped, still incapable of expressing yourself.

“What a sweet girl,” Garrick cooed while one of his hands reached up to undo the button and zipper on his pants. “Hear that, MacTavish? Hear her begging?”

Dull pain blossomed at the base of your skull as you felt your head lift off the bed. Soap held you by your hair, insisting that you look down at yourself as Garrick’s cock sprung free from the confines of his jeans. It was impossible for your eyes to fully focus on anything, to make sense of it, but you were able to comprehend the sheer size of him, his length much too long to fit into you unprepared. You tried to turn away, to ignore it and pray it would all stop, but you couldn’t with Soap’s firm grip.

“‘Course she is,” he chuckled, lips brushing against your ear. “Sweet and naughty always go hand in hand.”

A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt the tip of Garrick’s cock press against your cunt, and you had no choice but to stare down at the vulgar scene between your legs. His hands slid along your hips until they were under your thighs, and he gently lifted your legs up, adjusting the angle of your hips.

“Please, I don’t… think I want this,” you said with a cry. They were the first coherent words you were able to speak, and they were met with a laugh.

“You don’t think so?” Soap teased. “A bit too late for that now, bonnie. GOt the man all worked up, and I don’t think he wants’ta stop.”

When Garrick sunk himself into you, your cunt nearly choked him from how tight and unprepared you were, yet his brute force was enough to overcome your body’s resistance. Your mouth fell open in a silent sob, and your back arched off the bed as if that movement alone would save you. Instead of beginning his thrusts, Garrick stayed still, completely buried inside of you as he let out a hiss.

“Christ, you’re so damn tight,” he cursed.

Soap’s fingers suddenly slipped out of your hair, and without his strength supporting your head, it crashed back onto the mattress. A throb reverberated throughout your body, and the blood gushed in your ears so loudly you almost didn’t notice the sound of him undoing his belt next to your face. While Soap fished his own cock from his pants, Garrick gently rocked his hips forwards as if to test the waters and grind his fat tip against the rubbery surface of your cervix.

“Open,” Soap urged.

Your brain didn’t comprehend his command, and so you continued to lay there as you attempted to hold back your groans. Deciding to assist you, Soap reached a hand for your jaw, turning your head towards him, and giving it a good squeeze until your mouth fell open.

“There we are,” he chuckled as he tapped your lower lip with his tip. “Now, no biting, else I’ll bite back.”

When Soap pushed his cock into your mouth, there was an emptiness that enveloped your mind. There was no more fuzz, no haze or confusion, just nothing, but it only lasted for a short moment before reality barreled back at you. Garrick thrust into you with what started as a lazy pace, but then quickly turned into something more demanding, more snapping. All the while, Soap’s cock pressed so far into your mouth and down your throat you coughed to keep yourself from choking. When you reached up to try and push him away, the man took it as a compliment instead, and rested his hand over yours where it laid against his hip.

Their groans were undignifying. You wanted to wail, wanted to thrash around and get them to stop using you for their pleasure, but whatever drugs that had been slipped into your drink rendered your body completely useless except for fulfilling their desires. So you laid there, stoic and limp with your eyes closed as you took it. If you could just get through it, it would be over eventually. It had to be.

A sharp pinch to your nipple had you nearly yelping, and you were certain you would have burst their eardrums with your sob had your mouth not been occupied. Garrick’s pace slowed only slightly as he adjusted your legs a little with a huff.

“Well don’t go breaking her,” he grumbled.

“Just tryna keep her awake,” Soap defended. “Besides…”

Once again his fingers came up to pinch your nipple, and it was impossible to hold back the tears welling in your eyes as you cried out once more. He grinned down at you as he used his thumb to wipe at the tears, almost as if he refused to acknowledge their existence.

“She sounds so perfect squealing, especially with my cock in her mouth.”

The pace at which Soap then abused your mouth was so brutal you completely lost the ability to breathe. Ignoring the tension in your throat, he pressed himself as far as he could go with so much force you were certain you would bruise. More tears continued to stream down your face as you held back the urge to puke, but eventually you were offered solace as he suddenly yanked himself out of your mouth.

You coughed and sputtered on the build up of spit in your throat, and you powerlessly laid there with a burning neck and throat. Judging by his guttural groaning and the heavy throbbing of his cock, Soap had edged himself pretty bad, and you tried not to grimace at the sight of his reddened tip. Your mouth wasn’t able to rest for long, though, as you quickly found a few fingers pressed against your tongue, just as brutal and unforgiving as everything else he did to you.

“Steamin’ jesus,” he groaned. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth where they dripped your spit along your bare chest. It left you feeling sticky and gross, and you whined as you felt those wet fingers begin to toy with your clit. “Good at everything, arent’cha bonnie?”

Panting like a bitch in heat, you felt a terrible pressure build up in your stomach. Between Garrick’s thrusts, which had only started to grow more ruthless, and Soap’s fingers rubbing annoyingly pleasurable circles against your abused cunt, you knew you were going to come undone. It was terribly unfortunate to know that you were going to give them that satisfaction, that your fucked out and drugged up brain would give into them so easily, and you found your face wrenching with a sob.

“Oh fuck,” Garrick huffed as his hips stuttered. “K-Keep that up. Bloody hell, she’s so fuckin’ close I can feel it.”

Soap didn’t let up at all, nor did he speed up either. It was like he knew how to push your buttons all too well, knew exactly what he needed to do in order to coax your orgasm out of you. You felt it build and build until it crashed so hard it stole your breath, searing you from the inside out. Garrick let out a wanton groan as your cunt fluttered around him, and he pounded into you more roughly than he had been until he suddenly held himself inside of you.

He leaned his head back as he came and gave a few more lazy thrusts into your cunt. Your mind reeled at the realization that he came inside of you, and your thoughts buzzed as you knew there was no protection involved, that these sick fucks might get you pregnant. When he pulled out of you, your hands instinctively reached down between your legs as if scooping his cum out of you would save you from whatever fate they had written for you.

“What’s wrong, not enough for you, doll?” Garrick chuckled as he slid off the bed.

Your legs limply fell onto the bed without his hands there to hold them up, and your eyes fluttered shut as you bit into your bottom lip. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you broken, and you certainly wouldn’t give into their jests, either. Yet, as the mattress sunk in once more, you came to the painful realization that things were not over.

A new pair of hands slipped underneath your knees, and your legs were pushed so close to your chest, you could nearly kiss them. Soap got a bit more intimate with you than Garrick had, and before his cock even brushed against your cum-soaked hole his lips were on yours, smothering out any protest. You could taste the pint he had at the bar earlier that night, along with the vague taste of your heat, and it only grew stronger when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, wet and nasty.

When he finally pushed into you, he ate up your gasp as you quickly realized he was much girthier than Garrick was. The stretch was unfamiliar, and burned, yet there was virtually no friction; nothing to hold him back from bottoming out. He hummed into your mouth before pulling away and allowing you to take a proper breath, but even then you could still feel his grin against your lips.

“I know you’re tired, so I’ll make it quick, bonnie. Promise,” he claimed.

He said those words as if you should have thanked him for being so considerate, and yet it ignited a sort of anger inside of you that you were unable to feel before. The drugs they had given you must have started to wear off, because every emotion and sensation suddenly increased tenfold as he began to snap his hips against yours. Every ache burned like you were on fire, which only raged more as you reached up and pressed your hands against his chest as if you actually had a chance of pushing that broad monster off of you.

“Now, now,” Garrick tsked, “be nice.”

Kneeling next to the bed, the man grabbed your wrists and pulled them above your head, and you hated just how vulnerable it left you. As if you hadn’t been vulnerable that entire night. Those sick freaks certainly had planned it all out. Slipping a roofie into your drink during your conversation while your date was away, blaming it on your date, and taking you back to their place to have their way with you. You didn’t even want to think about how many other girls they had in that bed before you.

“No, just- just stop,” you squirmed.

“Soon, love,” Garrick cooed. “Soap’s getting close, I can tell. You know, he’s always been one for praise. I’m sure he’ll show you a little mercy if you say thank you.”

As Soap’s face buried into your neck, you could feel his breath hit your skin, and you couldn’t help but grimace at the feeling. What the hell was he trying to recommend you do? Thank him?

“No,” you replied, your tone biting.

It wasn’t long after you defied him that a squeaky gasp left you as Garrick grabbed a hold of your jaw. His grip was not kind, nor was it relenting, and he turned your head to face him with a slight jerk.

“I’m not asking, doll. You’re gonna say thank you. Thank you Johnny. Don’t make me tell you again,” he said with a tone you had yet to hear from him. Between the biting grip on your face and his threat, you couldn’t help but sob and give in, lest they do something worse.

“T-Thank you, Johnny,” you mumbled.

“Can’t hear you,” Garrick warned.

“Thank you, Johnny!” you cried.

Your second attempt was what finally did the man in. Though his thrusts continued at their same, brutish pace, he came long and loud with pathetic grunts in your ear. Garrick finally relinquished your face and hands, and you automatically held onto the man filling you with his cum as if you’d fall through the bed without him. Once Soap — or were you really supposed to call him Johnny? — gave you the last of his spend, he planted a quick kiss against your cheek before rolling off of you, pulling himself out of you in the process.

“Christ, Kyle. Wasn’t sure you knew how to pick ‘em but goddamn… should keep her around, aye?” Johnny chuckled as he fastened his pants.

Aching, sore, and exhausted, you rolled onto your side as you watched the two men straighten out their clothes. A quick glance at the floor around you revealed yours weren’t to be found, and you couldn’t remember just when they had ripped them off of you. A terrible pounding ravaged your head, and all you wanted to do was sleep.

“I wanna go home,” you spoke up, voice small.

Kyle, grinned as he ran a hand over your hair. “This is home, doll. Rest up, yeah? Gotta save up your energy for tomorrow.”

His words had wiped all sense from your mind, and you weren’t able to come up with a response as he rose from the floor and turned his back towards you. Tomorrow? No, no they couldn’t keep you here, locked up like some animal, some fucking toy to play with whenever they wanted. And yet still, all you could do was lay there as you watched them saunter out of the room, completely fulfilled as you laid empty and broken in that bed.

The door closed and locked behind them with a simple click, and that’s when you finally allowed your tears to flow freely. Keeping quiet, you slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the pathetic sounds as best as you could, refusing to let them hear just the effect they had on you. That night, you had nothing to lull you to sleep except for the sounds of whatever video game they had started up in the living room, and their joyous laughter as they continued on with their lives with no concern for their new toy.

#kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle garrick smut #gaz smut #soap smut #john mactavish smut #cod smut #cw: noncon #dark fic #f!reader

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cinnamon-galaxies · 19 days

Text

Unspoken Feelings

Pairings: Alastor x gn!Reader

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader, tension, lots of tension, unspoken feelings, hurt but also comfort?, Alastor is bad at feelings, inner conflict, suppressed feelings, does the ending count as (light) angst?, bittersweet ending, I'm bad at tagging

Summary: Loving you is hard, but being with you is harder. And being with Alastor is dangerous.

Wordcount: 1.9k

A/N: This one is very short compared to my other fic but full of (heartbreaking) tension.

*****

{Masterlist}

───*✱*.｡:｡*✱*.:｡.*✧*.:｡*✰*｡:.*✧*.｡:.*✱*｡: ｡.*✱*───

You sat at the grand piano in the dimly lit lounge of the hotel. Your fingers glided gracefully across the keys, seamlessly transitioning between the notes with a captivating elegance. With closed eyes you surrendered to the enchanting melody, completely entranced by its spell. Your soft voice sang along, a subtle sound that harmonized with heartbreaking lyrics of the ballad that had such a special place in your heart, reminding you of bittersweet moments and cherished dreams.

Alastor sat not far from you in an armchair with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His crimson eyes remained fixed on you, captivated by your fervent performance that fully caught his attention. Though he heard you play before he had never witnessed such a fiery passion put into the music that came from your fingers. Your singing voice was enchanting, echoed from the high ceiling like a siren’s song casting a spell on every person who could hear you. It was as though you were revealing a concealed message and opening your heart to whatever you had in mind.

He closed his eyes while he let himself get bewitched by your spell, fully succumbing to your beautiful performance. Were you even aware that he was watching you? Listened to you singing and playing like a muse? He didn’t know it but also he didn’t care as long as you kept playing and filled the hole in his heart with the sound of your song, as a clenching feeling tugged on his stomach, clouded by a pang of longing. He knew exactly what he felt right now. How he felt about you, but expressing those emotions was a different story. He wasn’t good at feelings, let alone at admitting them. It was hard to even admit them to himself, just to begin with. He found himself caught up in denial for far too long and had blamed it on his mind playing tricks on him – he even preferred to diagnose himself as mentally ill than to just accept the fact that he had grown fond of you. Way too fond.

That he started longing for you.

Loved you.

Love.

He let out a dismissive laugh that was far too quiet for you to hear over the sound of the piano.

Love was a feeling he had never felt before. At least not in this way. He had loved his mother unconditionally. She had been the closest and dearest person to him that ever existed in his whole lifetime. And there were other people who were close to him and who he cared about. A lot. But nothing like this could be compared to what he felt in your presence. What feelings you evoke deep inside of him as he looked you in the eyes, felt your lingering gaze on him, listened to you talk and laugh with all your heart. The way his thoughts about you occupied his every breath and kept him awake at night because otherwise if he closed his eyes all he could see was your beautiful face haunting his mind like a tormenting ghost. Oh sweet hells, he even dreamed about you. Was this really the love people were so obsessed with and that was considered the most beautiful thing in the world? There was no way he could comprehend this; no matter how hard he tried. You possessed his every thought and made him question his sanity. It was an uncomfortable feeling that tugged on him, almost completely tore him apart. He hated it. But yet he didn’t want to miss it.

He opened his eyes again, watching your graceful silhouette moving in front of the grand piano and couldn’t help himself but smile contendly, his eyes glowing with sparks of joy. Though no matter how many feelings of happiness tingled in his guts, he felt heartbroken at the same time. Your relationship has always been complicated. You danced around each other, both too far to take the leap. There was so much on you that Alastor admired. Your view on life and your admiration for the smaller things. The way you animatedly gestured around while you told him a story and how your eyes sparkled with anticipation whenever you were about to do the things you adored the most. He admired your creativity and your talent, the passion you put into your music when you played one of your instruments and used your powerful voice to sing along. The way you danced with him as if you were a graceful swan. He also admired your strength and independence, your self-confidence, your stubbornness, your abnormal sense of humor and psychotic tendencies that always reminded him that you were in hell for a reason. He admired the way you weren’t afraid to show off your insanity, even implemented some of your sickest fantasies on hell’s worst spawns. He admired you.

Alastor took a sip of his whiskey. His thoughts made him sound like a fool – an immature and cheesy teenager – whenever he tried to unravel the clot that every oh so normal person considered love.

By now he was aware that he himself had become a victim of this cruel but also beautiful torture. But no matter how confident he was of his actions his own demons held him back to fully committing to you and the feelings he harbored in his chest, carefully tucked away in a heart shaped box. He was everything but a saint. He’d never be enough for you because he knew that he would never change. All he could give you was sorrow and pain and if there was one thing he didn’t want you to bear, it was you suffering from his incapabilities of being the lover you deserved.

The song came to an end and that was when Alastor noticed that he had swallowed his whole drink within the shortest amount of time. Not good, as he already felt the effects of the alcohol starting to cloud his senses.

Through the corner of his eye he saw you move and when he turned his face towards you, you caught him by surprise as he met your gaze. Time stood still for a short moment, his heart pounded in his chest as he returned your startled gaze. You obviously hadn’t been aware of his presence until now.

Alastors smile widened in amusement at your dumbfounded expression but he didn’t laugh. Instead, his voice was calm and smooth as he said, “That was quite the performance, my dear.”

You forced yourself to smile, trying hard to hide your embarrassment in front of him – unsuccessfully. What a cute sight, Alastor thought but shook off the thought as soon as it entered his mind.

“Thank you, Alastor,” you responded to him, your voice much more confident than your startled body language expressed. A wave of reassurance overcame you and you calmed down, recovering from the surprise of your unexpected listener. “It’s always nice to have a captive audience. Even though I would’ve preferred to be aware of it,” you then added with a soft voice, a genuine smile forming on your lips.

Alastor chuckled softly. “Well, consider me captivated, indeed.”

The room became silent for a moment as you and Alastor exchanged glances, the air heavy with unspoken words. There was a moment of silent understanding between you, a shared acknowledgement of the unspoken feelings that lingered beneath the surface. Alastor knew he had to say something, to break the tension between you, but the words caught in his throat, unable to be spoken out loud. It was one of those moments when he should have risen from his seat and approached you, embracing your delicate presence and pulling you in a tender kiss. It was what he had dreamed about for weeks, one of those perfect moments that needed no words but mere actions to confess your feelings for each other. There was no doubt that you felt the same for him. Alastor knew that you returned his feelings (at least in some similar way). You had to. Otherwise you would have acted differently in his presence, less nervous, less attentive in his personal needs, less affectionate. You would’ve maintained less eye contact with him, not lingering your gaze longer on him than necessary and not secretly stealing glances. Yes, he knew about it but not only because he could feel it when he was watched, but also because people had told him. Not only Charlie had tried to confront him about the supposed ‘tension’ between the both of you, but also Angel couldn’t help but joke loudly about it. Alastor was told how much you smiled in his presence, how much more vivid you behaved in his presence, that subtle tries of yours to catch his attention without raising suspicion. Well, your attempt to remain inconspicuous seemed to have failed – at least in the eyes of the other residents. If no one had told Alastor about it and he wouldn’t have spent time actively paying attention to your changes in behavior around him, he would have never noticed. Never guessed it. You were truly bad at concealing your feelings. Did you even try?

Normally Alastor would’ve laughed at this thought. But in this moment there was nothing to laugh about as the tension between you burned with a subtle passion, drawing the both of you to each other in an unspoken longing.

You loved him at least as much as he loved you.

You wanted him at least as much as he wanted you.

And you needed him at least as much as he needed you.

At least that’s what Rosie had told him when he had spent a whole afternoon conversing with her about that peculiar demoness that made him feel things he never thought possible. But yet, Alastor remained in his armchair, returning your loving expression with unveiled eyes. His breath was heavy and his heart pounded in his chest like a drum on a battlefield.

Oh, how much he wanted to touch you.

To get close to you.

To hug you.

To kiss you.

To make him his. For the rest of eternity.

But he knew his inner demons would show you no mercy. That he would just hurt you to a point of no return. And that was something he was determined not to allow under any circumstances. Something he would never forgive himself for. And he would hurt you. He knew that.

Alastor felt a lump building in his throat and held his breath as it was too painful to continue breathing with that pressure clenching his chest.

The both of you stood there for a moment longer, staring at each other but remained in your unmoved state, silently confessing to each other without a spoken word.

Without making a sound Alastor stood up, his hand wrapped tightly around his empty whiskey glass, knuckles whitening under the pressure. He offered you a small, toothless smile before turning around to leave. His heart was heavy from unspoken desires and the pain of his decision tore his heart into shreds as he left you alone. The door swung close behind him and Alastor couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss wash over him. He knew that loving you was hard. And being without you was even harder.

Cruel.

But it was for the best.

He could never love you the way he wanted to – the way you deserved it. And if protecting you meant tearing himself apart in the most gruesome ways possible, so it should be.

*****

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koolades-world · 7 months

Note

Hello, I'm looking for some angst.

I would like to order an extra harsh reality of

"The brothers will pick their sister over Mc if given a chance"

And some side dish of "The undertables having to fight for Mc"

Thanksiiee!!

hi!! Sorry I took so long to get to this but I was so looking forward to writing this when I got it! slight mentions at nsfw but nothing is described or really directly talked about. also spoilers for lesson 16 and also also long!! much longer than I anticipated

everything I write turns into Satan pieces somehow lol

Took inspo from Harry Potter, specifically Tom Riddle’s diary in the Chamber of Secrets (don't @ me used to be a huge hp fan)

update: part two is out and can be found here :)

the dance of the haunted (part one)

It all started with a simple trip to the second hand bookstore. Satan always invited Mc, so they were together. He needed a hand carrying back his purchases sometimes and they always went someone to eat afterwards, Satan’s treat as he could never imagine asking Mc to pay.

They bookstore they visited today was a usual for them. It was close enough to walk, but far enough to avoid running into his brothers. Satan knew Mc really enjoyed old cookbooks and worn fantasy books. They also often searched for children’s books to read to local demon children as part of a school club. While he was initially concerned with them coming into contact with a cursed book, he grew more comfortable after seeing their magical ability and that they always carried an enchanted talisman that Solomon gifted them for that purpose.

Mc was over in the nature section, flipping through a book about creatures in the 3rd ring of hell. Satan found himself in the tomes section again. He, as usual, found himself rooting through the very back trying to uncover hidden gems. He was about to pick up a book he thought Mc might like to flip through it, when he froze. Just a sliver of this book was in his vision, but he already felt the magic oozing from it. It's a wonder he didn't sense it sooner. He put the other book in a hurry and pulled out the book from the back.

It was unlabeled, with a faded green cover and a golden ribbon attached to the spine. It marked a page close to the beginning. The magic radiating from it didn't seem bad in any way. It actually seemed quite positive. He was able to place it quickly after he felt the ribbon sticking out the bottom of the book.

This was most certainly a book infused with an angelic blessing at the very least, but how in the world had this ended up in a second hand book store in the Devildom, of all places. He flipped it over, looking for anything to go off of, but found nothing but a cursive golden letter L etched on the bottom right corner. He was a little afraid to open it, giving that it was in the hands of an angel at some point. After thinking it over, if anything happened to him, Mc would help him as soon as they noticed something amiss. Thanks to the pact, it would be almost instantly.

With the thought of Mc, he slowly opened the book. On the first page and on the inside of the front cover was handwriting that seemed oddly familiar. He struggled to read the words on the page at first due to the sense of familiarity. He suddenly got deja vu, as if he had held this book before. He closed his eyes for a moment to stop the world from spinning. When he reopened them, he felt like crying, and yet, he still wasn't sure why. Once he finally read what was written, he understood why.

On the inside cover, it read "Property of Lilith Morningstar" and near the bottom in large writing was a messy scrawl he recognized as Mammon's handwriting. It said "mammon waz here" with a little drawing of himself sticking his tongue out. A heart in a different color of ink enclosed the message and drawing. On the first page was a note seemingly from Lucifer. Satan would recognize his handwriting anywhere. It was a heartfelt message from Lucifer to Lilith, saying that he hoped the gift reached her well, and that he missed and loved her.

He closed the book for a second and suddenly felt faint. He sat on the floor, holding his head in his hands. He thought about what he had just read for a moment. The book that he had somehow found, maybe by chance or fate, belonged to his brother's late sister. It was a gift from Lucifer to Lilith while he was away. He realized that's probably why he felt his emotions raging. The Lucifer in him recognized the book, since he had seemingly picked it out himself to give to his sister. How had this ended up in a second hand bookstore? He theorized maybe it had been made in the Devildom and Lucifer had purchased it during one of his trips. But, angel Lucifer would have never done that. He was disgusted by the mere thought of even having to go down at the time, so the thought of him browsing shops was out of the question. Deciding to come back to that thought later, he decided to quickly flip through it, just to see what it was.

As he reopened the book, new waves of magic hit him. He didn't recognize them, but they felt as familiar as his brothers. He guessed their magic was also somehow within this book. But since it was all angelic magic, everything having to do with this book happened before the fall, before he even existed. Much to his dismay, everything beyond the first page was blank. He closed and opened it a few times, but nothing happened. He guessed it might be locked by magic in some way. The thought of trying to magically pry it open scared him again. He was a demon through and through, and since this was blessed by angels, he had no clue what might happen to him if he tried. He was certain whoever blessed this book did not accommodate for whatever he was, but he thought it to be unwise to test the limits.

"Satan. What are you doing on the floor?" Mc walked up to him, holding a few books in their arms.

"Oh, just looking at book on the bottom shelf. I got tired of crouching." He quickly placed the green book down on top of a stack of his other books.

"I get that. Just wanted to let you know I'm ready to be done when you are. Don't rush for me." They turned to walk away, but Satan stopped them.

"I'm done too. I was finishing up." He moved to get up. Mc turned back around to look at him.

"I made great timing then! Here, I'll carry some of these for you." They grabbed the first few books off his stack. He felt his stomach lurch when they touched the green book. He couldn't help but feel nervous with them handling the book, although he wasn't sure why. He didn't want to say anything about it to them, and again, he didn't know why. For now, maybe it was best he kept this to himself anyways. Mc’s expression didn't change and they continued to pile on the books until the green one was in the middle. There was nothing special about that book to them.

"Thank you." Satan made himself say. He picked up the remaining books and they proceeded to the check out together. Today, an older demon worked the register. She was familiar with the pair and had a soft spot for Mc.

"Is that everything for today?" She asked them as she counted the books. Between the two of them, they had thirteen books. Satan handed the demon the needed amount of grim, and waved them on their way. Satan insisted on carrying the bag of books home, since this time there wasn’t too many.

"Let's stop at a café on our way home. I'm dying for something warm to drink right now." Mc grabbed Satan's hand and pulled him in the direction they wanted to go in. He smiled and allowed himself to be dragged off. While they were enjoying coffee together, he was able to temporally forget about the book he had discovered. All of his thoughts were about Mc for the time being.

When they arrived home together, Mc loudly announced that they were there. Mammon came running to greet them. "Mc! I got somethin' for ya! Ya gotta come with me right now!" He grabbed both of the hands and began to pull them away.

"Thank you for the coffee and books, Satan. Tell me about what you bought at dinner tonight." They looked back at him before looking at Mammon again.

"I will. I'll drop off your books in your room. I had a great time." He lifted a hand at them, as a goodbye.

"Mc!" Mammon began to whine.

"Yes, yes. Let's go now." Mammon took off with Mc in tow, leaving Satan stewing in his thoughts again. He went back to his room with all of the books. The other books he had picked out were no longer interesting compared to the Lilith book. However, he didn't want to mess with it while his brothers were awake. The last thing he wanted was them finding out. While he felt bad keeping it from them, something in him was telling him not to show it to them yet. He had promised Mc he would tell them about the books he picked out. The only one he wanted to read was the one about cats. He could easily talk about it to Mc anyways, without having to worry about the Lilith book crossing his mind.

He read until it was time for dinner. Today, it was Asmo’s turn to cook. He was actually a pretty good cook, probably the best in the house. It always turned out well and was plated gorgeous on top of that. He came to the dinner table with the book he hand been reading, still reading. He took his seat across from Mc, not looking up just yet.

“Hey, is that one of the new books?” Satan looked over his book and saw Mc peering at him.

“Yes, actually. It’s a cat book! Cats are the best.” He happily pointed to the picture of a cat on the front. As they ate, the conversation began to drift away from books, and onto something that Satan thought was irrelevant. He tried to go back to reading, but found himself reading the same lines over and over again. His thoughts had reverted to the little green book sitting in a pile of books on his bed. He has buried it, just in case someone happened to walk in.

As Mc mediated yet another argument between Levi and Mammon, he couldn’t find it in himself to silently seethe and glare at his brothers as he usually did. He blankly stared at his book, picking at his food. He was stuck wondering why the book didn’t say anything. He planned what he would do once he got back to his room. He knew he had a book of protective spells somewhere in the house that he might use to protect himself before attempting to interact with the book more.

“Satan. Is everything alright?” Lucifer placed a hand on his shoulder, catching him off guard. The table was basically empty now, much to his surprise. It was only Beel, Belphie and himself still seated. Beel was still eating and Belphie was passed out next to him.

“Nothing is wrong.” Satan snapped back after a moment.

“Alright. Please don’t forget do the dishes.” Lucifer retraced his hand, and with one final, unreadable look at Satan, left the room. He was unsure about how to feel about Lucifer noticing something was amiss. He snapped his book shut. He wasn’t really reading it in the first place. He put the book down on the kitchen counter and began absentmindedly doing the dishes. He was lost in though about the book currently buried underneath about twenty other books on his bed.

He finished in record time. He grabbed his cat book, figuring Beel could wash his own dish once he was done. He retreated to his room. He was released to find everything just as he left it. He dug up the green book from his pile, placing all the other books on the floor for the time being. He sat at his desk, running his hands over the cover. Under his little desk lamp, it seemed to sparkle in a way that he hasn’t previously noticed. Once he opened it, he was greeted with what he has seen earlier that day. But, to his surprise, there was more beyond that.

Most of the pages in the front of the book curled from usage. At the top of each page, was a note of the date. Below this, was a diary entry of sorts. Sometimes, it was just a to-do list, or a recipe. Others, he found Lilith’s accounts of her day to day life. He decided to start at the beginning, reading the first ever entry. He hoped to gain a little context of what exactly this journal was and how it worked.

Lilith had written on the first page after the note from Lucifer about how he has sent her this journal while on a trip to the Devildom, stating it was made by a human according to the tag on the outside of the journal. He enchanted it himself to only allow her to see the contents of this journal.

Satan paused his reading for a moment. If it has been enchanted to only allow Lilith to read the journal, how was he able to read it just now? He wasn’t close to her. They never knew each other. As he flipped to the next page to hopefully skim it for context of any kind, the words in front of him began to fade. The ink retracted into the page, from the last letter she had written, to the first. He wasn’t sure what he could do to prevent this, so he just quickly read what he could. The next page was something about how Belphie had wanted to take a look at it and something about Beel. Once he got there, the words has begun to erase themselves. He watched helplessly as everything disappeared. Soon, he was just stuck with the plain book he had discovered that afternoon, and the cover no longer shimmered.

He sighed, flipping through it again. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He was about to check out the back cover again when he heard his door being pushed open.

“Satan! Thought I would find you here.” Mc greeted him.

“It’s my room. What did you expect?” He shut the book in a hurry.

“Well, I can just as often find you in the library.” They approached him, touching his face. They outlined his jaw and smoothed his cheeks with their thumbs. He reached for their wrists, touching them with an imploring look.

“What’s the matter?” He petted their hair. They sat down in his lap and placed their head on his shoulder. He couldn’t help but worry that the journal was right in their view now, but he hugged them close nonetheless.

“I just feel lonely.” They sighed and buried their face in his neck.

“Really? After all that time you spent with Mammon?” He laughed a little at their predicament.

“Don’t laugh! It’s not the same as when I’m with you.” They pouted and puffed their cheeks out. He chuckled a little more at the cute face they made at him.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop. What can I do for you, my beloved?” He could get lost in their eyes.

“Give me affection! Just kisses will do.” They pointed to their forehead. Satan smiled at them, amused.

“As you wish.” He began to pepper their face in kisses. As Mc grew more needy, the more he satisfied them. One thing led to another, as they ended up in Satan’s bed. They stayed together for the rest of the night, the journal long forgotten.

Early the next morning, after their night of passion, Satan awoke abruptly. He looked around. He was in his own room, but his clothes were scattered around the room. A shirt was hanging by a thread off a tall pile of books. Mc was asleep next to him, their arms wrapped around him. His lamp light was still on. He reached over as far as he could to reach the off switch. Before he could hit it, he saw the journal. He glanced back at Mc. He didn’t want to wake them, but he felt the urge to open it. He reached out to touch it, and as soon as he did, he noticed it began to shimmer like it had before. He was amazed. He quickly flipped as best as he could to a random page with one hand. He could see lots of writing. He shut it again, taking his hands off of it. It remained shimmery.

He decided not to flip through it now, since he wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind to at the moment. Instead, he noted the time; 4:03 am. Once he woke up, he would check it again to get a rough idea of how long it would stay open for since earlier, he wasn’t sure how long it had been open for. He finally shut the lamp off and let the book flutter closed. He took his mind off the book, and laid back down. He tucked an arm around Mc as best he could without waking them, and drifted back to sleep.

He awoke for the second time that day. Everything was essentially the same as it was earlier except for the time and the noise outside his door. Mc was still asleep next to him, griping him tightly. It was 8:24 am now, and he could hear Lucifer pacing around past his door in the hall. He didn't make any noise. The last thing he wanted was to see his ugly mug first thing in the morning. Because of this, he decided not to leave him room just yet, but he also didn't want to open the journal either. He would, however, check if it was still "open" or readable. He flickered on his little desk lamp again, and was greeted with the shimmery cover. He didn't want to touch it, because he was almost certain he was able to set it off that morning. Once he was able to think clearer, he would revisit that.

Instead, he grabbed the first book he could get his hands on and began to read. He wasn't sure how long he was there, just reading, but eventually he felt Mc begin to stir. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” Satan greeted the bleary eyed person snuggled into his side.

“Good morning love. How long was I asleep?” They yawned, making no move to sit up. Neither of them were dressed at the moment anyways.

“A decent amount. Longer than I did anyways.” He shrugged, placing the book facedown on his desk, over the journal.

“Thanks for not waking me. You wouldn’t guess how many times Mammon or Asmo have woken me up way too early. Granted, it’s usually on accident. Asmo with his skincare and Mammon with… I don’t actually know.” Mc rolled on to their side to look at Satan better, throwing one of their arms over his torso. He felt himself growing shy under their sleepy gaze. He knew he wasn't the only one graced with that privilege, but the way they looked at him made him feel so special. He would give them every star in the sky if they asked.

“That makes me all the more grateful that they don’t dare enter my room. Makes it quite the sanctuary, don’t you think?” Satan chuckled.

“Mmm, yes.” They yawned again.

“What do you want to eat for breakfast, sweetheart? Or is it too soon to think about that?” He asked.

“Give me a few more minutes and then I’ll find an answer for you.” Mc closed their eyes again, potentially going back to sleep. He used that time to reflect. His thoughts grew a little grim as he let them wander. That journal kept finding it's way into his mind. How had he been able to find that? What were the chances of that happening? Maybe it would have made a little more sense if one of his brothers had found the book instead, since part of them seemed to linger between the lines. He was a different story, though. The magic within must had been much more powerful than he anticipated.

Even as he turned his head to the side to look at the book again, he saw the pages glimmer in the light that didn't exist. Something seemed... wrong. He hadn't noticed it before, maybe due to the excitement of simply finding it. The circumstances of which he found it in too was bizarre. As a powerful demon, he should have noticed the angelic energy as soon as he entered the book store. He dwelled on this idea. Perhaps last night's activities had had an affect on it. He coughed a little, covering up his embarrassment from the invisible audience. As he thought more, it really made no sense that he just happened to find it. Had it been planted there for him specifically, or was it the journal itself? Just what did this book know? He did consider himself exceptional, but not nearly as much as his brothers. Their story was far more interesting than his own. He was just the consequence of their actions. Whatever the case with this book, he felt the urge to get to the bottom of it, despite the creeping dread in his gut.

He spent the next few days of his reading time picking though every page of the journal. He was able to learn so much about his brothers' days in the Celestial Realm, far more than they had ever bothered to tell him. Perhaps they thought speaking about it might bother him. Whatever the case, he found it strange to refer to them as angels. Lilith wrote lots about the twins and Asmo. She wrote less about the older brothers but it was clear they were just as important to her. He had know Asmo was the Jewel of the Heavens, but the way Lilith described him made him sound like the most amazing thing the world had ever seen. The more and more he read, the more he saw the similarities between himself and her. He too considered Asmo a trusted confidant, and a close friend of his. He too found himself sneaking off with Belphie for mischievous reasons, or spending time with Beel for his quiet, comforting presence. He began to realize how difficult losing her might have been for them. In the past, he knew it was a sore subject, especially among the youngest, but now he could really feel their pain as Lilith wrote about their daily misadventures. What they missed. Would they exchange him for her if given the chance? He shook this thought off, not liking the implications it might have.

Her innocence was painted clearly for him on each page, yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He checked the book again and again for traces of demonic magic but found nothing. The strangest part was that he couldn't even find his own. There was traces of various angels, most of which he didn't recognize, likely from the far gone past. The journal continued to puzzle him.

As time passed, the entries grew more and more chaotic. From her new lover, to the growing tensions between Lucifer and their father. They grew shorter and less carefree. Even her handwriting differed. She seemed to understand the gravity of what she had done. He knew this is when the Celestial War was about to begin. Her last entry was about her lover, again about how enchanting she found them, and how one day she hoped to spend the rest of her life with him, no matter what. He paused for a moment, realizing this entry was written likely days, or even hours before he was born. After that entry, the pages were blank. There were some pages with stray pen marks, but that's all he was able to uncover. He knew the ending to this story. The silence told it all. He sat for a while, reflecting again about everything he had seen. As he was thinking, words began to appear on the page in front of him, in the same handwriting and ink color as he had seen in the entire journal. It was Lilith's. Satan paused. He could tell the journal held magical properties, but this was not something he expected to happen.

"Hello? Anyone there?" The words appeared suddenly. He continued staring at the page until more words appeared. "You can say something you know. Ink will do." Satan began to look around for a writing utensil at these words. Once he found one, he began to pen a response.

"Hello. Are you Lilith?" He wrote down underneath the previous words. He got his own response quickly.

"Yes, I am! How'd you know that?" Satan paused again, about to write more, but was cut off as Lilith began to write more. "Haha! Just kidding. This is my journal. My name is in it. It would be weird if this wasn't me. Who are you, by the way? I don't think I've ever had a visitor." Right away, Satan thought Lilith reminded him of Asmo. He was probably like this when he was an angel.

He stopped before bringing his pen down to the page again. He was unsure on how to introduce himself. During his visit to the past, he went by Sully, which was the stupidest name in his opinion. But, he also didn't want to lie to her. Would it be wrong to tell her his story, and what happened after the war? "My name is Satan. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too! That's a pretty cool name. Interesting for sure." She wrote.

"I don't want to scare you away, but I want to make this clear as to not deceive you." He wanted to tell her the truth. He felt like she deserved to know. After all, he had always felt like she was supposed to be in his place. She even wrote in green.

"Oh, tell away then. I'm all ears. I won't judge, unless you're about to confess some sort of sin to me!" She wrote, most likely jokingly. That made him a little nervous at first, but he continued with the original plan anyways. Maybe this was his way of healing, somehow. He felt better after getting everything out. He told her almost everything. He omitted the part where Belphie murdered Mc. He didn't want to be the one to tell her, anyways. It felt wrong to tell her that her death had driven him to such an extreme. She stayed mostly silent, chiming in with a few questions and stray blots of ink on the pages near his writing, as if she was resting her pen on the page.

"I hope that wasn't too much to take in at once. Much has happened." Satan was still a nervous. He really hoped she wouldn't hate him. He was just the messenger. After all, without her, he wouldn't even exist.

"I won't lie, it was overwhelming at first. But, I'm happy to hear my brothers are doing well without me. It's comforting to know that they have you and Mc now." Lilith drew a little heart next to her message.

"Glad to hear. Sorry to leave so abruptly, but I agreed to meet Mc for an outing shortly, so I will see myself out." He wasn't lying. He had agreed to meet Mc, but it wasn't for another two hour.

"Alright. Have fun! Talk to you later." With that, everything she had said sunk into the page and left no trace behind.

"Goodbye." His words also disappeared. Just like that, their entire conversation was gone. He shut the book. He was glad she didn't object. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to leave early. He felt a little bad leaving her to stew in the information dump, if she actually existed beyond the book being open. Everything about the book confused him. Looking back at it, maybe he made a rash decision. Maybe he shouldn't have info dumped to her like that.

He decided to forget that for now to enjoy his time with Mc. They had an event to attend, and he had to get ready anyways. Later that night, he came back to the journal in order to study it. He opted not to talk to Lilith just yet. The sick feeling in his stomach had returned. Something was wrong with this journal, very wrong. It made no sense, even after chatting to her. She seemed sweet enough, but that wasn't enough to dispel that gross, nauseating feeling. He just couldn't place his finger on what. He felt as if he was losing his mind checking over and over again, for something, anything. But, he found absolutely nothing.

Eventually he got to the point where he was determining if he should burn it or not. He regretted even talking to her in the first place. He wasn't sure why, but he grew uneasy even having Mc in the same house as the journal. Somehow, it felt as if he was talking to someone else, as in not the Lilith who made the original entries. He placed the journal back on his desk, underneath his latest book finds, leaving to find Mc. He eventually found them by the door, putting their shoes on.

"Hey Satan. Good to see you!" They looked up at him.

"Hi, Mc. Where are you going?" He was relieved they were leaving the house.

"Purgatory Hall. I was invited over to play some games. Sol's idea." They began searching for their jacket. Satan noticed it hidden behind Lucifer's big overcoat. He grabbed it, and helped them put it on, thinking hard. "Aww thank you. You didn't have to do that." They beamed at him.

"I wanted to, it's no trouble." He paused for a moment, then continued. "Hey, do you think it's possible that I could come with you. I don't even have to play these games if that's an issue, I just want to be with you." He would feel even better if he was able to be with them, and get away from that journal for a while.

"Oh, of course! I'm sure they would love to have you. Besides, I've basically always got one of you brothers attached to me, they might find it weird if I showed up without one." Mc laughed. "I thought you were planning to read tonight, since I've been taking up almost all of your nights for the past week. Did something happen?" They seemed concerned, looking into his eyes.

"Thank you. Really, I can put off reading again. All time spent with you is precious. It's hard to be away from you, you should know. You're simply enchanting." He took their hand and spun them into his arms.

"Alright, if you say so! We should get going if we want to be on time. I can let them know if you need a little time to get ready?" Mc giggled, buying his excuse. They might have seen though him, but was glad they chose not to say anything.

"I just need my shoes and coat as well. I wouldn't want to hold you up, anyways." He only let Mc go in favor of getting ready. "You know, I'm honestly surprised you aren't already bringing Mammon or Asmo." He told them.

"Me too, actually. Asmo was busy, and Mammon was too distracted with his car repairs to pay attention to what I was saying earlier. I was almost held back by Belphie too. But, I'm here now and I get to spend this time with you." They stood beside him as he tied his shoes and shrugged on his jacket. As the two of them made their way to Purgatory Hall, Mc held his hand so tightly and gazed at him so tenderly, he was almost convinced they were the only thing in the world.

When they arrived, they had plenty of fun. Solomon had arranged a collection of games to play as a group that were randomly decided by drawing slips of paper. To nobody's surprise, Solomon and Mc ended up winning most of them because they were human games. Satan forgot all about the journal. That is, until, he received a phone call in the middle of one of their games. Mc was draped over him with their arms around his neck, also curious about who might be calling them at a time like this. It was Lucifer.

"I told them we were heading out. What could he need?" Mc reached for the phone but Satan stopped them.

"If the call is for me, it's probably to yell at me or something. I don't want you to be on the receiving end of that." Satan rolled his eyes, and brought the phone to his ear, planning to brush off anything he said. He was really only answering because Simeon was in the room, who would answer it for him.

"Come home. Now. You have explaining to do." Lucifer growled through the phone. At first, Satan wasn't worried. He got ominous calls from his older brother like this all the time.

"What is it?" He sighed. Mc laughed a little, causing him to smile. The others began to chat among themselves while he was on the phone. This was normal.

"You know exactly what this is about. On your desk in your room. Underneath three books. Your keys on the left. The pen you used on the right." Satan froze. The smile left his face. Lucifer always sounded serious, but this was one of the few times he sounded like he was about to rip his throat out. He had found the journal. Mc didn't hear what he said, somehow, but noticed his change in demeanor.

"What's the matter, 'Tan?" Mc brushed some hair off his forehead.

"Nothing, my love. Don't worry about it. It's the usual nonsense." He moved the phone away from his ear for the moment, and then back once he was done speaking.

"Let me speak to Mc. I want them home too. Now." The tone Lucifer used to dangerous. Satan knew that was unwise. He didn't know what his plan was, but he didn't trust him at all.

"No. I will come home, but I'm not bringing Mc. I will not needlessly involve them. This will stay between us." Satan began to grow angry. He couldn't help it. Typical Lucifer, complicating matters.

"If you don't come right now, I'll drag you both back personally." Satan knew he wasn't kidding. None of his threats were empty.

"Fine. Have it your way. We'll be home shortly." Satan hung up before Lucifer could respond. By now, the entire room was staring at him. He looked totally different than he had before. He was tense, his rage obvious.

"Are we leaving? What's the matter? Did something happen?" Mc looked at him, concerned.

"I'm heading home to take care of something, but you're staying here. I promise it's nothing serious." He lied through his teeth. He didn't know why Lucifer wanted Mc there, but he knew it couldn't be good. The journal was bad news, and they were involved in no way.

"Are you sure? Lucifer said he wanted me there, right? You know how good I am at sorting out issues in your family. I really don't mind, if that's the issues." They squeezed him a little. They were so caring. Too caring.

"I'm sure. I won't act out or anything. He's probably mad about chores or something. I wonder if Mammon sold his underwear while it was my turn to do laundry again." Satan smiled. They cracked a small smile back.

"Alright. Keep me updated. I'll be waiting for you." Mc pressed a kiss to his forehead before climbing off of him.

"Simeon, before I go, can I have a quick word?" Simeon, who was comforting Luke, turned at the sound of his name.

"Of course." Simeon stood up, gesturing for Mc to take his seat next to Solomon. Luke was seated on the floor between them. Mc looked worried, but moved regardless. Solomon looked around the room, studying everyone's expressions. Simeon walked with Satan to the entry way. "What's the matter?" He asked, holding out Satan's coat for him.

"I want you to place a blessing on this building. Do not let any demon in under any circumstance. Including me. I don't care what they say. I don't have time to explain, but something is very wrong at the House of Lamentation and I don't want a single one of my brothers near Mc." He shoved his shoes on as he spoke. He hastily put on his jacket and turned to look at Simeon one last time.

"I don't know what could be wrong, but I trust you. Mc is safe in mine and Solomon's hands." Simeon let his hands fall to his sides, opening the door for Satan. He watched as he took off running in the opposite direction of the House of Lamentation. He could only stare and wait for him to be a good distance away, before shutting the door. He went back to the living room to find Mc hugging Luke, Solomon with a hand on Luke's shoulder.

"Solomon." Simeon said the sorcerer's name. He stood up and walked over to him. "Satan didn't tell me what the matter was, but I need you to do a quick check of the house to make sure nobody but us is in here. Satan requested I bless the house to keep his brothers out." The expression on both of their faces was grim.

"Of course." Solomon shut his eyes and waved his hand. Once he reopened them, Simeon knew he had completed the check. "Nobody but the four of us are here."

"Thank you. Normally I would ask Luke to help me perform the blessing, but I would prefer to leave him alone for now. Will you accompany me?" Solomon nodded. Simeon led him away, leaving the room together, leaving Mc and Luke along together on the sofa in the once full room.

"What's wrong, Mc?" Luke asked them. For once, they had no clue how to respond to the boy.

"I'm not sure. Simeon might know more, but for now, we just have to wait. In the meantime, do you wanna play some more of the games?" Mc hoped to take his mind of the ordeal.

"I don't really feel like it, sorry." He sighed, worried. He had always had concerns about Mc living with demons and them seemed to be coming to fruition.

"That's alright. Do you want to watching something maybe? Simeon made cookies that are cooling in the kitchen, right? We can get those." Mc tried again to get him in better spirits.

"Let's wait for Simeon and Solomon to get back. They might be worried if they return and we're gone." Luke admitted.

"Good point. I'll turn on a movie for now. What do you want to watch?" Mc got up, leaving Luke in their spot.

"Anything." He usually had more to say. Mc could tell Luke was very worried.

"Alright." Mc went through the various dvds Solomon had stored away near the tv. After finding one they liked, they put it on. The two of them watched this movie together since there was nothing better to do. Eventually, Simeon and Solomon returned with said cookies. Rather than sit on the free couch, they all sat together. They could all tell Luke was worried. The desserts remained untouched.

"I have a surprise that I think you'll like, Luke." Solomon spoke up. Luke picked up his head. "I was told that Mc could stay the night, so we can have a big sleepover together. Does that sound good?" Luke perked up.

"Oh, good. That sounds great! I don't want to send Mc back to those icky demons. Where are we sleeping?" Luke sounded excited, making the rest of the room smile.

“We can stay in my room.” Solomon watched as the little angel jumped out of the cuddle pile and ran to gather pillows and blankets.

“It’s nice to see him happy again. I honestly think he might be more concerned than me.” Mc sighed, reaching for a cookie.

“If we knew what was wrong, we would tell you. I just know Satan asked me to place a blessing on the house.” Simeon explains.

"I figured. It's fine. We just need to hope for the best..." Mc stares at the cookie, thinking about Satan and what he might be doing right now. They just hoped he was safe.

ty for putting up with me and not putting out anything for so long... and sorry for the cliffhanger lol. really wanted this out but a. not sure how much longer it will take and b. not sure what I want the ending to be yet! lol

part two soon hopefully sorry to anon for taking so long!!!!

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marinawolf · 2 months

Text

It's You (Supercorp)

by marinawolf

The poll has spoken! Here it is- the angsty Supercorp fic (with a little bit of action and plot- it's a little long, sorry. I was gonna do two parts but that just complicates things so it's alllll here.)

Lena finds out after Lex decides to play a cruel game. (Filled with angst, betrayal, yearning etc etc. First kiss.)

3k words

The moon hung low in the inky sky, casting a haunting glow on National City. On the rooftop of the L Corp building, Kara lingered in the shadows, a solitary figure with a completely useless glass of champagne clutched in her hands, her eyes fixated on Lena. Oh, how she longed for the oblivion of intoxication. It would make things so much easier.

Kara sighed, taking a pointless sip from her champagne flute, the bubbles tickling her throat. The cool breeze ruffled her hair as she watched Lena. The world was enchanted by Lena Luthor, and Kara was no exception. She was everything - brilliant, brave, kind and beautiful. So so beautiful that Kara sometimes forgot how to breathe around her. Kara's fingers traced the rim of her champagne glass and she tried to tear her eyes away from Lena, a futile attempt to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

But unable to resist, Kara's gaze lingered on Lena's face, tracing the delicate curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes. She watched as Lena moved through the crowd, a vision in a black dress that sparkled in the moonlight, as if there were constellations wrapped around her body. The air seemed charged with an energy that only Kara felt, her super senses attuned to every detail. Lena's laughter, her heartbeat, the subtle shifts in her expressions - all of it was amplified for Kara. She could feel the familiar tug at her heart. Lena seemed so close yet so impossibly far away. The desire to confess, to bare her soul to Lena, burned within Kara. But the fear of rejection, of losing the one person who had come to mean everything to her, kept her rooted in silence. The irony wasn't lost on her - Supergirl, capable of facing the most formidable foes, was paralyzed by the mere thought of losing Lena.

A bitter taste lingered on Kara's tongue as she took another sip, futilely attempting to drown her emotions. If only she could find the courage to tell Lena the truth - that she was Supergirl, and that she was hopelessly and desperately in love with her.

Almost as if sensing Kara's gaze on her, Lena's eyes flickered toward hers and the most breathtaking smile formed on her face, causing Kara's heart to stop for a moment. Rao, those eyes. Kryptonite had nothing on those eyes, and when Kara looked into them, she could see her life unfolding in those shades of green.

Lena immediately made her way towards Kara, her arms already outstretched for a hug that felt like home.

"You look gorgeous, Lena", Kara whispered against Lena's neck, and she could swear that she heard Lena's breath catch.

As they parted, Lena's hand found Kara's wrist, "Why are you hiding in the corner? Come with me," Lena urged, gently tugging Kara towards the bustling crowd.

It was the last place she wanted to be but Kara couldn't say no. With a silent nod, she let Lena guide her, knowing that wherever Lena went, she would willingly follow.

"You okay?"

Kara blinked back to the present as Lena's concerned voice cut through the monotonous corporate chatter. She had zoned out as a man they were talking to droned on about his company. For some reason, she was finding it harder to stifle her feelings for Lena tonight and found herself spiralling, her thoughts running wild.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I am. Why?"

"You just seem out of it tonight. Do you want to leave? I'll just say my goodbyes, and we can get out of here," Lena suggested, her concern evident in her eyes.

Kara smiled at Lena, a warmth budding in her chest. Lena would totally leave her own event to take Kara home if Kara asked her to. She was that wonderful of a friend. They would probably end up at Lena's apartment, drinking wine and watching movies until Lena passed out, cuddled into Kara's side, making it so that Kara couldn't leave. And Kara would allow herself the indulgence- she would wrap her arms around Lena and close her eyes, and pretend that this was something else- something more. She allowed herself those moments of fantasy. And when they woke up entangled in each other the next morning, they would laugh it off, blaming it on the wine.

But no. Lena needed to be here. It was her event, after all and Kara needed to get some space anyway, and maybe some proper alien alcohol from her stash at home.

"You can't leave, Lena," she laughed, "but I think I am a bit tired. So I'm gonna go, okay?"

Lena's frowned, her gaze meeting Kara's, something indiscernible flickering within her eyes.

"Kara," Lena began, her voice holding a note of urgency, yet before she could continue, a sudden, deafening bang echoed through the air. Kara's eyes shot upward, shock and awe registering on her face as the night sky seemingly exploded around them.

Fire rained down on the rooftop and instinctively, Kara moved to take action, but before she could, Lena's arms enveloped her protectively, attempting to shield her from the fire and debris. It was a moment where the absurdity almost made Kara want to laugh. She felt momentarily frozen. Yet, she knew she couldn't remain passive. She had to save Lena. She had to save everyone.

A second explosion jolted the rooftop, causing Lena to lose her balance and her grip on Kara to falter. Taking the opportunity, Kara broke away from Lena and ducked into a corner, returning immediately as Supergirl.

Her first instinct was to ensure Lena's safety, and she grabbed her and lifted her off the rooftop, intending to carry her away from the looming danger. However, Lena resisted fiercely, fighting against Kara's hold, her frantic eyes scanning the rooftop.

"No!" Lena screamed, her voice fraught with desperation. "Kara is still there. I need to get Kara."

The plea reverberated through the night, casting a heavy shadow on Kara's heart.

"I'll find Kara. Don't worry," Kara reassured, her voice strained with the weight of deception.

She could see the anguish and worry in Lena's eyes, a reflection of deep concern that extended beyond the immediate danger. The worry was for her, for Kara, and as Kara soared back into the night sky, leaving Lena on the ground, the burden of keeping her identity hidden, of denying the depth of her feelings, felt like it could pull her down.

Kara cleared the rest of the guests off the rooftop swiftly and returned alone, hovering over it, scanning for the source of the explosion. To her surprise, there was none. It was as if the night had imploded onto itself, as if the air itself had ignited. The absence of a visible threat left Kara unsettled- this wasn't meant to cause any harm. A sense of foreboding washed over her as realization struck—this must have been some sort of diversion.

Panic gripped Kara's mind, and a single name echoed through her thoughts. There was only one person who would cause chaos at an L Corp event, and that meant one thing—Lena was in danger.

Racing back to where she left Lena, Kara found no-one there. In the place where Lena should have been waiting for her, a small white card had been placed on the ground.

Kara reached for the card, her hands trembling.

You are cordially invited to the Luthor family reunion.

The air became heavy with the worst kind of fear, and as Kara clenched the card in her trembling hands, a desperate scream threatened to escape her lips. Where did he take Lena?

At the DEO, Kara's anxiety echoed through the room as she paced, the worry etched on her face. Frustration, fear and desperation boiled within her.

"Why can't we find her?" She shouted, her anger bouncing around the room, shocking the agents around her.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Alex, a concerned look on her face,

"Lex is very good at hiding, Kara. We're doing the best we can. We will find her," she reassured, though the words did little to quell Kara's mounting panic.

Kara felt a surge of helplessness, a burning desire to do whatever it took to locate Lena, even if it meant tearing the whole world apart and yet all she could do was uselessly wait around for a lead.

Just as she approached a point of no return, Winn's voice called out,

"I think I have something," he announced, drawing everyone's attention. "I hijacked city cams and ran facial recognition. Traffic cameras picked up Lena's face outside an abandoned warehouse. There's someone with her."

Kara's heart skipped a beat, hope coursing through her veins.

"Where is it?" she demanded, desperation edging her voice.

As Winn relayed the address, Alex grabbed her arm,

"Wait, Kara. Let us prep a team to go with you. It's probably a trap. You can't go in alone."

Kara's resolve hardened, her gaze steely with determination.

"I don't care, Alex. It's Lena."

With those words hanging in the air, she broke free from Alex's grasp and bolted from the DEO, propelled by the determination to rescue the woman she couldn't live without.

Kara reached the warehouse and effortlessly tore through the heavy iron doors. Her determined advance faltered as she took in the scene before her—Lex Luthor, armed and wearing a manic smile, stood with a gun pointed at Lena who, to Kara's relief, looked unharmed. Kara couldn't bare to see the terrified look on Lena's face, but she knew that if she let herself give in to the fear, she would never get them out alive.

"Ah, Supergirl, you made it!" he grinned, reveling in the chaos. "Look, sister, our guest of honor has arrived. Now we can start."

Kara moved towards Lena, but before she could reach her, Lex grabbed Lena and pressed his gun to her head.

"Nuh uh, Supergirl," he tutted, "You don't want your best friend to get hurt, now do you?"

Kara felt a chill creeping over her as she stood paralyzed.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite the panic surging through her, "Me? I'm here—let her go, Lex."

Lex laughed. "Oh, Supergirl. Where's the fun in that? Let you sacrifice yourself and be the hero again? No. No, this time we're going to play a little game."

He retrieved a button from his pocket, and the floor beneath Kara illuminated with the ominous glow of kryptonite.

"Supergirl, no," Lena shouted, trying to step forward, but Lex tightened his grip on her, and pressed the gun harder into her temple.

"One little push of this button will make that lead floor disappear, and one little pull on this trigger can end my dear sister's life. Okay? Do we understand the rules? Good, now that the stakes are set, let's play a little game of truth. No dare, just truth."

"Please, Lex," Kara begged, "Let her go."

"Oh, I will. If you play my game, Supergirl."

Kara closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. When she opened it again, she was resolved to do whatever it took to save Lena.

"Fine. Let's play."

"What a good sport," Lex taunted. "The game is simple. You tell the truth—you win. And there's only one question that we need to answer. Lena, who is Supergirl?"

Lena frowned, uncertainty clouding her features. "I don't know."

"Come, sister, you're smarter than that. Think carefully." Lex goaded, a malicious glint in his eyes.

Kara's heart pounded fiercely—this was Lex's plan. He knew. Somehow he knew, and he intended to use that knowledge to shatter the one thing she valued most in the world: her friendship with Lena.

"I. Don't. Know," Lena spoke through gritted teeth, her frustration evident. "Let her go, Lex. Let me go. There's no need for any of this."

"Oh, but there is," he replied, unyielding. "Okay, Supergirl—your turn. Answer truthfully now, or else I'll have to pull this trigger. Does Lena know you? The real you?"

Kara's gaze shifted to Lena, a silent plea in her eyes. She had to answer.

"Yes," she said softly, lifting her eyes to meet Lena's. Confusion etched Lena's face, and Kara's heart ached. Not like this.

Lex's smile widened, savoring the unfolding drama. "Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Lena, your turn again. Tell me, did Supergirl save your best friend today?"

Kara watched as anguish and panic filled Lena's eyes, the unspoken plea evident. "I don't know. Is Kara...? Is she okay?" The desperation in Lena's voice broke Kara's heart.

Before Kara could utter a word, Lex spoke, coercing Lena, "Come on, Lena. I know you're smarter than this."

He turned his gaze to Kara. "Tell her, Supergirl. Tell her about her best friend."

A sob escaped Lena's throat. "Oh god, please. Tell me she's okay. Tell me she's alive," Lena begged, and Kara felt her heart shatter.

"Tell her, Supergirl. The truth about her best friend."

Lex's words hung heavy in the air, and Kara knew exactly what he meant.

She looked into Lena's tear-filled eyes,

"Lena," she said, softly, "Lena, I—"

But before she could continue, she saw recognition dawn in Lena's eyes.

"No," Lena whispered, her voice trembling. "It's you? It has been you this whole time? Oh god, Kara, I thought you had—" Lena choked on a sob.

Kara remained silent, witnessing Lena's heartbreak unfold as the realization settled in.

"I'm sorry, Lena. I wanted to tell you so many times, but—"

"But you didn't," Lena's voice turned hard, the sense of betrayal evident. "Kara." She said her name like an accusation, and Kara wished she could vanish into the earth.

"I confided in you that everyone in my past had betrayed me. About how much it hurt to have someone you love lie to you and betray you, and you—" Lena's voice faltered, "You were playing me all along, Kara."

Kara felt her own tears fall. She had done the one thing she never wanted to do—she had hurt Lena.

"Lena, I was trying to protect you. Your family—"

"What?" Lena interrupted her, "You thought that you couldn't trust me because I'm a Luthor? Despite everything, Kara, you didn't trust me?"

"I would trust you with my life, Lena. I do trust you with my life. I just never wanted you to ever have to choose between me and your family! I didn't want to put you in that position."

Lex put the gun down, and Kara almost sagged in relief. "My work here is done," he smiled in satisfaction.

Then, surprising them both, he handed the kryptonite remote to Lena. "Take it, sister. I, at least, trust you to do the right thing. You'll always just be a Luthor to them."

When Kara saw Lena's fingers wrap around the remote, her heart shattered. Lex walked away, leaving them alone.

"Lena, please."

"What, Supergirl? Don't kill you? Isn't that what you would expect from a Luthor?" she spat.

"Lena, you're angry. I understand, but—"

"Oh god," Lena said, "You actually think I would hurt you?"

"Never," Kara said, "Lena, I'm—"

"You don't get it, do you, Kara? I would have chosen you. Over anyone. Over anything." She let the remote drop to the floor, the sound echoing through the empty warehouse.

"Lena," Kara whispered, her voice tinged with fear of the impending fallout.

The prospect that Lena might come to hate her felt more daunting than facing any physical threat. She would rather have Lena press that button than have to live with Lena hating her. Lena wasn't just a friend; she was the woman Kara loved, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. With everything on the line, Kara had to say it, to lay bare the truth that had been concealed for so long.

"Lena, I'm sorry. I know I should have told you sooner, about who I am, but please, please believe me. I was only trying to protect you. I didn't know how to tell you. You became my friend, and I thought it would be okay, that I could be Kara for you and still keep this hidden—keep you safe from it all. And then you became my best friend, and by then, I was too scared of losing you to tell you. And then—Rao, Lena, I fell in love with you, and it became too difficult to tell you. I was scared, and I didn't know how. I love you, and the thought of losing you—I knew that I wouldn't be able to breathe if I lost you. Lena, you are the single most important thing in the universe to me."

Lena fell to her knees, and Kara rushed to her, desperate to bridge the emotional chasm that had opened between them.

"I love you, Lena. I have loved you for a long time. Please, please forgive me."

"I want to hate you, but I can't," Lena whispered, her voice a fragile blend of hurt and conflict.

Despite it all, Lena pulled Kara into a fierce embrace, clutching onto her desperately. Kara tightened her grip around Lena, feeling Lena's silent tears seep into her shoulder.

Finally, Lena pushed Kara away, standing up, leaving them both to grapple with the emotional turmoil that hung heavy in the air. Kara rose to her feet, and they faced each other, the tension between them casting a daunting shadow.

"What now?" Kara asked, her voice soft, the fear of Lena's response palpable.

Lena met her gaze intensely, and Kara detected a flicker of conflict in Lena's eyes. It was as if the turmoil within Lena was written in the air between them, as if she was wrestling with a decision.

Then, without warning, Lena pulled Kara in, crashing her lips against hers with a desperate urgency. Kara, initially stunned, quickly melted into the kiss, mirroring Lena's desperation. She could taste the saltiness of Lena's tears on her lips, the kiss carrying a weight as if their very lives depended on it, as if Lena held Kara's breath captive. The world around Kara dissolved, leaving only Lena—her lips, her hands. Lena became the singular reality that mattered to Kara, the only thing tethering her to this world.

Finally, they pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, both breathing heavily.

"I'm hurt," Lena whispered, her voice laden with vulnerability. "You hurt me, Kara. But I can't imagine being without you. I love you."

Kara's heart clenched at Lena's words.

And as their lips met again, Kara vowed to spend the rest of her life trying to make it up to Lena. She would never hurt her again.

169 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Easy Does It.

Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Explicit Not SFW, Scaramouche is annoying, Reader’s body is described as AFAB, they both bicker like an old couple... Word count: 7.2k.

You have a triumphant pep in your step as you hop down from the inn’s engawa to where your traveling companion awaits.

He stands beneath a canopy of sakura trees, late in their bloom, yet beautiful nonetheless. Pink petals dance around him in wayward clusters, swaying wherever the breeze blows. It’s an idyllic scene taken straight from the pages of a fairytale. He too appears absorbed with their hypnotizing essence, extending his hand upward and allowing for a lone petal to find its home there. He brings it to his face, studying it closely, an unreadable expression etched onto his countenance when the Electro energy imbued within tickles his fingers.

It could be your imagination, but you get the sense he almost looks sad. Forlorn, even. A strange heaviness haunts the air around him.

You’re about to call out when a twig crunches beneath your feet, alerting him to your presence.

The ethereal mirage fades away faster than if a painter were to take water to their freshly painted canvas.

“Oh, there you are,” The Wanderer greets, his fingers curling inward and crushing the petal within a tight fist. “You sure took your sweet time. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get you back. Well? Are you just going to stand there and gawk? How’d the ‘negotiations’ go?”

You puff out your cheeks. To think you almost fell for his spell so easily… that mouth of his could easily break you out of any enchantment. Not that you’d have it any other way.

“Behold, you nonbeliever,” you proudly lift and display the keys you secured, its metal reflecting the blood-orange sun. “I told you I’d work something out. We’ve got shelter for the night.”

“Oh? Not bad,” he crosses his arms over his chest, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You have some uses after all. Color me surprised.”

“A simple ‘good job’ would have sufficed. Are all your compliments this backhanded?”

“I wouldn’t know, since I give them so rarely.”

You roll your eyes at that and carry onward, striding past him in the process. The Wanderer blinks, following your form with his eyes, then half-jogging to catch up with you. Unsurprisingly, he wastes no time voicing his dissent over your actions.

“Hey, I know your sense of direction isn’t the best, but the inn is that way,” he juts his thumb toward where you came from. You take a deep breath to prepare yourself. You cherished being lavished in his praise, awful as he is at it, for all of thirty seconds. It’s likely that’ll end here if he isn’t in the most forgiving of moods.

“... About that,” your voice comes out uncharacteristically weak, “They didn’t magically get any openings in the hours since we last asked. I offered for us to get rid of some pesky nobushi—”

He lets out a dissatisfied grunt that you choose to ignore.

“—And in return, they’re letting us use an old house that’s traditionally off-limits, since it’s mostly for storage. Hey, don’t look at me like that! The nobushi job can wait until morning. It beats sleeping out in a storm.”

As if on cue, a low rumble of thunder resounds in the distance. The Wanderer just huffs, your line of reasoning is too solid for him to bother arguing further. You both searched high and low for proper accommodations upon learning a nasty thunderstorm was inbound. Normally, it wouldn’t be so difficult, but there was apparently a festival that had inns in the immediate area stuffed. The tempests in Inazuma were notorious for their ferocity.

“So they lug their pest extermination project on us. What a bore,” The Wanderer yawns at the mere thought. “Humans always want to know what’s in it for them. Our Mora should’ve sufficed.”

You don’t bother replying. He likes getting the last word in and you’ll let him this time.

The house the old couple who ran the inn described to you grows closer with each step. It’s not as dilapidated as you pictured from the outside, a rather quaint-looking abode. The design reminds you of the homes found in Konda Village, boasting a thatch ceiling and a light-colored wood exterior. Paper lanterns hang from the veranda, as do white cloths with strings tied around the top, giving the impression of a round head.

You point to the unknown object and voice your curiosity to the Wanderer, who you know hails from Inazuma. “What’s this? I’ve seen them in lots of the villages we’ve passed through.”

“What do I look like, a tour guide?” he mumbles under his breath, yet sees fit to answer you anyway. He always does. “It’s supposedly a talisman meant to invoke good weather, called teru teru bōzu. You’ll find they’re popular in rural areas that rely on farming to get by.”

You let out a small “ohh” at his explanation. “Interesting. I didn’t expect that the denizens of Inazuma would try to ward off phenomena so closely associated with their Archon.”

While saying this, you fit the key snugly into the lock and twist, granting you both entry.

“Hah. These simpletons would do far better for themselves if they gave that good-for-nothing recluse more pushback.”

While the Wanderer is no stranger to voicing his thoughts, for better or for worse (normally the latter), his animosity toward the Raiden Shogun is unmatched. Anytime she’s so much as mentioned you have to start praying to a higher power that he won’t lay into whatever unlucky soul brought her up. Fortunately for you, his eerily friendly façade doesn’t falter in the moment. He waits until it’s only you around for the venom to spill forth. He certainly has no shortage of it.

“Hurry up inside so we don’t get struck by lightning because of your heresy,” you remove your shoes by the entrance and he follows suit. “From what I can tell, she got plenty of pushback from the Vision Hunt Decree a ways back.”

“Not nearly enough.”

The interior is a bit worse for wear than the exterior, but at least it’s clean. You get to work moving aside furniture and other miscellaneous items so there’ll be enough room to sleep. In the meantime, the Wanderer slides a screen door aside, revealing a bunched-up futon. He takes it outside to pat it off, further continuing your oddly domestic routine. In your few years of traveling together, you’ve come to learn that you synergize together surprisingly well. The Wanderer might complain that you’re a nuisance who he keeps an eye on out of pity, but you know better than to take his words at face value. There are always precious gems hidden beneath the hard exterior.

When he comes back inside, he sprawls the futon down across the tatami floor, then settles his hands on his hips. “What sort of rundown inn is this? There’s only one futon in the closet.”

You situate yourself on a cushion that happened to already be out. “We should be thankful that they even had one since this isn’t a proper rentable room. You can feel free to take it. Sleeping on the floor isn’t so bad.”

“And have to deal with you complaining about how sore you are for the next few days? No thanks,” he scrunches up his nose. “... Wait here. I’ll go have a chat with our hosts and see if I can get some proper hospitality.”

Uh oh. That doesn’t sound promising. “Please don’t get us thrown out, I’d rather not get blown away in an eighty-mile-an-hour wind.”

“I’d fly to get you back,” The Wanderer hums as he makes for the door. Then a mischievous gleam dances in his eyes, a sight you’re plenty familiar with. “Maybe. If I was feeling particularly generous.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He removes his hat, stands it against the wall, then makes for the door. He’s gone faster than you can think to stop him, leaving you temporarily on your lonesome. The many compliments he received for his well-mannered behavior when you passed through Konda Village come to mind, a memory that makes you snort. You suppose you can’t blame them for falling for his act. He could be rather convincing when he set his heart on something. So could you, for that matter. Hence why you ended up becoming an unlikely pair to begin with.

Standing to your full height, you begin shedding your outer layer of clothes. The trek back to the inn combined with the owner’s talkative nature should ensure he’ll be gone for a while. Once you’re left in nothing but your undergarments, you fold and set your clothes aside, ambling toward a plain yukata you saw hanging up in the closet. You put both your arms through the long sleeves and then stop, your fingers resting over the Electro Vision clasped like a necklace around your neck.

Inazuma, land of the Electro Archon, a place the Wanderer seemed intimately connected with. It strikes you then how little you know about your companion. You’ve told him plenty about yourself — the delicious wines, tall windmills, and sea of dandelions found in your homeland — hoping it’d get him to do the same. He’d dodge your inquiries with ease, stating that he was ‘just a wanderer these days’ and nothing else.

You know that can’t be it. Especially not with his tendency to refer to people as ‘humans’, inadvertently implying he isn’t one himself. So just who is he? What is he?

Why does he still seem keen to travel with you, when he could make it perfectly fine by himself?

And most importantly… when will this fun adventure you never expected to take come to an end? After all, that is the fate of all journeys. Nothing lasts forever.

For some reason or another, the thought fills you with an uncomfortable pang.

You begin carrying out the steps of properly securing the yukata. It’s an awkward endeavor, as you’re not used to it, but you start to make some decent progress. That is until your soul all but ascends when the door unceremoniously flings open.

“Seriously, the gall of them to lock up so ear—”

The door slams closed as the Wanderer doesn’t have the presence of mind to ease it shut. “—Ly…?”

His eyes go as wide as saucers while the most you can think to do is turn around, rushing through the final steps to regain your dignity. He wasn’t supposed to come back so soon! This shouldn’t be a big deal, it really shouldn’t, yet the expression he wore was unlike anything you’ve seen. The Wanderer is always so sure of himself, bordering and often crossing over into arrogance. It didn’t matter if you were lost in the middle of nowhere with low provisions or stuck in a battle against waves of monsters seemingly without an end in sight. He’d act with the utmost confidence, dissipating your uncertainty like a lighthouse’s beam on a foggy night.

So what was that look he gave you, an emotion on him you’ve never seen before? It’s making you feel warm from head to toe.

“... You’re… you’re doing it wrong.”

The Wanderer is standing in your shadow, closing what already feels like the nonexistent distance between you. You cease moving entirely when his hands reach around to tug at the loose fabric. He folds and tucks everything into place as it should be, no sounds registering in your brain aside from the shuffling of fabric and your pounding heartbeat. Internally, you beg yourself to say something, or for him to say something, the flow of your usual banter entirely staunched. In a matter of a few seconds that feel like they’re dragging on for an eternity, the yukata is set into place as it should be. Just when you think you’re free from this embarrassing nightmare’s tendrils, he sets his sights on the final piece.

He wraps the obi around your waist and ties it. When he’s done, he takes a step back and finally breaks the excruciating silence.

“Turn around.”

You try to think of a snarky rebuttal that’d diffuse the peculiar heaviness in the air, as if gravity itself had intensified. Upon coming up with nothing, you acquiesce to his softly spoken demand, your eyes set firmly on the ground. Is this real life or a very potent figment of your imagination? You’ve never felt so sheepish around him; in a mere second, your entire dynamic shifted.

“Is the floor really that interesting?” His face is close enough that you can feel his warm breath tickling your skin when he laughs. The sound is different from his usual derisive chuckle. Freer, in a way. “Look up at me already.”

Somehow, this request seems easier to fulfill than his previous one. You find yourself lifting your head without your mind deciding if that’s what it wants to do yet, your body and impulses taking the reins. The Wanderer must not have been expecting your willingness either — his breath hitches in his throat when you make unwavering eye contact. It’s in the peaceful seconds of nothingness that follow that you find yourself admiring your companion’s features.

He’s beautiful to a surreal degree. If he told you he was handmade by the gods, you would’ve believed him without question. His skin is like porcelain, his eyes wide and glossy, framed by long, dark eyelashes, his lips rosy and his cheeks even rosier. For all his impish attributes, his visage is far more in line with that of a cherub. You don’t bother hiding your unabashed staring. He told you to look at him and you’re going to do just that.

Whatever devious words he had waiting for you on his tongue must’ve withered away without ever blooming.

Logically speaking, it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds that ticked by since he last spoke, but you feel like you’ve shared an eternity together. If you weren’t used to seeing him surprised, his current expression is all the more foreign. It was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. You scour your memory, analyzing the countless impressions he’s made, placing the countenance you’re currently seeing over them to find a match.

Eventually, something in your frazzled brain clicks.

This isn’t a new expression at all. You know it better than you’d like to admit.

This is how he looks at you when you eagerly compliment his cooking, scoffing and muttering under his breath that it isn’t anything to get so excited about, while fighting back a smile. When you rope him into playing with the kids of whatever family is feeling kind enough to give you lodging for the night, a thousand excuses on his tongue that he never follows through on after seeing how you laugh and run without a care. This is how he looks at you in the morning, afternoon, evening, twilight, and night.

Now that you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t remember a time when he didn’t look at you this way.

With yearning…

(He’s leaning forward).

Adoration…

(His lips are almost close enough to touch yours).

… And rapidly spiraling self-control.

“Wanderer?”

There’s a flash of lightning outside, a prelude to the storm ahead.

Bright streaks of light illuminate the side of his countenance. The instant the lightning’s glow fades, you’re face to face with his back. He’s walking away. A torrent batters the worn-down windows in a violent clash of water and glass. Where is he going? He picks his ornate hat up and places it on his head. Why is he going? Shaky fingers rise to press against your lip.

You never got to feel his.

He doesn’t get the chance to twist the doorknob before you’re leaping into action, more adrenaline pumping through your veins than any fight could ever evoke. He stumbles forward from the force of your bodies clashing yet manages to remain standing. Your arms encircle his waist, pulling him back to you, not an ounce of your strength going unused. Initially, his body goes stiff as a corpse. And then he struggles. Sharply twisting his torso to deter your hold, which successfully puts your footing off balance, but doesn’t get you to retract. He tries it again. This time with more force. You shake your head, adamant and unwilling, embracing him even tighter.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, disbelief apparent. Instead of coming off like a predator that’s bearing its teeth, you view him as prey caught in a trap that wildly thrashes when being set free.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” you return, your voice almost threatening to crack beneath the weight of your words. Having piqued his curiosity, he ceases movement altogether. You lower your volume to a solemn whisper. “You were about to… about to kiss me.”

“No, I—” he cuts himself off, the words coming out in an almost incomprehensible jumble, “I was just messing around. You’re so… so easy to fool, you know that? So gullible. You don’t know the first thing about me and yet you’re willing to let me touch you like a lover. It’s almost pathetic, really.”

The words meant to add fuel to the fire blazing in your soul do the opposite and extinguish it instead. You loosen your grip enough that he could easily break free if he tried.

He doesn’t.

“You’re wrong about that.”

“What?” He sounds incredulous more so than angry. However he anticipated this to go down in his head, you wouldn’t follow the script, if anything, you’d be handed it only so you may shred it to pieces. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I do,” your affirmation comes out quickly, though far from uncertain. “You said I don’t know the first thing about you, but that’s a lie. I know plenty. I know that you’re pretty terrible.”

The Wanderer lets out a noise you can only describe as a choked, humorless laugh, but since you’re not finished, you continue on.

“Yeah, you’re awful alright. You act like you’re better than everyone else before you get the chance to even know them. You refuse to acknowledge the good in the world when it’s dangling right in front of your eyes, so focused on the backdrop that you miss what’s really important. You’re conceited, insensitive, and stubborn to a fault. But…”

Although he can’t see you in this position, you smile. “You’re willing to acknowledge your shortcomings after enough convincing. You’ll point out mine too. You see through things that I’m blind to, standing up for me when I’m afraid to do it myself. You tell me I talk too much yet still listen and remember every word. If I get sick, you take care of me until I’m better, even if you complain the entire time. You’ll push me out of the way in a fight, taking a blow meant for me, then swear it doesn’t hurt so I won't worry. It does hurt, though, doesn’t it? You feel pain the same way I do. Just because you’re used to it doesn't make it hurt any less. Yes… you’re right that there are some things I don’t know about you. But I know enough to say I love you, awfulness and all.”

“... Love?” He’s breathless. “You love me?”

“Somehow or another, so— oof!”

In an instant, your positions switch. The first thing you register is your back hitting something solid. Both your arms have been lifted and pinned over your head by him. When you reopen your eyes to gain your bearings, you’re treated to a sight you don’t think you’ll ever forget. The Wanderer is almost feverish, his face flushed, his lips parted so he may pant, his chest heaving for air. His dilated pupils look nowhere else than directly at you. The heavens could collapse and the Abyss could rise and still, he would not look away. It’s raw, it’s depraved, but it’s him.

“You mean it? You really mean it?”

You try to wriggle your hand free, longing to touch him, but he narrows his eyes and tightens his grip. The strength he uses further convinces you that had he genuinely wanted to, he could’ve easily rid himself of you earlier. Words escape you entirely beneath the intensity of his stare. Your legs feel weak and it’s like the air had been stolen entirely from your lungs. There’s no way he didn’t hear everything you painstakingly laid out for him. You let him glimpse into your heart, what was all this apprehension about?

The wetness growing on his lower lash line makes you understand, deep down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to believe you — it’s that he’s scared of what it’ll mean if he does.

You’re the one who closes the pesky distance. The contact is gentle, chaste, a hesitant brushing of your lips against his. You let them linger there for a few seconds longer, feeling how his lower lip trembles, tasting the bitterness of the matcha he drank not too long ago. When you think to pull back, his body lurches forward, unwilling to let you get away that easily. He’s noticeably inexperienced, somewhat awkward in how he slots his mouth against yours. Still, it sets fireworks off in your chest and makes you croon. He’s so distracted with helping himself to your lips that he relaxes his grip. You use this to your advantage, finally free to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer.

When you part for some much-needed air, he encases your face in his hands.

“Say it again,” his lips ghost over yours when he speaks. “Please. I need you to say it again.”

How could you ever deny him when he’s talking to you like that?

“I love you.”

“Even though I’m ‘pretty terrible’?”

“Even then.”

“Won’t you change your mind?”

“I won’t.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise,” you smile, unable to stop yourself from beaming. Floating midair wouldn’t make you feel as light as you do now. “And what about you, Wanderer? Did I successfully win over your heart?”

There’s an enigmatic gleam in his eyes that you don’t quite understand. “Yeah. Although I wouldn’t say it’s anything worth winning. Whatever joke of a heart I’ve got, you can have it. It’s yours. You can’t get rid of it even if you want to. Or, to be more accurate…”

You gasp when he nibbles the shell of your ear then whispers, his voice low, “You can’t get rid of me even if you want to.”

If this is his attempt at intimidation, you aren’t impressed.

“It’s a good thing I don’t want to then, right?”

“That’s my [First] for you,” he brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face and laughs. “Only you could find a positive way to spin that. Well, perhaps that strangeness is what draws me to you. You might be just as messed up in the head as I am.”

He swoops in to kiss you again but is met with the softness of your cheek instead of your lips. His eyes widen, then narrow, dark energy gathering and permeating around his figure. You almost think better of your decision to mess around with him but ultimately remain firm. He can’t always get what he wants without having to put in some work. You’ll end up spoiling him if you act too indulgent.

“I think you may have ruined the romantic atmosphere,” you add some dramatic flair by sighing. He blinks rapidly, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. It’s a cute look on him. “I poured my heart out to you and not only do you call me strange, you say I’m messed up as well. I dunno, my feelings might be too hurt. Maybe I should just go to bed…”

He actually gapes at you, sputtering, incapable of forming an intelligent rebuttal at your sheer audacity. You press your advantage and writhe out from his hold. You don’t make it more than a single step toward the futon before you’re being hoisted into the air, the Wanderer recovering from his stupor in record time. He bridal carries you over, muttering how you’re “such a difficult woman”, the gentle way he lays you down contrasting his harsh words.

He crawls over top of you, the grin on his face a mix between boyish and menacing. His next words come out in a playful singsong. “Oh no you don’t, little minx.”

It’s almost impossible to fight back a smile, but you somehow manage, though you have no doubt he sees through your weak façade. With about as much innocence as you can muster, you say, “If you’re tired too, we could always sleep together.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, the innuendo not lost on him. “Your jokes suck.”

“Hah, but you laugh at them anyway,” you stick your tongue out at him. “So which one of us truly sucks here?”

“You, on your knees, another time maybe,” he replies, a little too self-assured for your liking. “Not tonight though. I have other plans for you.”

He accentuates this by latching his lips to your neck, directly over where your racing pulse is most prominent. You tilt your head to the side, allowing him easier access, your senses so overwhelmed with him that nothing else registers. His hands to get work undoing what he helped put on you minutes prior. Cool night air bites at your newly exposed skin, the front of the yukata fluttering to the side. He pulls back from his task of lavishing your neck in heated open-mouthed kisses to admire the sight. It’s almost animalistic, the way he’s regarding you now, as if you were a feast put in front of a starved man. The intensity of his gaze almost makes you shy.

“... May I?” He murmurs, his previous bravado melting away. His face is red up to his ears. “Is it really okay?”

Unable to find your voice, you nod your head, almost biting your lower lip hard enough to bruise. Why is it far easier to deal with him when he’s being a cocky little bastard? When he talks so uncharacteristically sweet… gazes at you reverently with those big, doe-like eyes… you simply don’t know what to do with yourself. He’s making you go crazy.

When you work up the courage to look at him again, you swear your heart almost stops. Both your eyes meet in a silent exchange of adoration. You hadn’t realized it earlier, but in this spot where the silvery moonlight shines through in gratuitous amounts, you notice a damning detail. There are tear streaks on his cheeks. Without giving the action much thought, you raise your hand to cup his face. His wet eyelashes flutter shut and he leans into your touch. The pad of your thumb grazes over his cheekbone, gently wiping away what you can. Eventually, he reopens his eyes, and when he does, you adjust yourself so that you may unclasp your bra. The undergarment is thrown haphazardly to an unknown destination.

Both his hands raise, his fingers twitching while they descend to caress your chest.

“Soft…” he whispers, his eyes glowing an otherworldly hue, “So soft.”

Whether he meant to or not, you’ll never know, but his thumbs brush over your nipples just right and you let out a whimper. He freezes in place, his attention going from the flesh in his palms back up to your face. Upon confirming you did indeed release such a debauched sound, he dips his head, his lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking. His eagerness to help himself to your body causes wetness to stain your panties. He lets out a content noise when you thread your fingers through his hair, bringing him in closer. His free hand goes from groping greedily at your chest to traveling downward. It brushes over your lower stomach, then settles itself on the side of your hips.

You let out a huff at the lack of friction where you want it most. Something tells you he would be content to do this for hours, and while that’s a lovely sentiment, it’s akin to torture when you want so much more.

Your hand guides his to where you want it most — right between your thighs.

He pulls back with an audible pop, his lips shiny with saliva. “Oh? Aren’t you a bold little thing. I was in the middle of doing something. You’re just begging to be punished, aren’t you?”

The Wanderer probably expects you to respond with equal brattiness — and maybe you would’ve if your body would stop screaming and let you think for a second — but you don’t. You surprise both him and yourself by whispering in a voice dripped in sin, “Please.”

He swallows thickly. You can feel his arousal twitch to life, hard and hot against your legs. Slowly, so that he may continue savoring your expression, he pulls back until he’s nestled between your legs. He places a chaste kiss against your inner thigh. Then your panties’ hemline. Finally, he presses his lips against your clothed cunt, the slight pressure from his slow, open-mouthed kiss driving you mad with want. You try bucking your hips forward, an act that earns you swift retaliation. His hands hold your hips in place tight. He gives you a warning squeeze, one that communicates he’s working on his time, not yours.

“Ah ah ah,” he chastises, his lips cruelly departing from your clothed cunt to your inner thigh, where he alternates between nibbling and kissing your feverish flesh, “Try anything like that again and I’ll show you how mean I really can be. You think you know, but trust me, you don’t, since I’m actually quite sweet on you…”

His fingers hook around your panties and pull them down. “I know you’re beyond desperate for me, but let’s try to have a little decorum, okay? Or has your lust made you incapable of feeling shame?”

“I liked your mouth better when it was busy,” your comeback would’ve sounded a lot stronger if it didn’t come out like a whine.

“You just always have something to say, don’t you?” He sounds amused more than anything. You never get the chance to respond, for he places his middle and pointer finger against your pussy, applying the most pressure yet. It’s divine if not the furthest thing from enough. “Let’s see if I can change that.”

The Wanderer feels at you, curious, dragging his fingers up and down while studying your various expressions. When he sees something he likes, he focuses the majority of his attention to the spot that caused such a visceral reaction. Through the hot waves of pleasure sinking you into a delightful abyss, you realize he’s found your clit. Not long after discovering the best place to touch you, he replaces his fingers with his lips, pulling you flush against his face. You throw your head back as he devours you, what he lacks in skill is more than made up for by his enthusiasm. You spread your legs further for him, wanting anything he’s willing to offer from the bottom of your soul.

The muscles in your thighs go tense as your release steadily approaches. You can’t remember the last time you were intimate with another, having been on the road for so long. The most you could ever do to appease any carnal need that reared its head was wait until the Wanderer was sound asleep, giving you the chance to relieve yourself. He never left your side long enough to any other time. Or to find any partner you could mess around with. Any flirtatious remarks sent your way ended with the offender cowering from a brutal verbal lashing. Maybe getting launched through a window by a ‘gust of wind’ if they were bold enough to touch you.

No, the man currently eating you out as if his life depended on it was fiercely protective. Now you know why. He wanted you for himself.

When you come, you let out a high-pitched noise, your head lolled to the side and your fingernails digging marks into your palms. This doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He continues lapping and suckling your oversensitive clit, drunk on the sounds he could make you produce. You finally get him to detach yourself from your person using a burst of strength. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, a wicked smirk full display.

You smooth out his tousled indigo locks. “Thank you. That felt really good.”

“I should be the one thanking you for the delectable meal,” he runs his tongue over his lips, further savoring your taste. It’s a miracle you have any semblance of coherent thought after witnessing such an obscene display. “My appetite is far from satiated, though.”

To your great pleasure, he begins removing the layers of clothes that make up his normal outfit. The fast rate at which he does so belies his inner excitement. The golden rings on his middle fingers go first, then his black gloves, and outer white and turquoise tunic. The almost sheer, sleeveless black shirt he wears beneath clings tight to his lean torso. He makes quick work of his belt and shorts, shooting you a bemused look over his shoulder when he catches your eyes.

“Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

“I can’t help it,” comes your rebuttal. “You’re so beautiful.”

His head snaps away and he clears his throat. “S-Surely you can do better than that. I suppose I can accept such uninspired praise for now.”

You raise yourself to a sitting position and settle yourself behind him, your bare chest pressing against his back. It doesn’t take him long to relax in this unexpected embrace. Being this close to him, you’re given the unique opportunity to notice intricacies you couldn’t otherwise. On the nape of his neck is the symbol that represents Electro, its shape the exact same as the one found on your Vision. Your Wanderer certainly is a bundle of mysteries, isn’t he? His muscles go tense when you press a kiss against the spot. You then nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, the earthy scent of kyara wood sticking to his skin.

“You’re not going to say anything about it?”

“Hm? About what?”

“You know what I mean,” his words lack any real bite. “I know you saw it.”

You close your eyes, arriving at an answer surprisingly fast. “I’m sure you’ll tell me about it when you’re ready.”

As if silently voicing his agreement, he twists around, bringing you into a soft liplock. He coaxes you into laying back down. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with any loose strands of hair you feel. Upon opening your eyes, you’re blessed with the sight of a simple smile from the man above you. There’s no underlying haughtiness or malice, just pure, unadulterated devotion. For you and you alone. Something hard brushes against your entrance, causing you to gasp. He chuckles, swooping down to steal another kiss before whispering in your ear,

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

The head of his cock presses against your lower lips. He rubs himself against you teasingly, coating himself in your essence for more lubrication. Slowly, he sinks himself inside you, the fingers on your hips trembling from the unusual sensation. You do your best to relax your breathing and body to better take him in. He enters inch by inch, the drag of his length against your inner walls a touch uncomfortable if not incredibly fulfilling. You’re unable to focus on your body getting used to the feeling when he’s panting by your ear, soft moans falling out in abundance.

“Fuck,” he hisses through grinding teeth, “That’s good.”

He goes still when he bottoms out inside you. Slowly yet surely, the dull ache from the stretch fades. The room is filled with the sound of both your labored breathing and rain hitting the fogged-up window panes. You drink in one another’s presence. The world itself could come to an end, and still, you’d be content. Having fully adjusted, you feel bold enough to bring him impossibly closer by locking your legs around his waist. He grunts, his eyes wide-blown.

“You can move now. Hm… or should I take the lead?” You ask teasingly.

The skin beneath his eyes tightens when he grins. “Hah. I’d like to see you try.”

“I’ll hold you to tha— mm…”

He pulls himself out of you to the tip and then plunges back in, causing you to throw your head back. He’s big and of decent girth but without being too much to handle. Your low, heavy moan causes his cock to twitch inside you. There must be nothing he enjoys more than the sounds you make. He commits himself to taking you at a moderate pace, his hands on your hips bringing you down to meet his thrusts. His lips are on yours again, this kiss being the messiest yet, a clash of tongue and teeth. He shoves his tongue into your mouth and allows you to taste yourself. It's greedy, it's unrefined, and most importantly, it’s everything you want.

A thin bridge of saliva connects your lips when he parts, his eyes narrow with glee. “You love me. You really— ah— love me…!”

The Wanderer buries his face in the crook of your neck, his pace growing faster. You rub circles into your clit, another release right on the horizon from his previous actions. He’s doing what he can to keep his volume down, and yet you’re still treated to a lovely melody of pants and moans. There is no song that could ever compare. He might not be whispering sweet nothings into your ear, but this is infinitely better. Watching him get drunk and lose himself in pleasure when he’s normally so composed is a privilege exclusive to you.

“I’m close,” you whimper, every inch of your existence engulfed with heat, “So close.”

“Go on then. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Each sensual roll of his hips brings you higher and higher. He devotes himself to your ecstasy, fucking you with more strength than you expected him to use. It’s all too much. His cock massaging your insides, his tenor voice letting out the most unholy voices near your ear, the frenzied stimulation of your clit that lost its rhythm ages ago. You arch your back, your walls squeezing and fluttering as you cry out. He presses his forehead against yours while you lose yourself beneath him.

“There we go, just like that,” he coos. “That made for quite a sight. You really were made for me. Or maybe…”

After a moment’s contemplation, he voices a thought tinged with indecipherable emotion. “Maybe I was made for you.”

From his increasingly erratic thrusts, you can guess that he’s getting close as well. His vice-like grip on your hips is sure to leave bruises for the days that follow. The sound of skin on skin carries throughout the small space while the scent of sweat and sex permeates the air. Through the haze clouding your mind, you swear to yourself that you’ll always remember this. You want this special moment shared between you both inked into your subconscious. His alluring scent, his frantic touch, his bittersweet taste and little moans.

When he comes, he forces your hips down to meet his stuttering thrusts. Warmth seeps into your insides. He doesn’t stop there, he fucks his release deeper into you, your name rolling off his tongue with all the piety of a devotee worshipping their god. He goes soft inside you yet doesn’t pull out, seemingly content to stay put while he catches his breath. Absent-mindedly, you rub circles into his shoulder blades, encouraging him to relax. He ends up relaxing a little too much, collapsing on top of you and resting his head on your chest. His arms go around your shoulders and pull you flush against him. It would appear even a mere inch separating you both is unforgivable in his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Mm.”

“You’re heavy.”

“Not my problem.”

“Get off already.”

“Don’t wanna.”

His world-renowned brattiness has made a triumphant return. You try propping yourself up by your elbows, only to be met with him nuzzling himself into you further. You tumble gracelessly back onto the ground. How can he be annoying yet so endearing at the same time? He’s a walking set of contradictions. Due to the physical inactivity, the night’s frigid air starts to have more bite to it. Shivers and goosebumps erupt over your body.

“At least let me get dressed,” you huff, rolling your eyes at the petty way he tightens his grip around you. “Know that if I get sick, it’s all your fault. I’ll be making you wait on me hand and foot.”

“Fine. Be quick about it, irksome woman. I was enjoying myself.”

The Wanderer reluctantly rolls off to the side. His member slides out of you, leaving you feeling empty in its absence. Before you can start moving, he takes two fingers and pushes any cum that’s trickled out back in. Then he slides your panties back up to keep it in place. You give him a questioning look, to which he smirks, pressing another kiss to the inside of your thighs and then sitting up.

“There’ll always be a part of me inside of you now,” he explains, visibly satisfied at the thought.

What a weirdo. You decide to keep that to yourself. “Could you help me with the yukata again, please?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he pretends to ponder, a hand on his chin. “I think I prefer it when you look like this. Besides, I still need to get revenge for how you so brazenly insulted me earlier. What was it again? I’m ‘conceited, insensitive, and stubborn to a fault’, right? Sorry, it doesn’t seem like I’m the type of person to help others in need.”

“What if someone looks in the window and sees me?”

A malignant shadow falls over his face.

“I’d tear them to pieces.”

“... Isn’t that overkill?”

“I sure don’t think so,” he twirls his finger in the air. “Now turn around before I change my mind."

Similar to earlier, he helps you into the yukata, though the atmosphere is far more pleasant. He’s humming a tune to himself as he ensures everything is in order. After he’s content with his handiwork, he pulls you down onto the futon, clinging to you from behind. A shower sounds heavenly right about now, but you’re doubtful he’s going to let you out of his sight tonight. If you’re being entirely honest with yourself, you don’t really mind.

Exhaustion hits you like a ton of bricks. This is made worse by the comfortable blankets he pulls over you both. Your eyelids flutter shut, the siren’s song of sleep luring you in. His soft breath tickles the back of your neck and makes you smile.

“Hey, [First], are you awake?”

“I think so.”

“Good, 'cause you need to hear this,” he inhales sharply, his next words coming out as a whisper. “I… I love you too.”

“Let’s stay by one another’s side then.”

“... Always?”

“Always.”

When the puppet falls asleep that night, he sheds tears in his dreams, though this time it is not from sorrow, but overabounding joy.

#i write sin like twice a year #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #reader insert #scaramouche brainrot #not sfw #my stuff

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another-lost-mc · 1 year

Text

only in dreams

you're not as quiet as you think you are.

solomon x reader | one-sided lucifer x reader

1k words | nsfw | gn!reader

cw: normal mode 45-18 AU (solomon & reader are in a relationship/share a bed). voyeurism; angst (unrequited love)

There are nights when Lucifer dreams of you.

The most recurring dream is the night he made his pact with you. Weary and emotional with your imminent departure lurking over the horizon, you stared him down in all his prideful, black-feathered glory. Your courage on that night, and so many times since, never ceases to amaze him.

The time you lived together in the House of Lamentation gifted him so many fond memories. Fleeting images and scents and sounds are subconsciously connected to the things you’ve done, the words you’ve shared, and all the ways your very existence has changed him. He is often reminded of you and your friendship; he is haunted by the knowledge that you are only his friend because you love another.

He can’t drink a particular vintage of Demonus without remembering your last night in the Devildom (with him). Sometimes he listens to the cursed TSL record and regrets not asking you to dance. You looked enchanted by the beautiful, haunting melody when you listened to it; he believes you would’ve said yes.

Above all else, he remembers the feeling of your arms wrapped around him while you held each other in the warm glow of the fireplace. He remembers choking down the urge to ask about your feelings for him. He told you that your friendship was enough, and it is. Lucifer’s hope that one day you’ll want something more is buried deep within his heart.

Sometimes when Lucifer dreams of that night, different events spring to life in the filthiest corners of his imagination. He sees you before him, eyes dark and glittering with barely-concealed lust. He dreams about your trembling hands cupping his cheeks and the slow anticipation when you draw him closer. He can almost feel the soft kiss against his mouth, hesitant at first until he pulls you against him and drinks down your whimpers with kisses of his own. He imagines leading you to his room and slipping off layers of clothing until nothing remains secret between you. He craves your fingernails scratching along his back while he moves inside you and pleasure consuming you both until the Devildom dawn.

When he wakes up from dreams about the night that could’ve been, he can almost hear your soft moans against his ear while his cock aches against his sheets for relief.

Tonight, Lucifer wakes up with familiar pangs of lust churning deep within his belly. Across the room, he hears a sound that is absolutely not a dream.

He glances at the bed next to his. It’s closest to the window, and the full moon hangs bright in the sky; your naked body is bathed in its ethereal glow. He watches your chest rise and fall in time with your breathy sighs. Your back arches off the mattress while Solomon’s hand holds your hip in place. The sorcerer’s head bends low while his mouth worships you between your thighs. Your hands are tangled in his hair.

Lucifer knows he should look away and pretend Solomon isn’t preparing you with his fingers while his lips suck greedily along your arousal. He knows he should close his eyes and forget the image of you tilting your head back as pleasure threatens to overwhelm you.

Lucifer makes an effort to imagine anything possible that will distract him from what’s happening in the bed beside him. He gives up when your breath hitches and you come with a moan, the sound choked and desperate from your attempt to be quiet. The sorcerer between your legs raises himself up and over you, caging you underneath him while his hips slot perfectly against yours. Lucifer can see the moment when Solomon finally claims you - your legs wrap around his waist and he lowers himself so he can drag his lips and teeth across your skin while he rocks inside you.

The bed creaks slightly in time with Solomon’s thrusts. You’re trying to be quiet but neither of you are succeeding. You’re biting your lip to try and muffle your sounds, and Solomon is groaning his pleasure against your neck. The rhythm of his hips slowly picks up speed, and Lucifer watches one of Solomon’s hands disappear between your bodies. Whatever he's doing to you makes you whine with need. Solomon tries to smother the sound with a hard kiss, but he’s nearly as loud as you are, and you both end up panting against each other’s lips.

When you both reach the precipice, Solomon suddenly covers your mouth with his free hand in time to muffle your cry. He drinks in the sight of you coming undone beneath him, and his hips start to lose their rhythm. He makes a growling rumble deep in his chest, and your body jolts when he bites into your shoulder to hide his own desperate shout.

You’re both breathing heavily, laying with tangled limbs under the moonlight. Lucifer can see sweat glisten on Solomon’s back. The sorcerer eventually lifts himself off you and cups your cheek as he stares into your sleepy, half-lidded gaze. He returns your warm, syrupy smile with one of his own.

Watching the two of you make love didn't feel as intimate as watching you kiss afterwards, and Lucifer finally looks away.

Solomon gets up from the bed and Lucifer pretends to be asleep while the sorcerer fetches something to clean you with. When he rejoins you in bed, your murmurs eventually taper off to deep breathing and soft snores.

Lucifer feels dirty in more ways than one. His pants are sticky from his own release, the sounds of your pleasure driving him over edge untouched. He swallows thickly around the lump in his throat and wonders when he became so desperate.

When he drifts off into a restless slumber, Lucifer hopes he never has to relive this night again in his dreams.

read more: solomon masterlist | obey me masterlist

#obey me solomon #obey me lucifer #obey me solomon x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #solomon x reader #lucifer x reader #solomon smut #lucifer angst #obey me x reader #obey me smut #obey me angst #x reader #gn!reader

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mamayan · 7 months

Note

YAN MY BABYGURL CONGRATA ON YOUR MILESTONE!

I am here to give my try for your Russian Roulette. Can be nsfw or not (your decision and how you feel like 💋)

9, 37, 46, 61 either with Kyojuro or Kokushibo ❤️

BANG! … no bullet was shot—

Kokushibo

“Let me hold you?” || Sleep || Tangled hair || Soulmates

tw: Suggestive • NSFW • Suggestive Angst

wc: 618

“Please…”

He should kill you.

“Let me hold you?”

If he allows this to continue any longer, you’ll surely infect his mind further. You, an enchantment no doubt, have haunted him for months with that sweet scent and earnest gaze. A weak creature not meant for the night like he, yet you so kindly embrace him despite his monstrous appearance and wicked deeds. His desire for strength and achievement shudders beneath your fingers.

He should kill you.

You who sleepily wraps your arms around his neck as he lowers himself over you, brushing his lips against your own while you invite him into your bed again. You should know better, he has warned you many times in the past. You aren’t very obedient, but he hardly cares when you part your lips for him to taste you. His kiss is sensual, slower and gentler than usual. He’s savoring you, the feeling of you close to him while his blackened soul writhes against the clean half you possess. Your soft figure beneath him is the most right he’s ever felt in over four hundred years and he knows you are his own personal punishment for his sins against humanity. You don’t listen when he tells you to run, but you open up so willingly when he slots himself between your thighs. His hands greedily tracing your figure, squeezing you almost painfully as he assures himself once more you are real and not a figment of his lonely mind.

He should kill you.

Except his mind goes blank as he sheathes himself inside you, your body warm and welcoming for him as you mewl in pleasure. Your tight entrance is wet enough he hardly needs any force to sink to your deepest parts. He loses the fight immediately, succumbing to your eyes devoid of anything but complete adoration and acceptance. He loses the battle when you moan his name and beg for more, “Michikatsu, harder please—.” A great warrior crumbling before a mere human, seduced and destroyed.

His hand wraps around your delicate throat, other arm braced to lean himself over you so he can watch. All six eyes he detests normally but feels grateful for now trained on you, watching every little reaction as he softly holds you down while his hips work to throw you into ecstasy. The way your eyes water but never leave his face, lips parted and gasping for breath his cock keeps stealing from you, he watches in fascination and anxiety.

He could kill you.

You wouldn’t even resent him. So much unfathomable understanding in your eyes, it’s a wonder you still hold the compassion that you do. The trust you place in him, a demon no one could love, yet you do the unthinkable effortlessly.

“Michikatsu, I’m—,” he can feel your body tightening, trembling below.

“I know.” He loses himself again, in your pleasure and softness, in your arms which hold him gently. His hair spills, tickling your neck as he lets his canines lightly graze over the sensitive skin where your pulse races. “Go ahead, break for me.” His guttural tone is all you need to fall apart, clinging to him tightly as he finds release inside of you too. Your name on his lips as he loses again.

He should kill you...

Your hands tangle in his hair, sweaty skin making you glow in the low candle light. “I love you,” it’s nearly inaudible but he hears it. Your smile is more radiant than the sun he can not bask in.

He should kill you… before you make him forsake his own immortality to die with you.

You’re asleep before he whispers the words aloud.

“I love you too…”

post dividers/@cafekitsune

#500 Event #kokushibo #kny kokushibo #Kokushibo smut #demon slayer #kny smut #kimetsu no yaiba #kny michikatsu #kokushibo x reader #short drabble

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bump1nthen1ght · 6 months

Text

A Very Monstrous Kinktober: Day 19 (Exhibitionism + Voyeurism)

Kink: Exhibitionism + Voyeurism

Pairing: Male!Troll x Fem!Reader x Male!Ghost

Other Kinks: Cowgirl, Doggy Style, Male Masturbation

Warnings: Non-Consensual Voyeurism (Reader doesn't know the Ghost is there)

Word Count: 1003 words

Kinktober Masterlist

William often beleaguered his fate. Killed as a half-decent bard, his body abandoned by the shallow adventuring party he followed, he was left to haunt the most depressing cave of treasure of all time. It wasn’t even good treasure, the months of staring at the bland horde reminding him that this is what he died for.

Not to mention the inhabitant of the cave, his very murderer, an enormous Mountain Troll who Willian knew could see him, yet never spoke to him.

That was the biggest lesson to be found in this, William supposed. Life is short, but death is super long. And boring. Very boring.

So imagine his surprise when the hottest temple maiden he had ever seen walks into the cave. So serene, not even carrying a weapon, you glided into the cave like an angel. Your pure white and gold garb help match the image, your beauty so ethereal William thought he had finally moved on to the afterlife. What on earth could you want here? Treasure, glory? He couldn’t imagine those things would interest you.

And it seems they definitely didn’t, if the way you moan around the Troll’s cock was any indication.

That had been William’s second shock of the night; Seeing the Troll greet you with a nod, quickly sitting down and undoing his crude loin cloth at a wave of your hand. William had barely been able to process that when you stripped off your saintly robes and climbed up the Troll’s chest. You purred the Troll’s name, which William didn’t even know it had, giving it gentle kisses like reunited lovers. Despite the Trolls massive size, you showed no hesitation when lining his head up with your pussy lips. Your cunt was a soaking wet with your slick, probably (hopefully) magically enchanted to not be ripped in half as you sheathed it inside you

After his brain caught up, William became aware of the painful tent in his trousers. He had slept with another bard about a week before his death, but even she could not compare to you in this moment. Your moans were angelic, your body heavenly as it bounced up and down the Troll’s cock. Your soft hands pawed at the Troll’s chest, calling out its name as you fucked yourself on its cock. By gods, it was so erotic William almost felt like his ghostly self could faint from all the blood rushing to his erection.

You keep spouting words of love and affection for the abomination. Your filthy vocabulary seems shameful for a woman so beautiful, but nonetheless was intoxicating. William’s balls ache at the sight of your ass, hips wiggling as you take the Mountain Troll to the base, whining at his size. Forgetting all prior sense of propriety, William fishes out his cock and begins fisting it. If there was to be one thing to be grateful of, it was that his apparition went unnoticed by you and he could be privy to your voluptuous figure.

Unfortunately for him, the Troll was very much aware of him.

Dammit, the bastard had been so boring and emotionless the entire time William haunted him. But now, now he was smirking. Even with the most beautiful woman atop of him, the Troll took time to glance at William. That boastful sheen as he would thrust up just a bit, gaining a cacophony of pleads and moans from you. He could feel your body up against him, he could suck on your tits as they bounced in his face. While William was left to only watch, tugging at his member and dreaming of feeling that tightness, that warmth.

The Troll is gentle as it goads you along, stroking your back, pressing kisses to your chest as you work tirelessly above him. William couldn’t hear the words he mutters in your ears, but he imagines they are dark and lewd, praise for the beauty that sits in his lap. Just the low tone of his murmurs sends a shiver down William’s spine, making him gasp for breath.

He hadn’t realized how desperate he had been for attention, for affection, just someone to touch. Like a fresh young man stepping into the world for the first time, it doesn’t take long for William to feel his orgasm creeping on. If the heightening pitch of your voice and the slurring of your words were any indicator, you were as well. You dig your fingers in the Troll’s chest, chanting his name as you chase your high off his cock.

“Oh, Rictus! Rictus, Rictus, Rictus!” You whine, your lover giving a sly smile to your sweet calls. But your melody has a far more profound impact on William. He can so easily imagine the syllables swapped for his own, how beautiful it would sound coming from your lips. He can feel his balls tighten, his own moans pathetic and breathless, as he spills all over his own hand.

William feels an exhaustion he thought lost to his incorporeal form, and collapses to his knees. His heart no longer beats yet he heaves for air, his body remembering the motions of what it was like to be tired. He can hear your own pants too, lazy eyes drifting up to see you’ve halted collapsing on the Troll’s chest. A white ring forms around the base of the Mountain Troll’s cock, still hard and still sheathed inside of you.

The Troll has the graciousness to let you catch your breath (unintentionally William’s as well), before he turns you around, still on his dick. Rictus, as William now knows him, shifts upward, using a large forearm to hold you upright as you lean towards his legs. He gives William another smarmy smirk, before snapping his hips and fucking into you. Rictus’ stamina is far from spent and he intends to use your sweet hole as much as he can for your time together.

William sighs, feeling the blood rush back to his cock.

It's gonna be a long night.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #female reader insert #trolls #ghost

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oliversrarebooks · 2 months

Text

The Rare Bookseller Part 42: Fitz's Cold Comfort

Prev > Masterlist > Next

June 1905

tw: captivity, mind control, aftermath of burns and mouth whump

When Fitz opened his eyes again, he was somewhere else entirely, being laid out onto an upholstered couch. His mind was swimming, still drowning in sleep. He was in a bedroom, a particularly large and ornate one. His childhood home? How was he back there? He couldn't be -- not when he'd been out for so many years --

No, he realized just as he started to panic, this was a different nightmare entirely. He was still in the auction house, still with the vampires. Through his lidded eyes he saw Mr. Alexander setting him down, and behind him, Miss Lily being comforted by a long-haired woman in a simple pinafore and apron.

"Mr. Lex, sir, what happened?" she asked.

"Our sire punished her -- forced her to cut out her tongue again."

Again?

"Please attend to your madam, Nellie. Take her into the bathroom and help her wash off the blood and calm down. She'll need to feed from you in order to begin healing the wound."

"Of course, sir, of course. Thank you for helping my madam, sir."

Fitz blinked, and Mr. Alexander was looming over him, making him involuntarily flinch. "It's okay, Fitz. I'm going to wash your wound with cool water. Please hold still."

He willed himself to stay still as Mr. Alexander brought a washcloth to the burns on his chest. The cooling sensation of the water felt heavenly, and he couldn't help but sink into it.

"There's an awful bruise on your face, too. Did he hit you?"

"Mm," said Fitz. For denying that I wanted you to buy me, he didn't add.

"Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

"No, just the slap and the burns and the general air of threat and torment, sir."

"...I'm sorry," he said softly. "I need to go fetch some bandages and lotion. I won't be long. Why don't you rest, go back to sleep?" Before Fitz could respond either way, Alexander began to sing his lullaby once more, and Fitz couldn't help his eyes growing dull and heavy after only a few bars, couldn't fight the pull of enchanted slumber. He didn't want to go back to sleep, but he couldn't help but just rest his eyes for --

"Fitz. I'm back. Can I help you sit up?"

He opened his eyes, confused. He had only just blinked. Hadn't he?

"Here, let me help take the dress off, and then I can give you some lotion for the burn. I brought some pajama pants you can wear."

"Alright, sir," said Fitz, despising how useless and helpless he felt, how he was too tired for wit. How much he was at the mercy of this vampire's kindness. The memory of the Maestro effortlessly toying with his body as though he were a doll haunted him, and while Alexander's power was far more pleasant, he still couldn't help feeling trapped.

He wanted to believe that Mr. Alexander was better, that he'd escaped or at least postponed the worst of it, but how could he know for sure? How could he possibly begin to trust a vampire? And even if he could trust Mr. Alexander, there was the Maestro's challenge, his promise of inevitable tragedy.

There was a truly awful noise coming from the bathroom, something between a retch and a howl, and Mr. Alexander stopped unlacing Fitz's corset for a moment. "Lily's having a rough time, to say the least. I know it sounds terrible, but she will heal in a few days at most," he said, resuming. "Vampires can heal from almost any wound, given an adequate supply of blood. One important reason why we keep thralls, not as if I expect you to sympathize."

His new purpose, to feed a vampire. Even after all that had happened, Miss Lily's spell of submission still had a grip on him, made him long to be close to Mr. Alexander. "I understand, sir. Perhaps I wish I didn't, but I do."

"Here, sit down, this will help with the discomfort," said Mr. Alexander, as he gently pushed Fitz back down onto the couch. He had a little metal kit with a red cross painted on it, and he pulled out some pink cream and began applying it to the branded spot on Fitz's chest. It was soothing, and Fitz found he could breathe easier, sinking into the couch cushions.

"I'm going to have to stay here at the auction house for the next few days to help with Lily's work, while she regains her voice. While I was downstairs, I arranged for a room for us to stay in. We'll go home after that," said Mr. Alexander.

Home. His new owner's home, of course.

"Lily is my little sister in spirit, you see, and I can't just abandon her. Not after what happened," he continued. "I hope you don't mind."

Fitz started intently at where Mr. Alexander was taping a bandage to his wound. "Does it actually matter if I mind, sir?"

Mr. Alexander's hands dropped. He cleared his throat. "It does," he said. "And I certainly don't expect you to trust or forgive me after that, but... I am sorry. It was either follow his order or leave you with him, and what he does to his thralls..."

"And you're different, sir?"

"I like to think so, yes," said Alexander. "I won't harm you. I'll treat you well. I'll give you everything that you desire, that's within my power to grant. You have my word."

Fitz wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe that so badly. That's what made it a dangerous thing to believe. Hell, he'd seen this very con game before: one confidence artist as the tough guy threatening the mark, while another takes the role of a helpful good Samaritan, to ingratiate themselves more easily to the mark. How did Fitz know this wasn't all planned?

"You have every incentive to treat me however you please, sir," said Fitz. "Didn't your sire say that if you didn't train me to his standards, you'd be punished as well?"

"I don't care." There was a sudden flame in Mr. Alexander's eyes, a fierceness that hadn't been there a second ago. "He is not taking you, Fitz. Not ever. You're mine."

"Sir...?" Fitz couldn't help but be taken off guard by this sudden show of protectiveness and possessiveness in one.

"I haven't truly desired anything in decades," said Mr. Alexander with frightening intensity. "He may have delivered you back to me in order to control me, but all he's done is provided the incentive for me to finally break free of him, no matter what it takes."

Just as back in the showroom, Fitz could feel those eyes tunneling into him, could feel the weight and presence of the vampire's need. He could feel Mr. Alexander's hunger, his dark desire, and it took the last vestiges of his willpower to keep holding onto his mind.

It should be terrifying. They'd only just met earlier that evening, and Mr. Alexander owned him. With his vampiric and mesmeric powers, he could do anything he liked to Fitz.

And yet.

No one had ever felt so passionate about Fitz, not really. He'd flirted and manipulated his way into many a heart and many a bed, but no one had truly seen him as more than an idle diversion. He'd never had someone to care at all.

He wanted it, despite himself.

But everything Mr. Alexander was saying was exactly as the Maestro had predicted it. Mr. Alexander wanting to possess him, Mr. Alexander thinking they could both be saved.

Fitz swallowed his thought. He didn't want Mr. Alexander to know that and give him incentive to treat Fitz poorly, or discourage his plot to kill his sire.

A lot could happen in one year.

The moment between them was broken by Miss Lily slamming open the door to the bathroom. Compared to her perfect poise during the auction, and even how put-together she had been when meeting her sire in the parlor, she looked as though a horse had trampled her. Her hair was falling around her face in tangles, her makeup was half-washed off and smeared, and her dress was skewed.

"You look terrible. How are you feeling?" asked Mr. Alexander.

Her glare said it all.

"Sorry, I mean -- it's understandable that you look terrible after all of that -- you understand what I was saying -- perhaps I should shut my mouth," said Mr. Alexander, clearing his throat.

Miss Lily sighed and gestured towards Fitz.

"I fetched a first aid kit and patched him up. He should be fine," said Mr. Alexander before Fitz could report on his own condition. "I talked to Colette downstairs. She's going to let me fill in for you while you're... indisposed. Fitz and I will be staying in the room three doors to the left from here."

Miss Lily looked so tired as she nodded. As she crossed the room, she pat Mr. Alexander on the shoulder in a gesture that seemed to convey gratitude, then absentmindedly pat Fitz on the head before sitting on the bed. She gestured towards the bathroom, and Nellie emerged, walking briskly to sit next to her vampire owner. Fitz could feel the pull of Miss Lily's aura as she tucked back Nellie's hair, brushing her neck, before giving Mr. Alexander a pointed look.

"Oh, yes, we should retire to our own quarters so you can feed in private. Besides, Fitz needs rest after all of that."

By this time, Mr. Alexander's spell had worn off enough that his anxiety had returned. "I don't know how you expect me to rest after all of that, sir."

"I was going to put you to sleep again," said Mr. Alexander as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

Fitz looked from him to where Miss Lily was waiting impatiently for them to leave. Nellie was looking at her rapturously, tilting her head to expose her neck, waiting for the feeding. A vampire's servant, just as he was, now.

Is that how he would look? Adoring, staring into Mr. Alexander's eyes, with no thought in the world but to give his blood to a vampire.

"Let's go and give them some privacy," said Mr. Alexander, sweeping Fitz up into his arms.

"I could walk --" he protested.

"There's no need."

And Fitz really did have no choice but to let Mr. Alexander carry him out of the room, down the hallway to an equally ornate room. No choice but to allow him to tuck him in bed or sing him back to sleep.

Or perhaps he did have a choice, and he was simply too exhausted to make it.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Next week we'll return to Oliver's time as Alexander receives a social call.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree

#whump #whump writing #vampires #vampire whump #vampire whumper #mind control #rare bookseller #fitz #alexander #lily

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olive-fics · 7 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨-Harvest of Hearts-Abby Anderson Headcanons-୧ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

I'm sorry I can't help myself with October and my Abby Anderson head-canons tbh..hdsfkjhf

- Also this makes up for the fact I wont be doing KinkTober -`♡´-

-October held a special place in Abby's heart; it was her absolute favorite time of the year. She adored the crisp autumn air, the rich tapestry of colors that painted the landscape, and above all else, the enchanting magic of Halloween.

-Abby cherished the moments she spent with you, her girlfriend, in your shared love for autumn. Some of her most treasured activities with you included Pumpkin Patch Dates, Haunted House adventures, Apple Picking, cozy Movie Marathons, and dreamy nights of stargazing.

Pumpkin Patch Date: Abby would insist on an early start, knowing that the morning sun cast a warm, golden glow over the pumpkin patch. It was the best time to choose the healthiest and most vibrant pumpkins for carving.

-As you would wander through the pumpkin patch, she'd giggle affectionately when you picked out pumpkins with quirky shapes, unusual spots, or even ones with multicolored splotches.

-She'd suggest taking polaroid photos of each other holding the chosen pumpkins, capturing your smiles and the sunlight filtering through the leaves from the mostly barren trees.

Haunted Houses: Haunted houses held a special place in Abby's heart, and the anticipation built throughout the year was her favorite. It wasn't merely the chilling thrills or the eerie ambiance that drew her in; what excited her the most was seeing your scared face and when you clung onto her after someone in a cheesy mask jumped out at you two.

-To comfort you Abby would let you squeeze her hand and she would do the thing where she rubs her thumb over your fingers. Her touch was not just comforting but almost therapeutic, she made sure you were okay throughout the house with soft pecks and giggles.

-When startled by actors in costume, Abby wouldn't just scream, she'd also burst into laughter, turning the scares into a shared joke between you two.

Apple Picking: Abby fucking loves apples, there's no way. Abby's excitement for apple picking was contagious, and she wanted to ensure that your day in the orchard was nothing short of perfect. She'd insist on an early morning start, well before the orchard's gates opened to the public. It wasn't just about the freshness of the apples; it was about the serene ambiance of the early hours, the gentle sunlight filtering through the trees, and the crispness in the air that made it the ideal time for picking.

-Abby would gently coax you into parting your lips as she playfully stuffed the apple into your mouth making you share one with her, giggling.

-Abby paid close attention to your preferences, and if you had a specific type of apple you favored, she'd make it her mission to seek out and handpick only those varieties

Movie Marathons: Abby made sure to remember your preferences on scary movies so she could make a list to watch with you..

-The couch or bed would be adorned with a multitude of plush pillows and a couple of cozy blankets for you both to snuggle into. Abby had a way of making you feel at ease, she often became your preferred pillow since you got easily scared at these movies..

-Abby held you even closer, her arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. She made sure to comfort you when you shook or gasped. Abby's grip would tighten briefly, as if to say, "I'm here", and "I've got you hon."

-If you fell asleep during the movies she wouldn't even be disappointed because she knew you were like this when all snuggled up and cozy..

Stargazing: Abby would lay out blankets on the grass, creating a cozy nest for both of you to snuggle into. The softness of the blankets and the warmth of her presence was all you needed.

Abby would hold you close kissing your forehead and whispering soft compliments and sighs.

Sometimes if it was damp out Abby would set up blankets and pillows just like she would in the fields and do it in the 'bed' of her pickup truck..

Okay this was really lazy, I have a headache and I need to write smth about mechanic Ellie (?)

I love Abby and October so I needed to write my fav head-cannons.. There's probably a bunch of spelling errors but..whateverr...

Okay bye bye!! -`♡´-

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hirazuki · 1 year

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I had completely forgotten that it was in Nan Elmoth that Thingol and Melian met, and that Thingol explicitly suffered an enchantment after wandering in, and that the enchantment still lay upon the forest when Aredhel entered it, years later; and it probably lasted until the breaking of Beleriand at the end of the First Age...

And now I'm entertaining a headcanon that the forest is Beleriand's Bermuda Triangle -- Thingol and Aredhel are the most notable missing person cases, yes, but there are many others who have gone into the forest or even just strayed too close to its borders and allegedly have never been seen again; travelers and merchants and hunters, all disappearing. It gains the reputation of being haunted or cursed (not in the horror-and-madness-walked terror of Dungortheb kind of way, but more in a less severe, urban legend kind of way); a bedtime story to frighten children; just enough for the more superstitious folk to willingly add a day or two to their journeys to avoid it, just in case, but not enough for the more pragmatically-minded to resist scoffing at the notion and thinking it absurd, leading to many arguments. Perhaps it becomes a favorite spot for dares among the younger elves, challenging each other to spend a night under the shadow of its trees Eol having to chase all these damn elflings that have started appearing off of his lawn, grandma-style

And even after Beleriand sinks under the waves, the rumors persist that there is an area upon the sea -- many days out and almost a direct shot westwards from the northernmost reaches of the Ered Luin -- where ships simply vanish. And if sailors of those vessels ever do reappear, drifting into port on wood that should be long-rotted or suddenly, inexplicably, finding themselves standing behind a market stall or sitting on an inn stool, they do so with no memory of what occurred; only the haziest dream-like recollection of deep twilight and birdsong.

#silmarillion #random thoughts brought to you by me continuing my reread #i have no one irl to really yell at about tolkien atm (sis is at full capacity with other fandoms and can't handle diving back into silm)#so i'll probably be inflicting y'all with these as i work out what i want my personal 'canon' for fic purposes to be ^^#i should prob tag these with something consistent to be able to find them all later #...#silm musings #there we go XD #silm #eol

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 8 months

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Note: requested by anon :)

Warnings: 18+! fluff/suggestive/angst. mention of alcohol, cheating, heartbreak.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: After a false accusation, you changed your life around. But it came back to haunt you after you met Sihtric.

wordcount: 4.5k

Masterlist

'You're still ruining lives!'

Brida: you're a such a fucking bitch!

You: ?? wow okay

Brida: I can't believe you fucked Ragnar!

You: wait

You: WHAT?!

You stared at the incoming texts from Brida, your best friend, who was accusing you of sleeping with her boyfriend, Ragnar. Which you really hadn't. Yes, you were a bit of a bitch and you enjoyed playing the players, so to say, but Ragnar wasn't a player. Or so you thought.

You: I would never do that!

You: first of all, you're my best friend!

You: you know I don't mess with my friends' boyfriends!! I can believe you're accusing me of this!

You: I have no idea where you are getting this story from…

Brida: Aethelwold told me!

You: are you fucking serious?!

You: you're believing that piece of weasel shit over me?!

Brida: fuck you! You fucking whore!!!

And just like that, your best friend had blocked you. And you'd soon find out she deleted you from all her social media, as had Ragnar. You weren't one to easily get upset, or to cry, but this had seriously left you with a horrible feeling. So you were upset, and you did cry.

And in the following days you abruptly changed your mindset as well as your lifestyle. You had enough of messing around with douchebags, even if they deserved it. For years you enjoyed giving fuckboys a taste of their own shitty medicine, but look where it has gotten you. You suddenly realised your days of fucking in a public toilet or, worse, somewhere in a dark corner on the street with some jerk were over.

No more messing around. No more boys in general for a while. It was time to grow up.

When you finally downloaded a dating app again, you hadn't dated or messed with any guys for almost a year and half. On the app you quickly matched with a guy named Uhtred, who was quite handsome. You went out on a date but, as nice as he was, you didn't feel that romantic spark. However, there was an instant friendship. You kept in touch and became good friends. You soon found out Uhtred knew Brida too. He told you he had a falling out with her about a year ago, and you told him you hadn't heard from her in a while either. You weren't proud of your past and you were still hurting from the false accusation, so you figured there was no reason to tell Uhtred why you and Brida stopped talking.

In the following months you also became friends with Uhtred's friends, and he even tried to set you up with Osferth, which you thankfully declined. He was sweet, but not your type. And his other friend, Finan, who was a handsome Irish man, was smitten by a girl named Eadith. But everyone knew that relationship would never work out, except for Finan himself, so he kept chasing her.

And then you met Sihtric.

Sihtric was a gorgeous and stunning Dane, who was also a sweetheart and a jokester. He was tall and very well built. He had a tattoo on his neck and some on his fingers, and his beautiful face had a few scars, as did the rest of his body. He had a short goatee, a sweet smile, and his eyes were two different colours, which he seemed to easily enchant you with once you noticed it. Overall, Sihtric had a rugged look, which made him smoking hot and sexy as hell. He had the most outrageous haircut you had ever seen when you first met; one side completely shaved off while on the other side he had kept his dark curls. And when Uhtred introduced him to you, on a random night out clubbing, you were instantly head over heels. And to your luck, so was Sihtric.

Your relationship started off hot and heavy. That same night you first met, you already went home with him. You had been sexless for nearly two years when you met him, and no man had ever aroused you as much as Sihtric had that first night. The way he danced with you in the club, grinding his crotch against your buttocks as you felt his big hands on your hips. And the way his muscular chest was pressed against your back, so he could lean the side of his face against yours, staying close. And the sound of his sexy laugh in your ear, when you brought your hands up behind you, feeling his curls and the slight stubble underneath your fingertips while resting the back of your head onto his broad shoulder, dancing to the smooth beat of the music together. And his accent when he spoke to you, made your knees weak and your core heat up. You were desperate for a good fuck that night, with a good guy. Not the regular douchebags from your past, you never slept with them out of love. And you could immediately tell Sihtric was a good guy, which made you want to make love with him even more. And to your surprise, he made the first move that night.

'You want to come home with me, beautiful?' Sihtric asked after a few hours, his lips grazed your ear as he spoke, his arms circled around you from behind, 'but… I want to be clear that I'm not a one night stand guy though. So if that's what you're looking for, I'm not your guy.'

You smiled and turned around, placed your hands on his chest while his moved down your back, respectfully resting on your ass, never making it inappropriate. You pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to lean in.

'I don't do one night stands anymore either,' you said in his ear, not quite yelling, but loud enough to be heard over the music.

You leaned slightly back and stared up in his eyes, then you both smiled.

'But, yeah, I'd love to go home with you!' you said after you had pushed yourself up your toes again.

And so Sihtric was quick to call a cab while you grabbed your bag, and you went home with him. At the time, Sihtric had only just moved out of his shared place with Finan, to a new and trendy apartment building, where he lived on the seventh floor. And while the elevator took you up to his floor, you had already rid Sihtric of his leather belt, and he had accidentally pulled a few buttons off your blouse, in an eager attempt to kiss his way down from your neck, until his lips were in between your clavicles.

Sihtric fumbled with his keys, trying to open his front door while he held you in his arms. Your legs around his waist, arms around his neck and your back pressed up against the door, while his lips never left yours and his tongue remained in your mouth. Once inside, Sihtric kicked his off boots while he still held you in his strong arms.

He threw you on his bed with a grin, and he fucked you like no man had ever done before. The way he could switch so easily between gentle and passionate, to rough with an almost violent pace made you scream out his name all night. He pleased you with his mouth, tongue, fingers and his cock, and it was the best sex you ever had in your life; because it was honest and there was a real connection.

And by the time Sihtric had made you finish for a third time that night, you knew you had fallen in love.

You and Sihtric grew close real fast, and you were now dating for about six months. Sihtric was an absolute, hopeless romantic. Not a week went by where he wouldn't show up at your door with flowers, or him leading you towards his kitchen, because he had cooked yet another delicious meal for you without you even asking. And you made him the happiest man alive by leaving little notes around his house before you had to leave, or secretly shoved them inside his pockets so he'd find them later, on which you wrote things such as:

I love you, pretty boy x

Or…

You were so good to me last night, I promise I'll be good to you tonight.

And…

By the time you'll read this, I'll be missing you so badly already…

But Sihtric's favourite notes were the ones he'd find in his kitchen, when he came home after an evening shift, while you were half asleep in his bed already, which would say:

I left you dinner in the oven, and you can eat me for dessert x

You couldn't keep your eyes, hands or mouths away from each other, whether it was in private or in public. Apart from going to work during the day, you were basically inseparable. And while you didn't officially live together, you spent most weekends, evenings and nights together, and you both knew it would only be a matter of weeks before one of you would give up your own apartment and fully move in. And in truth, you both couldn't wait.

While you were completely occupied with each other most of the time, you still made sure to go out with your friends every weekend. And like every Saturday, you found yourself in the same club you first met Sihtric at, dancing with your hot boyfriend and having drinks with the rest of the guys. Uhtred had finally found himself a lady a few weeks ago, Gisela, who kept you company when both your boyfriends had to show off and do some silly armwrestling competition on a table, near the bar.

And as the night progressed, you naturally ended up in Sihtric's arms again, dancing and simply having a good time. You didn't know that while you were all over your boyfriend, one of the guys you messed with years ago had walked into the club; Aethelred. And he had been watching you for a good moment already, determined to ruin your night. And after you told Sihtric you had to use the restroom and gave him a kiss before you left his arms, Aethelred made his way over to your boyfriend.

'Is she your girlfriend?' he asked, 'the one that just walked off?'

'Yeah,' Sihtric furrowed his brow, 'why?'

'Nah,' Aethelred said, 'I used to know her. Real cunt of a woman,' he said and sipped his drink nonchalantly.

'Excuse me?' Sihtric felt his blood boil at the words of the stranger.

'Yeah,' Aethelred shrugged, 'she led me on, man. We fucked once and then she strung me along for weeks. Saying she was into me and that she loved me, but she didn't have time to meet up after that one night, then she suddenly blocked my number and ghosted me. I found out later that's what she does. She's a fucking black widow, mate. You better watch yourself. She'll lure you in, only to fuck you, then she'll devour you and after that she'll spit you out when she had enough, and leave. On to the next guy…'

Sihtric stared at the young man, confused, but also concerned. Why would someone make a story like this up, he thought, there had to be some truth in it. You had told him once that you had a wild period in your life, but you didn't go into full detail, as Sihtric said it didn't matter. You were his girl now, the past was in the past. He just had no idea what it actually was you had done, and he suddenly worried you were playing him.

You walked back into the crowded place but stopped dead in your tracks when you saw Aethelred, the biggest douchebag of all, talking with Sihtric. When you had messed with Aethelred, years ago, he was married, and he was a real asshole towards women. He deserved to be played with, and he knew it too, but he would never forgive you for making him feel like a fool.

You took a deep breath and walked up to Sihtric, who looked a little conflicted.

'Hey, babe,' you smiled and threw your arms around him.

'H-hey,' he smiled weakly.

'Hi,' Aethelred grinned when you met his eyes, but you ignored him, to which he looked sour.

'Long time no see,' he said, 'I'm sure you remember me. I see you've got yourself a new victim.'

'What is your problem?' you hissed and gave him a shove with your shoulder.

'You are my problem!' Aethelred snarled as he stumbled a few steps back.

Uhtred, Osferth and Finan noticed the commotion and came over, just when Sihtric tried to diffuse the situation, his arms around your waist to pull you away from Aethelred when he brought his fist up, ready to punch you in the face.

'Watch it, you fucking prick!' Sihtric shouted, shoving you behind him as he got up in Aethelred's face.

'You're still ruining lives!' Aethelred yelled at you, cowardly taking a step back from Sihtric, 'didn't you even fuck your best friend's guy? What's his name… uh… oh! Ragnar!'

'I didn't!' you yelled.

'Ragnar?' Sihtric frowned and turned around to face you.

'Wait, wait, wait!' Uhtred threw his hands up and turned to you, while Osferth and Finan just stood there gaping.

'Are you the girl who fucked Ragnar and caused him and Brida to break up?' Uhtred asked.

'I never-'

Uhtred turned to Sihtric, ignoring your reply, 'Sihtric, did you know it was her?'

Sihtric, who looked absolutely devastated all of the sudden, shook his head and swallowed hard.

'N-no,' he said, barely audible over the club's noise.

Everyone stared at you and Sihtric, and you felt your eyes tear up when you saw Sihtric's face. Everyone knew of the story about Ragnar and Brida, but no one knew the truth, or who the girl was who supposedly caused their break up; you.

'I swear I didn't do that!' you yelled with a broken voice.

Sihtric nodded and grew timid, then took a step away from you. Finan and Osferth were quick to wrap their arms around him, knowing Sihtric felt betrayed and played, and he was heartbroken. And actually, they all felt played by you. Why did you never tell them about that rumour? If it wasn't true, then why had you hid your past from them all this time? Sihtric felt used and humiliated, and he needed to get away from you. He grabbed his bottle of alcohol, pushed his friends off him and stormed out of the club. And you followed.

'Sihtric!' you yelled, running to keep up with him as he paced through the nearly empty streets, 'Sihtric, wait!'

He didn't react, instead, he gulped down the bottle before he smashed it to pieces on the street.

'Babe, wait! Where are you going?!' you yelled and you jumped over the shattered glass.

'Home!' Sihtric snarled as he turned to face you, 'away from you!'

'Wha- I…'

'Did you have fun?!' he yelled, 'was it worth it?! Was I a good fuck to you?! When were you planning on dumping me? Tonight? Tomorrow? Or would you wait a few more weeks, keeping me around longer, so I'd hurt even more!'

'Sihtric, stop!' you cried and grabbed his arm when he tried to turn away again, 'it's not like that! I swear it's not like that!'

'Did you ever even love me!?' Sihtric shouted as he grabbed your shoulders, 'just, please,' he said with a sob, and broke down in tears, 'did you ever fucking love me?'

You started to cry even harder, not able to bring out a word, as you really thought Sihtric knew your feelings for him were real. How could he think that everything had been a lie? It made you feel sick inside, and you were just speechless.

'Thought so,' Sihtric sniffled and let go of you, 'I… I knew you were too good to be true.'

He turned away from you again and walked off, into the night. Uhtred, Finan and Osferth ran past you, after the Dane, and Osferth was the only one who stopped for a moment.

'How could you do this to him?' he asked you.

And then Osferth left you too, alone, in the middle of the street, with a broken heart. And when you turned around, you saw Aethelred, enjoying his drink with a satisfied look on his face.

For days on end you tried to contact Sihtric, but he didn't reply to any of your messages. He hadn't blocked you, which made it even worse, because you could see he had been reading your messages, he just didn't write back.

In your despair, you wrote to your mutual friends as well, asking if Sihtric was okay. But no one seemed keen to interact with you, apart from one text you got from Finan, in which he told you what a bitch you were. And that's also how you found out what Aethelred had told Sihtric that night. You desperately kept trying to contact Sihtric, needing to know if he was okay, but to no avail.

Until several days later Osferth suddenly replied.

Osferth: no

Osferth: he's not okay

Osferth: what were you thinking?

You: Osferth!

You: thank you for responding… are you with Sihtric right now?

It took a long time before he replied again.

Osferth: yes…

You: please, please tell him I miss him. I swear this is all a misunderstanding! I need Sihtric… please, tell him I need to see him

You could barely see through your teary eyes when you hit send. And minutes later Osferth read your message and replied.

Osferth: he doesn't want to see you, okay?

Osferth: I think you should let this go. Let him go, before you drag him down further… he's broken, you've done enough damage already. leave.

And with those words, your world came crumbling down once again.

Weeks passed, and not a word from Sihtric. You had stopped by his apartment building several times in the evening, knowing he was home, but he refused to answer the intercom, no matter how many times you rang. You knew you were more or less stalking him right now, but he was the most amazing guy you had ever met. You loved Sihtric, wholeheartedly, and you knew he was the only man for you. You couldn't let him slip away like that. Not because of something you didn't even do.

And so, days later, you were once again outside his apartment building, ringing his doorbell downstairs. And as expected, he again ignored you, so you decided to text him.

You: Sihtric, please, just hear me out…

You: what that guy told you in the club that night wasn't completely true. Yes, I used to be a bitch. I messed with guys. And I know it doesn't make it any better, but I only messed with the guys who messed with girls… I treated those guys the same way they treated women, and they didn't like it. I know it was wrong and foolish, but I stopped that almost two years before I met you…

You: it's true that Brida was my best friend, but I swear I never, NEVER slept with Ragnar. And I truly don't know who he slept with, or if he even did. The rumour was spread by Aethelwold, who I guess you know too by now, and I don't know why he started it. Maybe because he just likes to stir shit up…

You: but I swear, love, I never slept with Ragnar. Never. That friendship ending really hurt me, and I completely changed my life after that. You're the first guy I was intimate with after that all happened, almost two years later. And apart from that one date with Uhtred, you're the only guy I've been seeing ever since, and when we first met… I just knew we were meant to be.

You: darling, I love you. God, how I love you. You are everything to me, Sihtric. And I miss you so much, it's fucking killing me. Please, believe me. This is the whole truth.

You: I never planned on messing with you, that's not who I am anymore. I promise my intentions with you were always pure and of good nature. Please, give me another chance.

You: please know that what we had was real, from my side at least. And I'm sorry you found out about my past like that. I never told you because we both agreed our pasts shouldn't matter… I would never hide anything from you, and if you had asked me, I would have told you the truth.

You: I miss you. I need you. I love you. I won't give up on you. I won't leave you alone until you tell me straight to my face that we're over… I can't live without you, please.

You were a sobbing mess by the end of your typing, and your heart skipped several beats when you saw Sihtric was online and was reading your messages.

And after a few long minutes, you suddenly heard the main entrance door unlock.

'Sihtric,' you said with a desperate sob as he opened the door, and you fell in his arms.

Against his will, Sihtric tried to make himself believe, he held you tightly in his arms as you cried while mumbling dozens of apologies. And when he stepped back, you saw he was just as broken as you were. Without speaking, he motioned you to take a seat, and he sat down across from you. And then you waited for him to start the conversation. But as he couldn't even look at you without tearing up, you figured you had to make the first move.

'H-how have you been?' you asked, fighting your tears.

Sihtric hummed softly and shrugged weakly. He clenched his jaw, biting down his emotions, and then he finally spoke.

'Drunk… most of the time,' he said with a hoarse voice, 'you?'

'Crying,' you answered, 'and… more or less stalking you.'

'Who… who was that guy at the club that night?' Sihtric asked.

'His name is Aethelred. I met him years ago,' you said, 'he was married, but he hated his wife. He… hit her. And one night he showed interest in me, and so I led him on. That's what I did back then. I played the players. I wanted them to see how it feels to be led on. To be manipulated and crushed,' you confessed, 'and I know that doesn't justify my behaviour. I'm only trying to explain why I did it.'

Sihtric nodded slowly, looking down at his feet.

'Why did he come up to me?'

'I really don't know,' you said, 'I guess…I really hurt him. I made him look like a fool, I hurt his ego. I think he saw us together and simply wanted to get back at me.'

Sihtric let your answers sink in for a moment before he spoke again.

'And what about Ragnar?'

'I never slept with him,' you said firmly, 'I was a bitch, but I had my boundaries too.'

'Where does the rumour come from?' Sihtric asked and finally looked at you, deep into your eyes.

'I…,' you sighed, 'I think Aethelwold made it up because I turned him down one night. I think he just wanted to make me look bad, but had no idea he caused a whole series of fucked up shit to happen as a result. I've never even spoken to or seen him again since that time I rejected him.'

'Did you fuck him?' Sihtric asked, staring at you.

'Never,' you grimaced, 'he's a weasel, but he never treated a woman like a piece of shit. I had no reason to mess with him, and… I had standards, I guess. He's not my type.'

'What is your type?' Sihtric shrugged, 'douchebags?'

'No,' you scoffed, then teared up again, 'you are, Sihtric. You are my type. You are everything I ever fucking dreamed of,' you started crying, 'you're the first guy I truly fell in love with, for the right reasons.'

'Why?' Sihtric asked, 'why me?'

'Because you treated me with respect from the very first moment we met. You told me straight up you weren't into one night stands, you didn't want to mess around, you wanted something serious. As did I. And I still do,' you sniffled, 'all I wanted when I left that pathetic life behind me, was a good guy. A good man. And you are exactly that. You make me feel loved, you make me complete. And I know we went quite fast in our relationship, but only because it felt right to me. I never did it to mess with you. Sihtric,' you wiped your tears, 'I love you so much. You are everything. Everything.'

You stared at Sihtric, who slowly nodded again and raked his fingers through his curls. Then he sniffed and, when he looked back up at you, you saw his face had changed. He seemed calmer suddenly, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

'So… I'm just a good guy? That's it?'

'Well, no, I mean… yeah… but,' you stammered, confused, 'you're really sweet too. And funny. You're a good listener, you're smart, protective. And… handsome,' you smiled softly.

Sihtric got up from his chair and moved to sit next to you, on the sofa, where he looked down at his feet for a while before he turned to look into your eyes again.

'Just handsome?' he asked with a cocky half smile.

'Sihtric… I… what-'

'Handsome,' he looked offended, 'that's it? You don't find me wildly arousing?' he showed you a hint of his cheeky grin.

You blinked rapidly, staring at the Dane as if he spoke a language you had never heard before. Then Sihtric leaned in and took your chin gently between his fingers.

'You always told me I was the sexiest man you had ever seen,' he smiled, 'and now you tell me I'm just handsome. How am I supposed to believe my girlfriend is telling the truth right now, if she's not randomly praising my looks, like she used to?'

'Sihtric,' you suddenly laughed, 'you're such an idio-'

You were cut off as Sihtric pressed his lips onto yours, capturing you in a sweet but firm kiss. And when he pulled away, he cupped your cheeks.

'I'm sorry I doubted you,' Sihtric whispered against your lips, 'my insecurities got the best of me, and I'm sorry, love. I should have given you the chance to explain that night, but I was too afraid I wouldn't like the truth. So I figured I'd walk away before you could walk away from me. It's no excuse, but I was just terrified of losing you. I handled it poorly, and I'm really sorry.'

'I'm sorry too,' you whispered and pecked his lips, 'you did somewhat give me a chance to say something that night, when you asked if I ever loved you. But I… I froze. I was stunned at the thought you felt I faked my feelings for you, when we nearly lived together. I couldn't bring out a single word…' you choked up again.

'I know,' Sihtric hushed you with another soft kiss, 'I know, love. And it wasn't fair of me to expect a proper answer then, when everything was overwhelming for the both of us. I think… we both fucked up there.'

'We did,' you mumbled, 'we both could have handled it better, but… it happened.'

'It happened,' Sihtric said, 'and it's in the past now. And you know how I feel about the past.'

'That… i-it doesn't matter anymore?' you asked, hesitantly.

'It doesn't matter anymore,' Sihtric whispered, then smiled and kissed your lips again, 'all that matters is that I love you. And that I never stopped loving you. And that I will never stop loving you either.'

'I never stopped loving you either,' you sniffled, 'I've missed you so much-'

'I've missed you too,' he breathed, kissing your lips in between his words, 'I never want us to be apart again.'

'Neither do I,' you said, and exhaled sharply with relief when he kissed your forehead, the way he always did when you needed comfort.

Then Sihtric sat back and held your hands, and he asked, 'So when will you move in, love?'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @bubbles-for-all-of-us @andakth @bel-bottoms @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @diosademuerte @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #modern!sihtric #tlk

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k-renne · 6 months

Text

The Last Supper

Summary: The elusive catch and difficult to wrangle. You and Raphael play the game of cat and mouse. But what happens when the cat catches its prey.

Warnings - Porn and plot, the bread and butter of fanfiction

He would be your downfall, your doom. You knew it from the first moment you met the rhyming devil, words expertly crafted to manipulate and enchant you. That first meeting haunted your dreams for many nights after, his rich voice echoing in your mind. And here you were walking right into the claws of the cat, or was it the fox?

Your eyelids fluttered closed for a moment, remembering that fateful day. You remember your initial confusion when you encountered the man on your exploration of the Sword Coast. How did he know so much? By the gods his silly little rhymes did something to your heart.

When he first transported you to his tantalizing House of Hope, you remember the way he stares you down. Like a predator. It takes all your restraint not to gasp when he shows his true self, he was positively delicious. You can’t take his deal this time, as tempting as it is. A deal with the devil would certainly not help your situation, despite how desperately you want to rid yourself of the ‘unwanted tenant’ as he so tastefully put it.

You took a deep breath, and placed a skull in the drawn sigil on the floor. Eyes scanning the pattern, as you smoothed down the fabric of your skirt. It looked about right. “I cannot believe I am doing this,” You said aloud to yourself.

The more you encountered Raphael, the more you wanted to know about him. You knew he wanted power, but was he a fool? He certainly seemed to enjoy toying with you. But two could play such a game. Being a bard was not all music and performance, there was persuasion and charm. A whisper in someone’s ear, drunken secrets spilled from other’s lips. Where was the fun without a bit of risk?

With the last piece placed on the circle, the portal flared to life. You readied yourself for the performance of a lifetime, your violin secured safely on your back and stepped through the fiery portal.

The house was just like you remembered it, in all its grandeur and gaudy design. Raphael was truly dramatic. You waltzed through the hall, debtors paying you little mind.

The dwarf Korrilla however, did recognize you. “Interesting seeing you here, after rejecting Raphael’s deal. And all by yourself, just what do you intend to do Tav?” She eyed you questioningly.

Your eyes twinkle with mischief. “I am here on personal business, you see my companions don’t exactly approve of dealings with devils.” You crossed your arms.

Korrilla laughed, “He is not home, but he will be very happy to see you, if not surprised. But, may I give some advice?”

“If you wish,” You replied.

Korrilla contemplated for a moment. “Do not cross him, he will kill you-or most likely worse. If you play your cards right you may be able to find a very favorable outcome. And you are very clever, I’m sure you will choose the correct course, Tav.” She pauses briefly. “Little mouse,” She teases.

When the lies to the archivist easily slip off your tongue you can feel Korrilla watching you, she was very amused watching you work. She knew Raphael would be absolutely delighted to see his latest obsession falling right into his clawed grasp.

With an invitation to the boudoir, you felt invigorated. Everything was going to plan. Although your plan was simply to gather information without being caught, there was a part of you that wanted him to catch you. A part that craved punishment, to see his passionate anger and drive him to madness. You felt almost giddy, the game you were playing would soon reach its climax.

But you were not prepared for what you would meet in the boudoir, or more aptly who. Your steps slow as you take everything in, the room was luxurious, spacious, and you had half a mind to strip and soak in his steaming bath after weeks of scrubbing your skin raw in freezing rivers. However, as you made it past the tempting waters you realized you were not alone.

On top a large and extravagant bed a very scantily clad Raphael smirks at you, “A little lost mouse is running through the house. A thief in the night greedy, and here to take. Why are you here, little thief?”

Your eyes widened, you had only imagined what Raphael would look like with less clothes on, but you were not expecting this to happen so soon. You remember Korrrilla’s words. Something wasn’t quite right here. Your eyes narrow, “Raphael, as much as I enjoy you…showing off. Isn’t this a bit much?”

The devil laughs at you, “Raphael! Ha, no. I am Haarlep. Raphael’s personal incubus, glamoured to look like him. And you must be Tav, you know he talks about you quite a bit. You should hear how much he moans-”

“Ah!” You cut him off. “I do not need to know such things, yet. Even as much as I’d like to. Tell me Haarlep, would you be willing to give me information? I need to have the upper hand.” You tell him honestly, sensing you would not be able to lie to Haarlep.

Haarlep grins, leaning forward on the bed. Suddenly he is beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist. “Oh little mouse, I think I have the perfect idea. A very delicious one.” His hand tightens around your waist and you shiver. “And I think you’d enjoy it, very much.”

Your composure is beginning to crumble as your cheeks become flushed. You can already feel your core clenching, your need building. Despite careful planning, you could not even imagine this. There was no way to account for it, perhaps this time you would give into your temptation. “Just what did you have in mind?” You look up at the much taller cambion.

“Well we fuck of course, in exchange I will tell you everything you desire. Don’t even try to say no, I know you want this Tav. You want a taste. But first you are wearing far too many clothes.” He eyes you.

“I-oh gods,” You groan. He was right, you could not say no. But you needed to have one thing, one ounce of control in a situation where you were largely powerless. You begin undoing the buckles of your shoes, thinking for a moment. You look up at the incubus, determination set hard in your gaze. “I will be on top, and don’t even try otherwise.”

Laughter fills your ears, “Little mouse, you are so very naughty. I can see why Raphael likes you.” He leers over you as you remove your shoes. His hand reaches to grab your chin, taloned thumb lightly pressing against your lips, “We will have so much fun together.”

The incubus watches you as the rest of your layers fall to the floor, eyeing your form hungrily. He circles you, tail brushing against your body. You shut your eyes tightly, fighting back a whimper. Control, you had to keep control. Deep down you knew you would lose in the end, and the thought of that was even more arousing.

Haarlep grabs your face, more gently then you would’ve thought. But his kiss is searing, passionate, as his forked tongue greedily tastes your sweet mouth. He even smelled like Raphael, you can’t help but moan as you breathe in his devilish musk.

You needed him so desperately, having hungered for him the moment you laid eyes on his true form. The incubus kissed you like your wildest fantasies. You would let him consume you. You could feel your cunt tingling, aching to be filled, to be touched.

Strong hands caress and mold you to their touch, any self control melting away. His touch lights you aflame. Haarlep groans into your ear, his breath hot.

In the material realm, Raphael bristles. Someone is using his incubus, someone who is very much not him. He could only think of very few who would be so bold. He narrows his eyes as he sips from his glass. He would have a few words for his pet, for disobeying his command. For you, for the fool who rejected and defied him, there would be hells to pay. “Excuse me,” He said to the mortal across the table. This business would have to wait.

He feels the phantom of his hands against soft curves, it makes him terribly angry. It was chaos. This was not Raphael’s plan, he would not be easily bested. He would not be denied, you were his prey. His little mouse, not to be toyed with by his incubus.

As he marches down to his nearest portal, he suddenly stops as he feels soft hands grasp his hardening cock. “You naughty, naughty thing.” He groans.

Despite all his decorum, Raphael was quickly losing his composure. The touch, so slight and not nearly enough, would drive him to madness. Finding a darkened alley he ducked into it, leaning against a wall. Just once, he would allow himself to enjoy the phantom sensations.

He felt shame at how easily he crumbled, you held so much power over him. You were the key to his glory, to his rule of the hells. He did not ever think he would be so smitten with a mere mortal, and a tease at that. Always careful evading his grasp. He felt a hot tongue slide up the underside of his cock, and he had to quickly cover his mouth to stifle the curse.

Such a naughty little mouse. Why did you have to defy him so? You had to know how this would end, with the claw. Now lips were wrapping around his length, hot mouth sucking him in earnest. He could almost feel the back of your throat. This was more than just Haarlep seducing you, the way those soft hands touched him. You wanted this. He needed to believe that, the thought of it made him throb, his balls feeling tight.

Patience, he would make you his soon enough. A delightful thing to sit on his lap while he becomes king, to amuse and to satisfy his desires. To kneel and to beg for him, to scream his name with filthy obscenities. Yes, he would break you down so sweetly and destroy you, remake you, and perfect you.

Your chest heaved as you broke away from a breath stealing kiss, attempting and failing to push Haarlep away. “Y-you must-get on the bed, remember. Remember what you promised.”

Haarlep pouted at you, “Are you sure that is what you wish little mouse? I could have you on your hands and knees, and we could rut like savage beasts. I know you would enjoy it.”

Oh gods, he would be the death of you. The both of them would. “I can’t-not this time.” You shook your head.

“Alright, but do not come crying to me when Raphael collects his due. He will chase you to the ends of the realm.” Haarlep warns. He knew his master well, and while he was eager to be a part of your little game, he knew what it took to make him fall apart. Raphael would not take too kindly to being bested by what was to be his conquest, his ultimate victory.

Slowly he made his way to the bed, laying and displaying his body to your hungry gaze. Haarlep was not used to being on the bottom. But he supposed this could be fun, he couldn’t wait to feel how Raphael reacted to Tav’s audacity.

Raphael felt soft thighs straddle his, “No.” He all but growled. You would not dare.

His balance wavered, his knees buckling as he felt your hot cunt slide over his cock. He needed-he needed more. Hells, he was acting like a common whore! The indignation. He fisted his hardness tightly, unable to resist pleasuring himself with his own hand. It had been ages since he had done this, touched himself like a desperate, perverted-fuck. You would be his undoing.

“Tav,” He whispered your name into the night like a prayer. He could only imagine what your body looked like riding his cock, your perfect tits bouncing as you moaned. He felt the barest trace of your hot mouth against him, and he at last submitted to the feeling. Submitted to you. He felt his orgasm come on suddenly, his seed spilling onto his hand and his pants ruined.

But you kept going, milking his cock. Another wave of pleasure hit him, if he didn’t get out of this alleyway he would soon become a writhing mess. And he hated mess, detested it. No, Raphael focused on his anger. He was so furious. Enraged that his pet had tasted you first, that you had dared to sneak into his house like a filthy rat, that you continued to defy him still.

He all but runs to the portal, still with the feeling of your hot little body against his. He could still win, he could still find the path to triumph. He needed to know what to say to you when he caught you, but the words seemed to be failing him. His mind whirled with thoughts of revenge for your contemptuous acts. It was not over, little mouse. He would have you.

Notes: Maybe its my christian upbringing, maybe I have a thing for monsters. But after seriously enjoying some Raphael fan fiction I have been wanting more of it so I decided fuck it, we're writing fanfic again after a few years of hiatus totally unrelated to my previous fandom. (I do also love Gale and Astorian and the rest of the weirdos). I'm too lazy to change the looks of this blog so I probably won't, but you can also find me on AO3. Very brief editing because I have to cook dinner, so apologies in advance

#baldur's gate 3 #raphael #raphael baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael x you

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