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nhaaauyen · 10 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART III: WE THOUGHT LOVE WAS SOMETHING

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part IV // part V

wc: 6.1k cw: brief mentions of alcoholism, violence author's note: ngl this just might be my favorite chapter so far, holy shit! thank you to all the lovely comments last chapter, you guys are srsly so sweet <3

Strings of twinkling lights crisscross overhead, swaying gently in the evening breeze. The air is filled with the mingling scents of grilled food and the earthy aroma of a crackling campfire.

It's a birthday party for Marcus's daughter, Ren, and the yard is alive with celebration. Sitting on mismatched chairs, adults chat animatedly with drinks in hand. Children dart between the adults' legs, their excited shrieks filling the air as they run around.

You can't help but notice Marcus's absence, and you wonder if he's working late or planning to surprise his daughter by showing up later. It's odd for him to miss such an important event, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the joyful atmosphere around you.

A group of kids approaches you, pulling you out of your reverie.

"Hey, lady! Wanna play Marco Polo with us?" one of them asks.

"Sure," You turn to Powder and Ekko, who are lounging nearby. "You two want to join?"

Powder rolls her eyes dramatically. "I'm too old for that," she declares, trying to sound mature.

You shrug and follow the kids to an open area of the yard. "Marco!" you call out, closing your eyes.

"Polo!" comes the chorus of giggly responses.

As you start to move, arms outstretched, you hear Powder’s voice again. "Wait, no! We want to join now!"

You chuckle to yourself as you hear Powder and Ekko scrambling to join the game. The yard fills with shouts of "Marco!" and "Polo!" as you navigate blindly through the space, guided only by sound and the occasional brush of a fleeing child against your fingertips.

Suddenly, your hands make contact with fabric. You grin triumphantly, sure you've caught one of the kids. But as laughter erupts around you, you open your eyes to find yourself face-to-face with Sevika. Ren, peeks out from behind her, giggling uncontrollably.

Sevika raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. "Ready to join the adults yet?"

You feel a blush creeping up your neck. “I was in the middle of winning a game.”

Sevika shakes her head in amusement and hands you a plate of food. "You know, you're not a babysitter. Let the kids have fun by themselves."

You take the plate, shrugging. "I know, but I don't mind."

"Ah, right. You like to hang out with people of the same maturity level as you." Sevika teases.

Before you can reply, a commotion erupts near the gate and both of you turn sharply to the source.

Grayson and Marcus have appeared, clearly amid a heated argument. Marcus's face is flushed, his movements erratic – clear signs of intoxication. Grayson stands firm, her posture rigid, and seems to be seething with barely contained anger.

A small voice pipes up beside you. "What's happening?" Ren peeks out, her eyes wide with confusion.

Instinctively, you move to shield her, gently guiding her behind you. "It's nothing, sweetie," you say, trying to keep your voice calm and reassuring.

But it's too late. Marcus catches sight of Ren, and his demeanor changes instantly. He shoves past Grayson, nearly knocking her over in his haste to reach his daughter. "Daddy's here!" he calls out, his voice too loud, too desperate. "Daddy didn't forget!"

Sevika moves swiftly, positioning herself protectively in front of you and Ren. Marcus stumbles to a stop before Sevika, his bloodshot eyes darting between her and his daughter. "How dare you," he slurs, turning back to Grayson. "You've gone too far now. This is my family!"

Grayson's voice is steel as she responds, "You lost the privilege of being a father when you became too drunk to do anything. The only reason why I'm still employing you is for the sake of your own daughter.”

His face immediately contorts with rage. "How fucking dare you," he roars. "You think you know everything? You can't even hold this place together!”

“You people think you are safe? Cause what, we have showers? Look at your pathetic captains, my wife has one fucking mission with you,” Marcus stabs a finger into Sevika’s chest and you expect her to retaliate but she stands still as a statue, “Because of you... she’s gone.”

The accusation hangs in the air and Sevika goes very still beside you, her expression unreadable but her fists are clenched so tight you’re worried she’ll bleed.

But Marcus isn't finished. His voice drops to a venomous hiss. "Fuck you. Fuck this place." He pushes past Sevika, reaching for Ren. "Come on, sweetie. We're leaving."

You instinctively tighten your hold on Ren as she looks up at you, her face questioning and so innocent about the situation. You want to protect her, to keep her from this mess, but you can’t and he scoops her up from your grasp.

As Marcus stomps off and the backyard falls into an uncomfortable silence, the cheerful lights now seem garish. You look at Sevika, there’s a tightness around her eyes and her jaw is clenched hard enough for a vein to be visible. Grayson approaches, her face a mask of controlled anger and regret, and she puts a reassuring hand on Sevika. The two share a silent look that is full of meaning.

"I'm sorry you all had to see that," Grayson says, addressing the stunned partygoers. "Please, try to enjoy the rest of the evening."

But the damage is done. The carefree atmosphere of earlier has evaporated, replaced by a heavy, oppressive tension. That night you couldn’t sleep, your mind kept wondering about the true cost of keeping Zaun safe and the toll it takes on those sworn to protect it.

Months ago if you told pre-Zaun you that you would care this much for the woman who was practically going to leave you as walker bait in the drug store, you would’ve thought you had gone insane. But somehow, Sevika had snuck into your thoughts and made residence there.

The garage door creaks as you push it open, letting in a sliver of sunlight. The air inside is thick with the scent of motor oil and metal. Sevika’s hunched over her workbench, her back to you, the whir of her bionic arm the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

You hesitate in the doorway, remembering Marcus's cruel words from yesterday. The pain in Sevika's eyes, quickly masked, had been unmistakable.

"Hey," you say softly. "Everything okay?"

Sevika doesn't turn around, her shoulders tensing slightly at your voice. It's clear she's not in a talking mood, but you can't bring yourself to leave her alone like this.

"Fine," she grunts, reaching for a wrench.

You lean against the wall, watching her work. The silence stretches between you. After a few minutes, you decide to try a different approach.

"So," you begin, injecting a note of cheerfulness into your voice, "got anything to do?"

Sevika pauses, then turns to look at you, an eyebrow raised. "You're that excited already, rookie? Haven't you been on five or six missions now?"

You grin, relieved to see a hint of her usual self. "Six, actually," you reply, then quickly add, "But who's counting?"

A ghost of a smile flickers across Sevika's face. She gestures to the motorcycle beside her. "Well, if you're so eager, you can help me with this. Make yourself useful."

You push off the wall, moving to her side. "What do you need me to do?"

You might not be able to relieve the damage from yesterday, but maybe you can help her focus on something else, even if just for a little while.

"Why are you so excited to get out there anyway?" Sevika asks as you work together. "There's nothing to see but walkers."

You shrug, searching for the right words. "I don't know... there isn't much left out there, but it makes me feel like I'm not in a snow globe, you know?"

Sevika pauses, looking at you with confusion.

"I feel safe but it’s just… not real? I want to be on the other side sometimes too. It's selfish 'cause we've got things so good here, but that was our world too, even if we lost it."

Sevika stares at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, her face softens. "I'm having a scout sent out today. Perhaps we can do our own scouting too."

Your eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yes," she nods, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "We need to expand our territory anyway. But first, help me with this. We won't be going anywhere if I can't finish this within the next hour."

"Got it, boss!" you say eagerly, reaching for a nearby tool.

Sevika rolls her eyes.

"How about 'captain' instead?"

She tries to look unamused, but you can see she's fighting a smile. "Suck up."

You saluted. "Yes, ma’am!"

"Smartass," Sevika replies flatly, but there’s a playfulness in her tone. "Now, less talking, more wrenching."

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

"Hell no."

Sevika, straddling her newly repaired motorcycle, looks at you like you've sprouted a second head.

"What?" she asks, confusion evident in her voice.

You stand outside your house, arms crossed, eyeing the bike with undisguised suspicion. "Are you crazy? I'm not getting on that death trap – when you said you'd pick me up after you changed, I thought you meant with a car!”

Sevika rolls her eyes. "Why do you think we spent so long fixing this bike?"

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Not happening," you insist, shaking your head vigorously.

"What? You can go out there and face walkers, but not ride this thing?"

"Walkers don't get you into crashes!" you retort, your voice rising an octave.

Sevika sighs dramatically, holding out a helmet. "Just get on. I promise you won't fall off."

Grumbling, you take the helmet and reluctantly swing your leg over the bike. "What makes you so sure?" you mutter.

"Because of this," she says, grabbing your arms and wrapping them tightly around her abdomen. You can feel her muscles flexing beneath your fingers, and suddenly your mouth goes dry.

Before you can process what's happening, Sevika kicks the bike to life. The engine roars, and you let out a shriek as she peels out of the driveway.

"What the fu–" Your expletive is cut short as you zoom down the street, the wind whipping past you.

You spot Grayson on the wall, grinning widely as she signals for the gate to be opened. "Have fun, ladies!" she shouts as you approach.

"Grayson!" you yell, but your voice is lost in the wind.

Sevika glances back, noticing your tightly shut eyes. "Open them!" she shouts over the engine's roar.

Reluctantly, you peek one eye open, then the other. The world rushes by in a blur of color and motion.

"I hate you!" you yell at Sevika, but you can't keep the laughter out of your voice.

She responds by revving the engine, speeding up as you clear the gate. "No, you don't!" she calls back, the wind carrying her words to you.

As much as you want to deny it, the scenery rushing past you is stunning. Lush greenery blurs into a vibrant tapestry, the sun's warm rays dancing across the landscape. The wind whips through your hair, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers.

You catch Sevika's reflection in the side mirror. Her expression is one of pure contentment, as if riding this bike along the winding country road is where she truly belongs.

"You like it?" Sevika calls over her shoulder, a knowing tone in her voice.

"Maybe," you admit reluctantly. "Not too bad."

You can hear the smirk in her voice as she replies, "Well, I've got something to show you that might change your mind."

Your curiosity piques. "We're doing something else besides scouting?"

Instead of answering, Sevika begins to ascend a steep hill. The bike's engine roars with effort, and you instinctively tighten your grip around her waist, afraid you might slip off. The muscles in her abdomen tense under your hands, steady and reassuring.

"Look over," Sevika instructs as you climb higher.

"What?! Are you crazy?" you yelp, clinging tighter.

"Come on, rookie. Trust me," she insists.

For reasons you can't quite explain, you do trust her. Swallowing your fear, you turn your head to look over the edge of the road.

The view takes your breath away. A vast expanse of forest stretches out below you, a sea of green dotted with splashes of colorful wildflowers. In the distance, you can make out a winding river, its waters glittering in the sunlight like a ribbon of diamonds.

"Whoa..." you breathe, unable to form a more coherent response.

As you reach the top of the hill, Sevika brings the bike to a stop in a clear area that juts out like a natural balcony. From here, you can see for miles in every direction. Rolling hills give way to distant mountains, their peaks shrouded in a light mist. Birds soar on updrafts, their calls carried to you on the breeze.

You dismount the bike on shaky legs, your eyes never leaving the breathtaking panorama before you. The world feels impossibly vast and achingly beautiful from up here, a reminder of what still exists beyond the walls of Zaun.

"Worth the ride?" she asks.

You nod, unable to find words that could do justice to the moment.

The silence between you is comfortable as you both lean against the motorcycle, its metal still warm from the ride. The vast expanse of the world stretches out before you, a breathtaking canvas of oranges, pinks, and purples as the sun dips below the horizon. Sevika's gaze is distant, lost in memories you can only imagine.

"This spot... it's special to me. I came here when Zaun was first established."

You turn to look at her, surprised by the admission. She continues, "I understand what you meant earlier. About feeling safe in Zaun, about missing this." She gestures to the expansive view. "The freedom to just... exist out here."

You nod, encouraging her to go on.

"I also came here after..." she pauses, swallowing hard. "After Marcus's wife died. I was so close to saving her. I promised I'd bring her home." Her voice cracks slightly. "But I couldn't. Not alive."

The pain in her voice makes your heart ache. "It wasn't your fault," you say gently.

She turns to you, her eyes fierce. "I'm the captain. Every death is my responsibility. They trust me, they're my people."

You feel a surge of protectiveness. "But who takes responsibility for you? For your sacrifices?"

Sevika falls silent, considering your words. When she speaks again, her tone is delicate. "Every time you go out there, don't you think it could be your last?"

The question catches you off guard. "I do," you admit. "Every single time."

She moves then, positioning herself in front of you. Her hands rest on the bike beside you, her body close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from her. Her eyes search yours, intense and questioning.

"Then why?" she asks. "Why keep risking everything?"

You swallow hard, acutely aware of her proximity. "Because it's worth it," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because out there, I feel alive. Because someone has to, and if not me, then who?"

For a moment, the world seems to shrink down to just the two of you, the dying light of the sun shining a golden haze on her face.

This close, you can see every detail – the faint lines around her eyes, the determined set of her jaw. Your gaze lingers on the scar that runs across her cheek. You resist the urge to reach out and trace it, to ask about its story.

Sevika’s gaze locks with yours, her voice dropping to a whisper, rough around the edges but laced with something achingly tender. "You make me want things I’m not sure I deserve."

Sevika’s hands hover near your body, fingers trembling slightly as if they’re unsure whether to close the distance or retreat. You see the conflict in her eyes—Every inch she moves closer feels like a dance of tentative steps.

You swallow, the intensity of her words wrapping around your heart. The raw honesty in her voice leaves you breathless, but you manage to find your own, soft and steady.

“Then let me show you.”

Without thinking, you take the first step for both of you. You gently cup her face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. Your touch is tender, and your fingertips graze the rough texture of her scar. You can feel her breath hitch, a mix of surprise and anticipation.

For a split second, you feel her resist, a remnant of her walls trying to hold firm. But then she melts into you, her body softening as if surrendering to a battle she’s tired of fighting.

Her right hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, while her bionic hand settles on your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss is soft, almost hesitant at first, an uncertain exploration of new territory. But as the seconds stretch, it deepens, a slow dance of lips and breath.

When you finally part, both slightly breathless, you rest your forehead against hers. Sevika's eyes remain closed while her thumb strokes softly along your jawline as if she's trying to memorize the feel of you.

"I didn't think..." she starts, unsure of what she can, or even what to say.

You brush your lips against her cheek, feeling the raised line of her scar. "You deserve this, Sevika," you murmur against her skin. "You deserve everything."

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The sun was blazing hot, its heat beating down on the training area Grayson set up in one of Zaun's less crowded areas.

"Remember," you say, adjusting Ren's grip gently, "It's not about strength. It's about precision and control."

Ren nods, and the other kids follow her steps with some additional adjustments from Grayson and Caitlyn.

You're about to move on to the next lesson when you notice one of Sevika's men approaching. Your heart does a little flip in your chest, but it comes to a stutter when you realize it's not Sevika herself.

"Got a mission for you tomorrow," he says gruffly. "Captain says to be ready at first light."

"Thanks," you reply, trying to keep your voice neutral. As he walks away, you can't help the twinge of hurt that settles in your chest. Sevika didn't come to tell you herself.

You shake your head, chiding yourself internally. She's busy. She's the captain. Why would you expect her to personally deliver every mission briefing?

Yet your mind still wandered to the kiss from a few days ago. The ride back to Zaun had been quiet, but not uncomfortably so. You had attributed it to both of you processing what had happened.

But then... nothing.

Since that evening, you haven't exchanged a single word with Sevika. A day turned into days and the silence began to feel deliberate.

You've caught glimpses of her – a flash of that distinctive silhouette disappearing around a corner, the echo of her voice giving orders from a distance. But every time you've tried to approach, she's been gone before you could reach her.

"Are you okay? You look sad." You're pulled from your thoughts by Ren's voice.

Forcing a smile, you turn your attention back to the lesson. "I’m all good! Just thinking, how about we work on our stances?"

Both Grayson and Caitlyn share a knowing look at your response.

“How about we take over? You have to be up early tomorrow.” Caitlyn offers.

You were reluctant, but you agreed, mostly because you knew you needed it and because you couldn’t handle the questioning looks the two women kept sending you.

You're grateful for Caitlyn's insistence that you rest early the night before – the extra sleep has left you feeling sharper, and more alert. As you approach the gathered group, your breath catches in your throat. There's Sevika, leaning against one of the vehicles. She's dressed in military-style cargo, paired with a black tank top that exposes her toned arms, something she wears normally but you find that your body reacts even more so to her now.

Your heart races as you draw nearer, but before you can even think about approaching her, Sevika climbs into the front seat of the lead vehicle. You swallow your disappointment and resign yourself to riding in the back of the truck with the rest of the team.

The journey is tense and quiet, everyone is lost in their own thoughts about the mission ahead. As the prison comes into view, you're struck by how eerily calm it appears. The high concrete walls are still intact, crowned with coils of razor wire that glint in the morning light.

The decision to split into smaller groups is made quickly, you were paired with Sevika but your excitement was short-lived when you saw the tense look on her face.

The massive iron gates groan as you push them open, the sound echoing ominously through the empty prison yard. The concrete beneath your feet is cracked with tufts of weeds pushing through.

Inside, the prison is a maze of long corridors and shadowy corners. The air is stale and heavy with the musty scent of abandonment. As you move deeper into the facility, the lack of walkers becomes increasingly unsettling. You exchange a worried glance with Sevika, both of you on high alert.

Suddenly, a shuffling sound echoes from an adjoining hallway. Without a word, you and Sevika fall into formation.

The first walker stumbles into view, followed closely by two more. Sevika moves with lightning speed, pinning one against the wall with her bionic arm. In a fluid motion, she drives her knife into its skull, the blade sinking in with a sickening crunch.

You dispatch the second walker with a swift kick to the knee, bringing it down before finishing it off with your own blade. The third lunges at you, but Sevika is there in an instant, her strong arms wrapping around its torso and slamming it against the wall. Your knife finds its mark, and the walker slumps to the ground.

You turn to Sevika, hoping to catch her eye, to maybe finally break the silence between you. But she's already moving forward, her eyes scanning the shadows for more threats.

With a silent sigh, you fall in step behind her. The tension between you becomes almost unbearable.

And finally, you can't take it anymore.

"Sevika," you start. "We need to talk about what happened. About the kiss."

You see her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn't stop moving. "This isn't the time," she says, her voice clipped.

"Then when is?" you press, frustration seeping into your tone. "You've been avoiding me for days."

Sevika sighs, turning to face you. "Look, it was... it was a moment. We were caught up in–"

Her words are cut off as you both enter a large, open area – the prison's leisure room. Rows of cells line the upper levels, and old, battered furniture is scattered across the floor. Before you can respond to Sevika, there's a loud bang behind you.

You both whirl around to see the heavy metal door swing shut. Sevika rushes to it, pulling at the handle. "What the fuck? Who the fuck did that?!"

You join her, both of you straining against the door, but it won't budge.

Then you hear it – a low, guttural groan that sends chills down your spine. You turn slowly, your blood running cold at the sight before you.

Descending the stairs is a massive figure, easily seven feet tall and built like a tank. He's decked out in makeshift armor cobbled together from prison riot gear. In his hands, he wields an enormous sledgehammer that looks like it could crush a skull with one swing.

"Shit," Sevika hisses, drawing her knife. You do the same, but your weapons suddenly feel woefully inadequate.

The behemoth charges with surprising speed. You and Sevika dive in opposite directions, barely avoiding the hammer as it crashes into the ground where you are standing. You roll to your feet, darting in to slash at the giant's legs, but your blade skitters off his armored shins. Sevika tries for a higher target, leaping onto a nearby table to gain height, but the monster swings his hammer in a wide arc, forcing her to jump back.

"We need to get that hammer away from him," you shout, ducking under another wild swing.

Sevika nods, her eyes scanning the room for anything you can use. "On three, throw your knife at his face. Aim for the eyes."

You count down together, then launch your knives simultaneously. The blades whistle through the air, but at the last second, the giant raises his arm, and your knives embed themselves harmlessly in his padded forearm.

"Fuck!" you curse, now completely unarmed. "What the hell is this guy? Is he a walker?"

Sevika shakes her head, narrowly avoiding another hammer swing. "I don't think so. I've heard about survivors getting all drugged up, ending up just like them. Mindless, but stronger."

As the behemoth charges again, you and Sevika split up, desperately searching for anything you can use as a weapon. Your eyes dart around the room, scanning the debris-strewn floor for something, anything that could give you an edge.

"There!" Sevika shouts, lunging for a mop propped against the wall. But before her fingers can close around it, the giant's massive form slams into her. The impact sends her flying, her back crashing hard against the concrete wall. You hear the air rush out of her lungs as she crumples to the floor.

"Sevika!" you cry out, your heart in your throat. She's trying to roll away, but her movements are sluggish, stunned by the brutal hit.

The monster looms over her, raising his sledgehammer for a killing blow. Time seems to slow down. You don't think, you just move.

With every ounce of strength you have, you launch yourself forward, shoving Sevika out of the way. For a split second, you lock eyes with her, seeing shock and something else – hurt, maybe? – in her gaze.

Then the world explodes in pain.

The sledgehammer connects with your leg, and you hear the sickening crunch of bone before you feel it. A scream tears from your throat, raw and agonizing. The pain is all-consuming, white-hot, and blinding. Your vision swims, dark spots dancing at the edges as your body tries to process the trauma.

You force your eyes open, fighting against the waves of pain. Sevika is on her feet, and the transformation is terrifying. Gone is any trace of the woman you kissed on that clifftop. In her place is a cold, merciless killing machine.

Her eyes, usually so expressive, are now flat and dead. Her face is a mask of fury, lips pulled back in a snarl. In one smooth motion, Sevika snatches up the broken mop. She doesn't hesitate, doesn't strategize. She attacks.

The two halves of the mop become dual weapons in her hands. She drives one splintered end deep into the giant's thigh, using her bionic arm to force it through the armor padding. Before he can react, she's already spinning, jamming the other half into the gap between his helmet and chest plate.

The behemoth staggers, caught off guard by the ferocity of her assault. But Sevika doesn't let up. She's a whirlwind of violence, striking again and again.

You try to move, to help somehow, but even the slightest shift sends fresh waves of agony through your broken leg. You can feel the bone grinding, sickeningly out of place.

The giant finally falters under her onslaught, his steps are laggard and his grip on the weapon wavering. With a snarl, she wrenches the hammer from his grasp.

The man’s eyes widened in realization, but it was too late. Sevika shoved him back, the force of the blow sending him crashing to the ground. He tried to rise, but Sevika was relentless. She raised the sledgehammer high above her head, her muscles straining as she brought it down with all her might. The sickening crunch that followed was final, the man’s head caving in under the weight of the blow.

For a moment, the world went silent, the only sound was the ragged breaths escaping Sevika’s lips. The hammer is still clenched in her fists and blood splattered across her face – his or hers, you can't tell.

Sevika stands over him, chest heaving. For a heartbeat, she's still that cold-eyed killer. Then she turns to you, and you watch the ice in her gaze melt into concern.

"Can you move?" she asks, her voice hoarse as she rushes to your side.

You grit your teeth, trying to shift, but the pain nearly blinds you. "No," you manage to gasp out. "I think... I think it's broken pretty badly."

Sevika's eyes scan your broken leg. "We need to stabilize it," you say through gritted teeth, reaching for a nearby stick. "I just tie this to keep it straight and–"

"No," Sevika cuts you off, her voice firm but gentle. "I've got you." She immediately tears off a piece of her shirt like it was paper and ties the stick to your leg to keep it straight. You hiss in pain as she tightens it, and her eyes flit to you with worry.

“Thank you,” You try to stand, stubbornness overriding your pain. "I think I got it now, you can't carry our stuff and me-"

"Yes, I can," she interrupts, her tone brooking no argument. Before you can protest further, she's scooped you up in her arms, cradling you against her chest with surprising tenderness.

"This is embarrassing," you mutter, your cheeks flushing despite the pain.

"Yeah, that's what you get for being an idiot."

"Wow, way to cheer a girl up,” you reply sarcastically.

As Sevika carries you through the prison corridors, you can't help but study her face. Her guarded expression softens as she looks down. There's something else in there too, a whirl of emotions you can't quite place.

You tighten your hold on her, tucking your head against her chest. You can hear her heartbeat, strong and steady. The smell of grimy blood and her shampoo somehow distracts you from the pulsing pain in your leg.

The sound of gunshots echoes through the building and you feel Sevika tense. "Fuck," you mutter, "what is happening out there?"

Sevika shifts you slightly, freeing one hand to grab her radio.

"We've got two severely injured," crackles a voice through the static.

As you emerge into the harsh sunlight, you see members of your group carrying people out. Two of them have nasty stab wounds, blood seeping through hastily applied bandages.

Sevika gently sets you down next to the injured in the back of the truck. You watch as the rest of the group gathers around the other vehicle, their voices low and urgent as they discuss the situation. There are still people left inside.

Despite the throbbing pain in your leg, your instincts kick in. You reach for your bag, trying to pull out the first aid kit. Sevika notices and immediately moves to stop you.

"Stop, stop," she says, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "You're injured. Let us help, tell us what to do."

You look up at her, seeing the worry etched on her face.

"Okay," you nod, wincing as you shift to get a better view of the injured. "We need to apply pressure to those wounds. Get the gauze from the kit and press it firmly against the bleeding areas."

As Sevika relayed your instructions to the others, you had forgotten to close your bag properly. In your bag was the red shawl you kept from the night of the campfire, and unbeknownst to you Sevika had seen it in there, her jaw visibly clenching at the sight.

More of her crew comes out the building, hauling out the fallen attackers, their faces set in a hard scowl.

“Are the rest dead?” she demands.

A gruff voice answers, “Yeah, we got those fucking bastards. We wanted you to deal with these.” The crew shoves three people onto their knees, their faces unremorseful and stoic.

One man in the center is screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice raw with fanaticism. “YOU WILL REPENT! THIS IS A RECKONING! THE WORLD WILL BE CLEANSED OF FILTH LIKE YOU!” His words are overlapped with another man reciting a desperate prayer, his hands trembling as he clutches at invisible salvation.

Sevika’s face remains a mask of cold detachment, her eyes flickering with something darker as she assesses the situation.

“They’re not worth our bullets,” she says, her tone flat and unfeeling. The others understand immediately, pulling out their knives.

You see Sevika stride toward the vehicle's trunk, and she retrieves a machete, its blade gleaming dangerously.

Sevika’s expression remains inscrutable as she approaches the only woman in the group, the machete held steady and unwavering. The final girl locks eyes with Sevika, but there’s an almost reverent look to them.

Her voice is trembling, but defiant. “No one is safe—you cannot escape His wrath.”

Without hesitation, Sevika swings the machete. In a brutal, swift move, her crew slits the throats of the remaining captives. The girl’s final scream is a gurgle of blood as Sevika’s blade comes down with a clean, merciless swipe, severing her head in a single, precise cut.

Blood splatters across the scene, painting their clothes and the ground. The force of the blow sends a spray of it onto Sevika and her crew, but she doesn’t flinch.

You’re left watching in shock, the brutal display leaving you breathless and shaken.

Sevika’s gaze shifts back to you as the last of the blood settles. The fierceness in her eyes softens just slightly, the ruthlessness giving way to concern. She takes in your injured state and the rest of the crew.

“Head back,” she commands, her voice almost robotic. “We need to get them to the infirmary immediately.”

The truck lurches and bumps along the road, each jolt sending a fresh wave of pain through your broken leg. You shut your eyes, focusing on the thought of arriving at Zaun.

When you arrive at the infirmary, Sevika is out of the vehicle before it even comes to a full stop. She scoops you up, carrying you inside with a determination that’s almost palpable. As she crosses the threshold, you catch sight of the crew still being helped out of the vehicle, their injuries more immediate and visible than yours.

"No," you mumble, your voice weak but insistent. "No doctors... attend to them first."

Sevika's eyes widen in disbelief. "What? Are you crazy?"

You shake your head, the pain and fatigue making it hard to focus. “It’s a broken leg. From what I can tell, no internal bleeding. They’re bleeding, Sevika. They need help now.”

She hesitates, clearly torn between her instinct to protect you and your insistence. After a moment, she lets out a heavy sigh, clearly exasperated by your stubbornness. The adrenaline from the fight is wearing off, and exhaustion settles over you like a heavy blanket. Sevika administers a painkiller, and soon the sharp pain dulls to a throbbing ache.

Silence falls between you, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing. Sevika sits beside your bed, her posture rigid, eyes fixed on the floor.

"What's wrong?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The fatigue is dragging you down, making it hard to keep your eyes open.

Sevika’s gaze remains locked on the ground, her face an unreadable mask. She doesn’t respond right away, but you can see the tremor in her hands and the tightness in her shoulders. With what little strength you have left, you reach out, your hand finding hers. The contact seems to jolt her out of her thoughts, and she finally meets your gaze.

What you see in her eyes is fear. Raw, unguarded terror. It's an expression you never thought you'd see on someone so strong like her, and it sends a chill through you.

Your hand moves to her face, fingers tracing the scar that runs along her cheek. Instead of pulling away as you half-expected, she leans into your touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment.

"It’s okay," you reassure, fighting to keep your eyes open. "I'm okay... just... don't leave me."

As you drift into unconsciousness, the last thing you hear is Sevika’s voice, a hushed murmur barely audible.

“I failed you.”

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni @theacedragon0w0

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp @cewl-casper @crying-lighting443

@sodavrr @sweet-lover-girl @love-sevikalove

#arcane sevika #sevika #sevika imagine #arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #grayson arcane #wlw fanfic #zombie apocolypse au #sevika x female reader

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hysteria-things · 1 year ago

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can u do bf chris hc ?? 😝

BF!CHRIS HEADCANNONS

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: there is a SFW and NSFW section

SFW!

spoils the fuck out of you with no shame, even when you say it’s unnecessary.

one time you were gushing over a stuffed animal you saw in a store, so the next day he went back to get it for you. he also got flowers and your favorite snacks to add onto your gift.

“chris. this is so unnecessary.”

“what? am i not allowed to treat my girl?”

touches you at all times, his hand either around your waist or as subtle as his pointer finger hooking onto your belt loops on your jeans when you guys are walking together.

will immediately notice if something’s bugging you or if you’re upset.

even after a rough day at work, you’ll still hang out with your boyfriend. you’re visibly exhausted, not wanting to be around other people but it’ll make you feel bad for chris. he’ll greet you at the door, but pause to study you.

“are you okay?”

“yes! i’m fine.”

he can tell you’re lying, but you try to walk away as he softly grabs wrist. he tilts his head with concern.

“woah, woah, y/n. what’s wrong? tell me.”

he’ll let you rant to him for as long as you need, listening intently the whole time.

in some cases you’ll break down, and he’ll try his best to comfort you as much as he can.

NSFW!

literally will wreck you unless you say otherwise LOL

idc what you guys say he’s a sex tape guy

something about hearing your moans and whimpers through his phone turns. him. the. fuck. on. he loves watching how he fucks you.

another thing he’ll do is take photos, either during or post-sex.

he can be possessive, not in a toxic way, but if you let a guy flirt with you right in front of him he’ll have no issue putting you in your place. (you’re too oblivious to realize the guy is flirting, but he will always know)

chris�� dick is stuffed in your mouth, his hand gripping your head as he guides you on his shaft. your makeup is smudged, the straps on your dress now fallen off your shoulders. once the guy walked away, chris dragged you to the bathroom. the echoes of your slurps and gags bounce off the walls.

“i wonder if that dude can hear you choking on my cock. i’m sure he won’t talk to you again when you walk out with my cum dripping down your chin.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo fluff #✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!

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marooncircus · 9 months ago

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Marching ever forward

'Neath the wooded shrine

I stray not from the path

I hold death's hand in mine

Primal night, giveth sight

Familiar by thy side

If one bе gone, we carry on

Spirit as our guide

{click for better quality}

(Outfit beneath the cloak under the cut)

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dadcred · 10 months ago

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hi! it's been a bit since i've shared any french ffxiv playthrough notes, but i've been making my way through endwalker recently, and while there have been quite a few differences i've noted, this is the one i want to share most so far. please excuse any spelling errors or missing words!

the scene: upon meeting hydaelyn after completing the aitiascope dungeon, she speaks directly to each scion.

to alphinaud:

en: thou dost pursue an impossible dream, yet knowing this, you pursue it nevertheless. and thou has learnt to depend on others as they do thee.

fr: your world fell apart when you realized that there was no absolute justice, and yet, your friends extended you a hand

to alisae:

en: thy yearning for the power to save the powerless hath ever driven thee to greater heights, thou hast grown strong.

fr: your strength on its own has sometimes revealed itself not to be enough to achieve your wishes, but whenever your powerlessness tourmented you, your idol was there totake you along in their wake.

to thancred:

en: though those closest to thee no longer walket by thy side, their love remaineth thy guiding light

fr: despite your grief of not having been able to protect the person whom you cherished the most, you never relinquished the love that lived in you and it has led you to find a new hope.

to urianger:

en: for duty's sake, thou has been bound by truths unutterable time and time again. yet thy heart never wavered, as they companions will attest.

fr: as for you, you suffered from not knowing how to express the essence of your emotions. fortunately, those whom you surround yourself with didn't need words to read into your heart.

to yshtola:

en: in thy pursuit of mysteries great, all thou believed was called into question. undaunted, thy thirst for knowledge remaineth unquenched.

fr: the truth is often deformed, sometimes forgotten. but even after having accepted this as fact, you never abandoned your quest for wisdom in the hopes of finding that which you searched

to estinien:

en: the fires of hatred that once burned in thy heart burneth no more. from their ashes doth spring light and love, warm and pure.

fr: hatred scorched your earths and consumed your people in great numbers, but a glimmer of hope surged forth from the white ashes to reveal an azure future

to graha:

en: as witness to black calamity, thou despaired at man's helplessness. resolved, thou didst unite a distant world on the brink of collapse.

fr: you endeavored to do the impossible to save a world from an unprecedented catastrophe, and after that, having convinced a whole people that they could write their own destiny, you accepted to live your own adventure.

#honk #im not gonna make an objective statement about one being better than the other buuuuuut #personally?? i like how the fr highlighted the importance of their friends and loved ones helping them continue on #the great french ffxiv playthru #alphinaud leveilleur #alisae leveilleur #thancred waters #urianger augurelt #yshtola #estinien wyrmblood #g'raha tia #y'shtola rhul

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milkymolle · 1 year ago

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I don't think a single person on planet earth cares abt this (except me) but I've seen some minos prime enjoyers using thou/thee incorrectly. so if you have mental problems like me and you DO care here's a small guide

Thou is a subject and Thee is an object (like he vs him)

Thy and Thine are both possessives, the usage depends on whether or not the following word starts with a vowel (like a vs an); you'd say "thy hand" and "thine arm"

feel free to ignore this post

#this post gives ppl permission to point and laugh at me but like christ on the cross im doing this for others #ultrakill #minos prime

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little-diable · 1 year ago

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May thy knife – Feyd-Rautha (smut)

This is y'alls fault, all your comments made me write this. So, here we go, psychotic reader is back, but with a somewhat loving relationship. It felt only right to twist this famous scene – I'm sure this has been done before but I haven't read a fic that takes on this twist just yet, so I'm in no means copying any fic out there. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: What if the reader, who is married to Feyd-Rautha, didn't know that Paul, her brother, was still alive? What if it was her fighting against him instead of Feyd – all for revenge, to make her brother feel the same pain he had forced her to feel with his faked death?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (m), willingly rough loss of virginity, choking, dom!Feyd, degrading, spitting, fighting, passing out, blood licking, knife licking, reader is a psycho fitting Feyd, yet there's some form of love between the two, and no, I ain't killing us so we survive the fight

Pairing: Feyd-Rautha x fem!Atreides!reader (4.2k words)

The hatred she emanated was felt by all people surrounding her, people who didn’t dare meet her icy gaze – not even the emperor dared to turn towards (y/n). It was a wise decision, for the sake of all their lives, knowing that she could rob their soul and their last breath even without any weapons on her.

It had only been a few minutes since they had been taken prisoner, and while (y/n) could have easily fought her way out of the tight grasp, she hadn’t been able to move. Frozen to her spot as she had never been before, unable to move as her eyes followed the frame of the Muad’Dib. Paul Atreides. Her brother. The man she had believed to be dead for endless weeks. The prophet who hadn’t spotted her in the small crowd.

Not even Feyd-Rautha’s closeness had managed to rile her up at that moment, the man she had been forced to marry, the man she hadn’t allowed to touch her, not even on their wedding night. It hadn’t taken him long to accept that she’d cut off his hands should he touch her, speaking lies to the Baron to answer private questions that had left (y/n)’s insides churning. Feyd had protected her even when she went against a simple contract, lured closer by the darkness she carried deep within herself.

She had made too many sacrifices for her brother and their mother’s lies, tossed away for a strategic marriage she hadn’t been prepared for. All to mourn her brother who was still alive and breathing, guiding those who saw the prophet in him.

“You’re quiet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this, wife.” Feyd’s breath teased her neck, he stood with his armoured front pressed against her back, hands resting on her waist. It was a dangerous game, a game she didn’t buy into, too focused on her racing mind. Feyd gave (y/n) another moment to push him away, just like she had always done – but she didn’t, she kept herself pressed against him as if he was an anchor saving her from drowning. “What are you planning?”

“How I will kill the Muad’Dib.” Not one ounce of love thumped through her veins, an emotion she had once held onto, at least for her older brother; a love that had frozen in her system the second she had heard his voice ring in her ears minutes ago. Feyd’s raspy chuckles left her skin tingling, adding fuel to the fire simmering deep inside of her.

For a moment, (y/n) allowed herself to focus on her husband’s touch, how he held onto her, tight enough to send a clear message to wandering eyes. He may have not claimed her behind closed doors, addicted to their game of back-and-forth, but to all those eyes, she was his as he was hers, a ruthless husband to a cunning wife.

“You know, I am always excited for a fight.” She wanted to reply, wanted to tease him for fighting against drugged prisoners who never stood a chance against him, but the second his cold lips met her throat, her words were lost on her sharp tongue. Her heart roared in her chest, not used to being kissed by Feyd, not after their first and only kiss in front of their wedding guests.

“You won’t fight. This is between my brother and me.” (Y/n) turned in Feyd’s grasp, letting her eyes wander over her husband’s features. He was handsome, she had always been drawn to him, and yet something had always held her back – the fear of being tied down by a man who perfectly matched her ruthless ways, a man who would rather kill himself than back down from a fight, just like (y/n). They were too similar, a scary realisation she had been forced to face many moons ago.

“I will let you fight, wife, but for that, I get to claim you tonight.” The mischief twinkling in his bright pupils pushed anger through her, anger clashing against lust. Her mind didn’t get to interfere as (y/n) shifted her weight onto her toes to press a kiss to his lips. She pulled away before Feyd could deepen the kiss, heart roaring in her chest as if it was communicating with his.

“You’ll have to lick my brother’s blood off me before you get to touch me.” Her words were meant as a warning, a warning Feyd clearly found enjoyment in. And with his raspy laugh echoing through the room, she found herself thrown back into her darkening mindset, preparing for a fight against her brother.

……

“How can you be so sure the Great Houses are here for me?” Paul’s voice filled the room. She didn’t see much of his frame, standing behind Feyd to shield herself from her brother’s and her mother’s eyes. She hated the way her fingers trembled, urged on by her anger, by her sadness, emotions flushing through her like poison set to kill her. “They may be curious to hear my side of the story, don’t you think? I am Paul Atreides, son of Leto Atreides, Duke of Arrakis.”

She wanted to shoot forward, wanted to throw herself against her brother’s frame to force him to his knees. But the hand Feyd pressed against her stomach to hold her back was enough to stay glued to her spot. The time wasn’t right just yet.

“Gurney, send a warning to all ships. If the Great Houses attack, our atomics will obliterate all spice fields.” Paul’s words left most of the people surrounding (y/n) tensing, words that were about to force a laugh out of her. She could feel and see her mother’s influence on Paul, forming him into the son she had always dreamt him to be.

“You’re out of your mind.” The Emperor’s slightly trembling voice drew a smirk to both (y/n) and Feyd’s lips, they got a taste of the chaos soon unfolding in front of them, drawing a sick sense of satisfaction and anticipation through the couple.

“He’s bluffing.” She couldn’t stop a soft laugh from leaving her at her husband’s words, urged on by the need to stand even closer. Her body was guiding her without giving her mind a chance to protest as her hand found Feyd’s. She was still covered by his tall frame, and yet she felt him freezing for just a second as she interlaced their hands.

“Consider what you’re about to do, Paul Atreides.” Within seconds, the voice filled their ears, forcing the Reverend Mother to lose her balance. No longer could (y/n) focus on the exchange between Paul and the Emperor, no longer could she focus on Feyd whose hand she had dropped once again. (Y/n) knew that the time was finally right, it was now or never, a fight that would end with either her’s or her brother’s life on the line.

“Stand or choose your champion.” Those were the words that ripped (y/n) out of her trance, pushing past her husband. She didn’t see how Feyd’s fingers twitched, having to stop himself from reaching for her, to stop (y/n) from fighting a battle he had been destined for.

“I’m here, Paul.” (Y/n) spoke the words with venom dripping from her voice, watching her brother’s bright pupils widen. From the corner of her eye, she could watch her mother shoot to her feet, and yet (y/n) didn’t dare let her gaze wander, enjoying the realisation that began to widen on her brother’s panicked features. “I need a blade.”

“Accept mine.” She didn’t rip her eyes from her brother’s to look at the Emperor, seizing the chance to read Paul well enough to tell her that he fought an inner battle. Paul whispered her name as he slightly shook his head, begging his sister to step away. Her tongue kissed her teeth as a blood-curdling smile widened on her lips, she didn’t need to speak up to tell Paul that she’d try everything she could to kill him, a simple act of revenge for leaving her, for forgetting her, for playing her.

With a slow nod thrown her way, seemingly accepting her will to fight, Paul turned from (y/n) to walk back towards his people. Only Feyd’s hand on her waist managed to rip her gaze from her brother’s frame, “Make me proud wife. Kill him.”

Feyd squeezed her waist as he pressed a harsh kiss to her lips, a clear signal for all those who were watching their interaction. He’d kill them all should she die, avenge her death as if it was his own life they tried to take. Without speaking another word, (y/n) pushed Feyd away from her, she tightened her grip on the Emperor’s blade, and let her feet carry her towards her brother.

“(Y/n),” Paul’s choked-up voice drew a humourless chuckle out of her. For a moment, she allowed her gaze to stray, to look at their pregnant mother and the unreadable expression she wore. (Y/n) had never been the favourite child, even though she was the girl Jessica had been asked to birth. She had always been too ruthless, too cold, too cunning for their family, the outcast who had been married to Feyd at the first given chance.

“Say it.” (Y/n)’s words were venomous, spat at her brother whose pained expression made him appear even more pathetic in her eyes. She wanted Paul to speak the words, words the siblings had spoken as mere children whenever they challenged one another into a play fight. Paul kept quiet, unable to part his lips until she almost screamed her words, “Say it!”

“May thy knife chip and shatter.” Paul’s voice trembled as he spoke the words, momentarily closing his eyes as if he struggled to accept their fate, to accept that he was expected to kill his beloved sister, unable to back down from a fight like this. She repeated the words much slower than Paul had, with a dangerous smile tugging on her lips – no longer did (y/n) care about her own life, about the mere chance of dying in her brother’s arms. She was hungry for revenge, to make him feel the pain she had been forced to carry deep within herself these past weeks.

And then everything began to blur, one attack after another, one strike after another, one stumble after another. She felt all their eyes on them as they fought, but (y/n) couldn’t give into the temptation to study the crowd, searching for Feyd’s eyes that were glistening with adoration for his wife. A woman fighting like a snake, slithering along Paul’s body to squeeze him to death.

Only as Paul’s knife cut (y/n)’s skin for the first time did her world begin to slow down, momentarily stopping its spinning motion. Paul seemed to freeze just like she did, focusing on the blood pouring from the wound. Perhaps he expected her to back down, to leave the circle to search for her husband’s protection. But (y/n) did something she had studied her husband do one too many times: Her fingers found her wound, picking up the drops of blood to suck her fingers clean, high on the coppery taste. Feyd’s laughter rang in her ears as she attacked her brother once again, faster this time, even more ruthless than the rounds before.

With blood sticking to her lips, (y/n) and Paul kept circling one another – all until she seized her chance to ram her knife into his side. Paul’s gasp forced their mother to her feet once again, searching her daughter’s eyes to shake her head, a silent warning not to kill her brother, a silent gesture that they wouldn’t mourn her death, only Paul’s. But while her mother’s eyes carried a clear warning, Feyd’s carried encouragement, asking his wife to end this right there and then.

A moment of distraction that gave her brother the chance to slice his blade through her skin, forcing it to nestle inside her stomach. Both siblings held onto one another, glassy eyes finding back together as neither loosened their grip.

“Do it, kill me. Feel the pain you’ve forced me to feel, feel the grief that has almost killed me.” Tears dripped from (y/n)’s eyes as she choked on her blood, knowing that she’d pass out any moment now. And even though she felt the darkness creeping through her veins, telling her that it was time to bid this life goodbye, a smile began to widen on her lips.

This was the moment she had imagined all these weeks, it was finally upon them.

Slowly Paul sacked to the ground with (y/n) clinging to him, holding onto her as he lifted his teary gaze. She didn’t see the way her brother's panicked gaze looked around the room, didn’t see the way his eyes found Feyd’s rage-filled ones, luring her husband closer. All she could focus on were the tears dripping from Paul’s bright eyes, holding back his sobs as Feyd kneeled next to them.

“Do whatever you must, save my sister.”

……

She woke with a gasp, eyes shooting open. It took her a moment to focus on her surroundings, the grey walls, the dim light, and the figure standing close to her bed. Pain shot through her as she tried to move, forced to plop back down onto the mattress with a curse clawing through her.

“You’re finally awake.” Feyd’s raspy voice drew a whimper from (y/n)’s chapped lips, eyes momentarily fluttering close to try and remind herself of what had happened. “You almost died, killed by your foolish brother who has never fought fair before. I should have killed him for hurting you.”

“Come here.” (Y/n) ignored her husband’s words, not daring to think of her brother, of their fight, and of the blood she had lost. Wordlessly, Feyd came to a halt next to her, staring down at her to wait for (y/n)’s next command. With another gasp roaring through her, she shuffled around on the bed, making space for her husband to lay next to her. “If you tell others of this I will kill you.”

His chuckles filled the room as he carefully placed himself next to her. The moment had something awfully intimate to it, giving the married couple a chance to be close to one another for the first time, without any eyes on them, without hatred urging words to leave their cold lips.

Feyd’s hand slightly trembled as he reached for her no longer bloody fingers, slowly interlacing them. Never had he done this before, reaching for her without any further message to communicate, holding onto her for the mere chance to be close to her.

“What happened to Paul?” Pain clawed through her at the thought of her brother. Anger had forced her to act, anger she hadn’t been able to swallow until now, unsure how to accept that her family had lied to her.

“Don’t worry about him for now.” Feyd didn’t tell her how he had left the planet with her, how he had brought her away from that place. Feyd didn’t tell her how he had sworn to Paul that he’d avenge (y/n)’s death should she die. Feyd didn’t tell her how Paul had told others to let them go, not knowing where Feyd was taking (y/n), not knowing if he’d ever see his sister again.

And at that very moment, (y/n) didn’t find the strength to ask another question, the strength she would regain soon enough to find her path back to her cunning self, set on ending the ruleless game between her and her family.

……

“Fight like a Harkonnen for fuck’s sake!” Anger pushed her words past her clenched teeth. Sweat was pooling on (y/n)’s forehead as she stared at her husband with spite swimming in her pupils. She knew Feyd was holding back, not trusting that (y/n) had regained her full strength just yet, the strength she’d need to force him to his knees in a training session like this.

“Wife.” It was a warning he spoke, a warning not to rile him up even further, knowing that he’d lose his patience soon enough. (Y/n) darted at her husband, her body collided with his to throw them both to the ground. She straddled his waist with a grim expression tugging on her features, knowing that in any other scenario, she wouldn’t have been able to attack Feyd like that. “Fine, this is your own fault, darling.”

Feyd harshly pushed her off him, momentarily robbing his wife of her breath as her back collided with the cold ground. He rose to his feet with his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists – the version of her husband (y/n) desperately had tried to trigger. They circled one another, holding onto their blades with twitching fingers, set on regaining the upper hand.

Now it was on Feyd to attack first, his blade met hers over and over again, until he cut her cheek, drawing a hiss out of (y/n). She was heavily panting as he chuckled, bringing the bloody tip of his blade up to his pale lips to lick it clean, moaning at the taste of her blood.

Something began to shift at that moment, something that forced her to drop her blade, to throw herself into his grasp and to kiss him. Both fell back to the ground, allowing Feyd to cage her between the floor and his frame. His hand found her throat to keep her pinned down beneath him, all while their tongues fought for victory.

(Y/n) tightened her legs' grasp around his waist to pull him even closer, moaning at the way he ground his hips against hers, making her feel his hardening cock straining against his tight trousers. Everything about this moment was new to her, unsure of where to go from there without any experience guiding her, not knowing how to touch her husband. And yet, everything seemed to come almost naturally to her, trusting her body and Feyd to push her through the soaring waves of heat filling her trembling body.

“I should have fucked you months ago. You had your chance, but now I won’t be gentle with you, I will fuck you as a woman like you deserves to be fucked.” His words shot heat straight to her core, words that forced her to hold still as Feyd kept manhandling her, cutting her shirt open with his blade. The groan that left him at the sight of her naked chest made (y/nn) back arch, desperate to feel his hands on her. “I should tie you up, keep you as my toy to claim whenever I am hungry for you. I bet you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

“I hate you!” It was nothing but a lie, a lie both easily saw through, but at that very moment neither Feyd nor (y/n) cared about pleasantries, urged on by their desires. He cut open her trousers before another curse could leave her, exposing her arousal-covered folds to his darkening eyes. Tonight he’d litter her in bruises. Tonight he’d force her to follow his rules. Tonight he’d show her his most ruthless side.

“Hate me all you want, wife, your body still craves the touch of your husband. You’re dripping for me.” He didn’t warn her before he plunged two fingers into her tightness, feeling her walls flutter around his digits. Feyd held eye contact with her as he spat on her cunt, rubbing his saliva against her pulsing bundle. (Y/n)’s moans rang in his ears, urging him on as if he was high on spice, blurring out their surroundings, blurring out the calmness they were now disturbing. “I can’t wait to rip you open with my cock, make you feel pain you won’t ever forget.”

Her mind was silenced, fogged up by the lust thumping through her veins. Feyd fucked her with his fingers, he pushed her closer to the high she had only allowed herself to feel whenever she had been desperate for his touch but too proud to search his closeness. But her body wasn’t ready to give up the chase just yet. Her hand found her blade, moving without gaining Feyd’s attention, who was still fully focused on her cunt.

With quick movements, she brought the tip of her blade to his throat, stopping him in his movements. The chuckle leaving Feyd left her smirking, looking even more psychotic with the blood still dripping from the cut on her cheek. She barely put up a fight as Feyd ripped the blade from her hand, as he shifted them around to bring her to her knees and up against his front.

The blade teased her throat as he held her to him, even as he freed his aching cock, ready to disappear deep inside of her, “You had your chance, I would have prepared you for my cock, would have given you time to adjust. But that kindness is no longer among us. Now you’ll take my cock like my own personal whore.”

He forced his cock into her cunt, groaning at the tightness engulfing him. Tears ran down her cheeks, tears of lust, of pain, of desperation – finding an unfamiliar sense of enjoyment in Feyd’s rough touches. His name rolled off her tongue as he fucked into her from behind, dropping the knife to choke her with his cold hands once again.

Feyd was treating her like his pet, treating her like he had been raised to treat women – momentarily forgetting about the love he fostered deep inside of him. And she loved every second of it, finally able to give up control for the first time.

“It brings me great pleasure knowing that no other man will ever get to have you like this. Your body is mine, you’re my whore, you only listen to my commands. And you will kill whoever dares to touch you should I not be fast enough to do it myself.” His words left her choking, forced to claw her fingernails into his pale skin as her mind began to race. Even though the words didn’t sound like it, it was the most sincere love confession Feyd had ever spoken, words that cut deeper than any blade ever would.

“Feyd.” She whimpered his name as his free hand found her clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves to push her towards the edge. The first of many orgasms was awaiting her, set on ripping her from this place into another dimension, led by her husband. (Y/n) felt his black teeth run along her neck, biting the spot where her neck met her shoulders, close to drawing some more blood from her weeping body.

She came without another word clawing through her, calling out his name as her orgasm momentarily robbed her of her vision. Feyd kept a strong hold on her throat, his hips kept meeting her behind, forcing his cock further into her clenched tightness. He gave it a few more thrusts before he pulled out of her and rose to his feet.

With his hand finding her hair, he forced her towards him, making her scalp burn from the strength of his touch. His cock was shoved past her parted lips, letting (y/n) taste herself on his cock as he fucked her mouth. The corners of her mouth began to burn within a few moments, once again making tears fall from her glassy eyes.

She had never seen her husband like this, trembling for her, with his head thrown back, and his eyes closed, fully focused on the pleasure thumping through her. No longer did she feel the need to fight, no longer did her fingertips ache for the feeling of her blade, no, for the first time since knowing Feyd, she wanted to give her everything to satisfy the man.

“You’ll swallow every drop of my seed, and then you’ll lick me clean.” It was a simple command, a command that left her moaning around his cock. Feyd came within a few more seconds, releasing himself down her throat and on her eager tongue. The two held eye contact as she swallowed, as she ran her tongue up and down his twitching length, following his every command.

“Where are you going, wife?” She froze in her movements, her heavily panting self had turned from him, set on plopping down on the ground to catch her breath. (Y/n)’s wide eyes were drawn back to his like spice forced up into the air, following the wind’s call. “That was only the beginning. I won’t be done with you for a while.”

#Feyd Rautha smut #Feyd Rautha imagine #Austin Butler #Feyd Rautha x reader #dune imagine

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p0orbaby · 10 months ago

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Crushology 101: How to Seal the Deal with Your Crush

summary: sometimes it’s best just to keep your mouth shut

warnings: none !

a/n: thanks for the request !

word count: 1.4k

The Arsenal Women’s changing room is a circus on a good day, but today, it’s a full-blown carnival. Your request for advice on how to handle your crush has somehow turned into an entire production. You’d expected a few tips, maybe a funny comment or two, but what you get is an experience—complete with a PowerPoint presentation, three rounds of applause, and enough snacks to fuel a small army.

It starts innocently enough. You’re sitting in the corner, tying your laces, trying to pretend like your palms aren’t sweating at the mere thought of your new love interest. Leah saunters over, a mischievous grin on her face that suggests she’s about to ruin your life—or at least make it a whole lot more interesting.

“So, who’s the lucky one?” she asks, and suddenly, it feels like all eyes are on you.

Your attempt to play it cool is laughable at best. “It’s no one… just someone”

“That’s code for ‘definitely someone,’” Katie chimes in, appearing out of nowhere like she’s been waiting her whole life for this conversation.

Before you can backtrack, Leah’s already pulled a chair up beside you, her hand hovering over your shoulder in a way that’s supposed to be comforting but only serves to make you more nervous. “You came to the right people,” she says, as if she’s got a PhD in crush management. “We’re experts in these matters”

Katie plops down on your other side, sandwiching you between them. “Yeah, between the two of us, we’ve crushed and been crushed on more times than you can count”

Leah nods solemnly, as though this is a badge of honor. “Which is why we took the liberty of preparing a little something for you”

Your confusion only deepens as they both exchange a conspiratorial look. Before you can ask what they mean, Leah stands up, clapping her hands together like she’s just announced halftime.

“Ladies, the moment we’ve all been waiting for!” she yells, and suddenly the entire team is circling around you. You don’t know whether to feel honored or deeply concerned.

Vic wheels out a whiteboard, scribbled with notes that look suspiciously like they’ve been written by a five-year-old on a sugar high. Steph flips open a laptop, and you realise with dawning horror that they weren’t kidding about the presentation.

“Welcome to Crushology 101,” Leah announces, her voice dripping with the authority of a university lecturer. “Today, we’ll be guiding our dear, sweet Y/N through the treacherous waters of having a crush. Please hold your questions until the end, and don’t worry—there will be refreshments”

“Or, if you can’t hold them, just shout them out. We’re all friends here,” Katie adds, because apparently, there’s no controlling this chaos.

The PowerPoint flickers to life on the screen. The first slide, in bright red Comic Sans, reads: “Step 1: Know Thy Crush.” Below it, there’s a picture of a heart with googly eyes. It’s both terrifying and strangely endearing.

“Right, so the first thing you need to do,” Leah begins, “is figure out if your crush is actually crush-worthy. You know, make sure they’re not a serial killer, or worse, a Spurs fan”

The room bursts into laughter, except for you, because you’re too busy trying to figure out if they’re serious.

“Think of it like a scouting report,” Beth chimes in from the back, like she’s talking about an upcoming match instead of your love life. “Check out their strengths, weaknesses, and potential for future growth. If they’ve got good banter and a solid left foot, you’re onto a winner”

Katie points to the next slide, which features an image of an extremely confused-looking cartoon character. “This is where you do your recon,” she says. “Social media, mutual friends, the works. Be subtle but thorough. You’re not stalking—you’re just… strategically gathering information”

Leah nods seriously. “Exactly. Think of it as research. Just don’t get caught liking their photos from 2015, or you’re screwed”

“Big no-no,” Katie agrees, and you’re starting to wonder if they’re speaking from experience.

You’re not entirely sure how to respond, so you settle for a weak nod and a whispered, “Got it”

But they’re already moving on to the next slide, titled “Step 2: The Art of Flirting” with an image of two stick figures winking at each other. One of the figures appears to be shooting finger guns, which you hope to God isn’t meant to be literal advice.

Leah’s grin is wide and full of mischief. “Flirting is all about confidence,” she explains, as if she’s reading out of a textbook. “It’s like playing mind games, but with more smiling and less VAR”

“And less of a chance of getting booked,” Katie adds, which earns her a chuckle from the rest of the team.

Alessia takes over at this point, clicking to the next slide that reads “Step 2a: The Casual Compliment.”

“Compliments are key,” she says, and the way she’s nodding makes you wonder if she’s ever complimented anyone in her life. “But don’t go overboard. You’re not writing a love sonnet here”

“Unless you’re actually good at poetry,” Katie adds. “In which case, go for it, but keep it modern. No one likes a Shakespeare knock-off”

Leah claps her hands together again, snapping your attention back to the screen. “And now for the practical part: roleplay!”

Your stomach drops as Beth steps forward, smirking in a way that makes you seriously consider running for the nearest exit.

“Alright, shortstack,” she says, “I’m your crush. Impress me”

You blink at her, completely frozen. This is your worst nightmare come to life, and the fact that the entire team is watching isn’t helping.

Beth tilts her head expectantly, and when you don’t immediately respond, she says, “You can start with a compliment. I hear my eyes are mesmerising”

You stammer something that’s supposed to be a compliment but ends up sounding more like you’re choking on air. The team erupts into laughter, and you’re sure you’re going to die of embarrassment right then and there.

Katie steps in, saving you from further humiliation. “Okay, maybe let’s move on to the next step,” she suggests, still grinning. “Flirting isn’t for everyone”

The next slide reads “Step 3: The First Date—Make or Break.” There’s a picture of a candlelit dinner, but it’s so poorly drawn that it looks more like a scene from a horror movie.

“This is the big one,” Leah says, her tone suddenly serious. “The first date is where you either seal the deal or end up in the friend zone”

Caitlyn raises a hand. “Pro tip: Avoid talking about exes, politics, or how much you love your cat”

Steph raises her hand too, even though she doesn’t need to. “Also, avoid garlic if you plan on kissing. Unless they’re into that, in which case, garlic away”

“Read the room,” Leah advises, clicking to the next slide, which is just a giant picture of a thumbs up. “And remember, the most important thing is to be yourself. Unless yourself is a nervous wreck, in which case, fake it till you make it”

“Be yourself, but better,” Katie clarifies, and the whole team nods like this is the wisest thing anyone has ever said.

You’re halfway between laughing and crying when the final slide comes up. It’s just two words: “Good Luck!” followed by a winking emoji. It’s not exactly the reassurance you were hoping for, but at this point, you’re not sure what else you expected.

Leah closes the laptop with a flourish and turns to you with a satisfied smile. “There you have it. Everything you need to win over your crush”

“And if it doesn’t work,” Katie adds, “just remember, we’re always here for post-date analysis”

“Or to take you out for drinks,” Laura offers, which, to be honest, sounds like a much safer bet than whatever just happened.

The team disperses, leaving you standing there, still processing the whirlwind of advice you’ve just been subjected to. You’re not sure if you’re more prepared or just more confused, but one thing’s for sure—you’ll never forget this day.

Leah gives you a final pat on the back. “You’ve got this, Y/N. Just remember: be cool, be confident, and whatever you do, don’t let them see you sweat”

Katie grins at you one last time before heading out. “And if all else fails, just show them this PowerPoint. They’ll either laugh or run away, but at least you’ll know where you stand”

You smile back, finally allowing yourself to laugh. It’s ridiculous, it’s over the top, and it’s exactly what you needed.

As the door closes behind them, you look down at your phone and think, Maybe I’ll give this flirting thing a shot after all. And if it all goes wrong… well, at least I’ll have one hell of a story to tell.

#awfc #awfc x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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concretejunglefm · 20 days ago

Text

Summary: While struggling with internalised shame and feelings of unworthiness, you turn to priest!Noah, who offers comfort through his tender worship and unwavering devotion for you.

Pairing: priest!Noah Sebastian x dom f!reader

CW: includes religious themes, reader mentioned as once religious bordering agnostic, mentions of dom/sub dynamics, light body worshiping, angst in the form of relationship doubts, implied death/grief of a loved one, religious guilt, inattentive former partners, hurt comfort vibes with elements of fluff, declarations of love.

WC: 3.5k.

You can’t recall how long you’ve been hovering outside the church, pacing back and forth, arguing with that little voice inside your head about whether or not to go in.

You’ve never really been religious, you dabbled in it as a child, kneeling at your bedside come nightfall, reading “thy kingdom come” from a child’s hardback Bible, whispering prayers like they were wishes.

You grew into something more agnostic, perhaps still holding onto a faint bit of hope until bitterness twisted the knife—watching the pain and suffering of a loved one can do that, and yet, somehow, you always find yourself drawn back, like a lost lamb seeking their shepherd. As if, deep down, you still believe that lighting a candle and praying to the Virgin Mary, asking for the guidance and wisdom of another woman, might somehow answer all your questions.

It never does. Instead, you’re left hollow, with too many unanswered questions and a mind buzzing with unwanted thoughts. Right now, it’s the latter, and when you hear your name spoken by a familiar voice, one that always invokes warmth and calm, you feel the cracks begin to form in the dam you’ve been holding everything back with.

“There isn’t a sermon today, you know.” Amusement seeps into his voice. You’re sure he’s about to follow it with the usual playful remark, that you just wanted to come by and see him, like he always does, and usually, there’s truth to that, but not today.

“I know, Noa—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as you correct yourself. “Father.”

Normally, that would prompt him to gently insist you don’t need to be so formal, not even while wearing the collar, but this time, his expression shifts, growing somber, serious, as if he can sense the storm brewing inside you.

“Is something wrong?”

Your eyes drop to his hands, tracing the intricate tattoos that curl up his forearms, just visible beneath his sleeves. You force yourself to look away, stepping back instinctively, retreating like a wounded animal. When you glance up again, you catch something flickering in his gaze—sadness? Caution?

But just like you’ve seen him do with frightened animals at the shelter, he doesn’t back down. His voice remains gentle, soothing, as he approaches, keeping a respectful distance. He extends an arm, open and inviting, guiding you toward the church’s open doors.

“Come in. We can talk, if you need to.”

And truthfully, that’s why you’re here. You need someone to talk to, and who better than the young priest who always offers guidance and a listening ear, without judgment.

“Can I get you some tea?” Noah asks, pulling out a chair for you to settle into.

“No. No, thank you.” You shake your head as you sit, your fingers gripping the hem of your dress, toying with the fabric in a nervous habit.

When Noah takes his seat, it’s close enough that his knee brushes against yours, a grounding touch, while still maintaining a respectful distance.

“It’s silly,” you murmur, shaking your head, already blinking back tears.

As if on cue, Noah is there, offering a tissue and resting a soothing hand on your forearm, his voice gentle. “Nothing could ever be silly. Not if it has you feeling like this.”

You let out a short, shaky laugh, because you don’t want to break down again. The first time you did, you ran and hid from him, but this time, you’ve let yourself open up just a little more, stripping back another layer.

For a moment, you look at him, and he holds your gaze. There’s no judgment in his eyes—only warmth, softness, and the quiet willingness to listen. If he weren’t a priest, he could’ve been a counselor. It would have suited him just as well.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he assures you, his hands folding together, fingers interlocked as his arms rest on his thighs.

It’s as if he’s holding himself back—fighting the urge to reach for you, to make this something it shouldn’t be, not within the quiet confines of his office.

“I feel…” You take a breath, tilting your head back, blinking away the tears still threatening to spill. You try to summon a hard exterior, hoping it will protect you somehow, but there always comes a moment when it starts to crack. Like now. “…like there’s something wrong with me.”

Noah doesn’t rush in to correct you. He doesn’t pry or fill the silence with reassurance. He just sits with you, watching, listening, and somehow, that’s more comforting, knowing he’s holding space for you, letting you say what you need to say without interruption.

“The things we’ve done…” you continue, and his brow furrows, a distinct crease of worry appearing, but still, he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to steer the conversation.

You exhale shakily, your gaze dropping to the tissue now crumpled between your fingers. You twist it, trying to keep your hands busy, to keep your emotions at bay.

“Sometimes I worry that you’re just doing them for me, and—”

Your voice catches in your throat. The words fracture, and that’s when Noah moves, breaking his composure just enough to reach out and gently lay his hands over yours.

“Look at me,” he says softly, tilting his head, urging you with his voice alone.

But you can’t. You just close your eyes and shake your head, fingers tightening as your whole body trembles under the weight of everything you’ve been holding back.

“I can’t… I can’t feel like I’m just taking advantage. Like I’m using someone who’s…” Your voice breaks, crumbling into a sob.

Noah’s hands squeeze yours, firm and grounding, as you dip your head to your chest, finally unable to hold back the tears. Everything you’ve kept bottled up—shame, guilt, fear—crashes into you like waves against rocks, and something inside him breaks, too. Seeing you like this, so undone, when you’re always so composed, so strong, it makes him ache to care for you, to be someone you can lean on, for you to allow him to.

He whispers your name, but it doesn’t reach you at first, not until you blink through your tears and see that he’s moved, now kneeling before you. His hands still hold yours gently, grounding you.

“You are not taking advantage of anyone.”

You start to speak, but he hushes you softly, his eyes locked on yours—red-rimmed and glassy with tears. Your body still trembles with quiet sobs as tears roll steadily down your cheeks.

“And there is nothing wrong with you for enjoying the things that you like.”

That makes you look away, but he sees it, the shame and guilt you’re trying to stuff back into Pandora’s box. Somehow, you’ve exposed more of yourself to him than you meant to, but he doesn’t flinch. If anything, he looks ready to worship every piece you’ve revealed.

Outside the sanctity of your bedroom—your playroom—it feels embarrassing, somehow, to hear him speak of those moments you’ve shared. To be reminded of how you’ve both taken and given, how it’s always been mutual, fulfilling, and sacred, in its own way.

“Noah…” you whisper, finally meeting his eyes again. They light up instantly, the way a puppy’s might when called by someone they love.

“Yes?”

His hands leave yours to cradle your face, coaxing you to keep your gaze on him. His thumbs brush gently across your cheeks, wiping away the tears with reverence.

You murmur something too quiet to hear at first, about feeling unlovable, about your past, about the years you spent suppressing your desires, about the guilt—religious guilt—that still clings to your throat like a bitter aftertaste.

He looks at you, almost offended, like you’ve insulted him. “You’re not hard to love. And you’re not unlovable.” His voice remains soft, steady. There’s no trace of annoyance in his tone—only a quiet, unwavering desire to help you see yourself the way he does. “You just… need to let me in. Let me show you that you’re just as worthy of love as anyone else.”

“I don’t feel like I deserve it,” you murmur, eyes falling away from his.

His hands slip from your cheeks. He reaches for one of yours, turning it gently in his palm before lifting it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss against the pulse point on your wrist.

“You do,” he whispers.

You watch him, a tight knot forming in your stomach, because you don’t know how to tell him the things that have shaped you, that you’ve heard differently for years, that people have taken advantage of you, that you’ve been in his place before—under the hand of a dom—only you were second-guessing, giving everything, following blindly, and now, somehow, you’ve become the one leading, but all you feel is a desperate fear that you’re steering him somewhere he doesn’t truly want to go, no matter how many times he assures you otherwise.

“No…” you whisper, shaking your head.

Noah peers up at you with those soft, puppy-like eyes, full of nothing but adoration. He trusts you—completely. He would devote himself to you in a heartbeat if you asked, and, truthfully, he already does.

“You do. Please—more than that—I want to be the one to love you. Please, let me love you.” His voice is pleading, almost desperate, begging you to let him give the love he’s been holding back.

He wants to give you everything. He wants you to stop holding him at arm’s length, and when you finally give a soft nod, he lowers his head, brushing his mouth along the inside of your arm. He leaves featherlight kisses there, pausing at the crease of your elbow before reaching for your other arm. He extends it gently, repeating the same devotion—kissing a trail down to your wrist, where his lips press tenderly over your pulse point and it flutters beneath your skin.

“Noah,” you breathe, his name slipping out like a secret.

His head lifts slowly, and soft, doe-brown eyes meet yours. Reaching for him, your fingers comb through the long strands of his hair, following the way it cascades over his shoulders before your hand slips away.

“You don’t mean that,” you whisper, shaking your head—not to dismiss him, not really, but because it feels impossible to believe. You’re bracing for him to pull back, to regret saying too much, but he doesn’t. His hands move to rest gently on your thighs. The touch is both grounding and searing—it feels bolder than anything he’s done before now.

“I mean every word,” he says quietly. “I mean it when I say that I want to love you. That I want to be with you.”

The words cause your breath to catch in your throat.

You hadn’t let yourself believe that you could ever fully have him—that this was more than physical, more than the intimate bond shared between a submissive and a Domme. Maybe you’d convinced yourself it was just devotion, just play, just need, but deep down, maybe it had always been more.

And maybe you were the one who kept drawing that line.

Because you do couple-like things: you share a bed, you eat breakfast together, you cook dinner side by side. He comes to yours for lunch, or you to his. You’ve even brought him flowers once—technically for his office, but the romantic sentiment behind them was clear, and now, he doesn’t call you Ma’am or Domina, he calls you by your name.

He kisses softly at your knees where the hem of your dress rides up, and he whispers that he wants to love you. His head rests on your thigh, eyes still looking up at you like you’ve hung the stars. Your fingers thread through his hair again. He’s looking at you with the same adoration he had from the very beginning—only now it’s deeper, fuller.

There’s a little less sadness in his gaze, a little more joy.

Did you do that?

His hands move slowly, stroking along your bare legs, and you close your eyes. The softness of his touch sparks a quiet warmth, a comfort that settles deep within you.

You want him just as much as he wants you—if not more.

“I’m scared I’ll end up hurting you,” you whisper, eyes still closed as your fingers gently rake through his hair, soothing and rhythmic. His fingers trail along your calves, featherlight, until they meet at the backs of your knees.

He doesn’t immediately dismiss your fear. He doesn’t offer empty promises. Heartbreak is a natural part of life—something everyone faces—and he’s mature enough to understand that even this, even you and him, might not go the distance.

So instead, he challenges you.

“And what if I’m the one who ends up hurting you?”

Your eyes snap open. Your mouth parts, a protest forming—but the words catch in your throat. You can’t imagine him ever hurting you. He’s soft, sweet, your sweet boy, but he doesn’t back down. He holds your gaze without faltering. You want to argue, you want to tell him he’s wrong, but instead, you fall silent, because you see the point he’s making.

Either of you could hurt the other. That’s the risk. That’s love, and right now, the only person truly hurting you is yourself, by keeping your heart locked away from someone who’s standing there, arms wide open, ready to give you the world.

“I wasn’t always a priest, you know,” he murmurs, shifting his head slightly but keeping himself nestled in your lap. He remains on his knees—not in a submissive way, but in a posture that feels reverent. Like he’s offering you not just comfort, but devotion.

You want to laugh, because it’s hard to imagine him as anything else, but his tattoos suggest otherwise. “Oh?” you manage. The tears have long since dried, but your voice is still hoarse from earlier sobs.

“I told you before that I, too, was a sinner.” The corner of his mouth quirks into a small smile, and you give him a half-hearted one in return. Not because you think he means it in a shaming way—he never has—but because you know what he means: that we’re all human, we all indulge, and that there’s nothing inherently wrong with that.

“People expected certain things of me,” he continues. “Especially past girlfriends. Tall guy with tattoos—what else could I be, if not the perfect man to throw you around the bedroom?”

There’s a flicker of sadness in his eyes then, subtle but unmistakable. It tugs at your chest, that quiet pain of being misunderstood. You know that ache too well.

Discovering your preference to be dominant in a relationship had often invited assumptions—ones you could never live up to, but you tried, you hardened yourself, and when your boundaries weren’t pushed, they were ignored, comfort being rarely offered. You were the domme—what else could you possibly need other than an obedient submissive, right?

“Then I met you,” he says softly, and something in his voice shifts, his eyes brighten, like finding you gave him a sense of purpose he hadn’t known he was missing.

“I tempted a priest,” you murmur. “I made you—”

“You made me do nothing.” His voice is firm but gentle. “I never took a vow. Not officially. Just one I made for myself.” He pauses, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s deciding whether to speak the next words. “Admittedly, that vow was broken the day you walked in. And the next free moment I had, I found myself slinking into the quiet of my office, fisting my cock to the thought of you.”

Your face flushes and his does too. His honesty is almost too bold, but it’s also endearing. He’s usually so eloquent when he speaks of worshiping you and his desires surrounding you, so deliberate in his reverence, and yet here he is, slipping, revealing something cruder—but deeply real.

He lowers his head a little more, his chin resting gently against your thighs. His hands inch slowly upward beneath your dress. His eyes, still soft and warm, stay fixed on yours, a faint blush lingering on his cheeks. “So I broke that vow long before we ever touched,” he confesses, and even though his voice is quiet, there’s no shame in it, just truth.

The soft brush of his fingers against your bare thighs makes you tremble, a warmth spreading through you—the same familiar, comforting feeling that being with him always stirs.

Your fingers comb back his hair before your hand comes to rest gently against his cheek. He nestles into your touch, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm.

“You’re my safe person, you know that?”

You shake your head slowly, feeling the prickle of tears once more. Except this time, they’re not from sadness. The idea that he sees you as someone safe swells inside you, tender and overwhelming.

Even fully upright on his knees, he nearly meets your height as you sit. His hands slip from beneath the hem of your dress, settling instead on your arms. The need to touch you—stay touching you—is palpable. He craves that physical connection, and you feel it in every gentle motion. It warms you, the closeness, the way he touches you so delicately, as if you’re something precious, as if he wants to cradle you.

“I want to be your safe space,” he says softly, “someone you can just be yourself with.”

He doesn’t need to say more, you already know what he means. There’s no judgment in him. He’s ready to take you exactly as you are, without expectations, without conditions. To love you fully, even the parts of yourself you try to hide. The parts that never seem to stay hidden when he’s near.

His words are enough to ease some of the tension, his thumbs gently rubbing along your arms while his eyes remain soft and focused solely on you.

You think back to everything you’ve already done together—to every moment you’ve shared, to how willingly he surrendered control to you, because he trusts you, implicitly.

It’s always where you’re the hardest on yourself—especially after a session—worrying that you’ve pushed too far, taken too much, maybe even taken advantage, but you always check in, you always ask, and he always says the same thing: green.

“Tell me what it is you need,” he asks, tilting his head slightly. His focus is unwavering, his gaze filled with that soft, steady reminder that he’s ready and willing to give you the world.

“You…” You whisper it, like a confession. Like a secret you’re ashamed to say aloud, as though wanting him is something you should feel guilty for.

“Then you have me, baby. You have me.” He’s quick to reassure you, his hand reaching for yours, guiding it to his chest and placing it over his heart. “You’ve long had me. You have my heart.”

Your fingers brush against the black shirt, the way it clings to his chest, letting you feel the strength of his muscles and the soft rhythm of his heartbeat.

“My body,” he murmurs, dipping his head to press a kiss against the inside of your arm.

“My mind.”

Between each word, another kiss follows—soft and slow—until he leans in and presses one to your exposed collarbone.

“My soul.”

It’s soft—faint—but you hear it, and your hand rises to cradle the back of his head, your fingers threading through his hair, pressing gently against his scalp in a tender embrace. Goosebumps prickle across your skin from the heat of his breath against your neck.

“You have all of me. Now let me have all of you.” He says it like he always does, like he wants to worship you, like you’re the only thing that’s ever filled his thoughts, and while guilt still tugs at you—this idea that you’ve somehow strayed him from his path—he doesn’t see it that way. He wants to honor you. Not as a replacement for God, but alongside Him. There’s enough room in his heart for both, but especially for you.

He makes that clear as his fingers brush the buttons of your dress, slowly slipping each one free, one by one, his mouth trailing kisses down between the soft panels of fabric against your chest, whispering soft words of worship.

You’re in his office—his sanctity—and he wants nothing more than to adore you right here.

Noah would lay you out on the altar in the main chapel if you let him, but he’ll settle for this, for here and now, tucked away in his private space, for just the two of you, to remind you of how deeply he adores you, how much he wants you, how much he wants you to let him in, and with every kiss, you feel yourself softening more.

Every brush of his lips against your stomach, every press of his hands against your love handles. He misses nothing. He touches every inch like it matters. Like you matter. It’s not sexual, it’s sensual—it’s devotion.

You’re baring yourself to him, not just your body, but your vulnerability, and he receives it gently, reverently, helping you shed the armour you’ve kept on for too long with a quiet, unwavering reminder: you’re safe with him.

He wants to show you he loves you, because he already does.

#bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens fluff #bad omens angst #noah sebastian angst #noah sebastian x reader #priest!noah #priest au #concretejunglefm fics

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moondance-r · 9 months ago

Text

SAGAU-adjacent not-Creator Creator 1

Summary: You knew, viscerally down to your bones, that you did not create this world; Teyvat had no grand creator, no single hand designing its wonders. It did, however, have something of a catalytic agent, without which it would not exist.

You.

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Godhood got boring after a while, so you wandered. You peeked into worlds and travelled from star to star -- one, dying and desperate, called out to you.

It might have been beautiful, once. You could see patches of greenery and remnants of grand structures littering the landscape, could sense life lingering on its surface and stubbornly refusing to fade. This was a world on the verge of destruction, you knew, and not just because of what its creatures did or didn’t do. No, this was something far grander than anything mortals -- or pseudo-immortals -- could ever achieve.

Its core was decaying inexorably, not on a time scale noticeable to any of its inhabitants but destined for demise nonetheless. You... pitied it, perhaps. You had no reason to -- you had watched countless worlds perish and this one should have been no different -- and yet you dove close and settled into the core of this world that called itself Teyvat.

You slept.

And Teyvat grew itself around you.

You awoke to darkness. This was strange because you had no physical form and should not have registered the lack of light as anything that would impact your senses. And yet it was dark and you could not see.

(With physical eyes, a corner of your mind whispered. How novel!)

Since you had eyes, you must have a body. You tried to move a limb; nothing happened, except for a brief sense of pressure. Then you heard -- with ears! -- muffled rumbling before light pierced the darkness as soil peeled itself back from where it buried you beneath the earth. You sat up. You were in a divot someone might call a grave, if not for it having no markers or headstones.

You didn’t know how long you sat there appreciating the dawn before a metaphysical humming caught your attention, and you turned to see some stone steps leading up to a circular portal. That, you knew instinctively, was a passage leading to the roots of this world where you had slumbered for the past... how long?

You didn’t know. You wanted to find out.

The first order of business: getting off this island. Unfortunately, it seemed as if you were stuck in your fleshy body, which didn’t even have the decency to transform into something capable of flight when it refused to allow you to revert into your nebulous spirit form. You considered just walking into the sea, but you only had this one body on hand and did not want to test its lung capacity for so little reward. Life was so fragile already.

Well, this may be a problem, you thought to yourself. Not even a single local solar cycle and your journey had already stopped in its tracks.

So you sat. And thought. And thought some more.

Before you could petrify into a statue, something big flew overhead, handily startling you out of contemplation. You rose to your feet as a winged four-legged creature covered in teal fur landed heavily in front of you and bowed. You assumed it bowed, anyway -- such gestures weren’t easy to do when one was a quadruped, but the way it drew back a foreleg and lowered its head was definitely deliberate.

You blinked at it, nonplussed. You’d barely taken more than a hundred steps on this land, there was no way you had done anything to deserve this bowing and scraping.

“Mine Guiding Wind,” the dragon said in a deep, echoing voice, “it gladdens me to see thine holy visage. It would be of utmost honour if mine unworthy body might bear thy divine form through the skies.”

“...You can speak to me casually,” you said instead of getting into all of that. You wanted to be off this island before digging into the dragon’s delusions. “And yes, a ride would be appreciated.”

The dragon seemed to faintly shiver in delight. As you approached, they obligingly shuffled around and offered a foreleg so that you could climb onto their back. You forced your new limbs to cooperate as you clambered up and over to settle in front of their first pair of wings and gripped their ruff.

With a great beat of the dragon’s six wings, you ascended into the air. Despite your muffled senses, you could detect this world’s wind element assist in the dragon’s rise. Anemo, you remembered from the last time you were awake, one of this world’s seven elements. All worlds worked differently and this one fell on the more magical side of the scale. You wondered how Teyvat had changed since its near destruction -- if new civilisations had risen to replace the old, if these new peoples remembered old lessons. If they would be as welcoming as their world had been.

At least the last was promising if the dragon’s greeting was anything to go by, though who knew if that would persist once they realised you weren’t whoever they thought you were.

“What’s your name?” you called down to the dragon, trusting that Anemo would carry your voice.

Sure enough, the dragon replied, “I am Dvalin of Mondstadt, Sweeping Gale.”

“And is that our destination? Mondstadt?”

“It is, yes... unless You would prefer somewhere else?” Dvalin asked, suddenly hesitant.

You hummed thoughtfully. “No, Mondstadt is fine,” you said as you rolled the name around in your mind. You didn’t know enough about this world to have an opinion, though you wondered if this ‘Mondstadt’ was a city? A country? A continent? Or maybe it was merely a wild region uninhabited save for a territorial dragon. That would be interesting, you thought, though probably quite boring.

Sea eventually gave way to land beneath you, which quickly turned into soft rolling hills. People walked on clearly marked paths, and you watched a few turn and look up as you passed.

“It’s surprisingly peaceful,” you commented, thinking back to the scorched earth that had greeted you. “I’m glad.”

Dvalin vibrated beneath you, which you realised was a purr. “It has been many an age since you last descended, Pathfinder; that Mond may receive your praise for our efforts is the greatest reward of all,” they said.

Dvalin landed at the foot of a giant tree, in front of which was a stone statue of an androgynous figure that glowed brightly to your senses. Halfway in a daze, you slipped to the ground and stumbled to the statue, missing the way Dvalin lowered themselves in preparation to catch you should you fall. But even if you noticed you wouldn’t have cared, because the statue called to you like a beacon.

The instant you lay a hand on it, you could feel the world breathe a sigh as a portion of your power returned to you. A rush of air tinged with Anemo buffeted you and the tree joyously, and you chuckled and smiled into the wind.

“I’m back.”

“Your Grace!” A person dressed in fancy green and white clothes seemed to appear out of thin air from the speed he flew over, beaming all the while. “Your Grace, You’re finally here! The festival is all set up, we’re just missing You, O Holy Breeze!”

This person... You squinted slightly. There were remnants of your power within him, though less than the statue. Just what had Teyvat been up to while you were sleeping?

You raised your hands as if to fend him away. “Slow down, who exactly do you think I am?”

“Your Grace?” he asked in bewilderment.

“Answer me first.”

After a brief hesitation, he twirled and bowed with a flourish. “You are the First Breath, the Guiding Wind who accompanies all, the Creator of Teyvat and its every marvel! Every pebble, tree, and shrub was nourished under Your loving hands. You are the one worshipped above all, and we have been waiting most anxiously for Your return.”

What the hell, you thought pointedly at Teyvat.

In response, the wind whispered to you, Barbatos, wind sprite, Anemo Archon, a void where there was once god-heart-gnosis.

Putting aside how the world itself was being suspiciously helpful, you were now face to face with the dragon’s delusions which seemed to not be limited to the dragon. No, if you were understanding things correctly, this was something shared by large swathes of the population. Only one problem: you were not a Creator or creator, of Teyvat or otherwise. To give life was far beyond your abilities. No deity you knew of could do it either.

You could sort of understand how such a belief might have come to be, if you turned around and looked at it sideways. The process of saving this world from its slow march toward destruction had necessitated merging yourself with Teyvat to share your life force, and this had won you major brownie points with it. If an abstract version of that event was somehow passed down, then your power was extracted to fill things like the statue and this young man... If they could feel you as distinct from Teyvat itself, which you were, then you supposed that it wasn’t impossible for them to assume that you had more agency in their fate than you did. Still ridiculous, though.

This is the problem with magical worlds, you thought despairingly, cults everywhere.

“I didn’t create Teyvat,” you tried to explain, but Barbatos only tilted his head questioningly.

“What are you talking about, First Breath? If it is rejection You fear, please do not, for there is no need. Your return will only bring joy,” he said.

You gave up. This level of conviction wasn’t something that could be shaken in a single conversation. “Alright, fine,” you sighed, “let’s... let’s go to Mondstadt, then.”

“Oh You’ll love it, Your Eminence!” Barbatos chirped, bouncing on his toes with a grin. It appeared as if gravity had no hold on him. “The Church has covered the streets with flowers, flags, and everything they can get their hands on! The Knights of Favonius have set up stalls and shows and even a parade, while the noble families are also planning something, though they’re being quite secretive about it. And the wine! I’ve heard Master Diluc -- he’s the owner of Mondstadt’s biggest winery -- is going to break open his best vintage of dandelion wine, I’m looking forward to it...”

You let Barbatos’ chatter wash over you as the two of you walked northwest. Mondstadt the nation was a land of gentle breezes and temperate climate now, but you could see hints of a violent past in the landscape. Here, a dip between hills that was once a crater. There, a cliff face eroded until it was a shadow of its jagged former self. You wondered how many wars this world had suffered.

You wondered if Barbatos won his seat through conflict, as you did your godhood. You had been mortal once too, maybe a human, maybe some other creature, before you achieved great feats during a war and ascended beyond mortality. That was perhaps why you felt kinship at the sight of Teyvat’s ruin, despite the aeons you lived that left only faint impressions of your origin.

Did you have family that you left behind in your homeworld, or friends? Comrades? Almost certainly; it was a war, after all. You pushed the thought away.

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#genshin impact #genshin impact oc #genshin sagau #my writing #sagau-adjacent verse #genshin reader insert

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