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azrielslittleslut · 2 months

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“A Day Court Book Club”

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, NSFW, mutual masturbation, Az talks her through it

Word Count: 2.3k

This is part 2 of "A Day Court Crush." Part 1 can be read here.

Enjoy!

“What is this one about?” Azriel asked, holding up the book for you to see. The dark red cover depicted a couple caught up in a passionate embrace, both partially clothed in silky fabrics.

You glanced up from the papers you had been reading, a small smirk on your face. "Fire and Silk," you mused, your eyes lighting up. "It's about a female from a magical land meeting a mysterious warrior. They fall in love and live happily ever after."

Azriel's dark brows shot up. "Sounds interesting. Is it smutty?" he asked with a wink.

You chuckled as you turned your attention back to your research. "Very much so."

Az bit his lip and placed the book back on the table. He sat back in his chair, smiling as he watched the intensity on your features as you worked.

He had indeed sought you out after that embarrassing first encounter with you. It had started out innocent, usually with him bringing more books from the House of Wind, even though he knew you didn't need more. Eventually, he started bringing you snacks and drinks, as you were inclined to spend hours here without taking a break for food.

These little gestures had been a poor excuse for him to see you, but he couldn't help himself. Thoughts of you had begun to invade his mind at all waking hours, and they sometimes chased him from his sleep. He loved the sound of your laugh, the sight of your smile... He couldn't get enough of you.

It wasn't until last week that he started asking you about those smutty books you liked. At his questioning, you laughed nervously as a beautiful blush crept up your cheeks and down your chest. His eyes had followed that blush down your perfect skin, wondering what it looked like under the sheer dresses you always wore.

Azriel knew those thoughts about you were wrong, and he silently cursed himself each time his mind wandered to not-so-pure places. But it wasn't just lust he felt for you.

There was a pull, a deep and magnetic connection that went beyond the physical. It was the way you laughed, a sound that seemed to light up even his darkest moments. The way your eyes sparkled with determination and kindness, reminded him of the goodness that still existed in the world. He admired your intelligence and the effortless grace with which you handled the complexities of your duties at the Night Court even though this wasn't your home.

As he sat here, though, watching you read over countless papers, he wondered what it would be like to bend you over this desk. His mouth watered at the thought of kneeling down behind you, licking and teasing you as your soft moans filled the quiet library.

Azriel shifted in his seat, using his shadows to cover the scent of his growing arousal. He commanded them to cover his lap, where his hard cock was blatantly visible.

"What was your favorite part?" he asked, keeping his voice steady. He willed his expression into neutrality as you once again looked up at him.

"Hmm," you murmured, running a finger along your chin. "I really liked it when the male love interest saved her from the evil king. It was quite romantic."

He leaned forward slightly, placing his elbows on the table. "Was that really your favorite part?" He could tell by the slight hitch in your breath that you had lied. It was so obvious to him that he didn't even need his shadows to read it.

"Umm, yes. But I also liked it when they danced under the moonlight at a ball," you said, that beautiful blush making an appearance. "I like dancing."

Another lie.

"Did they only dance under the moonlight?" he asked with a smile. He would never admit it to you, but he had read the book already. Az knew everything about it, and it was true that the main couple had danced together.

But it was what they had done after that had caught his attention.

"Well, yes," you responded, your brows creasing slightly. He could practically see your mind scrambling to think of a way to convince him. "What is wrong with dancing, Azriel?"

He chuckled. "Oh, nothing," he said. "I like dancing, too. Although, I have never ended a dance with a partner who had her legs straddling my face. I guess I can add that to the bucket list," he ended with a shrug.

You gasped, your face turning an adorable shade of pink. "You read it!" you squealed as you covered your face with your hands.

Azriel cursed himself as he noted your obvious embarrassment. He just wanted to joke with you and hear you laugh, but he had ruined it.

Why did he always ruin the good things life blessed him with?

"Hey, hey," he murmured soothingly, his shadows swirling around you. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

You slowly raised your face from your hands, and his heart stuttered at the sight of the smile on your face. "Well, I guess I did offer to show you my smutty books, shadowsinger. I just didn't expect you to take it upon yourself to read them!"

At the teasing tone in your voice, Azriel let himself relax. "Oh, did you want to read them together? They are... very interesting."

He had over 500 years of sexual experience, so it was rare that he came across anything new. But he had to admit, smutty books had a way of surprising him. The creativity, the raw passion, and the unabashed exploration of desire in those pages often left him intrigued.

"Well," you muttered as you glanced down at the table. You shifted in your chair, and the movement caused your scent to wash over him. His eyes nearly rolled back as he smelled your sweet arousal. "We could read them together... But I have always found acting out the scenes to be more... enlightening."

Azriel's head went quiet as your words hung in the air. He blinked at you, his brain searching for words. Finally, he said, "What kind of scenes are you referring to?"

He knew what scenes they were, but he wanted to hear you say the words. He needed to hear you say yes to this, to him.

You smiled softly as a blush crept onto your cheeks. "The kind of scenes where the main characters fuck."

Az froze for a moment, surprised at your boldness, and he sucked in a breath as he felt that boldness go straight to his cock. His shadows darted toward you, swarming around your neck and shoulders. "Are... are you sure?"

You looked him in the eyes then, your gaze intense. "Yes," you said, your voice loud and clear. You pressed your palms against the table, and you slowly stood from the chair. You reached up and pulled on the string that held the front of your dress closed.

He watched in silence as the dress opened, and he sucked in a breath as he realized you were wearing absolutely nothing under the dress. The material fell away from your body, pooling onto the floor in a mass of gold, but his eyes were glued to you. You walked around the desk to stand in front of him. You perched yourself up on the desk, spreading your legs open for him.

Azriel licked his lips as his eyes traced down your breasts and stomach, stopping once they got to the glistening wetness between your thighs. "You are beautiful," he murmured, reaching out a hand to run his fingers across your thigh. "Perfect. Exquisite."

You smiled softly as a blush bloomed on your cheeks and chest. "Thank you," you muttered, leaning back on your palms. "You are too."

Az knew he was a handsome male, and he was rather used to hearing females and males say he was beautiful. But the compliment coming from you made his heart jump in his chest. "Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"Yes," you said, nodding your head. "Although, maybe for the first time, we could try one of the scenes from a book I just read."

He leaned forward in his chair as he said, "What kind of scene was it?"

"Well," you began, running your hand across your breasts, toying with your nipples, "the couple didn't have sex. But they touched themselves, and they watched each other… it was very.. hot.”

Azriel couldn’t tear his eyes away from your hands as they made their way down your perfect body. Your skin glistened with sweat in the dim faelight, and he found himself wanting to replace your hand with his tongue. “You would be alright with that?” he asked, reaching down to massage himself through his leathers.

"Yes," you responded, your voice breathless. Your hand passed your stomach, hovering above your glistening pussy. "But I want you naked, too."

Azriel blinked rapidly, forcing himself out of his stupor. He stood and went to work removing his leathers, his skilled hands making quick work of it. Slowly, he sat back down in the chair, his wings drooping to the floor behind him. "Better?" he asked.

You smiled softly, your eyes raking down his body. They stopped once they got to his cock, and Az let himself feel smug as he watched your pupils dilate. "Very much so," you whispered as you ran a finger up your slit. You bit your bottom lip as you moaned softly.

With a scarred hand, Azriel started to stroke himself, running his thumb over the tip to spread the bead of pre cum that had gathered there. "Don't be shy, love," he groaned. "Let me hear you as you pleasure yourself for me."

You threw your head back as you thrust a finger into your cunt. "I-" you stammered, your voice breaking. "I am not very experienced with this, Az. Can you talk me through it?"

Az froze for a moment. He wasn't a very big talker when it came to normal conversation, but when it came to the bedroom... "It would be my pleasure," he said with a smirk.

He began to pump himself a little faster, keeping his grip tight at the base and twisting his hand as he reached his tip. "Put another finger in," he groaned, looking at you with lidded eyes. "Fuck yourself with them."

You did as you were told, your head thrown back in pleasure. Your wetness had begun to drip down your inner thighs, and it was taking all of Azriel's self-control to keep himself in the chair. He was desperate to know what you tasted like. "Like- like this?" you asked him, your voice breathless.

"Just like that," Az responded. "Such a good girl for me." He could already feel his climax begin to build, but he pushed it away. Even though he wasn't bedding you, he would make sure you came first. "Now, I want you to use your other hand to rub your clit at the same time. Can you do that for me, love?"

You bit your lip in concentration as you balanced yourself on the edge of the table. With your other hand, you began to rub your clit with small circles, while still pumping your fingers in and out of yourself. "Oh, that feels so good!" you moaned, your eyes shut.

The sound of your moans and whimpers went straight to Azriel's cock, and he let out a groan as his wings began to twitch, a sign of his impending climax. "Last thing," he forced out. "Eyes on me."

Slowly, you opened your eyes, and Az sucked in a breath at the desire in them. Your hair was pasted to your forehead and neck with sweat. Your chest was flushed, your stomach and legs twitching. The sight of you spread out before him with your hands between your legs was like is own personal heaven.

"You're so beautiful," you whispered as you looked at him, your expression soft.

Despite himself, Azriel smiled softly. "You are too. You're the most beautiful woman I have had the pleasure to lay my eyes on." With his other hand, he reached down and began to massage his balls, and his hips began to thrust into his hand of their own accord. "Cum for me, angel," he commanded.

Your breath hitched and your eyes rolled back as your body began to shake. "Az, I'm-" you said, but you were cut off as a loud moan escaped your full lips. "Oh, fuck," you whimpered as you came, and you reached a hand out to brace yourself on the table as you rode out your high.

"Good fucking girl," Az moaned. The sight of you coming was like a religious experience for him, and it was his undoing. He groaned as ropes of his cum covered his hand and stomach, his wings twitching slightly behind him.

For a few moments, the two of you sat in silence. Finally, you said, "That was amazing. Honestly, when I read the scene in the book, I thought it was cheesy. But that was..."

Azriel laughed quietly. "Then why do you want to do that?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "You make me want to do things I wouldn't normally do. Is that a problem, shadowsinger?"

Azriel's brows raised in amusement, and his shadows wrapped around him once again, probably to hide the mess he had made on himself. "Not at all, love. In fact, I want to know about all of the cheesy scenes in those smutty books of yours. I want to know all of the things I want to make you do, because you make me want to do the naughtiest things..."

The sound of your laughter was contagious, and Az found himself laughing along with you. He watched in contentment as his shadows darted out to you, wrapping themselves around your legs and hands.

"So, are we starting a smutty book club together?" you asked, still laughing.

Azriel nodded, his hazel eyes dancing. "Sounds like a plan, love."

general tag list: @quiet-loser @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria

fic tag list: @rcarbo1

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #dee writes #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #sjm books #sjmaas

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yikimiki · 9 months

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>> bones and ashes

⚔️ sukuna x fem!reader | warnings for: violence, mentions of death, possessiveness (sukuna is as evil as they come so basically every red flag under the sun), non-con that turns into dub-con (Stockholm syndrome), mentions of virginity loss, anatomically impossible size difference (if u know what I mean), blood play, etc | around 5-6k words | also important to note that I absolutely assassinated the canon lore in some points but bare with me

Sukuna doesn’t really have the ability to love. But he thinks he gets close enough when it comes to you. Of course, in his own twisted, macabre way.

Sukuna isn’t familiar to the concept of fondness, let alone anything more profound or meaningful than that. He knows want, desire, possession, curiosity even. But none of those feelings have ever tilted towards the side of affection, nor does he want them to. They’re all narcissistic pulses that keep pushing him forward — towards more power, more control, more of what he can become. He’s not even fond of his own abilities. Arrogant? Perhaps, but not fond. He can’t be fond of something he knows is not at its peak yet, that would just be weakness.

And Sukuna is everything but weak.

He sees you in a cold winter morning and he does what he knows best: he takes. Takes your pride, your virginity, your blood. Takes you like he took the lives of the rest of your village, paints your skin red and watches as the tears wash it away. Sukuna takes and takes until you have nothing left to give, just like he has done countless times before and yet… this time, something switches.

This time, he decides to let you live. Trapped in a dark cell, of course, but alive regardless.

The days move slowly, and you learn to mark their passing by the loud, clanking sound of a metal dish being thrown through a cracked door. The food is mostly raw meet and, after a few days of disgust, you cave in and eat a little of it. Not enough to be satisfied, not even close, but enough to keep you alive for at least a few hours longer.

Sukuna comes by in irregular intervals, and you soon give up on trying to find a pattern in his visits. You know it’s him from the way the door creaks open even further to accommodate his size, and you watch as his large shadow observes your movements for a moment before he kicks the disgusting plate towards you. Most of time time he’s there, you force yourself to eat, afraid of what should come if you turn down his unspoken commands. Once he seems satisfied, he exits without a word.

There is one single advantage in being in a windowless, isolated cell: you can’t hear what goes on up there. You’ve heard enough the day that Sukuna came to your village — the shattering screams, the pleads for mercy, the babies crying, the sound of wood and bone breaking almost too similar to differentiate. You saw creatures beyond your realm and heard awful whispers and threats; held you family as they died and gave up as the snow beneath your hands became as red as the burning sky above. And you know enough about Sukuna’s legend to be aware that it wasn’t an isolated incident.

When evil incarnate arrives, there’s not much you can do but surrender.

Though, when it comes to the legends, you thought that his palace was more of a manner of speak than an actual location. Once again, though, you’ve heard enough legends to know when to stop inquiring about the details.

Sukuna comes in after a week with a plan and a cloud of amusement over his head — frankly, given the state you were in, he thought you would be dead by now. Your stubborn hold on life is as impressive as it is pathetic.

“You looked so small when I first saw you,” his thunderous voice breaks the silence. There’s no food in his hands this time, only the fire cracking behind his form. You’re sitting down on the cold floor, back against the wall, and you don’t even bother looking up at him. “You look even smaller now.”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know what to say. Of course you’re smaller — you’re weak, starving, lacking movement and sunlight. Every muscle in your body aches and the aftertaste of dried blood never leaves your mouth. Smaller is a compliment; you wish you were just bones and ashes by now.

Sukuna takes a heavy step inside the dark chamber. “I killed everyone you’ve ever loved that day,” he says, bluntly. There’s no amusement nor sorrow in his tone — it’s a neutral statement. He lowers himself to your level and, on the corner of your eyes, you see his four arms. He is so wrong, even in a physical sense. Like the scar of something that shouldn’t even exist. “And yet… you live. Do you want to know why?”

You sneer. “I wish you’d just let me die.”

He chuckles, and one hand meets the side of your head. His fingers dig into the dirty, messy strings and pulls on the roots. There are tears on the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let him see them. “That’s exactly why you’re alive,” he says. “I knew you were ready to die when I saw you — all bloodied up, on your knees in the snow. It was quite a sight.” Sukuna’s voice is a malicious whisper as he comes even closer to you — he smells rotten. The tongue that licks up your cheek makes you want to puke. He tastes you the same way as he did on the first day, and you have no idea what he’s searching for. “Tell me, why were you so ready to give yourself to me? Most try to plead at least.”

“Plead for what? Your mercy?” The sarcasm is clear through your tone. The words you mean to say are knotted in the base of your throat and the odor Sukuna reeks is making you dizzy; making you remember everything that came before this. “I— I didn’t have anything else to live for,” you stutter. “You killed… you killed my mother, my father, my baby brother… why would I want to live without them? Why would I humiliate myself asking for mercy from a creature that clearly doesn’t have any to spare?”

Through anger, you look up at him. His eyes are flames bursting through the darkness, and they shine as your words settle on his skin. “Do you only live for love, my little dove?” He asks. “What a purposeless life you have.”

“Do you only live for hate?” You ask back before you can hold your tongue. Somewhere in your mind, you know that he’s capable of unimaginable evil, but you are beyond the point of caution. “What a purposeless legacy you’re leaving behind.”

This angers him. The corners of his mouth twists as he speaks. “You people fear me. Even the strongest of sorcerers doesn’t dare to go against me.”

“I pity you and your ridiculous need for destroying what isn’t yours,” you spit. “And I hate you for keeping me alive. I hate you for everything you’ve done to me and to the people I love. And I hate that you even dare to come here and talk to me like I’m the smaller person for daring to care about something.”

The hands on your hair tighten and he pulls your face against his. Sukuna’s forehead is a furnace against yours, his eyes burn into your soul. “You little insect, I could kill you with a snap of my fingers if I wanted to.”

Your voice shakes but you say it regardless: “Do it, then, what are you waiting for?”

“No,” his answer is more cruel than death could ever be. And he knows that. “And you know why?”

“If you are keeping me alive to have your way with me, so be it, have it,” you say. The tears are obvious now. You wonder if he can smell how fearful you really are. “Violate me like you did before, I don’t care anymore, but just don’t keep me alive just to waste me away.”

His lips are touching yours now, but you can’t pull away even if you tried. Sukuna’s chest is heaving like he’s in the middle of a battle, his voice like a roar in your ears. “Then ask. For. My Mercy.”

“I w-would n-never…”

“Ask!” It’s a loud command that crashes against you like a wave. You sink like there is no adrenaline in your body to keep you afloat; the anger that moved you before is no longer within your reach.

The truth is clear: you’re human. He’s a curse — the king of curses, older than you could ever imagine; probably even more powerful than the legends you’ve heard. His eyes say that there are fates worse than death and you believe them. And maybe, just maybe, if you play by his rules, he’ll grow tired of you and let you wither away.

“P-Please,” you are sobbing now, tears falling down like a cascade. Sukuna licks them and hums in satisfaction, watching as you break apart into a mountain of hiccups and trembling limbs. “Please just… have mercy on me. I’ll do whatever you want just — please, stop torturing me like this.”

“Aw,” he coos. “Was that so hard?”

You want to say that yes, somehow, that took everything still left in you. You want to say that if he wanted to break your spirit, congratulations, he’s done it. But you don’t get the chance.

Sukuna kisses you with the same ferocity you expected, sharp teeth crashing against yours and tongue exploring your mouth with no prior warning. He groans as he tastes you — you, the blood in your food, the salt of your tears — and suddenly it’s all that he will ever crave again. You whimper against his lips as his two lower arms crawl up your thighs and hold onto your hips, pushing you against him as he stands up and presses you against the wall. You feel more caged now than you have felt these past few days.

“Silly little human,” he raps against your lips, then licks your cheek for more of your precious tears. He realizes how much he likes to make you cry. You wince and give out a little sob, which only makes him smile. Finally, his grip on your hair loosens. “What is my name?”

You blink, dumbfounded by the sudden question. “S-Sukuna…?”

He pouts. “Say it like you mean it or I won’t be so nice.”

“Sukuna,” you say more firmly this time.

“There we go, that’s a good girl,” he says. “See how things just work better when you don’t misbehave? Hm?”

You nod. He doesn’t like it. “Y-Yes, I see, I’m sorry.”

“Very good.” The hand that was on your hair moves to hold your face, and it’s so huge that you feel like it would crush your skull with one single movement. As the other two arms hold onto your thighs, the fourth limb squeezes your breast. “Now, this is what’s going to happen, my pretty little human,” Sukuna starts, “I will have my servants take you to my chambers. You will be washed, clothed, and taken care of. They will feed you proper human food this time, whichever it is that your heart desires. How does that sound?”

Sounds like a trap. “And, in return, what do I have to do for you?”

“What do I have to do for you…?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Sukuna,” you complete.

“There’s my perfect little girl,” he says. You hate that something inside you likes the praise. “You will have to wait for me there. Do whatever you prefer, but don’t leave my room. Any attempt at escaping or killing yourself will be futile, and I’ve already warned every single curse that your death will result in a much more dire future for them. So you will be brought back to me. And I promise I won’t be so nice.”

“I understand… Sukuna,” you correct yourself quickly. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

The hand on your breast squeezes tighter, and you bite your lip so you don’t complain. “I knew I was right when I brought you here, something made me spare you. Yet, I don’t know what it is just yet.”

Sukuna is a looming threat above you, his limbs trapping you, and his deep voice is like thunder about to break. You know why so many fear him — you fear him too. And the sooner you act like it, the sooner he’ll grow tired of you. Sooner he’ll realize he was wrong in bringing you into his fortress.

He smirks. “But I believe I’ll discover soon enough.”

- ⚔️ -

Sukuna’s chambers are as spacious and monstrous as himself — corners switching and adjusting like breathing flesh; furniture morphing into different shapes; the weird odor of something old; the feeling for something lurking. The large windows show a world between worlds; a reality that doesn’t seem right no matter how long you stare at it. His palace is in a dimension you can’t reach, and you give up on trying to understand it. If anything, the more you wonder about it, the more you shake under the weight of the sheer power it must take to keep it all existing like solid matter.

Your passage of time is morphed and unreliable, but you would guess that a couple weeks have passed by the time that you come to terms that, perhaps, Sukuna isn’t as easy to bore as you first expected. The fire in his eyes doesn’t seem to diminish as he sees you — if anything, his eagerness to have you all to himself only seems to expand — and the way he takes care of you makes you realize that he isn’t planning on letting you die anytime soon.

Life in his chambers is far more comfortable, you admit, but it’s a prison nonetheless. Still, you can’t say that you are mistreated. In his chambers, you are bathed and clothed, well-fed and pampered. You soon come back to your normal weight and the fatigue leaves your body; there is more space to move, more things to do. The curses that come to check on you seem to be strangely kind and human-like, though you know it’s out of fear and not out of worry, and they keep your mind occupied with several stories and legends as the days move on.

Sukuna is more absent than you would have imagined, conquering and killing as often as he can. When he finally comes to you he is clean, recently bathed, but you can still see he is fresh from a battle, some mindless corruption beyond the horizon that you would rather hear nothing about. There are shallow scars and deep cuts that heal unreasonably quickly; dried blood that hasn’t quite washed away and ashes beneath his fingernails.

You ask whose village he has attacked this time, but he says it doesn’t matter, because there are no survivors.

“I never leave any survivors,” he completes, kissing your forehead, “besides you, my little human.”

You don’t push beyond that information, but the feeling of being special, chosen, starts to blossom like a dangerous rose inside your chest. It stings and stings, but grows regardless, and you see yourself less able to fight against his possessive claims. You start to enjoy them. You start to wonder if life beyond those walls is worth fighting for when you seem to have everything you would ever wish for right here.

You can always tell when Sukuna is about to arrive in this world because the atmosphere switches into something darker, heavier. The air seems thicker and the clouds beyond your windows start to bleed into a deep shade of red. Sukuna returns with the apocalypse on his back, and, when he does, he uses your body as he pleases.

Like the room around you, there is constant change. Sometimes it hurts like hell; sometimes it’s pleasurable. Sometimes you wish it would just end and you end up crying in despair; sometimes you look at him like you might get used to feeling him inside of you. Some days, Sukuna is kinder, more patient, taking time to adjust you to his enormous size and even makes sure that you enjoy it before reaching his end; fucking you full of his cum until you can’t think of one single thing besides him. Other days, you know he is angry just by the way he walks through the door — and, in those days, you are left bleeding and bruised as he uses your body in every single way until he’s close enough to satisfied. That, on itself, can take a long, long time.

You realize that, during those violent days, he could use one of his curses to please himself, but he prefers to use you — because you bleed, you cry, and you suffer. As long as your pain exists, his interest is unwavering.

However, like everything else, you adapt, get used to it. Routine becomes familiar and you learn the tell-tale signs of his rancid mood; learn how to make it a little better and what things to avoid. You stop thinking about getting away — you don’t even have anywhere else to go — and start longing for his presence as he takes more time to come back home. Sukuna is warm, safe; next to him you know you are shielded from any harm. When he appears, no one dares to look or touch you, no one speaks until they are spoken to. Just by being in his gravitational pull, you are protected and no harm will ever come your way again.

Even if it hurts, you start hoping that he won’t get tired of you.

Sukuna, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how he feels about it all.

It’s not love — he has gone over that one a few hundred times already, has marked off every possible scenario and imagined every possible feeling, and he is sure it isn’t love. To be frank, he doesn’t even think he’s capable of it even if he wanted to, he sold his soul too long ago to even remember how normal humans love. But if it’s not love, it’s something similar — a kind of tenderness, fondness. He has a soft spot for you, to put it bluntly. Though not in the typical sense.

Sukuna adores you like a painter adores his favorite canvas; like an exotic bird in a cage — he adores you with possession, obsession, with the knowledge that you can’t ever get away from his grip. He is fond of you in a way that he would murder anyone who would even dare to touch what is his; but would never set you free. He can hurt you, he can tear you into pieces and build you to his liking. Sukuna can kiss you or bite you; hug or break you, but it’s because you’re his little pet and no one else’s.

He is fond of the way you bend for him; the way you look at him with sheer adoration in your eyes even after he has taken everything from you. He is fond of the way that only he could kill you; that your small life is in his hands and you thank him for it. Sukuna is fond of the way your tight little cunt stretches so wide to take his fat cock; lives for the little whimpers you give out and the tears that stain his satin sheets when he finally allows you to cum for him. If he could crawl inside your soul, he would. If he could take it and eat it and have you forever, he would.

He doesn’t know why he craves you so much, but he knows that nothing else gives him the same high anymore.

So he keeps you.

It’s a heavy stormy night when he comes back the next time, and his room is only illuminated by a few candles and the lightening from outside. You’re in his large bed, looking as small as that day in the snow, and there is a touch of worry in your eyes that he doesn’t miss. But he ignores it.

“Undress,” he commands.

You rush to do as he says, throwing the faint fabric over your head. It falls to the ground as Sukuna walks towards the bed, his massive weight making it dip under his knee as he leans closer to you.

“My pretty little doll,” Sukuna muses. “Missed me?”

He always asks that. And your answer is always the same.

“So much, Sukuna.”

It’s more honest every time.

He hums, satisfied, and smirks as he pushes your hair away from your face. “I have something to tell you, and I think you will like it,” Sukuna says. You look at him with wide eyes as he settles over you, his four arms caging your body as you lay down. The mouth on his stomach open and closes, a large tongue coming out before it vanishes again — it always does it when he’s particularly excited. “Would you like to know what it is?”

You know he will tell you regardless. Like all the tales of his battles, he lives for the glimpse of horror in the back of your eyes. “Yes, Sukuna.”

“Seems like you are famous now,” he starts. You furrow your eyebrows. “Sorcerers are trying to save you. The poor little human girl that Sukuna took as a prisoner months ago.” He kisses your neck, then licks the skin. You shiver — months, it has been months then. “Two of them tried to enter my domain today, stupid little insects,” he continues. Another hand lands on your exposed breast, playing with your nipple. “You have no idea how enraged that made me, my little human. To have someone try to take you away from me; to try and to enter my domain and take you from me.”

His voice turns into a growl by the end of the sentence, and you feel the familiar pulse of terror running through your veins. He’s in a bad mood, that’s obvious, but there’s something hiding beneath that as well.

“What did you do to them?” You ask. “Did they get in?”

Sukuna chuckles darkly, and the hand that was on your breast now settles on your clit, massaging it softly. “I took care of them, my sweet thing, of course,” he says. Your breath hitches at the slow pleasure of his movements, and your eyes flutter shut. “No one will ever take you from me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” you say without a thought. In your heart, you feel it’s wrong. But without him, you have nothing. “I’m yours forever, Sukuna.”

“I know you are,” he answers.

Sukuna holds you by the throat as he kisses you — not enough to suffocate you, but enough to make you a little dizzy. Your eyes cross mindlessly as his tongue invades your mouth; a deep groan coming from his chest as he tastes your lips. He always kisses you violently, possessively, like he wishes to suck your soul out of your chest. Beneath his size you can only shrink and hold onto his large biceps, the wetness between your legs growing as he takes what is his.

He pulls back, ignoring the string of saliva that connects you two. “Pretty little thing,” he muses, shoving his middle finger inside your mouth. “Suck for me.”

You do as he says and he smirks at the feeling of your pretty lips around his large finger. Soon enough, the same digit is invading your pussy, curling up so quickly that you see starts at your peripheral vision.

“Relax or it’ll hurt again,” he says — not like he cares about it. “I want you to remember tonight.”

“W-Why?”

“Because I’ll make sure that you’ll be mine forever,” he says, a devilish smile on the corners of his lips. “So no one can take you from me. No one would even try.”

Your breath is getting heavier, and you don’t even register what he’s telling you — he could do a billion things to you and you’d still let him. The time spent only in his company made your resolution vanish, and you became exactly what he wanted you to: another possession for him to do as he pleases. Because of him, you have nothing else. Besides him, you have nothing.

“You’re not cumming around my finger tonight,” he says and quickly removes his hand from your cunt. You whine at the sudden emptiness, walls spasming around nothing, but you know better than to protest. “It’s going to be around my cock, you got it?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you say.

“Good girl,” he muses. His lower arms move to undo his pants as his mouth attacks yours once again. His sharp teeth drain blood from your lips and he groans at the metallic taste; drinks the little sob of pain you let out. “You’re all fucking mine. Forever,” he growls, “I’ll make you live forever with me.”

Months ago, that would be torture. But now, “It sounds like heaven, Sukuna,” you say. “I love you.”

Your vision falls to where his hands are working. His cock is massive, bigger than your forearm, balls swinging out of his shorts and falling heavy under his shaft. Your entire body tingles in anticipation as he strokes himself, aligning his cockhead with your opening. “Tiny fucking cunt,” he curses, rubbing it against your soaked folds. “I’ll train you to take my cock even better than now, kitten.” Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in and it hurts — no matter how many times you’ve taken him, it always burns. “Way too fucking tight for my fat cock, you know that?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll do better-“

He chuckles. “I fucking love it.”

In one strong motion, he shoves himself as deep as he can, pressing against your cervix as you whine at his size. It isn’t fair — it’s so thick you can’t even breathe, you can feel him in your stomach, pressing and pulsing until you can’t think of anything but the sheer size of his massive cock inside your poor little hole. Your walls hurt to accommodate his girth, stretching as far as they can, but it never seems like it’s enough.

“It’s t-too big, Sukuna,” you whine. And it is. You know he must be doing something to your body so you can even be alive right now, because it’s not humanly possible to take such a big cock. “I c-can’t…”

His hand lands on your head and pulls at the roots. “You are my special little human, my obedient little girl,” he reminds you. His cock throbs inside you and you whimper, the small movement alone makes you drool. “You will do anything I tell you to do.”

You nod. “Y-Yes.”

“So when I tell you to take it….” He rolls his hips even deeper and you call his name so loud that you’re sure the entire world will hear it. “You’ll fucking take it.”

You don’t even have the ability to answer as he starts to pound deep inside your soaked cunt, hard and violent, as he is. Your vision is blurry with tears as you look down to see his massive cock bullying itself again and again inside your cunt, taking everything you have to give.

“Look at me when I claim you,” Sukuna warns and you do it instantly. Your legs wrap around his hips and he squeezes your ass so hard it will bruise. There’s a malicious glint in his red eyes that never quite goes away, no matter how much he tries, and now it’s deadset on you. “My precious little girl,” he calls, voice strained with pleasure. You can tell from the way his cock throbs that he is close, but it doesn’t matter. He just keeps going. “You told me you love me. Do you only live for love, kitten?”

“I live f-for loving you, S-Sukuna,” you respond automatically. “I live for you.”

Sukuna groans like an animal — he adores what a stupid little fuckdoll he has turned you into. He can never get tired of this; he can never let it get away. “You’ll die for me, kitten?”

You nod so quickly you get dizzy. “Yes, a-anything… I’m yours f-forever.”

He calls your name like he has never done before, a little insane, a little sweet. If the sheer size of Sukuna’s genitals aren’t anything to go by, he cums a lot — it oozes out of your cunt before he’s even halfway through, cock throbbing and leaking again and again until you’re filled to the brim. His huge balls smack against your ass as he continues to bully himself inside you, a little more desperate now, intoxicated by his own pleasure.

There’s no rest, there never is. He only takes and takes.

“I’ll make you mine,” he groans.

“I’m yours, Sukuna, I’m yours…” you repeat like a broken record, half-aware of your own voice through the loud moans and hiccups. You watch in ecstasy as he uses one of his sharp nails to cut the palm of his hand, blood oozing out of it and dropping on your breasts. It’s like you know what he will say even before he says it. “You want me t-to-“

“Drink it.”

Perhaps you should be scared, but you’re not. Your mouth opens without a second thought and he presses his large palm on your lips, muffling your moans and allowing the hot dark liquid to invade your tongue. Sukuna’s blood is thick and it tastes like poison, but you do as he says, liking his flesh and drinking it until he seems satisfied and takes his hand away.

It strikes your body like an arrow, straight through your chest and expanding like deep roots. You feel as his blood burns your insides, changing something in your very existence. It’s hard to think through the sensations — the pleasure building up, the venom running through your veins, the mixture of devotion and fear that dances inside your mind. Your vision is double, black around the edges, and you think you might be cumming but you’re not sure you can even feel your body anymore. Sukuna’s voice echoes muffled in the background, and you can see his mouth moving in slow motion, but you don’t understand his words. You think you are crying. You think you can’t breathe. You think you are dying and being born at the same time and you don’t know why you feel so grateful for it all.

Your lungs are on fire and your throat is dry. You try to speak, but can’t. You have the vague flashback of the time your uncle made you drink alcohol, it burns just the same, but this time, no one is laughing. This time, you’re dying.

“… at me.”

This time, Sukuna’s voice rings sharp and clear. You stare at him, confused, as the flames inside your chest slowly subside.

“Keep looking at me,” he repeats, commanding.

You try to nod, but your head doesn’t move. You can’t see the room around you anymore. “H-Hurts,” you manage to get out.

“I know,” he says, and there’s a touch of softness in his voice you don’t ignore. “Focus on me. I’ll make it feel better.”

And that’s what you try to do, even if your soul seems to be floating miles above your body. You look down at where he is still moving in and out of you, at the white-coated mess that drips from your hole and soaks your inner thighs. It doesn’t seem to hurt as badly now, like your body is changing to accommodate him even better — in fact, it feels like heaven.

You look up at him, dumbfounded. “I t-think I’m going to cum, Sukuna,” the words come easier now, and you feel like you can move again. Though, it still feels like a dream. “It’s so g-good.”

“Cum on my fat cock, then, make me proud,” he coos. You close your eyes and nod, trying to focus on the paradise that blooms between your legs. You feel every ridge and vein of his massive cock; hear the lewd squelching sounds of his cum leaking out of you. It comes to you faster than you would have imagined, washing through your body like a wave as you cry and shake miserably. “That’s my girl, fuck, there we go, that’s my perfect little girl.”

The spasming of your walls manages to milk more cum out of him and he groans loudly as he releases inside you once more. Sukuna cums so much it makes you breathless, filling you again and again until he’s satisfied and the sheets beneath you have no salvation left.

“There we go, take everything,” he says in a strained groan, “every fucking drop inside this tight fucking cunt.”

Sukuna looks absolutely insane above you — fucking his cock so hard into you that it seems like he will never have the chance again; eyes blown wide and his teeth clenched. You cum again, this time a little softer, as you feel his thick cock shoot a specially large amount of cum inside your pussy, and wait until he’s done using your body.

Eventually, he settles, pressing his forehead against yours and looking deep inside your eyes. The redness in them is shining like flames, watching every movement of your face.

“Feels weird,” you say. “I feel dizzy.”

He chuckles and removes himself from you. Another white-hot wave gushes out of your cunt, and he sits back to watch it drip. “There we go, it wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You swallow, your tongue is still numb inside your mouth. “It was horrible, Sukuna. I felt like I was going to die.”

Sukuna smiles and uses two fingers to push some of his cum back inside you. “I can promise you it was better than when I did,” he says, and you’re confused for a moment. “But now we don’t have anything to worry about anymore, my sweet thing. Those pathetic little sorcerers won’t want you.”

“H-How are you so sure?” You ask.

“Aw, my sweet, stupid little girl.” He pouts, condescending as always. “No one will want to save a curse now.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you…?”

“I told you.” Sukuna licks his own blood at the corner of your mouth. “You are mine forever.”

#sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna angst #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #jujutsu smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #ryomen sukuna #smut #jjk smut

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rpclefairy · 10 months

Text

𝐁𝐆𝟑 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

a selection of lines from the various companions' banter quotes (not cut scene dialogues!) from baldur's gate 3. these are generally spoiler free and non context specific so they can apply to different settings and dynamics! feel free to change names and the like to customize the prompts.

“Death can't have me. Not yet…”

“Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.”

“Realmspace is vast. Countless worlds to be mapped, kingdoms to be conquered.”

“I have missed this. The adventure. The danger. The kicking of butts!

“Let me guess - you need something.”

“Such attention.. I never realised I was so popular.”

“Let's cook with fire, baby.”

“Do you intend to vocalise every thought?. Or just the most obvious ones?”

“Wherever we go, ye gods let there be something green.”

“Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.”

“Watch your elders and learn.”

“Perhaps try attacking the enemy?”

“So much we don't know, lingering in the furthest reaches of existence.”

“All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.”

“The shadows are my friend.”

“Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.”

“Feet planted firmly on Faerûn, please.”

“Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities.”

“Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you?”

“I am ready, whatever may come.”

“My faith protects me.”

“Need a throat slitting?”

“Death greets us all - but not today.”

“You need my expertise?”

“Can you feel death's cold grip?”

“So many stars, so many mysteries yet to be discovered.”

“Death comes quietly.”

“And I thought we were going to be friends.”

“Locked tight, but there must be some way to open it.”

“No, you can't die. Get up, damn you!

“You had my attention, now you have my fury.”

“From silence to suffering.”

“So many worlds out there. You'd need a thousand lifetimes to see them all - more.”

“I hope this is important. For your sake.”

“Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.”

“I ought to just burn this whole thing down.”

“We have slightly more pressing matters to attend to.”

“You have still have time to surrender.”

“Every kicked buttock, another step on the path.”

“Weave save me. I can't take much more…

“You are right to fear me.”

“Let me look around. Might be something that'll help me crack this thing.”

“Incredible, to think how many worlds exist beyond this tiny speck within a speck I call home.”

“I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.”

“I can fawn over my face later.”

“Ready for another round?”

“Keep your blade close.”

“I can't unlock it from here, but there must be a switch or a button somewhere…”

“No, that's not moving. There must be a way to open it somewhere.”

“Battle favours the fearless.”

“Sleep with one eye open, evil. Maybe both.”

“Gotta be something around here to unlock this thing.”

“Why do beautiful people taste better?. It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities.”

“Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too.”

“Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails.”

“Still standing, no matter what you heard.”

“Enough waiting. I crave blood.”

“Hang on - I won't allow this. You aren't dead, go it?”

“GODS, it's HOT in here!”

“No rest for the wicked, I see.”

“Better to hide than fight, sometimes.”

“Would that I could hide from you, too.”

“Are you feeling lonely, perhaps?”

“There is no right or wrong, only truth.”

“Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe.”

“What good all this ethereal eladrin blood if I can still get pimples?”

“I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.”

“I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness.”

“Let's have some fun.”

“War is an old woman's game.”

“No rest, be you wicked or wise.”

“I'm getting too old for this nonsense.”

“I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want.”

“You have my attention - now do something with it.”

“You are insistent, are you not?”

“Do what must be done.”

“Your suffering will be spectacular.”

“Lest I sit down for a rest and not rise again.”

“Better to look evil in the eye. Even if it be very small.”

“I'm not built to crouch.”

“I think I could go another round.”

“Always the same old song.”

“Is perfection too much to ask?”

“Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner.”

“So many places to be.. and I chose Baldur's Gate.”

“I'm not opening that. Not from here, at any rate.”

“What is the point, if not victory?”

“Won't last much longer like this.”

“Let's hope the locals are friendly.”

“Let us show them how it's done.”

“Weapons high. Standards higher.”

“Must everyone be so exhausting?”

“What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb…”

“Which way to the nearest library?”

“Now this is my happy place.”

“Who shall I silence?”

“Stop, or die.”

“Wear your scars proudly.”

#indie rp #rp meme #rp ask meme #sentence starter #rp prompts #bg3 prompts #rp sentence starters

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flanaganfilm · 11 months

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Hi, I'm a big fan of your work. Sorry if this is a dumb question, why kill the kitties? I notice it a lot in horror in general, and it completely takes me out of the story and just makes me feel bad for the cat. I feel like I'm missing something.

Not a dumb question at all - and I knew I'd be getting some of this the moment we decided to include Poe's The Black Cat in TFOTHOU. The comments sections of the world are full of accusations that I hate cats and/or hands, and - well - neither is true. I've admittedly gotten a little flippant with my humor in the past when people have brought this up. My knee-jerk reaction is always to say something along the lines of "well, Websters defines 'horror' as..." But honestly, as far as I'm concerned, it's just not a thing.

A brief history of cats in my work:

HUSH - Maddie's beloved cat, "Bitch," escapes the danger of a home invader completely unharmed and is alive and well at the end of the movie. The last shot of the movie is Maddie lovingly petting the cat on the porch.

THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE - Yes, a malnourished stray kitten dies within Hill House, only to be horrifically reanimated. This was done to show the horrors of Hill House, serve as a warning to the family, and foreshadow the deaths of several human beings (who would meet more horrible fates) later. Hill House is an evil place, and it killed and collected all sorts of living things... there are dead humans aplenty, and also phantom dogs, which Stephen and the kids hear several times and see in episode six. I'd argue that Hill House is an equal-opportunity horror show.

DOCTOR SLEEP - Azzie the cat is a great friend to Dan Torrance. Azzie also has a "shine" of her own, and can sense when patients at the hospice are going to die, and goes into their rooms to comfort them. Azzie is never once in any danger throughout the film and, we presume, lives a long and happy life.

MIDNIGHT MASS - All of the residents of Crockett Island, which include 157 people, a huge population of stray cats, and at least one particularly sweet dog, do not fare so well in this show. But nothing against the cats - everybody dies. The arrival of a certain evil creature marks doom for literally every living thing on the island (except for two people). And yep, it started with the cats, because they were plentiful and would not alert anyone to its presence. We see its lair full of dead rats, birds, and raccoons as well, all eaten while the creature was in hiding.

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER - we adapted The Black Cat, written by Edgar Allan Poe. If you're familiar with the Poe story, you know that it involves the horrible death of a cat, which then seems to get revenge from beyond the grave. This is Edgar Allan Poe's story - we did not write it. HOWEVER, we decided to make a huge change to Poe's story. At the end of our retelling, we reveal that Pluto the cat is alive and well (and still wearing the Gucci collar), and that the supposed violence against the cat existed entirely in the person's mind. Pluto 2 - the terrifying, supernatural replacement that stalked Leo - is not real either. It is just Verna, taking another form (hence the injury to VERNA'S eye). So in this show, not a single animal is harmed AT ALL. We did that on purpose. We decided to change Poe's classic story so that the cat lived. We went out of our way to do that. I truly don't have anything against cats. I do tell horror stories... but that's about it! I hope it doesn't make it more difficult to enjoy the story, and thank you for watching.

#the haunting of hill house #midnight mass #doctor sleep #the fall of the house of usher #cats

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ickadori · 9 months

Text

++ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐔

[summary] your parents have no place in getou’s new world, but you do.

[cws] fem reader. death. murder -> getou is killing your monkey as parents, but it’s not described, just hinted at! yandere vibes but i didn’t lean into it heavy. mentions of getou’s past crimes (village slaughtering/killing his parents). hinted that reader used to like getou. unedited.

“You can’t be here.”

If your body hadn’t locked up in fear, you would have given yourself a pat on the back for keeping your voice so steady despite the panic curdling in your chest at the sight of Getou Suguru standing on your doorstep—your parent’s doorstep.

“I can’t visit my dear old friend? We are friends, aren’t we?” No, you had stopped being friends with him the moment you heard of what he did to his parents—no, not even then, because you couldn’t believe it at first.

“Getou Suguru killed the people of the village, as well as his parents.”

You had balked when Yaga first said those words to you, and then you had spat venom as you vehemently denounced the claim. I mean, it was Getou. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t. Someone had gotten something terribly, terribly wrong. He wasn’t that kind of person, he wasn’t evil.

There had to have been some kind of mishap — an anomaly. Perhaps his technique had failed and one of his curses had turned against him and killed the villagers, and he was powerless to stop it. Or maybe there had been some kind of colluding - it wouldn’t be the first time that the higher-ups pulled a nasty, underhanded tactic for their own hidden agendas.

But then Gojo had come to you with bloodshot eyes and wild hair, and you had known it was true, even though the both of you had desperately wished it wouldn’t.

Even then, with the confirmation that Getou had turned his blade against the people you all had spent your life training to protect, you still hadn’t turned your back on him…until you had seen the state of his childhood home.

The walls, once painted a a soft cream, had been stained a dark red, splatters of blood stretched high up to the ceilings. The pictures on the walls that contained images of a young Geto positioned in between his parents, beaming smiles on all of their faces, had been smashed beyond recognition. The recliner that you vividly remember seeing his father napping in, book laid on his chest and glasses slipping down his nose, had been flipped, the fabric slashed to shreds and the cushion spilling out. His mother’s apron, a gift that you had given her one year for her birthday, had laid in bloody tatters next to it.

You would have thought he hated them with the savage way he had killed them (didn’t he, though? Was this his way of showing you all just how serious he was?), he hadn’t even left behind a piece of bone to properly identify them, and the implication that he had let the curses he hosted consume them had made you sick to your stomach.

That’s when you began to hate Suguru Getou, but even more than that, you began to fear him.

“No, we’re not.” Whatever steel that had been in your voice before was now gone, and the waver in it was clear as your hand tightened on the doorknob. You wanted to slam it close and turn the lock, but what good would that do? He’d get in, and while you were a decent enough sorcerer, him and Gojo had been the real hotshots, you just happened to be entertaining enough for them to let you tag along. He could kill you easily, your parents even easier, and your stomach twists into painful knots as you think to your mother who’s only a few feet away and sitting on the couch, curled into your father’s side as they watch a movie together.

“That hurts my feelings,” he smiles, and instead of the fluttery feeling that it used to give you, it only makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “I considered you family, y’know—I still do.”

You bristle, eyes narrowing into slits as a wave of anger washes over you, quickly replacing that all-consuming fear. “Is that why you’re here? To kill me just like you did your family? Your parents?”

“My family?” He tilts his head, a look of confusion taking over his features, and you finally notice his new look. He’s garbed in a monks robes, and his hair that had usually been kept tidy and out of the way now flows down his back. A fleeting thought of his attractiveness passes by, and you don’t entertain it. “Oh, those monkeys.” An easy smile graces his lips as he bats his hand in the air, as if shooing away something bothersome. “No, I’m not here to kill you. You actually have a place in this world, unlike…” His eyes make a motion to the side when he hears your mom’s grumbled complaint of the show, and he’s been inside your house enough to know exactly where the couch sits.

“Leave, Getou.” His eyes slide back to yours, that smile still on his face, and the fear from before comes back tenfold at his unspoken intentions. “Now.”

“You don’t have to look so scared,” he laughs lightly, and you jump when you hear your mother call out to you.

“Who’s that at the door, sweetie?” You hear the sound of her shuffling towards you, and your heart lurches up into your throat as you freeze. What do you do? What can you do? Tears well up in your eyes when you come to the realization that whatever you did would be pointless in the end. If he wanted your parents dead, then they’d be dead.

“Please, Suguru.” The floorboard creaks behind you, and his smile widens further at the desperation in your voice. Please don’t hurt them.

“Honey, who are—oh! Getou? I haven’t seen you in ages! How’re you doing, hun? I thought you were still overseas.” Your mother sidles up beside you, a pleased smile on her face as she takes him in. Getou looks to you, clearly wondering when he had gone overseas, and you think back to the lie you had told when your mother kept questioning you about where your ‘handsome little friend had gone’.

“I’ve just gotten back tonight, actually.” He smoothly lies, hands disappearing into the sleeves of his robes, and your heart rate skyrockets as your brain conjures up various scenarios, scenarios in which all end the same exact way. “I missed your daughter so much that I just had to come and see her.”

Your mother swoons.

“H-He’s leaving, actually.”

“I’m not, actually.” He retorts, and your mother throws a glance your way, and you meet her gaze, hoping and praying that she’d realize the gravity of the situation by the look on your face. She’s your mother, she raised you, she knew all your moods, good and bad, surely she should know when something was seriously wrong with—

“Why don’t you come inside then and get out of this cold? You can tell us all about your stay overseas over some tea.”

Nonononono.

“Oh, how kind, I’d love to.”

“How are your parents doing, Geto? I haven’t heard from your mother in a while… she missed out on the market’s half off deal last Saturday.”

Dead. He killed them. He killed them and he’s going to kill you, too.

Your stomach gives another lurch, and you press shaking hands in between your thighs and squeeze them together tight. I can call Gojo, you think. He’d get here in seconds thanks to his teleportation, and in a battle of strength between him and Getou, he came out on top every time. Of course, somehow being able to sneak away to grab your phone would be a risk. But you had to try, you couldn’t just keep sitting here and prolonging their death while they chatted about an overseas trip that never happened, and parents that had long been murdered by their own son.

“…find yourself a partner yet, Getou? I’m sure you have, with your good looks and all.” Your father gives his wife a raise of his brow, but otherwise keeps his attention on the television. “Oh, it’s a pity. You know…” Your mother gives you a sly look, and you narrow your eyes at her as you give a firm shake of your head. “I always thought you two had a little spark going on.”

“Mom.”

Getou grins like the chesire cat, and you wonder if he’s always looked this devious and you were just too blinded by…whatever to notice. “I actually haven’t found anyone yet, although I do have someone in mind.”

“Oh.” She jovially laughs, her hand softly batting at your shoulder as she throws you another look, and you couldn’t keep the grimace off your face if you tried. “It wouldn’t happen to be my lovely, sweet, beautiful, hardworking, amazing cook—”

“—I’m not listening to this.” You shoot to your feet, using the excuse of this embarrassment of a conversation to your aid. It’s a good enough reason to make a swift exit —a mother trying desperately to set her daughter up with the man who’s plotting to kill her and her husband— and swift it is, your feet quickly carrying you up the stairs and down the hall.

“—oh, come on, honey! I’m just playing around!”

Your mother’s voice fades out as you push open your bedroom door and immediately lunge for your phone that’s lying on the bed. You grab it with shaking hands, fingers frantically tapping in your password, and your eyes dart between the screen and the hallway.

A silence falls over the house, and you make a choked noise as your mind jumps to the worse. He’s killed them. He finally got tired of playing nice and killed them. Oh God, he’s killed them.

“…just down the hall and to the ri—well, you’ve been here plenty times! You know the way!” A wave of relief washes over you at the sound of your mother’s voice, only for a surge of panic to rise when you realize he’s on his way and you’ve still yet to call Gojo. You’d have to settle for a text, then.

Your fingers fly across the screen as you move to the text chain you have with Gojo, and you begin to type a message. Getou is here please help, quick and to the point. Your thumb moves to send it, only for a blob of something black to suddenly engulf your hand.

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes widening and arm flinging to the side as you try to fling whatever the hell is on you away, and go to release it in a scream, only for a hand to clamp around your mouth from behind, nails painfully digging into the fat of your cheek. There’s a numbingly cold presence at your back, and your ears twitch at the ragged breathing in your ear.

You know before you look down and see the dark, ghoulish hand that it’s a curse, and you gag as the scent of rotting flesh floods your nostrils. The sound of your bedroom door lock clicking into place reaches your ears, and your eyes snap up to see Getou leaning against it, hands clasped in front of him as he looks at you through his lashes, head tilted down so his chin reaches his chest.

“Your mother doesn’t know when to shut up.” He sighs, and then he’s pushing away from the door and sheathing his hands back into his sleeves, eyes slowly taking in your room. “A second longer and you would have gotten that text off. To Satoru, I’m assuming?” The blob that had engulfed your hand plops down to the floor, and you gag again at the sticky liquid that drips from your palm and onto the carpet.

Getou splays out his palm, and then the phone is spat out and up from the curse before landing in his hand. He glances down at the screen and tsks. “I should kill them right now.”

You scream into the curse’s palm, your head frantically shaking wide to side as best it can. The nails dig in deeper, and you moan in pain, your own hands moving to attempt to free yourself, only for the thing’s other hand to snag ahold of your wrists and wrench them behind your back.

“They were supposed to be dead two hours ago, but I figured I’d let you have a few more moments with them for old times sake.” He smiles as he stoops to look at a picture on your bedside table — it’s one that you had taken the winter before Getou had turned into what he was now. You were sandwiched between him and Gojo, a grin on the white haired man’s face as he leaned his elbow on the top of your head. You were in the middle of sending your fist into his stomach (that of which had been blocked by his infinity, you faintly recall) while Getou watched the two of you with a small smile on his face.

It was the last picture that the three of you had taken together, and you had thrown it away countless times, only to later find yourself rooting through the bin as you frantically searched through it.

Your eyes fill with tears once again.

“Those were fun times, yeah?” He comes to a stop in front of you, and the curse that had been restraining you suddenly lets you go. It steps around you, and you watch, frozen, as it takes hurried steps out of your room. You gasp in a breath, your hands flying to his robes as you clench them in your fists.

“I’m begging you,” you croak, the tears freely falling down your cheeks. “Please don’t do this, Suguru. Please don’t hurt them.”

“They have no place in my world.”

“Honey…do you see that? Oh my God, do you see that?”

“Suguru!” You wail.

“But you…” His hands move to cup the sides of your face, and you sob when you hear the first scream. “You do.”

#getou x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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deathbxnny · 4 months

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Ok but Boothill, Aventurine and Welt with a reader being controlled by Sunday ( him and his tuning gift? ) and being made to attack them (idk maybe then trying to snap reader out of it or something along them lines ) please!

Ooh! I really love this idea, Anon! Now I wasn't sure whether you wanted this to be romantic or platonic, so I made it romantic! Thank you for the request, and I hope you'll like this!<3

Content: Mind control, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of guns, injuries, Romantic relationship, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》WELT YANG

Welt knew this wouldn't end well when he saw you succumb to the Halovian man's tuning ability. He tried to stop it before it took over you and yet found himself reaching you way too late. It was as though the world slowed down, the wretched music playing through the battlefield falling deaf on his ears, once he realised that there was nothing he could do that wouldn't possibly hurt you.

His heart ached when he saw you mindlessly attack him, trying your best to end his life, one you swore to live at his side with forever. He was losing his cool, unable to control the anger and desperation that ran through him with every hit he deflected. And yet, he still couldn't find it in him to attack you back even once, as he called for you to finally wake up.

When he does get you back to reality, he won't let you dwell on what you've done for even a second. He may have some injuries, but that means nothing to him when he knows you're safe again in his arms.

》AVENTURINE

This wasn't a part of the plan. It was never supposed to happen. You were never even supposed to have come with him to this forsaken planet in the first place. And yet... had he perhaps let his own plans and ideals lead him to both of your ruins? Alot ran through his mind whilst he watched you attack him viciously, skillfully dodging every hit without even ever thinking about hurting you back. Not that he ever could.

He realises that he'd let you place your hands around your neck and squeeze the life out of him if it means to not lay a singular hand on him. His anger towards Sunday was burning through his soul, and yet he had to stay confident in hoping that his plans would simply come through one way or another. He could only pray to his long, forgotten God that it would.

However, that doesn't mean that he won't risk both of your life's, if he finds a way to save you from the Halovian man's control. Risk is something he lives for. It's the gamble that kept you alive for so long, and he trusts in your own trust for him to do the right thing. Being injured in the process doesn't mean anything to him, once he realises that he hit the jackpot and got you right back at his side.

》BOOTHILL

To say that Boothill never takes any chances on your safety would be an understatement. His temper rises when he sees your conscious slip away, and Sunday's tuning takes control of your mind. Now, he would never hurt you either, but that doesn't mean he won't manhandle you into a position that will stop you from moving and potentially hurt yourself, him or others, for that matter. He needs to get you out of the way immideatly, so he can get revenge on your behalf.

With that said, he is not afraid to pull the trigger on the evil chicken boy the second he can. He can look past alot of things, but certainly not someone messing with the last person he still had left. He's angry, beyond angry, in fact. He won't let Sunday get away with this and if it's the last thing he does.

Once he finally gets you back to reality, he'll try his best to comfort you whilst assuring you that he wasn't hurt in any way... even if he can't necessarily be hurt physically anyway.

Alrighttt... I finally was able to post SOMETHING after being tortured by life for so long lol... anyways, thank you again to the Anon for the great request and I hope you guys liked this!!<33

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr boothill x reader #hsr boothill #hsr welt #hsr welt x reader #hsr aventurine #hsr aventurine x reader

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dilatorywriting · 2 years

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: In which your friends are idiots who think gallivanting around a haunted castle surrounded by lava is a great idea. And then there's a dragon.

ie. Or, I watched Shrek this afternoon and could not stop thinking about the memes of the Prefect being Donkey and Malleus as the Dragon.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

‘Treasure beyond your wildest dreams!’ Ace said.

‘Knowledge long since lost to time!’ Deuce corrected.

‘Yeah, okay, but what is it,’ you asked.

And neither of them had an answer.

Abandoned castles suspended over a sea of bubbling lava were not your preferred holiday destination. You’d told Ace this several times. You’d begged, pleaded, to please just be normal for once. But noooo. Both the snarky, ginger, bastard and the other half of his singular brain cell had apparently decided that suicide ala boiling rocks sounded like a perfectly lovely plan for your Saturday evening.

“I’m just saying,” you huffed as the rope bridge swung worryingly beneath your feet, “taverns are a thing. Faires. Market runs. Casual side quests that won’t wind up with us being flambeed alive.”

“But there’s treasure!” Ace complained, the muddled light off the lava below illuminating his pout in a way that made it look especially punchable. “I heard there’s this really awesome magical sword! Or maybe it was a shield or something—”

“Or something,” you grit out. “What if it’s a book, huh? You can’t even read.”

“We can try!” Deuce returned, a spark of that familiar determination zipping through his blue eyes.

“Or we can sell it,” Ace said, which was certainly the more likely option of the two.

One of the rickety, wooden, slats cracked beneath the low heel of your boot and tumbled down into the lava below. Maybe it hit the gurgling pool of death with a hiss, or a whump, or some other cool sound. But all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

“Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“I mean, maybe,” Ace shrugged. “But at least you’ll have a cool new sword propped up at your grave or something.”

You managed to make it all the way to the other side of the horrible death bridge without plummeting to your doom. Except now you were standing at the foot an equally horrifying castle. It was massive—grand on a scale that seemed entirely impossible for something constructed in the heart of a volcano. Its dozens of ebony spires clawed at the sky. The walls crawled with grey ivy and thickets of thorns so dense that you couldn’t see even the barest hint of brick beneath. It looked evil in the way that cursed tombs felt evil—eternal, and still, and oppressive. Like a creature in its own right rather than just an agglomeration of black stone.

Ace drew his sword and Deuce readied his axe. You sighed and plucked at the strings of your stupid fucking lute, and wished once more that you’d had the foresight all those moons ago to take the cushy internship position Lord Crewel had tried to offer you. But, no. You’d wanted to be an adventurer.

The massive double doors of the entrance swung open with an eerie groan. A pair of stern looking gargoyles stood guard as the three of you cautiously made your way into the castle. You swore you could feel their eyes following you—that you’d seen them flex jagged claws into their stone perches in an aborted attempt to dive after you.

The inside of the looming fortress was no more welcoming than out. Dark, emerald, stained glass windows lined the walls—smothering any of the warmer light from the volcano and tinting the entire hall a sickly green-grey. The stone floors and walls were elaborately carved with the faded stories of dynasties long since passed, but what had once surely been immaculate craftsmanship had shifted and cracked with age—crushing floors into tight slopes and littering already narrow walkways with heavy debris.

“We just have to find the tallest tower,” Ace hummed, swiping at a few dangling trails of thorns with the blunted edge of his blade. “And then the highest room in that.”

“The treasure is never in the highest room in the tallest tower,” you complained. “You just heard that in a drinking song once.”

“Is that true?” Deuce frowned, looking terribly betrayed.

“No way!” Ace snipped. “I told you! An old crone read my fortune in her bone dice, and she said to always check the highest room in the tallest tower! Because that’s where I’d find my greatest treasure!”

“Maybe the greatest treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way?” Deuce suggested helpfully.

“No.”

So you split off from a grouchy Ace and dejected Deuce to try and find some stairs. Every room in this stupid castle was swimming in so many shadows that you could hardly tell right from left, let alone if there were any kinds of secret doors or passageways that may lead to an equally secret tower. The chamber you’d found yourself in now was gigantic, and each tentative step you took echoed discordantly through the ashy gloom. You kicked miserably at a loose rock and it skittered off into the darkness with a dull thunk. And then something… odd, began to happen. That darkness began to move—to rise and unfurl like a great set of wings on a beast. And—oh. Oh no.

“Would you look at that,” Ace whistled under his breath, neck craned all the way back as he squinted at what was most definitely the tallest of all the towers this creepy castle had to offer. “Guess what, nonbelievers. I found the—”

“DRAGON!”

Whoosh went the great swathe of emerald fire as it exploded down the barren hallway and nipped at your heels. You dove out into the open courtyard just in time to avoid being roasted alive, and the gargantuan monster behind you let out a roar fit to shake the earth. A quick tuck-and-roll left you crouched behind a fallen pillar, and the dragon’s bright, green, glower turned on you and your garbage hiding spot with a rumbling snarl. Its rows of sharp, white, teeth closing just above your head—missing its mark by barely a hair’s width.

“Gotcha!” Deuce snarled, his armored fists dragging the dragon away by its tail. Or, well, tried to. Because the dragon was a hundred feet long at least, and your blue haired friend probably looked like nothing more than a pesky rat darting between its feet. It turned and snapped at him irritably, taking a great, big, step forward in a bid to get a firmer stance to attack. You threw yourself in the other direction to avoid being trampled.

“Go!” Ace called, charging in from the other side. “Quick!”

Because at the end of the day, they were still both your brave, tanky, warrior, friends. And you were just a very, very, squishy bard who really would not fare well against a particularly motivated goose, let alone a dragon. So you skidded through the rubble and onto your feet, and started to sprint back into the castle’s halls—hoping maybe you’d be able to find a bit more cover.

There was a great clatter, and both Ace and Deuce yelped. You looked back hurriedly to see the pair of them clutching onto the dragon’s tail for dear life as it whipped them back and forth through the ash and debris cluttering the ground. With one, final, great, sweep, the dragon pitched them into the air and sent them careening through the roof of that ‘tallest tower.’ You muttered a hasty incantation and the sparkling outlines of soft feathers danced along your fingers. You hoped you weren’t too far. You were probably too goddamn far. But you hummed frantically under your breath nonetheless and entreated your middling magic to give them a soft landing.

And then there was another wave of green hellfire raining down over your head and you turned and ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Even if you’d been a champion sprinter, there was little good it would have done you against a beast whose stride was longer than you were tall. You made it back into some hall or other, and into another cavernous room, and then you were pinned into a corner—the dragon looming over you like a vengeful wraith come to take its due.

It was gigantic. Probably the biggest creature you’d ever seen. And it was sleek—all lithe muscle and glossy rows of black scales that glittered oddly in the dull, grey, light. Its wings spread wide behind it, spanning the entirety of the vast chamber. They looked like the sort of wings that could stir up a hurricane. The curling horns atop its head seemed sharp enough to gore a man or twenty, and the purple crests lining its skull were tapered down flat in a way that reminded you a bit deliriously of a pissy cat pinning its ears back before it swatted at you.

Its lips curled back over pointed canines as it snarled at you, and you were showered in a swathe of hot sparks.

“Oh, what large teeth you have,” you squeaked, and when the dragon dipped closer to bellow into your face, your reeled back with a splutter. “I—I mean white, sparkling, teeth!” you rattled, nearly incoherent. The dragon’s snout twitched away, almost like you’d startled it. “I mean, I’m sure you hear this all the time from your food, but—wow! Just! Very lovely! Definitely the prettiest smile I’ll ever be eaten by!”

Slowly it lowered its great head, and you could see the neon glare from its narrowed eyes.

“Not that you have to eat me,” you added hurriedly, hoping to whatever Gods could hear you that your smart mouth could finally be useful for more than just talking circles around assholes in bars or weaseling your friends out of shitty contracts. “I’d very much like not to be eaten. But all the same, we did intrude in your home—and it’s definitely a very nice home—so I’d totally get it. And I guess if I did have to die today, knowing that my life would be in the hands of something so magnificent is certainly reassuring.”

The dragon seemed to preen a bit at that. You could see the sharp crests beneath its horns soften as tension bled from the beast’s posture. It ducked in close again, and this time you felt a sharp pull of air rush past your cheeks as it sniffed you. Its nostrils were the size your head—bigger even, maybe. You didn’t want to think about it, but the dry heat of its breath puffing into your face made the entire thing a bit hard to ignore.

“Did I mention what a charming home you have?” you rambled on. “Very aesthetic. The gargoyles at the gate were a lovely touch.”

The dragon made a low, warbling, noise in its throat that wasn’t quite a growl, but wasn’t particularly… reassuring, either. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

It ducked away—not far, just enough to reach one of the large, carved, walls at the outskirts of the room. Its long neck slithered out before pausing pointedly over an archway. It took you a long moment to realize it was gesturing to something. Another gargoyle from the looks of things—this one almost entirely crumbled away under the strains of time. You could just barely make out the shape of its square jaw and taloned fingers.

You nodded so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Yes! I see! Very beautiful! Such fine craftsmanship!”

The dragon cooed at you. Swear on your life and all the money in your back packet. An actual, honest to God, coo. Fuck, maybe you’d managed to charm your way out of imminent dismemberment and death after all.

It ambled closer once again, a curiosity lighting its eyes and warming those neon irises into something that was less poisonous-hell-fire and more mellow-evening-in-the-forest.

Amidst all the rippling waves of ebony scales, your eyes caught on the smallest smear of crimson. Just a touch of red—right along the spikes of its tail. Carefully, cautiously, slower than molasses, you stepped forward with your hands raised. You whispered a handful of familiar words under your breath and your palms glowed fuzzy and blue. Dragons were supposed to be inherently magical, right? So this one would certainly understand that the string of syllables you’d babbled out were good, and helpful, and not at all a provocation. The dragon was looking down at you with lidded eyes, its gaze a bit unfocused. You gulped.

“I’m sorry my friends messed with your tail,” you apologized, gingerly holding your fingers out to hover over the abrasions without actually touching. “They were just trying to protect me. If—if that makes it any better.” The minuscule wound began to knit itself back together neatly beneath the pulses of your magic. “I do tend to need a lot of protecting—I’m not much a warrior, if that wasn’t completely obvious by the everything about me—so I can’t really blame them for being a bit gung-ho about it.”

After a moment or two, the scratches had faded back into solid, matte, black and you drew back with a content hum.

“There! All fixed!” You gave your most winning smile. Please don’t eat me, your brain chanted on endless repeat. Please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me—

The dragon reared back and settled on its haunches with another heavy puff of sweltering breath. You could feel the heat of it prickling all the way up your arms. After a long, long, moment of silent consideration, the dragon leaned forward again and rumbled deep in its chest. When you only stood there, properly petrified, it huffed again and bumped its nose against your sternum, nearly toppling you over.

“I don’t—” you started, nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

With another sigh that sounded entirely too put upon, the dragon lowered its great head. The air itself seemed to grow heavy against your shoulders, and you could taste the cloying bitterness of strong magics on the back of your tongue. Black miasma oozed from beneath the dragon’s talons and melted along its scales. The caustic scent of ash and petrichor burned along your nostrils, and you had to pinch your eyes shut and cover your nose to keep from coughing. You managed to sneak a peek past your fingers just in time to watch the shadowed outline of the beast collapse. And out of that puddle of black goo emerged a man. He was tall and lithe, just as the dragon had been, with glowing green eyes that were terribly familiar. They were framed with thick, dark, lashes and sat perfectly on a face that was nearly too handsome to be human (well, it really wasn’t human you supposed, so that little tidbit probably accounted for said inhuman beauty well enough). Recognizable eyes and stature or no, the curling horns atop his head would have sealed the deal plenty well enough on their own.

He shook off the shadows twining around his ankles with a lazy twist of the hand and then turned to you with a curious little hum.

And holy fuck Mister Dragon apparently had no sense of shame, or maybe just no qualms about social niceties and practicalities, because his human self was wearing about just as many clothes as his lizard form had been.

You squeezed your eyes shut with a squeak, and then double covered them with your hands for good measure.

A chuckle rolled through the air—as dark and pleasantly rich as the finest of chocolates. And then there was a clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back, and back, and back until you were at least half-way sure it would probably be safe to open your eyes again without infringing on his decency.

“You are fascinating, Child of Man,” it—he—hummed, low in his throat. His thumb dragged down to hook beneath the curve of your jaw and support the finger tucked up under your chin. “And it’s been so, very, long since I’ve been fascinated by anything.”

“Uh,” you replied, like a perfectly functional human being.

The dragon’s lips curled up over his pointed teeth—still just as sharp and white as they had been when he’d been so much bigger and scalier.

“I think I’d like to keep you,” he said with a nod to himself, as casually as one may talk about picking up extra groceries from the market.

“Uh,” you said again.

“You did mention that you needed protecting,” he continued, tapping a clawed finger against his own chin. The small smile quirking his lips twisted into something smug. “And that is certainly something at which I would excel.”

Your head was swimming.

“I—I mean. I’m honored that you—that… you—” You couldn’t even think the words, let alone get them past your brain and out of your mouth. You cleared your throat and fought to keep your eyes level with his clavicle and nowhere else. “D-Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?” you laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m sure my friends will probably be on their way back down soon—and—I mean, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, slow and serpentine.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He canted his head to the side, long strands of that inky black hair of his spilling across his shoulder. An amused sort of grin worked its way along his mouth. “Dragons are not keen to give out our true names so readily, but you seem like a clever one. Tell me—what do you think I’m called then, hmm?”

You glanced up quickly at the horns atop his head and couldn’t help yourself.

“Tsunotarou?”

He let out a bark of laughter that seemed to shake the walls.

“Oh,” he trilled, looking positively delighted. The hand not curled beneath your chin reached down to snag your own, and he brought your wrist up to his lips. You could feel the imprints of his canines against the soft skin there. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 1

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t0rturedangel · 8 months

Text

╭ . . . 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕 ੭

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ; ♰ ৎ﹕𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴

Okay, before I start- i know that hazbin hotel has a lot of good ass songs, and I want to make own little custom songs but I cant write songs for shit however I can write poetry (not well but I'm trying) so instead of writing songs for you, I'll write shitty poetry that does not rhyme. Also sorry if my depictions of love aren't good- i have literally never been in love before, and if the ending is rushed, I'm not used to writing so much in one setting

➷ ＰＲＥＶＩＯＵＳＳＣＥＮＥ | ＮＥＸＴＳＣＥＮＥ

There once was an Cherubim angel,

so gentle and kind,

perched upon a cloud

You sat on a cloud, smiling to yourself as you watched over all the different angels talk to each other about their duties- heaven was perfect, no- no not just perfect, heaven was a utopia. No angel can do any wrong, it is only virtue that existed upon these clouds and you were among these creatures of purity, you were one of god's creations just as all the other's were.

The clouds around you were soft, almost as if they were made of the soft silk your robes were made of, they were formed to bring comfort to any angel that came in contact with them and while all angels were already joyful, the clouds merely helped them stary from sinful thoughts.

She waited for another angel,

a Seraphim named Lucifer,

a friend, so close to her

You wondered though, were was lucifer? He was always about yet you didn't have any idea on where or how to find him. In all honesty, you found Lucifer to be amazing- his ideas, imagination, creativity bought stars to your eyes (figuratively, you had no iris or pupil- your eyes, more specifically your sclera, were a soft yellow colour with white swirls decorating them), to you his words were so brilliant, other angels couldn't even begin to speak or think the way he does.

He always came up with new ideas, new creations him, you and the other angels can create- can look after and love. You couldn't help but indulge in his chats with you- adding onto his ideas in anyway you can and while you personally thought your ideas weren't as amazing as his, to Lucifer your ideas were flawless- he always said that.

Lucifer was brilliant, he truly was- you could never understand why the other angels despised his thoughts so much.

Perhaps, the cherubim was in love,

perhaps she enjoyed Lucifer's company

much more beyond just meer friendship.

Okay, you needed to slow down- you were always thinking how great he was, maybe you didn't just like him as a friend... just maybe you liked him a bit more. Though, that way of thinking should stop soon- after all you have angelic duties to do! there is no way you can just abandon them just because you adored Lucifer....'s ideas.

You took a breath and got on your feet, spreading your wings (you had four wings, two on each side) so you could take off and start your work, however when you were jus about to begin to fly a figure rushed to you- wrapping their arms around your torso.

The seraphim appeared,

all smiles and glee

he held his friend closely

with tender, with care

Lucifer came out of no where, though his presence was welcomed warmly by you : who held him back just as tight. " Luci! " you grinned letting go of him, he had gotten there just in time- it was almost like he knew you were about to fly off, " [name]! Ha ha! how are you? " he asked holding both of your hands- a dorky smile engraved onto his face " Where have you been? I was worried " that was half-true, there was no evil (what even was evil? you didn't know, it doesn't exist not yet ) but there was a high chance that Sera was telling him off again.

" How sweet, but don't worry I'm alright cherub " he brought your hands closer to him- something that grin he held could only grow as the seconds passed by, seeming like he wanted to say something " Luci- I know that look in your eye, you've being creating again! Tell me everything ", your own smile began to grow as you squeezed his hand.

" You know me too well! Okay, so i was thinking of trying to make [ creature ], sounds cool right? well guess what else! " and with that he began to ramble about his ideas once more, with you chirping in some of your own ideas which made Lucifer sound even happier.

The two angels were at peace,

within the company of each other-

did they love each other?

would they dare say it?

You flew around with Lucifer, laughing together while yelling out some nonsense that seemed to only make sense to you and him- just you and him. Though your fun was quick to end when the two of you reached the tallest cloud in all of heaven and the two of you- both out of breath- fell onto it. " That was fun! " you chuckled, still trying to catch your breath " yeah! I loved that " was the reply, then silence fell upon the two of you. Though it wasnt awkward silence, it never was when it came to [name] and Lucifer- it was comforting and peaceful.

Though this silence was broken quickly by you. Over the last few weeks, months you were coming to understand your feelings towards the seraphim, and while you could easily deny them- to avoid them and focus of everything but that but you just couldn't, you sucked with feelings especially hiding them! and plus, how could you live if you didn't tell Luci how you felt " Luci... I " love you, those words were suddenly lodged in your throat and you couldn't let them be said- be heard why did that happen, you were sure you could say them- hell you said them before to people who you see as family!, "sorry what i meant was I- " loved you for so long now, I love you and I don't think I can ever stop loving you " loved that too- it was so fun! "

She couldn't say it,

she was too scared to tell her dear Lucifer

of her true feelings... though did he feel the same?

What was wrong with you? You couldnt say it, why? You loved Lucifer- there you admitted it in your mind but you just cant say it to him. You sighed and stared at your mirror- looking over your face, your long hair (angels all had long hair, it was one of the things that they always cared for and almost showed off)

Of course he did,

how could he not?

he loved her more than anything

she listen to his ideas, she added onto them

she never hated them, never judged.

but then, the high order formed the earth-

Adam and Lilith.

" [name? " Lucifer walked over to you, a smile on his face- though he always smiled, this smile seemed different in a way but you couldn't place your finger on it however that did not stop you from returning his smile " Luci! hey! " you grinned as he stopped just in front of you " [name]? do you know the two humans? " " Adam and Lilith? " " yes! Me and Lilith... are in love!"

...

he.. he loved the human Lilith? The one who ran from Adam (you heard of this from Sera, and while you acted disappointed you agreed with Lilith's decision of leaving Adam, you would have too), he found her and fell for her? .. how? she hasn't even existed for that long! How could you possibly fall that quick? it was impossible right?

It took you a few seconds to compose yourself so you can smile for Lucifer, though it didnt feel right " That's... brilliant Luci! I'm so happy you found love- how does it feel like? " and with that question you bared the suffering of listening to Lucifer, the one you loved, gush about Lilith, and you were almost envious of Lilith- almost hated her, you never met her and now dear god you probably don't ever want to. You had lost your Lucifer to her, though... you suppose he was never yours.

and with that,

those confessions of requited love

would forever be sealed away,

locked behind their grinning lips

though the perish of love was not their only problem.

Lucifer went too far,

he created evil through the second bride,

she bit the apple, she took the fall

and Lucifer and his love was to blame

though you would not let him be punished alone.

You too were part of this.

" No! " You screamed as you ran to the shaking Lucifer's side, almost trying to shield him from the anger of the higher order of angels. " Leave him be! He has done nothing wrong! " you defended him, still caring over your friend. Nevertheless, the angels did not listen to your words in the way you intended- they saw this as a further act of aggression from you as you also had a part to play in coursing dear Eve into biting the apple from the tree of knowledge of good or evil, you lead her to the tree, plucked the apple with Lucifer in tow and let her bite it. Now you and Lucifer were being punished, Lucifer getting the harsher side of it.

The angel was thrown to the depths,

to a world name named Hell,

where the only side of humans Lucifer was granted to see,

was the side he created.

You were also punished to fall,

tho to hell was too much they said

so you fell the half way

now for ever trapped in a dead land-

forever banished to be alone.

𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 ⠆ ⸺ @reverse-soe @jellibean2018 @aliazy @sugarrush-blush @littledolly2345 @immahuman @marsilis

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charliemwrites · 8 months

Text

Making this a separate post because the idea has evolved a bit:

(Was talking about this in the discord if it looks familiar)

I’m thinking less of a 1 to 1 Greek god au. I’m thinking it’s more of a theme to their dynamic and in parts of their story.

Johnny is a reincarnation of some ancient, nameless (or many-named) god, associated with dark forces. He’s not evil incarnate. But he is something of a representation of “darker” human nature. Anger, bloodlust, impatience, selfishness.

Persephone!reader, by comparison, is sort of a personification of gentler human nature. Patience, mercy, altruism, gentleness. She is less “awakened” so to speak because her mother has been a major limiting factor in her life. Like, helicopter parent to the extreme.

Persephone!reader goes to her aunt Laswell as a sort of compromise. See the world, the real world, in a controlled sort of way with her aunt watching carefully over her shoulder.

Problem is, no one is expecting the dreams to start as soon as she gets to base. Dreams of a man that scares her as much as tempts her, and encouraging the worst and most selfish of her impulses. She doesn’t tell anyone - why would she? They’re just dreams.

Captain MacTavish scares intimidates her, even though she insists that he doesn’t, looking him in the eye with her chin tilted up defiantly. When he’s on base he finds all sorts of ways to cross her path, sometimes teasing her into an indignant fluster, other times telling her off for “distracting recruits”. Always, always has an eye on her, even if it’s not his own.

Once things come to a head (I haven’t figured out how yet) Persephone!reader insists it isn’t fair. And just because they’ve been something in the past doesn’t mean they have to now.

Johnny, of course, is utterly amused. She’s barely got any idea what’s going on, but sure, she’s going to deny forces beyond life and death.

They strike a deal. When he’s away (for months at a time… a season’s length, even) she can run and hide and do whatever she wants to “escape” him. If he cant find her within a week of coming back, then he’ll leave her be and she’s “free”.

(She scoffs that he’s going to cheat, using her aunt and all of her connections but he just scoffs. As if Laswell would help him over her own niece. And as if he needs the help.)

He always finds her within a day of coming back from a mission. No matter where she is or what her name is. No matter how well she covers her tracks (even with Laswell’s help). He comes to her with gifts.

At first it would be sweet if not for the smirk on his face and the realization that she’s “lost” again. He brings flowers of all kinds, and green plants in little pots. Then it’s a new sweater, a nice coat, a piece of jewelry.

And then… and then they get worse. A bullet is the first sign. It’s just a whole bullet, her name engraved in its side. Then it’s a casing, the bullet clearly having been shot. He tells her it went right between someone’s eyes. The “gifts” become patches from enemy jackets, pretty stones splattered with dried blood, a human tooth.

It’s awful. She hates it. She can’t ever make herself say it (or believe it). And when he’s gone, she physically can’t make herself throw them away. Shes tried and tried, and the last time she put a real effort into it, she ended up on the floor having a panic attack, sobbing and calling Johnny.

(He purrs at her through the phone, gunfire background noise while he soothes her back inside. His voice keeps her company while she makes a tea, readies a bath. Tuts at her to call him again when she’s tucking into bed. She refuses to acknowledge that she does.)

Similarly, she finds herself getting or making things for him. For his inevitable return. Cigars and his favorite whiskey. Making patches for his uniform. A leather bracelet with her initials on a silver charm. A ring with an inlay the color of her eyes. Doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until she’s home or the thing is done. She’ll hide them away for months with no plans of giving them to Johnny. He inevitable finds them within his first week home anyway.

(There’s the one time she bakes for him, humming as she measures and mixes ingredients. Lets him steal tastes from the bowl and lick flour off her cheek. Only realizes what she’s done in a domestic haze when he’s eaten the sweet treat and thanked her for it.)

And when he’s home…

The deal is that when he’s home, he gets to treat her like his. Climbs into her bed, grumbling about pillows being a poor substitute for him. Steps into her shower midway through, ducking his head so she can shampoo and condition his hair with her gentle hands. Dresses her in his clothes, in his dog tags. Always has a hand on her, even in her (their) home.

And he delights in yanking her into his lap - especially in public. When his team comes to visit (and they always do) he lounges with her on his thigh. He’s also kind of a dick. Like he’s courteous to servers (mainly female ones because chances are they won’t flirt with his girl) but pretty much any stranger talking to him or his Persephone is met with smarmy asshole behavior.

It’s to the point that she just fusses at him to let her talk to people. And he’s happy to do so, amused by the way she charms people. He only intervenes when someone is rude or a little too friendly with her. She’s had to break up bar fights before because god knows his men won’t try to stop their captain.

She is literally the only being in all of history that can tell him no and stop and he’ll listen regardless of the situation. She has to actively remind herself that it’s not healthy and she should not be a little flattered about it. And she’s not. (She is.)

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #hades and persephone #Persephone #hades John mactavish #captain mactavish x you #captain john mactavish #Persephone reader

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

When Eddie’s terrified, he feels cold—and it’s not a mild thing, not just goosebumps on his arms. It’s violent shivers: his breath catching as ice forms in his lungs, crystallising up his throat until he can barely talk.

It was bad at the middle school talent show: stuck in the wings with fellow students pressed up against him, all jostling for space. He should’ve been sweating.

And technically he was, but it was as if his brain hadn’t checked in with his body or maybe the other way round, and he kept biting down hard on his tongue as his teeth chattered.

A teacher noticed and even asked if he was feeling sick, if he wanted to be sent home.

He shook his head, felt his legs shaking; Jeff had to speak for him until it was finally the band’s turn on stage, and the ice thankfully thawed enough for him to sing.

But right now he thinks the ice is here to stay.

He’s sat back in the boat, the tarp tangled up by his feet; he can’t stop one knee from bouncing up and down erratically. He knows he isn’t really shaking because of the literal cold, but it doesn’t exactly help that it’s damp as hell in here.

He’s not alone—he’s still surrounded by quite possibly the most random group of people in history. Dustin’s leading the conversation, which has devolved into Max teasing him about some girl called Suzie.

Eddie suspects the change of tone is deliberate, that these kids who are somehow well-versed in a literal fucking war have an admirable intuition; have sensed that he needs a cool down after learning about an evil alternate dimension. Kinda like what he does if he watches a horror movie late at night—makes sure to read some light-hearted crap before he goes to sleep, so the scary shit isn’t the last thing on his mind.

Eddie appreciates the thought. If he wasn’t still repressing shivers, he might even find it sweet.

But the chatter isn’t helping.

He can’t grab a hold of it, the sounds slipping away before he can make sense of them; his mind keeps drifting away, and he’s suddenly stuck on the thought that he can’t remember what Chrissy’s last words to him were. He can hardly even recall what her laugh sounded like in the woods—like everything about her has been trapped underwater, stifled beyond all recognition.

He let her die, and he can’t even manage the decency of remembering her. What the fuck is wrong with him?

He exhales shakily. Neither Max or Dustin seem to notice, which both relieves him and sets his teeth on edge.

His lungs are tight, but he still feels a sudden urge to talk—for once wishes that he’d just bite his tongue instead.

Something’s cracking deep inside him.

He’d thought his breaking point had been reached long ago, but it keeps getting worse; as the kids talk, he can’t avoid the fact that they’ve already watched him profoundly lose it, and shame spreads from the pit of his stomach—merges with the ice, culminating in a bitter wave of self-loathing.

Leave me alone, he desperately wants to say, but he knows it’ll just come out in a scream, knows it’ll sound like he’s furious. That’s always been the way of things, at least for him: deep-seated fear hiding underneath anger.

He opens his mouth. His teeth are clacking together.

He manages to temper the feeling right at the brink so that all he says is, “D-don’t you assholes have a bed time?”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Dustin says, over the sound of Max scoffing.

Please go, just fucking go, I’m gonna fall apart and I don’t want you to see it, not again.

“Yeah, well I have a bedtime, so let’s get outta here, dickheads,” Steve says.

He sounds dry, borderline snippy. But his eyes fleetingly meet Eddie’s as he speaks, like he’s heard him somehow. Like he understands.

Dustin stands with some customary grumbling, pulling Max up with him.

“Night, Eddie. It’ll be okay,” he says, so optimistic—with an unshakeable courage that Eddie has never once possessed.

Eddie attempts a smile. Has no idea if he succeeds.

Robin’s already standing, walking off behind Dustin and Max—but then she spins, doubles back on herself; Eddie jumps at the sudden movement.

“Water!” she says, “I’ve got some in the car, you should—hang on, Eddie.”

“I’m—I’m fine, I don’t need…” Eddie’s voice is hoarse, fades out on him. He coughs, tries again, slightly louder, “I said I don’t need it!”

But Robin’s already too far away to hear him.

The quiet rustle of a jacket: Steve is still here.

Eddie lunges forward as quick as he can. His hand clasps around Steve’s wrist.

“Harrington, seriously, tell her not to bother, man. I’ll—” He swallows. “I’ll just throw it back up.”

It’s almost too dark to see, but Eddie swears Steve’s eyes are flickering over his face. He doesn’t know what he’s seeing. Doesn’t think he wants to know the answer.

“Dude, you need to drink, at least,” Steve says finally. He gently tugs himself free—stepping back with an apologetic air, slowly enough that Eddie doesn’t startle. “Gimme a sec.”

He’s back in under a minute, passing Eddie a bottle of water with the cap already off.

Eddie drinks. Despite his protesting, he knows it’s for the best; his head is pounding. He spills the water more than once; his hand is trembling.

Steve doesn’t mention it.

“I can get you some food,” he says.

Eddie shakes his head. “I ate before. Not hungry.”

He’s telling the truth, although he can’t remember what he ate. Can’t remember much of anything.

Steve doesn’t look very happy with that response. His frown is audible when he asks, “Don’t you have a blanket or something?”

Eddie laughs, horribly false. “Why, Harrington? Wanna tuck me in?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

Eddie wants him to retaliate with what he deserves: cutting words. Wants Steve to throw out something cruel, then leave him be.

No. That’s not…

He wants… he wants…

“Don’t move,” Steve says. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie laughs again—a little more genuine. “Can’t exactly go anywhere.”

He doesn’t know how long Steve takes. He loses track of time after the sound of the car reversing fades away; the darkness stretches out before him, and his fingers flex, tremulous, and he almost starts to believe that no-one’s found him after all, that he’s alone, that he’ll always be—

The soft crunch of tires rolling over gravel. The twin clunks of a car door being opened then closed, not too loudly, followed by even footsteps. Slow. Safe. And Eddie hears Steve singing, quiet enough that he can’t really decipher the lyrics.

He doesn’t know why he recognises it, why it’s so familiar. But he understands why Steve is doing it, the realisation burning in his throat: that Steve is signalling his approach, so Eddie knows it’s him.

“Hey,” Steve says, and there’s a gentle kind of thud—something being dropped by Eddie’s feet. Then the soft press of fabric behind him: a pillow.

Eddie manages to shift his feet a bit. More fabric. It’s a blanket.

“I just thought, like, two layers, y’know?” Steve is saying. “Not ideal with the tarp, but it should trap more heat compared to…” Eddie’s throat tightens even more. It’s so… so fucking kind.

“Thanks,” he manages.

“Hey,” Steve says again, softer—a hand lands on Eddie’s knee; his palm is warm. “You’re okay.”

Eddie realises belatedly that he’s crying again. For a little while, it just feels automatic, as if he’s detached from the tears; Steve gives him space, working around him.

And Steve’s not tucking him in really, just sort of shaking out the blanket, but he lets it fall with intention—smoothes out the creases when it gathers around Eddie’s knees.

Eddie doesn’t know what changes, just knows that he’s abruptly aware of the silent tears building into something more. There’s a false jagged sensation of something getting caught in his chest as he swallows, and he gasps, inhales sharply—once, twice; feels that panicked stutter to his breath, like when he was a kid failing at treading water.

Steve crouches by the side of the boat.

“You’re okay,” he repeats. He’s rubbing his throat ever so slightly while he says it—doesn’t seem aware that he’s doing it.

“I’m s—” Eddie chokes on the words again, a distressed hum cutting through instead. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Eddie, it’s—”

Eddie points to Steve’s throat. “C-could’ve—mm, mm. Could’ve been bad.”

He remembers the feeling of Steve’s skin against the shard of glass, remembers his stupid shaking hands—so close, too close to blood being spilled.

Just a hair’s breadth away from…

It could’ve happened so easily. Two deaths on his conscience.

“Eddie,” Steve says calmly. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t have let you.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a reassurance.

His hand falls away from his neck, as if making a point.

Eddie stares and stares—and it’s definitely too dark to tell if there’s a bead of blood on Steve’s skin, but his mind does the work for him.

Vivid, wet. It wouldn’t stop. Chrissy. Her eyes…

The ice freezes over completely, stops up his throat.

Eddie can’t breathe.

“Yeah, you can,” someone’s saying, “hey, it’s gonna pass, it’s gonna pass, okay? I’m just gonna…”

A snap.

Eddie flinches, cries out with a wordless noise of anguish.

Through the roaring in his ears, he hears, “Shit,” before a contrite whisper of, “Sorry, sorry.”

Steve. Steve’s here, guiding his hands until they’re cupped around something.

Something warm.

It starts the thaw, draws air back into Eddie’s lungs. His head clears a little. He knows where he is. Wishes he wasn’t…

He wants someone to tell him that Chrissy didn’t suffer, that she didn’t feel anything.

No.

He wants someone to wake him up, to tell him it was just a nightmare, that he can go home; he wants the universe to rearrange itself so that Chrissy never even met him—that the only trouble she ever has to deal with is which shoes to wear with her graduation robes.

“I want,” he gets out, “I want—”

“I know,” Steve says.

His hands are still wrapped around Eddie’s.

And Eddie senses the source of the heat now, a packet of some kind.

A hand-warmer.

He manages to take a proper breath, deep enough that he can smell the pillow Steve has given him; it doesn’t smell of the detergent Wayne uses, but it smells like a home at least. The dip in the middle makes him suspect that Steve’s brought the pillow from his own bed.

Eddie breathes in again. Out.

“There you go,” Steve murmurs.

Gradually the warmth against Eddie’s palms brings about a repeatedly suppressed, bone-deep tiredness. His eyes are stinging with it, and he feels like the boat’s been pushed out onto the lake; he sways forward without meaning to.

“Sorry,” he says, tongue thick.

He lifts his head to find Steve looking at him intently, brow furrowed.

“You should lie down,” Steve says quietly. “You look exhausted.”

Eddie does, turns onto his side so he can still just about see over the side of the boat. But…

“I won’t sleep,” he tells Steve through a sigh. He’s not arguing the point; it just seems inevitable.

Steve shrugs. “Just shutting your eyes is better than nothing,” he says casually enough, but it sounds too knowing, like he’s speaking from experience.

Eddie wonders what Steve sees when he falls asleep.

Steve stands up slowly. Hesitant.

“I’m—um. I’m sorry,” he says. “I’d stay, believe me, but I just—I don’t want the car here too long in case someone…”

“Go, Harrington,” Eddie says, hopes it comes out as gentle as he means it to be. “You’re the taxi service.”

Steve smiles. “We’ll be back,” he says. “Tomorrow, okay? I promise. We’ll bring food.”

“Tomorrow,” Eddie echoes. Tries and fails to push down a yawn. “Food.”

It’s not so bad, listening to Steve walking away. Eddie’s eyes close, burn with relief; in his head he follows along with the sound of Steve’s footsteps as they get more and more distant.

Car door opening. Closing. Seems farther away than before. His head is heavy.

He doesn’t expect to fall asleep. But he does his best to keep his thoughts on something light anyway. Maybe the continual warmth between his hands helps, ensures he doesn’t spiral back down to… to…

It comes to him fuzzily: why he recognised Steve singing in the first place.

Last summer, going to the mall to catch a movie, walking past an ice-cream parlor and hearing…

It was an unselfconscious kind of singing—no tension in the high notes. The sort usually done alone.

And do you feel scared? I do. But I won't stop and falter.

Eddie glanced over. Steve had been mopping, head down, but he looked up suddenly—for a moment, Eddie worried that he had been spotted. But then he watched the surreal sight of a group of children walking all over the wet floor, Steve beckoning them onward with fond exasperation.

He tapped at his wrist. “You’re cutting it fine tonight. Through the back, round the—”

“We know,” came an already distant chorus.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“And if anyone hears about this—”

“We’re dead!”

A door shut—alone again, Steve shook his head to himself. Smiled.

And if we threw it all away. Things can only get better.

Eddie remembers thinking that his voice wasn’t all that bad. It was nice.

It was…

Eddie wakes up warm.

The sight of the tarp disorients him for a few seconds—but he’s too sleepy to be panicked. The blanket against his jeans feels perfectly heavy. Keeps him still. Keeps him…

He thinks he must unintentionally drift off again; when he comes to, he feels that the hand-warmer he’s holding has gone cold. His feet knock against something, and he opens his eyes enough to see that Steve’s left more pouches. He takes one, hums when he cracks it so he doesn’t hear the…

It’s another day. He’s still here, damp wood against his back. A pillow beneath his head.

He knows the nightmare hasn’t stopped; Chrissy is still dead.

But there’s things he can touch, hold onto—evidence that he’s not been left alone, not really. He knows that Steve will come back. They all will.

His hands are warm.

And that’s something.

#this is my first ‘the boathouse’ fic! ❤️#pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve and the party

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unsuredreamer · 2 months

Note

is it possible for a Bridget x Reader where Red found out not only her mother's different personality in the past but also a has a childhood friend that both Bridget and reader has feelings towards one another is too shy about it but in the original timeline Reader was never mentioned because reader died in an accident that people assumed that it was Bridget fault because she is a monster and red also plans to prevent reader's death

Your Heart

Bridget Hearts 🩷 x reader

Kinda changed a bit but I still hope you like it!!!

Still open for more requests my loves ♡

"Bridget. You're better than this. I know that what happened was hard for you, but that was ages ago" Ella pleaded desperately trying to stop her ex best friend from taking over Auradon.

"Hard? It was excruciating, I relive it every day since" the queen coldly exclaimed.

"We all do. She was like a dream, but she is gone now. We have to move on Bridget"

"Don't you dare speak of her in my presence! You did not care back then." The Queen yelled out. "Now kneel" she gestured with her hand.

"I will never kneel to a tyrant"

"She's denied a royal order. What do we do about that, darling?" The Red Queen turned to her daughter smiling ear to ear. But don't let it get you. It's not the nice kind.

"Look, all you have to do is swear allegiance. Is that so hard?" Red butt in to Cinderella, she knew it was about to go down.

"If it means compromising everything I stand for, yes."

"Who are you loyal to Red? These strangers or your mother? Now make me proud for once" Bridget took a hold of Red's face, grinning like she was about to win. She was of course.

"Come on Bridget, even your daughter knows it's wrong, she can't do it" This sentence made something snap in Red, like a force pulling her towards the bad, a little devil sitting on her shoulder. But she felt vulnerable. Did she really want that? Her heart thumped in her chest."Treason! She's guilty of treason, and that means off with her head!" Wrong, it felt so wrong, to the point she felt dizzy, the whole world spinning.

"Exactly right, my dear! Off with her head!" The royal guards began walking the other queen, her daughter desperately trying to pry the others away. Red coming straight at her, her spinning head did not help in trying to take out the pocket watch and steadying her posture.

But she did, and what happened next was not what she expected..

~•~

"Now great! We traveled 20 years back in time! Fucking excellent Red" Chloe yelled, angered as her mother was just sentenced to death by the very girl standing beside her

"Calm down, little goody princess pop star. I meant to sent us back just a few minutes so i could take my mothers cards, but it took us here. I certainly did not mean to take you with me" Red remarked, thinking hard about why she ended up in this exact moment.

"Well, we're here now, so might as well undo whatever made your mom so evil" Chloe paced back and forth, clutching her sword tightly in her hand, something she did often while being stressed beyond heavens.

"And how exactly are you planning to prevent murder, Chloe?" The princess of Wonderland asked sarcastically. Because truly, how were they supposed to do it? They didn't know who did it, how, when, and where. It was all a mystery to them. It's like this death was completely erased from existence. No one mentioned it. After all, why would you reminisce such a sad and sudden death that became a start to many years of misery and tyranny of one of the cruelest rulers known of."We could at least, i don't know...try? My mom said it happened after a talk about flamingos?" What? Was she joking, really?

"Let's just look for our mothers for now."

And thats what they did, what brought them to this exact moment.

"Hey my love, how are these cupcakes you talked about?" A strange girl sat down on one of the benches in the school halls looking at Bridget, Red's mom, with such loving eyes just begging for an ounce of touch from the pink one. She must have heard her pleads as she sat down on her lap, throwing her arm around the others neck.

"They are great! I saved you one or two...plates" Bridget grinned. She could never do too little for the girl she was so desperately in love with. Although they claimed to be just bestest of best friends, too shy to admit they literally wore each other's hearts on their chests. "These flamingo feathers you went so out of way to get for me really turned out excellent as a topping." She smiled widely once again. Something you could never grow tired of. Her enchanting eyes and magical pink hair drawing you in.

"Who is that?" Red whispered to Ella, Chloe's mother.

"Y/n Cupid, Bridget's childhood best friend"

"Aree you sureee they are just that?" Chloe questioned as she smiled sheepishly. "It surely looks like more than that to me,"What a sight, seeing the cruel Queen of Hearts (who is now such a sweet and kind soul) be so lovey dovey with another person. That alone made Red's head spiral. Her mother was not mad evil? She was good-hearted? And she had a lover? That is something she would never grasp after all those years of fake smiles and cold orders.

"Mhm, they are. Although I strongly suggest them every day to make a closer move. They won't budge like stuck-up little kids."

"Well lovely, I will try not to eat them all in one sitting." You continued, taking Bridget's hand in yours, softly swiping your finger across her palm. Her breath hitched. It was something you'd done quite often, but even the slightest touch from you made her head dizzy and the goosebumps on her skin to pop instantly.

"Y-You, I" She stuttered out, nothing more coming in to her clouded mind, you giggled at her cutness, what resulted in you being hit by her in the head "Be careful, try not to turn into a flamingo, they are awsome but only one at a time sweetie" She kissed your cheek quickly, she was feeling bold, usually she'd just boop your nose or something. A kiss was a big declaration from her. She loved physical touch, she loved hugs, grazing or intertwining hands. But a kiss was something she preserved only for her one and only.

You were her one and only.

"Okay, it was nice meeting you, Red and Chloe, I'll be going now. I have a shit load of homework from Professor Merlin. Bye Ella, see you later B!" You sent them a kiss and dissappeared in the halls.

"Bridget!" The lovesick girl jumped upon her name being yelled out "She is so totally in love with you!" Chloe squealed, not being able to keep her excitement in, taking the princesses hands and jumping around."No, no. We are just friends. She would never look at me that way" Bridget sadly sighed, playing with her heart necklace she got from her 'friend'

It was a truly beautiful gift, just a necklace with a heart, but if you were to look at it from the other side. The necklace was made from silver, crafted by Hephaestus himself, the red heart was a gemstone made differently, it was a part of the glass heart of cupid.

Your heart.

You gave her your heart!?

How could she be so stupid not to recognize what a grand gesture of love it was?

You basically devoted your whole life to her, vowing to love her forever and always.

You gave her your heart...

"See, that's what I'm talking about!" Frustrated Ella butt in. "They act like a couple, but when you point it out, both of them are sooooo dumb to realize how the other is fe-" She could not finish because Red and Chloe were long gone. So was Bridget, even quicker.

As Bridget realized what an oblivious idiot she had been, she took a run after you, clutching the necklace in her hand. After a minute, she found you in the gardens.

The sight of your unconscious body made Bridget shiver, freeze, almost as if she had stepped foot on the Boomerang Nebula. She fell, her weak knees hitting the blood-stained ground. The once beautiful, white pebbles, turning maroon as the red liquid pooled out of the corpse.

A terrifying, horror like scream was all that could be heard...

No one would imagine a dead body with a spear shot right through the heart in the broad daylight while waking out on the school grounds. Hazed eyes, once full of life, staring longingly into the distance. And the strong grip of the hand, oh so soft, still remaining on the spear. The white button-up shirt peppered in small hearts growing more and more burgundy with each passing second.

She could not believe it. You were gone.

The love of her life

She could not stop the anger mixed with hurt and unimaginable sadness growing in her heart as she watched her lovers lifeless body. She threw a fit with the intention of hurting everyone in the mere distance. Luckily, no one was there to be hurt. Throwing her cards up in the air, shooting fires, and demolishing basically everything she could see.

Bridget broke down crying. There was nothing she could do to bring her life back, her life back.

As Chloe successfully shielded her princess from the fires and chaos thrown by her mother, Bridget fell on her knees once again. They stared at the scene before them.

They cursed themselves that they weren't able to stop the killing. They had failed.

Red felt absolutely terrible seeing her mother so heartbroken. She saw only the worst part of her. She never even thought there once was this sweet, kind, thoughtful, and such a loving princess within her. She wondered of all these good times she could have, with her other 'mom' too. As she was wishing she could've come sooner to stop this nonsense, however would she have done it, Chloe ran to her mom's younger version. Dropping on her knees just a couple inches away, wrapping the pink girl in her embrace. So strong, so comforting.

Bridget laid her head on her chest, sobbing uncontrollably, gripping Chloe's blue shirt so tightly she was most likely to rip it apart any second. That is truly what she needed, a warm presence holding her so she wouldn't go mad.

"Cry Bridget, I'm here for you," and that's what she did. She cried till she was out of energy to do so. She just stared in the distance, thinking of nothing. There was nothing left for her. She took ahold of her lovers hand, vowing to herself she'd never fall in love again.

And she'll keep your heart, just how you have kept hers.

Not all stories have a happily ever after, even if we try to change it

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