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fushitoru · 7 months ago

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chapter 6: the house party a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you are bedridden, recovering from your wound, when gojo delivers season-changing news. the house party that follows buzzes with tension, and an unexpected arrival that sends ripples through the ton (7.4k)

a/n thank you as always to the pooks @/sinn-clair for beta reading this <333 i'll see you after the chapter is over!

prev. the fall | next. the rebound

general masterlist | series masterlist

Gentle Reader,

One query occupies this Author's mind, be it ladies or mamas alike—what exactly are Miss Itadori and Lord Gojo up to in the countryside? Perhaps a trifling dalliance of hearts, or will the ton bear witness to a scandal uncovered when they arrive for the house party? After having arrived a week early—and positioned as the diamond of the season—one must guess that if all goes well and Miss Itadori plays her cards right, she will be showing off her new surely lavish diamond engagement ring. Yet, she must take great care, for to err in this delicate matter would be to jeopardize a most significant match with Lord Gojo. Only time shall tell the outcome of this intrigue.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Upon waking, the physician informed you that you had been unconscious for some days. Though no immediate danger threatened you, it had been long enough to send both families into a state of great disquiet. It seemed that even before you’d regained full awareness, a servant—who had gasped upon hearing your feeble request for water—had swiftly spread the news, for not a moment later Yuji burst into the room.

“SISTER!” he exclaims, hurtling his way towards you with heavy steps. You flinch in your position on the bed at the sound of his loud voice. “You are awake! Mama seemed like she would faint, Choso had almost popped a bloody vein, he looked like he was about to challenge Lord Gojo to a duel—”

“Yuji! My dear,” you had to shout, interrupting the boy’s ramblings, giving him an uneasy smile. “Lower your volume, please. I might faint back into unconsciousness due to the strain, and this time you will be the one dueling Choso.”

The pout Yuji adopts is akin to a chastened hound as he grabs a chair to sit next to you. You take this moment to surveil your surroundings, now with a clear headedness granted to you that hadn’t been granted before. There were fresh flowers adorning a vase on the table on your bedside, and you seemed to be wearing a shift, cleaned and changed out of your dirty and mud-ridden dress. There was a gauze surrounding your head, and you could feel some similar cloth on your ankle.

You turned to your brother. “Now then, what were you saying?”

He perks up. “Well, you’ve been in quite a state, dear sister! It’s not every day you’re injured before breaking fast. Choso practically spat his tea when he heard! And, of course, Duchess Gojo has been endlessly apologetic. Between Mama, Choso, and me, we’ve all been in quite a state. I daresay you’re hardly known for clumsiness—although you do have your moments on horseback.” At the memories seemingly pooling themselves in his mind, Yuji sniggers while you shoot him a look to not be testy. “And Gojo has been nothing short of attentive. No doubt the man’s come in to change your flowers more than the doctor’s visited you. He’s so caring, he even cares for a worm like you!”

You ignore Yuji’s jab, instead forcing yourself not to be gripped by the fact that Gojo had been so…attentive to you. Of course, it was as an indirect result of his sheer vexing nature that you were bedridden in such a manner, so it should not set your heart aflutter like a foolish girl. But your traitorous heart seems to hate listening to reason.

You begin to nod slowly. “And how many days have I been out? When is the house party?” Taking a gander at the windows in the room you were situated in, you could see the moon and star’s light filtering the curtains. You weren’t sure if it was the evening or night or completely early in the morning.

He looks up to the ceiling, as if calculating something, brows furrowed. “Today.”

Groaning, you put your head in your hands, playing with your hair as it falls through the gaps of your fingers. “Mother is going to kill me.”

“Oh, indeed,” Yuji replied with a hum, stretching his arms in a cat-like yawn. “Now, I must get back to my rest. The servants were gossiping near my door, so I thought I’d see for myself that you weren’t dead.” He kissed you on the cheek before heading to the door. “Sleep, sister, for I expect Mama will tire you endlessly come morning.”

Later, a gentle nudge at your arm and a few soft “Miss! Wake up!”’s roused you from sleep. You opened your eyes to find a maid hunched over you, relief clear in her expression as you met her gaze with a drowsy squint. “Miss, Lord Gojo requests your presence. May I allow him in?”

With a nod, you fought off your annoyance at having been disturbed. The maid, visibly flustered, hurried to admit Gojo, who soon approached with quiet footsteps. As you propped yourself up, arms crossed, you gave him a mildly reproachful look. “Gojo, you’ve roused me from my slumber. I trust this is a matter of utmost importance—-” you began, then trailed off as you took in his expression.

He was taut, as though his very sinews were wound tight. Standing rigidly, his jaw clenched, his gaze flitted everywhere but to you. Troubled, you tried, “Gojo?”

At the sound of his name, he looked sharply at you and seemed to gather himself. “Ah… forgive me.” He took a seat and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, artificial. “How is your recovery?” You eye him suspiciously. His leg is moving up and down anxiously, the action minute in a way that makes you think he’s not aware of doing it. The tight and strained smile on his face seems uncanny, his concern seeming out of place. “Well, as much as it can be for me bleeding out pints and pints of blood from my head,” at that, you note that he subtly flinches, “but all is well!” You spread out your arms and give him a dazzling smile, and his eyes follow. “I’m sure my mama and my maid are itching to rush in here to prepare me for the house party.” Giving him a playful glare, you continue, “And just for the pain you caused me, you ought to have two dances and a few pastries prepared tonight.”

At that, he looks at you for a quick glance before quickly turning away, seemingly collecting himself. In what you could observe in his previous expression, you were surprised to see yearning present in his blue eyes, filled with feelings that perplexed you. Gojo was acting very odd.

Then, he drew in a measured breath, his jaw clenched as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. He finally looked at you, a shadowed intensity in his gaze that made your heart beat faster—not in the way it used to when his eyes sparked with wit, but with a sense of foreboding.

"Miss Itadori," he began, his voice lower, lacking the familiar, teasing cadence. "I must apologize for the trouble I have brought upon you. I was… heedless, perhaps even reckless, and it seems I have caused you nothing but suffering."

You frowned, confusion beginning to bubble beneath the surface as he paused, clearly struggling to continue. He seemed almost pitiable, looking down at his hands, which were tightly woven together, his knuckles pale. But pity was not a feeling you had patience for. Not now. Not with Gojo of all people.

"Trouble?" you repeated, folding your arms. "I do believe that's an understatement, my lord. A mere misstep, surely?"

His eyes flicked back to yours, the corner of his mouth tugging in a grim semblance of a smile. "Understatement or not, it remains the truth," he replied, his voice nearly a murmur. "I cannot in good conscience continue this… attachment we have formed. The position of courtship our mamas have placed us in. For I fear it is you who stands to lose most dearly if I remain by your side."

You stiffened, his words crashing over you like a cold wave. "Attachment?" you said, bitterness coloring the word. "Do not dress it up with such kind words, Lord Gojo. An attachment is something formed with care, with respect—qualities you seem to find inconvenient."

He winced but did not break eye contact. "I will not argue with you," he said softly, voice steady in its regret. "Perhaps I am no master of attachments, nor have I ever claimed to be. But know that I had never wished to see you harmed—"

"Harmed?" you interrupted, your voice growing louder as anger swelled within you. "Is this some twisted apology, then? A show of remorse for the inconvenience of your whims?"

Gojo opened his mouth to respond, but you did not allow him the chance.

"How very noble of you, Lord Gojo," you continued, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all this time, to simply say, 'Forgive me; I shall now remove myself from your life,' as if that makes up for the chaos you’ve brought upon me? As if I am but a pawn to be moved at your discretion?"

His face softened slightly, as if he were seeing something in you he hadn't fully expected—a quiet resolve beneath your anger, a dignity that refused to be bruised. "No, Miss Itadori," he said quietly. "I do not wish to see you as a pawn. After all, from what I understand is that you do not know what you desire—and I would only be exploiting that. I only… I only wish to relieve you of the burdens I seem to bring."

You laughed, the sound bitter and laced with fury. "Know what I want? As if you do, dropping pretenses with commoners and putting on your mask for the ton. And relieve me? I don’t think you understand what it is you’ve done, Gojo."

This conversation was dangerous. The emotions you hid under the air of nonchalance were steadily bubbling up, and it seemed that now, your sentiments were threatening to boil over at the sheer audacity of Gojo breaking off this arrangement, of what the ton would think today if he were to be avoiding you like the plague.

He flinched at the sound of his name on your lips, spoken with such venom. A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he made no move to respond, simply watched as you gathered your thoughts, your gaze piercing.

"All this time," you said, each word sharper than the last, "I was led to believe there was something more to your attentions. And now, you simply wash your hands of it? You think yourself a gentleman for doing so?"

"Miss Itadori," he said, his voice strained. "I am—"

"You are a coward," you spat, and his eyes widened, the faintest hint of pain flashing in their depths. "Yes, that’s right. A coward, for trying to protect yourself under the guise of protecting me. All this talk of 'relieving me'—do not act as if your decision was made out of kindness." (a/n: OH NO SHE DIDNTTTTT)

"Do you not understand?" he interjected, a sudden fierceness in his voice, his composure beginning to slip. "This is not some petty whim, nor a game. My intentions… they were never meant to bring you harm, but they did. And I cannot bear to see it continue."

"Bear to see it continue?" you repeated incredulously. "Do you think I am some doll, some trifle to discard at your convenience?"

"That was never my intent!" he exclaimed, voice rising in frustration. "If you would but see reason—"

"Reason? From you?" you laughed bitterly, barely able to contain the fury welling up inside you. "Your idea of reason is nothing more than self-preservation, Lord Gojo. How convenient it must be to absolve yourself of guilt by deciding I am better off without you."

He fell silent, the anger in his face ebbing, replaced by a kind of desperation. "You do not understand," he said, quieter, almost pleading. "If I were to stay… if I were to court you in earnest, it would not be the life you think it to be."

"Then let that be my choice to make," you shot back, crossing your arms. "But no—this is not about my well-being, not truly. It is about you, Gojo. It has always been about you."

A tense silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft, uneven breaths that escaped both of you. For a moment, neither dared to speak, both caught in the tangled emotions that hung thick in the air.

Finally, Gojo looked down, his eyes shuttered, his voice weary. "Then hate me, if you must. But I am done with this charade."

"Hate you?" you repeated, the word tasting strange on your tongue. "No, Lord Gojo. Hatred would imply I care enough to feel anything toward you."

Your entire body seethed with fury, every muscle trembling with the strain of keeping yourself upright, sitting on your bed. You couldn't storm out—not with your wounded leg refusing to bear even a fraction of the anger swelling within you. Instead, you pushed yourself up on shaking arms, glaring at him with such venom that he instinctively stepped back.

"Get out," you spat, the words laced with ice, your voice rising as if to fill the entire room. "Out! Now, Gojo—leave me this instant!"

He froze, his shoulders tense as he looked at you with something unreadable, but he made no move toward the door.

"I said leave!" you shrieked—your voice shrill—the strain of it making you nearly lose balance, but you didn't care. Hot tears stung your eyes, and you bit them back, forcing yourself to breathe through the betrayal clawing at your chest. "Take your false apologies, your noble pretensions, and get out of my sight. Go, and never, ever darken my door again."

His mouth opened, as if he might say something—perhaps even something that might soothe the jagged edges of your heart. But your furious gaze dared him to try.

With a pained expression, he finally gave a nod, stepping back toward the door. He lingered for a moment, one last helpless look crossing his face before he turned away, leaving without another word.

The door clicked shut, and you were left alone, shaking with fury, your breath ragged. Your eyes were still on that door, your heart racing, as though expecting him to come back, to take it all back, to be the man you'd witnessed yesterday. But deep down, you knew he would not return.

The first glimmers of morning filtered through the heavy drapes as you stirred awake, still dazed from the events that had left you bedridden. The memories of Gojo’s departure settled heavily on your chest, like a stone dropped in a lake, rippling outward and disturbing any possibility of calm. Your mind drifted over the previous night’s argument, replaying words, and then, with a cringe, the heated moments where you felt every last ounce of self-restraint slip from your grasp.

A small part of you reasoned that you may have been rash—that your anger and hurt had overtaken good sense. After all, it was you who deemed your and Gojo’s match impossible. So why were you so hurt?

Before you could linger on these thoughts, there was a soft knock at your door.

"Come in," you murmured, propping yourself up gingerly.

What followed soft footsteps was Choso, his gaze warm and steady as he entered, carrying the ease of familiarity that only he could. As he approached, he pulled a chair beside your bed and gave a faint smile.

Choso stepped in quietly, his face softened by a rare smile as he approached. “Awake at last,” he said gently, taking a seat beside you with the care one might afford a delicate flower. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep through the entire house party."

He reached out, his hand resting on the crown of your head, fingers slipping through your hair in a soothing rhythm. The fondness in his touch eased the last of the stiffness in your frame, a balm against the soreness both physical and emotional.

“You worry too much,” you muttered, allowing yourself to lean into the comfort he offered, your voice softening as his hand continued to gently scratch at your scalp.

“You look better today,” he said softly, continuing his familiar, soothing rhythm with his fingers. “Though, I’ll admit, you gave us all quite a scare.”

You managed a small smile, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly under his touch. “I suppose I was overdue for a bit of excitement,” you murmured, though the attempt at levity felt thin, even to your own ears.

Choso’s hand stilled momentarily, and his gaze grew searching as he looked at you. “What truly happened yesterday?” he asked, his voice low with concern. “There’s more here than an unfortunate fall, isn’t there?”

You stiffened slightly, glancing away from him. “It was nothing,” you replied, willing your tone to sound convincing. “Just… an ill-timed accident. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

But Choso was not so easily deterred. He watched you closely, his brow furrowing with worry. “You’ve always been a poor liar, sister,” he murmured. “If something happened, you know you can tell me. I only want to understand.”

The quiet earnestness in his tone gnawed at you, and for a moment, you considered confiding in him. But the idea of revisiting last night’s turmoil felt too raw, too immediate. “I’m fine, truly,” you insisted, meeting his gaze with as much steadiness as you could muster. “It was… nothing that can’t be mended with rest.”

Choso’s gaze lingered on you, his fingers resuming their gentle tracing along your scalp as if that alone could soothe whatever burden you were carrying. “Well,” he finally said, his tone filled with fond exasperation, “I won’t press you. But I trust you’ll speak of it when you feel you are ready.”

You gave a slight nod, grateful for his restraint. The quiet between you was comforting, grounding, as he continued his rhythmic motions, easing your thoughts in a way that words could not.

After a long moment, he broke the silence again, his tone lighter this time. “On a more cheerful note,” he began, a faint smile playing on his lips, “you’ll have another visitor tomorrow.”

“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though a part of you already guessed who he meant.

“Yes,” he confirmed, a knowing glint in his eye. “Sukuna received word of your injury and set off at once. He’ll be here by morning.”

You let out a small breath, a mixture of relief and trepidation filling you. “Tomorrow, then,” you repeated, feeling a hint of warmth at the thought. “It seems my brothers cannot resist making a fuss.”

Choso chuckled, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s what we’re here for. And perhaps Sukuna’s presence will help you feel a bit more at ease during the house party. He’ll see to it that no one bothers you unduly.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the thought of Sukuna’s reassuring, if overbearing, presence lifting your spirits slightly. “Well, at least there’s that to look forward to,” you murmured, and, with a soft sigh, leaned back against your pillows, letting Choso’s calming presence ease the lingering shadows of last night’s ordeal, even if temporary.

For you had a beast of a social gathering to deal with today, the same one where the ton would descend upon the outcome of your match, ready to laugh at you: the house party.

“He what?”

You flinched, scowling as you clutched your ears. Nobara’s shrill voice was not helping your recovery, nor were her rough combs through your hair; but alas, beauty has a price, and it’s one you’re reluctantly willing to pay. You oh-so terribly wanted to politely decline the formal invitation, but it seemed that the moment you woke, your mother was dead set on getting you ready for what she thought was your engagement party. Little did she know that her not so future in law had gotten rid of you as if you were a stray animal latched onto him, but who were you to burst her bubble?

Perhaps you ought to dread the inevitable fallout from your mother when the truth emerged, but you consoled yourself with the thought of drowning your sorrows in champagne tonight, delaying her wrath for at least a little while. Besides, the prospect of Sukuna’s impending arrival tomorrow brought you some comfort; his unruly nature often served as a distraction from your own troubles.

You sighed heavily, meeting Nobara’s furious gaze in the mirror. “He merely said he wished to absolve me of any trouble he had caused.”

“Good riddance!” Nobara shrieked, her hand furiously waving around the hair brush in a way that made you wary, for it would not be pleasant for it to make contact with your already tender head. “He was never the one for you to pursue, for he lacks the honor of a true gentleman! And yet—oh, heavens!” She gestured at you accusingly with the brush, her tone turning sharp. “Why, pray, do you appear so disheartened?”

You open your mouth immediately, indignant and expecting your wit, your usual ally, to conjure a response for you, only to be left open-mouthed when it came up short. Nobara seemed to sense your hesitance, opening her mouth to unleash yet another accusatory and reprimanding remark, but you quickly moved to fill your silence. “I suppose I am just…offended that he dare reject me, the diamond. The ton will seize upon this dissolution with glee. They shall revel in my supposed failure, for it will be indicative of my failure to the Queen.”

Nobara arched a brow, her skeptical silence speaking volumes. She clearly wasn’t convinced, and before she could level another charge against you, a knock sounded at the door.

“Sister, are you decent?”

“Enter, Choso,” you called out, hastily adjusting the neckline of your pale pink gown and straightening the strand of pearls around your neck.

Nobara opened the door, though she made no attempt to soften her posture. The hairbrush remained firmly in her grasp, poised like a weapon, and Choso cast it a wary glance as he stepped inside. His presence brought a sense of calm, even as his expression betrayed some inner turmoil. He hesitated for a moment before moving to sit at the edge of your vanity, his gaze flickering between you and Nobara.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious of his silence. “Well, brother? Out with it,” you urged, though your voice lacked its usual sharpness.

He sighed, clearly reluctant. “Very well,” he began. “Pray, hear me out. You know I have never hidden my disapproval of Lord Gojo.” At the sound of that name, you flinched, though you quickly masked it with a curt nod. Choso continued nonetheless, his tone steady but earnest. “In light of recent events, I have taken it upon myself to form…a contingency plan of sorts.”

Your curiosity was piqued, though Nobara snapped at you to sit still as she continued combing through your hair. “Go on,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Choso leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering as though to ensure Nobara wouldn’t interrupt. “I have had the pleasure of conversing at length with Duke Nanami.”

You arched a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “The Duke Nanami?”

“Yes,” Choso confirmed. “He is an esteemed gentleman of considerable character, and, as fortune would have it, he is not currently pursuing anyone this season.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. Choso’s intent was clear, and the weight of his proposition settled over you like an unexpected storm. Nobara, meanwhile, had stilled entirely, her hairbrush forgotten in her hand as she turned to gawk at your brother.

“Is this,” she began, her voice disbelieving, “your solution to Gojo’s appalling behavior? To thrust her into the path of another?”

Choso shrugged, unbothered by her skepticism. “A better match by far, I would argue. The Duke has no such inclinations to trifling or dishonor.”

You sighed, leaning back as the tension in the room thickened. “And what makes you so certain the Duke would even entertain such an arrangement?” you asked, your voice tinged with a weariness you hadn’t intended to show.

Choso gave you a small smile, his hand reaching out to pat your shoulder. “Leave that to me, dear sister. For now, focus on enduring tonight’s ordeal. Tomorrow, you may take comfort in Sukuna’s arrival—and in the knowledge that your prospects are not as grim as they seem.”

You exhaled, unsure whether to feel gratitude or exasperation, as Choso rose from his seat. Whatever plans he had in motion, they would unfold in time. For now, you could only prepare yourself for the chaos that awaited.

Gojo had outdone himself. Truly, magnificently outdone himself.

From the moment you entered the house, your hand resting lightly on Choso’s arm, the stares began. They weren’t the polite glances reserved for new arrivals at such gatherings—these were sharp, lingering, and accompanied by a cacophony of whispers that only heightened your unease.

You straightened your back, chin held high, determined not to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing your discomfort. But it was impossible to ignore the way every eye seemed to follow you, every head turned to observe as you passed. Whatever it was that had stirred this interest, you were certain Gojo was at the heart of it.

Feeling the oppressive smog of stares, you knew where you could find solace: the drinks table, where you could down a flute of champagne alongside your stress. And right as you excuse yourself from Choso’s hold, who is now looking in the general direction of some men—particularly a gaggle of men that included Lord Geto and Duke Nanami, who were looking at something in the direction of the dance floor with interest. As you walk, you take in the scene: a beautiful chandelier, and red drapings and coverings embellished with gold, a bloody alternative to the Gojo icy blue. You’re not sure why today’s ensemble of colors didn’t include blue, but you believe it is fitting for what’s going to happen to you after this party is over and your mother finds out about the elephant in the room.

And as you glance longingly at the couples gliding across the floor, their movements synchronized with the lilting strains of the orchestra, your breath catches.

It is then that you see him.

Gojo Satoru is spinning a girl across the dance floor, his coat tails trailing like ribbons in the air. His lips move as he speaks, the tilt of his head paired with that too-familiar smirk. His partner laughs at something he’s said, a soft sound that reaches you even from this distance. You could almost identify her—there is no debutante in the ton you have not cataloged, no rival whose dossier you do not possess—but tonight, it does not matter. She is just a blur of chiffon and curls, another face in a sea of women enthralled by him.

Your chest tightens as you take in the scene, a memory unspooling unbidden.

Is this what your first dance with Gojo had looked like to others? Did you appear as enraptured as this girl, your steps as confident and sure beneath his lead? You remember his light touch at your back, his questions whispered so quietly you doubted even the orchestra could eavesdrop, his eyes full of a charm so practiced it felt like a spell cast just for you.

And yet now, the spell is broken.

He is steering her—steering everything—with such ease that it almost makes you laugh. Were he not so infuriating, you might have admired his grace, the way he seamlessly dominates both the conversation and the dance. His amusement is evident in the quirk of his brow, the corners of his mouth curling with every word she utters, no doubt answering his questions with meek enthusiasm.

She is simple. You can tell from the way he looks at her, the way he pauses before replying as if translating his own thoughts into something digestible for her. The way she beams at him—unaware of how deeply he calculates every move—is almost endearing. Almost.

He is drawing the same conclusions he did of you. Simple, lacking substance.

The thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

But then the girl laughs again, a little too loud, and Gojo’s expression flickers for just a second—long enough for you to notice. His smile tightens, his gaze sliding briefly across the room as though searching for something more stimulating. It is instinctual, this glance, and his head tilts in such a way that you know it will land on you if you linger a moment longer.

Your heart stutters in protest, your legs already moving.

Punch table. Right.

As you near it, you grab the closest drink and down it one sip, desperate for the cool of the liquid to calm both your throat and your heated mind, furious with thoughts and anxiety of those around you. And it was just as you begin to set down the cool glass that in your periphery comes the man who soon tests your resolve.

“Miss Itadori,” a voice drawled behind you, the unmistakable lilt of smugness weaving through it.

You turned, and there stood Naoya Zen’in, his grin as unctuous as ever. He bowed slightly, though the gesture felt more like mockery than courtesy. “I must say, you are positively radiant tonight.”

You inclined your head ever so slightly, each movement deliberate. “Mr. Zen’in. How kind of you to say.”

He grinned, and the sight was unsettling, a serpent preparing to strike. “Radiant, yes. A pity Lord Gojo has finally come to his senses and moved on. I thought the two of you might actually prove interesting.”

Your stomach churned, but you kept your expression serene. “I fail to see how my affairs are of interest to you, Mr. Zen’in.”

“Oh, but they are,” he said, stepping closer, his voice lowering as though he were sharing a confidant’s secret. “Everyone is watching, you know. Wondering why Lord Gojo is…otherwise occupied tonight.” He tilted his head, motioning discreetly toward the mantle, a few meters away, where Gojo stood, entertaining and welcoming another lady.

Your eyes betrayed you, flicking briefly in that direction. Gojo’s figure remained in your periphery, still close enough to notice but far enough to be unattainable. You tore your gaze away, unwilling to feed Naoya’s glee.

Naoya leaned in, his tone growing more audacious. “Quite the spectacle, wouldn’t you agree? Though perhaps it’s for the best. You have much to offer, Miss Itadori—breeding hips, for one.”

The words hit you like a slap, your mind reeling in fury and disbelief. Your breath hitched, but before you could muster a scathing retort, something else caught your attention.

Gojo’s hand, resting casually against the column, tightened into a fist. The movement was subtle, but unmistakable—a barely contained tension that you might have missed if you weren’t already attuned to his every breath, his every twitch.

Still, you refused to look directly at him. Whatever he felt, it mattered not.

“Mr. Zen’in,” you began, voice icy and measured, though the rage burned beneath the surface, “your comments are as inappropriate as they are unwelcome. I suggest—”

“Sister.”

Choso’s voice interrupted like a lifeline thrown to a drowning sailor. You turned to see your older brother approaching, his expression calm but his eyes sharp as they darted between you and Naoya. He came to your side, his imposing presence creating an impenetrable wall between you and the unwelcome intruder.

“Mr. Zen’in,” Choso greeted with a curt nod, his tone laced with a warning. “I trust you’ll excuse my sister. She and I were just about to take a turn about the room.”

Naoya’s grin faltered, but he recovered quickly, stepping back with a mocking bow. “Of course. Do enjoy your evening.”

Choso wasted no time, offering his arm to you. You took it gratefully, your legs unsteady as he guided you away from the scene and toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice gentle but firm, as though bracing himself for a truth he might not like.

You nodded, though the words escaped you. Your hands trembled slightly, and Choso placed his over yours, steadying you. “I saw the way you looked,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “At Lord Gojo.”

Your breath caught, but you said nothing, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your brother’s steps.

“Whatever he’s done—or hasn’t done—you are worth far more than his regard,” Choso continued, his tone resolute. “Do not forget that.” A pause. “Are you all right, Sister?”

“I am fine,” you lied, though your trembling hands betrayed you.

The evening only worsened from there.

More and more, you felt the weight of curious glances, the whispers growing louder as the night wore on. The absence of Gojo’s attention did not go unnoticed—least of all by your mother, who approached you and Choso with a determined expression, her fan snapping shut with a sharp flick of her wrist.

The warmth of the ballroom’s lights could not thaw the ice that slipped down your spine as your mother approached. Her movements were poised as ever, but the tightness in her lips and the fury barely hidden in her eyes told you everything. She stopped just short of you, her fan snapping shut with a sharp click that made you flinch.

“Explain,” she hissed, her voice low enough to avoid drawing the attention of onlookers but sharp enough to carve into you.

Your breath caught in your throat. You glanced towards Choso for reinforcement, but his furrowed brow and subtle shake of his head told you he would not intervene—not yet.

“I… don’t understand, Mother,” you murmured, though the words tasted hollow even as you said them.

“Do not toy with me, child,” she snapped, her tone still hushed but more cutting. “The entire room is whispering. Where is Lord Gojo? Why has he not so much as glanced in your direction tonight? Why is he—” Her eyes darted to the waltz floor, where Gojo had just excused himself from yet another partner. “Why is he dancing with others while you stand here like a forgotten debutante?”

The words hit like a slap, and you flinched again, your gaze falling to your gloved hands. You wanted to speak, to explain, but the lump in your throat grew larger with every second.

Her voice softened but grew no less fierce. “What have you done?”

Your chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, you considered telling her everything—about the garden, about Gojo’s words, about how utterly humiliated you had felt. But then the heat of the ballroom pressed down on you, the glances from curious onlookers prickling your skin like needles.

You couldn’t. Not here.

So, you said nothing.

The silence between you stretched thin, your mother’s patience fraying with every passing moment. Finally, she straightened, her lips pressed into a pale line. “This is how you repay all that has been done for you?” she whispered, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “Do you even comprehend what this will do to your prospects? To this family? You have disgraced yourself, and worse—you have disgraced me.”

Her words left you hollow, the guilt settling into the spaces where indignation might have taken root. Still, you could not look up, nor could you summon any defense.

Your mother’s fan snapped open again with a sharp flick, the motion more violent than graceful. “We are leaving,” she declared, turning abruptly on her heel. “Now.”

Choso stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against your elbow as if to steady you. You dared a glance at him, finding his gaze steady and quietly supportive. It was only his presence that kept your legs moving as you followed your mother toward the grand doors.

The weight of the room’s collective gaze bore down on you with every step. The music swelled in the background, mocking you with its cheerfulness. As you neared the exit, your feet faltered.

And then you saw him.

Gojo.

He stood near the edge of the dance floor, his posture uncharacteristically tense, his jaw clenched tightly, his usual easy confidence dimmed. His head tilted slightly, his eyes cutting through the crowd to meet yours.

Your breath hitched. In his gaze, you saw regret—yearning, even—and something else you couldn’t quite name.

But it didn’t matter.

You tore your eyes away, your jaw tightening as a steely resolve settled over you.

You would not break.

Not here. Not now. Not for him.

As you stepped into the cool night air, you drew in a deep breath, willing the ache in your chest to dissipate. Gojo Satoru had taken enough from you. Your heart, your dignity—no more.

If he thought you would crumble, he was mistaken.

He would regret this, you vowed silently.

And you would make certain of it.

The morning that came in a few days was no less disheartening than the night of the house party. The morning sun filtered weakly through the gauzy curtains of the drawing room, casting pale, lackluster patterns on the carpet. Even the sunlight seemed hesitant, as if it knew it had no place in the solemn atmosphere that hung over your family.

Even Yuji was solemn as you all sipped on your tea, the drawing room oddly quiet as you reflected in the aftermath of the past few days. The events of the house party still loomed over you. Your family’s hasty departure had been punctuated by the sight of your mother in whispered conversation with Duchess Gojo, their faces tight with the bitterness of dashed expectations. You had no doubt they had commiserated over your perceived recklessness and Gojo’s insolence, lamenting how the perfect match they had orchestrated had unraveled before their very eyes.

You had borne it all in silence.

But now, in the cold light of morning, your resolve felt brittle.

Your hands tightened around your teacup as you stared into the amber liquid, your reflection rippling with each shallow breath you took. Independence? That word felt hollow. You had fought for it, yes, but at what cost? The ton’s whispers had already begun. You could feel their weight pressing on you, suffocating in their judgment. The laughter and speculation at your expense would echo through parlors and ballrooms for weeks, if not months.

And yet, deep down, there was a spark of defiance. They thought this was your undoing. They thought you would crumble. But they had no idea.

"Why does it feel like we’re mourning?" Yuji muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, but the sarcasm was unmistakable. "It’s not as though anyone has died."

Your mother’s sigh this time was louder, sharper, and followed by a pointed glance in his direction. “Yuji, do not jest,” she snapped. "This is no laughing matter."

Choso, who had been reclining with one arm draped lazily over the armrest of his chair, sat up straighter. “Mother,” he said cautiously, his voice soft but steady, “I think it’s time we address what’s truly troubling you.”

Her handkerchief stilled in her lap. For a moment, the room was silent again, the tension thick enough to choke on.

“Troubling me?” she repeated, her tone icy. “You think I am troubled, Choso?”

“Everyone is troubled,” Choso replied, his gaze flicking briefly to you. "But perhaps if you said what’s on your mind, we could all breathe a little easier."

Your mother’s lips thinned as she sat up straighter, her shoulders stiff. “Very well,” she said sharply, “if you must know, I am ashamed.”

The word hit you like a slap, even though you had expected it. You gritted your teeth, staring down at your tea to hide the flush of anger and embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“Ashamed of what?” you asked quietly, your voice tighter than you intended.

“Of you,” she replied without hesitation. “Of the scandal you have brought upon this family. Do you think your actions have no consequences? Do you think the ton will simply overlook your…” She hesitated, clearly searching for the most cutting word. “Your antics with Lord Gojo?”

You felt Choso stiffen beside you, his protective instincts clearly flaring, but you held up a hand to stop him. You wouldn’t hide behind your brothers—not this time.

“I have done nothing wrong,” you said, your voice low but firm. “Gojo and I made a mutual decision that we were incompatible. We—”

“You humiliated yourself!” she interrupted, her voice rising. “And by extension, this family. Do you think people are speaking of him? No! It is you they ridicule. It is your name they sully.”

Your chest burned with anger and hurt, but before you could retort, Yuji shifted uncomfortably, muttering, “This is getting out of hand…”

“You think I care about their opinions?” you snapped, finally lifting your gaze to meet your mother’s. “The ton has always been cruel. They would find a reason to gossip no matter what I did. I refuse to live my life pandering to their expectations—”

“And look where that refusal has left you,” your mother interrupted, her voice shaking with fury. “Unmarried. Ruined. Who will have you now?”

You flinched, the words cutting deeper than you thought possible. Your lips parted, but no words came out. What could you possibly say to that?

The silence that followed was deafening.

Until a voice, smooth and amused, broke it.

“Now, now, Mother. I know you’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, but let us not turn your theatrics onto our dearest sister.”

All heads turned toward the entrance, where a figure lounged against the doorway, his presence commanding without even trying. There he stood—Sukuna, your brother, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who had kept you waiting for days. Both you and Yuji involuntarily gasped in excitement, while Choso only shook his head in amusement and crossed his arms.

He strode into the room with an air of nonchalance, his tailored attire immaculate, his smile one of mocking amusement. His gaze flicked to your mother, then to you, lingering for a moment as if to appraise the damage left in her wake.

“Good morning,” he said smoothly, the corners of his mouth curling. “I trust I’ve arrived in time to save you from a most tiresome sermon.”

Your mother bristled, but her voice faltered, her ire now redirected. “Sukuna, this is hardly the time for your irreverence—”

“And yet here I am,” he interrupted, dropping into a chair with the kind of ease that only Sukuna could muster. He leaned back, his sharp gaze softening just slightly as it fell on you. “I thought you might appreciate a reprieve. You seem to have had enough lectures for a lifetime.”

You could feel tears welling in your eyes. You had severely underestimated how much you missed your elder brother, seeing his presence stir a fondness and comfort you hadn’t felt ever since he left for Europe. And it seemed that your brothers shared your sentiment; Yuji was basically on his haunches, doing everything he could not to leave his chair to tackle Sukuna, and Choso barely holding in an amused smile.

“Still causing chaos wherever you go, I see,” Choso said dryly, though there was no malice in his tone.

Sukuna smirked. “Someone has to keep things interesting.”

Your mother huffed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she rose from her seat. “I refuse to be made a fool in my own home. Sukuna, do try not to corrupt your siblings further while I attend to matters of actual importance.” She swept out of the room with her usual imperious grace, leaving a silence in her wake.

As soon as she left, you left your chair to basically jumping on him, hugging him tightly as he reciprocated your hug with wrapping his big arms around yours with equal fervor. “Kuna,” you whispered, burying your face into his chest as the tears started flowing. His presence surrounded you, offering you a comfort and familiarity that the eventful weeks, ever since your debut, hadn’t offered

Sukuna looked down to you with a raised brow as he patted your head affectionately. “Well, that was entertaining. Now, who’s going to tell me what truly happened while I was gone?”

prev. the fall | next. the rebound

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n hi everyone!!! so i lied and said the update wasn't gonna take as long #womaninmalefields BUT thank you for your patience <3

so uh....we are now gonna enter the arc with DRAMAA. there will be yearning, there will be angst, and soon after, there will be fluff. idk if anyone needs to hear this, but, again, this series will have a happy ending. if anyone is sad, don't worry. i'm going to make gojo grovel <3

SUKUNA IS BACK SUKUNA IS BACK what do we think?! spoiler alert this is what sukuna will wanna do to gojo after reader spills the tea

THANK U FOR READING!!! rest assured reader a BADDIE there will be some showing ankles and lowering bustlines to start our reputation era and infuriate gojo but u didnt hear that from me !!!

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

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angelsforthenight · 4 months ago

Text

screen babe, mean babe, guess who’s gonna cream babe! (pt. 3)

camgirl!vi x reader (pt 1 , pt 2)

summary: things between you and vi warp into some sort of competitive game. who can tease each other the most? who can debase who? a barbecue party is where true feelings are revealed: some trivial, some unfeigned.

content (18+): more angst ofc, cursing, dbf!sevika feature!!!!, drinking, lightweight!reader, jealousy, sub!vi, pathetic!vi, nipple play, use of y/n

it doesn’t take long at all for you to join vi’s trifling little game. if she expected you to lap up her teases like a desperate hound-dog then she’s got another thing coming. she seems to think that you’re just so foolish and easy to manipulate — which is why she stepped on your foot under the table that horrid morning, held your hand through the sea of people and even bought that cd for you. showering you with attention the entire day, just so she could see your reaction. she was messing with you the entire time, waiting for you to keel over at her feet. but hell no. vi wants to play? oh, you’re more than welcome to join her.

day by day, your rivalry with vi nurtures into a big, fat glob of hatred. it sucks, because whilst vi is clearly obtaining fun from a) leaving your bathroom a mess on purpose, b) coming into your room, flexing in front of your mirror and leaving without closing the door, and c) having the nerve! the absolute nerve to fling her dirty top covered in dirt and stinking of sweat on your face. can you believe that shit? she may as well be an annoying little brother.

what’s funny is that whilst she ran away giggling, she forgot about coming back to retrieve said shirt. since you’re not interested in ambling to her room and handing it to her so easily, it’s untouched; lying underneath your bed instead.

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at one point in the night, you’re laying in bed wide awake, watching the streaks of moonlight dappling your ceiling in creases of blue. the clock renders eleven. that damned eleven o’clock, still engraved in your brain even now. you want her back. not vi, but PinkSage. you thought your interest had distinguished like a flame after learning who she really is, but your current increasing arousal clearly seems to defy that. the two are different sides of the same coin anyway, like a crude mockery of dr jekyll and mr hyde.

you find yourself aching to see PinkSage sprawled on her desk chair and fucking herself stupid. with the notable mask covering half of her face, being a constant goad for the viewers. “face reveal is out of the question, at least for now.” hearing that on stream feels like forever ago.

the memory of her orgasming to your username vertebrates through not just your brain but your entire body. that crack in her voice, the way she was convulsing, her desperate keens…

without any delay, your fingers already making its descent down your underwear. just quickly. it’ll hardly be about her anyway…

yet the door conveniently swings open, making you practically jump out of your skin.

“hey.” what a sweet little coincidence. “thank god, you’re not asleep. you’ve got my shirt, right?”

you gawk at vi rigidly, unable to control how fast and hard you seem to be breathing. of course she notices, and her lips quirk up: ready to say something as always.

“oh, i’m sorry, was i supposed to knock?”

your nervousness is quick to simmer into irritation. must this bitch always interrupt you? even when you’re literally about to jerk off in the sanctity of your own bedroom?

an exasperated sigh leaves your lips. “you talking about this old thing?” you reach under your bed, pulling out her tank top and waving it around. just like how PinkSage liked to do with her toys.

vi’s eyebrows knit together. “you had that shit under your bed? now i’m really glad i’m gonna wash it…”

you hold the shirt out to give it to her, but just as she’s about to grab it you quickly yank your hand back. vi frowns.

“my bad.” you try and hide your grin as best as you can, especially when you pull the same move again, and again.

“yeah, real fuckin’ funny.” vi attempts to quicken her speed, proven futile as you still manage to be faster.

“take it! i’m literally giving it to you.” you snicker, pretending to play coy. vi pounces on the bed, trying extra hard to grab it. it’s really funny seeing her try so hard, and almost cute hearing her huff and groan. almost.

“you’re nearly there, it’s okay!” you chirp, even as you extend your arm even farther away. what you hadn’t thought about was the fact that vi could plainly latch her arms around your body and pull herself up to grab it. when she does exactly that, your breath is taken away; chiefly because her chest is in direct contact to yours, so much so you can feel how hard her heart is beating, notorious pierced nipples crammed against yours. you have no idea if you should call yourself lucky or unlucky.

okay, see, in your defence, you’re acting blindly: internally freaking out by how close you two are. so you do what anyone else would do! frantically push her away… only to nudge your fingers against vi’s boob. you swear it’s nothing but a simple accident, until you hear vi suck in a sharp breath and withdraw like she’d been zapped; eyes widened like two saucers. in the sour of the moment you had forgotten that PinkSage is been famed upon for having a sensitive chest.

you both freeze. guess playtime’s over now.

“um, here.” you tentatively fling the shirt to her. vi almost doesn’t catch it, not with the way her eyes are set on you as if you’ve grown another head.

“you can take a picture, it’ll last longer.” you try to sound funny, pulling a little joke in attempt of relieving you two of this dire situation, but it just surfaces as awkward and stupid instead. besides, vi doesn’t laugh.

“right. have a good rest of your night.” vi’s voice is palpably strained and her words are rushed . so is the way she she leaps off the bed: leaving the room as quick as light. you don’t even know how you should feel right now.

a perverse part of you is glad that you caught her so off guard that she’s as red as a tomato, back to being humbled again. essentially, you’re now one point up in this foolish game so you should be happy, right?

yet another part, a bigger part actually, feels embarrassed and irrevocably guilty. vi probably thinks you’re a disgusting pervert that did that shit on purpose. with the way she left, in so much desperation and haste, who knows if she’s even going to look at you again?

you groan and throw yourself on the bed, palms on your eyes as you madly wriggle and toss around from side to side; trying to shake the utter embarrassment off of you.

this is going to be a long, tedious summer.

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over the next couple of days, not so much as an awkward ‘morning’ is shared between the two of you. the slight closeness that had sprouted has now distinguished like a dying flame, and as much as you’d hate to admit, you feel glum, not to mention bored.

it was an accident, but now vi doesn’t want to so much as be near you, as if you’re some infectious creature. it’s agitating, because it’s making you think a lot. too much. maybe you should just apologise? although resurfacing the shameful memory would be humiliating for the both of you. it feels like it’s too late to apologise anyway, considering the days of silent treatment that has stretched out between you two.

in a way, it feels immature. this has all felt immature.

on a particular balmy afternoon, your dad has the notorious idea of throwing a barbecue party. family friends and even neighbours are invited. in all candidness, you’re pretty excited. your dad is a beast at making good food, especially when you’re there to help him. yeah! that’s exactly what you’ll do: focus on grilling chicken and generally helping out instead of brooding over how weird things got with vi.

but things proves to be very difficult when she always seems to be within sight or hearing reach. the sun has mellowed; granting the sky into hues of twilight. you keep your eyes pointed at the chicken, sausages and corn whilst vi soaks up all of the attention from practically everyone in your garden. even the kids love her: running around and tugging at her for attention.

“here.” vi quickly devises a daisy-chain headband that she gives one of the little girls. the girl timidly takes it before running away to press her face against her father’s back out of thorough shyness. you roll your eyes shut as a string of ‘awwws’ follow after vi for that action. she’s loved everywhere! as if wherever she goes, a trail of flowers bloom behind. it’s sickening.

you let yourself get a good look at her. vi’s wearing a pink polo and washed out-jeans. she looks like any other dad out here, yet somehow managing to make it look better. you prolong your gaze, like penetrating daggers. look at me. look at me like you have before.

“jeez, what, someone’s so hungry she’s considering cannibalism now?” an ardent voice whisks you off your yearning stupor. you recognise it immediately, an excited inhale surging up your throat.

“sevika!” you squeal, practically jumping on her. sevika has been a family friend for longer than anyone else here has. she was your dad’s colleague before moving to the other side of the sea. you two were pretty close. she was unbelievably raw, which led you to receiving the best advice you know you wouldn’t get anywhere else. not to mention, she was also one of the key reasons on how you figured out you were a lesbian.

before you found out the wonders of butch cam-girls, sevika had been the root of all your desires and fantasies. it’s slightly taboo and you know it — considering she’s in the same damn age range as your father, but you couldn’t and still can’t help it. not since your blossoming hormones urged you to see to her in a different way. you still remember being too afraid to tell your friends that the reason why you weren’t crushing on any boys in school was because you were fawning over a brawny woman twice your age instead.

you weren’t expecting to see her here at all. you didn’t even know she was back in town! she’s still as hot as ever, if not hotter, as if growing older doesn’t even phase her. you almost forget all about vi.

“hey, sugar, what’s cracking?” sevika kisses the top of your head and you light up like a damn bulb. her manner of speaking has changed since you last saw her. probably because she moved to the south.

“i’m good. better, actually. since when were you back in town?”

“shhh. surprise.” she winks. oh, and could you blame crushing on sevika when she’s so damn flirty? it’s apart of her nature, delivering flirty remarks so casually. you never look too much into it since you’re sure she’s like that with everyone, yet each time it’s directed to you, you have a guilty pleasure of feeling special.

“who’s the pink haired woman? someone you know?” sevika points her chin towards vi, who’s drinking a beer and making some woman giggle a lot. must they flirt so shamelessly in a family barbecue party? it’s inappropriate, and you don’t even realise how much you’re making a face until sevika points it out.

“she-she’s our guest. staying over for the summer. she does volunteering.” you sounded a little too bitter in your last words there, and that makes sevika laugh.

“you don’t like her?” she takes a swig of her beer, eyebrows knitted together in curiosity. you have to look away.

“she’s… she’s alright. fine.” you feel your skin prickle, probably from all the lies scuttling up your back. no, i don’t think of her as just ‘alright”, because she’s actually my favourite camgirl pornstar who turns out to be really mean yet i still like her and i accidentally touched her boob and now we aren’t talking and it fucking sucks and—

“here. old enough now, ain’t we?” sevika smirks, offering her bottle to you. you hesitantly take it.

“thank you.” you take a large swig, basically gulping it down. you need it. two of your past and present crushes are in the same damn place, it’s overwhelming!

“woah! slow down, baby…” sevika chuckles, drawing the bottle away from you. a bit of liquor oozes from the corner of your lips and you wipe it, gazing at her like you don’t know any better. like a fool who was just born yesterday.

the alcohol warms you up better than the now-dying sun could, and you feel slow. sevika’s gaze seizes you up and down and you gush in more ways than one.

“you wanna dance? the music is good. ‘s my playlist actually.” you find yourself mumbling. alas, here’s the confidence you haven’t felt in a while now. funny how you’re offering to dance when you feel so floaty that you’re losing your balance whilst literally standing.

“you sure? you don’t wanna drink some water instead?” sevika gently guides your chin up, assessing how drunk you are. dedicated lightweight, always have been. you’re lagging on registering her words, but what you’re quick to feel instead is a pair of eyes studying you immediately. you sneak a glance and you’re right to find vi watching the two of you with a slight curious expression on her face. a surge of excitement pulsates through you. here’s the fun. you roll your attention back to sevika and smile, making a show of slinking your arms around her neck.

“i’m all good. aaaaall good.” you giggle. sevika finds all of this entertaining, though oblivious to the way you’ve caught vi’s attention. she gives in, and you guys start to sway along to the music. whilst sevika murmurs in your ear about all the places in the south that she thinks you’d like, your eyes are set on vi’s. it’s intense the way your eyes are locked together, and you relish in the way her jaw clenches when she realises what you’re doing. your fingers faintly grip sevika’s back a little tighter, in a way only vi would notice. for her eyes only.

honestly, vi looks laughable standing there; gawking at you as she is. it propels you to laugh in sevika’s shoulder — a move that seems to be the last straw for vi, because she turns around and storms away. you glance back up and she’s gone.

“everything okay? you hungry or somethin’?” sevika asks. your gaze flicks to sevika, before drifting back to the area where vi was standing, now just a patch of grass.

“sorry, i need the bathroom.” you mutter, hardly coherent as you pull away from sevika and start to slowly stumble your way inside.

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you ignore the way your mother calls for you, or the random people trying to start a conversation. once in the kitchen, you survey the area. there’s some people chatting away but no sight of vi. lumbering your way upstairs, you check the closest room which is your own, only to find some random baby asleep in your bed. definitely not vi.

you peek inside vi’s room, but it’s empty. in your drunken muddle, the possibility of vi being in the bathroom doesn’t even occur to you, and you feel so dizzy that you want to rest in the bathroom for a bit, maybe stare at yourself in the mirror for too long and dreadfully think about your life choices.

swinging open the door carelessly, vi almost yells — until actually noticing it’s you.

“vi?” you blink owlishly.

vi breathes in soft disbelief, shaking her head. “should’ve known you would’ve creeped on me in the bathroom.”

“wha— i didn’t even know you were here! this is my bathroom, you know.” you retort, not even choosing to dwell on the fact that you’d been looking for her.

“i don’t remember asking. get out.” vi grumbles lamely. you glare at her incredulously.

“not when you’re talking to me like that. why are you so mean? you’re always so mean to me.”

it could be the alcohol talking, sure, but it’s real thoughts being spoken aloud. you close the door, locking the two of you in there.

“but then you go ahead and buy a cd for me, and you hold my hand. i don’t like it, but it’s also all i’ve wanted.” you step in front of her, pinning your hands down on either side of the sink so she’s confined.

vi gawks at you, clearly surprised by the boldness, however she quickly composes herself.

“what are you even saying? spittin’ slam poetry at me or some shit?” she scoffs, trying to push past you. you stand your ground, gripping the sink tighter so she has no choice but to stay put and listen.

“i’m not going until you tell me what your damn problem is.”

“i don’t have one.” vi snaps, veering her face closer to yours as a result.

“you’re acting like i planned this! like i plotted for you to come and live in my house. i didn’t ask for this!” you raise your voice.

“i didn’t ask for this either!” vi roars. impenetrable silence infuses the room like a merciless wave. nothing can be heard but the frantic breathing expelling from the both of you. synchronised. your heart pounds against your ribs and hers pounds harder in tandem. hate is a word that has been muddled and twisted into something else. something more, but something less all the same.

“say something or leave—“

you don’t know what exactly propels you to do it, but you choose to shut her up by leaning in and crashing your lips against hers like a meteorite. as if the biggest ‘fuck you’ you could give is through a kiss.

and hell, it may as well be, in the light of the way you’re projecting all your anger and frustration into this, lips roughly moving against hers. vi stands still for a moment, before responding to the kiss in her own manner — relenting and matching your intensity.

you two get yourselves in a frenzy of wildness: teeth clinking together, tongues smothered against each other like theres no damn tomorrow. you grip vi’s hips, pushing her into sitting down on the sink. vi moans in your mouth, and you press yourself against her so closely that her head hits the mirror.

“you fucking bitch…” you whisper exasperatedly, before sinking your teeth in her bottom lip and slightly dragging it, almost drawing blood. vi whimpers, her fingers flying to your hair and tugging it tightly. your noises mate with hers at the tempting sensation of vi’s fingers on your hair. everything about this moment between you two is unbelievably passionate and fervid.

your hands grip vi’s wrists, slamming them against the mirror like a bird with clipped wings. vi gazes at you with meek eyes, making you certain that she’d bend over backwards at your beck and call. her brain is muddled and blank, all because of you. all because of you.

“is this what you wanted?” you whisper into her neck, pressing chaste kisses to the sensitive flesh. vi sucks in a breath.

“w-what?” she sputters out.

“you heard me.” you drag a stripe across her neck, compelling vi to whimper: especially when you nip at her skin.

“answer, pretty girl…” you whisper this like it’s a prayer, serving vi at the altar. vi melts, words slipping from her lips before her brain is able to stop her.

“so fucking bad… you don’t even know…” she whines breathily. you smile at her, loosening your grasp from her wrists so you can slip her shirt off. vi welcomes it, willingly raising her arms so it can come off with more ease. once she’s in she’s sports bra, you let your hand trail down her stomach, the pad of your fingers playing with the cluster of hair on her lower stomach, teasing her waistband with your pinky before purposely disengaging. vi watches all of this through hooded eyes, trying to stifle her pathetic noises by biting her lip.

your gaze flicks to vi’s clothed breasts, metal bars prominently standing out. you unconsciously lick your lips.

“they’re so sensitive, huh?” you put your question to the test by grazing a hand over her chest, in which vi faintly jolts. so cute.

“you should be glad i know everything you like.” your hands slip underneath vi’s sports bra, raising it up and shamelessly playing with vi’s nipples. poor thing cannot compose herself for the life of her, a series of quiet moans and whimpers spilling out of her lips whether she can help them or not.

your fingers roll the buds, eyes trained on vi the entire time — gauging all her reactions. vi’s little whimpers grow into full-blown moans, especially when you latch your lips around her right nipple; sucking and flicking your tongue, feeling the tinge of the metal bar. she’s twitching and squirming, unable to sit still and having no idea where to put her hands. she resolves in gripping the sink tightly, sinking her head back and taking what you’re giving her like a good girl.

“y/n…” vi whimpers pathetically, and you feel your cunt flex in return. you nip at her bud, simultaneously flicking the other one. vi cries aloud and you glance up at her.

“you want the whole damn party to hear?”

vi had clearly forgotten about that. she quietly shakes her head. you’ve managed to get her so compliant that you want to proudly pat yourself on the back.

you resume, your gaze fixed on her as your mouth lavishes attention on the left nipple now. vi isn’t able to hold eye contact with you for long, especially with the overbearing stimulation. her back is bowing frontwards, a silent plea for more. who said you wanted to stop anyways?

it’s your teeth pulling at her nipple that drives vi absolutely batshit, possessing her into jerking so strongly that her hips buckle into yours. you grind against her hips, feeling your own sparks of pleasure. vi’s hand flies to her mouth, trying to keep herself quiet as per your request. you smirk, liking the feeling how you could crush the usual mean, stony vi under your thumb with the pliant woman you’ve got in front of you right now.

“i’m gonna cum— i’m gonna cum, y/n… hah, please…” vi muddles through her words, twitching repeatedly. you grin as you flatten your tongue, feeling the coldness of the metal as you slowly drag your tongue upwards, massaging the nipple with the wetness of your muscle. you kill vi.

vi grunts, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she undergoes a remarkably intense climax. you pull away and watch her in awe, as stars explode behind her eyelids and she spasms a little.

she slumps forward onto your shoulder, panting hard down your neck. your skin prickles with heat as a result, fingers hesitantly reaching up to gently stroke the back of her hair. vi likes it, like a puppy being cared for.

“haah, thank you… thank you.” vi blabbers on your shoulder, her words slurring into a heap of incoherent words. you cup vi’s face with two hands, raising it up so you can gauge how fucked up she looks right now.

“all from a little nipple play, huh?” your thumb traces vi’s bottom lip before faintly dragging it downwards.

“you— know they’re um… sensitive. plus i’ve been pent up. ” vi’s train of thought is slowly starting to come to, but not fully. not with the way she’s struggling to speak. you want to ask more and more questions, just so you can enjoy her sputtering and stammering. but you go for an even better ruse instead.

you begin to lean in again as if you’re going in for a kiss. vi’s eyes repeatedly flick to your lips, her breathing fluttering and quickening its pace. yet just as you’re a stone’s throw away…

“have a good rest of your night.” you purr, before casually walking straight out of the door, leaving vi to gather her tangled thoughts. vi blinks repeatedly, running a hand across her face.

“touché.” she murmurs, pulling her sports bra down and picking up her shirt to put it on again.

meanwhile, you’re trying not to fall down the stairs over how giddy you are. vi got her tit for tat: teasing you before acting as if nothing happened surely came back to nip her in the bud. the score is even and you’re satisfied, hoping that you left vi thirsting for more.

and you would give her more and beyond, if only that meant you would lead through irrefutable punishment first.

chapter 4

taglist: @lils-1979 @vxtanne31 @drunkenrosesluv @cuti3ve @princesspeachthefroggy @honeyboo-1 @aprilshireath @elliesbabygirl @h0n3yf0rlif3 @ysaona @elliezlils11utt @savedforlaterr @rishofkf @zaunite-516 @elliesbebegurl @jaydonisnothere @thankynext @moonchildcovenxx @kmhbygss @cotrill09 @godhatesgoodgirls @femme-forward @jajsnjz @avonnimimi @eren-luvr @bambiaches @wlw-please @scissorszex @yearningandstillnotlearning @stmvivs @fizzphat @oidloid @certifiedwomenlover @hellishdevotee @gel6tine @d1psht @v-williams02193

(whoever isn’t tagged but asked to be on the list it’s bc ur mentions are off ;;)

#lesbian #arcane #smut #lesbian smut #vi x reader #vi arcane #vi x y/n #vi x fem!reader #vi x reader smut #vi x you #vi smut #arcane x you #arcane smut #arcane x reader #vi fanfic #wlw #wlw fanfic #arcane fanfic

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cammys-imagines24 · 2 years ago

Text

°•Astarion Being Touch Starved•°

The dastardly rogue would scarcely ever admit it- not in a thousand years.

But the sensation of your touch sends a thrill through his heart so loud, so potent, that sometimes he swears it still beats.

Beats only for you.

Sure by the light of day Astarion has a devil may care attitude and more sass than anyone really ought to.

And though you've both voiced your sincere affections to each other, he is never shy to continue with his playful flirtations towards you.

But that does not mean he views your relationship as a trifle. As something to play at.

You are the first person he's cared for in hundreds of years. The first he's opened himself up to. The first to show him that he can be free.

And with that long sought after freedom he wishes to spend it with you. For as long as you'll allow him the gift of your presence.

But though Astarion is unshackled now, the hauntings of Cazador never leave his mind. Not entirely.

On more times than he'd like to acknowledge, he has awoken from horrid nightmares of his past enslavement.

Cursing himself for even bothering to close his eyes in the first place considering he doesn't actually need to sleep.

But then there you are, right beside him.

Warm and vulnerable. Slumbering soundly and oh, gods, does he love your warmth.

The chilled Vampire would bathe in the heated feel of your skin if he could and often while you're tucked in the crook of his arm, dreaming away, he takes small liberties.

Letting just how starved he is of gentleness be shown.

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, kissing the column of your throat, breathing in your scent.

Admiring your beauty. Committing each freckle, scar and feature to memory.

Dining on the feel of your form close to his and relishing in the company of one who truly, faithfully loves him. Just as he is.

So reverential of your body. Savoring the perfume of your blood, the thump of your heartbeat. Your every breath a hymn to his ears.

Of course you know how starved Astarion is. You can read him like a book.

But his yearning for tenderness is an unspoken truth between you two.

So you attend to it in your own subtle way.

Holding hands with him while around camp. Sitting next to him beside the fire. Your thighs touching. Placing your hand between his shoulder blades while walking.

Your gaze never straying from his for too long. Your medicinal touch the one to mend his wounds after a rough fight.

He thinks of you as a goddess. Your warmth a healing balm and he thanks his lucky stars everyday he met you.

The feel of you beside him is enough to make him enjoy living again.

Astarion's love for you eternal and ever growing.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion x reader #astarion x reader #astarion imagines #astarion imagine #astarion headcanons #astarion headcanon #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 imagine #baldur's gate 3 headcanon #bg3 x reader #bg3 fic

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zorosangell · 7 months ago

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zoro and his girl who are always bickering and fighting and breaking up and getting back together again. atp, the other straw hats are used to it now. I can also imagine zoro NEVER apologizes and his idea of getting back together with his girl again is just acting like buisness as usual (just going back to her and sitting with her, throwing his arm around her shoulder, kissin her cheek, acting like nothing ever happened, etc) and usually, she’s receptive to it. Because even though she’s as stubborn as zoro (maybe even more), she hates arguing (and loves him too much).

but imagine during one of their arguments, Nami drags her out to go shopping at a island they stopped by, and she sees all these happy couples holding hands and being affectionate and just being sweet and soft with each other. she realizes…zoro is never sweet and soft with her. and he NEVER says I’m sorry (I imagine maybe she sees an arguing couple in the market, but the guy comes with flowers and an apology and it makes her wonder). She makes up her mind, she won’t take him back until he says those words, no matter what. I know this isn’t so descriptive, but I’d love to see you take on this! ❤️

⛥ﾟ・。 pit

synopsis: time and time again zoro has forgotten about your outings, leaving you dressed up and alone on several occasions. but after nami witnesses it in person, she finally puts her foot down... and you finally confront your swordsman.

cw: angst, very little comfort, happy-ish ending (left up for interpretation), zoro's kind of an asshole, nami's a girl's girl, reader is better than me.

a/n: listen to promise by laufey or casual by chappell roan if you want the full experience. i've never written a trifling zoro before this was crazy

"Why don't you stop wasting my time and give me a real discount?" Nami asked, firmly slamming her fist on the counter.

"Please don't be angry! I'm doing my best!" the cashier apologized, "But, c'mon, I can't take fifty percent off no matter how much you buy. They're marked down enough already!"

The man looked to be on the brink of tears, and you couldn't help but snicker.

"Nami, leave the poor man alone..." you smiled, feeling a little bad for him, "He's just doing his job. And besides, it's not like you can't afford it."

"Nope," she denied, popping the p as she grabbed another humongous pile of clothes. "It's the principle of the matter, (y/n). If I have the option to pay for something half-off, why would I pay full price?"

"They're not half-off!"

"Besides..." her gaze drifted to your outfit, a small pout settling on her lips as she looked you up and down with saddened eyes. "I can see that you are clearly trying to out-glam me, so I gotta glam back!"

She turned to the cashier, placing down the new pile.

"You drive a hard bargain. I'll buy these, too. But I want ninety percent off."

The man nearly fainted and you laughed, surprised by Nami's playful rivalry.

"Nami, you've owned more clothes than I've ever worn. I think it's safe to say that between the two of us, you're the one that's out-glamming me," you assured, resting your cheek in your palm as you leaned on the counter.

"But look at you!" she playfully whined. "Your outfit is killer! And your hair is on point, too!"

Though, just as quick as she examined your outfit, she realized that it was really good.

Too good to be shopping in.

"Wait, (y/n), were you supposed to be going somewhere? Why are y—"

The moment your face fell, the glimmer in your eyes dimming at the memory, reality finally donned on the navigator, hitting her like a sea train at top speed.

He did it again.

Anger rushed through the woman's veins like wildfire, her face not even attempting to conceal her fury as it twisted into an expression of absolute rage.

You knew it all too well.

"Nami, ple—" "I'll KILL HIM!"

The clothes on the counter were suddenly a thing of the past as the red-haired woman drew her Clima-Takt and stormed toward the exit of the boutique, the dangerous aura she was emanating sending a shiver down even your spine.

Like magnets, everything began to click for the woman.

The beautiful outfit.

The done-up hair.

The glum look on your face.

'That bastard stood her up again!'

That's why you had been wandering around town aimlessly.

You were waiting for him.

This scenario had become commonplace over the past several months you and the green-haired swordsman had been dating, much to Nami's severe indignation.

It was always the same.

You and Zoro would plan a date.

Zoro would get caught up training, or get caught up drinking, or just plain, old fucking forget.

You would end up alone, having gone through all the trouble and embarrassment.

She would have to console you, and you would have to keep her from bashing his head in.

Then you'd have to face the jerk the next day, who, instead of apologizing, simply acted like nothing ever happened.

As if the entire ship see how utterly crushed you were.

And then the whole cycle would repeat the following week.

Nami was sick of it.

'This shit ends today.'

"Nami, please! It's not worth it!" you ran out the store and after her, grabbing onto her arm. "It's not gonna change anything!"

"The hell it isn't!" she barked, brows cinched tightly together. "(y/n), I won't stand for this anymore! This is what?! The twentieth time?!"

"Twenty-third... but I'm not counting..." you corrected, meekly.

"(Y/N)!"

"I know! I know!" you sighed, plopping yourself down on the curb, defeated. "I don't know what's wrong with me..."

"There's nothing wrong with you! There's something wrong with him not realizing just how much of a fucking catch you are!" she groaned, exasperatedly, as she threw her hands in the air. "Twenty-three times, that bastard... I oughta chip his swords twenty-three times."

"I guess... I just don't get why..." you mumbled, looking down at your lap with glassy eyes. "Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?"

Nami turned to you, heart aching at your saddened form.

"Don't think that for another second!" she denied, quickly moving to take a seat next to you, pulling you into a small side hug. "You've done absolutely nothing to deserve this. Zoro's just being a real jackass."

"But there has to be some reason," you attempted to rationalize, tone rising. "Does he not care? Am I just that insignificant that he can't even waste an hour or two to spend time with me? His girlfriend?"

"That's what I've been saying!" Nami agreed, loudly, calling the attention of some passersby. "(y/n), you've given him chance after chance after chance, and he still hasn't cleaned up his act."

She gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, flashing you a sincere smile.

"I'm not saying you have to break up with him, unless that's what you want to do, but I'm saying that you really need to realize just how amazing you are, and hold him accountable for his actions."

Shooting up from her seat, she stood before you, pointing a manicured finger at your chest.

"You're the prize, girl! You're strong, smart, kind, compassionate, and drop-dead gorgeous! What guy wouldn't want that!" she turned to a few of the men passing by, a smile on her face. "Right?"

"YES!" they cheered, eagerly.

Your face burned with embarrassment.

"Nami!"

"You get my point!" she laughed, resting her hand on her hip. "You deserve someone who will treat you like the princess you are. Whether that's Zoro or not is up to you, but know that his track record begs to differ..."

Taking a moment, you let her words sink in, your confidence rising slowly but surely.

Maybe you were that great...

Maybe you did deserve more...

Maybe it was time to start anew...

"Y'know what... you're right! It's time for a change!" you smiled, slowly standing up from the curb. "No more tears!"

"Nope!" Nami cheered, proudly.

"No more excuses!"

"None of 'em!"

"No more pretending!"

"Not around here!"

"From now on, I'm gonna start living life for me! And if that means going out clubbing tonight and getting drunk to forget my problems, then so be it!"

"Y'know what, I'll take it! Let's go!" Nami squealed, the two of you quickly charging back into the boutique.

You couldn't fight off your smile, your shoulders feeling like an insurmountable weight had been lifted off them.

For the first time in a while, things didn't seem so bleak.

"Ooo, I think I saw the perfect revenge dress for you, (y/n)! It's gorgeous!"

Walking out of the girls' quarters, you felt like a million bucks—and were probably wearing it too with the amount of money you and Nami spent in town.

But price be damned, the result was phenomenal.

The provocative dress.

The decadent perfume.

The glittering jewelry.

The leg-extending heels.

You were absolutely breath-taking.

Not to say that you weren't before, but just significantly more so.

The dress itself was just the right amount of short, and helped carve out your curves deliciously.

Your hair was done courtesy of the ship's archaeologist, its style elegant yet loose to fit the club scene you were going to.

And your skin was practically glowing thanks to the oils Nami had picked up in the market.

So, it was safe to say you were at least a quadruple threat.

Looking down at yourself, you smiled, feeling like the prettiest woman in the world.

No longer concerned with the feelings of others, or the wrong-doings of yourself, you felt freer than you'd ever had.

And you had Nami to thank for it all.

'For finally knocking some sense into me...'

Sensing someone's presence, you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, only to see your swordsman standing right before you.

His eyes dragged over your body, almost analytically, a grin rising to his lips.

It seemed he finished his training early...

"Where are you goin' all dressed up?" he smirked, his hand coming up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer. "You look good... an' smell good, too."

Quickly, you pushed yourself out of his grasp, your legs pressing forward to stride across the balcony, leaving the him to stand there, surprised.

You had never pushed him away before, much less ignored him.

'What the hell?'

"What's the matter with you?" Zoro's voice lowered an octave, brows furrowed in confusion as he followed after you.

You didn't answer, keeping your gaze trained ahead as you pressed on, heading toward the stairs that led off the Sunny.

"(y/n)," he tried again, voice slightly firmer, as he grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. "(y/n), what the hell's your problem? Where are you going?"

Harshly, you flung his hand off, brows slowly beginning to crease at his audacity.

He was acting like nothing happened.

Again.

He knew exactly why you were fucking upset, but was making the choice to completely ignore it in favor of acting stupid and playing in your face.

Your jaw set tight, all your thoughts grinding to a screeching halt.

For the first time ever, anger and resentment began to claw at your chest, your hand itching to rise up and slap him right across the cheek.

Enough was enough.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," you spat, voice dripping with venom as you went back to walking. "I don't wanna see you right now."

"See me?" his brows furrowed as his finger pointed toward his chest, now even more confused. "The hell did I do?!"

Or maybe he was just fucking stupid...

Either way, you finally cracked.

"IT'S WHAT YOU DON'T DO, ZORO!" you roared, whipping back around to face him, the man flinching at your volume. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, IT'S ALWAYS BEEN WHAT YOU DON'T DO!"

The leak in the dam of your heart had finally turned into a full-on flood, and you were now outpouring months upon months upon months of pent up anger.

"You stand me up! You forget our dates! You make it abundantly clear that you would much rather spend the day nursing a sake bottle than with me!" you scoffed, throwing an exasperated hand in the air. "Do you even remember what we were supposed to do today?!"

The swordsman paused a moment, scouring his brain for recollection of the event.

"Hey, Zo'," you piped up from your spot in the corner, shutting the book Robin had loaned you. "I'm gettin' kinda hungry. You wanna grab lunch?"

He nodded, grinding out another squat as he lowered his knees to a ninety-degree angle, somehow perfectly controlling the two ton weight on his back.

"Yeah, you go on ahead," he grunted, holding the position. "I'll catch up. Gonna finish up this set."

"'Kay," you nodded, flashing him an eager smile. "I'll meet you at that sushi place we saw in town."

Zoro's eye shot wide, a sudden sense of dread sinking in his stomach as he finally remembered.

"Oh, shit..."

"Yeah... Oh, shit," you scoffed, turning to head off the ship. "I'm done with this..."

"Woah, woah, woah, wait a minute," he grabbed your arm once again, pulling you back. "(y/n), it was an accident... I didn't mean it."

"How the hell am I supposed to know that?! You never fucking apologize!" you yelled, jerking sharply away from his grasp. "At least that way it could seem like you're at least trying to pretend you care about me!"

"Of course, I care about you, (y/n)!"

"YOU CERTAINLY DON'T ACT LIKE IT!" your voice cracked.

He halted, expression falling and chest tugging with pain as a few stray tears fell down your cheeks.

You were hurting... bad.

And it was all his fault.

All of the times he left you hanging, all of the times he screwed up.

They were all coming back to haunt him, each one doubling the weight of the sinking pit in his stomach.

How could he have not seen?

You had been so patient with him—never raising your voice, never holding a grudge—and he supposed his mind had unconsciously took that as the green-light to proceed.

Granted, he never forgot anything or stood you up out of malice or actual lack of care.

It just... slipped his mind.

Though, in that, he could see where his thinking was flawed, and where you could find a problem.

"Am I... just that forgettable to you?" you asked, voice suddenly small.

Zoro snapped himself out of his thoughts, eye wide at your tone.

It sounded so distant.

"Of course, not, (y/n)," he quickly denied, lurching forward to hold you out of instinct. "I—"

But you stepped back, avoiding his grasp as your arms raised to hug yourself, hoping to keep everything together.

"Every time I look at you, I feel more alone," you continued, letting out a few sniffles. "I'm always, always reaching out to you, always down for whatever you want to do. But you just... never reach back... and you don't even bother to apologize..."

Glancing out at the sunset, you fought off the wobble of your lip, hugging yourself even tighter.

"Zoro... I can't be with someone that doesn't care about me..."

That's when everything suddenly came to a screeching halt.

Zoro felt like the words cut right through his chest, tearing through his heart and opening it up like force hell-bent on making him see.

He'd rarely felt this feeling, but he knew what it was instantly.

Fear.

"(y/n), don't do this," he started, panic slowly spiking in his veins. "I'm sorry for being such an idiot... but we can work this out. This doesn't have to be... it doesn't have to end like this..."

"But it does," you countered, quickly. "It isn't like this is your first time doing this, Zoro... or your third... or your tenth... or even your twentieth."

You scoffed, half-laughing at the situation.

"If I hadn't said anything, you probably would've made it to thirty."

Zoro's chest stung at the comment, the man almost letting out a wince.

It was harsh... but not without truth.

"I'm freeing myself of all of this, Zoro. I deserve better," you stated, firmly, slowly regaining your confidence as you turned away, heading for the stairs. "This conversation is over. And thanks to you, I'm late."

The swordsman looked just about ready to shit his pants, the finality of your words scaring him more than any enemy.

You were his girl.

His best friend.

His ray of sunshine.

Seeing you so upset, so jaded, because of his actions?

He felt like shit.

And, in that moment, he honestly wanted nothing more than to hold you.

To shower you with a thousand apologies.

To make it up to you in any and every way he could possible conceive.

But you were slipping through his fingers like smoke, blowing father and farther away.

"(y/n)... please..." he tried one final time, voice softer than you'd ever heard it before as he carefully grabbed your wrist.

And you nearly broke, the sound of his voice pulling a sharp string on your heart, nearly making you take everything back.

But Nami's words from earlier replayed in your mind, and you fought the feeling, pulling your arm away.

You had to stay strong, for both your sakes.

"We're done, Zoro," you finished, finally descending down the steps. "I'm moving on."

The swordsman watched as you disappeared in front of him, now suddenly feeling as if you were worlds away.

He'd finally done it.

He'd pushed you over the edge.

And rather than feeling angry or upset, or even sorry for himself, he felt empty.

Truly and utterly empty.

The rest of the crew watched from cracked doors and open windows as the man stood there, staring at the place you had once stood like he was in a trance.

Nobody wanted things to turn out this way.

It was clear as day that the both of you loved each other a great deal... but Zoro needed this.

He needed the wake up call.

And now that he was presented with all the necessary truth, he could finally work toward remedying the situation; and, by the will of the Gods, making up his dizzying amount of transgressions against you.

It would be hard work, and for the first time in his life, he would have to be completely vulnerable.

But the crew believed in him.

And the crew believed in you, too.

The both of you would come back from this stronger than ever.

And Zoro would come back to the crow's nest with a calendar hanging front and center on the door.

Courtesy of the ship's navigator.

#zorosangell #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #zoro x reader #op

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signanothername · 8 months ago

Note

Can we see your version of Swap? Get to know the silly guy a little? What about Ink?

Hell yaaaa I think it’s time I actually gave a bit of a spotlight to the Stars and especially to Swap and Ink

If we’re gonna talk about who would be the most badass of the Stars, it’ll definitely be Swap, the guy is an unstoppable force

My version of Swap would be a variant that went through Killer’s eye stabbing incident, rendering his magical eye completely blind and by extension, later gets a prosthetic eye in his blind side, the loss of his magical eye has definitely affected his magic to a significant extent, he no longer is able to use blue magic, and not just gravity wise but also blue bone attacks, he also experiences phantom pain a lot and deals with severe migraines at times, and obviously had to adjust to living with one eye, getting to minimize depth perception issues

Not only that, but that also gave him problems with how his magic is distributed within his body, and so Swap sometimes struggles with too little magic output or too much depending on the situation

That however, still doesn’t strip Swap’s amazing physical, mental, emotional and magical strength regardless, he’s still very much more than capable on his own, and blue magic or not, he’s not to be trifled with, Nightmare actually sees him as a genuine threat, and that says a lot

The reason Swap ends up with a prosthetic eye is cause he asked for it to be made for him before he went on another mission with the Stars, to make it seem as tho he still has his original eye intact, so the Nightmare gang won’t take his blindness as a leverage in fights by targeting him from said blind side, as far as the Nightmares know, Swap’s eyelight survived Killer’s assault (Killer has a different opinion about that), Dream and Ink are the first to know about the incident and Swap’s blindness outside his own AU, Swap tells them about it after he has his prosthetic

Swap is generally the voice of reason and the one who takes care of Dream, cause while Dream is someone who can take care of himself, he sure isn’t putting much effort into doing so, too preoccupied with his messy life and his relationship with Nightmare to notice how he’s destroying himself

Swap looks out for Dream and tries to be as present as he could, he does not treat Dream like a child or forces him into taking care of himself, but he does nudge him to the right direction, and teaches Dream things that could help him like how to take care of his chronic pain, and later down the line help him with his Autism

Dream never says it out loud , but in a way Dream himself doesn’t understand, Swap is like another sibling to him, like it was always that way, like it’s just natural

Needless to say, Swap and Dream are very close

Swap loves Ink and his intense passion for creation, he might not understand Ink’s views fully, but he doesn’t judge them for it, just keeps a bit of an eye out for any mischief he’s cooking, Ink definitely is an a bit of an enigma to Swap, and he loves them for it

Outside the Stars, Swap is usually in his own AU with his brother dealing with his usual story and resets, the resets however no longer affect him the same way as he’s pretty much a semi-outcode, so when a reset happens, he still retains his memories fully and is able to know that a reset took place

Honey (Swap Paps) on the other hand, does not retain his memories at all, and by extension, isn’t able to truly realize if a reset took place unless he gets hints

Swap and Honey however, are open about the resets to each other, so when a reset happens, Swap does let Honey know, and Honey believes him without a shadow of a doubt, the Swap bros have a very open and healthy relationship with each other

The Swap bros also usually welcome Dream in their house with open arms, and while Honey expresses his reservations about Swap’s adventures as a Star (he’s just a lil worried) he still trusts Swap to take care of himself, in fact, Honey has no right to talk with his sock still on the ground

Swap spends most of his time in his AU in his own house, only getting out with the Stars when Dream comes to tell him he needs help or when duty calls, he does go out with them on genuine adventures too where they explore the multiverse, usually returning with souvenirs and gifts for Honey and his friends in his AU

Ink is the kinda guy that’s looking for what’s entertaining, if he isn’t entertained, then he’ll find ways to entertain himself, and believe me don’t want them to take it into his own hands

Ink generally has very low social needs and has no desire for connection, it doesn’t mean he has no connections at all, but rather, they’re satisfied by the very few connections he already has, like his friendships with Dream, Swap and Error, and their familial connection with his parents, (with Killer on the way to becoming another friend to them) these few connections are more than enough for Ink, he doesn’t look/long for new connections or feels the need to widen their social circle, Ink getting attached to others is very rare, but not impossible

The few connections they have are genuine, and he does love them, that doesn’t mean their views of them change however, his friends and family are all characters in a script, a never ending game

But not him, they’re above that, they’re real (yes, he’s very much a hypocrite)

He prefers to stay by himself in the doodlsphere, or in the Omega timeline with his parents, otherwise, you might see them traveling across the multiverse just to look for new AUs or stories, he might even go out of his way and travel around with Color, Epic and Delta, as they generally love traveling around, he goes for a little company, then leaves

In the Stars, Ink generally tries to never interfere or actually fight alongside Dream and Swap unless there’s an actual reason to, such as Error messing with the code or trying to erase the AU, which is rare, as Error’s attacks are usually independent of Nightmare’s

He does help with fighting Nightmare off if his quest for negativity messes with the script of an AU (which is usually the case) Ink usually stays on the defensive than the offensive in fights

They find no true joy in fighting, they prefer de-escalation tactics, but with how blunt and brutally honest he is, it usually just ends with it escalating further, he can be an absolute asshole, really inconsiderate, and a downright bitch at times

He acts upon his own interests, seeking what fulfills them not what others expect them to do, that’s why Ink would not allow anyone to interfere with AU scripts, that even includes Swap’s, Dream had tried interfering with Swap’s AU to make it so Swap never has to go through resets again (all from a place of wanting to do good) and Ink never allowed it to happen, it escalated in a fight between Dream and Ink, only to be interrupted by Swap

They and Dream end up in a pretty bad fallout, as during Dream’s younger years, a bit of a younger not fully mature anger riddled Dream couldn’t simply fathom Ink’s views of how the world works, that fallout does hurt Ink deeply and messes a bit with them, triggering his abandonment issues, he would be lying if they said he didn’t want Dream back in their life, but he sees no use in trying to mend something that’s engraved in Dream’s mind, so he just confides in Swap

As the years go by and Dream eventually matures, he comes back to talk to Ink, apologizing and asking Ink if he’d be willing to be friends again, which makes Ink happy, they both become really good friends again

Ink does not act on what’s good or bad, they simply do their job as an AU protector/ guardian just like Dream does, if that means stopping Dream from doing good or Nightmare from doing bad in an AU if it interferes with the script, then he will stand against both of them

His protection of these AUs comes from both a survival instinct and a genuine love for creativity, that’s how their love for creation blossoms through, he views everyone as mere characters in a story, but they find these characters to be beautiful, he finds the storylines they live as perfect the way they are, the way they were intended to be, a product of the beauty of creation, he recognizes the value of the stunning differences in these creations

Ink does help others if they’re asked to, he cares about the few people he loves most and absolutely enjoys the company of others, most of the help he provides is usually in the Omega timeline, making new houses, living spaces and creating essentials for the residents there

Ink and Swap are very sibling coded, they both are a bit hyper about what they love and their passions, they love spending time with each other and going on adventures together

Ink definitely loves pranking the shit out of Swap specifically, and he sure has gotten him in problems so many times, but Swap persists and Ink would be lying if they said he wasn’t impressed with Swap’s ability to withstand the bullshit he puts him through without batting an eye like it’s another Tuseday

He’s insecure about their lack for a soul, sometimes overthinking things and doubting their own emotions and the legitimacy of his love for the few people they do love, he often finds himself going to his parents when these doubts arise, finding saftey within their arms

Generally, the Stars go through ups and downs in their relationships, Swap being the one to help keep the balance of the team, they still are pretty good friends overall and each of them do look forward to their next adventure together

#anothers ask #anothers art #swap sans #ink sans #dream sans #star sanses

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polarisbibliotheque · 1 year ago

Note

Hey Polaris, hope this helps as a vent piece:

Anger is one of the main traits of demons. Everyone's anger has manifested outward at least some point yet, one person keeps it under Heavy lock and key, Dante.

One day, the anger manifests in its destructive, gruesome and targeted anger in his Sin Devil Trigger as it manifests when that last patient strand snaps.

So here's the prompt:

As Reader wakes up from a hard hit, once fully back to full consciousness, they witness that destructive rage that Dante kept under lock and key. Nearby, Vergil is protectively standing in front of Reader but something's wrong, his hands quivering as he keeps Yamato out in front of him. The real question now pops into Reader's head, how do you calm to a blazing inferno that's unrestrained and now in full swing?

Dante going on a full Sin Devil Trigger rampage (or, very angry Dante)

Pairing: Dante x Reader

Summary: Vergil wasn't one to fear easily - but one thing he would always dread to see; and that would be Dante losing his humanity.

Trigger Warning: Reader stops breathing and is seemingly dead for a while. Lots of blood, lots of anger, lots of self-loathing on this one (they all need therapy)

Author's Note: Oh boy, this was a conversation I was having with dear Fury: how Dante is 10/10 the scariest when he's mad because he keeps his demon on a leash *cough* Subhuman *cough* and he's the one everyone should fear when going berserk, not Vergil. With all the requests I'm having, currently, Fury decided to leave this suggestion out until I had a little more time to write...

Fast forward a few weeks, I'm having issues with a couple of ~friends~ and, honestly, I haven't been this angry in years. To the point of trembling, laughing like a maniac, and wanting to fistfight the gods. Hence, Fury sent me this vent piece so I could satisfy my wrath in a more ~healthy~ way. Hope you guys like it, though, Dante needs a big ol' hug and someone to openly cry too, not just Vergil.

Again, they all need therapy

Not many things could stir fear in Vergil’s heart.

Mundus’ voice, silently taunting him in the back of his head, the memory of everything he had been through in Hell was one of those things. The other one was his twin’s fury.

It was a rare thing for him to grip Yamato with an unsteady pair of hands, putting a lot of effort and strength for them not to tremble – but the sight of Dante completely lost in his bloodlust was not to be trifled with.

The first time Vergil saw it with his own eyes was in Hell, when he and his brother spent a considerable amount of time to cut down the Qliphoth. Vergil was used to the taunts of demons and Dante was as well… Or at least he should be, at that point in their lives.

But the taunts were many. They had been running through the fields of fire without sleep for a couple of days – in the human world, probably, as time had a different flow in Hell – killing everything in sight; and hearing every kind of putrid taunt they could.

What made Dante snap, though, was a simple implication: that it was Dante’s fault that Vergil fell and got subdued by Mundus, suffering endless nightmares for years to come. A strange glint sparked in Dante’s eyes at that moment. The scream that rumbled in his chest was enough to be heard through many layers of Hell.

It wasn’t Dante’s fault, Vergil knew that very well. He had refused to hold his brother’s hand, there was nothing Dante could have done. It was Vergil’s choice, and his sin only. But… For the first time, he saw how much his brother blamed himself for that. How much Dante had suffered, all those years, alone in the human world.

As above, so below… Dante suffered alongside Vergil all those years.

And all of that because of a stupid, childish decision from Vergil’s part. He observed Dante in shock as that realization came down on him – and as he watched the prized human heart of his twin brother seemingly disappear, giving place to a blind, bloodthirsty demon in full Sin Devil Trigger fashion, killing everything in his path.

Vergil stayed away from the destruction, always keeping an eye on his brother… If he could call him that. Dante – the foolish, laidback, talkative, jack of all trades, witty and quippy brother he knew – seemingly was nowhere to be seen. He was gone, and everything left was his demon, with a never-ending thirst for blood.

Not that Vergil hadn’t had moments like those, but he was always alone. He would always find the end of his rage on the floor, exhausted, weak and cold. And so, he waited for Dante’s wrath to wear off – patiently, observing with a heavy heart, sorrow and guilt.

He didn’t enjoy seeing his brother like that.

That was the reason why, when Nico put to vote who was the scariest when angry, you threw your vote at Dante. You and the rest of the crew, except for the Spardas, decided to have a night out at a local diner, just to wind down and have a bit of fun – that sort of talk was a given when you were together.

“Dante, really?” Lady raised one of her eyebrows, staring at you with nothing but doubt in her multicolored eyes. “He can’t hurt even a fly!” When she said that, though, all of the eyes of the group turned at her in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been hunting with him for a while. Dante can be a weapon of mass destruction, but he just… He doesn’t have that heart.”

“Hmmm… I think I have to agree with you on that one.” Trish slowly stirred her chocolate milkshake as Lady thanked with a sip of her vanilla one. “Look, I saw him killing Mundus. I saw Dante fighting the greatest and worst of Hell. He can be dangerous, but his human heart doesn’t let him be scary.”

“That is exactly my point.” You were ready to defend your thesis like a lawyer at court.

“Then why the hell would you vote for him as the scariest?” Nico didn’t have a cigarette on her hands because she had been forbidden to smoke inside the diner, but if she had, she would have been pointing at you with it. “Big flamin’ demon got nothin’ on Vergil, that one’s got the eyes of a killer. Got you chillin’ just by lookin’ at you.”

“Vergil doesn’t control his anger that much – I go as far as saying he doesn’t control himself as much as Dante.” And with those words, you won all the shocked looks you could at that evening. You would count that as a feat. “Is Dante a fool of a Tûk, as my dear Gandalf would say? Yes, he is. Is Vergil a walking death omen? Yes, he also is. But, I have talked to him about Dante being angry, and Vergil gave me enough hints to make it very clear Dante doesn’t let all his feelings out – he chooses to pass as a very aloof himbo of a man, but he is far from that. I’ve been his partner for enough time to say I agree with Vergil.”

“You might have a point.” Kyrie took a sip of her strawberry milkshake, as you let a triumphant smile take over your lips. “Dante might be playful, but we all know he has very deep emotions underneath that. It’s just like with Nero and his punk attitude.”

“But instead, he’s a cinnamon bun on the inside.” Nico topped Kyrie’s phrase, provoking some laughs on the group. That was the most accurate description of Nero if you had ever seen one.

“Dante loves his human heart, but he has a certain beef with his demonic one.” You wouldn’t say to the whole group you went as far as to believe he actually loathed his demonic heritage, as that was something too personal, but you had a hunch they all had some suspicions of that deep inside. “He keeps it in check, hidden, tamed. He lashes out when it’s a good time to do so – when fighting demons.” As you started getting some hums of agreement, you sneakily took Trish’s milkshake. “We have never seen Dante actually angry. And I don’t think we ever will.”

“Oh, now you’re makin’ it difficult.” Nico had to ponder those words, even if she couldn’t really see Dante being as dangerous as you said.

“Eh, not for me. I’m still going with Vergil.” Lady shrugged, firm on her opinion as always.

You took a little longer to get to the final vote – discussing what you had just said, as Trish called you out for stealing her milkshake and having it back, only to share it with you – but the answer was almost unanimous: the scariest one on a fit of wrath was Vergil.

Almost, because you kept adamant in voting on your red devil.

Vergil never came to know about all of that, but if he did, he would have agreed with you – not publicly, as he would hold his new title with pride, always content on inspiring fear as a way to keep himself and his loved ones protected. He would, however, agree with you privately, remembering Dante’s display of wrath in Hell.

That was the reason why his hands trembled on Yamato during your latest hunt together – the one where everything went wrong.

If only you would wake up. Maybe he could save Dante’s soul.

It all happened so fast, Vergil didn’t even see how things ended the way they were at the moment. On one second you were fighting by their side, on the other, you were tossed on the floor, soaked in your own blood, chest immobile. Not breathing.

“Y/n! No, y/n!” It was the very first time Vergil saw Dante dropping everything to run towards you. His brother let go of his sword, ignored all demons around and ran as if you were the only being in that godforsaken place. Vergil had to put himself between him and the demons, keeping them at bay as Dante quickly made his way to you. “Y/n! C’mon, babe! Y/n!”

Dante’s knees hit the floor with a loud thud as he dropped all his weight by your side – not feeling anything at the moment, but it would certainly leave a couple of horrid bruises. As his sky-blue eyes met that harrowing sight, desolation filled his face; Dante forgot how to breath for a split second, barely feeling his very own hands, legs tingling as his body seemed to sink in the ground even further.

Vergil stated the very same thing his brother did – and he never thought he could feel that way with the thought of losing you; but there was Vergil, with numbness on his fingers and a sickness in his stomach. You were the little light that Dante had found in his life, one of the only good things that had happened to him during all his damned years of living. Vergil knew how important you were, how only you could make Dante smile with a sincerity he only had seen when they were kids. What would be of his brother – his foolish, stupid, beloved brother – if he lost you to demons as well…?

The answer would come very soon, but not without a fight from Dante’s side.

“C’mon, y/n, open your eyes…!” Dante’s voice trembled, in a way Vergil had never listened to before. He watched as his twin brother desperately tried to bring you back, heavy hands massaging your chest, followed by breathing inside your mouth, and repeating once more. “C’mon, babe… Don’t leave me here…!” Those words were a whisper as he trembled trying to make your heart beat again, giving his breath to you once more so you could also breathe.

The realization washed Dante’s body as a cold wave, as he slowly felt he wasn’t in his body anymore – his body feeling your weight on his hands, but his soul completely out. Maybe flying away to meet yours wherever you were.

But then, a twisted symphony of distorted cackles and mockery ripped through his ears – the realization also came to the demons, and now they gloated with their first victory. Not only that, but humiliated the son of Sparda for losing his own beloved just like his father had lost Eva.

Vergil was ready to unsheathe Yamato and unleash all his fury to cut those demons in million pieces for that lack of respect – and to allow his brother to mourn properly. He himself had to mourn: you were too precious at the Devil May Cry for Vergil not to feel your loss.

But he wouldn’t need that. A deep growl grabbed the Dark Slayer’s attention, making him immediately turn to his brother. Dante got up from the floor with nothing but rage in his eyes bleeding tears, bare teeth as his demonic heritage boiled to rip through his skin and unleash all its fury on his enemies.

If only Dante had waited a single second, he would have realized what Vergil did. He would have heard a faint heartbeat – trembling, but fighting to survive. He would have seen your broken body trying to breath underneath the blood.

Dante killed the first demons with their own weapons, running towards his sword with a scream that only grew in strength. Vergil kneeled by your side, checking your pulse on your neck, staining his hands with your blood but stating what made his heart beat faster: you weren’t lost. Dante had to know.

The floor rumbled. As Vergil turned his attention towards Dante, he immediately turned back to you to protect you with his body. Dante’s scream thundered through the floor, as if it came from the deepest pits of Hell itself – and a thousand degrees exploded in sparks and molten lava as his Sin Devil Trigger took the place of the man who stood there before.

Vergil was used to the flames of Hell, they would not hurt him. But he wasn’t used to the wrath of his brother – and that might be something none of you would be able to recover. Vergil could take the heat of the explosion that took down many demons in its wake, but your human body couldn’t – and that was the reason why he had to do everything in his power to protect you.

Those silvery eyes turned back at Dante, still keeping a protective arm above you. Usually predatorial, now Vergil had nothing but worry in his gaze, watching with desolation as his brother became the bloodthirsty ruthless demon he never was.

In that state, Dante could make mistakes. He could hit you without even realizing. A misplaced use of his power, a wrong swing of his blade, another explosion of million degrees into hellish flames… Vergil could survive, not you. And, if Dante, who hadn’t realized yet you weren’t lost as he thought you were, ended up being the real reason of your demise…

Vergil didn’t even want to think what would happen.

For all he could see at that moment was a demon fiercely fighting other demons – or, better yet, easily subduing and mercilessly slaughtering all of them. And that was something that was so intrinsic to Dante’s heart: his mercy. Having Dante without his mercy, his kindness, his gentleness, his love, was the same as not having him at all… That was the source of his power, like rage was the source of Vergil’s power.

Watching his brother lost in wrath was heart wrenching, but knowing it could get even worse if he was to completely lose his soul was even more harrowing. Dante’s eyes bled his pain, even in that form, as he soaked his whole self in the viscous blood of his enemies – a monster beyond salvation, a creature without a soul, a lover without a heart. A man with his fragile hope crashed into pieces, abandoning everything that made him who he was, to allow himself to find some comfort through burning his own wrath.

For the first time, it downed on Vergil his brother might not come back. If he lost you, if Dante fatally wounded you, Vergil would never have him again – for Dante would lose the very last brink of humanity inside of him; a brink that Vergil couldn’t even see at that moment and didn’t even know if it was still there. Dante’s eyes were red, his growls distorted and animalistic, his power… Greater than Mundus, greater than even Sparda.

If Dante approached, Vergil would have to fight him. His brother wasn’t in a leveled state of mind to see logic – and he could hurt you, even if Dante would never do that. With all that blind wrath, though, Vergil didn’t even know if his brother would answer if he called.

Holding Yamato with a stronger grip than usual, Vergil stood in front of your body, guarding you from whatever harm that could come your way – be it in demon form… Or in his own twin brother form.

The cold hand of fear, though, slowly crept into his heart and held it on its stark clutches. Yes, Vergil spent his whole life sparring with that fool he had to call his brother – hearing Dante’s taunts and impossible physics, as if he didn’t even make an effort to make Vergil look like a complete buffoon during the fight, no matter how much technique and skill he had – but never Vergil imagined not having that.

Having Dante was a given. Fighting him was a given. Bantering, arguing, sparring, behaving like the bickering old set of twin brothers that they were. Vergil could say he wanted to defeat Dante, but he never wanted to get rid of him. What would his life be without his stupid brother?

Empty. Silent. Cold. Devoid of color.

Dante couldn’t go. And, most of all, he couldn’t go by Vergil’s hands. But if he was too much of a lose canon, if he was too far gone in his demonic frenzy, Vergil would have to put a stop to it…

Like Dante did with him as Nelo Angelo so many years before.

Vergil had to hold the cry that seemed to want to force its way out of his throat – holding back the tears that now glistened in his eyes. He was the most foolish of all… He was responsible for putting Dante on the same situation he found himself in at the moment – and just now he understood how harrowing, how painful and how much of a hell Dante had to go through.

Alone. Just like Vergil was alone in Hell – as above so below, the twins mirroring each other’s fates, on their realms and heritage of preference.

They weren’t so different after all.

As you started to hear the chaos around you once again, your head was spinning viciously and the pain that spread inside your lungs made you think you were going to explode. With an almost inaudible moan, you felt tears streaming down your eyes as you tried to open them, seemingly inhaling blood and pain every time you tried to breathe. You could feel you were covered in something wet and sometimes sticky, but it took some time for you to raise a trembling hand in front of your barely focusing eyes to realize it was blood.

Were you dead…? What had happened…? You could barely remember. You didn’t even know what hit you: suddenly everything turned black and now you were feeling like a bulldozer went over your body and somehow you managed to survive. Perhaps you didn’t, but if you were dead, you wouldn’t be feeling that much pain… At least, that was what people always said that happened after departing from the human world.

Plus, you could still hear the demons – but now, screaming in fear and trying to run away from something that was growling in such an inhuman tone, you wondered if you guys had accidentally summoned something bigger. By the noise, it had to be. The likes of Mundus and the other Kings of Hell – Vergil being the smallest of them, but still as deadly.

Perhaps it was Vergil…? To be fair, though, he never went all out without a really good reason. Maybe he thought you were dead? He appreciated you as much as a brother would appreciate his twin’s partner, but you didn’t expect him to have such a visceral reaction to your death; Unless…

You widened your eyes as your whole body seemed to be washed by a cold wave followed by a lightening that made you tingle from head to toes. Your heart sunk in your chest and the painful breaths you tried before were all but gone. Vergil would have a visceral reaction if he lost his brother. And that, you couldn’t even fathom: life without Dante didn’t exist… Or, at least, it would be something you wouldn’t want to go through.

You forced your body up, slowly turning to one side and barely using your arm to keep your weight as you tried to see what was going on. You had to find him, you had to find Dante. You would crawl to his body, you would shake him around as you could, you would give him your breath, you would give him your soul – but you would try everything to bring him back. You would hold him as tight as you could, you would cry over him, and there wouldn’t be a living or dead thing in this world that would be able to part you from him.

You widened your eyes once more when you saw Vergil keeping your body as a guardian warrior and the source of the chaos and destruction was your beloved red devil – lost in a frenzy, dripping with blood, eyes melting like lava and nothing of human in them.

You had never seen Dante like that.

“Verge…” You tried to cough the word out, but it was nothing more than a dying whisper. You couldn’t see how the blue devil furrowed his brows, thinking he might be hearing things – until you allowed a harsher breath to hurt your lungs so you could try to raise your trembling voice higher. “Vergil…!”

He turned his head enough to see you in the corner of his eyes – doing his best to still keep Dante in his sight. A wave of euphoria washed through Vergil’s body as his hands seemed to get steadier around Yamato: he was right, you were alive. As the fighter you were, the survivor you were… You were breathing and doing your best to get back on your feet again.

“Y/n…” But he couldn’t even talk: the floor rumbled again and Vergil knew what was coming. You placed your hands on the ground, widening your eyes and furrowing your brows, having never felt that before.

For a split second, you caught a glimpse of what was going on: Dante harnessing his power, ready to explode. You had never saw that. You had never saw his eyes devoid of his humanity. You had never seen your Dante as a complete demon like it was happening at that moment.

And, something that you had never been conscious to witness, Vergil threw himself over you to protect your body from his brother’s wrath. You had to cower behind his frame, gripping Vergil’s coat lapel for dear life, but still feeling the burning of a thousand degrees engulf you.

The blue devil didn’t even waver – but both of you had something in your eyes… The dread of the harrowing knowledge that that was Dante. All that destruction, that chaos, that blood… It was all Dante.

You were right, after all. His rage was the scariest to see.

“I need t-…” Your voice was raspy, having to stop mid phrase to cough some more blood that needed to come out of your lungs. “I need to talk to him.” You tried to take a deep breath, but once again it just stopped with a harsh sting on your chest. “He needs to know I’m alive.”

“Hmmm.” Vergil agreed with his head, but you knew he was still pondering what you had said. He helped you up on your feet – doing more of the work than you, easily lifting your body with his strength. “Dante isn’t himself at the moment…” Again, Vergil stood in front of you like a guardian, gripping the Yamato with both hands as soon as he saw you could stand by yourself. If you faltered, though, he was quick enough to hold you. “You must keep that in mind.”

“I know… And I am scared.” You answered in a whisper, looking over Vergil’s shoulder only to see Dante mercilessly slaughtering the last unlucky demons. “But it’s still Dante.”

Vergil didn’t know what to do, if he was being honest with himself. He could have held you back and kept you safe, as his demonic side told him to do, but something inside told him he should let you do what you had to do. Those silvery eyes watched as you bravely walked in haste towards danger; towards hell and doom, ready to embrace it… And willing to make it stop.

“Dante! Dante, love!” You kept calling, but, as Vergil feared before, his brother didn’t respond. He was too far gone, too lost in Hell to come back that easily. Vergil followed your steps slowly, lingering like a shadow behind you… Ready to do whatever he needed to do if Dante’s demon didn’t even recognize you in that blind rage. “Dante! You can stop now… Dante!”

With all the filthy bloody corpses piling up on the floor, that flaming red-hot demonic figure slowly turned its head towards you. Covered in blood, sword dripping with red, molten lava eyes raining all its hollow pain. Expressionless, as he always was on his Sin Devil Trigger, made of fire and coal, hate and rage.

Did he recognize you…? Did he understand what was going on…? Vergil’s grip on Yamato got stronger, ready to unleash a blow on his brother in order to protect you. What you were doing was a gamble – and one with not so nice odds to you. There was a reason why Vergil let Dante’s anger wear out when they were in Hell: he knew there was a good chance Dante wouldn’t even recognize him at the height of his wrath, just like it happened with Vergil on those situations. So, to say the moment at hand was dangerous was a serious understatement.

But humans would always be fascinating, wouldn’t they…? At least, that was what Vergil thought. That towering demon with a flaming chest and leathery wings turned towards you, carrying his huge sword dripping with demonic blood, doing nothing but heavy breathing – and you decided to fearlessly walk towards it.

Humans.

Vergil kept his distance, watching it all unfolding with a weary heart and a trigger hand at ready to fight his brother – to death, if he unfortunately needed to – in order to protect you. He couldn’t have the certainty you had, as your steps kept going in Dante’s direction.

Your legs were shaking, your knees were trembling, but… It was your lover. It was Dante. No matter how much he was lost into his frenzy and wrath, you had to believe his heart would remember you. His soul. It all happened because he thought he had lost you, he had to come back upon knowing you were alright.

It didn’t matter how horrid his wrath looked like, you knew he was in there somewhere.

“Dante… It’s me, I’m alright…” Your voice was still a whisper, unable to speak too loud, but also trying to soothe the anger in his heart. You hesitantly reached out to him, making a growl rumble inside his chest and your steps stop for a while – with Vergil half-unsheathing his sword, ready to fight. “Love…” You called again, breathing as deeply as you could, resuming your walking and extending your hand towards him. “My Dante…”

You were finally at arm’s reach. Vergil held his breath, eyebrows furrowed, silvery predator eyes fixated on what was supposed to be his brother. You raised your hand higher, resting it on Dante’s face.

His Sin Devil Trigger form was nothing but rough. His skin seemed like hard leather and rocky coal, burning so hot it could almost hurt your hand. You wouldn’t back down though: compared to him, you were soft and cold, too fragile and breakable; but you wouldn’t leave. You caressed his rough face, fingers feeling the sharp teeth, the spiky crevices, the unwelcoming features of a face made in Hell.

You felt, though, an unlikely moisture reaching your fingers: a droplet, running from those fiery, empty eyes – those inhuman eyes. You looked at it running through your fingers to the back of your hand, looking back into those frightening eyes that had nothing of a soul in them…

But he was there, wasn’t he? It was him, a part of him that Dante always fought so relentlessly to keep hidden, to keep on a tight leash in the deepest corner of his self. You could see Dante in those eyes – and, as soon as that realization washed through the demon’s body, his head leaned into your hand.

With a flaming spark, the red devil was gone and you had the man back: tired, desolated, falling apart. Dante still leaned his head into your hand – now with soft skin, smooth lips, closed eyes and flowy white hair – almost like an animal that had never been touched with kindness in a whole lifetime. As he opened his eyes, you could see the redness of his tears crowning those sky-blue tones you always loved so much… And there was nothing but fragile vulnerable humanity in them.

“Hi, cowboy…” You whispered with a shadow of a smile on your lips, while your very eyes poured tears – you didn’t know what kind of tears, though, if of happiness, sadness, desperation, pity or love. Maybe all of them at the same time: it was inherently human to feel more than words could describe. You caressed his face as Dante himself started to pour all of his feelings out – this time, not in a fit of rage. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I thought I lost you.” His coarse voice came through as if Dante had been weeks without speaking and his very own vocal cords were barely working. You didn’t doubt his body would be in pain after all he had been through during… That. “I thought… You were gone. I’d never see you again, you were… Like… Like…” Dante closed his eyes again, head hanging low. He could barely breathe as the words fought to get out of his chest and stop suffocating him. His tears hitting the floor while you took his hair out of the way so you could see his face – there was nothing but pain; a pain that hadn’t been healed since he was a child. “Like everyone in my damned fuckin’ life; those things… I thought they had extinguished… Your light, like everyone… Like everyone eventually does… By my side…”

That was rare. Very rare. Dante was very honest with his feelings and usually didn’t hide anything from you, but not to that point – the point where he would honestly and openly say how much he thought he was the thing that doomed everyone else who decided to live with him or be friends with him. That loathing he had inside his heart, that he hid so carefully, it wasn’t something he would say out loud – it was something you knew because you always understood him so well.

You let go of his hair and locked your arms around his large frame, resting your head on his chest – you could hear his heart beating, his human heart. Dante hesitated for the very first time in his life, keeping his arms by your side for a split second, his teary eyes shocked with your reaction.

After all, you had just seen his absolute worst. All the things he always smothered so much inside himself, keeping them on check, always so controlled. You had seen it in all its spiteful and horrid glory – and your reaction was to embrace him instead of running away. Dante expected you to run, it would honestly be the logic and most human thing to do after seeing all of that.

But you walked towards him with your heart beating in fear, touching his face to grab him out of the pit of wrath he was buried into, holding him tightly in your arms as he broke down in all his anger, misery, trauma and self-loathing.

It lasted a split of a second indeed – for soon Dante’s strong arms were wrapped around your fragile body, keeping you close and safe from harm… As well as having his face buried on your neck, crying all that smothered pain inside of his heart out. Your bodies were too exhausted to keep standing for too long – so when your knees wavered, Dante did the same and you kneeled on the floor, never letting go of each other; Dante holding you as tight as he could, promising himself he would never let go.

Vergil could finally put Yamato to rest. When they were in Hell, he allowed his brother’s rage to wear off while observing from afar. This time, he could do the same: guarding you and quietly keeping you both safe and sound.

A sad ghost of a smile graced the Dark Slayer’s lips as he calmly observed you. Maybe his brother was right after all, and he could only wish someday he would be as strong as Dante to carry such power.

A human heart.

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muddyorbsblr · 7 months ago

Text

mercy upon ourselves

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Your multiversal duty of punishing perpetrators of infidelity in their afterlife takes an interesting turn when you see that the betrayed party is one of your variants | loose 'sequel' to 'all will be alright in time'

Pairing: Loki (God of Stories/Time) x Reader; Will Ransome x Reader (different Reader)

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ | talks of infidelity; steamy moments at the end; (technically) mass murder; Cora Seaborne (yeah she's a warning); Will Ransome (in this case he needs to be a warning, too) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: this loosely takes place in the RTC 'multiverse', but no prior reading of the series is required; Reader is the goddess of fidelity

Dick-tionary: steamy moments (but not outright smut) starts at "Loki let out a low chuckle"

Your duty as goddess of fidelity, in theory, was simple enough. Upon the death of a betrayer, you were to choose their punishment in their eternal afterlife. After your first few thousand cases, they all began to meld into the same old tale, often feeling as if they all even wore the same face.

That was until this particular story. Where the face of the deceased and betrayed wife held…your own.

Before you could even call out to him, Loki was by your side in a heartbeat, laying his hands gently on your shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of your head. "I can sense your unease, little Princess. What troubles you?"

Together you looked through the glowing branches that surrounded you, each telling the story of a different timeline, a different universe. Until you finally found the one which held the case you needed to review. The universe where your echo had died of a broken heart upon learning that your husband, Loki's echo in the form of a Reverend William Ransome, betrayed you to have an entanglement with a newcomer in your quaint village of Aldwinter.

"This is no variant of mine," your husband seethed. "I could never belittle our love like this, the thought alone pains me."

You took his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I know, husband. This timeline is simply…a fluke. Our echoes, our variants? They are not reflections of ourselves. His flaws and failures are not your burden to bear."

"Failure," he repeated, his top lip curling up in a sneer as he looked upon the faces of his variant and his mistress, living together under the same roof, sleeping in the very bed that your variant breathed her last. "That is precisely what this branch is. Perhaps it should just drift away…to wither and rot."

"Loki we should not punish an entire universe for the mistake of one man. There are still countless lives within this branch--"

"And your variant is no longer one of them because of the mistake of his one man. He deserves to suffer."

"And he will," you reassured him. "His suffering falls within my purview. It is my Norns-given duty to see to it. And while I know we both would relish in watching as this pathetic coward of a man sees the end of days upon him, I cannot in good conscience have it be at the cost of an entire universe. But perhaps the village that was complicit…the village that stayed silent to protect their precious reverend's reputation."

"What do you have in mind, my love?" He pulled you close to him, embracing you from behind, hands caressing your sides. Soothing himself from the unease of seeing how his variant dared take you for granted.

I was made to be yours. Words that resonated so deeply into both your souls. Words he used when he first confessed his love to you. The same words you yourself uttered when your memory spell had broken and you found him that fateful day eons ago.

The same words you both used within your new vows when he returned to you. And used ever since.

And somehow this insipid trifling man thought himself above those words? Dare even spit them back in the face of the same entities that weaved your two souls together so intricately that it bled through every timeline and universe known to him?

All the suffering in the Nine Realms would not be enough for this William Ransome as far as he was concerned.

"Well, husband, we are in a rather…unique circumstance," you mused aloud, a little sound of contentment slipping from your lips when he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I bear the same face as this Y/N Ransome…and they reside in a town that is riddled with a rather superstitious lot. And my variant…she deserves her revenge, does she not?"

Had it not been for the gloomier and grayer than usual state of the sky, it seemed a typical day in Aldwinter. It had been years since the spectacle that was your passing occurred, and the townsfolk had finally began to warm to the presence of Cora Seaborne. Sure, she and William would still get looks out of the corners of their eyes, especially when she would emerge from the house in a dress that people could have sworn was yours, but other than that, no one made any trouble for them.

Not to their face. Not anymore.

The cold heaviness of regret had made itself at home in the pit of your widower's stomach ever since that day, the day that he betrayed you. No amount of rationalizing could have him absolve himself of his sin. Any which way he went with his internal arguments, they would all land in the same place.

The blame fell entirely on him. And he would have to live with the consequences of what he'd done for the rest of his days.

In the form of the tombstone that would steadily erode with the passing of time.

And in the form of the new family he was all but strong armed into taking on, if only to spare himself more scandal and ridicule. He'd already lost the respect of a good number of the congregation, this would smite the number down to a paltry handful if he turned his back on his then pregnant mistress.

Though despite all their efforts at maintaining what they thought they'd found with each other, they had lost the babe. Twice. As if God Himself willed it so that no child would ever result from their treachery. A fitting punishment, as far as Will was concerned.

Love may not have been a weakness, but lust most definitely was. Lust was what drove him to commit the treachery that led to the loss of love.

He should have resisted. Walked away. Ran, even.

Perhaps if he had, you would still be here, serving as a bright ray of sunlight even in the dark gray overcast over your little town. Perhaps your children wouldn't have turned their backs on him and he would be allowed the privilege of getting to see them build their own families, lead their own lives.

Instead all he had was darkness and silence. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"William!" Cora's shriek traveled across the marshes.

Moments like these, he preferred the darkness and silence.

He tried to take in a breath before turning to face her, the picture of a doting partner. "What is it, Cora?"

"The look--the looking glass, I saw--"

Her stammering was cut short by the sound of Matthew frantically ringing the alarm bell. "TIDE INCOMING! EVERYONE GO INSIDE! GET TO SAFETY!"

One of the fishermen in the approaching boats stumbled forward until he fell limp in the reverend's arms. "The waves, they be the size of mountains. Bigger even. God is angry with us."

"No," Matthew wheezed, coughing out sea water. "That wasn't God, out there in the waters. Not our God. That was some sorceress, some witch. Demoness. We must find safety." He began to usher every villager he could find into the church. "She don't look like the type that shows mercy."

"She?" Cora spoke, pointing a shaky finger at the curate. "You…saw her face? Tell me does she look like--"

"Enough talk about the evil looming in on us, Mrs Seaborne!" he snapped, pointing his finger at the Ransome house. "Go home. May this evil, whoever and whatever she may be, have mercy on us all."

"What was that, Cora?" Will hissed as they made their way home. "You look completely beside yourself."

"I could have sworn I saw Y/N's face in the looking glass," she said shakily, gulping for breath, shuddering when she said your name aloud once more. "Will, she looked angry. Vengeful."

"You're not making any sense, Y/N is gone," he said tersely, a familiar lump forming at the back of his throat as he forced himself to acknowledge your absence from his life. He ushered her along, trying to ensure that she at least would not stumble too harshly. "I laid her into the ground myself, gave her eulogy."

"I know," she huffed. "But I also know what I saw, that was no hallucination, Will--"

"I've read texts that there are some pregnancies that alter with the minds, the perception of the expectant mother. Perhaps this is simply one of those cases," he waved off. "Look, Cora we're almost home. We can wait out the storm and then when this is all over you can rest. We all can."

She simply nodded and they cross the marshes back to their home, only to find Francis, pale as freshly pressed cardstock, awaiting them by the door. "Mother, F-Father, there's a woman--" he sputtered out, pointing at the open door.

And then you stepped out. "There you are. Cowards."

William's heart stopped in his chest watching you walk out of your old home, what seemed to be billowing fabric drenched and clinging to your skin, hugging every curve that his hands had longed for since your passing. Even soaking wet, your dress proudly gleamed a brilliant emerald green, and there was a glow that seemed to radiate from underneath your skin.

You were no longer of this earth. You were something…more. Something above them all. And it showed in the way you held yourself, in your gaze as you looked upon the marshes that held your former home. As you looked upon the husband that survived you, your upper lip curling in derision as you saw the bump protruding from Cora's stomach.

"Y/N…" he whispered your name, your sheer presence bringing him to his knees. "Sweet wife, you have returned--"

"Hold that rancid thought," you silenced him, raising your hand in the air as if grasping for something. In an instant, his words ceased, feeling as if his tongue had swollen and became as heavy as lead in his mouth. "You do not get to call me your wife, Reverend Ransome. Not since you sullied your vows and laid with this London whore."

Cora took a step toward you, opening her mouth as if to defend herself, or perhaps her lover. But you put a stop to that as well, raising your other hand in her direction, and suddenly she was forced to sink to her knees as well. "Please, Y/N," she pleaded with you. "Let us take this inside there is a tide coming--"

"Do you mean this tide, friend?" you spat the last word out, as if it tasted bitter on your tongue. Suddenly the tide was steadily approaching the shore, rising to a height that would completely engulf and decimate Aldwinter once it bore down on them. And you rose from the ground, floating well above the roof of the Ransome home, the reverend, along with his lover and her son, looking up at you in sheer horror.

"What do you want from us?!" Francis yelled into the sky, reminding you of how mortal worshippers would look to the sky and beg the gods for explanations. For miracles.

"I do not wish for you to give me anything, young Mr Seaborne. In fact, I wish to offer you all…a choice." You turned your gaze to the kneeling couple. "Get in the water. And perhaps I shall spare this town."

"Y/N please, this town is full of innocent lives, no matter what has happened to you I know in my heart that you would never wreak this kind of devastation upon--"

"What has happened to me?!" you repeated, your shrieking tone piercing even through the deafening sound of the tidal wave still standing tall, waiting to descend. "Your lustful indiscretion cost an innocent life, William Ransome. There is no innocent life in this town. Not anymore. The people here chose to stay silent, to keep your affair a secret for the sake of preventing a scandal. Though that didn't seem to work out the way you'd hoped, did it?" You motioned toward the wave with a jerk of your head again. "Get in the water."

The wave grew even more violent, already taking in the fishing boats and pulling it into its dark abyss.

They both stubbornly stayed still, still kneeling on the muddy marsh ground staying silent. The tramp's hand twitched toward the vicar's, but his moved upward, as if wishing to reach for you.

It was always you, she realized bitterly. She may have him now, but only as a result of his momentary lapse in good judgment where his body chose another's. But his heart…his heart would always choose you.

When presented with any semblance of a choice, Will Ransome would crawl back to you on his hands and knees in a heartbeat. And now she must lie on the bed she made. The bed they both made.

Only when you pointed toward her son, her dear Francis, and he was lifted up from the ground, kicking and struggling in mid-air, did both of them make a noise. Calling out to you, pleading for you to put him down and stop the madness. "This is the last time I will repeat myself, adulterers. Get in the water. Or your boy here suffers first."

"Y/N, stop this," Cora spoke, rising to her feet. "Are you not tired? It has been so long, years, even. Francis was still just a little boy when you last saw him. He is a grown man now, how long will you let anger consume you?"

Even from this distance, you could see the ire in Will's features, clearly ticked off with the words that came out of his lover's mouth. "My darling, please. What must I do to atone for my transgressions towards you? I will promise you anything, do anything. Whatever you wish for, it's yours, please can we just go home?"

You lowered both Francis Seaborne and yourself down to the ground, the young man running immediately to his mother, quivering like a leaf in the wind. The disgraced vicar reached his arms out toward you, every muscle tensing and freezing in place when you rose your hand into the air again. "It is the actions of philanderers like you that make the mortals look down on me, consider me a lesser god."

"God?" Cora repeated in a sharp exhale. "Don't be ridiculous, Y/N--"

"Fools like you don't realize what awaits you on the other side of your mortality, where the fate of your eternal afterlife…falls to me," you cut her off, not bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Adulterers doomed to suffer an endless loop of the consequences of their actions."

"My wife--"

"Is dead, Mister Ransome," you bellowed. From the corner of your eye you could see villagers gathering at their windows, the horror in their expressions as they began to speculate on what exactly had come to terrorize their quaint little town. "You killed her, there is no use in denying it. Your foolish, licentious choices brought her to her grave. For that alone, you will suffer once your feeble human life reaches its conclusion."

"If you are not Y/N Ransome, then who are you?" Francis asked, voice shaking as he held on to his mother. "Why have you come to wreak havoc in our lives?"

You walked toward the town's vicar, tears in his eyes as he watched you move closer. He reached for your hands, looking like a wounded pup when you swatted him away. "I am the goddess of fidelity," you answered simply. "When betrayers like you and your mistress cease your time on this mortal plane, you and everyone complicit in your torrid affair will be at my mercy."

The tide rose even higher, looming menacingly over the town in a dangerous arch, blocking out what little light they once had from the sun beyond the clouds. You grasped William's chin harshly, fear evident in his eyes, heart thundering against his chest.

"But your actions, your infidelity in particular…upset my husband," you spoke, holding his gaze as you hissed the words inches from his face. "And for that, I am willing to bend the rules and begin your suffering ahead of time. Put forth the events that will thrust your pathetic souls upon my doorstep."

You rose from the ground again, rage for your fallen variant coursing through you as you heard them plead for forgiveness. For mercy.

"P-Please Y/N…" Cora sputtered out. "I will leave the town and no one will ever hear from me again, just please let me leave with my boy."

"No," you droned. "You have asked what you can do to atone, I presented you with a choice. Now I know how capable you both are of making choices, you've made several together, some of them even on the very ground you stand on. Which leads me to believe…you have made your choice. Stubbornly bargaining your way out of my wrath, out of your suffering. At the cost of this town you call home."

"You truly aren't Y/N Ransome, are you?" she spat out, a look of entitled indignance on her face. "The Y/N I knew wouldn't be this ruthless. She would have shown mercy--"

"Oh but I am showing mercy, you unworthy tart," you spat back. "For ruthlessness is mercy. Upon ourselves." With a flick of your wrist, the tidal wave was finally let loose.

And the little town of Aldwinter sunk into the water.

Before the tsunami crashed down and took you with it, Loki conjured a portal and pulled you back to safety, a bit of water splashing into your bedchambers before it closed. With a wave of his magic the water evaporated into the air, and your soaked dress was dried.

"Husband…" you spoke, a wide smile gracing your features when your eyes met his. You both were on the floor, the god cradling you in his arms as he pushed your hair away from your face.

"My darling wife," he breathed out, his own smile mirroring yours as he picked you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed. "Your flair for the dramatic has you reckless as ever."

He sat you on the edge of the bed, handing you a goblet of wine that did a quick job of warming you and canceling out the effects of the damp cold of Aldwinter.

"You should rest, my love," he said softly, moving to position himself behind you to undo the braids in your hair, carefully working his fingers through the wet strands. "This is the first time you wielded your newfound powers as a goddess, I can imagine your body feels overworked…and famished."

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, causing your husband to chuckle and press a tender kiss to your cheek. "How did you know when to pull me back?"

"To start, I must admit that I was watching the spectacular show you put on, avenging your variant with such vigor," he whispered into your skin. His hands found their way to your shoulders, working away at the knots. "And our souls' threads are intertwined, little Princess. I can always feel when you need me. I was made to be yours."

"And I yours," you sighed contendedly, leaning against him when he wrapped his arms around you. When he cupped the side of your face, holding you as he pressed his lips to yours, you all but melted into his embrace. "I love you," you mumbled against his lips.

"And I love you," he murmured, continuing to kiss your lips as he maneuvered you to lie down on the bed. With a wave of his hand, the fabric that covered your skin changed to something much lighter, more sheer. One of your sleeping gowns, you surmised. "Rest, dear heart. I shall arrange for food to be brought to us for when you wake."

Your body was all too eager to obey the softly spoken command. The rest of you, however…well, after the ordeal in that despondent village on Midgard, the rest of you ached for your husband's touch. To wash away the muck of the marshes.

Loki let out a low chuckle, kissing along your clavicle as his hand roamed the side of your body. "I can always feel when you need me," he repeated, his tone holding a much more lustful intent than moments earlier. "And much as I want nothing more than to indulge in making love to my beautiful wife, I cannot, should not, be so selfish and ignore her body's need for rest." He made his way to your lips, allowing himself the tiniest sliver of decadence as he licked into your mouth. "You'll need your strength for what I intend to do to you later tonight."

Your breath hitched as images flashed in your mind of your husband teasing and pleasuring you, claiming your body repeatedly well until after the sun rose the next morning. In multiple places throughout your marital chambers. Constantly finding or making the time to bring you to orgasm in the midst of pampering you.

Suddenly it made sense why he would choose to deny you now…in exchange for a much more delicious reward just a few short hours away.

"Would you stay regardless, husband?" you asked weakly, already feeling yourself succumbing to the exhaustion and the slumber that your plush sheets promised. "Hold me?"

You weren't able to see the loving smile that graced your husband's face from your request. You only felt the soft kiss on your forehead before he positioned you to lay in his arms. "Gladly, my darling." He conjured a book into his free hand, ready to begin reading to you when a stray question entered his mind. "What of their souls, Y/N? What hellscape did you design for them?"

"I gave them what they deserve," you grumbled, shifting your position to hold him closer, your arm draping over his stomach as you laid your head on his chest. "Each other. They are doomed to spend their afterlife together, with Cora knowing that his heart longs for his late wife. And William having to watch from the sidelines as my variant finds new love. You have a stray echo that never found his fated, by the name of Pine. I presume by now they've found each other, starting a story of their own."

A/N: Hang on what's this…? Did I tease a future story at the end there? 😳 Why yes…yes I did 🤭 Ngl this year felt like I didn't get a whole lotta stories done especially in the latter half, but hopefully with everything finding a bit of balance, 2025 will look a bit different and I can set aside more time for story writing 💖

Ooh, and also I def got the idea to make this because of the "Get in the Water" song

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #will ransome x reader #will ransome x female reader #essex serpent fanfiction #essex serpent fanfic #muddyorbs writes

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dewdropdinosaur · 7 months ago

Text

Smutmas Day 1: Devil's in the Details

Alastor x Reader

(Third Person POV) Summary: Alastor hates Christmas or at least claims to. What happens when his partner tries to change his mind in less-than-normal ways? Warnings: Oral sex, use of pet names, dom/sub dynamics, costumes, etc. MDNI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. First one, my lovelies! Requested by the beautiful and talented @redvexillum

The festive lights of Pentagram City were uncharacteristically cheery this time of year, a stark contrast to the usual chaos. Snow, or something resembling it, blanketed the streets, and garish decorations adorned every decrepit lamppost. Y/N had taken it upon themselves to deck out the hotel in Christmas splendor, despite Alastor’s vehement distaste for the holiday.

“I don’t understand why you insist on celebrating this of all things,” Alastor scoffed, leaning against the doorway of the common room. “Such a trifling, saccharine excuse for joy. And those dreadful carols. They’re an affront to good music!”

Y/N, perched on a stepladder, was carefully hanging tinsel around a grand, though slightly crooked, Christmas tree. They grinned, wiping a bit of glitter from their cheek. “Maybe you just haven’t experienced it properly, Al. Christmas is about warmth, giving, and making memories. Even demons can use a little cheer, don’t you think?”

Alastor’s eyes glinted, the crimson of his pupils sharp against the glow of the string lights. “Cheer? Darling, this,” he gestured broadly at the room, “is an abomination.”

“Sure, Al. Sure.”

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Y/N sat cross-legged on the edge of their bed, the flickering light of a single candle casting shadows on the walls as a mischievous grin played on their lips. The plan was simple yet devious—if Alastor, the ever-skeptical demon broadcaster, found Christmas insufferable, perhaps it was only because he had never seen it from a different perspective.

A skimpy Santa outfit, perfectly tailored to catch his attention and leave him utterly speechless, would be the centerpiece of their scheme. The collar came dipping low, the fluff leaving little the imagination while the stockings came knee height. And to top it off, a piece of fabric that could be hardly called a skirt finished with a silken black bow. The devil was in the details after all.

Y/N imagined his crimson eyes widening, his sly grin faltering, if only for a moment. They chuckled quietly, already picturing his voice stumbling over his usual smug commentary. Christmas spirit wasn’t just about carols and snow; sometimes, it took a little creativity to light the spark.

The night of the big reveal arrived. The hotel was quiet, the soft hum of holiday jazz emanating from an old phonograph in the Radio’s demons room on the fifth floor. Alastor, as usual, lounged in his favorite armchair, a steaming cup of something, probably tea, in his hand. He was muttering about how much he despised the season when Y/N stepped into the room. A true humbug he was.

“Alastor, darling~” Y/N called, their voice light and teasing.

He looked up, ready to deliver a sarcastic remark—only to have the words catch in his throat.

There they stood, wearing a Santa outfit that had been decidedly... modernized. The deep crimson fabric hugged their form perfectly, trimmed with just enough white fur to be festive but leaving little to the imagination. The slit in the skirt was borderline scandalous, and the neckline—well, it was enough to make the Radio Demon himself lose his composure for a split second.

“Well?” Y/N purred, striking a playful pose. “What do you think? Still hate Christmas?”

Alastor’s grin faltered for the briefest moment before returning, sharper than ever. He stood, circling Y/N like a predator sizing up its prey. “My, my, you’ve certainly... elevated the festivities. Though I can’t help but wonder—was this meant to convert me, or distract me?”

“Maybe both,” Y/N teased, stepping closer. “Do you feel a little warmer now?”

Alastor’s laughter filled the room, rich and unsettling. “Oh, my dear, you have no idea. Perhaps this wretched holiday does have its merits after all.”

“Good,” Y/N replied, a mischievous glint in their eye. “Because there’s more where this came from.”

Nimble fingers traced up their waist, one hand coming to rest with a vice grip on their waist. The other tugging softly on the hem of their skirt before suddenly ripping them off of their body. Exposed, Y/N let out a gasp that was quickly replaced with a lewd moan s Alastor traced a knuckle up the soaked clothed core.

“Now come sit on my lap, darling….isn’t that what you are supposed to do?”

Continuing to drag his finger across their pantie-clad slit, Alastor mumbled the words into the base of thier neck, guiding her back to his arm cahir. Working her way down, His eyes widened as they sat, the messiness that coated their plush thights and painted their hole now came to seep through the fabric of his trousers.

They could feel his hot breath near her ear but as to exact location, Y/N could only but guess. The mix of excitement and fear pulsed through their body, all of it adding to the growing arousal pooling within them. Was he going to kiss their neck? Was he going to continue his assault underneath their panties?

“Now my dear, have you been naughty or nice this year?”

With a dark chuckle, the red demon snuck a finger past the lacey red panties and dipped into their eager cunt. Choking back a moan, hands coming to grab the chair cushions with a vice grip, Y/N felt their whole world spinning. By Lucifer did he feel good. Y/N had sex plenty of times both in life and death but for some godforsaken reason, his one finger felt like they were taking the biggest thing anyone had ever taken.

“Good, I have been so good—“

“Oh have you now? Walking into my room, in such a vulgar outfit? Not quite the thing to get your name on the nice list~”

To their surprise, he added another finger. Hips bucking involuntarily and they could feel the coil in their stomach get tighter with every dirty word that passed his lips. Trying to get out a few words, to warn him of their fast approaching release, he ignored their whiny protests. Speeding up and driving his fingers even deeper, adding to the already lewd squelinching sounds that fill the room. Each thrust is a delicious blend of pain a pleasure, with all thoughts clouded with the feeling of the his deft digits kissing their cervix and how absoluely debauched the words out of Alastor’s mouth sound.

“That’s it, darling. Be good and let me see how nice my present is all unraveled for me.”

His lips found themselves planted on their neck, kissing and sucking softly at their tender flesh. His fingers hitting the right spot to hit every time that had the pressure building and building till they felt the coil in their stomach snap, Alastor’s name coming out in choked murmurs. Allowing time to calm down from the intense high, Alastor removed his fingers, licking the glistening slick off of them in an pornographic display.

“My darling, perhaps you will wear this again, mhmm?”

#hazbin hotel fandom #romance #radio killed the video star #answered #request #vizziepop #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #smutmas #dino's smutmas #dewdropdino #my work #do not steal

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22ayla21 · 10 days ago

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Hello hello!!! Im not sure if im doing this right so im sorry if i had any errors in my request!! Im not sure either how specific I should be </3 But I'll try to do so!!

I wanted to request a hugo x reader romantic fic where Reader is the type of person who finds value in everything!! The stars, the grass- random trash she finds bc she think "each item may hold a story behind them!!/may be important to the person who used to have it" She just thinks everything should be treasured!! Maybe even that she's so focused on everything around her, that she doesn't even think about herself :0?

im so sorry if this isn't specific enough or if i requested the wrong way huhu

Star Gatherer

She saw beauty in everything but herself—and only Hugo, a man with a wounded heart, could remind her that she deserved to be the most cherished part of this world.

She burst into his life like a comet streaking across the night sky with a silver tail, not asking if her beauty was wanted.

Hugo never bothered with trifles. He built his empires on lies, deceit, and cunning schemes. His stage was the world, and he knew perfectly well that victory was often built on the ashes of others' defeats. Every step was calculated. Every word, a tool. Every action, for something greater.

And she... she could spend hours examining a crack in a tile, musing that "surely someone tripped over it at an important moment in their life." Or carefully press a faded tram ticket to her chest as if it were a frozen song of memories.

"You realize that's just trash?" he'd ask then, genuinely, almost with irritation.

She looked at him with her soft, warm, slightly bewildered smile.

"What if, for someone, it was their last day of freedom? Or their first declaration of love? Who knows, Hugo. Even trash can become a relic if you look deeper."

He wanted to argue. He wanted to laugh. But he couldn't. Because in her voice wasn't naive infatuation, but true belief. A belief in the beauty of every imperfect detail of the world.

Hugo didn't immediately understand why he was so drawn to her.

She wasn't looking for adventure; she wasn't a thief, a spy, or an heiress to anything. She had no grand name or great deeds behind her. She was, as he himself once said of himself as a child, nobody.

Except... she had a look as if she saw more than everyone else.

When she first entered his gallery, dressed simply, even slightly awkwardly—in a patched sweater, a skirt with hand-stitched pockets, and hair smelling of rain—he thought it was a mistake.

"Excuse me, private exhibition," he said in his usual polite tone.

She approached a painting, freezing for a few seconds.

"That's 'Capturing the Morning'... But why did the artist leave such uneven strokes in the corner? As if he was rushing or crying."

He was stunned. No one... no one, not even the most seasoned collectors, had noticed that.

"Do you know the artist?"

She turned to him. "No. But I know what pain looks like when it hasn't cooled yet."

From then on, he began to find excuses to call her more often. To help with restoration, or to "ask her to look" at a new find. She readily agreed, asking no unnecessary questions.

She could sit on the floor in the dark gallery storeroom, holding a broken ceramic cup in her hands and whispering, "Someone probably drank tea from it when they received bad news. Or good news. It's part of their story. It's important."

He didn't understand. And at the same time, he couldn't tear himself away.

In her presence, the world seemed different. And he himself—different too.

Hugo, a man who despised weakness, suddenly began to wonder, "Are those who fear to feel not weak themselves?"

And, of course, she noticed nothing.

She saw the reflections of stars in puddles but didn't notice how he looked at her—with a quiet, careful, almost painful tenderness.

She could pick up a fallen button from his jacket, say that "it probably got lost during an important conversation," and carefully put it in his pocket...

And then walk past, unaware that Hugo had lost his voice for a few minutes.

He saw how she admired everything but herself. How she forgot to eat while caring for abandoned flowers near an old factory. How she shivered from the cold because she had given her jacket to a homeless dog. How she didn't notice that she herself was among those "things that need to be cherished."

He wished he could tell her. But his voice trembled. He, a gang leader, a man who had deceived the elite and business tycoons, couldn't find the right words. He was ready to risk himself for others but didn't know how to risk his feelings.

And one day, when she again brought a shard of glass to the gallery—"like a piece of a star"—he took her hand. Gently, yet firmly.

"You see beauty in everything. But why don't you notice yourself?"

She froze. Her eyes, always full of light, widened in surprise. "Me...?"

"Yes. You. You are more important than any object you've ever picked up. Your heart is more beautiful than all the paintings in this gallery. And I..." he exhaled, "I don't just want to be near you. I'm already addicted to the way you smile at trash on the street."

That night, for the first time, she admitted to herself that she also felt something. And he, for the first time, realized that one could be vulnerable—and still remain strong. Because next to her, his wounds stopped bleeding.

Even when he was eating a pastry to keep from collapsing from weakness—and she accidentally caught him doing it. He prepared for mockery. For disgust. For worry.

But she just sat down quietly beside him. "Do you want me to find the most tasteless pastry in the world, so it's just sugar, but without... the trauma?"

He looked at her and couldn't answer. Because a lump was in his throat.

And then he laughed. Quietly. Honestly.

#22ayla21 #zzz hugo vlad #hugo vlad x reader #hugo vlad #zzz x reader #zenless zone zero x reader #zenless zone zero

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scraps-n-starters · 10 months ago

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Dead Serious Arranged Marriage aus are fun

If I were to do one I'd play with it a little. Give one or both of them a bit of forewarning.

A careful message from Talia, an arrangement set in soul and stone with the opening of the pits. A bit of research, an awareness of the inherent cruelty and callousness of the unliving.

A file flagged with familiar purple as Danny attempts to sort through the mess left by his predecessors. A Crown Prince as his heart still beats, but an Heir Apparent nonetheless.

A cautious meeting between affianced.

(One wary and wise, with word that any Heir Apparent of The Tyrant is not a foe to be trifled with)

(One can tell much by the ghosts the other leaves behind. A Nursemaid with tales of the vicious culture of the League. Test assassins that tell of what one will do to survive. Failed clones, empty echoes, unable to live their own lives but neither left with room for error or mercy. All drowned out by dozens of soft mewls and memories of warm hands and gentle goodbyes. You cannot rescue every animal that comes into your hands. But the echoes of attempts exist. Desert coarse fur and shared water. Danny was a goner before they'd ever even met.)

Likely a warning at 16, a meeting at 17, and a courtship lasting an age and a half

But that's alright

They've got all the time in the world

#Dead Serious #DCxDP #DPxDC #Danny Phantom #Damian Wayne #idk the thought of Danny faced with a mess of fluffy ghosts of failed rescues consumed me #maybe at some point Damian asks why he was so infatuated from the get go only to be confronted with the shade of an old desert cat #curled up over Danny's shoulders. familiar and faint memories. fine fur and unsteady purring.#you can tell a lot by how someone has treated animals

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imagine-darksiders · 2 months ago

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Anon ,this was so beautiful and eloquently written, Golgoth my new BELOVED!

You have a real talent for writing, and I hope you continue to do so! Taking your advice and copying your story so I can put it under a 'read more.'

The original writing prompt

Below was written by Anon, please give it a read if you have the time, it's very good and wholesome!

-----------------------

Of all the universal truths, the inevitable realities that bleed down the bloodline of mankind, this one you know for certain: the strong oppress the weak.

Unfortunately for you, the latter best describes your tribe.

But what can you expect from humble fishers and farmers? From women weavers and little toddling weaners? An army born and raised to conquer and defend? A fortress as formidable as the Cahaya mountain that looms over your little valley?

One wishes it were so in times such as have been.

But wishing does nothing to keep the small band of Vulkars from randomly raiding your village, taking what little harvest is left and leaving with more and more of your people.

Now, with only a fortnight before the first frost, there remains only the dying elderly, the weather-worn mothers with their babes still suckingly their breasts, the frail and feeble children, and you.

The only young virgin to be left behind.

Since many years ago, fire had burned the right side of your face and neck, claiming both that eye and what beauty you had. None were at fault. It was fate alone that cursed you.

And because of your curse, when you reached marrying age, none would have you.

But as there are two sides to your face, there are two sides to your curse, and in spite of the shame you feel, you are grateful it has spared you the doom of your tribal sisters at the hand of the Vulkars.

Only now it seems a far more despairing doom lies before you.

For last night, it was agreed among the elders that if the tribe was to survive the winter, much less another Vulkar raid, there was only one hope left, only one who could save them.

Golgoth, the god of war and blood.

There is not much that you, or anyone else, knows about Golgoth. Your tribe trifles not with higher beings. Only in times of greatest need does your people call upon them, requesting aid in exchange for the offering required.

Golgoth is no different.

Inscribed in one of the stone tablets that has been preserved through the generations, there is a passage that speaks of how to summon Golgoth. The ancient language is known only by a few elders, and even then, not all is easily understood. But they have interpreted tells that one must give their hand in blood in return for his aid.

So it was decided that one should travel to the peak of Cahaya to perform the ritual, seeing how the mountain stood nearest to the heavens and its distance from the village would improve its chance of escaping the god’s wrath should he find the sacrifice displeasing.

And of all those left who could be chosen, it was you.

Because of course it was. The elderly are too feeble to make the journey, and the children likewise. As for the able-boodied mothers, they have already given themselves to a man and are no longer innocent.

And everyone knows that war lusts most for innocent blood.

“There is no other option,” they told you.

And you know they are right.

It is why you willingly spent the waning hours of darkness repeating the summoning spell, committing the foreign words to memory.

(Each repetition a strand in the rope wrapping around your neck.)

It is why at daybreak, despite your aged mother’s tearful begging for you, her only daughter, to abandon the task, you turned your back to her.

(She never saw the tear sliding down the pale of your cheek.)

It is why you swallow back your hunger and thirst, pushing yourself to keep pace as you climb higher and higher up the mountain.

(No need to pack provisions when you will not live past dusk.)

You repeat the weighty words under your breath as you ascend, only for them to be drowned by the howling of the wind.

You cannot afford to forget them.

You cannot afford to fail.

Halfway through your journey, the eastern light rises overhead, its heat barely noticeable this high up. The wind hounds you even harder, barking at your heels and biting through your thin skin. Without the thick, white fur of the eshoka covering you from head to foot, you would perish before you could make it to the top.

But make it to the top you do, collapsing face down onto the ground, weary to the bone.

Up here snow has already fallen. Though its powdery flakes cushion your exhausted body, their chill does little to comfort you. At least you do not feel it on your disfigured cheek.

Sleep beckons you, and though you know it seduces you to your death, still it tempts you.

After all, you are destined to die here anyway.

Only when you remember the lives at stake- of your precious mother, of the struggling survivors, of those enslaved and tortured by the Vulkars- only then do you find the strength to sit up and face your fate. The western light hangs just above the horizon before you, painting you in its deep red rays.

With frostbitten fingers, you remove your mitten and take the jagged knife from your belt.

You must do it.

They are all counting on you.

There is no other option.

. . .

Breathe in and grip the knife.

. . .

Press the blade to your right palm.

. . .

Hold the icy air in your lungs, and then . . .

“A-ah! -a-ah . . . nnn-” you stifle your whimper, though there is no one to hear.

The flesh is numb from the cold, but not numb enough. Tears threaten to blur your only seeing eye, but you blink them back and force your eye open, exposing it to the stinging wind.

You look. The cut trails from your pointer to your wrist. Down runs your bright red lifeforce, dripping onto the snow.

It’s . . . mesmerizing, in a way.

You take a breath, recentering your focus on the task at hand. Bowing your head, your hair falls over your scarred side like a golden veil. Purple chapped lips utter the powerful words, the swirling wind carrying them to the skies. "Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar." Golgoth, I give my hand for yours.

You hear the wind wailing louder, like a shrill woman shrieking in the air.

"Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar."

You lift up your eyes to see ashen clouds blocking out the sun.

"Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar."

You feel colder, though from lack of light or blood loss, you cannot tell. Trepidation grips your heart in its fangs, squeezing what little strength you have from you, until your voice weakens to a whisper. You wish the snow would swallow you whole.

"Uzgon . . . G-golgoth ver- ver riskle . . . p-panar . . ."

Static prickles your skin . . . he is coming.

"Uzg-g-gon-"

A crack of lightning descends a few measures across from you and you shriek, flailing onto your back.

You lie for a moment, stunned from the shock but otherwise unharmed.

Groaning, you push yourself up on your uncut hand, the other clutched close to your chest. You squint with your good eye, your scarred one still hidden beneath your hair. Your vision finally focuses and then . . .

. . . your heart stops.

Before you stands a being unlike anything you have ever seen before.

He is as tall as he is wide, with legs and arms thicker than your entire body, and shoulders as broad as two barrels. Most of him is dressed in coal-colored leather and adorned with animal skulls, teeth, and other bones. What is not covered reveals reddish skin.

Yet it is not his imposing figure that draws your attention, but his bowed head.

Hair as dark as dried blood, thick and shaggy, wraps around his jaw to his ears, while the rest runs down the neck like a mane. His ears are pointier than any humans, though not as pointed as the two bull horns above them. Stranger yet, an animal skull rests atop his crown, its boney jaw attached to his protruding one. The skull’s four large fangs frame his face, while his own mouth sports its own two small tusks.

For all that resembles a human, he feels more beast than man to you.

Meanwhile you feel little more than a twig to be stepped on, or prey to be snatched and torn to shreds. Like prey, a primal part of you believes that if you do not move, he will not see you.

But of course, that sliver of hope is stripped from you as he lifts his head.

His eyes . . . they are filled with living flames, burning bright like firelight . . .

. . . and they are staring right at you.

You stare back, frozen from fear and the frigid air. You notice not how the wind has dwindled to a soft breeze, nor how your nails dig into your open skin. You are wholly consumed by his otherworldly gaze.

The silence, tense and terrifying, remains untouched until . . .

“Urtz-baugsh-detsh fileen . . .” he mutters, his hushed voice as deep as- no, deeper than thunder.

His speech sounds similar to the ancient tongue you just used, but its meaning is unknown to you, thus you utter nothing back. You are not sure you could even if you wanted to.

The giant god thumps a fist against his chest and speaks again, clearly addressing you, “Bsktly oogn py fnells shishtar Golgoth.”

Again, you give no reply.

Bushy brows furrow for a moment, then his eyes widen. He shakes his head and mumbles more ancient words, perhaps with an . . . annoyed tone?

“Forgive me,” he speaks, now in your language, yet you flinch, “you spake in that tongue, I assumed you knew it. I see I was wrong. Do you understand now?”

You find your voice still has not returned, so you nod.

Golgoth’s eyes brighten at that, his features relaxing. In fact, it almost appears as though he is . . . smiling. It's . . . not as malicious as you imagined a smile from the god of war and death would be.

“AH! Very good! I shall speak it again,” he says, thumping a fist once more, his chest bulging forward. “HARK! Here stands I, Golgoth.”

You are well aware of that, though part of you seems hesitant to believe that this is the real Golgoth.

For surely the real Golgoth, god of war and blood, would scowl and demand you bend to his will with a bellowing voice that would blast you to dust.

Yet . . . this Golgoth does nothing but stand patiently, awaiting a reply or reaction.

When both your silence and awe-struck terror do not change, he prompts you with, “Who stands before me?” Then stroking his beard, he adds thoughtfully, “Though should I say lies before me . . .”

You know not why such a being cares to know your name, but you dare not refuse him.

You swallow before weakly stuttering it.

He repeats the name, your name, his voice as soft as a mother shushing her newborn.

His mouth widens again, and this time you are certain it is a real, genuine smile. “Do you freely give your hand to me? Do you receive mine in return?”

Your heart quivers, yet you cannot have him doubt your sincerity. You stiffly move to sit on your knees, shifting the snow. You present your bloody blue fingertips.

“I do,” you quietly, but steadily reply.

His brows raise. “AH HA! I see you have already prepared your hand for binding.” Before you can panic over having misstepped, he continues, “I too am just as eager, for long have I awaited this day.”

Golgoth takes one hulking step forward and bends his knee to the earth, like a great tree falling in the forest. You tremble under his focus, his brow pinched as he strokes his beard again. You hold your breath.

“Hm, you are quite small. You cannot become bigger, can you?” he asks.

You blink. “n….no?”

“Then I shall become smaller,” he decides, closing his eyes.

And then . . . to your complete and utter bafflement . . . Golgoth begins to shrink, his mammoth body growing smaller and smaller, until he’s but the size of a large man. Though his new height does not make him any less intimidating, you do feel less like you are about to be squashed.

He opens his eyes again, the flames inside dancing with mirth and mischief. “You did not know I could do that, did you?”

You snap your mouth shut and dip your head, abashed.

“HA! In time, you will find all that I can do.” he says, but as mysterious as his words are, you pay them no mind.

Your attention is drawn to his hands (both still twice the size of yours). With the tip of his right finger, sharper than a talon, he presses into the flesh of his other palm. Tough, leathery skin, like the bark of a tree, punctures under its deadly point.

Out oozes his blood, thicker than yours and bright as sickle wine. Distracted by the sight, you do not see Golgoth reaching for your wounded hand. You yelp in surprise, then bite your tongue, forcing yourself not to pull away.

Though you doubt you could; his grip is gentler than you’d expected, but firm enough you cannot escape.

“One drop. One soul. One eternity,” he rumbles, holding his fist over yours.

You watch helplessly as a drop of his blood falls into your open flesh.

First you gasp . . .

. . . and then you scream.

Fire is no stranger to you. You will never forget the feel of its flames on your face. But this . . . this fire viciously racing through your veins, melting your muscles, searing your sinews, burning within your very bones . . .

This is not a fire you will survive.

Yet your heart continues to pump wildly, mixing his boiling blood with your own, drowning you in wave after wave of agony.

You need it to consume you.

You need the fire to turn you to ash.

You need it to end.

And end it does, though slowly, settling like the deep water after a storm. The fire ebbs and flows, until it fades to a candle’s flame, and you are left on the shore, struggling to breathe in raw, ragged breaths.

But you are breathing.

You are alive.

And you are no longer cold.

“Finally . . .” sighs Golgoth, his voice vibrating through your whole being, bringing back your awareness.

Though your blood still simmers, you regain your bearings and look up at him. His fiery eyes flicker in time with your heartbeat. Their glow burns with an emotion so raw and passionate, you must be imagining it.

“Now your blood is mine,” he hums, the seal of your fate.“You are mine.”

Your heart quickens, which you attribute to fear . . . until you feel the curve of your ears warming.

You glance down, thankful he cannot see them. You do not dwell on the cause, however, as your gaze lands on your cut. The wound . . . it has closed, and while still smeared with blood, it is little more than a pink line that will surely scar.

You will mind it not, for what harm is there in one more?

Curious to see if Golgoth’s wound has healed likewise, you look just in time to catch him . . . well . . .

. . . licking it.

He notices your gaze and freezes, his broad, bovine-like tongue stuck to his hand like a youngling tasting an icicle. Eyes wide, your ears heat once more. Gologth pulls back his tongue and gives you a cheeky grin, his lidded eyes burning a deeper orange.

“Do you wish me to lick yours as well?” he asks and- oh, oh dear!

Your cheeks, they flush fiercely at that, but you just as aggressively shake your head no.

Golgoth throws his head back and bellows out with booming laughter, causing you to recoil as much as you can with your hand still in his.

“HA! You are a shy one!” he exclaims, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear. He leans in close, the scent of blood strengthens from distinct to staggering. A hand starts to reach for your face. “I like that you are shy.”

His words are lost on you, for the moment the tip of his claws brush the hair covering your scar, you jerk your head away, eyes squeezed shut.

“W-wait! Please . . . . do not touch . . .” you plead.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Golgoth speaks plainly. “I will not harm you.”

But for the first time since you’ve met him, harm is not what you fear.

You pray that he will pry no further and allow you to make your request before he has a chance to see your curse, but you do not know who to pray to, and it is too late to learn.

His hand reaches again. You resist not, for you have not the strength, nor the wish to offend. He turns your face toward him once more. You keep your eyes shut, bracing yourself as you feel him push your hair back. His claws cradle your head with care.

“AH! I see you have a scar.” He observes, though without disdain in his tone. His thumb ghosts over your scarred flesh, sending a shiver through you. You purse your lips, awaiting his verdict.

“And what a beautiful scar it is,” he says.

Or so you hear him say, but you must have heard wrong. No one would ever deem your scar beautiful, much less a god like him. But . . . just to make sure . . .

Your eyelids flutter, peering up at him.

“You . . . you find it . . . beautiful?”

“I do.” he affirms confidently, then tilts his head. “Do you not find it so?”

“I . . . I do not.” You glance down at the snow as shameful memories surface. “All have found it gross or . . . hideous to look upon . . .”

“HA! All are wrong!” Golgoth proclaims with gusto.

He tilts your head up until you meet his fiery gaze. It flares intensely, yet with a warmth that reminds you of summer nights, when your tribe dances around the great blaze. Ever since you felt it’s ruthless ire you have kept your distance, too afraid to step near.

But for the first time . . .

. . . you do not fear the flame.

“Your scar is full of beauty and bravery,” says Golgoth, staring at you not with disgust or pity, but adoration. “Burning fire could not consume you, and though it has made its claim, you live on, for your heart is strong. It beats like the heart of a warrior.”

He leans closer still, his breath warming the air between you. “Wear your scar proudly, my soosha.”

His words whirlwind around you, bewildering and overwhelming you, but it is the last word that confuses you most.

“Soosha?” you repeat, oblivious to how he watches it fall from your lips. “What . . . what does that mean?”

Golgoth’s smile quirks in a queer manner. “In your tongue it means wife.”

For one blissful breath, you blink ignorantly at him.

Only for your next breath to be whisked out of you as the word sinks like stone into your stomach.

“You . . . you mean to say that I . . . I- I am your wife?” you barely whisper.

But Golgoth’s words ring loud, proud, and with horrifying honesty. “You are, have no doubt!

“I- I don’t understand. H-how? When?!” You stammer, your hands shaking.

“By blood binding,” he answers, his smile dropping, “but a moment ago.”

Staring at the snow, your vision swims as bile builds within your throat. You are unable to breathe, much less believe it to be true. Trying to make sense of this revelation only increases the nauseating horror enveloping you.

“You were not aware of what you were doing, were you?”

You glance up to see him frowning at you.

Fear seizes your tongue, spurring it to fly for its life. “I- I was not! I- . . . I- I thought . . . the inscription said that to ask for your hand was to ask for your aid. I did not know that . . . what it truly meant was . . . I-I . . . I am sorry, Golgoth. P-please do not be angry with me!” you beg, bowing your head, expecting the hand still cradling it to crush it in displeasure.

Instead it withdraws, slowly and carefully, and though greatly relieved, something quite small inside you misses its touch.

“I am not angry,” he says calmly, the warmth of his voice reduced to cold, quiet embers. “I am disappointed.”

Your surprise is so great, you find yourself meekly inquiring, “Why? I-if I may ask . . .”

“I left that tablet with your people thousands of moons ago, when you still spoke that tongue,” Golgoth replies, his tone revealing how unspeakably ancient he is. “I offered my hand to any of your kind that would take it. My desire was that the one to give her hand in return would do so freely of her own choice.”

“But . . . you are a god? Could you not take her by force?” you dare prod further.

Golgoth stares solemnly at his hand. “Yes, I could take her. I am used to taking. And I watch over those who take. They take life, take blood, take earth and rock and river.” He squeezes his fist until his knuckles give out a sickening crunch. “But this is the one thing I wish not to take. It must be given, and it must be given willingly and knowingly.”

His smoldering eyes turn to you, then shut. “You were willing . . . but you did not know.”

“I know it now!” you exclaim, desperately thrusting your open palms at him. “I willingly give you my hand if . . . i-if you will fulfill my request.”

While you know you have no bargaining power, it is the only way you can still save your people.

Golgoth takes your wounded hand in his . . . yet his eyes open not.

“You have already given your hand,” he says, tracing your cut as if it were an insect's wing. He clasps your hand between his. “Nothing can break the binding, save only your death.”

But your death matters not, nor your fate as Golgoth’s wife.

Only the death of your people matters.

And there is nothing more you can do.

You have failed.

Bitterness and shame well up within your chest, and when your eye begins to mist, you close it tight to keep tear from escaping.

But as you bite your treacherously trembling lip, you flinch, feeling a hand against your unmarred cheek. A thumb presses under your eye until it opens. Your sorrow seeps from it and is kindly swept away by the same thumb.

Though your sight is distorted, the warm smile on his face shines as bright as the sun.

“But I will hear your request, and fulfill it as I am able,” says Golgoth.

Your mouth opens, yet you are speechless.

He asks for nothing in return, and he owes you no debt. You are nothing but a mortal who unknowingly bound herself to a god. His offer is beyond generous.

But your marveling at such a miracle can wait, you must not press his patience.

You lick your cracked lips, your voice wet and wavering. “I-its . . . it’s my- my tribe. We have been raided and- and captured by the Vulkars. Those left cannot survive if they are not destroyed. Please . . . destroy the Vulkars and free my people. That . . . that is my request.”

“And so it shall be done!” he nods, firm and full of fire once more.

Golgoth lets you go and reaches for his neck. He unclasps a cape from his shoulders, one you had not noticed in your observation of him. Though the thick, black canvas looks more like a hut cover than clothing.

You stiffen as he reaches behind you and pulls the cape around you. Hunching into yourself, you suspect he’s going to cover you, but all he does is set it on your shoulders. You grab it, pulling it to cover your front.

It’s almost uncomfortably heavy, and it smells horrendous, but . . . inside, that strange small something finds the gesture a little . . . sweet.

Golgoth groans, heaving himself to his feet. You grip your new blanket as you watch him grow back to his gargantuan height. But the fear you feel is not nearly as strong as before.

“Stay here and rest,” says Golgoth, stretching his neck taut on either side, the vertebrae popping unpleasantly. “I shall be back before sunrise.”

And with that he walks away, his footsteps stomping snow and stone in his wake. Staring at his back, you find your voice, though it is so soft, you fear the wind will carry it away before he hears.

“Golgoth . . .”

Yet he stops, turning his questioning glance over his shoulder. You stare at the ground, twisting the fabric between your fingers. You speak shyly, but sincerely.

“You have my gratitude . . . .”

“HA! I have no need for it.” he smirks, thumping a fist against his chest. “I will do anything for my soosha.”

He then turns and marches down the mountain, leaving you with that bold declaration of devotion . . . and mixed feelings.

Gratitude and relief, are the strongest of them. Though you have no reason to be, you are confident that Gologth will carry out his word.

Your people, your family . . . they will be saved.

They will survive the winter.

You have succeeded.

Yet, it has come with a cost.

A cost you know not the extent of yet.

Fear of the future that lies before you weighs as heavy within you as the weariness of your journey. Seeking comfort, or perhaps consolidation, you consider his treatment of you thus far.

Of his careful caresses, his gentle gestures, his . . . other expressions of emotions, and most especially of his address of your scarred appearance.

Tenderly, you touch the pink, uneven flesh, the soft color bleeding over to your cheek.

No one- neither friend or enemy- has ever called it beautiful.

No one that is except Golgoth, god of war and blood, and . . . .

. . . and your husband.

#Not my writing #GOLGOTH!#New husbando #I'd love a part 2 if you feel like it!

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