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saintobio · 9 days

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ACT I. THE LADY

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), slight mentions of gore

♱ notes. 6.5k wc, unedited. again, for anyone who missed my small announcement, the ‘juliet’ from my megumi r+j fic has a name here for narration purposes. she remains as you or yn in the original fic tho :) feedback would be highly appreciated!

series masterlist ♱ act two.

“I humbly beg your pardon, Your Imperial Highness. The lady declines any audience at this time.”

Throughout his princely life, Satoru had never before faced rejection from any of his subjects, let alone one of his own citizens. No one ever dared to deny the Crown Prince as they were aware of the consequences of offending a member of the imperial family, let alone the future Emperor of Caelum.

So, how could this mere daughter of a duke summon the courage to refuse his audience?

It was baffling to him. Were you not the one who had written him a lovestruck letter requesting a meeting? As one of the eligible brides for the Crown Prince and a strong contender for the position of Crown Princess, it was only natural for you to vie for his affection and secure your spot on the imperial throne. You had it all; the status, the power, the wit. You had quite the face, too. This would have been an opportune moment for you to ensnare his favor and win him over. Yet, what reason could you possibly have now to suddenly decline his audience?

“On what grounds did she refuse?” Satoru maintained a stern demeanor as he stood beside his white horse, scrutinizing the servant from the De Roma estate who trembled before the prince. His blue velvet cloak and imperial insignia added to the overall intimidation of his presence.

The maid, mindful of the perils that may befall her for the actions of her master, spake with evident apprehension. “The lady offered no explanation, Your Highness. She simply wishes to remain in her chamber.”

Needless to say, he felt a mixture of amusement and intrigue at this situation. The same noble lady who had previously been forward in her advances and infatuation towards him was now avoiding an opportunity to get acquainted? And to think, he had believed he was doing you a favor by granting you a chance to spend time with him this noontide.

“Very well.” The prince gazed down at the servant with a stern expression, raking his slender fingers through his arctic white hair before mounting his war horse. “Remind the lady that there are consequences for denying the rights of the imperial family. Each slight she casts is an arrow to her neck. Let her know that there shall not be another chance such as this.”

He sensed the maid’s fear after she offered him a curtsy, yet he could not fathom how she remained steadfast in her refusal to grant him access to your drawing room despite his clearly spoken warning. She was guarding the entrance to the estate as though she would face greater consequences for letting the crown prince in than for keeping him out. Were you truly so stringent in maintaining your distance from him?

So be it. If that was your game, then let it be played. In fact, you might be trying to seem hard-to-get after the stunts you had pulled at the hunting expedition two weeks hence. If his memory served him right, you were the one who sabotaged Lady Anastasia’s crossbow and led her in her near-fatal experience. You see, you might have gotten away with it, but Satoru was a witness to your deliberate crime. He had seen you tampering with Lady Anastasia’s weapon, replacing her regular bolts with ones laced with fast-acting poison, which left the poor lady paralyzed in the middle of a dangerous hunt. Had it not been for Satoru, Lady de Florentine would have likely been mauled by a wild boar.

Yet, his intervention only seemed to stoke your ire even more. Your jealousy after seeing him save Anastasia’s life only made you see red, almost revealing yourself the true perpetrator for the obvious expressions you had displayed. Still, he chose to remain silent about your malicious actions, pretending to be oblivious to your cunning ways and dismissing any suspicions of foul play in the incident. In a way, Satoru had saved your life more than you realized. Not only that, he had also safeguarded your reputation and standing in high society without your knowledge, as he understood that your animosity towards Lady Anastasia only stemmed from the way he had interacted with her, speaking in close proximity and kissing her hand prior to the hunting game.

Ha! What a devious little viper you were. What a brazenly proud woman. By declining to meet the Crown Prince, you had only ironically succeeded in piquing his interest even more.

“Is everything in order, Your Highness?” It was his close friend and personal knight, Suguru, who snapped him out of his reverie as they rode their horses back toward the capital. Three more of the prince’s knights trailed behind them. Suguru’s question hinted at concern for the prince’s sanity, given that he had been observed laughing to himself despite the insult he had faced just half an hour ago.

“It is rather amusing, is it not?” Satoru pondered, his hands firmly gripping the reins as he guided his horse along the uneven path. “Lady Y/N might seem out of her wits, but she is astute. I see through her tactics. She obviously desires my attention, which is why she is behaving this way.”

The long-haired knight chuckled with unease. “I fear that may not be her intention.”

The notion appeared absurd to him. “Not her intention? Grant her but a moment, and she shall trail after me once more like a shadow. This is a blessing, if anything. I am now spared the need to endure that lady’s temperament during formal events.”

Did you realize? Despite numerous instances where Satoru overlooked your transgressions, if you were to provoke his ire, he could surely publicly enumerate each offense. The stained dress incident involving Lady Serena? Your handiwork. The scandalous rumors regarding Lady Franchetta? Also your doing. Not to mention your mistreatment of maids and commoners out of mere boredom. Your actions would have easily rendered you an unsuitable candidate as the Crown Prince’s bride, yet he remained silent and never reported such occurrences to his father, the emperor. More than that, he should be relieved that you had chosen to avoid him and spared him further entanglements with you.

However, Satoru’s words contradicted his own sentiments, and he refused to acknowledge his hypocrisy. Although he claimed satisfaction with your decision to keep your distance, why did thoughts of you arise foremost when he passed by a jewel shop that showcased its newest collections? He and his men were traversing the city square when his sky blue eyes caught sight of a necklace with a large, deep-red garnet as its centerpiece, surrounded by intricate gold filigrees, and a single teardrop-shaped pearl dangling at the bottom. The overall design was bold and commanding, yet undeniably elegant. A befitting accessory for Caelum’s next crown princess.

“Would you care to inspect the jewel shop, my lord?” proposed one of his knights. “That necklace could serve as a splendid gift for Lady Serena, who is soon to celebrate her birthday banquet.”

The prince saw his reflection in the shop’s window, his white steed poised gracefully while he gazed at the jewelry on display. A smirk unanticipatedly graced his lips as he envisioned a particular scenario in his head. “Indeed.”

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Milena was cinching your corset when your father abruptly entered your chamber, his visage bearing a questioning mien as his footsteps loudened each second. You already anticipated the nature of his visit, for nothing else would prompt such urgency unless it pertained to your reputation. In retrospect, you remembered him having knowledge of your misdeeds against the other debutantes currying favor with the crown prince, and he was well aware of the details of your crafty schemes and all the deliberate sabotage you had orchestrated. And although your father often covered for you out of paternal pride, he still chastised you for your actions in private. The latter assuredly was the purpose of his visit now.

Well, dear father, your daughter is no longer the same.

“Maid,” commanded the duke, “Leave us for a while.”

Milena immediately bowed at your father. “Yes, Your Grace—”

“No, Milena. You will not take a single step out of this chamber.” Your order somehow surprised the both of them as though you had never sounded so authoritative before, like you had the imperial power and position to be issuing commands greater than your father’s. Ah, right. You were not an empress anymore. Or yet. None of these people were your subjects, and living in the past would really take some time getting used to. In an effort to conceal your years of imperial presence, you looked at your father with a gaze that suggested naivety. “What is the matter, father?”

Duke de Roma appeared visibly strained by his youngest child. “Y/N, is it true that you declined a visit from Crown Prince Satoru?”

You felt the urge to scoff, but opted against it. “Rejection is an understatement, Your Grace. My interest in His Highness has simply waned.”

“So soon?” The elderly man was perplexed by your assertion, considering your reputation as a notorious obsessive lover of the prince. You were perceived by all as the erratic woman who would engage in conflict with any rival who dared to court his affections. “What sudden change prompts you to speak ill of him? Were you not striving to win his favor?"

Yes, but that was before. That was the version of yourself who sacrificed everything for someone incapable of reciprocating the love you sought. Things have altered now, and you recognized it was wiser not to pursue Satoru after knowing and personally experiencing the peril it posed to both yourself and the empire. He would only seek to exploit your family’s military influence to stage a coup against his parents, beguile you with his false affections, and make use of you until you were no longer serving him any purpose. You refused to be complicit in his ambitions any longer. Not in this life, no.

“Rather,” you began with a voice of confidence, “I would choose being in a convent than to wed a man like His Highness.”

Your father nearly fainted from your words. “By Saint Peter’s keys! I cannot understand the youth of today. Tell me, is there another suitor who has captured your interest? Have you found another man more noble than a prince?”

With a smile, you looked at yourself in the mirror and prepared for the day ahead. “No, Father. On the contrary, I seek a life of solitude. If I could remain unwed for the entirety of my days, I would gladly embrace it.”

This, you believed, was the surest way to distance yourself from trouble and seek redemption for your past transgressions. A life without Crown Prince Satoru was the road to attaining highest virtue. Your love for him was the reason you had committed such sins in the past, so the best thing to do in this life was to steer yourself clear from his path at all cost. Otherwise, the thought of facing the piercing gaze of Archangel Raphael again was too daunting to bear.

“What folly is this?” Duke de Roma questioned your words incredulously. “Did you not aspire to become the most powerful lady in the empire? Pursuing the Crown Prince is the path to becoming an empress. Cease this nonsensical talk and continue your efforts to win his favor!”

Once he departed, you were left alone in your chamber, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration. You were tempted to let out a groan of exasperation, but with Milena present, you had to maintain your composure. It was crucial for her to witness your changed mindset. Gone was the vicious lady she had served in her previous life. Though you could not offer a direct apology for the role you played in her demise before, you were determined to ensure her comfort and well-being in this new life.

As for your father, you were uncertain what to do with him yet. He was coming from a place of concern, knowing that your decision to enter a convent would ultimately make his investments futile. He had invested heavily in your upbringing, providing you with every luxury, the finest education, and the resources necessary to secure a prominent place in high society. His aspirations for you to become an empress were not solely driven by paternal pride, but also by the anticipation of reaping the rewards of his investment. Losing such an asset would undoubtedly be a significant blow to his plans and ambitions. Yet, he had no single idea what suffering you had actually endured in your past life after becoming Satoru’s wife for 10 agonizing years.

Well, in that case, you had an alternative plan—one that promised to secure the De Roma family’s status and elevate its wealth to unreachable heights without necessitating your ascent to the imperial throne.

“Milena,” you said, walking towards your window, “Prepare the carriage. We have somewhere to be.”

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“Fifty celestas?!” Milena questioned in disbelief, her hooded cloak framing her face as she confronted the artist before you. Today, both of you dressed down, adopting a guise that would allow you to blend seamlessly with the throng of commoners in the outskirts of the capital. “Signor, are you not asking for an exorbitant sum? You are exploiting My Lady merely because she is the daughter of Duke de Roma.”

It was a mistake bringing Milena with you, but it also served as a good signifier that the artist, Giancarlo di Firenze, was still operating in an era where his talent and skill as a sculptor had yet to be recognized. In the eyes of others, he was a struggling artist whose work warranted no more than a few trinkets. However, you possessed the advantage of foresight, bestowed upon you by your gift of clairvoyance (or in layman’s terms, a cheat sheet into the future due to your regression). You knew that Maestro Giancarlo’s sculptures would eventually gain widespread acclaim, particularly after they were displayed at the Veneran Museum, and he would be the most sought after artist in the continent with pieces worth thousands. Even your then-husband, the emperor himself, commissioned him for the notable Star Crossed Lovers sculpture for the ten year death anniversary of the prince and princess of the Astheryn and Caelum Empires. The 50 celestas Signor Giancarlo demanded now paled in comparison to the immense resale value his works would command in a decade’s time. This would be one of your best investments as a mere lady with no imperial wealth.

“Fifty celestas for this Apollo and Daphne sculpture seems a fair price,” you mused, scrutinizing each exquisite detail of the remarkable artwork. The sculpture was truly a masterpiece and very much deserving of admiration, which was why in your past life, it was highly coveted by The Venera for its sheer magnificence. However, you refrained from showering the Signor with excessive praise. To do so would only awaken him to the true value of his creations, and he could potentially inflate his prices beyond your budget. Thus, you maintained an air of indifference as you regarded the middle-aged sculptor. “It would make a suitable addition to our garden,” you casually added. “I shall purchase it.”

“My Lady!” protested Milena, but you silenced her with a gesture.

“In addition, I would like to acquire the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa and a selection of your cherubic sculptures,” you continued, disregarding Milena’s objections and the delighted expression on Maestro Giancarlo's face. “Pray, how much would the entire collection amount to?”

It was as if he had stumbled upon a treasure trove. The Signor’s eyes glistened with tears of joy as he responded to you. “Lady de Roma! What a blessing you have bestowed upon me,” he exclaimed, leaving you sympathetic towards his years of unacknowledged artistry. “The collection would fetch two-hundred celestas.”

Your maid, filled with concern, cried out in protest. “Preposterous! This is a swindle!”

Again, 200 celestas was a trifling sum compared to its prospective worth. Moreover, it was a price that would not significantly dent your finances as a noble lady. However, if you acquiesced to his initial offer without negotiation, he might infer that you would readily purchase any of his other works at its highest prices.

It was a simple game of chess, and he was merely one of your pawns.

“A hundred and fifty celestas,” you countered, maintaining a steely gaze on Maestro Giancarlo as you made your bargain. “Take it or leave it.”

The man voiced his objection, nonetheless. “But My Lady, I have dedicated weeks to crafting each piece.”

Being ten steps ahead, you already anticipated his response, so you offered a compromise. “Yes, yet two hundred for a handful of pieces seems excessive. I will increase it to a hundred and seventy-five. Do we have an accord?”

“But—”

“Two hundred celestas,” you declared firmly, “on the condition that you add a few more cherubim to my collection.”

In the end, he agreed to your offer with an air of triumph as if he had hit the jackpot. He penned your receipt with a sense of satisfaction, believing he had outwitted you with his inflated price when, unbeknownst to him, he had just sold pieces worth roughly two-hundred thousand celestas. The clear winner in this exchange was you, though you kept that fact strictly concealed. Your strategy to amass personal wealth would remain a secret to all, even if Milena thought you had lost your mind paying such a sum for the work of a struggling artist.

And you did not plan to stop there. Your next task was to visit Pietro De Luca, a renowned painter from your past life who had risen to prominence during your time as empress. Like the sculptor, this man was yet to achieve fame during the future period of artistic renaissance. He was the one who painted you and your husband’s infamous portrait at the palace. Unfortunately, though, luck was not on your side when you visited the painter that day, as the man had apparently journeyed to Constantia and would not return for another fortnight.

Ah, well. There would always be another opportunity.

“My Lady,” spoke Milena, standing beside you as your father’s men loaded the sculptures into the spare carriage. “I never imagined the day would come when you would take an interest in sculptures. When did you develop an eye for art?”

To tell her the truth, you cared little for its artistic merit. Your sole concern was its value and the wealth it would bring you in a decade’s time. You could never reveal that fact to Milena, so you offered an excuse instead. “They make for lovely decorations, do they not? They would certainly add to the opulence of the estate.”

Your sentence was abruptly interrupted as a pair of playing children collided with you, causing your hood to slip down and reveal your face. The mother of the children, instead of offering an apology, was too stunned to realize that you were a noblewoman from the capital. They were clearly of lower status than commoners; they were beggars, clad in tattered garments and bearing grimy faces. Your heart twinged with pity, especially upon seeing the mother cradling a baby in her arms.

A poor infant. Almost instinctively, your hand flew to your belly as memories flooded your mind of the baby you nearly had in your past life. It was Satoru’s child, the future emperor of the empire, the sole heir to the imperial Gojou lineage. Yet, he refused to acknowledge it as his own. What would have happened to your child if he had lived? The bittersweet recollection clenched at your gut.

“Please, my lady,” pleaded the impoverished woman, “Any food or clothing would be a blessing.”

To think of it, in your past life, you realized that the commoners harbored resentment towards you for your extravagant lifestyle. None of the luxuries you enjoyed as empress were shared with the masses of the Caelum Empire. They remained trapped in poverty while you reveled in comfort, completely disconnected from their reality. It was no wonder you had incurred the wrath of Goddess Fortuna and Archangel Raphael.

And now, overwhelmed by compassion, you motioned for Milena to offer 50 celestas to the woman, who graciously accepted your gift. The sum would suffice for six months' worth of food supplies. Though you wished you could give more, your wealth was not infinite as the daughter of a duke. Nevertheless, it was the gesture that mattered, was it not?

As you and Milena continued to stroll through the plaza, you could sense the incredulous glances she would cast your way. It must have been strange for her to witness your kindness towards commoners, let alone your act of charity by giving away months worth of allowance to strangers.

“Is it the tea I served you the other morning, my lady?” she inquired, concerned. “You seem to be behaving differently, as if you have transformed into a completely different person.”

In your previous life, Milena’s straightforward comments would have resulted in punishment from you. However, in this timeline, you merely chuckled with her. “Life’s too fleeting to be evil all the time.”

Like an eager puppy, she nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed, my lady. Indeed! It brings me joy to see you embracing life in a different manner.”

If only she knew the hardships you had endured in the past, molding you into someone who viewed the world through a different lens in this present time. She would have been glad to see you become an empress, but she would be horrified to know the amount of souls that died by your hands alone.

You were lost in contemplation throughout the afternoon, and you wandered aimlessly around the city, immersing yourself fully in the lives of the common folk until dusk began to descend. Just as you were about to make your way back to your carriage, a larger one passed by, adorned in white and blue with the imperial insignia proudly displayed.

Today heralded the return of Princess Savina from The Providence. She was the sister of Crown Prince Satoru and the infamous Caelum princess who had tragically perished alongside her lover, Prince Megumi of Astheryn.

Her tragic demise was also the beginning of Satoru’s descent to tyranny.

That could only mean one thing: the true story was just about to unfold.

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You felt unsettled.

Princess Savina’s return marked not only a significant turning point, but also served as a stark reminder of the events that had unfolded in your previous life. Her tragic death had set off a chain reaction of calamities. After her illicit romance with an Astherean prince was exposed, a devastating war broke out and claimed the deaths of innocent citizens. Shortly after, the prince and princess' dead bodies were discovered in the Sistine Chapel. While the conflict might have concluded with an armistice, it was also the catalyst for Satoru’s path to seizing the throne with your helping hand. It was this very moment that laid the groundwork for Satoru's eventual usurpation of the throne.

Soon after, Satoru’s ascension to power would be imminent, with you standing by his side as his chosen empress. He would eliminate every traitor you had identified, while you exacted vengeance upon those who had wronged you prior to your rise to an imperial status. Yet, despite your unwavering loyalty and dedication, Satoru never truly trusted or loved you as his wife, ultimately leading to his betrayal in the end.

How could you stand still and watch history repeat itself?

You had to have a plan. You had to devise a scheme wise enough to change the course of your life. And perhaps, befriending Savina might be the key. She might have a chance to live if her affair with the Astherean prince remained undiscovered, averting the tragic chain of events that led to her demise. That way, Satoru would not harbor the desperation to usurp his parents. He would not ask you to orchestrate a coup, and make you his pathetic empress in return. In this life, you resolved to be repulsive enough in Satoru's eyes that he would be utterly disinterested in you, even if you were the last person on Earth.

The plan seemed logical, yet simultaneously absurd. In your past life, you had strived with all your might to become Satoru's wife, yet now, you were doing everything in your power to avoid such a fate. Is this naught but a cruel game? You could not suppress a wry chuckle as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the bright moonlight casting an illuminated glow upon you. It was enchanting yet horrifying at the same time to see a faint scar encircling your neck, a grim mark that reminded you of your previous fate as a beheaded empress. You were still uncertain whether you were the only one who could see the scar, but Milena had never seemed to notice it during your bathing rituals. Perhaps the scar would only manifest as a visible reminder of sin, and would fade with virtuous deeds. Your recent act of generosity towards the beggar, however, seemed to carry no weight in mitigating your previous unethical dealings with Maestro Giancarlo. It appeared that genuine acts of kindness were only truly rewarded when performed with sincerity, while any hint of selfishness nullified their positive effects.

You acknowledged that virtuousness was not inherently ingrained within you. While avoiding marriage to Satoru was your primary objective, the prospect of a life dedicated to serving the common people was not your desired path. As long as you refrained from inflicting suffering upon others, you saw no necessity in accumulating merits through good deeds. After all, your sole task, as directed by Archangel Raphael, was to atone for your sins, not to become a paragon of virtue. You were no saint.

Three days had quickly passed since that night, and this day held a special occasion that had your heart pumping heavily the morning you woke up. Today, as accurate as your previous life, was the day of The Mass of Annunciation—a holy Catholic mass to celebrate when Archangel Gabriel appeared to the Virgin Mary and announced to her that she would conceive and give birth to the son of God, Jesus.

The grandeur of the event was undeniable, and attendance was obligatory for all noble families of Caelum, given the devout nature of the empire’s populace. Moreover, the presence of the imperial Gojou family ensured the importance of the occasion. Yet, for you, stepping into Saint Peter's Basilica once more stirred nerves as memories flooded back from your time as an empress. Now, as a 20-year-old daughter of a duke, you entered the basilica beside your brother, Aristide, whose pompous demeanor drew the gaze of all noble ladies present. After all, he was the empire’s second most eligible bachelor after Satoru himself. In your first life, your brother had wed Lady Serena, and your relationship had soured when you declared him a traitor and accused him of treachery against your then-husband. Although Satoru had spared his life, he had decreed Aristide’s eventual exile, wary of the threat posed by a brother-in-law with ambitions for the throne.

The stark contrast between your current standing and your former eminence as an empress was palpable as you made your first public appearance in high society since your regression. No longer did heads turn and knees bend at the sight of you. Instead, you were regarded as a mere noblewoman, approaching the age where marriage prospects dwindled, and whispered rumors branded you as a woman with an unsavory fixation on the crown prince. It was a humbling experience, to say the least, and a reminder of the depths to which your reputation had fallen.

Despite no longer holding the title of empress, you spared no effort in your attire. You carried yourself with the same regal air, a testament to your upbringing and the lavish lifestyle afforded by your father. Your family not only produced the bravest knights, but also supported a prosperous weaponry business, which reflected your ostentatious way of life. That was why you had the means to wear a sumptuous gown of rich burgundy brocade, intricately woven with gold thread and adorned with delicate floral embroidery. You made certain that the modest neckline gracefully covered your neck to hide your revolting scar, while layers of sheer chiffon formed a voluminous skirt that cascades to your feet. Your hair was secured in a crespine, a delicate net-like veil adorned with lustrous pearls and sparkling gemstones, while around your neck hung a simple yet elegant silver cross pendant to add a touch of reverence.

In your eyes, you considered yourself a modest and conservative lady who was hesitant to reveal too much skin. However, your brother found it laughable, jesting that you might as well become a nun given how covered your chest and neckline were. He remarked that it was unusual for you to dress in such a reserved manner, as you had previously taken the initiative to wear attire that would attract Satoru’s manly gaze.

“Announcing the arrival of His and Her Imperial Highness, followed by His and Her Imperial Majesties—the luminaries of our empire.”

As the imperial family arrived at the basilica, a hushed anticipation suddenly fell over the gathered crowd. The air was filled with a palpable sense of reverence and awe as the imposing façade of the basilica welcomed the presence of the empire’s highest authority.

First to enter were Princess Savina and Crown Prince Satoru, the heir and heiress to the throne, their regal presence commanding attention as they made their way down the grand procession. Princess Savina was resplendent in a gown of shimmering silk and a coronet as her headdress, while there he came… Your then-husband. Your ex-lover. Your betrayer. Crown Prince Satoru, clad in a tailored doublet of rich blue velvet, projecting an air of quiet strength and authority as he stared straight ahead towards the altar like he did in your past life. You had almost forgotten how princely handsome he was when he was younger, and you could not stop your frenzied heart as you felt somersaults in your stomach. No, you must not! It was all in the mind. It was all a matter of mind games, and this might be the first time you had seen Satoru again in real life after your regression, but he was still a man who had ordered to kill you. You should never be fooled by his luscious white hair and sky blue eyes.

“In love?” whispered your brother, a smirk visible on his face.

“Out of love,” you corrected and remained resolute in your goal not to get swayed by Satoru’s charm again. “I feel not a single thing.”

Aristide scoffed at that. “Yet your eyes shine at the sight of him?”

As the imperial siblings took their places at the head of the procession, the assembled congregation bowed their heads in deference as the imperial family proceeded to their seats and their every movement watched with rapt attention by the gathered nobility. Following closely behind were the Emperor and Empress, the reigning monarchs of the empire, their presence heralded by the sound of trumpets and the swell of sacred music.

You chose not to bicker with your brother throughout the holy mass, although there were times you were tempted to cuss him out. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, ridiculing your attire and insisting that Satoru would never pay you any attention. He took great pleasure in reminding you of the prince’s supposed revulsion towards your obsession, when little did your foolish brother know, you would be glad if that was in fact true.

And the ironic thing was, in your previous life, you had done Aristide a great favor by marrying Satoru. This freed up Lady Serena for marriage, despite her supposed status as the crown prince’s favorite. You used to despise Serena out of sheer jealousy, while Aristide had always desired her, which was why your brother had urged you to win Satoru's affections to pave the way for him to marry the lady he so coveted.

In this life, you decided not to interfere in any potential relationship between Satoru and Serena, regardless of your brother’s wishes. You acknowledged that Serena would make a far superior empress than yourself, as she possessed enough empathy in her to prioritize the welfare of her people and avoid endangering them. She was not the type of person who would willingly bring about the destruction of an entire nation, nor would she welcome the spread of plague out of mere vengeance against her husband.

With Satoru out of your plans, Savina then came into the picture. You had to speak and get close to her—close enough for her to trust you and befriend you, but not attached enough for you to act like her older sister. You would only be here to guide her and avoid her from the path of her downfall in order to save yourself. Savina was the key.

Savina… Savina would be the one to save you in this life. Savina was your only hope.

As the mass concluded, some of the nobles began to disperse, while others congregated in a corner to converse with the Archbishop. Your sole intention at that moment was to approach Savina, allowing your feet to lead you to the direction of where she was. But just before you reached her, you stumbled upon a very significant individual who had played a pivotal role in bringing about your suffering in your previous life.

It was none other than Satoru’s advisor, Lord Maximillian.

“Lady Y/N, it is a delight to see you,” the man greeted, but you could see right through him. He never liked you now and in the past. In fact, his hatred stemmed from his peculiar fixation towards the imperial family. He may look younger presently, but he was still an old and rotten base-born cur.

Maximilian was the one responsible for introducing Satoru to the prophecy, and he was also the individual who whispered your demise into your husband's ears. Given his role in your past suffering, why should you afford him any respect?

“It is rather surprising you had not burned inside the church,” you remarked acerbically, eliciting widened eyes from the nobleman. “Yet it does beg the question, Lord Maximilian, what brings a heretic like yourself inside a Catholic church?”

Within the confines of the basilica, or at least the space surrounding you, a variety of reactions unfolded. A noble lady shot you a disapproving stare for your perceived rudeness towards a man of higher nobility, while your brother regarded you with a mixture of astonishment and concern as if you had gone mad. Conversely, a young nobleman appeared impressed by your audacity.

As for Maximilian, it was rather amusing to observe the crimson hue that spread across his face. You anticipated his retort and braced yourself for his comeback. “Why, you foul-mouthed wench!” he exclaimed, his voice laden with indignation. “Who do you think you are speaking to?!”

You grinned triumphantly at your success in offending him. “You should be ashamed to show yourself in front of God—” you began, relishing the opportunity to further provoke him, but was cut short when a formidable presence appeared before you.

The arctic white hair, the crystal blue eyes, the smooth ivory skin, the towering build from years of training…

“Your Highness,” Maximilian immediately curtsied before the prince, while you remained frozen in place. Like a statue. “Your Highness, this young lady is preposterous!”

On one hand, Satoru’s eyes bathed in humor as he observed the interaction between you and Maximilian. This was the first time you two had faced each other since the regression, and the emotions stirred within you were still raw. You were husband and wife when you last saw each other. You could still remember the last time you saw him the night before your execution, when he visited you in the West Tower and asked you to live a solitary life in the countryside as his mistress. Your heart seemed to constrict in your chest, yet simultaneously, it pounded loudly with anticipation.

“Max, it seems the lady has labeled you a heretic,” the Crown Prince remarked, his gaze unwavering as he focused on you. “Can you substantiate your accusations, Lady Y/N?” he inquired, prompting you to defend your claims.

Satoru, you fool. If you were to reveal what happened in your previous life, he would be an accomplice to the crime. He carried the highest position in the empire at the time, yet he was a supporter of heresy himself. That alone would have brought him into Inquisition.

You could not think straight. Oh for heaven’s sake! You could not focus. Could not breathe. Could not speak. Your thoughts were flooded by memories of your past life; of Satoru claiming you were useless for being barren, of him refusing to acknowledge your child, of him planning to wed another woman after the years you had devoted to him, of him ruthlessly ordering your execution.

Of him never saying he loved you.

Before you realized it, tears welled up in your eyes. You were utterly unprepared to encounter him today, let alone engage in conversation, especially while the wounds from your past were still so raw. Some wounds had yet to heal, and the mere sight of him brought them flooding back.

And with your unexpected reaction, his expression softened and morphed into one of genuine concern. Why? Why was he suddenly concerned now when he spent years of being an ungrateful husband? His smile had long vanished, replaced by a look of worry after seeing you on the verge of breaking down. However, before the tears could spill, you turned and fled, unable to bear the thought of crying in front of a man like him.

“Hold on, Lady Y/N—!”

His voice called out to you, but you refused to look back. No, you were determined to only keep moving forward, to distance yourself from the man who had caused you so much pain. Therefore, you hastily fled the basilica, seeking solace amidst the throng of nobles who were crowding outside.

As you ran, tears streamed down your face unchecked, yet you let it be. The ache in your heart was unbearable, knowing that the man you had once loved so deeply now had the power to hurt you all over again. Only when you found a secluded spot beneath a stone pine tree did you collapse, clutching your chest as you recalled the face of the man who had caused you so much anguish.

I despise you, Satoru.

“How could you betray me like that?” you murmured, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed beneath the tree, feeling utterly pathetic.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over you, and as you looked up, you saw a man with dark hair clad in shining armor. His smile was gentle as he approached and crouched down beside you.

“My lady.” It was the Knight Commander, Yuuta, offering you his handkerchief. “Is everything alright?”

#series: lltv #satoru gojou x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader

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tripleyeeet · 8 months

Text

PAINFUL VULNERABILITIES (5)

SUMMARY: When your past begins to blend into your present, you find yourself longing for Astarion's comfort.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,648

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, body horror elements, descriptions of torture involving a knife, panic attack, sort of made up Illithid lore??? (I promise there's comfort in the end, I'm sorry!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 5 literally doesn't have a prompt because this idea got terribly out of hand so let's just ignore that and enjoy the angst, shall we?

(Also again, a lot of people's tags weren't working so next time if you haven't fixed it I will be taking you off the list because taglists are a bitch!)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The nightmares start a few days later.

At first, they’re subtle. Wisps of darkness cloud your thoughts, leaving no memory behind. Silently it lingers, creeping through your skull in waves that inevitably crash against the shore, ripping you awake —leaving you breathless each time you’re left gasping for air in your dishevelled bedroll. When it happens, it always makes you jolt up to look around, trying to find the cause of your plague. The reason why you’re suddenly so wary to lay your head each night.

When you reach the Underdark they only get worse.

What were once forgotten memories become recurring torments. Endless onslaughts of clawed hands that scratch at your flesh, pulling back skin in massive chunks that pluck excitedly at your insides.

Thanks to the powers of the Illithid you feel every movement. Every poke and prod slips through you like a knife, cutting you down piece by piece until you’re nothing but a shell. An empty carcass of bone that’ll inevitably be harvested for a purpose far greater than yourself.

Or so she says. As you lie there, writhing in pain, blinking to shield the teeth that bear witness to your torture, you hear her whisper cool and quiet, telling you of your death. Of your fated downfall, and then of your—

You always wake up before she finishes.

Before you can hear her utter the words you’ve heard a thousand times. Feeling the burn of your lungs, you stretch your fingers across your chest in remembrance, breathing in and out as the skin beneath your digits runs hot and you’re forced to forget the experience all over again.

When you reach camp that night, sore from the seemingly never-ending mushroom forage, you find yourself dreading the prospect of such sleep. Even through the exhaustion, the last thing you want to do is rest your head lest she arrives tonight, so you fight the urge, settling in against the edge of the fire.

“You look tired.”

You turn to look at Gale with half-closed eyes, offering him the softest grin you can muster before turning toward the flames. They seem brighter than usual. A decorative flash of warm-toned hues that make you blink and rub your eyes, somehow feeling even more languid.

“Mushroom hunting take it out of you?”

You hum, making no move to look his way as you pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself for comfort.

As much as you’ve grown to like Gale’s company, all you want right now is silence. A moment of peace where you can just stare into the fire and let your eyes burn from something other than the lack of sleep. Especially after spending the day alongside Lae’zel and Shadowheart as some poorly trained mediator. Just the thought of opening your mouth to speak feels like a threat to your vocal cords. The prospect of speech too much to handle, even as Gale begins to fill you in on his and Wyll’s misadventures with a nearby myconid colony.

“They’re truly such interesting creatures. Did you know…”

His voice falls on deaf ears, earning you nothing but a confused sigh once he realizes you’re not listening. Mostly because it’s not normal for you to just blatantly ignore your peers.

“Are you alright? Need anything? Perhaps a drink or a—“

You’re standing upright before he can even finish his sentence, brushing the ass of your leathers before walking away, paying no mind to the curious wizard as he looks around the camp, catching the eye of Wyll who merely shrugs.

It’s not like you to leave. To ignore a friend mid-conversation but your voice is gone. Lost to the void of constant intercession and a brewing anxiety that sits in your chest. As you walk towards your tent you can feel it shifting. Starting at your gut, everything twists to form a sickly sting. A stabbing pain that throbs within your abdomen, threatening to grow as you part the fabric and crawl inside, plopping into bed face first.

Despite your better judgement, you let out a low groan you’re sure at least someone hears causing you to frown, knowing that you’re better than this. Better than neglecting your health because of some silly nightmares. Better than letting the fear of your past get the better of you. Better than brooding about it.

Turning to lie on your back, you palm the sockets of your eyes in frustration, letting your mind wander. Allowing yourself to feel everything you’ve been suppressing over the last twelve or so hours.

Aside from exhaustion, it’s mostly Astarion that surfaces. His face in the darkness looking at you as you left camp that morning, barely awake enough to give him a nod. In an instant it was as if he was there and gone, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place before shifting out of view alongside an overly excited Karlach. It was the kind of look that made you question its intentions. Its knitted brows and pursed lips rising and falling through your memories between the scuffles of your two companions.

As you walked along the edges of the Underdark’s cliff sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it represented. What emotion it was trying to convey in such a small amount of time before it disappeared completely?

As you lie there now, once again imagining its form you feel it’s something bordering on pity. A showcase of solidarity in your obviously failing quest for sleep.

Astarion may not say much about your struggles —unlike him, you don’t complain about the endless problems that you face on the road— but you know he’s still aware of them. He’s too perceptive not to be.

So why hasn’t he said anything?

A heavy breath escapes. A shaky one damaged by speculation. Ruined by the assumption that it’s because he doesn’t care. That perhaps you aren’t worth the trouble of a little bit of worry despite previous actions.

You may have killed for him —had his back long before anyone else, but have such feelings ever been reciprocated? Has your worth been proven now that you’ve slain a man in his honour? And if so, how much worth do you truly hold? Is it substantial enough to ask you how you are? Big enough to look at you with any semblance of fondness? Or is it all just for show?

There’s a part of you that hopes it is. That the moments filled with kindness are nothing more than lies told to keep your attention. If he were lying, it wouldn’t necessarily make the way you feel right now any better but it’d mean that there’s an end. A barrier to stop you from getting in too deep. An excuse you could use to explain the naivety of thinking he may care.

Because it wavers —his care. Some days it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. You can never guess when the care will appear, only that when it’s there and eventually dissipates you’ll be left alone again, wondering why he puts the extra effort in at all. Why he reels you in only to let you go, forcing you to question his intentions as you watch with careful eyes for those moments of reassurance. Moments that you can never prepare for. Ones that gnaw at your heart with pointed teeth wrapped beneath hungry lips, starving for the truth.

You’re not too sure you’re ready to take that leap yet. To push him for the answers you know he’ll just avoid. He’s never been quick to trust and even when he does allow you in there’s still a blockage of sorts. An obvious resistance that sits between you, forcing you to settle regardless of the fear you hold inside your chest, wondering what would happen if you tried to push.

You assume it’d ruin you. That, more than likely, pushing too hard would only create an even deeper wedge, making the truth that much more unattainable, leaving you with less than what you started with.

Shooting upwards, you groan again and breathe, resting your face against your open palms in irritation.

All you want to do is sleep, knowing the only reason you’re thinking so much is because you’re avoiding it. If you think you can’t drift which means the nightmares can’t come, leaving you with two bad endpoints you know you have to choose between.

It makes you want to scream just thinking about it but instead of giving in to such desires you merely settle back down, pulling the fabric of your bedroll up to your shoulders before closing your eyes.

You’re going to get some sleep whether or not it kills you. Whether or not you have to endure the pain of a thousand deaths all at once before you’re inevitably woken up in a stupor of suffering.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift. One minute you’re lying there, counting your breaths like sheep and the next you’re out, filtering through a darkness that feels all too familiar. At first, it’s just there, coating your skin in nothingness. Lost to the void of slumber, you’re at peace for the first time in forever but as expected eventually the shadows unfold. Part to reveal a body of pale skin wrapped around viscous veins full of the blood of many.

It beckons you almost immediately. The flutter of that icy voice saying your name over and over until you come to call, allowing yourself to move. Letting your feet guide you to her presence, you feel the waves and how they threaten to spill over as you kneel before her, feeling her grab your throat.

Her fingers twitch and curl but never grip as she leans forward, offering you a grin. “You’ve been avoidant.”

You don’t speak. For a moment your lips part, feeling the presence of her thumb glide across the base of your throat but you don’t dare speak.

“You know it’s coming, my dear. You can’t avoid it.”

Your tongue moves to wet your lips while you blink, trying your best to let the visions of her angular face blur into the night that surrounds you, realizing she looks just as you remember her. All papery and washed out —a mere shell of herself now that you’ve gone missing. Her features drying out with each passing day you find yourself separate.

“Come back to me. Let me protect you.”

You swallow hard and turn your head, feeling the nails of her fingers dig into your neck prompting you to cry out.

She doesn’t let you do much else. Quickly moving on from the one-sided conversation to grab her knife, you watch as she mumbles under her breath, turning the blade between her fingers with a grin. “In untimely death comes timely renewal, remember?” she says, letting it ghost across your bare chest, pushing the edge against it until it breaks the skin.

You barely feel the first insertion. As the blade dips through the layers of your flesh, the only thing you feel is her breath. The pattern of air that puffs against your face as she recites those aforementioned words, taunting you as she pulls it down.

In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal…

As the knife moves lower, you repeat the words in unison like a mantra, struggling to get them out through gritted teeth as she works to cut you open. To slice your torso from the sternum down revealing countlessly re-healed bones and slimy organs that lie in waiting for her to pluck.

Hovering above you, her hands move to survey such handiwork, her fingers stroking the edges of your open skin before they inevitably dive right in, ripping you awake.

You feel the pressure of her inside your gut before it really hits that it’s done. Shooting upward, you cough and double over in an instant, pressing your hands shakily to the ground in front of you.

It’s the worst dream you’ve had yet. Longer than all the others, you can feel the adrenaline of it all penetrating your thoughts. Overthrowing every single anxiety you’ve ever felt as you sniff back tears, pushing yourself towards the entrance of your tent.

Pulling it open, you look around the camp in desperation, catching the eye of Wyll who raises his brow, watching as you shake your head, slipping further into the ground.

Before you can even think he’s on you, reaching for your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong and how he can help. In response, you make no effort to reach back. To remedy your pain as you continue to shake and cry, sobbing out the cursed mantra through heavy gasps that leave him panicking.

“Guys! Something’s wrong!”

As he calls out to the rest of the group, you quickly find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. All of them looking down to see your hysteria unfold.

“What happened?” Dropping to her knees, Shadowheart’s the first to your side, moving her hands to cup your face before you swat her away, mouthing the words over and over and over again.

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t know?”

The two of them continue to bicker. As Wyll explains the way you crawled out of your tent, mumbling something about death, you force yourself to shuffle back, maneuvering your body so that you’re half sitting inside your tent again, watching it all unfold. Focusing on the confusion as Lae’zel and Karlach stand in the wings, muttering to each other words you can’t quite hear while Gale stares down at your mouth, watching the words you speak only to yourself as your eyes start to dart around.

Surveying the rest of the camp, you wipe away your tears and try to breathe, forcing your mouth to stop its repetitions once you remember the ache inside your chest.

Because of the Illithid, you can still feel her handiwork. Beneath your sweaty tunic, you can sense its edges burning —stinging from the aftermath as you press a hand to your sternum, making sure you’re still intact. Making sure your organs aren’t on display as you catch sight of Astarion coming up the path.

He’s nose deep in a book when you see him, scanning the pages with interest before his eyes inevitably raise to see your nervous frame, curling into your tent. Then his interest fades. Evaporating into thin air before it’s replaced with fear. Genuine, heartbreaking fear that has him moving so quickly he fades out of view before reappearing in front of you.

“What happened?”

Just like Shadowheart, his hands cup your cheeks, gripping the plush as he lowers himself down, moving his forehead to yours.

Unlike before you make no effort to push him away. Instead, all you do is frown and try to suppress the tears, clawing at his shirt with desperate pleas, begging him to stay. Begging him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Begging for him to lie and say he’ll protect you just like you did for him.

Using your tadpole you beg him over and over again, letting the tears silently fall from your face, not caring that the whole party is watching.

All you need is him. In falseness or in truth, you don’t care. You just need him to ground you. To call you darling and to make you laugh. To make you feel like you’re something more than a vessel of organs one day destined for harvest.

As your chest begins to heave, letting all the nightmares unfold all over again, you feel the tadpole behind your eye squirm in response, asking you to let him in. Without hesitation, you close your eyes and swallow hard, feeling his thoughts start to overthrow the visions of her and her knives and the mantra that sticks haphazardly across your brain matter.

I’m here, you’re safe.

For once it feels like a promise. A silent vow meant only for you as he ushers you further into the tent, saying something to your peers before closing it up. After that he readjusts the bedroll with gentle hands, always keeping a single palm against the small of your back, even when he guides you to lie against his chest.

It’s the first time in weeks that you’ve felt safe. Resting a cheek just below his collarbone, you can feel your breath begin to return to its normal state. No longer ravaged by the panic of your dreams, it moves in and out, fanning the fabric of his shirt.

“Was it a nightmare?”

You nod. Unsure how to explain it because, while it is a nightmare, it somehow feels so much more.

“Of the past or?”

“Sort of.”

He hums curiously, glancing down to see your hand slide up his chest to grip his shirt.

“It feels like I’m answering a call.”

“A call?”

“Like there’s a person trying to reach me and when I answer I can… I can feel them.”

“Feel them?”

You can tell he doesn’t quite understand. Not that you blame him for it. The whole concept of these nightmares still vexs even yourself. Leave you stumbling in confusion each night you find yourself awake, struggling to remember what’s real and what’s not.

The nightmares are not as easily explainable as the actual torture you’ve endured. Especially considering that up until now there had been periods where the memories had died. Days where her face was nothing more than a splotch of white against a backdrop of black, slowly fading away.

It doesn’t make sense why they're suddenly returning. Why your mind is forcing you to relieve these memories night after night.

“Does your tadpole make it hard for you to dream?”

There's no hesitation when he says yes. No moment thought before his answer, making you wonder if maybe he too is experiencing these dreams.

“I feel like it amplifies everything.”

Looking up to gauge his response, you can see the worry clouding his eyes. How his expression sort of fades into the abyss as his eyes focus on yours.

“I dream of the past a lot. Of my life before this and… and I can feel it. Everything that ever happened I can feel all over again and it’s—“

“Painful.” His voice is broken. A crack in the mirror, shattering the often joyous image of his face as he looks away, blinking.

Without even processing your movements you prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to grab his cheek and pull him back in. “I wish you didn’t understand how it felt.”

There’s a flicker of hurt that hits his face, enveloping his features before the previous sadness kicks in again and he’s reaching for your wrist, tightening around it. “Yes, well, not all of us get the luck of the draw when it comes to good lives.”

“You should’ve,” you tell him.

He scoffs and closes his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You’re probably the only one that thinks that.”

You let your thumb explore his cheek. Let it move in soft circles, taking in the way it shifts beneath your touch.

It feels strange to be this close to him even after all of the other intimate moments you’ve shared. Something about it feels softer, more honest than the rest of them, making your heart beat rapidly against your chest, threatening to burst.

“I know it’s not my business but if you ever want to talk about it—“

He places a kiss to your hand, letting his lips linger against the pad of your thumb as he closes his eyes, reaching around to grip your waist.

In an instant, the words drift out of your mind once you feel it; lost to a touch you didn’t realize you longed for.

Swallowing hard you lay back down to look away, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the tender image that unfolds as his arm shifts again, accommodating your movement. Making you feel that rush of comfort return as he pulls his mouth away and clears his throat.

“I’m, uh… I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“Vulnerability?” you joke, earning yourself a snort.

“I suppose that’s a word you can use.”

“To be fair, neither am I.”

You feel him shift to meet your gaze, looking at you with surprise. “Really now? I think breaking down in front of the whole camp just so that you can find me is quite the effort of—“

Before he can finish you clamp your hand around his mouth. “I was in shock, you bastard. I wasn’t thinking about my dignity.”

Flexing around your palm, you feel him smile before he pulls away. “That’s good because there was absolutely nothing dignified about the way you looked at me back there. It was…” He trails off, his words catching in his throat for a moment before he clears it again. “You scared me.”

There’s a moment of silence after that, lasting far longer for it to be deemed comfortable as you lay there, wide awake, wishing you could get him to talk to you. Hoping that maybe if you reach out with the Illithid he’ll answer your questions.

Closing your eyes, you feel his presence in your mind already, vying for your attention in a way that has you both moving in closer, tightening your hold.

Show me the dream.

It isn’t a question or a request but a simple command that has you obeying —letting him enter your thoughts. Letting him stand along the sidelines as she guides you to the ground and cuts you open all over again. Letting him listen to the recital of words that are spoken behind two frozen expressions as Astarion pulls you tighter against him, placing his mouth to your forehead to stop himself from crying.

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#painful vulnerabilities #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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lovebelphie · 5 months

Text

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋

featuring - lucifer/satan, asmodeus/solomon, beelzebub/belphegor

ꨄ synopsis: they realized their feelings a little too late for you and learn you’re with another.

content warnings: nsfw with (major?)angst, female reader, standing up sex, public sex (in the hol library), marking, oral sex (fem receiving), doggystyle, heavily implied established relationships, unrequited love essentially

side-note: quite angsty and cruel in a sense, but who doesn’t love a little betrayal essentially(?) anyways, enjoy lovelies!

-`♡´- 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 — ft. 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧

sometimes it was like lucifer was a little too stubborn. especially when he shouldn’t be. for some reason, he never could accept the fact he had feelings for you. it was like admitting he liked you more than just someone he was close to and trusted was a crime.

and it was his stubbornness that would be his downfall in this case. he had been looking for you in hoping to talk to you. he’d been busy with council duties he’d barely seen you.

plus his time away from you was making him realize maybe it was time to come to terms with his feelings. only for it to be too late. as he was walking by the house library he noticed there was light from the fireplace. which seemed odd.

until he heard what sounded like a moan coming from the room. the doors were slight ajar and he couldn’t help but glance through. only he immediately wished he hadn’t in that moment.

you were pressed up against the shelves, your legs wrapped around satan’s waist as he pounded into you. his thrusts causing the shelf behind you to rattle. your moans rang through the room as you clung onto him, “fuck, you’re extra tight, kitten.”

lucifer could feel his heart break, not realizing how much something like this would hurt. especially when he caught view of the bitemark on your neck, satan purposely traced with his tongue as he had you bouncing on his cock for him.

-`♡´- 𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒 — ft. 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐧

for some reason asmo denied having feelings for you. he flirted with you all the way, to the point of being a bit too touchy with you. except he was like that was everyone, you couldn’t be any special. he insisted there was nothing there between the two of you.

though because of his thoughts, he had been somewhat avoiding spending time with you. he hardly saw you but still flirted whenever he did and it was only brief.

yet as he walked down the hallway, you were on his mind. he was getting close to passing your room and felt the urge to check in on you and see you for a bit. he had heard that solomon was helping tutor you with some of the spells they were learning.

except as he reached your room, he heard noise. easily picking up what he knew for sure were moans. not to mention the clear sound of your bed creaking as well. it made his heart drop.

still somehow he compelled himself to open the door and his heart broke at the scene before him.

you were on your hands and knees, your face pressed into a pillow as you sobbed while solomon pounded into you front behind. the loud slapping of skin ringing in his ears as he heard you crying out solomon’s name. “fuck, you love when i’m pounding you from behind don’t you, princess.” solomon growled, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips as he thrusted harshly into you.

for some reason asmo still had hope. maybe it was a hookup, after all he had meaningless flings but he was quickly proven wrong. he saw the way you looked back at solomon. the way he kissed you and murmured a sweet, ‘i love you.’ was the final nail in his coffin.

-`♡´- 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁 — ft. 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫

there were plenty moments were beel seemed blind to his feelings for you. just the way he talked about you was sweet but he would say it with an ending of being just friends. despite him clearly desiring more than just friendship.

he didn’t know how to go about his feelings, barely aware he viewed you romantically. romance wasn’t something he desired but with you, that became a different story. he just didn’t know how to act.

which was why he hardly treated you any different or exposed clear interest like how he often did when it came to food or eating. he just didn’t know, and because he was so confused he spent time away from you. trying to understand what he wanted, did he really want you romantically?

he had been going to see you and belphie who he heard were in the attic. he had been hoping to also talk to you about his feelings with the possible support of his brother belphie by his side.

except while reaching the top of the stairs, he heard noise and a weird slurping sound. he came to a halt by the door, peeking inside only for his eyes to widen and his poor heart to break.

he saw belphie in between your legs, eagerly eating you out while you had your eyes closed and held on his hair. “you taste just so sweet every time i devour you. do you like me tongue on your pussy~?” belphie’s words teasing yet his hands tracing along your thighs were loving. gently squeezing them as he sucked on your folds and made you throw your head back into the pile of pillows.

beel was frozen in place hearing the girl he loved, screaming his twin brother’s name. it hurt even more when he saw the way belphie’s hand reached up to grab yours, intertwining your fingers together.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmo #obey me solomon #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me x reader smut #obey me x female reader

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tarotwithavi · 1 year

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♂ Mars & your anger

Mars represents your action and energy. Its a firey planet and can be used to consider how you express and deal with your anger

These posts are general and won't resonate 100% because we have to consider other aspects too

This is for entertainment purpose only.

♂ Mars in Aries/1st house

The type to express their anger with their whole body. Fuming with anger is literally made for them. The type to cause a scene when angry and is very expressive of their anger. Gets very aggressive.

♂Mars in Taurus/2nd house

The type to calculate why they are feeling this emotion. Likes to wait to get the whole situation before taking any action. The type to fight for what's their. Gets annoyed when someone touches what's their.

♂Mars in Gemini/3rd house

The type to not show their anger and keep it inside them but in reality wants to leach out on you and scratch your face. Likes to mask out their emotions and forces themselves to believe they are alright.

♂Mars in Cancer/4th house

The type to cry when annoyed or angry. Probably can't argue without crying and always seeking revenge. The type to silently wish for your downfall and cuss your whole bloodline. Looks like an angry kitten.

♂Mars in leo/5th house

The type to socially humiliate you and the type to show the whole world what you did wrong. Probably becomes a big bully and like to pick on you. The type to go for your head and pull your hair.

♂Mars in virgo/6th house

The type to get defensive but also goes back and forth if they are angry or not and tries to find the roots of their anger. Probably the type to get physical in an argument. The type to give you silent treatment.

♂Mars in libra/7th house

The type to not realize that they are mad at someone. Have to decide if they wanna be angry or not. Likes to fight and then make up. Like k*ll and make up ehehe. Likes getting into arguments.

♂Mars in scorpio/8th house

Self destructive anger. The type to destroy everything that's comes in their way or is in front of them. Perfect example would be how morally gray characters express their anger. The type to emotional blackmail.

♂Mars in Sagittarius/9th house

The type to blow up all of a sudden. You won't even know what they are angry about unless they tell you what you did room. Reminds me of lines "only those who cannot express themselves intelligently would to such crude substitutions in vocabulary".

♂Mars in Capricorn/10th house

The type to destroy things when angry and prepare a PowerPoint on why they are right and what you did wrong. The type to become fierce like a stray cat. Only believes evidence. People fear their anger.

♂Mars in Aquarius/11th house

To be honest I think these people rarely get mad or when they do it's because of their friends or society? The type to start a revolt. Probably becomes so demanding and dominant that you would want to quit.

♂Mars in Pisces/12th house

The type to get angry on little things or on a completely different topic. The type to wait for the perfect time to strike and sometimes let's karma do his job. An undercover villain who plans for your whole life to collapse.

Masterlist

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d10nyx · 4 months

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sneaking out of heaven

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

part one, part two

cw: 18+ content, religious guilt, sexually repressed reader, allusions to abusive parents

a/n: i'm soooo nervous about this one lmao... will be smut eventually, but part of is kinda just... setting things up, yay!! not really sure how to tag this part either, so sorry if i missed anything :// title from the waterparks song of the same name <3

word count: 1.3k words

Growing up in the church offered you the only sliver of normalcy in your childhood. Your father, the pastor, was a strict man. He'd always made his expectations of you clear, and you were not one to go against his teachings. After all, his words were the extension of the words of God, as he had made abundantly clear.

You'd never been to a public school, and living in such a small town meant you were not subjected to things that most young girls were. Your father favoured it. This way, he could ensure his daughter stayed free of temptation. That she would be safe under his watchful eye, and never stray from the teachings of God.

Still, in the Church, you felt at home. In God's eyes, all men were created equal. You felt like you had some semblance of free will, less trapped under your father's thumb. As long as you devoted your life to God, you would be safe. He would provide for you, and you'd be able to leave this town.

This did not mean you did not miss the things that most teenagers got to experience. Fiddling around with the computer your dad allowed you for home-schooling purposes and finding incognito mode was something that instantly fed into your curiosity. Your dad couldn't monitor what you were doing, and it made you feel more comfortable to explore.

You never ventured too far, of course. It was as though you felt God Himself would strike you down if you looked at something you shouldn't. No, all you did was watch teen dramas with your volume muted late at night when you knew your father was asleep. You read the subtitles as you watched, fascinated by the idea of partying and going out. Having fun. Being free.

You couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to speak with someone your own age. This town was filled with old folks, and those who had kids all seemed to decide to have them a good ten or so years before or after you were born, so you were left being the only teenager there.

As you got older, the need to spread your wings and leave the nest only grew. Your father got stricter, roped you into more church duties. Anything to keep your curious mind wandering too much.

That was until the Kennedys moved into town.

Along with them came a boy, only a few years older than you. You could feel the tension in your father's body as you stood next to him while greeting them after they attended their first Sunday Mass there.

Their son, Leon, stood behind them looking incredibly uninterested. It was as if your father could sense what the boy would do to your mind, how he'd plague your thoughts late and night when you were all alone. You shook his hand that day, and that contact alone was enough to cause your downfall.

As you lay in bed that night, you felt the devil claw his way into the corner of your mind. He made his home there, filling you with thoughts that left you weak to temptation. As wetness pooled in the gusset of your panties remembering how Leon's hand felt in yours, you sobbed.

You prayed for God's forgiveness when the thoughts subsided. Apologised profusely for even thinking about touching yourself. The next morning, your shower took twice as long. You pretended it was the heat of the summer, but you knew it was your attempt at washing the dirty thoughts from your mind.

Every Sunday, Leon was begrudgingly dragged to church by his parents. And every Sunday, you fall further and further into sin. Until one day, you can't find Leon as you gaze into the pews.

It bothers you more than it should. You should be relieved. If he had convinced his parents to allow him to avoid church, you'd be rid of your temptation. God had heard your prayers, and he had offered you a solution.

You were not so lucky.

As you leave the church, Leon is propped outside against one of the walls. He's smoking, his lips the picture of sin as they wrap around the cigarette while he takes a drag.

His gaze flicks to you, and he tosses it to the floor, stopping it out with the toe of his boot. He grabs your arm, dragging you to the side of your church despite your protests.

“I've seen you watching me.” He says bluntly, but your brain can only focus on the sound of his voice and the way his hand feels as it lingers on your arm. You blink a few times, taking longer than usual to register his words.

“I-I haven't…”

“You have been, though.” He says harshly, brows furrowing like he's ready for a fight. “Think you're better than me? I can feel you judging me, y'know. I didn't want to come to this shitty town. I know I'm not like you.”

Your expression twists into one of confusion. Judging him? If anything, you were the one that deserved to be judged. You shake your head quickly, your heart beating so hard it felt like it would come out of your chest.

“I wasn't… I was just… just curious, that's all.”

He narrows his eyes like he's trying to see if you're lying. After a moment of studying you, he seems pleased enough with your answer and releases your arm.

“Cool. Your dad just really laid it on to my parents. They won't get off my back. Thought he sent you to keep an eye on me or something.” He says with a shrug, his gaze trailing over you.

“I'm not my father.” The words come out more sharp than you intended, and you're instantly scolding yourself mentally for speaking in that way. You take in a deep breath, looking down at the floor before meeting his gaze once more.

“I was wondering if we could be friends?” You ask softly, your voice shaking with slight nerves. Your father would probably crucify you if he knew you were alone with a boy, and here you were trying to bargain more time with him.

“It's just… well, I've never been able to hang around someone my age before, and-”

“Never?” He interrupts, brows furrowing as he looks at you. A small frown tugs at his lips, and you want nothing more than to kiss it away.

You shake your head softly, embarrassment burning in your chest.

“Shit. Does your old man keep you locked up in the church basement or something?” He asks with a laugh that only grows louder when he sees how affronted you are by him cursing.

He's joking, but it's not so far from the truth. You've been tethered to this town since the day you were born, kept on a leash so tight you could feel your airwaves being restricted more and more with every tug made by your father.

“It's just… I've never left this town.” You say quietly, and just like that, Leon's expression softens.

“You don't seem so happy about that.” He replies. The look on your face confirms his suspicions, but you don't say anything in response.

“Hey, well… I'll tell you everything you want to know.” He says with a smile that makes you weak in the knees.

If God created everyone in His image, he must have put a little extra of Himself in Leon Kennedy. You're not entirely convinced you're not in the presence of an angel. Or perhaps a demon sent by the devil to lure you into a life of sin.

You brush the thoughts away quickly. Leon was a human, plain and simple. It didn't matter what he looked like. All men were created equal, you remind yourself. There was nothing wrong with talking to him.

“So we're friends?” You ask hopefully, extending a hand in hopes of making contact with his calloused palms once more.

“Yeah. Friends.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy

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nicromancytarot · 10 days

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A POEM FROM YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides what your future spouse would say to you if they were to write you a poem and used my intuition to write it for you. Pick a picture to find out what they would like to say.

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

Time is an essence granted to those who wait,

Some people have impatience,

Some people worry it’ll come late,

The ones who sit in anticipation trying to speed up the clock,

Are the ones who work in antique shops,

The people who collect the cogs,

Because changing the time on the clock won’t make the stars falter in response,

Even when the hands strike the numbers

where you want it to stop

Because time is an essence granted to those who wait,

For you I cannot count the seconds on my watch,

For I worry that I will lose touch,

As you are not here when I want you to be,

And I cannot speed up the clock,

But when I record the time that I must wait for you to be in my arms,

The beats of my heart are in tune with yours,

And I know it’s worth the chance

PILE 2

The moon is known to have two faces,

and I worry that I do too,

Although I know about the possibility,

I wish not to show them to you,

Will you be scared when you see my shadows?

Will you run away in fear,

if I show you every side of me,

My two faces,

The parts of me I choose to keep within

Tell me a lie and I promise I’ll trust you,

I won’t question your authenticity,

For I don’t believe that you would appear a liar to me,

without a reason to be,

Would you question me too if I was to tell to you anything but the truth?

The moon has two faces and I do too,

but I forbid my shadows to ever harm you

PILE 3

Rainbows are caused by the sun and the rain,

A chemical reaction in the sky,

And although the shower are downfall tears,

I am glad that they’re not mine,

If something negative can create such a beauty,

Then why can’t you and I?

We may not be the perfect pair,

But I’m prepared to give it a try

Ignore the opinions,

And don’t acknowledge the stares,

They’re jealous that you are mine,

Perhaps they think we’re a colossal disaster,

But they are as stupid as they are blind,

Hold out your hand and walk with me,

We’ll give them something to find,

The red carpet paints the floor,

They grant you your time to shine

#tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #free tarot #tarot witch #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a pile

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autistichalsin · 2 months

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I have tried to avoid discourse around this ever since November, but since people are once again upset at the ultimatum (which doesn't seem to trigger in game yet, though it has been voiced) I guess I will offer my defense of Halsin.

A lot of the anger at Halsin here boils down to "he's against Minthara, therefore fuck Halsin," ignoring that Halsin has very good reasons to not trust her. (And also purposeful misinterpretation of his comments about HER to be about all Drow).

So first of all: We need to look at what has happened to Halsin in his life before arriving at this point.

Yes, obviously, there is his captivity with a Drow noble house, but I think people are kind of just forgetting what that means here. It isn't "he hates all Drow now because of his trauma", which is an almost insultingly reductive take. Minthara is from House Baenre, the top house of Menzoberranzan for centuries. She is at LEAST 200 years old, and likely older; she witnessed the downfall of House DeVir, and was old enough for her to fully understand it, but "young enough that it left quite an impression on me", likely placing her between 200 and 300 years old. Halsin is 350, and was kidnapped as a young Druid- likely between 100 and 175. There is a very good chance that Minthara was a young adult when he was a captive, and he would have heard about her evil actions long before encountering her in the goblin camp. He would know who she was before the tadpole.

Halsin was a captive for at least a few days if not longer, tortured in his bear form (the goblin lashers are mentioned at least a few times, not to mention rocks being thrown at him, Gut mentioning threatening to cut him open and put maggots in his belly, etc), and had his Grove threatened by Minthara.

Most important, and most easy to miss: this ultimatum is planned for if the Rite of Thorns is carried out, hence the reference to Kagha's foolishness. He has lost his home, his place of worship, and the people he considers his family forever. Watch his reaction after you tell him the Rite has been carried out; his world comes crashing down, he lets out the tiniest "the Rite of Thorns? no", and he is so upset he no longer asks you to take out the leaders. He says he needs to be alone for a while. He is grieving the loss of everything he had, everything that got him through the loss of his original family, and it is directly because of the Cult of the Absolute.

Now, let me go through some rebuttals to arguments in Minthara's favor.

She doesn't mean Halsin any harm at this point.

Rebuttal: Halsin has no way of knowing this. Her actions have already demonstrated otherwise- she has caused him harm. He has no tadpole to see her true intentions, like the other players, and Minthara doesn't make her case particularly well. She simply says she "has no quarrel" with him. Not an apology for his sufferings in the past or the loss of his home. If she doesn't regret the harm she caused him, he has no reason to trust her.

And of course, Minthara DOESN'T feel any remorse, whether or not she raids the Grove; if she does succeed, she'll later say her only regret is not making the choice to do it herself. Because she is evil and that's how evil characters work.

2. Halsin works with Shadowheart/Lae'zel/Astarion/an evil-aligned player; Halsin is willing to sleep with the Seldarine Drow twins; Halsin is forgiving and wants a better world for all, this should clearly include Minthara too.

Rebuttal: by rescuing him and saving the Grove, the former four have shown themselves to be capable of good deeds. He is very consistent that his one redline is DO NOT FUCK WITH HIS GROVE. If you DO NOT FUCK WITH HIS GROVE, he will give you the benefit of the doubt. If you FUCK WITH HIS GROVE, he is done with you; if the player raids the Grove, he will hunt them down and attack them, no matter what the player tries to talk him out of it.

FURTHER, he very much calls the party out on any future evil deeds they do (I.E. Shadowheart slaying the Nightsong if she's on the Shar path), and will leave the party if the player sinks their approval low enough.

The Drow twins are Seldarine, not Lolthsworn, and having a one-night-stand is very different than trusting someone as an ally.

The "wanting a better world for all" thing is of course subject to the paradox of tolerance. In the epilogue, it is very specifically mentioned that their commune is "hidden from those who are not welcome, open to any who need shelter." I.E. those who want to cause harm are not welcome to it, because the "better world for all" can't allow, by design, those who DON'T want a better world for all.

3. Halsin hates her because she's a Drow.

He specifically mentions Lolth-sworn Drow here. "Cruelty comes to Lolth's followers as naturally as breathing. I have seen it- experienced it." Minthara literally only abandoned those ways because she was abandoned by Lolth first- only when it suited her.

She still supports all the same teachings (which is why she openly insults surface elf players the first time they meet, and will tell an elf player who becomes a mindflayer that it was an "improvement"), and she uses slurs against surface elves to boot. Minthara is far more racist against surface elves than Halsin EVER is against Drow.

4. Halsin is condemning Minthara to a fate worse than death (unspoken: out of spite) and this makes him not a good person.

Halsin fully believes Minthara to be a threat to himself and the player. He says in as many words that if it's a choice between Minthara's freedom and the player's, he picks the player. In his eyes, it's a choice between Minthara's freedom and the fate of the world since he knows the player is the only one who can defeat the Absolute. He's in a dilemma similar to the player having to decide whether to let Orpheus die or turn the Emperor into an enemy- it's just that people don't realize because we have meta-knowledge, as players, that Halsin doesn't.

5. That "viper" comment is hypocritical.

He isn't referring to Drow as a whole. He is referring to Minthara herself.

Remember, he knew Kagha before she went bad, and knew she was capable of better (better enough that he made her his second in command). All he would know of Minthara was what she did in the Underdark as a Baenre (including owning slaves, which I'm sure didn't do her any favors), what she nearly did to his Grove, what she allowed to happen to him, and that she's now claiming to have changed when showing zero remorse or actual interest in changing anything. Perhaps it was wrong for him to phrase it it as "cannot" change instead of "will not" change for her, but the sentiment is spot on. Minthara doesn't fundamentally change in any path the player brings her on- what changes is, at best, who she considers it acceptable to subjugate.

6. Halsin has no stakes here, it's wrong for him to demand Minthara go when she has more to lose.

Again, Halsin views Minthara as an existential threat to their plan to save the world. He is lacking in personal stakes by comparison, but remember; he also has lost the only home he knows. That is no small thing.

(From a meta perspective, I do think they should have done something like mention the Shadow Druids/Ketheric Thorm loyalists are still hunting Halsin, just to make it more fair, but this was clearly written with the main goal of enforcing the exclusivity. And honestly, I can't imagine all that many people actually want both in the same party on every playthrough? Mostly I saw people wanting to recruit Minthara on good playthroughs, and wanting to not have to abandon the Shadow Cursed Lands to darkness; many of the people I saw expressing this specifically said they wanted to dismiss Halsin after accomplishing that. This seemed like exactly what those players would have wanted, being able to spare the Grove, free the SCL, and then dismiss Halsin and travel with Minthara.)

7. Halsin owes the player his unquestioning trust after they saved him/his Grove/broke the Shadow Curse. He has no right to question their judgment.

This... really isn't a good way to think? He shows his gratitude by traveling with them to help (when he has no tadpole at all- he's doing this out of pure selflessness to thank the player for helping him), but that doesn't mean he should stop having thoughts on the goings-on. Where is this energy when other characters continuously question your judgment when you have them wait at camp?

8. Halsin is being stupid by allowing her to go be mind controlled by the Absolute.

This is one I will concede. It's not the wisest decision, and I can only guess it's because they didn't want to write Minthara automatically going aggro on the player if they choose Halsin over her. (I, on the other hand, think that would be brilliant, and would be a mark in Halsin's favor for this choice.)

9. This is manipulation of the player.

Halsin wishes the player the best, and leaves without fuss, if they choose Minthara over him; he thanks them for all they've done, and he even says he hopes he's wrong, but cannot stay to find out. He is being sincere; he believes he, and probably the player, will be killed if Minthara stays, which in turn puts the fate of the world in question. He will accept the player's decision if they choose her, but he feels threatened and won't stay himself. This is a boundary, not manipulation, not malice, not anything else.

10. Halsin comes across as uncompromising/unsympathetic; this is OOC for Halsin/ruins his character; he is being selfish; other assorted similar sentiments

I already addressed most of the other arguments with the points above, but I will say, truthfully: I don't find this particularly OOC at all. He has been very clear that his one and only rule is DO NOT FUCK WITH THE GROVE. Minthara fucked with the Grove. He has no reason to trust her. And he has ALSO been incredibly consistent: if you are in a situation where it's someone else or you, you have every right to choose to save yourself. He shows sympathy if Wyll has to let Ravengard die, he doesn't blame the player if they kill EVERY DRUID IN THE GROVE to save the Tieflings, he doesn't even blame the player if they order Orin-as-Lae'zel to kill Yenna, an innocent child he was very attached to. He is devastated at the latter two, clearly, but he blames the Druids for the second for forgetting their principles, and he blames Orin for the latter for making the trap. This is perfectly in line with his Druidic beliefs; you have every right to protect yourself first and foremost.

I get that a lot of people don't like the ultimatum (worth noting is that this has always been part of the series; in the first two games, characters of different alignments would outright refuse to work with each other), but it really doesn't make Halsin look as bad as people say, and I feel like a lot of people are being really callous/dismissive/reductive to what Halsin has been through here.

#halsin #halsin silverbough #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

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