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violettduchess · 6 months

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Yay! I'm excited for this idea of yours!! Could I ask for Silvio + Vampire/Detective (either works!) + Fluff? I felt like Pirate was too obvious 😂😌

A/N: We talked about this and the request changed a wee bit. So here is your Silvio, a vampire MC and something spicy! I hope you enjoy it my sweet @xbalayage 💜

Silvio x female vampire Reader

WC: 2.7 k

It is a night of gleaming silver stars and a sharp sliver of moon. The ancient manor, hidden within the protective shadows of the forest, stands regal, with its seven gables and heavy velvet curtains. Inside, its occupants yawn, rising to greet the darkness, readying themselves for an evening of meetings, treaties and hopefully, revelry.

You’re in the banquet room, watching the others eat merely for the pleasure of it. None of them actually needs food. Mortal cuisine is appealing every now and then but it’s been so long since you were human, you hardly ever feel the need to indulge in such nostalgia.

Although…..maybe indulging would be better than….this. Lifting the crystal goblet to your lips, you tell yourself it won’t be that bad. Just give it a chance. This time the blood substitute given to all the vampires attending the gathering could actually taste good. You tilt it upwards and the cool, thickly-clotted, crimson liquid creeps down the glass in fits and stops, crossing the line of your red lips and coating your tongue.

Your body heaves and your throat closes in a gag. A full body shudder runs through your limbs from the top of your head to the tips of your toes in their black boots.

Ugh, enough of this.

The goblet is set down in one violent motion, clanging as it hits the polished onyx of the banquet table. Ignoring the curious gazes of other clan members, you push your chair away and flounce from the extravagant dining room in a flash of dark satin and black leather.

“Still revolting,” you mutter to yourself as you storm through the manor, down hallways lined with oversized, dour portraits of vampire nobility, lush carpeting absorbing the fall of your heels. In a cloud of indignation you fume all the way back to your guest suite where you throw open the ornate wooden door……

…..to find Silvio lounging on your bed, sipping a glass of the vile liquid you just rejected while thumbing through your black, leather-bound notebook.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He glances up, not one ounce of shame on his extraordinarily handsome face.

“You told me I should read your notes on all the other clan members. So I’m readin’ ‘em.”

“Oh for fucks sake, I didn’t mean break into my room and take over my bed.”

You’ve known Silvio Ricci for so long. A century ago, you worked together to broker a trade deal/ peace agreement between the Benitoite vampire clans and those of your native Rhodolite. Its massive success ensured that you have been working together ever since.

He sits up, stretching out his long body, his impossibly blue eyes still scanning your notebook.

“You got the better room. And you keep annoyin’ me about learnin’ more about these Jadean vamp clans so-” He stops talking when he notices you lifting your velvet travel cloak from the armchair it had been draped over.

“What do you think you’re doin’? “

The dark cloak falls over your shoulders, settling with a soft, satisfying whoosh around you. Turning, you view your reflection in the mirrored front of the wardrobe, smoothing down the front of your elegant, sable blouse.

“I’m going out for a real drink.” A pat to your hair and then you spin on your heel, already feeling that prickling thrill that rushes through you at the beginning of any hunt.

But when you face the door to the bedroom, Silvio is there, blocking your exit. He must have shadow-jumped, moving in seconds from one place to another, using the shadows of the bedroom as conduits. Your notebook is facedown on the brocade carpet, abandoned.

“You’re not goin’ out there.”

Despite the height of your boots, you’re still forced to tip your head up in order to meet his gaze. You forget how tall he is sometimes. His moonlight hair falls forward, the tips brushing the tops of his slanted cheekbones, a celestial curtain behind which his ocean eyes burn bright.

Your brow arches in question as you force yourself to look into all that endless blue.

“The hell I’m not. Silvio. Move.”

“No fuckin’ way.” His jaw tightens, the words spit out through clenched teeth.

No, don’t throttle him yet. You draw a patient breath. “Why not?”

He rolls his eyes with a huff that tells you how very idiotic he finds that question and your fingers curl inwards, red nails pressing into the palms of your hands. Maybe time to throttle him?

“You know the woods outside this place are crawlin’ with Slayers, just lookin’ for a prize.”

A soft hiss escapes you. Fucking Vampire Slayers. They know the clans meet once a year and somehow they always find out exactly where that is. It makes arrivals and departures especially challenging and not every vampire survives it.

But you are not every vampire.

You fasten your cloak with one hand, the large rose-shaped ruby of your signet ring twinkling in the wan candlelight. “I’m a big girl, Silvio. I can handle myself.”

He growls as he shakes his head. “Stop being so fuckin’ stupid. Just drink the substitute for a few days and feed once we’re outta here.”

What is going on? Why does it even matter to him whether or not you take the risk of going out into the night?

"Silvio…..what the fuck? So I want to find some real blood. So it may be a bit dangerous. Who cares?!" Your voice is sharp with frustration, bright with an annoyance ready to ignite into anger.

"I do!! I fucking care!"

Silvio's words are torn from his throat by raw emotion, swift and fierce. Something in his eyes flashes, the piercing shine of a lighthouse beacon skimming the unknown darkness of the sea. His cheeks are uncharacteristically flushed, as if he’s embarrassed himself with his own outburst.

You’re stunned into silence. You can hardly breathe. All you feel right now is the atomic fallout of a heart suddenly blown to pieces by the most unexpected, shocking wave of desire. The world as you know it, have known it for ages, tilts, breaks into a million tiny pieces as you move towards him. Your hand slides over the rich silk of his shirt where you feel his heartbeat thunder against your palm. This is Silvio Ricci. He’s the most aggravating man you have ever known. Arrogant. Commanding. Excessive.

Your hand slides up, gripping the nape of his neck, your gaze never leaving his.

So many hours of correspondence. So many days over so many decades in each other’s company. And while you always had to admit that he was attractive, never had you felt the need to know what his mouth feels like under yours, to find out what sounds he makes when he surrenders to you, to hear the rasp of exhausted desire in his voice as it stutters your name.

And yet…..here, on a night when you expected to be battling enemies for a drink of fresh blood, here you are, your blood practically singing in your veins as you stare into his eyes, now dark as the sea in winter.

“Silvio…..” His name slips from your lips, unbidden, a whisper rounded by yearning.

It is oil to the smoldering heat in his veins. His strong hands reach for you, pull you against him as he dips his head to capture your mouth with his. You gasp at the feel of the strong lines of his body, how well they fit against yours. And you gasp at the feel of his lips, his tongue. Hesitation dies, burned to ash by lust. His fingers press into you, greedy, almost needy. His mouth is demanding, hardly giving you a moment to adjust before he moves, head tilting from one side to another, tongue demanding access over and over. He kisses you as if he is drowning man and you are oxygen, as if you are the lifeblood essential to all vampires. You feel the sharp scrape of his teeth against your lips, the way his skin grows warmer under the hand that still grips his neck.

With a throaty growl, you jerk out of his arms, stepping back. He hisses, taking a step toward you. He can’t drink in the sight of you fast enough. Your electric gaze, your lips, red and kiss-swollen, the graceful movement of your hand as you unhook your cloak in a single motion. It falls to the carpet soundlessly.

And then, with vampiric speed, you are back in his arms and he’s lifting you, carrying you to the bed he had been lazily lounging on not that long ago. He lays you down on your back, one hand reaching down to brush away several locks of hair that have fallen across your neck and shoulders. His gaze follows his own fingers as they brush over your skin as if entranced by the sight, as if he can’t believe that he’s actually touching you. When you reach up and take his hand, he blinks, his cheeks flushing as if he’s been caught doing something too private, too intimate. He lowers his body, burying his heated face in the curve where neck meets your shoulder. Your fingers slide through his moon-spun hair and the aesthetic of your sharp, crimson nails dragging through all that silver pleases you deeply.

“I knew it,” he murmurs, his nimble fingers somehow already nearly finished undoing the front lacing of your blouse. “I knew you wanted me.” His tongue traces each new expanse of skin as it is revealed. But the blouse only opens so far. He curses the innocent piece of clothing, impatiently grabbing the hem and pulls it over your head.

“You are such an idiot,” you gasp, fingers curling inward of their own accord as he leaves a string of heated kisses down your abdomen, his eager fingers already skimming over the waistband of your leather pants.

He lifts his head, pushing himself up with one hand, his eyes as bright as twin stars. His fingers pause and it is torture.

“There’s no shame in it, ya know. Lots of people want me. You probably wanted me for centuries, huh.”

Oh this jerk, this ridiculous, infuriating, beautiful vampire jerk.

You tilt your head, your hands roaming over the luxurious material of his sleeves. A corner of your mind pulsing with want wonders if he would mind you tearing it to shreds. Ah but he needs to be taught a lesson for such arrogant talk. Using your supernatural strength and speed, you roll, easily flipping him onto his back, pinning him down with one hand even as you straddle him invitingly.

“You’re the one who wouldn’t let me leave. Who told me….what was it? How much you care. And then started kissing me like the world is ending.” You run your thumb over his lips, slowly enough to feel the way they tremble.

His breath hitches in his throat and you watch, fascinated and oddly turned on by how red his cheeks suddenly glow. Who knew he blushed so easily? He looks away, brow scrunched in irritation even as his hands slide over the curve of your hips, over the leather that is molded to your form, holding you firmly in place against him.

“The fuck you talkin’ about…,” he mutters before reaching up for you, pulling you back down towards him. “Shuddup and let's get back to how much you want me.”

You pause, your lips scant centimeters away from his. “I believe the evidence of how much you want me is much…..clearer.” You roll your hips against his, demonstratively and there is no denying the hard truth of your words.

He groans, shaking his head and the world tilts again as he flips your positions, covering you with the lean, muscular length of his body. The bed groans at all this gymnastics.

Your pants join your discarded blouse and travel cloak in a forlorn heap on the floor. How he managed that between kisses that leave you dizzy and aching and fighting for air is a mystery for the ages.

You’ve managed to wrangle him out of most of his clothing, without tearing anything, when suddenly you grow still, your eyes closing as a wave of true, overwhelming dizziness crashes over you. Silvio feels the way your body stiffens and freezes, his hand growing still on the inside of your thigh. He raises his disheveled head from the line of red marks he was leaving along your lower stomach.

“You ok?”

You blink, trying to clear the sloshing in your head.

“I….I think I’m just hungry.” You try to smile, to lighten the violent shift in mood. “I was trying to go get something to eat when you so….expertly distracted me.”

He scrambles into a sitting position and then carefully, almost tenderly, reaches down to help you sit up as well, propping you up against the pillows.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t had a drink since we got here?” The paleness of your face, the way you’re holding yourself is answer enough. “The fuck?? We’ve been here a week! You ain’t really that stupid, are ya?”

You wince at his justified admonishment and he sighs heavily. He reaches down, grabbing a handful of his own billowy white shirt from off the floor and pulls it over your head, covering the body he had so eagerly uncovered just moments ago. The sight of you in his shirt has him swallowing, a tangle of complicated emotions tumbling through him.

Standing, he crosses the room in nothing but his silken braies, heading for the table next to the dresser and even through your light-headedness you can’t help but admire the lean cut of his body. He reaches for the crystal decanter, the one filled every evening for all attendees with fresh blood substitute, the one you have ignored for days despite how often they refresh it. The liquid flows from the lip of the decanter into the intricate glass that has lived untouched on that same table and with a determined set to his jaw, he strolls back to you, lowering himself to the edge of the bed. He shoves the glass in your direction, his expression a scowl draped in the embarrassment of caring.

“I know you can’t stand this shit but you ain’t gonna be able to handle all the things I’m wanna do to you unless you got some strength in ya. So stop actin’ like a stubborn jackass and-”

You yank the glass from his hand and, your gaze never leaving his, knock down the contents in one long swallow. You almost manage to hide your revulsion.

Silvio takes the glass from you, his fingers brushing yours, softly, like small flames licking at your skin. He grins slowly and any lingering feeling of disgust is incinerated by the sudden desire that flares through your body.

“Ya want me that bad, huh?”

The blood substitute has renewed you, has sparks exploding like tiny supernovas through the pathways of your veins. You feel reborn, a phoenix bursting from the ashes in a fiery explosion of wings and want. You move faster than a human eye could see, too fast for his own enhanced vision. One moment he’s grinning at you, licking his lips like a cat that’s caught the canary and the next he’s pinned beneath you again, looking up into a face bright with eagerness, eyes glowing with satisfaction.

And when your fangs slowly protract, it’s all he can do to stop himself from taking you then and there.

“The lady is still hungry,” he rasps as your hands slide over his chest, your strong fingers curling around the hard muscles of his shoulders, sharp red nails biting pleasurably into his skin.

You lower yourself down, tracing the shape of his ear with your tongue, fangs scraping the delicate skin. Beneath your body, you feel the tremor of lust that rolls through him and you smile, the apex predator clutching its prey within possessive talons as you whisper in a voice raw with yearning, “The lady is absolutely…..famished.”

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @mastering-procrastinating @namine-somebodies-nobody @queen-dahlia @nightghoul381 @bubblexly @ozalysss

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #ikemen silvio #vampire au #ikepri halloween costume challenge #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfiction #violettwrites

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baldwinboy5ive · 5 months

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wrote a very very stupid Aerin x MC fic, and then I wrote another one, and then I went like this, and here it is. These fics have nothing to do with each other and aren't connected.

The Right Path

Pairing: Aerin Valleros/F!MC, Blades of Light and Shadow Rating: T Word count: 1637 Summary: Aerin and Raine just having some thoughts about how Aerin's awful life got them to where they are now. Or something.

I am tagging @lovehugsandcandy @lilyoffandoms @malthemagnifisent because they requested (or demanded haha) a tag, and @oh-so-youre-a-nerd because you said you wanted even CRUMBS of Aerin haha

“Raine?!”

It was an utterly foolish thing for him to call out: she wasn’t here. He had left her behind.

But it didn’t really matter what one calls out in the middle of the woods in pitch black darkness, all alone, just so long as something is said to startle away whatever creatures of the forest were out there, shifting and rustling in the bushes, ready to attack.

Aerin slowly let the tension drain from his body, and as the seconds ticked by, it became apparent that whatever was lurking in these woods had likely run off.

He slumped down, and sank to his knees, down there on the forest floor, and told himself for the hundredth time that he was making the right choice.

He had to be - because the alternative was letting her down. And it was the thought of her that kept him going. Raine was what got him standing, moving, and pushing through.

He hadn’t stopped thinking of it, their one night together. How much she meant to him. How she made him feel like he meant so much to her. How they’d finally come together that night in his tent at the festival, the way she looked at him as she moved underneath him, with their fingers intertwining and mingling, different but same, like the letters of their own two names.

Even now, he couldn’t believe that she had wanted it to happen. That she seemed to look at him without seeing the misery, the corruption, the weakness he’d shown in succumbing to the Dreadlord. It was like he was someone brand new when he was with her.

Because before her, there had been a rottenness inside of him that he wasn’t sure had ever died.

It reminded him of the time he had wandered through the forest by the castle when he was a younger boy, trying to gather the herbs he’d read about in the library. He was intrigued by healing herbs - not that he truly needed any in the palace, in which so many medicines were available, but he wanted to prove to himself that he could identify them, and put to practical use the knowledge he’d gained from his books. Not long after gathering several bunches of herbs, his foot had fallen straight through an old, decaying log. It broke apart to reveal a mass of grubs inside, all squirming to get away from the open air, writhing like mad to crawl back into the rottenness and decay of the log and ground underneath, writhing as though in pain, to escape and hide away from the goodness and light of the world.

That was who he had been before her.

---

His words echoed in Raine’s head as she lay in her tent. She could hear the soft sounds of her fellow travelers sleeping in their tents all around her, and knew she should be resting for tomorrow’s journey, but her aching heart kept her awake.

She remembered it so clearly: the moment everything changed, and Aerin revealed himself a traitor and a liar - sweet, pitiable Aerin, who she’d spent so many quiet moments daydreaming about as she and her friends hiked and trekked to Undermount, and navigated the city and its intense political theatrics. Quiet moments of solitude she’d steal for herself to wonder if she would ever see him again, if their mission would allow them the time to seek him out when they traveled to Whitetower for the final Onyx Shard.

And see him she did. She saw a bitter, vengeful man, who said of the way he had spread the Dreadlord’s corruption throughout the realm, “Guilty as charged. Easy enough to justify it as accompanying my brother on his stupid trips. A mayor here, a scholar there… Why, in just a few years, I’ve recruited dozens!”

That was what he had been doing when she met him.

If not for Aerin falling to the Dreadlord’s temptations, would Raine never have met him? Would they never have crossed paths, that morning in the Deadwood?

Perhaps the Dreadlord would have slithered into the mind of some other pitiful, lost soul. Someone she never would have fallen for.

If Aerin had never suffered the life that he did, maybe he never would have had any reason to pledge himself to the Dreadlord. He was royalty, after all. He lived a life of comfort and riches, and never worried whether his next meal would be coming or not.

But none of that mattered when Aerin hated the life he had in the palace at Whitetower. He should have been happy there. He should have been treated like the royalty that he was. He was supposed to have been enjoying all of the comforts of palace life, doted on and adored by others, cared for, and beloved.

He had never enjoyed the kind of life that was envied by those who grew up like Raine, or her fellow adventurer Mal, or any number of the others who lived in the slums of Whitetower.

It was a life that he was denied. A life he should have had, and would have had, if not for the brother that made Aerin’s life a living hell. Through a lifetime of bullying, abuse, and belittling, Baldur effectively drove Aerin to a place of isolation, and stole from him a chance at happiness.

Maybe if things had been different, if Aerin’s neglectful father had been better, or if Baldur had been somehow forced to fix his heart, or if there’d never even been a Baldur at all, then Aerin could have had that beautiful and happy life.

And then he never would have left his idyllic royal life, and never would have met Raine.

Would she be brave enough to give him that if she could?

And even if she were, would she be selfless enough to give him that life that was stolen from him?

Raine thought of her adoptive father, the old farmer who raised her and Kade. She loved him. But there were times - those quiet, alone times - where she’d cry to herself because the reason she had him in her life at all was because so much had been taken away.

Her parents. Her brother’s freedom, stolen for so long. Her own life - an entire year’s worth in the Light Realm - taken by the Ash Empire.

Would she really give up Aerin, too?

That ache in her heart grew stronger.

Raine shook her head to clear her mind, and sat up. It was a silly thing to ponder, anyway. There was no point in asking these questions. Mastery over time itself was not something about which any of the magic users around her had ever spoken. But how implausible was it, really? There were so many people who thought they had all the answers, so many who thought they understood magic, when in fact they were looking at only a piece of the whole puzzle. There was so much she and others still didn’t know.

She thought about the way that Nia so often spoke of how calming it could be to work with her Light magic. Maybe Raine needed a little of that right now.

Raine conjured an Orb of Light, and, for the first time since discovering her magical abilities, felt something unusual bubble up inside of her alongside the Light. It wanted to join the Orb of Light. She couldn’t explain it, but she could feel it. Something in her wanted to be with that Light. She could feel the power of it.

So, she let it out. There was no doubt that what she was now releasing from her hands was Shadow - and as soon as it joined her Orb of Light, the two balls of magic disappeared from sight, but their feeling remained. A strange warmth overcame Raine’s body, and she suddenly felt just a little bit more at ease.

It didn’t, however, lessen the pain of how much she missed him.

The invisible magic she’d just created made her wonder just what else she could be capable of. She knew then that she could never let go of him. Maybe it was selfish. But everything Aerin had ever endured was what led him to her. She couldn’t lose that, and she would do everything she could to have him back in her life.

——

Aerin kept going for as long as he could until exhaustion overtook him. He finally slowed down, and put up his makeshift tent so he could rest for awhile, before continuing pushing on. He could not change what he’d done in the past. All he could do was whatever was now in his power to make it up to Raine.

He was so full of regret for how he’d hurt her.

So full of regret.

So many mistakes.

But were they truly the wrong choices?

How could they be, if that path he’d chosen back when he was miserable and broken was the one that had led him to Raine?

Didn't that make it the right path?

Knowing what he knew now, of the depth of how he felt for her, and how she felt for him, would he have chosen differently?

Wouldn’t he do it all over again the same way, even if it were just for that one night together, that one shared night on the outskirts of Riverbend? He would, wouldn’t he?

Even if it all meant that their world was at the brink of destruction, caught in the crossfire of whatever grudge or quarrel the Old Gods had with the Ash Empire?

Did that make him weak?

As he began to drift off to sleep inside his tent, he admitted to himself that he didn’t know.

…But then again, with the fate of the world at stake, and no true guarantee he’d ever see her again… wasn’t Aerin better off not knowing?

#aerin valleros #aerin x mc #blades of light and shadow #my fic #and holy shit yes I did steal a line from Mr. Miyagi hahahaha

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minteyeddevil · 1 year

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“Competition”

Lucifer x Reader x Satan, Smut. Not demoncest!

(Just a little piece I decided would be fun to do between these two that always fight with each other, lol.)

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Far more so than you think.”

You weren’t entirely sure how you became subject to this sibling rivalry, both of these arrogant and stubborn demons fighting for a position between your legs; but you certainly weren’t complaining.

***

What seemed to actually lead to this, arguing could be heard coming from Lucifer’s usual private study hidden in the shelves of the library, and it pulled you from your own studying to check and see what was happening. His younger, angrier brother was before him, gesturing animatedly about something you couldn’t quite understand from your position outside the entrance.

You stepped closer, entering the study fully, but the moment both sets of eyes caught you officially in the room, you felt yourself freeze at the tension suddenly thrown at you.

An almost sinister smirk spread across Satan’s face as Lucifer seemed to grimace as the thought occurred to both of them simultaneously.

“Why not just let her decide, hm?”

The eldest set a firm glare on the younger once he voiced the thought; but his eyes softened when he looked at you.

“I am not fond of sharing...but fine.”

Before you knew it, both demons dragged you back to your bedroom, fighting amongst themselves to remove every article of your uniform from you, leaving you gasping and bewildered; and, dare you say, incredibly aroused.

***

A flat, hot tongue lapping against your entrance brought you back to your currently reality, and a throaty groan left you.

“You have to make sure you are paying attention, kitten,” Satan reminded, lapping at you once more. “How will we know who is better if you aren’t giving us proper feedback, hm?”

A deep blush graced your cheeks as he smirked up at you once more; but the eldest pushed his head firmly out of the way, almost knocking him off the bed completely.

“You must not be doing well enough to keep their attention,” he remarked on a chuckle, pressing his lips to your sex and mouthing you for all he was worth.

Your thighs twitched and head rolled back into the pillow, as he continued to lap and suck at you deeply. Satan frowned at the fact that his brother stole you away, but made to move up next to you, lifting you so he could settle your back against his chest. Your head came to rest on his shoulder, as his hands cupped and pawed at your chest, pinching and twisting your hardened nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

One of your hands came up to grip at his forearm, while the other laced into Lucifer’s onyx hair, making a mess of it as you grabbed a handful and gave it a good tug. He groaned into your entrance, making a whine leave you as you rolled your hips against his tongue.

“Is that all your going to be doing for them?” Satan challenged, his grip becoming possessive around your waist, “or should I go ahead and take over?”

“Shut your mouth, now,” the prideful demon responded, keeping his face still pressed to your entrance. “I’ll do more when I feel they are good and ready.”

You whined. “B-but…I am good and ready…”

Satan chuckled, his smirk widening into a full on teasing grin. “Believe they have spoken, Lucifer.”

The glare shared between the demons carried a dangerous air; but you tugged on Lucifer’s arm to bring his attention back to you. His features seemed to soften when he looked at you once more and he nodded, moving to have your thighs resting against his own, his cock nestled against your sex. You took in his mussed, dark hair, the gleam of saliva on his chin, the swollen, purple head of his cock, and giggled to yourself that you rarely were able to see him so debauched before you.

From behind you, though, you could hear an annoyed huff. “I really don’t find it that fair that he gets to have you first, MC.”

“I am the oldest. Plus,” he added while giving you a knowing and cocky grin, “they usually come to me first when needy.”

Satan fumed and his gripped tightened on you for a moment, before he simply rolled his eyes and huffed once more, turning his attention to nipping at your ear and nuzzling your neck. “Hope you enjoy this little-” another glare set on his brother with the emphasis, “teaser, because the main event will be right after.”

Soft sighs left you as he nipped your neck, sucking the skin right above your pulse, making you rut against his brother’s cock. Lucifer hissed, as he gripped his shaft and positioned his tip against your needy entrance.

“MC. Please. Look at me. I want to watch your face as I enter you.”

His words were blunt and forward as usual, but you still desire to hide your face in Satan’s grip; though he denied you, his hand coming forward to cup your chip and have your face forward, eyes locked with his crimson ones. He pushed in slowly, your mouth slightly opening at the pressure and his thumb slipped into your mouth, having you suck on the digit. He let out a shaky breath once he was to the hilt, and your head pressed back into Satan’s chest. His free hands roamed over your chest, as Lucifer began a slow pace inside you.

His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you towards him with each thrust, and you gripped onto Satan’s arm as if to keep you grounded. Your eyes fluttered closed, as you could feel your walls clenching onto his cock, The Avatar of Wrath’s own digging into your back as you moved against him as well.

“I suppose you must be doing something right for them, Lucifer,” he teased, reaching one hand down to tease your sex while the other continued to twist and pull at your nipples.

“Keep your mouth shut, Satan,” the Avatar of Pride quipped back, focusing on you. He wanted to pull you into his arms, keep you to himself in that moment, despite seeing you cling to his brother’s arm as you were.

Satan could definitely say he felt the same, wishing he could be in his brother’s place in that moment; though he knew he was going to be soon enough.

You startled him, though, when you twisted a bit in his arms, moving down his body and bringing you closer to Lucifer’s. The new position allowed him a different angle, hitting you much deeper, and making your vision white around the edges. Your hands finally found what you sought out, gripping hold of Satan’s cock and eliciting a swearing hiss from him.

You gave him a few lazy strokes, before looking up at him and taking his tip into your mouth. His breath caught in his throat, and for the first time ever, you saw him be at a loss for words. You bobbed your head along his shaft, moans escaping you as Lucifer’s pace sped up. His fingers were now a bruising grip on your thighs, as you could feel his cock swelling inside your fluttering walls. Satan’s cock twitched in your mouth, his fingers lacing into your hair as he tried to keep still to let you move on your own.

But you pulled off of his cock suddenly, pressing your face to his stomach as you cried out, feeling your orgasm rip through you as Lucifer gave a few hard thrusts further, pulling out to release his cum along your stomach. He wasted no time in pulling his shirt from the floor, and used it to clean up your skin, apologizing, despite his smirk, for making such a mess on you.

You smiled and let out a small giggle, a slight roll of your eyes included as you pulled him down for a deep kiss.

Though you were quickly pulled away from him by a pair of frustrated arms wrapping around your middle tightly. “I’m here too, MC. Don’t you dare forget about me. I need your attention just as much, if not more than him.”

Your legs were pulled out from under you as your chest was pressed to the bed sheet. Satan leaned over your form, planting soft kisses to your cheek and shoulder. His fingers prodded your abused entrance, making you cry out softly at the over stimulation.

“Not even going to give her a moment of reprieve? Bastard,” Lucifer mumbled with an eye roll; but Satan simply smirked in response, leaning down to place his lips by your ear.

“I am fairly certain you can take me just fine in your current state. You’ve let me use you more than this before,” he breathed, and you took in a sharp breath, nodding before your brain could even register anything.

His fingers dug into your hips, as he lined his tip up with your entrance, pressing in as slowly as he possibly could. He wanted so badly to pound away at you, make you forget his brother and be lost in him; but he also didn’t want to hurt or break you in the process. He may be wrath incarnate, but he cared deeply about you.

You moaned and wiggled your hips a bit, adjusting to his girth. He wasn’t as thick as his brother, though from the feel at the moment, a bit longer and deeper in. They may be brother, cut from the same cloth as it were, but they were so different in many ways.

You could hear him huffing behind you, his cock twitching inside your walls.

“Tell me when, kitten.”

You could feel a hand soothing your hair, and your eyes opened slightly, to see Lucifer on his elbows next to you, his fingers running through. He had a look of concern on his face, but you smiled softly at him, gripping his hand as you gave Satan a nod.

His hips jerked against yours, pulling out almost all the way only to slam right back in. Your eyes shut at the feeling, a cry leaving your throat. His pace picked up quickly, as if he was seeming impatient, but his thrusts were angled just right, making sure you were feeling as good as he was. He kept his pace for a good bit, feeling your walls fluttering around his cock; but he could feel your legs shaking, clearly aching from the previous acts.

He wrapped his arms around your middle and lifted you, sitting back against the headboard, with you still nestled in his lap, his cock buried inside you. He held you still against him, using his hips to buck into you, as his face buried in your neck.

“I have you, MC. Let me do all the work now.”

You felt your body go slightly limp against him, throaty whines escaping you as you felt him pounding into you. Your walls began to clench again, feeling the growing warmth in your lower belly. His hands clawed at your chest needily, playing with your hardened and sensitive nipples, while a third hand came forward to touch and stroke at your sex.

That was enough to push you over the edge, and you cried a mix of their names, whiny noises filling their ears as you came down from your high. Satan pulled out of you and came on his discarded sweater, making his brother grimace but roll his eyes. He glared at him, knowing the judgement behind that motion, but chose to ignore while he pulled your limp frame into his side.

Your limp body was used as a barrier between both men, each of them fighting over who could wrap their arms around you the most. You hummed at the warmth, nuzzling into Satan’s neck, but pulled Lucifer’s arms around you so his cheek could rest on your shoulder.

“Now, after enduring how little competition, who would you say is better, MC?”

Lucifer scoffed suddenly. “You really wish to ask them that, now?”

They proceeded to argue back and forth til you shushed them both, giving each of them a kiss before snuggling back into your spot.

“I like you both. Now shut up and let me get some sleep.”

#obey me shall we date nsft #obey me nsft #lucifer #satan #lucifer x reader #satan x reader #lucifer x reader x satan #fanfic #fanfiction

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sporadicblizzardwerewolf · 6 months

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#lovestruck voltage #meme #sin with me #swm vinca #onyx wren #onyx x mc

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skepticalfrogcat · 3 months

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This fic is Part 2 to this fic, which I do recommend reading first but it isn't REALLY necessary. Just be prepared to be a little confused about a couple of minor details if you don't feel like reading a whole other oneshot first.

(This is dedicated to @lovehugsandcandy who gave me the motivation to write this, this is a gift for both of us)

Relationship: Finch Parnassus (MC) x Aerin Valleros

Warnings: Nothing major, except some very minor and very brief violence and the fact that this fic doesn't have a particularly happy ending.

Word Count: 4,297

Summary: Following Finch's discussion with Nia, he makes a difficult decision with some painful consequences.

~~~

In the days that followed, Finch found himself with a lot to think about. He thought he did a rather good job of hiding it, and of course he tried not to think of the particularly difficult things much at all. But every so often - perhaps as Mal cracked a joke over a round at the tavern, or Kade went on about some new book he'd read - Finch would catch Nia giving him very pensive looks. He wished she wouldn't. Not only because it felt at times like her hazel eyes were boring into the back of his head, but also because his worst fear was that someone would notice and ask him why.

He wasn't prepared to divulge any of the secrets of the night Nia had visited him, and - thank the Gods - Nia didn't seem to be either. As far as he knew, she had kept her promise to him. He hadn't expected anything different, she was probably the last person he'd expect to ever break a promise. He'd kept his promise to her, too. Most of what he'd been thinking about lately, aside from other, less shareable thoughts, had been what he was going to do next.

It was nearly impossible to decide. At least out of all of the hard things he'd done while he and his friends were searching for the onyx shards, he hadn't had to make very many decisions himself. The quest probably would've gone much worse if he had. In this situation, though, it did seem like the best choice to rip off the bandage. He'd deliberated on it for a while, but at the moment it really just seemed like letting his thoughts and feelings lie would only be torturous for him. He had to go, or else he'd never be able to move forward. He'd just be haunted by all the ‘what if's and ‘if only's. He just had to get closure.

But he needed to prepare first. If he'd learned anything from - well, from everything, it would be that it was always best to enter a situation knowing as much as you could about what you were getting into. He knew he'd have to ask someone about visiting. However, he also wanted to keep the reasons behind his visit close to his chest. Those two things combined had led to what he'd hoped was a fairly unsuspicious conversation with a soldier who was often stationed nearby the cells.

He'd made some small talk first, mostly about other goings on in the kingdom, because he knew that approaching immediately with the question he wanted to ask would set off alarms. But when he'd started to feel like he'd been there long enough, he had finally gotten to his point.

~~~

“What are the protections like, when someone goes down to visit a prisoner?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall in a way he hoped read as casual. “I just know that some of my friends might've been going, and I think it's about time I go for a visit myself. What should I expect?”

“I'm sure we could arrange that for you. We take minimal risks while allowing visitors to the prisoners,” the guard responded. “All visitors are accompanied by a varying number of guards determined by both importance, and how dangerous the prisoner they're visiting is. We don't even let visitors enter the cells most of the time, save for certain circumstances. I'm assuming you're speaking of paying a visit to the traitor prince, meaning you'd likely be given three guards, and you would not be allowed into the cell.”

Finch nodded along, cataloging all of that new information into his brain. He couldn't help thinking that deciding how many guards to give someone based on how important they were was a bit unsavory. It was like ranking people by how much it would matter if they died. Hearing Aerin referred to as the ‘traitor prince’ also put a bad taste in his mouth, even though he knew it was objectively true.

“Along with that, we also ensure that none of our prisoners are in possession of weapons, and we don't allow any visitors to bring weapons into the cells in order to prevent injury.” The guard seemed very pleased with herself as she bragged about the security measures of the prison.

“I don't usually carry my weapons on me anyway, but you wouldn't have to worry about me hurting anyone,” he laughed, finding the idea a bit absurd.

“Oh, no, we're confident that someone like you won't engage in any violent behavior,” the guard clarified. She fiddled with the key ring around her belt as she spoke. “We wouldn't allow you to carry any weapons because we want to make sure he won't hurt you. But you don't have to worry about that, since you won't have to go into the cell.”

Suddenly, any ounce of humor left the situation. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Aerin might try to hurt him while he was there. It hadn't even crossed his mind. Now that he was thinking about it, it seemed like an oversight on his part. But the fact that his mind hadn't even registered the idea of it brought back that all-too-familiar shame.

“That sounds reasonable,” he smiled politely, putting on a pleasant facade even when he wanted nothing more than to shake the guard in front of him and tell her she knew nothing about Aerin. “I'll let you know when I decide to go, then. I haven't settled on a time yet.”

“Alright. Have a nice afternoon, Hero of Whitetower. I'll be looking forward to your return.”

~~~

That conversation had happened three days ago, but Finch hadn't gone back to meet with that soldier. Something about the whole procedure of it hadn't felt right to him. It was much more strict than he'd anticipated, although he supposed it made sense when it came to visiting a prison cell. Still, he knew that having so many guards with him would prevent him from having the conversation he wanted to have. He couldn't be accompanied.

Now, he was leaving his room in the dead of night to go do something he absolutely shouldn't have been doing. He shut his door carefully behind him, not wanting to alert anyone of what he was doing. The only reason he was going at night was because he knew there wouldn't be quite so many people wandering the halls of the castle. He didn't want to have to explain his way past dozens of guards. If he went at night, he'd only have to sneak his way past a few of them. He'd even dressed himself in dark colors to make it easier to merge with the shadows.

The journey to the dungeon was rather short, and he didn't run into any obstacles aside from a few sleep deprived guards taking the night shift as he got close to the entrance. It seemed as though the majority of the prisoners they had in the cells weren't considered particularly ‘high-value’, so they weren't as concerned about guarding them. There was only a single guard stationed by one of the cells in the long block. It wasn't difficult to determine who that cell belonged to.

Before his conscience (and arguably his common sense) could get a hold of him, he began inching his way further into the hall. Finch silently thanked Mal for sharing his wisdom as he neared the guard, still unnoticed. Then, like a snake lashing out for a bite, he caught the guard in a chokehold and placed a hand firmly over their mouth so they couldn't call out and alert the other guards. He applied even pressure until he felt the guard slump in his arms. As he placed the guard's limp body on the ground, it caught up to him that he was doing all of this just to see Aerin on his own terms. That was a troublesome thought to have. But before he could dwell on it, a quiet voice interrupted him.

“Who's there?” Finch's heart jumped into his throat. He would've known that voice anywhere. Memories crashed into his brain like a brick wall. Memories of the Deadwood, and drakna, and sitting by a lake. Of a wicked sword, and a killing blow, and a near escape. But, most prominently, of dark hair, and bright, curious eyes, and lips on his that he so desperately wanted to forget.

“I know someone's there, I heard you,” Aerin continued after what must've been at least a minute of silence.

After a moment more, Finch responded. “You weren't supposed to.”

Another stretch of silence followed. He imagined Aerin was going through something very similar to what he just had. Or perhaps he simply hoped so. “...Finch?”

Finally, Finch stepped in front of the door, looking in through the small, barred window. He pulled back the hood he'd been concealing his face with. “I wasn't going to come,” he admitted into the darkness. He couldn't see Aerin through the shadows of the cell. That made it easier, in a way. “But I was told that I should.”

“So that's it, then?” Aerin questioned, as if he was expecting more. Maybe he had the right to. “You chose to come here in the dead of night, completely unaccompanied by guards, just because someone told you to? That doesn't sound like something you would do.”

“I guess neither of us have really been acting like ourselves, then,” Finch pointed out. He heard Aerin laugh, and had to close his eyes in order to process the swell of overlapping emotions that came with it.

“You sound really sure about that. Sure that you know what it means for me to be ‘acting like myself’, I mean.” That reminder was a harsh blow. There was the Aerin he'd met in the Deadwood and the Aerin who had killed his brother in cold blood and kidnapped Nia, and Finch didn't know which Aerin was the real one. It very well could've been this one. It probably was. “Still, I don't believe someone telling you to is the only reason why you came here.”

“And what makes you think you know me well enough to decide that for me?”

“Because if I were out there and you were in here, I know why I'd be coming to see you,” Aerin answered matter-of-factly. “Now, are you going to stay out there, or are you going to come in so we can actually talk?”

That gave Finch pause. He glanced to his left, at the still unconscious guard. They had a key ring on their belt, much like the other guard Finch had spoken to. He could only assume Aerin knew the keys were there. But Finch hadn't planned on entering the cell at all, his plan had always been to stay on the other side of the door, to get it over with quickly. He wasn't as sure of that now. It was a risk, he knew that; Nia probably hadn't actually entered the cell, no matter how many times she'd visited. He'd been so sure that Aerin wouldn't hurt him, but how could he be? It wasn't as though Aerin had never done anything unexpected in the past.

But Aerin was right: how were they ever supposed to have a real conversation if they couldn't even see each other? Finch had thought the separation would help things stay impersonal, but that hadn't worked. It still felt personal, it just also felt wrong.

He grabbed the key ring.

He had to try a couple before he found the one that worked, but when he heard the click of the lock opening, he froze. He'd just unlocked the cell door of one of the most valuable prisoners in the dungeon. And now, he was going to go into that cell with him. He closed the door behind him as he stepped inside, as if that would matter. He couldn't lock it again from the inside.

“If you're worried about the lock, don't be,” he heard Aerin say from the other side of the cell. The sound of chain links clinking together followed, and Finch assumed that meant Aerin was shackled to something. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. “I wouldn't leave now, even if I could.”

Finch turned and took a couple more careful steps into the room. As he came closer, and his eyes adjusted to the dark, Aerin's face became clearer. He looked just as Finch remembered him. Not as he first remembered him, though, no; as he'd looked when they'd last seen each other. Aerin's skin still had that pallid gray tone, and if Finch looked closely he could see the dark black veins creeping across it. His eyes were still clouded with black, too, and they were narrowed as though he was putting Finch through exactly the same examination. He didn't look quite as regal as he had the last time Finch had seen him, though. Maybe because he was in much simpler clothes, or because he was chained to the floor by his ankle. Probably both. He was sitting on a wooden slab that had been attached to the wall like a bench, which only looked marginally more comfortable than the stone floor.

“You haven't changed much, have you,” Aerin noted, a smirk crossing his face.

“Neither have you.” Finch stood a few feet away from him, not because he was afraid of Aerin per se, but because he was afraid of what getting closer would do to him.

“You're allowed to get comfortable, you know. I'm not going to bite you,” Aerin shifted the way he was sitting, leaving enough room on the wooden seat for Finch to sit down beside him. Finch remained standing. “Alright then, if you're dedicating yourself to that, I can't stop you.” He paused, glancing away for a moment, before looking back up at Finch. “Who told you to come?”

“Nia did. She said she's been coming, and she thought it would be best if I did too,” Finch explained, feeling like that was enough information for the time being. Nia's words still rattled around in his head, though: He has been asking about you. Finch wasn't going to mention that. It would've only made things more complicated.

Aerin rolled his eyes. “Of course she did. Probably another effort to ‘purify’ me. I have no idea why she thought sending you would work, though.” His eyes narrowed. “But the real question is, why did you listen to her? When she told you to visit me.”

“I believed her, I thought it was a good idea,” Finch shrugged, averting his eyes. He was lying through his teeth, of course, but that was neither here nor there.

“Come on.” Aerin didn't seem amused by that answer. He stood up and stepped as close to Finch as he could, which was still decently far away, but it was close enough for him to press his thumb against the side of Finch's chin until his gaze was directed back towards him. Finch gently pushed his hand away. “You were nowhere near that into the Light the last time I saw you, and the last time I saw you, you were actively wielding a massive Light sword. Do you remember that?” He asked, an unmistakable teasing tone in his voice.

“Yes, I do remember that. And I'm sure you remember why I was doing it.”

“I do. So give me the real reason.” Now that Aerin was standing, they were eye level with each other, and Finch found himself unable to look away. Even with that darkness in them, his eyes still held something that could capture Finch's attention in an instant. “And I'll know if you're lying.”

Finch sensed a running theme of people being able to read him like a book, or at least claiming they could. He floundered for something to say. “I can't tell you,” he landed on, knowing that was probably the worst thing he could've said.

“Great,” Aerin sighed, dragging an exasperated hand over his face. “Why?”

“It would be… counterproductive,” Finch attempted to explain.

Aerin's brow furrowed. “What, so telling me why you decided to come would ruin whatever plan you have for how this should go?”

Finch clenched his hands into fists, then stretched his fingers all the way out. “I know it's confusing, but you just have to trust me on this.”

“Ironic choice of words given that you'd probably refuse to trust me, if I asked you to,” Aerin crossed his arms.

“I have a good reason for not trusting you,” Finch reminded him.

“Which is why I'm not asking you to trust me, I'm just asking you to be honest with me. It isn't like I have anyone to reveal your dark secrets to anyway.” Aerin gestured around himself, to the dark empty cell.

Finch looked at the ceiling, then at the ground. After Aerin had betrayed them, Finch had lost all of the faith he had that any of their relationship had been real. Well… almost all of it. But he couldn't shake the feeling that this was just another case of manipulation. If he told Aerin why he'd really visited, would that information just be used against him? It could easily be the basis to accuse him of treason, of an allegiance to the traitor. And whether or not he was actually charged, his reputation would certainly be tarnished.

When he looked at Aerin, though, even he had a hard time believing that. He would understand, wouldn't he? They'd be done with this night, go their separate ways, never have to worry about each other again. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? Telling Aerin that might make it easier. He just had to be clear about what he needed.

“Fine.” Finch took a deep breath. He needed a moment to think of the best way to word what he was about to say. “I haven't been sleeping lately. And I realized that the reason why that's been happening is because I have a lot of unresolved feelings… about you. But I don't want to, and- and I know that I have to get over all of that. So I came here to see you, and I'm hoping that maybe in doing all of this, I can finally get some closure. Then we won't ever have to see each other again.”

As he'd been speaking, Aerin had gotten closer to him. But, wait, that wasn't possible. No, he’d been the one to move in. Unconsciously, sure, but he'd still done it. The fact that he hadn't even noticed was arguably worse. But Aerin didn't look like he found it humorous, as a part of Finch had expected. He didn't look angry either, or upset, or happy, or even all that surprised. He just looked confused.

“I told you not to lie,” Aerin warned, a slight edge to his voice that Finch couldn't identify.

“Aerin, this has been tearing me up for weeks. If I was lying, someone should've told me.”

“Gods, Finch, you stubborn bastard,” Aerin hissed through gritted teeth. “Of course you let that lie for so long. Why didn't you come sooner?” He reached out and took hold of the front of Finch's shirt, pulling him in closer. Finch could see Aerin searching his eyes for something more, some sort of explanation. “What is it that you're so afraid of?”

Finch didn't respond for a moment, simply keeping his eyes locked on Aerin's as he allowed the words to dig into him. He remembered that speaking with Aerin had always made him feel a bit like he was being studied. He supposed he probably was, in a way. That remained true. Now, though, it was the last straw. He felt something snap inside of him, probably his last thread of sense. He placed his hand on the back of Aerin’s neck and, against all better judgment, he kissed Aerin Valleros.

Everything about it was wrong. He shouldn't have been here, he shouldn't have felt this way, he shouldn't have done this. But then the hand holding his shirt was being used to turn him around until he felt his back hit the wall, and suddenly it was all right. More right than anything had been in weeks, maybe more than anything had been ever.

Finch's hand wove up into Aerin's hair, savoring the feeling of it. He'd missed that more than he could've imagined. One of Aerin’s hands pressed flat against his chest, and the other one wandered upwards to brace itself at the side of his neck just below his jaw. It was then that he noticed how cold Aerin's hands were. His face was colder than it should've been too, come to think of it. That realization snapped Finch out of whatever stupor he'd been in.

“Wait, wait,” he muttered, turning his head away from Aerin.

“What?” Aerin wore a puzzled expression on his face.

“I… I shouldn't be doing this.” Finch stepped to the side and then back into the center of the room. He began pacing back and forth in a line. “Oh Gods, what have I done? I knew I shouldn't have come, why did I ever…” He trailed off into a groan of frustration. He'd just made a massively irreparable mistake. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as if that would make the whole situation go away.

“Finch, it isn't that bad,” Aerin tried to convince him. He sounded like he believed it, too, which Finch could only imagine for himself. “At least I'd hope you didn't think it was.”

“It wasn't bad, it-” Finch took a deep breath in. “It wasn't bad, but this is bad. As in, no one can know I did that. No one should know I was even here, really.”

“So that was your closure, then?” Aerin's words had a bite to them that Finch wished didn't cut as deep as it did. He sounded hurt, and it caused a stab of guilt in Finch's chest that he then felt even more guilty for having in the first place.

“No, actually, believe it or not this is the exact opposite of what I wanted to happen here.”

“Well that isn't my fault, is it.” He heard Aerin sit back down behind him.

“No, I'm not blaming you, I just…” Finch closed his eyes. “I have to leave.”

The unfinished final half of his sentence hung between them, unspoken but still well understood. I have to leave, and I'm not going to come back.

A heavy silence found a home in the room for a moment. “Okay, fine. If that's what you want.”

Finch could hear Aerin's disappointment, and it killed him. Because he didn't want to leave, but he had to or else he'd ruin himself. He'd probably lose his friends, his brother, his dignity, almost everything he'd ever cared about. Did he really think that all of that was worth it, just for one person? That was probably what scared him the most: the fact that he knew deep down that the answer was yes. So he had to leave now.

He took a few steps toward the cell door and placed his hand on it, lingering there. “Goodbye, Aerin,” he muttered into the darkness.

“Goodbye, Finch,” the darkness responded.

Finch pulled the cell door open again and stepped back out into the hall, closing it behind him as quietly as he could. He was sure the guards were still at their posts, and now wasn't the time to be found. He locked it tightly again, and returned the key ring to the still unconscious guard on the ground, who he was sure would wake up very soon. It was time for him to go. He spared one last glance at the cell door before he departed again.

He made quick work of getting back up to his room, especially now that he knew what would be in his path. Shutting the door behind him was a bit comforting, more than he'd expected it to be at least. He supposed he'd grown sort of used to being there. Not to mention that now he was alone, which meant he had a chance to work through all of this before anyone else saw him.

He hadn't stopped feeling guilty, even after he'd gotten back into bed. He didn't intend to tell his friends, but he couldn't help thinking about how disappointed they'd be if they knew. Especially Nia, who had advised that he go in the first place. And she'd inevitably end up visiting Aerin again, wouldn’t she? Would she be able to tell something had happened? All of the uncertainty gave him a headache. He was exhausted. He didn't know how he could possibly be expected to cope with the seemingly constant stressors being thrown his way, but he was still going to try.

Right now, though, he just needed some sleep. He needed to forget about Aerin, and Nia, and everyone else. He wished he didn't have to, and that everything was easy, but it wasn't. Nothing had been even remotely easy since Kade had gotten trapped in the Shadow Realm, and now things would probably never be that simple again, no matter how much he begged the Gods for respite. His choices were either to keep moving forward, or change his name and run off to live in the mountains. He just had to keep being resilient. Either way, though, he'd be much more capable in the morning. He had to be. Whether he wanted to or not.

#just know that EVENTUALLY things do work out for them i swear #it just. isnt right now #but maybe ill write them some happiness at some point #blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow choices #choices #choices blades #playchoices #choices blades of light and shadow #playchoices blades of light and shadow #blades 2 #playchoices blades #aerin valleros #finch parnassus #aerin x mc

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abelflints · 3 months

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It's Lincoln x MC angst time again...

(Part 1/2) Book: It Lives Within Basis: Lia is gone. Connor is out for blood. Vax's worst enemy is his own Power. (or, horror Connor comes after my MC whilst he fights back anchor explosions.) Pairings: Lincoln x male MC, but Lincoln doesn't actually physically appear in this part, but he is brought up a lot throughout. Warnings: murder, assault, violence, swearing, trauma, injury, guns, blood, and because of the flashbacks, there's also gore and death of all ages and species. Part 1 word count: 2.2k A/N: ILITW MC is called Lila in this, Sif is the name of my ILW MC's childhood dog, Vax is the name of my ILW MC, and this part opens with Connor's POV, but shifts POV mid-part.

Part 1 under cut!

Running, running, running, running–

Pooling scarlet of officer’s head, shuddering, shuddering, shuddering–

down,

down.

Shuddering, shuddering, shuddering (savagely, savagely, so–) clattering to the floor like it was made full of lead, lead, lead–

One step, two step, three, what is happening, what is happening, what is happening, what is happening, what is happening to me, legs pump, pump, pumping, BANG, BANG, BANG of the bullet, reverberating out through the trees.

One step, two step, three, what am I doing, what is happening to me, flash of pink, onyx leather, get him, get him, get him, get him–

Cracked skin, ash hands, wet, copper– blood, where, why, whose– blood– blood - blood - blood!

“VAX!” Voice that is not my own, should not be my own, but it is my own, deafening, banging, booming, “VAX!”, where’s Lila, is she safe, Noah, Dan, who, what, why, what is happening to me, what is happening to me, what is–

Cyan…

Drowning…

Everything...

Out.

Ringing, ringing, ringing, then–

Only cyan, only blue, only cyan, forever true.

…….

"Calm the FUCK down!"

Vax’s cry echoes across the clearing, falling a harried step backwards. The cerulean markings woven amidst his skin flare to life with his heightening anxiety.

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?! Like you can do any better? Like this isn't all you ever do? You're not even a real person, just some vessel for anger, and you're harping to me about keeping my temper in check?!"

"CONNOR!" His voice is guttural, pleading, a warning bark and a plea all in one.

He scrambles backwards, not in fear for himself, but in increasing acknowledgement of the creeping bonds of Power that wind their way up his sternum, his throat, his neck, the all-too familiar burning feeling sending his heart a-pounding.

"You.. don’t... want… this." He grits out as he gestures around, tendrils of smoke haloing his nostrils like some scorned angel of reckoning.

Then he scrabbles further backwards, clutching his scorching hands to his chest, all too aware of the Power it has to bend and break and burn, all too aware of how quickly, how instantly, how easy it would be to smite out the one good man in this woefully empty clearing out in the sadistic solace of the woods.

Pure cyan engulfs his hands as he raps one in a violent staccato against his head, trying in vain to tame the rising flame.

"I’LL KILL YOU!" It's not a threat, not a promise, not a scare tactic or a want, or a need, it's a plea, hollow and desperate and wavering and screaming and crying, and fraying at the edges please do not let me kill you, please do not let me kill you, I do not know how to control my Power, please do not let me kill you, please do not let me kill you!

For the sake of Connor, for the sake of whatever frayed hold he has on his humanity, desperately clinging onto a violently snapping thread, Vax stops… Freezes.

Purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation–

Calming thoughts… Calming thoughts!

Smother the fire, smother the fire, smother the—

Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln!

Hard eyes, dark hair, hands that feel like home when he holds you, hard eyes, dark hair, hands that feel like home when he holds you, hard eyes, dark hair, hands that feel like– like– like…

Burning, burning, burning, burning, and by the nine hells why must the Power hurt so much, burning, burning, burning, burning, burning– ladder of flame climbing up, up, up, up, up–

Up his arms, up his hands, up his neck, up his skin, burning, burning, burning, burning, and no, no, no, no, no, no, no–!

Hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, come on, come on, come on, come on–

Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln!

Flesh, searing, sizzling, scorching, smouldering– and fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln.

…And so Vax did. And it worked. For but a moment... But then Connor barrelled into him, and his markings flared once more, all thoughts of hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair– scattered, flittering up, up, up, up, up, up– like the ashes of his Power, the spiralling smoke of the fires that threaten to swallow him whole as he rips out of, and runs free from the horror’s snatching embrace.

But he grits his teeth, and he tries again, and again, and again, purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation–

No, you're not a monster, Vax, no you're not a monster, no you're not, you're not, you're not, you’re not–

Gruff voice, tied hair, raven marks, gruff voice, tied hair, raven marks, gruff voice, tied hair, raven marks–

And Vax’s voice, it comes, finally, growling, growling, growling, growling– gnashing claws and fangs of the horror - Connor, Connor, Connor, Connor – edging closer, closer, closer, closer–

"I'll take the blame, Connor!” He cries, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking–

“I’ll take the blame – they’ll believe me – I’m not – I’m not – I’m not right – I’ll take the – they’ll believe me!” He hisses, burning, burning, burning, burning–, eyes widening at the expanse of his Power across his flesh, climbing, creeping, crawling, burning in the backs of his atoms, his cells, his neurons, his flesh–

Vax shakes, and stutters, embers spilling out his nose, his mouth, his eyes, his hands–

“I'll cure you– just please stop– I'll cure you– just stop, just fucking stop, just–”

Enraged tears stream down his shaking face, an aquamarine snaking of Power tinging his teardrops electric blue.

Connor sneers back at him, all fangs and too-long teeth, the man himself, a monster, now, but still… To Vax? The bastion of the pure, the tainted and shattered echo of the man before him a testament only to his own failings, to what Vax could not protect him from, to what Vax failed to do, to protect Connor from, to protect Annie from, to protect Sif from, to protect mom, dad– if they were ever really his to protect - if his name were every really his to bear – if his name were anything other than the very creatures his mother warded him against at night, if the name monster did not sit so pretty and perfect on lips that bloody and stutter and freeze amidst the chilling Power breeze.

"You stole his life, and yet you still don’t know how to act with an ounce of humanity!" The thing wearing Connor’s face jeers, but no, that is Connor now, it is Connor, it is, it is, it is–

"DON’T!” Vax screams, voice piercing through the now whistling winds.

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” Vax half-pleads, half-commands as Connor’s taunts persist, fists balled as he takes yet more steps away, trying to keep a tamper down on the fire, the Power, the flames, the fire, the Power, the flames, the fire, the Power, the–

"Connor, you fucking idiot, I am trying to save your life, just– just–" Vax’s wild gaze drops to his arms, two pillars of hellish blue flame thrashing at both sides, flaming and flaring with his emotions.

The drawn-out shell of Connor jibes back at him, his own glowing and furious eyes swirling like whirlpools in his head. His voice is cruel, callous, careless– gaze calculated and cruel as he casts a wicked glance back at the fading and fated man.

"Mommy dearest never teach you breathing lessons, or what?" The horror nods to the flare of Vax’s nostrils, the warning glow emanating out from his flesh, the tell-tale signs of an anchor explosion, imminent, no deterrent to the not-Connor before him, just a spectacle, a show, a jibe, a joke, a spot of entertainment on a chilly autumn morn.

"STOP!” Vax growls, pleads, prays, before keening quietly to himself “please, please, please, please…”, his knees slamming harshly against the deck as his anguish swipes them out from underneath him.

Mom.

Mom…

…….

Onyx hair. Raven lips. Pointed bangs. Fatal edge, soft for him.

"Stay gentle, Vax..."

She commands, the butterfly on her hand strutting across ticklish flesh.

Stay gentle.

Her cool brown eyes turn to him, extending the dainty little creature out to grabbing hands.

Stay gentle… Stay gentle.

"Buttahfwy!"

She laughs at the toddlers wide-eyed wonderment, tinkling and beautiful and rare.

Stay gentle. Stay gentle, stay gentle, stay gentle, STAY GENTLE–

All too soon, the memory of her is pulled out from underneath him, browning and blackening at the edges like all the polaroids of his family he had burned through gritted teeth and falling tears, burning away like the memories of his childhood– his memories? His childhood? Lemon drops, Vax, they were lemon drops, Vax–

…….

The snarling horror before him cares not for his trip down memory lane, racing towards him in a flurry of fangs and fatalistic fingernails.

One sharp tug, and Connor’s dragging him, dragging him, dragging him, by the nape of his jacket neck, dragging him, dragging him, dragging him– don’t fight back, don’t fight back, don’t fight back, keep the Power down, keep the Power down, keep the Power do—

Dragging, dragging, dragging, dragging, then screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming – what-have-I-done, what-have-I-done, what- have- I– but when Vax looks up, it is not his Power that alights Connor’s soul, twisting his mouth into a screaming vortex, but the sigils of the cabin, searing into him like so many snakes down skin that knows no solace.

Skidding back, back, back, burnt hands stinging, stinging, stinging, with the splinters of the sable, Vax backs away, but no sooner than Connor was seized by the sigils pain does he stop… Unfreeze from his pillar of hurt… And chase Vax back to his room, throwing his body against the wood of the wall with a sickening crack.

Copper, and red, streaming down Vax’s head, grappling, grappling, grappling, still, with the Power, tamp it down, down, down, down– don’t hurt him as you hurt Noah, don’t hurt him as you hurt everyone, don’t hurt him as you hurt Lincoln, blackened hiss of Power on paint, don’t hurt him as you hurt Lia, the knife of your nightmares and all the words you did not say– and all the words that you did say– do not hurt him, do not hurt him, do not hurt him, do not hurt him!

Calming thoughts.

Calming thoughts!

Think of Lincoln.

One shadow looms against the gloom.

Think of Lincoln. Infernos for eyes, encroaching ever closer, closer–

Think of Lincoln.

The first kick winds Vax.

Think of Lincoln.

The second sends him sprawling.

Think of Lincoln!

The third has him face-down on the floor.

Think of Lincoln…

Connor’s boot stamps across his back.

Think of Lincoln.

Claws haul him up, then swipe across his nose, slicing, slicing, slicing– a sizzling scarlet line, ripping open the same very spot another creature once did, in a memoria of pain, of agony, of anguish…

Think of - think of..?

Onyx hair. Raven lips. Pointed bangs. Fatal edge, dulled under the gnashing claws and jaws of the Power.

Onyx hair. Ever-smiling lips, click-click-vrrr of dad’s polaroid as it spat out yet another photo.

But his arms, they are gone, but his arms - they are bloody, but his arms, they are swelling wells of scarlet, but his arms– they are no more, just like his chuckle, just like his jokes, just like his breath. No more polaroids. No more pictures. No more him, no more her, no more she, no more you, no more me–

Snow-white fur, blackened snout– that sniff-sniff-sniffing curiosity, always by his side, forever at his side, tail wagging, wagging, wagging, wagging ready to face anything, anything, anything– until that anything was everything and nothing and then she was gone, gone, gone, gone.

And then… And then, and then, and then, and then, there was her, there was her, there was her, there was her.

Annie, Annie, Annie–

Onyx hair. Little, smiling, innocent face. The sweet scent of strawberries and icecream, the colour of his hair, sundaes overflowing with syrup and sauces, and digging in as she giggled, and giggled, and giggled, but now, as he lays, sprawled, spread-eagled on the floor, lifesblood spilling out of him, she only gurgled, and gurgled, and gurgled, overflowing with red, red, red, red— and oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, she's fucking dead, dead, dead, dead–!!

Scarlet scratches neon against the black, rip-rip-ripping across his front, his lips, his chest, his nose, burning agony suffusing him as he froze–

Think… Think…

Quickly, he finds, he can't think of anything, anything at all.

Think of… Think of..

Lincoln? Lincoln… oh fuck, LINCOLN–!

Bloodied and burnt hands fumble across cracked phone screen.

Calltone dragging, dragging, dragging–

Beep…

Beep...

On the third chime, Connor strikes him straight down, sending him sprawling to the floor.

A gruff voice sounds out across the other line, too late, too late–

Think of Lincoln.

A strangled scream. A cacophonous crashing. And then?

Nothing, nothing at all.

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hiddenonyx · 7 months

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Sort By Character

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Lucifer

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Walking in on MC Showering

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Leviathan

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Satan

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Kinktober - Body Worship

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Walking in on MC Showering

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Walking in on MC Showering

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Barbatos

Walking in on MC Showering

Kinktober - Size Difference

[18+]C*ck Warming

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Simeon

Walking in on MC Showering

Risk of Falling (Simeon x Solomon)

Little Test (MC x Simeon)

[18+]C*ck Warming

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Solomon

Walking in on MC Showering

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[18+]C*ck Warming

Bunny Solomon

How They Play Lethal Company

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Luke

How They Play Lethal Company

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13-

(there’s nothing here yet)

———

Raphael

(there’s nothing here yet)

———

Mephistopheles

(there’s nothing here yet)

———

MC / OCs

Kinktober - Size Difference (Cassius)

Kinktober - Body Worship(Onyx)

Winter Date (Onyx)

MC Sprites pt.1

#obey me writings #obey me headcannon blog #obey me headcannons #obey me #obey me blog #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer headcannons #obey me nightbringer #masterlist

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ila-appreciationweek · 1 year

Text

Scars to Your Beautiful

Posting on behalf of JCR/Departer on the discord for ILW Day 2, favorite characters.

Pairing: Abel x MC Word Count: 1657 Premise: Abel and Everest talk about their scars. Takes place during Ch. 13 of ILW.

“I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar maker wants us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”

Chris Cleave, Little Bee

The mirror didn’t lie. It never would.

Abel had lived with his scars for a long time, the physical manifestations of the car accident that had killed his parents and made him put his life on hold. The small, jagged white lines snaked up and down his arms, legs, back, and torso, and still felt rough upon his skin. The scar on the left side of his bottom lip still felt tender to the touch.

Abel knew those marks would stay with him for the rest of his life. He had made peace with that fact long ago. He didn’t care about the strange looks he got from people, the snide comments they made about his appearance, the long hospital stay, or how the lengthy recovery period impeded his education, job prospects, and social life.

Abel would’ve gladly borne those scars and sacrificed his own ambitions if doing so kept his mother and father alive, and ensured his young siblings wouldn’t have their lives upended because of what the Power – and those who used it for selfish gain – had done.

He gave the mirror a final glance, picked up the onyx arrowhead still wrapped in a white handkerchief, and went to lay down. He had taken Connor’s room for the night, as he was out with Lincoln and Jocelyn confronting Adrian Kim about his mother’s gruesome murder. Adrian was yet another evil person who abused the Power and used it for their own selfish gain; Connor had now lost his entire family to it the way Everest had lost his parents and sister, along with how Lincoln had lost his mother; Jocelyn, her best friend; Amalia, her education; Demelza, her friends, and Noah, his twin sister and own humanity.

Abel sat on the bed, taking in the pentagrams crudely etched into the upper wall panels, the smell of bitter herbs that permeated the cracks in the walls, the furniture, and even the bedding, and the generic, rustic décor that looked as though it were from a different time. It seemed the intermingling scents of chicory, dandelion, and thyme would never fade no matter how often everyone cleaned the cabin and wiped down everything. Connor had made it clear that this cabin was never meant to be his permanent home; it was temporary, only serving as a landing place until he and Demelza succeeded in bringing Noah back and eradicating the Power for good.

He jumped, startled upon hearing someone tap on the door before opening it. Everest came in, his long brown curls disheveled, glasses askew, and freckled complexion shining with sweat. He paused in the open doorway and looked at Abel. The sound of Noah swirling around Demelza’s place on the couch filled the air as he positioned himself at her feet and began purring like a well-rested cat. The noise settled in the space between Abel and Everest before the latter finally shut the door behind him and cleared his throat.

“Amalia just gave me some self-defense tips. I’ve been working out with her for years and she still beats me every time.”

Abel gave Everest a sad smile. Oh, to have a best friend again, someone with whom he would never have to put a front for or hide anything from. Oh, to have someone who understood him perfectly, knew his history so well, and would never shun him for his scars. Oh, to have someone who would share in the burden of seeing the ghosts of those whose lives were taken by the Power.

“Are you okay?” Everest asked. “I came by to check on you.”

“Just feeling a little on edge,” Abel admitted. He held the arrowhead out to Everest and said, “This will all be over one day, right? It’s hard not to feel like my life is buffering right now with all this going on. The Power took so much away from all of us and it’s hard to think of any of us being able to have a normal life.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Everest assured him. He placed a hand atop Abel’s pockmarked one and squeezed affectionately. “We’re getting a little closer each day. The fact we got this arrowhead out of Adrian Kim’s private office and thwarted Marianthe Petredis for the second time says everything.”

“Do you really think it has all the answers? I feel like I’m supposed to know! This is my specialty, but I’m just as clueless as the next person.”

Everest held the tip of his finger against the point of the arrowhead before pulling it away. “My dreams haven’t steered me wrong yet. They brought us to this point. We’ll purify the lake tomorrow and see what comes next.” He noticed his bleeding finger and pressed it to his shirttail.

Abel set the arrowhead down on the end table. “Do you want me to get you a bandage for that? You wouldn’t want to leave a – ”

“Scar?”

“Yeah. That.” Abel blushed and felt the heat rise to his face as he took turns pulling down the shirt sleeves on both sides over each of his hands.

Everest sat next to Abel on the bed and took his hands into his fold, rubbing his thumbs over the front sides. The movement felt like sandpaper rubbing against Abel’s skin and he tried not to wince.

“You haven’t shown anyone your scars, have you?” Everest said.

“No,” Abel admitted. “Only the doctors and nurses who treated me have seen them. It’s just easier to hide them away.”

Everest moved his hands from Abel’s hands to his face and caressed him. “Your scars are nothing to be ashamed of. They’re part of you. They’re not a sign of defeat; it shows you survived and came out stronger for it.” He leaned in and kissed Abel on the lips and then on each cheek before removing his hands and backing up. Abel had never noticed the vibrant green mixed with the different browns of Everest’s right eye before; it reminded him of the Pacific madrones surrounding them amidst the endless pine trees and how bright their leaves were in the sunshine.

Everest looked at Abel and said, “I want to show you something.”

He turned around and grabbed his long hair, pulling it away from his neck and holding it on top of his head. Abel looked and saw a long white gash covering the entirety of Everest’s neck. It was scabbed several times over and looked as though someone – or something – had tried decapitating him.

Everest let his hair down, faced Abel once more, and said, “The doctors think that was the moment I lost consciousness. They think the animals that attacked me scratched my left eye first and then went for my neck right after. I don’t even remember that happening now that I think about it. I only know it happened because my left eye’s a different color now.”

Abel looked into that left eye, surprised at the stark contrast of the cyan against the hazel. It looked otherworldly and as though it were not from here, or that it belonged to Everest at all. He placed his hand on the left side of Everest’s face – the side with the ethereal eye – and said, “You have scars too. It’s nice not to be alone.”

“That’s why I showed you,” Everest told him. “I know there’s a lot you’re not ready to talk about or tell me yet, but I’ll be there to help you carry that load when you’re ready.” He picked up Abel’s hand with a delicate touch and kissed it tenderly before moving onto his next hand and doing the same. “I’ll kiss the rest of your scars like I’m doing with these. You don’t have to show them to me now, you don’t have to show them to me ever. But when you do, I’ll be there to kiss them the same way I kissed the scars on your hands.”

Abel smiled, turned Everest around and lifted his hair up. Abel pressed his lips on the scar upon Everest’s neck, inhaling his Irish Spring soap, oak moss cologne, and black pepper shampoo. He planted several kisses along the line of Everest’s scar and hugged him from behind. “Thank you for showing me your scar, Everest. I’m grateful that I have something to share with you.”

“We’ll get through this together,” Everest promised him. “I’ll always see your beauty, no matter how many scars dot your skin.” He pulled away with hesitation and said, “We should get to bed. We have a big day tomorrow purifying the lake and seeing what that arrowhead does.”

Abel nodded. “Have a good night, Everest.”

Everest kissed Abel before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Abel stood up from the bed and walked towards the mirror. The scars were still there and the mirror still spoke the truth. But he knew there was more to him than the wounds made manifest upon him. They no longer represented the night Abel lost everything, but the night where he gained the greatest truth of all: his scars were beautiful, they meant he survived, and were a testament that he was still alive despite everything.

The mirror told Abel that he would overcome the Power with Everest and the rest of their friends standing with them; and one day, no one would see the scars on Abel, but would look and notice the man himself, just as he now did.

#ilw #it lives within #playchoices #ilaw #abel flint #abel x mc

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