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sunboki · 10 months

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⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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sh1-n0bu · 4 months

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✿ 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙮𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 ✿

𝙀𝙥𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙚 2 — Daily life of the assassin husband

mini series masterlist ⇦prev ep next ep⇨

waking up in the morning next to his loving spouse will always be the highlight of his day alongside every moments spent with them. to yingxing, every moment spent with his most beloved is worthy of not even the heftiest bounty or money. even the most brightest diamonds, gorgeous jewels, ancient statues or bounties worth billions are worthy next to his spouse. everything is nothing but mere useless things, materialistic or not, they turn into meaningless stones and papers when beside his love.

and that reason alone was the main reason yingxing had a hard time searching for the perfect ring for them.

diamond? too cliche and its edges rust and chip very easily. sapphires resembling his eyes? could work. but none of the sapphires he came across were worthy of his lover. too bland, too big, too chunky, too small etc etc. what about a jewel that resembled their eye color? or even hair color? no good. everything was too plain. and therefore, yingxing settled on making a ring for his beloved by his own hands. sure, he got his already fucked up hand gain more scars and injuries. but every pain and scars was worth his beloved spouse.

“‘xing…” a voice drawls sleepily as an arm wraps around his middle, pulling him closer to the slightly smaller body. skin on skin, heart to heart, how he wished to indulge in his greed for you and stay beside you until he turns into nothing but ash and flowers. many would call yingxing a fanatic and maniacal in the ways he loves you, like a devoted follower worshipping a god at its feet. but yingxing didn’t mind the comparison. if he was going to be dubbed as a fanatic lover, then he would be known as a willing fanatic lover.

“‘xing…” another call of his name snaps him out of his thoughts, causing a deep, rumbling chuckle to come from his chest. shifting closer to your side, he runs a hand through your [c] locks. gently, ever so tenderly as if afraid his hand that had dealt in too much killing would taint you by simply touching you.

“morning, my sleepyhead” he speaks up, planting a ginger kiss to the crown of your head. he couldn’t help but laugh when you scrunch your nose, a sleepy groan coming from you as a form of your own special good morning. he found it cute. akin to how a bunny’s nose would twitch whenever you scrunched up your nose like that.

“darling, don’t do that. your adorable face will get wrinkles and you’ll become absolutely irresistible to me” he calls out, kissing the bridge of your nose as his calloused hand comes to cradle your cheek. using the position to his favor, he litters your face in kisses. peppering over your forehead, cheeks that he loves to bite on teasingly, eyelids that covered his favorite stars and lips that was like roses and clover.

yingxing was absolutely enormously in love with you and that was even an understatement.

“do you have to go to work?” you drawl out, hands tightly wrapped around him to keep him close to yourself, unwilling to allow him to slip out of the warmth of your bed. he only laughs, finding your clingy, sleepy self adorable. absolutely endearing. if he could, he wanted to just reach over and take a big ol’ chomp from your cheeks and stay in bed all day alongside you. nothing but the warmth of his lover and your sweet voice to grace his heart. alas, work called and he had no other choice but to leave the safe haven of your arms. much to the dismay of the both of you.

“sadly. i’ll probably be late today, so don’t force yourself to stay awake further than what you’re used to, 亲爱*” yingxing warns in a gentle tone, yet knowing full well that you will still wait for him to return home and stay awake until you fall asleep on the couch again. as heartwarming it was to come back home to your hugs and sweet kisses to mend his broken heart, yingxing knew your condition wasn’t something to just force yourself to act like it was okay.

he worried at times. perhaps a bit too much at times.

hearing that he would be later than usual today, you groan out in protest. unable to help yourself as you hug him tighter in a form of rebellion. your husband could only shake his head, kissing the crown of your head as a form of apology.

the days all start out the same. you two would laze around in bed for a while, bantering, talking of mundane things in life or gossiping about what happened at his office before reluctantly dragging yourselves out of bed. washing your face, brushing your teeth together, sometimes, yingxing would help you in brushing out your hair and its tangles.

making sandwiches, preparing his lunchbox for the day as he makes you your morning coffee just the way you liked. hot, steaming, not too full of the cup with an extra dosage of love and stolen kisses. it will always be hard for yingxing to go to work and leave his beloved, but duty called and being an adult in a society was hard. why couldn’t he just stay home all day and night, cuddling with his beloved at any chance he got? that would have been much more preferable. just stuck beside you like glue, 25/8, never leaving your side.

picking up the bento box that you had made with love carefully in his hand, yingxing slips on his usual shoes for the day before staying at the front door for you to do something. bento over slightly to be on your level, a slight pout on his face and a finger pointing at his forehead.

“place lips here, please?”

ah right, how could you forget? yingxing always loved goodbye kisses as much as he loved his welcome back kisses. in a sense, he was addicted to you. to your essence, to your presence, to your warmth and lips, constantly finding his way back to you, back to your side, back to your lips like a bee hunting for honey would.

“such a needy hubby” he could hear your sleepy laugh, a soft, drawled out hoarse voice from the early morning hours as your lips are placed onto his forehead after swiping his bangs to the side. a gentle peck, maybe two, and a stolen one from his lips. yingxing nearly let out a purr like a satisfied animal, melting into your arms to return his own goodbye kisses.

just one step out of the door and he was ready to grovel for your attention. for you to forcefully drag him back inside the home and just cuddle with him all day. he didn’t care if his suit ended up scrunched or wrinkled, any problem in the world didn’t matter when he would be beside you. alas, fate was cruel and it forced him to wave a goodbye to you as you watch him from the balcony, the smallest of smiles tugging on his lips as he sees your sweet sleepy expression and messy morning hair. he couldn’t wait to finish today’s works early and come back home to you. just 8 or perhaps even 10 hours of work and he would be back in your embrace.

yingxing’s job was a graphic designer to a private company.

he would go to the company, sit down on his office and receive calls all day from clients who liked his former designs of homes — whether they be interior or exterior — wanting him to design a certain specific home for them. an endless calls and endless annoying clients on the phone, on the video calls asking him about adding this or that or cutting off this or that. oh how quickly yingxing wished for his work hours to just end already. at least he had a picture of the two of you on your first date as an official couple framed on the table and your delicious bento to nourish his body during lunchbox.

a small picture frame, you and him inside the small glass box. a bright smile on your face, brighter than the neon lights of the arcade behind the two of you, arms around a cute pink rabbit plushie from a famous cartoon. what was it's name again? he used to watch it with you after all. right, melody. a fitting named character for his beloved whose voice is one. tucked loosely under his left arm was the other half, kuromi, the black bunny with it's mischievous smile while yingxing's right arm stays over your shoulder protectively. your eyes and smile towards the camera but his always on yours. an uncharacteristically gentle smile on his own face, adoring look of his red eyes focused on your beaming face.

you still kept the two plushies from the arcade. the two bunnies kept together, paws beside each other as if holding hands. on the days yingxing felt particularly sappy, he would take kuromi from beside melody, using the cute plushie to peck your cheek as if he was the plushie instead. though, that won't last long until your clingy hubby is replacing kuromi's kisses with his own ones.

on the days he doesn't have any special 'commissions' to take care of for the night, he would take the night train to find you at home, waiting for him per usual. a desired hug, a much needed kiss to his chin or cheek, if lucky he will steal a few before dinner. a seat at the dining table opposite of you, you can ramble about everything to him. be it your work, the home, what you did, the movies you've watched or the latest series you've been loving. anything that falls from your mouth would go in through one ear and out the other. all eyes and attention on you, his hand supporting his chin as he just nods along.

please keep talking, he loves how passionate you are about a topic. he loves the sound of your voice, the slight pitch when you talk of something emotional, the raise when you mention something that ticked you off. he loves how expressive you are.

and when dinner is done, the dishes are washed and it's time to fall back asleep, yingxing would stay awake a little bit longer. just a moment longer, for he realizes every night and morning, every moment you are in his arms that he had fallen in love with an amalgamation of stars, how they run through your veins and how the brightest of them are in your eyes. you have always been his favorite. his beloved sleepyhead.

亲爱 — qīn’ài meaning “dear”, “beloved”

tag list: @thetwinkims, @sc1ssor3, @9log4ridge, @bloodofapinksakura2010x, @interstellar-equilibrium, @chibiduck if you want to be added to the tag list, just let me know in the comment section! and some blog names seem to be having trouble being tagged as well, apologies for that!

#nobu.writes #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #blade x reader #blade x you #blade x y/n #blade x gender neutral reader #yingxing x reader #yingxing x you #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #gender neutral reader

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an-otterly-adorable-being · 1 year

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Asmodeus x Fizzaroli x Publicist!Reader Poly Headcanons

Hehe I made more stuff, because I'm feeling good today! Hope y'all enjoy! Also feel free to start sending requests in again!

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

• There's a lot of rumors going around that the Prince of Lust himself has been all cozy with one of the Lust Ring's top performers, so it was only natural that you would end up getting a job to "make things right."

• Afterall, you were one of the best PR people in Lust, why wouldn't you get the job.

• Maybe that's a bit egotistical, but there's a reason for it.

• You can spin stories better than most demons, even covering up a handful of true stories.

• You've worked for Leviathan, a number of Goetias, and even the Morningstars.

• Being hired by Ozzie and Fizz was a lot more work than you expected, though.

• Not only did you find out that they were together romantically, meaning that you'd need to keep the secret as hidden as possible, which was difficult when they decided to be sweet "behind closed doors."

• Dealing with the servants who had found out was a blast.

• (That was sarcasm, btw.)

• On top of that, you also began to develop a whole range of feelings for the both of them as you became a part of their lives.

• Turns out those feelings were somewhat reciprocated.

• After a few months, the three of you came up with the best plan you could.

• A lot of the controversy was directed more at Ozzie, as he was the one big on carnal desire over romance.

• Fizz was not as big of a deal.

• So, you and Fizzarolli began to "date."

• There was definitely some push back, but it was a decent success.

• A couple of public dates, love letters, and pictures taken by paparazzi(you, actually) later, and things were relatively calm.

• It wasn't a permanent solution, though, so you set to work on a separate project...

• Making the Lust Ring cool with Ozzie and Fizz's "non-existent" relationship.

• It did take a while.

• Scratch that, it took way too long.

• Turns out most people in Lust were actually okay with it, it was the press and other rings that were the problem.

• The other rings of Hell would take far too long to deal with, so you set your eyes on the newspapers.

• Lots of papers in Lust are actually sponsored by either Greed or Envy.

• Greed goes where the money goes, so theoretically, if the tabloids and rumors weren't as profitable, they may drop those stories.

• That left you with Envy, which had always been a pain for you.

• While Greed takes the actual newspapers, Envy picks up the cheesy tabloids. It's less about making a profit and more about making people feel terrible, especially when it's something the writers and bosses don't have.

• Luckily, you still had some good will with Leviathan, and so you doubled down on getting the stories stopped.

• You still were working with Asmodeus and Fizz, and even though you weren't in a real relationship, Fizz was getting worried about you overworking yourself.

• They both were, actually.

• You were dead set on this going, though, so they couldn't talk you out of it.

• They took the next best thing, though, forcing you to stay at their very luxurious penthouse.

• You even slept in their bed. If you wanted to, that is.

• You probably would've picked up on the fact they were trying to romance you, but alas, you were too focused.

• It took a long few months of persuasion, company scandals, bribes, and an unhealthy amount of blackmail, you got most of Lust on board, at the very least.

• And when you told them, they were thrilled!

• You organized a little interview with a local news channel (the host owed you, after all) and they finally came out as a couple.

• When you were asked about, you were expecting Ozzie and Fizz to tell the truth about your fake relationship.

• But they said you... could be a part of it for real?

• Yeah, they asked you out on TV, and you accepted.

• Even if the pressure from the show wasn't there, you would've said yes anyways.

• Your final task for them was getting an article in a paper out, talking about how beautiful Fizz and Ozzie's relationship was.

• And now that the job is finally done, you can cuddle up to your new boyfriends without a care in the world.

#headcanon #helluva boss headcanon #helluva boss x reader #fizzaroli x reader #asmodeus x reader #asmodeus x fizzarolli #polyamory

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darqx · 7 months

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More BP flavoured asks!

Wish granted lol °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Hello! And funnily enough when you sent this a friend of my niece was also in Kazakhstan, what a small world! I am indeed very interested in creating something based on the BP au and am working on a comic :) Trying to thumbnail as many chapters as i can at the moment - it was supposed to be a short project but there's...a lot of chapter prompts now |D

I actually had several flash mini-games with them in it, alas they have been lost to Flash player going the way of the dodo 🪦

It will depend on which AU you're looking at as they are technically separated, even if there are some aspects of them that cross over 😅 My current project is BP so the basic premise of that is that demons and humans coexist, and a priest accidentally half-exorcises a demon (which had never been done before in universe) and they go on a road trip to try and somehow "undo" it.

You can find some random info about them in my "answer", "answer dump" or "rire answer dump" tags :)

BP Izm is a demon and so they don't have an equivalent human ethnic background. The closest they get is their species/breed, in which case Izm is a Deal Maker type of demon called the Aleores.

They have also been transferred :) Unfortunately I dont think we get to see what Tish looks like except maybe in passing 🤔

Yes...to some degree.

It is a game to some of them indeed lol. Also much can be said about human greed/folly/choices.

I will be real with you - questions about games are often hard for me to answer because I am not a gamer and more likely then not dont know anything about the game referred to XD;;

#art #doodle #battle priest #answer #reply #answer dump #hh au #sz

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abyssruler · 2 years

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5 SUNDAYS OF KINKTOBER

1ST MASS ♱ zhongli x fem!reader x raiden ei

homily — you’ve been the most devoted servant of the anemo archon since the end of the war, not noticing the heated looks by two gods that have followed you for millennia. in your moment of loss at the sudden slumber of barbatos after the battle with durin, they don’t hesitate to take the opportunity to convert you to their religion.

communion — comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

fem afab reader, dubcon, power imbalance, sub reader, praise, subtle manipulation, fingering, oral f-receiving, dom ei and zhongli, implied venti x reader

5 sundays of kinktober

Lingering stares, stolen glances, and every excuse taken to see even a single glimpse of you.

If Morax and Beelzebub’s affections for the Anemo Archon’s priestess could be summed up into a few measly words, it would be that. Were Barbatos a more sharing god, perhaps he wouldn’t have left his two good acquaintances to pine hopelessly for his most devout follower for the better part of two thousand or so years.

He is not someone who lacks empathy, nor someone who could even be called possessive, but there is something so delightful about the idea of depraving two gods of your attention, that which only he is permitted to have.

Alas, such greed and mischief will be his undoing.

“Sleep well, My Lord. I shall await your awakening however many centuries it may take.”

(Barbatos wakes up five hundred years later to his friend corrupted by the Abyss and the knowledge that his once-devoted priestess is now the wife of two Archons. He hears the tale of how two nations nearly went to war for your hand, but the only thing on his mind is how it would have been three had he been there.)

✧

In the aftermath of the Cataclysm, you are left adrift.

There is no room for you in Mondstadt, where people will gawk and bow in reverence for the mythical figure of Barbatos’ High Priestess in the flesh. Dvalin is to be left to heal in peace and recuperate from his fight. Your Archon has fallen into a deep slumber, and while you are happy to wait for him to wake up, your mind seeks to find something else to occupy it.

Much like the wind your god favors, you wander across the land sculpted by your god aimlessly.

That is, until the winds come bearing news of the death of Baal.

✧

Beelzebub startles when you appear before her in a flash of golden leaves, bearing the scent of your homeland and something else that is entirely unique to yourself.

It isn’t your place to comfort gods, but she is a dear friend and not simply the shadow she always insists on being.

“Ei,” it’s the first time you use her true name (it won’t be the last), “I am sorry for your loss.”

And so much more than that. She has lost her sister, her companions, and has suddenly been thrust into the role of an Archon whilst her nation suffers the aftermath of the destruction that Khaenri’ah’s monsters left.

It is a heavy burden, even for a god. You would know — Barbatos had often lamented to you in the past few millennia how difficult being an Archon was, let alone being an Archon in the fallout of a war.

She approaches cautiously as first, as if unable to believe that you are truly here and not guarding Mondstadt as you so often are found to be doing. You take the initiative and offer your hand.

Her fingers close around your palm tightly. She’s shaking, you realize, so you offer your other hand with the promise of comfort.

She takes it and never lets go.

✧

Ei, you find, is a very clingy friend.

She insists you hold her hand and accompany her to every little outing and event that she needs to attend as the god of Inazuma. At night, she asks you to hold her while she pretends to fall into a deep slumber. You let her arms wrap around you, unable to say that you know she’s not asleep. She is grieving in her own way, you tell yourself, let her have this. Even if her touches linger a moment too long and her hands roam places they shouldn’t.

Your soft heart and the principles engrained into you by your god tells you of kindness and the need to help others even at the cost of yourself.

Her hand brushes against the swell of your breasts.

Let her have this.

✧

A letter bearing the seal of Liyue comes during the fifth month of your stay in Inazuma.

Ei looks up from where she nestled her face into your shoulder, shifting to get a better look at the letter and, in turn, shifting you as well from your place on her lap.

It is a thing close friends do, you tell yourself and ignore the intimate connotations such actions would bring up.

“Morax is inviting me for tea. He says he has missed my company terribly in the past few years we haven’t seen each other.”

Her grip on your waist tightens for an infinitesimal moment.

She is reluctant to let you go.

✧

With Liyue comes spring and the Lantern Rite Festival that will be celebrated for the first time since the end of the Cataclysm.

Morax is as imposing as ever in his white robes and the majestic golden horns that rests at the top of his head like a crown. He welcomes you to his side with a smile, guiding you to your seat with a hand on the small of your back that lingers for a second too long to be appropriate.

You let it slide, just as you’ve let many of his and Ei’s accidents over the past.

He makes for pleasant company, but the winds in the mountain have been strangely upset. One particular strong gust of wind tips the dainty cup of tea over, liquid spilling and dripping down the table and onto the dress you had saw fit to wear on your trip to the land of contracts.

Morax apologizes for the state of the weather today, but you reassure him that all is well.

“I suppose this was my Lord’s way of telling me to wash away the dirt of my travels. I apologize, Morax, but it seems we shall have to cut our tea session short.”

He tells you that it’s alright, suggesting a place for you to bathe in and hinting at a meeting between the two of you again tomorrow. “Perhaps, since Barbatos is no longer looking over your shoulder, I might give you a tour around Liyue?”

“That would be lovely!”

✧

You feel eyes resting on your naked form as you immerse yourself in the cold river water.

You tell yourself that you are in the wilderness, there are bound to be animals and all kinds of avian out and about, curious what the new scent of dandelions and sakura blossoms are.

Gold flashes upon your periphery, but when you turn to look, there is nothing but shrubs and trees within sight.

✧

You spend more time in Liyue than you did in Inazuma.

And when it was time to leave to return to your nation, he refuses you.

✧

Morax, unlike Ei, is a different sort of clingy.

Where Ei was soft, hesitant touches that lingered but never stayed, hidden stares and roaming hands when she thinks you aren’t paying attention; Morax is as hard and unmoving as the element he rules over.

“Please, Morax, I hardly think this is appropriate...”

And it is telling how much gravity those words hold, given how you never spoke such words to Ei no matter how much her hands swept over your breasts and thighs and lingered dangerously close to that one spot between your legs.

“Is it?” he asks, breath ghosting over the skin of your neck, sharp teeth brushing over the sensitive spot but never clamping down—yet. “I should think this constitutes as a simple activity between friends. Or was Beelzebub wrong in her assumptions when she mentioned how close the two of you have gotten in the last few months?”

“No, but—ahh...” Your voice veers off into a mere whimper when he presses his tongue to your pulse and licks a long stripe from the junction of your shoulder all the way to the underside of your jaw.

“Or did she lie when she said how you spend every night in her bed, letting her touch wherever she pleases without voicing a single complaint?”

“I-It wasn’t like that. I—Morax!” you exclaim when you feel one of his large hands grabs the inside of your thigh, shifting close (far, far too close) to that sensitive place between your legs. “You musn’t—”

He ignores your admonition and uses his other hand to pry your legs apart. “So she lied, then. I shall deal with her when the time comes, but for now...”

His hand starts moving closer. Frantic and much too distressed to use your vision, you weakly grab his wrists to spot the inevitable.

You feel his chuckle reverberate from where your back is pressed to his chest. It is all the more humiliating when he subtly bounces his leg that you’re sitting on to shift you closer to him.

His hand wrenches free from your light grip and clasps both of your wrists in one, utterly dwarfing yours in size. You try to squirm away from his grip, but in doing so, you unintentionally brush your clothed cunt over the hand that had previously been resting on your thigh.

Your mouth parts at the sudden contact, unconsciously clenching at nothing and feeling your face warm at the breathy laugh that escapes Morax’s lips.

“Don’t try to deny this, deny me just as you have done for thousands of years.” His teeth slides tantalizingly slow over your neck. “If the High Priestess of Barbatos didn’t want this, she would have used her power that once cleaved mountains to escape from my grasp.”

His fingers glide over your clothed slit. This time, you let him with only a mild protest that sounds weak even to your own ears.

You feel him smile against your skin.

✧

You awake to the feeling of a knot building up in your stomach and the cool breeze over your naked form.

Golden eyes pin you in place. Only then do you register the soft, squelching sound that’s coming from between your legs.

In your drowsy, sleepy state, you can do nothing but pant at the foreign feeling overtaking your senses. “M-Morax, what...”

Your mind blares in alarm when you feel his fingers curl inside you.

But the alarm is replaced by the sheer, mind numbing pleasure that follows. You involuntarily let out a keen mewl that echoes around your chambers.

Something hard presses against your thigh.

You feel him thrust his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace that has your head spinning and eyes crossing while Morax leans above you and licks his lips at the sight of you slowly becoming undone.

“M-Morax, I don’t want to... this is... wrong—” His thumb reaches up to rub circles on your neglected clit.

“Hm? But you’re doing so well. Doesn’t it feel good?” He soaks in the sound of your cries. Not stopping the pace of his fingers even when you’re begging with drool coming out of your lips.

“I don’t—please, please, wait—” He silences you by covering your lips with his and swallowing the protest that dies once he bullies his tongue into your mouth.

By the gods, you taste as heavenly as he’s always thought.

His hips begin rutting against the softness of your thigh, his tip leaking precum and smearing it across your skin. And with all the debauchery that a god can posses, he conjures the image of you covered in his seed. Thick, white spurts of his seed dripping down your face and slipping between the valley of your breasts. And he wants it so bad he is willing to burn the world for it.

“Morax,” you cry out, legs shaking and clenching around his fingers as your impeding climax approaches.

He shudders at his name being called out in such a wanton tone, grinding his erection harder against your soft thigh. Suckling at the exposed skin of your neck to mark what is his.

“F-Feels s’ good, I-I’m sorry... I’m sorry...” you mutter intelligibly, fingers clenching the sheets and nails almost tearing through the fabric. You legs start spasming violently, heart racing and breath hitching at the coiling tension threatening to release in your belly.

He watches you with rapt eyes and savors the lewd sounds of your cunt welcoming his thick fingers, your slick running down his wrists that he will make sure to lick clean after.

“L-Lord—” His cock twitches as he imagines you calling out to him with such reverence that was once reserved for a certain god. “Lord Barbatos!”

The coil snaps.

Your back arches, letting out a loud cry as tears spill down your cheeks.

Morax feels his smile turn to stone. A twisted feeling creeping up on him, the kind that makes his want to destroy and be the god of war he was once called millennia ago.

Lord Barbatos. He nearly scoffs. What does that drunkard have that he does not? He will have to make you see sense, but not now, not with this ugly emotion clawing at his chest and threatening to break loose.

He leaves you panting on the bed to reign in his bubbling anger, not confident in his ability to control himself at the state he’s in now.

As your high begins to die down, you nearly become sick with the realization that you had enjoyed coupling with someone who wasn’t your god.

✧

You leave before the sun rises.

Ei welcomes you with a surprised but pleased smile—until she catches sight of your harried state and the bruises beginning to form on your neck and across your collarbones.

“Who did this?” Her voice could be likened to a storm gathering on the horizon. Inescapable and deadly.

You collapse into her arms in relief.

✧

You were hesitant to tell her, but she is insistent, and so you cave.

The only thing that stopped her from marching into Liyue’s borders and declaring the second coming of the archon war was you.

She is gentle with you, comforting you with her embrace and letting you do as you pleased.

(And if she takes advantage of your harried emotions by indulging herself to your addicting scent and running her hands over your velvety skin, well, there is no one there to disapprove of her actions. Much less a certain alcoholic god to snatch you away from her grasp.)

Inside, she is seething. Angry and bitter that Morax got to have a taste of you before she did. To mark your skin with bruises and hear your debauched moans as she pleasured you herself. There shall be no interruption within the halls of Tenshukaku, only you and her and the sounds you will make once she gathers the courage to take you for herself.

“You are always so good to me, Ei.”

Perhaps that time will come soon. Ei would like to cover the unseemly bruises made by Morax on the expanse of your flesh with marks of her own.

✧

She’s more handsy than usual. It’s the first thing you note after laying down the bed beside her and immediately being smothered into her chest.

You feel her hands running down your back, the thin robe she insisted you wear every night leaving nothing to imagination. Her touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in their wake, leaving you shivering but not from the cold.

Ei buries her nose into your hair and inhales like it’s the last time she’ll get to smell your scent — perhaps it is. After what she plans to do tonight, you might just denounce her name as you did Morax’s.

It starts small. Lips trailing over your hairline and fingers ghosting over every inch of exposed skin, light as a feather. You want to say that this is merely her being touch-starved as she always is, but there is something in the air, something heated and coiling with unmistakable tension.

Her hand lands on the soft flesh of your rear.

You pull away from her, hands on her shoulders to keep her at bay.

“Ei, what are you—” She cuts you off with a searing kiss.

Your lips taste as divine as she always imagined them to be.

Her hands are quick to untie the knot of your robe, pulling them away in one swift motion and leaving you naked for her to see.

You flinch away from her kiss when cool air brushes over your nipples. Heat making its way to your face once you realize the state of your undress.

Ei grabs your chin and forces you to look into her vivid purple eyes.

And you finally see what you have been resolutely ignoring these past few months.

There is an unmistakable want in her dilated pupils, gaze lidded with lust and the corners of her eyes crinkled with something you couldn’t hope to discern (is it desire, possessiveness, or—love?)

Her lips find their way to your collarbones, nipping at your skin and teeth biting just hard enough to mark but not draw blood. Your hands land on her shoulders, not knowing whether you should push her away or pull her close.

Your breath hitches when her mouth latches on your nipple, her hand moving downwards to a place you know should be reserved for your god only but—

A whine leaves your lips when her fingers begin to rub circles on your clit. Her pace begins to build up, tearing gasps and moans from your throat as she eases you to a painfully quick climax.

Your toes begin to curl against the sheets, hips bucking up to gather more stimulation. Your mouth opens in preparation for a cry—

But then she pulls away.

You hadn’t realized you’d been crying until you look down at her and see only a blur.

“Please, Ei, please I—”

You wail when her tongue lands on your slick folds, lapping at them and grinding the tip of her nose at your abused clit.

She inhales, long and slow, and nearly comes undone from your scent alone. Her hands grab your thighs to pull them further apart, burying her face deeper in your cunt, tongue making obscene noises as she continues to sloppily lap at your slit.

“Feels s’ good... Ei, please... please, I want—” Your pleas turn into incoherent babbles when her tongue begins to fuck into you.

Your slick smears across her face, dripping down her chin and into the wet spot that’s gathering on the bed. Ei will have it remain unwashed for the rest of eternity.

Your hands find purchase in her hair, tangling your fingers in the thin strands and pushing her even closer to your cunt. Loud, shaky breaths escape your lips, thighs closing around her head as the heat in your abdomen begins to build to a crescendo.

Ei feels your thighs shake, so she moves her tongue to your clit and starts suckling at it. One long, slender finger enters you with a wet squelch that she’ll repeat in her head for centuries to come.

You come undone on her face, hot spurts of liquid squirting out of you, and Ei is all too happy to run her tongue over the mess you’ve made and swallow your release.

Silence reigns save for the crude sounds of her lips on your folds.

As you sit in the wake of your high, you cannot even bear to think of your god.

✧

You had thought Morax would come for you as soon as he realized you left. A part of you hopes he had, if only so you can finally sort out the confounding feelings that swirl in your chest, threatening to drown you with their sheer intensity.

Ei busies herself with her nation, working on a project she has yet to tell you about.

“I will reveal it to you at a later date,” is always her reply whenever you broach the topic.

It leaves you feeling a sort of fondness, watching her work in a way she had never been able to when she was still a kagemusha.

On the fourth month after you left Liyue, she presents a puppet to you.

“This is Kuni.”

You stare down at the young looking boy who greatly resembles the former Electro Archon, from the soft swell of his cheek to the smile he greets you with. But there is also a hint of you in the slope of his nose and the shape of his lips.

And you wonder, just for a moment, if she had made him with something else in mind other than the keeper of the gnosis.

That night, in the middle of languid kisses and groping hands, you playfully ask her if this means the two of you are parents now.

She splutters and turns red in the face, but she never denies your question.

✧

With Morax comes the shaking of the earth and Tenshukaku in a frenzy as soldiers frantically begin arming themselves at the threat of the Geo Archon himself.

Thunder rolls across the clouds, threatening to bring unforgiving storms and strike anyone who dares to defy it.

Beelzebub meets him halfway across Inazuma City, a crash of thunder against rock that could be heard even from Seirai Island.

You are left in Tenshukaku with the puppet who has never called you his mother but looks at you like you are. He cries when he sees tall stone spires rising to the sky and flashes of lightning that bring golden pillars to the ground.

You hold him close and press a comforting kiss to the top of his head, this boy who has your lips and your nose and perhaps the crinkle in your eyes when you smile.

✧

It takes two days and two nights for the earth to settle and the skies to clear.

Ei returns with Morax, a compromise between them.

You don’t disapprove of it.

✧

You feel your insides get split apart as Morax sinks into your heat.

His cock is the same girth as two arms and has scales that only a dragon could possess. By the time he buries his whole length inside you, you’re nothing but a drooling, crying mess.

Ei kisses your temple from where she has you on her lap, legs twined with yours to keep them apart and two fingers spreading your folds to let Morax stretch you open.

“You’re doing so well taking me in,” he chuckles when he sees your fucked out state, brushing a hand over your face and wiping away the sweat that had gathered.

He starts pulling out, feeling your walls clench down on him and nearly coming undone at the simple action. Ei toys with your breasts, tweaking your nipples between her fingers as she covers your neck with sloppy, wet kisses.

Morax slams his hips against your so suddenly, it leaves you crying out in both pain and pleasure as the tip of his cock presses against your cervix. He sets a furious pace as he thrusts into you, the ridges of his draconic cock sliding against your clit with every snap of skin against skin that echoes in the room.

“My Lord...” You feel him still. Between the haze of pleasure in your mind and the tight knot building in your stomach, you don’t notice this. “Lord Morax, please—”

A deep, guttural groan reverberates from his throat. With one, quick thrust, he slams himself balls-deep into your cunt and enjoys the way you sob as he keeps hitting the entrance to your womb, leaving you heady and unable to form a single coherent thought.

You register the feeling of a hand snaking down your breasts into the spot between your legs.

Ei rubs circles into your clit, her fingers setting a fast pace that has you seeing stars and babbling wordless pleas. “S’ good, I wanna... Ei—Morax—please, more please, don’ wanna stop—”

He grabs your thighs in a bruising grip and starts pounding into you at a merciless pace that has you crying and drooling, tongue lolling out as you failed to decide whether it’s pleasure or pain that’s making your toes curl and back arch in ways you never would have thought was possible.

A mouth latches on to that sensitive spot beneath your jaw and sucks, leaving you gasping and legs twitching as the knot in your belly tightens until it threatens to unravel before you. Ei licks at the bruise beginning to form on your skin and watches the way your face contorts as you approach your release.

“‘m so close... so close—”

Her fingers press hard against your clit just as Morax hits that spot in you that has you convulsing and creaming around his cock, mouth open in a silent scream and tears running freely down your face.

With a grunt and a choked off gasp, he cums inside you, stuffing you full to the brim, cum leaking out your hole even when he hasn’t finished emptying himself in you.

He pulls out after a few quick thrusts that has you whining from overstimulation and pleasure. As soon as his cock is slips out, his thick, white seed pours out your hole. You clench down on nothing, feeling empty at the absence of him inside you.

Ei scoops his cum into her fingers and pushes them back inside you, a lewd squelching sound reverberating in the room as she fucks his cum back into you with her fingers.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, high pitches pleas for them to stop going unheard. Soon, your legs begin quivering as your second release draws near. Morax’s cum mixed with yours drip down the slit of your ass and into the sheets below, making an utter mess.

It comes quick and just as mind-breaking as before. Harsh puffs of breath escape your lips, a gasp that turns into a sob when Ei shoves her fingers knuckles-deep and curls.

Your walls clench down and clamp violently around her fingers in a vice as your climax reaches its limit.

You’re nothing but a drooling mess, head spinning and eyes lidded and blurry with tears, a fog over your mind after experiencing two consecutive orgasms.

In a daze, you faintly register hands cradling you close and lips brushing against your temple, murmured words of praise and adoration spoken to your skin.

You fall asleep between two bodies, covered in sweat and release but in the most content state you’ve ever felt in thousands of years.

✧

Five hundred years later, Venti appears before you and starts whining about you replacing him with Ei and Zhongli.

You laugh and embrace your dearly missed god, telling him that he still holds a special place in your heart and that you’ll always be his Priestess.

5 sundays of kinktober

word count — 4.4k

taglist — @pardofeliscalico @monicahar @monikidk @sunhareskies @thearcanafan @kaeyats @luvrsthrist @xinii @w9vyy @ineedavirtualboyfriend @holynix @karasuneo @rei-vi @shuvvs @miss-fantazmagoria @bunnlatte @shironakuronatasa @leleforpresident @scaranaris-lil-niko

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theweeklydiscourse · 1 year

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I can’t help but find it funny whenever certain Shadow and Bone fans discuss the Darkling’s character and dramatically ponder over his motivations while lamenting what could have been. Like, I agree that he’s a complicated character…just not complicated I’m the way they’re thinking of.

For them it’s like:

“Ah you see the Darkling is such a well-written character because of his nefarious hunger for power cloaked by sympathetic motives. He seeks a noble goal but alas! If only he wasn’t so corrupted by power and just approached the issue of Grisha liberation with diplomacy and talked some sense into the Tsar! Such a simple thing…and yet his greed won out.”

I have found that many criticisms of the Darkling’s larger goals are based on the assumption that his goal is based in a personal desire for power and not a collective one. The idea that his goals of freeing Grisha from exploitation and servitude are not genuine, but rather something that obscures his hidden greed and selfishness. My biggest gripe is that this sort of commentary on the Darkling’s character always reads as a bit self-congratulatory for what is (in my opinion) a misreading of his character.

Also, I heavily dislike the idea that all it would take for him to achieve liberation would be tactics like working within the system, diplomatically appealing to the Tsar or just generally appealing to the humanity of the ruling monarchs. I have to wonder: do these people honestly believe that oppressed groups of people obtain human rights by politely appealing to the ruling class? In Shadow and Bone, the Tsar is not only incompetent but also a serial rapist with unchecked power who benefits immensely from the servitude of Grisha. So why on earth would he just give them rights when he gains so much by keeping them under his thumb? Relying on the mercy and meagre charity of a corrupt ruler is a futile game that will end in failure.

“Oh but his hunger for power-!” His hunger for power that would enable him to do what? At the end of the day, Aleksander needs power to achieve liberation for the Grisha and to protect them from the existential threats they face on nearly every side of the conflict. Tell me, how is he going to accomplish anything from a position of servitude and powerlessness? Would it be more noble of him to just sit quietly and wait for the Lantsovs to come to their senses and realize that Grisha are deserving of equal treatment? How much do the Grisha stand to lose by prioritizing civility and diplomacy when their lives are at stake?

In this situation, power was not a want, but a need. The fact that the narrative consistently frames his quest for power as a bad and greedy goal is so naive and backwards because realistically there is no way for him to accomplish it otherwise! This is echoed in Alina’s efforts to save the country through the Morozova amplifiers and being chided for her greed as a result. Either way, this story has some strange priorities when it comes to discussing oppression and liberation.

#lb critical #shadow and bone #alina starkov #the darkling #s&b critical #s&b salt #s&b netflix #aleksander morovoza #anti leigh bardugo #darklina #anti baghra #shadow and bone meta #s&b fandom #fandom meta

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gartenofbanny · 1 year

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Hell as it is shown in Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel is really underwhelming because Vivziepop for some reason decides to make Hell very similar to Earth which in my opinion limits what can be shown and limits ideas as well. So I'm gonna discuss my problems with the rings that were shown thus far and how other pieces of animated media showcase Hell within their own series.

The Pride Ring

The Pride Ring is one of the main settings of Helluva Boss and will most likely be the only main setting of Hazbin Hotel. Right off the bat, The Pride Ring is literally just any big city, but with a red sky, more clubs and drug stores, and somewhat bizarre-looking buildings such as the Hazbin Hotel. The only creative things I can really think of when thinking about the Pride Ring are the cannibal colony and the fact that certain buildings look bizarre.

There are also signs that tell us what the buildings are or where it's at as if we couldn't have picked up the pieces on our own.

The Cannibal Colony is a location in the Pride Ring with its main residents being cannibals with the entire theme of the place being the early 1900s. It's interesting to me because Sinners were once human, but they don't want to move on from their times and want to stick with it for as long as they want. Plus they're all cannibals you don't see that every day.

Anyway, there are certain buildings shown in HH and HB, and the reason why I believe those are creative is that they don't look like any regular building you can find in the big city. Aside from those two creative stamps, the Pride Ring doesn't have anything else going for it.

Blitzo literally acknowledges this in Seeing Stars as when they went to LA, he literally says that it isn't any different from Hell. Why would I believe that Viv's version of Hell is unique when the character says that it's almost the same as Earth?

The Greed Ring

The Greed Ring is literally just the same as the Pride Ring except with more pollution for some reason and there's a green sky instead of a red one. That's all it is and it's very underwhelming because I really expected the Greed Ring to be very different, not just another Pride Ring but with a changed color scheme. At least there are more neighborhoods so that's something different from the Pride Ring, but nothing different compared to Earth

The Sloth Ring

The Sloth Ring similar to the Pride Ring and the Greed Ring is a big city with a different color scheme. Instead, it's more unique compared to the Greed and Pride Ring because it has floating rocks that hold buildings and it actually looks less chaotic and dangerous compared to the two previous Rings. But alas, that's the only thing that really makes this Ring unique.

The Wrath Ring

The Wrath Ring is the most unique and stand-out Ring of Hell in Helluva Boss as of making this blog. It has a Western cowboy theme to it which is something you don't really see on Earth at face value, the Wrath Ring has unique wildlife like Striker's horse or the hog that Striker killed. Yeah, they are similar to the wildlife that's on Earth, but they're actually really strong and look hellish.

There are volcanoes in the Wrath Ring which makes sense as to why the animals look a certain way because they were born there. Plus the volcanoes look very pretty as well.

I basically described the Rings that we were shown thus far because there's a running theme with most of them and that theme is, the Rings are a big city with a different color scheme. The only Ring that's actually different and creative is the Wrath Ring and it's telling a lot when one out of the four Rings of Hell is actually creative. There are two indie animation projects that I believe represent Hell way better than Vivziepop does. Those projects are "Welcome to Hell" by Erica Wester and "Satina" by Hannah Daigle

Welcome to Hell

While Hell itself isn't really shown in Welcome to Hell, the entire concept of it is that Hell is currently being renovated by the ruler Mephistopheles and that every sinner isn't suffering at least not now. So first off, Sinners actually suffer the consequences of their actions at least for a time they did but due to this lack of suffering and chaos, Mephistopheles is losing his shit.

To Mephistopheles, Hell is similar to a business but when it's out of control he tries to make the most of it. I don't know why Mephistopheles wants Sock to convince Jonathan to off himself, but I believe it will be answered in the next episode. All and all, Wester's version of Hell is actually good in my opinion because it's what we expect and I like the fact that Mephistopheles views Hell more like a business instead of a circus like Lucifer from HH. If you haven't checked out Welcome to Hell, I suggest you all do so and stick around for the second episode or installment. It's on Erica Wester's Youtube Channel.

Satina

Satina is an indie series created by Hannah Daigle and with her latest teaser of Satina Season 1 being released, I can safely say that Hannah's version of Hell looks 10X better than Viv's version. And it wasn't even a full showcase of Hell either. What was shown to us was very unexpected. Her version of Hell is something I never even predicted and that's what makes her version leagues better than Vivziepop's, it's unpredictable and creative. The four horsemen of the apocalypse are literally inside a bar that's most likely alive. Not to mention the humor in the teaser is also much better than Helluva Boss'. The designs of the demons are all unique and not just tall stick figure people in suits.

But anyway, long story short, Viv's version of Hell is just barely creative and is quite boring which is disappointing because you can do so much with Hell. We don't know what Hell looks like or if it even exists, you can come up with a lot of creative ideas for Hell and I'm pretty sure that people will like it because we don't know what it looks like. But making Hell just Earth 2.0 is disappointing because I and some other people want to see something different but what's done is done.

Thank you all for reading and I hope you all have a nice day! ❤️

#helluva boss #helluva boss critical #vivziepop critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop criticism #helluva critical #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel criticism #hell #vivziepop #hazbin hotel critique #vivienne medrano

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heartofsnark · 11 months

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A Simple Request For An Unsimple Man (Gale x Fem!Oc Tav)

Author's note: Hello, it's certainly been a minute since I've been able to post fic here without worrying about formatting bullshit (love so much that my longest running fic can't be posted here because it relies on italics/formatting techniques within the first 50ish chapters and tumblr makes that a headache)But, I've found myself sinking a bit into BG3/Gale hell and after some prompting my @shallow-gravy about a comment I left about Gale being able to summon a bed, I decided this might be a fun idea and oops have a thirty page one shot! So, have something featuring my tav- Petra and Gale. Still not sure of what I"m doing with these characters, but hey~

Summary: Petra and Gale are more than a little clumsy in the ways that they love, both having their own significant dry spell when it comes to romance and sexual desires. And while the two have shared themselves within the weave, Petra has made a simple request to share their physical bodies as well. Gale is not good at simple.

Warnings: Unprotected vaginal sex, praise kinks, creampies, cunnilingus (tav/petra in this is a cis female woman), fingering, mutual masturbation, tooth-rotting fluff (turns out I write fluff now), soft!dom Gale, and magical sex mishaps.

Petra's mind has been a maelstrom of worries for quite a while now, however, if someone had told her that amidst tadpoles, cults, and shadow cursed lands that her mind would be consumed with matters of the heart and loins- well, she'd think they were crazy.

But, perhaps she's the crazy one.

She never expected to love again, never expected to find someone who felt like home, or makes her heart stutter on every other beat. But she never expected to have a tadpole shoved into her eye or to pull a wizard from a stone- let alone for that very wizard be the one doing this to her. Life is full of surprises, as is her lover.

Ugh, gods- she has a lover.

The very thought makes her face burn, her heart pound, and her guts twist. If she didn't know any better she'd think herself ill, but alas- she's learned that's merely Gale's influence on her. The wizard needed no charms or illusions to win her affection, but he warned her early on- well before either of them had realized what was growing between them, that he had a taste for grand gestures.

And grand they were.

He conjured her stars and shifting auroras against an ink black night, he showed her his home, his sanctuary without her needing to step a foot into Waterdeep. And he plucked their very souls from their bodies, to kiss and touch and merge within a realm beyond their own. Glittering blue forms, never knowing quite where his touch ended and hers began, surrounded and consumed by him. An electric blur of his touch over her very being.

She would have been content with a flower and a bowl of his deer stew, but who is she to turn down the adoration fueled gestures of a man she does not deserve.

Which in part is why she can't help but suspect she might be being just a touch greedy…

Made all the worse by her greed and insecurity tugging her mind back and forth between them like rabid dogs would a slice of steak.

In some ways she's already done the hardest part, confessing her desire to Gale felt like a herculean task in itself, a stumble of poorly put together words while her face burned hotter than Karlach's engine. But ultimately, she got the message across and Gale as always was far too eager to oblige.

Though, he seems intent to oblige her request in his Gale way of obliging.

Because, you see, her request is incredibly simple. Despite her anxiety and insecurity- she wants to fuck Gale the old fashioned way. She loved the way they bonded before and truly will jump to do it again, but she just can't help but also want the more mundane variety. To feel flesh and bone, to touch his skin, to press her lips against his throat and feel his pulse race beneath her tongue. This of course means he'll also be seeing her naked properly without blue blurry auras smoothing out her every- less excited for that, but her desire for him outweighs her shame for herself.

And this simple request, frankly- could have been sated nearly the moment it was made in the privacy of his tent. He needed only to roll her onto her back or pull her to straddle his hips, a few garments tossed aside, the dark providing her with some some cloaking while still getting to feel and see him- gods bless darkvision.

But that would be far too simple, her request instead met with a wide smile a; "Say no more, consider it done, my love," a kiss goodnight, and the looming knowledge that he was planning something.

So, perhaps surprise is too strong a word when she returns to camp after a brief walk alone to find her companions snickering and Gale's mirror image standing outside his tent. Thin ripples of weave radiating through an otherwise perfect copy of her favorite wizard. She knows it could be perfect, saw him make one perfect before- the imperfections intentional, to let her know it's not him and instead a messenger.

Petra skirts past her chattering friends, pretending she doesn't feel several sets of eyes following her as she stands before the replication of her dearest. Who merely beams with that bright smile that she's come to adore, even if it's merely a simulacrum of it.

"Heh, I take it Gale has some plans for us tonight?" She whispers towards the mirror image, trying to keep prying ears from learning too much. Not that her and Gale are secretive about their relationship by any means, but not every one of their friends needs to know when they're having sex.

"That he does and I have the most wonderous task of taking you to see him, words cannot begin to express how eager he is to see you tonight," the mirror image chirps, not even a hint of shame or volume control as his eyes burn with that same flame of adoration the real Gale always seems to carry- her face flushing beneath its heat.

"Ugh, hells you two are going to make me throw up a perfectly good meal, would you please take your simpering gazes elsewhere," Astarion calls out from around the campfire, a hint of a smile in his words, then his lips when Petra turns to glower at him.

"I hardly think whatever shadow cursed vermin you've managed to snack on out here counts as a good meal- but rest assured, I am leaving."

"But of course- after all your little magician is so very eager," he mocks again and if he weren't her friend, she'd kick his arse- still might.

"Oh lay off her, Fangs- it's cute, like two pups wagging their tails at each other."

"I believe nauseating is the word you're looking for," Shadowheart chimes in, "I mean really, not a drop of shame between the two, every time he leaves behind one of those mirror images- he might as well just declare that they're about to go rut around in the woods all night."

"Date nights are perfectly healthy for a newly bonded couple-"

"Dates- is that what you think they're doing out there? In the middle of nowhere, alone- you think they're, what, chatting about their favorite books over a glass of wine?" Astarion cuts Wyll off, incredulous that he would refer to Petra and Gale's outings as a date.

"I mean, wouldn't really be all that shocked if they were- it is Gale, after all…"

"Regardless, I think seeing our friends form such a union is something to be celebrated not mocked."

"Their carnal desires are hardly any of our concern, so long as they remain vigilant in battle- however, I must say I do find it curious that the wizard always seeks to be hunted, he might as well submit outright if he cannot best her in combat."

"Oh, I'm sure he does plenty of submitting."

"I don't know 'bout that, Petra may be bossier but look at the poor thing- redder than a devil's arsehole, probably turns into a mess the moment clothes start comin' off."

Petra grasps the mirror image's arm, her face burning hot and no doubt just as red as Karlach said. She hisses between gritted teeth; "Get me the fuck out of here."

"Your wish is my command, now- let us find more pleasant company," he assures her, quickly walking her away from the camp as their friends speculate about their sex life.

"And by that, you mean yourself," she teases, leaning against the mirror image's arm. The conjured form isn't a perfect match, both from the rippling static like eminence of weave and it being a little less shameful than her Gale. But it carries his warmth, his smell- like the innards of an old library, cozy and welcoming.

"Would you have it any other way?"

"Gods no," she admits, burrowing her face into his arm, hiding her flushed cheeks from his view.

"Careful now, I'd hate to be jealous of myself," Gale's voice rings out, more alive, more human and not right beside her- her head shoots up, the sky is bathed in shifting colors and twinkling lights. Her Gale just a short walk away; "Though I can hardly blame you, he is quite handsome."

And that’s all she needs, letting go of the mirror image, the half-elf rushes towards him- the real him, a small laugh escaping Gale’s lips as she throws her arms around him. As nice as the fake one is, it will never feel as good as touching the real thing. His heat seeping in between their clothes, warming her skin- that must of old books and lavender offset slightly by the salt of his sweat. His large hands holding her in kind, one settling on the small of her back and the other stroking through her hair. She takes a deep breath, a heavy inhale and exhale of him, before finally lifting her head ever so slightly- enough to look up at him,

The way he looks at her could melt all of Frostfell. Those soft brown eyes looking at her like she’s hung the stars and moon, all the while he’s the one who’s conjured the sky above them.

“A good evening to you too,” he greets, smiling so sweetly and she stands up on her tiptoes- Gale meeting her need as she presses a kiss to that very smile. The warm press of his mouth against hers sending heat and butterflies through her very veins, she breaks back before she can get carried away. Not wanting to ruin his plans, but struggling to stifle the desire to kiss him until her lungs ache.

“Good evening,” she hums back instead, squeezing him tighter, her eyes looking around the wide field bathed in the glow of soft purples and blues. It’s largely familiar, the same space and view he created the night he brought their very souls together- when he confessed his fear, his love, and so much more. Where she pleaded for him to stay, for him to live.

Though with one very new addition to the expanse of field- an extraordinarily out of place bed. Lavish and lush with deep indigo blankets, bathed in the glow of the sky and the burning of a torch mounted in the ground beside it- the addition betraying the reason they’re here tonight.

“You know what I can’t help but notice?” Petra remarks after a beat of silence, a quiet moment of simply sinking into one another’s hold- blinking up at her wizard.

“My dashing good looks?”He asks, a small smile and a raise of his brow.

“Mm, yes, but no more than usual,” she plays along, smiling against him. Knotting her fingers in the plush purple of his tunic,debating on if she should slip her hands beneath the fabric- wanting to feel more of his skin.

“My brilliant mind and ever expanding intellect?”

“Well, that just goes without saying,” she assures him, heaping on the praise for him.

“Hmm, than it must be my veritable wealth of charm and wit.”

“Close and before you ask- no, it’s not your modesty either,” she teases, scratching her nails over his back through his shirt- trying to sate her ache to touch him, “What I can’t help but notice is that whenever you pull me away for a night via your mirror image- it seems to mean I’m the one left dealing with the whispers of our companions.”

He grimaces slightly, somewhat between amusement and annoyance; “Ah, yes, a… much unfortunate consequence, but one we simply can’t avoid, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, is that so?” She teases, laughing through her smile, “Funny how that unavoidable consequence seems to benefit you.”

“Life is full of those funny little mysteries, I think it wise to embrace- not question, these curiosities.”

“Thats quite a fancy way of saying you intend to keep throwing me to the wolves,” she chirps, pulling a hand back to slap him playfully in the ribs, he merely laughs because he knows exactly what he’s doing; “Do you know that right now, at this very moment- our friends gossiping like hens about which one us… takes the lead?”

“Ah, yes, I’m… terribly sorry to have missed that conversation.”

“And yet, I suspect you’re not sorry at all,” she comments, reaching upward she strokes through his hair- tracing a streak of gray that curls around his ear, soft brown strands slipping between her fingers. He’s so lucky he’s so damned adorable.

“Oh, but I am- absolutely contrite that I could not steal you away before their sordid chatter reached your ears- after all, I’m no more keen on our proclivities being the subject of discussion than you are,” he admits and she hums, a small smirk on her lips as he continues on, trying to insist he definitely feels bad about leaving the gossipy shit for her to handle.

“Perhaps not, but you do seem keen on leaving me to handle it.” She points out again, cradling his jaw- his beard scratching her palm as she rubs her thumb along his cheekbone. Petra often wonders if he minds the callouses that cling to her skin. Her flesh so much rougher than his, he leans into her touch, presses his jaw to her hand.

“And my apologies are most sincere, however if you still find yourself unconvinced- perhaps I can show you the depth of my remorse?” He asks, pressing his forehead to hers, lips a breath away, “You need only ask, demand any penance you deem fit- and I will gladly pay it.”

“Is that so?”

“There is no sin against you, no matter size or severity, that I would not repent for.”

“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t mind a kiss,” she admits, the only thought on her mind when his face is so close to hers- when his lips are just a breath away. When one tilt of her head, one jolt would crash their lips together.

“Hmm, I think you may not have a full understanding of what penance means, my dear, typically-”

“Gale,” she says, looking up at him with the sternest eyes she can manage- no doubt stopping him from prattling off the definition of penance. Because she’s in love with a sentient thesaurus.

“Yes.”

“You have until the count of three to kiss me and if you don’t- I’m going to bite you,” she threatens, not sure how much she wants him to listen- she does like biting him, “One-”

“Thinking over my options,” he chimes, sing songy as he seems equally unsure of which choice he likes more.

“Two.”

“I do rather like your love bites, but your kisses are quite enchanting as well.”

“Thr-”

His lips press to hers, deeper than before. One of her hands twists in his tunic, the other in the his hair. He cradles her jaw and lower back, pulling each other closer, she can’t help the small sigh of happiness and bliss as his tongue pushes into her mouth. The faintest taste of his cooking still on his tongue, a hint of mint where he tried to clear it out- maybe she should have been so kind.

Their kisses are still clumsy, a slightly awkward press and swirl of tongues, both single and isolated for a year or more. But it feels like warmth and love and home in a way she can’t define, heat simmering between her thighs when the hand on her back moves lower. A broad palm playfully squeezing at her ass, tugging her closer, the grope of his fingers sinking into the plush of her flesh- a soft moan echoing from her throat, muffled by his tongue.

They break apart, breathing ragged- hot puffs of air across each other’s lips. She can feel the heat clinging to the apples of her cheeks, mirrored in the flush that creeps beneath Gale’s beard. Petra grins up at his beautiful red face, the brown of his eyes nearly swallowed by the black of his pupil.

“Three,” she whispers, catching his lower lip between her teeth and nipping playfully at the kiss swollen flesh. Gale groans, deep and throaty, sending molten heat right to her cunt. His lips pulls out from between her teeth as he pulls her into a desperate hungered kiss.

It’s deeper than the last, even more ravenous and rough, both of his hands now groping at her backside- kneading at her flesh, feeling his fingers sinking into the plush of her flesh through her clothing. Wishing his hands were beneath her clothes, on her skin, pressing into her properly.

She tugs at his hair, scratches her nails along his scalp as he kisses her deeper and deeper, her lungs burning by the time she feels the back of her thighs bumping something soft. Breaking off the kiss to see she’s somehow been staggered back to the bed. It’s plush blankets and rows of pillows beckoning her. She can’t help but giggle.

“Couldn’t settle for a dirty bedroll, could you?” She teases, stealing another soft kiss.

“The least I could do for your comfort, time spent together in the flesh should be no less beautiful than that spent in the celestial- whatever way you’ll have me, I wish only to make it perfect for you.”

“Then… wish no more,” she murmurs, voice soft as she avoids the intensity of his gaze, the adoration that consumes his words and expression, “You’re here with me, I could not imagine anything more perfect than that.”

“Careful now, keep talking that way- you may never be rid of me,” he tries to joke, to tease- but when she forces herself to look back up at him, she can see the flush of his cheeks deepening as his smile widens.

And with everything that still hangs in the air- Mystra’s unreasonable request, the knowledge that a part of him still doesn’t feel certain of whether he’ll see the end of this journey. The fact he may still make that choice, that he very well still might leave her in some desperate attempt to save the world. She throws her arms tight around his neck, latches her nails into his skin as she tugs him closer, closer. His nose bumping her own, his forehead back flush against hers.

“I truly hope that I could be so lucky,” she rushes out, reiterating her wish- her plead again. That he’ll stay here with her, that she will never be rid of him- that on the other side of this whole ordeal is a future where his story stays enmeshed with her own. That she’ll not have to lose another love, not sure her heart could stand it.

Then it’s another clash of lips, tongue, and teeth- not even sure who started this one, both desperate to get their mouths on each other. And for a moment, she feels herself lifted, feet off the air- she giggles into his kiss before the world shifts every so slightly, her back thumping down onto the soft blankets. Her weight sinking into the plush of the mattress, Gale smiling at her lowers a knee to the bed and climbs up, settling above her.

Adoration, the word comes to mind over and over again whenever he looks at her. Brown eyes soft and clear with nothing but that emotion, letting it sink in through her skin and into her bones, consuming her wholly. She never thought she loved brown eyes so much, disliking her own for so long- but on him they’re so beautiful. Warm and filled with more love than she’s could ever hope to deserve.

She cups his face and pulls him down for another kiss, never satisfied. He said before that moment with her could sate him for a lifetime and while the sentiment still rattles her to her very soul- she can’t say she relates, feeling as if she could have a million with him and still beg for one more, for another, another, another. Not enough time in the universe for how much she wishes to spend with him.

Her hands tug at his tunic, reaching one beneath- no longer able to suppress the desperate need to just touch him. To feel his skin beneath her fingers, warm flesh and coarse body hair, the soft skin of his stomach. A layer of plush with a hint of firmer muscle beneath, when she presses a little harder. Their lips part again as Gale leans back onto his knees, which sink into the bed on either side of her hips.

She skims her hands down his hips and thighs as Gale grips at his shirt, tugging it off- carefully putting it aside. Petra’s eyes roaming the open exposed flesh of his chest and stomach. The celestial version of him gorgeous, but not truly doing him justice. Smooth glowing blue aura not showing the dark body hair that scatters across his chest, trailing down his stomach and leading to below his waistband. The occasional freckle and even rarer scar that decorate his skin.

Even the mark on his chest, the symbol where the orb took root in his chest. Bruised in the middle, tendrils sweeping out from it- the ones that curl up the left side of his throat growing fainter as they stretch out to vanish beneath his beard- connected faintly to the prominent veins that ghost below his eye. She hates what that thing has done to him, how it’s hurt him- how it’s not being used as a threat against his very life, but even that she finds beautiful on his flesh. The mark of his mistakes, of his devotion to one who never deserved it, proof of him as a man who sought love in worship. His folly is as much a part of the man she loves as every virtue he carries in kind.

“Fuck,” she curses, all the words she can utter as she gazes at him. Admiring every inch of his body that’s been revealed to her. Realizing she’s rarely seen him shirtless, not counting the celestial plane and a few brief, awkward mistakes while navigating river baths in the early days of their travel. How odd that they’ve been so deeply intimate, yet she can’t say she’s seen him fully naked.

Which means he has yet to see her fully naked as well- which scares her even more than the tadpole gnawing at the inside of her skull.

“If you ever sought to deflate my ego, I must say- you’re doing a terrible job at it,” he teases, a brilliant grin on his face as her own burns with heat.

"As if I'd ever embark on a such a fool's errand," she taunts, skimming her hands upward and feeling the heat of his skin. Raking her nails along his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath her hand, biting her tongue to not make any comments about belly rubs.

"Hmm, given your…tendencies, forgive me if I remain unconvinced."

She lets out a breath of a laugh- "You know, you're astoundingly disagreeable, for a man attempting to bed me."

"Not to add to the matter, but I do believe we've past the point of 'attempting.'"

"I swear to the gods, I'm gonna learn magic just so I can cast silence on you one of these days," she threatens, pinching playfully at his flesh.

"And I'd be honored to teach you, but for now- I hope finding other uses for my mouth will suffice," he offers, dipping down to kiss her again, bracing one hand to the pillows by her head- the other cupping her jaw. His thumb brushing along her cheekbone, a soft sigh muffled by his tongue pushing into her mouth. Her hands roam his torso, unable to settle fully on which part of him she wants to touch- his stomach, chest, sides, back, and shoulders all feeling so perfect beneath her fingers.

His warm wide palm brushes down her jaw to her neck, heat and sparks rising to her skin wherever his fingers touch. Unable to help the way she squirms beneath his mouth and hands, the soft noises she whimpers into his kiss, against his tongue as her own presses into his mouth in kind. Burning heat aches between her thighs, barely touched but even the faintest of his kisses or the briefest brush of his fingers pulls desperation from her very soul. Pathetic in her need for him,

Gale's hand leaves her skin for a moment, already cold without his touch, she drags her nails along his shoulder blades- tries to pull him down closer. Then his hand finds her ribs, presses against her side molten warm on her chilled skin. Caught between relishing in the brush of his fingers and the way her insecurities make her body go rigid. Her hope that he may not notice dashed the moment their kiss breaks apart, ragged breath and flushed face not betraying the concern that knits his brows- the worry carved into every line of his face.

"Is everything alright?" He asks, voice lower and rougher, lips swollen and wet- strands of hair beginning to fall and stick against the sweat that beads along his forehead.

"Yeah, yes, of course," she insists, her own voice rougher than she expects as she tries to cram down the bubble of anxiety in her ches- desperate not to ruin her or Gale's night.

"Petra, I would never claim you to be an open book, but you are one that I feel most adept at reading- though, I could still clearly still use some slight guidance and for that I'll need your words. Tell me what is wrong, so I may make it right, please," he tries again, with more words and more conviction- his hand lifting to brush her hair behind her ear, his thumb dragging along the sensitive point. A little chill curls along her spine in response.

"It's nothing, really," she murmurs, smoothing her palm along his neck- tracing along the tendrils of blacked raised flesh that curls from the orb. Wondering again, if the callouses and scars of her hands bother him.

His hands are softer than hers, more versed in flipping book pages and casting spells than hunting or stealing. He's mentioned spas and bathhouses in Waterdeep, and she wonders what balms or lotions he'd be using were their supplies not so limited. He's not without his scars, she knows- but even the raised flesh feels softer on his body than hers. Subtle faded burns from cooking and casting mishaps alike, a raised crease on his forehead from summoning a toy he wanted as a child- only to have the wooden train set appear and thunk down atop his head.

Her scars and memories aren't so kind. No stories as sweet or kind. No fuzzy nostalgia for raised lashmarks on her back or thighs. No warm feelings about the scar across her lip, the only thing her mother deemed fit to let her keep, the same scar Gale must feel every time they kiss.

Gale has suffered truly and she would never suggest otherwise, she'd sooner fist fight Mystra than deny the pain he's endured, the pain he is still enduring. However, when he hears him talk of his childhood, his mother, Tara, his education- she can't help but feel like a tragedy in comparison. A pitiful thing next to him. Nowhere near worthy of his adoration, his efforts, his love…

"If it weighs on your mind, then it is not nothing."

"Okay, so… it's nothing, but it is silly," she tells him, scratching her thumbnail through his beard, hoping to distract him.

"Then if it is so silly and inconsequential, there will be no harm in telling me, will there?" He says, her nose wrinkling, he's so stubborn, "My aim is not to push you into telling me anything, but what kind of man would I be to notice your discomfort and continue on as if I hadn't?"

"Okay, okay- if you must make sense," she huffs and pouts, chews on her lip and avoids his gaze as she turns her head to the side, "I just am a little…insecure. Without the weave smoothing out my scars, blurring my freckles, and softening me- well, it helped make me someone worth touching."

Her admission hangs in the air for a moment, her chest rigid with tension and swollen with a bubble of anxiety. He must think she's exhausting, asking this of him then getting so worked up over it. Her desire for him outweighing but not fully dealing away with her own insecurities. Truthfully, she'd have been content to strip Gale down,kiss and touch him to her heart's content- while never letting his hands graze her. But, he always has a way of taking the lead when it comes to these things. A fact that can never make its way back to camp.

A soft kiss presses to the side of her lips, where that scar cuts jaggedly through them. Another against her jaw, her forehead, her cheeks as warm welcoming hands cup her face.

"Look at me, my love." He brings her gaze to his. Her heart lurches up into her throat, skin burning beneath the intensity of Gale's expression. "There is no plane or realm or state of being in which you are anything less than a person worth touching. You are my hope and my light- and no matter how or where you are presented to me, you will always be the most beautiful thing I have set my eyes on. The stars, the moon, the sun, the very heavens themselves- you put them all to shame…"

She feels like she's been set ablaze. Her face nearly glowing with its heat, eyes wet, and the chill of the night a distant memory as his words burn through her very being. And he means them, gods help her- he means them. Able to hear and feel the conviction in every syllable, see his earnestness in the lines of his expression, in the spark alight in his eyes. And she will never know what she did to deserve him and she will always fear that she may lose him, but she is so happy to have him,

"Ugh, gods, fuck- Gale," she curses, stuttering on her words because she has nowhere near his grasp on the English language, "I don't really know how the hells I'm supposed to argue with that."

"So don't," he says, the request surprising in its brevity. His lips press to the corner of her eye, Petra realizing a moment too late that tears had started to streak down her face.

He kisses down the path of her tears, her jaw, her neck craning to the side as he buries his face against her throat. Feverish and heavy kisses across her skin, her arms wrap tight around his back- digging her nails into his shoulder blades as he bites tenderly at her skin, laving his tongue across the sting he left behind. She groans as he sucks harshly, nips at her pulse point, and she can't help but squeeze her thighs together- trying to get a bit of relief, everything he does just making her needier.

She curls her hand into his hair, twisting the silver streaked strands around her fingers as Gale kisses along her collarbone. Careful as his teeth graze where the skin stretches thinner over bone, the briefest edge of pain soothed over by the lap of his tongue. She moves the hand not tugging at his hair down his chest, skimming down his stomach, and finally presses her open palm to his groin- feeling his cock hardening in his pants, the heat of him through the fabric. A rough, nearly pained groan echoes against her collarbone. His forehead suddenly pressed to her shoulder, twitching beneath her touch.

“Too much?” She whispers against his ear, worried she may have pushed too far too soon. Far too aware despite her eagerness that neither of them have had physical sex in a year or more- probably more, considering his time with Mystra.

“No such thing with you,” he says through a raspy breath, his lips catching hers again as his hands brush up her sides- warm open palms stroking up the taunt freckled skin of her stomach. Stoking a fire that burns inside of her, heat rising to the very surface of her flesh as grinds her palm against him. Desperate to give him even a hint of the same heat burning in her.

His movements halt as his fingers brush the edge of her cropped nightshirt, kiss breaking as his eyes meet hers, a surprisingly silent request from her wizard. Reluctantly, she pulls her hands from his hair and cock, Gale provides her the space as she sits up to hook her fingers beneath the edges of her shirt and tug it up off over her head. Petra tosses it aside, shaking out her hair and trying not to overthink being naked from the waist up.

Every fiber of her being screams that she should cover her chest, having gained some weight since traveling with Gale- his cooking having put a few pounds on her, but sadly none of those managed to reach her tits. Small and fuller at the bottom than the top, freckled like damn near every other inch of her.

But as always, there is nothing sheer adoration in Gale’s eyes and with a little press of his palm on her sternum her back is hitting the sheets again. The blankets and pillows all the softer on her bare skin, sinking down into the blush of it. Warmth of the sheets and his hand a contrast to the chill of the open air that’s snuck back in, her nipples stiffening as a breeze taunts her.

Her legs spread for him as he moves closer, allowing him to slot himself between her thighs- a gasp on her tongue when his cock brushes against her core. Cloth grinding against her wet clit, feeling the outline of him against her. She groans and tries to wrap her legs around his hips, only for his hand to find her thigh- a steady palm pressing it back against the mattress. And his other hand finds hers, his large warm palm eclipsing hers, fingers intertwining with her own- as he presses another quick kiss to her lips, the next to her collarbones, another to the top of her breasts, then the heat of his mouth is around her nipple.

“Fuck,” she curses, a hiss of breath as pleasure sparks across her skin- Gale sucks harshly at her chest, teasing her nipple with his tongue, just the hint of his teeth on the fullest part of her breast, and the scratch of his beard on her skin.

She whines and whimpers, fingers knotting in his hair- his hands on her hand and thigh keeping her pinned beneath his weight, only able to arch and squirm against his mouth. Her hips try to writhe on instinct, trying to find friction against her core, trying to refind it. But he presses a little harder on her thigh, keeping his full weight off her, too much empty space between them for her to be sated. A frustrated whine in her throat as he pulls off her breast with a soft wet sound, not offering her any relief to her core or even acknowledgement of his torture, only a small hungry groan as he takes her other breast into his mouth.

The air feels even colder on her spit slick chest, nipple swollen and redder, a scratch of flushed beard burn left behind. Sharp contract making her squirm all the more as he makes the other match. Her sounds pathetic and needy, as he teases her sensitive chest. Every swipe of his tongue, brush of his teeth, scratch of his beard, and hungry reverberating groan against her skin sends a pulse of pleasure between her thighs.

“Gale,please,” she keens, not even sure what she’s begging for, more or less- if she’s squirming to press herself tighter to his face or trying to escape the laving of his tongue on her body. But she can only whine when her cry is met with a groan that echoes against her, reverberates in her bones, seeps through her veins, and settles in the wet heat between her thighs.

His lips pull away from her chest, the hand that had been pressed into hers slips away- palm stroking down her forearm, along her collarbones as Gale’s mouth moves lower. Soft kisses beneath the curve of her breast, down the middle of her stomach, his thumb brushing over her nipple- his fingers nearly chasing after his mouth as he moves down her body. Lips kissing over her belly button as he squeezes at her breast, the sink of his hands into the squish of her chest, large warm hand groping and teasing while he works his mouth even lower.

“Gale,” she whines again, as he presses her thigh tighter to the bed, his beard scratching just at the waistband of her pants. His hand skims down from her breast, fingers pressing soft divots into her hip. Then hook into her waist band, her thigh released finally as he mirrors the gesture of his other.His deep brown eyes looking up as her.

“May-”

“Please,” she cuts him off, hissing her consent, the ragged sound of his voice only making her desparate for more of him. He smiles, far too sweet for a man about to strip her naked- another soft kiss beneath her navel and then he’s tugging her clothes down.

She does her best to make it easy for him, lifting her hips as he rolls the fabric down them, moving her legs as needed when he finally yanks the clothes from her body. Her dearest magician having made sure to grab her underwear with them as well. Petra laid completely bare before him, The air just as cold on the slick heat of her cunt as it’s been to her split slick breasts. A chill curling along her spine, reminding her that despite the plush mattress and the soft downy blankets hugging her skin, they’re unmistakably outside. Conjured bed in the midst of the field, twinkling stars and kaleidoscopes of colors still dancing over head- bathing her blush touched skin in their glow.

Petra presses a hand to her mouth, trying halfway to hide her crimson face as her other hand hovers to hide her cunt. She can’t imagine the sight she must make- red faced, tangled hair against the pillow, throat mottled by his teeth, chest marked with saliva, the red scratch of beard burn lingering along her flesh and slick clinging to the meat of her thighs. The mess his mouth has made of her on full display.

His fingers are warm and reverant when they wrap around her wrist, plucking her hand from where it covers her cunt- exposing her even further as he presses a kiss to her palm.

“None of that, my love,” he whispers against her skin. Her nose wrinkles, heat still burning through her face- no words find her, so she pulls her hand from her mouth and sticks her tongue out at him. Feeling his smile against her palm, a soft nip of teeth against her wrist.

His hand falls away from her wrist, Petra scratches her nails through his beard before allowing her own to drop. A gasp catching in her throat when the broad warmth of his palms presses against both of her thighs. Her knees bending as she allows him to spread her further apart, even more exposed- even more on display than she felt before. His deep brown eyes reverent and nearly eclipsed by his pupils as he looks down at her slick cunt- Petra squirms against the sheets and the press of his hands.

“Gods,” he breathes out, her heart stuttering in her chest, “I could study for ages, read every tome and scroll in all of Faerun and still never be able to conjure a more beautiful sight than you.”

“Gale…” She whines, burying her face in her hands- burning beneath his gaze and words, how can he say these things without a singular fucking drop of shame? And how can he mean every single word of it?

“I’m right here, love,” he answers, pressing his face into her inner thigh- soft lips and the scratch of his beard, her breathing hitches as he kisses her flesh. Another moving further inward, along her skin. His tongue licking the slick that clings to her, his teeth nipping bruises into her thigh.

She squirms and writhes, anticipation coiling tight inside of her, only one goal with the direction of his kisses. Every lick and bite jolting phantom pleasure to her cunt, insides clenching and aching for something more direct, to feel that scratch of his beard and the lave of his tongue where she needs it most. No matter how embarassing the idea is. Need outweighing shame.

And as he moves further between her thighs, he lowers himself down, closer and closer- the skin feeling all the more sensitive as he nears her cunt. His hands and arms shifting, pushing beneath her thighs- a warm support of flesh and bone, his palms settling on her hips, before pressing down. His steady hold preventing her squirming, pinning her in place as he sucks a harsh mark into her skin.

“Please, Gale,” she whimpers, twisting both her hands into his hair, trying to squirm her hips to no avail.

“You have not an ounce of patience, do you?” He murmurs against her thigh, blunt edges of his teeth nipping at her flesh.

“Absolutely fucking not, not with you,” she whines, words burbling out, “I need you, please.”

A smile pressed into her skin and she can see it in her mind, even if she can’t through her thigh- she bites her tongue, waiting for his words to spill forth again. Waits for more waiting. Waits for another three part sentence and enough verbiage to put a dictionary to shame, all needed before he may finally put his fucking mouth on her.

The brush of breath on her wet cunt, his head shifting between her thighs- beneath her fingers and the heavy lave of his tongue through her center. Pleasure shockwaves through her, a half stuttered curse on her lips as her hips jolt and her fingers dig into his scalp. His hands press down harsher on her hips, mattress and blankets denting beneath her, keeping her still as the heat of his mouth consumes her every thought and feeling.

A practised tongue works her over, laving through her slit, dipping inside of her and lapping at the slick that rushes out of her. Each swipe of his tongue only drawing more from her, making her cunt clench around his tongue, feeling herself soak the scratch of his beard. A hungry groan against her, reverberating and twisting the coil inside of her tighter, sounding like a man starved- her insides burn, her hips try to writhe, to find even more friction as his tongue traces every inch of her.

Groans and wet noises against her, echoing and hanging in the open air, mingling with the nonsense of whines and pleads that she can’t seem to stop. Body and voice hardly her own as she's taken apart by every hungry lick into her cunt, pleasure burning hotter and coil dragging tighter.

A bump of his nose against her swollen clit and she's thrown over the edge, embarrassingly easy, a thunder of pleasure through her veins- coil snapping and body on fire as it consumes her very being. Only distantly aware that she's thrashing, gasping, and pressing down harsher on Gale's skull as her body jolts. Pleasure ravages her, his tongue and lips toying with her clit all the while, Gale burying his face into her as he pushes her end further and further, harsh sucks on her swollen flesh, pushing her back into ecstasy's grip anytime it threatens to let her go.

Not so much as cumming again, but Gale refusing to let her stop. Drawing her pleasure out, the faintest sign of it waning met with a firm nearly painful swipe of his tongue or suck against her clit, tracing patterns against it that her blanking mind can’t make sense of- only able to call his name and thrash beneath him, as pleasure edges to near pain.

And finally, he pulls away from her, orgasm crashing down and away to faint tremors versus an active quake. Her throat raw and aching from the noises he pulled from her, cunt throbbing and clenching at the sudden relief and gut wrenching absence- both somehow existing at once. Both missing his mouth and happy to be afforded the chance to come down from her high.

Her breaths are ragged and raw, coming back to her body. Shame aching painfully in her chest, needling at her hammering heart. The first physical bodily orgasm wrung from her by another’s hand in two years. Brought to her end by the stray bump against her clit. Her celestial form not only prettier, but able to endure far more- it seems.

And that shame only grows as the world fully returns to her, realizing just how tight her hands are wrenched in his hair- how harshly she’s pressing against his skull. His breath ragged and hot against her wet thigh, slick with sweat and more. And she can hear how out of breath he is, how she nearly stole the very air from his lungs- nearly drowned him in her.

“So-sorry,” she whispers, letting him go and hiding behind her hands, hating how desperate and ragged her voice is, “I uh, shit- didn’t mean to- I could’ve suffocated you, I’m so sorry, fuck-”

For all her begging him to live, to stay- she nearly killed him with her fucking vagina. Because of fucking course that’s something she’d do. A pathetic excuse for a person, a lover, and just an existing thing.

A huff of breath from him, hot on her already burning skin- it’s light and bubbles into a small laugh, another kiss to her thigh. The bed shifts beneath her, his arms and hands pulling away- Petra dares to peek between her fingers. Gale moves over her- his cheeks ruddy with exertion, his hair sweaty and mussed, beard and lips wet with slick. His grin only wider, more boyish when he meets her eyes through the gaps of her fingers- his own wrapping around her wrists.

Delicately, he prises her hands from her face.

“I can think of no better death, than one between your thighs.”

She snorts, a breathless laugh,; “Oh yeah, sure, and I’d be the one stuck explaining your naked corpse to K'ha'ssji'trach'ash.”

“He may appreciate the chuckle, but do remember the ‘chhh’ sound, comes from the back-”

“I know,” she retorts bluntly, her wizard only laughing in response. She can still remember how her nerves rattled the first time she was tasked with saving Gale’s life. Not evening knowing at the time just how much more precious that life would become to her. Terrified of saying a single wrong syllable of the mephit’s name, moving the thread to the wrong side, or hiting a wrong note on that stupid fucking flute.

Keeping him alive will be the death of her, but as he settles slightly next to her- arms curling beneath and around her- her cunt still throbbing with her drawn out orgasm, his body warm, and his open palm cupping her jaw… She can hardly say she’ll mind.

“I must say, I do feel assured knowing you’d bring me back again.”

“Of course, as many times as it takes,” she admits, her next breath swallowed by his lips. His tongue heavy with the taste of her, his kiss and beard wet with her slick, a muffled groan in her throat at the very thought.

She chases to deepen the kiss as much as she can, pressing into his chest- resting her hand over his forearm. Her tongue pushes deeper into his mouth, her insides aching again, even with the throb of near pain between her thighs from her overstimulation. The soft wet sound of their kisses, her own sigh muffled between their mouths as his mouth starts to taste less like her and more like him.

His forearm flexes beneath her fingers, his palm leaving her jaw, the other hand still holding her close and brushing her ribs. Before she can break the kiss or see where his other hand is traversing, she feels his fingers on her lower stomach and skimming down her body.

“Gale,” she whispers against his lips, thighs squeezing together- his fingers already teasing along her mound, scratching through the sparse patch of dark hair above her cunt. He hums against her cheek, pressing a kiss to her jaw- “I can’t… again.”

Her words are stuttered and breathy, not at all convincing- she’s still thrumming after her last orgasm, cunt still aching and sensitive, every cell of her being an exposed livewire he seems intent to keep playing with.

“You can’t… do what exactly?”He asks, voice edged with teasing as he bites at her jawline. Her thighs draw tighter together as his finger start to push between them. Whining as he kisses at her neck and she can already feel that coil starting to twist again.

“Can’t- cum again, too, mm… too soon, let me touch you instead,” she manages through the kisses and bites against her throat. Petra starts to move her hand that’s been placed in the narrow space between their bodies, groping downward- frustrated with the fabric still clinging to his lower half.

“There’s never too soon enough time to touch you,” he whispers against her throat.

“Gale, please,” she gasps, feeling him groan against her as her palm cups him through his pants- hard within his clothes, twitching beneath her touch.

“Spread your legs for me, dear,” he requests and she knows she’ll fall apart so quick, that the pleasure may ache into pain, but she needs him, the promise of his fingers too much. Petra clumsily obeying, spreading her legs; “There we are, so good for me.”

The words go start to her cunt, followed shortly by his fingers- the faintest brush over her swollen clit. She gasps, his name on her lips as she tries not to lose focus on where her own hand is, squeezing at his hard-on, trying to offer him some fraction of the pleasure he’s so persistent on pouring into her. A strained groan against her neck as his fingers start to swirl around her clit, a wet slide and building friction, already painfully close.

“Fuck, Gale,” she hisses, haphazardly trying to yank at the laces of his pants- cursing herself that she can pick the strongest locks in Faerun but can’t yank open her lover’s fucking pants between the odd angle, not being able to properly see what she’s doing, the mouth at her pulse point, and the finger slowly pressing into her.

“You already feel so perfect around me,” he speaks against her neck as a single thick warm finger pushes into her, opening her up, curling into her- her cunt clenching around him, her head thumping back against the pillows as she gasps. Soul sex aside, it’s the thickest thing she’s had in her in years, her own thin nimble fingers not comparing to his broad palms and long thick fingers.

“Please, please, Gale,” she breathes, not sure if she’s asking for more fingers or for help undoing his pants. Maybe both.

She gets a kiss beneath her ear, another finger pushing into her- slow and methodical in his pace. Not seeking to push her into immediate orgasm again, but to stretch her further apart, to see how deep he can fill her with the twist of his fingers. That pleasure building, aching inside of her as his lips kiss up her ear. Small wet presses that sends little chills as he nears the pointed tips of her ears. Feeling herself coating his fingers in wet, slick and accepting as the press of his thick solid fingers.

“You’re so beautiful, you’re taking my fingers so well,” he murmurs before kissing right at the point of her ear, nipping the sensitive skin and she jolts- face hot with pleasure and shame at how easy she is to take apart.

Then he starts to pump his fingers, no longer idly stretching and curling, finding a rhythm as he rocks them in and out of her cunt. A desperate cry on her lips, fingers dragging in and out of her slick heat- toying and curling in to press at her nerves, only to pull back and push back in.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cries, not able to come up with any other word- even when the laces of his pants finally come undone with her frantic tugging. Biting her lip and groaning when she can finally- finally, shove her hand down his pants, beneath his underwear, hard solid cock finally in her grasp as she barely manages to pull it free from his clothes.

“Fuck,”Gale grits out, a rare curse for the wizard- for once all other words but profanity failing him. His fingers in her cunt pause as she wraps her own around him. The hand on her ribs pulls her tighter, as she feels the heat of him against her palm. Can feel the weight of his cock, can trace the veins along his length as she runs her fingers over him- the stick of precum when she touches the head. Gale breathing rough and ragged against her temple.

“Gods, I can’t even get my fingers around you,” she blurts out, taking the rare chance to be the talkative one- surprised by just how thick he is in her hand. She’s no halfling or gnome, but her favorite wizard stands a good foot or more taller than her- size difference palpable in how her fingers struggle to meet around him.

He bites beneath her ear,rocking his fingers back into her- pace harsher and rough as she tries to stroke him. Smearing precum down his cock as best she can, trying to make an easier slide of her hand up and down his cock, feeling it twitch against her fingers. A rough ragged groan against her skin, her insides clenching as his fingers fuck into her- thoughts of how his cock will feel, how much more it’ll split her open, making the drag of his fingers that much slicker.

“So pretty in my arms, love- right where you belong, so sweet and desperate for me,” he rasps against her ear and she squeezes her fingers around him, feeling the stutter and stall in his hand inside of her. The strained growl against her jaw, his expression furrowed and tense- his jaw visibly clenched, eyes clenched shut. Perhaps the first time he’s fully taken his eyes off of her.

He doubles his efforts between her thighs, working his fingers more harshly into her, fucking his fingers roughly into her. Each thrust and drag along her insides making her sees stars and not just the ones he’s conjured for her. Pleasure spiking higher and higher, building her up- her cunt clenching around him. She tries to work her own hand faster too, cursing herself for not having more experience with this sort of anatomy.

And then a thought, a singular thought manages to surge above the fog his fingers have put into her mind. She needs it to be wetter, slicker, his precum helping but not enough for her liking. Her gestures are sloppy and messy, haphazard with need- pulling her hand off of him, he curses faintly, the feeling of his eyes back on her. She leans forward just a little to drool against her hand, gathering as much spit and saliva as she can, strands straining from her lips. Spit dribbling down her chin and she can only hope he’s not disgusted by the sight, but it’s left her hand wet. Another ragged breath, inhale and exhale against her as she wraps her spit slick fingers around him.

His lips surge forward, catching her own in a messy crash, teeth clanging together as he kisses her- his tongue swiping to catch the spit that clings to her her skin, hungrily groaning into her mouth. She tries to keep up, tightens her grip as much as she can without fearing hurting him, her hand sliding up and down much easier with the glide of her drool and his precum. The piss poor excuse for lube allowing her to at the very least move her hand faster, trying to match the pace he’s set with his fingers inside of her. His palm presses down more firmly, the heel of hand finding her clit. A rough tempest of pleasure jolting through her nerves.

And it’s a rough mix of kisses, moving hands. Being fucked apart by his fingers, grinding against her clit, pushing her closer and closer. A echoing squelch as he takes her apart, the wet slide of flesh against flesh as she strokes his cock- the hungry groans and soft sounds of their kisses, everything consuming her every sense. Pushing her closer and closer, coil pulling tighter, tighter. The drag and tease of him inside of her, the grind against her sensitive clit- the promise of what’s come with his cock twitching in her hand, the bite of his teeth against her lower lip.

The world seems to split apart, crack open, and fall away from her- everything crashed into pleasure, thrown over the edge again. Twitching and writhing beneath his hand, hips thrashing and fucking herself through the shocks. The faint curse and snarl against her lips, the twitch in her hands- the heat of seed spilling over her fingers and hip

Then she’s falling, world truly carrening out from beneath her, yelping as her ass thumps painfully into the muck. A sharp jolt of pain through her tailbone, Gale trying to tug her closer, squeezing her tightly as the world physically shifts around them, his face burying into her hair.

“Gods damn it.”

Petra tries to process the sudden mix of just plain fucking pain. The cold cling of mud to her ass, blinking through the blissed out fog in her mind- no longer coated in the green blue glow of a shifting sky. No longer is her ass burried in a soft silken mass of blankets and sheets, now aching in the cold cling of muddy shadow curse dirt. The only light a mounted torch with faint flickering orange flames. There’s no traces of Gale’s illusions, just him and Petra- naked and sweaty in a patch of mud. The wizard holding her tightly, his face hidden in the top of her head- possibly the most bashful she’s ever seen him, even in their awkward little flirting moments, she’s never known him to physically hide his expression from her.

“Gale… honey?” She says, using a rare term of endearment for her- those usually his territory.

“Mmhm,” he hums vaguely against her scalp.

“I have mud on my ass.”

“As do I.”

“Is there a particular reason why?” She tries, trying not to laugh as she tries to understand why he’s suddenly thrown them into the muck- if he wanted to rut in the dirt, she wouldn’t have been opposed to it, but it seems a little sudden and out of character for a man who still tries desperately to smell like lavender and bath oils while traipsing through the wilderness for days on end.

“Ah well,” he murmurs, finally pulling back and allows her to see his face- cheeks ruddy, sweat beading his skin, his eyes looking down at his slick wet fingers, “Some conjuring and illusionary spells require… concentration to be maintained. And while my multitasking abilities are certainly exemplary,that focus can be particularly hard to keep when…”

“When you’re getting jerked off?”

“Not the wording I would have chosen, but- yes,” he admits, still avoiding her eyes.

And she tries- she truly tries, biting her lip and gritting her teeth, because she wants to be mindful of his embarrassment. But her stomach tenses as a rush of laughter burbles out, snorting as giggles turn to cackles, pressing her hands to her mouth- body aching as she cracks up.

She made him cum so hard the fucking spell broke. It’s so ridiculous, it’s so asinine, she can’t help but laugh- the pain in her tailbone now eclipsed by way her belly aches in laughter. And it only dies when she looks back at Gale, his head bowed slightly still- his eyes avoiding her and guilt eats at her heart. A part of her having hoped he’d be laughing along, that he’d see the humor in this.

“Gale..” She whispers his name, her voice a little ragged and rough.

“My apologies, I- this is not how I wanted this night to go for us, for you,” he explains, face far too contrite and shamed for what is just a silly little mishap, “I think, perhaps, another night if I conserve more of my energy during the day than I did today, I should be able to maintain the illusions for longer.”

“Gale…”

“Or perhaps, I can do just a little more research, see if I can find variations that require less concentration or maybe none at all,” he prattles onward, “I swear, my love, I can give you the night you deserve, I just may need more preparation than I expected, but I will make this up to you, I’ll-”

“Gale!” She yells his name more firmly, finally looking at her- his eyes soft and vulnerable and she feels like she’s scolded a puppy but she leans forward to cup his face, “There is nothing for you to make up for.”

“We’re lying in mud, my dear.”

“Yes, we are lying in the mud and my stomach is streaked in cum because I jerked you off so hard you forgot how to be wizard for a minute- I’m not mad, it’s really fucking funny,” she reiterates, nuzzling his nose with hers as she tries to swallow her giggles- desperately trying to get him to just laugh. His lips curl into a shadow of a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach those big brown eyes.

“Perhaps- but I didn’t bring you here to make you laugh, I brought you here to give you a perfect night, to make the joining of our bodies as beautiful as the joining of our souls. And we are lying in mud, you deserve more… I want to give you more.”

“Gale, the night we joined souls you started off by showing me a book of people sixty-nining.”

“A very poignant and beautiful book about newlyweds becoming one in every sense of the word-”

“By putting their mouths on each other’s genitals.”

“That was one aspect of the process, yes- however-”

She silences him with a kiss, soft and chaste- just enough to muffle the words threatening to pour from his lips. Petra pulls just a half breath away, leaning her forehead against Gale’s. Feeling the warmth of him, the cling of the sweat on both of them, smelling the salt of it on him.

“I love you,” she murmurs, whispers it and hopes he can feel the adoration she pours into every syllable, meeting his gaze head on as her voice cracks, “I love you so fucking much and you’re so so much more than I deserve- and if you cannot believe that, trust that I do, that I truly mean it.”

“I do, I truly do, I just, everything you’ve done for me, everything that you are- you deserve the world.”

“And yet the only thing I want from it is you.”

“Petra…”

“So, for a moment, worry less about what you think I deserve and listen to what I want,” she asks, murmuring against his lips, skimming her thumb over his cheekbone, “I don’t need perfection and I don’t need pageantry and I don’t care if it’s messy or funny or weird- I want you, I need you. So please, let me have you. Don’t pull away, don’t scuttle off and worry yourself to pieces because something went wrong. Laugh with me, kiss me, fuck me- gods damn it.”

“Anything for you, dear,” he says and their lips come together again, another reverent press of their mouths- she places her palm against his shoulder, pushing softly.

Quick witted as ever, he gets the idea- laying back for her and shifting off of his side, onto his ass properly as she throws a leg over his hips. His still hard cock bumping against her cunt as she settles on top of him. Breaking their kiss to pepper them across his jaw, nipping at his flesh through his beard, kissing down the marks that curl across his neck. Following them to the middle of his chest, where the orb burned through his flesh- pressing a kiss where the skin is forever bruised blue. The deep rumble of a groan in his throat making heat rush between her thighs.

She sits back a bit, looking down at him- sweat tangled hair, ruddy cheeks, chest laid bare beneath her, and the faint orange glow of the torch light. Her hands run up his chest, thick and broad beneath her- body hair the roughest part of him, scratching beneath her palms.

“Absolutely perfect,” she whispers, raking her nails along the swell of his pecs.

“My thoughts exactly,” he returns, his hands gripping her hips as he smears a thumb through the streaks of cum still on her skin, and she can’t resist rolling her eyes- as if she wasn’t the one to initiate this round of corniness.

Through the flickers of amber light, she notices a flash of deep purple fabric- Gale’s sleep shirt he’d tossed aside earlier. She lifts up a little further on her knees, leaning over him to reach for it, twisting her fingers in the soft fabric.

“Eep!” She yelps at the sudden heat of his tongue and mouth on her chest, a sharp nip to the underside of her breast- “That is not why I was leaning over!”

He smiles and laughs against her chest as she playfully swats at his chest, settling back to her position- his tunic still dangling from her fingers. Gale smiling up at her, too handsome for her to feel any measure of malice.

“You can hardly blame for falling to temptation, especially when it comes to you.”

“You underestimate just how much I’m willing to blame you for anything,” she teases before shifting forward just slightly- “Lift your back up a bit for me?”

“Of course,” he obliges, quickly getting her intent as they softly arrange his sleep shirt on the ground- it’s no four poster bed, but it’ll get his back out of the mud.

“Not much, but-”

“I feel positively pampered.”

“Well, I do live to spoil you,” she teases back, considering for a moment wrangling his pants and underwear down further- his cock still the only thing that’s freed. But, that also means his ass has a modicum of coverage against the mud. Spoiling him again- obviously.

Petra keeps one hand steady on his chest and the other reaches beneath her, feeling again the heat and weight of his cock in her hand. She hums, whines as she steadies her grip around the base of him- a groan deep in his chest, rumbling beneath her as she drags the head of his cock along her cunt. Her body aches with need as she lines him up with her entrance, Gale's hands grip her tighter. His fingers dip into her skin as his breath hitches and his jaw clenches tight.

And she sinks down, her voice straining into a wordless cry as the head of his cock slides into her. Barely even inside of her and already stretching her wide, even having had him in her hand, but she needs to take a moment- not expecting just how much she’d be split open.Not painful, far too slick and ready for it to do anything feel incredible, if just a little new for her.

A strained creak in his tone: “That’s it, no rush- take your time, if it’s too much, you only need to say the word.”

“Gods no, no, it feels good- really fuckin’ good,” she assure him, voice rough and breathy, biting her lip as she starts to slowly lower herself down further, “So, so fucking good, fuck.”

“There you are, taking me so well- perfect around me, like you were made for me,” he praises, voice gritted and his fingers grasping her tighter as her cunt clenches around him, the adoration stirring her insides as his cock buries within them.

Every inch a deeper press, a tighter stretch, never painful but always full- like he could truly split her apar at any moment. But it’s never too much, the drag and sink of him perfect, absolutely perfect. A babble of breathless noise and nonsense on her tongue as she he carves a path into her- her hips finally settling when she’s about to scream out and there’s no more of him to take. Feeling the faint scratch of his body hair where they join, barely tugged down pants rough against her thighs and ass.

The back of his head hits the dirt, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat- his eyes closed as his moves just slightly beneath her. Bracing his feet in the dirt, knees bending slightly as his hips lift up. Bucking inside of her, a sharp lightning strike of pleasure ripping through her- lurching her forward body forward, bracing her hands against his chest as she cries out.

“Fuck!”

“Ah, sorry, are you-”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, I’m good, gods, I’m good,” she rushes to assure him, digging her nails into his skin, leaning forward to kiss at his jaw, groaning against his skin when it grinds him against her insides.

Tentatively, she starts to rock herself on top of him, cursing as she starts to lift off him just a bit, whining at the drag of him inside of her. His hands allowing her to move, guiding her gently despite the harsh dig of his nails, digging red ragged crescents into her skin- blue bruises forming beneath his harsh touch.

Petra barely pulls up before she lowers herself back down, his name on her lips as she’s filled with him again. Her grip on him only growing more desperate- more bruising, as she starts to find a harsher, quicker pace- bouncing herself on his cock, body thrumming and pleasure twisting tight as she tries to slam down hard enough on him. Tries to hit the right spot inside of her, grind her clit just right against his skin as she tries to set her pace. Her motions frantic and desperate, smearing and streaking slick across his skin and clothes, every desperate slam of her hips making her that much wetter, that much more accommodating, body frantic to welcome him into her over and over again.

“Gods, your cunt doesn’t even want to let go of me, look so pretty with my cock inside of you,” he groans, her inside clenching at his choice of words, Gale’s cheeks flushed beneath the dark hair of his beard- his face screwed tight with his pleasure as his cock twitches inside of her squeezing walls. Petra in a frenzy as she fucks herself stupid, rides him as hard as she can, getting pushed closer and closer to the brink- pathetically close to her end, just a little more, a little more.

His hands move further back, curling around her ass, sinking his fingers into the plush flesh- her whimpering at the grope, the feeling of his warm digging into her- squeezing her so tightly. Harsh and firm, when hips roll into her, thrusting in as she sinks down- striking the very nerves she couldn't quite hit hard enough, a torrent of heat and need, stars dancing before her eyes without any magic. The force of his hips jolts her, her shaky arms giving out, her body collapse flush to his chest, nails digging into him as her face presses into his sweat slick skin. Pliant and boneless as Gale takes over the pace, gripping his ass tight between his hands and steadying her as he fucks her apart.

And it’s pitiful how much better it is with him in control, Gale knowing her body and what she needs or perhaps just that much better at giving it to her. Harsh brutal snaps of his hips, every rut of him into her making her body thrum, her mind blanked with every strike at her deepest parts. Carving her out, splitting her open, burying himself into her over and over again- the wet squelch of him into her. Holding her vise tight to his chest, her sensitive tits scratched by his body hair a his motions rock and shift her against him. One hand leaving her ass to wrap around her middle, holding her tighter, clinging closer- his face buried to her temple as he fucks into her, uses her, splits her insides, and makes her body fit hims so perfectly. Not even able to hear or comprehend the whispers and praise whispered against her sweat tangled hair- gripping him tighter, Gale inside her and yet somehow nowhere near close enough. Not able to cling tight enough, not able to burrow far enough into his skin as she burns beneath the sharp bruising pace he drives into her.

Then it all snaps, world shattering and cracking apart, crying out against his chest- mind empty with nothing but pleasure, clenching tight as he pulses inside of her. Squeezing around him, thrashing within his grasp, toes and fingers clenching- curling against him, around him, into him.

A few more harsh thrusts, rushed and hurried into her, followed by a rush of heat. The spill of cum into her insides, burning hot in her cunt, filling her- flooding her, warm in her fucked raw body. She pants and sighs against his skin, breaths rough as she comes back to earth and with no falling this time. He holds her like a promise, tight and reverent, kissing across her scalp and forehead as he rolls through the last of his ebbs of pleasure. Messy as he fills her with his cum, whining against his flesh, she feels it split out between the space where they connect. Filled to the brink with him, overflowed and spilling over with it, feeling it stick and cling to their thighs, their hips, where they meet. The languid slowly roll of him into her fucking his seed back into her, before his hips finally still as the last drop fills hers her, only to drip out again.

They lay in the flickering torch light, skin wet with sweat and settling into each other’s flesh. His heart thunders and pounds beneath his skin, where her ear is pressed tight to him. Able to hear the desperate race and her own hammers in kind, in pace with each other, some relief that may be as ruined and ragged by her as she is by him. Only the sound of thundering hearts and them catching their breath, the faintest chirp of insects from the shadows.

Slowly, steadily, the moments tick forward but time hardly feels like it’s touching them. Only the calming of their breaths and hearts marking the passage. His hands stroke and rub along her back, tracing her sweaty spine, both reach down to idly rub and stroke her lower back, pressing gentle reverence into her aching muscles. His lips burning adoration where they kiss her scalp, skim the scar of her forehead- she shifts to tuck her chin against his chest, looking up at his soft loving gaze.

His hands push the hair off her forehead, cup her cheeks, thumbs stroking over the freckles that mark her face. A breath of a kiss against her forehead, her eyes closing beneath the touch.

“Absolutely beautiful,” he praises, her eyes opening, her nose wrinkling as she blows a raspberry at him and his stupidly precious compliments- he laughs, “And a complete brat.”

“Hmm, you love it.”

“That I do,” he reponds to her teasing, another kiss and she meets his his lips. Sighing softly, knowing they can’t stay like this forever.

Gently, she sits herself back up,Gale’s hands roaming down her sides- not missing the crease of disappointment in his brow when she’s no longer pressed flushed to his chest. She blinks, swallowing a gasp as she looks down at him. Rough raised scratches now mark his chest, thin red lines where her nails streaked his flesh and just managed to break it. Gently, her nails brush the marks.

“Sorry, I’ll rub some salve and balsam ointment over it for you when we get back,” she promises, guilt creeping in- her nails are polished and due to her left, often have more dirt on them than she’d like- she could cause him an infection, “Maybe I should learn a healing cantrip or two…”

“Thought you believed relying too much on healing magic was a crutch,” he asks, smiling up at her as he chimes the words she’s spoken so many a times when him or Shadowheart try to heal her when she only needs a bandage or a few dozen stitches.

“I mean, for me, yes,” she murmurs, knowing it’s hypocritical- but it’s different when it’s him- he smiles, placing his hands over hers. She pulls her palms from his marked skin, bringing them to the press of his lips.

“Worry not, dear- I hardly mind being marked by you,” he promises her, smiling against her knuckles and her nose wrinkles, his sweet words stirring her heart and only one response falls to her lips.

“Blegh,” she spats, mock gagging at his corny existence, even if her cheeks are flushed and her heart thumping- he drops her hands, reaching out quick and giving a small sharp swat of his hand to her ass- “Ah, hey!”

“Do not make gagging noises whilst I am inside of you,” he hisses, voice raised and incredulous- with just the softest edge of a laugh, his lips pulling back to a smile as she giggles.

“Fine,” she reponds, rolling laguidly off of him- letting his cock slip out of her and plopping into the mud beside of him, giving a pointed look- “Blech!”

“Darling-”

“What I’ll no longer gag while you’re inside of me,” she promises, teasing him and his choice of words. His brown eyes rolls, a tut on his lips as he looks at her, before a different glint places.

“Well, there can certainly be exceptions to the rule, should you wish,” he teases and after a beat, his meaning catches her- a way he’d be tucked inside of her that he’d accept her gagging, the idea of tasting him, and feeling him in her throat…

“Is that something you’d wish?” She asks back, smiling a little- grin only widing when he clears his throat.

“Another time, right now…” His voice trails and she watches him shift slight, a a little strained groan of pain his throat.

“Your back killing you?”

“Terribly so,” he admits, shaking his head and starting to sit up with a small grunt- his old achey muscles and joints always giving him issues. But it doesn’t stop him from pulling her over, tucking her into his lap as he sits; “Here, lets get you out out of the mud, dear.”

She giggles, nuzzling into his neck as he make her plop her cum and dirt streaked ass in his lap. And as the afterglow fades and reality settles in her bones, she starts to realize some increasingly pressing concerns. The two are streaked in sweat, mud, and fluids. Her fingers brushing flecks of dirt off Gale’s shoulders, where his skin still met the dirt. His hair messy and tangled with little clumps of dirt, his skin warm and smelling of sweat and musk, Petra unable to help inhaling against his chest.

Beneath them, his shirt is caked in mud, grinding into the dirt under their bodies. His only kind of on pants streaked with cum, clearly stained, dirt on back of it. Her own clothes are tossed in the dirt as well, having hit the dirt through the illusion. Mud on her back and some clinging to her ass, streaked where his fingers groped her- a mess of cum between her thighs.

And they do have to go back to camp.

“Uhm, do you have a spell to clean us and our clothes?” She asks, traces her nails over his neck.

“Yes and no,” he explains, expression slightly tense, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating with a pointed finger, “Prestidigitation can quite easily clean our clothes, with a bit of folding for mine perhaps, and is cantrip as well- fairly simple, only lasts an hour I”m afraid, but that would certainly be long enough to get back and safely tuck ourselves away in our tent.”

“Mmhm..”

“However, it is specific to objects and those of a certain footage, which- you and I do not qualify as. And between our fights of the day and my illusionary work, it’ll take a good nights rest before I can cast much more than a cantrip, so…”

“So, our clothes will be clean, but we’ll be traipsing back with dirt on our skin and reeking of sex,” she double checks because there’s no river near the clearing- the camp using warmed basins of conjured magic for a while now. Which are back at camp. Where their companions are.

“Or we could stay here for a night…”

“And keep tally of the number of shadow cursed insects that inevitably crawl up our assholes.”

“There are the bugs…”

“I think we may have to face the music on this one,” she says, knowing sculking and sneaking back to camp is not a choice- not with Gale’s knees.

“Alas, reality returns far too soon,” he muses, looking down at her where she’s still balanced within his arms and her cheek to his chest, “Still the night you wanted?”

She giggles- they’re caked in mud, sweat, and cum. Sitting in the muck of a cursed lands, the threat of returning to camp to prying eyes and questioning voices. The only reason they can even safely sit here with monsters prying flesh from their limbs and darkness creeping into their souls is the blessing of a captured pixie. Demands of goddesses and moonstruck kingdoms ran by cults all on the horizon. But his arms are wrapped flush around her, the smell of his skin in her nose, the ache of where he was inside her. Skin marked in his love.

“It’s perfect.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale/tav #gale/fem!tav #bg3 fanfic #this is also going up on my ao3 and i'll reblog with the link if anyone prefers that method #but i finally had something I could throw on this blog again

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