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frantic-fiction · 3 months

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I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone.

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart.

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes.

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity.

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion.

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines.

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression.

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room.

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense.

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.”

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering.

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

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Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #reader insert #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #fanfic #writing #soulmates #soulmate au #reincarnation #frantic fiction

962 notes · View notes

the-moth-wizard-of-mayhem · 2 months

Text

*Lepi walks to the store in human form. Giggling at the fact that they are now doing normal human things as a human.

........

*Lepi feels watched. They continue

BAM!

*Lepi gasps and narrowly dodges some sort of magic blast.

What... what on earth......

Your going to have to try harder than that

*Someone appears behind Lepi and shoots them with something. There's a yellow light. It burns.

AHG FUCK!

*Lepi turns around and tries to cast a spell on the attacker. It... it doesn't work?

Hahaha! Your magical energies gone. Neat lil trick i learned.

*Lepi falls backwards and quickly tries to reach into thier hair. It doesn't work.

Nope. Not going to work this time. Turns out that little thing you got going in your head is also powered by magic. Albiet not very much magic.

*The figure approaches and grabs Lepi by the face. Lepi tries to get away. But the figure just grabs thier face tighter.

Curious though.... your still human.....

*Lepi's eyes grow wide. How do they know so much about me? They claw at the figures arm. It is not effective.

...... weak.

*They throw Lepi to the ground. Lepi tries to run. The human whispers something and spikes erupt in front of Lepi. Lepi falls to the ground.

Another fun trick! Turns out magic wasn't that hard to learn after all. Now

*The human grabs Lepi and holds them by the throat. Lepi grabs the persons arm in a desperate attempt to keep from choking.

Do you remember me? Look at my face.

*The human pulls Lepi closer to thier face. Lepi tries to look away

No. Look at my face.

*The human forces Lepi to look at them. Orange... eyes....

You don't know me... do you

........

*The human's expression drops to a blank face. The human is seething.

*The human throws Lepi to the ground again and steps on Lepi's leg. Hard. Breaking it

AHG! S-STOP!!

*Lepi curls up and grabs thier leg whimpering

Pathetic. You don't even remember.

*The human begins walking towards Lepi. Lepi begins trying to desperately crawl away. The figure picks Lepi up again and turns them to look at thier face.

LOOK AT MY FACE!! WHO AM I? DO YOU NOT EVEN HAVE THE BASIC DECENCY TO REMEMBER THE PEOPLE YOU DESTROYED THE LIVES OF?? I SPENT SO LONG REMEMBERING YOU. I KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT YOU NOW. I SPENT ALL THIS TIME LOOKING FOR YOU. SO WHO AM I?

*The human punches Lepi in the face. Giving them a black eye. They look at the human. A palpable fear rises in them. Destroyed...? They remember the cities they raised to ashes. No...nonononono, this isn't happening, not like this.

*Lepi gets up. Limping.

OH?? AHAHAHAHAhahaha... so are you going to try to fight? In that state? You are so much easier to fight than I thought. You are just a weak little moth, after all.

*The human begins running. Readying another punch. Something snaps in Lepi when they hear the human's words. They dodge and grab the human by the head. Flipping them over onto the ground. The human quickly gets up. The spikes appear right where Lepi is. Lepi throws themself out of the way. The human takes this opportunity to fling Lepi across the ground again. The human slowly walks to the ground towards Lepi. Knowing Lepi isn't in a state to go anywhere fast.

Im.... im not... weak

ahah...AHAHAHAHAHA THAT'S ALL YOU CARE ABOUT? NO. NO, YOU ARE WEAK. WEAK AND PATHETIC. LOOK AT HOW EASY THIS IS!!

*The figure grabs Lepi again and throws them against a tree. Lepi coughs blood

YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME. MY LIFE. MY FAMILY. MY HOME. EVERYTHINGS GONE!! I SPENT ALL THIS TIME TRYING TO FIND YOU AND YOU BARELY PUT UP A FIGHT!!

*The figure punches Lepi again out of frustration. Lepi looks at the person in the eyes. The person has a crazed smile, and tears streaming down their face. Lepi feels an inescapable sense of dread. Lepi takes the punches.

WHY AREN'T YOU FIGHTING BACK??? WEAK!!! YOU WERE SO MUCH STRONGER BEFORE WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU??? ARE ALL WIZARDS THIS WEAK WITHOUT MAGIC??

*The figure continues punching Lepi.

I'LL KILL YOU!! I'LL KILL YOU LIKE YOU KILLED THEM!! ILL HURT EVERYONE YOU LOVE!!

AHahahaha.... no....no that's too easy..... i can't kill you yet. I spent this long trying to find you. Im going to enjoy this. Go. Run. Or i'll make your living moments so fucking painful.

*Lepi takes this opportunity. They desperately stumble away. The person laughs wildly and continues calling Lepi a coward.

*Once Lepi is a good distance away, they go into an alleyway in the town. Lepi leans against the wall and sinks to the ground. They grab their head and panick. Gasping for air. Their voice is raspy and squeaky.

SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT

#tw:bleeding #tw: injury

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navybrat817 · 6 months

Text

Mission Report

Pairings: Incubus!Stucky x Enhanced!Female Reader, Incubus!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Incubus!Steve Rogers x Female Reader Summary: After a night with the two demons, Brock comes to collect your body and faces the fury of all three of you. Word Count: Over 4k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, threesome, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, spitroasting, blood, violence (shooting, stabbing, and more), physical and mental torture, dark elements, death, revenge, implied noncon, possessive behavior, supernatural elements, Incubus Stucky (that's a warning, lovelies!). A/N: Fic #10 and final fic for Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! I had to revisit my incubi the day before Halloween and this is a direct follow up to Ready to Comply. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Less than a day passed since Bucky and Steve claimed you as their own, but it felt like you always belonged to them. You were their eternal award for their capture. They were your reward for the pain you endured. The three of you would scorch the earth together.

Your captors weren't strong enough to endure the flames.

As you lay naked on the floor as instructed, you counted the footsteps as the squad members got closer. There were three pairs of heavy boots, one set which belonged to Brock Rumlow. You almost pushed yourself up when fiery anger coursed through your veins. You wanted him turned to ash just so you could watch the wind blow him away into nothingness. It would be glorious to smile in the face of his demise.

“She feels your rage, Buck. Reign it in,” Steve ordered from where he sat in the corner.

“No,” Bucky spoke in an almost laidback tone from the opposite corner. “Let her feel it.”

In the very short time they bound you to them, you figured out that Steve was the more assertive of the two. It didn't mean Bucky wasn't forceful when he had to be. At the moment though, he wanted you to feel a bit more of his impulsive side.

“Now isn’t the time,” Steve chastised, making Bucky scoff in reply.

You lost the concept of time the day you were unwillingly taken under Hydra's wing. Counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds did you no good as you waited for whatever horror they decided to unleash upon you. The days were no longer a precious gift, but a stark reminder that you were closer to death.

A sound reminiscent of a snarl escaped as you opened your mouth. “Hydra took everything from me,” you grumbled as angry tears sprang to your eyes. “I want their blood to stain the ground. I want it to paint the walls.”

Thanks to the demons in your cell, your demons, you would get your revenge. You would live to fight again. And you would live to serve them. You promised them forever, after all.

An odd sense of comfort surrounded you and allowed you to breathe a bit easier. “We can feel your pain, sweetheart,” Steve whispered.

Bucky hummed, the warmth doubling within your chest. “We can also feel your strength, doll.”

“We'll spill their blood,” the blonde promised as you blinked the tears away. “But not if you're impatient. We need you to act docile when they take you out of the room.”

“Stevie's right. We know you're angry. We all are. They'll pay. Trust us,” the brunette agreed. “And we'll have lots of fun along the way.”

Demons were many things and played lots of tricks, but one thing they wouldn't do was lie to you. It allowed you to let the hurt go for the time being. “I'll behave,” you whispered when the footsteps stopped in front of the door.

“That's our girl,” the incubi said in unison, the words wrapping around your heart and reminding you that you weren't alone in this fight.

The bond crackled between the three of you as the door swung open. It allowed you to remain still, just like they told you to. You made no move to cover yourself as the men observed you on the floor. Your demons also made no move to go toward them. With the symbol above the doorway, there was no way for them to escape.

Yet.

“Well, well, well. I thought we’d find a corpse when we opened the door,” Brock smirked. Instead of snapping back the way you wanted to, you made a wounded sound instead. “But I guess they fucked the fight out of you after all.”

“She was a lot of fun to play with,” Bucky said, the phantom touch of his claw moving along your back easing you. “Really does go pliant with a cock in her.”

You had to bite your lip to suppress your moan. They wrung so much pleasure out of you that you stopped counting the orgasms. You were certain their seed was still dripping out of your holes.

“She was stronger than most,” Steve added, one of his claws joining Bucky’s as you made another small sound. It was arousing as much as it was calming. As fun as it would be to beg for their cocks in front of these men, now wasn’t the time to play. And the guards weren’t an audience who deserved to watch you get off. “Feel free to bring her back.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucking freaks,” Brock sneered, his hand tightening around the taser prod on his hip. “Get up, bitch. We don’t have all day.”

You slowly lifted your head and held a hand out. All you had to do was pretend just a little bit longer. “Help me,” you whispered.

His lip curled in a dark smirk as he stayed in place. “You really think I’m dumb enough to go in there? Nice fucking try. Crawl if you can't walk.”

Bucky growled in your mind and Steve’s fury simmered in your core as you began to drag yourself across the cold floor, both of your demons itching to attack when the men laughed at your “weakened” state. You let them have their fun. It would be one of the last things they ever did in this world. And it would be your laughter ringing in their ears once their souls went to Hell.

Soon.

Once you crawled far enough out of the room, the guards finally moved to grab you. They each took an arm and yanked you to your feet, uncaring of your discomfort, as your head lolled from side to side. Brock’s eyes lewedly dragged along your shivering frame before he grabbed your chin and forced you to look into his dark eyes. There was no mercy in his gaze.

And you felt none in your heart for him.

The fingers on your chin tightened painfully, but you didn’t give Brock the satisfaction of whimpering. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, sir,” you answered before he forced you to look over your shoulder, your neck straining from the angle. Bucky and Steve’s eyes glowed a furious shade of red as they moved to the center of the room and stared you both down. It would’ve frightened you if you didn’t know that they were yours.

“I think they miss you already. Slut,” Brock taunted, saliva hitting your cheek as he roughly released you and walked down the hall. “Bring her to my office. Let’s see her fight back when she can barely stand on her own two feet.”

Steve whispered one word as the men began to drag you away. “Now.”

A surge of energy flowed through you as you harshly shoved the guard to your right away with enough force that he smacked the wall. Before the other guard could react, you grabbed his gun from his holster and aimed at his head. “Safety first,” you said, firing a bullet through his skull.

“Stupid bitch,” the first guard snapped as he straightened up. You grabbed his wrist when he reached for his gun, his skin warming under your touch as he gasped air. Just as quickly as his skin grew hot, he grew deathly cold.

“You feel that?” Bucky moaned.

“I feel it,” Steve confirmed. “She's giving us his energy.”

You didn't know how you were doing that since Bucky and Steve used sex to drain life force. Were you a conduit now thanks to your bond? Just how powerful had they made you?

“Help,” the guard gasped before you pressed the gun to his forehead and fired. You smiled when his body hit the floor. It felt like minutes, but happened in the span of seconds.

The blood along the walls also brought an unexpected moan out of you.

Blood. Red. Lust.

“That’s our girl,” Steve praised.

“Good fucking girl,” Bucky added, their pride in you making you whimper.

“Really?” Brock muttered from the end of the hall as he turned to face you, his gun in hand as you shrugged. “I should’ve known you’d do something stupid. Now I need to hire two more men.”

“Actually, you’re the one who did something stupid by giving me to them,” you said, gesturing behind you. “And we’re going to kill you.”

Your captor’s scoff made you smile more. He didn’t believe you, but you couldn’t wait to prove him wrong. “Just because you have the serum doesn't mean you're not expendable,” he said, aiming the gun at your heart. “Let's see you try and kill me with a bullet in your chest, bitch.”

“You’re not going to shoot me,” you spoke in a low and hypnotic voice. It wasn’t your own. Your demons were speaking through you. “You’re going to shoot the symbol above the door until you run out of bullets and drop your weapon.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Brock’s forehead as he slowly raised his arm higher, the veins in his neck straining as he tried to resist the order. He had every reason to be afraid. The marking was the only reason Bucky and Steve hadn’t killed him yet. Once they were free, he’d have to answer for his sins.

“What the fuck?” he asked.

“Doesn't feel good to not be in control, does it?” you replied, taking great pleasure in knowing he couldn't stop himself. “Shoot.”

You stared him down as he fired the first shot, watching him grit his teeth. Your nipples hardened as he fired again and you couldn’t help but dip a hand between your legs as power continued to move through you. It shouldn’t have aroused you so much with two dead bodies nearby, but revenge was exhilarating to say the least.

“Don’t get started without us,” Bucky called out, even as you envisioned him wrapping a hand around his cock. With a whine, you grudgingly stopped touching yourself. “I wanna taste you while he begs for his life.”

“Oh, he’ll beg,” Steve smirked, his claws scratching the wall by the door. “And we won’t listen to his prayers.”

“Shit,” Brock groaned, his arm trembling as he took his last shot.

The hall went silent as you dared to look behind you. Whatever marking that kept the demons trapped in that cell was gone now, lost in a pile of rubble and dust on the ground. “It’s time to play,” you said, urging them to come out.

The gun fell from Brock’s hand as Steve took the first step. He sighed happily when nothing prevented him from walking through, but the glow of his eyes was anything but comforting as he looked at Brock. With unnatural speed, he flew toward him as he reached for his radio. The snap of his wrist breaking was one of the best sounds you’d ever heard.

“Mmm. Break his other wrist, Stevie,” Bucky suggested as he stepped out of the room and joined you at your side. You gasped when he pulled you in front of him to grind his hips against you, his cock hard and hot against your skin. “Make him scream.”

“Fuck-” Brock screamed as Steve snapped his other wrist, his hands useless as the blonde demon grinned.

Steve brought his finger to his mouth and licked a drop of blood away. “You taste bitter,” he taunted before he lifted his head. “Another guard is on the way.”

Bucky chuckled as said man entered the hall a moment later. “All alone? That's brave and stupid.”

“Oh, my God,” he said as he surveyed the scene.

It had to be quite the sight. Blood and brain matter along the walls, the man's boss on the ground in pain, you and your demons naked and unafraid. Haunting and beautiful.

“There's no God here,” Bucky smirked as he lazily rocked his hips against you. “But feel free to pray anyway.”

“Do something!” Brock ordered through his pain.

Bucky spoke a command in his natural tongue as the guard dropped his gun. Fear radiated from him as he took a knife from his belt and turned the edge toward his throat. “I don't wanna-” he shoved the blade deep in his neck with wide eyes before he could finish his statement, gurgling as he collapsed.

“Die,” you whispered, completing his sentence.

You had to bite back a moan as Bucky turned your head to meet your lips in a filthy kiss, Steve smirking as he looked back at you two. The carnage fueled their need as much as yours. As the coppery scent of the blood continued to fill your nostrils, you justified that this was the right thing to do. The men made their beds.

They could die in them.

“Come in,” a voice on Brock's radio rang out.

“Shh. Don’t make a sound,” Steve ordered, grabbing Brock’s radio as the operative went eerily silent. His eyes bulged as the demon began to speak with his voice. “Go ahead.”

“Thought I heard commotion in the hall. Sent David in to assist. Do you need more backup? Over.”

“Negative. Subject tried to escape and we subdued her. All clear. But no one is to go in the South Wing, no matter what you see or hear. And tell all S.T.R.I.K.E. members to gather in the debriefing room and await further instructions. Over.”

“But sir-”

Steve's eyes flashed as he continued to speak like Brock. “Did I fucking stutter? Get the men there and stay the fuck out of here. That's a direct order. Over.”

“Roger that.”

Bucky chuckled when Steve crushed the radio in his hand. No alarms rang out. No soldiers ran down the hall to recapture you. There were no lockdowns. Brock knew he was fucked.

And not in the way you would be.

“You know, Rumlow. You truly are a dark soul with a penchant for pain,” the brunette began, nipping your shoulder as his hands roamed your body. “We could’ve worked out some sort of deal with you. Given you true power. But you just had to lock us up.”

Something dark surfaced from the depths of your mind as you listened. You saw yourself curled up, naked and trembling, in the corner of a cell similar to the one they kept your demons in as Brock advanced on you. “Make yourself useful or you’ll die choking on my cock,” he threatened. It was a memory you kept locked away after they captured you and shot you up with the serum. One they thought they erased for good.

The anguish was almost enough to drown yourself in.

“And you just had to hurt our girl,” Steve snarled, swiping his claws across Brock’s cheek when you whined.

“No one hurts our girl,” Bucky growled over his cry as blood sprayed from the open wounds.

You no longer felt like you were drowning as they fed you strength, allowing you to see clearly again. You always wanted someone protective by your side. Someone to fight for you. Now you had two beside you.

“He can’t hurt me anymore,” you said as the blonde grabbed him by his hair and pulled him back down the hall toward you. He may have yanked a few strands out along the way. “Would you like to hear my mission report, Rumlow?”

His chest heaved a bit as he lay on the ground, trying to breath steadily through the pain. “Yes,” he lied, knowing better than to smart off again.

You arched your back when Bucky covered your breast with his hand, squeezing it gently as Steve joined you and began to play with the other. “You tossed me in their cell with the hopes they’d drain my energy, but I came out stronger. You know why? Because I gave myself to them. All of me,” you explained. A gunshot rang out before Brock screamed and grabbed his knee, the pistol you stole from the dead guard now in Steve's hand. “Their power flows through my veins and my soul belongs to them. We’re bound to each other.”

“And her energy is delicious. Just like her cunt,” Bucky smiled as he turned and shoved you into Steve’s arms. He sank to his knees and winked before he tossed your leg over his shoulder, nosing at your slit. “Hold my horns if you need to.”

“I supposed we should thank you,” Steve said, tossing the gun away. He brought a hand back to your breast, pinching your nipple as Bucky licked along your folds. You grabbed his horns and squeezed when his wicked tongue got to work. “Whatever you injected her with helped her survive what would've killed a normal human. And the more we fucked her, the more she needed us.”

“Such a greedy, pretty thing when she takes our cocks,” Bucky spoke against your pussy, the image of him fucking your throat while Steve took you from behind shimmering in your mind. You could feel them inside you, claiming you as theirs. “Didn’t even take much for her to come when we took her ass.”

Your holes clenched, desperate for them to fill you again. “You tried to turn me into a weapon,” you moaned, smiling as blood dripped from Brock’s leg. “I guess, in a way, you succeeded. Because we’re going to destroy Hydra.”

Bucky flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit as you squirmed. It wasn't enough. You needed more. “Three guards down.”

Steve smiled as he kissed along your neck, his lips lingering on your pulse. “And you’re next, Rumlow.”

“No,” Brock breathed, pushing himself up with his elbow. Fire filled your eyes when he met your gaze, his face going pale under your stare. Were your eyes glowing? “I-I can still join you. I can help.”

“I don’t think you can help us,” Steve said, nodding down to Bucky. His tongue stabbed deep with a moan as he swiped his hand along Brock’s thigh, his claws tearing through the tactical pants and skin. More blood splattered as he screamed in agony. “But you can bleed.”

“Beg. I want you to beg for me to save you,” you moaned, grinding against the brunette’s face before your expression twisted with anger. “I was innocent, you piece of shit.”

Where was your innocence now? Gone. Destroyed. But you made a choice. You allowed yourself to slip into darkness by joining forces with the incubi they captured. And you didn't regret it for a second.

“Please,” Brock said above a whisper, trying in vain to cover his wounds. How much had it taken for him to say that single word? “I-I was just following orders. I'm sorry. Save me.”

You regarded Brock with an unsympathetic gaze. You could show him compassion that he never bestowed upon you and let him see that there was still good in you. But where was the fun in that? What kindness did you possibly owe him?

You glanced back at Steve as you considered it, who merely smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You felt Bucky smile, too. They encouraged your fury, fueled it. These demons truly were glorious. Horrifying.

And they were yours.

“You're not sorry and you know the orders were bullshit. So as far as saving you?” You asked, smiling when the realization of his doom crossed his face. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Brock's hands flew to his head as he let out a cry of anguish. It filled the hall, like a song of agony as the lights flickered. The sound almost shook you to your core, but it fed into your growing darkness. You embraced it with a smile.

“Do you know who those screams in your head belong to?” Steve asked evenly as Brock continued to yell and thrash around. “That's the suffering of every person you ever hurt. All the pain you caused.”

Bucky pulled his mouth away to glare at him. “Including our girl.”

How many bodies had Brock and his men left on their path of destruction? How many lives had they ruined? It was only fair to return the favor.

“Stop it! Make it stop!” Brock cried, slamming the back of his head against the ground with enough force to crack it. “Stop!”

You cried out when Bucky shoved two fingers inside you, his claws careful not to cut you as he thrust deep. “You're close, doll. Dripping down my fingers,” he said, the sound of your wetness blending in beautifully with the wail of pain.

“He's close, too,” Steve said in your ear as he reached down to toy with your clit, playing with the sensitive bud with a grunt. You hardly paid any attention to Brock now, even as his body twitched and blood from his skull stained the floor. He was inconsequential to you as the light began to fade from his eyes. He was nothing. “It's the end for him.”

Bucky twisted his fingers with a smirk, your pussy quivering as you were ready to fall apart. “Come while he takes his last breath. Let go. Let it all go.”

Your vision swam as you did as he commanded, your entire body throbbing with pleasure. You felt the air leave Brock's lungs as bliss flooded you, Bucky's groan obscene as he brought his mout back to lick up your essence. Steve held onto you as you lost yourself, every part of you inside and out owned by their touch.

In that moment, you were invincible.

“Good fucking girl,” Bucky said, his mouth and chin wet from your release as he took his fingers out and lowered your shaky limb from his shoulder. “Damn. I thought he'd last a little longer. I wanted to shove his taser rod up his ass.”

“You still can,” Steve said, kissing your shoulder. “You did so well, sweetheart. You okay?”

The praise from both of them made you preen as you looked at the surrounding carnage, slowly coming down from your high. “I'm better than okay,” you exhaled, reaching out with your foot to nudge Brock's body, relief hitting you square in the chest when he didn’t move. Your tormentor was dead. And you wouldn't shed a single tear for him. “He's gone. He's really gone.”

“He is. And we're free, thanks to you, doll,” Bucky spoke, licking his fingers clean before he stroked himself, a cool shade of blue flickering from his red eyes. “Our mate.”

I'm theirs and they're mine.

And as their mate, you had to thank them. Take care of them. Worship their hard and aching cocks the way you were made to.

“Fuck me,” you breathed.

“With pleasure,” Steve smiled, putting you on your hands and knees before he sank down behind you. He shoved his thick cock inside you with no warning, the head of it practically kissing your cervix as you screamed. “This is just the beginning. We have more lives to destroy when we’re done fucking you. For now.”

Bucky tapped his cock against your cheek affectionately before he pushed inside your eager mouth. “Alexander Pierce. Jasper Sitwell. Everyone. We'll kill them all,” he promised, snapping his hips in time with Steve as you moaned, letting them use you like a ragdoll between them. But you didn't feel used in the slightest.

You felt complete.

“You're free,” Steve grunted, bringing his palm down on your ass with a sharp slap. “We're free.”

He was right. You were finally free from the shackles Hydra tried to put on you. And you couldn't wait for the carnage the three of you would continue to spread, once you could form a coherent thought. All you wanted for now was for them to paint every hole of yours until there wasn’t a drop left.

Bucky's head fell back with an excited moan, as if he read your mind. “And we have so much time to make up for. So take our cocks and let us fill your holes before we burn this place to the ground.”

That was a mission you were more than happy to complete.

So, THAT happened and I'm not sorry. Hehe. Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

Masterlist ⚓ Stucky Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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actual-changeling · 6 months

Text

I wrote a little something inspired by the latest chapter from the wonderful oopsie!omens AU @asleepyy is writing. Definitely check out their comic here and leave some love!

They run into each other by chance, which carries a certain irony considering Jophiel has actively been looking for him. It is a small settlement, large enough to have a sprawling market filled with voices and movement, but not the kind of place he'd expect Azazel to be. Still, if the universe wills it so, he is certainly not going to question it.

Regardless of the circumstances, the demon seems to continuously hold back an ocean of anxiety, wave after wave crashing on the rocky shores and spilling over, and today is no different. He is pressed against a stone wall at the edge of the square, the shade providing both some escape from the flickering heat and cover, keeping him hidden and inconspicuous.

Jophiel strolls through the crowd, weaving around the humans with practiced ease and picking up a ripe pomegranate from one of the stands; he pays and leaves a generous tip. Well, and he blesses the woman's sick daughter simply because he can.

By the time he has reached Azazel's spot, he has long seen him coming, wringing his hands and biting his lip bloody, which he silently takes in with a frown.

"Jophiel," he greets, his eyes wide and black as always, although at least his robe seems less tattered and more put-together than the last time they had seen each other.

"Azazel. Fruit?"

Freezing on the spot, his gaze rapidly switches between the stretched-out hand and Jophiel's face, who smiles with all the holy patience he can muster, the Metatron's words cutting thorns in the back of his throat.

"I- I've never actually..." Azazel gulps, nervous, yes, but there's an undercurrent of excitement to it, too.

Jophiel leans back against the wall, crossing his feet at the ankle and breaking the pomegranate open in an infinitesimal display of celestial power. Thin splashes of red juice wet his hands and run down his wrists, and he feels Azazel's attention heavy but not unwelcome on his skin when he lifts his arm to lick it off. A mild breeze ruffles their hair, red and white locks alike, and their fingers brush when Azazel reaches out to take his half.

"Thank you."

Pure gratitude laces his words, and they both know it is for more than the fruit. The Metatron, he decides as he watches Azazel carefully plug seed after seed out of its white shell, might be God's voice in heaven, but not here on earth. Otherwise, he would see his fragile smile and nervous ticks, hear the accidental admissions of faith and kindness, and know that there had been a mistake.

They eat in amicable silence, the noises of life and warmth flowing together into one, and while Azazel watches the crowds, Jophiel watches him.

I promise you I will fix this, he swears, and then, because the sparks of anger and dismay have yet to die and turn to ash, he speaks a prayer—a warning.

Azazel has more faith than your 'voice' does, God, and either you will take him back willingly or I will find a way to make you.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #oopsie!omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #i frankly have no idea how to tag this rip #going with my usual #and yes the nod to hades and persephone is intentional

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crimsonvictory · 11 months

Text

HELP

MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags: Simon Riley x Reader, Ghost x Reader, Ghost smut

Warnings: Overstimulation, pussy!drunk Ghost, tipsy!Ghost, CONSENT IS IMPORTANT

Notes: I’ve never wrote anything about Ghost so please be kind :)

———————————————————

You don’t know exactly when the troubled soldier began stopping by your barracks when the voices of the dark recesses of his mind wouldn’t quiet down.

It wasn’t uncommon. Mostly everyone in your unit was accustomed to night terrors. In a sickening way, it made you feel a bit better about yourself, knowing that you weren’t alone. Everyone had their demons. Yours had been especially bad lately.

Everyone kept to themselves. Seeing as asking for help as a sign of weakness. Typical stigma. Riley especially kept to himself, only appearing when he was needed. Although, he thought he wasn’t worth a damn.

You had been made aware of Riley a few years ago, fresh meat thrown to the wolves. You were nervous, a new environment, a new team, and you immediately noted him as a pain in the ass once you made eye contact with him.

Riley was a cocky sonofabitch. All bark and bite when necessary. He was full of snarky quips and loved smoking cigarettes. To be honest, he liked the burn of the smoke - the way it would curl around in his lungs and leave him breathless - a reality check. As if he didn’t have them every damn day of his career.

He was a mystery and liked to keep it that way. No one questioned and those who did got their asses handed to them. You didn’t work with him very often, but when you did, he watched your six, kept you safe, and you did the same for him.

He was reliable. And you tolerated him for that. That night, you had awoken with a shout, gasping for air as you fought your way out of your mind. Your sheets were drenched with sweat, clothes clinging to the small of your back, pulse loud in your ears. You took a deep couple of breaths, re-orienting yourself in the living world. Your lips were dry and parched. You groan, throwing your covers off of your body and looking at the clock through bleary eyes.

2:27AM

You slid to the edge of your bunk, bare feet pressing into the cool floor. Standing up, you padded over to your door and snuck down the hallway into the kitchen. There, you grabbed a glass of water and a cigarette.

As far as you knew, no one knew you smoked - not your proudest habit. But when you dealt with the scum of the earth for your daily job, a cigarette wasn’t that bad in your opinion.

You chugged your glass of water before lighting your cigarette. Not wanting the smoke to fill the room, you open up one of the windows. You take a drag, inhaling the smoke into your lungs and holding it for a good twenty seconds before exhaling; watching the smoke slowly spiral out the screen in the window.

“Fancy a share?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, whirling around quickly and squinting in the direction of the voice. Your eyes are darting back and forth, trying to adjust to the darkness.

A tall, looming figure steps out of the shadows.

Riley.

“You fucking scared me!” you whisper-shout.

A shrug for a reply.

“You gonna share or not?” he asks again, a smirk in his voice.

You roll your eyes, holding out the cigarette and flicking ashes in his direction. He steps up closer to you, taking the rolled tobacco from your fingers. You turn away, giving him his privacy.

No one has ever seen Riley without a mask. Ever. No one questions it.

He takes a few puffs, blowing the smoke out and through his mask. The cigarette is passed back and forth between you two until it is nothing but ash. No talking, just silence. It’s comfortable.

You put the cigarette in the ashtray, grab a glass of water, and nod goodbye. One is returned to you.

Walking back down the hallway, you make it to your door and slip back inside. You know you are not able to go back to sleep, so you wash your face with cold water, brush your teeth, and fluff your blankets.

You lie on your bed, enjoying the cool night air that is cooling the sweat on your skin. Although you are not going back to sleep, you close your eyes. A smile spreads across your face, enjoying the moment that happened in the kitchen not too long ago.

Riley was a mystery card. He was starting to grow on you though. You were naturally curious about what he looked like. The only part of him you had seen were his eyes. They changed, sometimes dark and stormy, a cloud of black swirling in with the amber - usually after a mission - processing the day's work. Sometimes, when the sun would hit them, they looked like molten honey, flecks of gold peeking through.

A knock at your door startles you out of your thoughts.

You sit up warily, throwing your legs on the side of the bed and placing your feet on the floor. Walking over to the door, you stifle a yawn. You unlock the door and your eyes widen when you see him.

Riley.

Your brows scrunch in confusion. As you’re about to ask, he cuts to the chase.

“Can I come in?”

You’re taken aback, mind-reeling. Why in the world would your lieutenant want to come into your room? Had you done something wrong? You blink a couple of times, widening the opening in the door and stepping back.

He takes the opportunity, squeezing in through the opening of the door. He’s fucking huge, filling up your entire doorframe. You take a step back behind him before closing the door. Still trying to process, you turn back around. He’s looking around your room, silent and stoic.

You clear your throat, grabbing his attention. He’s standing there awkwardly, a bit like he has regretted his decision in coming down here.

“‘S Nice,” he murmurs, accent thick.

You hum, nodding in agreement. Your room was one place you wanted to feel safe in at the end of the day.

The silence is awkward now, not like the comfortable one you had shared earlier. You hadn’t really taken a look at him earlier, so now you do. He’s wearing black sweats that sit low on his waist and a form-fitting black t-shirt.

He looks good.

This is the least amount of clothing you’ve ever seen him in. You have never thought of him in that way. Your job was too stressful, too busy - and the fact that he was your superior was another daunting if.

You hadn’t noticed his eyes on you. You snap out of your reverie, only to find him staring at you. Your heart lurches, meeting his gaze. A predator and prey. You swallow a gasp as he lurks towards you.

His eyes are dark, troubled. You can see the pain in them as he gets closer. The white of his mask contrasted with the darkness swirling in his irises.

“L-Lieutenant?” you whisper, stepping back towards the door.

He’s silent, stalking forward until you are pressed against the cool, metal door. Your gut lurches, telling you that this was a mistake. Your heartbeat quickens and your mouth goes dry.

Why did you, not even second guess on letting him in?

He towers over you, leaning an arm above your head and resting on it. He’s close now, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You’re breathing heavily, chest rising and falling with panic. Your throat is constricting, and a cold sweat forming on your skin. The heat radiating between your two bodies is almost unbearable.

You don’t know what to expect from him. Riley is not predictable, which is what makes him such a force in the field. Your mind goes to a dark place involuntarily - a part of the job, prepare for the worst. You close your eyes, you can’t look him in the eye, not right now.

It’s embarrassing how affected you are. You try to calm your breathing. This cannot be real. You’re panicking, spiraling, letting the inky tendrils of despair grab you tight and pull you down into the depths.

“Look at me,” his voice is as clear as a bell, you oblige and open your eyes.

He’s looking down at you, and his eyes have softened a bit, could that be - concern?

You clear your throat, embarrassment flushing from your ears down your neck. He was never going to let you live this down. He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your gaze up to meet him.

“Breathe,” he whispers, petting your chin with his forefinger.

His hands are covered with his signature gloves, hands that have killed in cold blood, hands that had you in between them. Your breathing starts to slow, you close your eyes for a moment before opening them again, peering up through your lashes at the man before you.

“Fucking Christ,” he curses, turning his head away for a moment.

He turns back to you, his eyes have darkened again. But this time, it’s something different - his pupils are blown wide - desire. His eyes are nearly black with lust. Your stomach flips, confused about all the signals you were getting.

“I need help,” he comments, looking up towards the sky. “Lord forgive me.”

Riley was not a religious man. You find it a bit funny. A smile threatens to break out on your lips. You are watching him silently, your teeth tugging on your bottom lip. He meets your gaze again before asking,

“Would you oppose me on my knees?”

Your brain short circuits, not fully understanding what he is asking. You are sleep deprived, still in shock that he was even in your bunk. You blink, looking up at him. Your mouth opens to ask,

“What are you askin’ me, Riley?”

He sighs a heavy, tired thing. He’s exhausted.

“I fancy your taste,” he slurs a bit. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about that little cunt of yours.”

Your mouth drops open, shock clearly evident on your face. You cannot even begin to wrap your mind around what he has just said. He doesn’t even give you a chance, just drops to his knees in front of you. He looks up through his lashes, eyes sparkling with desire.

“You gonna deny a man who is on his knees for you?”

Oh fuck.

Warmth spreads involuntarily down to your clothed pussy. You choke out a gasp. He looks so fucking pretty like this. Your mouth opens and closes and he just sits there, silent, waiting for your okay. How drunk was he? Would he even remember coming down here? Oh, you did not want to take advantage of him.

“L-Lieutenant-“ you start.

“Please,” he begs, almost a fucking whimper. It’s pathetic.

How could you tell him no? He was asking so nicely. You had been single for so long, and hadn’t had an orgasm in God knows how long. Your panties were already soaked. Fuck.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He’s on you immediately, grabbing your legs and yanking you forward. You yelp, stumbling closer to him. Riley quickly removes his gloves and steadies you by placing a hand on the back of your thigh. He slides it across and loops back near your inner thigh, grabbing a hold of you. No going back now. You steady yourself, not really sure where to put your hands.

He taps your right thigh and then taps his shoulder, wanting you to set the hinge of your knee over it. You oblige, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. He leans forwards, up towards your core and fucking inhales, taking in your scent. You whine, squeezing his shoulder.

He rolls the bottom of his balaclava up, exposing his mouth before placing kisses along your inner thighs. His lips are soft, you feel a scar on his upper lip. He licks a stripe of your skin, tasting you. A low hum comes from him, pleased with your taste. You are burning hot with a flush, it spreading from your ears and down your chest. Your body is arching into his touch, desperate for any attention.

You wish you could run your hands through his hair. You pet the top of his head gently, a repeated motion to soothe your nerves. Riley reaches up into your sleep shorts, tracing your folds through your underwear, Your knees nearly buckle and he tightens his grip on you. His bare hands feel good on your skin, erupting goosebumps along your thighs.

His index finger loops around the bottom of your panties and pulls them to the side, exposing your dripping folds.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Look how wet you are.”

You blush again, turning your head away in embarrassment. He leans up, making his tongue flat and licking a stripe up your folds. You gasp at the sensation. He repeats this again, getting your taste ingrained on his tongue.

“O-Oh,” you gasp, loving the feeling of him exploring the most sensitive part of you.

He growls, tightening his grip and picking up the pace, swirling figure eights through your folds and around your clit. It feels so good. Your chest is heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. He’s like a man starved, lapping at your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You are making an absolute mess, dripping down his chin and onto the front of his shirt. It’s taking everything in you to keep quiet, biting back your moans into your hand. You involuntarily grind down against his face and he goes fucking feral.

“Fuuuuuck yes, use my fucking face,” he grunts out in-between devotions to your cunt.

You are near tears, it’s so overwhelming but in such a pleasant way. You have never ever received pleasure like this. He was fucking devoted to you, making sure to milk every last drop.

The noises his mouth and your pussy had been creating were obscene. The smell of your arousal had filled the room and you didn’t even care. He was thriving on it. Your first orgasm was approaching, white-hot pleasure building in your lower stomach and taking you by surprise. Your knees start to buckle as it sweeps over your body, Riley not even stopping as your brain goes into overwhelming pleasure.

You cry out his name, sobbing around his tongue in your folds.

“S-Simon!”

It’s fucking euphoric, your body floats up, up, up, and then comes back down to reality. You slam back into your body, aware that Simon is still continuing his ministrations. You gasp at the overstimulation, pushing his head until he finally pulls away.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything prettier.

Simon, on his knees, absolutely drunk off of your pussy. His pupils are blown so wide that his irises are completely black. He’s not even here with you, he’s fucking gone. Your slick is painted on his lips and down his chin. His chest is heaving.

He makes eye contact with you, licking his lips and sliding his hand down to adjust himself. He’s nearly straining through his sweatpants, erection ever so present. Such a people pleaser.

You moan at the sight of him.

“I’m not done with you yet.” he drawls, getting up onto his feet and towering over you again.

You blush, line of sight dropping down to your feet. His finger tilts your head up, bringing your lips mere inches from his.

“Have a taste,” he whispers before crashing your lips together.

He’s overwhelming, a clashing of teeth and tongue as he explores your mouth, not wanting any part to go untasted. You moan, tasting remnants of whiskey, your shared cigarette, and your own pussy.

It makes heat flood your core again. He frames your face with his hands, exploring your mouth with his tongue. Riley leaves you absolutely breathless. He pulls away suddenly, putting his index and middle fingers to your lips.

“Suck,” he orders.

You oblige, taking his fingers into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, bobbing your head up and down just a bit.

He groans, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

“Good girl,” he coos, pulling his fingers from your lips with a pop.

His hands make their way down to your hips, yanking your shorts and underwear down - leaving your bare skin vulnerable. You shiver, scooting closer to the man before you. He flips you around, walking you back until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sit and then lay back against your plush pillows.

He follows suit, laying on his left side. His arm snakes its way behind your head, providing a cushion. So caring, you think. The other trails its way down to your folds. He swipes his fingers through your slick, repeating this a few times before sliding back up and grabbing the bottom of your inner thigh. He yanks in an upwards motion, pulling your legs open for him. You spread them wide for him, nervous about his next move.

His fingers trail down, down, down to your entrance. He slides a finger inside and you gasp, the feeling unusual. He starts slow, picking up the pace when he feels you relax for him. You’re a hot mess, moaning around his long fingers. He’s got two into you now, scissoring and thrusting your walls open. You’re a writhing mess, wanting him in every part of your body.

He curls his fingers in a “come here” motion, finding that spongey spot that makes you see stars.

“Oh, fuck Simon.” you gasp, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

He chuckles, slowing his thrusts down. You whine, lip pouting out in disappointment.

“We’ve got all night, little one,” he says sneakily, dragging your second orgasm out of you.

It’s shorter than the second but more intense. It punches you in the gut, taking your breath away from you. You cry out, sobbing around his fingers. You sink down on them, milking your own pleasure. You’re gasping for air, slowing down as your pleasure settles.

You’re already exhausted, your body feeling satiated from your pleasure. Simon slinks down in between your legs, laying on his stomach. A whine leaves your body, he’s insatiable, ready to please you again.

“S-Simon,” you weakly protest.

His gaze catches yours, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. He keeps eye contact with you as he slides his tongue up and down your folds before thrusting it inside of you. You clamp around his tongue, sobbing softly.

He thrusts in and out of your hole, lapping up your juices willingly. Not a drop wasted. You feel movement at the end of the bed and notice he is getting himself off by pleasuring you. He’s thrusting against the bed, groaning into your pussy. You hear his words of praise mix with the sloppiness of his mouth.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.”

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Atta’ girl.”

You sob, thrusting your cunt into his awaiting mouth. You’re fucking addicted to him. He willingly takes everything you give him. You hear him choke out a moan, hips stuttering into the mattress.

It sends you over the edge and you come again. Sobbing while you try to pull away and thrust into his tongue at the same time. You are in pure bliss, completely satiated. It takes a moment before you come back, you barely hear his words.

“One more, just one more for me sweet girl,”

You let him take from you. You give, give, give until you can’t anymore. Your body is spent, satisfied, and oh so loved. He spends hours worshipping your body. When you physically cannot give anymore, he cleans you up, tucks you into bed, gives you a kiss on the forehead, and slips out of your room.

When you wake the next morning, you are so sore, but there is no regret at all. You sit up, stretching and letting out a soft groan. You look over to your bedside table. There is a glass of water and a cigarette. You smile.

The next time he visits, you’re more than happy to help.

#simon riley #ghost x reader #simon x reader #cod simon riley #cod smut #ghost x you #simon riley x you

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radioactivesweet · 1 year

Note

Ok hear me out, what about moon god s/o x Poseidon, its been itching my mind cause of the sea x moon troupe.

What i imagine is, s/o being a powerful god like nyx but rarely appears so only a few gods know or saw them so Poseidon became curious about this mysterious (beautiful) god. Feel free to add more about this!! im just really craving for someone to write this 🥹

Uhhh I like this concept a lot!! I tried to keep the reader's gender kinda neutral, I hope it's fine^^ btw I really enjoyed writing this!

word count: 1.2k

Poseidon often found himself staring at the moon. He couldn't really explain why he would do that - not that anybody would dare asking the God of the Sea what he was doing. Unbothered, Poseidon would stand silenty on the ivory balcony, looking up to that apparently endless sky. Even for someone like him that domain appeared far and full of mystery.

It was a dark night, its only beam being the peaceful and perlescent light emanated by the sleeping moon. He was once told that a god inhabited the moon, far from all other living beings. It wasn't known the reason why the deity ended up there, observing humankind from the satellite. Some believed they refused to get involved with human affairs and chose to live as a hermit instead; others claimed the god was exiled and was cursed to live on their own, bound to live in loneliness; some believed that god to have died long ago, the moonlight being their only inheritance, the memento of a god who existed no more, the reminder of a otherwise forgotten past.

Poseidon, everytime he would look at the moon, would wonder the real story behind it. None of the moon goddesses he knew could give him a response, despite asking themselves the same question - with whom were they sharing their moon? A god, a ghost or nothing at all?

Not knowing made the God of the Sea restless. He wasn't supposed to be this ignorant - it was his duty and right to know the truth. Yet, all he knew didn't make sense to him at all. He couldn't find a reason why a god would choose to abandon their place a seek shelter on the moon; if a deity was trapped on the moon, he would have surely heard of it somehow. It wouldn't have been just a rumour; lastly, gods weren't meant to die, it wasn't their nature. They didn't have an expire date nor any time limits, so it was impossible to begin with. If there really were someone looking down on him from the moon, Poseidon would discover it.

Poseidon spent that whole night reading books and looking for information regarding the legends surrounding that mysterious and mystical figure. There weren't many references and he couldn't even find the name of that god, yet there were reported some events which most likely involved them. A beautiful deity whose melancholic face was reflected on the moon on certain nights, someone wearing a silvery armor while riding a shining chariot across the sky. Also, a powerful god who could conceal the sun and the earth. A god capable of moving the stars and making humans into constellations. A god who could flex the tides to their own amusement - which meant disturbing the God of the Sea too - the moon phases and the sea had always been strictly connected to one another, but the thought of someone directly interefering had never crossed his mind. An ancient deity whose name had been long forgotten and all traces canceled, no statues nor temples left, their believers long dead and turned to ashes.

Poseidon was intrigued to say the least. He couldn't recall even if tried the last time he had felt so interested in someone - maybe last time was when he recognised Hades as his brother thousands of years before? He didn't remember anymore, and it didn't really matter to him neither.

Rumours spreaded fast across the Heavens. It was a matter of days before everybody knew what the lonesome Poseidon was looking for, yet nobody dared approaching him nor suggesting him the information that could have helped him reach his objective. Yet, everybody was curious as to why he was interested in that legend in the first place. Poseidon was used to those lower deities' gossips, so he didn't pay them much care, they were nothing more than a bother and wasn't expecting them to act some other way. He was more interested in what certain gods had to say.

Zeus, despite his prestige, knew no more than him but reccomended talking with the goddess Nyx, whom he was afraid of, much more ancient than he was. Hades and Hermes agreed with Zeus and added some rumours that had been circulating for ages in the Underworld regarding a moon deity who lead the souls of the dead to Hades' domain. Beelzebub clearly remembered studying moon's phenoma and seeing that legendary face. They didn't ask him the reason why he was looking for the god. He wouldn't have answered anyway. Without a single word, he left, approaching his next destination, the goddess all gods feared: Nyx.

He respected the goddess, recognising her value and strenght, but didn't understand the reason why even the almighty Zeus feared - he could only suppose it must have been because of one of his many affairs that didn't end the way Zeus imagined. Poseidon didn't have anything to do with that though, therefore had no reason to fear her.

Nyx knew it all, the story of the human who ascended to the skies and then flew even higher above. That god's name was (Y/n), the vagabond of the stars, the hermit who found a home in the dim light of the moon. Poseidon was satisfied by the answers he had finally found - and a way to reach the moon itself. He was close to his goal.

He had finally landed on the moon. Poseidon had never been there before. It was the first time he got to see the sea he ruled from that perspective. It was a foreign feeling to him. He could almost understand the reason why humans tried so hard to leave Earth and reach the space - it was undescribable. He couldn't even blame (Y/n) for hiding in that timeless place. Poseidon felt as he could touch the stars if he only wanted to. And he was just about to do it, if only a sudden voice hadn't interrupted him.

"I've heard someone was looking for me. I don't receive many guests, so I suppose you must be that person." it was quite, almost a whisper. It didn't surprise Poseidon. (T/n) mustn't have had someone to talk to in a long time.

"You are Poseidon, aren't you? You often stare at the moon, I noticed it." a voice comparable to the music of the spheres, the musica universalis, the harmony between the celestial bodies.

(Y/n) seemed to have no material consistence, one with the stars and the deep blue sky surround them, floating on the ground, detached from the earthly beings. Poseidon almost felt unworthy of being before someone surrounded by such a, otherwordly aura, belonging to a different dimension. On the other hand, he was attracted by that holy creature.

"You are welcome here, God of the Seas." almost as if they had read his mind, (Y/n) reassured him "We all belong to the moon, all beings are made of the same stardust. There are no differences between us."

For once, Poseidon, enchanted and bewitched, couldn't reply. He was part of that symphony too - he could feel it resonating deep into his bones.

The everlasting sea below him, the everlasting stars above him. Poseidon felt whole for the first time in his equally everlasting life.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror #record of ragnarok x reader #snv #ror x reader #snv x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no walkure #poseidon #poseidon x reader #record of ragnarok poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon #snv poseidon #poseidon record of ragnarok #poseidon ror

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tarjapearce · 2 months

Text

The Immorality Of Love (Prologue)

Duke! Miguel O'Hara x Courtesan! Reader

Synopsis: Pretty Woman but Victorian Era Inspired ~ jskjs.

A/N: So, watched Pretty Woman a bit ago and thanks to all of you that participated in the poll, you picked a Victorian Era Inspired! 🤭 And here is it, our new wee series :'). Hope you like! Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 ❤️. Feedback is always appreciated ~

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of death, character background, Angst, mentions of blood, implicit sexual activities, a bit of historical inaccuracy for the sake of the plot, Working and low class struggles, No use of Y/N, Violence, grief, social struggles.

Maybe it was the rain, the ever cold and gloomy weather that made Nueva York the antagonist of its neighbors states.

Bustling with the unceasing life through the day and night. The city never slept really, full of people chasing their dreams on a daily basis, despite dangers lurking around in every dark and forsaken corner.

Tall buildings and factories reached towards the sky in an attempt of growing larger than their competitors. The bigger the better, right?

Cause that would mean to have more employees to cover up the demand, right?

Wrong.

Despite the city flooding with rich and proud buildings, little were the amount of people that actually got to experience the decent living novelty.

Something surreal, a borderline utopia for those in the slums and west district as economy only seemed to thrive in the prettiest sectors of Nueva York, keeping the rich richer and the poor, poorer. Perpetuating the cycle of endless inequity among its gaunt and empty looking denizens.

Forsaking everything in the way of those that didn't have the luck of being born in a warm golden crib. The king had been having other project in mind, leaving his initials intentions of helping, behind.

But how long ago had he promised a change?

It didn't matter. Not when hunger, diseases, poverty and other horrors chased those excluded from privilege. They preyed on the weakest and sickest, working like a self imposed reaper, specially in what was considered the live sewers of the city.

Raggedy and rickety walls extended at every turn of sight, filled with children and their parents, bathed in filth and ash coming from the polluting factories, whose machinery always reminded the poorest of how life was. Creaking, loud, cold and unforgivably unstoppable.

Clothes were either stolen from others or simply removed from the bodies that succumbed on life's hardscrabbles without much thought.

Bodies were often tossed to the river as a cemetery charged a small fee for receiving the dead. Not even a spot in the earth was allowed for the unfortunates as they barely had the enough money to eat, much less to afford for their perpetual rest.

Choosing between burying a friend or relative and eat at least one time a day for a couple of days, was the constant doubt many had.

And so, the tradition of tossing bodies at the river started. Only to be stopped a few years after as the river fed the livestock, making them sick. A shortage of food and other miscellaneous had started.

If poors already suffered, the water's scarcity walloped with all it's might the slums, pushing people into desperate ways to survive, even if it was prolonging the suffering for another day.

Overripe bodies, swarmed with flies were often found by the police in the already tattered homes, the rumor of miasma running rampant in the slums only made the west district of Paxton more susceptible to inhuman treatment by the rich.

Back breaking jobs were in every way. Laundry that had the women and even men folding over a wall at the end of the day because their back ache was too much. The factories with their ominously tall chimneys spilling the same dark filth their occupants inhaled daily; The coal mines that had turned into a living gravestone, costing lives in a weekly basis among them.

Yet, the spots for a job were the main reason there were many revolts.

The situation turned critical when some richer fellows forbidded people from the slums to work in their factories. As some stole the goods.

The Prince however came up with a temporary solution that provided some relief for the oppressed. He forced the owners to either sell their companies, or provide 50 spots for the people.

For the rich it was rather easier to hire people than giving away the fruition of hard work over decades, just cause the prince thought occasionally in others.

Many families were benefited from the initiative. Including yours. And by family it'd mean, your mother and you. Both working class ladies renting a paltry room in the outer lands of the real slums. Your father had been long gone in a mine accident, or so you were told often. But in truth, your birth had been the outcome of an affair between a nobleman and your mother.

The man died in mysterious conditions a couple of months later. A heart attack apparently.

Your mother knew a bit of everything, earning a couple of favors here and there that slowly made you go to a community school.

"Just because we're poor must we remain ignorant and dirty."

Your education and hygiene always seemed her main concern, as she always talked about how you'd be a good society lady while she scrubbed the dirt off your childish fingers. How well you'd do on your own, and how you'd get a good husband to love you and cherish you.

But your youngling brain was only focused on working enough to get food. You'd understand her wishes later.

You worked in tandem with her in the factory. Children willing to work were given a relatively small payment depending on their labors.

Yours were daily food and occasionally clothes and other things, as grown-ups received money. Some saw it as an humiliation, others as help, since the parents wouldn't have to worry about their children being used as thieves, or worse, abused out there in the streets or being malnourished.

It worked well for a while, until death cut your mother's life thread in a vicious chop. The fumes in the factories often costed the health of so many, leaving children at the mercy of church or orphanages. Another problem that was addressed as soon as the upper class started to complain about the kid's gangs that snuck in the wealthy districts.

A police officer held you as you tried to reach for your mother's lifeless body. Imploring her to wake up from her forever rest as you were dragged away to an orphanage. You knew you wouldn't see her again, you knew they'd throw her to the river and feed the alligators and birds of prey with her flesh since she was mistaken as one from the slums.

The only memento you were allowed to keep from her in the orphanage was her golden chain. A trinket an officer gave to you before your mother was disposed off.

----

The first of the many nights in the orphanage were unforgivable cold. Girls of all ages remained within, the smaller ones cried for their mothers, others for her fathers. The eldest ones were either compassionate or bitter, there was no in between.

But you couldn't complain, you got food, a bath every day, clothes and soon established a little friendship with a girl named Aveline as you did your daily chores at the settlement. Daughter of a courtesan that was killed a couple months ago. She was fourteen, you were twelve.

At your sixteens you escaped with her, finding life in the orphanage too cruel and simply not good enough. She was eighteen, she was legally an adult and could take care of you. However, freedom didn't last much as she was arrested for disturbances and indecency, meaning being drunk on the streets as you were awaiting outside the bar.

You were dragged back to the authorities, but this time, instead of a orphanage they sent you to a convent. Trying to fix the rebel out of you, to leave a demure soul perfect for a working man.

But the solution only proved to worsen the problem. You escaped at your seventeens and to your surprise got reunited with Aveline, or Daisy as she went by on the streets.

She took you to her home, a room in the many brothels in Paxton. She had worked her way out of jail and met Madame Grevaille, that didn't hesitate into offering you a job.

"With a pretty girl like you, you'd have your own place soon!" The lady spoke, but neither her and Aveline pushed you into prostitution.

You helped around the brothel during busy nights, even after a long day at the factory. You caught the eye of a couple of noblemen as they visited Aveline, but politely, you rejected them. Mainly out of fear.

"I'm pretty sure that you'd get more money than I do. Just look at you! and look at me."

Aveline would slur sleepily as you caressed her hair. Your friend's health was slowly deteriorating thanks to an excessive lifestyle.

"You know I couldn't do it. I'm not as brave as you are."

"Imnot brave." She yawned, "I'm just a young woman that must work in the world's ancient labor to be able to eat and provide."

"I'm sorry. For being a burden." A tinge of shame washed over you upon knowing that Aveline was the one that basically carried the burden of rent in her shoulders. Even though you had a job, it didn't pay enough to help Avy, as you called her, the way you wanted to.

And Madame Grevaille was always willing to teach you the arts of seduction, to lure the right kind of gentlemen that paid more than enough to subsist for couple of weeks. Or. months if you knew how to properly play your cards.

"You're not. I know this is everything but what your mother would want for you, but... we've never been a priority to those with power unless we fill even more their pockets, my dear." She curled in your lap, relishing in your soft caresses. An appalling contrast of some of her rowdy client's treatment.

"I know. I know you don't do this cause you like it."

"The only thing I like is when they pay and leave. Except for Mr. Nimeux. That man can use me at his whims all he wants." She giggled sleepily as a fleeting memory of the man came into her head.

"Ugh, Avy, stop."

"Just saying, You'd make a whole lot of money with your virginity."

You gasped, faking offense, "Who says I'm a virgin?!"

"Oh, stop it. Jacob Billard doesn't count."

You both laughed. But deep down in your mind knew it was the only way a woman could get afloat. The new Duke seemed to be lax enough to approve a law to let women work in several other jobs. Construction included. There were revolts, as usual, but again, it proved to benefit the poor.

Your position towards royalty was everything but good, of course you acknowledged their attempts of improving the city since the king was currently busy with other royal things that couldn't wait.

But it also shaped your 'Deeds not words' mantra. You believed more in actions than fancy words.

Even though the years had passed by, there was little changes in the slums. Thankfully, you and Aveline had been able to move to the outer and west district's brothels with the help of another Madame called Susan Lewis, once you hit your eighteens.

Away from the true mess that walloped nonstop the people. You got a tattoo to celebrate it. A beautiful violet on your back.

But despite moving, people's mindset remained the same. Men's specially. And the man that accompanied Aveline for the night wasn't any better.

Her room was often visited by strangers, always perfumed with rich lavender incense around the room to conceal the smell of sex in the air. Some were gentle enough to leave Avy a tip, others made every penny worth by asking the most ridiculous of things. Or so Aveline told you.

But this one was definitely being not nice to her. Despite the many times you tried to intervene with her clientèle, Aveline always told you that she was alright, that it was all part of the fantasy.

Sometimes her client was angered by the intrusion and left. This would make Avy to remain angry with you for a couple of days. However, upon hearing her calling for help, flared your alarms right away.

"You must remain quiet!" The loud slap, a bottle breaking and Aveline's shriek was more than enough for you to bolt in the room without much thought.

The man was big, a bit burly, and was definitely manhandling your best friend way too rough for her and your likings.

Aveline fought, despite her being naked, you took the broom and broke it on the man's back, that grunted and staggered away in pain. Anger and fear pumped through your veins in equal parts as you grabbed the jagged bottle and pointed it at the man.

If you were both to die, at least you'd go fighting.

"Back the fuck off!" You yelled

The man snarled and tried to reach for you, but if mingling with prostitutes and thieves had taught you something, was to defend a friend, even if you were terrified to your very core.

"You whore!"

You slashed with the sharp part of the bottle, wherever it landed. To your luck it went on the assailant man's face. Slicing flesh on his right cheek.

He roared in pain, but looked at you fascinated, angry and horrified. A chill ran down your spine.

"Get out! Now!"

Despite your limbs trembling, you sliced through the air with silent warnings, the man escaped when Aveline started to call for help through the window while you protected her.

You made sure the man had escaped and locked the door, just in case he decided to take a proper revenge on you both. Aveline's arms went immediately around you, crying with pained yelps and sobs.

"Hey" You mumbled as she wobbled,

"I'm here, it's over." You whispered while helping her to the bed, covering her bruised body with the sheets to spare her some dignity. Not that you were ignorant to a naked body, you helped Avy to get ready or draw her and the others at the brothel a bath after all.

"It hurts." She whined as you wiped the blood out of her cheekbone and nose.

"I'm sorry, Avy."

She grunted as she closed her eyes "D-Did he pay?"

Your heart sunk both in anger and sadness. This was exactly one of the reasons why you didn't become a courtesan. Too many risks, including the probability of getting beaten or killed by your clients, if not their wives.

"He didn't."

----

Madame Lewis and Grevaille were the first in appearing in the scene, they tended to Aveline's wounds and let her rest. You were in your room, racking your brain over the events, when Madame Lewis approached.

"You did a good job protecting Aveline."

"I was as scared as she was, Ma'am."

"Still, you did it well. May I sit?" You nodded as the lady sat a few inches of your bed.

"Have you... considered my proposal?"

"Against all odds. Yes. I wanted to avoid this as much as I could but... Avy is beaten, rent approaches, the factory doesn't pay me well enough and we have to eat."

"Being a courtesan is far from being honorable, dear-"

"With all due respect, ma'am, respect won't bring food to my table. I knew that sooner or later it would come to this."

"Need pushes us to do the unthinkable, dear. But fear not. If you work for me, I'll teach you the right kind of people to seek."

You heaved a defeated sigh, mentally asking your mother for forgiveness for the path you were about to take.

"Could you give me a couple of days more? I want to have enough money to buy all those things you told me I'd need."

"Of course, dear. Please let me know if you need something else."

----

"Even though I'm not that fond of you turning a courtesan, Im happy we'll finally get to leave this damned place. I was thinking in getting an apartment on Brasswood Avenue. Men in there are clean, and they're not animals like these fuckers."

Avy mumbled as you got ready to leave for work at the factory.

"I need you to help me pick some stuff, can you accompany me?"

"Of course! Will get you to this pretty store. I've befriended the owner. One of us, actually."

You stared at her for a moment.

"Have you picked your name yet?"

"My name? What's wrong with my name?"

"Well, it's pretty but you need like an alter ego, so in case police gets hungry with our money, you give them a fake name."

"I don't know. I didn't know I needed one."

"What about... Violet? Like your tattoo?" Aveline secured your apron on your back as you combed your hair.

"Hmm. Doesn't sound bad."

"Then Violet is it!."

You took your pouch of money and hid it.

"Remember as soon as you leave, come meet me at Millport's Avenue. We'll go shopping!"

Avy sung and you chuckled.

"Goodbye, Miss Daisy."

"Goodbye, Miss Violet."

You left, without knowing those words would turn into a bitter reality.

---

Four pm and still no signs of Aveline. Five soon arrived, and Millport's avenue was bustling as usual with people but today it seemed crowded.

"A woman was found dead. Dear god..."

You blinked at the overheard information. But soon the police's rushed steps alerted you as they turned into a familiar corner.

Heart pounded in your ears the more you approached. Breath hitched as you waded in the small crowd that gathered in an alley you crossed during the mornings.

"Back away! Leave the police work, dammit!" One of the police officers yelled at the journalist and curious that gathered to witness the macabre scene.

Tears couldn't help but flood your eyes upon your sight landed on the ever familiar blonde strands that you sometimes found in your hairbrush.

No...

Now stuck to her face, thanks to the bloody glue that stained not only her neck but the cobblestone floor too. A deep gash in her throat had been done. Your best friend had been murdered

"Aveline!!" You cried and rushed to her side. But the police prevented you from going further.

"Stop!"

"Avy! No! Let me go! She's my best friend!" You sobbed in between struggles against the officer's arms, that were everything but comforting to your aching soul.

Everyone watched in horror as Aveline's body was covered, her horrified eyes remained in your mind. Forever burnt into your memories. She died being afraid and not of an old age and rich as she had confessed you once.

The police interviewed you, but what was the point, knowing the investigation would turn into another cold case? Like the many before? None was really safe.

Madame Lewis and Grevaille visited you that night, but their comfort was little. There was no solace you could find in them. You had lived with Aveline for three years. Her short life had ended at twenty two, her mother's story resonatiin her own. And there was no signs of the culprit nor the police's intentions to find him.

But life kept going. The world wouldn't stop for a moment to give you truce to mourn.

Madame Lewis took you in since the rent on your place was too much on your own. It felt like receding big time. But what could be done?

Aveline shared your body size, but even so, you refused to steal from your freshly murdered friend. The only thing you did was to save her most important things in a bag. Papers, some books she loved despite them being intact.

It gave Avy a sense of importance, since she always adviced you to be as knowledgeable as possible. That some men loved that.

And the praying beads she stole from the sister that loved to spank the little girls back at the orphanage you both met in.

Madame Grevaille kept the jewels and dresses as a payment for what Aveline owed her. Despite the cold hearted action, she allowed you to keep one thing of each.

You kept a pearl necklace a nobleman had gifted Avy once and made you promise to keep it safe, and a black cashmere shawl she always put on when parading herself in the streets.

It was your own way to have her close.

Aveline was no more. Forever lost into a man's derangement. So many doubts plagued your mind, but one thing was certain, you were to leave Paxton's district. One way or another.

------

Night had just started, and you had just finished your makeup. A bit of powder on your cheeks, rouge on your lips in subtle yet inviting way always did the trick, some violet perfume misted your skin, giving a delicate yet enhancing aroma.

Dress in a perfect blue and white with black frills, Black stockings and boots, Avy's shawl draped on your shoulders along a matching bonnet.

You took a bag and left your apartment. Located in Brasswood Avenue, a relatively middle class area in Tevinter's district. Just like Aveline always wanted.

Five years had gone by since her murdering, five years that had you working your way out of Paxton, to finally be comfortably living in the outskirts of Manhattan.

And still, the courtesan mantle never left you. Thanks to it you could afford what you had, your clients were middle and upper class men that paid you enough to not suffer hunger or insecurity.

Madame Lewis's advices had taken you this far. The carriage dropped you to your usual spot, only to walk for a few minutes before arriving at your clientèle's location.

Beautifully decored homes, and buildings Aveline used to boast about, were now your daily route. Donning the streets with your presence and violet and citrus infused perfume. Five pm was a good hour to start, tonight's goal was to make at least enough to buy that rose perfume you saw at a shop in the Manhattan area.

A smell that would definitely attract royalty even.

Some men stared your way, discreet yet leering smirks hidden behind a polite facade. Some had their companions, whose disdainful and undignified stares were more than expected. Specially if their husbands stared for too long.

Others, despite the rich-looking clothes and apparent status, sent whistles your way. Those were the kind you avoided as they often either ended up paying half or got violent if something wasn't done their way.

Your type would be men, that barely glanced your way or gave a brief scrutinizing gaze, widows or recently divorced, cause one way or another you'd end up their contact list.

Some had been clients over the years, some stopped as they remarried or have kids, only for them contacting you again to have an outlet from their domestic life.

Even women had joined in your repertoire. But au contraire of men, they only called for talk. It was rare when they indulged you physically.

Thanks to that, you gained a bit of reputation within those inner circles that somehow shared a table at social gatherings. Everyone knew their role as pretenders, even you.

Getting attached to clients were out of the list. Thankfully none you shared your charms with had said intention, and it was perfect. It worked in immaculate harmony with your rules and profession.

Clock hit soon six pm and the streets seemed a bit less busy. Soon, the smile of a familiar face came your way

"Hey, Vi!"

Violet. The name had stayed for good. The persona you transformed yourself almost every night in had taken over to stay. Your own persona way too dormant and comfortable in a corner to wake up, letting life happen.

She stopped coming out to life's stages ever since Aveline's murder.

"Any news so far, Jeannie?"

Jeannie or Jeanette, your occasional roomie and new friend. A similar story of yours, with the only difference was that she never really knew her family and was too rebellious to be kept in the convent or orphanage.

She was tall, a ginger with the most adorable set of freckles you've seen so far. Beautiful green eyes and would easily pass as a noblewoman with the right set of clothes adorning her model like body. Jeanette was gorgeous.

You took her in after you found her in the streets of Millport, beaten, with a black eye. Her client had been too rough with his fantasy and her madame was everything but helpful.

You got her to Madame Lewis which gladly took her in. And now, after shooing away another intruder in your zone, she hugged you. Her cherry perfume tickled your nose, announcing it's presence to your demure floral scent.

"None. Been waiting here for quite a while. Just drunkards, until a gorgeous nobleman asked me to wait here for him."

"Oh? What did he look like?"

"None like the hunks you attract, thats for sure."

You chuckled.

"I've got a feeling tonight's gonna be a good night."

"I hope so. I need that new perfume and some new ribbons."

"Oh? You wanna go for the top dogs?!"

You giggled, and shook your head.

"No, well, yes. Maybe. I smelled it? And I went to heaven. Can you imagine the effect it could have in a man?"

"More money, obvious."

Jeanette giggled but quickly stopped upon looking at a carriage approaching.

"That's your cue, Violet."

"You think?"

Some people gasped upon the carriage suddenly hopping on the walk, startling some. Horses neighed, uneasy.

The carriage rider hopped off, muttering a flurry of Spanish gibberish while grabbing his luscious hair in an angered fit. Tall was a measly word to actually describe him.

His fancily dressed chest heaved as he backed away from a neighing horse. Defeated and irked.

You watched curiously as the man pulled out a map from his pocket and glared holes at it. Confusion was evident ad he turned the paper around

Jeanette elbowed you softly. Making her signaling less obvious as if saying 'Stop playing and go for him'

"Fine. If I get killed, you know who to blame."

You hushed before adjusting your corset and cleavage, Jeanette pinched your cheeks to give them a bit more of blush.

"Relax, it's gonna be a good night, remember?" Jeannie winked your way and pushed you on your way, gently.

With a deep breath, and your shawl secured, you approached to the man.

----

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #The Immorality Of Love #Royal AU #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x you #atsv miguel

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10liver · 7 months

Text

I deeply love to imagine Bakugou as the grumpiest person walking on the earth when he grows up and pursues his heroic dream. But every grump needs his sunshine gf that's terrible at something.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

"It's done!"

An ash-blonde tuft of hair peeked out from the kitchen doorframe before moving out from behind the wall with his softened scowl.

You glanced over your shoulder behind you at the tall male, smiling softly as you beamed him a loving gaze.

"Gonna pass me one or keep smilin' at me?"

He crossed his arms, a faint smile making its way on his lips before he began striding towards your bent figure as you took your homemade cookies out of the oven.

"Can't I do both?" You hummed before hissing when you accidentally touched the hot pan with your non-mittened hand.

His eyes barely widened before he quickly made his way over to you, looming over you as he stood behind you with your wrist in his overly large hand. "Idiot." He mumbled before rubbing your hand with his calloused fingers.

You huffed, rolling your eyes before pointing down at the cookies on the pan.

You were pretty adamant on learning how to bake. Why? Because you were absolutely ass at it. But that never stopped Bakugou from encouraging you and supporting each and every one of your pastries. But of course, since you weren't the best at baking, you can only guess how they'd come out.

"They look great, honey." He mumbled, kissing your cheek before taking a dark obsidian black, supposedly chocolate chip cookie.

You smiled brightly at your boyfriend as he took a hearty bite out of your cookie, your happiness never deterring as he kept a straight face.

That was all that mattered.

"So.. how are they..?" You whispered, turning around to face him as you craned your neck up.

He hummed in thought before throwing the rest of the cookie in his mouth and sticking his thumb up with approval.

He swallowed, clearing his throat before pointing behind you at the cookies, "Gonna give 'em to the group, that okay?"

"Of course!" You smiled, "Can I come? I wanna see their reactions and take some tips."

"'Course baby, go get dressed." And with a light tap on your behind, you were off to your shared bedroom with a small skip in your step.

"What are those." Kaminari whispered to Bakugou, pointing a slim finger at the cookies in a small zip lock baggy.

"My cookies." You replied before Bakugou could, glancing up at the charcoal in your boyfriend's hands.

The group froze before simultaneously nodding together. You took nothing of it, but Bakugou did as he sent a deathly glare to each of them.

"Go on, pick one." Bakugou grumbled, keeping his stone cold glare as he carefully opened the bag and spread it large enough for their hands to fit through.

Sero and Kaminari gulped, clearing their throat before reluctantly taking the so-called cookie from the baggy. Ashido, Kirishima, and Jirou following soon after.

"Hey, babe, can you go get us some water over there?" Bakugou asked quietly, pointing to the water dispenser near the corner of his unnecessarily large office.

You happily obligated, nodding before shuffling over to the dispenser with your fluffy winter boots.

"One negative thing, 'n I'm slitting all of your goddamn throats."

"Yes, sir." Kaminari and Sero saluted foolishly as the rest froze, seemingly lost in thought as they stared at your cookie. wondering how in the world did it get that bad.

You quickly came back with both arms full of plastic cups filled with water. Bakugou was quick to set the cookies down on his desk and grab all the waters from your grasp.

When you smiled expectedly at them, they all glanced at each other before sighing and taking a reluctantly large bite.

"They're– They're um.." "They're awesome!" Kirishima finished for Kaminari, nudging his arm behind their bodies before gulping down his bite.

You happily squealed, jumping up and down before hugging your boyfriend at his neck.

And then, he smiled.

"Say a thing, and I'll kill you."

#ao3 #fanfic #my writing #bnha #anime #oneshot #bakugou x reader #mha #fluff #female y/n #sunshine reader #bakugou katsuki #aged up au #pro hero bakugo x reader #pro hero bakugou #grumpy bakugou

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dragon-ascent · 6 months

Text

You fantasize about your archon. Unfortunately, your fantasies are not private.

★彡very suggestive + a world of embarrassment in front of REX LAPIS of all people

"Lord Rex Lapis, please forgive me," you sigh, kneeling before the throne of the tall and rather intimidating man. "I have forgotten to bring you any offerings today." You make sure not to break eye contact with the golden-eyed god as he slowly stands up, pacing toward you ever so delicately.

"Oh?" His eyebrow quirks upward. "That is untrue, my dear."

His long dragon tail reaches out and wraps around your waist, gently pulling you toward himself. Before you know it, he's sitting back down on his throne with you placed on his lap.

"M-my lord?"

With eyes of flame and earth, he spares no part of you from his gaze. His hands, calloused yet gentle, begin to sensually explore your body, feeling every curve, sighing in contentment while your own breathing is hitched.

"You have something for me," he whispers, his hand sliding up your thigh, thumb ghosting across your most sensitive area, "right here."

You bite your lip to stifle the fantasy, choosing to continue it in the privacy of your own home later. The local temple is no place to get lost in thought, especially when Rex Lapis himself is here today. It's not everyday he decides to visit your humble little town, after all, so you should make the most of it.

The very sight of your god making his way through the clamoring crowds is enough to make you feel like your legs are jelly. Regardless, you managed to snag being in the front row for today, so even if you collapse you'd at least attract his attention and you'd like that.

There is a warm smile on his face as he takes in the sight around him, but when his gaze reaches you...is it just a trick of the light, or is he eyeing you a bit curiously..?

You're so sure his eyes linger on you for a little longer than the others. Something seems to be dancing in those eyes of his -- a sparkle of intrigue?

No, that's obviously just a lingering wisp of your fantasy, you tell yourself, as he continues to move through the crowd and up the temple steps.

As the temple's head priest follows behind, he instructs the people in wait - including you - to please form a line, not to push, not to ask the Lord of Geo for free Mora, or free anything really, and to keep thoughts pure and spotless. Rex can hear them, after all.

You'd only been half-listening, nodding along like a distracted school-child, but the end immediately snaps you to attention. You freeze, suddenly feeling like your gut is made out of lead. "He can h-hear our thoughts?"

"Naturally. Granted, He can only hear thoughts if those thoughts are of Him, but it counts as mind-reading nonetheless." He looks at you incredulously. "You did not know this? How else would He hear His people's prayers?"

Oh.

Oh gods.

Your face burns; you think you're going to turn to ash any minute. Rex Lapis is now standing on the dais, his powerful gaze once more sweeping over everyone present.

When you catch his eye, you swear you see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

#sini writes #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #zhongli x you #rex lapis #fluff

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yandere-daydreams · 6 months

Text

Title: Domesticated.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very inspired @elsecrytt.

Pairing: Yandere!Satan x Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 7.0k.

TW: Dub/Con & Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Reader Is Straight Up A Bad Person In This One, Toxic Relationships, Semi-Public Sex, Bondage, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Coercion, Prolonged Grooming, Mentions of Blood and Violence, Slight Stalking, and Obsessive Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were the first one to find Satan.

It wasn’t difficult. You’d been around long enough at that point to know that the birth of a demon was a strange, spontaneous thing; loud and wild, often accompanied by pillars of flame and always violent enough to leave the earth scarred in its wake. While his brothers fell from paradise like stars displaced from their heavens, you followed the cloud of smoke rising from the wasteland that made up the Devildom’s outskirts, tracked the scent of cedar and ivy and sulfur until you found him, seething in a crater of his own creation, freshly charred feathers still littered around him as he lashed out blindly, his aggression without a target but no less volatile for its aimlessness. He was bare save for the ash smeared across his pale skin, and you could make out a lashing tail behind him, a pair of curling horns sprouting from his waist-length hair, a pair of cat-like pawed feet he’d grow out of in a few weeks – all the same shade of black as the obsidian that surrounded him and tipped with a green you could only compare to the color of toxic waste, to the kind of emerald shine an insect might wear to let you know it was venomous. Every part of him practically glowed with rage. If you’d been aware of which throne he would take after he and his brothers found their footing in their new realm in that moment, you would’ve thought it was fitting.

In short, he was beautiful. Awe-inspiringly, breath-takingly beautiful.

And you were never the kind of person who could resist beautiful things.

Carefully, with dampened footsteps and a preference for the shadows, you edged closer to him, never letting Satan leave your peripheral. You were still a hundred or so feet away when he snapped toward you, pointed teeth already bared and curved talons poised to attack. You couldn’t be sure how lucid he was, but whatever happened to be running through that empty mind of his, it wasn’t enough to stop him from snarling at you, from hunching his back and digging his claws into the ground and charging, intent on tearing anything he saw apart before his anger could cool. Elation overwhelmed you. You felt the corners of your lips curl upward as he lunged, your heart practically beating through your chest as his lithe body streaked through the flame-tinged moonlight, as you took in the rabid creature that would be your end. There were sixty feet between you, then forty, and then—

And then, something dark and terrible descended from the clouded sky, tackling Satan and pinning him to the ground. Lucifer, you discovered, once the dust cleared and you could make out his face, his wings (lesser by two and painted the color of impurity, you noted with a not inconsiderable sense of satisfaction). You didn’t wait for him to notice you. Slipping back into the shadows of the wasteland, you stole one more glance toward Satan only to find his attention still fixed on you, unwavering despite his new guardian. Your eyes met his, and without hesitation, you spared him a smile. Of course, he didn’t return the gesture, but you didn’t mind.

You slipped into the night, already dreaming of the day you’d see him again.

By the second time you got so close to Satan, he’d already gained a reputation of his own.

You couldn’t say you weren’t proud. His anger cooled in the months after his conception, and he found a place among his brothers who, in turn, established themselves in the Devildom’s admittedly lax hierarchy of power and pleasure and all the many things that thrived when given reprieve from the harsh light of the sun. You kept your distance. As greedy as you were, you knew better than to get involved with people who knew better than to get involved with you.

Instead, you watched from the crowd as Satan grew into his rank, as the more untamed parts of his demonic nature fell away and he came to resemble something… cleaner, something less animalistic. You didn’t care for the change, but still, you kept track of him. What could you say? Even polished, he was still a gem worth keeping an eye on.

Your dutifulness was rewarded, too. Or, that was what you told yourself, at least, as you picked the lock on the door of the lecture hall where he’d thrown his latest fit, where it’d taken Mammon and Beelzebub’s joint strength to restrain him. You let your fingertips graze past overturned tables and side-stepped the shattered remains of shattered chalkboards and wooden chairs, taking in the proof of his untamed rage as you approached him. He’d been restrained, left to fester in his wrath until he was calm enough to deal with properly. Silver chains adorned with hundreds upon thousands of archaic runes kept him bound to a marble pillar near the center of the classroom, his arms trapped against his side and his more demonic features still on full display, much to your delight.

Despite having been on his own for a few hours, now, his rage had yet to die down. His fangs were still bared, his claws still biting into his own palms, his thorned tail still lashing back and forth behind his back like that of some starving wildcat, agitated that its quarry had been taken away. He only had a fraction of the wild radiance you’d been so captivated by during your first encounter, but still, you found yourself grinning. Even diluted, he was still beautiful.

This time, you didn’t have to mind your distance. You came to a stop less than a full arm’s length in front of him, ducking slightly when the point of his tail made a jab at your throat. “It’s alright, princess,” you started, keeping your voice low, your tone light. Like you were trying to soothe a wild animal – which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly not what you were doing. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just wanted to see that pretty face again.”

He really was so unlike he had been, the first time you’d met. There was a flicker of recognition in those burning eyes, a slight change to his posture. He pressed his back against the pillar, squaring his shoulders as his rabid snarl dulled into a thin scowl. His tail continued to thrash and writhe, but he didn’t try to go for your throat again. “I don’t need your help.”

“I wasn’t going to make an offer.” His eyes narrowed, and you held his piercing gaze for a second, then another, before allowing your attention to drift lower. Surprisingly, his uniform hadn’t been damaged during his rampage, only displaced; his shirt missing a few buttons where he’d torn at the collar, the jacket he always let hang open pushed so far back, it now threatened to fall from his shoulders altogether. What you were looking for lied lower, though – in the unnatural creases and unusual tautness of his pants. It was a common (albeit, no less embarrassing) side-effect of supernatural creatures giving into their true nature, especially for younger demons who never learned how to control their more primal instincts. He probably knew that, but you doubted he knew how to take care of it, just yet. Especially with his older brothers still learning how to handle their own sinful impulses. “I mean, I would be willing to give you a hand, if you need one,” you went on, nodding to his painfully hard cock. “But, if you’d rather seethe and growl in an empty classroom until one of your brothers comes back for you…”

You held up your hands, moving to turn on your heel and leave him alone with his anger, but Satan’s eyes widened, straining against his bondage as he lurched forward, practically drooling at the first hint of fresh blood. “You… you can do something about that?”

The muted excitement in his voice gave away his eagerness, his desperation. You let out a breath of a laugh, taking half a step closer, testing the boundaries before trying to catch such an active spark in your hands. When he didn’t immediately lunge at you, you brought a hand up, cupping his cheek and running your thumb over his jaw. “Of course,” you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if he was the foolish one for being stupid enough to doubt you. “But only if you ask me to. I’m not going out of my way to help someone who’s going to tear my throat out as soon as I’m done.”

And, even then, you could’ve been persuaded to lay back and let him have his way with you if he begged prettily enough. Luckily, he was already distracted, already leaning into your touch and staring up at you with a new kind of reverence. He couldn’t have known he was doing it – his pride wouldn’t have allowed him to. As far as you could tell, this was all instinct. “Do it.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’ll have to do better than that, princess.”

He was quiet for a moment, then another. “Please,” he spat, finally, as if the word burnt his tongue. “Please, help me get rid of it.”

“No one’s going to want to do anything with you if you use that tone.” And yet, you stepped forward, resting one hand on his shoulder while the other dropped to the tent in his pants, to his cock. You ground your palm against his shaft through the thick material, and Satan grit his teeth. He didn’t know much, but he knew enough not to debase himself so willingly in front of you. “You’re lucky I’m such a bleeding heart. Otherwise, I would’ve left you here to suffer minutes ago.”

You watched him try to fight it, clenching his eyes shut as he braced himself, putting more effort into limiting his reactions now than he’d ever spared for his temper tantrums. With deft hands and saliva already pooling below your tongue, you shifted his pants down just far enough to free his cock – hard enough to press into his stomach. Like everything else about him, it was beautiful – pale but not ghastly, visibly veined but not overly defined, the head tinted a deep shade of pink you didn’t know you’d held such a fondness for, before you saw it on him. It was already leaking, too – pearls of precum dripping down his length and smearing against your skin as you wrapped your fist around the shaft and pumped lazily, playing indifferent to the way he bucked and writhed underneath you. “This,” you started, slowly, “is called a handjob. You can do it yourself, too, but it’s not as good. You’ll probably just end up making it worse.”

You swiped your thumb over his leaking tip, and he gasped, pressing himself flush against the marble pillar. You heard his restraints rattle and tightened your grip just enough to distract him, to give him something better to think about than getting away. “Pay attention, ‘cause you’re going to have to return the favor. That’s how this kind of thing works – I help you, then you help me.”

He nodded, sucking in a shaky breath. He wasn’t the brightest thing you’d ever come across, but he still might’ve proven himself to be a dutiful-enough student. “A h-handjob.”

“Good boy.” You teased the head of his cock by way of reward, then ground the heel of your palm into his base as a punishment for making you wait. When you were sure the lesson had sunk in, you took to jerking him off in earnest, taking on a pace just on the brink of satisfying and drinking in the little, stuttering moans that dripped past his lips in response. When his legs started to buckle, you worked a knee between his thighs and slotted your chest against his, staring up at him with as much adoration as someone like you could lend to something like him. You felt his cock twitch in your hand, heard his breathing turn raspy and shallow, and without warning, you pulled away, removing yourself from him completely.

He let out a desperate whine, the embodiment of pitiful. With an airy chuckle, you lowered yourself onto your knees, letting your hands fall to his waist. “This one’s a blowjob,” you muttered, just barely loud enough to be audible. He might’ve been a mediocre student, but you were an excellent teacher – always striving to fill curious minds with as much applicable knowledge as you could. “Some people call it oral sex, too. You’ll like it even more.”

His voice was so weak, so prone to cracking and breaking that in another world, it could’ve been cute. “…sex?”

“We’ll get to that later.” You pressed a fleeting kiss into his hip. “Just pay attention to me, for now.”

He really was lucky to have you. Anyone else might not have been able to handle how roughly he thrust into your mouth as soon as you’d taken the leaking head onto your tongue, might not have been willing to put up with his insatiable desire to bury himself in your throat – unaware or uncaring of your desire to breathe. You were patient, though, and strict, eager to swallow him down as deeply as you were able to before pulling back, pinning his hips down, and running the flat of your tongue up the sensitive underside of his cock. Whatever well of self-control he’d been using to bite back his pathetic little noises had clearly run dry. He moaned unabashedly, throwing his head forward and shuddering. His tail lashed out, his body determined to protect itself where his mind was unable to, but you didn’t pull away as it curled around your arm, didn’t waver as its curved thorns shredded your sleeve and sunk into your skin. Rather, you groaned around him, savoring the pure heat dripping down your arm, the way his agony seemed to drive itself under your flesh and make a home there. It was an overdue paradise, one that paled in comparison to what you could’ve had if Lucifer hadn’t interrupted you on that first night. You tried to treasure it all the same.

You fell into a steady rhythm quickly, no longer in the mood to tease him. You kept your eyes open as you bobbed your head, fixed to his flushed cheeks, his pained expression, the way he couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to shrink into himself or struggle against his restraints. “Stop, I—” He cut himself off with another moan, a quick jerk of his head to the side. As if there was anything he could do to hide from you, in a state like this. “There’s something wrong with—”

“You’re going to cum,” you corrected, pulling off of him just far enough to speak. With your lips still pressed against the head of his cock, you added, “That means you want me to keep going.”

If he had any mind to protest, he wasn’t able to put his complaints into words. Instead, all he managed to spit out was a fractured sob as you felt him throb against your tongue, as he came undone in your mouth. You milked him for all you had, pumping a fist over his shaft as he clumsily fucked your throat, his inexperience shining through once his inhibitions had been thoroughly pushed to the wayside. When you were sure you’d gotten everything out of him that you could, when your senses had been overwhelmed by the heady taste of him and the proof of your labor sat heavy in the pit of your stomach, you drew back, pushing yourself to your feet and taking in what you’d done to him. He was a mess, his face red and damp with sweat, emerald scales visible just underneath the collar of his shirt. With a slight smile, you fished something out of your pocket – a small, silver cage that you’d liberated from a succubus’ locker about an hour prior, when you heard Satan had lost his temper yet again. It fit the base of his cock as if it’d been made for him – pressing flush against his skin as it snapped into place with a satisfying click. When you were done, you pushed a kiss into the corner of his lips before stepping back.

“When that starts to get uncomfortable,” you started, grinning. “Come and find me.”

You didn’t give him a chance to protest before slipping away, leaving him panting and half-dressed for someone more tender-hearted to take care of.

He made it three weeks before seeking you out. An impressive lapse, considering he’d been hard again by the time you left that classroom.

This time, you made an effort to keep your distance. No more trailing behind him as he walked with his brothers or standing on the outskirts of the crowd as he picked a fight with yet another low-ranking demon – no, what he needed from you now was separation, the time it would take for him to think to look for you in his peripheral and then, later on, to convince himself the pleasure you could give him was worth the blow it’d deal to his ego. You’d started to lose hope by the time bridged the gap at one of Lord Diavolo’s frequent balls, thrown to celebrate Satan and his brothers ascending to the rank of Avatar. No one could seem to remember there ever being a rank by that name before their arrival, but legislation was for the Celestial Realm. Citizens of the Devildom were always more than happy to sample their prince’s generosity, regardless of the occasion.

You’d just finished slipping a stunning silver ring off of a witch’s finger and onto your own when he found you, red-faced and visibly out of breath, as if he’d just run from one side of the castle to the other. You grinned, moving to speak, but he clearly didn’t have an interest in whatever you might’ve said; taking hold of your arm and dragging you out of the main ballroom by way of greeting. You made no effort to resist. Struggling was for people who wanted to run, people who’d lost control and needed to be somewhere else. You, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here.

You let haul you down a dimly lit hallway and through a simple wooden door – almost meager, by the prince’s standards. It was a storage closet, as far as you could tell, the shelves stocked with miscellaneous supplies and the light limited to what little could flood through the gaps between the doorframe after Satan slammed it behind him. You didn’t mind it, but you would’ve preferred something a little brighter. You would’ve preferred to have him on a podium, underneath a spotlight, where you could see every last inch of his perfect body. You would’ve preferred to have him on a stage, posed to your preference for the approval of an eager audience. You’d always been charitable, like that.

But, you couldn’t linger on how you would’ve liked him when you already had him right in front of you. As soon as he’d ensured you were alone, he was scrambling to find your hand in the darkness, to press your palm into the outline of his throbbing cock and whine – a sound it’d taken him minutes to make, the first time you were alone together. “I can’t take it off, and—and it hurts.” His speech was frantic, disjointed, prone to slipping and tripping over itself between coherent words. You couldn’t imagine how he’d spent the past few weeks. Even his brothers would’ve noticed something was wrong, if he was always this worked up. “The cage burns when I touch it, and it won’t stop leaking—”

“Ah, ah, that’s enough.” The saint that you were, you chose to put him out of his misery sooner rather than later. “Why don’t you show me the problem?”

At that, he froze up, his neediness momentarily overwhelmed by pure, unadulterated shame. His fangs caught on his bottom lip as he looked away from you and towards himself, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly as he brought them to the button of his adorably uncharacteristic dress pants. His brothers must’ve picked out his clothes – partially, at least. You didn’t know whether to be amused or endeared by the fact that he wasn’t quite ready to make decisions for himself, just yet.

Under your instruction, he stripped quickly, the pieces of his suit falling away until he was left exposed in front of you, dressed only in your last gift to him. Speaking of – his cage was… stranger than you’d remembered it bring, the silver bars pulsing with a dull violet glow. A lasting enchantment, you figured. You should’ve expected as much from something you’d snagged from a succubus, those freaks.

You ran a finger over the curved spine, taking a long moment to appreciate the craftsmanship before you turned your attention back to the source of Satan’s suffering: his cock, already hard and, like he’d said, already leaking. You probably should’ve been more selective when it came to how you restrained him. The flesh of his shaft strained painfully against the bars of his cage, the tip already drooling enough pre-cum to smear on your palm and pool on the floor in between his legs. The poor thing looked nearly suffocated – pale and ever so slightly discolored, sensitive enough to twitch and send a rough shudder up the length of Satan’s spine as you ran your thumb over what little of the underside remained exposed. He only had himself to blame, really. If he’d only swallowed his pride and come to you earlier, he wouldn’t need your help so badly now.

He wouldn’t need to prove that he deserved your help, after ignoring you for so many weeks.

“Poor baby,” you half-cooed, taking his face in your hands and pressing a lingering kiss into his forehead. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to take something so difficult so soon. I’m sorry for making you suffer, like this.”

Immediately, you felt him stiffen. You could only hope it was a habit he’d never grow out of. You couldn’t imagine a version of Satan who was driven by anything other than the ongoing, everlasting need to prove himself and, when that failed, tear down everything that could claim he hadn’t. “I’m fine,” he said, as if he hadn’t been on the verge of tears only a second ago. “I could take this and more, if I needed to. It’s just— you said I would need to find you, eventually, and I wanted to get it over with before—”

“That’s enough.” You were sure he would’ve gone on for the next century if you let him, but you weren’t really interested in what he had to say. Not while he was so put-together, at least. “Do you want my help or not?”

He might’ve been a bad liar, but to his credit, he wasn’t delusional. Shakily, he nodded, keeping his lips pursed and his eyes pleading.

“Is that all you’re going to give me to work with?”

“…please.” He was more hesitant than he’d been the first time, but not quite so acidic, not quite so aggressive. He was begging, now, and you could never seem to turn away those in-need. “I’ll do anything.”

You sighed, the gesture airy and drawn-out. Eventually, when it seemed like his already-tenuous patience was starting to thin, you let your touch fall away from him altogether. “Why don’t you get on your knees?”

His expression fell – not so much disappointed as he was confused. “How will that—”

“I have other things to do tonight.” An expectant smile, a nod towards the floor. “I can’t help me if you don’t help me too, Satan.”

The weight of his given name seemed to do the trick. Slowly, his movements stilted and reluctant, he lowered himself onto his knees, his eyes quickly falling away from yours and find a home in his lap. You were glad you’d chosen to wear what you had – making quick work of the sashing binding your robes together and discarding your panties while Satan watched out of the corner of his eye, too embarrassed to stare but too curious not to look. You were tempted to take him by the hair, to find something to wrap around his neck and pull it tighter and tighter until he was exactly where you wanted him to be, but you couldn’t let yourself be so selfish. You couldn’t let yourself forget to take care of him – even if you could justify putting it off until he’d taken care of you.

With little warning, you brought up a foot and ground the toe of your heeled shoe into the shaft of his caged cock. He hissed, throwing his head forward and shrinking into himself, shrinking against you; his chest pressing into your thigh as he bucked mindlessly against your foot, the lewd act coming to him more naturally than you ever could’ve dreamed. Now, you raked your fingers through his hair, jerking him upward and guiding his mouth to your cunt. His eyes widened, a surprised grunt slipping out of some vulnerable pocket of his chest, but you held him in place. “Remember what I showed you last time?”

He hesitated, but not for very long. There was a slight lapse, a pause as he tried to bridge the gap between your anatomy and his, but after a moment of scraping your dull nails over his scalp, of grinning down at him with as much love and patience as you could muster, he let his eyes fall shut and opened his mouth, his tongue darting part his lips and lapping tentatively over your slit. His next swipe was a touch more confident, and the same went for the one after that, and the one after that. A slight groan bubbled up from the base of his throat, his hands coming to rest on your thighs – his curved talons biting shallowly into your skin. You embraced the spark of pain without complaint. As if you had the heart to interrupt such a valuable learning moment.

It was slow work – as sloppy as it was messy, his enthusiasm barely managing to overshadow his inexperience. You couldn’t tell how much of it was on purpose, if he meant to grind the bridge of his nose against your clit, if there was any rhyme or rhythm to how he drew his tongue over your entrance, but it was savage enough, animalistic enough to draw a shallow moan from your lips, to earn the flattened edge of your heel ground against his cock. It took ages for his tongue to slip into you, the tapered point curling and probing against the walls of your cunt. He was lucky to have been born such a rabid creature, to have been gifted such a pretty face. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be worth a minute of your time.

It was a good effort, but it wasn’t enough. With a sharp jerk to his hair, you pulled him away from you and threw him to the ground, his pointed talons leaving a row of raised skin in their wake. With a startled expression and a fog over his eyes, he blinked up at you, barely bothering to try and push himself up before you brought your heel down on his chest and pushed him flush against the floor. “Stay down.” You flashed him a smile, trying to pretend you meant for it to be comforting. “Don’t you trust me?”

He didn’t answer. You didn’t wait for him to, shedding your robes completely and straddling his waist. His prep work had been… minimalistic, to put it kindly, but you’d never been one to back down from a challenge. You met his eyes, holding his half-lidded gaze as you wrapped your hand around his cock and pulled his cage away as easily as if it’d never been there at all.

You took slow, agonizing seconds to line him up with your entrance, rolling your hips to spread his precum over your slit. He let out a slight whimper, then managed to find his voice. “What… what are doing?”

“I think I’ve already told you about this one,” you said, your smile now genuine. “We’re going to make love, princess.”

In your own defense, you gave him a chance to protest, to complain, to throw you off of him and rejoin his brothers in the prince’s ballroom. You waited a second, then another, and when he failed to do anything more than stare up at you with that pleading expression, you lowered yourself onto him, only stopping when you were sure he’d bottomed out.

You were able to bite back your voice, but Satan wasn’t so skilled when it came to hiding his reactions. His body went stiff underneath yours, his eyes falling shut as a sinful moan trickled past his lips. You heard his breath hitch, felt his cock twitch, and then he was coming undone inside of you, likely marking the first time he’d cum inside of anyone, because of anything but your mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh, drinking in his fractured whines as you started moving, rolling your hips and grinding against him, riding him properly – not that he’d know the difference. “S-stop,” he managed, though little pained noises and blissful gasps. “It— It hurts—”

Overstimulation, clearly. It was amazing, how sensitive a demon so ferocious could be. “You’ll like it once you calm down. Just try to tough it out for me, alright?” With one hand on his chest, you let the other slip between your legs and to your clit, sorely neglected by his earlier guesswork. “I’ve made you cum… how many times now? Twice? I think I get to take a little something for myself.”

If he was capable of responding, he didn’t seem to think it was worth the effort. Instead, he only collapsed underneath you, his talons scraping against the stone floor and his point fangs biting at his own lips while you used his cock as your own, personal toy; as something to be played with but otherwise left on the outskirts of your consideration. While he might’ve been willing to fuck anything you put in front of him, you held yourself to higher standards, seeking out whatever made heat pool in your core and that aching knot in the pit of your stomach draw itself that much tighter with a refined sense of determination. You’d known how pretty he was, but there was a different kind of beauty to the way he looked writhing below you, to the pitiful sounds he made every time you clenched around him or moved in a way that threatened to milk his cock – still hard, despite his whining, still needy – dry. It was clumsy, little more than reflex winning over dower rationality, but he tried to move his hips in time with yours, to seek out the heat of your cunt whenever you threatened to pull away and abandon him completely. Not that you were going to. As pathetic as his sensitivity was, you weren’t much better – the anticipation you’d built up in his absence more than enough to make up for his inexperience. Your climax rolled over you in thick, lethargic waves, dimming the edges of your vision and pulling a raspy, vaguely humored gasp from somewhere deep in your chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You’d make him keep going until he gave you something better, next time.

Tonight, though, you had better things to do than babysit. With a shallow inhale and a moment taken to compose yourself, you pulled away from him and pushed yourself to your feet. Satan let out a displeased growl, loud enough and deep enough to rattle off the walls of the storage closet, but you shut him up quickly, pressing the sole of your boot into his shaft and rocking with just enough force to leave him spilling ropes of thick, ivory cum on his stomach, the evidence of his depravity left splattered against the pale skin of his midriff and the dark leather of your shoes. He moved to grab your ankle, to keep you that much closer to him for that much longer, but you pulled back, straightening yourself and shrugging your robes back on while Satan watched you, his eyes glassy and his fangs bared. “Maybe, next time, you’ll be able to take the lead,” you wondered aloud, then laughed. “Wouldn’t count on it, though. I think you’re cuter when you don’t have to think for yourself.”

You could still feel his eyes burning into you as you slipped back into the castle.

He started asking you to meet him in the House of Lamentation, after that. You told him you didn’t have a problem with empty classrooms and storage closets, but he insisted. You weren’t surprised. Just as he was learning that he would have to be well-behaved for you, you were starting to realize that you’d have to be gentler than anticipated with him.

That’s what you were doing now – being gentle. The collar wrapped around his neck was loose and lightweight, the leash that connected his throat to your hand allowed to fall lax for the moment, at least until the next time he did something that you would need to. You’d even let him take charge, laying back while he buried his face between your thighs, a skill he was eager to hone after you admitted his natural talent left more than a little to be desired. He was making progress, too. He’d learned to bite back his pride while he lapped over your cunt and pushed aimless patterns into your clit, spurred on by every twitch and moan he could draw out of you. There was a pillow between his legs, something soft and pliable he could grind against while he took care of you, but the thin golden ring sitting at the base of his cock made sure he wouldn’t have his fun before you had yours. This one wasn’t enchanted (you’d been tempted, but magic could be fickle and you didn’t want to bring an arcane locksmith into your time with him), but it worked well enough, and he’d never really gotten the hang of taking care of himself. To be fair, that was something he didn’t have to learn. He had you to dote on him, and you weren’t going anywhere. Not for a few hours, at least.

His hand curled around your hips, spreading you open further as the tapered end of his tongue lavished your clit, his drool mixing with your slick and staining the inside of your thighs. You let your eyes fall shut, using your legs to pull him closer as you bucked into his mouth and used his tongue to nurse yourself through your climax, only letting him go when the first pangs of overstimulation began to set in. Even without your encouragement, he didn’t go far. You felt the mattress shift, sensed his body on top of yours, and then, his mouth was crashing into your own, his kiss all teeth and tongue and violent lust. Within seconds, you could taste your blood on his lips, make out the little, airy noises only partially muffled by your connection. You could—

Your fist was crashing into his cheek before you had time to think, to stop yourself. Your knuckles caught his jaw with enough force to pry him off of you and leave him on the floor, still sitting up but visibly folded into himself. You cursed under your breath, your eyes only flitting to the door once before you lowered yourself to the ground beside him. There was a half-hearted snarl, but it died in his throat as soon as you were close enough to cup his cheek. You let out a softened coo as you pulled him close, pressing a fleeting kiss into his forehead. “Ah, I know, I know.” Another kiss, this one to the bruise forming along his jaw. Your remorse, although left mostly unspoken, was genuine. Anyone would’ve mourned leaving a mark on such a beautiful face. “Are you hurt?”

“As if something like that would affect an Avatar.”

As sharp-tongued as he was defensive. You were thankful for his ego-serving tendencies in this moment more than most. With an airy laugh, you strung your arms over his shoulders and let him bury his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Just don’t surprise me like that again, alright?” And then, after he managed to nod, “I know you’re strong enough to take it, but it’d break my heart to see you get hurt. Because of something so trivial, especially.”

When he didn’t pull away, didn’t respond at all, you sighed. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

It was little more than a mumble, spoke just under his breath. “Thank you,” he paused, melted that much further into you, “for taking care of me.”

“Good boy.”

You left a few minutes later, dressed in one of his shirts and little else. For your own peace of mind, you decided not to think about how long it’d been since you’d seen him bury his teeth in anything aside from you.

Honestly, it’d been weeks since you’d seen his fangs at all.

You’d had this problem before. Ever the romantic, your idle mind tended to linger on what couldn’t be reclaimed, to drive you towards the pursuit of wild beauty despite knowing that truly untamed things couldn’t be found twice, let alone a few times a week, whenever the careful surveillance of his brothers lapsed and Satan could seek you out like some mangy, prowling predator, spurred on by the promise of relief. Really, you would’ve given up on him after that first encounter, after he failed to sink his claws into your neck, or—

A ragged grunt drew you out of your thoughts and back into the present moment, back to Satan where he hovered above you. You were in some shadowed tunnel of the catacombs underneath the House of Lamentation, tonight, and you’d been kind enough to let him take charge, to keep your thighs wrapped around his waist as he fucked into you like a trained mutt, rather than the wild animal you were looking for. The stone of the altar he’d laid you over was cool against your skin, his horns pleasantly calloused where your hands were wrapped around them, and yet, your mind still wandered, the feeling of his cock beating against the walls of your cunt numbed by your lack of interest. Satan was less unaffected, his eyes clenching shut as he buckled against you, burying his face in your chest as he pushed open-mouthed kisses into whatever he could reach. It was sickening, the thought that he might’ve wanted you to return such tender affection. It was sickening, the thought that he could be capable of being so banal.

His hips crashed into yours, and you felt his lips turn upward, his cock twitch inside of you. “I think—” A pitchy whine, a half-swallowed whimper. “I think I’m in love with you.”

God. You might’ve been starting to hate him.

You let your hands fall to his shoulders. “Down, boy.”

He shook his head, too lost in his own bliss to listen to you. You scowled, shoving lightly at his chest, attempting more to get his attention than to force him off of you. “Down. Unless you want me to assume you’ve forgotten how to be obedient.”

“I—I love you,” he repeated, and then again, “I love you.” One of your legs was forced over his shoulder, his chest pressed almost flush to yours – bending you in half in a way that would’ve been painful, if you’d been anyone else. You let out a throaty growl, marking the first time you’d stopped to his level, but Satan didn’t hesitate, didn’t relent, only bowing his head and letting his rhythm deteriorate into something less calculated, less taught. You would’ve been pleased, if you hadn’t been so angry with him. “We— We’re going to be together, and you’re going to be mine, and I’m going to be—”

You could see tears running down his cheeks, hear his voice shake from something entirely separate from pleasure or desperation. You cursed under your breath, dragging your nails down the length of his spine and clawing at his back with enough force to break the skin, but he didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to mind, to care, to notice.“I’ll be yours.” He sounded so pathetically determined, as he thought it would come true if he only spoke loudly enough, if he only fucked you desperately enough. He probably did. You’d never taught him any better, and you weren’t sure he had anyone else who would even know to try. “I’ll only be yours.”

You were struggling, now, thrashing underneath him, but he was still an Avatar, still ranks above any station you would ever be able to reach. He held you in a bone-crushing, heart-wrenching embrace; close enough for you to feel his heart beating through his chest, to pick up on the half-muffled sobs catching in his throat. He only pulled away to bring one of his hands up to your jaw, to hold you in place while he pressed his lips against yours in a kiss so soft and so gentle, you would’ve been tempted to call it loving had it not been so vile.

By the time he drew back, he was smiling, and you couldn’t seem to remember why you’d ever thought he could be anything but hideous.

“And you’ll never have to leave again.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere obey me #obey me #obey me imagines #yandere satan #satan x reader #satan x you #om satan x reader #om satan x you #yanderecore #yancore

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aweina · 6 months

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ᰔ. pretty little secret : sub-zero. scorpion + smoke.

bi-han falls asleep at any given moment. years of gruesome self-discipline and carrying on prime titles like grandmaster can be exhausting — even for the cyromancer. in his secluded office, he would have a spread of boring scrolls and unread parchment laying on his desk. for him, that would be a perfect time to take a short nap that he didn’t get the night before. sometimes he would even doze off during training. with his intimidating stance and eyes closed shut, it would seem like he’s in deep thought — listening intently to each heavy punch and swift kick. bi-han is a firm believer that you should never show weakness and for him, that meant his constant restlessness. if a traitor were to catch him off guard in his most vulnerable state, it would destroy all he’s ever worked for. one other thing he’ll never want to admit is that he’s getting old, so keeping his secret habit in the dark is best for his pride.

kuai liang enjoys watching period romance dramas. every since he was formally introduced to earth realm’s technology, he found himself watching lengthy love tales during his free time. there’s a small, television seemingly “unused” in the corner of his room. but if you turn it on — it stores dozens of unfinished chinese period dramas. he even secretly commutes to fengjian to enjoy the melancholic films with the elderly locals — quietly sipping on scorching black tea in interest. aside from an engaging story enriched with beautiful visuals and costumes, kuai liang simply believes that love is a beautiful concept that needed to be seen, whether it would start in a begrudging arranged marriage or through the first moment of eye contact. he isn’t completely worried about his little secret being revealed, rather he would just simply be flustered at the surprised reactions he would receive if word ever got out.

tomas smokes cigarettes when he’s stressed. ironic, right? training with smoke magic all throughout his youth made him fond of the bitter, rich haze. especially with his new appointed duty to mentor the new initiates of the shirai ryu, tomas always found himself on a midnight stroll, his overused lighter flicking a weak flame as a cigarette rested between his lips. it gave him a warm buzz, soothing all the tense nerves in his body. since his robes and gear always have a faint scent of acrid ash, nobody would ever suspect him of smoking. even his soft and friendly personality can be quite deceiving from his smoking habit. although tomas isn’t ashamed of using harsh fumes to get him through a rough patch, he still had his personal reasons to keep this little secret. the main one being that he simply didn’t want to encourage his students to do the same thing — they’re still young after all.

add. note : thinking about making a part two of this but who knows with me ㅜㅜ

#.୨୧ ina writes #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 x reader #kuai liang x reader #scorpion x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #smoke x reader #subzero x reader #bi han x reader #mortal kombat headcanons

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miguelhugger2099 · 3 months

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Origins

Summary: How you and Miguel came to be the Goddess of Life and God of Death/ First meeting Part 2 from Snowfall. I caved. Next Miguel x Fem!Reader, Fluff, proofread but eh, Word Count: 1,497

Trillions of years ago, when Mother Earth had come to, she decided to birth two beings of life and death.

You were born from a pearl that had washed up on shore after a tsunami, where the sun had shone directly on you upon your birth. You woke up on the beach, the waters splashing on your feet to wake you. You looked around to see no one there except the drum of life beating under your hands. You felt Mother Earth speaking to you, whispering in your ears. Conceived from the water and delivered by the sun, you began your duty as the Goddess of Life, creating new and exciting things to occupy the area.

Miguel had been born right after you, always a loyal one. Birthed from a single stray petal of a marigold flower that had died during a volcanic eruption. He rose from the ashes and obsidian around him and some of it was sticking to his skin. He groaned as he felt the cataclysmic energy burning in his palms while Mother Earth spoke to him. Deeming him the God of Death who would oversee the afterlife and send the energy back to her to be reused again.

Rather than considering the two of you as her children, she classed you as separate entities, gods on the same level as her, tied to your duties with the powers you held. While she gave energy, you would form that energy to create life and then it would eventually be passed to Miguel who would preserve that energy in death and send it back to Mother Earth. You and Miguel still found it more comfortable to praise Mother Earth as a higher being since she had given both of you life. Thus, you two lived your life as servants of her, tending to her and eventually working with humans.

For the longest time, you and Miguel had never crossed paths. For eons, you both had been harnessing and practicing your newfound power, like baby steps for humans. While you worked on creating small insects and fruits, Miguel had been turning some of your plants into poisonous ones and accidentally creating diseases amongst animals. It's not his fault everything he touches turns for the worst!

The moment you had met was the moment neither of you would ever forget.

Humans had just started to be born, a small project Mother Earth had been conjuring up with you. A family was beginning to start with two sets of grandparents, the mother and father and their newborn baby girl. You had been overseeing this family, making sure everything was in check and that the seasons were warm enough for the babe to arrive.

Finally, the baby had been born after hours of labor, the sounds of cheers across the room while the mother was handed her baby. The mother cooed at her child and you watched next to her with soft eyes, having been keeping watch over this family for generations now. You held your hands over the baby's small body and prepared yourself to send your blessings of fertility and prosperity.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in your chest like something interrupting your ritual. You looked down at the baby with worry, wondering what could've happened. The mother and father had noticed a difference in the baby's behavior. She stood still and her little body never even began breathing after just a few seconds of being born. You took a step back, nearly crumbling at the sight. What was going to happen to her now?

Before you succumbed to madness, you saw a large hand hold the baby's head from behind you. You gasped and turned your head to see the God of Death for the first time. His eyes were neutral and unwavering even as he gently helped pull her soul out her body and cradled her in his arms. You watched with a bated breath and confusion in your eyes as the baby fell asleep in his embrace. You looked back up at his face to see he was still looking down at the child.

“Stillborn. She was never going to make it,” He explained softly. His voice was mellow and calm despite how deep it was. He turned to look at you and felt your breath being taken away. His eyes were somber and not all there in the present but they held a softness to it for a grim reaper. His eyes were red. What a beautiful color. “I'm sorry.”

He apologized for ruining this even though it wasn't his fault. He was just simply the collector. The family had begun to sob, clutching their baby and weeping for the universe to bring her back. They became angry at death, questioning why she had to die.

He had heard their insults and knitted his eyebrows together with a purse of his lips. He took a small breath before walking out of the home to send the child to the afterlife. You took another look at the family, deciding you had done what you could and left to follow the God of Death.

“Wait!” You called out, stopping just a few steps behind him. His back faced you but he paused when he heard your voice. His black silk robe fluttered in the breeze as he waited for you to insult and berate him.

“Thank you.” You sighed. He turned to look at you over his shoulder with disbelief. You walked up to him and raised your hand to place it on his arm when he faced you completely. He flinched back before you could and became defensive.

“For what?” His tone was on guard, not trusting you quite yet. You approached him again regardless, placing one hand on his bicep and the other to caress the baby's cheek. You looked down at her sleeping form, peacefully resting in his arms.

“For caring about her.”

He could've very well just ripped her soul painfully out her body, dragging whatever it was to the afterlife with little regard, but he held her as if she was still alive. He continued to hold her and lead her soul somewhere with someone at her side rather than doing it alone.

His mouth had slightly parted in surprise. He had never thought that the Goddess of Life would ever appreciate his efforts. It's why he's always avoided you. He thought you would think of him soiling your creations, ruining all things good by touching them. So he just watched you create from afar, admiring your work and your smile. Doing the dirty work while you weren't looking to protect your lack of knowledge about the afterlife.

You looked up to face him with that same smile and if he had a heart, it would skip a beat. For the first time, he got to see the way your eyelashes batted up at him and that there were a few sparkles in the rim of your eye color. You were more beautiful up close than he thought. He took the time to drink in your features, darting from the dip of your nose to the shape of your eyebrows and the curve of your lips.

He felt warmer and that alone was strange. His eyes glanced down at your hand on his arm where he figured out it was you making him warmer. It was comfortable and he…liked it. He saw the sun set behind you, giving you a soft glow on the curves of your cheeks and hair, the breeze gently flowing through. He took a step back, almost fearful of the power your beauty was gaining over him. He knew he'd soon crave your warmth again but his job came first.

“You're… you're welcome,” He muttered bashfully. “I have to…take her now.” Gesturing to the baby and you nodded, looking at him with amusement.

“Okay.” You giggled and he turned and looked away to hide his cheeks despite not being able to blush.

“Take care.” He looked at you behind his shoulder. Your heart swelled at the shy look on his face and you waved goodbye, feeling good about this interaction.

“I hope to see you again, my lord.”

“…Likewise, my lady.”

That night, you could not get his charming eyes out of your mind. Your hands dug into the damp soil, humming your power into the ground to come up with a new creation.

You carefully began sculpting your project, stretching out the stem and creating a bountiful amount of petals to create a new flower.

You had the image of the petals being the same color as his eyes–a gorgeous ruby red, with the stems being covered in tiny thorns much like his guarded personality. When you were done, the piece had been turned into a proper flower brimming with life and ready to be planted into Mother Earth. You decided to call it a rose–a flower humans would eventually associate with love and romance.

A/N: im not AS proud of this as the first one but i still wanted to write this little au anyway just to post something teehee

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099

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