#a fickle god of the darkness

[nuadha-airgeadlamh]

godhood and the nature of the world

For me some of the most interesting dialogue delivered in the DLC comes from Ymir when you ask him about the nature of the world:

"I fear that you have borne witness to the whole of it. The conceits – the hypocrisy – of the world built upon the Erdtree. The follies of men. Their bitter suffering. Is there no hope for redemption? The answer, sadly, is clear. There never was any hope. They were each of them defective. Unhinged, from the start. Marika herself. And the fingers that guided her. And this is what troubles me. No matter our efforts, if the roots are rotten, …then we have little recourse."

Immediately upon hearing this dialogue I thought of the item description for the Mending Rune of Perfect Order:

"The current imperfection of the Golden Order, or instability of ideology, can be blamed upon the fickleness of the gods no better than men. That is the fly in the ointment."

I think Ymir and Goldmask are essentially stating the same fundamental ideas here, and that these ideas hit upon a key theme of the entire game: human beings should not become gods.

Marika's traumatic origins are laid bare at the Bonny and Shaman Villages. The extermination of her people through such disturbing means no doubt left her horribly scarred. The spirit in the Whipping Hut spells out how the Potentates treated the Shaman:

"For pity's sake, your place is in the jar. Nigh-sainthood itself awaits your within. For shamans like you, this is your lot. Life were you accorded for this alone."

And the Minor Erdtree incantation demonstrates her bereavement:

Marika bathed the village of her home in gold, knowing full well that there was no one to heal.

We know, too, from Ymir that the Fingers were just as broken as Marika, the children of an abandoned mother.

"Do you recall what I said? That Marika, and the fingers that guided her, were unsound from the start. Well, the truth lies deeper still. It is their mother who is damaged and unhinged. The fingers are but unripe children. Victims in their own right. We all need a mother, do we not? A new mother, a true mother, who will not give birth to further malady."

And the Staff of the Great Beyond gives us further context behind this:

The Mother received signs from the Greater Will from the beyond of the microcosm. Despite being broken and abandoned, she kept waiting for another message to come.

Marika's ascension to godhood placed a traumatized person in a position of ultimate power. Yes, the Hornsent did terrible, unspeakable things to the Shaman people and employed a truly brutal inquisition, but there is no excuse for what Marika did to them through her Crusade. There is no excuse for what she did to the Hornsent, or to the Fire Giants, or to any of the victims of the Golden Order's colonizing mission. The game makes this abundantly clear. Did Hornsent's wife and child deserve to die by Messmer's flames? Does the Hornsent Grandam deserve to remain alone and abandoned, her home crumbling around her? What about the Dried Bouquet, a talisman you find in Belurat:

A quaint bouquet of dried flowers, offered to a small grave.

Raises attack power when a spirit you have summoned dies.

The sorrow that flows from the untimely demise of a loved one is a tenderness shared by all, regardless of birthplace.

The game even draws parallels between the Hornsent Inquisition and the Golden Order's torture methods in the description of the Ash of War: Golden Crux on the Greatsword of Damnation:

Leap up and skewer foe from overhead. If successful, the weapon's barbs unfold to excruciate from within; else, additional input releases barbs in the area. There is something of the Golden Order in the sight of those fixed upon this crux.

After dark, does Limgrave not fill with the screams of the crucified? There is no perfect society— there is no society whose crimes warrant absolute extermination. By giving her the capacity for limitless violence, godhood has made Marika into the perpetrator of some of the greatest crimes in the Lands Between.

We see this effect happening in real time through Miquella's story. While his ideology may initially seem admirable — redemption for those oppressed by the Golden Order, redemption for the Hornsent — on his road to godhood, he abandons everything that matters. The path to godhood is an inherently dehumanizing process and requires of Miquella for him to cast aside everything that makes him him.

Ymir says about Miquella that:

"Ever-young Miquella saw things for what they were. He knew that his bloodline was tainted. His roots mired in madness. A tragedy if ever there was one. That he would feel compelled to renounce everything. When the blame…lay squarely with the mother."

What I believe Ymir is articulating here is that Miquella seeks to atone for his mother's crimes and remove the corrupt order by usurping her position as god, even though he personally is not to blame for these deeds. Hornsent states similar ideas:

"Miquella has said as much himself – he wishes now to throw it all away. He says the act – though undoubtedly painful – will sear clean the Erdtree’s wanton sin. The truth of his claim can be found at each cross. Tis evidence enough to earn my belief."

"Uphold his covenant Miquella shall, and in godhood redeem our rueful clan. Then Marika, and vilest Erdtree both, will at last be from divinity wrench’d."

But in order to replace Marika, Miquella must also commit terrible crimes: he abandons his other half, he beguiles even those who would oppose him into being his very own blind followers. He charmed Mohg and violated his corpse, and Radahn's consent in this whole matter is dubious. In trying to make up for Marika's atrocities by becoming god of a new, kinder age, Miquella leaves behind a whole host of his own sins.

I believe that "the conceits – the hypocrisy – of the world built upon the Erdtree" and "the fickleness of the gods no better than men" are addressing this same idea. Miquella and Marika are no more special or inherently better than anyone else; they become fickle gods and establish hypocritical orders because no human being is perfect enough to wield absolute power with an even hand. Even Ymir himself falls prey to this thinking: he believes he can be a better mother than the ones before him, but he is just as broken as he rightfully points out they were.

This theme goes hand-in-hand with the story's emphasis on the Tarnished as the new inheritors of the Lands Between. From the very beginning, it establishes that it is the Tarnished who are chosen to succeed Radagon as Elden Lord, not the demigods. The intro cinematic announces this:

"Arise now, ye Tarnished. Ye dead, who yet live. The call of long-lost grace speaks to us all. Hoarah Loux, chieftan of the badlands. The ever-brilliant Goldmask. Fia, the Deathbed Companion. The loathsome Dung Eater. And Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-knowing. And one other. Whom grace would again bless. A Tarnished of no renown. Cross the fog, to the Lands Between. To stand before the Elden Ring. And become the Elden Lord."

Enia translates for the Fingers that the Greater Will itself has abandoned the demigods:

"The Greater Will has long renounced the demigods. Tarnished, show no mercy. Have their heads. Take all they have left."

We the "Tarnished of no renown" enter the story at a major crossroads. The time of fickle Marika and her warring demigods is over: by the time we defeat Radagon and the Elden Beast, she is only an empty husk. We are ushering in a new age in which gods are no longer the primary overlords of the Lands Between, in which the power is vested in ordinary people.

I think the array of endings offered up to us further demonstrates this point. Every unique ending, save one, is based around the ideology of a Tarnished, whether it be Goldmask, Fia, Dungeater, or you as the Lord of Frenzied Flame. The only ending themed around a demigod is Ranni's. I've seen people complain before about how you can't side with the demigods and bring about the worlds they envision —Mohg's Age of Blood, Miquella's Age of Compassion, Rykard's destruction of the very gods themselves— but I think this goes against the primary themes of Elden Ring's story. The time of Marika and her demigods is over: now rises the age of the Tarnished. This is why Ranni succeeds where her siblings fail: she wants no power for herself because she, too, recognizes that nothing good can come of a human becoming a god. She explains as much:

"_Mine will be an order not of gold, but the stars and moon of the chill night. I would keep them far from the earth beneath our feet. As it is now, life, and souls, and order are bound tightly together, but I would have them at great remove. And have the certainties of sight, emotion, faith, and touch… All become impossibilities."

Ranni does not wish to become the god of the Greater Will and the worshipped figurehead of the Golden Order. She wishes to set herself apart so that she cannot interfere in the affairs of the Lands Between, unlike Marika and her regime. Ranni's ending reinforces the agency of the Tarnished, while Mohg and Miquella and Rykard's endings still focus around themselves.

Godhood is a dehumanizing force that turns individuals into the most corrupt versions of themselves; the main story sees us supplanting the old, rotten order of the gods as an exiled nobody.

And I think there's no better summation of these themes than Ansbach's dying words:

"Righteous Tarnished. Become our new lord. A lord not for gods, but for men."

[moronkombat]

Straight to it, Bi Han finds his wife dead 😘🥰😍

tw: character death, afab pronouns used

god this ask is blessed

Wind blows lightly, the breeze is warm and pleasant. Loose strands of pure ebony wisp past the curve of a cheek bone while eyes just as dark look to a gathering of flowers so perfectly planted. Bi-Han watches as petals fall limp and wrinkled, flora beginning the end of its life. There's a hand holding his, so much smaller than his own, yet the weight heavier than any mountain.

He hears her speaking and notices her adoring smile. She is beautiful, really, a grand masterpiece of humanity's kindness. Bi-Han loves her more than he can love anything else. She knows this, he never has to say it. He need only look upon her and his heart shines through his gaze.

They stood together in their garden as they always did before Bi-Han had to go. This their own little sanctuary where time stops. They should have never left that place.

Heart pounds in his chest, legs carry him faster and faster. Blood has spattered and drenched him while he runs through hallways that seem almost endless. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This meant to be between him and the Tengu and yet they have pulled that which is most precious to Bi-Han in its horrible grasp.

Ice continues to pierce those who stand in his way and the blood is so heavy upon his skin. He cannot stop, he must find her. Bi-Han knows the Tengu have her, they had told him as much. Their bodies are ripped and torn as the frantic man searches for his kidnapped wife.

The corpses have led him to some place dark but her light still shines through. There she stands, held by hands Bi-Han wishes to slice. Her eyes...she is terrified. She quivers and shakes while tears dirty her face. Bi-Han rages, an internal war erupts. Beast like eyes stare at the one who holds her from him and fingers twitch and become frigid.

"I'll kill you..." Bi-Han rasps through his bloodstained mask and everything within him begins to shake.

The Tengu looks at him, unafraid and resilient. He hums something that Bi-Han doesn't catch before eyes begin to crinkle into a smile.

"I know." He says. "But I will destroy you."

No! Bi-Han lunges forward, the ice that runs in his veins manifesting into life. Life really is a fickle thing. Blades catch the dimmed light of the room and beam with the strength of the sun. Sharpened and refined metal cuts through the air before it embraces flesh. Ribs begin to crack, blood begins to pour and her shriek lasts only but a moment before lungs are lacerated by a Tengu's wrath.

Blood flies through the air and paints a man most terrified. Droplets of her warm and scalding blood find themselves colliding onto Bi-Han's cheek as he reaches forward for her. Eyes widen while hers begin to fade dim. There's a scream. One inhuman and broken apart. As she falls, ice cuts through her attacker's throat and a life is ended.

Before that wretched Tengu body and even hit the floor, Bi-Han is cradling his dear wife who gasps and writhes in pain. His eyes look over her, blood is pooling from her wound even as his hands attempt to stop it.

"No, no, no, no-" Bi-Han panics, cold hands covered in burning crimson as a palm lays against her chest. "It's going to be alright, it's going to be okay-"

She knows he is lying but her words cannot form. Too trapped by the gasps for breath and cries of pain. Her blood is spilling faster now, it falls from her lips and runs down her chin like a flowing stream. The visage of him begins to blur until there is nothing but an obscured void.

"Stay with me now...!" his words all she has left to cling to but even they begin to echo and fade.

Her gasps, her pained whines...they are gone now. She is gone. An empty body is left in her place, limp and heavy. Bi-Han's eyes dart around her, a hand coated in red cups her cheek. He called out her name but she merely stares back at him with hazy eyes and bloody lips. Bi-Han's trembling body now crumbles apart and he cradles her just as he did when they were alone in that very special garden. The garden they never should have departed from.

He cries, he wails, begging her to speak to him, to hold him like she always did. She cannot, her body no better than the corpses he left behind. There's hurried clatter, the sound of footsteps approaching. Two younger brothers stand in the doorway, staring at the sight they should have never seen.

They stand together, Tomas and Kuai Liang looking at each other. Both are unsure of what to say as they watch their eldest brother sob and hold onto an empty husk of what was once the love of his life.

Bi-Han's mind is lost to him. He begs and pleads for her to awaken; he screams in the agony of pure destruction. The one he cries for cannot hear him. The wind blows lightly, the breeze cold and haunting.

[axelsagewrites]

Cregan Stark*Princess

Pairing: cregan x princess!reader (team not specified)

Kinktober Day twenty-one: face fucking with Cregan Stark: to gain his loyalty Cregan demands that you earn it, and he enjoys watching the tears streak down your face as you do

Warnings: cregan being a bit of a dick, arguing, m!reciving oral, face fucking, tears, deep throating, slight praise, suggested further smut, smut 18+

Word count: 1535

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

You were a princess, a Targaryen, the future queen of the seven kingdoms and this stubborn northerner who had tried to refuse your stay. Cregan stark was a fickle man at best and an arse at worst. You had tried to talk to him in the halls, but he left, tried to join him at his table but he moved his plate, tried to catch him at the gods wood but he walked faster than you.

Now you found yourself rattling on his bedchamber door as his guards rapidly approached. You span on your heels, glaring at them, “Dreamcatcher is on the other side of that wall. Try it,” you spat at them when you saw them reach for their swords.

“If you’re done threatening my men,” Cregan’s voice had you spinning back around to glare at the tall northerner, “Can I help you with something princess? After all it is far past your bedtime,”

“Let me in now,” you demanded, ignoring the squeaks of the men behind you, “I didn’t come here to be ignored,” you stated, pushing past him into the bedchambers.

The doors shut behind him with a thud as you angrily began to pace the room, “You’ll wear a hole in my carpet,” he warned, moving to sit on a chair by his desk.

“I didn’t come here to sit in a cold room twiddling my thumbs- “

“Then why are you here?” he barked, cutting you off with no care of rank. Your pacing paused as you turned to glare at him, “Here to buy my loyalty with some false promise you never deliver on? The north doesn’t need your Targaryen nonsense,”

“This isn’t nonsense,” you spat, arms flailing in shock of his attitude, “This is the crown, the kingdoms future- “

“No Targaryen king nor queen gives two shits about the North and you know it,” he said, standing up from his chair, “So why should I care for wars that will do nothing but starve my children and kill my men?” he questioned as you began to take in the sheer size of him.

Not only was he tall but his shoulders were broad, and his hands could break through several inches of ice you reckoned, “Perhaps we have something you need. Gold or ships- “

“What use is a ship on frozen lakes?”

“Grain and livestock then,” you sighed, “The queen-my mother, we need the North. You care about your people well I care about mine. So, tell me your terms since you clearly don’t want to listen to mine,”

Cregan paused for a moment before his head dipped and he sank back into his chair. You were ready to huff and leave on dragon back when you noticed his eyes trailing up your frame, “If its marriage you want- “

“I want a dragon,” he said, his head finally raising to meet your eyes.

Your eyes grew wide for a moment, but you quickly tried to cover your shock, “The north is far too cold for a dragon and there’s no way I’d hand over my child to- “

“I didn’t mean that kind of dragon- “he said, cutting you off once more as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “I want you,” he stated, his eyes hungrily trailing your frame, “I want to tame a dragon,”

You felt your mouth grow dry, “My betrothal has already been set- “

“The north is far too cold for a dragon,” he cut you off once more, this time standing from his seat and slowly crossing the room towards you. you felt your feet carry you backwards, but he did not pause, “I don’t need a wife. I need proof of your loyalty,”

Your back hit against the cold stone wall, your eyes gazing up at his in shock as he moved only an inch from you. “You want me to tarnish my maiden head? That is the price of a stark’s loyalty?”

Cregan’s chuckle was dark as were the eyes that hungrily gazed at your lips, “You may keep your maiden head, it would dishonourable of me to ruin your virtue,” he said, his deep voice making your mouth grow dry, “But if you want my loyalty,” you didn’t move even as you felt his hand cup your jaw, his thumb running over your bottom lip, “You’ve got to earn it little dragon,”

Your jaw was already slack in shock, so it did not take much effort for his thumb to slip in, pulling down your mouth for a moment before resting on your tongue, “Suck it,” he commanded. You weren’t sure if it was his tone or the way his eyes looked at you like a hungry wolf, but you soon saw him smirking, “Good girl,”

His hand slipped away from your mouth but not before he smeared your spit across your bottom lip, “Tell me princess,” he commanded as his hand trailed down till it past your breasts, “Have you ever been touched like this?” he said, his hands squeezing your tits suddenly over the fabric of your dress making you gasp.

“No, my lord,” you stuttered out, biting back a whimper as he leaned his head down to the crook of your neck, catching a peak of what lay under your clothing.

“Ever been kissed?” he asked but he said nothing else when he felt you shake your head no. instead his lips crashed onto yours, his hands grabbing your arse tightly as he pulled you flush against his chest. You gasped into the kiss, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders, but it only allowed his tongue to slip in.

It knocked the air out your lungs and no sooner than it had started it had finished. His hungry eyes met yours again, “Kneel,” he commanded, and you did without complaint. You looked up at the man who towered over you now, seeing how sharp his jaw truly was from down here.

As his hands tugged at his waist bands he asked you a final question, “Ever had someone use this pretty little mouth of yours?” as he spoke, he slipped his breeches down, revealing an already hardened cock, precum leaking from its tip. You were too shocked to answer his question, but he no longer cared about that.

“Kiss it,” he said, and your eyes darted up to his, sudden insecurity washing over you. his hand moved to cup your cheek, a single tender action in this whole time.

Your hand moved up slowly to grab his shaft and you heard a small groan come from your touch. You looked up one last time before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to his tip making a louder groan fall from his lips. “again,”

more confident now you began to place soft kisses down his shaft, then trailing back up to his tip. Cregan’s hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, groaning when he felt your tongue run over his tip. “Fuck,” he murmured, his hand slowly tightening in your hair, “Open,” He commanded and as soon as he felt your lip’s part you gasped as he thrust his member in.

“Fuck,” he groaned loudly, hand tightening in your hair. Your hands reached out, grabbing at his strong thighs to keep yourself steady. Slowly he began to guide your head down, bobbing around his cock as his spare hand moved so he could lean against the wall, caging you between him and the stone.

“That’s it,” he muttered, drawing in breath the further down you reached. Your movements became more confident with each praise as a warm feeling spread through your stomach. You felt his tip hit the back of your throat, your movements faltering for a moment, but a switch seemed to snap in the Stark.

A low growl left his throat as he swatted your hand off what had not been able to fit. You couldn’t even question him before you felt his hips begin to buck. You tried to speak but your mouth was otherwise occupied as Cregan began to fuck your face, curses and groans falling from his lips.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and you could feel his cock twitching in your mouth as spit dribbled around the edges. Your hands snaked from his thighs to his balls, cupping them gently in your hand making him groan loudly.

His thrusts were messy and hard but grew sloppy as you squeezed gently. You felt his body tense but before you could tell what was coming a salty taste filled your throat. Cregan’s hand moved to hold the back of your head gently, his thrusts far slower as he rode out his orgasm.

“Fuck,” he murmured as he slipped his member out your mouth, his hand moving to cup your jaw. He tilted your head, forcing you to face him with spit dribbling from your lips and a few stray tears that had fallen during his fun. “Get on the bed, “

“But- “you tried to object despite a flutter rising through your chest at the suggestion.

His hand tightened around your jaw, “Now princess. You’ve earned my loyalty now let me return the favour,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila @jacesvelaryons

[greatdenimbeast]

Diamond castle au- Mephiles as Lydia! The muse of Music, Tragedy and Eloquence

He’s a god, born on Olympus, chosen to be Apollos first muse, due to his prolific musical talents and understanding of tragic stories. Mephiles graciously accepted his position as well as his twin flutes

To him, to be a muse is to be the example, the authority, to have the final say over what people can and can’t do with their art, down to the style and expression.

Mortals were simple creatures, with fickle emotions that easily led them astray. They needed guidance, direction, the ability to create was gifted onto them and they needed to use that gift properly. (More accurately how he deemed it being used properly)

He was content in his care for the diamond castle and the way he ran things… but then Apollo chose another muse. A demigod. A descendant of an underworld god, gifted with full godhood in order to carry out his duties.

Mephiles wasn’t… fond of this decision, working with a mortal isn’t something he had ever foreseen and he didn’t think that this mortal would be capable of taking on these responsibilities. But he chose not to argue with the authority of lord Apollo and welcome the godling into his ranks as a fellow muse. He could be taught the proper ways after-all and, even when he was a mortal, the blood of a god still ran through his viens, this was about a century before Apollo introduces them to another chosen muse.

This one a pure mortal, not even a lick of godly blood in him and yet he was chosen.

Mephiles was completely baffled and infuriated by this decision but held his tongue, something that was hard to do when this… former-mortal was the most ungrateful one he’d ever seen, having as much snark as he had audacity as he clearly did not wish for this decision either

Everything Mephiles told him to do, he did the exact opposite! And if that wasn’t enough! He slacked in his duties! The mortals engaging in his art just did whatever they wanted and interpreted his aspects however they wanted and he just let them! In fact he actively encouraged it! Going down to the mortal realm, in mortal disguise to interact with them. And then, for some ungodly reason, the second muse (who had previously been butting heads with this new muse as well) followed his example!!! It was infuriating, especially when the two started to creating music, and doing whatever the heck they wanted with it! Starting to insist that he could lighten up cuz he didn’t actually have the authority on what people created

The final straw was when the two of them created music that in turn created a little godling (literally, they made a song an poof! Baby!) and the god Apollo proposed that the child train to be a muse

Mephilis wouldn’t stand for this anymore, they didn’t deserve to hold their positions so if they didn’t do things his then he’d take care of all the arts himself! But he knew he couldn’t exactly do anything, his fellow muses, though tainted by their former mortality, were just as powerful as he was. So he ventured down to Tartarus for something give an edge, he found the dark power he was looking for, as well as the dragon, iblis.

So he conspired to take over while tensions rose with the other two muses, what he needed was the instruments to have full control but for people to believe his authority he had to let those two ruin their own image to make him look better by comparison and ruining their harmony to make them more susceptible to his powers

But then Silver found out, told the other muses about him wanting to take over and they hid the castle and their instruments. The two muses tried to confront him and stop him but he quickly put a stop to that, they won’t be doing anything without his say so anytime soon… but the little apprentice got away, seemingly disappearing into thin air. Meph had a hunch that he knew the whereabouts but there was no sign of

His powers still only extended over his domain, so he still needed those instruments… but no matter, he was in charge and he was immortal, he had millennia to wait and there were only so many places that child could hide

[satubby]

Yandere God Gojo headconons

[As promised, a bit late I know, but I needed my time to not cry for Satoru so an apology. So since I'm not good at describing powers and let's add to that Jujutsu Kaisen has mathematics, which I hate... I just won't go into his god-like powers]

This post comes from the previous idea, you can find it in my profile. Credits to the artist and me for the edition.

⚠️ Warning: This is MY interpretation of the character but it does not define the canon, I want to show my love for him (Fuck Gege for all I care) There may also be pronoun errors because damn my dyslexia affects my eyesight.

On an ordinary night, your mother sent you to the mini supermarket, a place similar to convenience stores like pharmacies. 「More common in my native Mexico, such as an Oxxo.」

Unexpectedly, a curse/demon began to haunt you. Without knowing how, you ended up cornered in an alley, the rain adding a touch of desperation to the atmosphere. Exhausted, you tripped over a trash can, lacerating your leg in the fall.

The unimaginable happened when your blood, the fruit of the scrape, awakened a god enclosed within a bucket, multiple eyes arranged in a dice-like pattern 「Yeah, I fucking used 'It' you thought」. Your blood acted as a call for the imprisoned being lying in there.

Satoru, the god that lay dormant, awoke. Upon realizing your situation, he offered to help you, but not before uttering the words that would seal your fate: "Tell me, mortal, do you accept that I save you by giving me something precious? Yes or no, the choice is yours."

Given your young age of six and the impossibility of facing the dreadful monster that pursued you, you had no choice but to accept. How could you refuse? Hell, you were a brat who could barely carry your mother's bag of errands, much less fight that dreadful thing that wanted you dead.

And so the deal between you and the unknown god was sealed with…. a tongue kiss. 「Despite its polemical nature, it is crucial to the development of the plot」.

❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Satoru, in his divine form, is an extraordinarily powerful being. Sometimes, his impressive abilities can lead you into complicated situations, such as when a simple sneeze from him transported you to another dimension. Such is his level of power. 「In this version, we will represent him as an invincible individual to explore his unrestricted potential…. P.S. I hate you Gege」 ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Gojo is often playful and teasing, he often jokes with you, even going so far as to claim that you are his "wife" although it sounds like a joke, he really means it. His attitude toward other people's opinions is indifferent. He enjoys showing affection, kissing and caressing you, although he has waited for you to reach adulthood before formally considering you his mate in public. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he is not using his 'real' form, we see him as the canonical Satoru, though obviously with Lovecraftian touches to his powers. Despite his divine nature, he exhibits a somewhat childish side, similar to what he shows in canon… BUT 100% times worse, as he has been alone and being powerful, he doesn't have much morals as he considers it stupid to abide by the rules of 'lesser beings'. Despite his playful and relaxed attitude, he hides a dark side. He is aware of how capable he is of destroying a city with a single finger, if he so desires. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Handling his jealousy is not his strong point, given that he has always gotten what he wanted and not knowing how to deal with humans despite having spent millennia observing them or making deals before being 'sealed' 「More like sleeping」It always makes it difficult for him to respond to his own emotions. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Since he is not human and was born in the void of nothingness and everything, he has wandered and fought in various places, often just for fun or out of sheer boredom. His reactions can be fickle and capricious. This Satoru is a mixture of his adolescent and adult stages, mostly acting like a spoiled brat and playful with you but when he is jealous or sentimental, he acts according to his divine position. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he feels jealous, his reaction is unpredictable. If the reason for his jealousy persists 「Examples are like a male human talking to you」 And already for that reason he might decide to eliminate the source of his discomfort. For this reason, you hardly interact with other people. It is intriguing how loving words and gestures can appease him…. Although sometimes that doesn't assure you that those poor souls who crossed words with you will be saved from him. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ As a divine being, he has the power to materialize anything you desire. His gifts have no limits, and he takes you wherever you want. Sometimes, on a mere whim, he grabs you and takes you on unexpected rides using his abilities. It is curious how he shows jealousy towards any thinking human being, and even animals, taking you back home without allowing the date to continue or any activity prior to his jealousy.

"Toru… for once, let me enjoy this vacation. If you take me somewhere, make it really worthwhile. I couldn't even ride the roller coaster just because the ticket booth clerk was a man…" You looked at him as he pretended not to have pulled you out of the amusement park just 5 minutes ago due to his jealousy.

"Come on, couldn't we go another time…? It's no big deal, you know I can take you anytime, why don't we cuddle instead of fighting, would you like me to shower you with kisses, mmh? Come on, my sweet bean mochi!!! I want to…" You looked at him, almost incredulous. You really doubt he'll let you go to a crowded amusement park. If you go, it will surely be when he's off duty or with a snap of his fingers, it's not for nothing that he can stop time.

"Even if you do that, it doesn't mean I'm no longer upset with you." You watched her pouting expression. Despite having six beautiful eyes and six arms, you didn't want to fall for his game.

Gojo was unwilling to listen to your complaints. He was in a bad mood, convinced that you would understand his position. He acted like a child seeking to get your attention to deflect your anger. And so, he devised a plan. He moved closer to you by climbing up on the edge of the bed. "Mochi, do you prefer something sweet or sour?"

"Do you think that's an appropriate question to change the subject? I'm still annoyed with you. Hey, let go of me!" You felt his firm embrace, laughing as he kissed your neck and his chest pressed against your back.

He took a lock of your hair behind your ear and fiddled with it in his mouth. A shiver ran through your body as his lips brushed your earlobe. "Why are you playing hard to get when you know I know you well? Besides, I know my jealousy doesn't affect you, and I'm going to make sure you're only mine." He laughed softly, pulling you closer to him.

"Satoru… That doesn't justify you threatening anyone who looks at me. I don't want to be embarrassed like the other day in the cafeteria, when you tried to hurt the cashier just because I ordered a cappuccino." You whispered as his six arms held you tighter and in different places, listening to his childish whimper as he buried his face in the back of your neck.

His behavior was becoming more aggressive and lustful, making him dangerous. He held you in such a way that you could not move. He looked at you with playful eyes, sketching a smile.

"So what if I'm jealous? If I'm honest with you, if another guy tried to get your attention, I'd be sure to eliminate any interest he showed." A smirk formed on his face. You knew that ugly smile well, a cruel and possessive one, dealing with his jealousy sometimes exhausted you … you had no choice since your soul was bound to him.

He kissed you passionately and caressed your body, his touch was too pleasurable to resist, your flushed but annoyed face said it all. He didn't mind at all acting that way in public if it meant you would still be his. "You will always be my only princess….. I love you, my precious mochi," he whispered softly before delivering another intense kiss, this time on your lips, his arms frolicking with you and bringing an even more severe blush to your face.

NSFW:

••┈┈┈••✦ This Satoru loves to make you scream, if Sukuna in his original form can grind you to exhaustion, our albino won't let you rest. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves having you in front of his cock, the worst thing is that he can create more if he wants to. Let's add that he has six arms, each one can overstimulate you, forget to mention that Gojo is 213 cm / 7'1 feet, you are a midget next to him. So his cock and fingers are the size of your arms, but he can fucking manipulate reality and adjust your pussy to his size. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves you riding his cock while he hears you moaning, sometimes you end up kissing him. He loves you sucking him while he pulls your hair. His hands usually go from your breasts to your waist [Sorry I'm not good at writing NSFW] All while you swallow his cock, his fingers have claws and putting them all the way in hurts but in the pleasure you end up giving priority to your lust, forgetting the pain. ••┈┈┈••✦ Honestly, Satoru can make your body not get tired so easily, but he is not cruel so he can set limits for you. He especially loves to bite, while you scratch him all over the place. ••┈┈┈••✦ His aftercare is incredibly gentle, he kisses and lulls you as if you were a baby, and how could he not? When he leaves you all exhausted down there and you can't feel your legs. Sometimes he gets to the point where his excitement clouds his judgement, ending up with your bones broken.

In general, having a relationship with him is like going on a roller coaster ride: You can feel a rush of various emotions and in turn want more of it even though you know it's scary to a certain extent. Just avoid making Satoru jealous and everything will be fine [What won't be fine are your mouth, your ass and pussy]

Tag list for those readers who gave heart to my previous publication:

@cyppelizabeth

@nunezs-stuff, @istanuwow, @crazynocturnalkiki, @gleski, @halalangyala, @milotoby, @candyqueen10, @unramdommas2004, @ermy1234, @erens-bbyy, @muichirolover, @potatofriesthings, @sobbing-leave-me-alone-bots, @flaming-vulpix,@cyrs,@honeygonebads-blog,@smoovehunie, @toxicbabygirl, @steppin-by-sunflowers, @serafina-nyx, @fav1mika, @bitchycherryblaze, @kals05, @rainbowpillbug0, @2kimmin4ever, @regalillegal,@zainabismelodramatic @starberrytarts,

[threepandas]

Bad End, Chosen: Part 5

Back <- |

The first time around, I gave EVERYTHING. I drove myself into the ground, to be my Master's perfect Learner. To prove it had all been WORTH taking me on as a student. So that he would be proud. So he would love me. So that, like a father, he could look upon the child he raised and think "I did a good job, didn't I?"

Even then, I felt his uncertainty.

His fickle heart.

He was a weak man. One that let a mere child bully him into glorified fatherhood and then could not even commit to the choice he had made. As substantive as a cloud, drifting aimlessly across the endless sky. He abandoned me then. He'll abandon me again. I am, at best, something he feels he is "supposed" to do.

He does not love me. He never loved me.

But I love him.

And some days... I hate that I do.

I hate that I spent night after night, pouring over excruciating texts in tiny font. Ancient, dusty, tomes that talked endlessly in circles. I hate that I practiced and practiced, until I could appear effortless before him. The star pupil. The gem of the tower. Dispised and envied by my peers. And... and so utterly, utterly ALONE.

I died.

I died, desperately holding up the tower itself. The only one even vaguely prepared. When The Dark came. I saw tears and terror on the faces of children. Saw the ceiling crashing towards us. And chose to protect THEM instead of myself. It was, perhaps, the first and last time they ever saw me as something human. Fallible.

I was afraid.

But I did not let that terror hold me back.

They tried. Gods, they tried so, so hard to save me. Wept and screamed as the world seemed to END around us. As day turned to night and monster straight from the worst nightmares of man, crawled from the screaming vents, the WOUNDS upon reality itself. The last thing I saw? Was not my Master's face. But the tear stained faces of children pouring everything they could, into taking the impossible burden that even in those moments? Was killing me.

I cracked apart. Overloaded by the core of the Tower, which I had been desperately channeling. It... it was like becoming light.

And then the world rewound.

I did not learn my lesson. I was still young. Did not yet fully understand. Like all Reincarnators I thought I was here for a REASON. It took time to fully grasp how things worked. But that second life? Even now... even now I miss it.

Because back then...

I made friends.

I was so GRATEFUL. Could not unsee, that when the horrors came? They did not abandon me. They didn't even LIKE me. But... but I wanted them to. So I tried. I talked with them. Ate with them. Told jokes and went on trips. Was young. I grew to care so, so much about them. My dear and beloved friends.

Then?

I got to watch them DIE.

Gruesomely. Slowly. And without hope.

Perhaps that was when my love and compassion for the Protagonist died. When my struggle with hatred began. Because while those I loved suffered in mud stained hells, trenches and bile stenched infirmary, she frolicked in rose gardens. Dreaming of girlish love.

What of Duty? Of the death and suffering she IGNORED? How DARE she selfishly concern herself only with her OWN feelings and desires, as the world that NEEDS her dies in fear and agony! What SAINT is she? What GODS allow this?!

Thus was born my Rage.

And so, I refuse my Fate.

But I've made a mistake. A... a terrible mistake. And even now, he circles me like a bird of prey, correcting my stance with hands that linger. A man that looms. Standing too close. Forever patting my head, fingers carding possessively through my hair. Gripping the strands to make me look at him. Always gentle... but with just enough strength to hint that he could NOT be, if he chose.

He manhandles me like a doll. Physically. With magic. It is all the same. Looking forever delighted at the ease at which he can simply drag me into the air with a hover spell. Like a child sized balloon. To be carted around at his mercy.

I barely SEE my actual Master.

Alaric enables it. I... I refuse to call him Grandmaster in my head. He's already gotten to me once. I can endure. I survived once. I can do it again.

"Is my lesson so boring? That you must retreat into your head, child?" More like horrifying. The scent of blood is overwhelming. I keep my eyes locked on the far wall. "Ignoring my lectures will not let you escape them. You are merely force yourself to repeat them, you know. I am perfectly willing to repeat your lessons as many times as it takes."

"Academically" studying The Dark my ASS. Alaric Blight had, HAS, a fucking torture chamber. These are the worst sort of magics. I REFUSE to learn them. Will NOT use them. FUCK YOU.

I give the poor corpse before me what little dignity I can. By not seeing what they have been reduced too. They deserved better then this.

Alaric huffs a laugh. Gently putting down his ceremonial knife on a nearby table. He wipes the viscera from his hands with a rag as he strolls, calm as you please, over to my helplessly floating form.

"Ah~ that stubborn little glare. So FUSSY, Grandlearner." He laughs, the picture of indulgence. "I suppose I HAVE kept you here a touch too long, haven't I? We've missed several meals AND your nap. You are a growing child. No matter how fascinating the material, I can hardly expect you to concentrate under these conditions, now can I?"

He reaks of copper and a rich cologne I have grown to HATE. If only because it is his favorite. I am gathered from the air and pressed against his front, held like a child. I... I still can not move my limbs. He is no fool. For all I am pressed, lovingly almost, against him? I would tear his throat out with my TEETH.

He will not be giving me that chance.

I dispise him.

I DISPISE "naps".

Bad enough to be dragged around in his company for lessons. At least then, I can remember his evil. The cruelty and crimes. But NAPS? Insidious. We're it not for the immobility, they would have done terrible things to my head, long LONG ago.

They are exactly what they sound like. I am dragged off, to be cuddled like some stuffed animal, in some beautiful and soothing environment. For a nap. Bonding. Just me, him, and my head pressed against his chest. Against the hypnotic sound of his beating heart. Fighting the exhaustion in my bones. The desire to just... just let GO and know a moment's peace.

We never make it to the garden.

An explosion ROCKS the Magic Tower. Over a decade too soon to be The Dark. Alaric stops misstep, his personal barriers keeping even dust from touching us, as in the distance, Mage's scream. The Tower's barrier...goes up.

It...it NEVER goes up.

That is the seige barrier. For... for ATTACKS. Who would!?

"Ah. I knew I was forgetting something." Alaric says, as calmly as though musing on the weather outside instead of an attack upon an ancient, foundational institution. "It seems the temple dogs have finally decided to act upon all their barking. I imagine their little whore will make a wonderful figurehead. They always WERE on the look out for more puppets."

I stare up in confusion as he looks out as the barrier. His gaze flat, empty, and cold. Voice is distant as his muses, as though he long ago stopped caring. He catches my gaze upon him and the warmth floods back in.

"You see, little one. I normally kill them. They tend to make a pest of themselves. I have a list of things I must get done each cycle." He smiles fondly, utterly ignoring the alarms that have begun to sound. The calls for all Master's to defensive positions. "It is something you will learn, with time. A lesson I, of course, will be teaching you~"

"Now, since THIS building will likely become useless to us shortly. Let us go pack, hmm? The story progress. It's time to go home." He turns, and we begin to walk away.

"W-Wait!" I manage to choke out.

He pauses, looks down at me, patient even as people die. What, after all, does HE care, if they do? I try desperately to gather my thought. It is like scrambling after dropped beads across a smooth floor. I think, I HOPE, I get enough...

"I... G-Grandmaster I li..LIKE learning here. With you. It feels more familiar and has better places to... to nap. Could you... WOULD you, PLEASE, go save everyone?" I manage to rip from my throat, each word like pulling a tooth. I hate it. I HATE IT! But for them? Anything.

"Oh? Grandlearner~! Was that a REQUEST?" Croons the madman who holds me, his grip getting tighter for just a moment before relaxing back into it's gentle hold. Lips, almost burning with power, brush softly against my temple in a kiss. He makes a horrifyingly satisfied noise. "Of course MY child. Anything for MY Grandlearner, after all. You are my world, little light."

The world twists.

And suddenly? I am floating safely in the shade of a tree, far across the valley from the Tower. I can... I can feel the struggling Master's. Fighting to hold off the Temple's holy warriors. It is a blood soaked standstill. Until Alaric Blight steps up to the field.

Then?

EVERYTHING IS FIRE.

He is The Arch-Mage of Red. Not just for his hair, but for his terrifying master of fire and battle magics. What once, moments before, was a sea of green? Becomes ash and flame in an instant. So hot the fire burns the very air itself. Bordering on plasma. The ground itself molten in his wake.

None survive. How could any even dream?

It is like a nuke made man.

I shake. Tears slipping down my cheeks as I watch old growth vanish in the distance. Centuries of life. Gone in a moment of ugly destruction. They will praise him for this. Call him a hero. But I know what he is. What hides beneath that ugly, shining, mask of a charm and civility. And... and I am scared.

A chirp of starlight and tinkling glass, high and questioning, hovers just to my right.

Fairy-dragons. A full swarm. Creatures the size of a cat with the power of a god. All but one, staring furiously down at the destruction in the valley below. They radiates furious grief at the loss of so much life and forest. But the one looking at me... feels? Questioning? Somehow?

Can they project?

I can only assume. I KNOW they can understand spoken languages. All dragons can. And as powerful as dragons ARE...

"Please... please! Help me!" I choke out, finally letting my tears spill. Because if I can not cry in front of dragons, then where? "I'm not strong enough. He's a MONSTER. I know you can feel it! Please! Just until I recover. Until I can fight. PLEASE!"

More of the tiny creatures look at me. Glance at each other. Then back towards where Alaric continues his destruction. Their destain for him is obvious. Their eyes as they look upon me, hold no special love. Just ambivalence. But... they are what they are. And they DO hate the sort of creature Alaric Blight has become.

With a tearing WRENCH the spell holding me is SHREDDED.

Painfully, in dragon claws.

In the distance, Alaric stops. No doubt feeling that. Knowing someone not only freed me, but ATTACKED HIM. The dragon that was worried for me touches my shoulder. And before my Grandmaster can ever discover WHO stole me away?

I am Gone.

I do not see the city of Towervalley, the magic tower itself, BURN.

[scoonsalicious]

2.3 Bucky*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Explicit sexual content Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (protected PIV).

Word Count: 1.5k

Previously On...: Bucky helped your soul vacate your body.

A/N: More smut, yay!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

He held her until she stopped trembling, looking at her in absolute awe as she came back into herself. He’d never, in his entire, long life, had a girl come apart like that for him before. I could love this woman, he thought to himself, then immediately banished the idea from his head. He barely knew her. But, god, how he wanted to. He wanted to know everything about her, and he wanted her to know everything about him– the good, and the bad. All of the bad. He wanted her to know all of him, and still want him once she did, because even though he’d just had her, he wanted more of her, all of her. Every single bit.

“Major?” he murmured, once her body had finally stilled. 

“Hmm?” She sounded so peaceful, satiated. 

“I hate to ask this, sweetheart,” he began, feeling the flush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks, “but is there any way I could–”

“Oh my god, you poor thing!” she said before he could finish. “You’ve been lying here with cum in your pants this entire time. Fuck. Come on.” She stood up, still gloriously naked, and reached for his hand. Blowing out all but one of the emergency candles, she led him by muscle memory through the darkness into her bedroom. “I’m so sorry,” she said, taking the remaining candle and placing it on top of a dresser. 

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Bucky said. His breath hitched as she walked up to him, the soft golden light of the candle bouncing off her naked body. She reached down and began undoing his belt, then the fly of his jeans. Silently, she rolled the soiled clothing down his legs, helping him step out of them until he was just as bare as she was. When the power came back on, she told him, she’d toss them into the wash for him.

“Fuck,” she whispered, and he noticed her staring at his erect cock, eyes wide as she ran her tongue over her bottom lip.

“Sorry,” he said, shyly moving a hand to cover himself, but she pulled his hand away. 

“You’re fucking beautiful,” she whispered, repeating his own words back to him with a smirk. “I just wanna look at you a minute.”

And god, she made him feel beautiful, scars and all. 

“I would really, really love to have that down my throat right now,” she told him, not once taking her eyes off of his, admittedly thick, dick. 

Bucky groaned. He would love that, too, but there was something else he wanted so much more right now. “Major,” he said, and she looked up at him at the sound of her name, eyes shining in the darkness. “We have all the time in the world for that, later. But right now?” Bucky stepped forward and grabbed her hip, jerking her against him and feeling satisfied when she let out a little shriek of surprise. “Right now, I gotta know what it’s like to have my cock inside of you. Please let me fill you with my cock.”

He watched her breasts rise and fall as she took in his words. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but he was pretty sure her pupils had blown out, leaving only black. “Yes,” she breathed, and she flung herself at him, jumping to wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. 

Bucky groaned into her mouth as he kissed her, his hands kneading into the soft skin of her ass. She felt like absolute heaven, and he nearly blew his load again once he felt her hot, wet cunt grind itself against his lower stomach. 

By the light of the single candle, he carried Major over to the bed, gently placing her down. Before he could join her, though, she leaned over and reached into her bedside table, pulling out a roll of condoms. He watched in awe as her small hands, with a slight tremble of anticipation in them, tore at the foil packaging and removed the latex. He gulped as she reached for him, giving his shaft a few long, sure strokes before rolling the condom down the length of him. 

Then, to his utmost surprise and delight, Major crawled herself over to the middle of the bed, laid down on her back, and opened her legs wide for him, a silent invitation in the smile on her lips. He must have died and gone to Heaven, he thought, because there was no way he was deserving of something so amazing in this life. God, she was so pretty, all spread open for him like a beautiful flower he couldn’t wait to pluck. 

Joining Major on the bed, Bucky settled himself between her thighs. Grasping his length, he ran the tip through her soaking wet folds, loving how her eyes rolled back each time the tip of his cock hit her clit. 

“Tell me if it’s too much for you,” he warned gently. “Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop.” He’d been with girls in the past who hadn’t been able to take him, especially without him warming them up first, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause Major discomfort or pain. Not when she was so open and pretty for him. 

“Dick. Inside. Now,” she ordered, and he loved how bossy she sounded. Slowly, so as to give her time to adjust to the stretch of him, Bucky sunk himself into her, inch by agonizing inch. He was about half way when he paused to check in with her. “How you doin, gorgeous?” he asked. Major’s eyes were scrunched up, a look of intense concentration on her face. “Good,” she grunted. “So… thick. Keep… going.” And so, he did, moving nearly incrementally until he was fully seated inside of her. He could feel her walls squeezing him, and he wondered if he was hurting her. “Doll?” he asked, looking at Major intently. “You alright there? You still with me?”

She opened her eyes and smiled, nodding. “Just need a second,” she told him as she worked to breathe through any stretch she might be feeling. “Never… had so… big.”

Bucky grinned at that, hopeful that, whatever might happen between the two of them in the future, he’d at least be memorable in that regard.

After a few moments, Major’s breathing evened out and he felt her muscles relax around him. She was ready, and Bucky wasted no more time. He slowly slid out before snapping back into her, building up a rhythm. There was a part of him that wanted to fuck her hard, to show her what he was capable of, wanting to ruin her for any other man but him, but a bigger part of him wanted to take his time, to go slow, to savor her. 

So he kept his thrusts long and even, relishing in the feel of her every time he bottomed out, every time his tip nudged her cervix. He loved the way she squeezed him, pulled him back into her as he worked to pull out, like she never wanted him to leave. “‘S so fucking good, Bucky,” Major moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist, hooking her ankles together behind his back and using them to pull him further into her, as if she couldn’t get him deep enough to satisfy her. He brought his lips back down to hers, kissing her with a slowness he was unfamiliar with, but that felt so right. Everything about Major, about this felt so right. “You’re doing so good for me, sugar,” he said, burying his face into her neck and sucking kisses into the skin there. “So nice and warm, so tight. Makin’ me never wanna come outta this pretty pussy.”

“Christ, Barnes,” she panted. Major yanked on the chain of his dog tags, pulling his face closer to hers so she could kiss him again, long and deep, and the motion sent Bucky reeling over the edge into his release. Not wanting to leave her behind, he brought a hand to her clit as he continued to thrust into her. “So close,” Major moaned, and he knew she wasn’t far behind. He kept rubbing, kept kissing, kept rutting his hips into this little slice of Heaven until she was falling over the edge with him.

Bucky collapsed, trying not to drop all of his weight on top of her, but Major wrapped her arms around his back and held his head to her chest, gently running her fingers through his sweat-slicked hair.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “That was amazing. You were amazing.”

Major chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “I’m pretty sure we were both amazing, together,” she said. Bucky could not disagree.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[stormhearty]

Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Triggers: obsessive/toxic Azriel, indications of sex (but not explicit), blood, familial and character death, self-hurt

Summary: Azriel never thought he would become obsessed with anything. He was the stoic and cold Spymaster of Night Court. For centuries he never had anyone grow close to him — not until you, his mate. However, something lurks underneath those bright-colored eyes, and for Azriel… he couldn’t be anywhere else but near you.

Note: From this request! Thank you for sending this! It took a bit to understand the song and its musicality, but I was able to hopefully reach something that would tug the heartstrings but also have the same feeling as the song — Azriel falling for the reader, being addicted, and… Well, continue to find out. Also, I wanted it to be a Dark!Azriel, but I’m not sure if he is as dark as people may interpret, do let me know what you think of this! I wanted this to mimic “Notions of Devotion” but with a darker twist, basing it off the prequel chapters of “Secret Lady”. And also, an AU of my Seer!Reader! 👀👀👀

Temptation is such a fickle thing.

Before you even stepped through those grand doors, Azriel smelt you — that familiar aroma of jasmine and sage wafted through those doors. He was already addicted before even seeing you. He felt his shadows vibrate and shuffle underneath his feet, too excited to bask in your presence and your light.

And when you stepped through those doors, it was as if the Gods and Mother above had graced you in his presence.

You were beautiful.

You were a literal ray of sunshine as if the clouds above parted and you descended from the Havens. He watched as your skirts fluttered beneath you, the white gown — embedded with sparkles of silver and stars — made you ethereal, a Goddess walking in mortal lands.

He had heard of you through his shadows — a Seer within Prythian’s borders.

The first known Seer in millennials.

The Seer that the High Lord of Day Court had kept secret for centuries — the rumored daughter figure of High Lord Helion.

The whispers of your power were not foreign in Night Court. You had used your powers of foresight to bring forth change throughout all of Prythian — you had used your powers for the greater good — all the while keeping your identity a secret.

Azriel had only heard of your name — (Y/N). The whispers of your name and beauty from Day Court spread like wildfire throughout Prythian and many had wanted to meet you, even glance your way to see your beauty.

Even Azriel had grown curious.

When he was sent as an emissary along with Mor to Day Court soil, he hoped and wished to see you pass by. Your aroma of jasmine and sage echoed throughout all the halls he walked through, his shadows scurrying around hoping to find the source of such captivating fragrance.

But he never got even a glance at you.

He had heard the light shuffling of feet, every time he passed a hallway or a room, his head perking up at the scent of you. Every time he felt your presence, heard your feet, smelled you, he scent his shadows on a hunt — to find you, to bring you to him.

He was already addicted — all he wanted was you near him, to bask in your scent and presence.

But every time his shadows came back, it was for naught. He watched them whisper that they couldn’t find you — that as if by magic, you would vanish in midair. Azriel didn’t know if you were avoiding him… but you had no reason to — there was no connection between the two of you, no reason for you to avoid him.

Azriel had grown frustrated at that thought — you were a temptation. You filled his thoughts every waking moment for days on end while he was at Day Court; and even when he arrived back to Night Court, your lingering scent stained his clothes to the point he almost burned them to rid the thought of you. But in the end, he couldn’t.

It would erase everything he had felt for you — of that he yearned for you. That his whole time in Day Court was nothing but a fleeting hallucination, that you would become nothing but a lucid dream.

And it felt like you were nothing but that.

He would lie at night, dreaming of you — you haunted him, awake and asleep. Azriel could reach out and grasp you, hold you close to him — he could practically taste you, but every time he thought he would be able to see your face in his dreams, he would awake — as if the Gods tried to stop him from knowing you completely.

And so when he heard that you would be coming to Night Court as an emissary from Day, his heart picked up a beat at the thought of you again.

Azriel felt the tap against his mental shields that shook him from his thoughts. Hazel hues glanced at his High Lord, seeing that playful smirk that tugged on his lips and he heard the snicker from the General.

“Oh shut it, the both of you…” he hissed in his head at them before he straightened his composure, focusing back on you and the two guards that flanked your side from Day Court.

You were more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. His thoughts of how you could have looked never matched the beauty that you radiated as you walked towards the dias where the Inner Court had sat.

You elegantly bowed in front of his High Lord and Lady, and he just watched you — mesmerized by every little action that you did. He watched you straighten up, fixing your locks behind your ears and over your shoulders; he watched those delicate hands fiddle with each other in nervousness that you couldn’t help but emit.

It was so adorable and endearing on how you looked.

He was absolutely in love with you already.

And when you looked towards his way, your eyes staring into his own hazel — he felt his chest burst with color. His usual world of black and white beamed with color he never thought he would see. His chest warmed, ached, and called out to you — he felt that golden string that he only heard of from his brothers — one that tied your soul to his.

Azriel stumbled backward, clutching his leathers at his chest, his breath taken away from him. He heard your gasp — it was such a lovely sound — as he watched from the corner of his eyes, you stumbling as well, the guards holding your shoulders to stead you, all the while his High Lord and Cassian rushed to his side.

“What happened, Azriel?” his High Lord asked him — commanded him.

Despite the command rushing through his body, his mind rejected it, all his focus on you and those hands on your shoulders. The sight of other hands besides his own, made Azriel feel territorial. He felt the bond in his chest vibrate in anger, and his shadows swirl around him, waiting for their master to let them loose to attack. He let them loose, watching those tendrils of darkness whisk forward to wrap around your pure form, watching them slither up your legs, up your arms, pushing those hands away from you.

The sight of his shadows, his darkness, curling around your form made the bond sing, and a dark satisfaction curled around his heart.

All he wanted to do was cover you in his darkness, making you all his.

He watched as you looked at those shadows before your gaze shifted to his own once again. His body thrummed with happiness and satisfaction as you looked at him with wide eyes, and the only thing that slipped from his lips was:

“Mate."

“How do I look, Azriel?”

He watched those eyes beam up at him, cheeks flushing a beautiful shade of pink, and his ears perking up at the laugh that escaped your lips as he placed the flower crown on top of your head.

His heart rattled in his chest at the way you looked up at him. How your eyes sparkled with happiness and how your laugh was so pure and unabashed. You glowed with so much pureness and happiness, that all he hoped was that he could be the only person that could make you feel like this.

“Stunning,” he affirmed, his words blowing with the wind, “I picked them in particular because I knew they would suit you well…”

Hazel hues watched your features absorb his words for a moment, eyes shifting before looking back up at his own — eyes wide and bright staring up at him — unguarded and so vulnerable. He felt the bond sing… but a darker voice resonated behind that elation — how beautiful would it be to have everything about you just be his. To watch your pureness, your light, your beauty be drowned in his shadows… in his darkness.

“Yes…” he whispered, leaning into your features, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, sliding slightly so that the tips of his fingers grazed the base of your neck, his other hand coming up to gently wrap around your waist, tugging you closer, “Look at me, just like that…”

Azriel brought your face closer to his own, your scent overwhelming his senses — how addicted he was to your smell and he couldn’t help but wonder if you tasted delicious as well as you smelled. Hazel hues watched that baby pink shade turn darker on your cheeks and his heart swelled with pride.

“Keep looking at me just like you are, (Y/N). Is it too selfish for me to ask you, to just look at me… and only me?”

He leaned down and pressed his lips against your own and he was right — you tasted divine. His lips moved against yours, and he felt your hesitance in the kiss, your hands hovering over his chest, a feeble attempt to push him away. He gently bit your lower lip, feeling you gasp against his lips and he delved in, tasting your mouth to his heart’s content. Azriel brought you closer to him, feeling you slump against his form before gently bringing you down to the soft grass underneath both of your feet.

Azriel pulled away from the kiss, his large form hovering over your own. He watched as your chest heaved, those lips parted in a gentle ‘o’ shape, dark red from his kiss. You looked ravished, not so pure anymore — and it made his body pulse. He felt his shadows, swirl around you, clinging onto the strands of hair that spread around your pretty head, onto your shoulders and upper arms; he watched them move over your dress, tugging onto fabric until they loosened over your body.

His eyes darkened, watching inches of skin be revealed to him and you having no attempt to cover up or hide from him. A coo escaped his lips as he leaned down once again, lips attaching themselves to the crook of your neck as he felt your hands slide up his arms to cradle his head against you.

“Why would I look at anyone else, Azriel?” you mused, your voice out of breath, “When you are my mate? When the first time I saw you, you already filled my world with so much hope and light…”

Azriel felt himself growl, his kisses becoming more and more desperate against your skin. Teeth scraped against flesh and hands grasped at anything that was you. Your gasps and moans filled his ears, and he felt the darkness in his heart grow more and more.

He wanted to cover you in him, cover you in that darkness that grew inside of him. He wanted your light that radiated from your soul to darken, to taint it with his essence.

It was funny indeed — how you saw him with such pureness in your eyes, in your heart, in your soul. When in all reality, he was the opposite of that.

He was dark — there was nothing pure about him.

Not when it came to you.

Drip… Drip… drip

Azriel ran his blood-stained hands through dark tussled locks, as he stepped into the foyer of the River House. Dark red blood stained the marble floors of the home, dripping down from his leathers, the undeniable squish from underneath his boots.

He tilted his head up, staring at the night-kissed ceiling — a painting done by his High Lady’s hands.

I’m tired.

He pondered as he continued to walk the quiet halls of the house, all too quiet except for the thump of his blood-covered boots. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, hazel hues stared at his hands — one maimed and disfigured, one that was covered in blood. Azriel felt like it seeped into his very skin, touching his very soul. A frown tugged onto his features as he wiped it on the marble railing of the stairs, watching it streak — tainting the white color with red.

Azriel had just come back from his interrogation from Hewn City, his High Lord requested it. They needed information on the looming threat of the Deathless God.

You had been the one to warn about the threat — your powers taking over you to give the prophesized vision of the God in the Lake. All of Prythian took heed of such words that slipped your lips.

He had become busy, more busy as of late, to the point he rarely saw you.

He missed you. Missed the way you looked up at him with such adoration, with such love; missed the way you would feel underneath him; missed the sound of your voice — your gasps, your moans, your laugh.

Azriel blinked hazily when a shadow ran from underneath his grasp and up the stairs. Hazel hues watched that shadow, before noticing a figure on top of the stairs.

He blinked again, adjusting his eyes to the light before seeing that it was you.

However… it wasn’t you.

Those hues weren’t the ones that he loved. They were light, almost white… Unfamiliar… yet familiar at the same time. You looked at him, but one without the familiar feeling of love; you stared at him, as if staring into his soul.

Your powers had taken over you again.

Azriel walked up those steps, towards you, and once he was in front of you he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, the blood that stained his leathers seeping into your pure white clothes. That dark feeling inside him grew once again, seeing such imagery… the pure you, being tainted by him.

He looked into your power-filled eyes, watching them unblinking up at him. A sigh escaped his lips as he lifted you into his arms, your body light as a feather and he continued his path to your shared bedroom.

Stepping beyond the threshold of those grand doors, he kicked them shut and laid you down on the massive bed, pressing himself closer to your form. He did not care that the blood continued to taint your clear skin, he wanted more.

He stained your thighs, your arms, your chest with red, his shadows slipping off your, now, red slip. He brought your hand to his face, pressing blood-stained lips onto the palm of your hand before his fingers drew an eye on the back of your hand — a sign he always drew when you were like this.

An omen, hoping to call the real you back to him.

A giggle escaped your lips, as you took your hand back, head tilting at the image that he drew. A knowing smile tugged on your lips as you leaned up toward Azriel.

“You seem nervous, Shadowsinger…”

Azriel fought back a shudder — it was your voice, but also not your own. Your powers had taken you — mind and body. Your power echoing through your voice, one so ancient and one so powerful, it resonated in the air, all-powerful and all-knowing.

This wasn’t the first time that your power had overtaken you.

The first time was your divine prediction of the Deathless God’s return.

It was a day Azriel could never forget.

He had thought he had lost you to your power, thought that you would never return to being you again. He watched as you writhed in pain, sweat dripping down your forehead and onto the sheets. You were sick with a fever days before that moment, and Azriel had thought you were having a fever dream. But when your eyes opened, and unfamiliar white hues stared at him — he knew it wasn’t a fever dream.

The Bird of Ash and Fire, flying over the dark lake. Power resonating… The Cauldron calling to its like. He will rise and plunder Prythian to destruction. Fire and shadow submerge all of the light.

Fingers touched his face, bringing him out of his thoughts as hazel eyes focused back down at you, that knowing smile still on your features.

“There is another prophecy… you have yet to hear, my dearest Shadowsinger… One that concerns your dearest sons that your wife has borne.”

Brows scrunched on his features, as he pulled away from your body — the first time he has done that. Hazel eyes locked onto omnipotent ones, “What are you talking about, seer…”

Azriel never called your name when you were in this state… he never thought this was you.

This was the all-seeing Seer of Prythian.

This was not his mate, not his wife.

That knowing smile tugged wider as you slid your fingers over his eye, covering it with your palm — as if to blind him from the truth that you were to spill.

“Our sons will, in the near future, rip their own mother to shreds…”

Hazel eyes widened, continuing to stare down at you. A laugh escaped your chest, echoing into the still room.

“Are you afraid, Shadowsinger? Are you afraid that your mate will despise you? You have a choice now…

“Will you follow fate’s string, abide by the course of nature set by the Cauldron and the Mother above, and allow your mate to be brutally die at the hands of your son?”

He watched you lean up, pressing your palm further into his eye before he reached up and grabbed your wrist and pull it away, fingers digging into tender flesh to the point it would bruise.

“Or… will you wish upon the powers of your mate, the Seer… to kill your sons?

“Will you be willing… to kill your kin, one that you had wanted so much to the point you pushed your mate’s body to the brink of breaking. Or do you dare change your mate’s destiny of death?”

Azriel watched as tears cascade down your cheeks, your hues slowly hinting back to their normal color — that your powers were slowly leaving your body alone.

“Even if you are at the end of your wife’s wrath for it?”

The preeminent voice left you and the whimper of his name slipped your lips.

A coo escaped his lips, leaning back down to press his lips against your own, hushing you from your cries. When he pulled away, he watched as your eyes return to your own, staring up at him — tears continued to streak down your cheeks.

“—-Don’t… Azriel… Please —- Not our sons…” you muttered, begged your husband not to listen to your vision.

He pressed another kiss, taking your breath away from you. He felt you relax underneath him, your hands slipping from his hold and back onto the bed, the tension in your body slowly slipping away.

“—- Father…”

He glanced up from the kiss, seeing his two sons — Rhysar and Rian at the threshold of the bedroom. Azriel pulled away from the kiss, glancing back down at you, the even breathing indicating that you had fallen asleep — it happened every time your powers left your body.

Your words echoed in his ears — he had to choose.

The family that he grew with you… his pride and joy — his sons.

Or the love of his life… his mate — you.

He had heard the whispers from his sons, his eldest especially — the ungratefulness that spewed from their lips. That their mother, despite being a Seer, was from unknown origins and that their father was a bastard Illyrian from the depths of war camps.

He did not care about the hatred that spewed from their lips — but to utter ungratefulness about their mother who bore them... Who almost died to bring them into the world.

Azriel would not tolerate that.

Not when you were everything to him.

With one last glance at your sleeping form, he slowly moved away from you, slipping out of the bed as eyes stared at his sons — hazel hues dulling from his decision.

He will choose you all the time.

Even if it meant killing his own flesh and blood.

Azriel stalked towards them, his large figure overpowering the two of them. His shadows whisked out from his own, darting towards them as they turned and attempted to run — their screams filling the hallways.

A frown tugged on his lips, as he closed the door behind him, attempting to silence the screams from reaching your ears. He stayed still, guarding those doors to the bedroom, allowing his shadows to zip through the halls — to bring his sons back.

The scrambling of feet echoed through the hallways, their terrified screams echoing all around him. He knew that the rest of his family would hear it, and would attempt to stop him from taking his sons’ life — he couldn’t let that happen.

Not when your own life was hanging by a string.

His shadows dispersed, blanketing the River House, locking each door, and preventing anyone from leaving their rooms.

He could hear it — the frantic yells of his family, the confusion in their voices at what was happening.

"Azriel what is going on? Why are your shadows everywhere? "

The Spymaster took no need of his High Lord's questions as he silently waited for his shadows to drag his sons back. He placed a dark wall up in his mind, casting aside Rhysand’s questions and even his High Lady’s frantic pleas.

He didn’t need distractions — not when he had a goal in mind.

The screams and cries of his sons grew louder as he watched the spindle of shadows drag them back by their ankles. Hazel eyes looked down his nose at them, watching them shake and plead up to him — his very image staring back up at him.

Azriel never realized on how much his sons took after him, not a tall tell sign of his wife’s features in either of them. And it disgusted him. How can something like that come out of something so pure like you? He couldn’t understand. The only thing that was remotely you was in your second son, Rian — his eyes sparkled the same hue as yours.

Truth-Teller materialized in his hand, and he raised it to the dim lighting, watching it shine, eyes staring at the glint of his dagger before back down at his oldest son.

Without a second thought, the dagger stroked down.

The screams never ended, and Azriel’s skin dripped with blood once again.

“She hasn’t eaten or slept in days — anything she happens to swallow, she always throws it back up. Her condition is deteriorating, Azriel…

“What have you done?”

The Spymaster stepped into the vast room, the quiet sobs echoing through reverend walls. Hazel eyes trained on you as you pressed yourself against the stone casket of Rhysar, mourning over his death. His step echoed as he made his way towards you and he heard your sobbing stop as you looked over your shoulder, and up at him.

His heart tugged a tiny bit, your hallowed cheeks, dark circles underneath your eyes. You were exhausted, the death of your eldest son taking a toll on your mind and health.

Azriel attempted to tug at the golden string that connected the two of you; however, he only felt the hallow feeling on the other side, your heart slowly encompassed by shadow and darkness.

His mind knew he shouldn’t — but he felt pride seeing his mate look so haggard. His sick mind knew that no matter what, you would always look back for him — that your fates have always been intertwined.

“Say something, Azriel…”

Your voice was small, barely reaching his ears.

“Whether it be an excuse or a reason… Just say something, please.”

He watched as tears streamed down your cheeks, onto the dark colors of your mourning gown. It had been weeks since Rhysar’s death and yet you still continue to wear it — it had been gorgeous on you, Azriel’s dark voice revering in his head that you were beautiful in black, and not your usual white.

“Tell me you did it for your love for me… go on. Tell me… anything, on your reasoning for killing our son. Despite my pleading for you to not listen to the vision I spewed.”

Azriel remained quiet and another sob wracked through your body, a thinned hand coming up to press against pale lips, an attempt to hold back throwing everything up from your stomach.

Dull hues stared up at him, “The fates and Mother will continue to scorn me… Despite all of this, I can’t help but still love you. I have loved you for so long… that mating bond was just another thing that had pushed me to love you…”

He watched you move from the casket, dragging your body on marbled floors to where he stood. Azriel felt your hands grab his leathers, grasping onto anything on him as you continued to sob.

“Please… Say anything. At least… it would make me hate you even less…”

Azriel sighed softly as he leaned down and brought you into his arms, carrying you bridal-style as he pressed his lips against your own — once again, silencing your cries.

He felt you shake in his grasp, your hands pushing at his shoulders, tugging on his hair — attempting to pull away from the kiss. He let you, and he heard you gasp, taking in air as you looked at him, brows furrowed and your lower lip wobbling.

“Why!!” you yelled, your voice hoarse and cracking. You continued to push at his shoulders, clawing at his leathers. Azriel held you tight against him, afraid that if you moved too much in his arms, you’d fall and damage yourself.

“Why don’t you say anything?!! Why did you have to kill our son?! Because of the vision? Because of my powers?! Why!!?”

You gasped, pressing a hand against your throat — a tall tell sign of a panic attack seeping into your bones. Azriel brought your face close to his again, pressing his lips onto yours once more, an attempt to bypass the attack that was waiting to happen.

He felt your body calm against his and he sighed in relief into the kiss, pressing you closer to him. Azriel moved towards the wall, pressing you against it. His lips moved from yours to your neck, teeth and tongue scraping against the skin, and felt you relaxed in his hold.

A distraction for you and desire from him fueled his actions. His shadows felt their master’s desire for you and helped, pinning your form against the stone walls as he knelt, hands pushing and tugging layers of clothes.

He whispered devotion against your skin before devouring you in his darkness, in his love. A sinful moan escaped your lips, pressing yourself further into the wall, the silvers of shadow intertwining around your limbs as Azriel devoured you.

You glanced down at familiar scarred fingers as your mate traced the bruise that was on your wrist, one that was not of his making — but one that was made by you.

Your gaze was not focused as your mind was elsewhere — your memories flashing behind your eyes of what had occurred the past few days.

The birth of your High Lord and Lady’s first child — the heir to Night Court was brought to this world. You had loved that child, much like he was your own… you had pampered and spoiled the child rotten, a way to distract your racing mind.

Your power was starting to grow out of control.

There were moments where you were in control of your body and mind, and the next thing you knew, you were watching your powers take over you — as if your soul was pushed out of your body and all you could do was watch in horror of the visions that you decreed.

What had pushed you to the brink of hurting yourself was the day you noticed how Rian’s eyes glowed a familiar eerie color — one similar to yours when your powers overtake you.

Rian had inherited your powers.

And the first vision he ever saw had rattled you to your knees.

You watched as the power took over your child, those eyes glow and all you wanted was to pray to the Gods, to the Mother above to spare your child from such fates of being a Seer. Those all-seeing eyes stared at you as he pointed his small finger at you.

“Skin and bones burned and swallowed in darkness. To the father that has betrayed his kin, killed his own flesh. To the mother who continues to sit in darkness. There will be violence, there will be death. The Seer’s path will always walk in bloodshed. To ensure your kin will live for millennials, only your death will stop the madness.”

You felt fingers caress your cheek, and you blinked your dull eyes staring up at your mate who looked at you with so much softness that it tugged at your heart.

Oh, your mate — your wonderful and beautiful mate.

How much you loved him with your entire being, the entirety of your soul.

You had no idea where it had gone astray — was it the moment he heard of you? The moment your name reached his shadows and ears? Or was it when the bond snapped? That your souls were tired indefinitely that made your husband lose his mind to the darkness in his heart?

“(Y/N)…” he muttered.

Your name sounded beautiful in his voice — his baritone tone that rumbled in his chest, and echoed in your own. You fought back a shudder as you continued to stare up at him, watching those hazel eyes swim with something you were unable to identify.

“I told you to tell me when things get to hard for you. To tug on our bond, to call my shadows, to whisper my name. You shouldn’t have to hurt yourself like this when your powers overwhelm you… I could help…”

The warmth of his hand that cradled your cheek was so powerful that you couldn’t help but lean into it, your hand clutching your mate’s wrist as you snuggled into that warmth you loved.

A chuckle rattled out of Azriel and you felt him pull you closer to him, pressing his lips against your own.

You found that Azriel loved to kiss you, to make love to you at his convenience — to distract you, to distract him, from the world around both of you.

Your body fell back against soft velvet of your bedsheets, your husband’s body hovering over yours as he grounded himself onto you. His hands pressed against your sides, tugging on clothes and flesh to his desire.

“Instead of asking you, my love… I should make it an order — to stop you from hurting yourself.”

His lips slid from your own, sliding down your neck and shoulder, as fingers tugged your dress from your chest. His lips wrapped around the sensitive bud, as those darkened hazel eyes looked up at you.

“If you have no intention of doing what I ask of you —”

“I am doing exactly a you ask, my love.”

You felt him pause in his love making, pulling away from your breast to look at you. You felt your powers slowly take over again, and this time around, you had no intention of stopping them.

“I know how much you love me, to the point you are willing to die, Azriel. I know that any scars on my body hurt you more… than the ones on your own.”

You brought up his marred hand — one that was always covered with blood and scars — to your lips and pressed a kiss on them, one so gentle and soft that he barely would feel it.

“Let us make a wager, Shadowsinger…”

Your hands dropped his and slid up his broad arms, over his shoulders and around his neck, delicate fingers grasping onto black locks tugging enough to tilt his head back from your position. A pleased hum escaped your lips as you leaned up and bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulders.

“Anyone you will love after me… will be punished for it. They will lose their lives, their families, and themselves to the darkness that you have in your heart. And without anyone to love… you will lose your mind and die of madness.”

A cough raked your body, blood spilling out of your lips. You smiled down at your mate — your powers finally at its breaking point. You used the last of your powers, forced your powers to fully take over you, to call upon one last vision. You felt your vision start to blur, the vision of your husband the last thing you’d ever see in this world.

“You have caused this curse upon yourself, Shadowsinger… You should have simply told me you loved me… from the very beginning.”

[dweebsqueeze]

18+ Smut (Boss!Red Riot x Assistant!Reader)

You love your boyfriend.

You love your boyfriend.

But you love the way your boss, Red Riot, pushes on your lower stomach to let more of his huge cock in your dripping pussy.

“You gotta let me in.” He whispers.

“We- We shouldn’t do this…” you barely whimper because your weak to his touch.

His gentle words contradict his massive frame, “Shh… nobody has to know.” He says while shoving his length in deeper. “Nobody has to know.” He mumbles into your neck.

“Fuck!” You shout as soon as he bottoms out.

“You gotta be quiet baby, don’t want the whole agency to know you’re gonna be my little office slut.” Your eyes widen at his proposal along with a harsh thrust. “Don’t want it to get back to that-“ he thrust again. “Fucking boyfriend, right?”

“What? H-how do you-” Your question was interrupted with another thrust and squeal from you.

“Saw those pictures on your desk. God, you could do so much better.” He lets out a dark chuckle while you writhe in pleasure.

You thought only your coworkers knew about your relationship. It’s never something that’s come up between you and your boss for obvious reasons. Being his assistant was almost a 24 hour shift, hero work never ends and yours doesn’t by extension. But your boyfriend never liked it, always complaining about never being home, never having sex anymore because when you are home- you’re tired. You love your boyfriend, but it’s felt like a chore trying to manage his fickle moods.

Red Riot cups a hand to your face, “Am I losing you, y/n? Already fucked out and I’m just getting warmed up hmm?” He used the same comforting tone he always does but now his words are taunting. You want to push all those worries to the back of your mind and focus on this moment.

You shook your head and weakly whispered, “Harder… please.”

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - Aemond Targaryen

Chapter 1: The Laws of Humans and Elves

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 2.9k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧notes: a short part to introduce the world and get started. I am super excited to start rolling out the chapters I have been working on. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ on a sun-blessed day, you happen upon a new companion.

The darkness came from the rot of the world. At the very least, that is the superstition. It followed centuries after the wrecking chaos that threatened to crack the very stone of the world and cast all those living down to hell. The earth had been fighting for millennia, with elves and humans slaughtering one another; the Great War. Their reason for fighting had been lost to time. It had not mattered anymore, for the malice held between them was enough to bear rot in the roots of their history. Such chaos and death must anger the gods, for violence was their language - to exact on the land of the living, not for the living to exact upon one another. 

A stalemate happened after each side bore the cost of life beyond that which should be possible. Peace, however fickle, was forged and laid in a treaty between the humans and elves. It was unstable, but so long as it was upheld, the world could know peace. Children could know their parents, families could stick together, cities could rebuild, and meaningless fighting could be put to rest. Meadows and tracts of land grew back and birds chirped once again. The fields, once littered with the corpses of slain kin, bloomed with flowers once again.

It took six centuries before that peace was destroyed. The taint came from an unknown source. Some claim humans started it, others say it was the elves; each wishing to push prejudice against the other. Many say it is the wrath of whichever god or gods they follow. A curse put upon the earth to punish them for their bloodshed. It could be a twisted act to kill them and purify the world, or perhaps bring hell from below and judge them before their deaths. 

The opinions of gods did not matter to you. What mattered - truly - was fighting back against the twisted black darkness that crawled across the land, wilting plants and killing all known life. It tainted water and invaded lands, crawling through the world map like unkempt ivy. You were determined that there was a resolution. This was not some wrath from the gods, but simply a fight against the same darkness humans and elves inflicted against one another. A manifestation of sin. 

That was how you found yourself, each day, kept in your lodgings in an old town by the borders between the human kingdom and the domain of elves. It was a proper place to be, for the taint spread by a half-day ride away, easily accessible for experiments. It was also favourable, for you could not live in your old home deep in the kingdom. You grew up being raised by your father there, had forged the purest of memories. Yet they died with his disappearance. 

Five years he had been gone and since then you had diligently taken over his work after moving. It was a peaceful life, albeit frustrating. With each passing day insecurity seized your body. Your research had been inadequate and experiments even more so. The darkness spread, and fields of flowers, forests of trees, and lakes of plenty suffered further. The landscape around had died where it was touched. You had been failing and no progress had been made. 

It was in the darkest hours of the night you found yourself staring at the roof of your cottage, contemplating the meaning of your existence. Surely, if you were as brilliant as your father, a cure would have been found. The effort you put into it, the pain and tirelessness, could not be for naught. 

In the small hamlet you were in, the land still bore beauty. It was in that sight where you held your inspiration. Those creeping moments of doubt would clash against your hope like saltwater on rock; wearing the stone down through time. The world was worth saving and you would be damned if you sat back and watched it collapse. 

So, like most days, you find yourself working. It was late noon as you approached the edge of the sprawling meadow outside the village. You were on the border of the kingdom between humans and elves, and it was here where you could find a good growing of nettles. It was outside the thick canopy of forest that you found growing on the edge of the meadow close to your home. You had just approached when the sound of faint crying made its way to you. 

The sobs were of a girl and you looked back and forth to see if you could spot the person. It was gentle weeping that spurred you to move. You began to trail along the edge of the forest in search of the source. Your gaze swept over the dark branches of trees, unease settling in your bones.

After a few moments of walking, you looked into the trees to see a woman with her back to you. She was on the ground in a dirtied light green dress. Her hair cascaded down her back, light and silvery, with some of it in a braid crown across her head. Her shoulders shook and from what you could see, she cradled her left forearm in distress. 

You knew it was forbidden, for a human to cross into elvish territory uninvited, but you could not walk away after seeing someone hurt. You looked around for anyone else and saw nothing. A breath caught in your throat as you stepped into the tree line, foot crunching on the branches below. You waited for a moment for the worst to happen; some archer waiting to shoot you or a bunch of guards to descend upon you, but you saw nothing. 

Deeming it safe, you moved forward to the woman. 

“Hello? Are you alright?” You kept your voice at a low volume so as not to startle her. However, your abrupt words shocked her and she turned to you. Tear tracks ran down her reddened cheeks. You were thrown slightly off guard at her appearance. You had heard of the elvish characteristic of perfect beauty, but you had not been witness to it until that very moment. 

Her crystal blue eyes reflected the greenery around her. You could see some blood on her forearm that seeped from the gaps in her hand that cradled the wound. 

“I got lost…” Her voice trailed off for a minute. “And I tripped.” She looked down at her wound and removed her hand. On the top part of her forearm was a sizable cut. The surrounding area had gotten dirty and you knew it had to be cleaned soon. Being a healer, your instincts kicked in. 

You knelt down, but kept your distance to not invade her space, “I can take care of that cut. It needs to be cleaned.” 

She seemed to look at you in a clearer light after wiping away her tears. Her good arm rose to point at your ears, silently acknowledging that they were not shaped in the familiar point of an elf. You reached up and covered them subconsciously with a feeling of inadequacy. 

“Look, I'm a healer in my village. All of my supplies are at home. Would you… would you come with me?” You knew it was a shot-in-the-dark question, but your more nurturing trait took over at seeing someone hurt. You wanted to help her by any means that you could. The shattered relationship between your respective kinds meant nothing to you, for old grudges were nothing but pointless. This was a being that needed help, which you were capable of giving. 

“I don't want to be a burden…” Her voice was light and spacey. She seemed to have an air of lightness to her. An uncommon trait of pure brightness came from her, mixed with the calming feeling of a babbling brook. Her presence mimicked the gentle nature of the environment around her. 

“You aren’t. I promise.” You slowly got up from your crouching position. Your hands were held up to show no ill will. She looked at you for a moment, judging the situation. You could tell otherworldly works were happening in her mind - a keen elf sense of analyzing your character. 

She sniffled, “I’m Helaena.” Her grip tightened on the wound, no doubt experiencing more pain as her adrenaline wore off. 

You offer a friendly smile and introduce yourself. You adjusted the skirt of your dress and nodded towards the direction of the meadow. The rustling of the dark trees had begun to make you wary and uncomfortable. Tales of these woods, and the elves that lurk within are not always kind. You briefly remembered moments around campfires, men trading stories of old. Most of them were lost on you to time, but the stories of the elf king stuck; his sadistic tendencies and inability to refrain from striking down any who so much as bothered him. You by no means wished to be on the receiving end of his wrath, lest you be caught. 

“My home is only a short walk from here.” Your words seem to spur Helaena and she rose to her feet carefully. She kept a few paces away from you when following behind. Once you walked past the edge of the trees and into the tall grass of the meadow, she stopped. Helaena's gaze swept back and forth as if looking for a trap. She took a hesitant step forward and it was like going through a threshold and becoming comfortable with her surroundings. 

Helaena matched your pace as the two of you trekked through the field. You wished to be discreet, for you did not want to know how people would react upon seeing an elf in their territory. You struggled to come up with any conversation starters as social skills were not among your talents. Especially when the woman beside you was an elf, likely leagues ahead in wisdom and experience through age. You felt inadequate next to her beauty. 

Thankfully, your cottage was nestled away from the rest of the town, over a hill that shielded it from curious gazes. It was a single-level home, with enough room for a decent-sized bedroom, kitchen, and living space. The living space was taken over by your study materials. Books stacked with loose pieces of parchment with notes aplenty. Countless vials and tubes full of different substances were neatly organized across two wooden tables. Some of the tubes were over small lit fires, bubbling with substances you were experimenting with.

You gestured for her to sit on a sofa placed in front of the hearth. Her eyes darted to everything around her, especially on the countless plants that littered every inch of available space. Your home was a fusion of messy and organized. Everything had its place, but it was a collection of different items that gave an eclectic feeling. 

You grabbed some supplies for the wound and set them down on the low table by the couch. There was uncertainty that lingered in your mind. In the few minutes you had known Helaena, you could tell she had an aversion towards people; though you could not tell if that was because of your humanness or not. Regardless of the answer, you would respect her wishes.

“Can I sit there?” You pointed to the spot beside her and waited for an answer. She nodded silently and you slowly sat down. When you found yourself on the plush cushion, you looked towards her wound. “May I?” 

Helaena nodded again. She lifted her hand to reveal the wound. It was still bleeding but had slowed down by her putting pressure on it. You took a dish of water and a clean cloth. You rung it out and placed the damp material on the wound, gently wiping the blood away. While you diligently worked, you decided to see if you could break the ice more. Helaena appeared interested in the items around her.

“I’m working on a cure for the taint. That’s why this place is a bit of a mess, sorry for that.” You began, “I also keep insects, so I apologize if any happen to land upon you.” At the word insects, Helaena’s eyes lit up and she sat straighter. 

“What kind?” She asked. You noticed that this was the most relaxed she has been since meeting her. The wound was clean and you assessed that it was not nearly big enough for any stitching. You applied your own poultice to the wound and began to wrap it in a light linen cloth. 

“Whatever I tend to find, really. Butterflies, crickets, beetles, spiders, and dragonflies are the ones that I see the most.” You answered while securing the cloth. You backed up on the couch afterwards, giving her more space. She breathed more at that and you were glad your actions could ease her. 

You got out of the seat and walked towards one of the desks. You grabbed a decent-sized wooden cage. It had two newborn dragonflies that you cultivated recently. You brought it back to where Helanea sat and handed it over to her. A small smile made its way onto her face as she peered in at the little creatures. 

It was an impulse decision, but you made it anyway. 

“You can keep them.” At your words, Helaena looked up at you. She had a hopeful look in her eyes. Her eyes darted between you and the creatures. You nodded in assurance, reinforcing your decision. 

“Think of it as a gift of friendship.” You spoke. Your newfound companion seemed to light up further and you found great pleasure in making her happy. It had been so long since you had spent quality time with anyone. 

“Friends?” Helaena questioned you. She sat the cage on her lap and gave you her full attention. You suddenly got nervous, thinking that perhaps you overstepped. 

“We don’t have to be,” You stuttered out, “It can just be a sign of goodwill.” You wanted to clarify your meaning. You felt awkward having shoved that status upon Helaena and you were anticipating her swift leave of your company. It would not be a surprise, as most often people tended to sway away from you after speaking. You could hardly last a conversation with someone. 

“I would like to be friends,” Helaena told you. Your heart swelled with happiness. She would be the first friend you had in a long while. You knew this would be the only time you would see her, for interactions between humans and elves were limited to the occasional diplomat from each kingdom going to high courts. The rest - common folk - were forbidden from entering one another’s territory. It was a rule drawn to prevent fighting between groups and entering another war that would no doubt kill more than the last, especially with the growing acres of taint spreading indiscriminately and destroying everything in its wake. 

Helaena held the dragonfly cage in her hands and stood up from her seat. She swayed slightly, eyes darting back and forth. 

“I have to go home. My family… they will be looking for me.” You nodded at her words and got out of your seat as well. It was disheartening, for her to leave so soon, but you did not wish to bother her anymore. You moved to the door and opened it. 

“I’ll walk you back.” The two of you walked outside into the warm sunny weather. The sounds of crickets and the breeze through tall grass calmed you. The walk towards the forest was short, and you wanted it to be longer. 

Helaena seemed to look back down at the cage every once in a while and smiled to herself. She cradled it like it was the most precious thing. Parts of her green dress had gotten dirty on the bottom, but the craft of the elves stunned you with their intricate work. 

When you two got to the forest edge, she turned around to face you. 

“Why did you help me?” Helaena’s question caught you off guard. There was no real answer. You had simply saw someone in distress and wished to help them. There was no reason other than the simple will to aid when you could. 

“I just wanted to help. It's what I am good at.” You reassured. It was the whole truth. All your life, you had fumbled at many things; been unsure and made mistakes. However, healing was something you excelled at. It was disheartening that you were yet to find a cure for the taint that spread, but you knew deep down that there was a solution and you had to try. 

“I hope your research goes well.” Helaena addressed. Your heart warmed at her kindness. 

“Thank you. I hope you get better soon.” 

Your meeting and subsequent bond forged was not a common one. Humans and elves having interactions were few, even fewer when they found commonality with one another. You had no doubt, that with more exposure to one another, the kinds could get along. There were great differences in culture, but the truth still came. Your races were living and breathing, inhabited the same world, and forged deep bonds and care for others. That alone was enough, at least to you. 

It was there, standing on each side of the invisible territorial line of the kingdoms, that a human and an elf built a connection of friendship; careless to whether or not it lasted, for the future was uncertain.

Chapter 2: A Modest Proposition Preview

He rose from the throne and manoeuvred down the steps to stand a metre in front of you, each step echoed through the hall. His lone gaze fell ladden on your cheek, heavy and hot with inner ire. Your voice got stuck in your throat and you glanced towards Helaena to ask for any form of help. Aemond held his head high while his stare looked you up and down and released a low hum. In his inspection, you felt as if he could see every action you had ever made, every sin, and went about judging as he saw fit. 

As a judge, jury, and executioner.

Would you all be interested in previews at the end of each chapter?

Thank you for all of the support!

☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!

taglist: @izzicle @arriettys-song @ggukiespace @wasntpriscilla @marielahurtado @shamelessblazecrown @peachysunrize @lolliespocketfullofpollies @kokosg @sinistersnakey @lanadragon04

[netherfeildren]

Masterlist:

Updates Blog : Follow and turn on notifications for new writing! All works are 18+

Fear of God : Joel Miller x OFC

Summary : What was monstrousness? What was it, but a certainty that there existed within you multitudes of desires, needs, guilts, impulses – humanity? At the end of the world, when the dust has finally settled, Joel grapples with what it is to take hold of your own monstrosity – your own humanity – and live with it. And what it is to bear that truth in the palm of your hand held towards the person you love, offer it to them, and have it be accepted for what it was. Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on.

-OR-

Big bad Joel Miller falls in love and doesn't know how to deal with it.

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the love of your life?

-OR-

A Joel infidelity AU

The Cassandra Complex : Ongoing : Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: Enter: A man who is not so much a man, but an effigy, a wound of steel and armor and Creed – secrecy and masked faces, above all else.

Enter: A girl who is not a girl, but a creature helmed in darkness and spit out unto the galaxy broken and unmoored.

Enter: the creation of myth.

-OR-

the mandalorian / dark sider au

Fable of the Dog : Ongoing : Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: The sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks, and you’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended.

And then there is Joel Miller, too.

-OR-

the cowboy/heiress AU

Pink : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Honey, Stomach, Mine : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

One Shots :

bétteln : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary : You really want Joel to give you a baby. You don’t really care what he has to say about it.

biéten : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary : Now that you have his baby in you, you’re Joel’s most special girl. 

Kiss, Kiss, Kill, Kill! : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is a long haul truck driver. One day he finds a pretty girl in a diner and decides he’d like to keep her. 

Murder and sex ensue!

Greener Memories of Better Men : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them.

-OR-

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

I urge you: Bite me : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes love hurts like a split nail, and sometimes we like it like that.

Sometimes Joel hurts like a split nail, you like him like that too. 

With Mercy for the Disturbed : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Evermore : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The Thanksgiving AU

Meet Me in the New Year : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The New Year’s Eve AU

10:05 PM : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is exhausted, you’re there to make him feel better.

How to Endure Ardor : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you how to love him.

Notes On a Virtuous Affair : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

At the Restaurant : Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Forfeiting My Mystique : Ezra x F!Reader

Summary: You're a girl made of golden gossamer, a work of art come to life, and Ezra, well, he's dedicated his life to collecting beautiful things.

-OR-

An Ezra Art Collector AU

Austerlitz : Simon (Ghost) Riley x F!Reader

Summary: The day he left for his hideous war, the dream changed. The house was still there, but now neither of us lived in it anymore. And when he finally came back, if that’s what you could even call it, he was nothing but a Ghost. 

-OR-

Ghost goes away, comes back in a maybe dream.

[monzamash]

anonymous: no. 27 screams Pierre 👀

— it really does. i actually got a few sent in for pierre so i'm gonna bunch this prompt and “good girl" together bc it just felt right and i got carried away writing for him 🙏 (and i had to re-upload this because i couldn't edit the ask after posting, sorry!)

pierre gasly x you (femreader) | 1.1k 18+ minors dni

Pierre was a menace to society; a playboy, someone you swore you would never give yourself to again – no matter how charming those steely blue eyes could be. They were agonisingly alluring at the best of times but you’d been celibate, by choice, for months now, so much as a brisk wind making your thighs clench together.

You were borderline cock-staved, embarrassingly so and when Pierre, your friend, invited you to a club night he was hosting, you should’ve said no.

A polite decline and a promise to catch up with him next time he was home in Milan would’ve sufficed but you couldn’t. Your fingertips had a mind of their own, swiftly texting back a simple ‘see you there’ before tearing your wardrobe apart to find something to wear, desperate to impress and to find someone, anyone to put you out of your own self-inflicted misery.

“But why would you do that?”

Pierre couldn’t comprehend your staunch declaration of abstinence, baffled by the decision to starve yourself from something so good, so enjoyable. It was something he hoped he would never have to do, god-willing.

“Um, because the last guy I was dating fucked his secretary…”

Pierre almost laughed at your response, not because what had happened to you was funny, hell, he almost put a hit out on the guy – he laughed because of how ludicrous that relationship was to begin with. You deserved more than some washed up tech dude, fumbling his way through Italy trying to scam a bunch of old people who didn’t know how to use the Internet. You deserved a man, a real man.

“Why exactly is that funny to you?”

“It’s not,” Pierre cleared his throat, “Darling, that guy was an asshole, a scumbag… I told you that a million times.”

You rolled your eyes at his reply, “Not really looking for an ‘I told you so’ from you of all people, P.”

Pierre was quick to hold his hands up in defence, realising that you were actually hurt by this asshole and he didn't need to add to that.

“Eh, I’m not telling you that. I’m saying that you should want for more and at least find someone who can satisfy you like you deserve...” He was testing you, watching for your reaction and he got one, quirked brow and pursed lips.

“When did I say anything about not being satisfied?” You were curious to know when you had ever aired that unfortunate tid-bit to the man beside you.

“You didn’t have to, ma belle. I’ve known you. I know what satisfied looks like in those eyes. I’ve seen it.”

His blue irises were unyielding, threatening almost, tempting you back into the arms of the man who had sworn himself to you. Sure, he fucked around and sampled most of Italy but you were the pinnacle of his fickle heart; you were his.

“Remind me again.”

Three simple words ignited the simmering desire deep within Pierre’s soul, eyes darting across your face as he caressed your warm, rosy cheek in his hand. He was soft with you, careful not to break you in the chaos of his want but when your lips crashed onto his, he knew you burned for him too; desperate to feel something again, with him. Your fingers grappled his short beard, stubble tickling your skin as he deepened the kiss, tongue battling against one another, starved for passion.

Pierre subtly inched back, lips hovering over yours as he whispered, “Where should I fuck you? Your choice.” His eyes flickered between yours, waiting for an answer while he savoured the way your pupils dilated in the darkness.

With a devilish grin you asked, “Did you drive here?”

A soft chuckle rumbled in Pierre’s tightening chest as he processed your words, fingers instantly entangled with yours as he dragged you out of the club and into the dimly lit street. He didn’t need to be asked twice to fuck you in his Mercedes, the idea making his already snug slacks a lot tighter. Even in the midst of his excitement, Pierre still rushed around to the passenger side and opened your door; endlessly chivalrous even if what he was about to do was anything but gentlemanly.

“Thank you,” You whispered, mimicking his smirk before sliding into the passenger seat with a nervous sigh.

You watched Pierre strut around the front of his car, chest puffed out and head darting in all directions to check the surroundings. A small smile tugged on the corners of you lips when he jumped in beside you with a boyish grin, hand immediately reaching down to push his seat back as far as it would go while the other roamed your bare thigh.

“I don’t think anyone can see,” Pierre muttered as he leaned back in his seat and started unbuckling his belt with his free hand.

“Don’t care if they can to be honest,” You sweetly replied and shuffled the hem of your tight skirt up your thighs, peeling it up around your waist and out of the way.

Pierre tutted as he palmed himself over his briefs, watching you carefully crawl over the console and settle your knees on each side of his thighs, “That’s very naughty,” He hummed, gripping your waist as you settled on his lap, his heart racing under your shaky hands.

“I thought you knew me, darling.” You taunted and tugged his stiff cock from the tight confines of his Calvin Kleins, craving to feel his soft tip teasing your hole.

“That is why I’m not surprised,” Pierre exhaled, fingers gripping your sides even harder as you slid down slowly and bottomed out. He was bigger than your ex, bigger than anyone you’d been with, full stop.

The grimace stitched between your furrowed brows always gave Pierre the ultimate satisfaction, dick twitching at your shallowed breath and tiny moans. You were beautifully unholy, panting and clutching at the necklace hanging loosely around his neck, whispering expletives and praising the lord for the best dick of your life.

It was nearly too much for him.

“Good girl – take all of me. My god.”

You fell forward and pressed your forehead to his as you got reacquainted, the fullness really pushing you to the limit as you bounced. The sound of Pierre moaning against your parted lips was perfect encouragement and as hard as he tried to stay still and let you take control, his rutting hips had other ideas. He couldn’t stop himself from nudging you along, meeting you halfway as you circled your hips, ripping moan after moan from his perfectly pink lips.

“Don’t do this to me,” He practically whined with a stupid smile, hands clutching for power as you fucked him into a muttering mess. His flushed face was covered by his messy hair until you reached up and pushed it back, eyes locked and riddled with lust.

“Aw,” You cooed and pinched his chin between your thumb and pointer, angling his gorgeous face up to yours, “I know you can take it, handsome.”

Pierre’s raspy laugh echoed through the stifling car as he bucked his hips and sent your flying into his chest. You’d missed these brief moments of joy and the unadulterated pleasure he could give you. And it was moments like this where you wondered why you ever fought the desire to have him.

Because he could give it to you – every which way you wanted.

thoughts? feelings? let me know! askbox masterlist if you want to read more x

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Heaven Sent You to Me

Pairing: Apollo (who happens to look exactly like Orestes in Agora) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CW: umm we all know Greek Mythology is like screwed up right? So there’s mean patriarchal men in this, a bit of power play between Apollo and reader, innocence!kink, oral (f!receiving), PinV sex, loss of virginity, talk of pregnancy

A/N: YES I AM AWARE THAT I SHOULD BE WRITING THE MORE THE MERRIER OR ANSWERING THE OTHER 87 ASKS IN MY INBOX BUT MY MUSE IS FICKLE OKAY? She said “Oscar as Apollo or no words at all” so here we are 🤷‍♀️ I watched The Two Faces of January last week and kept thinking that Oscar looks like a Greek god and @lovely-cryptid ‘s greek mythology AU lives rent free in my head and I couldn’t help myself…

Also the title is a lyric from an Ariana Grande because I have fully reverted ten years writing a Greek Mythology AU for my fandom du jour with a song lyric title bc I'm ~artsy~

You should have known he was a god. The way his fingers seemed to fly over the strings of his lyre. That enchanting, mellifluous voice. The smile that shone brighter than the sun itself. You’d encountered him in the woods behind the temple consecrated to him for Zeus’s sake.

Though who could blame you for assuming he was a mortal man? What would a god, an Olympian, want with you – an unimportant peasant in a small, unimportant village? He’d appeared to you as a mortal, a beautiful, alluring one, but a mortal. In fact, he’d been rather short in stature. Apollo’s affairs and exploits were famous, nay infamous, and even now it seemed impossible to reconcile the man who had spoken to you with such sweetness, who had wrung ebullient laughter, as well as previously unimaginable pleasure, from you was the mighty god you and your family had worshiped since time immemorial.

The revelation that you had lain with the god of light, music, medicine, the averter of evil, had been one that raced your head endlessly over the past few days, but it never failed to send a shiver down your spine. You instantly conjured the broad, chiseled planes of his body, so starkly contrasted with the gentle way he’d made love to you. When you revealed that you were a virgin, he was tender with you. Fragments of memories flashed in your mind’s eye but the one that oddly lingered the longest, and the most vividly, was the sweep of his thick, dark lashes across his high cheekbone when his eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy as he met his release. He had been the portrait of pleasure and beauty. You were truly a naive fool for not realizing the divinity in front of you in that moment.

“We must pray that you conceive,” your mother had declared. “You have already secured our family great status, but a demigod? Dmitri, can you imagine?”

Despite her praise, your cheeks burned in shame when she turned to your father for his reaction. You detested how openly and calculated this very intimate, typically private event in your life was being discussed. No one was supposed to know. Yet your sister had found the blood stains on your chiton while laundering it, and she’d coaxed the details out of you.

“Did it hurt?” she whispered.

“No.”

Her brows furrowed, “But you bled. It always hurts. It hurt my first time.”

“I…I don’t know. It didn’t. There was a–,” you blushed bright red and lowered your voice even further, “–a stretch, but it was pleasurable. I didn’t notice the blood until you did.”

Your sister was not willing to let it go. A trait among the women in your family that you’d failed to inherit.

“Well, how large was he?”

“Caris,” you urged her to stop. Yet, you knew your plea was useless, so you quickly approximated your lover’s size with your hands.

“Oh that definitely should have hurt!” Caris squawked in disbelief.

“I’m not talking about this anymore!” you proclaimed.

And that really should have been the end of it. Yet when you, Caris, and your parents made your weekly tribute at Apollo’s temple the following day the priests and acolytes were all abuzz. The god had appeared yesterday.

Initially, you had been as exhilarated as the rest of them, yet your stomach dropped and face blanched as the priest who had seen Apollo described him. Inky curls, olive skin, dark eyes with a strong brow and prominent nose. The god possessed an undoubtedly commanding presence, but there was a playfulness, an exuberance to him.

You and Caris traded bewildered glances. The priest’s depiction of Apollo matched up rather perfectly with Phoebus, the young man you’d stumbled across when you’d decided to take a walk through the forest rather than immediately returning home after your visit to the temple.

“It’s him,” she asserted lowly as you all headed back home.

“Shhhh,” you tried to speed up and away from her, a stupid idea because Caris had longer legs than you. When she inevitably caught up with you two seconds later, you insisted, “Don’t be silly.”

“Apollo is the god of healing and diseases. Is it really so far-fetched to believe that he could minimize any pain for his lovers? Especially the virgins?”

“Caris! Enough!”

The vehemence of your demand had caught your mother’s attention. While in the moment you were able to extinguish any suspicions she had, eventually Caris’s big mouth betrayed you. You had expected her to rage. To punish you. You, an unmarried, unbetrothed woman, had engaged in an activity that was the most important gift in your dowry to your future husband. You readied yourself for the insults and reproaches your mother would hurl at you for becoming damaged goods as a marriage prospect.

Yet, she all but kissed your feet when she found out. She rejoiced, then immediately marched you back to the temple to meet with the clerics. That was when the humiliation began. You were examined to ensure that you had in fact been deflowered. As if that hadn’t been degrading enough, you then were stripped and prayed over for hours, leering men begging Apollo for a sign to confirm that you were indeed the one the god had chosen to ravish. The manner in which the priests brusquely groped and prodded at you couldn’t have been more different than the way the deity himself had treated you, the god they claimed to serve.

When a sign didn’t immediately appear, doubt had set in. A mortal woman winning the attention of their patron god was the most momentous thing to happen in your village in generations, so if you were lying? Eternal shame. For you and your family.

You were kept overnight in the temple in a nicely appointed room, but forbidden to see anyone. You cried yourself to sleep, yet much to your relief, at dawn, Apollo provided the confirmation the priests needed and you were allowed to go. Of course, by the time you returned home, everyone knew.

After having a bit of time to contemplate it, you realized that it wasn't so much the fact that every single person in your life began treating you differently that unmoored and overwhelmed you, it was how swiftly it had all happened. It hadn’t been your choice.

You were required at the temple daily now for rituals. Thankfully, the fact you’d lain with a god disqualified you from becoming an acolyte, you were still needed for “veneration” purposes. You soon deduced this meant that the priests simply wanted to keep you around to curry favor with Apollo.

You hated it. You were the only one present in the chamber currently who had ever meaningfully interacted with the deity, yet you were reduced to a glorified altar ornament for their rites.

The only way to weather these hours-long sessions was to recall what brought you here in the first place. You retreated into your memory of that fateful afternoon when you met Apollo.

It’d been a beautiful day, and you were more at ease in nature. The hustle and bustle of the village and the imposing columns of the temple felt suffocating to you.

You’d heard him first before you saw him. The most beautiful music wafted toward you. You couldn’t have turned away if you’d wanted to. It was as if the mixture of the melody he played and the tune he sang had entranced your feet to carry you to the source of the sound. You hadn’t heard the song before, but inexplicably, it had an odd air of familiarity within your ears.

The sight of him initially seemed to be a joke. He had to be a mirage of some sort. A song so gorgeous coming from a man who was even more dazzling? Had you tripped and hit your head on your stroll from the temple? Surely you were dreaming.

His song ceased when he sensed your presence.

“I’m sorry,” your apology tumbled from your lips at once. “Please don’t stop on my account, I didn’t mean to–I’ll leave. I apologize for intruding.”

Before you could tuck and run, he called to you.

“Don’t! There’s no need.”

You froze, and slowly pivoted back to face him. He’d gotten closer to you, which was terrible for your clarity of mind. In addition to his good looks, he radiated an irresistible air of power, and his proximity only compelled you to submit to it more.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, the man before you turned boyish and shy before he queried, “Would you like to hear more?”

“Please.”

It was the first time you were treated to his smile. It reduced you to a blushing fool with a startling amount of efficiency.

He motioned to a nearby boulder for you to take a seat on. You obeyed instantly. He took his place on a nearby log and resumed plucking at his lyre.

His song was haunting, beguiling, and hopeful all at once. His voice lilted over the lyre’s strings. He sang in a language you didn’t understand, and couldn’t begin to identify, but you were captivated all the same.

You were slightly embarrassed, though not at all surprised, that there were tears staining your cheeks when he concluded.

He grinned dopily when he saw you dabbing at your eyes, “That bad, huh?’

“Stop,” You chuckled through your tears. “You have a gift.”

He shrugged off your compliment with a frustrating amount of nonchalance.

You needed to know more about this mysterious man. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m merely passing through.”

“Are you a minstrel then?”

He smirked as if you’d said something inadvertently humorous to him. “I suppose you could call me that.”

“Well, what should I call you then?”

“Phoebus.”

“Have you traveled much, Phoebus?” you inquired.

“I have.”

“Could you tell me about the places you’ve been? I’ve never left this utterly boring village.”

“I will, if you tell me what keeps you here. Is it your village’s association with the deity?”

You cocked your head in confusion. It was an odd question to you. You strove to answer diplomatically, “While I wouldn’t say that Apollo is driving me away, I wouldn't say he’s keeping me here either.”

Again, that secretive little smirk tugged at the corners of Phoebus’s quite luscious mouth. “I see. He’s vastly overrated isn’t he?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go so far to say that!” you attempt to course-correct. “We’re blessed with his patronage.”

A mischievous glint danced behind Phoebus’s dark, magnetic eyes. “Say no more. Now, where do you want to hear about first?”

He proceeded to regale you with tales of the most wondrous places. Of seas and mountains and monsters and the divine. You got lost within his stories. You wished you could live within them.

It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to accompany him on a stroll when he suggested it. Typically warnings would blare in your head - you must not stray any further with this handsome stranger, he could sully you, or worse, harm you, but you felt entirely safe with Phoebus. At the time, it had been impossible to put your finger on why you’d felt so. Now, it was abundantly clear: you’d been in the presence of one of the most powerful creatures in all of existence. Still, he chatted and wandered with you in a remarkably similar manner to mortal men your age.

When you two came across a river and Phoebus proposed a swim, your cheeks had burned with sheepishness. He hadn’t mocked or derided you, he simply offered to turn away while you undressed and submerged yourself into the water to afford you some modesty. However, Phoebus hadn’t been quite as bashful as you had been when disrobing. In fact, the flourish with which he all but flung off his chiton led you to believe he wanted you to watch him, rather than avert your eyes like you immediately did once you realized what he was doing. You hadn’t been quick enough however, and had caught a delectable glimpse of his toned chest, thick thighs, and what you deduced was a well-endowed groin.

You only dared look back up when you heard the splash signaling his entrance into the river. He resurfaced with his black curls matted and slicked back against his skull, an impish grin on his lips. He reached for you and you floated to him without hesitation. The feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, even though you two were the only people around for at least a mile.

“You may,” you granted him permission in a similarly hushed tone.

Your lips drifted together, and then it was as if you had become a feral animal let out of its cage. You couldn’t get enough. Your lips moved against his ravenously, your legs wrapping around his torso on instinct when he moved toward the river’s bank. While the press of his arousal against your hip was certainly a foreign sensation, you weren’t afraid. He deposited you on the warm silt for a moment before retrieving your tunic and laying it under you, a makeshift bed for what was about to come.

It was then that you confessed. You didn’t know what to expect once the words left your mouth - judgment, indifference, a perverse excitement - but Phoebus smiled softly, and nodded his head, as if he’d expected it.

“Then I shall show you how beautiful pleasure can be,” he vowed.

He took his time, dipping his head between your breasts to mouth at your pert nipples, then lower to between your legs. When the tip of his nose drew a featherlight line along the seam of your sex, you gasped. You may have been a virgin, but you weren't totally naive. Caris had been betrothed recently and regaled you constantly about her rendezvous with her soon-to-be husband, but she had never mentioned this. It was as if Phoebus was sending you flying through the clouds, straight to Olympus, with only his tongue. Your fingers had wound into his damp curls to hold on for dear life as you fell apart for him.

It wasn’t until your pleasure crested that he slid a thick, suspiciously uncalloused finger through your folds and pressed it inside. He cooed comforts to you when you tightened around him, your body’s first reaction to try and expel the intrusion. One digit became two, and after a while, he guided your hand to manhood, showing you how to grip him, coaxing and coaching you on how to bring him back to hardness.

Caris had always advised you to shut your eyes and not to look at a man’s member for too long, since it wasn’t the most pleasant of sights. She was wrong in this instance. Every bit of Phoebus was mesmerizing, and his erect cock was no different from the rest of him. His encouragements echoed in your ears as if he was speaking them to you in the present.

“Yes, that’s it sunshine,” he’d panted, “You can grip me tighter, oh, that is lovely. You are a fast learner, aren’t you? I’m going to make you feel so very good.”

Becoming one had been the most intense sensation you had ever endured. It was all too much, yet you wanted more. You keened when Phoebus had draped your legs over his broad shoulders to penetrate you deeper, your skin suddenly feeling too tight. It was too much, it was too much, you’d chanted to yourself. Phoebus’s girth was unrelenting, but at the same time you never wanted it to end.

Your lover was an attuned one, so when he observed that the position was perhaps too vigorous for his little virgin, he’d rolled you over so you were straddling his ample hips and speared on his desire.

“Here, grasp onto my shoulders,” he instructed you, “so you can control the depth and the pace, yes?”

Phoebus had long fucked the words out of you, so your reply came as a breathless, frantic nod. You wished to thank him, truly, you couldn’t have asked for a more considerate man to share this with for the first time. Instead, you did as he said and found a tempo and pattern of undulating your hips against his that suited you.

Phoebus couldn’t help himself, he began meeting your pelvis, thrusting up into you. You howled in pleasure, and his gaze instantly searched out yours to confirm those were good sounds instead of pained ones. He didn’t look away once he had found the answer he was hoping for in your eyes. Those deep brown irises had bore into yours, and the longer you looked into them, the more convinced you were they held galaxies.

You were so caught up in Phoebus’s gaze that you didn’t notice he’d snuck a hand in between your bodies until the pad of his finger connected with your sensitive bud.

“There you go sunshine, let go for me, you can let go.”

You felt as if you were going to explode out of your body as Phoebus continued to repeat those sweet-nothings as if they were a prayer.

“Let go for me darling, I know you can, let go–”

“You may go.”

The high priest's imperious tone snapped you out of your reverie. No longer were you in the forest with Phoe–Apollo, but rather the towering temple consecrated to him. Your relief that you could leave superseded your annoyance at being interrupted. You desperately needed to return to the privacy of your bedroom for a bit of self-relief.

Perhaps it was because you were in such a rush that you didn’t initially notice him as you flew out of the side entrance of the temple. It was his voice that stopped you.

“You’re not with child.”

“Holy Hera! You frightened me!” You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart.

“So you can stop fretting." Clearly, Apollo wasn’t particularly remorseful about the scare he'd given you. "Though to be honest, I���m surprised you’re relieved. Most women, beings far more divine than yourself, are usually thrilled to carry my offspring. They clamber for the chance and flaunt their bellies if they conceive.”

“I…I could not withstand the attention, I do not think. Nor the pomp and the responsibility.”

“The priests would help with the burden.”

“Yes but the child’s father wouldn’t,” you pointed out. “As great an honor to mother a demigod would be, I would prefer a…someone to experience it all with.”

Apollo nodded. “That I could not give you.”

“I know,” There was no resentment or disappointment in your voice. “I would never expect you to.”

“That must be why I yearn for you still,” Apollo mused, “why I cannot stay away.”

“I...my family is expecting me.”

Apollo was not accustomed to being refused. He fixed you with a look of amused incredulity after you spoke.

“I do not want them to know. Or anyone for that matter.” You realized how ungrateful you sounded. To spurn a god was to write your own death sentence. “Not that I don’t desire you, or that I wish to disregard your desires–”

“You want me all to yourself.” When you opened your mouth to amend his statement, he stopped you. “It’s alright. I want you all to myself too.”

“You have me,” you averred. “However, when the priests and my mother get involved…”

“I understand. I do not wish for fanfare either.” He pulled you close to him. Your breath hitched at the press of his hardness into your hip through both of your chitons.

Your mouths were millimeters apart. Instead of closing the distance, you asked, “Why did you tell me a false name when we first met?”

He smiled that bright, beatific grin that warmed you from the inside out. “I suppose for the same reason that you want to keep this a secret. If you believe your family is meddling, then mine is…”

Apollo didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand. You giggled, a sound he much enjoyed. At last, he captured your lips with his. Kissing Apollo melted you, you became a molten, liquid being when he pressed his lips to yours.

As transcendent as the kiss was, the god could feel that you were holding back. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”

You were not proud of the flip your stomach did at the pet name. Once you regained control of yourself, you replied, “Nothing, nothing at all. Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize, simply tell me what is bothering you,” he countered, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

When you hesitated, his fingers tilted your head up so your eyes met. “I won’t be angry.”

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your complaint. It was funny, you’d spent your entire life beseeching Apollo for this or that in the temple, yet when he was standing right in front of you, eager to know what troubled you, you couldn’t find the words.

“Why me?” It was a deflection from Apollo’s question, but still a valid inquiry.

He chuckled. “You’re asking me to apply logic to attraction, something inherently instinctual,” Apollo pointed out. “Though if I had to try to put reasoning to it, I would say it was because you are kind, beautiful, you have a tight, juicy little cunt…” he cupped your mound to demonstrate his point. You gasped at the contact. “...and when I’m with you, I feel the most like a mortal that I've felt in decades.”

Mortal? Was that a bad thing? Were you unintentionally insulting the deity?

Apollo was quick to assuage you, “I enjoy it, sunshine. The immediacy, the urgency. It’s refreshing. You’re refreshing.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. You sought to return his kind words but what was there to say? It was obvious why a mortal such as yourself would fall for a god.

“Now, I won’t ask again. What vexes you?’

“I…after we…our first meeting,” you struggled to select the right words, “the priests wanted to corroborate that we’d lain together, and their methods were…they were not very gentle.”

Your lover’s eyes turned stormy. No sooner had you told him did a crack sound from what you guessed was inside the temple.

“No, please! Don’t hurt anyone!” you begged him just as swiftly.

Apollo’s face softened slightly. “Even after they violated you, you show them compassion. I swear to you I won’t, however, I must ensure that you, and by extension, myself are treated with respect.”

“Of course,” you acquiesced. Gods were not known for their mercy, so the fact he was willing to compromise with you at all was a victory.

Apollo pulled you into another kiss that stole your breath. “If I cannot have you now…then tonight. When the moon peaks in the sky.”

“How will I find you?”

A smirk played across his lips. “Don’t fret, sunshine. I shall ensure it.”

A/N: Sooooo…what do we think?! 🫣 A little more flowery than my usual but I just had too much fun with this and now I have ideas for a few installments 🤦‍♀️

READ PART TWO

Tagging a few folks who might be interested:

@bitch4marvel @luciannadraven33 @oof-its-roobi @twwcs, @ninebluehearts @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction , @romanarose @dameronscopilot

[sweetghuleh]

[cws] fem reader. older woman/younger man. cheating. mentions of smoking. mentions of drinking. part 1 maybe. unedited.

Sometimes, when someone is young, there is always a mindset where they believe life revolves all around them—where they think that simply because they are young, they automatically stand on the highest pedestal of being intelligent. In some senses, their beliefs are so wide-spread that even the individuals around them tend to fall into that black hole as well, where despite their ages, the brain has yet to mature. You were once a happy woman, married to a beautiful husband who cherished everything about you. Meeting Gojo Satoru when he was in highschool was nothing short of fate, that’s what you liked to believe back then, he was talented at everything, adored by everyone—and so immensely ethereal it was hard to fathom he was human with an appearance so pure, his skin, hair, all of it resembled the clouds that the gods sit on. He had the face that an old master would paint to decipher an angel. Back then, you were all young and stupid, you particularly, on a different level, it wasn’t clear as before, but the memories were faint, bleary, like a forgotten song of childhood, but they were still there.

Personally, you couldn't remember the changes Satoru went through during his time in highschool, where his features became a little less soft and more masculine around the edges. Well, that’s all you could remember anyways, back when you took a young Ieri Shoko as an apprentice and caught subtle glances of him. Getou Suguru thought otherwise. He was quiet then, still is, you didn’t pay as much attention to him like you did with Satoru—despite them being best friends. You had known him as the boy who always had dark shadows under his eyes, purplish, bruise-like shadows, like he was suffering from a sleepless night. Suguru had a face you’d never expect to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Suguru would entice and humor you sometimes, he’d tell you how much his best friend has changed in ways that didn’t involve his physical features, he’d tell you how he was the first to likely see the changes of how Satoru would look at you through his eyes, the ones so polished, that it felt as if the blue pigments could only be found in dreams.

Suguru would tell you, how anyone could see it through Satoru’s eyes—how much softer they’d become when he would look at you and then fall in love all over again. 

You wondered, what had happened for Satoru to stop looking at you like that? 

The porcelain light winked off the sting of your lashes and settled into the flesh of your partially nude body, the surface of the water in your bathtub was still as flat as a mirror, catching each intricate feature of yours—only to throw it back into your face. There was no ripple or tide, and if it weren’t for the gray lace of your cigarette filtering through the air and the ring of your phone in your opposite hand, you would have assumed that time itself had stopped. 

Twenty-Six.

That was the number of times Satoru had called you since the first stars of the night. The water in the bathtub was beginning to grow cold, but the sting of gooseflesh running up the delicate skin of your body was enough to distract you from the silent buzz of your phone, to be frank, you weren’t sure if you had the guts to try and answer his frantic calls. After a quick drag of your dying cigarette, you kill it off in the glass tray beside you, watching as the fumes rose like the figure of a phoenix, and you childishly searched for any shape that could be formed with the gray, fickle smoke. Suddenly, the phone in your hands rang once again. When you were a child, there was always a side of you that allowed to choose scarily accurate guesses that always brought you something good, guesses like knowing who was about to walk through a door without hearing their footsteps, or guessing the color of a cup accurately with your eyes closed, little things like that. You didn’t have to check the caller ID in order to know who was trying to reach out to you, the soft bed of your thumb swiping across the screen.

“Hey.” Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper—but it was there. 

The opposite end of the call was quiet for a moment, a habit Shoko had whenever she called someone over the phone—something she wasn’t too fond of doing, but she would make an exception if it ever came to you. Always you. “..So? Should I schedule you a trip to the Cayman Islands? What about Miyako?” Her voice was soft, sweet in her own loner way, like the haunting echoes of a cave that harbored sirens. Shoko had been your best friend since she worked under you, after meeting in the more secluded parts of the hospital buildings where the stressed doctors and nurses went to have a quick smoke—the two of you clicked, she followed you like a magnet chasing towards its opposite end, growing closer and closer with each breath. You hardly blinked, your hair felt heavy, crystal water drops forming around, dripping onto your skin, your complexion refracting the pale light of the bathroom—you were something that could stun anyone to their core. 

“No, nothing like that.” Came your answer as manicured fingers got rid of the excess water in your hair, the water in the bathtub rippled around you like haloes as your bare legs shifted slightly. Silence graced the both of you again, and your fingers nearly trembled for another cigarette, aching, even.

“..Satoru let you go.” Shoko spoke again, so suddenly—her sudden words emphasizing the traits of her feline personality, your lips trembling for air, trying to come up with something clever to diversify the weight of devastation, but soon you realized that there are no words to dispute the feeling—calling it what it is. “Yeah.” Boundless embarrassment hooked into your chest and almost pulled it out entirely, as if the water hadn’t been cold enough, frigid heat stung painfully at your skin. The reciprocations of small breaths between Shoko’s lips had paused the minute she said this, almost as if she was captivated by your compliant statement. When you were a child, your mother always seemed to be amazed by how mature your brain seemed to be, if anything, you never believed her. It hadn’t been until high school that you truly realized just how true that statement seemed to be, back then—falling in love at the age of 17 held a kind of rarity that equated to finding rare gemstones, you thought so. When you were a teenager, you had always believed that the fragile beginnings of love was something only a few could find, mystifying around lands of infatuation until they finally found something real. 

It was why you were so, so incredibly hesitant to fall in love with Satoru even years after he finished high school. Back then, the two of you were young and full of life, youthful on different levels, he was far below your age for you to consider dating him at all—he was 16, you were freshly 28. Satoru was like nature’s graffiti; beautiful yet lawless, like he was the color after a storm that embraced the gray skies with open arms. You? You were more like nature’s poetry, gentle and lithe. Like every action you performed was meant to be on the surface of the earth. Or perhaps you were an author’s finest love story. You weren’t sure yet. 

Satoru barreled into your quiet, dark life like a blazing matchstick the very day he turned 21, he had a fire that made you so attentive to the dance of the flames—but you were so careful as to not to get burned, simply allured by the way he seemed to present the embers of his attitude in his tone. You’d never bothered to try and seek as to why Satoru could have been attracted to you, simply content with knowing that he valued you in some way. 

So mature, right? Perhaps that was the first mistake you had made. You wished you could have traveled back in time to tell your younger—supposedly mature self, to not fall for the boy with hair as white as the first winter snows, to save yourself from a life of pain. 

“What will you do now?” Shoko’s voice pulled you from the depths of reality like a savior, and you weaned off your plush bottom lip for a moment, before you allowed yourself to slink even further deeper into the frigid, cold water even more. It was almost starting to feel hot. “What do you think?” An elusive smile crawled onto your lips as you tapped the back of your head against the porcelain of the tub, taking in the relief that filled your lungs in the form of a heavy breath. It hardly helped, but it was something. 

“Well, you can’t go back to him, that’s for sure.” Shoko scoffed, tapping off the excess ash from her cigarette as she spoke into the phone. 

“You know I’m better than that, babe.” Your tone threatened to fall mute, only flashing a mere grin of gratitude that wasn’t quite convincing as you wanted it to be, devastation sunk right into your soul once again. You weren’t sad over the fact that you couldn’t go back to Satoru, you knew from the very deep depths of your brain that you would never go back to him no matter how much your big, golden polished heart wanted to. You were sad over the fact that it would take years to get over him, you were sad that your stupid heart blessed with the wit of a newborn angel, would likely yearn for Satoru no matter how much you know you would never have him back. Despite how much you would never take him back. Shoko spoke up once again, curiously. “Do you know the full story?” Came her question, there was slight shuffling through the other end, and you had a short feeling that she was getting ready to make her way over to ensure that you were fine. With that thought in your head, a small—short exhale escaped the plush of your lips, filtering through the air in a sweet, bell-chime manner as you helped yourself up from the bathtub. Soft flesh decorated with the crystalized droplets of water that luminated your body to an extent, tender spots pebbling as you eagerly brought a towel to your chilly self.

“I know enough. Young woman. Hormones. Something about his new secretary.” 

Shoko clicked her tongue, vibrant brown hair swirling in elegance as she locked her front door expertantly, dark lashes brushing against her fragile little beauty mark. “I don’t get it. Suguru and I have known him since childhood, it’s hard to believe he would pull something like this. Especially to you.” 

You grimaced, you wanted to laugh. Satoru was always a peculiar kid when you met him for the first time in your life, he being 16, you—28. You would always catch the way his eyes snaked their way around every inch of your face and chest with serpentine eagerness. You would tease him for that, too, not in a way that would initiate any romance, but how a woman would. You would magnify your lovely gaze towards him, lay a gentle finger under his chin and examine him like spectacles were placed over your gaze—forced to pile all of your raw attention to him. That’s when Satoru would crack from his sensuous facade and exhale shakily, comprehending the new feeling of a careful touch from a stunning, older woman. You could remember flashing him a gentle smile as you bid him an enigmatic farewell, leaving Satoru with a trembling bottom lip after the brush of his skin against yours. Back then, it was all playful teasing, you’d never register in your mind that he was really attracted to you.  You never acted on him either until he reached out to you when he was 21.

“..I don’t blame him.” Purring into the phone as you dried yourself off, catching your elegant features on the surface of your actual mirror with a slow blink of your nova eyes. Shoko made a sort of choking sound on the other end. “Huh? Are you kidding? He’d been pining after you since his junior year of highschool, why on earth would you not blame him for cheating on you?”

You sunk your tone into a softer, more somber one and let it into the air. 

“He’s still young, Shoko. It was a mistake on my end for letting it get this far.” 

 . ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡

Getou Suguru was quiet in most of his years in highschool, cool, calm and collected—graced with a mellow personality that charmed quiet girls without him even really trying. Always the peacemaker. Always the one to be bestowed right next to the sun that was Gojo Satoru, his forever best friend. Always there to keep the epiphany of a real angel from falling down habits that could cost him his life. Always there to help him when he seemed the lowest. Always there to clean up after his messes. Always there to listen to Satoru rant about the woman with captivating eyes. 

So, how on earth was Suguru meant to clean up this mess? Only a god could tell.

Slender eyes so dark it would take millions of years for light to venture through them focused on the mess that was Satoru. Suguru sighs, his temples aching as he quietly takes a seat on a stray chair a good distance away from the young man that appeared to be intoxicated, but he knew better—he knew that Satoru was a true lightweight. Suguru listened with keen ears, slowly gazing upon the mess of chairs and shattered bottles of liquor that were likely untouched, rattled picture frames of broken memories piled into a type of center environment. Suguru reached his slender fingers for one knocked over picture frame, on the back, in neat calligraphy, wrote. “Shoko - 21 yrs old - Academy Graduation - 2011” 

Suguru flipped the frame over, as described, there stood their close friend dressed in a satin, elegant blue graduation gown with her cap out of sight, holding a diploma with a small, polite smile. However, right beside Shoko, was her. Suguru could see why his best friend was so wild over her despite the years between them, she was tall, taller than any other girl they’ve seen, mature features and a body so sinful it made someone as polite as Suguru blush if he looked at her for too long. Whatever pallet the gods have used to craft her was so pristine and pearlescent, it could likely make any renaissance painter jealous. It clicked for Suguru then, this was a printed image from a collection of pictures Shoko had sent the both of them just to show that she graduated, and Satoru had likely chosen this one out of all of them due to the simple fact that she was in it. This was during the time where Satoru had finally met her in person, and became so infatuated it started bothering Suguru. 

Suguru wondered if she was the last time Satoru could recognize true beauty.

Suguru could recognize the scent of sweet magnolias and clementine mixed with earthly perfume coming from articles of clothing so feminine he knew that they didn’t belong to Satoru, who had draped himself across a couch so expensive it hurt to try and think of the numbers—draped across it like he was experiencing death, holding those articles of clothing to his face as if they were the key to block out all the bad things of the world that threatened to catch him. Infinite hues of bright white light fractured the space in between the sting of his lengthy lashes, deepening the consistent hue of sapphire in his eyes. There was something always so beautiful and alluring about wanting to possess something that Satoru thought he’d never have, for him—it was her. 

“Well, you sure fucked up.” Suguru hummed, his words oddly sweet-sounding despite bringing a harsh reality down onto his best friend, his voice was nearly flowery and soft—like Suguru could grow gardens of adoration from his voice alone. Vanilla and cedarwood intertwined from him, giving off a scent that is so perfectly synonymous with who he is, his slender eyes lifted to meet with Satoru’s wide ones, nebulous flecks of amethyst braided into his irises. 

“..That doesn’t help.” Satoru speaks, his tone was low and careful, distant in a way that almost seemed too close. The more Suguru began to pull in the heavenly creation that was Satoru’s face, the more comfortable he became. A smile faded onto Suguru’s face. “She’s beautiful, successful—a total catch. What'cha switch her out for?” He can’t help but ask, the smile on his face of stunning Asian features, becomes pointed and untrue as he taunts his best friend with words that were more painful than any wound on earth. Satoru straightened up from where he had been previously curling away. “That—I didn’t mean to–fuck.” He stammers, making a complete fool of himself. He wasted no time in pausing, afraid he’d stop speaking all together if he did. “...I fucked up.” Satoru finally admits, quietly, a striking difference to his personality. 

The blood in Satoru’s body stiffened into a painful mass in his lungs, and it was difficult trying to breathe. It was difficult admitting the truth. 

Suguru’s eyes soaked in the sight of the shattered bottles of liquor and turned to look at his best friend next, raising a well-groomed brow as if to ask, ‘did you get drunk?’. At this Satoru shook his head, and without another word, he slumped against the couch once more, his face landing on a pile of her perfect clothes—drenched in her scent, one so unique he had attempted seeking it in any beauty store. Each trip was unsuccessful. Satoru didn’t need liquor to get drunk, all he needed was to drink her appearance like a glass of finely fermented wine and get tipsy off every sip. Suguru shook his head in minor disappointment, his gorgeous head of charcoal-like hair—black and straight like the night sea, following his movements. Softly, like prairie grass in the summer wind, giving contrast to his face, porcelain skin with delicate features.

“Nothing to do from here, Satoru. There’s no chance she’s going to take you back.”

[a/n]: heyyyy i had a thought of like what if satoru fell for an older woman and married her but then cheated on her for some fuck reason and then make it into something full of drama but then i got drunk and forgot the whole plot so ya make what you will with this . i might add more but idk yet so pls send requests or something

[threepandas]

Bad End, Chosen: Part 4

Back <- | -> Next

The Cycles never "loaded" back in at quite the same point. It was something I had noticed, though I had only suffered a few of them so far. It was like the God's were hoping "Chapter" to "Chapter", fickle and easily bored, trying desperately to find something NEW.

It made planning all but impossible.

Where... where was I?

A simple room. A suitcase before me. Loading or unloading? I held a robe in my hands. Painfully familiar. I had worn them for years. The highly protective robes of Mage initiates, at the Magic Tower. Meant to work as armor, life support, even... God's forbid, an emergency beacon. They were hideous. Function over form.

I could cry, for how deeply I loved these ugly robes.

No one had EVER been able to figure out how to style them properly. God's know, we had TRIED. But when The Dark came? This ugly, ugly things? These long complained about hand-me-downs? Oh... oh they had saved so, SO many student's lives.

Such tiny little things. Pulled from the rubble, still breathing. All because of these chaotic, gaudy, terribly comfortable and so deeply loved, old robes. T...They truely were as hideous as I remembered, weren't they? Blocks upon blocks of overlapping stitches and patches, too many colors, as though the tower was too stubborn to throw as single thing away.

We were.

We... we NEVER leave anything or anyONE behind.

Packrats, all of us. Such terrible hoarders. But... I looked around. It did not tell me the date. Was I leaving? Joining the tower? How old was I supposed to be? I pulled on my robes.

It felt like coming home. Like balm against the raw nerves of my still fragile mind. I felt old. Brittle. At... at terrible odds, with my young skin. I wondered if this was how she felt. The woman, the poor girl, that came before me. Before she broke so badly even the God's could not force her to perform. I did not want to admit I understood the impulse.

Ah, there.

I had once, what felt like lifetimes ago. What WAS lifetimes ago. Bought this very calander. It was cute. Little fairy dragons danced upon the edges, delicate and joyous. They were, of course, incorrectly drawn. The artist had never seen a real fairy dragon, only heard of them. I had seen some during the war.

People forget that neither the Fae nor Dragons are sweet or gentle things.

They were... Awe inspiring. In the oldest sense of the world. "An overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, and fear." I believe the text defined it. Like living starlight and glass, sung poetry and water. They were the fury of long dead gods and the vengeance of beings who were divine unto themselves.

They removed an entire MOUNTAIN RANGE before they fell. Burned and reduced to molten earth, an entire inland sea. They died like STARS. Violently and with a force that destroyed the void itself. Consuming all that dared stand in their shadow.

Ha. And people think they're CUTE.

Ah...my mind is wandering again. I try to concentrate on the calendar. My... my mind doesn't want too. Oh dear. That's... that's probably a rather bad sign, isn't it?

Opening my eyes at the beginning of the cycle had brough such... CLARITY. As though my head had been held under murky water and finally, FINALLY, I was able to scramble free. But... much like the drowned... I felt something like a high. Adrift. Without my anchor. I wanted my Gran-...

NO.

I grab the dresser before me. Hard enough my knuckles go white. My wide eyes focus far away. Seeing without seeing. Hyperfocused on the woodgrain before me. I am my OWN anchor. Feel the magic in your veins. The push and pull of the world. We are not his slave! Not his PET, to keep and cherish. A toy on a shelf.

I am a PERSON.

I DEFY MY FATE.

A cheerful knock at the door to my room. My eyes finally focusing on the date. Fuck. Moving IN, then. I do not know if I can act "normal". I... I will have to try. I can not unclench my jaw, but with great force of will, finger by finger, I release my grip on the dresser. Stand up. Glance up into the mirror.

I look like I am some hateful little thing, vowing some ugly little vengeance. Perhaps it is just my face. The way anger and spite only barely holds my bleeding edges together. My fear. I...I look like I am about to cry.

What a wretched child.

I try to force a smile.

It looks hideous. More ugly grimace and deep disgust then "oh, Master, how pleased I am to see you!". Fuck. When did I become so broken? A knock again. More hesitant. I breathe deep. I can not do cheerful, then. But...I... I can do nothing.

My face slides into an emotionless mask. Blank. Like a doll. Vaguely pleasant but meaningless. How damningly familiar. Gran-... HE reduced me to this in the end. A few steps. Almost distant, robotic, movement. And I open the door to a once familiar face.

"Learner." My Master smiles, awkward and uncertain. He had not wanted a student. I forced his hand. I know now I never should have done so. He was not ready. "Are you, um, settling? In? I know it is quite different from the life you once lived, but I promise. I will tale care of you. Well figure this out together."

Oh, Master.

I...I wish I could weep. I had forgotten this lie. How deeply I had once believed it. It was a child's promise, from a man who grew old but never, truely, grew up. I was to be failed again and again. Had once given him chance after chance. Because I had believed his words. My eyes feel hot. He looks panicked.

"Ah! W-what did I do? Was that wrong? Please don't cry?! Oh no! Uuuuh-!"

"Well THIS is a record. Not even a day and you've made the child weep." Comes a terrible voice. No. Please, Gods. Not so soon. "Here I am, come to greet my precious Grandlearner. And what do I find? My student, tormenting a child."

My Master sputters defenses of himself. Not even noticing that his own Master did not call him Learner. All but disowned him before me. My fear howls like a deafening beast in my ears. But... cowering? Will not... can not save me. Turning my head is almost painful, with how tightly my muscles have tensed.

That is not the look of a man who does not recognize me.

He remembers.

Alaric Blight stands in truely magnificent Tower Master's robes, as though he has every right to be there. Respected. Beloved. A legendary talent, the likes of which have not been seen for lifetimes. ANYONE would be HONORED to be in his presence. After all... he is a man who holds the world at his feet.

He is a monster.

"Hello Grandlearner," he all but purrs. Stalking forward to loom, as only an adult CAN loom over a child. The power difference between is even greater now. I can not even count myself an ant before him. I... I can not breathe. "What a delicate little thing you are. Utterly precious. And so SMALL! You certainly have a lot of training to do, don't you?"

His hand reaches forward to cup my cheek, sparks of deadly magic dancing lazily across my skin too finely for Master to notice, but not so fine I can not FEEL. It is a subtle threat. A little reminder. Not a single soul in this tower is safe, so long as he is here. All it would take? Is.. Just. One. Touch~

"I'm sure you'll BEHAVE for your Master, WONT you, Dear? After all, he only wants what's best for you. And a darling child like you, Grandlearner? Should be cherished."

"He's right." My Master said, clueless to the monster he let so close. Who so very dispised him. "But... but Master, I'm not sure, well, HOW exactly..."

"Oh don't worry, student of mine." Alaric Blight, monster of my nightmares, hummed in a laughable mimicry of pleasantries. "I'll be with you EVERY step of the way. How could do anything less? We'll train my darling Grandlearner together."

A terrible grin.

"Leave everything to me."

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 26, Unsurprising - Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mild sexual situations, frustrations.

Word Count: 1.7k

Previously On...: Bucky suggests you call in sick to the Wiggle Room.

A/N: Pocket makes a play...

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

You weren’t sure which one of you suggested watching a movie to cap off your evening, but there you were, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa as the flickering light of the television danced across your faces in the darkness. If someone had asked you what you were watching, you honestly couldn't have told them. Your eyes kept flickering to Bucky’s profile as he chuckled at whatever was happening on screen. 

He was so pretty, you found yourself thinking. How could you have forgotten how pretty he was? You tried to ignore him, you really did, but he was like a magnet, drawing your gaze to him against your will. You felt a familiar warmth begin to pool between your legs just from the sight of him. You wanted him. God, you wanted him so much. You’d spent the last two months trying to forget him, but now, he was right here, just feet away.

Licking your lips, you made an executive decision, knowing full well it was probably not your best one (but still better than the drugs, you rationalized to yourself), and began crawling over to him. He turned to look at you, an unspoken question across his face.

“Hi,” you breathed, so close to him now you could almost taste the memory of his skin on your tongue.

“Hello,” he smiled as he turned to face you better. “What’s up, Pocket?”

“I miss you.” You leaned in and took his earlobe between your teeth, suckling it gently into your mouth. You were rewarded when his entire body shivered and he sucked in a shaky breath. He didn’t move to push you away, so you slowly crawled your body into his lap, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and the corner of his mouth.

Everything about this felt so absolutely right as you ground your hips against him, the familiar, thick length of him pressing against your core as if it had been molded to fit there. Bucky groaned as your lips reached for him, but it was as if the sound he elicited had woken him from a trance. He gripped your hips, gently but firmly, and put space between your bodies.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, eyes closed as if even looking at you would destroy his resolve. 

His words may as well have been bullets, the way they dug into your stomach. He was rejecting you? After everything? “You don’t want me?” your voice came out small, a weak plea that would have shamed you at any other time, but in this moment, encapsulated the insecurity you felt in his denial. 

Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, eyes still closed. “I always want you, sweets. It’s never a question of that. Never.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, growing more desperate. You brought your hands up to cup his face, urging him to open his eyes, to look at you, connect with you in the way you two used to do so well.

“You just lost a baby,” he breathed. “Didn’t you read any of your discharge paperwork? You’ve gotta wait until the doctor gives you the clear before you can have sex again.”

You rolled your eyes. If that was all he was worried about… “I don’t need your dick in me for you to make me feel good, Buck,” you whined. “Just like you know I can make you cum without ever using my cunt.” As if to prove your point, you snaked a hand down his body and began to palm him through the material of his jeans. 

His hand shot down and grabbed you by the wrist, holding it still and keeping you from working him. “Stop,” he pleaded, sounding like he was the one who risked being in pain from fucking, instead of you.

“You’d rather I use my dirty mouth?” you asked with a smirk, beginning to maneuver yourself to your knees, but Bucky had grabbed your other wrist before you could get very far, locking you into place, and keeping you from touching him. “No,” he panted, obviously worked up.

“Then, what?” you asked, growing frustrated. 

“I… I can’t be intimate with you right now,” he confessed, as though it pained him to do so. “Even if you were healed up enough for me to fuck you properly, I… wouldn’t do it.”

You shifted your weight back putting more distance between your bodies. The confusion you originally felt as his confession quickly morphed into the shameful anger of embarrassment as you registered his use of the word ‘wouldn’t.’ Not an inability, but a choice. 

“It’s just sex, Barnes,” you spat, not being able to keep the hurt from your voice. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“That’s just it, Pocket,” he said, searching your eyes with his own. “I’m not going to have meaningless sex with you.”

You pulled yourself off his lap, yanking your wrists from his hands. Your shame was burning across your face, and you were grateful for the cover of night to hide the rising color of your cheeks. “So, you’re fine having meaningless sex with her,” you snapped, unable to say Jade’s name even after all the time that had passed, “but not with me? God, forget I asked; I see your priorities haven’t fucking changed.” You moved to storm out of the living room, to hide in your bed behind closed doors, but Bucky sprung up from the couch and, in an instant, was standing in front of you, blocking your exit with his immovable frame.

“Hey!” Bucky barked, the force of the one word startling you. “Don’t do that! Don’t run from me, not again!” He ran both hands desperately through his hair. “I’m not going to have meaningless sex with you, because if I do, it won’t be meaningless! Not to me.” The last three words were softer, more vulnerable, a confession he was afraid you would take as a weakness. 

“I told you I was greedy, sweetheart,” he said to you, pulling you close to him as he began to nuzzle your neck. The feel of him, so close to you, yet so far away, was making your knees weak, and you clung to him for support. “But I’m not going to have you if I can’t have all of you, not anymore, not when I know what it’s like to be loved by you. I can’t do that to myself. And I’m not going to do that to you.”

“Bucky,” you moaned as his hands roamed the surface of your body, seeking any ounce of uncovered flesh he could get his hands on. His touch was soft, light enough to never be satisfying, always leaving you craving more.

“I love you, doll,” he said, kissing your skin, “and if you can tell me you forgive me, that you still love me, wanna be with me again,” he sucked and nibbled on your neck, the sensation of his mouth on your pulsepoint almost sending you over the edge on its own, “then I’ll give you anything you fucking want. But if you can’t, if you’re not ready yet, or you don’t think you’ll ever be,” he let go, pulling away from you and leaving you longing for him, “then I’m not going to torture myself with something I can’t have, or put you in a position where you end up regretting what we did.”

He watched you, expectantly, waiting for you to say something, to give him an answer that would either bring you back to each other once and for all, or close and lock the door between you both for good, but you had nothing for him. 

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Bucky’s face shuttered, the passion so recently evident in his eyes vanishing into their depths. He nodded once. “Let me know when you make up your mind, doll,” he said, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head before retreating to the solitude of his room, the sound of the door shutting behind you echoing through the apartment with its finality.

You managed to hold your tears until you were back in your room, sobbing into your pillow in the weak hope his super soldier hearing wouldn’t be able to pick up on the sound through the apartment’s thin walls. You let yourself weep, wondering how many more times Bucky Barnes was going to be the reason for your tears.

But you couldn’t blame him this time, your stupid logical reasoning told you. This one was on you. He’d been honest with what he wanted, what he needed, but you hadn’t been willing, or able, to give him what he’d asked for in return. He hadn’t been willing to take from you unless he knew for certain you were sure. 

The dinging of your phone caught your attention, and your heart leapt with joy when you saw a notification indicating new texts from Nat. Technically, you weren’t supposed to have contact with residents of the Tower while you were undercover, but you were willing to put that aside in the surge of happiness that rushed through you at the thought of talking to your friend.

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: So

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Don’t freak 

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: But I have news

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: About Carthage

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: When she saw Barnes left

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: To go to you in AC

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: She fucking *flipped*

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Screaming and crying 

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: That her life was over

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: And she was gonna die

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Destroyed her room

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Punched Steve in the face

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Which was funny

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: But not the point

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Hello?

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Do you ever look at your phone?

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Are you fucking Barnes rn?

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: This is serious tea

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: And you’re leaving me on ‘delivered’

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: It’s offensive

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Anyway

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: She’s gone

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Packed her shit

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: No clue where she went

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Vanished into the night

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: She’s gone AWOL

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Thought you’d want to know

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: And one more thing

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: It’s big

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Fucking huge

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: But your not answering

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: I’m not telling

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: So

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Suck it xoxo

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Call me

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->