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ceilidho · 4 months ago

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fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 10 masterlist

Only after incinerating the original samples do you second guess your actions.

Too late by then. By the time it occurs to you that it might’ve been smarter to keep the samples to reference later, they’re already in biohazard bins, autoclaved and in the process of being incinerated, flames dancing behind the glass.

You can only watch dispassionately. Mistakes made in crisis; you keep yielding to the thin stretch of fear across the vanishing point of your paranoia and hoping you won’t make the same mistake again, only to repeat the same pattern.

Over lunch in the mess, you bite back your anxiety and ask Gaz to come by the lab in the morning in order to draw another vial of blood. He spreads his legs under the table until his knees taps against yours.

There’s a glint in his eye when he smiles. “Something wrong with the one from yesterday?”

Stare and swallow your pride. “I…accidentally contaminated it. Can you come by?”

“Of course, doctor. Anything for you.”

You grit your teeth to avoid snapping at him in front of everyone else, the mess full for a change. Under the table, you press your knees together until your legs tremble.

True to his word, Gaz comes by first thing in the morning, perky enough to rub you the wrong way. You slept poorly again though, so it’d be hard to rub you the right way.

“You look tired, love,” Gaz observes quietly, the paper crinkling under him as he sits himself down on the exam table.

“I am tired.” Your voice is subdued, weary, but somehow the thought of being vulnerable in front of him doesn’t scare you the way it once did. Your dynamic these days is an interesting one. Two people in on the same secret. It makes you feel almost close to him in a way, a shared intimacy that doesn’t extend to the rest of the crew.

“Didn’t get enough sleep?” he asks.

“No, I—”

A man stands at the end of a long corridor, shrouded in darkness.

You are powerless to stop him unless he wants to be stopped.

He is coming for you. He is holding out his hand and waiting for you to take it.

You rub your forehead where it aches. “No. Not enough.”

Hadir follows not long after, the door sliding shut behind him as you prep the syringe. You don’t respond when he says good morning, not in the mood for pleasantries or conversation with everything else going on. It’s hard to feel up to being friendly when this whole situation feels like a thinly veiled attempt to monitor you, like you’re the untrustworthy one when two feet away, Gaz sits with a serene smile on his face and twiddles his thumbs.

There’s a small pleasure in plunging a needle into his vein again, but you’re not cruel enough to try and make it hurt. You’re not even sure if you could.

He doesn’t so much as wince.

You’re much more efficient about it with Hadir hovering over your shoulder, immediately transferring Gaz’s blood into capillary tubes after drawing it from him and flitting to the other side of the room to place the tubes into the centrifuge. It’s not a long wait—ten minutes tops—but you spend it hunched over the centrifuge. On the other side of the room, Gaz and Hadir chit chat like nothing’s wrong.

The second the centrifuge beeps, you pop the lid and remove the tubes. Perfectly separated; no different than the day before. You repeat the same steps as Hadir watches, pipetting the supernatant fluid into a new test tube and preparing the slides, shoulders tense the whole time. Waiting for him to stop and correct you.

It never comes—as it shouldn’t. You may not be above question, but you’re good at your job. You wouldn’t have messed up something as simple as a blood test of all things.

Then, you sit down in front of the microscope.

Something in your gut tells you what’s going to happen before it does. You slip the slide under the microscope and lean forward into the eyepiece only to find perfectly normal red blood cells. No strange wandering cells bending into confounding shapes. Just erythrocytes sitting peacefully on the blood smear slide, not overlapping and not too widely spread apart.

You look over at Gaz when Hadir takes your place, the man still sitting on the examination table as if waiting for your permission to leave. The smile on his face is as placid as ever, almost affectionate. You’d almost believe it too, if you didn’t know any better.

Why are you doing this? You wish you could just ask him outright. It borders on the cruel. Like a humiliation ritual, the both of you knowing that the blood cells under the microscope aren’t what they seem. Why are you putting me through this?

His eyes twinkle. Because I can, they say.

It doesn’t take Hadir very long to come to the same conclusion as you.

“Looks all good to me,” Hadir pronounces, smiling brightly when he pulls away from the eyepiece. “See, doc? Yesterday’s must’ve been a fluke.”

You nod instead of answering. It seems trivial to respond with words; nothing you could say would express the deep well opening up inside of you, the ever widening gap between you and the reality you once took for granted. All you can do is sit there in silence as the two of them leave together.

That seemingly no one aside from you can seem to articulate or even comprehend the magnitude of the situation at hand is starting to get to you.

Deep within every quiet corner of the universe lie the seeds of destruction; a throbbing, cancerous heart. There’s no epiphany there though, no revelation or moment of enlightenment to shock you to your core—you know that life and death are inextricably intertwined, an egg nesting within another egg. Supermassive black holes at the centre of galaxies. Figs and wasps. Beginnings and endings.

Now one is knocking at your door, asking to come in.

The day severs itself into two when Farah finds you making a cup of tea in the galley. Your guard is already up when the door slides open and she marches in, so geared up to be scolded that you flinch at the sound of the door sliding shut.

“We need to talk,” Farah says. Her tone brooks no argument. You’ve been dreading this confrontation, but you aren’t particularly shocked by its arrival. News travels fast in confined spaces; gossip faster. You knew from the second that you got Hadir involved after promising that you wouldn’t share your misgivings about Gaz with anyone other than Farah that this would be coming.

“Now?”

“If you’re not busy.”

You’re not and you know she knows that, so instead of arguing you just nod and pour your tea down the sink, following her out of the galley.

She steers you down a hallway away from the main corridor that leads towards the brig and several supply rooms. At the end of the hall, the brig just around the bend behind her, Farah stops and turns to face you, arms across her chest. Her face is set in a stern cast.

“Why did you ask Hadir to help you with a blood test? He’s not the ship’s medic.”

That being her first question does come as a surprise. You’d assumed she’d immediately tear into you about involving Hadir in your arrangement, not interrogate you about leaning on another crew member for advice and support.

“I didn’t ask him to. He volunteered.”

“Why did he volunteer?”

“I…thought there was something wrong with Gaz’s blood sample from the other day. I asked him if he could confirm if there was something wrong. I just needed a second pair of eyes.”

A terrible idea in retrospect. You should’ve anticipated Hadir’s reaction and the subsequent fallout.

“He told me about what you said yesterday. About Gaz. Do I need to be concerned?”

“Well, I am concerned about Gaz. If you’d seen his blood the other day—”

“I mean concerned about you.”

You blink, floored. “Concerned about me?” you ask in bewilderment. “What did I do?”

“You told Hadir that you didn’t think Gaz was human. How is anyone supposed to take that? You might not like him, but he's part of the crew now, and insinuating that about someone on the crew is—”

“Wait, wait—I’m sorry I got Hadir involved when I said I wouldn’t, but—I thought when you said you’d keep an eye on Gaz that it meant you…had similar suspicions.”

She looks at you strangely. “I never promised to keep an eye on Gaz. What are you talking about?”

Her response leaves you at a loss for words. Suddenly and acutely aware that you have been having two separate conversations—you assuming that Farah’s frustration stemmed from involving her brother when she previously asked you not to, and her assuming something entirely different.

“Yes, we did,” you insist. “You told me the other day that you would as long as—”

Something moves in the shadows.

Your eyes flick towards it instinctively. Then your body goes rigid.

A slender, dark eyed woman watches you from the end of the hall, her lips tilted up in an enigmatic grin. Half-shrouded in shadow, you notice her only because you catch her moving in your peripheral vision when she shifts her weight to one leg. You notice first the familiar stripped headscarf wrapped around her head. Then, the smaller details of her face—full eyebrows and aquiline nose, the soft rounded corners of her jaw pulled tight with her smile.

“Doctor?” the Farah in front of you asks. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, blood pressure spiking.

The other woman takes a step into the light. It’s Farah in shape and appearance, but there’s something off about it. Like you’re aware now of something intrinsically lesser about it when shown in opposition to the real thing.

The Farah in front of you frowns, concerned at your sudden silence. You’re aware now of how much more solid she is, real as a gut punch. Real as grass beneath your feet back on Earth or the heat of the sun on your face, all dulled out in space.

“Did we talk the other day?” you ask. “The other day—after the navigation system was fixed?”

And her eyes say it before her lips do.

“We haven’t spoken in days. I stayed back to help Alex after that meeting.”

Cold reality flashes briefly before you: hollow voices and replicas. What have your eyes been seeing? Reality laps against the smoothened rocks of your mind. Do you know what’s happening to you?

Can you trust what’s really in front of you?

The thing behind Farah wearing her face approaches without sound, coming closer and closer until it stands right beside her, mirroring her stance, its face screwing itself into a similarly serious expression. Double vision. Your vision is blurry around the edges, fear making you tremble something fierce.

You keep waiting for Farah to notice it standing right beside her, for her to suddenly turn her head and see it there, but she doesn’t. She stares at you with mounting concern.

And then you blink, the two versions blurring and then overlapping.

Your throat makes a sound like a whimper. You take a step back, the metal clang of your boot against the floor jarring in the silence.

“I have to go,” you whisper, the blood draining from your face, your lips almost numb.

She calls after you when you turn around, hurrying back down the hall whence you came, but you don’t stop, breaking into a run when you hear Farah come after you.

Rat in a maze. Mouse in a trap. You scurry down corridors knowing that there’s no place to run to. At every point, there is a wall past which you cannot go. Hauntingly familiar twists and turns, everything saturated with the memory of itself, the same walls you’ve seen innumerable times. The ship fills with low creaks and hollow sounds, cramped quarters and over familiarity to the point of suffocation.

And then the nothingness that waits for you right outside the ship. Billions upon billions of miles of dark emptiness surrounding you, only occasionally interrupted by pockets of cold clouds of gas, even more seldomly coming together in precisely the right way for a star or planet to be born.

Set in contrast with the vast infinity just beyond your walls, the ship feels impossibly small. A tiny speck floating through the cosmos.

You wish you could wrench a window open and climb out of it.

You can feel it swell up in your chest at first, bigger and bigger, stretching you around its immensity. Suddenly unable to take in a full breath, your chest too tight for your lungs to fill. Your body is somewhere else behind you, on a ship drifting through space, no certainty that you’ll ever return home. Earth is so far away—tens of millions of miles away from you and no way to get back.

There’s a hand on your nape suddenly.

“Hey,” a low voice murmurs. “Are you alright, love?”

You don’t answer, heaving for breath. Chest collapsing in on itself. A dying star; tiny, tiny light flickering in and out of existence. Hands sweating profusely. Heart hammering against your chest so hard it hurts.

“I’m with you, love—I’m not going anywhere.”

The voice murmurs low in your ear again, susurrus but too far away for you to make out. Then, a hand on your low back guiding you away, tucking you into a soft, warm place. You go with it. Dark. No blinding artificial lights blinding you.

“C’mon, breathe with me,” the voice guides you. “Deep breaths. In, out, in, out—”

You follow their instructions, taking in a shaky breath and holding before expelling it.

“There you go—that’s good,” he praises softly.

The come down is rough. All that adrenaline dumping straight out of you, heart still lurching in your chest. You’ve never had a panic attack before, but you know what to expect in the aftermath and it doesn’t disappoint. You might as well have been hit by a truck for how much your body aches.

When you finally have the wherewithal to look around and take stock of the situation, you notice that you’re in someone else’s quarters, the lights dimmed until only a sliver of light penetrates through the dark. It’s one of the smaller rooms, no porthole to gaze out through into the blackness of space—only a cot and a folding table mounted into the wall.

Crouched in front of you, your limp hands held in his while his thumbs rub soothing circles on the backs of your hands, is Gaz.

Your horror is a beast on the periphery of your consciousness. Too depleted for it to overwhelm you. But you feel it balloon in your chest even though it doesn’t have the strength to move you.

“Love, listen—shh, no, no, no,” Gaz shushes you when you try to cry out. “No, enough, you need to calm down. Just let me speak, alright?”

He shuffles closer to you until he looms over you, your knees spread wide to accommodate him. You get a better sense of his true size from this angle, the man composed of solid, compact muscle, his narrow waist deceptive, giving him a leaner appearance from afar than up close. You know now how much room he can take up when he wants to.

“None of this is your fault,” he says. He shifts, releasing your hands to cup your elbows instead, smoothing his hands up your arms. “You’ve worked so hard to show them the truth, but they just don’t want to see.”

“It’s—they can’t see because of you—” you croak.

Gaz shakes his head. “No, no. If they wanted to, they’d see through it. Like you have.”

“No—you’re doing something to me.”

His lips flick up into a smile. “Doing something?”

“You’re making me see things that aren’t there,” you whisper, shrinking into yourself. “I don’t even know what’s fucking real anymore—you’re scaring me.”

Even this close, you smell nothing. No heat emanates from his body or breath puffs from his lungs. It’s like a monolith looms over you, staring down at you through eyes that you can see but cannot comprehend. For all intents and purposes, he looks like a man. But he is not; he is something altogether different.

A habitation of otherness smiling down at your unraveling interiority.

“I can make them believe you. I can help them see it with their own eyes. Would you like that, love?”

He says it with so much tenderness, stroking the backs of his knuckles over your cheek.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer at first. You’re stuck gazing into his eyes.

“What I mean,” he says, leaning in until his words are all you can hear. “Is that I can take away every shadow of doubt from their minds until all that’s left is the cold clarity of certitude. Show them what I’ve shown you.”

Gaz cups your face in both hands, fingers spread wide over your cheeks and neck, drawing you in until your lips brush against his. Softer than you expected, with a touch of texture. You don’t know what to think of him anymore, whether it’s your lips touching his now or whether this is all happening in your head.

Then your lips part and he sighs into your mouth. His lips glide over yours, tenderer than you expected. Soft and wet; silky. Warmth spreads across your chest, everything suddenly concentrated on his kiss. It deepens almost naturally, your hands lifting to fist in the collar of his shirt and drag him closer to you, exhaling harshly into his mouth when you pull back to breathe, only to fall back into him again. Mouth tasting of something you can’t put your finger on; almost ambrosial.

Is this what he’s wanted this whole time? The thought vanishes as soon as it comes. You’re a ball on a tether swinging in circles, a small planet orbiting this sun. And you’re slowly, but surely, sinking into him, gravity pulling you so close that you can feel the heat of flames against your cheeks.

He breaks the kiss and your eyes flutter open to find him staring back at you through half-lidded eyes. “Well?”

“Please.”

Gaz smiles against your lips.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #gaz/reader #kyle gaz garrick/reader

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mingi-s-dimples · 3 months ago

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A Deal with The Devil - Hongjoong

"You wanted to rebel, didn’t you? “Is this what you call defiance? Letting yourself be fucked like a filthy little whore on your father’s desk?”

~"devil x pastor’s daughter" - ily sweetie ♡

pairing: devil!hongjoong x pastor's daughter fem!reader

genre: 18+, devil x pastor’s daugther, filth

summary: you wanted to make a deal with the devil.. and in exchange, get freedom of your father. but the devil got other plans.. which you utterly are a whore for.

wc: 5.1k

warnings: religious guilt/imagery, devil!hongjoong, rough dom!hongjoong, pastor's daughter, multiple orgasms (a lot), fingering, eating out, deal with the devil, lots of cum, sex against a wall, sex on a desk, marking, choking, neck holding, taunting, teasing, enemies to lovers typa shit, degradation, dirty talk, breath play, denial, oral fixation, orgasm control, orgasm denial, size kink, completely consensual!, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!), for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: hey pooks I hope you'll enjoy this 👉🏻👈🏻 haven't added too many devilish elements cause he's in a human form in my eyes...besides his huge cock ofc and glistening eyes. ily

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

You’ve always been told that the devil comes in disguise, that he cloaks himself in beauty and charm, whispering seductive lies into the ears of the desperate. He’s the reason for your sins, the voice of temptation that haunts your dreams.

But when you finally come face to face with him, there’s no disguise.

Hongjoong is a living embodiment of sin, draped over a throne carved from darkness and desire, his presence dominating the space around him. He sits back, legs spread wide, his black shirt casually unbuttoned just enough to reveal the ink snaking over his collarbone, glistening like promises of debauchery. His silver rings catch the dim light, a promise of danger glimmering in the shadows of the room.

His eyes—deep, endless pools of darkness—glistening red, lock onto yours, sharp and predatory. The very air around him crackles with an intensity that threatens to consume you whole, yet you stand firm, your defiance a flickering flame against the encroaching darkness.

“I came to make a deal,” you state, voice steady, even as your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

His lips curl into a smirk, a flash of amusement cutting through the tension. “Did you, now?”

“I don’t repeat myself.”

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that resonates deep within you. “Feisty.” He leans forward, his gaze piercing through you like a dagger. “I expected someone like you to come crawling eventually.”

You straighten, forcing your chin up, refusing to be intimidated. “I don’t crawl for anyone.”

His amusement deepens, a dangerous glint igniting in his eyes. “No? Not even for me?”

And before you can respond, he’s there—standing inches away, the heat of him seeping into your skin. His fingers wrap around your jaw, gripping you with a power that sends shivers of both fear and exhilaration down your spine.

“You don’t crawl,” he echoes, his voice a velvet rasp that wraps around your throat, holding you captive. “Not yet.”

You refuse to break eye contact, though your breath hitches as he leans in, his lips hovering tantalizingly close. “But you will.”

His thumb strokes over your bottom lip, dragging it down slightly, teasing, as if testing your resolve. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”

You swallow hard, defiance bubbling beneath the surface. “I’m asking for everything.”

He smirks, the corners of his mouth curling like he’s just been handed a delicious secret. “You think you can handle it?”

“Maybe I want to get burned.”

The intensity in his eyes shifts, darkening with something primal. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, “you have no idea what kind of fire you’re playing with.”

His grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer. “I’ll give you everything,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck. “Every wicked thing you’ve ever dreamed of. Every filthy pleasure that’s crossed your mind.”

His lips ghost over your skin, igniting flames along your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “But you need to understand something.” His voice drops to a sultry growl, each word a dark promise. “When you’re mine, you surrender completely.”

You shiver at the thrill of his words, feeling the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. “You think you can break me?” you challenge, your voice steady, even as your body responds to him with an eagerness you can’t ignore.

“Oh, darling,” he chuckles, the sound low and dangerous, sending heat pooling in your belly. “I don’t need to break you.”

His hands slide down your arms, tracing every curve, exploring the terrain of your body as if memorizing every inch. “I just need to make you beg.”

His grip on your waist becomes possessive, fingers sinking into your flesh, and you gasp, the sound escaping your lips unbidden. “You think you can make me beg?”

“Don’t test me.” His voice drops to a husky whisper, his lips barely brushing against yours, the tantalizing promise of what’s to come lingering in the air between you. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

His lips crash against yours, hungry and fierce, a collision of heat and urgency. It’s raw, consuming, and the moment his mouth claims yours, you feel yourself melting against him, desire surging through your veins like fire.

You respond with a hunger of your own, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you can somehow bridge the gap between the fiery need coursing through you and the cool darkness that surrounds him. He groans into your mouth, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through your body, igniting every nerve ending until all you can think about is him.

He pulls away, a cruel smile dancing on his lips, breathless and wild. “You see? Your body is already begging.”

“Fuck you,” you retort, but the challenge falls flat when you feel the heat pooling in your core, an insatiable hunger that demands to be fed.

“Oh, you will,” he says, voice dripping with lust and malice, “but not before I have my fun.”

He shoves you back against the wall, pinning you there with his body, the weight of him a delicious pressure that sends shivers coursing through you. His lips graze over your throat, teasingly, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he whispers dark promises against your skin.

“Every wicked thought you’ve ever had, every sinful desire lurking in the corners of your mind?” His breath is hot against your ear, and you can’t suppress the moan that escapes your lips. “I’ll make them all come true.”

His hands explore your body, rough and demanding, tracing the curves that drive him wild. You arch into his touch, desperate for more, every instinct urging you to surrender completely to the devil before you.

“You want me,” he growls, his fingers digging into your hips, forcing you to feel every bit of his hunger. “You want everything I have to offer. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I want more,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire, your heart racing as you lean into him. “Show me what you can do.”

His eyes flash with satisfaction, and in that moment, you know you’ve crossed a line you can never return from. You’re tangled in the web of his dark allure, willing to embrace whatever sin he offers.

“Then let’s see how far you’re willing to fall,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he pulls you deeper into the abyss.

And you realize, with chilling clarity, that you’re ready to surrender everything.

Hongjoong's lips barely leave your skin, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck, but even as his fingers work their magic, you refuse to be reduced to a quivering mess beneath him. Every touch ignites a fire deep within you, but you cling to your defiance like a lifeline.

“You think you can break me?” you challenge breathlessly, even as your body arches into his every touch, desperate for more.

He chuckles darkly against your skin, the sound reverberating through you like a spell. “Oh, darling, I don’t need to break you.” He grips your jaw with one hand, tilting your face up to meet his gaze, the intensity of his stare making you shiver. His fingers slide under your skirt, teasingly slow as he drags them along your thighs, brushing the fabric of your panties. The heat pooling in your belly is undeniable, but you bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose control.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, though the heat in your voice betrays you, and he laughs, the sound low and teasing.

“Oh, I plan to,” he murmurs, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Before you can protest, he slips a finger beneath the fabric, teasing you with a slow, deliberate touch, his eyes locked onto yours as he watches you squirm. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, the humiliation and desire clashing within you.

“You’re just a spoiled little pastor’s daughter,” he taunts, the edge of his voice dripping with condescension. “What do you know of real pleasure?”

“I know enough,” you snap, forcing your voice steady even as he pushes a second finger inside you, stretching you, making you gasp. “I know you’re nothing but a—”

His grip tightens, fingers wrapping around your throat, cutting off your words as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “What was that? You were saying?”

The pressure of his grip sends a rush of heat coursing through you, a thrill mixed with fear and desire. You look into his eyes, defiance still burning, and manage a breathy, “You think you can intimidate me?”

His lips curl into a smirk, but there’s no amusement in his gaze—only hunger. “Oh, I don’t need to intimidate you. You’re already so captivated…”

With a swift motion, he pulls his hand away, leaving you gasping, aching for his touch. The sudden absence sends a wave of frustration crashing over you. “What the hell?”

He leans back, watching you with amusement, as if savoring the moment. “Did you think it would be that easy?”

You glare at him, fury and desire battling for dominance within you. “I didn’t come here to play games, Hongjoong.”

“Yet here we are.” His fingers trail over your bare skin, igniting every nerve ending as he watches you squirm under his gaze. “You came to make a deal… and you think you can just waltz in here and demand what you want?”

“I came to take control,” you retort, the fire in your belly urging you to push back even harder. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. “You should be.”

In an instant, he closes the distance, his grip tightening around your throat once more, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours, teasing. “Is this what you wanted? To feel me choke you until you can’t breathe?”

A thrill races through you, and against your better judgment, you reply, “Yes.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in closer, his mouth ghosting over your lips. “You think you’re so tough, but I see right through you. You want me to own you.”

“I w-won’t let you,” you spit back, but the words come out as more of a plea than a declaration.

“Then let’s see how far you can go before you break,” he challenges, his lips curling into a predatory grin. “Because I have every intention of claiming you.”

With that, he crashes his mouth against yours, a fierce, possessive kiss that leaves you breathless. You respond instinctively, your body craving the heat and intensity of him. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, and you can feel the way he pulls you in, demanding your submission even as you fight against it.

His fingers slide back down your body, exploring, teasing, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth. “You think I’m just going to give in?”

He pulls back slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “You already are. You just don’t know it yet.”

He pushes you back against the wall even more, pinning you with his body, the weight of him pressing you into the hard surface. His hand slides beneath your skirt again, and you feel the cool air against your skin as he tears away your remaining barriers. “Let’s take this to the next level, shall we?”

“Stop it!” you hiss, but the fire in your voice is a thin veil over your desperation. You wanted him so fucking bad.

“Make me,” he challenges, and with that, he plunges two fingers deep inside you, and you can’t help but gasp, your body responding against your will.

“Fuck!” you curse, and he chuckles, the sound low and triumphant.

He drives his fingers deeper, and you feel yourself spiraling, pleasure washing over you in waves. Each thrust, each curl of his fingers ignites a fire within you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Admit it,” he breathes against your ear, his voice a sultry whisper that makes your heart race. “You love this. You love being my little plaything.”

“No,” you manage to say, even as your body betrays you, begging for more. “I hate you!”

“Lies…,” he growls, his fingers moving faster, rougher, and the pressure builds, your body teetering on the brink. “You’re mine, whether you want to admit it or not.”

He captures your lips again, his kiss fierce and demanding, and as he deepens his fingers, you feel the world around you dissolve. You’re lost in him, in the heat and the darkness, and with every thrust of his fingers, every possessive grip, you know you’re falling deeper into his embrace.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whisper between kisses, but the defiance in your voice is faltering, the fire in your belly igniting as you feel the climax build.

“You should be,” he murmurs, voice low and tantalizing. “Because I’m going to make you beg for more.”

And with that, he pushes you over the edge, your world exploding in a haze of pleasure and surrender, and as you cry out his name, you know you’ve finally succumbed to the devil who has claimed you body and soul.

The air is thick with tension as Hongjoong pulls you closer, his eyes dark and filled with an insatiable hunger. The moment you catch your breath, he sweeps you off your feet and pushes you around, pressing your back against the wall. Your heart races with a mix of anticipation and defiance, the thrill of the forbidden sending a shiver down your spine.

“Still think you can control this?” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

“Maybe,” you reply, fighting to keep your voice steady despite the urgency pulsing through you.

Without warning, he lifts one of your legs and drapes it over his shoulder, positioning you exactly how he wants you. The sudden shift catches you off guard, and a rush of heat floods your cheeks as you look down at him, your breath hitching.

“You don’t get to decide that anymore,” he growls, his voice low and sultry. “You’re mine now.”

Before you can respond, he dives in, his mouth finding you with a hunger that makes your head spin. He latches onto you without warning, and a gasp escapes your lips as his tongue glides over your clit. Pleasure bursts through you like wildfire, and you instinctively grip his hair, pulling him closer as he devours you.

“Hongjoong!” you cry out, your body arching against him, desperate for more.

He chuckles against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

He works you over with precision, his tongue dancing and teasing, swirling and flicking in a way that has your knees threatening to buckle. Your mind races, caught in the chaos of pleasure and defiance. “You think this is going to make me submit?” you challenge breathlessly, even as your body betrays you, clenching around nothing as he pushes you higher.

“Just admit you love it,” he replies, his voice muffled as he continues his relentless assault. “Admit you crave it.”

You shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as the heat builds inside you, every nerve ending alive and begging for release. “I won’t give in that easily!”

“Is that so?” He pauses for a brief moment, pulling back just enough to look up at you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Hm, then I guess I’ll have to work harder.”

With that, he resumes, his mouth finding you with a fervor that makes your heart race. He pushes your leg higher, deepening his access, and you can feel the pressure building within you, the coil tightening as he drinks you in. The raw intensity of it all is overwhelming, and you can’t help but moan, the sounds escaping you unbidden.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growls, the words dripping with satisfaction as he plunges his tongue deeper, teasing and swirling, every flick sending shocks of pleasure coursing through you.

“Damn it, Hongjoong!” you whimper, fighting against the overwhelming sensations, but he just laughs, the sound dark and full of promise.

“Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” he urges, his eyes never leaving yours, filled with a feral need that sends a thrill through you.

“Never,” you retort defiantly, but the fire in your belly is reaching its peak, and your resolve begins to waver.

He chuckles again, the sound low and sultry, and the wicked gleam in his eyes only fuels your frustration.

He doubles his efforts, tongue swirling and teasing, fingers digging into your thighs as he holds you steady. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, a pressure building that threatens to overwhelm you.

“Just give in,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin, sending shivers racing through you. “Let go of your pride. You’ll find that this is where you truly belong.”

“Shut up,” you gasp, unable to hide the pleasure leaking into your voice as he pushes you closer to the edge. “You think you can just—”

But he cuts you off, plunging two fingers inside you alongside his mouth, his relentless rhythm pushing you past the point of no return. Your body responds instinctively, every muscle tightening as pleasure overwhelms you, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips.

“God, Hongjoong!” you cry, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you feel yourself teetering on the brink.

“Tell me you want me to make you come,” he demands, his eyes locked on yours, dark and demanding.

“Never!” you scream, defiance fighting against the overwhelming pleasure crashing over you.

But he just smirks, the fire in his eyes igniting further as he doubles down on his efforts. “Then I’ll just have to make you.”

He thrusts his fingers deeper, his devilish claws feeling incredibly pleasant, curling them just right, and the world around you fades away. The pressure builds, every nerve ending alight with need as you approach that sweet release.

“Fuck!” you gasp, the word tumbling from your lips as your body quakes beneath him, and in that moment, all your defiance crumbles.

“Admit it,” he breathes, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watches you unravel. “You want this. You want me.”

“Fine!” you shout, the words spilling out before you can think. “I want it! I want you!”

With that, you feel the world explode, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave as you cry out his name, surrendering completely to the devil who has ensnared your heart.

As the waves of pleasure recede, Hongjoong wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a wicked smirk dancing on his lips. The look in his eyes is predatory, dark, and intoxicating. He grips your waist, lifting you off the ground, and suddenly, you’re pinned against the wall. Your heart races as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

“Think you can control me?” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry, sending shivers down your spine.

Without waiting for a response, he thrusts into you hard, filling you completely. His cock was huge… barely fitting in. The sensation takes your breath away, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching towards him as he holds you firmly against the wall. Each thrust is hard and deliberate, pushing you to the edge, igniting a fire within you that you can’t deny.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air as he drives deeper. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, whispering taunts that send thrill after thrill coursing through you. The pressure builds, your body responding eagerly to his every movement.

You can feel the tension coiling tighter with every thrust, and despite your attempts to maintain your defiance, you find yourself gasping for breath. The heat pooling in your belly is unbearable. “I hate you,” you manage to say, but even you can hear the yearning in your voice.

He only chuckles, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He lifts you higher against the wall, positioning you to his liking, and thrusts harder, each movement precise and unrelenting. The overwhelming pleasure threatens to consume you, but he holds you in place, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

As he pushes you to the brink, he grips your throat, tightening just enough to make your head spin. The world tilts on its axis, and you feel your body betraying you, craving his touch more than anything. He bites down on your shoulder, leaving a mark that burns and seals your fate as his.

The pressure inside you builds and builds, and your mind spins as you teeter on the edge of release. With each thrust, you can feel yourself breaking apart, the heat overwhelming. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you cling to him, desperate for stability.

“Just let go,” he growls, the primal hunger in his voice sending shivers down your spine. The tension reaches a peak, and in one powerful thrust, you feel the world explode around you. Pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping his name, surrendering completely to the devil who has ensnared your heart.

He rides you through your climax, thrusting relentlessly as your body trembles around him. The waves of ecstasy wash over you, drowning out everything else. With each movement, he holds you tightly, claiming you as his, marking you for all to see.

You’ve entered a dangerous game, and deep down, you know you’re addicted to the thrill, the heat, and the devil himself.

As you slowly come back to reality, breathless and dizzy from pleasure, Hongjoong's smirk only deepens. He grips your waist, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Is this how you rebel against your father?” he growls, moving you into the neatly tidied desk of your father's, only to throw everything in sight on the floor, thrusting deeper into you. “By making a deal with the devil and fucking hard on his cock?”

You gasp at his words, feeling the heat wash over you again as he drives into you relentlessly. He tightens his grip around your throat, choking you just enough to send a thrill through your body. “Answer me,” he demands, his voice low and commanding.

“Y-yes…!” you gasp, his words sending a thrill through you.

The room is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the rhythmic thud of his body against yours as he thrusts into you relentlessly. The desk creaks beneath the two of you, the chaotic mess of scattered papers and pens a testament to the fervor of the moment. Hongjoong leans closer, his breath hot against your ear as he takes you completely.

“This is what you get for striking a deal with the devil himself,” he growls, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “You thought you could handle it, didn’t you? But look at you now, utterly at my mercy.”

His words send another thrill through you, the way he degrades you only fueling your desire. You meet his gaze, defiance still flickering in your eyes, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins.

“You wanted to rebel, didn’t you?” he continues, his thrusts unyielding. “Is this what you call defiance? Letting yourself be fucked like a filthy little whore on your father’s desk?”

You try to protest, but the words get caught in your throat, your body betraying you as you arch against him, craving more. His grip tightens on your hips, holding you in place as he drives into you harder, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy crashing over you.

“Admit it,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. “You love being treated like this. You love the danger, the thrill of being taken by someone like me.”

You moan softly, the pleasure overwhelming, and despite your best efforts to stay defiant, the truth hangs heavy on your lips. “I… Ah, fuck-,” you manage to choke out, but even you can hear the weakness in your voice, the way your body responds to him with every thrust.

He chuckles darkly, the sound filled with amusement. “Mhm… you’re just a good little, innocent pastor’s daughter who wants to be a bad girl,” he taunts, thrusting even harder. “And now you’re mine. You’ll learn to embrace it.”

His words cut deep, igniting a fire within you that’s both thrilling and terrifying. You know you should feel shame, but all you feel is desire, the way he dominates you feeding into something primal and raw.

With a final powerful thrust, he pushes you over the edge once more, and you cry out, the intensity of your release consuming you. Hongjoong doesn’t relent, continuing to thrust as you ride the waves of pleasure, your body quaking beneath him.

“See?” he breathes, watching you intently, a smirk playing on his lips. “This is what happens when you give in to temptation. You become a slave to your own desires.”

As you come down from your high, he holds you close, filling you completely, your bodies entwined in a tangled mess of passion and chaos. In that moment, you realize you’ve crossed a line you can never return from. The thrill of being his—the devil’s possession—consumes you, and deep down, a part of you knows you’ll never want to escape.

“You’ll crave this again,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your ear. “You’ll come back for more, just like the good little sinner you are.”

And with that, he begins to thrust again, igniting the fire within you once more, proving that once you make a deal with the devil, there’s no turning back.

With each powerful thrust, Hongjoong ignites a fire deep within you, your body responding eagerly as he drives you closer to the edge again. The pleasure builds quickly, and before you can catch your breath, he shifts his angle, hitting that perfect spot that sends shockwaves through your entire body.

“Look at you,” he growls, his voice low and teasing as he watches your reaction. “So filthy, so eager for my cock. You want to come again, don’t you? You want to let go and give in completely.”

You can barely manage a response, your breath coming in quick gasps as the pressure within you swells to an unbearable level. “Yes,” you whimper, the desperation in your voice only fueling his dominance.

“Good girl,” he praises, thrusting harder, his movements relentless as he pushes you further. “Let it out. Show me how much you want it.”

In that moment, the tension inside you snaps, but it’s not just an orgasm; it’s something more powerful. The wave of pleasure crashes over you as you squirt, soaking him and the desk beneath you. Your body trembles uncontrollably, caught in the throes of ecstasy, as you experience a high unlike anything you've ever felt.

“Look at you,” he breathes, watching the scene unfold with dark satisfaction. “Squirting all over me. You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” His words drip with both praise and degradation, sending you spiraling even further into the depths of pleasure.

You can barely comprehend the intensity of the moment, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through you. The sound of your release fills the room, and all you can do is cling to him, your body shaking as he continues to thrust, riding out the waves of your pleasure.

“Such a good little sinner,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of hunger and satisfaction. “You’re completely mine now, and you love every second of it.”

As your body trembles beneath him, he doesn’t let up, continuing to drive into you with fervor, ensuring that you feel every last bit of pleasure. The connection between you is electric, and in that moment, you know there’s no turning back from the thrill of what you’ve become—a willing prisoner to the devil’s desires.

As the waves of pleasure finally recede, Hongjoong pulls back, his breath heavy and uneven. He gazes down at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes in the sight of your flushed face, the evidence of your shared passion still glistening on your skin. You can feel the heat radiating between you, a tangible reminder of the intensity that just unfolded.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, fingers brushing lightly over your still trembling body. “All wrecked and vulnerable. You really enjoyed that, didn’t you?” His tone is both playful and predatory, making it clear that he relishes in your surrender.

You try to catch your breath, your heart racing, but his presence looms large, overwhelming. “I... hate you,” you manage to say, though the words come out breathless and weak, the defiance in your voice barely a whisper.

Hongjoong chuckles, clearly enjoying your attempt to maintain some semblance of bravado. “Oh, sweetheart, we both know that’s a lie,” he replies, his fingers dancing across your skin, teasing and taunting. “You love this just as much as I do. You crave it.”

As he pulls you closer, you can feel the warmth of his body against yours, a stark contrast to the coolness of the desk beneath you. His grip is firm but gentle as he runs his hands down your sides, reminding you of the way he claimed you just moments ago.

“Let’s not pretend,” he says, his voice a mix of roughness and gentleness. “You’re not just some innocent girl anymore. You’ve crossed a line, and I can’t help but enjoy the way you’re falling apart for me.”

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead, the gesture surprisingly tender after the intensity of your earlier encounter. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you,” he adds, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “You’re mine now, and I’ll make sure you remember that.”

As he pulls back slightly, his eyes lock onto yours, a wicked gleam dancing in their depths. “You’ll want more, won’t you? More of this, more of me,” he says, a playful challenge lacing his words.

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and undeniable desire. “Maybe,” you reply, trying to keep your tone defiant, but the tremor in your voice gives you away.

“Good,” he replies, his smirk widening as he leans in closer, the distance between you shrinking once more. “Because I have plans for you. This is just the beginning.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, rough and teasing, igniting the fire within you all over again. It’s a reminder that even after the chaos, he’s still the devil you’ve recklessly given yourself to—a thrilling danger that you can’t resist.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

#ateez fanfic #mingi s dimples masterlist #illusionnet #blossomnet #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez x y/n #fanfic #ateez #smut fic #ateez smut #smut #devil au #hongjoong dom #hongjoong smut #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong

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dolcettamagica · 1 year ago

Text

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐁𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲

gangleader!sukuna x reader

tags: possessive sukuna, daddy, nipple play, lewd language, no penetration – spicy not smutty notes: listen to “be my daddy” by lana del rey wc: 1.6k

The dimly lit bar buzzed with the energy of the night, thick with the scent of alcohol and the sound of laughter. Sukuna, known for his dominant aura and commanding presence, sat at a secluded corner table, surrounded by his crew. Their boisterous camaraderie echoed through the room as they indulged in drinks and jests, their faces etched with the confidence of those who ruled the streets.

But amidst the chaos, his attention was drawn to you. You entered like a breath of fresh air, your figure gracefully gliding through the haze of smoke and noise. Clad in a white dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, you exuded an ethereal allure that demanded attention. Your eyes sparkled with mischief, challenging and enticing all at once.

Sukuna's gaze locked onto yours like a predator homing in on its prey. He watched your every move, his demeanor exuding an intoxicating blend of dominance and desire. With each step you took, he felt his pulse quicken, his senses heightening as if under a spell.

You knew the effect you had on him, and you relished in it. Your smile was coy, teasing, as you danced just out of his reach, a tantalizing game of cat and mouse unfolding between you. You reveled in the power you held over him, knowing that despite his reputation as a formidable leader, he was powerless against your allure.

“Thank you for inviting me, sir”, you smile at him, your fingertips lightly – softly gracing his broad shoulder.

Before the drinks at the bar, your encounter at the beach set the stage for your evening together. As the gang leader strolled along the sun-kissed shoreline, his gaze caught by the sight of you lounging on the sand, a vision of youthful allure in your cute bikini. Entranced by your beauty, he approached with a magnetic pull he couldn't resist. Sukuna never could resist you.

In a bold move that echoed his dominance (and the fact that you worked for him), he invited you to join him for drinks later that evening, his voice tinged with a hint of urgency. Though you teased and feigned reluctance, he could sense your intrigue, the subtle flicker of interest dancing in your eyes. And as you accepted his invitation with a coy smile, he knew that your evening together would be anything but ordinary, fueled by the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you.

“You came and got all dolled up for me, huh? Good girl.”

With a flick of his wrist, Sukuna dismissed his loyal crew, their departing footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridors, leaving him and you alone in the quiet solitude of the hidden sanctum.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, he turned his attention to you, his dominant aura palpable in the air around. You stood before him, a tantalizing enigma wrapped in the soft glow of the room's ambient light, your playful smile betraying the mischief dancing in your gaze.

Alone at last, he moved closer, his movements calculated and deliberate as he poured two glasses of amber liquid, the clink of ice against glass a seductive melody in the silence that surrounded you. With a gesture, Sukuna offered you a drink, his voice low and commanding as he watched your every reaction with unwavering intensity.

Yet, despite his best efforts to maintain control, you remained a tempestuous force, your teasing demeanor a siren's call that stirred something primal within him. With each playful taunt, you tested the boundaries of Sukuna’s dominance, your words like a dance of fire and ice that ignited a fierce longing deep within his soul.

You approached him, drawn to him like a moth to flame, your movements a silent surrender to his magnetic pull. With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Sukuna welcomed you onto his lap, his legs spread wide in a display of dominance that left no room for doubt.

As you settled into his embrace, he wasted no time in asserting his control, his hands gripping your hips with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine. With a predatory smirk, Sukuna watched as you brought a lollipop to your lips, your actions a provocative challenge that only fueled the fire burning within him.

“I’ll give you some if you want, sir.”

With a swift motion, he took hold of the lollipop, pulling it from your grasp with a possessive certainty. His gaze locked on yours, he traced the sugary sweetness along your lips with a deliberate slowness, each touch a silent reminder of who held the power in this dangerous game of desire.

“Don’t call me sir tonight.”

As you squirmed beneath his touch, Sukuna tightened his grip, his dominance unyielding as he asserted his control over you. With each suck and swirl of the lollipop, he unleashed a torrent of longing and need, his hunger for you consuming him from within. And as you melted into his embrace, he knew that in this moment, he was the master of your desires, a force to be reckoned with in the realm of passion and power. He pulled the lollipop out of your mouth before you replied to his command.

You hooked your finger under his gold chain, tugging onto it lightly. Your eyes staring into his as you pout slightly.

“You can be my daddy tonight.”

That’s all Sukuna needed to hear. As your whispered words filled the air, a primal hunger ignited within him, unleashing a feral intensity that coursed through his veins like wildfire. With a low growl, Sukuna seized you with a possessive grip, pulling you closer onto his lap with a primal urgency that left no room for hesitation. His hands firmly gripping on your waist.

Your lips collided in a searing kiss, a collision of desire and dominance that set the room ablaze with raw passion. His hands roamed over you with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession, tracing the curves of your body with a hunger that knew no bounds.

In that moment, he became your daddy, your protector and your punisher, your guide through the depths of pleasure and pain. With each kiss, each touch, he claimed you as his own, leaving no doubt in your mind who held the reins of power in this dangerous dance of desire.

“Yeah? You want me to be your daddy?” His lips were on your neck as he started to bite into your skin – almost drawing blood, “Want daddy to make you feel real good, piccola?”

Nothing but a moan fell from your lips and you nodded your head. With a commanding presence that brooked no argument, Sukuna seized control of the moment, his movements deliberate and authoritative. His hands, large and possessive, found their way to the fabric of your dress, fingers tracing along the delicate lines of your figure with a hunger that bordered on primal.

You yielded to his touch, a willing captive to his dominant desires, your breath catching in your throat as he began to undress you with a neediness that left you trembling with anticipation. With each article of clothing that fell away, you felt yourself unraveling beneath his touch, the weight of his gaze a tangible force against your skin. You sat on Sukuna’s lap, completely naked, victim to his mercy.

He relished in your vulnerability, his touch both tender and commanding as he exposed you to his hungry gaze. With a predatory hunger that weakened you at the knees, he reveled in the power he held over you, his dominance unyielding as he claimed you as his own.

Stripped bare of all pretense and inhibition, you felt a rush of desire wash over you, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both. You were his to command, his to possess, his to devour with a ferocity that knew no bounds.

Sukuna reached one hand forward to cup your tits, his index finger and thumb playing with your nipple while his other hand landed a hard blow on your eyes. No one could imagine how often he pleasured himself while thinking about this exact moment. Meanwhile he started to rock his hips upwards, his hard bulge pressing against your puffy clit.

His lust for you was a primal force, a hunger that burned deep within his soul and consumed his every thought. From the moment his eyes first alighted upon you, he knew that he needed you in a way that transcended mere desire. You were his obsession, his addiction, and he yearned for you with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

As he gazed upon you with hungry eyes, his body reacted instinctively, every nerve tingling with a raw, primal need. His heart pounded in his chest like a drumbeat, each pulse a reminder of the insatiable hunger that raged within him. His breath came in ragged gasps, the air thick with the scent of your intoxicating presence.

“Always acting so cute and innocent but you couldn’t wait for daddy to finally make you his, couldn’t you?”

“‘m sorry, daddy.”

With each movement, he relished in the sensation of your body beneath his fingertips, tracing the contours of your form with a possessiveness that left you breathless. Sukuna’s touch was both commanding and reverent, a tantalizing dance of dominance and desire that left you gasping for air.

And as he reveled in the exquisite pleasure of your submission, he knew that he held you in the palm of his hand, a willing captive to his every whim. He was the master of your desires, the architect of your pleasure, and he relished in the knowledge that you were his to command, his to possess, his to dominate with a ferocity that knew no bounds.

“Now, now, don’t be sorry, amore mio. Not going to help you anyway. You’ve been a bad, teasing slut and now daddy has to fuck that attitude out of you.”

#𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #smut sukuna #sukuna smut

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callme-naomi · 2 months ago

Text

You're All I Ever Wanted

childhood friends to lovers!

this is real rushed lol-

Gojo Satoru liked calling himself your personal 'lucky charm', and somehow, he also proved it.

Every time you had a test and he'd wish you good luck, with a high-five, you always scored high marks.

Whenever you had a stage performance and he gave you a hug, your performance would be the best one of all.

When you and he once tried a game at the carnival, and he squeezed your hand before you made your hit, you'd returned with the prize.

All the times you were afraid of admitting something to your parents, he'd give you some candy or some small ornament of his for 'good luck' and surprisingly enough, your parents wouldn't be mad at all.

When you went for a job interview, or later on meetings, he would always come to your house to give you something for good luck, and your day would go spectacular.

Any mission you'd take, if he was with you, or if he gave you some weapon, you'd return with no casualties.

(And in case you're curious, when he did not do that, which never happened except once when you tried it, the day would not go in your favor)

So when you'd tell him about your good day, he'd bow with a hand on his heart. "Always glad to be your lucky charm."

And you'd reply, "but surely even the strongest needs a charm?"

He'd swat the air with nonchalance befitting him. "I am the charm luck itself needs."

But one day came when Gojo Satoru wished he had a charm guaranteeing him 100% success.

Sure, he was good - or rather, perfect - at annihilating curses, charming everyone, annoying the hell out of his classmates, but proposing to your childhood friend was something he was not trained in.

Though he knew you two were anything but just friends- is friends a strong enough word for a pair who always hung out with each other, who always stuck together and did everything together, whose first contact or first thought of the day is each other, and whose dreams are made around the other?

He needed everything to be perfect, like you. And for the first time in his life, he doubted himself. What if you said no? What if he made some grand mistake? What if the restaurant was closed that day? What if you already have a boyfriend? What if you still considered each other friends?

But every time he'd see you, playfully running towards him and smiling as if he's your favorite person ever, which he was, he'd clear his doubts - after all, he's the strongest. The strongest make their own luck, don't they?

So when he texted you to meet him at the five star restaurant, you didn't question it, and left your office to meet him, where on the second floor he awaited you.

You walked onto the second floor, which was reserved under his name, and your breath was stolen as you saw the flowers and pearls that hung across the room, fairy lights glistening like stars, and on the other edge of the red carpet you stood on, was a cake, and beside it, Gojo Satoru.

He came halfway through to hold your hand and guide you forward, and as you followed after him, still speechless as to why he did all this, he handed you a lighter, slightly bent towards the cake.

Upon flame, the cake's layer melted and a question popped up: will you be my lucky charm?

And as you dragged your gaze upwards to him, your eyes spreading wider and wider, your heart thumping so loud you're sure he can hear it, you almost collapse to your knees when you see your best friend - no, more than that - on his knee, holding out a ring to you.

You stood there, your hands on your mouth, until you lowered them, and with a playful grin - the one he loved - asked him, "but I thought the strongest didn't need a lucky charm?"

He huffed a little laugh. "Alright, I might not need a lucky charm, but I need you. And if you're the charm, well, I'll even let down my Infinity for you."

Then he continued to stare at you hopefully. "Well, what do you say?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, Satoru. It's always a yes."

And as you launched yourself into his arms, the two of you twirling among the stars and pearls, he sighed with relief. "Thought you'd never answer."

Your answer was muffled in his shoulder. "Now, how can I even live without my lucky charm?"

#jjk #naomi writes #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo jjk #jjk gojo #satoru jjk #jjk satoru #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru fluff #jujustu kaisen #gojo #jujutsu gojo

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vandme12 · 4 months ago

Note

the opposite of the ronin x cold!reader one? a reader who runs warm enough they either overheat themselves if ronin also runs warm, or really like cuddling with ronin because it cools them down if he’s a heat sink

"Too Hot to Handle"

The heat clung to you, thick and stifling, as if the world itself had decided to smother you alive. Summer nights were unbearable—sheets tangled around your legs, sweat gathering at your collar, the mere thought of another human body pressing against you enough to make you recoil. But Ronin?

Ronin was cold.

Not just in demeanor—though that was an undeniable part of his charm—but in the literal, physical sense. His touch was always just a little cooler than expected, his presence an unnatural relief against your overheated skin.

It started as an accident, really. A brush of his hand against yours, and you shivered despite the oppressive heat. He noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Oh? What’s this?” His voice coiled around you like silk-draped steel, amusement laced with something sharper. “Didn’t take ya for the clingy type, sweetheart.”

You scowled, shifting further from him on the couch. The oscillating fan did nothing to combat the way the summer air wrapped around you like a too-tight vice. “I’m not,” you muttered. “You’re just… cold.”

That damn smirk spread across his face like oil in water. “Cold? Sweetheart, I’m positively burning with passion.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, making a deliberate show of his presence. “So what you’re saying,” he mused, “is that you wanna cozy up to the Devil himself just ‘cause he runs a little cool?”

You refused to answer. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

But you couldn’t help it.

The nights got hotter. The air got heavier. And Ronin was right there.

At first, you resisted. Pride was a cruel master, keeping you just far enough away to suffer. But he was patient. Oh, he knew. He saw the way your fingers twitched, how your body wavered like a moth circling too close to an open flame—except, in this case, he was the ice, and you were the one burning alive.

And then, one particularly wretched night, you cracked.

“Not. A. Word,” you growled as you slid closer, pressing against his side, sighing in immediate relief as the coolness of his body seeped into yours.

Ronin, to his credit, didn’t gloat. Not immediately, anyway. He let out a slow, almost lazy exhale, shifting just enough to accommodate you, before murmuring, “See? Ain’t this nice?”

You scowled against his shoulder. “Die.”

“Already did, sweetheart. Didn’t take.” His arm draped over your shoulders, fingers feather-light against your overheated skin. He was careful, at first—watching, waiting. Testing your tolerance. But when you didn’t immediately shove him away, his grip tightened just a fraction, pulling you in closer.

And, god help you, you let him.

His body was a stark contrast to yours. Where you burned, he cooled. Where your skin was too warm, his was a welcome relief. It should have been unsettling, how much of a difference there was between you two, but instead, it was… intoxicating.

“You’re really soakinn’ this up, huh?” His voice was lower now, amusement tempered by something else. Something quieter. “Didn’t think you’d be so needy.”

You pinched his side—earning a low chuckle—but didn’t pull away. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You wanted to. Oh, you wanted to. But moving meant peeling yourself away from the one thing keeping you from spontaneously combusting. So instead, you muttered a half-hearted, “Later,” against his chest, feeling the way his breath hitched just slightly at the contact.

Interesting.

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your shoulder. “Gonna hold you to that,” he murmured, voice like a promise edged in something darker.

The minutes stretched, the heat of the night forgotten in favor of the cool, steady rhythm of his breathing. You should have been embarrassed at how easily you melted into him, how natural it felt to fold yourself into the space he made for you.

But Ronin didn’t tease. Not really.

He just held you there, the Devil himself playing the part of your personal ice pack, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort.

It was stupid. It was reckless.

But god, it felt good.

And Ronin? Well.

He’d never admit it, but he liked it, too.

Even if he did take every opportunity to remind you about it the next morning.

"You sure you wanna get up?" His voice was a lazy purr against your ear. "Not that I mind, but after how much you clung to me last night, I figured you'd wanna stay close."

Your pillow hit him square in the face.

His laughter was worth the heat.

For now.

#kc #killer chat #killerchat #killer chat x reader #ronin beaufort #killer chat ronin #ronin x reader #kc ronin #kc ronin x reader #killer chat ronin x reader

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fatkish · 5 months ago

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Oh I have an Idea!

Mashle character x ghost fem reader

Romantic for the male character (like they got crush on her) except someone older like the Professor like mr. Walhberg, miss melidou and the other people.

She is a ghost, her dead is because she died by getting burn like a witch, she is magicless when she still alive thats why many people who have magic try to kill her. Thats what the rules say doesn't it?.

When she turned into a ghost and roamed around in the easton school for years , one day she find a magicless student and that is no other than mash burndead. She want to protect him because she didnt want him to end up like her. As a ghost she can't be killed, so she try to protect mash from who try to killed him.

She sometimes show herself to mash and his friend and when, the scene the divine visionaries appear she trying to defend him and protect him.

Thats all 😁

youtube

Mash Burnedead x Ghost Reader

Long ago before Easton Magic Academy was built, there was a small village that stood where the school now stands. In this village, there was a very handsome mage who was as powerful as he was kind. Unlike some villages, this village was a purist village. The only people who lived here were those capable of using magic. Anyone who couldn’t use magic was driven out or killed. The young handsome mage was the son of the village’s leader. One day, he fell in love with a girl. This girl was kind and sweet but she had a secret, she was incapable of using magic. The young mage tried his best to hide her inability, he truly loved her, but a pair of jealous eyes always followed them.

Another young woman who had a crush on the young mage had discovered the girl’s inability to use magic. Knowing that the young mage would likely follow the girl if she was driven from the village, the young woman lied to the man’s father and said that the magic-less girl had bought love potions and had been using them on his son. The young woman hid the empty vials in the girl’s bag so when she was questioned by the authorities, they’d search her bag and find them. Word quickly spread around the village and the girl was locked up and set to be burned at the steak for her crimes. Despite his pleas, no one listened to the young mage for everyone believed he was under the influence of a love potion.

The next morning, the girl was dragged out of her cell and tied to a cross in the middle of the village. As they piled wood at the base of her feet, many men held the young mage back as he cried and struggled to free himself. As they lit the fire, the young mage watch slowly as the love of his life was slowly engulfed in flames. Hearing her screams, he managed to break free from the men holding him only to be put to sleep by a sleep spell cast on him to prevent him from interfering with the trial. When the young mage awoke later, he learned of his love’s death and cursed the village for their deeds before taking his own life. The young mage’s curse allowed for his lover’s soul to haunt those who did her wrong by tying her soul to the earth.

Years past and eventually the village was abandoned and later the school was built on top of where the village once lied. The girl’s soul wandered the school grounds for years, steadily and slowly soaking up magical energy. Despite not being able to use magic when she was alive, the curse was powered by the grudges of those who bear it as well as who cast it. The curse gave her the ability to use magic to enact her revenge. For years she watched as magic users preyed upon each other and established a social hierarchy based on how strong one’s magic was. She was disgusted by this, the mistreatment of others and the bullying.

One day, a young man with a mushroom like haircut entered the school grounds. Having nothing to really do, the girl always watched the entrance ceremony to see who would enter the school. The young man caught her eye as instead of doing anything magic related in preparation for the tests, he was lifting weights and working out. What a strange young man, as she continued to observe him, she noticed he had never used magic in any of the trials. It wasn’t very hard for the girl to realize that the young man couldn’t use magic. Worried for the young man who she learned was named Mash Burnedead, she began to follow him around. She kept an eye on him at all times and swore that she would protect him. She watched as another young man took advantage of Mash’s social ineptitude and made Mash do all kinds of menial tasks.

Her rage burned as she watched. But eventually the truth was revealed when Mash found his roommate, Finn Ames, being bullied into submission by the young man. After smashing the boy’s face into the ground and burying the vice principal, Mash was summoned by the headmaster. The girl watched unaware that the headmaster knew of her presence on the school’s grounds. That night, she appeared before a supposedly sleeping Mash and gently caressed his head. Promising to protect him before she disappeared. From that day on, Mash would get the feeling on occasion that he was being watched, catching glimpses of a girl that would seemingly appear out of thin air and then vanish.

One night, he pretended to sleep, you walked up to him and appeared as you gently stroked his head only for his eyes to open, spooking you. You both stared at each other for a moment before Mash spoke up. “Who are you?” He asked. You told him you don’t really remember your name since it’s been so long. You told him about what you are and what happened to you, you told him all that you remembered of your past life. You told him that you know he can’t use magic and that you will protect him. He tried to lie and say that he can use magic but you just giggled at his obvious lie. After that night, you would follow Mash around and he was fine with it.

Eventually he would go on to defeat the Magia Lupis which lead to others finding out he couldn’t use magic. From there he was brought before the magic bureau. When Orter tried to attack Mash with his sand, a vortex of black flames surrounded Mash, protecting him from Orter’s attack. It was then that you showed yourself to the Divine Visionaries and threatened to kill anyone who dared to hurt Mash. Over the years, you had amassed quite a large amount of magical energy which allowed you to cast powerful spells. Each of the Divine Visionaries fell to their knees in agony as you forced them to feel like they were being burnt alive. When Mash asked you kindly to stop and not kill them, you begrudgingly relented and released them from your spell.

From then on, you slowly watched as Mash grew and made friends, changing the minds of people and eventually becoming accepted by everyone. Seeing Mash become accepted by everyone, you felt your anger and resentment towards the past fade. You felt the curse that kept you bound to the earth weaken. One night, you appeared before Mash for the last time. “Mash, Thank you. For so long now, I’ve been tied to the world of the living, unable to move on into the afterlife due to my hatred and anger towards what happened to me. But seeing you become accepted by everyone, it’s finally given me peace. I can finally rest and move on, so thank you” you smiled as you spoke to Mash. Slowly, your apparition dissolved into tiny light particles as the curse broke, freeing you.

The next day, Mash and his friends went into the forest and began digging in an area until they uncovered what appeared to be human bones that had been burnt. Together, Mash and his friends made a proper grave for you. Mash even went as far as to carve a gravestone for you with your name, date of birth and death, as well as a bit of information about you. Wahlberg agreed to make your gravestone a special place on the campus that would be protected so that no one would desecrate it. Every now and then, Mash would leave a cream puff for you as a gift whenever he visited.

#mash burnedead #mashle muscles and magic #mashle #mashle x reader #mash x reader #mashle x you

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calabria-mediterranea · 6 months ago

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The feast of Santa Lucia, in Italy, is a journey through popular traditions, from Sicily to Calabria

Santa Lucia (Saint Lucy) is celebrated in Italy on 13 December.

Santa Lucia was, according to the hagiographies which are our only sources, a young girl from Syracuse in Sicily. Born in 283, she died during the persecutions of the Christians under Emperor Diocletian in 304, on December 13th.

The Life of Saint Lucy

As a young woman Lucy was promised in marriage to a pagan. Christians, like Lucy, were at this time still very much a minority in Syracuse.

However, on a pilgrimage to visit the tomb of St Agatha, Lucy had a vision of the saint which was to change the direction of her life. Agatha spoke to Lucy telling her she would cure her mother’s illness (internal bleeding), which she did. After this experience Lucy knew she must dedicate her life to Christ. She made a vow to remain a virgin to better serve her purpose.

On her return to Syracuse, Lucy told her mother of her decision to dedicate her life to Christ, as well as to give all her worldly possessions to the needy. Her mother was at first, (perhaps naturally) sceptical. But eventually it seems she was won over by Lucy’s faith and determination. Over the following years Lucy’s fame in dedicating her life to the poor spread throughout Syracuse and further afield. The young man who wished to marry her, seeing Lucy give all her money and possessions to the poor, and having been refused, decided to denounce her to the town prefect as a Christian. For some time the Roman Empire had felt threatened by this growing Christian “cult” and wanted a display of Rome’s continuing might and power. Lucy was a well-known figure in the community. If she could be forced to renounce her faith other Catholics might follow her. This was the thinking of those who brought her to trial.

So, Lucy was brought to court, where she was accused of being dissolute and possibly of unsound mind too (this was still largely a pagan society where a person’s wealth and possessions were how they gained status in life). It was to be a public trial, so that the humiliation of Lucy could discredit her religion and serve as a warning to other Christians.

At one point the judge Paschasius mocked Lucy for her virginity and said that she would be taken to a brothel, and here she would “lose her chastity” and then “the Holy Ghost shall depart from thee”. Lucy replied that her strength in God meant that 10,000 men would not be able to move her. When the judge put Lucy’s boast to the test this was found to be true – the men could not move her. The judge subsequently ordered for Lucy to be burned and a great fire was built. Lucy again stayed calm and asked for protection from the Lord, calling herself “a temple of God”. The fire was lit, but the flames did not touch her. Lucy told that crowd that persecution of Christians would not last much longer. Hearing her speak so eloquently the prefect was at his wit’s end and called out for anyone that could kill Lucy. Finally someone (probably a soldier) drew a sword and cut Lucy’s throat, which finally killed her.

Her first resting place was in the catacombs under Syracuse which now bears her name. This became the initial centre of her cult, which quickly flourished.

Patron of light and eye sight

Absent in the early narratives and traditions, at least until the fifteenth century, is the story of Lucia tortured by eye-gouging. According to later accounts, before she died, she foretold the punishment of Paschasius and the speedy end of the persecution, adding that Diocletian would reign no more and Maximian would meet his end. This so angered Paschasius that he ordered the guards to remove her eyes. Another version has Lucy taking her own eyes out in order to discourage a persistent suitor who admired them. When her body was prepared for burial in the family mausoleum it was discovered that her eyes had been miraculously restored. This is one of the reasons that Lucy is the patron saint of those with eye illnesses.

The idea probably came from her name Lucy, which derives from lux which is the Latin for light.

She became the patron saint of light and of eye sight. In artistic representations her attributes are two eyes on a plate in her hand.

Her feast day is the day of her martyrdom, December 13th, which in the Julian calendar is the winter solstice, and hence the shortest day of the year. It is therefore a celebration of the return of light.

The procession and rites in honour of Santa Lucia in Sicily and Calabria

Santa Lucia was born in Syracuse, a city in Sicily where the veneration of the martyr and patron saint is at the centre of fervent popular devotion. The celebrations reach their peak on 13 December, the date of her martyrdom, which occurred in 304 A.D. following Diocletian's Christian persecutions.

On this day, a solemn procession accompanies the Statue and Relics of the Saint from the Cathedral to the Church of Lucia al Sepolcro (Lucia at the Sepulchre), a route that is completed in reverse on 20 December. The Statue is a precious silver Simulacrum, dating back to 1599: the Saint wears a palm and a lily, symbol of purity, on her left hand, on her chest the reliquary with the Relics, on her throat a gem-studded dagger and in her right hand a plate with eyes.

The Statue is carried on people's shoulders along the streets of the historic centre, ancient Ortigia, and many devotees walk barefoot, amid flowers and burning candles.

December 13th marks a particularly heartfelt moment in Calabria, where devotion to the "Saint of Light" is intertwined with centuries-old traditions that combine Christian faith, folklore and ancient rites.

In Lamezia Terme (Calabria), the church of Santa Lucia stands in the upper and old part of Nicastro and for this reason the entire neighborhood takes the name of the saint.

Rectangular in shape, the church is modest in size with a very simple facade. The interior has a single nave and inside there are: a wooden statue of Saint Lucia, perhaps from 1700, which surmounts the marble high altar, the work of the sculptor Pergola (1970); a conciliar altar with bas-reliefs on wood and a sculpted ambo (1980), and in two special niches the statues of the Madonna and the Redeemer.

On the night of December 13th, Calabria comes alive with spectacular bonfires, a symbol of light and purification, which illuminate the squares and alleys of numerous towns.

The "Fireworks of Saint Lucia", in Crotone, are one of the most fascinating and evocative traditions of this day. Their origin dates back to ancient times, when they were lit to chase away the darkness of winter, recalling at the same time the image of the Saint and the solstitial rites.

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bitkahuna · 4 months ago

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“In response to recent rumors that a student has been repeatedly drugged with love potions, we will all be learning to brew the antidote. Do remember that drugging someone with a love potion is just that, drugging, and it will be treated with all the swiftness and severity the word implies.” Snape spoke in a stern tone.

Harry was almost impressed by the level of responsibility that Hogwarts seemed to be taking for the situation. Though he would later find out from Padma that it was about McCoy and Knight, and thankfully, neither were under any sort of influence.

Beside their cauldron, there was also a mirror and a bottle of Beguiling Bubbles. While Draco got their supplies, Snape explained that Beguiling Bubbles was chosen as their test potion because, rather than the person who gives them the potion, it makes the drinker fall for the first person they see. Hence, they were meant to look in the mirror to avoid any unwanted or inappropriate affections.

Draco spread their ingredients out and immediately put Harry to work, chopping various ingredients as Draco fiddled with the temperature of the flame to get a rolling boil going.

“While you were gone, Snape said to keep the boil rolling through the whole process and that Beguiling Bubbles is-”

“I know what he said, Potter.” Draco frowned as he fiddled with the flame, trying to get it perfect.

“Yea, but Beguiling Bubbles causing the dri-”

“Will you please let me focus!”

Harry cracked a smile, nodding. Either he knew or he didn’t. It wasn’t Harry’s problem anymore.

Draco continued to be a pompous ass throughout the brewing process, constantly telling Harry what to do and stopping him at multiple points before class was down to its final fifteen minutes. It was time for someone to take the love potion.

“Go on then, Potter.”

“Me?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You know I brewed this perfectly.”

“We.” Harry asserted. “We brewed this perfectly.” Harry then just shook his head as he grabbed the love potion, setting it before himself. “It doesn’t matter. What I was trying to tell you earlier, Malfoy, is that you didn’t listen when Snape said t-”

“I know what I’m doing, Potter! I’m certain such trivial details are very helpful for those lacking in skill, but I’m not so pitiful as to require them!”

The next twenty seconds were quite possibly some of the funniest since the afterparty.

Draco snatched the potion from in front of Harry, drank it all, and then, slowly, Harry watched a frown settle on his face as he stared at Harry.

-----

One day, Draco Malfoy will learn to shut the fuck up and listen ... today is not that day

#drarry excerpt #drarry fanfic #drarry #harco #harry potter fanfiction #harry/draco #harry x draco #draco x harry #harry potter #fanfiction #fanfic

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philativy · 5 hours ago

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No Doubts

To: The Considerate Human (gn!reader)

From: Luke, the Angel in Training (platonic)

IMPORTANT NOTICE FROM THE POSTMASTER, PLEASE READ BEFORE BREAKING SEAL: none! only fluff awaits you!

"Have a great marathon, you both! Please text or call me if you need anything." Simeon calls to you and Luke from his position by the door. His hand is wrapped around the knob, but he’s yet to commit to opening the great entryway. You sense some sort of trepidation on his part. "Remember, food and drinks are in the fridge, the bathroom is always open to you, the AC can always be adjusted—"

"Luke is with them. There’s no need to worry. Luke is mature, and they’ve done nothing but be hospitable. Let him return the favor." Solomon intervenes, nudging Simeon along. He doesn’t particularly care about being late to the meeting they were scheduled to attend — he was moreso trying to support Luke in his endeavors to be more independent. And that meant getting Simeon out the door.

Luke vibrates from embarrassment next to you, waving his hands in an ushering manner towards his guardian. "Stop that! We’ll be fine, you don’t need to hover!"

You smile indulgently. The exchange is reminiscent of a clingy father leaving their child at daycare for the first time.

You’ve only been an exchange student for a few months. Even with all the progress you’d made, you were still working towards forming proper bonds with the inhabitants of Purgatory Hall. You wanted to prove yourself trustworthy. And though you were certain you’d alresy reached that threshold with Solomon and Luke, the final test for Simeon would certainly be leaving Luke under your care for a few hours.

With some more prodding from Solomon, and hurried glances over Simeon’s shoulders, they finally make their exit. The door shuts behind them, the steadfast click of the lock ushering your movie marathon into motion.

Luke turns back you, a determined flame igniting in the cold blue of his eye. "Sorry about Simeon. Anyways, you said you brought some Human World DVDs, right? And that I’d like them?"

"Yep! I think so." You rise from your position on the couch, smoothing your pajama pants (fuzzy with Devilburger print) as you approach the DVD player. "At least, I loved them when I was your age. Or, ah… whatever the approximation of my age would be compared to you." Right. Luke is a hundreds-of-years-old child. Hard to believe.

You slide the tray out and slip the disc into its rightful place. Closing the tab, you retreat to your station and the cushions and reach for the remote. "They’re all from the same studio: Studio Ghibli. I thought a discerning kiddo like yourself could appreciate them." The television flickers to life, buffering momentarily before illuminating. "And you can keep the DVDs that we don’t get to tonight for later. As long as you return them."

"I will! I’ll take great care of them!" He promises, taking a gulp from his drink — a box of Hellfruit juice.

You laugh, tucking your legs beneath you and spreading a blanket wide enough to cover the area of your laps. Luke settles in at your side, squeezing a pillow close to his chest. His sandy brows are furrowed, but a small smile teases his lips. He’s excited to be doing this with you.

The details of the room fade into obscurity as you both become entranced by the tale portrayed by the bright screen. As the hours stretch forth, and the night whittles away, eyelids brow heavier. A nostalgic warmth embraces you both, beckoning you into rest.

12:23 AM.

Simeon and Solomon trudge to the front door, dazed in a mutual fog of lethargy and the aftereffects of an overly-technical meeting discussion. Solomon, stifling a heavy yawn, pushes the door open — met with the sound of quiet. He blinks once. Twice. Then he makes room for Simeon in the doorway, heading towards the living room.

Simeon shuts the door and looks on in confusion as Solomon. He hurries after him — assuming the worst. He almost runs into the Wizard as he comes to a swift halt. Simeon opens is mouth to chide Solomon for the sudden change of pace, but Solomon raises his hand. With a slight flourish of his hand, he beckons the Angel forward.

Simeon steps up beside Solomon, lifting a hand to his mouth with a sharp inhale.

And there you and Luke are, dead asleep. Luke lays with his head on the reliable comfort of your chest, his lips slightly agape. His cheeks, still soft and pink from youth, are squished against you. His arms, likewise, are tucked around you, whilst his feet stick awkwardly out into the open air.

You’re sprawled on your back, but your limbs have locked into what appears to be an instinctively protective huddle around the little Angel. Your arms cradle him, grip sturdy despite your deep slumber. Your brows are subconsciously furrowed, as though daring anything to disturb either you or the pajama-clad bundle in your arms.

Simeon holds in his adoring coo. He and Solomon approach, taking in the scene with unabashed glee. They trade a quick glance, both nodding to each other in sudden, reciprocated agreement. You will not be woken up. Absolutely not.

Solomon does his part, quietly gathering empty bowls and cups from the coffee table and whisking them over to the kitchen sink to be addressed in the morning.

Simeon turns off the television and reaches for a knit blanket, pulling over the both of you. He takes in Luke’s face — utterly comfortable and trusting beside you — and he knows he has made the right choice. He brushes back Luke’s unruly bangs and presses a kiss to the unblemished skin of his forehead.

He peers upwards and hesitates. Thinks. Then he leans in, ghosting a kiss on the crown of your head. Feather-light and tender.

He’s not sure why he ever had any doubts.

BONUS SCENE!

(groupchat with both Purgatory Hall & HOL)

Simeon: [one image sent] Simeon: look how adorable these two are!

Asmo: KYAA! so cute!~ <3

Levi: LOL maybe staying up for that meeting was totally worth it since we get to see this

Beel: they look cute. Like soft mochi.

Mammon: HA?? How come we don’t get a sleepover with ‘em and the chihuahua does?

Satan: Have you forgotten that they live with us? We practically have a “sleepover” every night.

Mammon: This is different! Maybe I oughta go over there n’ take them back myself!

Simeon: any attempts to wake either of them at that time will be met with severe and swift punishment, understand? ☺️

Mammon: …yessir.

dividers by @/cyberbeat, @/bronzewasp, & @/saradika-graphics

#sniffles…. My son #📮: from the post office #THANK YOU FOR READING MWAAA #obey me fandom #obey me game #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me nightbringer #obey me swd #obey me writing #obey me nb #obey me luke #obey me lore #obey me simeon #obey me solomon

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windsweptinred · 8 months ago

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Behold! A Dionysus x Orpheus part headcanon/part mini fic ‘thing’ that has been haunting my brain.

They reunite with much joy and relief. In a world where chaos slowly gains ground and everything is changing around them, they're the one constant left to each other. Orpheus, the last remaining connection Dionysus has, that hasn't been brutally ripped from him. Dionysus, the one steadfast presence left in Orpheus’s life now Riddy has gone. The old order is dying, the future is uncertain. But they have each other and they find solace and comfort in that.

Dionysus’s faith in Orpheus never shirks, Orpheus’s support for Dionysus never wavers…Feelings form. They're both men of extremes, they fall fast and they fall hard. But his time in the Underworld has left Orpheus plagued by self-doubt. He berates himself constantly for being obsessive, selfish and suffocating with those he loves. He swears to be better for Dionysus. So despite it being completely against his nature, despite his overwhelming desire to prostrate himself at the god's feet and worship him with every fibre of his being. He instead holds back, tries to love Dionysus subtly and quietly. At a time when Dionysus, a naturally exuberant diety, needs loud and consistent shows of affection more than ever before.

Dionysus watches his friend withdraw and questions if his love is reciprocated. Orpheus sang for Riddy, as if he couldn't keep all that love for her within himself. Yet he receives nothing but shy smiles and careful touches from the musician. Perhaps his father was right? Perhaps the love he craves is forever out of his reach, held at bay by the divine ichor in his veins.

Orpheus watches the one he adores wilt, watches this vivacious, glorious being dim like a smothered flame. Knows it is once again somehow his fault. And hates himself all the more for it.

Until one day, Orpheus, in an attempt to heal whatever he has wrought, presents Dionysus with a watch. A gift, he calls it. A replacement for the one the young Olympian nobly sacrificed on his behalf. And Dionysus, with a rare solemnity for the god of frenzy, offers it back to him. Says he's gifting it in turn to Orpheus, and asks, ‘Would you wear it?’ It's a pivotal moment, they both know it. A test, though the mortal doesn't know the hows and whys of it. And in that moment, high on nerves and adrenaline, Orpheus lets his control falter, and lets slip in his most devoted manner, that Dionysos may as well brand it permanently on his skin, as he'd never take it off.

Kicking himself, Orpheus instantly goes to apologise, retract his fumble. Until he sees the golden fire alight in Dionysus's eyes. And a hopeful smile play upon his lips. The god takes his wrist reverently in his hand, before pointing to the base of the inked titan Atlas, hefting his mighty burden and questions in a frenzied whisper, “Here?” Orpheus smiles brightly, offering his wrist in willing sacrifice and declares earnestly and adoringly, ‘Anywhere you want.’ He watches with exhilaration as the blue veins under the god's digit darken, spread and begin to form a design.

Later, his mind already a whirl with lyrics, sprung from the taste of wine found upon his new muses lips, Orpheus asks cautiously if this is truly alright? If he's not too much? His divine lover smirks playfully, nipping at his newest tattoo, a clock face encircled by the god's signature vines, emblazoned on his wrist for all to see. “I'm the god of excess Phe.” The blonde declares proudly. “There's no such thing as ‘too much’.”

(I may return to write this out properly as a fic at some point, time allowing. But I needed to get it out of my head and onto paper, so to speak. These two are driving me crazy in all the best ways.)

#orpheus x dionysus #orpheus/dionysus #They've buried themselves into my soul and can't be removed #It's too late #I can't stop #I don't want to #dionysus kaos #orpheus kaos #Kaos #kaos netflix #wine&song

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altocat · 7 months ago

Note

cheese anon is here, with some silly shenanigans (aka I’m going to gaslight the firsts [Zack] into thinking something)

So.

How do you unbake a cake?

It should be impossible, right?

WRONG.

I need you to listen to me very closely, alright, because I don’t have much time. The FBI is after me to stop me from spreading this information, and they’re just around the corner.

Put the cake back into the oven. Set it to the negative of whatever temperature you baked it at, and re-bake it for the exact amount of time. It has to be exact, because if it isn’t, the flour will turn into wheat, the eggs will turn into a chicken, the milk will turn into a cow, the sugar will turn back into sugarcane and the butter will turn back into milk. If done correctly, then you will find all of the ingredients in the containers that you took them out of in your oven.

You can also turn orange juice back into an orange.

You want to pour the orange juice into the orange peel and put it in your freezer. Wait for an hour. Take it out, and put it back on the juicer. Rotate it in the opposite direction then what you rotated it in to juice it. Take it off. Put it back in the exact spot that you got it from. Do the same with the other half, and clean wrap them together. You wait for the exact amount of time that you had the orange for before you juiced it, and then unwrap it. The orange will be whole again and the sugar that you put in will be neatly off to the side. If you wait too long, then the orange will turn into an orange tree and the sugar will turn back into sugarcane.

Zack nearly sets the entire apartment on fire, hovering eagerly over the oven with literal flames inches away from his face.

Genesis leaned against the wall, watching him. He KNOWS it's bullshit. But he's not missing this for the world. Sephiroth is in the process of whispering in his ear that maybe they should do something before the kitchen explodes.

One kitchen explosion later, now complete with orange peels all over the floor, Angeal steps inside, takes once look at the ruined kitchen, loses all the color in his hair, and then immediately leaves. Congratulations, Seph and Gen. You're now co-parenting Zack together. Have a nice life.

Sephiroth laments that they should have just baked a normal cake instead of testing out any theories. He wanted a chocolate cake today, especially now that he's officially a proud parent of one. Genesis tells him to shut up, panicking and rocking himself in the corner while muttering about being unable to afford child support.

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephcanons #crisis core #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #ags #final fantasy vii #zack fair #shitposting

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arc-misadventures · 2 years ago

Note

Dragon Faunus AU: We see that Jaune has fire breath. But could we see something where after he learned how to use aura, maybe get something akin to aura breath? That or some godzilla traits and have him glow when he uses it now.

Gorjia eh?

~~~

Who Will Know?

The log was ripped to shreds as, Jaune’s razor sharp talons tore through the hunk of would like paper. Ripped apart wood chips, and torn up metal plates littered the floor as a result of, Dr. Oobaleck’s rampant testing of his abilities.

Oobaleck: Excellent! Well done, Mr Arc. These test will prove highly valuable at testing the limits of your faunas abilities.

Jaune: Thanks for helping me with this Dr. I’m sure my friends could have help, but I’m not so sure about the whole data collecting aspect of it all.

Jaune, and his team, along with team RWBY made their way to the, Emerald Falls in order to run a series of test to determine, Jaune’s faunas ability. Considering his rather unique nature as a faunas, tests needed to be done. The only reason they were doing it outside was to be away from prying eyes.

And, potential property damage.

Oobaleck: Think nothing of it ! Why, this research opportunity is unlike any other I have been tasked to do. I relish the opportunity!

Jaune: Well, glad someone enjoying themselves, bar Nora…

As if on cue, Nora slammed another log before him with her usual wild eyed maniac gaze within her eyes.

Nora: Again!

Jaune: Must I? I mean, I’ve already shredded an entire tree. Possibly more than that.

Oobaleck: No, we have gained enough research on your talons, now it is time to test you ability to breath fire!

Yang: Whoo!

Ruby: Yes!

Nora: FINALLY!

His friends suddenly drew out sticks with marshmallows at the end of them, Jaune couldn’t help, but stare at his friends dumbfounded.

Jaune: Serious?! Is that the whole reason you’re here; For smores?!

Yang: Yes.

Ruby: Absolutely.

Nora: Hell yeah!

Jaune sighed as he turned his head as he looked towards the rest of his team.

Jaune: Can you believe…?

Jaune saw something that surprised him, but really shouldn’t have surprised him. The rest of his friends with marshmallows on sticks. What surprised him the most however was that, Weiss had several of them on the end of her rapier.

Jaune: Really? And, seriously, Weiss? I thought you would find smores too pedestrian for your refined pallet?

Weiss: I thought so too, then, Ruby shoved one in my mouth, and I became hooked to the taste of it! Now, less talking, more smore making!

Jaune: Oh gods…

Oobaleck: Now, now students! There will be time later for smores, class is still in session!

NPRRWBY: Naww…

Jaune: Yay!

Oobaleck: Now then, since we already know the much control you have on your flame. Lets see what happens when you let loose with your fire breath.

Jaune: Uhh…?

Jaune nervously looked around him, before addressing his teacher again.

Jaune: You want me to let loose with my fire breath…

Oobaleck: Yes.

Jaune: In the middle of a flammable forest?

Oobaleck: Worry not, Mr. Arc, Ms. Schnee’s surplus of, Dust should prevent any accidents from happening.

Jaune: Will it?

Weiss: Depends on how strong the fire is.

Jaune: Oh… Okay… Haa… Let’s do this then.

Oobaleck: Direct your fire to the tree in front of you. This one is relatively father away from the rest. This will prevent the fire from spread. Hopefully.

Jaune: I heard that.

Nora: Lest talking, more fire!

Jaune: Haa… Okay, let’s do this…

Jaune turned towards the tree, and took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and a torrent of fire erupted from his mouth. Growing bigger, and bigger as it drew farther away from, Jaune. A huge cloud of fire engulfed the tree, lighting it ablaze in seconds. Jaune held his flame for a few seconds, until he stopped admiring his handy work in a stunned, but an oddly thrilled feeling.

Yang: Whoa… That was intense…

Blake: That trees still green; ‘green’ trees are harder to burn, and yet this ones going up in smoke…

Ruby: You think we should have done this inside?

Pyrrha: Well, the fire alarms would have been triggered because of all the smoke so…?

Nora: Yes. Burn. Burn the trees, burn the city, burn the world… BURN…

Ren: Okay, semblance time for you.

As, Ren said that he channeled his semblance into, Nora, removing her maniacal smile as she fantasied about the world being engulfed in flame. Ren, then turned to, Weiss giving her a pointed look.

Ren: Weiss?

Weiss: Huw, what?

Ren: The fire?

Weiss: Oh yes, the fire!

With a few flicks of her wrist a glyph appeared above the tree, before dumping gallons of water atop the tree, instantly putting the fire out leaving them to watch a cloud of steam rise up from the trees charred remains.

Jaune: Whoa… Did I do that…?

Oobaleck: That is quite impressive; Your ability to produce a controlled jet of fire is akin to a flamethrower. Though naturally produced in your body it behaves like most like natural fuels used in modern flamethrowers. While testing your abilities we have determined that you can control it like a blow torch, with same fine percussion, and intensity required to melt metal plates. Here when you ‘let loose’ the flame will burn at a high heat, a high rate of intensity, and seemingly sticks to the target’s surface. Even though you were breathing fire for a few moments, you managed to go a few cm’s deep into the wood. This is quite the impressive natural weapon you posse, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: And, deadly… I should probably refrain from using this in training bouts, and matches.

Oobaleck: I agree; While running some tests on human, or faunas opponents would be advisable to understand the extents of your fire’s effects. I will ask you to refrain from doing so, because of the unknown potential affects of said fire.

Weiss: Wouldn’t, Jaune’s fire behave like the, Fire Dust I use in training matches?

Oobaleck: The effects of, Mr. Arc’s fire is similar, but acts differently to the effects of your, Dust, Ms. Schnee.

Weiss: How so?

Oobaleck: While you’re aura would act as a protective blanket preventing the fire from burning you, the fire will slowly be chipped away as you are bathed in fire. You therefore could easily avoid your aura from braking by moving out of the fire. However, even if it’s only a glancing blast of, Mr. Arc’s fire, it would not only take off a substantial chunk of your aura. What’s worse, the fire would stick to you until it is set out.

Yang: Meaning if my aura broke, and he bathed me in his fire, it would still be on me, then I would get set on fire?!

Oobaleck: Correct. The results of which would be quite… severe.

Pyrrha: Uhh… Save the fire for the, Grimm then, Jaune.

Jaune: Will the fire go out with the, Grimm though?

Blake: You will have to test that out, Jaune.

Jaune: Should I?

Ruby: Carry some, Water Dust on you incase there’s a fire.

Jaune: That could work, so long as I don’t eat them when I get thirsty again.

Weiss: Wait, did you say you eat dust?

Oobaleck: On to the next test! Mr. Arc, I want you to breath fire until you run out!

Jaune: Testing my capacity?

Oobaleck: Exactly! Begin when you are ready, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: Okay…

Jaune opened his mouth again, and a torrent of fire erupted from his his mouth settling the tree ablaze in seconds.

The others watched in stunned amazement as his fire burrowed deeper into the tree, creating a hole of fire from the shear ferocity of the fire.

Yang: Okay… I think the passing glance would incinerate you.

Blake: Least it would be quick.

Pyrrha: I don’t think that’s a comforting thought.

Nora: BURN!

Ruby: Uhh… Ren, she’s doing it again…

Ren: On it.

Weiss: Is he opening his mouth wider?

Pyrrha: Yeah, I can see his fangs.

Jaune’s mouth had indeed widened, and his fangs popping upward as the force that he was breathing fire seemed to intensify. Causing the fire to burn hotter, and harder, reducing the tree to ashes in seconds.

Pyrrha: Hmm… His stance is becoming more rigid, and he seems to be flexing his muscles to maintain his posture.

Yang: Not to mention his flame is growing stronger since he started doing that.

Blake: How intense is his flame going to get…?

Nora: Oh cool! Jaune’s hair is glowing!

Pyrrha: Wait, what?!

As, Jaune’s fire breath was intensifying in it’s rampant destruction, his hair started to glow to a golden white hue that shined like a flashlight in the darkness. They watched that while his hair started to glow brighter, the blue flames erupting from his mouth started to narrow in its wide berth, but strengthen even more in its intensity until…

A narrow beam of golden white fire erupted from his mouth, blasting through a dozen trees within fractions of a second. They watched in what could only be stunned horror as, Jaune’s head moved side to side, cutting a large swath of the forest in seconds.

Jaune continue to breath fire until his head suddenly shot up, and his mouth snapped shut. His fire was extinguished as steam seeming rising out from his mouth as his lips devolved into a deep snarl. The glow of his hair slowly faded as a deep guttural growl echoed deep from within his mouth as he servied the destruction he wrought upon the forest.

Jaune: Haaa…

Jaune: …

Jaune: Well… Ain’t that something?

Jaune turned to look at his friends, teammates, and teachers, all of whom seemed to look on in stunned horror at the raw destruction, Jaune had wrought upon a whole forest in a matter of seconds. Even, Dr. Oobaleck looked on in shear shock for a few minutes before he managed to collect himself, and continue on with the test.

Oobaleck: That was quite… Impressive, Mr. Arc, I did not expect your fire to… evolve as it did, and cause such rampant destruction within a few seconds.

Jaune: That’s putting it lightly…

Oobaleck: Indeed. Stay where you are, Mr. Arc, I need to add additional tests considering these new developments. Ms. Rose would you be so kind to measure the distance from, Mr. Arc to the end of his beam of fire? Ms. Rose?

Ruby, just like everyone else couldn’t help but stare on dumbstruck at the shear chaos, Jaune had inflicted on the forest.

Oobaleck: Ms. Rose!

Ruby: Huw?! What? Yes?!

Oobaleck: Could you measure the distance from, Mr. Arc to the end of the blast radius?

Ruby: Oh yeah, sure, on it!

Ruby placed the beacon at, Jaune’s feet, before exploding into a cloud of rose petals darting to the end. She was gone for nearly two minutes before, Ruby darted back with her head covered in a sheen of sweat.

Ruby: Whoa… It’s really hot over there…

Oobaleck: That is to be expected; The shear amount of damage, and the speed of which he did so shows the shear amount of heat was capable of producing. Now then; What was the measured distance you acquired, Ms. Rose?

Ruby: It was… 1.3 kms.

Jaune: Seriously?!

Ruby: Yeah… I checked it twice just to be sure.

Jaune: Okay, no letting lose with my fire then.

Weiss: Yeah, I think that would be a good I…? Hey… Have your horns grown bigger?

Jaune: Huw?

Jaune’s hands reached up to his head, and touched the bumps where his horns were only to feel two long bone’s extruding from the top of his head. They were two inches long, and one, and a half inches wide. They curved along the top of his head before moving upward to a peak of a crown at the end.

Jaune: Okay… That is an unexpected development… Do they… do they look good?

Blake: They look… great really.

Ruby: Yeah! They’re white with golden tips.

Pyrrha: It looks like you’re growing a crown.

Jaune: A crown? A natural crown… Sounds cool.

Oobaleck: And, yet they have grown at such an exceptional rate. It should have taken at least a month for them to reach this stage in their development. Perhaps it was due to the serge of power you were displaying during your blast.

Ren: Perhaps it was happening while his hair was glowing.

Jaune: My hair was glowing?

Pyrrha: A bright white! It was quite pretty really…

Jaune: Huw… We’ll have to check the film later then.

Oobaleck: Indeed we will. But, we are not done yet! We still have one more test left to do!

Jaune: We have more test to complete?! What’s left?

Oobaleck: To test your capacity to withstand fire.

Jaune: My capacity to do what?!

Oobaleck: Ms. Schnee, at your nearest convenience.

Weiss: Sorry, Jaune. But, it has to be done.

Weiss spun the revolver on her weapon as she activated the fire dust, then she pointed at, Jaune and a glyph appeared under his feet, and his eyes went wide in shock, and fear. He held out his hand as panic flooded his face.

Jaune: NONONONONO WAIT!

An exsplosion of fire erupted underneath, Jaune burning the ground beneath his feet. The blast last only half a minute, but the flame burned at a such a high temperature that when it stopped they were faced with three very prominent facts:

1: Jaune was indeed fire proof.

2: Jaune was absolutely furious.

And, 3: He was naked.

Ruby: EEP?!!

Ren: Uh oh…

Weiss: Ahh! Put that away!

Blake: Holy hell…

Nora: Hehe! Told you he had a zweihänder~!

Yang: Damn!!! You had that inside you?!

Pyrrha: Ha! Wait until you see it when it’s hard~!

Oobaleck: Impressive, Mr. Arc! You are capable of withstanding several hundred degrees! It may have only been a few seconds, but I hypothesize you could endure for several minutes, maybe even our since the fire had no affects upon your body!

Jaune: That’s… Nice…?!

Weiss: I-I-I’m so sorry, J-Jaune I didn’t mean to… Uhh…?! H-Help?!

Jaune snarled as a deep growl escaped his lips, he was furious, absolutely furious. He reached down and grabbed the chest piece, the straps burning off in the intense heat with the rest of his clothes. With this one piece from his armour, he coupd at least give himself a sense of dignity as he stared them down.

Yang: Uhhh… J-Jaune… E-Everything okay…?

Jaune: You ever… Any of you! Ever do that to me again; I will burn you… Okay…?

Ruby: N-Noted!

Weiss: S-Sorry, I just… Uhh…?!

Jaune: Now if you’ll excuse me… I need to… Redress myself… When my armour cooled, can you bring it to my room?

Nora: Can do fearless leader!

Jaune: Thank you!

Pyrrha: I-I-I’ll come with you, Jaune!

And, with that, the two members of, Team JNPR, leaving the others to deal with the aftermath of the tests. The other were left standing their many of the females of the group with a deep blush across their faces. For all, but one however; for, Dr. Oobaleck was having the time of his life with all the new found information he had gathered on, Jaune.

Oobaleck: Well, that was a resounding success! Wouldn’t you say so students? Students?

///

The inspirational music for this particular prompt.

It’s a great song.

Till later then.

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #pyrrha nikos #nora valkyrie #weiss schnee #ruby rose #lie ren #bartholomew oobleck

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soovermyself · 5 months ago

Note

It’s not even a question of Ash wanting or not wanting to go, having or not having the kids.

Stop and think.

As someone who’s been in the very same situation, except, in my case, the entire country was in flames not only a state, as someone that had to fight the fires next to their house along with four or five other neighbours because there were no firefighters available to be present for the chaos that broke out in that area, when others had been requiring their attention for days, you DON’T ask people to come and live that hell with you. Loved ones may offer to help you, and you’ll say NO, because it’s DANGEROUS. Even close neighbours not present at the time will call to know what they can do, and your automatic response is for them to stay put wherever they are, NOT to come to an area where you’re surrounded by flames and have nowhere to escape through.

When you love someone, you don’t ask them to be present at a time like this.

You ask them to stay safe.

You’ll probably not post this given the amount of chaos you’ve been receiving, but it’s a nice response to those that believe their relationship will shift because, supposedly, she wasn’t present. There’s so many conditions that dictate this, and it shows how these comments come not only from hatred, but pure ignorance, the bliss of not knowing how incredibly agonising this is.

The state may not allow any incomers, people that aren’t citizens there. Goddamn it, they are EVACUATING for a purpose. Sophia herself quite possibly ASKED for her to stay put, because she already has friends and family at risk, why would she ask her girlfriend to put her life to test as well? There’s no space, no time, no ability to think rationally, because in these situations you act with pure instinct the whole time. But, indeed — at this moment she might be needing to crumble in her arms and cry, so let us hope that she has the ability to do that soon, not because it’ll salvage their relationship, but because this is an incredibly excruciating experience to live and she needs to let it all out.

A bit of humanity wouldn’t kill you all.

Last sentence! 👌🏼

Good news is that they are no longer evacuating. Sophia’s parents are back in their house. The winds should die down later today and the weather should be on their side from now on so I think the worst of the fires spreading is behind them.

But clearly Sophia wants to help so how long will she be around? Truly up to her. And it’s no one’s business but hers. And if idiots think her gf isn’t supportive of it, then so be it. Y’all can keep sending me 50 messages a day and I’ll keep deleting them. 😉

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lazyscience · 21 days ago

Text

book club fic - this only has about 500 words of original content tonight, but I did a rewrite on it to pull something back that I went back and forth about. So here the whole thing is, all together to date, beyond the readmore.

Bonus content: an inspiration for the silk, 10th century Byzantium.

“A second-story man.” She made a scoffing sound, stirring the pile of goods he’d placed on the counter with a finger. “ What have you got on the job, a week?”

The thief puffed up, glaring murderously at the old woman running the counter. Word on the street claimed the Copper Crow gave a better rate than the skinflint old bastard at the bazaar. But to his way of thinking, fences were all cut from the same cloth; a bunch of juiceless old has-beens who liked to claim in their day they’d gotten away with the Holy Mirror of Nyon-kyo, the Crown of Blessed Stepan, the wand of Dagobert and the ruby choker of al-Said’s favorite consort, expressly to knock down rates for the honest working thief.

She went on mercilessly, laying out each chain, ring and brooch as if he’d picked it out of a midden. “Silver-gilt. Gilt bronze. Cut glass. Cut glass AND a coloring agent–see the wear on the edges? Gilt lead - that’s quite clever, actually, closer to weight for a fake but see here? Too soft to hold the purity stamp well. That bottle’s not crystal nor even cut glass, that’s mold-poured, although you might fetch something for the dreamflower syrup in it from a grey apothecary - couldn’t say for sure, I don’t move unsealed perishables. And that?” A callused index fingertip tapped the final object, a silver-set garnet. “That’s cursed.”

“I beg your finest pardon?” The thief glared at the fence. “Cursed? You haven’t even tested it with a relic! Didn’t know I was in a cathedral!”

The fence awarded him an unimpressed look over steel-rimmed spectacles, gray-green eyes as faded and colorless as the rest of her. “The silver-gilt’s a decent piece. Fifteen.The rest of it’d probably buy you more goodwill at the Broken Lily than it’s worth in cash, but out of the goodness of my heart if you have starving mouths to feed or you prefer the boys at the Prince’s Ransom, I’ll take it all off your hands for twenty-five.”

“Or I’ll take it all somewhere that isn’t trying to fuck a hardworking cracksman,” he blustered, gritting his teeth as the woman shrugged.

“As you like.” She pushed it back across the counter, all except the garnet, the dark glistening red of new wine or old blood.

A knife leapt into his hand. “You can give me back my take-all of it, or I’ll have that ring and a finger to go with it.”

The old woman tilted her head and let out a faint sigh, almost …pleased. “Tell me something, boy. In your vast experience of curses, and relics, and sorcery. Most sorcerers need at least one ring, yes, to manipulate an item in the physical realm?” She spread bare hands wide across the counter, even as two stilettos, a spiked flail, a gently curved dagger and even more concerning, three crystal balls of varying sizes rose from their shelves, gently fanning into circles around him. The crystals lit from inside as they spun, one shot with golden strands, another an oil-slick iridescence that teased at the corners of his vision and another with trapped flame. “I told you, that ring is cursed. You should be grateful I’m choosing to believe you’re too stupid to know what it really is. Because if I thought you did, and you were selling it to me as an object of value, I’d cut you up for catmeat.”

A harsh meow made him jump; out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small tortoiseshell cat as shadowy and unassuming as its mistress, the same faintly amused expression in its green eyes. He realized there were more reflective-glittering eyes in the shadows, and a heartbeat later that he REALLY should have thought more about the lack of visible guards for one middle-aged woman tending a secondhand shop in a run-down neighborhood.

“He does look stringy, doesn’t he, Majali?” She sighed, tucking back a few graying strands that had escaped from her dark braid. “The deal is still open. Fifteen for just the chain or twenty-five for all the rubbish together, and if you don’t try anything excessively stupid, I won’t have your brain out through your nostrils. I’ll even throw in dealing with this unfortunate trapped soul you’ve brought me gratis, instead of either tipping off the one you stole it from OR throwing you to the nearest divine in service to the city for crimes against life.” She made an impatient noise as he tried to speak and only a croak came out. “Tell you what, I’ll sweeten the deal to fifty if you’d be good enough to tell me where you, ah,found this - I mean, I will find out with or without you, but it’s been a long day and I’d take it as a favor, truly, getting a start on getting this all sorted out.”

The weapons parted to either side of the door like cavalry wheeling in salute, as she took out a handful of coins. “Mm, my change is low. But I’ve given you two solidi parisi and 13 denarii troyes, so it should be right by weight.” He flinched as she reached out and pressed the coins into his hand, spun as if to bolt and she lifted a hand, the ball of trapped bolts wheeling around at eye-level. “Ah, ah. You haven’t told me where yet. Can you write?”

The thief looked back at her wide-eyed. “Lady, I’m a thief.”

She sniffed. “Not a very good one, then. Knowing your letters is a good start on valuation. A note to or from the right person can be worth much, much more than trinkets. Books are valuable to a collector who knows you can get the right ones. Information, boy, is a greater treasure than gold.” She shook her head. “Anyway. Were you seen? Can you tell me where it was, or better yet show me?”

“The kind of information you’re talking about gets people like me dead. South and west of the market, off the Street of Owls, the alley they call Owlet, the tall narrow house.”

“If you’re worried about staying alive, you’re in the wrong line of work, young man. Good enough, off with you.” She waved him on, and the thief bolted as if there were a couple of hellhounds on his heels. Majali jumped up onto the counter, ears flat and hissing as she looked at the ring. “Yes, quite,” the mage agreed, and went to throw the bar on the door.

Reynaud and Ludo slipped out from between shelves, weaved in and out of her legs as she went back and forth. “Yes, yes, I’m not daft. I’m not going to take on a sorcerous murderer before dinner. Or without more information than a description of a house.” She stared at the ring, muttered curses under her breath. It wasn’t an easy thing to touch, but she couldn’t very well leave it lying with the trinkets in the shop, either. She finally took a silk scrap from a shelf purporting to be a lady’s favor, knotted it around the ring and tied the whole business around her neck. At least that way it wasn’t visible, touching her skin, throwing its distinctive aura in every direction or in a pocket for a cutpurse. The last thing anyone needed was another idiot thief wandering around with a woman’s soul in his pocket to sell to gods only knew who, for devils only knew what.

“Reynaud, you and your brother watch the shop,” she said to the fluffy orange cat and his brown shadow. “I’ll bring back supper, we’ll plan then. When Mistress Yveline comes back from her hunt, please ask her to stay. Maja?”

The tortoiseshell cat padded over to the hook where her hood and mantle hung and waited to jump up onto her shoulder, arranging herself comfortably in the folds. A serviceably faded russet, you could overlook the glimpses of fur peeking through it, especially if Majali was encouraging people to look away. A small chirp, and the mage left her shop by the rear door, locking it with a key and a whispered warning to the lock that anybody stupid enough to brave her guard would be the worse for it.

***

“Auda!” Smiling, the proprietress of the Broken Lily greeted her with an embrace, blinking and laughing at the little chirp as Majali’s head emerged from the mantle. “And Mistress Majali. Have I finally persuaded you you need tadliik?”

“I need what?” She blinked. “Oh, is that the new bath service you’ve started?” Minna was what people liked to call a handsome woman, with sharp dark eyes and a strong face owing more to the Albans than the Treveri, still tall, trim and graceful at an age many married women were welcoming grandchildren. But then, Auda rather thought Minna was owed at least that by the gods. There were much worse places a woman could sell her favors than the Broken Lily. Minna’s gracious salon was the equal of many lordlings’ homes, and her girls set their own prices and worked together to determine their schedules and …offerings. And a goodly handful of poor women not interested in whoring earned a fair wage there too as laundresses, maids, servers and even musicians, provided none of the ladies felt like demonstrating their own skills.

“No - well, related. I was telling you last month, it’s a sort of medicinal anointing? Which I realize does not sound delightful, but it truly is, a rubdown with scented oils to relieve aches and pains. Not like a Alban strigil, it’s for after you’re clean. We have finally - at ruinous expense, I might add - acquired a good enough copy of Ibn Sina to satisfy Anjum that she understands it well enough to teach, and it’s simply miraculous. She’s been showing all the girls.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t that kind of visit, Minna - although I would like to speak to Anjum, if she’s free.”

“For you, Auda, I am sure she is, or will be shortly. Something tells me this is a conversation that requires discretion. Which means you COULD just as well get the tadliik–”

“I’m willing to compensate her - and you - for the time, but I’m afraid we should all be clear-headed for this.”

Minna sighed. “Fine, you exhausting woman. Will you at least take some mulled cyser or sahlab with me?”

Majali emerged fully from the folds of Auda’s mantle at that, chirruping happily. “She didn’t ask you,” Auda said, wrinkling her nose.

“Are you suggesting I would let a guest go without?” Minna said, mock-scandalized. “I just know that Mistress Majali does not care for spiced apples so much as for milk warmed with flowers. I believe rosewater rather than orange flower, for my lady?”

Majali nipped Auda’s ear, then purred, paw resting on the silk around her neck with its terrifying contents, suggesting that while clearheadedness was called for, something calming and restorative would also not go amiss. “Sahlab for me as well. Although perhaps after we talk I will want the cyser.”

Minna’s brows shot up as she gestured her guests up the stairs. “You know where my private parlor is, I’ll arrange for drinks and have a girl fetch Anjum.”

Minna’s parlor had its own cheerful fireplace as well as a share of the greater kitchen’s chimney against another wall, making it undoubtedly quite the warmest room in the place, other than the bath with its hypocaust. Auda shed not just her hood and mantle but outer cotte before taking off the bit of gaudy damask at her neck hiding the ring. It shone almost as deep as the ring in the lamplight, not a scarf as as it looked to a casual gaze but a belled silk sleeve unlaced from a bliaut. Blue perilously close to purple from a sumptuary’s point of view, woven in fine Iscan silk with griffins in sun-golden medallion-frames. A younger Auda - well, it was a lot of pattern to wear easily, it wouldn’t stand up well to the demands of a mage’s life, and most of the silk she had was for utilitarian purposes.

Looking up as Minna returned with Anjum, she thought wistfully for just a heartbeat or two about silk, Anjum’s gown as green as her eyes, as green as Majali’s eyes, the color of new leaves and vibrant youth patterned with darker branches and vines, her riotously curling hair confined in a finely knitted net of golden silk with green glass beads. “Learned. My apologies.” Anjum’s eyes darted curiously to the fabric in front of Auda as the servant girl who had followed her in set out cups of sweetly fragrant sahlab.

“The one without the crushed almonds for Mistress Majali,” Minna said, gesturing, and the girl’s eyes widened as she realized the one of the cups was for the cat, who nodded at her like a great lady and opened her mouth in a silent mew of thanks.

“Anjum, I hardly expect a busy woman looking after her livelihood to be waiting around at an old woman’s pleasure,” Auda replied as Minna shooed the fascinated child out before returning to sit down.

“Old woman,” Minna snorted. “You’ve the advantage of me by two years, and if the girls here start calling me old woman, I’ll stop having you renew the hypocaust and see how they like stoking it all winter.”

“Pah. Where would you keep the wood?” Auda took a sip of her own sahlab. Ordinarily, it was richer than she cared for, but the velvety smoothness of it reminded her she hadn’t eaten since snatching an apple and some bread and butter out of the pantry between the man who’d sold her the scarf and the one who’d dithered between a string of pearls and an enameled golden brooch for entirely too long to make her think he could afford either.

Anjum let out a soft breath. “You enchanted the hypocaust, Learned?”

“Auda, Anjam. Just Auda. And enchantment is a discipline of illusion and emotion. Conjury is summoning elements or spirits to appear by your will. Invocation is commanding objects to bend to your will. And then there is what was done that I need to speak to you both about. What do you know about a mage’s rings?”

“Very little, L-Auda, save that most of them can do little without at least one. It is a tool or item of power, I suppose much like a divine’s holy icon or a text.”

Auda nodded. “Correct, so far as that goes, although it need not always be a ring. That is…traditional. It may be a circlet, or a bangle, but it must be an unbroken circle, that can neither open nor close, that the user may wear. It may be plain, or engraved with some particular meaning to the wearer. And it may have a gem or crystal stone in it to hold…energy.”

“Energy?” Minna asked, frowning.

“Energy. What I am about to tell you is not…forbidden, as such. But I would ask you both to keep it close.”

Anjum and Minna nodded, and she went on.. “It may be the user’s own, distilled from their intent over many sessions to be a reserve of strength for a great work they would otherwise not be able to do all at once, or if they anticipate going into a dangerous situation where they might need to perform many acts of magic without time in between to rest and recover. It can be from a bound elemental force or spirit; this can be a neutral thing, imbued by exposure to a powerful thing like a great storm, a rushing waterfall, a great fire or what Romans called a god-forge, where rock melts and flows like metal. A spirit is a more difficult thing. It can be an act negotiated for and agreed to, or an evil one can be confined so by force of great will and purity of intent. Or it can be an act of slavery.” She looked up. “Perhaps once in a century, a great mage reaching the end of their life has agreed to bind their remaining power and knowledge thus, to continue teaching and protecting beyond what they could otherwise do, until all that remains of their gift is consumed - and if someone with a gift wears it, beyond even that, they can continue to speak through them, to teach and guide.”

Minna and Anjum both took quick breaths, Anjum’s green eyes wide with wonder, Minna’s narrowed with thought as Auda went on. “Such rings are great treasures. But more frequently -although mercifully for all of us, still rare - someone whose blood has magecraft is sacrificed into such a ring. And this is the greatest crime a mage can commit. Because anyone may shed blood, and many men have taken slaves and forced them to work. But someone bound in such a fashion, even if not voluntarily, is bound from their gods, and the life beyond life. Even once their gift has been extinguished, and they become a trinket of no worth to the criminal who made them so.” She pointed to the ring, its silver setting pallid and cold amidst the flickering coal-colors of the silk damask, the brightness of the gem. “As I believe this to be, such a stolen soul.”

Both women reacted with horror, Minna making a holy sign and Anjum exclaiming in the tongue of al-Khatlan. “Calm yourselves,” Auda said. “While this is a terrible thing, it will not corrupt by touch. It is, however, if you have mageblood…uncomfortable to touch it, knowing what it is. And the one sacrificed I believe is untaught and untrained, she doesn’t have the disciplined mind of a mage to make herself heard. To speak with her I think will require a learned servant of the gods.”

“So why have you brought her here to the Lily?” Minna said, cocking her head as Majali came to sit on Anjum’s lap and purr her most comforting purr.

“Two reasons. One, my wise friend, is that you collect rumors like an intelligence officer about women’s business afoot in Treviere. If this was a local girl, there could be talk, and a girl disappearing is the kind of thing I know you listen for particularly.”

Minna nodded, generous mouth hardening. “Yes. If there’s someone or something out there preying on women, whores are easier prey than women with husbands and fathers looking out.”

“Indeed. The maker of this will be very angry to have lost it, and someone who could make this sees people as things, to be used and discarded. Dangerous to anyone, particularly those he - it COULD be a woman, but I doubt it, the size is too large for most womens’ hands, and it’s–”

“Ugly,” said Anjum flatly, looking at it more closely again. “It looks like something a man who fancies himself a dangerous man would wear. The stone is beautiful, but the setting looks like…teeth. Like fangs or talons clutching it. The kind that if a client was wearing I’d ask Othmar or Gautwin to stay in hearing.”

“Just so,” Auda nodded. “And the other reason is, I will need someone with a good hand with silk.” She nodded at the intricate work of the snood containing the masses of Anjum’s hair. “There’s a reason I didn’t simply pop this trinket in a coin pouch,” she said, wrapping the ring in the sleeve again. “And not just to keep it from thieves. Different types of magical traditions, and different types of magic within them, require different types of tools and preparations, much as any other artisan’s trade or scholar’s work. Sometimes rituals require a drawing with certain colored pigments, or an effigy made of materials with significance to the caster. Many rituals of binding or loosing require some sort of cord. And silk, more than any other type of thread or cloth, interacts with magic. Can be imbued with purpose. Wrapping such a token as this in silk and my will will help keep its owner from finding where it’s gone by scrying or divination when it’s outside the defenses of my home. And when we’ve found what we can of the girl, there are rituals that would require a finer hand than mine to construct, spells knit into silk, by which maybe she can be freed.”

Anjum stared at her. “And you think this magic, this is a thing I can do? I have no gift.”

“No. And I have gift, but not nimble fingers, not for something like what would be needed for this. I set things on fire, girl. I don’t paint with a needle and fabric. But perhaps it can be that together we can do what needs doing.”

“Does the silk have anything to do with her - the one in the ring?” Minna was frowning at it.

Auda paused a moment, looked at Majali, who chirped, then got up onto the table to study it herself, mouth half-open, whiskers spread as far as they’d go. “You know, I didn’t think so. I was just trying to think what I had that might suit, and I was sold it earlier in the day. Just the sleeve, mind you, not the pair or the whole bliaut. I was told it was a favor, and well, frankly courtly love stories gone sour are a dozen to a silver penny - which I wouldn’t usually give for a single sleeve lacking the rest of the dress or even its lacings. But a clever seamstress could make a hat or trimmings worth having out of a piece so fine, or perhaps a purse.”

“It might be worth taking to a seamstress to try to find who it belonged to. The finishing and lacing-holes are very, very fine work indeed, that would require the most delicate of needles. Very few households close by would have serving maids capable of this kind of work, and the seamstresses in town would certainly have took note of such a striking piece as a possible buyer for their wares, or a fashion to imitate as best they could for more likely clients.”

“You think it related?”

“Maybe not. But it seems quite bright and new for something a knight would have carried with him, possibly worn as you are now to display his allegiance.”

Auda swore softly, and again as Majali mewed quietly. “She isn’t certain, but there could have been blood on the edge. Which means nothing, as you say, if it were worn by the knight in tourney. But…”

“But. It seems too convenient, perhaps, that someone would sell such a thing when possibly a woman has gone missing.”

“It does,” Auda said grimly.

#book club fic #installment 4 of?#edits

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