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the-curator1 · 7 months

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In the Darkness of your dreams

Demon!Copia x Fem!Reader

Author Note: This story was inspired by the fantastic fic Call Me, Little Sunshine by @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe. If you haven't read it, go do it now! It's a gem. English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out to me.

This one is quite sweet? But I'll promise I'll be more spooky next time.

Summary: It is not easy being a demon. It gets lonely sometimes in a cold empty house. While it can be funny and thrilling to be all threatening and scary, sometimes all he would need is a companion. (≈6500 words)

Tags and TW: Copia POV, reader POV, kind of love at first sight (because I'm a hopeless romantic), home invasion, men being absolute creeps, but Copia is kind of your guardian angel demon, a hint of angst, spooky vibes, a very vivid dream, smut (my first smutty fic)

The old house groaned with the weight of its own history. Copia knew all of its secrets all too well, for he had been bound to this forsaken place for many years now. It was not easy being a demon. Actually, most of the time, it was very lonely. The initial thrill of scaring the inhabitants of the house had long given way to a profound loneliness that gnawed at him like a relentless hunger.

At first, he took delight in watching people flee in terror, their screams of sheer horror echoing in the cold, dimly lit hallways. He revelled in the satisfaction of driving them away. If anyone displeased him, as was often the case, he would relentlessly ensure they never returned. He would slam doors with thunderous force, create eerie and unsettling noises, whisper chilling words into their ears, break their belongings, make their dog bark and occasionally if pushed to the brink of anger, he would even resort to biting or scratching the intruders. However, he would really show himself on very rare occasions.

But now, it had been an eternity since anyone had dared to settle within the walls of the house. The last intruders had been no more than fleeting shadows, and even their presence had ceased to amuse him. As Copia lingered in the darkness, he pondered the cruel irony of his existence, bound to a house he had come to hate, condemned to an eternity of solitude and yearning for something he could not quite define.

But one day, a man crossed the threshold of the old house. He was neither young nor old, with a presence that sent shivers down Copia's spine. The demon felt something unsettling about this visitor. Even a demon such as him could feel something was off. Instead of unleashing his usual frightful antics, Copia watched, his cold eyes fixed on this new intruder. For a moment, the man inspected the damaged house. It was only after a while that Copia realized the man was surely the new owner: he saw the “For sale” sign in front of the house being removed a few days ago.

His suspicions were confirmed when a group of men in work overalls invaded his place in the following days. They laboured tirelessly, painting the walls, mending the creaking stairs, and reviving the old house. Copia knew what this was about– someone was going to settle in the house. Copia hoped it was not the man that he saw for he did not like him… not at all.

As the once-desolate rooms transformed with each brushstroke and hammer strike, Copia's world shifted with them. The air was filled with the scent of fresh paint, the echoes of hammers and saws, and the laughter of the workers. Copia was not pleased with their unbearable hurly-burly however he decided not to disturb their work. These men were doing nothing but their job, and Copia liked to think of himself as a considerate demon. Moreover, he could not help but wonder what surprise destiny had in store for him…

And this surprise was you.

One fateful morning, Copia laid his eyes upon you. There you stood on the threshold of the freshly painted wooden front door, holding a suitcase in your delicate hand Copia felt his heart beating out of his chest… if he had one. You were a vision of radiance, stunning and alluring. Your lustrous hair, your gleaming eyes, the elegant contour of your nose, the outline of your lips, and the captivating curves of your body. Copia was well aware that you could not see him unless he allowed it.

He summoned the courage to approach you, drawn in by your magnetic presence, when... He saw him. The man from last time. This bald fucker. He appeared behind you, his eyes cold and unrelenting. a surge of cold anger seized Copia’s chest. A low growl rumbled in his spectral form.

You took a step forward when you felt him behind you, unease clearly etched on your face as the man inched closer. He casually placed a hand on your waist.

“How do you like the entrance hall, Miss?” he asked, his voice oozing with a sly and unsettling grin.

Copia's anger grew as he observed the scene unfold.

“I love it,” you said, your voice was like a melody to Copia’s ear.

His anger quickly subsided, he was focused on you again. At least you were not receptive to the man’s obvious advances. He started to show you around the house. Copia quietly followed you, his eyes never leaving you.

As the bald man concluded the tour of the house and engaged in conversation with you, Copia couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you, an unsettling gaze that made Copia's blood boil.

However, Copia's mood shifted when he witnessed the man presenting you with a set of keys, a wide smile gracing his face. At this moment, the lonely demon knew it was the start of something known… Maybe something good?

The movers had left. A peaceful silence enveloped the house, only disturbed by the gentle hum of your voice. You were meticulously arranging your numerous books on a shelf. Copia was hidden in the shadows, watching you closely from the dark corner you had chosen as your bedroom.

You were nothing short of enchanting in his eyes, the most beautiful thing he had seen in his long, lonely existence. He longed to draw closer, to be near you, to feel your earthly warmth. His spectral form shifted in your direction, inching closer, driven by a desire he had never felt before.

But clumsy as he was, in his attempt to approach, Copia inadvertently knocked over an old chandelier you had placed on a nearby table. The sudden crash startled you, and you swiftly turned around, eyes wide with alarm. Copia's heart, if he had one, pounded in his chest. He did not want to scare you! He already knew he would not try to drive you away, not ever. You were his chance not to be lonely anymore.

You carefully approached and picked up the chandelier, a slight frown grazing your beautiful face. Copia watched in silence, concealed in the shadows. For a moment, you looked around, your eyes scanning the room as if trying to make sense of the unexpected disturbance. After a brief pause, you placed the chandelier back on the table, ensuring it wouldn't teeter too close to the edge. Copia could finally breathe again: you probably thought the chandelier had fallen by itself… Then you left the room, and the demon followed you like a love-sick puppy.

On that evening, Copia continued to observe you as you prepared for bed. His spectral gaze followed your every movement, his fascination growing with every passing moment. Your grace and beauty held him captivated, as you went about your routine, unaware of his watchful gaze. His longing, however, remained a silent ache within him, a desire to be closer, to understand you better. Copia yearned for a connection beyond the bounds of his spectral form.

Not now… I don’t want to scare her.

For now, he observed your every move, his gaze lingering on your silhouette as you undressed. You were gorgeous. Even Mother Lilith would be jealous of your beauty. He felt a growing ache in his chest, an ache that could only be soothed by the touch of your skin…

He wanted to touch you.

When you slipped beneath the covers and turned off the bedside lamp, you were asleep within moments. The weariness from the day's work had claimed you, leaving you vulnerable in the quiet, moonlit room. Copia emerged from the darkest corners of the dimly lit chamber, his form silent as he ventured closer.

He longued to touch you.

His clawed hands barely grazed your bare arm. The warmth of your body and the softness of your skin sent shivers down his spectral form, a sensation he had not experienced in an eternity. He knew it was wrong to take advantage of your slumber. He knew he could wake you up and scare you to death. But he could not help himself. And he was a demon after all, why couldn’t he indulge in a bit of wickedness? Moreover, his intentions were not really malevolent.

So, he gave in to his desire, tracing his fingers across your face, through your hair, and down your legs, which were revealed by your short nightgown. He even placed a gentle kiss on your cheek. Copia believed his touch was to be soft enough not to wake you, and indeed, you slept peacefully until morning's first light filtered through the curtains.

As you stirred in your sleep, a sign that you would soon awaken, Copia hastily retreated into the shadows even if he knew you could not quite see him. His ghostly form disappeared from view. Copia watched you as you stretched, and then, you got up and walked to the bathroom. He was about to follow you when he heard you gasp loudly.

“What the hell!” your voice echoed through the house.

Worry gripped Copia, and he rushed to the bathroom. There, he found you standing in front of the mirror, your eyes fixed on numerous scratch marks that scarred your arms… And on the trace of black paint on your cheek.

Guilt started to gnaw at Copia's demon heart. As he watched you in your fear and confusion, he knew that he was the cause of those scratch marks. He had only wanted to caress you, to feel the warmth of your living body, not to hurt you… How could he have believed he could possess a gentle touch? What had he been thinking? In that moment, Copia was haunted by his own actions and the realization that his desire had brought fear and harm to the very person he longed to be with.

Copia watched in silence as you picked up your phone and called someone. He figured you were talking to one of your friends. He observed you frantically explaining what had happened: the chandelier falling, the scratch marks. Your voice was trembling with fear. But as your friend spoke, he noticed a change. You seemed to grow calmer. Copia strained to hear the distant voice on the other end of the line.

“You probably moved in your sleep, you did that to yourself, darl… as for the trace on your face, you said you used paint to work in your house right?”

“Yes…” you answered in a quiet voice

“See? There is nothing to worry about,” your friend's voice assured you.

Copia's invisible presence remained in the shadows as you hung up a few moments later. He felt that you were still a bit agitated but relieved. The demon followed you as you moved about the house, preparing yourself for the day. His guilt was soon replaced by desire and longing again. He wanted to be near you again. But next time, he would need to be more careful. Maybe next time, he will try something else…

In the afternoon, a knock echoed on your door. Opening it, you were greeted by the sight of your landlord, a smug grin on his face. Copia emitted a low growl at the sight of that man once more... What could he possibly want this time?

"Hi, Miss," the man greeted, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I just wanted to check if everything is going well for you. Have you settled in comfortably?"

“Y-Yeah” you replied, a fake smile on your beautiful lips “Everything is okay thank you, sir”

Copia's presence loomed nearby, watching carefully the interaction.

“Wonderful,” the landlord said, his voice lowering an octave

He leaned closer to you, and you took a hesitant step back. Copia keenly observed your discomfort. A fiery anger swelled in his spectral chest. How dare this man intrude on your personal space and make you feel uneasy?

Your eyes widened, and a sense of unease washed over you.

“Uh… I don’t know,” you began, your voice wavering. “I don’t think so... I still have work to do.”

The man's expression darkened briefly, and he scowled at your response. Then, his unsettling smile returned.

“Oh, that’s okay,” he said, his tone dripping with insincerity. “I'll ask you again when you have more time…”

You merely nodded as the man finally left, and Copia watched in silence as you closed the door behind him. He longed to comfort you, to alleviate the distress you felt, but what could he do from the shadows?

However, you seemed to gather your composure, making an effort to put the encounter behind you. Moments later, you put on your coat, grabbed your car keys, and left the house. Copia was left alone with his thoughts, haunted by the image of your lovely, sweet presence. He wanted all of you. And he wanted you all to himself. That man was definitely going to be a problem.

When you got back home with the groceries, the night had already settled in, shrouding your garden in darkness. At first, you just wanted to go out to get some groceries but you ended up spending the afternoon at the mall. You needed that. The strange noises, the scratch marks, you weird landlord… You needed some time to think and to take a step back and you began to reconsider it all. Perhaps it was all a product of your overactive imagination. After all, this was a new beginning, a fresh chapter in your life, the house was ancient, and your head was full of ghost stories. As for the landlord… creepy men were everywhere, you just had to be careful. The rent was really low and you did not want to leave your dream house for some mediocre disgusting man.

You got out your keys to unlock the door. At that very instant, your gaze was drawn to a peculiar sight. There, on the first-floor window, was the shadowy outline of a tall figure, its eyes glowing like eerie beacons, fixed on you. But as quickly as you blinked, the apparition vanished into thin air. You felt your heart start to beat faster, but you tried to calm down anyway… You were really tired, were you not?

Pushing the door open, you entered cautiously. Your heart was pounding with the fear that an intruder might have entered your house.

"Hello?" you called out, your voice shaking

With your groceries set aside and the door closed and locked behind you, you retrieved your trusty pepper spray from your bag. And so, you embarked on a meticulous search of your home, meticulously inspecting every closet and even peeking beneath the bed. However, no one was there. A sense of relief washed over you. You really needed some sleep.

After a comforting shower, you went through your familiar nighttime rituals, determined to brush off the unsettling events of the day. You did your best to disregard the creaks and groans of the aging house.

It’s a super old house, you tried to convince yourself, it makes noises, it’s nothing but normal.

Moments later, you found yourself in bed, cocooned in the safety of your covers, determined to tune out the persistent creaking of the old wooden floor in the house. With each creak and pop, you tried to convince yourself it was just the house settling, just a strange symphony of its ancient timbers. Eventually, the comforting embrace of sleep began to sweep you away, and you allowed yourself to succumb to its soothing embrace.

“If this world is wearing thin

And you're thinking of escape

I'll go anywhere with you…”

A gentle, velvety voice beckoned to you as you were standing in the entry hall. Its cadence was soft and enchanting, a siren's call in the dark. Instead of inciting fear, it drew you closer to it. As you followed the voice, your surroundings transformed. The house dissolved into a serene, velvety darkness, wrapping you in a shroud of calmness. It was like being enveloped in a plush, black coat or floating in an infinite pool of inky tranquillity. You climbed up the stairs slowly as the voice continued to sing.

“Just wrap me up in chains

But if you try to go alone

Don't think I'll understand”

You were irresistibly attracted to the voice. Now, you were walking in the corridor that led toward your room.

“Stay with me…”

You were acutely aware that the voice was calling out to you, and it sent a flurry of a thousand butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It was so seductive, so alluring… It was impossible to resist. The voice drew you closer with every word. You got to the red-painted door of your room. You put your hand on the doorknob.

“In the silence of your room

In the darkness of your dreams

You must only think of me…”

The voice was getting more and more seductive, more and more sultry. And you felt a growing heat between your legs. You opened the door.

“... There can be no in-between

When your pride is on the floor

I'll make you beg for more”

There he was. The man to whom this enchanting voice belonged. His eyes were a mesmerizing juxtaposition, one a gentle shade of green, akin to the soft caress of a feather, while the other was white, cold, and empty, like the sharp sting of a needle. His face was a canvas painted in black and white, with hollow sockets drawn around his eyes and a mouth contorted into the eerie visage of a skull. But how you found him attractive… you found him so very handsome. His outstretched hand beckoned you. You moved closer to him as if in a trance. He said your name before his voice started to sing again.

“Stay with me…”

Like an automaton, you walked toward him. What was this man doing in your room? Who was he? You did not know. In fact, you could not care less about the answer.

You found yourself standing before him, your hand instinctively reaching for his. Your gaze remained locked onto his enigmatic eyes. His painted lips curved into a captivating smile, and he gently raised your hand to his lips, placing a tender kiss on your knuckles.

"Now, you belong to me, dolcezza," he whispered, his voice a sultry blend of desire and affection, wrapping you in an irresistible enchantment.

His gaze burned with an intensity of raw desire that left you feeling as if the world were spinning around you. His white eyes were glowing like the sharpest diamond. In that moment, all you could perceive was an enveloping silence with his voice being the sole existence in your reality.

Suddenly, the man pulled you toward him and his mouth began to ravish your neck. His gloved hands roamed your body, an almost electric touch. A gasp escaped your lips as he effortlessly lifted you and gently tossed you onto your bed. In the blink of an eye, he was on top of you, his mouth continuing its exploration of the delicate skin of your neck. A fiery passion enveloped both of you, threatening to burn you whole. His hands were now on your thighs, exploring the sensitive skin. Your entire being was consumed by an intense, burning desire for him. It was an insatiable longing, a burning hunger that had taken hold of you.

"Mine, all mine..." the man growled, his words resonating with this feral, possessive energy.

You somehow knew that he was not human; the growls, these unearthly eyes, that aura about him. But in that moment, in the throes of desire and pleasure, you could not have cared less about all of that. All that mattered was the intoxicating connection that bound you together. And like that, almost without thought, his name escaped your lips.

"Copia..." you whispered a name that seemed to flow from some dark corner of your mind

You felt him smile against your heated skin. His mouth continued its scorching journey, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. There was a pause, his lips hovering just above yours. Then, he captured your mouth with a fierce and passionate kiss, a clash of teeth and tongues that left you moaning into his kiss. Your hands roamed his back with equal intensity, while your legs locked around his hips. You desperately wanted to pull him closer. Copia's hips eagerly moved against yours. Finally, he broke the kiss, leaving you breathless, panting for more, and utterly consumed by a desire that had become impossible to deny.

“Oh Lucifer, amore… Let me have you” he murmured “Say yes to me…”

You did not even have to think. You nodded eagerly.

“Yes. Oh, yes, please… Copia”

In an instant, his painted lips were on you again. A gasp of pleasure escaped your lips as he swiftly and decisively removed your nightgown, leaving you exposed to his fervent desires. It seems like he was everywhere all at once. His clawed hands traced a path across your skin, marking you with fiery scratch marks that only intensified the pleasure. You didn't mind the marks, in fact, they were making you even more excited.

His name became a sacred mantra, a litany that you repeated. The passion between you both grew with every breath, every whisper of his name. He gave more kisses on your chest, on your stomach. Then with fervent passion, he peppered your thighs with heated kisses, leaving smudged black paint on your skin as a sensual mark of his presence. The intense heat between your legs had become almost unbearable, causing your thighs to glisten with the undeniable signs of your arousal.

With the same impulsiveness that had marked his earlier actions, he tore away your panties, a sudden, thrilling act that made you yelp. It left a faint burn and a red mark on your skin, sensations he promptly soothed with tender caresses and soft kisses. Then, with unbridled desire, he began to lap at the wetness on the skin in your inner thighs, igniting a fire of passion that left you gasping and trembling.

“You taste so good, amore… so good” he purred as his mouth drew nearer to your most intimate area.

His tongue then moved with an electrifying swiftness, delving between your delicate folds, drawing incontrollable squirms and gasps of unbridled pleasure from you. His fervent attention was akin to a starved man feasting, and his primal growls reverberated through your core, stirring a wild, untamed desire within you. Your fingers tangled in his greying hair as moans spilled from your lips, refusing to be contained.

You gazed downward, you saw his white eyes filled with enchanting mischief that sent a shiver of longing down your spine. With every passing moment, you inched closer and closer to the precipice, teetering on the edge of an impending ecstasy that promised to consume you entirely. There was no trace of fear, not even a fleeting second of doubt. In this captivating moment, fear was eclipsed by an overwhelming sense of vitality and desire.

You had never felt so alive…

Alive.

Your eyes snapped open, and reality crashed in on you. The room felt stiflingly warm, and your breath came in laboured gasps. As you looked around, you realized that you were still in your own bed. It had all been a vivid, intoxicating dream. A wave of profound disappointment washed over you, leaving you with a lingering ache in your chest. The intensity of that dream had awakened desires and feelings within you like never before. In that ephemeral world, you had felt wanted, desirable, and perhaps even loved in a way you had never experienced in waking life. The contrast between the dream and reality left a bittersweet yearning.

The vivid memory of his touch, his heated breath against your skin, and the sensation of his tongue between your legs lingered in your mind, leaving your body burning with the memory of his passion. Who was this man? Have you encountered him before? Why did he feel so unearthly, so unlike any human? These questions swirled through your thoughts until you came to a realization: it was merely a dream, after all… wasn’t it?

Copia had entered your dreams that night. He was aware it was bad. But he was a demon for Lucifer’s sake, it was in his nature! And it’s not like he could control the reaction you had in your own dream. He knew he could have frightened you, but you seemed so responsive… you wanted him. Copia had retreated into a corner of the room when you woke up. Why on earth did you have to wake up by the way? The demon was still mad with desire at this point and mad with love. You were so lovely, so sweet, how he longed to be near you again, to feel your warmth not only in your dream this time, to take you as his own…

Copia's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. You were absent that afternoon. You left about one hour ago, were you already back? The demon cautiously moved toward the entrance hall, his presence hidden in the darkness. He froze when he saw the one who had entered: your landlord, that disgusting man. Copia's spectral form quivered with unease as he watched the man climb up the stairs and enter your room. Copia followed him quickly, making sure to cause the loudest noises when climbing the stairs. But that did not seem to disturb the man who was already focused on his perverted purpose.

Copia found him opening your closet, and digging through your drawer. The man took a pair of panties in his hands and put them against his nose. It was too much for Copia, way too much He would not let someone disrespect you and pry on you in such a way. With a supernatural surge of power, the demon forcefully slammed the drawer shut on the intruder's hand, prompting a piercing cry of agony.

"What the...?" The intruder managed to utter before chaos ensued.

Before he could do or say anything else, Copia lunged forward, seizing the man's arm with his clawed fingers, his voice oozing menace.

"Seeking some thrills, your fucking pervert?"

The man spun around to witness the demon standing inches away. Copia bared pointed, razor-sharp teeth and let out a guttural snarl, resembling a monstrous, otherworldly feline. His eyes blazed with intensity, like the very fires of hell itself. A blood-curdling scream erupted from the intruder's trembling lips as he scrambled up the stairs, fleeing the house with the same haste with which he had arrived, knocking over some stuff in his flight. Copia chuckled darkly to himself, confident that, landlord or not, the man would never dare to disturb you again.

When you arrived back home, you were surprised to find the door unlocked. An feeling of unease crept over you. Had you genuinely forgotten to lock it, or was it your exhaustion playing tricks on your mind? You couldn't help but chastise yourself for being so tired and disoriented, especially after the vivid dream that had lingered in your thoughts.

As you cautiously entered the house, your eyes were drawn to a plant knocked over in the entry hall. It was a clear sign that something or someone had disturbed your home. You recalled your books, the ghost stories… you recalled everything that had happened since you moved in.

“Hello? I know you’re here…” you declared with a hint of hesitation in your voice

You climbed up the stairs to find the door to your room wide open. You were certain you had closed it.

"Did you do that? It's okay, I'm not mad..." you assured, as you moved through the house, searching for any sign of a presence.

However, your calls went unanswered, and the eerie silence persisted. In a moment of impulse, without overthinking, you uttered a single name.

"Copia?"

You called the name repeatedly, a sense of longing in your voice, but there was no response. The silence in the house grew heavy, stretching into minutes. In a moment of self-doubt, you couldn't help but laugh at your own foolishness. How could you have thought that…

But then, it all became clear. It hit you all at once. The pieces of the puzzle clicked together. The noises, the objects falling over, the figure at the window that night, the scratch marks, the trace of paint on your cheek, the dream… There had to be something in this house! And that thing was in your dream last night. But you were not afraid… for you felt he was not trying to hurt you.

“I know you are here,” you repeated out loud “You cannot hide in the darkness forever…”

Silence.

“Please, show yourself… I just want to see you”

Silence again.

Maybe you were going crazy… ?

You went about your day, trying to distract yourself by unpacking the last of the boxes. But your mind continued to drift, haunted by the vivid memories of your encounter with Copia. The sensation of being watched lingered, a disquieting feeling that refused to fade… but maybe your mind was playing tricks on you again?

As the night wore on, sleep eluded you. Your thoughts were consumed by the memory of his eyes, the sensation of his breath against your skin, and the ghostly touch of his hands on your body. The longing became unbearable, and you found yourself unable to resist the yearning that had taken hold.

In the solitude of your room, your own hands began to trace a path across your body, traveling slowly down to your thighs. With your eyes closed, you conjured the image of him in your mind.

"Copia..." you sighed his name, a whispered plea.

Just as your hand slipped in your panties, a weight settled on your bed, and a presence made itself known. You opened your eyes to find him. He was hovering above you with a mischievous grin, a spark of desire flickering in his mismatched eyes. His gaze held a fiery longing but there was affection in eyes. A gasp of surprise escaped your lips, yet you remained still, enthralled by the intensity of the moment. Your cheeks were red to be caught in such an intimate moment… you knew he was watching you the whole time.

“Did you call for me, amore?” his now familiar voice purred

"Copia..." you whispered, your voice tinged with anticipation

“Yes, amore… I have come for you, at last,”

His nose playfully nudged your neck as he pressed his body to yours. The sensations were so vivid that you couldn't help but question the dream-like quality of it all.

“Oh please, tell me this is not a dream…”

"It's not, not this time…" he assured, his voice a soft murmur as he kissed the tender spot behind your ear. "Are you afraid of me?"

“No,” you said without hesitation. “Should I?”

He stopped kissing your neck to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions.

You met his gaze with unwavering determination and reached out to touch his face. "I believe I know what you are, and it doesn't frighten me..."

“Oh, cara mia…”

He leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth while his hands began to explore your body. The sensation felt so much more real than the dream you had…

“Why didn’t you come when I called you earlier?” you asked in a hushed tone.

“I hesitated. I did not want to scare you, amore… I felt so guilty when you found those scratches on your body…”

He sounded a bit sad, and you gently caressed his face.

“I don’t want you to go, cara. You… You are my light. I want you to stay with me.”

Your eyes went wide. You did not expect to see an unearthly creature like him in such a vulnerable state.

“I won’t go…” you whispered “Not ever…”

He gave you a tender smile.

“You are such a treasure… You were sent to me by Lucifer himself.”

His voice quivered with emotions as he spoke. His words made you blush. His hands resumed their exploration of your body. He pressed himself against you. Your body felt so warm, so hot.

“Do you want me?” he whispered in your ear

He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his lips warm and eager.

“Let me have you…” he whispered, much like in the dream.

“Yes, Copia… please, take me.”

He wouldn't need to be asked twice. With a low, feral growl, he lifted your nightgown above your head, leaving you almost naked and exposed to him. He lunged forward and began to suck and lick on your breasts with fervour. You moaned loudly, the heady desire drowning out the thought that someone could hear you cry out. As he pressed his hips against you, you could feel the hardness of his arousal, and it sent shivers of desire cascading through your body. The intensity of the moment was almost overwhelming, as you surrendered to the raw, unbridled passion that consumed you both. He was worshipping your body like no one did before.

He straightened up to look at you.

“Belissima…” he murmured as his clawed hands went to your panties, hastily removing them

You blushed profusely.

“Why don't you finish what you started, cara mia?” he purred, gazing down at you with raw desire, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“What... What do you mean?” you stuttered, your mind dizzy with want.

“Don't play innocent, my love… I saw you.”

You blushed even more when you finally understood what he meant. A mischievous smile played on his painted lips, he patiently waited. With your cheeks painted red, your hands moved toward your inner thighs once more. You began to touch yourself for him, your fingers playing on your pussy. Your eyes were not leaving his as you moaned, giving in to the irresistible allure of his desires. He started to undress before your eyes, this was only fueling your desire. He was so handsome in your eyes.

“Copia…” you whispered as he stood naked before your eyes. Your voice quivered with pleasure. “You are so handsome…”

He beamed upon hearing your words, and you could swear you saw a hint of a blush on his painted features.

“You are beautiful, so beautiful…” he murmured, his voice heavy with desire as he watched you.

As you felt yourself getting closer to the edge, you sensed his hand gently covering yours.

“That's enough, cara… I think you need more than just your fingers.”

You nodded eagerly as he moved closer, settling between your opened legs.

“You are gorgeous, mia amata… You are mine forever,” he whispered tenderly, his voice filled with love and affection.

He positioned himself, his cock near your entrance, playfully teasing you for a moment. Your restlessness under him drew a chuckle from his lips, and he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“So eager… I love it”

Then he pushed his cock inside you. You gasped, your moan catching in your throat. He entered you slowly, inch by inch until he was all the way inside. His glowing eyes were locked in yours. He was looking at you like you were the most precious jewel.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well” he purred, his voice laced with desire

Copia's hips started to move languidly on yours, in a slow and sensual dance. His cock was stretching you so perfectly, reaching all the right spots. You were feeling so full, so whole. You pulled him closer as if you wanted to melt your body into his.

"Oh, you feel so good, amore"

He was not holding back his moan. He was very vocal, it was absolute music to your ears. His name spilled from your lips like a blasphemous prayer. He started to pick up the pace, moving more passionately, more quickly. His low moans were now mixed with feral growls. But he was still so considerate with you, running his hand through your hair, caressing your skin. He was scratching your skin with his claws but you did not care… Sex had never felt so intimate before. He was thrusting inside you with such raw passion, it was nothing short of blissful.

"You were made for me," he said in between moans "You are mine, all mine!"

You felt it build up inside of you again.

“Copia! I’m going to…” you whimpered, throwing back in the pillow

“Me too, amore-ah!”

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your body quivered by pleasure as you clung into the sheets, your head was spinning as you fell into the arms of bliss. He gave a few more thrusts before his release. Your name escaped his lips as he spilled inside you, his clawed hand clutching your waist. You would certainly have bruises afterward but you couldn't care less.

He fell onto you, breathing heavily, his head resting against your chest. You reached out to run your fingers gently through his hair. You both remained in this intimate embrace for a while, the sensation of pleasure still tingling on your skin. He hummed contentedly while you continued to stroke his hair. With a gentle kiss on your forehead, he moved to lie down on the bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight and affectionate embrace.

"Why did you knock over my favorite plant?" you asked after a moment, your voice laced with a hint of amusement; you were not angry at him.

You felt Copia stiffen against you.

"Uh... I didn't, amore..."

He tenderly ran his fingers through your hair. You gave him a confused look, waiting for him to explain.

"That disgusting man... your landlord who was at your doorstep a few days ago... he broke in while you were away."

He noticed the growing unease on your face.

"He behaved like a creep... I spare you the details. But I believe after what I did... he won't attempt it again..."

He kissed your forehead, a slight chuckle escaping his lips.

"I scared the shit out of him, I must admit..."

The discomfort and confusion transformed into amusement. You knew Copia had been protecting you, and you realized you were never truly alone. You knew you never would be again. And you were determined to show him that he would never have to walk alone again either.

"I'm with you always, my dear... I won't let anyone harm you," he whispered against your hair, "Never."

#the band ghost #copia x reader #demon!copia #cardinal copia x female reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iv x female reader #ghost bc #the ghost band

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 4 months

Text

the counterpart

• chapter 1 — a welcome threatening stir

rating: explicit. please don’t skip straight to the (future) smut parts though, i’m currently teaching myself how to play chess just for this fic /hj

word count: 4,5k

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of ‘y/n’)

cw: alcohol, occasional cussing, reader is a smoker (she plays chess and lives in the 90s, how do you expect her to have healthy lungs in these conditions?). a LOT of tension, viktor is a certified brat tamer. i think that’s it — please come yell at me if i missed anything. basically just a silly little chess rivals (sort of) au.

i am finally writing this multichapter and i hope it will be a fun read for you and an excellent torture for me. i have a vision but i don’t know how to make shit perfectly executed. we’ll see how this goes. an ao3 link will be added later. any feedback is highly appreciated.

part 2

⸻

You weren’t obsessed with him.

With the way his tongue would click against his teeth so astutely irritating — a gesture you grew to define as some brief foreplay before said appendage touched his palate precisely one tortuous time, whispering a victorious ‘check’. With a crease dissecting his forehead — a rare occasion you managed to grasp only twice: the first time being your failed attempt to capture his queen, and the second — a recent one, at that — being a foolish way you’ve lost a freshly converted into a rook pawn: concurrently the most humiliating way to jeopardize an intellectual sparring.

You weren’t obsessed with his bizarre contemplative humming, nor with his Czech last name — needless to mention the disheveled mayhem of dark hair: Viktor was just a mere enigma you fancied to occasionally demerge — sneakily, patiently, with a positive passion to it. Habitually in a private ambiance of either his or your dorm room, though actually more commonly his — something about it simply screamed peace, as contradictory as that sounds. Sweetly quiet, relatively neat, with a never properly made bed being the only truly concerning mess in it.

That apartment was the embodiment of a grandmaster’s mind, and it certainly had all the chances of belonging to one at some point: if only he kept up with the meticulous tactics you were (secretly) so jealous about.

“Envy is a waste of time,” he unkindly reminded you one particularly languid evening, “you should pursue ways to expand your knowledge — not to contract them with such trivialities.”

That reproach got into your ambitious head. Call it a reality check or a simple first impression — since that encounter was also the first one you two had ever shared.

Though could someone really blame you? You didn’t need humbling. Well, not any more of that crude one, at the very least — a local college chess club had more than enough of it to offer. You could consume their disdain for weeks and it still wouldn’t make them run out of it — they had plenty in stock specifically for women. That much was obvious the second you appeared before those arrogant, prejudiced fools. You stepped in there innocently hoping to enroll, but stormed off with a genuine intention to commit homicide — a manslaughter, to be precise, and god weren’t you going to be merciful.

‘You can’t enroll without a rating,’ hissed that bespectacled, caricaturely tall boy — all heavily starched collar, stupid chequered tie and a handful of dirty blonde hair plastered across his forehead.

Bullshit, you thought, gathering every last ounce of your forced politeness, who needs a rating to enroll into a college fucking chess club?

‘We don’t accept amateurs,’ assented his not any less grimy interlocutor, his expression a tad bit more bearable. ‘Please, leave,’ he demanded, lancing your face with his hostile eyes.

Well, it’s a good thing you accept ill-mannered bastards, you almost muttered, fists clenching hard into a white-knuckled disaster.

And perhaps you were even willing to negotiate, to have their best players all lined up in front of you — each waiting for a turn to be relentlessly put in his place by you; and you would certainly show them — quick, efficient and contemplative. You would force them into submission — professionally so, in a way that would make them all wonder whether the next Judit Poglar herself has decided to bless them with her presence.

Because, sure; you were certainly many things — an excellent mind, a trickster, a fanatic, but that list never included an amateur. The mere fact someone even dared to insult you in such a way — and without even sparing you one game of chess — was, frankly, deeply humiliating.

So you decided to let your pride win. Walked out of that damned club with an ostentatious huff, heels clacking loud enough to muffle their demeaningly misogynistic brouhaha — a tacit protest, an addendum to your passive-aggressive ‘good luck, gentlemen’.

They didn’t want you — fine, whatever, you didn’t want them either. You’ll find yourself a counterpart soon — not any less intelligent, and, most importantly, a respectful one. They’ll come crawling back to you once you gain a rating, mourning their loss and pathetically begging for sweet mercy. You could already imagine the holes rubbed through the nice fabric of their dress pants from all the kneeling you’ll make them do.

Besides, Jayce had already promised to introduce you to someone decent. ‘He’s sweet,’ he assured you, a friendly arm wrapped around your tense shoulder. ‘Incredibly smart,’ he proceeded with his wholehearted praise, proud grin so wide the corners of his mouth were definitely hurting. ‘Somewhat awkward,’ he mused, raising one eyebrow in consideration, ‘though I’m not entirely sure it’s awkwardness, per se, Viktor is simply… pensive.’

Viktor. Your eyes squeezed shut, offering the restless imagination a brief opportunity to brainstorm. A competent, pensive and sweet chess lover: what would his temper turn out to be like? Does he have a rating yet? What if he’s already playing professionally? Perhaps he even has a title?

Jayce’s next comment didn’t offer you much help though.

‘He’s handsome too,’ he whispered, a shit-eating smirk wiped instantly off his pleased physiognomy. Elbows become offensive weapons between the ribs of unfortunate matchmakers, you see.

Either way: the deal was sealed. You were going to meet Viktor the next chance you get, and Jayce’s upcoming birthday has provided you with precisely that convenience.

It still happened rather spontaneously — you can’t mentally prepare yourself for an encounter you don’t quite know what to expect of. Sure, Jayce’s complaisant flattery was still at your service — a source not exactly reliable, yet somewhat welcomed nonetheless: though only because you lacked any other information about this Viktor persona.

But you decided not to upset a dear friend on his birthday. Acting like Jayce was bearable to be around was a part of your gift, after all.

Unfortunately, the fact he was born on an awfully steamy July day wasn’t helping you accomplish that; you squinted, drowning a glass of that disgustingly warm bourbon, a couple of melted ice cubes in it slightly diluting the once-rich taste of liquor. The man of the hour had quickly dissolved into a mess of infuriatingly noisy people after only reserving you a quick hello, shiny eyes already evidently tipsy — either from all the attention or the contentious quality of the booze this bar had to offer.

You didn’t dare to complain. The tab was on a birthday boy, and you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Knew better, yet still stared right at Jayce’s laughing physiognomy, grin so blindingly toothy it had you regretting ever sojourning this feast of life. Not that you had anything against attending birthday celebrations; but a cramped bar, a cheap drink and not a single minute spent with a man you came here for weren’t exactly your ideal perception of said… festivity. Not to mention that Viktor was terribly late — though your darling mutual acquaintance was in no state to properly introduce you to him anyway. You slipped out of your bar stool, rubbing an erratic little pattern into the weary skin of each heavy eyelid — but the sleepiness didn’t magically dissolve under the persistent pressure of your fingers. If there existed a thing you hated more than cocky men and bad booze — then it certainly had to be feeling hot, and this awful place has kindly reminded you of precisely that long forgotten loathing; air so sticky it was melting your brain into a tired, dysfunctional mush.

Somehow you managed to find an exit before the headache became borderline unbearable, letting the evening greet you with a chilly slap on precisely that slick place where a damp blouse kept clinging onto your sweaty back. Summer sure was relentless this year — the outdoors didn’t offer you much of that crispy gentle breeze, but it was still not nearly as suffocatingly hot as inside that grimy shelter for drunks.

Shaky hands slid inside the pocket of your pants, fumbling frantically with the contents of it: glistening candy wrappers, ringing keys and a handful of coins. Took you long enough to finally feel the shape of an old lighter, the spark wheel of it so terribly rusty the callus on your thumb started stinging as soon as you laid it on that rough little bump.

With a sigh, you fetched a folded pack of Camel out of the same stuffed sack, the state of said poor thing utterly matching its owner’s — all ruffled, messy, with the bottom of it barely still intact. Well, fine, perhaps that last trait was not precisely pertinent to you, but your rear was hurting quite palpably after an hour spent sitting on that awfully uncomfortable stool — which meant that relating to your poor box of cancer sticks was inevitable.

The spark wheel gave in after a few insistent pushes, and within seconds you were taking your first greedy drag, back pressed tightly against the cool wall; providing you a much needed support for taming a headache with a smoke break that would undoubtedly cause a new one in an instant. The filth filled your lungs with sweet relief, and you let the sedation run slowly through your veins, squeezing the filter in an affectionate little embrace of trembling index and middle fingers.

And then your private moment was ruined. But not abruptly in the slightest, with just one simple call of your name – the most careful of all interventions, surprisingly quizzical and polite, heavily accented at the edge of the very last syllable. Still had you choking ungracefully on your tiny nicotine snack, filling the silence with awfully inelegant coughing.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” spoke your pensive intruder, causing you to sharply turn around, back clinging off the wall in one unsubtle movement.

That’s how all meaningful formal meetings happen. Unfailingly when you least expect them, or, even worse — when you stop expecting them at all, with every thought banished from your utterly relaxed mind. They sneak up on you under shitty bars, giving you a slight vertigo and then offering a polite smile to make amends, gripping the handles of their canes with pent up awkwardness. And god were they peculiar intrusions — matching your silly, much too improper manner to wear corporate clothes for a night out, with just a few buttons of their tight vest undone; limbs lanky, but not inept, eyes brimming with pretty copper right onto your astonished frame. Made you randomly embarrassed about your chipped nail polish and messy hair with just a mere presence of their flawlessness: you knew you were facing a tease before you even managed to acknowledge his appearance, brow raising curiously in a cautious attempt of a greeting.

“Well, you did startle me,” was the first thing to leave your mouth after the coughing assault had ended, lips stretching lazily into an involuntary grin. “How do you know my name?”

His eyes — oh those big shiny tormentors — widened in surprise, and one sinewy hand crawled somewhat haphazardly up his chest, fingers catching the knot of a red tie to pull on it firmly. To either adjust it or to make the clearing of a tender throat easier — you couldn’t quite place it, yet still watched him in silent astonishment, tasting the bitterish taste of tobacco on the tip of your tongue.

“Well,” he parroted your tone with sharp accuracy and proceeded with distinguished sass, “I believe a certain someone has introduced us to each other… in absentia, so to speak.”

Oh. So that was your new charming counterpart? Bravo, Jayce — there was actually something truthful about your flattering for the first time.

“For I am Viktor, in case you’re still confused,” he obligingly reminded, abandoning the brief fidgeting with his tie to offer you a handshake.

You gulped, almost extending a dominant arm to accept it, but some weird foreboding had once convinced you that to twine your still smelling of cigarettes fingers with a stranger would be somehow perceived as crude — and so you clumsily caught his palm with your other, less nimble limb. Let the heat of his touch engrave into your hand, eyes swirling the tiny mole above that defined cupid’s bow, making you feel stupid for stealing that innocent of a peek. Had you forgetting about the still stuffed into your mouth cigarette as it fell open in oblivious awe, almost dropping a decent bridge of ashes onto his pretty shoes.

Regaining the lost composure, you managed to introduce yourself in a manner similar to his — not that it was necessary since he seemed to remember what to call you exactly, but the gesture still felt right — you’d vowed to treat people with politeness and liked to think that it was going quite well for you.

“So,” he uttered somewhat approbatory, withdrawing his hand from your tender clasp, “normally I don’t… tutor. But Jayce was rather insistent I try — and he’d also assured me that you’re quite passionate about the subject.”

You huffed, letting out an undefinable sound of confusion. Not without a mixture of evident irritation to it, if you were to be frank — but that was entirely justified. A tutor? Is that how Jayce really took it?

“I’m not looking for a tutor,” you sassed matter-of-factly, angrily inhaling from your cigarette. “I’m looking for a counterpart. What makes you think that you’re competent enough to teach me anything at all?” you inquired with candid hostility, watching him go limp in silent panic.

You’d vowed to treat people with politeness and didn’t care if it wasn’t going well for you anymore. Quite a drastic change of plans, to be frank.

“Oh, I am not claiming that,” Viktor rushed to object, and the way a few strands of hair started shaking treacherously as he wagged his head had almost caused you to crack a pretentious smirk. But he quickly soothed the unkempt curl and proceeded with his explanation, “I was simply told you might need some help. Why the unnecessary attitude?”

“Because you were told wrong,” you practically spat the smoke into his face, lips smacking together with an audible pop. It made his textured nose wrinkle with a fed up sigh, entertaining you with an ungainly attempt of waving that livid cloud away.

“And that’s my fault… how, exactly?” he mumbled with an utterly puzzled glare, and you scoffed in silent rejoicement, leaning slightly closer to divert yourself with more of his emotiveness.

“You should have paid more attention to what Jayce told you,” you jumped over his rhetorical question paying it no mind whatsoever. Though, as you were reminiscing on the events of this exact conversation — your own audacity made you wonder how Viktor managed to refrain from slapping you across the face that very instant. The shitty booze must have turned out not so shitty after all — it sure gave you the nerve, and you were holding onto it a tad bit too tightly.

But your new companion didn’t take that well. His thick eyebrow protruded into a furious arc, lids twitching slightly at the outburst you were so pathetically proud about. Both hands returned to the handle of his cane, as if getting ready to transform it into a weapon — and he leaned his whole body weight on it with a displeased gasp, accented voice obtaining a lower, more threatening edge to it.

He’s sweet, you scoffed, ready to press your forehead against his like an uncivilized animal. It’s not like you were acting much better than that anyway.

Well, at least Jayce didn’t lie about the handsome part.

“I’ll have you know that I was, indeed, paying attention,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “and if you wish to quibble over the words that do not even belong to me — then fine: be my absolute guest, but do not except me to align with your enthusiasm and partake in useless insults.”

He cleared his throat again, evidently reluctant to indulge in whatever spectacle you were so clearly asking for. That man didn’t deserve your resentment, but now you certainly deserved his, and so you backed off, fingers twitching haphazardly as they curdled around your cigarette for one last awkward drag, lashes fluttering with palpable nervousness.

“I was told you needed a tutor — and I sincerely apologize if your request was miscomprehended,” Viktor sighed, and you blinked at him in baffled reverence. Wishing oh so desperately to burn your always looking for trouble tongue with that still somewhat smoldering tobacco stick.

“No, I…” you gasped in response, but Viktor held a soothing hand up, stopping you from puking out more of that guilty incoherent nonsense.

“Please, allow me to finish,” he demanded, and you obeyed — a mere culpable inch away from accidentally swallowing the filter still filling your mouth with a sharp savour of smoke.

And your submission was appreciated right away.

“So, as I was saying,” Viktor returned to his lecture with a distinguished cough, “I’m sorry if your request was miscomprehended. But it certainly wasn’t miscomprehended by me, which makes your reaction somewhat… unfair, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” you yielded, nodding in weak agreement. “Yes, totally unfair.”

“To say the least,” he was quick to add, emphasizing the last word especially heavy.

“To say the least,” you parroted in response — just like a tamed misbehaving brat. And that’s precisely what you were — humbled, put in your place and sorry. You were sorry, and it made you quiver as you timidly chewed on the inside of an already half-eaten cheek, frantically counting the numerous scratches on your shoes. Doing anything to escape the gentle orbs undressing you off your very flesh in an attempt to find something even you doubted was still there: some prudence.

“So, with that being said,” Viktor summarized, and you heard a resonant click of his cane against the concrete, “I suggest you take out your anger on someone who’s responsible for the incorrect wording.”

You dared to abandon your defeated position, head tilting slightly upwards to witness his departure — just as languid as this completely disastrous evening; no offense to Jayce and his special day, of course.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he smiled, politely nodding at the establishment before you two, “I still ought to wish that someone a happy birthday.”

So that’s how you lose both a battle and a war. He’d just taught you a valuable lesson — and here you were, so appalled to the idea of being tutored. Oh how the tables have turned.

You reached out a hand for him, preliminarily putting out that damned cigarette to the sole of your messy shoe in a chaotic rush. Grazed his shoulder with a fleeting touch — so cowardly unsure if you were even allowed to pamper such luxury in these conditions. But he showed you some mercy — allowed it to linger there, slightly dipped into the curvature of his clavicle, awaiting your next move with a didactic frown.

A look of a man who’d put you in a checkmate before even pulling out a chess board.

“Viktor, I’m sorry,” you muttered with the most sincere remorseful look your face could even master, “I’m terribly sorry, actually. I shouldn’t have—“ but he interrupted you, eyes drifting playfully to the hand still invading his precious privacy.

“Oh, shit,” you cussed under your breath, hastily pulling it back as if it was leprotic, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Please, continue,” he insisted softly. Gave you a few seconds to finish crumbling into stupid tipsy pieces and stepped back, all of his attention centered precisely on your earnest apology.

Oh, nevermind, someone please scratch the ‘showed you some mercy’ part.

“I was rude,” you confessed (as if it wasn’t obvious enough already). “Unacceptably so. I’m not exactly… good with social cues — but it’s no excuse, I should never have said that. Especially within the first five minutes of meeting you,” the words were flowing out of your mouth so naturally — surprisingly smooth for someone who’d normally take three to five business days to come up with a proper atonement (or even consider the necessity of one whatsoever).

“Do you think I could somehow… make it up to you?” you hit him with your most pitiable arrow, the one you were saving up for special occasions when you really did mean to somehow atone for all the damage, eyes two pretty things seeking his forgiveness with a sporadic, perplexed blink. But they saw none — he’d frowned, hummed in consideration, and then tormented you with silence for just a few more everlasting seconds, making you sink your lips softly into the edge of your nail and scrape some polish off of it. Squinting instantly at the awful, chemical taste — and Viktor finally gave up.

You’d realized it was your first time hearing him laugh much later. It was, indeed, a thing to remember — all raspy, strangely domestic, not malicious or willing to destroy you any further. And yes — technically, he was laughing at you, but if that’s what you’d get every time this man filled the air with that soft laughter — then you may as well become a circus employee just to figure out how to make him emit more of it.

“All is forgiven,” he assured you, shaking his head, “the second you made that face, actually. But no more of that, please. If that’s how you plead — then I’m afraid I might someday forgive you something utterly unacceptable.”

He’s sweet, you sighed, an unsure smile returning plastered across your face once again.

Perhaps you should start listening to Jayce more often.

“But back to your request,” Viktor was quick not to let you turn into a puddle on that still scorched by the sun ground, “a counterpart — is that what you need? Why not join a chess club, then?”

His question didn’t mean any harm, and he obviously just asked it out of sheer curiosity — yet it still made you feel a tad bit demeaned. Not by him, of course, just by the fact those arrogant fucks still dared to coexist without you.

Perhaps they would be willing to reconsider if they saw your behavior tonight?

You sighed, shrugging off his query. “I tried to. They didn’t let me because I don’t have a rating.”

“Really? Well that’s just strange — since when does one need a rating for it?” his confusion was genuine, eyes widened drastically as if he’d just heard the biggest absurdity of his entire life.

“That’s what I said,” you whined in a tone of a natural gossip-girl, almost ready to chain-smoke the entire rest of your pack now that you were reminded of your misery.

“I see,” Viktor hummed, stroking a thumb over the line of his sharp chin in deep scrutiny, “hm, I’m certain I’ve never heard them demand a rating for enrollment before. A club is not a tournament, after all.”

“Wait, are you a member of our chess club?” the realization quickly absorbed you, but Viktor didn’t quite catch on to your astonishment.

“Yes,” he dryly confirmed, “yes, I am. Not that I spend much time there though — those gentlemen are simply… how do I put it politely? Mediocre. Incompetent. I don’t like careless opponents — what’s the point in playing them if you can picture how exactly you can win within seconds?”

Within seconds. You froze in apparent disbelief, trying to figure out whether he’s bluffing or actually being serious, awaiting tensely on something — anything — that might indicate a joke. But not a single muscle on his pale face twitched into a smile — he’d responded with a look as awfully inquisitive as yours, unsure of what exactly you expect him to do.

So he does mean it. In that case, he’s either very full of himself — or these boys are, in fact, that hopeless in chess. And something kept telling you that it most likely was the ladder.

“I’m jealous then, I suppose,” you offered him a safe answer, toying thoughtlessly with your poor, rusty lighter.

“Please don’t be,” he protested with a careful plea. “Envy is a waste of time. You should pursue ways to expand your knowledge — not to contract them with such trivialities.”

Bold of him to assume you might envy his skills. Well, yes — you were definitely beaming with envy, but he didn’t need to know that just yet.

You snorted, almost letting that toxic conceit take over whatever pieces of common sense Viktor had just punched back into you — and his words dwelled, slinking through your skull, filling you not with thirst for vengeance, but with inspiration. It gave you some time to form a decent comeback, so you used it wisely: by delivering precisely that kind of answer, eyes rolling playfully at his discreet lecture.

“I don’t envy your tactics,” you informed him, gracefully holding your head up, “I envy the fact you have someone to show them to.”

And that boy smiled again, forcing your light vertigo to return — but not out of tipsiness or so-called ‘arrogance poisoning’.

“So do you,” he whispered, and watched you derail with the most victorious countenance known to a man. Reminding you nonchalantly that he doesn’t need a single chess piece to have you in a stalemate.

That muggy bar might’ve offered you an experience of being trapped in a figurative, impossibly narrow coffin, but Viktor’s presence was the thing that truly made you feel like an actual cadaver — all empty thoughts, and stiffness, and skipped heartbeats.

But Jayce forgot to mention that your new competitor was also deeply laconic.

“Meet me in the library next… Friday, if you’re available?” he wasn’t generous enough to award you with any more seconds to recover from this exchange, impatiently expecting a confirmation. You could only manage a non-verbal one, nodding weakly at his offer.

“Say… somewhere around noon?” he mused, and you instantly nodded again, waiting obligingly for his next suggestion. What a pleasure it is to do business with you!

“Perfect,” he snatched the words out of your mouth, already half-turned to the bar entrance, “please bring a board, and I shall bring the clocks… Yes, the library should suffice — it’s not like a game of chess requires much conversation either way. Now, please do excuse me — I really need to steal Jayce away for a minute.”

You watched him vanish into that devilish, so utterly unfitting for a man of his kind place; eyes nailed into his back as the crowd of feasting people swallowed your new interlocutor. Letting an excited little breath slip past your open mouth, escorting him with an uncoordinated wave of a shaky hand — a rather silly, excessive gesture since he wasn’t able to see it, and yet it still felt right — like a perfect little farewell to strengthen this newfound friendship with.

That’s how you met your counterpart — or, perhaps, that’s what you used to see in him once.

What you were still oblivious about — is that this man will conquer you in much more capacities than just the game that brought you two together.

⸻

tags (please let me know if you’d like to be added to them) : @zaunitearchives @blissfulip

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x f!reader #arcane fanfic #viktor smut #*throws this thing at you and vanishes*#the cunterpart

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nyayutakami · 2 months

Text

All my parts.

Featuring. Kanata Yatonokami x GN! Reader.

"My scars are hiding Darkness, violence, vices, That keep me holding on to kindness, they all are mine

My heart is holding Sadness, loneliness, crisis, That keep me looking where the light is."

A (quite spicy) fic inspired by this beautiful art of Kanata by @/adriemori.

Tags: spicy, very suggestive, quite heated tbh, with some soft moments. I'm not sure how in character Kanata is, but he's both soft and... hot.

🌙 - For Lynnie @koumeowkami 💜 I hope you enjoy this. I listened to All my parts by Gyroaxia while I was writing this. Though spice is not my forte, I still hope you feel loved by your Kanata! <3

Finally, he could relax.

He hadn’t hoped working at this inn would be all smooth sailing, but encountering that damn chatterbox of a redhead certainly didn’t form part of his plans.

The young man lets out a long exhale now.

Despite the steam emanating from the warm water he’s enjoying, he can’t help but be reminded of your childish habit of blowing air in winter, your lips pouty as you watched it drift towards the stars.

He misses you now.

Sure, perhaps this is a rare occasion in which he gets to kick back and relax in a privileged atmosphere… But it could never replace the tender intimacy of holding you in between his arms on his run down shower as the hot water runs out.

Long lashes sprinkled in lilac stardust cast tempting shadows over his cheeks, head resting against the edge of the pool.

“Kanata…” The voice he adores whispers suddenly.

Is he dreaming? To the point of imagining you calling for him?

The water shifts.

“Hmm, maybe you’re not in the mood for a bath together?”

At that, his eyes snap wide open, hot water sloshing over the sides of the onsen.

Right there, before his eyes, you’re sitting. Legs crossed, toes playfully swirling the liquid surface, body wrapped in a flimsy white towel.

Kanata’s face flares up in all the shades of crimson of poppy fields.

“Wha- H-how- What- How did you get in here?” Your boyfriend whisper-shouts, eyes of violet starlight darting to the sides to check and re-check you two are alone.

“I missed you… So I just… Wanted to have a bath with you.” You pout, looking down.

He can’t deny the way you teased him one second and got shy the next was utterly adorable.

He wants this.

“What if someone sees?”

You stare up at him, the beginning of a sigh already curving your lips downwards, the gibbous silhouette of a moon clouded in stygian.

You make to stand up, the towel around you, a cloud of dusky fog.

It beckons him towards the bliss at the end of the path.

One of Kanata’s hands instinctively wraps around your wrist before you can move farther.

He wants you.

You bump into his bare chest, the splashing water the only sound beneath the warm lights of the hot spring and the stars.

Between your held breaths, your gazes meet.

And each other is the only thing you know in this instant.

Amidst the galaxy of you and him, violet northern stars guide your heart to his; your stellas entangled the moment your arms go around his shoulders.

And then you collide.

It’s the searing blaze of staring directly into the sun.

Because you were his, haloing his full moon, the afterlife of his perennial winter.

A shiver runs down your spine the moment his tongue prods against your parted mouth, his ardent way of asking for access.

Which you grant, as you always did.

His heart is a river, turbulence ending in the peaceful sea of yours.

He pushes you against the edge of the pool, the lean muscles of his frame all too present against your bare body.

If it wasn’t for his arms caging you in, your knees would have buckled already.

The waves at your very core throb, the ship of your restraint threatens to topple over.

And, at this point, you can’t tell if his hold is anchoring you or fanning your lustful flames.

“K-Kanata…” You whimper.

You’re taken aback by how weak your voice sounds.

How pathetic.

And yet, because it’s Kanata, you don’t mind.

He leans in further, his sharp canines grazing the skin beneath your ear, bloody camellias left in his wake.

“Wasn’t this what you wanted?” He rasps. The huskiness in his voice sending your heart into overdrive.

“I… I…” You mumble, before looking to the side.

Not for long, your boyfriend’s lips desperately locking with yours again, more hungry and deliciously violent this time.

The tips of his little fangs sink into the pinkness of your lips, in between every bite, only your moans and gasps.

Kanata wishes he could listen to you like this forever.

“My angel…” You utter, in between his onslaught of kisses, your fingertips tracing the slim muscles of his back, his arms, his abdomen.

Before your gentleness, his walls crumble completely.

No one has ever cherished him so tenderly.

If he’s the boundary between lightning and night skies, you are the breeze that blows away the clouds, the glow of his stars released from the shadows.

Damp strands of threaded hyacinth suddenly stick to your neck.

“You know I’m not…” He tsks, temple resting on your shoulder.

You hum, just holding him, in the quiet of the night.

The way his embrace tightens doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

It makes you a little happy and a little sad.

You loved feeling him close, but the desperation in his every touch and caress, the longing in every kiss breaks your heart a little, too.

’Please don’t leave, please never go.’ Are the words those gestures spell for him.

Your wordless promise comes in a trail of feathered kisses from his jawline to his chest. Your lips, akin to butterflies; ephemerally there, yet coloring his world eternally.

After a few silent heartbeats, Kanata’s hands cradle your face.

The illuminated water partially covering you two casts a faint turquoise glow over his face.

You can see every pore, every eyelash and crystalline droplet sliding down his cheeks, his hair, his neck.

Oh, how you envy the way they kiss his skin in such subtlety.

Your own hands rest over his chest; a heartbeat, broken and put back together by his own defiance thrumming beneath your palm.

In this instant, Kanata is showing you every crack, each glass piece catching the light in technicolor, melded back together, no matter how sharp and jagged, by the gilded aura of your sweet affection.

And maybe it was that, what ignited his own core now.

The next time your lover’s lips touch yours, you know it won’t be long until he’s on top of you in his bed, as you desperately try to be quiet, the intimacy of you and him, his most precious secret.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Your devious stare asks, the moment his lips separate from yours.

‘Remember, you asked for it.’ His feline smirk replies.

And you know that, no matter how exhausted you feel tomorrow, the pleasure of him and his smile right now are all you need.

The last stars would still be awake by the time you finally drifted to sleep, bare beneath white bed sheets. From a sky aglow, they bid you two farewell. Your heartbeat and your fingers comb through Kanata's hair, lulling him to sleep.

Though, no dream could ever beat the sweetness of your taste and touch.

He smiles now, soft and angelic.

Tenderly, you kiss his brow.

And even in your dreams, every bit of him is always with you.

#paradox live #paradox live x reader #paralive #paralive x reader #kanata yatonokami #kanata yatonokami x reader #pararai #prri #paradox live cozmez #cozmez #paradox live imagines #paradox live the animation #paralive imagines #paradox live headcanons #kanata x reader #yatonokami kanata #paradox live fanfiction #hailey writes

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crushedsweets · 6 months

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How did Nurse Ann die in your au??

She's one of my faves and I rlly want to hear your take on her backstory

-💉anon

PERFECT QUESTION OK. ok . man ok. i have a lot to say cw for abuse, torture, kidnapping, etc. typical creepypasta style stuff

annemarie mia was born into a rowdy family in NYC. She had two older brothers & one younger brother. each were 1-3 years apart. Her older brothers were pretty cruel to her and her little brother. she turned it right back onto her little brother. biting, spitting, smothering him in his sleep, stealing his food so he goes hungry, cutting him. she'd been so mean since he was so little, she's threatened to kill him so many times, so he kept it to himself. he was beyond happy when, at 18, she moved out without a word.

by 27, annemarie was a neet. no job, school, social skills - she was unpleasant to be around, really snappy and bitchy and generally had a nasty attitude. cut off her entire family just because she didn't want to deal with the emotional labor. went through some pretty difficult shit to make a living.

and not that anyone really asked how she owned a decent little home in the more rural parts of tuscaloosa county, but she'd attribute it to inheritance, generational shit, the sort. she would be lying

she went by 'nurse ann' online, hosting a 'red room' service on the dark web thats exactly what the urban legend entails. what made her stood out is that she preformed in a dominatrix style, fitted with leather straps, studs, whips, corsets- had a generally more 'sexy' atmosphere to it. her audience liked the way she followed some sort of hospital roleplay half the time with the nurse dress, medical equipment, syringes, etc.

again, its an urban legend, but her red room is basically taking donations alongside requests for certain torture methods on her victim. depending on the price, she could cut off some fingers, use acid, rip out their teeth, skin them, whatever the fuck her audience could ask for - and she has quite the fanbase, too. most of her streams lasted days, sometimes she'd turn it off and come back, sometimes she'd just leave the victim there writhing on camera the entire night. even after they died, she'd dissect them to keep up the nurse persona, making a whole show of it - showing off her body and her sadism all in one. she wanted to make the most money she could

she mostly acquired her victims from dirty, dingy bars where she'd drug whoever she wanted to bring home. drag them into her truck, dump them into her basement way out in the middle of nowhere, set up her camera, shimmy her way into some leather, and make thousands in a single night. she typically preferred men, but if enough people paid for her to bring in a woman, she would.

very very very rarely she'd let an audience member interested in their own murder, an autassassinophiliac, come onto her stream. it'd be a whole ordeal, they'd have to already send a fucking massive sum of money before she even considers it. always brings a fully loaded gun, drugs that she expects them to take right in front of her, cuffs, so on and so forth - too much work and too much risk most of the time, hence the rarity of this occasion.

she fucked up one day. quickly, the man over powered her & beat her unconscious. she woke up in a completely unfamiliar location, hung by her hands like she was meat at a butchers. she was dressed in a shitty nurse outfit, and a camera was set up right in front of her.

what happened to her that night was karma. he dismembered her on camera, with many of her own fans waiting for the footage of him taking out her left eye, her hands, her arms, her legs. the only reason he didn't live stream was because he had no signal.

she slipped in and out of consciousness for the first portion of her torture, until she began to bleed out. she died when he began setting up the tools so he could stitch her right back up and make a doll of her, keep something to keep the 'fans' happy.

he brought her to an abandoned hospital in the middle of a forest. her murderer didn't fully know where he even brought her. slenderman was not very happy about all the mess he made

kate, coming from a mine less than a mile from the hospital, was notified that a human was in the forest. after a short sprint, she begins stalking through the hospital as the man is finishing up his work.

theres a bit of a chase between the two, until kate does her job and kills him with a random weapon he left around.

kates not really paying attention to annemarie's corpse, she's just dragging the mans body somewhere for her to dispose. it takes a couple hours for kate to get it handled, and by time she's coming back to the hospital to deal with annemarie, she gets the shit scared out of her when the woman is walking around. stumbling and already rotting, but walking nonetheless. even introduced herself as 'nurse ann'.

kate had to get that figured out cuz it was really freaky.

anyway, zalgo had a part in ann's "revival." he's another entity trapped in slendermans forest, similar to the operator but significantly weaker. he keeps infecting corpses and bringing them back, partly hoping they can be used as puppets (but he fails to get into their head) and partly trying to cause trouble for slenderman.

he can only bring back people who die in the forest who aren't killed by proxies slenderman/the operator, since the corpses are 'locked' otherwise

but yea :3 she's fun

#maybe her wealth is still accessible after her death and the proxies can find a way to get into her shit.. hmmm.. dunno #asks #creeped #hcs #nurse ann #nurse ann hcs #nurse ann headcanons #nurse ann headcannons #creepypasta #creepypasta au #creepypasta headcanons #ann lusen mia

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tuttumi · 3 months

Text

a forbidden place to be

pairing: satosugu

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, yearning, consumption of alcohol, drunk gojo

summary: Satoru Gojo shouldn’t have drunk, nor should he have found himself gazing into purple eyes his soul knew too well. Yet he did.

wc: 2.2k a/n: fic posted on ao3 as well :)

A quiet night.

The streets illuminated by the yellow lights shone down on Satoru Gojo's white hair, melting into waves through the drunken haze that was leading his feet.

Every passing car made him flinch, their light too bright for his dark thoughts. He'd cursed himself for leaving his glasses on Shoko's couch.

It was on rare occasions that he drank.

The strongest had to keep his head clear of any unwanted thoughts that could overpower the reason he tried so hard to maintain. It brought a scoff to his lips as he kicked the leaves on the cobblestone.

The bitter taste of sake, followed by a few glasses of whiskey whose name he didn't even read, its dull brown color angry on his tongue yet just as sweet as he liked things to be.

He needed it tonight.

He didn’t know whether it was Nanami’s scowling face or Shoko’s head over his shoulder as she told him to be nicer to Ijichi.

Maybe it was Utahime’s yelling or simply the light chuckle in his ear that made him search the room in desperation. It brought him a few raised eyebrows, worried looks, and questions he had to laugh off.

Ah, that’s what it was.

The sound of his name being called affectionately and a smile that let him count the dark eyelashes with a violet orb warming the tips of his ears.

The very sound no one else could hear, one engraved in his brain like a devotion startling him from sleep more often than he would care to admit.

He shouldn’t have drunk.

Nor should he have left Shoko’s apartment despite her protests and a warning she would make it hurt if he got himself hurt.

And he most certainly shouldn’t have found himself leaning on a building whose location he denied knowing. Its outer walls hiding the main building wall where the windows stood, spiking disappointment in the white-haired sorcerer.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning so the coldness of the white wall could cool down the inferno of emotions in his brain, the infinity forgotten. He didn’t need to be the strongest now, he was safe. That was one thing he didn't question as he felt the familiar surge of cursed energy approach him.

“Did you come to end this, Satoru?”

There it was.

The same voice that brought his mind to a stop. It cut through the chilly air inviting his adoration.

He was sure the goosebumps on his skin weren’t from the air hugging him in comfort.

He shouldn’t be here.

Yet the growing frown on the longhaired man caused his lips to turn upwards, his dimples shadowing his cheeks in the dim light.

“Satoru?” Suguru tilted his head walking even closer.

Something about the worried tone of his voice ensnared Satoru’s whole body, tugging at his limbs. He followed as Suguru's eyes searched his body, his head close enough that the scent of his hair was making his thoughts dance.

Was it the alcohol that made his hand move a stray hair from Suguru’s bang back into its place? Or was it the pleasure he felt learning his one and only still cared this for him like nothing changed?

“I should’ve noticed.” his blue eyes closed as his head fell forward, heavy on his shoulders. A faint chuckle left his lips, as bitter as the sake he had.

Before Suguru could question his drunken rambling, the desperate rage in his blue eyes stopped him.

The storm of Satoru’s eyes wasn’t shooting its lightning at Suguru.

It targeted its own sea, causing waves to rest on the edges, threatening to show themselves to his best friend.

He truly shouldn’t be here.

Satoru turned his head rapidly, mumbling to himself with a frown.

His intoxicated body gave up on holding him as he slid down the wall sloppily, feeling the crannies under his palms.

He thought he’d imagined Suguru’s hands twitching towards him. It’s no more than his vision swirling in colors and shapes.

“What are you doing?”

Suguru’s voice was soothing and as patient as it always was, yet a small crack in it made his furrowed brows clear to his six eyes as he lifted his head to peek at him.

Satoru let out a laugh. As if nothing happened. As if they were back in Jujutsu high, still 17 and, well, the strongest… together.

“Suguru,” he slurred out, his teasing voice accompanied by a worry-free grin, “wanna hit the arcade again?”

“You really should never drink again.”

He could hear the disbelief in Suguru’s words as he crouched next to him.

The scent of his cursed energy was so known to his fingertips they itched to absorb it in their skin like before, to bathe in it until he drowned.

“It was your fault.” Satoru’s smile pieced together the crack in his voice. He felt desperate. Vulnerable.

The blur of his vision was making it hard to see but he couldn’t mistake the anger on Suguru’s face. He couldn’t miss the hurt.

Was he hurting like he was?

No, more than he was. He cut him off before he could even ask what he meant.

“I needed it tonight.” Satoru spat out. There was no more anger in those blue eyes of his. Only the calm void of the deep ocean that was left on its own for too long, remorse swimming in its waves as he watched the purple eyes startle upon meeting them.

He felt himself drifting off as they shut.

If he’d had more strength he would’ve laughed at Suguru’s faint scolding.

———————————————————————————

It felt as if he was lying on the clouds. Their soft touch on his cheek was surprisingly warm, holding him close, strong under his arms and legs, and moving so carefully as if he might fall off.

They tickled his face, making him scrunch his nose.

Then he felt it.

Suguru's cursed energy. His scent. The darkness of his hair under his cheek protecting him from the same streetlights he'd cursed on his stroll.

It made him giggle when he understood in his drunken haze.

“Couldn’t leave me alone?” He whispered in Suguru’s ear, feeling the shiver that ran down his body. A smirk stayed on his face at his reaction.

“I should’ve,” Suguru responded breathily provoking another laugh from the white-haired man, talking more to himself than to him.

Satoru was happier than he was in a while. He would let himself revel in this, it was what he needed.

But it was dangerous.

He wrapped his arms tighter around Suguru, nuzzling his face in Suguru’s hair. He didn’t want it to end.

Alas, someone could see him. Could use this distraction to complete the kill order since that was the only way they could ever hope to accomplish that.

He couldn’t let him get him home.

He wrestled off of Suguru, confusing the dark-haired man and earning nervous objections as he turned around.

And suddenly, their noses were touching and all reasonable thoughts left his mind.

They could afford to share at least a moment in this empty street.

They could be happy for just this instant.

It was enough. As long as they were finally close enough they could breathe each other's air.

His lips curled upwards, his heart pulling it into a grin as Suguru stared at him in wonder.

And with a chuckle, he returned a sheepish smile. His eyes closed, one eyebrow raised at the usual mischief.

All the ropes of restraint Satoru Gojo had wrapped around himself ripped to shreds at that very second, dissolved by the welcoming comfort he craved.

Maybe he was right to have drunk tonight.

He slowly pressed his lips on the corner of Suguru’s, the gleam in his eyes replaced by yearning. By a silent plea to grant him this much.

Suguru’s hand touched his cheek softly, the touch like a ritual he felt before they even came in contact with his skin.

That touch was enough for his hands to find themselves in the dark hair faster than his lips captured Suguru's, grasping desperately as if he’d vanish from his sight again.

He was sure the world was spinning from much more than alcohol this time. The cold of a brick wall hit his back, their hands moving faster than their feet.

As he finally pulled away for air, he recognized the staircase on the other side of the street, yet Suguru’s lips on his neck didn’t leave him room for thought. His fist tugged on the man’s hair, earning a moan his body couldn’t dismiss.

“Suguru,” he let out a deep breath. “Room, please.”

He didn’t need an answer. Suguru’s lips creating a burning path from his chest to his lips were enough for him to drag him with an unstable stride towards the staircase, earning a deep giggle.

He contemplated teleporting into his room but didn't trust his drunken brain not to send them someplace other than his bed.

The world churned in even brighter shapes and colors in his mind. As it dimmed to the darkness, he prayed nothing would change when he opened his eyes. Prayed he could still feel Suguru's hands around his waist, holding him tight.

He'd stay like that forever. Like before.

A gentle palm on the back of his head held his head as it hit Suguru’s shoulder before he lost the last shred of conscience he was grasping onto that night and let himself follow the darkness.

———————————————————————————

He was back in his arms.

Their limbs interlocked as they always were when they shared a bed.

Yet the cotton sheets were cold. So unusually cold.

Satoru startled awake, clutching his throbbing head. It’s thumping the only sound in the room as the world froze.

He was alone.

Ice wormed its way into his blood, his chest heavier than a boulder, so tight it might explode.

This wasn’t his room. The photo frames on the tiny beige nightstand held Shoko's smiling face in them.

Suguru wouldn’t have brought him here, it was much worse than waltzing to Satoru’s apartment in broad daylight.

Did he even leave Shoko’s apartment that night?

The last memory he had before Suguru’s purple eyes took their reign in his mind was laying his head on the wooden table as they were playing a card game, the whiskey making the red carpet in the room spin.

And then…darkness. Void.

Freezingly cruel void.

And an uneasy feeling in his chest.

Did he even meet Suguru?

He ran a hand over his face, gripping his hair and yanking harshly. The pain helped him ground his thoughts, as he interrogated them to find the truth.

Did he think of him so hard he convinced himself into having a vivid dream so strong he could still feel Suguru’s lips on his own?

Was it because Nanami kept prodding about how long he planned to pretend he didn’t know where Suguru was hiding?

He closed his eyes tightly.

Was it the fact it’s been exactly three years since he'd exchanged his last words with Suguru?

A resentful laugh left his lips.

“You okay?” Shoko’s voice interrupted the whirl of his mind before he could drive himself mad with questions. And guilt.

“You looked rough last night.” She walked in, watching him from the corner of her eye as she grabbed a change of clothes from the tall dresser, closing the glass door.

Satoru laughed. “Happens when you don’t drink much usually.”

“Next time you fight me like last night, I’ll leave you to sleep on the porch, don’t try me.” She pointed her unlit cigarette at him making him raise his arms in defense. She stopped. “You had me worried.”

Satoru chuckled at her, a small word of thanks leaving his lips.

“Come on, the boys and Utahime are awake, we’re waiting for you to eat.”

Satoru groaned as she hurried him off the bed, the throbbing of his head drowning in the waves of nausea as he walked to the bathroom connected to the room.

“Really shouldn’t have let me drink.”

His whole body felt numb, this time not from alcohol, but from the deceitful memories that seemed to mock him every time he closed his eyes.

He didn’t even know how he’d live through the day.

Shoko’s silence made him turn to look at her standing in the doorway, taking in her tired face.

He’d almost expected her to throw something at him.

“Why, you’re regretting hooking up with a criminal already?”

Satoru’s eyes widened, the blood in his body freezing once again as blue as his eyes were.

“What?” The word came out raspy from his lips, barely piecing the letters together, all the hope in the world clutching onto it.

Shoko’s eyebrows furrowed, she looked like she was angry. Yet on the verge of tears as she stared at him in silence. Letting him collect his thoughts.

“That… happened?” His voice was almost inaudible.

“Don’t get caught, Gojo,” she paused, her hand almost crushing the cigarette as she balled her fists, “and bring that fool over sometime too. You’re not the only one who misses him.”

Her words struck like a knife into his heart. He never gave it a thought.

She didn’t want to lose them either. It was selfish to think Suguru was only his home.

He gave her a light smile, leaving to refresh himself as her steps quieted.

He decided it wouldn’t be so bad to have more parties like last night’s one.

Parties that will give him an excuse to visit his one and only.

#satosugu #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo satoru x geto suguru #jjk fanfic #ao3 fanfic #satosugu fanfic #gojo fanfic #geto fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #my fic #fanfiction #jjk angst #jjk hurt/comfort

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lokiandbuckysdoll · 10 months

Note

Alright So the request i wanna make is a loki x plus!size reader i was thinking that the reader is a villain and she is very hard to capture but the avengers get her and put her in a cell with loki she is a bit of a bich and very mean when she has enemies and sassy to let's just say when the avengers hear her full name they know who her father is and his reputation let's just say her father was very evil and had a lot of enemies and they say she act's a lot like her father and they convince loki and the reader to join the avengers they say they can have a normal life and (i forgot to mention when they capture the reader she threatens to kill them but they said she can't escape) so her and loki become close and loki at the end idmits he love's the reader like love love's her like he would die for her she feels the same they get their happy ending. (I really don't know how it ends Sorry if it's long)

Hi darling! sorry this took me forever to write. I hope you like it though! And thanks to @springdandelixn for helping me with writing this! Love you bubba!🩵

Where the journey takes us

You've been stuck in the hell hole for a year, perhaps more, but you've lost track of the days. After assisting Loki in the Battle of New York, you were imprisoned with him in Asgard.

The guards would come early every morning before the sun rose, checking every cell and giving each one the most unpleasant-looking meal. After that, they wouldn’t return to do their nightly checks until the evening when darkness came. To say your days were boring was an understatement. Hell, you shouldn't even be here.

After having aided Loki, you had snuck off to the spot your father had told you to meet him at. Yet your father never arrived. Typical of him since you were never his "legacy child". The only reason you were in New York was solely for him. He wanted you to prove how far you would go to help him and his empire.

So you set out that faithful day to prove your allegiance, yet you couldn't fulfill your goal as the alien portal opened in the sky, causing terror to inflict in the city. This causes you to join the fight with a man named Loki. With the sole sentiment that this would make your father finally proud of you.

By the end, you lost, and the mighty Avengers won. They were deciding what to do with the both of you. The oaf, as you grew to call him Thor, suggested you'd better be suited to stay in Asgard as you helped Loki in the battle.

You cursed them all, declaring that you’ll get your revenge, Yet Tony Stark made a remark “ With your bulky figure and your daddy's reputation, I doubt you'll get far” This set your blood boiling and almost broke the restraints that held your hands together.

Loki was no better in your travels to Asgard. He hardly spoke to you after the battle and never once showed an ounce of appreciation. After you were sentenced by Odin, you knew you'd never see freedom again.

However, Loki somehow managed to slowly be more vocal toward you. He figured he might as well try to talk to you as you both were stuck here. You did not make it easy on him, though. You always had a snarky remark to say. He’d get annoyed with your antics yet provoke you simultaneously.

Not to mention your cell just happened to be right next to Loki’s. It made it all the easier to piss the other one off.

On rare occasions, when you two were not in a bickering match, he'd sometimes sit next to the wall that divided your cells and cast his illusion into yours. He showed little tricks he could do, but like how all your other bickering started, he would say a snarky remark which then made the two of you go at it again with arguing.

The day the Dark Elves attacked Asgard was the day Frigga died protecting Thor's lover. You remember hearing Loki disagree with her earlier in the day. You were not sure what it was about but the way his tone was when yelling was one that you had never heard him use before. This one was a tone that was filled with hurt and pain.

A week had passed and you had yet to hear from him. You knew he was still in his cell as you could hear him trying to silence his pain. You felt his rage as he threw his things around hitting the walls. You finally broke the silence one night.

"Loki" you yelled into the air as if he would appear, you were not sure why you even wanted to talk to him yet you felt like you needed to. A few minutes passed by before his illusion appeared. "What!" he roared with pure annoyance. You rolled your eyes at his antics. " Read to me" he looked confused upon your request. " Is this why you disturb my peace, to read to a quim like you!" he got even more annoyed.

You only asked him to read because he had let it slip in the past that he loves to read when his emotions get too much for him. With him losing his mother you thought maybe him reading to you would help him with the grief and loss. After a few more minutes of arguing back in forth, he caved in.

That night was how your bond if you call it, began to grow. Soon after that, your bickering and arguments began to die down and turned into civil conversations. On the days he needed to escape, He would read to you for what felt like hours with one of the numerous books his mother had given him to pass the time. Those days were the ones you grew to enjoy. His voice was angelic when he read one of his dearest books. His face was ever so stunning, eyes captivating. You'd forget it was an illusion.

You'd sit and listen, you would also confess to him about your father, and he'd listen. Exceptionally rarely would he talk about Odin. Though he fondly told you about Frigga many times, which you loved, she sounded like the mother you wished you had.

During this time, you both fell for one another and spent hours on end talking, laughing, and even crying to each other. Some of the other prisoners had told you to shut up most nights. Neither of you listened to their demand.

It wasn't until one day, Thor came up with a proposition for you both. You'd both accompany him to Earth to fight and if neither of you played tricks and tried not to escape, you were granted freedom.

You both immediately agreed because the two of you had nothing else to lose, and you had the chance to just be free. That night during one of your late-night chats Loki made you realize something about yourself. You had always lived in your father's shadow wanting to be just like him. Always trying to prove something as if you were just like him, when in fact you were not like him.

You didn't commit crimes like him nor treat people as he did. The truth was you played a facade afraid of what he would think if you did not follow in his lead. As soon as you return to earth you would finally live your life the way you wanted to, not in your father’s shadow or living up to expectations.

So the battle came, fighting Thanos was an exhausting and powerful struggle. Everyone fought with everything they had, tooth and nail by the end of it, victory was made. You knew this was not the end, though, for once again, you met the Avengers in the aftermath, and they kept their guard up as they remembered their last interaction with you.

Although you did fight with them, they didn't know if your intentions were the same as your last interaction with them. Sure enough, when the smoke cleared, you had a civil conversation with them and reassured them you'd changed and did not want to cause any harm. You somewhat cleared things up with Tony and in return, he offered you a makeshift bedroom in the Stark Tower for the time being.

As you lay down to rest, you couldn't help but have your mind wonder about what you wanted to do next. You've gone through quite a lot and hadn't the time to really process anything. Your thoughts were interrupted when a knock on your door brought you out of your head. You did not expect anybody to be visiting you at this hour or at all.

As you walked to the door you felt a little on edge as you reached for the handle. When you opened the door to your surprise, there stood Loki. You could tell something was troubling him, and hesitantly you opened the door wider, inviting him in. Silence quickly unfolded over the two of you.

You were about to ask what he needed when all of a sudden, his hand came up and cupped your face. You locked your gaze with his. He briefly looked down at your lips before he leaned down and kissed you.

His lips were soft as they kissed you, but panic set in, and you pushed him away. “What the hell!” you took a step back to create distance between you two. “What was that, Loki?”

“I believe it's called a kiss, darling” he smirked, seeing how the pet name made your cheeks tint a light pink.

“No shit, it was a kiss, but why?” you crossed your arms.

“I know you’re quite stubborn, but I didn't think you were unaware” he walked closer to you and saw the confusion written on your face. “I love you, y/n”, he confessed. Your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest at the way it was beating at his confession.

Your mouth opened and words flew out before you had the chance to process what you said. “ Pft, yeah right. You can't love someone you don't know especially someone like me.” You looked away from him.

" Surely spending months next to each other in a cell, while bonding over our traumas should be classified as getting to one another." he laughs as you roll your eyes. " You cannot tell me that you don't feel the energy between the two of us. When you say someone like you, please do not refer to your looks. In my eyes you are the most beautiful woman, every inch and curve of your body I wish to worship and kiss even if I have to get down on my knees. " he walks closer to you and you feel your breath hitch when he places his hands on your wide hips.

You place the palm of your hands on his chest, and you look him in the eyes " I can't lie and say I don't feel anything for you, but things are complicated. We want different things and I'm afraid to love you and then lose you." Loki moves his left hand from your hip to your cheek. " I want you and that means I'll follow you wherever you go" You tilted your head up and kissed him this time, and you moved your hands from his chest to his face. When you pulled back you rested your forehead agist his. " let's see where the journey takes us"

TAGS🏷️

@caothicshit @huntressandlioness1 @huntress-artemiss @eleniblue @just-another-blog34411 @Slave4loki @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @sarahrogersevans @tomandcakes @lyds247 @lokisgoodgirl @nana1000night @hannibals-favourite-meal

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki x y/n #loki #loki x plus size reader #marvel fanfiction #loki marvel

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unityrain24 · 5 months

Text

❅MCU Jotun Headcanons❅

in honor of @jotun-design-party by magpiemurder. I had been looking forward to this contest for several months, but i have not been able to do anything for it and i doubt i will magically be able to do something and submit it by the time the deadline roles around (which is in like less than a week). This makes me sad, especially since i was something i was actually looking forward to participating in (and for such a long time) :(.

but anyways. headcanons instead, i suppose:

(also these are not very organized so have fun with that)

while jotuns do have extremly low body temperatures, the "frost-bite" affect you see them inflict in Thor 2011 is not because of that. Instead, it is due to a residue on their skin (like poison dart frogs).

Unlike poison dart frogs, however, the residue doesn't just stay on their skin 24/7. Rather, it secretes out of their pores

When jotuns are young, it secretes automatically when they feel scared/threatened (or exhibit other strong emotions), but as they get older they learn how to control it and can do it on command (and also keep it from happening). (<- my reasoning for why loki's cloths froze and chipped away the first time but not the second)(sort of)

the blocky/chunky/heavy type architecture you see is because it is sturdy and can survive blizzards/other harsh elements

based off of what odin said in his monologue, jotunheim is "cold dark and barren," so the next few sort of are in line with that, but who know if he was actually telling the truth lol

not a lot of biodiversity (and FAR less plants than animals) :/ (i actually think it'd be cool to have a frozen planet teeming with life, but again, prev reason...)

since it's hard for plants to grow in such cold/dark places (lack of sun, dirt/nurtients, nutrient flow, liquid water, etc), the only "normal" plants you see are in the north pole (which is warmer, and is sort of a tundra type biome)(most plants typically aren't even there year-round). Everywhere else, plants have to find other ways to survive. Since photosynthesis isn't really a viable option (though there are a rare few that do!), most plants either perform chemosynthesis (x) or are parasitic (x). This also means that lots of plants are a ghostly white, rather than green (no chlorophyll).

licehen is less common than here, but can be found on occasion (and can be eaten)

mushrooms are relatively common, however (and unlike our mushrooms, can survive alright in the cold)

There isn't really any liquid water (and what little is seasonal), yet there are still life in the frozen water. There is a species of fish that produces so much warmth that the ice around them melts, and they swim through their self-made streams (that freeze back up once they've left). These fish eat snow/ice algae and ice worms (the algae and worms are actually real things in real life btw) (x) (x)

I thought it was interesting in the film how it's such a cold planet but nothing seemed to have fur, just skin... perhaps there are furred creatures, though, and they simply live in other regions. Id say the south pole, maybe the north pole, and and/or an isolated bit of land ("continent") on the opposite side of the planet. Long wooly fur. Horns. These creatures evolved to be warm on the cold, and the creatures we saw in the film simply evolved to not need to be warm at all.

the clothing you see the jotnar wear in the Thor 2011 is not their usual wear, it is their wartime/battle clothing.

This is because even though they are no longer literally warring, odin's treaty (aka sentence to slow genocide) was a "war against their people." As such, the majority of the jotnar choose to wear the wartime clothing until they all die out (as sort of a statement against odin/asgard's colonialism/imperialism)

(also probably "honor" or other culture type situation)

War clothing components:

Shaved Head: The jotnar typically grow their hair out long in times of peace, but shave it when times of war arise. In some regions, it is only those that go to battle that shave it, but in other regions all people shave it

Loincloth: made from Frost Beast leather. While frost beast hide is blue, the process to turn it into leather gives it a green tone (and is also becomes more rubbery than our leather). The sewing pattern of the loincloth itself typically is what gives it creative design, rather than having added embroidery/beading/embossing/etc.

Misc Decorations:

small decorative pieces are stuck directly to the skin via freezing water or using sticky sap-like substances. The most common places for these decorations are the head, upper chest, and shoulders. These pieces serve no protective functions, save the ones that are used to cover the nipples of jotuns with breasts (just around the nipple and areola, not the full breast).

small bracers, pauldrons, and greaves are sometimes worn.

Never shoes, pants/bottoms, shirts/tops.

Clothing should be NON besides the loincloth, and armour should be minimal and mainly decorative.

Decorative pieces are typically also made of frost beast leather. Metal is not usually used on jotunheim, because it is far to cold to melt anything (and to actually start a fire that hot would cause massive environmental damage). The only metal typically used it mercury, because it has such a low melting point (-38.829° C/-37.892° F). Interestingly, leather and mercury (and ice) are the only materials used in war clothing, not bone, even though bone is used in non-wartime clothing.

Overall Scarcity of clothing: While the jotnar don't typically get cold, they do want protection from cutting winds, ice, and snow (blizzards are strong enough that the snow can cause cuts/"burns"). As such, having such scarcity of clothing is a statement of strength/bravery and used to deter the enemy.

regular cloths cover more (to protect from the elements, not provide warmth). Leather, metal, fur, and fabric woven from wool are used. Bone and metal are also used. Typical colours would be the familiar green, dusty purple, grey/brown/black/white (fur colours), and some blue

piercings and gauging are popular, even though not always practical. Most popular places to pierce/gauge are the ears and nose.

Hair texture in the region where we visited in thor 2011 is typically smooth and silky (like lokis), but other hair textures (curly, coily) exist in different areas. All hair is typically raven-black, unless the jotun is albino (in which case, it would be white)

Unsure of:

i feel like jotuns would be carnivores, but at the same time i feel like loki would enjoy more vegetarian/pescatarian food options, so idk what to think :|

I feel like the casket of ancient winters would be taken straight from the core of the planet, and is super condensed ice and seiðr, and that's why taking it away ruined the planet

(but then that poses other questions, like why would they mine something and keep it as an artifact? were there warring tribes and they wanted to get ahead? did some foreign colonial/imperial power mine it and for their own gain and the jotuns only got it back later?)

also the other possibility is that the casket has to do with something of the passing of ancestors/powerful jotuns of the past and their seiðr or souls or smth is in it (and that would give more power to the "casket" part)

i actually i can think of a lot of things... but those are my main two for the casket

wait why are my indented bullet points not working anymore what!!! this was more neat-looking i swear

jotun breast milk does not have lactose. i will not elaborate.

ok those are all i can think of right now

(bonus loki-specific one: the reason he is so small was because his mom got stuck by lightning when she was pregnant)

#seriously tho i'm sad about the contest :(#:(((#unityrain.txt #mcu jotunheim #jotunheim #jotun #jotnar #jotun loki #mcu loki #loki #worldbuilding #mcu asgard #headcanon #headcanons #long post

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blackjackkent · 7 days

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"For a warm bed and full stomach," reads the dilapidated sign, "look no further. Welcome to the Last Light Inn."

In Rakha's head, the guardian whispers, "This place is protected. Must be the refuge the Harpers spoke of."

Rakha feels mildly relieved to hear her again. She has been quiet since the last dream some weeks ago - but by this comment, it's obvious that she is still very much watching.

And the guardian was very ready to say that going to the creche was a bad idea - which turned out to be correct - but seems to have no such qualms about this place. So that seems... promising.

Rakha strides forward, and lets out an audible noise of relief as they pass the moonlight barrier surrounding the inn. She can feel the way the Weave shifts and softens on her skin as they leave the shadows, the corruption fading, the pure magic returning.

One of the Harpers guarding the gate straightens up, seeing them approach.

"You there! Step forward and keep your hands off your weapons!"

Before Rakha can answer, a more familiar voice chimes in - the captain from the fight out in the shadows. "Easy! She's with me."

The guard squints warily, then straightens up and jerks her head. "Come." She turns away, barks a single word that means nothing to Rakha. "Jaheira!"

As Rakha follows her past the gate, it becomes evident that Jaheira is a name. The guard has called to her superior - a woman with long grey hair in close braids who is standing in the inn's courtyard.

The woman turns slowly and fixes Rakha with an intense, piercing gaze that Rakha immediately finds hard to look away from. She has an air of grave authority, and the two scimitars strapped to her back have obviously seen regular use.

She crosses the few feet separating them and for a moment stands in silence before Rakha, examining her up and down. When the guard tries to break the silence, to speak up as to Rakha's trustworthiness, Jaheira silences her with only a glance.

Not a woman to be trifled with, Rakha finds herself thinking involuntarily. And yet somehow she is still startled when the Weave suddenly whirls around the older woman like a tornado.

Jaheira's eyes flare with a pale green light and she slams a fist downwards towards the earth. Vaguely Rakha recognizes the magic - she has seen Halsin use something similar on rare occasions in camp, a magic drawing on the land itself, natural life energy. It is very different from her own magic and Gale's - it feels softer on her skin, smooth like tanned leather, all curves and no angles, and she is astonished to feel the level of power necessary to wield it in this barren, lifeless place.

She's so fascinated by this realization that she does not notice the vines creeping up around her legs.

She's trapped. This woman, without even a greeting, has caught her like a fish in a net - or perhaps more accurately, like a beast caught in a snare.

KILL, demands the dark urge, more fiercely this time. Rakha's jaw works as a feeling of humiliation and rage threatens to overwhelm her wonder at the magic or any possible hope of assistance.

We came here for help and you treat me so?!

A burst of fire flares in each palm. "You have till the count of five to let me go," she growls.

(A/N: LOL there's a wizard option here as well: "Fascinating - both your command of magic and its technical implementation are impeccable." To which Jaheira responds: "A good start - but you've told me something I already know. Tell me something I don't." I love her, in case anyone was somehow not aware. XD )

"A count to five is all I need," Jaheira answers coolly. Without loosening the spell, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small vial about the size of her palm.

"This is why we're here, you see," she goes on, and her voice has gotten markedly colder. "It is a curious creature that hides all manner of secrets. But if there's one thing we know..."

She extends her hand, bringing the vial close to Rakha's face, and Rakha flinches as she sees what is inside it - a tadpole, just like the ones she has taken from the dead bodies of Absolutists. Just like the one squirming inside her own head.

A bright line of pain stabs into her skull - familiar and terrible, the pain of a connection between her own worm and the one Jaheira holds. The jarred parasite begins to squirm and writhe, its slimy body knocking against the glass walls of its container.

"...it's that it knows its own kind," Jaheira finishes icily. She flexes her fist, and Rakha grunts as the vines tighten around her ankles. The Harper smirks without humor. "You should never have come here, True Soul."

Rakha's jaw works; as the pain of the connection slowly fades again, she tries to focus, to sort out what is happening. These Harpers, whoever they are, know about the Absolutists. They are enemies of the Absolutists - and they think Rakha is one. A curious combination of good and bad news - but Rakha will not let herself be trapped like a rat while they decide what to do with her.

I am no cultist. But you will *not* hold me.

(A/N: There is a sorcerer-specific line here - Force your own magic through the vines, weakening them. However, it leads to Jaheira being an incredible badass, popping spells in both hands, and snarling 'STAND DOWN, OR WE'LL PUT YOU DOWN' which is just the fucking coolest but also pretty hard to justify Rakha not going into kill mode at that point. Flavor-wise, though, she's still definitely revving up the magic here. XD )

"I... am not... a True Soul," she growls. Fire sprouts around her whole body, searing outward into the wild growth holding her pinned to the ground. Jaheira's eyes widen and she lets out a sharp hiss, as if in pain, and Rakha watches the Weave swirl madly as the Harper begins to summon a fresh spell in her off-hand--

"STOP!"

A reddish blur barrels over a nearby pile of crates and resolves itself into a young teeth-ling girl. Rakha is startled to recognize her - it's Mol, the urchin leader from the refugee camp, and currently she looks more agitated than Rakha ever saw her previously.

"What are you doing?!" the girl howls at Jaheira, for all the world as if she was fully grown and twice the Harper's height. "She's the one who saved us!"

"She's the one who protected the Emerald Grove?" Jaheira demands.

Mol grins widely. "Yup! Didn't leave a goblin standing. Not so bad to hang around with, either. Saved two of my friends - one from a harpy and one from a mad druid with a snake. Didn't make a fuss of our thieving either."

She crosses her arms and peers up at Rakha with her one visible eye, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. "I'd pretty much trust her with my life."

Rakha goes completely still. The flames around her disappear. For a moment she does not feel the press of the vines on her legs or the weight of Jaheira's threats. She stares at the little girl with abject astonishment.

I'd pretty much trust her with my life, Mol said.

Rakha remembers Arabella and Mirkon, the children she helped to save - the reason Mol is vouching for her. She remembers struggling against the beast in both cases, which would just as happily have feasted on each child's blood.

Do you know how many other lives I have ended, child? she thinks bitterly.

And yet... she is surprised to realize, distantly, how long ago those moments in the Grove seem. She has experienced much since then, built a whole life in miniature, a life where she has begun to learn the lines that delineate the gradations of death, the killing that is monstrous versus the killing that is right, that has purpose.

And in her scattered moments of strength, she left a mark on this child's life.

"A True Soul with a mind of her own?" Jaheira says slowly. She sounds doubtful, but her fist unclenches, and the vines around Rakha's feet come loose, retreating back into the soil. "How is that possible?"

Rakha takes a careful step backwards, testing the freedom of one foot, then the other. She knows the true answer to Jaheira's question - but her pride still stings from the trap the other woman placed her in. [SORCERER] "The Weave itself burns through my veins," she says, just a touch sardonically. "Perhaps the tadpole is afraid."

Jaheira smiles coolly. "I've met no sorcerer that powerful - and I've met many. Now speak plain. How do you have control?"

Rakha looks at her steadily for a long moment. It would be easy to attack now, while the Harper's guard is down - but she has many friends in this courtyard, and Rakha has only three. The chaos that would result would be delicious for the beast... but her own body would be among the fallen.

And more to the point... Jaheira is an enemy of the Absolute. That means she likely knows things Rakha needs to know. And her magic is clean and bright, not like that searing darkness outside.

"Fine," she mutters. "Here."

Show Jaheira the artifact.

She can almost feel a faint heat through her gloves as the Prism glows in her palm.

Jaheira looks at it with cautious interest. Then she reaches into her pack and pulls out the vial with the worm inside. Placing it near the Prism, she watches as the tadpole begins to squirm again with new agitation - and then bursts, coating the inside of the vial with a dark, oozing sludge.

Jaheira's face twists with distaste - but her shoulders have relaxed. Her ire at Rakha has faded. "What in the hells is that thing?" she asks quietly.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Rakha responds, promptly and completely seriously, which elicits a low laugh from Jaheira.

"Strangest magic I've seen since roaming the ruins of Myth Drannor, but I can't argue with the results," she says dryly. "Congratulations. You've earned yourself the benefit of the doubt."

She snaps a hand out sideways; Rakha stiffens for a moment, expecting another magical attack, but it is a gesture of command instead. "Hear me, Harpers!" she barks. "All clear! At ease!" Around them, the soldiers all begin to sheathe their weapons, and Jaheira fixes her eyes on Rakha soberly.

"I'll not pretend to understand what that artifact is," she says, her voice low again - and suddenly Rakha becomes aware of a heavy weariness under it that her defensive anger was masking. "But I'm old and wise enough to recognize a sliver of hope when it crawls out of the dark." She leans forward. "Tell me - why have you come here?"

The beast has calmed back into stillness again - overwhelmed by Rakha's own emotions, at least for the time being. So she is able to match Jaheira's low tone, though the words emerge more like a growl as the subject turns towards the vengeance she hopes to find here. "To destroy the Absolute in its lair," she says. "Moonrise Towers."

Jaheira's eyebrows lift, and then she smiles, very faintly but for the first time without that icy undercurrent. "Then you've found an ally in me," she says, "for that is precisely why I am here."

Her eyes flick past Rakha, acknowledging her allies behind her, and then she gestures backwards towards the battered-looking building behind her. "There's food in the inn over there. Beds too if you require rest." A quick flash of humor - muted but potent. "Aloe oil in the cupboard, in case the vines gave you a rash."

She draws a slow breath, then nods as if coming to some conclusion internally. "Settle in, then come join me for a drink. You may just be the godsend we've been praying for."

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #YAAAAAAAY JAHEIRA <3 #this turned into a long one lol #i was sure i was gonna hit the image limit but i guess not #jaheira is such a badass and i love her #i am v excited to see what interactions she has with durge c:#rakha is super not having a good time but no one died so we'll call that a win

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fairytail-whathesays · 7 months

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I love your headcanons! could I request some Stingtsu (Natsu x Sting) headcanons? SFW and NSFW, whichever you want, or both

🤍🤍🤍

Sting's magic, holy and purifying in nature, is particularly devastating to Natsu, who is technically an Etherious demon. Before having the book of E.N.D.'s connection to him severed, even being near him hurt. This has lessened as his body has started to reconstruct itself along human morphology lines once both seeds were destroyed. Trying to love Sting is kind of like being Icarus, burned by the sun, and still flying towards it instead of retreating.

Sting is similar to Natsu in many ways, but only on the surface level. Sting is more prone to doubts, has a more centralized pride in himself, and is constantly measuring himself for weakness, as opposed to Natsu who constantly measures himself for strength. In a way, being together brings out traits in themselves that they actually identify with each other--around Natsu, Sting becomes boisterous and childishly high-energy, while around Sting, Natsu becomes calmer and more thoughtful.

Natsu, short of attention span as he is, takes a dumbfounding amount of time to realize Sting is down bad. Everyone else can see Sting's general raging rainbow, bisexual king vibes, emanating from a country away. Natsu is the only one who doesn't pick up on it. Sting once ran into him covered in glitter, hickeys, and smudged glow-in-the-dark body paint, and was stammering defenses and alibis, and Natsu was like 'neat'.

Lector and Happy actually get along really well! It's the major catalyst that pushes Sting to ask Natsu out, realizing oh hey, maybe that's not such a far-fetched fantasy after all...! Happy, after Lector loses some of his bad attitude, actually becomes sort of a mentor for what little magic he knows to Lector.

As out of pocket as Sting often is, Natsu simply has him beat for spontaneity and short attention span. Keeping up with him and his emotions can be a challenge, and Sting has on occasion sought out Lucy's help for trying to translate Natsu's latest hare-brained venture into sense. Somehow, they became the pair of down-to-earth blondes trying to reign in the ball of pink hair and fire that is Natsu.

Secret special headcanon: Lucy/Loke and Natsu/Sting double date frequently.

NS.FW:

I'm gonna be real with you--I think these two have more sex overall than possibly any other Fairy Tail relationship. They both have a high libido, actively enjoy sex, are committed to the other's pleasure, and are verse kings.

Sting is very flexible physically and in bed and Natsu very quickly learns to exploit this.

Natsu is natural talent; Sting is experience and skill. Sex is the one thing Natsu might be good at, but Sting is definitively better at and can actually teach his hero something about it. Natsu discovers a lot about himself and his desires when naked in the sheets with Sting.

Sting looks ridiculously good naked. Even Natsu, whose focus on sex rarely controls him, has difficulty not getting distracted if Sting starts shedding clothes.

Jealousy? A little. More playful than anything, they love each other too much to be threatened by outside forces. They just like the attention their lovers spend on them and pout if it's on someone else. One threatens to withhold sex if the other is caught looking at another guy--and the other laughs out loud.

#stingtsu #sting eucliffe #natsu dragneel #headcanons #shipping #stingsu

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morningmask27 · 10 months

Note

Hawkfrost X Whitewing?

WhiteHawk three au. Birchfall pulled a Thrushpelt. Ivy is the actual third, and a bio whitebirch kid. (Yeah plant 3 with neglected bird sister this time <3)

Fennelrush (Lionblaze) is strong and stubborn and a great fighter. He still has his canon powers and he's not going lightly with them. He definitely has killed a few cats accidentally during fights. He's a meathead, but in Very Rare occasions he makes a good decision. He has anger issues though.

Flaxroot (Jayfeather) still blind. They're smart and cunning and have a position between warrior and healer. They do patrols and hunt and have trained as a warrior apprentice, but since fights are slightly too much for them they usually (read Usually) avoid participating in them. They also have a huge knowledge of herbs and are thus a sort of extra healer for the clan. They still have their canon powers and they don't use them sparingly.

Falconstrike (Hollyleaf) is the one training in the dark forest. Falcon is obsessed by the code. She wants to be the strongest warrior of the clan too, she wants to be a respected warrior and maybe even leader, who knows, it's an interesting position. She's also very motivated by the kin of tour kin prophecy, she's special, guys, she's special! Right? She trains with Hawkfrost because he promised her the keys to becoming a strong and respected warrior.

White has her kits right after Hawkfrost died. She's having a mental breakdown when Birchpaw finds her and after Whitepaw explains the situation, this young kiddo proves how he has a heart of gold by suggesting he pulls a Thrushpelt and say he's the father of the kits. White accepts and yeah. Some cats still judge them for their "accident" bit it's better than half clan prejudice. White and Birch raise the kits together and the two start to become quite closer romantically. When the three are nearly warrior aged White is expecting kits again, this time from Birchfall. These are Dovewing and Ivypool.

While the three are apprentices, Flax, like in canon learns of the kin of you kin prophecy. Flax understands quickly it talks about them and their siblings. Falcon tries very hard to find her power, but fails to do so.

The three are amazing older siblings to Dovekit and Ivykit, but one night Falcon overhears White and Birch argue over if they should ever tell the three that Birch isn't their bio dad. White doesn't want to tell them, but Birch kinda does want to. Falcon is very shocked by that and then her dark forest mentor, Hawkfrost, taunts her, making her go mad. She's angry and confronts White and Birch in presence of Flax and Fennel. The two brothers are horrified. White confesses to everything, the three are furious.

Falcon also fully learns that she isn't a part of the prophecy, but Ivykit is. Having inherited Dovewing's canon power. This makes Falcon become even angrier and she threatens Dovekit and Ivykit to punish White. (keep in mind Dove and Ivy are about 4 moons at that point and realize very well what's going on). Eventually she breaks and runs off.

"little" drabble of the story, all in Whitewing's PoV.

I knew I should never have hung out with Hawkfrost. I knew he was a terrible cat and he didn't care about me, but he was the only cat I felt free around. My parents are amazing, but I have to be perfect around them, and they had their own problems in their relationship then and I didn't want to be involved. Hawkfrost gave me a way to escape the situation. He was funny and witty and never coddled me. He challenged me and laughed when he lost, he complimented me. Most cats in ThunderClan did, but these felt real, realer than any repetitive statement about a good catch by a clanmate, even though I knew he didn't feel anything for me.

I knew things would go wrong. I was still a -paw. Not that I was too young, I was barely a few moons younger than Hawkfrost, but the destruction of the forest had delayed my warrior ceremony and then, I decided to wait until Birchpaw was ready too, to not leave him alone in the apprentices den like I had been. That status of -paw did definitely make things complicated when I discovered it.

It was shortly after Hawkfrost had been found dead by the border, a foxtrap bored through his neck. I had to pretend very hard it didn't affect me. Why would it? He was a cat from an enemy clan, why would I be sad about his death? I felt sick. I had trouble doing my work because of how weird my belly felt. I thought it was because I mourned him.

I would have never thought it was because I was expecting kits. Leafpool was surprised, but I was horrified. I quickly escaped the den after begging Leafpool to not tell anyone. I ran into the forest and found a quiet spot. I began crying. I couldn't believe how badly those meeting with Hawkfrost ended. I knew it was him, I wasn't close to any other cat, but I still somehow hoped it wasn't.

StarClan must have heard me and felt pity because Birchpaw found me. Usually he can't find a mouse when it's right in front of him, so StarClan must have definitely sent him my way. He saw my tears and became worried. And asked what was wrong. I like Birchpaw, but I wasn't about to tell him what I had just learned, but he kept on asking. He wanted to know if I at least could tell someone, which I knew I couldn't, so I began crying again.

He silently pressed himself against me and let me cry. When I had ran out of tears he asked if I was ok again. I wanted to stracht his ears of, but his worried eyes made me decide to keep that for another time. He waited in silence for a response. I felt doubt tugging at me, but I told him anyway. I told him everything. From my parents to the meetings with Hawkfrost and the kits I was expecting now. I broke down crying twice while explaining everything and wondered why he was still there.

When I was done he silently nodded. I had never seen him so contemplative as that day. He was deep in his thoughts for a few heartbeats before looking at me. Determination visible in his eyes.

"We can say the kits are mine."

I was taken aback by what he had just said.

"It would still be awkward to explain, but at least some of the problems would be fixed, right? If the clan knows both parents, they're less likely to be prying."

I had honestly underestimated how smart Birchpaw could be sometimes. I thought about it for a very short moment. It was the most sensible option. The kits would be treated as fully clanborn kits and everything would be fine, but I needed to be sure about one thing.

"Would you genuinely be ok to be called the father of kits that aren't yours?" I needed to know. It all depended on him. If he was ready for this charade I'd go along, but he would have to play along.

"Yes, and I'd even love to be involved in taking care of them if you're ok with that."

He looked at me with such kindness. I then knew I had found a cat I should treasure.

—

"What do you think about Flaxkit for the white and cream kit?" He asked me. I nodded with a smile.

"It fits them." I answered. I then looked at the gray and white kit. It looked like it'd be a strong cat.

"Would Fennelkit suit the gray and white kit?" I asked. Birchpaw had jokingly suggested having a theme for their names, but I liked the idea.

"It is beautiful." He answered, adorating brimming from his eyes.

"Then Fennelkit it is." I affirmed. We stayed silent for a while. Neither of us really daring to say anything about the brown and white kit. I had seen the faces my parents had made when they saw it, I had seen Firestar himself flinch. I know brambleclaw looks a lot like his father and I know that kit looks like brambleclaw a bit. All that didn't change the fact this kit needed a name.

"Is Falconkit too close?" Birchpaw softly asked. I looked at my kit. This brown and white kit that had an uncanny ressemblance to one of the most feared and hated cats, whose son had fathered these kits.

"Falconkit would definitely suit them." I agreed. It would just be a name, nothing more. Their brown fur could be explained by Dustpelt, it was going to be fine. The kits would be fine.

—

"You know I can also stay in the nursery." I said. I looked at Birchfall, who had just recently gotten his name. I had gotten mine as soon as the clan knew I was expecting. It was mostly to not have a -paw in the nursery, but it was still very awkward. The clan had looked at me so weirdly. I didn't dare to look anyone in the eye that day and nowadays it's still hard sometimes.

"It's fine- oomph-" he was cut short by Fennelkit and Falconkit running into him. The three kits were growing every day. They were definitely going to become strong and big cats.

"As I said," Birchfall began after extirping himself from the two kits, "I like spending time here with the kits." I smiled again as I watched Flaxkit jump on Fennelkit's back. The two rolled until they hit my paws. They looked up and smiled at me. I smiled back and helped Fennelkit on his paws.

"Thanks mama." He mewed.

"If you're so sure." I answered. I couldn't help but smile as the kits swarmed him again.

"We got papa!" Flaxkit yelled.

—

I felt weird again. I thought I recognized the feeling from somewhere, so I went to ask Leafpool and Honeypaw about it. I was pregnant again. This time I was surprised, but also so happy.

Birchfall and I had been growing closer since we raised Flaxpaw, Fennelpaw and Falconpaw together. They have grown up so well and I'm very proud of them, but I was also excatic about the idea of having kits with Birchfall. I knew they'd grown up wonderfully too.

—

"We can't keep it a secret from them eternally" Birchfall stated. I felt my fur bristle.

"We raised them together to protect them from having to know it." I argued back.

"I had suggested this to protect them from the Clan judging them, I never thought you'd also want the kits not to know the truth." Birchfall lashed his tail as he spoke. I cringed unintentionally. What if they don't take it well? What if they hate us for having kept this a secret for so long? What if they want to learn more about Hawkfrost? I surely can't give them more details, but he definitely isn't a good cat? How would they feel of they learned that? I kept wondering. Birchfall looked at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.

I shook my head. "Sorry Birchfall. I don't think it'd be a good idea. They might want to know who their father is and become angry."

"What? Do you mean I would not be their father if they learned the truth?" He tensed up, his claws flexing repetitively.

"No, you wait, that's not what I meant-" I tried to reason, but he was already walking away.

"I'll be taking care of my kits if you need me." He said.

I stood there and watched him leave. I heard some faint rusting from behind me, but I only looked in front of me, to where Birchfall had left.

What have I done?

—

"Tell us who it is!" Falconstrike yelled. She had her fur fully bristled out in anger as she looked at me. I couldn't more, not only because my kits were looking at me, but because I knew I had to say something.

"Tell us, now. Tells us who our father is!" She approached her face scarily close to mine, snarling from disgust as she looked me in the eyes.

"Falcon, I-" I stammered. How could I explain this without hurting them? How could I feasibly explain that their father is dead and from another clan?

"What do you mean from another Clan?" Flaxroot asked incredulously. They stared right at me. Fennelrush and Falconstrike looked horrified.

"Uh, yes. Your birthfather isn't Birchfall. He raised you and loves you three so much, but his blood isn't in your veins." I began explaining.

"Then who is it?" Fennelrush asked. He looks so much like Hawkfrost when he thinks like that.

"You weren't going to tell us our dad is Hawkfrost, right?" Flaxroot exclaimed. Their eyes were wide. How can they know all those things? I took a deep breath.

"Yes, your dad is Hawkfrost, but he has nothing to do with you three. You are still my and Birchfall's kits. We love you. We didn't tell you to protect you from how the clan would react." I pleaded.

"How could you love is if you lied to us all our life? We didn't even know who we are!" Flaxroot snided.

Falconstrike growled. "you lied to us. You broke the code and we are born from a crime and you never told us. We should have never been born, but you should have never even been allowed to approach us." She approached me again, slowly and with her claws out. She growled again and lifted a paw to hit me.

Fennelrush pushed himself between us. "Falcon, don't do this!" Falconstrike's hit deflected weirdly. Not hurting Fennelrush at all. She landed clumsily on the ground. "she might have lied to us, but you can't just attack her like that." He stood in front of me, but mostly paid attention to Falconstrike. She glared back at him and growled. He didn't move until she stood up and didn't make another attempt at attacking.

I watched horrified as my kits fought each other because of me. I never wanted any of this to happen to them, why couldn't they just live a happy life?

—

"I can hear a cat yelling." Ivykit said. I worried a lot about her lately. She often heard things that no-one else could and loud sounds overwhelmed her terribly.

"They're in need of help!" She yelped. "We need to go find them!" She looked at me desperately.

"Sweetie, are you sure you heard things right?" I asked, hoping she'd tell me it was a lie or something.

"No, mama, this cat needs help!" She stubbornly responded. She looked a bit further away and saw Flaxroot passing by.

"Flaxroot! Flaxroot! Please, I need help to help a cat!" They stopped in their tracks as Ivykit ran to them. I followed her hesitantly. I knew they were still angry at me and I didn't want to make things worse. I prepared to scoot Ivykit away, but Flaxroot asked Ivykit.

"What do you mean by a cat needs help?" They looked at her.

"A cat in the first is yelling in pain, we need to help them!" She responded hurriedly.

"Ivykit, please-" I tried to keep Ivykit from bothering her sibling.

"No, you, stop." Flaxroot snapped at me. I shut my mouth immediately and looked at what was happening.

"Tell me more about that cat, Ivykit." Flaxroot gently nudged her.

She stood confidently. "a cat in the forest needs help. They are in pain, we need to save them."

"Do you know who that cat is or where they are?" Flaxroot asked.

"I- uh. I can hear water not too far from them?" She tried.

Flaxroot narrowed their eyes while Ivykit was lost in her thoughts. At this point a patrol emerged from the entrance.

"We need a healer!" Brackenfur yelled, "a WindClan cat, Heathertail, got attacked by a fox by the stream and no-one knows where Kestrelflight is!"

Flaxroot immediately turned their head towards the patrol. "Leafpool and Honeypaw are out gathering herbs, but I can grab some and go with you."

Brackenfur hurriedly nodded. "yes, please, she's been at the stream for a while, I don't know how long she still has if her wounds aren't treated soon."

Flaxroot nodded. Before they went to the healers'den they turned their head to Ivykit again. "We will be talking again after this is done, okay?"

Ivykit happily agreed.

—

"Falconstrike, no-" I exclaimed. I tried to get closer to where she was standing with Dovekit and Ivykit, but when I tried she just pressed her claws deeper in Ivykit's fur. Ivykit let out a pained squeak.

"Don't. Come. Closer." Falconstrike slowly threatened. I obeyed her, but kept my eyes focussed on Ivykit and Dovekit. Dovekit was cowering from behind Falconstrike's legs and Ivykit was pinned on the ground by one of Falconstrike's paws.

"Please, Falconstrike, why are you hurting your siblings?" I asked. I hoped it at least make her reconsider, but she just spat at me.

"Those aren't my siblings, I don't have the same blood. Because of you!" She yelled. The two kits peeped in fear from Falconstrike's anger. "you broke the code and that caused us, and then you believe you can just have better kits after that? These kits don't deserve to live, just like we shouldn't have been born!" She yelled.

"Falconstrike, this isn't true. Please, don't take out your anger on these kits, they are innocent. If you need to punish someone, it's me. Hurt me if you need to, but leave the kits out of this." I bowed my head down. Please let this work, please, Falcon let the kits go. Falconstrike looked hesitantly between me and the kits. She didn't move and furrowed her brows.

Ivykit let out a small cry while she was thinking and Falconstrike broke out of her thoughs. "oh, shut it, you worthless kit!" She hit Ivykit on the face. Ivykit yelled out in pain and covered her face as well as she could with her paws. I briefly saw red, this was too much. I sprang on Falconstrike, pushing her off Ivykit. Dovekit ran to her sister and dragged her away, out of me and Falconstrike's path.

We rolled over the forest ground until I had her pinned under me. She struggled to escape, but I had more experience and kept her stuck on the ground. She eventually gave up after a long struggle.

She let herself go limp. "come on then, finish this. You brougt me here, so now finish me." She blankly said. I stared at her in pure horror. How could I ever hurt her? She's my kit and I love her.

I let her go as I said: "Falconstrike, you are my kit. I can't kill you, I love you too much for that, no matter what happened."

She stood up and glared at me. "No matter who my father is, huh? Is that why you replaced me and my siblings by these two worthless spawns?" She raised her voice again. "I- I-" her voice broke. She fought back against tears as she looked at me. I tried to comfort her, but she pulled away from me. "don't touch me!" She yelled. She took a step back and then turned around. She ran off. I watched her leave. When I knew she was gone I slowly turned around to find Dovekit and Ivykit. They need me right now. But so does Falconstrike. How could I mess this up so badly?

#i am allergic to making things short and simple it seems #warrior cats #hypokits #whitewing #hawkfrost #lionblaze #jayfeather #hollyleaf #birchfall #sorry for making the kits a po3 the three au #it just doesn't make practical sense to have TWO halfclan litters that are firekin and don't know about their parentage #so leafpool is fine in this au. sorry queen for making you a background character <3 #and honeyfern is her apprentice

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