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10piecechickennuggy · 2 months

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Rut - Alastor x Fem!Reader - Oneshot

WARNING: Mature content ahead. MDNI

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or the fanart featured above. This is a fan created work.

Word Count: 4,244

***

Clawed fingers tore at crimson silk, black buttons snapping free and clattering to the floor as the dress shirt was ripped open. Beads of sweat soaked into scarlet bangs, plastering the usually fluffy hairs against feverish skin. Ragged breaths rattled a heaving chest as they fanned across parched lips.

When had it gotten so hot? Was the air conditioning in the radio tower not working?

Everything felt too constricting. From his clothes to his own skin, it was as though he couldn’t breathe properly. Alastor growled in frustration as his bowtie was thrown to the floor.

Leaning over a panel of dials and switches, the radio demon raised a hand to his antlers. The velveteen covered bone itched - small shreds of the hair-like skin falling as he scratched desperately.

The sensation did little to dissuade his discomfort. Nor did removing his monocle or allowing his other hand to dig into the skin of his neck. But even so, he couldn’t stop.

Thin lines of sanguine trickled from now raw skin, the thick liquid eliciting a cooling sensation in its wake. A loud sigh escaped Alastor at the miniscule relief his spilled blood had brought. But the amnesty was short lived, retreating almost immediately and leaving a psoriasis of mounting intensity in its wake.

Air. He needed air.

Scrambling toward a window, the man almost didn’t notice his antlers crashing into the glass until the impact had caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass. Rubbing his behind, Alastor stood and paused for a moment.

Why did that feel good?

It was as though his antlers were yearning to be rammed against something. The urge tickled and twisted its way down from the top of his head to the tip of his tail - the white and scarlet puff now standing straight up in alert.

Foregoing another headbut into the fenestella, he instead raised the glass gently. A welcome breeze struck against his face, bringing a shiver down the demon’s spine as his burning skin began to cool in the sulfur wind.

Panting, he allowed his upper body to bend over the windowsill. His torso stretched outward and his head hung limply as he took in the feeling of relief once more. Had he a clearer mind, he’d have cringed at the thought of someone seeing him in such a desperate state.

But the act of leaning out the window brought another sensation. As if the universe itself were seeking to break him, he was struck by an alluring scent. Floral musk assaulted his nostrils, causing the demon’s head to jerk upward in search of its source. And when his gaze traveled down towards the hotel’s entrance, he knew it had been located.

Standing in front of the building was the establishment’s newest resident, Y/n. Her hair was pulled up, exposing the delicate flesh of her neck and shoulders, the sun dress she wore fluttering in the breeze. No doubt the autumn wind was what brought her enticing bouquet aloft, caressing the visible skin and shepherding her aroma to the radio tower above.

Scent was far from her only captivating feature. From her piercing eyes to the enthralling angles of her facial structure. From her beautiful hair down to her adorable toes and every sensual curve in between, the woman was downright breathtaking. A dangerous sentiment, given Alastor’s current state.

Leaning further out the window, his nose lifted as he inhaled deeply, Alastor’s eyes widened in awareness of his lower half now pressed firmly against the wall below. The rigid wooden surface brushed deliciously against his hardened member.

So that was it. It was that time of year again.

Alastor was rarely one to experience such basal urges. The occasions he did were more inconvenient and bothersome than anything, requiring time be taken from his busy schedule to satiate the primal desire. He clicked his tongue in irritation at his body’s betrayal. Crinkling his eyebrows together and exiting the studio, he began to ponder just how best to take care of the pesky dilemma.

***

Several hours later, Alstor had been able to quell the physical effects of his rut enough to emerge from his room. The demon was far from satisfied though, the urge to breed burning at the back of his mind. An incredible amount of willpower was needed to keep himself in check - far more than he would care to admit - or else he’d find himself locked away, stroking his cock raw in desperate search of release again.

After an annoyingly long period of such activities, the deer demon had grown so disgruntled with his own biology that he’d decided to just ignore it. He knew the strategy was flawed - that it could only work for a short while - no matter how many times he came, only allowing himself to truly mate would bring any true relief to his symptoms. But he had to get on with his life. He had duties and obligations that could wait no longer. Perhaps after he completed the day’s tasks, he’d hire a prostitute to satiate his sexual appetite.

And then kill her, of course.

He couldn’t let someone walk freely knowing how truly weak his rut made him. The thought of using another sinner and then beating her body into a bloody pulp caused Alastor’s signature smile to broaden. After inflicting as much pain as possible and ensuring she’d perished, he’d consume her flesh. His stomach growled in anticipation.

Whistling an old timey tune, he walked through the streets of Pentagram City. An overlord meeting had just concluded, meaning Alastor was now free to return to the Hazbin Hotel and fulfill his duties as facilities manager. He just needed to make some quick repairs, meet with Charlie to discuss her continuing rehabilitation curriculum, and he’d be off to the entertainment district.

***

Moss-colored wooden panels now lined yet another wall of the hotel’s lobby. Why did there always seem to be a new hole in the building’s exterior walls? If it wasn’t one of Sir Pentious’ inventions causing another explosion, it was some nuisance of the week who thought they could best the Radio Demon and the Princess of Hell.

Alastor couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of the latest attack, the pained screams of his victims as he strangled them to death with his shadow tentacles still replaying in his mind. They’d managed to blow a hole in the hotel’s facade, but some quick magic had it fixed in a jiffy. Standing back, Alastor admired his work when a familiar scent caught his attention.

Turning around slowly, he was met with the sight of Y/n descending the hotel’s main staircase. Every step she took was pure elegance, as though she were surrounded by an aura of grace and allure. Her vibrant sundress flowed behind as she walked, its deep V neckline exposing a fair bit of cleavage. Her pheromones permeated Alastor’s senses, working in tandem with her gorgeous appearance to captivate the man. When she’d reached the final step, her gaze lifted to meet with his and her lips curved up to form a dazzling smile.

“Hey, Al.” She waved before advancing toward him.

Alastor’s heart skipped and his cock throbbed. The uncomfortable itching sensation returned, his pulse increasing and his breath growing shallow. He briefly considered excusing himself - running to his room before he lost composure - but decided against it. He couldn’t let something as simple as biology and instinct get the better of him.

“Hello there, darling! How are you this fine afternoon?” The radio static came through especially thick as he spoke, distorting his voice to a near grumble.

A blush overtook the woman, her hands clasping together as she took on a bashful stance. Her current posture had her arms squeezing her breasts, causing the supple flesh to squish together and expose even more of her cleavage than had already been visible.

“I’m alright. Just headed to the bar.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “Care to join me?” Her voice was soft and smooth, akin to satin.

Damn, this woman. He’d already made plans to take care of the issue, and yet here she was enticing him. But the longer he spent in her presence, the more he felt his desire grow. And the harder his cock grew, his body reacting to the female before it.

Forcing himself to remain composed, Alastor gestured for her to lead the way. He followed her silently to the bar, where they both sat before a frowning Husker.

“Hi there, beautiful.” He turned to nod towards Alastor. “Boss.” The feline bartender bent down, the sound of clinking glass coming from below the bar. “What can I get you, sweetheart?”

Alastor didn’t miss the warm smile Husk offered his companion while only scowling in his general direction when addressing them both. When said female’s eyelashes fluttered and she began to fidget with the hem on her dress, the Radio Demon’s perpetual smile fell just the slightest bit.

“Sex on the beach, please.”

Red wings flapped once as Husker took on a devious smirk. He reached for a bottle of peach schnapps before speaking in a flirtatious tone. “Sorry to disappoint, but the nearest ocean is three rings down. Hopefully the drink is half as satisfying as the man making it.”

And then the cat winked. He fucking winked.

Alastor’s blood boiled, the urge to ram his antlers against the insufferable bartender was overwhelming. When she giggled at the other male’s advances, all he could see was red.

The deer demon growled as he stood from his seat, fluffy ears laying flat to his head. Clawed fingers gripped Y/n’s wrist and yanked her away from the bar. A surprised yelp escaped the woman as Alastor dragged her towards the staircase, his anger evident with every stomping footstep.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her words laced with uncertainty. “Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t respond, only continuing to trudge forward as she stumbled behind attempting to keep up with his quick and deliberate strides. As they ventured onward, his other hand rose to dig at his neck, the itching sensation now unbearable as his body’s excitement and irritation intensified. By this point, the man was nearly operating on hormones alone.

The pair halted at Alastor’s room just long enough for him to open the door before roughly pushing her inside.

“Hey!” Her voice was now raised as she stared down the man before her. “What was that for?!”

Shadow tentacles emerged from the room’s corners and encircled the woman, wrapping around her form with a vice grip. She squealed when the appendages lifted her into the air, her feet dangling above the carpeted floor. Her eyes widened when Alastor advanced toward her, his form appearing to grow larger and his antlers having extended.

When the pair were mere centimeters apart, his steps ceased. Bending forward, his nose brushed the crook of her neck before he inhaled deeply. Her scent was even stronger than before - like a hypnotic miasma the man could feel himself getting drunk on with every wiff.

“Umm, Alastor?” Her voice wavered as she questioned his actions. But she made no attempt to move away.

“Apologies, my dear.” His ever present radio static sunk into her bones, her expression visibly softening when he pulled away to meet her eyes. Oh how he longed to see that face morphed with bliss and pleasure as he ravaged her. “I simply couldn’t stand to watch that pestering feline continue his advances on what is mine.”

Her cheeks were brightly flushed, but she made no effort to deny his statement. Instead, when Alastor lifted a hand to cup her cheek, she leaned into it. “Perhaps you should claim me then.”

The noise he made in response was akin to a crackling purr, his eyelids drooping and pupils dilating in a lustful gaze. Tangling his fingers through her hair, his lips crashed into hers in a devouring kiss. His tongue invaded the wet cavern of my mouth when she moaned against him. She tasted of sweetness and desire, not unlike the musk of her arousal Alastor’s heightened senses allowed him to take note of. She wanted him, and the longer their mouths remained plastered together, the more their carnal need for each other grew.

Once their lips had separated, the shadow tentacles moved her to the waiting bed. Their grip loosened, allowing her limbs to regain blood flow while still holding her firmly in place. Her body rested against the plush comforter beautifully, her hair splayed out in a halo around her face as her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths of anticipation.

Alastor’s smile broadened, sharp teeth exposed and menacing in the room’s dim lighting. She was willing prey before a deadly predator, his perfect doe - compliant and eager. He climbed atop her form, the mattress dipping as he did.

Sharp nails clawed up the female’s sides as he drew into her neck once more, his tongue coming out to lick a long stripe along the supple flesh. Beneath the sodden muscle, he could feel her pulse quicken. The scent of blood flowing beneath her skin enticed the demon, who sunk his claws into her hips - fabric and skin tearing as his knee came up to brush firmly against her clothed cunt. The resulting whimper which fell from her lips was like music to the Radio Demon’s ears.

By this point, his pants had grown uncomfortably tight against his needy erection. Dragging his digits upwards, the sundress was ripped from her form as a shudder rippled through her.

Long streaks of bloody claw marks ran up her torso, the shallow cuts bringing a new sense of exciting danger to the female. She began to writhe against the shadow appendages which still held her in place, but it was clear she wasn’t looking for escape. Rather, she struggled against her bindings in an attempt to reach out to him - to touch him as he touched her.

He paused to take in the sight of her black lace undergarments, appreciating the delicate fabric and the lewd implication that she’d donned them deliberately. A dark chuckle fell from the man as he hooked a single finger beneath the band of her bra, right at the point where her breasts met and pulled the fabric away from her form. “Tell me, cheri. Did you intend to spend your evening beneath me?”

She didn’t respond, only turning her head to the side and looking away from him.

“Now, now.” He gripped her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze. His tone was akin to a parent chastising their child. “It’s rude to ignore someone who’s speaking to you. Especially when you’re at their mercy.” The ripping of fabric punctuated his statement as her bra was shredded, her breasts bouncing free with nipples hardening in the cool air.

“I could tell you were suffering, what with the time of year and all.” Her voice came as a whisper, as if she were afraid of admitting to her knowledge of his rut.

Alastor sighed, his knee moving to bring some much needed friction to her clothed core. His trousers grew damp where he rubbed, her arousal soaking into the fabric. “What a foolish little doe you are, cheri.” Sitting upward, his pinstripe tailcoat was removed and tossed aside. His eyes took on a darker hue as he began to release his tie. “I am going to enjoy devouring you.”

The moment he’d finished the statement, the shadow tentacles pulled her limbs apart - spreading her wide for him. Removing his shirt and then her panties, he trailed a finger along the scarlet stripes on her side. Sticky blood gathered on his digit, which was quickly brought to waiting lips. Wrapping his tongue around the extremity, he hummed in approval.

“Delicious.”

An audible gulp came from the female as she watched the man before her with lidded eyes, her pupils blown wide. Two of the tentacles slithered up her form, encircling her breasts with a tight squeeze. A deep moan erupted from her throat as the shadow appendages began to move, squishing and manipulating the tender flesh whilst the tips toyed with her perked nipples in unison. Her breath came in pants, fists clenching and releasing as she allowed the pleasure to wash over her.

The welcome ministrations happening at her tits had distracted the woman, who failed to notice Alastor moving downwards. She missed the sensation of his hands massaging their way from her torso to her thighs, nor did she notice when the man positioned his upper body between her legs. Only when she felt his tongue slide through her folds did she let out a surprised gasp. Looking down, she finally took note of the head of crimson hair buried between her limbs.

Alastor’s ears were laid flat as his mouth worked on her, lapping at the slick of her heat. His lips engulfed her pussy in a passionate kiss to her lower lips, tongue darting inside as his nose brushed her clit. His sharp nails dug into the skin of her thighs when her hips began to buck, holding her still against his face as he continued to eat her out.

He consumed her like a man starved, savoring the flavor of her arousal. Lewd slurping sounds filled the air as he continued to lick and suck at her center, eliciting moans with every breath the female took. Moving upwards, his lips came to rest around her bundle of nerves whilst two long fingers entered her now soaking hole. The digits moved in a scissoring fashion as he pumped them within her, his mouth providing suction to her clit.

It wasn’t long before she unraveled on his fingers, a sharp whine shuddering from her body as her walls convulsed. Alastor continued his actions, working her through her orgasm until finally she settled. Withdrawing from her, his lips and chin shone with the moisture of her arousal.

When the tentacles holding her in place withdrew, the woman looked surprised. She sat up, attempting to catch her breath as she looked at the bulge in her companion’s pants.

“On all fours, darling.” The order sent a shiver down her spine.

She complied in silence, turning around to present herself to him. Her juices dripped down her thighs, pussy clenching around nothing as she waited to be taken.

The clinking of metal was the only sound as his belt slipped free of the loops on his trousers, before said garment was unzipped and allowed to crumple on the floor. Finally, his cock sprang free as his bottoms and underwear were kicked aside. The angrily flushed tip weeped beads of precum as he stroked it lazily.

Climbing atop the bed once more, Alastor settled behind his mate and brought his member to her entrance. Sinking into her slowly, they vocalized in unison. A guttural growl came from deep within the buck’s chest as he bottomed out within her. Laying himself flat against her back, he took her dangling tits into both hands and gripped them as he stilled.

He wanted to savor this feeling - to commit to memory the sensation of her silken walls surrounding his impossibly hard cock. She squeezed him deliciously tight, already milking him before the true fucking had even begun.

Gently kissing her shoulder, Alastor began to move. His thrusts came slow at first, his dick dragging against her at an agonizing pace as he withdrew until only the tip remained inside before reentering just as gradually. This repeated several times until the woman let out a noise of frustration, her hips jerking backwards in an attempt to increase the pace.

At her sudden movement, Alastor gasped. He hadn’t expected her to try and take charge - especially with him mounting her from behind. He was the male here. Perhaps he needed to remind her of their places in this sensuous act.

Quickly, a clawed hand removed itself from her breast and came to the back of her head before pushing. Her face landed sideways against a pillow, her eyes wide as she looked back at him.

“Impatient, are we?” The demon’s voice held a malicious edge, his eyes glinting with dark excitement. “Allow me to ruin you then.”

He left no opportunity for her to respond before he began thrusting into her once more, fucking her in earnest. His hips pistoned against her, the squelching of fluids mingled with slapping of skin each time his dick was plowed into her dripping heat. He held her head firmly against the pillow, his other hand ripping flesh at her hip to keep her still. A cry of pained pleasure came from the woman as she took his brutal assault.

Continuing to pummel his doe, Alastor picked her up so they were both upright on their knees. Her legs spread around his as she sat back onto his lap. A hand encircled her throat, choking her sobs as tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. His hips incessantly slapped her ass with each repeated thrust.

Bringing his other hand from her hip, the bloodied palm drug against her chest before his claws pierced her skin once more. Ripping down her front, she screamed in a high-pitched whine that vibrated his hand on her neck. Sanguine rivers now flowed freely, staining the fabric below.

The scent of her spilled blood was now too much to bear. Continuing his brutal pace, the Radio Demon brought his mouth to the conjunction of her shoulder and nape. He needed to taste her again - to feel the thickness of her blood against his tongue. And so he bit down, his dagger sharp teeth sinking into feverish skin. Salt was the first thing he tasted as her sweat mixed with his saliva before a metallic taste bloomed within his hungry maw.

“A-Alastor!” She screamed, one of her hands quickly tangling into his locks. Her other palm slapped against his upper leg, supporting her unsteady weight. Her eyes closed as she hissed from the pain. But oh, did it hurt so good.

Drinking greedily, he began to choke her in earnest. He couldn’t have the other hotel residents overhearing. The hand in his hair moved to grip one of his antlers, its twin now clawing at the fingers cutting off her air supply.

When her feeble offense against his vice grip began to lesson and the hold on his bony outcropping waned, Alastor knew she was close to passing out. He could also tell she was close to her second orgasm, the increasing force with which her pussy clamped around him signaling imminent release. And so, he withdrew himself from her and released his chokehold. The wine that accompanied her gasps for air was almost heartwrenching.

Tears now freely fell down her reddened cheeks as she struggled to hold herself up on both arms. She was shaking, her expression one of hurt and expectancy as she turned to face him.

In an instant, he was on her again. This time, she lay on her back while he held her legs in a folded position with her knees against her chest. Not hesitating for even a moment, he sunk back into her and resumed fucking her with an unrelenting force.

Snarling into her face, his brows furrowed in aggression as he spoke. “I say when you can cum.”

“Y-yes, sir!” She hadn’t missed a beat with her response. Grasping his antlers with both hands, she held on tightly as he continued to take her.

“Good girl.” One of his hands slotted itself into the space where they connected, softly circling her clitorus.

He knew he was close to his own end. After just a few more thrusts, his cock began to twitch within her. Kisses were trailed from her lips down her jaw and to her collar, all the while grunts that crackled with static filled the space between them. Beads of sweat dripped from Alastor’s forehead as he sucked bruising hickies across her skin.

With each mark left in his wake, she whined like a bitch in heat. His body responded to her cries, eager to spill his seed and breed her.

With the combination of his delicate ministrations against her clit, the pain of his claws and bites, and the pleasure of his dick battering into her, she had become a babbling mess. Single syllables and nonsense words flew from her mouth between pants and moans.

Licking the trails of blood along her chest, he mumbled against the fat of her breast. “Cum with me, Y/n.”

Two more thrusts into her needy cunt and they were both done for. Powerful spurts of cum painted her collapsing walls, coating her insides with his seed. He held onto her tightly, his pelvis pressed firmly against hers as he released deeply into her womanhood with a shouting moan. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure washed over them both as they rode out their highs.

Collapsing atop her with one last spurt of his cock, Alastor sighed in contentment. Panting heavily and burying his face into her neck, they both began to come down into a glorious afterglow.

“Feeling better?” Her arms were wrapped around his torso in a warm, loving embrace as her fingers traced mindless swirls across the expanse of his back.

“Much better, my dear.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #smut #lemon #rut #alastor #x reader #female reader #fem reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #y/n #reader insert #self insert #explict #bd/sm kink

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vanderilnde · 2 months

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world stopped when #that gym vid went live. i blacked out and woke up with this in my drafts. dont remember a thing. enjoy.

cw for dubcon smut, breaking and entering, soap dragging you across the ground, fleeting knifeplay, and greasy ex bf soap!!!!!!

You wake in a daze.

Your mouth is hot and clammy, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Your eyelashes are glued together with sleep, your underarms perspiry and the skin of your back dewy.

It’s the baby monitor that stirred you. Languidly capitalising off your motherly instincts, thinly crackling and humming and rousing you awake. When you reorient, the indistinct, enigmatic shadow in the corner of your room turns into a pile of undone laundry. You rub your eyes, hackles raised, as the baby rustles, her fussing carrying through the monitor, tinny and jangling as she whines.

You swing your legs over the mattress, and her whines ripen into giggles. They’re high-pitched and brayed, accompanied by her clapping hands. She’s squealing while you edge into your slippers, wrapping your arms around your slip dress, padding into the corridor.

Your eyes are too unfocused and filmy to notice the telltale signs. Your panties missing from your hamper, your closet open and forged. The lockbox where you keep your pistol pulled from under your bed and unlatched. Empty.

You turn the corner to your daughter’s room and freeze. There’s a glow spilling from it, into the hall. It’s her owl-themed nightlight, soft and moulded around a pair of kevlar-plated shoulders. Outlining a clunky chest rig and a heavy belt. Longer hair, curled at its ends and flat with sweat. The shadow of a knife. The steel of a gun.

It’s the reaper himself, and he’s made his way into your home.

Your mind wrestles between attacking him and sneaking away to call the police. He’s a harvester of life, a macabre memory unheralded and in the middle of your house, but your baby is, at least, safe with him. Stronger than the scythe he carries—his own flesh and blood. You peel your feet off the floor and creep backwards, fleet-footed and rushing down the stairs and into your kitchen, working your way around furniture in the dark. You don’t turn on the light, don’t want to run the risk, so you bump into the lip of your counter, reaching over it and grasping the landline.

It’s bulky in your hand. Almost slips out with how sweaty your palms are, with how you scramble to dial the police.

But you feel him before you see him.

It’s like echolocation. He’s using his skill, you know, to sneak up behind you. Capitalising off whatever he learned in the military to soften his feet and prowl behind you. It’s his breathing that’s low and rumbling, reflecting off your spine, rolling like thunder.

It’s now, you remember, that Johnny is an ambush predator.

He leans over you before you hit the dial, smashing the hang-up button. A long honk succeeds it and precedes deafening silence.

Your lips warble. You clutch the phone to your chest, quivering, and steel yourself. “How did you get in?”

Johnny chuckles, and it rumbles against your spine. Through the silk canopy of your slip dress and into your bone.

“Wore this for me?” He ignores your question. Noses the strap of your slip so it curls like a wisp of hair off your shoulder. “Y’know I love this colour on ye.”

“I want you to leave, Jonathan.”

He spins you around. Bullies you back and cuts the hind of your spine into your countertop. He looks rugged and stinks of sulfur, like he came straight from downrage, and chucks your slip over your hips, kneading your flesh.

“Ye can’t keep me from my bairn,” Johnny mumbles. He wraps his arms around you like a serpentine, licking a belt up your neck. “We’re in this together. Isn’t fair of ye t’hide from me.”

“You’re sick in the head,” you sneer.

Johnny’s cheeks engorge around a malformed, gnarled grin. He feeds off your disgust, a flayed moan ripping from his throat, as he reaches down to palm his cock.

“Say it again,” he huffs. “Tell me how sick I am, hen.”

You draw your hand back and swing it across Johnny’s face in rash judgement. He stumbles back in shock, his cheek burning with a ruddy hue beneath the peppery hair of his beard. He blinks, catatonic, and rubs his face. The silence is ear-splitting. Like the calm before the storm.

Then, you’re free-falling. Johnny grips you by your hair and pulls you to the floor. It’s now, you realise, that you’ve gravely miscalculated his strength. His calibre of ruthlessness as he forcefully tugs you along, heedless if your shins bump into the corner walls or grate against the carpet. He pulls you outside, over the wide-combed, lightly-pitted brick of your driveway, towards his scrap metal pickup truck that’s been eaten away by yellow rust and dog-eared bumper stickers.

The hem of your silk slip turns threadbare as you’re dragged across the ground. You shiver as the cold air furls over the wet smudge he’d licked up your neck. You consider yelling into the night. For help, for atonement, to right whatever wrong you’ve done to deserve this. To deserve him. But Johnny slaps a palm over your mouth before you’re able to do anything. His hand is so big, splaying over the expanse of your face.

This, you suppose, is your penance.

The door to his truck rasps as he swings it open. He throws you inside with a dull thud and awkwardly clobbers in behind you, too big for the door, his stature exemplified with all his clunky tactical gear.

He sinks his knees into the pleather bench seat, grinning as if he’s done nothing wrong.

“Dinnae mind the mess, hen,” he laughs. There’s mud-clogged boots thrown on the bed floor, a couple of plastic water bottles littered around the front. “Wasnae expectin’ you ta put up a fight.”

Johnny shucks his jeans to his boots, followed by his boxers. His cock springs out, long and hard and lazy against his navel as he leans back, languidly stroking it.

He smooches your cheek, and his beard—something he’d grown recently—is spindly like steel wool, dragging against the hull of your ear.

“Did I pull ye too hard?” Johnny asks. His concern is masked with a colour of arousal, lukewarm and lacking in conviction. “Dinna fash yerself, I’ll pay for yer salon appointment.”

When you plaintively sniffle, Johnny starts jerking off faster. Meaner. His fist tightly winded around his cock, his cheeks pink and his puppy lips parted open. His lashes fluttering as his eyes roll back, every sigh and gasp out of him materialising as off-white smoke in the cold tract of his truck.

The sticky sound of Johnny rolling his palm over his raw cock is too much. Precum drools over him, between his thighs, indigo and pearlescent in the moonlight. Your eyes are dewy but your pussy is swelling. It clings to your panties, as hot as it is uncomfortable.

“No need to be a minter,” he pants. Releases his dick with a pinch and lets it hang, reaching out to you. His slick, big hand swallows your flinch and pulls you close. Fishes the combat knife from his pocket, twisting it in the light. “I’ll help you, Birdy.”

Johnny slips the knife below the band of your slip dress. He tilts it up, slicing the strap over the steeple of his knife, letting it curl off your body and reveal your breasts, your tits goose-fleshed in the frigid air of his truck.

He takes it upon himself to repeal that. Johnny leans forward and latches his lips around you, flicking his tongue around your nipple, kneading your other breast with his opposite hand. He doesn’t stop going back and forth until you try peeling him off, squirming, trying to push him away.

Johnny’s as sturdy as a steel wall. He chuckles, low and hollow, and pulls off his gloves, snaking his hand lower. Towards your pussy that radiates an unwelcomed, pulsing heat. Johnny’s fingers are deft and hardened, splitting you open like a fleshy fruit, coaxing out your honeyed juices, fingering around for that sweet spot. He grins when you writhe, and he knows he’s found it. Knuckle-deep and deeply-seated in your warm cunt, curling his fingers, pushing the heel of his palm into your clit and sinking himself deeper.

You wildly flail your legs like a deflated balloon trying to fly away. It’s to tame a feral animal as Johnny pins you down, crawling over you, his fingers sinking deeper and the pad of his thumb circling your clit. You preen with embarrassment at the sticky, wet sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Just as tight fo’ me,” he mumbles. His words melt through your lips and into your lungs. Burns you from the inside out. “Didn’t shag anyone while I was gone? Kept yerself sweet for me?”

A sob wracks your ribs. It prompts Johnny to go a little deeper, a little meaner, in how he curls his fingers into your walls. Your sticky spine peels off the pleather seats, shiny with sweat and shaking, and suddenly, Johnny pulls out. You feel yourself crash into nothing, your winking hole stretched empty and cold. Your thighs, quivering.

“How about ye gimme another, eh?” He says. Lifts you up like you weigh nothing and drops you onto his thighs. Lines his fat cockhead up with your clit, gives it a few, irritable taps. “Always wanted a hoachin’ family.”

Johnny tries to ram it in, you think, but he’s too thick. It requires time and patience, squeezing into you, but those are two things Johnny doesn’t have. It feels like you’re being flayed as Johnny slams himself into you. He shatters you as he pushes himself deeper, his hold on your waist breaking your skin, his hips ripening into a bruising, splitting pace. Johnny rubs his tongue along the round of his cheek and spits on your cunt. It slips down, over your clit, frothy around the base of his cock.

Sweat travels down the coils of his beard, dripping onto you. You’re folded in half as Johnny batters into you, pounding you with a lack of inhibition. He chases after his orgasm like a dog chases after its own tail, the stretch of your pussy around his cock so stifling it flares into a sweeping pleasure.

He reaches down and blindly swipes your clit. It’s sloppy. The dead, rough skin of his thumb pressing down on your bud and tracing circles with a slap-happy hand. It’s a disgusting mix of stickiness and squelches. The windows fog up, and your legs tremble. Johnny’s hips slam into you sharper, and you feel your orgasm shivering like a gurgling kettle. Hot to the touch and almost at your climax, expelling white hisses of steam.

It rockets into you without warning. You’re scratching and crying, and he’s rolling into you. Slowly, as if that’ll sink him deeper, as he gives you his come. Thick, white ropes that paint your walls and plant a seed. You gush around him and Johnny peppers you with kisses as if that will placate you. As if that’s his cobbled together, screwed up idea of penance.

He lets his cock soften in you. Johnny rests his head on your shoulder, kissing it. He slips out and a thick, shapeless wad of come follows suit. Sticking to the pleather of his seats, leaving you empty.

Johnny collapses, falling on you like a dog that doesn’t know how big it is. Feels for the come that slips out of you and uses his fingers to stuff it back in.

“Left the door unlocked agin,” he mumbles. “Guess ya wanted me to find ya, ye ken, Birdy?”

#johnny mactavish x reader #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #cod mw2 #soap/reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish

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nsharks · 1 year

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I BEG OF YOU MORE READER WITH SOAP (with months old baby because she gave birth already) , i feel like they would be besties, like ghost is at the back looking like a literal bodyguard while reader and soap are gossiping and cooing at the baby

"uncle johnny"

aka soap and ghost stay at your home for the night. previous dad!ghost here and here

Soap never imagined he’d see the inside of your home again.

Since the incident at the base, Ghost had begrudgingly offered little pieces of information whenever Soap or Gaz pried about it. (Secret’s out of the bag, Soap thought. Might as well.)

You’d had a baby girl.

Your son was off to preschool now.

That’s all Soap knew.

Until a mission nearby at a cargo facility ends with them spotted by cartel (fuck knows how). A barrage of gunfire. A shot tire. They don’t make it very far in the Humvee until they’re debating their options, knowing full well that the base was 40 fucking kilometers away—

“Wait,” Soap pauses, a glint in his eyes. “Don’ you live around here, Lt?��

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

It would be silly of Soap to assume your pretty face would be greeting them at the door.

The lights are off, the entire Riley family fast asleep as Ghost finds the hidden spare key to let them in.

“Take your boots off before you’re in,” Ghost whispers harshly, already kicking off his own. He doesn’t seem all too pleased with this idea nor the fact that neither of them had a better one. “Don’t wake them up.”

They line their boots at the door, next to a pair of little purple ones that seem made for a doll in comparison. They shuck off their vests, the gear, all the ammo; carefully set those things in a haphazard pile. Ghost grabs his own gun and then flickers his eyes to Soap.

“Give me it,” he mutters.

While Ghost pads off to some other room, a closet to hide the guns in perhaps, Soap is left standing by the door. In his socks. In the dark of your home.

Noticing the toys and playmat on the floor, he’s wondering about how you manage with two by yourself when the silence is suddenly broken.

Splintered by crying.

Loud enough to carry from your daughter’s nursery.

He closes his eyes. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe it’ll stop before—

Ghost’s heavy footsteps return and he’s glowering at him as if he’s spoiled a mission, gotten someone killed even. In a snarling, hushed voice, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Fuckin’ hell, Soap. Do you know how to be quiet?”

“Me? You’re the one stompin’ around—“

There’s a flicker of light now from down the hall. Shuffling around in one of the rooms. It causes Ghost to hiss out some more swears and then the rest plays out as a blur in Soap’s eyes. Ghost tries to clemently approach the bedroom, so as to not frighten you, but what he doesn’t know yet is you’ve already grabbed something from under your pillow. You’ve slipped out of the room and the shadow of you raises a defensive arm. Hand tightened around—Soap squints— a bloody knife, is it?

But, then, “Christ, love. It’s just me.”

A wave of relief. Your hand drops.

“Oh my god… Simon.” With a hard swallow, your moment of panic fades and you lurch into Ghost. Can’t help it, really. Even now, with your daughter crying and his bulky uniform smelling like sulfur and kerosene, you embrace him.

Soap tries not to watch from down the hall.

Breathing hard into his chest, “You scared me. Why are you here?”

“Needed a place for the night,” is the explanation he gives. A gloved hand settles just above your bum: bloodied, skeletal digits against a silk nightdress. The other hand— gently taking away that knife of yours. “Didn’t mean to wake you both. It was Johnny’s fault.”

And you’re pulling away from his chest only to furrow your brows. “Johnny?” Glancing around the hall, you finally catch sight of the other uniform-clad intruder in your home.

He gives a small wave

Your tired eyes light up. “Johnny! Oh… forgive me for being rude. I didn’t even see you there.”

“Sorry for wakin’ you,” Soap rubs the back of his neck. (Though, he knows for sure it was Ghost’s fault.)

Soap can’t say he is too sorry you’re awake because you are by far a kinder host than your husband. Even in your groggy state, you usher Soap to clean up in the bathroom with the promise of a comfy bed when he’s done. Then, you’re off to finally comfort the baby. Bouncing her against your chest as you direct your husband on how to fix up the guest room for Soap because you rarely have guests over and—

“Simon, give him some of your clothes to sleep in.”

To Soap’s amusement, Ghost follows your orders without hesitation (though, slips a few incoherent mumbles under his breath).

And although he sees your daughter in your arms, has heard her cries, Soap doesn't truly witness the tenderness of your little family until the morning.

The morning— stretched out on purpose.

Because, as Soap hears Ghost murmur to you, they don't really need to leave right away.

It's a domestic glimpse into the Lieutenant's other life that Soap witnesses. Ghost is already awake when he groggily slips out of the guest room that morning, having just had the best sleep in weeks and dressed in his teammate's clothes that are, perhaps, a little too big for him. He pads down the hallway. There are little coos and small footsteps and Soap realizes it's not just Ghost in the kitchen, but the whole family.

All four of you.

A toddler padding around in a onesie covered in trains (his current fascination).

Your daughter bright-eyed and calm against her unmasked father's chest. Snug in a carrier and visibly content with being attached to him as he makes breakfast.

And then you, given a break for this rare moment, hands slipped around a mug of coffee.

Soap thinks this is the strangest safe house he's woken up in.

Strange, but equally pleasant. Your son is the first one to spot the Sergeant, waddling over to him and tugging on the pair of sweats he's borrowed from your husband. And then you’re the second one, immediately slipping into nurturing hospitality as you usher him to sit down for breakfast.

Any prickliness in his Lieutenant is gone whenever he's interacting with his family. He dotes on you, just like Soap has witnessed before. But for this morning, he also witnesses how he dotes on your children. Offering them patience that Soap is rarely on the receiving end of. He cups your daughter's little head and periodically drops kisses on the top of her hair as he weaves around the kitchen. He merely tuts at your son when he tries bouncing a ball against the cabinets— take that to the living room, kid.

It's such a nice change from their usual blood-soaked routine that even Soap feels the pain of leaving it behind.

But breakfast can only draw out for so long, and soon Ghost is handing the baby back to you.

A quiet, "Do you have to?"

Though, you know that not even nuzzling your face to his neck will change the answer.

The two of them slip into the uniforms they came in. Shuck on the gear, the ammo, their boots (for your husband, a skull mask). You linger around with just your morning robe on, chewing at your lip and cradling your baby tightly as if her little hugs and kisses will be enough to supplement the impending absence of Simon's.

"It was nice to see you again," you're telling Soap when Ghost stalks off to get their guns. Voice soft but with a detectable sorrow in it.

Soap offers you a smile. "Thank you for havin' me in your home." And then, he coos at the baby, "Beautiful lass, you've got. Ghost is a lucky man."

"Would you like to hold her?" Your eyes are beaming at him now, and you shift the infant in your arms and utter to her, "Come on, sweet pea. Say goodbye to Uncle Johnny."

And Soap can't say no to that. Flushing, he takes the little girl from you and holds her, carefully, working around all his gear. He's got nephews and nieces but never has he melted quite like this, staring at an infant who's got the eyes of his Lieutenant and a soft romper on. She feels so delicate in his arms.

This is how Ghost finds you two.

By the front door, Soap holding his daughter and exchanging little murmurs with you.

"I hope Simon isn't mean to you. I know he can be a bit grumpy."

"Eh, he's all bark, no bite. Bit of a softie really, isn't he?"

"He tells me about you more than the others."

"Does he, now?"

A hulking man carrying two rifles stands there, just listening for a moment until you notice him. Irritated, maybe, but it washes away once you are giving him a final hug and peppering sweet kisses over the hard shell of his mask.

Then, a hug to his son (be good to your mum, bug). A nuzzle to his daughter, who Soap carefully hands to him.

"Guess I'm Uncle Johnny now,” the Sergeant comments cheekily after they've left and begun their journey back to base.

But the doting version of his Lieutenant is gone and all he earns is a grunt in response.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost #fanfiction #fluff #dad ghost #fem!reader #afab reader

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kaleldobrev · 4 months

Text

Memories Are All I Have

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: You’re all Ben thinks about while he’s in Russia

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Cursing (6x), Mentions of torture (but nothing insanely graphic in description), Fluff (Ben just deeply loves reader & misses her)

Authors Note: Flashbacks are in italics | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

He found you washing dishes, wearing nothing but your forest green silk robe that he had gotten you for your birthday last year. Forest green specifically so you knew that he was the one that had gotten it for you (since that was his color). You were barefoot like always, humming 'Almost Like Being in Love' by Sinatra; the same song your mother would hum to you as a lullaby when you were a child. "You comin' to talk to me or are you just gonna stand there?" You asked him; not looking away from what you were doing.

"Hate when you do that," he chuckled, making his way toward you.

"You can blame Vought for that," you said, letting out half a laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "And to be fair, you do the exact same thing to me." His chin rested on your shoulder, and your hands rested on his hands; your body slightly leaning into him as the two of you swayed a little.

Half knocked out, Ben could vaguely hear the Ivan's talking; going on about what experiments they were going to be doing on him today. Ben couldn't really speak Russian, or understand most of it; but he had been here long enough to know what certain words or phrases had meant when it came to him getting experimented on.

You were sitting on the counter, his hands on either side of you; essentially trapping you. Your legs were slightly wrapped around his waist lazily, along with your arms around his neck. He was simply just staring into your eyes; and this was the first time he had noticed small little specks of various color within them that were about a shade or two lighter than your actual color — it amazed him that he had never noticed this about you or your eyes before. "I love you," he told you, his voice slightly low. He caressed your cheek a little with his thumb as he searched for your reaction.

That's when you smiled at him. A smile that he's seen from you so many times before — one that was a genuine look of pure, unadulterated happiness. It was the kind of smile that he had wanted to just stare at and admire for the rest of his life. "I love you too," you replied back. You leaned in just then; your foreheads touching.

Ben heard the door start to open; but he was too drugged up to really respond to what was happening. He was so used to this song and dance at this point, as he's been through it all. He's drunk bleach, sulfuric acid cocktails, had AK's shot into his mouth, and torched with fire.

Ben had his eyes closed, but he knew that you were staring at him; it was just something that you did whenever the two of you were lying in bed together. He didn't mind of course, as he often found himself staring at you too when he thought that you weren't looking. "You're staring," he said, a small smirk on his lips.

"I call it admiring," you stated, your fingers tilting his chin up so he could face you more. As soon as you did that, he opened his eyes to look at you; admiring that soft smile you so often gave him. "Now you're the one staring."

"It's called admiring," he grinned.

"Smartass," you replied, leaning in, cupping his face and gently kissing him.

Ben was on the cold metal table now, strapped in like he normally was; still slightly out of it due to the Novichok. He could barely understand what they were planning on doing to him today; but the words that he could make out (as he had heard them plenty of times in this context) was gasoline and matches.

Ben was in the gym, punching away at a punching bag, attempting to get his aggression out. Today was one of the worst days he's had in a while, and all he wanted to do right now was curl up in bed with you after he fucked your brains out against the tile of the shower wall; but you were no where to be found.

He usually had a pretty good idea about where you could be, but for some reason you weren't in your usual places. But that's when he heard it; heard the pitter patter of your feet running down the hallway towards the gym, trying your best not to slide on the slick marble floors.

With one final punch, the door to the gym swung open, and he knew that it could only be you. But without fail, you did what you normally did in order to try and surprise him and placed your little hands over his eyes, promptly covering them. "Guess who!" You exclaimed.

"Noir," he smirked, and you laughed, removing your hands. God he fucking loved the way you laughed.

"You're very good," you replied, and he turned to face you, looking slightly down at you.

"Where were you today?" He asked. "I couldn't fucking find you anywhere," you frowned slightly, and he hated more than anything whenever you frowned — especially when he was the cause of it. "Don't frown Sugar," he said, tilting your chin up. "You're far too pretty to be doing that." Your frown instantly became a soft smile. "There she is," he grinned.

Today was one of the worst days as they bathed him in gasoline and lit him repeatedly with matches. The first couple of times, Ben held in the pain and simply just gritted his teeth as he didn't want to give these fuckers the satisfaction that they were actually causing him immense pain. But after about the sixth or eighth time (he couldn't remember), he actually let out a groan as he just couldn't hold in the pain any longer.

After he let out that groan; the Ivan's must of been satisfied, as all he could hear was the sounds of them laughing, laughing as if they were at some comedy show; and for the first time in Ben's life, his stomach actually felt like it was in knots — that was how disgusted he was.

"So, I met with my agent and Legend today," you said, starting to trace small circles on his bare chest. "And guess what?"

"What?" He asked, cocking a brow.

"You know the show Solid Gold right?" You asked him.

"Of course I do. It's your favorite fucking show," he said. "What about it?"

"Well...they're going to be doing a special episode coming up featuring Kim Carnes, the Oak Ridge Boys, Wayland Flowers and Madame, and they want us on the show too!" You exclaimed, smiling wide.

"Why wasn't I invited to this little meeting if they want me too?" He questioned.

"Because they know you'll agree to anything as long as I bring it up to you," you said, flashing that charming smile you always did whenever you were trying to butter him up to get something you wanted. Repeatedly he would tell himself that he wouldn't fall for it, wouldn't give in; but he always did without fail, as he found himself never being able to say no to you — he loved you too fucking much.

He sighed. "When do we film?"

You bit your bottom lip, almost as if you were afraid to give him the answer. "Friday," you mumbled. Today was Wednesday.

Memories of the two of you were one of the only things that had kept Ben going besides dreaming of the day when you would rescue him from this awful place. But if he was being honest, the longer he was here, the more he was starting to question if you were ever going to come and rescue him. Were you even looking for him? A question that started to enter his mind more and more lately; a question that he hated came to mind. But he had to hope that deep down that you were actually looking for him and have been for the past unknown amount of years because you had loved him just as much as he had loved you.

Tag List: @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @deans-daydream @midorimachisenpaii @rachiem4-blog @taraswifes @zepskies @jackles010378 @mrsjenniferwinchester @globetrotter28 @deans-spinster-witch @mrlonelycat @zombie-freak @waywardlatina @crystal555 @missscarlettangel @livingordeadwhoknows @79winchester @savagemickey03 If you’d like to be added to a tag list please follow this link

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys one shot #the boys amazon #ben x you #ben x reader #female reader #reader insert

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yandere-daydreams · 4 months

Text

Title: Idol Worship.

Pairing: Yandere!Devil x Reader (Christianity).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Consensual Sex, Size Difference, Implied (Past) Injury To Reader, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Scarring, and Themes of Religious Trauma.

The path to His throne was paved with salt and brimstone.

Smoldering rock burnt into the soles of your feet like ember, taken fresh from the heart of the fire. Living corpses, their rotting flesh deteriorating further with ever fraught breath, laid motionless on either side of the crumbling archway, their milky eyes watching your every stumbling movement. The air was heavy with smoke and sulfur, but the buzzling of unseen insects, the stench of the decay – that was all kept in your peripheral. It was meant for someone else, someone whose crimes were far more violent and far more damning than your own. Your fate was elsewhere.

The ascent was made no easier by your anticipation, the steps carved from black onyx and made steep enough to warrant your immediate and self-inflicted dehumanization, to force you to your hands and knees in your effort to scramble upward – ever upward, as if you hadn’t yet had enough of the blinding sky. Rough granite tore into the skin of your palms, but the agony was minimal, a shadow something greater that would not numb you to more intentional agony. The heat, too, was distant, rolling over you in tender waves and seeping under your skin to coil around your ribs, to weave in and out of ragged tears in your mutilated veins. Something snapped inside your chest as you finished your climb, fresh blood washing over your aching throat, but any pain you might’ve felt faded away as a great hand descended from the clouds of smog and ash, His calloused fingertips digging into your waist, your stomach as He took you up and placed you, gingerly, on His silk-clad thigh. His touch lingered, a thumb running over your scalp as He spoke. “Oh, my glorious one,” His voice was deep and flat and beautiful. “What have they done to you?”

Anything they could. Everything they could. Your body was still plagued with the phantoms of it, the frigid cold of steel and iron against flesh and bone. You tried to speak, but your voice was gone, muted by means beyond your own. You frowned, more frustrated than you were surprised, but He did not share in your disappointment. “They are sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil.” After a beat, He added, “I will not be so forgiving.”

His hand began to pull away, but you scrambled after of it, latching onto His wrist in a futile effort to hold Him that much closer. An airy chuckle fell from Him unmoving muzzle – His golden, slit-pupiled eyes remaining focused on some distant point as He took you into His hold once again, lifting you first to His own height. For the first time, he moved in earnest – tilting his head forward and resting his forehead against yours. “The reason the Son appeared was to destroy the Devil’s work, for the thief comes only to steal and destroy.” His breath was cool against your skin, even as anger seeped into His tone. “And now, instead, you are asked to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow.”

It was more of a croak than a proper plea, hoarse and fractured at all the wrong angles. Still, you managed it, your own small hands pressed into the swell of His palm. “Please, my lamb.”

He seemed to catch himself, inhaling sharply as He shook His head. “My apologies, I forget my audience. You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.” You nuzzled closer to Him, and He allowed you a moment of solace before pulling away, straightening Himself to His most dignified stature. “We have been separated for no short time. Tell me, will you not gratify the desires of the flesh?” A note of humor, a forked tongue allowed to skirt gingerly over your neck. “Will you not allow me to show the length of my devotion?”

You didn’t need to answer, it was a given that you would. His delicate tongue ran over the lacerations on your calves, your thighs - smearing dried blood and soothing open wounds. It flicked upward, lapping at the twin scars on either side of your chest, then the bruises painted across your collarbones, around the base of your throat. His hand shifted, wrapping around your waist, His hold firm and steady as He lowered you onto his length. There were other options – as many shapes and variations as a lustful heart could dream of – but His cock was among His most impressive features. The shaft alone matched your arm in length and your midriff in girth, and yet, it pierced you without resistance, filling you to the brim before He was so much as half-sheathed inside of you. Your knees pressed into his lap, your hand grasping for purchase against his broad chest, but you felt no fear, nor was your exertion necessary in the face of His willingness to serve. He let out a raspy breath, allowing His head to lull back as He thrust gently into you from below. “Earthly one, glorious one,” The pet name fell from His lips like milk and butter and honey. “We will lead each other astray. We will be the force by which the greatest love is defined.”

A growl of a moan as your walls clenched around Him, a sharp snap of His hips. “We will be bound together in perfect harmony,” His hand found the underside of your chin, tilting your head back with only the upmost delicacy. “And those who try to separate us will face only the most just of retribution.”

Your eyes met His, that wonderous gold melting into softened mortality. Where there should have been revulsion, there was only warmth, only light. Foolishly, for a moment, you allowed yourself to scorn the shine of the heavens, to loathe all things that were not Him.

You allowed yourself to believe that you would need nothing else, not so long as His gaze fell upon you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yandere god #yandere demon #yanderecore #yancore

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sprout-fics · 11 months

Note

Got dragon!Price stuck in my head. He's made a nest before hand all just for you with the finest things surrounding you. Showing you he's a provider and will take care of you, not knowing you couldn't care about that as all you've ever wanted is him to claim you over and over again. Not till he catches the scent of your arousal every time he's close to you. And he's barely out of your sight since "kidnapping" (rescuing) you.

You sense the sulfurous, smoky presence of him before you hear him.

He’s heavy in your thoughts, your lover, as wind echoes through the halls and he descends into the mountain cavern, his huge wings spread broad to slow his descent. It tinkles the wind chimes in your chamber, where you raise your head from the pile of luscious silks and pillows he’s laid you upon. The chimes sing his arrival in delicate notes, a gentle stirring of the air broken by the long, winding corridors long since carved into the mountain he calls home. There’s a distant noise as smoke evaporates from his massive form and he once more transforms into the shape you are more familiar with, the one that holds you close and purrs you to sleep as golden eyes watch your dreams.

It takes little time for him to find you, his form bare as his feet pace against the stone floor. You shift where you lay, draped in jewels and fine fabrics he’s gathered for you from the far reaches of the kingdom. It pleases him to see you adorned in his treasures, you, his most prized possession.

The sturdy, rigid outline of him stands in your vision, taking in the sight of you. A bare leg dangles from the mountain of pillows upon which you sprawl, glittering gems hanging heavy between your breasts, and you see the way his eyes flash as you shift, stretch, and offer him a coy, inviting smile.

“Husband.” You purr, extending an arm in invitation into this nest he’s built you, and Price growls, low, pleased at the sound of your voice. He crawls up the length of your body, and you admire him as he does, from the taut muscles of his shoulders to the softness of his belly and the hardness which stirs below it.

“My bride.” He murmurs, voice raspy with ashes of the fire, horns protruding from his cropped hair and a smile tugging beneath his beard.

“I missed you.” You supply as his lips descend to your skin, feeling reverent, as if he is the mortal worshiping at the altar of a god and not you. Yet there’s a possessiveness to his answering rumble that has you arch into him, lust stirring in your smoky senses.

“I can tell, love.” He replies, and a hand slides under your gown to the peak of your thighs, dips into the folds of you where slickness greets him. His thumb traces against your hooded bundle of nerves and you whine at him, reach your arms to wrap around his broad neck and drag him closer.

“Claim me.” You murmur without preamble, voice a soft, wanting sigh against his flesh.

Price only chuckles.

“Soon.” He promises, and then descends, his lips tracing a burning trail against your skin, marking every inch he can find until the skirt of your gown bunches around your waist and his long forked tongue licks a broad stripe up the center of you. You cry out a gasping little sound, hands instantly reaching for his horns and hips canting up into his mouth.

“I want to taste you.” He breathes against your folds, chindipping into the wetness of you. “Want you to come across my tongue, princess.”

A smile tugs at your lips, something akin to a laugh at that. Yes, the princess, stolen away by the fearsome dragon, held captive by a terrifying monster until some daring hero comes to rescue you. You won’t let anyone take you, not from him. Not when he’s yours.

#captain john price #captain price #captain price x reader #john price x reader #cod x reader #x reader #reader insert #thursday night thots #on a monsterfucker roll here tonight apparently

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cryptotheism · 3 months

Note

Do you know anything about connections between Indian alchemy and western alchemy? I learned about Indian first -- David Gordon White's books -- and was surprised that western alchemy was also into combos of mercury and sulfur.

It's funny, they actually don't connect all that much. Like the biggest connections were through China via the silk road. And obviously, the Arabs got more Chinese texts than they did Indian texts.

What's even funnier is most of the Chinese alchemical texts the Arabs got were about comparatively boring things like "how to make a stable alloy of copper and nickel." Chinese alchemy wasnt all that impactful compared to fucking PAPER.

And of course they're also into combining mercury and sulfur! They're basically two rare but available substances that don't behave like typical substances. Doesn't matter where you are on earth, sulfur is explosively flammable, and mercury is a liquid at body temperature!

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sky-kiss · 6 months

Note

Okay I had a thought and you can do with it whatever you want... but Raphael speaking infernal is so underrated. Even in game when he casts spells during battle, he doesn't really verbally say anything which is a shame (but is kinda cool if certain beings are powerful enough to cast nonverbally. Either that or my game is hella bugged). When you had that moment in your latest chapter of him speaking infernal to transform that made me 😳Like the way it'd described of being this harsh language and Raphael speaking it just snapped some part of my brain and I'd imagine it'd do something for Joi/Tav too. Like would Raphael still somehow make it sound beautiful (to quote Mamzelle, "a voice that could make the foulest blasphemy seem the sweetest hymn" or it would he still sound harsh but it's still hot because it's flying out of THAT mouth?

__________

A/N: There’s an actor I used to adore who was German, but often spoke a lot of french. So his German would come out with that gentle French lilt. Gonna channel that.

__________

He comes to her in the evening, this devil she loves, and the scent of cherries, sulfur, and musk hangs about him like a shroud. Raphael prowls about her suite like some great cat, his dark head held high. In the hells, his hellfire eyes will light with their inner fire. On the prime material, he’s softer. Warm brown, a touch of honey, almost sweet enough to make her forget.

“You’re late,” she says.

He hums lowly. The natural theatricality of the noise does not rob it of its power; Tav shivers. The devil sees; he knows. He always knows. “Ah, but there is such beauty in anticipation, wouldn’t you agree? Desire honed to a knife’s point.” A turn of his right hand, long-fingered and elegant. “Before one tips over the edge.”

It’s a fine enough point in principle, but less appealing in reality. Their time is short, limited to stolen moments when their schedules align. She has a city to rebuild. He has the lower planes to conquer.

Her devil smiles, patronizing. “If you feel neglected, mouse, I have already proposed a solution. You’ve only to accept the offered hand.”

“Join you in Hell?” He nods, eyes wide and lovely. It strikes her that he has cultivated every aspect of this human skin: the smile is so wide, so open, and so nakedly suffused with guile that it wraps back around to innocence.

Raphael steps close. The scent again: cherries, sweet and delicate. Her devil, wearing sweetness and silk to hide his uglier underbelly. He brushes the fringe of her hair back from her cheek, touch lingering. “Deny me all you like, pet. It shall make the eventual fall all the sweeter.”

Anticipation. Tav shivers.

Some nights, they fuck in front of the fireplace or on the chaise. Never in the bed. It’s her stipulation. Raphael crinkles his nose at the coarse language and indelicacy of the location. She deserves better, he says. The phrase always comes with an accompanying hand gesture, as if he's framing her for a portrait. Something pretty he can lock away from the world, point at when he wants to feel superior. Admire his wealth, this wild adventurer he’s collared.

Most nights, they work. Tav shuffles through requisition orders. Raphael amends his contracts. She watches him work, more often than not, gaze flicking across the elegant script. It burns, and there’s an undeniable elegance to the infernal ruins. Tav reaches out to race a line, mouthing the words. She’s out of practice. Infernal is not a pretty language; it fits particularly poorly in her untrained tongue. Raphael rests his chin in his palm, amused by her attempt.

“Allow me.”

The devil repeats the phrase. It may as well be a different language. The words drip off his tongue, the harshness erased in favor of a lilting cadence. Tav chews the inside of her cheek, brow furrowed. “Is that…is it a regional dialect? Something distinct to Cania?”

“In all likelihood, you’ve only heard the lower dialects. The least baatezu are harsh and guttural. The higher speech has a grace to it, provided one is willing to learn. It is a melody, dark and heady as any wine.” Raphael places his hand, palm up, on the table. “Allow me.” Tav sets her hand in his. “Close your eyes, pet.”

She does.

Raphael traces lines across her palm, humming to himself. “There are four tongues, sweetling. Lower, lowest, high, highest. For the sake of your sanity, we shall avoid the dialect of the archdevils. But the language of the courts might please you.”

“And is there a reason my eyes must remain closed?”

He chuckles, thumb pressing against the veins of her wrist. There is an awful note of potential in the touch; he could break the fragile bones with half a thought. “Feeling, Tav. Like the steps of the dance, it should fill you, move you.”

She shivers as his fingers ghost up her forearm, featherlight nerve strokes. Raphael repeats the lines of infernal, his fingers drifting up on the mouth melodic stretches, dipping down when the words adopt a guttural edge. It is never grating, never clipped; some of that is exclusively him, years of experience and language marrying in a distinctive vocal pattern. Tav chews her lower lip. She’s too aware of his heat, pinpricks of warmth dancing across her skin as he plays his game.

It is beautiful and dark, and she feels the words on her skin. Raphael traces the runes. Her mind struggles to translate the higher dialect, flowing until it isn’t, succinct until double-meaning creeps into the terminology. Tav feels drunk in the darkness.

“And now,” his voice is closer, spoken against the shell of his ear. The devil gathers her into his lap. He smiles into the curve of her throat. “The student demonstrates what she’s learned. Come, pet, impress me.”

He traces the runes on her thighs. Over the skin of her belly. Between her breasts. And if she loses the thread, if her voice gives way, her devil stops. He’ll suck a bruise into her throat, press teeth until they threaten to breast skin, tease, tease, tease…

Anticipation, she thinks, that earlier word flitting across her awareness.

And her devil is ever patient.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #asks #my fic #raphael out here abusing the dark power of his voice #in this house we make terrible choices #im sorry there isnt more language stuff #my latin is SUPER rusty so i didn't risk it

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thecampjuicebox · 4 months

Note

*Ahem*

Mephistopheles having some fiends deliver a present to the boudoir (for Raphael and/or Haarlep - you decide). That present is a very confused, but also very naked, Tav who is all tied up with silk and who also has a collar attached to a chain on her neck. (for her part, Tav would be down with being in the fiend's bed like this, she just would have preferred Raphael or Haarlep be the one to have brought her here)

Incredible idea! I think we need a lil Haarlep AND Raphael showing sweet little Mouse some fun 😈 Thank you for your submission, I hope you enjoy the filth! 💕

Wrapped With a Bow

Pairing: Raphael x Haarlep(m) x Tav(f)

Rating: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI

POV: 3rd Person

Warnings: Angst, smut, bondage, use of a collar/leash, CNC, domination, fingering, double penetration

The still morning air of the House of Hope sizzles with devilish magic as red sparks and hellfire swirl around the portal room, two large winged cambions appearing in the middle of the circle of enchanted frames. Servants and debtors alike greet the visitors with dulled eyes and forced smiles. The strong scent of sulfur and cinders alerts Raphael and Haarlep of the intrusion, Raphael stirring from his boudoir to assess the situation with a heavy sigh. "Who disturbs me at this hour?" he mumbles, palms rubbing the sleep from his half open eyes. One of the cambions bows gracefully, a letter pressed between his outstretched index and middle finger. "A gift from Mephistopheles." he says, voice deep and booming. A gift? Raphael reluctantly plucks the parchment from the fiend's fingers, tearing open the envelope with ease, eyes scanning the page as he reads.

My son,

As I know you are still infuriated by my actions, I am sending this gift to you as a peace offering. Use her well, she was near impossible to wrangle. A strong one she is. I hope you'll find her suitable.

Your father,

Mephistopheles

"How thoughtful." he hisses. Irritation seers in his throat as he waves a hand at the two fiends, showing them toward the boudoir to deliver the gift, and hopefully, get the hells out of his home. He follows, hands smoothing his hair back as he thinks back to the letter. A poor attempt at forgiveness. Shaking his head, he rounds the corner, eyes moving from the fiends to Haarlep, and back again, watching as they wrestle something to the floor, little yelps and squeaks of struggle perking his ears up. Just as quickly as they came, the two fiends blink away in another flurry of red magic, the sparks settling in the air to reveal his gift sat pretty on the marble floor. An woman, artfully wrapped in black silk ribbons like a Midwinter present, legs and arms bound to restrict any struggling. Around her neck sits a red leather collar, thick chain attached to a silver O-ring secured at the front. A delicious looking gift, indeed.

From across the room, Haarlep purrs, wings fluttering behind him, tail swishing side to side in an obviously aroused manner as he approaches the cambion and his new pet. "Pretty little thing, isn't she?" he mumbles as he places his hands on Raphael's hips from behind, pressing his half-hard cock to the devil's backside. "Very pretty indeed." a smirk forces itself onto Raphael's lips as he kneels in front of Tav to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "You'll be put to such good use, little mouse." Tav spits at the devil, earning a quick grip of the jaw. Raphael's fingers hold onto each side of her face, squishing her cheeks together, a smirk forming on Tav's lips that he did not expect. She enjoys this? Haarlep gasps in excitement, swaying his hips side to side as he runs his own nails down his torso, one hand grasping at his now full erect cock beneath its thin leather restraint. "Let's play with her.."

Tav's eyes meet Raphael's. Sparkling and wet from tears, lashes dusted with little water droplets like fresh snow on pine trees. He sighs at the sight. So beautiful, so sweet. So ready to be destroyed. The look she gives him is one of surprising lust. She breathes a sigh of desire when he trails his fingers over the sharpness of her jaw and down the side of her neck. A shudder rattles her bones from his warm touch and she innocently blinks up at him. "So lovely.." he murmurs to her, fingers inching their way toward her right breast. Featherlight touch traces the shape and his eyes never leave hers, searching for permission to continue. She gives him a slow nod of approval. He circles the nipple with the tip of his nail, earning a moan from Tav's lips, her eyelids fluttering at the sweet mix of pain and pleasure. Careful fingers reach for the restraints and Haarlep quickly leans down to grasp at his wrist. "Release her there and she'll surely run. Let's move her to a much more comfortable destination."

The incubus and the devil help Tav to her feet. She stumbles from the tight restrains around her legs and Haarlep groans impatiently, scooping her legs up from beneath her, Raphael holding onto her top half as they carefully lie her on the plush bed. "Perfect. You do the honors, Haarlep." Raphael leans against the wall, his hands traveling over his torso and over the front of his thin robe, cock twitching behind the fabric, desperate for release. Haarlep grins and leans in to grasp at the bow in the ribbon with his sharp teeth, giving the silk a gentle tug to release the ties. Tav remains perfectly still. Lids low. Bottom lip caught in a death grip between her teeth. She's perfectly naked beneath the ribbons, cunt already soaked and ready for whatever the two men have in store for her.

Raphael palms at his erection slowly. His lower back bows off of the wall and Haarlep pauses to watch him, a low moan rumbling in his throat at the sight of his master exciting himself. "Such a tease." he groans, reaching down to rub at his own erection momentarily. A quick tug removes the ribbons from Tav's body and she sighs at the relief, legs falling open to reveal the mess between her thighs. Little red marks cover her skin from the friction and tightness of the silk. She sits up and turns her head toward Raphael to watch him, hips unintentionally rolling forward at the filthy thoughts swirling around in her head. She's ready for him. For both of them. In one swift motion, Haarlep reaches for her hips, flipping her over and shoving her face into the velvet duvet beneath them, a primal growl raising goosebumps all over her soft skin. His hands search her body. Every curve and crevice. Every freckle and bruise and imperfection.

Raphael still watches as Haarlep's hands roam Tav's back and ass, squishing the supple flesh between his fingers, kneading and groping and squeezing. One hand gathers Tav's wrists and forces them behind her back. He shoots a look at Raphael. "Some help?" he hisses and Raphael moves toward the bed to retrieve the ribbons Tav had been released from not moments before. He circles her wrists with the silk carefully, tying a bow at the top to finish off the restraint and he leans back to admire his work. The chain still connected to Tav's collar glimmers in the candlelight of the boudoir. An invitation. Raphael reaches down to grasp at it and give it a gentle tug, earning a muffled whimper from Tav as she struggles to lift her head from the bed. Hot fingers swipe up through her folds, Haarlep using his knees to keep her thighs apart as far as her hips will allow in this position. He lifts his fingers to show Raphael her slick, spreading them apart to windowpane the wetness between them in a thin, sticky layer.

"Little Mouse.. So wet for us." Raphael grunts. The devil leans forward, eyes fixed on Haarlep, tongue flicking out to clean off the incubus' fingers. He sucks the digits between his lips, tongue swirling around them thoroughly, Tav's sweetness making his cock grow even harder. Haarlep pulls his fingers away with a satisfying pop and works them through Tav's folds one more, eventually pressing the two fingertips to her entrance. She accepts them with ease. Surprising ease, even for herself. Haarlep begins a torturously slow pump of his fingers within her walls and she rolls her hips backward against them, chasing friction, release, anything. She's desperate now. Desperate for more. To be filled to the brim. His thumb presses to her clit and Tav nearly comes undone in that moment, the pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves enough to start her legs trembling.

The pumping of Haarlep's fingers continues as he uses his free hand to palm at his cock again, the angry red tip weeping with a shiny bead of precum. He pulls it from behind its leather restraint and leans down to rub the head between Tav's ass cheeks, playfully pressing it against her tight hole. She lifts her head and yelps. "Such a good girl." Raphael coos, giving the chain another tug, this one much rougher. A quiet choked noise escapes her and she licks the drool pooling at the corners of her lips, turning her head to fix her eyes on Raphael as Haarlep ruts against her backside. The devil hands the chain to the incubus and unties his robe, instructing Haarlep to pull Tav up onto her knees. He obeys, fingers leaving her cunt reluctantly. She keens at the emptiness and pushes herself back against the incubus as he reaches a hand around to find her aching clit once more. Her head falls back against his chest in relief, little moans of pure pleasure pouring from her lips like a song.

Raphael crawls up onto the bed and settles himself on his back in front of Tav. She smiles down at him in between moans, Haarlep's fingers still working furiously at her clit, the other hand winding the chain tight around it to keep Tav's body pulled close to his chest for complete control. He mumbles filthy words into her ear, drawing her closer to her end with each circle of his fingers. Raphael takes his cock into his hand and strokes at it slowly, Haarlep gathering some of Tav's slick on his hand to reach out and smooth over Raphael's erection for lubricant. The devil groans at the sensation and his hand quickens. "Careful, Raphael. We know what happens when you become too eager." Haarlep teases. With a groan, Raphael flattens himself against the bed and drops his hand to his side. "Bring her to me." he grunts. Haarlep obeys and shifts Tav forward. She adjusts her legs to straddle Raphael's lap, cunt pressed firmly to his cock as it lays against his stomach.

His hands find the globes of her ass and without hesitation, he guides her hips in a grinding motion against him, the friction enough to earn a strained moan from the devil's throat. Tav grins and presses her chest tightly to his as she follows the movements he pushes her hips into, her slick dripping onto his pelvis with each thrust. A delicious mess of sticky clear fluid and precum coats their skin. Haarlep lines himself up behind Tav carefully, nails digging into the plush meat of her thighs. He gathers spit on his tongue, allowing it to fall in a thin rope onto Tav's tight asshole, his thumb rubbing the saliva into her skin before pressing the tip of his cock against her. She grits her teeth and hisses at the burning sensation as he pushes himself inside. "Oh g-gods-" she whines, head falling into the sweaty crook of Raphael's neck and shoulder. He holds her steady to allow her time to adjust before lifting his hips and allowing his cock to easily slide into her cunt.

Tav sobs into Raphael's neck at the heavy pressure in both holes, her hips still. Raphael coos to her quietly, smoothing her hair down against the back of her head. After a few moments of reprieve, Haarlep begins the thrusting first, nails still hooked roughly into Tav's thighs. Little rivulets of blood bubbling up and over the indentations. Raphael begins his movements next and Tav nearly crumbles to ash as both men pick up their pace. Hips crash against hips, loud squelching and slapping noises filling the boudoir like a filthy symphony. "I can't wait to pump you full of my seed, little mouse. Make such a mess of you." Raphael groans. Haarlep gives her chain another yank backwards. She coughs at the restriction against her windpipe, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as the two men continue to furiously rut into her aching holes. She can't take much more.

Raphael falls apart first, loud moans ringing in Tav's ear. He ruts up into her one final time, hot ropes of cum spewing deep within her walls. She presses sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his neck and chest as she continues to ride him through his orgasm. The friction of the silk ribbons rubs her wrists raw and she wines as she tries to tug them apart. Sweat beads up on Raphael's forehead. His eyes squeeze shut at the blissful overstimulation of his cock. Haarlep is next, muscular body toppling over Tav's, pressing her tighter to Raphael as he forces his hips into her a few more times. Heat boils up in Tav's belly and she settles into the cambion beneath her. A content sigh escapes her lungs. She tugs at the ribbons once more. Both men remain inside of her, cocks pulsing from their climaxes, Tav's walls squeezing around them with the beat of her heart. They lie there, a sweaty pile of heat and sex. All too tired to move. Haarlep chuckles quietly to himself and presses his head between the space in Tav's shoulder blades, his fingers releasing her wrists from the ribbons, chest heaving.

"Your daddy should bring us gifts more often, Raphael."

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #fic request #raphael x haarlep #raphael x haarlep x tav #raphael x tav #haarlep x tav #haarlep smut #raphael smut

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barbiedragon · 2 months

Text

Shared Blood

ASOIAF: Visenya Targaryen x Rhaenys Targaryen

Rating: Mature (one spicy scene)

WC: 1.4 k

Prompt 11: Sky for @femslashfeb

Warnings: Targcest, WLW, fingering, nipple sucking, pregnancy

The Targaryen sisters enjoy the hot springs on a visit to Dragonstone

A/N: The wedding vow translation in High Valyrian is all taken from episode 7 of HOTD. I merely replaced the translation of the word two with three.

*comments/reblogs are appreciated

Vhagar’s dark green wings sliced through the fluffy clouds, leaving white tendrils curling through the clear blue sky in her wake. Her delighted roar rumbled through the air as a smile curled across Visenya’s ruby lips. It was rare these days to find a respite of peace, and as Vhagar became hardened by battle, Visenya thought it essential to give her most loyal and trusted companion a chance to relax. In the distance, she heard the cry of Meraxes as Rhaenys caught up to them. Her younger sister’s amused laughter chimed around her as the large body of her dragon swooped overhead of Vhagar. The sunlight glittered off Meraxes’s silver scales, so Visenya lifted one hand to shield her eyes from the intense glare.

The two descended onto their ancestral seat of Dragonstone, leaving their brother-husband, Aegon, to handle court on his own for the day. The pungent smell of sulfur hit Visenya’s nostrils as the dragons landed on the sand, lowering their massive bodies for their riders to dismount easily. Visenya’s boots sank into the damp sand as she moved toward Rhaenys’s side, steadying her sister. The babe growing in her belly was apparent, the swell beneath her black silk tunic quite noticeable.

“Many thanks, sister,” Rhaenyra smiled, leaning into Visenya for support.

“The hot springs will do you and the babe well,” Visenya hummed as they made the small trek up a slope of the Dragonmont. Her violet eyes lingered on the spot where the three had exchanged marriage vows, the taste of blood on her tongue. She still recalled the vows, mouthing them silently as the memories flooded her.

Hen hāroti ānogar. Va sȳndroti vāedroma. Mēro perzot gīhoti. Elēdroma iārza sīr. Izulī ampā perzī. Prūmī hārior sēteksi. Hen jenȳ māzīlarion. Qēlossa ozūndesi. Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo. Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi. (Blood of three. Joined as one. Ghostly flame. And song of shadows. Three hearts as embers. Forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time. Of darkness and light.)

“Ever the dutiful older sister,” Rhaenys teased, her hair cascaded around her shoulders in silver waves while Visenya had hers braided elegantly, pearls woven through the plaits. The younger Targaryen felt pride as she gazed upon her sister’s hair, for it had been her own creation. The noble ladies of Westeros weren’t well-versed in Valyrian customs, so she took it upon her shoulders to ensure she and Visenya wore their heritage proudly. Rhaenys’s hand slipped into Visenya’s, interlacing their fingers. Visenya felt the phantom throb in her palm from the long-healed cut from where she bound her blood to Aegon and Rhaenys.

They reached the trio of hot springs built by their ancestor, Aenar, when he fled to Dragonstone before the Doom of Valyria. Visenya loosed the leather belt around her waist, Dark Sister holstered in the side, before placing it nearby where she could reach for it if needed. Dragonstone should be safe, but she trusted no one apart from her siblings, and even then, there were times she did not trust Aegon, even if she loved him with all her heart. The fool had left her to insist upon a Kingsguard for his protection. The two women disrobed, and garments of leather, silk, linen, and cotton were strewn over the rocks along with Visenya’s breastplate constructed of Valyrian steel.

Visenya first stepped into the balmy water, the heat soothing her skin before helping Rhaenys in. Rhaenys’s swollen belly disappeared below the water as she lowered herself into the welcomed warmth.

“How wonderful,” she sighed happily, caressing her rounded stomach with one hand.

The two basked in the blistering heat of the water beneath the bright cerulean sky while their dragons circled overhead. King’s Landing would never truly feel like home; Dragonstone was embedded in their blood—one of the last mementos left of Old Valyria.

“Do you hope for a son or a daughter, sister?” Visenya hummed.

“A son, to give our husband an heir,” she smiled.

“He will be well loved and very cherished, sister.”

“It shall be your turn soon.”

Visenya scoffed. “We shall see. I believe you have a temperament better suited to motherhood. Mayhaps it’s selfish, but I do not wish to be tied down.”

“I understand. You always were the strongest of us, meant for great things.”

“As are you, sister. You conquered Westeros alongside us.”

“Indeed, but none wields Dark Sister as you. Your skills with the sword outshine our brother’s,” Rhaenys said, an amused smirk tugging at her lips.

“It’s why we are the three-headed dragon; we are stronger together than divided. Our blood runs thick,” Visenya stated, her gaze landing on her sister.

She understood Aegon’s love for Rhaenys, for she felt the same. Her company, her beauty, and her wit were alluring; soft, and sweet with a will of Valyrian steel.

“I’m glad we decided to come here today. It was much needed, and the babe enjoys the heat. He will not be still,” Rhaenya chuckled, “Would you like to feel?”

“I would.”

Rhaenys guided Visenya’s hand to her swollen belly, and a look of surprise crossed Visenya’s face as she felt the child move beneath her sister’s taut skin. It reminded her of the soft thrum of a dragon’s wings. This babe was the future, a stronghold for their lineage to rule Westeros for centuries to come. Hope filled Visenya as she found herself pressed against Rhaenys’s side. Her hand stroked the smooth skin of Rhaenys’s face before leaning in to kiss her sweetly. Visenya felt the most alive at Dragonstone, and the intoxicating kiss of her sister stirred a fire deep in her belly.

Her mouth roamed over Rhaenys’s neck, down to the swells of her full breasts, taking care to suckle on each pink nipple. Aegon oft spent his evenings with their sweet sister, stealing her away all to himself, so Visenya learned to savor the moments they had together. Her hand dipped below the water, finding the treasure she sought. Rhaenys’s moans fluttered in the warm air as Visenya’s fingers gently sank inside her. Her thumb pressed to her sister’s swollen pearl, circling the delicate bud tenderly.

“Kostilus, mandȳs (please, sister),” Rhaenys mewled. The pregnancy had made her more sensitive, and while she would normally enjoy a longer session with her sister-wife, her body ached for a sweet release.

Visenya’s slender fingers curled inside, hitting the soft, spongy spot that sent her younger sister trembling into a release.

“Gevies, dōnus hāedus (beautiful, sweet sister),” Visenya cooed, teeth scraping over the tender flesh of Rhaenys’s neck.

Their lips meet; a sharp, bruising kiss laced with passion, tinged with fire, an aching hunger only the blood of the dragon could truly understand. Blood blossomed from split flesh, mingling and leaving a sharp taste behind. Just as the day they were wed. Three made as one. Both women longed to have Aegon with them at this moment. To taste him, to savor him, to devour him.

“Shall we depart for King’s Landing?” Rhaenys asked softly, her forehead resting against Visenya’s.

“It’s as if you read my mind, sister,” Visenya smirked.

Visenya’s hand smoothed over her rounded stomach, her sharp, violet eyes fixed on Aenys as he approached the silver dragon, one reminiscent of the dragon his departed mother rode. He had been sickly since the murder of his mother; many believed the boy not long for the world. The nasty rumors that circulated the kingdom of Aegon not being his father, sent a fury burning deep through Visenya. One that made her want to clutch Dark Sister tightly and slice her blade through their necks until tongues could no longer wag. Aenys claiming a dragon would set those rumors to rest. This must be done. She would not allow her sister’s memory to be sullied.

“Be not afraid, dear boy. This is your birthright,” she stated, giving him a nod as the large dragon lowered his head toward the small boy.

His tiny hand pressed against the muzzle, and Visenya remembered the day she bonded to Vhagar. The inexplicable feeling of blood set aflame, hearts beating in unison as a thrill pulsed deep within her bones. As the boy bonded with a dragon, he seemed flushed anew with rosy cheeks and a broad smile on his face. Visenya offered a rare, approving smile as she thought of the babe that grew in her belly as Rhaenys’s words echoed in her head. It shall be your turn soon. It seemed the fate of the Targaryen line rested with her.

She cast her gaze up at the brilliant azure sky, but she no longer tasted blood when she set foot on Dragonstone. Instead, she tasted ash.

#fae's writings #femslashfeb2024 #visenya targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #visenya x rhaenys #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf smut #queen visenya #rhaenys the conqueror #visenya the conqueror

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naelys-the-aster · 1 year

Text

Jorrāelagon Zālagon Chapter Two

Niece to Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, and cousin to Lady Alicent Hightower, you become ensnared in the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen. After hearing of a sensitive marriage arrangement, you learn the prince is running out of time... and options.

A/N: I love that everyone is enjoying this fiction, please keep ask the asks coming! Also Rhae = Rhaenyra, Not Rhea Royce.

Word Count: 6,381K

You and Daemon left the garden of the gods wood, trailing slightly behind the prince through the vast hallways and corridors of the keep. The hairs on your neck stood up as you felt the eyes of the Maesters, maids, and servants on you.

It felt like an oblivion, an endless journey, but you finally reached the large doors of your chambers and thanked the Rogue Prince for his escort with a smile. He gave a quick smile back and nodded, “Try to keep your eyes dry my lady, I will take your words into consideration.” And with that he turned on his heel, letting his footfalls echo through the corridor as he made his exit.

The chamber door creaked open loudly as you stepped into the room, “There you are!” Alicent exclaimed throwing her arms around you. You smiled and gladly returned her embrace.

“I lost you in the masses.” She said pulling away from you.

“Yes, I was one of the last ones to exit the throne room, I- uh- got caught up with the maidens of the court, I’m sorry cousin.” Alicent breathed a sigh of relief as she motioned you to sit down with her.

Your room was decadent, golden fixtures and satin silks draped the large room, antiques from all corners of the seven kingdoms neatly placed and dusted littered the room in an organized manor, that of which you would clean in times of great stress. The chairs that resided in front of your bed were made from the finest laces and linens, carved by the finest of craftsmen, and a small class table rested in between the two chairs. Alicent had a maiden bring in a fresh pot of tea, which sat on the table with two intricately decorated cups.

“Come cousin, sit with me.” Alicent patted the chair next to hers as she sat and you gladly followed suit.

“I have news” she whispers pouring you and herself a streaming hot class of black tea.

“Oh, do go on.” You quietly exclaimed picking the hot cup from the glass table, bringing it to your lips.

“This cannot leave this room Y/N,” you nodded in understanding, of anyone to keep a secret it would be you.

Alicent sipped her tea before continuing, “my father has spoken with the king and he has informed me that Daemon is to be wed”

You feigned shock, “Was that what the king spoke of after we exited the throne room?” your shock must’ve been believable because your cousin carried on with this juicy gossip.

“As punishment for his action in slums apparently” she sipped her tea once more.

“Does the king have a lady in mind?” Though you already knew the answer to this.

“The lady Rhea Royce heir to Runestone will be betrothed to him if Daemon does not choose a worthy maiden himself.” You nodded at this, at this point its hard to react..as you already found this out through an accidental bout of curiosity.

“The lady Rhea Royce is a fair and beautiful maiden.” you said plainly.

“Yes, indeed, do you think that their will be any contenders for the prince’s hand?” Alicent swirled her cup around in small circles as she gazed out of the large decorative windows of your room.

“I believe most women of the court find the prince to be rather…” what was the word you were looking for?

“to be rather coarse.” you finished setting down your cup. Alicent hummed in response and as if on cue the loud screeching of a dragon could be heard in the distance, Rhaenyra had finally returned home from her journey to Dragonstone. Cousin leapt up excitedly and grabbing your hand rushing you from your seat, “come! let us see Rhaenyra!”

The scent of dragon was a notable one, it could be described as a strong sulfuric scent with a musky tinge to the smell itself. Though Rhaenyra didn’t mind Syrax’s scent as she nuzzled her familiar.

“Rhaenrya!” Alicent called out waving her hands at her best friend. You followed suit and begave to wave and shout your greetings.

The three of you walked the halls to Rhaenrya’s quarters spilling the gossip about Daemon’s latest actions and the consequences to follow.

Rhae snorted as she laughed,“I highly doubt my uncle will find anyone to wed in such a short length of time.”

Ancient nodded in agreement and continued giggling as Rhaenyra pushed the heavy door of her bedroom open. “Do you believe my uncle started those fires?” although before you could respond while Rhae pushed on her chamber doors…

Which opened to reveal a shocking sight.

Daemon.

He sat on the edge of Rhaenrya’s bed, and his eyes connected with yours in shock. He didn’t expect you to be here. He must have not expected Rhaenrya to have any company in her presence upon her swift arrival.

Alicent and you froze in your place. This was strange, it still was before sunrise, why would he be nested in her quarters at such an hour?

Rhae tilted her hear and furrowed her brow in confusion, “Uncle, this is a surprise, what can I do for you?” she asked pulling off her riding gloves and tossing them on to her bed.

He did not respond, not with words, he simply shifted his gaze from you to Rhae, his brow raised and Rhaenrya responded instantaneously, “My friends, may I have a moment alone with my uncle?”

This was confusing, why would Daemon be waiting for Rhaenrya? But before you could give any indication of protest Alicent was dragging you down the hallway. She paused, stopping abruptly as if she couldn’t hold her words inside any longer.

“Alicent, stop, you’re hurting me!” you whispered harshly.

She turned to you in a dead locking her eyes with yours. “I fear for his intent on Rhaenyra”

“W-what?” Your brow was firmly knitted in confusion, did she know something that you had not?

“I do not trust him with Rhaenyra.” her voice rang firmly this time.

‘No.. she can't mean she thinks.. they are-’

You cut your thoughts off “No, Daemon is reckless.. but you do not think he would-“

“He has been given free reign to chose whomever he wishes to wed, why not Rhaenrya?” Alicent’s tone was sharp, and you inwardly cringed at the very suggestion.

She continued ranting about as the two of you reached the gardens.

“Why would the Prince be in wait for Rhaenrya if not for a salacious reason?”

You could only shake your head, “I do not know.” These matters are none of your concern, it was none of your business who prince Daemon carried on with. Though imagining it being Rhaenrya…

There was something about the though that made your stomach twist, your heart drop into the pit of your stomach, and adrenaline being to coarse through your heart. Alicent grabbed your hands causing you to look into her eyes, “We have to protect Rhaenrya”

Her eyes burned with determination and her grip on your hands became tight again.

“We cannot allow him to corrupt her innocence.” She repeated sternly, with this all you could do is nod in response.

Dinner was served at a vastly large table for only 7 people. Those of which were Queen Aemma, King Viserys, Prince Daemon, Princess Rhaenrya, Uncle Otto, Alicent, and yourself. Every dinner was resembling a feast, glazed roast sat as the center piece of the meal tonight, with side dishes of goat, beef, and crab being passed around casually.

Your eyes were drawn to the white haired prince eating silently as Aemma spoke about the origin of the meal. Something inside you yearned for just one glance from him, just to be noticed in this instant.

But you were no the one to catch his eyes, it was you best friend Rhaenrya. Daemon had not taken his eyes off of her for a majority of the meal, leaving you wondering if you would even stumble upon his company afterwards. You poked at your food, but your appetite had faded with your interest of even staying at the table.

‘Daemon would not sully a maiden like Rhaenrya, he couldn’t’

‘I’m overthinking this, he was waiting to greet her’

‘Alicent is- is trying to put ideas in my head is all’

But Daemon and Rhaenyra were enthralled in their conversation of dragon riding and the various trips on dragon back had taken, it seemed as if everyone else was flourishing in the conversation at the table, Otto and Viserys were speaking fondly with Alicent and Aemma, everyone but you, until Rhaenyra cheered.

“Y/N! Im sure you would love to come with us!”

You lifted your eyes from your plate, “Uh, I’ve never.. ridden before” you mumbled feeling heat flood your cheeks.

“Then you shall on the morrow, we fly for Dragonstone.” Daemon chimed bringing his cup to his lips.

Viserys smiled and laughed a loud commenting of how his first ride on Balerion was unforgettable. Otto’s eyes drifted to you, a for a second you caught him giving a stare of suspicion which had passed in a glimpse as he chimed in ushering a tale of the dragons from Valyria being the fastest as strongest of their kind. And Daemon had not given you any time, other than that one acknowledgement.

“You will do well cousin.” Alicent sang holding your hand as you walked to the dragon pit. She could tell you were nervous and respectfully so, “I could not find myself to mount such a monster.” She claimed kissing your hand.

The screeches and howls of the dragons were unmistakable as you approached the front of the large colosseum . The dragon keepers held their spears tightly in hand and shouted to each other in high Valyrian.

Syrax emerged from the shadows of the entrance letting out a high pitched screeched of anticipation. You stood with your cousin still in hand some feet away, your breath taken away by the size of the dragon and her surrounding golden aura. You could never understand why your cousin (and secretively your father) despised the so called “monsters”.

Rhaenrya mounted Syrax effortlessly and waved over to you and Lady Alicent, “Y/N! You’ll have to ride with Daemon!” she yelled as Syrax began to walk forward, her lrge foot falls reverberating the ground, lurching her saddle back and forth.

“Wait- what?”

‘No, no, no not that one!’

Alicent gave you a questioning look to match your own confusion.

“Just please be safe N/Y” Alicent said as she kissed your hands once more, your mind was spinning, you thought you would be riding on Syrax, a kind dragon used to having multiple riders- NOT CARAXES.

“A-Alicent I do not wish to ride-“

The ear shattering screech is what solidified your fear. From the entrance on the pit Caraxes snaked his long neck to observe the scene before him, before letting out powerful and deafening roar. Dragon keepers held their spears at the ready and began yelling at the beast in their ancient dialect.

Caraxes was a wolf headed dragon, one of the most aggressive and seemingly volatile from the stories that you had heard. It was as if your body had turned to stone realizing that you would be on the back of a prehistoric killing machine… with Daemon.

As if on cue, the young prince made his appearance by your side, giving a small laugh of amusement of your bewilderment.

“He’s not that bad, I have a two-person saddle that befits Caraxes, it’s not as horrific as you think.” He gave a slight half smile before stepping towards the dragon reciting high Valyrian. Daemon caressed the dragons jaw earning a playful nudge from Caraxes and well as a deep groan.

Alicent had shrunk back from you and fell into the background as Daemon motioned for you to come over. You were frozen in your place until Alicent touched your back pushing you forward, you looked back at her a look of terror and fear scorned across your face. Your cousin mouthed you a goodbye and you turned back around, a stumbling ball of nerves.

This reptile was massive in compared to your petite stature, in just a second he could swallow you whole and you would never been seen again. Daemon obviously caught sight of your fear, bringing you out of your own thoughts he grabbed your hand.

Not a forcefully yank of your hand like you expected, but a soft motion in which intertwined your fingers with his as he brought your palm to the scaley calloused cheek of Caraxes. The texture of his scaled were that of hard leather plates, reminiscent of amor.

The beast let out a low guttural sound, “Worried he’ll eat you?” Daemon joked a smug grin making it’s way across his face, or at least.

You pulled your hand away from Caraxes, still overwhelmed, “I- I have never..come face to face with one.” His smile only grew wider.

“Let us go then”

Before you could ask how to get on the prince had thrown you over his shoulder, earning a surprised gasp from you as he hiked up the dragons fore wing placing you in the proper position on the saddle.

You straddled the thick and rigid leather saddle, Daemon seated himself in front of you, gripping the reigns and positioning himself towards you, “You may want to hold on, the take off is a little rough.”

“Hold on?”

You acted on impulse and wrapped your arms around the prince’s waist, unknowingly earning a smile of satisfaction from him as you pulled your body close to his. Daemon tightened the reins and yelled out to the dragon,

“Soves, Caraxes!”

The saddle began to rock vigorously with each enormous step forward the dragon took. You tightened your grip around Daemon’s waist burying your head into his back as Caraxes began to pick up speed.

With a whoosh he caught the air under his wings and the dragons body moved rhythmically from side to side. Rocking you back and forth vigorously, you almost felt like your body would fall backwards if you hadn’t been gripping Daemon for your life.

With a loud roar Caraxes broke through the barriers of the clouds, his body leveling out.

“Look now dear!” Daemon yelled over the rushing air. You pulled your face from his back and were struck with the golden beauty of the morning sun glistening over the clouds. Daemon took note of your speechlessness with pride.

“It’s- It’s Amazing!” you managed to get out, your eyes were sucking in the soft looking golden features of the sky, it was like being in the heavens! The rays of morning sun cast light spectrums of color to faintly peak though the mist of the clouds and the dragons wings parted any clouds obstructing the view around.

In you state of blissful awe , you hadn’t noticed your grip on the prince’s waist had loosened, and Caraxes began to nose dive.

You felt your body lift from the saddle, Daemon noticed the shift in weight and quickly grabbed your arm , wrapping it around his waist once more, gripping your arm close to his core. It could have been the adrenaline, could have been the fact you were falling at extraordinary speeds, or was it that Daemon actually wanted to keep you safe?

“Pālegon!!” He yelled.

Caraxes began to corkscrew into a nosedive and the excitement pent up inside your tiny form had been unleashed. You screamed and hollered with joy and excitement as the dragon plummeted through the clouds. Daemon was focused, telling Caraxes to pull up before the shimmering blue ocean could come into contact.

Caraxes screeched and seemingly whisked over the sapphire waters that currently bedazzled your eyes. The mist and salt of the waves below cooled your face and you found your chin resting on the princes shoulder, a smile that was to wide and full of joy plastered on your face. Daemon relaxed finally letting his stone face crack into a a smug half smile. He couldn’t even care if you were screaming in his ear, your elated screeches made him feel like he was riding a dragon for the first time once more. It was refreshing to him, not that he would ever show it completely.

The red giants leather wings echoed as they beat hard against the breeze while approaching the rocky and mountainous shores of Dragonstone. Caraxes wailed as he came to his landing as if he wanted to go farther.

You heart was still pounding in your chest as Caraxes' wings fanned the air, whipping up clouds of sand as the dragon screeched making its heavily footed landing. Caraxes shook his head, shaking the saddle, though this did not stop Daemon from praising the dragon.

"Lykiri, Syz" the prince purred.

His hand ran up and down Caraxes neck to what length was reachable. And this made you laugh aloud at the touching sight.

You managed to speak through your enlightened laughter "I love how you praise him."

Daemon hummed in response and stood upright on the saddle peering up at the large castle towering over you. In the distance the songs of Syrax could be heard, meaning Rhaenyra must've arrive short before you.

"Seems as if we've been beaten." Daemon mumbles looking towards the direction of the dragon's song.

"Let us be welcomed, my dear" Daemon said once again manhandled you down from the Saddle, fore wing, and finally setting you down on the dark sand beach of Dragon Stone. Daemon had started up the beach, to the stone stairwells that aligned with the entrances of the massive keep.

You knew Daemon wished to be welcomed and to ask (Interrogate?) Rhaenyra about how she arrived before the blood worm Caraxes himself. Something he found unbelievable and had to involve a sort of foul play.

But you couldn't help but fall to your knees, you couldn't help but dig you fingers into the dark glittery sands, you couldn't help but be taken away. The scenery, the high ridges of the cliffs and mountains peaking through the clouds, the sounds of the seas birds and the waves crashing to the shore, the smell of salt and the tinge of sea life. What was this? This was a fantasy- a fairy tale told by the nans and midwives.

Until he spoke up talking his stride behind you.

"You're a hermit."

You deadpanned the smug white haired prince.

" is he making a joke of me?" You blinked and looked up at him, then back at the beach.

"It's just a lot to take in, I haven't been outside of kings landing in so long." you droned lifting yourself off of the dunes dusting the sand off of your garments.

He hummed, “Yes, Otto likes to keep his ward in sight at all times.” Daemon muttered stripping his hands of his riding gloves.

Your smile didn’t faulter at his comment, it was true, Uncle Otto had told you what happened to fair maidens that had left the safety of the wall of the keep. They were kidnapped, raped, sold into brothels, sometimes killed, and left in the streets.

He convinced you that the outside world was utterly terrifying, but this was not terrifying- not at all, this was exhilarating!

“My uncle always said that If I were to leave the safety of the castle I would surely be ravaged by the eyes and hands of men” you said softly, almost to yourself.

Daemon scoffed loudly and stifled a laugh, “It just takes the right one” he claimed smugly making his way up the sandy dunes of the beach. You felt a rush of heat burn at your cheeks and ears, Daemon glanced back at you and smirked, noting you had probably understood his insinuation.

“He’s such a.. a.. ugh!” your mind screamed. You shook your head and followed the young man up the shore to the stone steps leading from the mountainous beach to the castle.

“Oh Uncle, is it so hard to believe that Syrax can out fly Caraxes?” Rhaenrya laughed aloud falling into the couch of the eloquent living quarters.

Daemon stood leaning against the frame of fireplace in front of the young girl, “Yes, because she can’t, witch craft I say.” He joked crossing his arms.

You giggled at their conversation as you sat next to you best friend, resting you head in her lap as she carefully braided your hair.

“Come now Uncle, don’t be such a sore sport!” Rhaenrya chuckled as Daemon exasperated rolled his eyes to the ceilings and shook his head.

“If you two wish to carry on your…” The prince motioned his hand in circles trying to find the right words “...hair braiding, I’m going to inquire how the kitchen tends to handle tonight’s feast.”

You turned you head towards the prince and smiled, “Thankyou my-“

Daemon’s brow raised causing you to quickly catch yourself, “Daemon.”

A smirk flashed on his features before he exited the room, causing a warmth to bloom from your chest, it was his smile, one that not many people see that made you feel content. Rhaenrya seemed to have been oblivious to the interaction and continued to braid your hair into intricate designs, much like the ones she and her mother wear with pride.

“Sit up, Y/N and turn around, I’m going to do the back now” Rhaenrya continued swirling and folding one piece of hair over the other, tugging lightly at the strands and asking if she was pulling too tight at times. You propped yourself upwards with you back facing your friend.

“Rhae, may I confide in you?” you mused narrowing your curious gaze back at her.

“Should I ask… why Daemon was waiting for her?”

“Of course, Y/N I will always be here to listen” she replied sweetly…innocently.

“No.. I treasure our friendship too much..it would be to obvious of an insinuation”

“I fear for the persons responsible for burning down the building in Flea Bottom… but I cannot help but question..” you paused, thinking about how to word the question with no offense offered.

You took a deep breath and continued on, “Daemon has been accused, I can’t help but think of those 300 civilans, burning alive with no escape, do you think Daemon would actually harm the people of Kings landing?” you looked down and began to pick a your finger nails, a nasty habit you picked up in your time spent with your Uncle and dear Cousin.

Rhaenrya stopped the fluid motions of her hands and let out a laugh. This surprised you... but in a way eased your nerves, if had been clear Daemon was involved, she would have a much more serious affect.

“My father did not put him to death, so that must mean he is not responsible, if he was, I’m sure my Uncle would be deep in the crypts of the Keep by now.” she resumed brushing and braiding your hair. But something did not sit right, and Daemon’s point in the throne room held validity. If he wanted to kill as many people as he wanted…why not with dragon fire?

But what if he didn’t want to be caught either? A giant dragon flying over the city was quite noticeable easy to pick out who the rider is by the color and size of the dragon.

“Does this trouble you?” Rhaenyra chirped.

“it’s just.. if Daemon was not responsible, that means someone out there is.”

Rhaenrya frowned and placed her hands on your back, “Let us forget the squabbles and rumors of Kings Landing, we’re here at Dragonstone! Tis’ the time to be happy, tomorrow you and I will venture the seaside on horseback.”

She reminded you of her father in that moment, putting all stressors aside to enjoy quality time, even offering up adventures to assuage the mind of her distressed friend.

She drew closer you your ear as she leaned from behind you and whispered “Maybe well find buried treasure along the shores”

You burst out in a fit of laughter, “Yes! Us to be pirates!” you managed to say between your giddiness. Rhaenrya smiled chuckling to herself as you trailed on about how you and her would find a chest full of gold, enough to purchase a ship larger than Corlys Velaryon’s, and would sail the world collecting trinkets and various fruits.

“We could steal a lemon tree from the streets of Pentos, and nobody will know it was two girls!” Rhaenrya cheered. If only that could be, but your friends actions uplifted your mood, and soon enough she told you to stand up and look in the mirror that sit in the corner of the room.

“It’s beautiful, thankyou so much Rhae!” you threw you arms around her embracing her in a tight hug. Her gorgeous white smile gave a comfort to your worries, maybe it was just a Targaryen thing, maybe they just had a way with making those close to them feel accepted and happy. A knock on the door cause you both to separate and calm your hysterics.

“Come” she called out.

“Hello my Lady, Hello Lady Hightower,” you cringed in your mind at that address, you secretly wish you had no surname at, all hells Snow would feel more comfortable, just the name Hightower..made you feel different than the company you occupied, left out, it made you miss your father and mother, the name reminded you of your callous Uncle.

But you nodded in reply as she continued, “Supper is to be served within the hour, the prince requests you ready yourselves.” And with that she bowed her head and exited the room. You glanced at your reflection once more.

Your hair had been braided in an up position, braids cascading along side your head and into one large mass of woven threads, the beauty could not be replicated by Queen Aemma’s maiden hand herself.

You bid your short goodbye to Rhaenrya until supper and were escorted by a kind knight to your temporary quarters to quickly ready yourself. Your luggage had flown with Syrax… maybe that was the reason you had to ride with Daemon and his hyperactive dragon.

Green, Green, Green.

“what the fuck? Why are all my garments of the same color?! Gods!”

“Fuckin’ hells” you gasped and clamped your hands over your mouth in shock. No, did you just? No, well, yes but no. A lady should never engage in such language... it’s- it’s unbefitting!

“There you go, black as night” you gleamed at your dress, that of which was black with grey embroidery. It fit your form excellently as well as the complimenting jewelry and earrings.

A knock at your door pulled you away from vanity and you called out in response, “come!”

The same servant from earlier bowed and offered to escort you to the grand dining hall.

The halls of Dragonstone where different than Kings landing, the architecture is more rough around the edges, and the halls were dark the color of the mountains, and the floors were semi contrasting to the walls. You past Busts of former house holders and dragons, many of wall hangings that have withstood the time to past, it felt scholarly, educated, of a different time.

Two gentlemen threw open the dark large iron doors to the grand dinning room for you to be immediately greeted by Rhaenrya.

“Y/N! Come sit they’re about to present us with our meal.” she patted the chair next you her and you happily plopped down next to Rhaenrya, but there was one less person at the table, Daemon was absent. Yet wasn’t he the one organizing this dinner?

As if on cue the large doors opened once more, and the prince strolled coolly down the aisle , taking his seat next to you, at the head of the table. Servants scattered across the room with plates and saucers filled to the brim with lobster, crab, pork, lamb, chicken, and assorted custards, breads, vegetable and condiments. All steaming as the plates clanked to the stone table before you. Mouthwatering, in a literal sense, you quickly swiped a napkin on the table and dabbed the corner of you lips. You could’ve sworn you heard Daemon stifle a low chuckled making you blush.

“I know, it looks so good, give the kitchen our praise, please” Rhaenyra chimed picking up her cutlery. The servants nodded in an odd unison and left the three of you to eat in peace,

You place your elbows on the table, close your eyes, and clasp your hands together about do your duty and to pray to the Seven until-

A hand found its way a top of your own, it was Daemon, “There’s no need for that.”

Your heart jumped for a second at his touch. His hands where larger than your own, they were warm and you could feel the callouses that ran along the top of his palm.

“I’m sorry” you mumble unclasping your hands, resting them on the table, but his hand…was still atop of yours, his eyes smiling at you and you smiling back.

“Don’t be sorry, Targaryen’s don’t worship the seven is all.” Rhaenrya muffled a loud.

“Must you speak with you mouth full of loaf?” Daemon teased followed by a fake exasperated sigh. You laughed, pulling your hand from under Daemon’s and flicking a piece of bread at Rhaenerya, “yes princess mind your manners!”

Rhae proceeded to shovel food in her mouth in protest “Neber!!” the hysterical laughter came from you two as Daemon held his head in his hands, shaking playfully at the foolishness shown to him in this moment.

Dinner was eventful, you drank the finest wine for the first time in a long time. Everyone engaged in harmless talks of gossip floating around the kingdom, war plans Daemon knew of, and even a little trash talk of the lords Westeros (especially that of a certain Jason Lannister) was joyfully thrown around. This is what a family dinner should be, laughing, storytelling, talking about the news. This was a major difference from the quiet dinners around the table with you, Alicent, and Otto. Dinners in which Alicent received praise and you were undermined for your lower position in the family.

This is what you wanted, sarcastic remarks from your best friend and a charming replies to them from Daemon, this felt right and for a moment...you felt like you were apart of the Targaryen family. That’s all you ever felt like you wanted, to be part of a family that cared for one another.

You were three glasses into your wine, becoming somewhat tipsy by the end of the dinner festivities. The servants came to collect the plates, sauces, and silverware and everyone was dismissed from the table. Rhaenrya blissfully said she was headed to her chambers to nap off the heavy meal and you found yourself humming to yourself while hopelessly navigating the hallways of the unfamiliar castle.

Blissfully buzzed, you spun on your tiptoes and perched yourself by a large window that looked over the darkening skies and sea.

Though, suddenly Alicent’s words rang in your ear. “Why would the Prince be in wait for Rhaenrya if not for a salacious reason?”

You shook your head, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came.

"I'm please you enjoyed the preparations made"

You jumped at the voice and turned around to see him, "Gods, you scared me" you say holding your chest, this man had a strange ability to be heard when he wanted and dead silent when he wished.

He slowly strut passed you, tilting his head in the direction of the threshold of the castle, gesturing for you to follow. Yes, a walk along the beach side at night both of you tipsy from the endless supplies of whine. You walked through the large entrance trailing behind him in silence.

"the stars are so bright here" you mused looking at the twinkling accents in the black night above.

"Much better view than in Kings Landing" Daemon replied looking up as well.

You let out a sad sigh, "I almost dont want to go back..." you looked to Daemon and back at the night sky, it was littered with more stars than you've ever seen from any tower in King's Landing. He noticed the shift in your mood among mentioning King’s Landing.

Daemon felt a lot about your Uncle, but most of all he secretly despised how Otto Hightower, was practically keeping you hostage. Daemon knew little of how you actually came to King’s Landing, he did not know what end your paternal parents met, but he was sure that you were not treated as you should be.

His quiet voice, that of which was just above a whisper, broke your sadness “You should stay in Dragonstone, stay here.” He held out a hand to you helping you on to the sand dunes down from the stones steps of the winding stair way.

You took his hand and once more your face began to heat up, “I-I could not, My uncle would be so furious” you say as you stepped down. You didn’t let go of his hand, the truth was you did not want to. There was something about his touch that eased all the worries and anxieties that ailed you. And the young prince did not oppose as he kept your hand in his.

The two of you walked the shore line in the moon light, you could not tell if it was the uneven sand of the beach of the wine that made your body sway slightly with each step.

Probably the wine.

Daemon swayed every now and then himself, though you were sure this man could drink you under the table, so maybe it was the formation on the beach itself- for him atleast.

Your eyes glanced down to your hands, intertwined with one another still, the heat from between your palms contrasting the cold ocean air that fanned the two of you.

Daemon crossed your path and groaned as he sat down, not paying mind to dirtying his clothes in the sand. You stood over him, still intertwined.

“Sit Y/N”

The sound of the waves crashing to the shore could not possibly match the sound of the blood rushing to your head. Had you heard him correctly?

Before you could lower yourself next to him, he pulled you down, and you fell between his legs. You froze for a moment, questioning if this was real, is this a result of a drunken dream, a stupor of sorts?

Daemon pulled you to him, you sat between his legs, feeling the warth that emanated from his body. You noticed you hadn’t released the breathe of air from you lungs and did so while leaning into his chest. He noticed you were tense, Daemon rested his chin atop of your head and turned his eyes up to the constellations above.

You mind rushed with your blood as he placed two arms around you. Finally, you closed your eyes sinking into this feeling of warmth that of which you’ve never experience with another person in your life.

You could only imagine what was going through his head, what his intentions were from this trip, the dragon ride, the feast, and now… a moon lit walk on the shores of his birthplace. Why?

“Why does that prick keep you locked away in the keep?”

Though the insult to your uncle was clear, Daemon was calm, evening tightening his hold around you.

“My Uncle just.. has an unfavorable view of the world, he believes a woman should perform her duties without being deterred” He couldn’t handle the sadness that sung with your words. You felt him drawn in a large breath and a shallow exhale that followed.

“That’s the long way to say cunt, I suppose” he muttered.

You pulled away to look back at his face, “I know you don’t favor my uncle, sometimes I feel as if he doesn’t have my best interest in-“

Daemon snorted, “Then hes a cunt, that’s what he is! Just admit it!”

You let out a light chuckle, “No! using that language is just inapporiate for a lady” you playfully smacked his shoulder. He rolled his with a toothy grin.

“yes, is that what your Uncle told you?” He placed his hands on your shoulders letting his lips fall by the side of you cheek, the heat of his breath warming the cold shell of your ear.

“Say it” he whispered smoothly, “say what he is, my dear”

The giddiness and excitement was beging you boil inside.

“A cunt” you squeaked softly, this made Daemon chuckled as he squeezed your shoulders.

“Louder.”

“A Cunt” you spoke up, though he was not satified.

“Cmon say it louder!” he called out, you began to feel something wash over you. A warm feeling mixed with this newfound energy.

“A CUNT!”

Daemon stood up bringing you along with his as he raised his voice and began to yell at the stars.

“WHAT IS OTTO HIGHTOWER?!” you've never heard him like this, not with this type of enthusiasm.

“OTTO HIGHTOWER IS A FUCKING CUNT!!!” you screamed to the sea.

Daemond shook you by your shoulders as he yelled to the gods this time, “TOGETHER!”

And that is precisely what you did, in unison, with all the air you both could muster you both screamed.

“OTTO HIGHTOWER IS A FUCKING CUNT!!!!”

You broke out into hysterical laughter, this felt so relieving, being able to curse for the first time and not be reprimanded or punished. Daemon laughed as he fell back on to the sand and you collapsed once again between his legs, letting your head rest on his chest.

The laughter between the two of you subsided into breathless heaving as you and Daemon attempted to catch your breathes. Until silence fell to the waves of the ocean.

“Thankyou Daemon”

He looked down at you with a look of confusion, “For?”

You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his torso, “You saved me from falling off Caraxes, thankyou.”

Daemon let out a soft sigh placing his hand gently on your head, carressing your hair, “I could never let you fall, my dear.”

Tag List: @moonmaiden1996 @loveandlewis @loveandlewis-reads @queenofshinigamis @omgsuperstarg @ttae-yong @shelbyteller

Give your thoughts and opinions below! Thankyou all so much so your support in this work!

Much Love To You All,

Naelys of House Aster x

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #Daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #the rogue prince #daemon targaryen insert #daemon targaryen fic #daemon x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon insert #hotd #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones x oc #targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x you #got insert #got #house of aster

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chiekodivine · 1 year

Text

self care routines and tips 🕯️🧸🎧

skincare routine 🧴🛁

ㅤㅤ𓂃 ⟡ 4 day skin cycling 𓇬 ׅ ࣪ ◦

each days skincare intentions

exfoliate

retinol

recover

every morning

cleanse

acne toner

essence

aloe

acne lotion

acne gel

oil

sunscreen

exfoliating night

cleanse

glycolic acid toner

essence

aloe

acne lotion

acne gel

oil

retinol night

cleanse

moisturizer

retinol

moisturizer

recovery night

cleanse

essence

aloe

moisturizer

oil

products

inkey list fulvic acid cleanser: helps brighten skin and gently remove makeup

the ordinary glycolic acid 7% toning solution: chemically exfoliates the skin and reduces the appearance of dark marks and wrinkles

paula’s choice 2% bha liquid salicylic acid exfoliant: unclogs and shrinks enlarged pores & smooths and evens skin tone

cosrx advanced snail 96 mucin power essence: helps the skin to lose less moisture and improves skin texture

trader joe’s moisturizing aloe vera gel: helps to soften and smooth dry skin

clindamycin phos 1% lotion: helps prevent bacteria acne

clindamycin and benzoyl peroxide topical gel 1%/5%: helps prevent bacterial acne

inkey list retinol serum: helps reduce the visible signs of aging with less risk for irritation

the ordinary “b” oil: helps with overall skin health and protects the skin barrier

cosrx aloe soothing sun cream 50+ spf

extras

inkey list kaolin clay mask: helps unclog pores

inkey list c-50 blemish night treatment: helps reduce blemishes and breakouts

de la cruz maximum strength acne treatment w 10% sulfur: helps clear and prevent acne (antibacterial & anti-inflammatory)

caudalíe eat de beauté: smooths the skin and creates a glowing complexion

acella hydroquinone 4% cream: helps reduce the appearance of dark spots

hair care routine 🚿🫧

. ˚˖ Ձ︵︵ for my curly haired dolls

p.s. i have 3c high porosity hair which means my hair doesn’t retain moisture as well as other hair types

wash day routine

hot oil treatment

mixed desired amount of ethereal nature 99% biotin oil, amla oil, curls blueberry & mint tea scalp treatment, and mielle rosemary hair oil

shampoo

olaplaex no. 4 bond maintenance

deep conditioning mask

shea moisture manunka honey & madura oil intensive hydration masque

conditioner

trader joe’s nourish spa conditioner

tips

wash hair once a week

sleep on silk/satin pillow cases

protein treatments once a week

oil scalp as well as your ends regularly before bed

take a hair multivitamin/biotin

never detangle hair while dry

protective styles

allow your hair to rest and breathe

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chic-a-gigot · 2 months

Text

La Mode illustrée, no. 8, 21 février 1897, Paris.

Toilette de promenade. Modèle de chez Mme Gradoz, rue de Provence, 67.

Tablier suédois pour jeune fille. Modèle de chez Mlle Rimbot, rue de Richelieu, 73.

Robe d'intérieur en cachemire uni et cachemire brodé. Modèle de chez Mmes Coussinet-Piret, rue Richer, 43.

Toilette de jeune fille en mohair gris. Mod. de chez Mmes Brun-Cailleux, r. de la Victoire, 48.

Robe en serge d'Irlande vert. Modèle de chez Mmes Coussinet-Piret, rue Richer, 43.

Robe en mohair bleu marine. Modèle de chez Mme Gradoz, rue de Provence, 67.

Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

Toilette de promenade.

Robe en drap mastic. Un galon de passementerie simule sur la jupe une robe de dessus aux deux coins de laquelle se trouvent des ornements en passementerie. Le corsage plat fait à pointe s'ouvre avec de larges revers sur un plastron plissé en soie de nuance claire, terminé au bord supérieur par un col droit plissé en soie. Les revers encadrés de galons en passementerie se rattachent derrière à un col carré; on rattache aux devants une ceinture Médicis en velours, ornée de grands boutons de nacre. Les manches garnies de galons en passementerie, ont des bouillonnés courts.

Mastic cloth dress. A trimming braid on the skirt simulates an outer dress on both corners of which are trimmings ornaments. The flat pointed bodice opens with wide lapels onto a pleated light silk bib, finished at the upper edge with a straight pleated silk collar. The lapels framed with braids are attached behind to a square collar; A Medici velvet belt is attached to the front, decorated with large mother-of-pearl buttons. The sleeves, trimmed with trimmings, have short ruffles.

—

Tablier suédois pour jeune fille.

Ce tablier suédois est fait en drap léger jaune soufre foncé; il se compose d'un seul morceau droit ayant 65 centimètres de largeur, 1 mètre 12 de longueur; ce morceau est froncé deux fois au bord supérieur, de façon à lui laiser 26 centimètres de largeur; on l'orne avec un morceau replié en dessus, triangulaire coupé en drap brun clair, ayant 16 centimètres de largeur au milieu, 4 centimètres sur les côtés, orné d'une bordure brodée étroite. On fixe sur le bord inférieur une bordure en drap brun clair ayant 26 centimètres de largeur, et l'on coud en même temps au bord inférieur du tablier une double bande de drap soufre, ayant 4 centimètres de hauteur, brodée de légères courbes au point de cordonnet. Les motifs ronds et ovales des deux bordures, dont les fig. 36 et 37 représentent le dessin, sont appliqués partie en soie vert olive, partie en soie blanche; on les brode en soie de cordonnet blanche, jaune, bleue au passé et points de fantaisie; les autres motifs sont faits avec les mêmes couleurs au passé et au point de cordonnet. Le tablier est retenu à la taille par une ceinture en drap jaune; le plastron du tablier est fixé au corsage par des épingles de fantaisie.

Le tablier peut être également exécuté en toile de couleur, et orné de bordures au point de cordonnet ou bien au point de croix.

This Swedish apron is made of light dark sulfur yellow cloth; it consists of a single straight piece 65 centimeters wide, 1 meter 12 long; this piece is gathered twice at the upper edge, so as to leave it 26 centimeters wide; it is decorated with a piece folded on top, triangular cut from light brown cloth, 16 centimeters wide in the middle, 4 centimeters on the sides, decorated with a narrow embroidered border. We attach to the lower edge a border of light brown cloth 26 centimeters wide, and at the same time we sew to the lower edge of the apron a double strip of sulfur cloth, 4 centimeters high, embroidered with slight curves in stitch. cord. The round and oval patterns of the two borders, including figs. 36 and 37 represent the design, are applied partly in olive green silk, partly in white silk; they are embroidered in white, yellow, blue cord silk with paste and fancy stitches; the other patterns are made with the same colors in past and cord stitch. The apron is held at the waist by a yellow cloth belt; the bib of the apron is attached to the bodice with fancy pins.

The apron can also be made in colored canvas, and decorated with cord stitch or cross stitch borders.

—

Robe d'intérieur en cachemire uni et cachemire brodé.

Cette robe est faite en cachemire bleu pâle uni, et cachemire brodé de même couleur. La robe-princesse est faite en cachemire uni; le plastron, les manches et la garniture sont faits en cachemire brodé. Les devants sont croisés et terminés à gauche sous une draperie formant écharpe. Le col et les manches sont entourés d'une fraise en cachemire.

This dress is made in plain pale blue cashmere, and embroidered cashmere of the same color. The princess dress is made of plain cashmere; the bib, sleeves and trim are made of embroidered cashmere. The fronts are crossed and finished on the left under a drapery forming a scarf. The collar and sleeves are surrounded by a cashmere ruff.

—

Toilette de jeune fille en mohair gris.

La jupe en mohair gris est entourée de six rangs de galons-mohair gris foncé; le corsage-blouse est orné devant et derrière de quatre rangs de galons. La fermeture du corsage sur le côté est couverte par un double volant de velours. Ceinture et col droit en velours; la ceinture est ornée d'un nœud sur le côté, on fait retomber une fraise en dentelle sur le col droit. Les manches terminées par un volant de dentelle sont garnies de bouillonnés courts au bord supérieur.

Le chapeau rond en paille noire, est garnie de soie mauve et de gloxinias.

The gray mohair skirt is surrounded by six rows of dark gray mohair braid; the bodice-blouse is decorated front and back with four rows of braid. The bodice closure on the side is covered by a double velvet ruffle. Belt and straight collar in velvet; the belt is decorated with a bow on the side, a lace ruff falls on the right collar. The sleeves ending with a lace ruffle are trimmed with short bubbles at the upper edge.

The round black straw hat is trimmed with mauve silk and gloxinias.

—

Robe en serge d'Irlande vert.

Cette robe faite en serge d'Irlande verte, est garnie de rubans de velours noir, qui ornent le côtés gauche et le bord inférieur de la jupe. On fixe sur les côtés trois beaux boutons et des boutonnières simulées. le corsage plat fermé devant en biais, est garni sur le devant de gauche, avec des rubans de velours posés horizontalement; on pose sur le devant un morceau plissé, formant revers, orné de ruban de velours. Une ceinture de velours entoure la taille et se termine sur le côté par un nœud. Le haut col droit est garni en ruban de velours. Les manches sont garnies de ruban de velours, et ornées au bord supérieur avec deux volants.

This dress, made in green Irish twill, is trimmed with black velvet ribbons, which adorn the left sides and the lower edge of the skirt. Three beautiful buttons and simulated buttonholes are attached to the sides. the flat bodice closed at the front at an angle, is trimmed on the left front, with velvet ribbons placed horizontally; we place on the front a pleated piece, forming a lapel, decorated with velvet ribbon. A velvet belt surrounds the waist and ends on the side with a bow. The high, straight collar is trimmed with velvet ribbon. The sleeves are trimmed with velvet ribbon, and decorated at the upper edge with two ruffles.

—

Robe en mohair bleu marine.

Cette robe en mohair bleu marine est garnie au bord inférieur de la jupe avec plusieurs rangées de galons et de soutaches. Cette garniture se reproduit sur la veste courte à revers carrés, ornée de beaux boutons. La veste à manches est posée sur une blouse sans manches en soie rouge plissée, terminée par une ceinture et un col droit en velours bleu marine.

This navy blue mohair dress is trimmed at the bottom edge of the skirt with several rows of braid and soutache. This trim is reproduced on the short jacket with square lapels, decorated with beautiful buttons. The sleeved jacket is placed over a sleeveless blouse in pleated red silk, finished with a navy blue velvet belt and stand-up collar.

#La Mode illustrée #19th century #1890s #1897 #on this day #February 21 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #Forney #dress #apron #Modèles de chez #Madame Gradoz #Madames Coussinet-Piret #Madames Brun-Cailleux #gigot #Mademoiselle Rimbot

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papasbaseball · 1 month

Text

I wrote a small little Raphael x gn!Tav fluff. Kisses, love you, byeeee.

Green as deep as peacock feathers, red flowing like blood, I work the needle and thread in and out of the fabric. My eyes catch between the door and my embroidery, waiting for him. He never asked for this small sample of my devotion, but I hope that he’ll take it from his pocket after breaking a prisoner and smear the white silk with the stranger’s blood from his face. Punch and pull, I will my cruel design into the weave of the fabric.

The doors break open, the smell of sulfur sending me from my seat. His shoulders are thrown back, a tiger broken free from its enclosure. He clenches and unclenches his fists before hurling a bolt of fire at a bronze vase, gilded in a centuries old fashion. It clatters to the floor the hollow metal

“Vile vermin!” he spits. “To disrespect me in my house!”

Setting aside my work, I go after the still rolling vase. It’s warm to the touch as I set it back on the mantle.

“Is everything alright?” I ask.

A curl of hair untucks itself from behind his ear, smoldering with the anger that pinches creases between his brows. He could be irascible like this, sometimes when his food tasted bland or if the sheets to our bed had not been folded in the way he liked them. However, I’d never seen the fire in his eyes quite that white before.

“If I didn’t need that ungrateful drow I would have skinned them last week,” he says. Approaching the chair where I had sat, the heat leaves his face as he picks up my embroidery. His fingers trace along the fine floss, as if memorizing a war map with important battle lines and details.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” I say, approaching him. “I’m afraid it’s not very good.”

He turns and twist the hoop, squinting at the misaligned threads. “It’s a wonderful… sunset.”

I sigh and turn the hoop back right. “Rose. I told you it wasn’t very good.”

He regards me with those warm brown eyes and I think I spy forgiveness in them. “Of course it is. Maybe a few more details, but you’ll get there.”

His praise wraps me in a warmth to match the blazing fire in the hearth and I bite my lip. “I wanted to repay you. You’ve done so much for me.”

“Is owning your soul not enough?” he says. The embroidery is soon set on the side table and I’m pulled into his lap with ease. “Living in this place is part of your agreement. I did not expect for you to take such a liking to it.”

“I wanted to thank you and be of some use to you again. I liked being out there fighting to please you.” I sigh and rest my head against the smooth brocade of his doublet. “It was nice.”

“Little mouse,” he says, taking my hand in his, “It is enough to please me to end every day in your embrace. I am delighted by your devilish smile, even if you do lack the horns.”

He squeezes my mortal hand and I let myself believe that he might still need me for the smallest of seconds.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #post game #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction

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therenlover · 3 months

Text

Put Me Back In It (I Would Do It Again) Chapter One: Down, Down On Your Knees

Pairings: Ascended!Astarion/Tav, Raphael/Tav

Word Count: 4,900~

Synopsis: A desperate Tav comes to Raphael to bargain for Astarion's lost soul, but he intends to take everything she has left to give in return.

Rating: E (+18) For Later Chapters

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Emotional Manipulation

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Ownership, Power Imbalance, Deal With The Devil, Raphael is a Smarmy Bastard

You can find this fic on AO3 Here or find the other finished chapters on Tumblr Here

------

It had all been such a horrible mistake.

Tav could feel the flames licking at her face, burning away the silk of her nightgown as she pushed through the portal, almost collapsing against the hard stone floor as she passed through to the other side. She couldn’t pause to assess her injuries, though. Not even when the shackles on her ankles continued to sear her flesh in the ambient heat or when her skirt ripped clean up the side in her scramble forward.

He could be right behind her.

Not even one moment could be spared.

The candelabras sat unlit in the darkened great hall, but the ochre glow of Avernus lit Tav’s way, streaming in through the windows and chasing her down the hall.

Her chest heaved. Sulfur and rot spread through her screaming lungs as she forced herself forward. Only forward. If she looked back, if he was there hiding in her shadow…

She choked back a silent sob and pushed through the panic. The door to the banquet hall was only a few more steps away. If she could force her shaky legs to carry her at least that far, she could-

In one fell swoop Tav felt her legs give out below her, her broken body collapsing against the stairs below. The door remained closed just paces ahead.

This time she let the screaming sobs fall from her mouth.

“No, no, no, no, Gods no! Please, please please please-”

Just like that, it was over: the months of agonizing over whether it was truly the right choice to make, all of the begging and hiding and stealing and pretending to love the monster she'd created with her own two hands. She’d done it all just to collapse moments from the finish line. Why? She just hadn’t been strong enough.

The savior of Faerun, the woman who had beaten the odds and risked everything for the chance to see the people of Baldur’s Gate safe from illithid rule, now reduced to nothing more than a whimpering mess on the floor. She could almost hear Astarion’s sneering voice following her to her end.

Weak. Pathetic. Utterly alone.

He would surely find her here.

Astarion would come back from his meeting, follow the portal out of his chamber straight into the hallowed halls of the House of Hope, and he’d know exactly what she was trying to do. There would been mercy this time. No hissed words of false forgiveness as he dragged her back towards whatever punishment awaited. Tav had run through those chances already. Any fondness that had once resided in her lover’s unbeating heart was gone. Only covetous spite remained.

Her disobedience would not be tolerated any longer. Broken toys needed to be replaced. No one else could have what he had claimed for himself, though, and she knew far too much about his weaknesses to be allowed to roam free once he was done with her.

She would need to be eliminated.

For the first time since escaping the Nautiloid, knowing the odds of defeat filled her with a certain relief. At least it was almost over. Not long left to suffer now.

Then the doors before her opened.

She had never been happier to see a devil in her life.

“Well, well, well,” Raphael tutted, “what do we have here? It seems a little mouse has burrowed her way back into my home,”

The tears flowed freely now, each one rolling down Tav’s cheeks and disappearing with a soft sizzle as they hit the tiles. Astarion could be following her through the portal at any second. It was now or never.

“I need that favor, Raphael,” she whispered.

From her view on the floor, his responding grin felt feral, like the gaping, bloodied maw of a hungry lion looking down at its mauled but still squirming prey. She almost could’ve sworn that he licked his lips in anticipation before he replied.

“In that case, let’s see what I can do for you,”

———

Tav hadn’t been able to lift herself up off the freshly bloodslick floor (was it her own blood? She couldn’t quite remember. It all felt so fuzzy…) so Haarlep had been called in to carry her to Raphael’s personal baths while she rested and he drafted the contract. Even knowing her soul was on the line, she drifted through the water without a thought in her quiet mind for what felt like hours.

There had been voices at one point, shouts and shuffling beyond the translucent golden veil that protected the boudoir’s entrance, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The only thing that mattered was the warmth of the enchanted water against her bruised flesh, the billowing of her sopping nightgown in the miniature tides, and the diet calm of Haarlep’s breathing on the chaise lounge beside the bath.

If she closed her eyes it almost reminded her of the beginning of the end. Of endless lounging afternoons in the opulent washroom of their upper city manor, the air thick with incense while Astarion rubbed oils and soaps into her skin with a reverence reserved for the most beautiful things he possessed. She had been his crowning jewel, after all. The shiniest toy he could possibly flaunt before his guests or thralls.

Until he’d broken her, that was.

The sound of approaching footsteps and the soft thrum of the veil lifting pulled Tav’s mind back to reality before it could wander too far into darkness. Raphael had returned and from the looks of it, he was happy to see her.

He had chosen to present himself in his human form, wings and horns tucked away somewhere in the ether, and even though Tav was aware it was probably some sort of ploy to earn her trust in this infernal bargain she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of gratitude. When was the last time someone had made an effort for her sake? Considered her comfort? Night stuffed beside Astarion’s meditating form in the claustrophobic dark of his coffin flashed behind her eyes.

Haarlep cleared their throat. “Finally returning, oh glorious and expedient master of mine? I was not contracted to act as your babysitter, you know,”

“I had business to attend to,” Raphael shot back, coming to sit on the cushion beside them. “We couldn’t exactly leave that nasty little portal open, could we? Especially not one that led right to the lair of an ascended master vampire. Under normal circumstances I might have been happy to make a deal with the lord of house Ancunin again, but while holding his most precious possession?” He tutted softly, “Sloppy, sloppy little mouse. I may have a problem on my hands yet. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Guilt tugged heavily in Tav’s chest. She hated it. Her gut shouldn’t be sinking at the thought of someone seeing her as Astarion’s property. Her chest shouldn’t be tight, setting an apology for the trouble she’d caused right at the end of her tongue, daring her to spit it out at Raphael. Most of all, she shouldn’t be in Avernus selling her soul for the second time with absolutely no plan to get it back.

Nothing really made sense anymore.

Raphael’s eyebrows raised in the quiet. “Bat got your tongue?”

And just like that the hopeless drifting feeling in her chest had something to cling onto: Rage.

Despite the screaming protests in her muscles Tav was up and out of the bathing pool in moments. All of her warrior training remained, buried deep as it was within her brittle body and mind. Utilizing it again was as easy as flipping the switch from fight to flight. Before Haarlep could even jump away she had Raphael straddled between her shaking legs with his neck between her palms, squeezing with all her might.

It had no visible effect. He was the son of Mephistopheles after all. Compared to that Tav was nothing. She didn’t even have the tadpole to gift her its extra strength anymore. Her squeezing and screaming and scratching couldn’t bring a bruise to his throat no matter how hard she tried. His pulse just thrummed, steady and warm under her fingers. Raphael made no movements to escape and instead raised a hand to Haarlep, keeping the incubus from coming to his defense. He laid as still as his cooling body once had beneath her raging form.

They both knew he held the upper hand this time.

Still, he lay there, something distant and uncomfortable flashing in his eyes just long enough for Tav to see.

Her hands went loose. “I don’t know why I did that,”

“Oh little mouse, no need for lies,” Raphael replied, shifting onto his elbows beneath her. His voice was like honey in the air, protected from the revolting stench of the outside world. It eased the basest part of her in some awful way, the same part of her that had yearned for Astarion to protect her with his newfound power. She could feel muscles go slack after months of strain.

“We both know exactly why you’ve become so… feral. The caged dog has become the master, and his kennels could not remain empty for long. It was only a matter of time before you too forgot how to love and learned how to bite. You haven’t got the teeth for it yet, though. Not looking forward to life as a spawn?”

She hated that she couldn’t find anything to say to prove him wrong.

“Leave us, Haarlep,” Raphael said.

The incubus took a moment to respond, eyes flicking between their bodies. “If you’re certain, Master,” And with nothing more than one last glance they excused themself and passed through the veil heading towards the dining room.

There was something strange and informal about feeling the devil’s warm body against her own without anybody around to witness it. This was Raphael, after all. In another life she’d taken his own and given it back in exchange for a boon. Now they sat pressed together like lovers in his boudoir while her real love raged on unaware, stuck in some horrific shell of his former self. She wanted it to bother her more than it was.

Astarion had always been so cold and lithe. Tav had almost forgotten what it felt like to be pressed to the heat of a broad chest with a steady pulse, however inhuman the heart inside may be. It was almost comforting…

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Was that his heartbeat in your ears or her own?

How long had it been since she’d arrived at the House of Hope?

Hells, how could she feel so at ease with a cambion waiting to rob her of her soul?

The whole world had gone mad.

Tav had gone mad, Raphael and Haarlep had always been mad, and Astarion… oh, Astarion. Insanity wouldn’t cover the least of the depravity that hid behind his eyes now.

"I made a mistake,” Tav gulped down air, squeezing her eyes shut against the world. Against reality. “Astarion never should have ascended. I never should have let him ascend. All of this is my fault. The power was too much for him, he’s lost in it, and I don’t know how to drag him out. After everything he worked for-”

“I’m afraid I can’t help with that particular predicament,” Raphael had the nerve to sound apologetic when he interrupted. “Astarion’s ascension is, unfortunately, a bargain with a god. The process would require a power even greater than my own to reverse,”

Tav could feel her heart shred itself over and over and over again. A thousand little ribbons of loss fluttered down to rest in her ribcage.

“But,”

But.

But, but, but…

“I may be unable to take the gifts that have been bestowed to him, but what was lost… well, I could be persuaded to return it to the little lordling. For a price, of course,”

There it was. The sliver of light through the keyhole. The boon. Lady Hope had returned to her house bearing her sweet poisoned fruit and Tav ate of it with no reservations now. What else could she do?

“You could do that? Bring him back?”

“In a way,”

Raphael’s tone was far too nonchalant. Flippant, almost. Tav didn’t care though. She gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer from his place below her. Their chests were touching now. In her excitement she had pulled him closer than she’d intended to.

“How?” Tav asked. She knew you probably reeked of desperation, especially given her proximity. Raphael made no moves to pull away even as her frenzy took over. He just grinned.

“This house holds many priceless souls within its vaults, little one, and when the vampling ascended I just so happened to have an interest in harvesting what he had just discarded for my collection. I assumed it may come in handy someday. Once his soul is returned Astarion will have all the power of a master vampire but be tempered by a human heart. It’s almost poetic.” Raphael chuckled. “Sounds good, no?”

It was more than she could have hoped for really.

Tav hated to admit it, but for a few moments, as she raced through the portal away from the little life she had carved out for herself under Astarion’s iron rule, she had considered that killing him might be the option to free him from himself. It was an impossible choice. In fact, it had almost been enough to pull her out of her stupid, crazy escape plans and back into bed. She had made your choice, though. She would exhaust all of her other options first, but if death was the only way Astarion could rest she would make sure he rested peacefully and without any more to regret, no matter what the cost of that may be.

But here was a chance to fix things without death.

Astarion could live as a free man with the power to protect his own peace, only he could be himself again. No more late-night rages leaving rooms worth of furniture in splinters. No more piled bodies reeking in the halls, blood still draining from their mangled flesh and sitting in wasted puddles on the floor just to show his power and hunting prowess to anyone who entered. No constant threat of becoming a thrall or spawn the moment she disobeyed. Everything could go back to the way it was, only there would be no illithid tadpole looming over them this time. It would just be her, Astarion, the sun above, and the well-trodden paths of Faerun below with the rest of eternity to decide what to do with their lives… Except Raphael would never let that happen.

Her next question didn’t need to be said for him to know what it was. Even silently it rang out in the quiet of the boudoir, filling the gaps between each of Tav’s shaking breaths and whispering in the burblings of the fountains in the bath.

At what cost?

For the first time since she’d burst into the House of Hope, Tav wasn’t sure she had made the right choice to seek out Raphael’s help.

He was still just reclining beneath her, perfect teeth bared in a grimace reminiscent of a cat that had gotten the cream, chest brushing her own with every breath he took. When had he gotten so close to her? She could almost smell a hint of bergamot beneath the sickly sweet of carrion, cherries, and runepowder on his pulse. Astarion had smelled of bergamot once when he had cared enough to cover the aura of death on his skin.

Tav slowly went to dismount from Raphael’s hips, hoping to avoid his attention, but his hands came up to hold her in place as he tutted softly. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Aren’t you going to inquire as to what your end of the bargain is?”

It was a bluff. It had to be. This was all some dare for her to go further, or a test of her strength that had gone too far. She would sign over whatever he asked for— Hells, if he asked for the Crown of Karsus again she’d fistfight Mystra for it herself— and they’d go back to the normal antagonistic bantering that they had always shared.

One of Raphael’s hands slowly drifted down to her thigh, resting at the top of the rip running down the skirt of her silky nightgown. His hand was warm through the thin fabric but it purposefully did not touch her skin through the tear. He was toying with her now, and Tav knew it.

They were too far into it to back down now, though. This was for Astarion’s very soul. No price would be too great.

“What do you want from me Raphael,” Tav asked, voice steady despite the uneven fluttering in her chest.

“Oh, I think you know,”

The room felt ice cold now.

It couldn’t truly be. Steam still floated up from the baths and engulfed them, slightly obscuring the finer details of the furniture and the room around her. Its heat didn’t reach Tav’s skin, though. Instead, the wetness of her sopping nightgown, now cooling in the air, sent a flurry of involuntary shivers down her spine. The only heat that remained radiated from Raphael’s blistering palms into her legs.

She shook her head. She’d use up her free will before she had no choice but to give in to him. “Just spit it out,”

“I just want what I’ve always wanted; what should have been rightfully owed to me when I offered you the Orphic hammer only to get nothing in return.”

“Please, Raphael I-”

The heat in his hands was building now. Tav could’ve sworn he was searing the brand of his fingerprints into her hips.

“You knew what kind of a deal you’d be making when you chose to ask for my assistance, little mouse,” Raphael’s voice was deceivingly soft but no less dark as he spoke to her. “You could have asked your friends for help. I’m sure the Blade of Frontiers would have been happy to slay the little vampling for you, or you could have asked your pet wizard to beg Mystra for an answer to your woes. You didn’t ask them, though. Instead, you chose to crawl all the way down to Avernus,” something new sparked in his eyes, “to me, knowing exactly what I would ask for in return. Why drag things out now as if you didn’t know your fate the moment you called upon my services?”

Why not give him what he wants?

Tav couldn’t think of anything to say despite the hundreds of angry rebuttals swarming her mind. Her mouth was so dry. It was like someone had shoved a handful of dust down her throat.

She loved Astarion. She’d never had a choice but to love Astarion from the moment she’d had his dagger against her neck. It was his encouragement that had given her the courage to take on the goblin camp. When nights camping in the shadow-cursed lands got dark, he had been the one at her side giving her a reason not to succumb. He had placed his future in her hands when he shared the truth about Cazador with her; when he let her accompany him to the ritual… and then she had failed him. Only when they were both completely powerless to change things did it become clear just how badly she’d failed. Not even with the help of her friends would she be able to bring back the sanity he had lost. No one could hold a candle to Astarion’s power now.

No one besides the devil between her legs.

Tav took a heavy steeling breath. Astarion had given up everything to accompany her on her journey. This was the least she could do to right the wrongs she’d committed then.

“What are your terms,”

Raphael beamed below her. With a wave of his hand, the new contract appeared, feather pen drifting lazily beside the rolled parchment as she had drifted in the water so soon before. “I retrieve Astarion’s soul and personally return it to his body. It will be as though he is waking from a particularly unpleasant dream.” His fingers tapped out a staccato rhythm on her hipbones as he spoke. “In return, you will reside permanently in the House of Hope, bound to me in body and soul, until I see fit to release you,”

Tav shook her head. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening. Stuck here forever? Praying for a death that would only cement an eternity of torment at Raphael’s side? She’d always known it would come to this but hearing the facts outright made her want to burst into a fit of hysterical laughter or tears or both. There was hope, though. Always hope. “Astarion will come to find me, you know, once he’s himself again. Eventually, he’ll figure out where I am and he’ll destroy you for taking what was his,” Her voice was far too calm given the circumstances.

“Will he?” Raphael questioned, grip loosening.

And that was all it took to shatter the small bit of confidence she had built up within herself.

“Are you trying to get me to back out of this?” Tav asked, “Because you aren’t helping your case,”

He waved a hand through the steamy air. “I’m simply being honest, my brave little mouse. Imagine Astarion’s shame when he wakes surrounded by the horrors he has wrought with only his victims to greet him now that you’ve escaped to Avernus. Imagine his shock when he realizes you ran right into my arms to get away from his madness. From him.”

The ever-deepening pit in Tav’s stomach threatened to open up and swallow her whole.

“He will look in the mirror,” Raphael continued, “and find Cazador the Second staring back at him,”

Realization dawned on her slowly and all at once.

“He’ll let me go,”

The devil looked somber when he fully released his grasp on Tav’s hips as if he had no choice but to do the things that he had done. If he weren’t about to get everything he’d ever desired she would have believed he actually cared about how his actions were affecting her.

“I’m afraid so,”

Things were quiet again. A hive of bees thrummed ceaselessly within Tav’s mind. Every bone in her body was filled with the vibrations. She could barely keep herself upright as she clambered backward off of Raphael’s lap only to collapse limply into the empty space where Haarlep had been sitting beside him.

His hand came to rest on her shoulder. The heat of it cut through the numbness and shot straight to her chest. How was he always so damn warm? She leaned into the touch without even realizing she had moved.

“He really did love you, you know,” Raphael’s nails scratched thin raised lines into Tav’s soft flesh.

She scoffed. “Again, not making this any easier for me,”

“It should,”

Her next question quivered in the air, more desperate than hopeful. “How?”

Tav knew she was playing into his game. Raphael was no better than any predator or any toddler for that matter, he just couldn’t help but play with his food. Still, she wasn’t any less petty than he was. As long as she still had the strength to fight against his machinations she would make them as painful and drawn out as possible because for as much as Raphael liked to toy with his victims his greatest victories came when a great foe finally rolled over and surrendered to his mercy. Tav may be desperate enough to give up her soul but never in a million years would she give it up without at least a bit of a fight.

Still, a drop of desperate, honest goodwill remained in her, looking for some possible way to make all of this pain worth it. Anything to keep herself from falling into total despair at the thought of the empty future ahead.

Raphael’s fingers kept up their soft dance on her skin. “You are making the ultimate sacrifice in the name of someone who loved you. His soul for yours? That’s the fairest bargain you could have asked for, and I think you know that,”

“I-”

“Besides,” he continued, “That love is dead and gone now. No use wishing you could run back to it. I want your honest answer Tav: Do you think you could genuinely go back, look him in the eyes, and make love to him after the things he’s done to you?” And with one sharp jab, Raphael’s fingers made their way to the pair of raw, gaping punctures on Tav’s neck, digging into the meat of her throat. She screamed out as he prodded about inside the flesh. “This was the turning point, wasn’t it? The proof that it was kill or be killed? The thing that sent you running back to me? I want to hear you say it,”

Blood wept from the open wound that never seemed to close no matter how much she healed, bathing Tav’s shoulder in its sticky warmth.

That’s right. She’d almost forgotten all about her neck in her panic to get away.

He’d gone too far this time.

Astarion hadn’t let go, even as Tav raked her now broken nails down his back, even as she begged for forgiveness if he would just let her go. Only when he’d drank his fill had he let her squirm away to freedom, and not before ripping a wicked chunk of flesh from her neck first. It was purposeful. She’d had just enough vitality left to sit and think about what she’d done and what was coming while he was gone, and when he returned? It would have been over.

The empty look in his crimson eyes, cheeks flushed with her lifeblood… it was the tipping point. There was no coming back from that.

Even now with his soul within her grasp, there was no coming back. Maybe for him, there was, but not for Tav, and definitely not for their partnership. Not in any way that mattered.

There would never be a them again.

Raphael’s pupils dilated in the candlelight. “Poor little canary in a world of cats. Don’t you wish you could be taken care of? A gilded cage may still be a cage, but cages offer protection.” Still covered in Tav’s blood, he swept an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. “I could keep you safe here, make sure he and those like him could never lay a finger on you again. Unlike that thoughtless boy, I like to take care of my things,”

Despite the fact that she’d done all of this to help Astarion, a little piece of Tav couldn’t help but feel like she’d betrayed him somehow. That didn’t matter now, though. She would never see him again. Soon, never soon enough or maybe far too soon, the memories of his moles and his laugh and the feeling of running her fingers up the ridges of scars on his back would fade. He would turn into a shadow of a memory from a time and place before Avernus was her home.

His face, the face he would now know every inch of in the mirror, would be a stranger to her.

She didn’t have any more tears left to cry and yet she found some, just enough for one last soundless sob in Astarion’s honor. “I just want all of this to be over,” her voice sounded pathetic, even in her own ears, “I just want to go home,”

“So let me take it away,” Raphael leaned in. His breath seemed to catch along the sensitive ridge of her ear, sending a shiver up her spine. He looked human for once, collar ruffled beneath his doublet that strained with every breath. Even his perfect hair was disheveled above wild, wide eyes. “The memories, the pain, the guilt; let me absolve you. Let me show you that you can be wanted,”

Tav remembered eyes like that. Eyes that coveted, with hints of softness lurking within the mystery. Those eyes were enough to make her forget to check the fine print. At least this time there was no malice waiting within them.

The promise of being cared for was just tempting enough to push her over the edge.

“Let’s get this over with. Where do I sign?”

“No signature necessary.” The feather quill that had been floating about was nowhere to be seen now, sent away somewhere while her mind was elsewhere. The scroll remained though, suspended in the air above them, tightly bound together with a red ribbon that reminded Tav of Astarion’s eyes. Had that been on purpose? Some way to stake a claim on another powerful hellish adversary’s prized possession once her soul was in his grasp? She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about anything anymore.

In one last show of rebellion, Tav scoffed at Raphael. “Then how the fuck am I supposed to make a deal with you?”

“I think it’s only fair that a deal this poetic be sealed with a kiss,” Raphael’s voice made Tav feel like someone had cast grease on her stomach. The fresh, weak wave of disgust washed over her and settled into an empty acceptance.

“I hate you, Raphael,”

And without hesitation, because if she had given herself even one moment to hesitate she was sure she wouldn’t be able to go through with it, Tav lurched forward and pressed her lips to his.

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(A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be part of a taglist for future chapters just reach out and I'd be happy to add you on)

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#fanfiction #astarion #bg3 astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 raphael #bg3 haarlep #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #raphael x tav #baldur's gate 3

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