beniyasha-moroha

[jinkoh]

sins of the flesh

younghoon x fem!reader x demon!hyunjae

summary: how could you possibly say no when the sweet, sweet reverend asks for your help with a holy ritual?

wc: 5.2k

tags: smut (mdni), manipulation, could be read as dubcon, religious themes, purity/corruption themes, voyeurism, teasing, praise kink, pet names, oral (f receiving), kissing, overstimulation, after care, a lot of plot for sth that was supposed to be pwp, warnings: blood, consumption of dubious liquids, uuuuh demon tongue? 🫣

a/n: forgive me father for this fic is just one big sin 😔🙏🏻 (that ends on a surprisingly soft note) anyway--happy halloween

masterlist

“It’s really lucky that I ran into you,” Younghoon said as he unlocked the heavy doors of the church to let the both of you inside. “You’re really my savior today.”

“Oh, no, of course, Reverend,” you stumbled over your own words, feeling way too nervous about being alone with him. You knew your little crush on him was pointless, after all he was the pastor of the local church and no matter how charming and sweet he was, he would always be off limits. He was upright and virtuous, and you felt guilty for the way you desired him, as if just your thoughts of him were already tainting his purity. Still, you couldn’t stop the way your heart was fluttering now that it was just the two of you at this late hour.

He held the door open for you and you followed inside, the church looking scary and looming after dark without any candles to light it up. Younghoon, attentive as he was, seemed to notice your uneasiness. “Just a second,” he reassured with those gentle eyes you loved so much. He reached for an oil lamp and lit it up, the flickering light illuminating your surroundings.

“So, uh,” you started, your voice giving away your nerves, “what did you need my help with again?”

“I’ll explain in a bit. Let’s go to the crypt first.” He started walking towards the stairs that led down into the cellar vaults where you knew the crypt was. You’d never been down there though, and you didn’t think you should be—not just anyone was allowed to set foot into the holy halls beneath the church. But if Younghoon was the one to invite you, it was surely okay, wasn’t it?

“Really,” he said on your descent, “I’m so grateful you’re willing to help out. You’re the perfect person for this, I couldn’t have asked anyone else.”

You felt your cheeks flush with heat. “I’m always glad to be of  help to you, Reverend. And uhm—” you hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were being too bold, but then you decided to say it anyway, “if anything comes up again you can always ask me.”

He briefly turned around to bless you with a smile so wide it made little creases form in the corners of his eyes. “That makes me really happy to hear. I will remember it,” he said as he took the last few steps down. It was darker here, not even the dim light of the moon coming in through the windows. Only the flicker of Younghoon’s oil lamp brought some light into the darkness, but it didn’t help to make the place less scary. A gate made of black iron bars waited at the end of the stairway, keeping unwanted guests out of the crypt. Younghoon fumbled with some keys before he found the right one, unlocking the gate and pushing it open with an uncomfortable creaking noise.

“After you.” He motioned for you to go in first and you did as you were told, even if you’d feel a lot more comfortable following behind him, his tall, broad back in front of you giving you a sense of security. Still, you stumbled inside and towards the altar your eyes could make out through the darkness.

“Don’t be scared,” he said as if he’d read your mind, “what place could be safer than this?”

“Of course, Reverend, you’re right,” you were quick to agree, worried that your guardedness was perhaps offensive to him.

“You know,” he said from right behind you, his voice sounding closer than expected. “You can call me by my name when it’s just the two of us."

Your heart was racing in your chest so quickly, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d heard it. “O-okay.”

“Hmm?”

“Younghoon,” you croaked.

He hummed contentedly. “Good.” You thought you felt his hands ghosting over your back before they came to rest on your shoulders, gently pushing you further towards the altar, past a few rows of stone benches in front of it. He only let go when you’d almost reached it, stepping past you to light the candles framing it. You could make out more of the surroundings now and it only made you more confused about the kind of help Younghoon was hoping to get from you. Despite your studies, you didn’t know enough about religion to recognize the symbols that were painted onto the floor surrounding the altar, nor did you recognize the ornament that stood in the middle of the altar where you’d usually find the cross. But even a rookie like you could tell that all of this belonged to some kind of intricate ritual. 

“Are you sure I’m the right person to help you?” 

“Very sure,” Younghoon turned around from where he’d lit the last candle at the edge of the altar. “In fact, there’s no one better than you for this.”

“So what exactly is this?”

“It’s a cleansing ritual,” he explained. “You know, with everyone confessing their sins within the walls of this church, the bad aura will accumulate if nothing is done about it. So, from time to time it needs to be purified with a little ceremony.”

You’d never heard of anything like that, but it made sense to you. Still—“I don’t know much about ceremonies though.”

“What matters isn’t knowledge, y/n, it’s the purity of your soul.” He came a little closer giving you a reassuring smile. “You have a pure soul, don’t you?”

You nodded, ignoring the little voice in the back of your mind that wanted to remind you of all the impure feelings of affection you harbored for the man in front of you. 

“See? Then it’s all good.” 

He asked you to change into a white gown, showing you to a small chamber so you’d have some privacy. It wasn’t unusual to have a dress code in religious contexts, and Younghoon too was wearing his neat black cassock (that suited him a little too well) so you weren’t thinking anything weird of this. You took off your clothes and left them on a small stool in the corner, neatly folded up, before slipping into the simple white dress. It was  almost reminiscent of the choir robes, but it was shorter than that, the fabric ending right above your knees. You felt exposed when you stepped back into the main vault, the stone floor cold beneath your naked feet, your black socks, too, left behind in the little chamber.

“It suits you,” Younghoon said when you approached him. “Just perfect.”

You didn’t know how to respond, your cheeks burning hot under his attention, so you quickly avoided his gaze. “So, what now?”

He smiled. “Come here.”

As instructed you walked over, careful not to step onto any of the intricate symbols painted on the floor because you weren’t sure if you should. Your gaze flickered to the cup, and more importantly, the small silver dagger that were sitting on the altar, making uneasiness bubble up in your stomach. But Younghoon reached out his hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and pulling your attention back to him. It felt too close, too intimate, but you knew you were reading too much into this. Younghoon wouldn’t have any such impure intentions.

“Are you nervous?” He asked.

You shrugged.

“Do you trust me?”

A small glance to the dagger, but then you quickly looked back at him. You knew he was a good person. “Yes.”

“Good.” Younghoon leaned in, his lips briefly brushing your forehead, like a small sign of blessing, before his hand reached for the cup. He closed his eyes and mumbled something in a language you couldn’t understand, Latin maybe, but you knew it must have been a prayer. You watched him, the way his lips moved around the words and the way his eyelids fluttered open once he was done. 

“Here,” he held out the cup for you to drink, and without questioning it you took a sip of the red liquid inside. Wine, you realized, except it tasted sweeter than any wine you’d ever had. Assuming it was enough, you wanted to draw back, but Younghoon kept the cup up against your lips, using his free hand on your jaw to coax you to keep drinking. “All of it.”

The sticky sweet liquid felt warm and heavy in your stomach, but you drank it all, until not a drop of it was left. Only then did he set aside the cup. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, gathering up the last bits of liquid before pushing it into your mouth. “Well done,” he praised and you felt tense under his  gaze, your body pulsing with a weird heat that you decided to blame on the alcohol. You only got pulled out of your trance when Younghoon reached for the silver dagger. You visibly flinched, a newfound rush of panic surging through your veins.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he assured, almost as if he was talking to a frightened kitten. “I wouldn’t do anything bad to you, you know that, don’t you?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling intimidated.

“There’s no need to be scared, y/n. I promise. We just need a tiny bit of blood.”

“Blood?” you repeated, your voice hoarse.

“Just the tiniest drop. It’s not scary at all, and it will barely hurt, love.”

You ignored the way the pet name made your skin tingle, trying to focus on the important matters at hand instead. Slowly but surely, you were feeling like something was odd about all of this. But it seemed a little too late to back out now, and how could you when Younghoon was looking at you so sweetly? You bit your lower lip, your gaze flickering between him and the silver dagger. “It won’t hurt?”

“Just a little sting.”

“...okay.”

He leaned in to kiss your forehead once more, more of a praise than a blessing this time, before he took your left hand in his, drawing the silver blade over your palm in a swift motion. You let out a whimper at the sharp pain that surged through you, teary eyes fixed on the red dots gathering where the dagger had cut through your skin. Younghoon gently guided you to outstretch your arm above one of the more intricate circle designs on the floor, his hand around yours pushing your fingers into a tight fist that made you hiss in pain, your teeth digging into your lower lip to silence yourself. Blood started to gather in your wound, a drop of it rolling down your skin and falling onto the stone below. As soon as it hit the floor Younghoon let go, cupping your cheeks instead and wiping away your tears that had started spilling out.

“Don’t cry, it’s all okay, y/n,” he comforted. His lips grazed your cheeks, kissing away the last of your tears, and you leaned into the touch, closing your eyes and drowning yourself in his warmth.  “It’s already over," he whispered, the words ticklish against your skin.

“Already over?” a strange voice suddenly asked from behind you, making you jerk around in Younghoon’s embrace.

Right there, in front of the altar was now a tall figure eyeing you with a mischievous grin on his handsome face. “I don’t think so,” he continued as he came over to you. “How could it be over before I even arrived?”

“W-who…?” you rasped out, looking up helplessly at Younghoon.

“He’ll help with the ritual. He is a… friend of mine,” he explained but it didn’t feel entirely truthful. 

“Oh?” The other guy seemed amused, “Are we friends now?”

Younghoon huffed a laugh. “What would you call it then, Hyunjae?”

“Hmm. Partners?” Hyunjae stepped a little closer, as if he wasn’t already close enough. He tilted his head down to get on eye level with you, his pitch black eyes taking in every detail of your face, before his gaze wandered over your body down to your feet and back up again. “Though, I guess strictly speaking, my partner is this one?”

You frowned. “What does that mean?”

Hyunjae reached for your wounded hand and held it up to inspect it. He swiped up some of your blood with his index finger. “It means,” he said, bringing it up to his lips and licking the red liquid away, “that you called me here.” Your eyes were automatically drawn to the movement, following the way his tongue darted out before he savored the taste of your blood like it was something delicious.

“You’re scaring her,” Younghoon interfered, and he was right, you were scared, but there was also something else, a weird sense of heat building in your guts that you couldn’t quite explain.

“She doesn’t look that scared to me,” Hyunjae remarked with a satisfied glint in his eyes. “Do you?” 

You felt caught and ashamed, even more so since Younghoon was right there. Instead of answering his question you gave him a defiant glare. “What do you want?”

“Younghoon really didn’t explain anything, huh? I’m here to feed on all the delicious sins that he collected for me.”

“Feed on?” You didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean at all. “But only demons—” You didn’t dare to finish your sentence out loud, the thought of it too absurd to be put into words. You instinctively retreated further into Younghoon’s arms, whose hands on your shoulders made you feel a little more safe.

“Precisely,” Hyunjae grinned and his teeth suddenly looked a little too sharp to be human. 

“But this is a church.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised about all the things that happen in holy halls when the faithful church goers aren’t looking.”

Confused, you turned to the man behind you, “Younghoon, what—”

“It’s okay,” his hands rubbed little circles into your skin. “He’s not here to cause harm. He will leave once the sins have been taken care of.”

“Where are those sins?” you pressed out.

Hyunjae’s eyes seemed to darken with unabashed joy. “Well, where do you think they are?” He leaned in so close, you could feel his breath on your face as his thumb brushed over your lower lip, almost the same way Younghoon had done before. “Wasn’t that wine so sweet?”

Your eyes widened in shock and your hand instinctively came up to your throat, as if you could somehow undo it all, undrink the wine that had rolled down your tongue.

“No,” you whispered barely audible, the panic more present than ever. Had Younghoon lied to you? Were you nothing but a mere sacrifice? Would he just let you be devoured for the sake of the ceremony? “You promised,” you choked out, feeling a new wave of tears welling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hyunjae chuckled at your reaction, something akin to pity in his expression. His hand was still on your jaw, his thumb now coming up to wipe away your tears. The touch wasn’t as soft and gentle as Younghoon’s and you couldn’t bring yourself to feel comforted by it. “I won’t literally eat you, so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, hm? Just enjoy.”

With that he brushed his lips against yours, and you wanted to hate it, your precious first kiss taken like that, but it felt so good. Something about Hyunjae seemed to be electrifying, small sparks tingling beneath your skin at the touch of his lips. It made you want to forget the absurdity of the situation and give in to the pleasure of it all. His fingers moved to your waist, strong hands keeping you in place, as if you had any intention of running away. You closed your eyes to indulge the feeling, small sighs unconsciously escaping your lips. He used the chance to slip in his tongue, and it felt long and sharp and entirely inhuman. He completely devoured you while you could do nothing but pathetically moan into his mouth. But then Hyunjae suddenly pulled away, making you chase the kiss.

“What’s that grim face for?” You heard him ask. You opened your eyes in a confused trance, finding that he wasn’t looking at you but Younghoon instead. The realization that you’d eagerly parted your lips for someone else while the man you’d been harboring feelings for all this time had been right there behind you made your skin crawl with shame.

“Are you not enjoying the show? I’m sure I can draw out even more of those pretty little sounds,” Hyunjae continued, “or do you perhaps wish it was you instead? Feeling a little possessive after all?”

You felt the grip on your shoulders tighten. 

“Don’t pout,” Hyunjae pulled away from you, his hand reaching up to cup Younghoon’s jaw. “You can kiss her all you want later. But we can’t have you get affected by the sins, right? You knew this, when you chose her."

“I’m not pouting,” Younghoon mumbled.

Hyunjae huffed a laugh. “Mhm, sure.” He left a small peck on Younghoon’s nose, right on that pretty little freckle. You felt surprised about the gentle affection of it all and it made you feel jealous, though you weren’t sure whom exactly you were jealous of. Your fingers dug into the skin of Hyunjae’s arm that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding onto all this time.

“Oh? Feeling left out?” Hyunjae turned his focus back to you with a grin. “Don’t worry, you haven’t been forgotten. We’ll take care of you real good.”

He kissed you again, lips devouring yours until you felt weak in the knees, Younghoon’s arms finding your hips to hold you up.

“Let’s move,” he whispered close to your ear, but you weren’t sure if he was talking to you, because Hyunjae was the one who replied, pulling away from your lips to give a quick approval. Before you could even register it, the demon had already picked you up, practically throwing you over his shoulder, leaving you to wonder where you were headed to. But it only took a few steps before you were welcomed by Younghoon’s arms, who pulled your back into his chest again, helping you get comfortable between his legs—as comfortable as it could get on the hard surface of the altar that you found yourself sitting on. 

“Is this better?” he asked, his arms around you comfortable and warm. You tilted your head to look at him, his face so impossibly close to your own. He looked at you with a tenderness that made your chest ache, and yet there was also that burning desire in his eyes. You wanted to kiss him.

When you started to lean in, you were suddenly stopped by a hand covering your lips though.

“You can’t,” Hyunjae tutted, hovering in your personal space again. He must have pulled himself up onto the altar too, while you’d been distracted. With a firm grip he turned your head back to face him. “You don’t want to put him into danger, do you?”

You shook your head as best as you could with his hand on your jaw.

“Then no kissing him. Not yet.”

“When?” You asked, feeling a little pouty. It just seemed so unfair.

“As soon as we’ve eaten up all those sweet little sins,” he explained with a grin.

“Eat them quickly then.” You closed your eyes and pushed out your jaw, readying yourself to be devoured by him all over again.

“Sure, let’s hurry it along, shall we?” His breath was fanning your lips when he chuckled, but instead of kissing you he pulled away. You flinched when you felt his hand travel up the insides of your legs and you instinctively pressed your knees together when he was about to reach your thighs.

“Oh?” Hyunjae tilted his head in surprise.

“Don’t do that, hm?” Younghoon whispered behind you, his hands traveling down your body to your thighs, gently urging them to open. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

Feeling unsure, you turned your head to glance back at him, legs still pressed together. You thought you wanted to say something, but with the way he was looking at you so sweetly, you forgot all about it.

“Hm?” he hummed, “Aren’t you?” 

You hesitated for a second longer, but then you relaxed in his hold, letting him push your legs apart. “Well done,” he whispered and the words made you tingle with a weird sense of pride. "Such a good girl indeed."

His hands gently caressed the skin on your thighs, leaving goose bumps in their wake. But then there was another pair of hands, their grip stronger, more fierce as they pushed your legs to open a little further.

“Not sure if I should be grateful or jealous that you listen to our Younghoon so well,” Hyunjae mumbled with a little shake of his head, before scooting down further.

“What are you doing?” You asked in a trembling voice.

“Eating,” Hyunjae replied easily, fingers pushing at your gown that had already ridden up quite a bit.

“It’s okay,” Younghoon soothed, taking over and pulling the white fabric all the way up to your chest, leaving you exposed to both him and the demon between your legs. “See,” he whispered, his hand moving to your lower stomach and your eyes automatically followed the movement, confused about the weird mark that had appeared on your skin, right above the hem of your underwear. “We have to get rid of this,” he explained. “Hyunjae will get rid of it for you, hm?”

You glanced at the demon and he briefly darted out his sharp tongue. “I’ll be sure to make it enjoyable for you, sweetheart.” The demon's hands found purchase on your hips as he leaned in close, tracing the weird mark on your lower stomach with his soft lips. The sensation made you feel ticklish and you tried to back away, but the hold on your hips was strong and Younghoon behind you didn't give you much room to back away anyway. 

"You're already this nervous? We haven't even started yet," Hyunjae said as his fingers hooked under your panties. Panic rose up in you as you felt the way he slowly started to drag the fabric down and your hands immediately flew to his arms, trying to push him away. "No, don't," you whimpered, feeling tears well up in your eyes for the nth time that night.

"Haven't we been over this?" Younghoon whispered into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin. His fingers reached for your wrists and pulled them close to your chest, holding them in place. "We need to let him do his job, hm?"

"But it's scary," you choked out, hands still pushing at Hyunjae’s shoulders.

"It's not scary at all," Younghoon whispered.

"Promise?"

"Of course, love. I wouldn't lie to you." 

"Okay," you pressed out and you didn't resist this time when Hyunjae was slowly pulling your panties down your trembling legs.

"I won’t hurt you," the demon whispered as he pressed another kiss to the mark. "I'll make it feel so good." His lips moved a little lower, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake as he moved to your now exposed core. When you felt his breath fanning over your most private parts you wanted to close your legs again but as if he knew, Younghoon was giving your wrists a little squeeze and you kept them open.

"So obedient," Hyunjae commented with a grin and then suddenly you felt his tongue on you, licking over your clit and making you gasp out at the unfamiliar sensation. He didn't give you much time to get used to it though, starting to suck on your sensitive bud and making you shiver.

"See? It's not scary at all," Younghoon whispered into your ear.

"Feels weird," you whined, a strangled moan escaping your lips when you suddenly felt a finger prodding at your entrance.

"It's not weird at all," Younghoon pecked your cheek, "It feels good."

"Feels good," you repeated dumbly and the man behind you hummed  contently.

Hyunjae’s mouth kept assaulting your clit while his finger was quickly joined by a second one, the stretch making you squirm in Younghoon’s embrace. The strange heat that had been bubbling in your guts since before seemed to be building up to something more, something unfamiliar that you couldn’t place. Small noises escaped your throat and you desperately tried to keep quiet by pressing your lips together, but Younghoon wasn’t having any of that. He moved your wrists into one hand, softly coaxing your mouth open with the other.

“Let him hear you, love,” he mumbled as his thumb pushed into your mouth, “let him know how good he’s making you feel.”

Unable to keep yourself silenced with Younghoon’s thumb between your lips, you let out a wanton moan. Hyunjae groaned in response, the vibrations of it making you shiver.

“You sound so good,” he praised, removing his lips from your clit to look up at you with hungry eyes. You felt yourself clench around his fingers and it drew a small chuckle out of the demon. “You like that?” He asked almost sweetly, “Like being told how good you are for us?” The whine you let out in response was all the answer he needed.

“That’s so cute,” Younghoon whispered into your ears. Right then, Hyunjae pulled his fingers from your core, making you feel empty and cold until he replaced them with his warm tongue. It’d already felt different when he’d kissed you before, but this was on a whole new level. It was long and big as it moved inside of you, easily reaching places his fingers hadn’t even touched. The sensation was entirely too strong, but the moment you tried to close your legs, Hyunjae’s hands were back on your thighs, holding you open for him to devour.

“‘S too much,” you slurred, heart racing and eyes blurry.

“Just a bit more,” Younghoon left sweet little kisses on your neck that didn’t seem to match the intensity of Hyunjae’s tongue on you at all. “Doing so well.”

“I can’t” you shook your head, overwhelmed by the unbearable heat in your guts. “‘m scared.”

“There’s no need to be scared,” he assured, while Hyunjae kept on with his ministrations. “I’m right here, my love.”

“Too much,” you choked out again, but then it was as if the heat inside of you snapped, an overwhelming sensation washing over you and taking all coherency with it. You shook as Hyunjae kept going, prolonging the feeling until you were a whimpering mess, begging him to stop. He left a peck on your overly sensitive clit that drew another whine from you, before finally drawing back.

“You did so well,” Younghoon praised.”

“Did I?” you mumbled hazily, still dazed with the aftershocks. 

“Didn’t she?” He turned to the demon that was now hovering above you, his eyes glowing in a pretty gold color that drew you in. “So well,” he agreed before he leaned in to kiss you, the taste of your own release invading your senses. “And you’ll do well again, right?”

“Again?”

“Mhm,” Younghoon hummed close to your ear, his hand moving to thumb over the mark on your stomach that seemed to have gotten a little more faint but was far from gone, “Just a few more times. But it’s not scary at all, right?”

“‘s not scary” you agreed,“Feels good.”

“Good,” Hyunjae smiled, pecking your lips again in a way that almost felt sweet and way too affectionate for someone who is supposedly a creature from the underworld. But what did you know? It wasn’t anything for your fuzzy mind to contemplate over anyway, not with the way his lips trailed back down your body, making you shiver in anticipation of what you knew was to come.

Hyunjae pushed you over the edge again and again, making you feel so high on pleasure and adrenaline, you almost forgot the point of all this. All you knew was how good his tongue made you feel, and how warm Younghoon’s arms were around you.

“Can’t,” you babbled as you felt the familiar build up in your core yet another time, “‘m empty already.”

“Not quite,” Younghoon traced the faint remains of the mark on your stomach, “just one more, hm?”

“N-no,” you choked out, your fingers burying themselves in Hyunjae’s hair, without actually trying to push him away. His tongue was working you relentlessly and you felt like you were going to pass out if he kept going—but then it also felt so good. When he got the heat inside of you to snap one more time, the intensity of it had you seeing stars and you swore you left earth for a moment there. When you came back to your senses, both of them were littering you with soft pecks and praises.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” Younghoon whispered into your ear, “took it all so well.”

“‘S over?” you asked drowsily, and when he nodded you relaxed further into his embrace, letting your eyes fall shut and just bathing in the warmth and comfort they were showering you with. Your hands eventually found their way to the back of Hyunjae’s neck, fingers running through his hair.

“Wanna kiss you,” you mumbled thoughtlessly.

“Yeah?” He asked, leaning in until you felt his breath on your lips.

“Yeah.”

“Do it then,” he whispered and you didn’t hesitate to brush your lips against him. He reciprocated the kiss, slow and tender in a way you didn’t think demons should be capable of. You leaned into it, opening your mouth for him and letting him explore you slow like that.

“I like this,” you eventually mumbled into his mouth, before letting your head fall back against Younghoon’s shoulder. “Wanna kiss you, too.”

“You can.”

“I can?” The happy disbelief in your voice drew a chuckle from him. “Mhm,” he nuzzled your neck, “Hyunjae ate all the sins right up, so you can.”

You turned to look at him as good as you could, nose brushing against his due to the proximity. “And do you want to?” you asked carefully, gaze flickering between his eyes and the pretty, pretty lips you’d been dreaming about one too many times. Instead of a reply, he leaned in and closed the distance, just a brief touch that was over way too quickly.

“I do,” he whispered, “I do want to.”

“Then do it properly,” you complained and it caused him to chuckle all over again, before he relented and kissed you properly, lips moving together with yours just the way you’d dreamed it up.

Lost in the kiss, you almost didn’t notice the way Hyunjae was drawing back, but the absence of his warm body against yours made you feel cold.

“Where are you going?” you asked, hand grabbing his before he could leave for real, “Don’t go.”

“Don’t worry, we're all done, you’re all pure again.”

“Don’t go,” you repeated anyway.

The demon looked surprised, staring at you with wide eyes and the faintest tint of red on his cheeks. “You want me to stay?”

“I guess she took a liking to you,” Younghoon said and you felt him smile against your neck.

“Yeah,” you didn’t even bother hiding it, “so, don’t go.”

The timid little smile on Hyunjae’s lips didn’t go unnoticed as he settled back down, arms coming around your waist and head resting against your chest. “I guess I could stay a bit…”

masterlist 🍷 pls consider reblogging if you enjoyed this 🍷

[moondustinfj]

James *poking Remus*: Remus. Remus. Remus. Remus wake up. Remus. Remus.

Remus:

James: Remus. Remus. MOONY!!

Remus: OH MY GOD, WHAT??

James: Oh good, since you're awake-

Remus: *groans*

James: -your plan didn't work

Remus: What plan?

James: When you told me to throw confetti over Regulus' head to get him to date me

Remus: I specifically said 'Do NOT, under any circumstances, do that James'

James: Exactly! That's basically telling me to do it!

Remus: It didn't work on Lily, how the hell did you think it would work on Regulus

James: I couldn't have known!! They're such different people!!

Remus: And which parts of those "differences" made you think Regulus Black would be more receptive to being thrown confetti at in front of the whole school

James: Crouch and Rosier still laugh hysterically every time they see me..

James: So what do you suggest I do? Make even a grander gesture in front of everyone??

Remus: No! What-

James: Maybe sing him a song??

Remus: I-

James: That I wrote??

Remus: You're INSANE

James: On my guitar??

Remus *checks the watch*: It's 3 AM James go f-

James: In the great hall??

Remus: I don't even care at this point

James: You're a genius. I knew I came to the right person

Remus: That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard and I feel like I should call Regulus to warn him about you. But you seem convinced so. God bless. *slumps back to bed*

James: Do you believe in god Remus?

Remus: *voice muffled by the pillow* I believe in hell. And I'm in it.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

cw: menstruation (not graphic), afab anatomy

Part 4: “Girl Problems”

You shift in the office chair, stomach lurching uncomfortably. It’s been bothering you today - groaning and moaning nonstop. So far you blamed it on the suspicious chicken salad you got from the discount grocery store. You took every stomach soother you could, all the way down to chugging tea on the hottest day of spring so far.

With a rather pathetic groan you stand to meander your way to the bathroom. Surely sitting on the pot will help - at least as a placebo. Just as you do, though, a very distinct wet feeling makes itself known. You freeze, briefly, as if it will go away if you stand still enough.

“Ah, fuck!” You gasp, grabbing your purse and jogging down the hall to the single bath stall and popping the lock shut.

As soon as you sit, you let out a small sigh of relief. At least you caught it before you turned your underwear into a total crime scene. You’d rather not have to explain to John why you need to go home and change. You dig through your bag to your usual pocket of various supplies. From lotion to a sewing kit. It never hurts to be prepared.

Except, as you rifle around, you’re not finding your usual stash. There should be at least three in here… when did-?

The very loud, distinct memory of a girl at a bar stopping you while canvassing for some sanitary products hits you like a train.

“Whatever you’ve got I’ll take.” She practically begged. So, you handed them all over because got forbid someone get stranded during the most hellish week of the month. Like you are now.

You make a deep, frustrated noise in your throat and bury your face in your hands. You’ve been meaning to put a basket of backup wipes, pads, and tampons in the little bathroom cabinet - not just for you but for customers, too. It just kept getting pushed off when you got busy with other things.

Shit. What are you gonna do? If you put your pants back on you’ll just bleed through them in ten minutes. Cursed with a heavy flow (or blessed with a strong connection to the moon, as your former hippie roommate insisted.) Less time than that, probably, based on the vicious cramp that travels from your lower back to pelvis. You won’t be able to get to the corner store with out leaving a war crime in your path.

John’s the only person in the studio right now. He doesn’t have a client for another hour or so but you’d rather die than tell your hot boss you’re bleeding everywhere. For a few, quiet moments, you violently bounce your knee and go through every possibility. Maybe you’ll suddenly turn into the flash and you can get home before anyone even notices. You don’t really have much of a choice, do you?

With another groan you pull your phone from your pocket, thumb hovering over his contact for just a few beats too long while you work up the courage.

>> ok so this is terrible

>> im so sorry

>> but im having girl problems and am stuck in the bathroom

>> im so sorry this is so unprofessional

Girl problems? What are you? In fucking middle school? Before you can send yet another in a long string of planned apologies, John answers.

J >> How can I help?

>> i dont have any products on me

>> meant to stock the bathroom

>> sorry

J >> Stop apologizing

J >> What kind do you use? I’ll go to the corner store up the street

You breathe out a sigh of relief, still nervously gnawing at your lip as you send him what you need with an example picture (just in case) and profusely insist you’ll pay him back. John refuses. You’ll just have to sneak the cash in his tips or something.

It isn’t long before you hear the front doorbell ring, heavy footsteps, then a gentle tap on the bathroom door. “Y’alright, love?”

You perk up. “John, I’m so sorry-“

“Didn’t ask if you were sorry. Asked if you were alright.”

You snort. “Yeah…”

“I’m goin’ to unlock the door to slide these in. No lookin’ I swear.” John says. As if you were worried about that. You trust John. More than maybe any other man you’ve known (not that the bar is very high.) It’s nice of him to say, though. The door barely cracks open, just enough for him to toss the box to you across the floor and shut it immediately. You barely even see his arm. “That all you need?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You murmur, bending awkwardly and snatching up the box. “I’m really sorry. I know it’s not really… appropriate.”

“Love, it’s normal. It happens. Just get y’self situated.” John taps the door once before you hear his footsteps drift down the hall toward the front.

You feel a bit skittish the rest of the day. You know it’s stupid. John’s a grown man and it’s a natural thing that happens and it’s fine. He said it’s fine. If it wasn’t fine you probably wouldn’t still look up to him the way that you do - the way that you have since you came here. The way everyone else seems to. Even so, you step around him a little wider than usual on your way out - keeping your head hung low and both hands tightly gripping your purse.

You chew your lip, shifting in place as he locks the front door. “Look, John, I-“

“If you apologize again I’m gonna fire you.” John mutters, pulling on the door to make sure it’s properly secured. There’s humor in it, though, the corners of his lips quirked up slightly.

You scoff, still not quite able to meet his eye.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” When you don’t move fast enough, apparently, he tilts your head up with a light touch. His eyes are so warm despite their icy blue shade. Sparkly in the setting sun. “Any man worth his breath wouldn’t give a shite. I’m sorry if that hasn’t been your experience, but really, it’s fine. I’ll help you out a thousand times over if y’need.”

“Okay…” You murmur, suddenly very distracted by the feeling of his fingers touching your chin, light as is it. You pull away and clear your throat, hoping he doesn’t notice the growing heat in your cheeks. “Well, uh, see you tomorrow, then.”

John nods, still smiling. “Sleep well, dove.”

When you come in the next day, you expect to get teased. A snide comment or a sideways look. You would have at any other job you’d worked - especially one with all men. All giggling and poking at you like a bear they know can’t bite back. No one says a thing outside of their usual greetings when you make your way to the front desk, though. Johnny pinches your hip like normal, Simon greets you with his new pun of the day, Kyle gives you a distracted wave over the hum of his practice gun. John doesn’t bat an eye when he says hello and checks in about the plan for the day.

You open the bottom drawer that you usually tuck your purse into, pausing before you set it inside. At the bottom, neatly tied together with a piece of twine, sits a king size chocolate bar and a pack of Midol.

If John notices the way you become extra smiley after that discovery, he doesn’t comment.

A/N: This was very self-indulgent but I’m having a bad time over here and need to be saved.

[tender-rosiey]

hiii this is my first time requesting so i dont know how specific or vague i should get :,) but maybe a scenario between sukuna and reader on how their wedding ceramony(and maybe afterparty) went? i saw an edit of sukuna with lana del rey’s margaret and immediately thought you could write this scenario since all of your husband!sukuna works are chef’s kiss “:D

true oath — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: so glad you like my husband!sukuna works anon and I hope you like this as well 🥹 ALSO special thanks to @lexiene and @camelnose for beta-reading BIG HUGS TO BOTH OF YOU SRSLY MWUAHHH

the servants scurry all around the room, trying to finish as much as possible in the time frame they have been given.

meanwhile, you are sat in front of your vanity with your personal maid who is putting the final touches to your makeup. you let out a soft giggle at the franticness of the others then look at the mirror to examine yourself.

the kimono had been handpicked by sukuna himself, something he believed was only logical—given that, according to him, nobody knows you as well as he does, and of course, that you’re getting married to him.

you thought he was being overconfident in his abilities, but to your surprise, he really did end up choosing something that—both—fit you well and you liked very much.

though, you wouldn’t tell him that. you wonder what his reaction would be to how you actually look in it, especially since you barely made him agree to not seeing you until the ceremony.

“no.”

“sukuna, come on,” you huffed, clinging onto his arms, “it’s a tradition!”

“I don’t care about traditions, you know that,” he replied simply and carried you in his arms.

you pouted and rested your head on his shoulder, looking up at him with your best puppy eyes, “please, honey?”

he looks at you for a few moments before clicking his tongue and looking away, “fine.”

“yay!”

you let out a chuckle at the memory and are interrupted by the door opening. the servant at the door is heavily panting as he speaks, “the l—lord demands to begin the ceremony right now.”

one of the maids looks at him incredulously, “what?! we still have much to prefer like the pathway to his highness and the food!”

the servant nods in understanding, “I know I swear,” he gulps, “but he is getting real impatient and has expressed the need to see her highness more than once.”

you roll your eyes and stand up, “well, tell him that we will be on our way.”

the main maid gasps, “but my lady—”

“don’t fret,” you smile, “if he asks about the unfinished tasks and preparations, I will tell him that you were working on it, but his insistence on speeding things up halted you from your duty, understood?”

they all nod hesitantly. you clap your hand and grin, “well then, lets go! I am excited to see my dear future husband.”

the maids smile nervously, still trying to come to terms with your marriage to sukuna. staying by his side as his lover is one thing, but to officially be declared his wife?

they have come to the conclusion that either you are as crazy as him underneath or you simply managed to tame him—to an extent at least.

you finally exit your room, and as you walk down the hallways, servants clear the way for you, bowing their heads as they offer you their blessings.

you look around the halls, finding them decorated with flowers already, so they are probably talking about the path in the main room.

the flowers are all of your choice, and it fills you with a sense of joy that each one that you pointed out on your outings with sukuna has been placed meticulously in the arrangement that litter the halls.

you slow down your pace, partially to soak in the view a bit more and partially to tease sukuna who is probably waiting with the last smidge of patience he can manage.

sukuna, who is sat on his throne, hand on his knee as he tapped it in waiting. he knows what you’re doing. you have always tried to test just how much you can get away with, which is admittedly a lot at this point.

for example, the first time you did something that he considered audacious is when you were strolling the gardens when you first came to the palace.

you were faced with sukuna who was stood in the place where you usually lounged.

it irked you cause he had the entire garden but chose the most secluded spot—which was usually where you sat so the servants can forget about doing any chores.

you frowned, “that is my spot.”

he quirked an eyebrow but didn’t look back at you. he let out a chuckle, “and this entire palace is mine.”

“nice try,” you quipped, “but I know the palace belongs to sukuna, the king of curses.”

at that, he turned to look at you. he leaned back against the tree, arms crossed and a cold stare on his face, “and who do you think I am, human?”

“oh—shit, okay,” you spluttered, “so you’re sukuna? you look more handsome than I thought.”

a smirked plays at the corner of his lips.

he didn’t reply to you, and you—rightfully—thought that you have dug your own grave. you started to shift your footing from your tip toes to your heel, and you looked away.

he stood up, an amused smile on his face, and he passed you, “I am expecting more from you, so don’t disappoint me.”

you tilted your head, watching his retreating figure. he had left one last comment, “but the next time I see you, I expect you to kneel at my presence.”

that was the moment that sukuna started wanting to see more of you, to see how far you could go. it was a new thing to amuse himself with, so it was more than welcome.

he just doesn’t know when it started being the other way around, because you, in fact, did not kneel.

instead, you started treating him like someone who you genuinely enjoyed their company, and it threw him off slightly; however, that is one of the reasons why he is currently waiting for you, his bride to appear.

the door finally opens, and it reveals you.

sukuna’s heart doesn’t skip a beat at how the kimono fit you exactly how he thought, how your make up was simply perfect, nor how the smile on your lips exuded both happiness and mischief.

what sukuna feels instead is booming pride.

you were always his, since the moment you entered the palace, before he even laid eyes on you. but this silly tradition simply solidifies it even more in the eyes of the others.

he smirks as you finally stand in front of him. you can barely contain your grin, “hello, future husband.”

he didn’t think that a tie to him would ever make somebody so joyed. he smirks at you, patting his lap, “you should know by now that I know you best, you silly woman.”

instantly, your expression falls, and you retort, “way to ruin the mood, king.”

amusement glints in his eyes, and he pulls you close to him, “don’t you ever get tired of giving me attitude? you ought to learn your place.”

“is it not by your side, my lord?” you hum, and he chuckles, content when you finally settle on his lap.

“damn audacious woman,” he looks up at the servants that fill the room.

they are all bowing, some trembling, others alienly still. then there is you who is swinging her feet as she sits on the lap of the king of curses.

he lets out a small breath then speaks loudly, “get the rings.”

in a moment, a servant comes in, carrying a cushion where two golden rings lay. your eyes widen at the sheer amount of patterns of gems on one of the rings.

the servant kneels in front of you two, and sukuna takes the ring decorated with gems in one hand and your hand in another. it slips perfectly onto your finger, and you raise your hand.

you feel your jaw slack a bit at how intricately made it is. and upon closer inspection, you see that one of the patterns is actually sukuna’s name.

you look up at him, and he is already looking at you with a small smirk and a confident look, “you should see the look on your face,” he muses.

he takes your hand into his and raises it slightly.

he examines it quietly before letting go. you blink confused but shrug the thought of your mind. you hold his hand in yours gently, and you put the ring on him.

his ring, contrary to yours, is a lot minimal. it’s a simple golden band, but what surprises you is that your name is etched on the surface.

“sukuna, my name…?”

he looks at the ring on his finger and flexes his hand. he looks at you simply says, “figured you would like something like this.”

you smile widely and giggle, “you know, people usually carve the name of the inside.”

“and I am not usual, am I?”

you nod gently and lean against his chest, “no, you’re not.”

you honestly didn’t know what to expect from a wedding ceremony in the ryomen sukuna “style”. however, sukuna was set on…standing out and making it a memorable event.

the room was flooded with servants carrying trays upon trays of food—all which you have noticed were your favorite—and dancers that put one of the most fascinating shows you’ve seen.

you gape at how they make their moves so effortless, which you can see through just how much practice was put into it.

you look at sukuna, and you seem him smirking down at you, clearly proud of the reaction the show has gotten out of you.

“how—how long have you been preparing for this?” you ask the man.

he glances at the dancers then replies, “6 months; I needed it to be perfect, and these humans take so long to learn things.”

“also, I know that the show I organized is great—“ he says before holding your chin and making you face him, “but that enamoured face should be directed at none other than me, got it?”

you nod frantically, not out of fear, but he is staring directly into your eyes in a way that simply is far too intense. he releases your chin, humming in satisfaction.

the dance finally comes to a close, and everybody in the room bows down to the both of you.

uraume speaks up from beside you—when did they get there—head held down humbly, “it is time for you to exchange vows, my lord and m’lady.”

vows? sukuna prepared vows?

tilting your head in confusion, you look at sukuna, and he is already looking at you. he rolls his eyes, “I didn’t prepare anything, brat; don’t get ahead of yourself.”

okay, that tracks. you give him a thumbs up.

but he is quiet for a moment before speaking up, “I have no need for that; all that you need to is that,” he leans closer to you, "you are mine, entirely and without exception, in every breath you take,” he spoke lowly against your lips, “I won’t let you forget that.”

he lets out a breath of amusement at the way your eyes widen and the glimmer behind them. he wastes no time in locking his lips with you, sealing your contract for life.

—

“wooo! I am married!” you say drunkenly, giggling and swaying slightly beside your now husband.

you whip your head back at him, almost falling in the process but his hand easily steadies you, “sukuna, I am married!”

“I know,” he replies, eyeing the empty cup that was full of sake. he hums, “uraume, what was the intensity in the sake?”

they both glance at you, standing on top of a table, babbling a kind of song about your marriage and being a queen now.

you nearly trip on the covers, but sukuna nods for uraume to stop your fall. they hold you up with one hand, maintaining a safe distance, so sukuna doesn’t get protective.

“high, my lord.”

you keep giggling and squealing, and he sighs, “certainly looks like it.”

he rests his chin on his palm, watching your figure run around and keeping an eye for you. however, in the corner of his eyes, he spots a couple of men staring at you, eyes full-blown and open.

it irks him that even after that display, they still dare to look at what belongs to him.

with minimal effort, he flicks his finger, and their heads go flying to the corner of the room. some of the blood splatters onto the floor, but he pays it no mind.

“ooo, red wine!”

“don’t you dare drink that, you stupid woman!”

after a while you find yourself laid down on the bed, head dazed as you try to make sense of your surroundings. you can hear a door closing, and some heavy footsteps getting closer and closer.

finally, your husband comes into view with his arms crossed. you pull on his sleeve gently, “what about the after-party?”

he sits down beside you, and you take the chance to lay your head on his lap. he allows it but grunts in response, “after-party with you all delirious like this?”

“I am fine!” you protest, huffing and giving him the most intimidating glare you can muster.

he simply flicks your forehead, and you yelp, shielding your face away from him, “you’re so rude!”

“pretty sure, you aren’t supposed to reply your king and husband like that,” he states. he squishes your face with one hand and quirks an eyebrow, “you’re testing your limits.”

“I don’t care!”

“oh?”

you note the change of tone almost instantly, and it is enough to sober you up.

you look up, wide-eyed at him, and on his face is a devious smirk, and behind his eyes are thoughts that are probably going to be the end of you tonight.

he leans down slightly, “I have a different kind of after-party in mind,” one of his hands trails to hold your wrist, “which I think you will quite like,” you try resisting for even a second, but you’re no match for him, “starting now.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss@pompompurin1028@scul-pted@requiem626k@nameless-shrimp@sonder-paradise@jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author

@stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412@maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1@sad-darksoul@ko-fi-heart@pumpkindudeishere@suyaaachin@babyqueen17@chaosguy352@murakami-kotone@sukun4ryomen@yumieis@hearts4itoshi@sleepyxxhead@dunixxd@sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08@spacebaby1@arabellatreaty@viscade @washeduphasbeen @janbannan @sugurubabe @enidths @mwtsxri @peppersapro @uranosbaaee @lifeisadumpie @guacam011y @kurooandkenmasslut @callmemirro @poopooindamouf

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will put you on gege's list

check out my buy me a coffee!

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hatred & Love

"... burn in the same intensity," Gwayne laughs as I walk off. His expression softens but no one but him will ever know. He links his hands together, "or so I'm told, princess."

Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen!Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, enemies to lovers, fuck boy!gwayne, fluff ig, when daemon said hightower cunt he meant gwayne because he Serves™, typos, etc.

I saunter down the hall on my way back to my chambers. My ears perk at the sound of laughter from the distance. Immediately, my jaw tightens in recognition, and my feet quicken its pace. I squeeze my hands together, wanting nothing more than to avoid whom I knew I might encounter.

The gods fail me as I spot the aggravating Hightower, merrily loitering in the gardens with his company. Dare they drink in broad daylight? Clad in his sigil and armor, no less.

Tactless.

Apparently, he had won another silly tourney. How irritating of him to celebrate in my home. The Keep would surely benefit from his absence. Gods know the peace I feel when he is not around.

Gwayne's eyes drift. I can feel him looking at my handmaids, at me, as we pass. He laughs at whatever foolishness his friend tells him; the noise grates at me. I scoff under my breath, "barbarian."

Gwayne smirks and calls out, "blessed morn, princess!"

"How can it, when you are here, and it is midday?" I retort, sparing him no glance or pause.

He chuckles as he stands. My face twists as I hear his clanking armour. My heart races at the sound of footsteps accelerating towards me.

My arm is pulled back. I shoot a glare at Gwayne and his stupid face as he releases me. His lopsided smirk aggravates me further as he says, "is a congratulations not in order?"

I snort, "for whom," I raise a brow, "for you?"

"For you," he tilts his head back, placing his hands behind him, "the most temperate princess of all. So comely, so-" his dimples show, "sweet."

I feel my face begin to tighten.

He sticks out his lower lip, "they had no one to crown queen of love and beauty in your absence. Twas a shame."

My head cocks to the side. My brows knit, "you mean you?"

"What?"

"You had no one to crown Queen of Love and Beauty," I step forward.

He stays put as I impose into his personal space. His eyes dart up and down; the muscle on his jaw feathers.

"Were you so anguished by my absence that the victory left a bitter taste in your lips?" I pout and sigh as I bring my hands behind me, effectively mocking him.

Gwayne watches how my chest sinks. His expression chips away a fraction, but it is enough to make me smirk, and I do so happily.

That is, until he licks his lips.

"Tis victory enough that you know of it," his smirk grows. Mine fades as he continues, "my heart sings at the newfound knowledge that you gossip about me, princess."

I chuckle dryly, admittedly louder than necessary, "I need no gossip! Tis not hard to hear about you, when your blabbermouth is audible even in the dungeon's depths!"

His defenses slip. A giddy chuckle escapes his diaphragm, and the rich sound makes my stomach drop. His eyes crinkle and his hands relax to his side. He lets himself relish his amusement before he mutters, "how then would I gain your attention?"

My lips part.

His brows raise.

My breath hitches.

Wind blows my silver hair into my mouth and the sound of me spitting it out snaps him out of his trance. Gwayne shifts on his leg, "perhaps I should pull your hair."

My upper lip curls at his childish response, and he chortles at my look of disgust. "You are a hateful beast," I roll my eyes and turn about.

"Hatred and love burn in the same intensity," Gwayne laughs as I walk off. His expression softens but no one but him will ever know. He links his hands together, "or so I'm told, princess."

[miinos]

I think everything would be fine if I could just go back in time 4 years ago and see my grandma one more time

[hobis-hope95]

Blessed by the Gods

fancast!Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader

Summary: You, the only daughter of Amos Bracken, had just been offered away in marriage to a man much older than you, and in the hopes of having some peace and quiet for you to express your anguish towards the Gods that allowed this, you go to a place you found a couple months ago - a beautiful clearing with flowers scattered around and a weirwood tree in the middle. You knew it was risky, as you'd seen him there before, but in a moment of distraction Benjicot Blackwood found you and now you must suffer the consequences.

Warnings: 18+, enemies to lovers, a little fluf (veeery little), kinda dom x sub, swearing, hunting (it's basicaly it but I don't know if there's another term for it, when you read you'll know), smut, porn with (very) little plot, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink, praising kink.

Authors note: Heyy, so this is my very first time posting something I wrote (I do write a lot but mostly I get stuck and end up not finishing it) because I'm OBCESSED with Kieran Burton since I saw him in the goddamn teaser, plus I've been reading plenty of fanfics of him and two of them particularly inspired me for this (I'm sorry, I don't remember the names or the authors to tag them). Last but not least, English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.

You should hate him. You should’ve never been in that place, for you knew it was Blackwood territory, and should’ve heard him getting closer before. But you didn’t. You knew he went there frequently and if he saw you in the golden dress you wore in that particular place, he would definitely tell you to go back to your lands, but not without some provocation first. But that weirwood tree was so beautiful even if hidden in the middle of the woods, the flowers that bloom around it were so unique that you had to go there and admire them in a way to flee from the confinements of Stone Hedge. Or you told yourself that this was the reason you went there.

You found it the first time by accident. You had got lost in the woods, no track of a clearing nearby for you to situate yourself, when you saw the red leaves and decided to get near, for you knew that the weirwood roots extended long through the floor – making itself exclusive for a few yards in its radium – and you would be able to see the sky without the treetops being on your way. When you got there, though, the place was so gorgeous you could not leave right away.

After that, you tried to memorize as much of the path you could and return to that same place for moments of peace. That was until one day you heard footsteps – of one person it seemed – and you hushed to hide away. Moments later, hidden behind some bushes, you saw when no other than Benjicot Blackwood appeared through another end of the clearing where, you didn’t notice before, had a small trail that probably led straight to Raventree Hall.

Bloody Ben. Lord Blackwood. Lord of the house you were supposed to hate, and yet you found him so extremely gorgeous. You’d saw him only a few times. On Riverrun where your families sometimes were called by their Paramount Lord or near the stream that divided their lands, often arguing with your cousin in the company of a few others of his House and a few times you ended up being the victim, getting back home after slapping him across his face with his obscene remarks or just leaving after outsmarting the man – for the second you took much pride in.

On some of the times you’d been on the clearing you ended up having to hide when hearing his footsteps and waiting for him to leave before you could move. He’d mostly sit in one of the roots of the old tree and do whatever he felt like doing at the moment. You’d seen him reading, cleaning his sword, crafting some arrows and doing nothing at all, but he always stayed for about two hours before finally leaving.

Today however, probably because you were stressed with the news of your arranged marriage, you didn’t hear him getting close. When he saw your dress, the colour of your house shining through the rays of sunshine, a smirk crept in his face with the ideas he had in mind.

He knew it was wrong, hideous, the idea of wanting anything that came with the red stallion in a golden shield, your House’s coat of arms. He knew that from any woman he could want, you should not be a possibility. But with your hair that finished around your hips and a face that looked like a gift from the Gods, allied with your wits and challenging manner, he could not lie to himself that more than once he woke up in the middle of the night hot and bothered after a much-detailed dream about you – and eventually would handle his hardness with the thought of defiling you and making you his.

What he didn’t know, and you tried to deny it as much as you could, was that you also had conflicting thoughts about him. Since the first time you’d saw him in Riverrun, his face showing a mischievous glow with a smirk on his lips as your family entered the room, you fought with your own body as your heart raced and your cheeks burned in his presence. You hated the way he mocked your cousin and told you the lousiest of things, his lascivious expression making you hot and bothered as well, and you hated that every time you saw him, you knew that at the end of the day you would toss and turn for hours trying to erase his face from your mind.

You told yourself it was just because he was the only one who didn't walk on eggshells when talking to you – or anyone for that matter – and because you liked the challenge, but deep down you knew that your feelings for him were far from hatred, and the idea of trying to find out the true meaning of them scared you.

“Gods, have I done anything to anger you so that I’m faded to marry Forrester Frey? I would do anything, please!” You asked to the faced weirwood tree, knowing you’d have no answer but desperate enough to look like a crazy woman who talks to a tree by yourself. What you did not know was that someone did hear you.

Benjicot took his blade from his waist, taking extra care to not be heard, and when he got close enough to you, he acted quickly, one arm holding your body – your arms entrapped – and the one with the blade stopping on your neck.

“My, my, look what we have in here, a lost Bracken broodmare, far away from home” Her breath got caught up on her throat with the feeling of the cold blade on her skin and her heart jumped on her chest with his body pressed against her back and his voice so close to her ear “Good thing that I found you before any other predator did, huh?”

“Let me go, please!!” You pleaded, pure panic spilling from your voice, and Benji almost moaned – he had no idea that having you pressed against his body in panic would arouse him that much “Oh no, my darling, I could not do such a thing. You just committed a crime, you see, for you are far away from your father’s lands and what fair lord would I be if I do not punish criminals like you?”

“Please, I’ll vanish from your sight in less than a minute and no one will know about this, okay? Just please, let me go!!” Your eyes were burning with unshed tears with the thought of the possible punishment he had in mind, and you didn’t stay still, moving your body in an attempt to free yourself from him even if useless, as he was taller and way stronger.

“No, no, no, my darling, I could not possibly do that, your Bracken lord can play blind on your actions, but I am a serious ruler and punish all criminals as their crimes demand” He tightened his grip on your body, his fingers pressing harder against the clothed skin of your waist, and as he continually pressed on you, a warm feeling cursed through you until it reached in between your thighs “But what punishment would be enough? Thieves, who take things that don't belong to them, have their hands cut off. Murderers, who take lives that do not belong to them, pay with their own lives. Now you, who committed invasion of lands that don’t belong to you, what could I possibly do to punish you correctly?”

Once again you pleaded, ‘please’ sounding like a repeated prayer on your lips as he inhaled the sweet smell of your hair “I could not invade your father’s lands, or I would be committing a crime of my own” He stated as if he did not listen to your pleads and when he spoke again, his voice was huskier and low like a whisper “But I could invade your territory myself”

You hated yourself for how your body reacted to his words, your thighs squeezing together when you felt the heat on your lower belly grow, and hated even more that a side of you wanted him to go ahead with his threat full of mischievous intentions. Him, on the other hand, was more than pleased to hold you that way, his front fully in contact against your behind and his groin pressed against your back.

“Please, Benjicot, lord Blackwood, please” You repeated and started struggling even more when you felt his hard cock pressed against your back, trying to move away “Please, please! What, my lady, do you want me to do?” He mocked, repeating what you said in a higher pitch, as his hand with the knife left your throat and went to your hip “You want me to be gentle?”

Another wave of heat made you close your eyes for a second, a hard sigh leaving your lips and you didn’t answer. He laughed when he heard you “This is supposed to be a punishment, but I’ll make an exception if you behave” He said, his breath hot against your ear as the hand on your hip went further down and grabbed the skirt of your dress, pulling it up.

Your neck now free from the threat of his blade, an idea came to your mind. You were not sure if it would work, but it was your only hope, so you took it. Bending your head forward to gain some impulse, you took a deep breath – bracing yourself for the upcoming pain – and shook your head back with all your strength, hitting his head on the side.

Benjicot, surprised with what had just happened and with his head pulsating, faltered his grip on you long enough for you to get rid of his arm around you and start running, your head spinning and your vision still blurry from the blow. You felt and heard when the skirt of your dress ripped, before the other man’s hand lost its grip on the fabric, but you didn’t turn around to check the damage.

With your vision still recovering and the pulsing pain in your head, you headed to the woods, still not sure if you followed the right path, only caring about getting as far of him as possible. Benjicot, on the other hand, quickly recovered from the dizziness, the pain easily subsiding, and he growled before following you, euphoric and feeling his blood rush through his body straight to his cock with the expectation of hunting you down.

You ran as fast as you could, your breathing burning in your lungs and your legs aching, and tried to dodge the trees and bushes in your way. Even with all your efforts, you heard his steps and breathing not that far away, and fear crept inside you, being the one thing that prevented you from collapsing in that moment.

He knew those woods like his own chambers – losing track of how many times he went there to hunt, explore, have a moment of peace or take out his anger on the trees – and he had the advantage of being taller than you, his muscles trained for endurance in the battlefields, so even if you ran with all your strength, it would still be easy enough for him to reach you.

“Bracken!! Do not think you can run away from your punishment, you’re still on my lands” Your step became unsteady when his voice seemed closer than you imagined and after tripping over a tree root, you couldn't keep your balance, ending up falling with your body and arms protecting you from ending face first into the grass.

As you were turning to place your hands on the ground and help you stand, you heard a twig cracking right behind you and soon enough his voice made you turn your head “Poor mare, doesn’t know her way home, but don’t worry, I’ll show you when I finish your punishment if you want”

You tried to turn yourself so you could stand back up, but before you could do anything, he caught your ankle and pulled you closer, turning you to face him “No, no my darling, you’re not escaping me again, now come here, the quicker it starts, the quicker it finishes, if you want... or you could just enjoy it”

“No, no, no!!” You repeated like a prayer and when he positioned himself between your legs, you started to punch and scratch at his chest, face and arms “Calm down, I think I was mistaken, for you are not a mare but a kitten, but no need to show your claws. I know I said that I would be gentle if you behaved and you didn’t, but I do have a soft spot for beautiful girls like you”

Quickly enough, as if your efforts meant nothing, Benjicot grabbed both your wrists and held them above your head, leaning his body closer to yours – his groin pressing against the middle of your thighs and his mouth just a few inches away, his breath hitting your face.

“You know what surprised me about your behaviour just now?” He asked, looking at your eyes, before he kissed your jaw and a hand went to your ankle “Because every time I see you, be in the Tully’s assize or the boundary, you are always looking at me so needy that makes me want to fuck you right there”

He left open-mouthed kisses through your neck as you felt the hairs on your nape stand and his hand began to move up your leg through the fabric of your dress “So why now are you pretending you do not want this?” He moved his hips forward, his hardness pressing against your clothed folds, and you didn’t have the strength to hold a moan.

“Be-because I don’t! You Blackwoods are just so ugly that I’m surprised to see something like that in the middle of a crowd” You spat, trying to regain some of your pride, but he chuckled, lifting his head with a smirk.

“Act all you can, kitten, but that moan just annulled everything you said, you know” His hand now was in your inner thigh and as he stopped talking, his calloused fingers went straight to your folds. You bit the inside of your cheeks to hold your voice and furrowed your brows, but he still looked almost amused at your efforts.

“Fuck you” You twisted in his grip but could not move enough to escape his touch and he took the chance to move his index finger through your folds, watching as you closed your eyes and your hips grounded into his touch “Oh, my lady, deny it as much as you want, but your body will remain true to its desires”

His smirk grew wider, his tongue sliding through his teeth, as his thumb found your clit and he watched in pleasure as you clenched your jaw and your legs opened wider for him. He circled your bundle of nerves with his thumb while his middle finger slid down your folds, reaching your entrance, and didn’t waste the opportunity to shove his finger inside you to the point where only his last knuckle was visible outside.

You moaned loudly, having been caught off guard, and your walls tightened around his finger “Fuck, you’re so tight, it’ll feel delicious around my cock” Benjicot started moving his finger, almost completely withdrawing before plunging it back inside, while still rubbing his thumb through your clit, and soon enough you were a mess, your thoughts fogged with the pleasure his hand was giving you.

You didn’t even notice when his hand let go of your wrists, too caught up on the feeling of his finger inside you and his pace growing faster by the second, as you fought against the undeniable pleasure you were feeling, and when he curled up his digit inside you, the thin string of pride you hung yourself by collapsed, giving in to the urge of your feelings and enjoy as he claimed you.

“M-more, please” You whispered, completely giving in to the ache of your heart. That was why you could not stray your eyes from him at every assize, that was why you would walk too close to the boundary and why you would come all the way from Stone Hedge to that specific clearing with that specific weirwood tree.

Your heart wanted him and there was no denying it, not anymore, not when his middle finger curled inside you so deliciously that made you see stars through your eyelids and not when you caught a glimpse of him and he looked at you like a starved man “Say again, kitten? I didn’t hear you” He teased, thinking you had yet again tried to deny your wishes.

“More, please, Benjicot” You said before you moaned again, your eyes fully opening now with your brows furrowed in pleasure, and for a second he wished he had a portrait painted of you like this. He pushed another finger inside, his pace now relentless with his cock throbbing through his breeches, and with his free hand he grasped the front of your dress, tearing the fabric to expose your full breasts.

“Stopped putting up a fight now, kitten? But this is not a treat, this is a punishment” He said as he curled both his fingers inside you once again before completely withdrawing from your wet cunt. He lifted the fingers that were on you seconds ago and looked at them, making a disapproving sound with his tongue “Just look at that, look at the mess you made on my fingers, huh?”

He tapped at your lower lip with his wet fingers, the smell of yourself arousing you even more “Now be a good girl and open up” And you did as he said. You closed your lips around his fingers as you felt them press at your tongue and moaned as you tasted yourself “Clean them”

You ignored the smug smirk on his lips, knowing he was enjoying bossing you around more than anything, and hollowed your cheeks sucking on his calloused digits. Now it was his turn to let out a pleased groan and when you looked at his eyes his pupils were blown, his irises darker, what almost made you moan on his fingers again.

“I’ve heard you back there by the weirwood tree, your cunt of a father wants to sell you to that old Frey?” Benjicot retreated his fingers from your mouth and ran them down your chin, your saliva running through your skin as he slowly traced a way through your neck and collarbones until he reached one of your breasts, both his digits circling your already pointy nipple as he watched your velvety skin under his touch, his smirk had gone away from his face “That old dog deserves not even a piece of you”

You felt your heart skip a beat with his words, trying not to conclude anything for he had not confirmed yet “But soon enough he won’t be a problem, don’t worry kitten” He twisted your nipple between his index and thumb, trying to calm down his anger with the thought of Forrester Frey being anywhere near you, before you asked “How?”

“Because after I finish with your punishment, no man will take you as their wife” He pinched your nipple and you moaned again, the threat mixed with his ministrations and the dark expression in his face being almost too much.

The Blackwood lord moved his other hand to the laces of his breeches, undoing them while still stimulating your breast, and your breath hitched on your throat as you looked down, fixed on his slender fingers dealing with the strings, seeing as it became loose around his hips before he had to let go of your breast to get rid of the fabric that covered his lower part.

As he took off his breeches he came back to his position between your legs, your thighs on top of his, and his smirk placed itself back on his face as he watched your eyes widen with the sight of his bare hard cock.

“You’re- this is-, you are so big” You let out, shock and want on your face as he pushed your dress up, revealing your glistening cunt to him “I know, kitten, but do not worry, it will fit” You lifted your gaze from his hips to his eyes, finding him already staring back at you, and all you could think was that you wanted him more than anything in the world.

He placed both hands on your hips, bringing you closer, and grabbed him in his hand to slide through your folds, collecting as much of your juices as he could. He wanted you, desperately, he wanted to completely fill you with his length and fuck you mercilessly until all he heard was your screams of pleasure, he wanted to ruin you to any other man and to have only you for the rest of his fucking life.

And so, with the promise of punishing you in his head, he shoved his cock all the way inside you in one thrust, leaving you gasping, your mouth opened and your eyes closed, the stretch and pain of your first time almost bringing you to tears. He had never experienced something like this before – as his previous experiences had been with whores – and didn’t even dare to move, your cunt gripping him so tightly he thought that if he moved at that moment he would cum on the spot.

As he noticed your eyes closed, he pinched your nipple “Open your eyes, kitten, I want to look at your beautiful eyes” You sighed before opening them and when you did, he noticed the tears you tried not to spill. That made something snap inside him, breaking all the will he had to hurt and punish you, and he bended down to meet your face, his breath on your face and his eyes on your lips.

“As soon as I saw you there, next to the weirwood tree, all I wanted to do was to hurt you, make you regret stepping on Blackwood territory on that golden dress of yours, but it’s rather difficult to focus with that pretty face” One of his forearms was keeping him steady as his free hand came to your breasts, the feeling of your soft skin on his calloused fingers almost making him moan “Go on, tell me how you hate me, fight me, tell me how you are disgusted by me, so I can focus on punishing you”

A moan. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but all you could do was moan and it went straight to his cock, throbbing inside your warm and tight walls, still not moving. As he glanced up, he met your teary eyes and opened mouth in an erotic portrait, he growled as he let go of the rest of his resistance and crashed his lips against yours in a desperate kiss. As your mouth was already agape when he did it, his tongue easily slipped inside and found yours, and you reached for the back of his head, your fingers curling on his black hair.

As he kissed you hungrily, he started moving, his cock almost leaving you entirely before pushing himself back inside, and the sensation of being full of him was so good that you could not control your moans. As he felt the vibrations coming from your mouth, Benjicot squeezed your breast hard and you were sure that would leave a mark – but you couldn’t care less.

As his pace grew a little faster, the pure pleasure replacing the pain of the stretch each time his hips met yours, he let go of your lips, glaring at your face with the squirms and sighs you let out. Even if his dreams were vivid, nothing would compare to having you like this – a mess of fabric, hair and red bruised lips – at the moment, the feeling of your walls always so tight around him and your soft skin on his hand made him grunt.

Your eyes went to his on that exact moment and you could swear that your walls squeezed around him at the sound. He placed his face on the crook of your neck as he started biting and placing kisses to the skin as a way to mark you, and started going down through your collarbone to the front of your chest before placing his lips to the nipple that wasn’t being stimulated.

The wet noises of skin slapping against skin and the feeling of both your nipples being teased made your eyes roll back in pleasure and now you didn’t even try to muffle your sounds anymore “Such a noisy kitten, taking me so well” He praised, lifting his head from your chest, and held your hips with both his hands, so strong that you now worried that you’d get bruises all over your body “You should be mine and not that Frey cunt”

With his firm grip on your hips, he pressed deeper into you, your back arching from the ground and trying to keep up with his movements “Please... Benji” Two of the only three words that you could pronounce at the moment – the third one being more – too caught up with pleasure to form a coherent phrase, and Benji laughed at that, full of pride for making the so beautiful and correct daughter of Amos Bracken look like a common whore “Do you want to be mine, kitten? Mine to fuck and use as I please?”

His words aroused you even more, his hoarse voice sending waves of heat straight to your cunt, and you tried to nod your head in affirmation, because that seemed like the only thing you could do at the moment “Use your words, kitten, I know you can do it” He moved one of his hands so he could brush past your clit and that made you gasp.

“Y-yes please, I want you, I want you Benji” As she nearly screamed, the man felt satisfied, his hunger for you only getting bigger with the way you moved your hips in time with his, your face making the most erotic expressions as your moans and repeated words sounded like an exclusive prayer for him.

“I’m going to fuck a baby in you, fill you with my seed so much you’ll be leaking for days, so your bloody father won’t have an excuse but to marry you to me” He grunted in between his words, moving faster and deeper as he assaulted your clit, and you started feeling a knot form inside of you, the pleasure becoming almost too much “Please, please” You didn’t even know what you were begging for, but only wanting this to never end.

“Yeah? Do you want to be my wife? To have your Bracken womb filled with Blackwood children? Your cunt to be used by a Blackwood cock? Is that what you want?” He leaned in, one of his hand still giving you pleasure, his head once again going to the crook of your neck as he grasped at your thigh, squeezing the flesh as he moved you so you could wrap your leg around his waist, and he heard you when you weakly repeated “Yesyesyes”

“So I’ll make sure you get until the last drop of my seed to, soon enough, you be swelling with my babe” He whispered into your ear as he pressed further to your clit and his pace soon enough was so fast you thought he would break you. Your moans got louder as you wrapped both your legs around his waist, the knot on your lower abdomen about to snap, and he looked at you before whispering “Go on, cum for me, kitten”

And that’s when it happened. The knot snapped within you as you flooded with pleasure, your whole body spasming as your walls grew impossibly tighter around him, milking him, and with just a few more thrusts he shoved himself as deep as he could inside you before he shot his load straight to your core, coating your womb. As he started coming down from his high, he captured your lips in a sloppy kiss and let most of his weight on top of you, which you didn’t care as his warmth and his skin on yours was all you wanted at the moment.

You let out a dissatisfied grunt as he removed his softening cock from your cunt, some of his seed spilling from you, and lied to your side, pulling you to his embrace “Did you really mean it? Marrying me?”

“Yes” You said, the warmth spreading across your face “Well, you filled me with your seed and the possibility of me getting pregnant is almost certain now. Marrying you is the right thing to do” You tried to be cautious with your words, but for the love of the Gods, he had just fucked you in the middle of the woods, caution was one thing you had abandoned long ago “Okay, I admit that since I first saw you in the assize I haven’t been able to remove you from my thoughts and I dreaded the day that the news of your possible engagement would come.”

You took a breath before finishing “We have nothing to do with each other, our families fucking hate one another, but every time I got inside Riverrun fortress, I hoped you’d be there” You said, absently moving your fingers through the skin of his chest, but did not dare to meet his gaze, for you were now as embarrassed as you could be.

“I am glad to hear that, for I have almost the exact same feelings as you. I ached for being able to get closer to you at the assize and to kiss you when I saw you standing next to the boundary. I almost went to Kermit Tully to ask him to propose a betrothal between us” He answered, his hand on the back of your head caressing through your hair. You lifted your head from his chest, his words making your heart flutter, and he leaned his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss, both your and his feelings pouring down into each other.

“But I must stop you from going straight to my father, for he would kill you before you would be able to ask to see him” One of your hands went to his cheek as you parted to breathe, only now noticing you left nail marks there, and stroke his skin.

“Oh, I do know that, for I would never take you back to Stone Hedge with your dress like this” He laughed when he saw your eyes widen at his words, remembering now of the tore skirt and bust of your dress, and quickly added “I’ll give you my cloak and we’ll go to Raventree Hall for you to change, after that we’ll go straight to Riverrun and ask Lord Tully to bless our union, for your father would never go against an order of his Lord Paramount”

“That sounds like a solid plan, not that bad for a Blackwood” You teased and he smirked “And you were not that bad for a Bracken” You gasped in false shock at his words, lightly slapping his shoulder, and he laughed “It will surely be good to have you as my wife, a good way to keep things interesting”

“I hope so, you Blackwoods are not usually that fun though” You bit your lower lip as you’d seen him arch his brows “Well, it depends on what fun you’re talking about, because at least in one kind of ‘fun’ I exceed expectations and you just proved it right”

"Shut up!" You exclaimed and he turned you again before kissing you.

“Don’t need to ask twice, my lady” He said and you kissed him again.

It could have not been the way you expected it to go, but one thing you could say: the Gods did grant you a way to free yourself from a marriage with someone twice your age, still uniting two people together, in hopes of a prosperous – and maybe more peaceful – future ahead.

So that's it! As I wrote it mainly for the smut part (oh god, what a good first impression) the plot part may be a little off, I'm sorry. Please, feel free to leave a note if you guys liked it and maybe soon I post another, a series this time.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Cowboy!141 x Noble's Daughter!Reader (My Version of the AU)

(How you meet them)

Synopsis: Being the daughter of a noble is a jarring task as you must be always able to keep up appearances, so what exactly happens when your family hires 4 men? Men who seem dangerous yet you know nothing about, all happening to be part of the same group of people. What happens if they take an interest in you? Someone unattainable, forbidden yet also undoubtedly tempting..

Hi lovelies! Lia here again, apologies for the delay and inactivity, I had exams, projects and the recent release of part one of Bridgerton season 3. Speaking of the series, this was inspired by that and RDR2 (none of the elements are historically accurate, I think?), I genuinely hope this does well because this account has not been doing well as of late. With my mutuals leaving Tumblr and some friends are currently ignoring me, I genuinely don't know what to do anymore. From what I know, @ghouljams was the first one who created content in the cowboy!CoD AU but mine is a lot different? So please don't kill me 😭

This will result in headcanons for the next few posts because my brain is attached to this AU so you will be seeing more Cowboy!Outlaw!141.

(Really FEM!Reader, maybe also Plus-size!(Chubby??)Reader?? I don't even know anymore)

More content: My CoD Masterlist

Bless your noble mother's heart, although your was seen as this very respectable and intellectual man of nobility, your mother had this heart of gold having no idea that these rugged men he has newly hired were outlaws, criminals.. murderers?

Yet your father did, something about him felt sinister, well all noble money comes from not so noble cause.

Although your mother wanted you to get to know and be familiar with the newest staff members who would do all the gnarly, energy consuming and physically challenging tasks, she did not want her daughter interacting with men who would be considered improper like seemingly mysterious men who happened to be from a far town looking for a living.

Well without your father's or mother's knowledge, that rule was thrown out the window the moment you saw one of them carrying over some of the crates that contain given by some men to your father for his services and connections, particularly drawn to the one who never seemed to take off the cloth on his face.

Something about the way he stared at you, not seeing the rest of his face, depriving you of clues as to how he felt upon seeing the only lady of the house. You gave him a warm smile, for a moment you thought you saw his lips through the mask perk up, before walking off to the lounging hall for your tutoring on language.

It was odd, you observed them from afar a lot, your personal garden was your sanctuary and you can't help but do so when they talked so loudly, no sign of inside voices.

They called each other names.. Price, Gaz, Soap and Ghost. The man you encountered was named Ghost? Surely it's some alias. Well that wasn't something you should fixate on anyway so you leave for your tasks.

You find yourself feeling a little out of it after your lessons, hoping that a little stroll through the stables behind your family's estate would either help the information sink in or keep it shun out of your mind. Either way you'd find yourself in tranquil, you heard a thud behind you and turn to find so called "Ghost" behind you.

He had dropped a crate, one filled with weapons and uncharacteristically hastily picked up all of them without paying much attention. Such an action caused him to unknowingly cut his finger on one of the blades that fell out of it's sheath.

Your eyes filled with concern as you rush over to take his hand in yours before he tried to brush off the cut and get back to his duties. You knew it was dumb to be worried over something so small that the grown man doesn't even flinch and yet there you were, practically cradling his hand in yours.

A white handkerchief that was embroidered with your favorite flowers by your own mother, something you held dear and kept pristine.. using it on his finger to keep the blood from further gushing and wipe off whatever of the red residue was left on his hand.

As the blood stopped to your relief, you brought his finger and spontaneously pressed a feather-like kiss on the wound. You were so used to doing that for your little cousins, nieces and nephews that it was just a force of habit, your face flushed the very moment you looked up to meet his gaze, what possessed you to do that?

You placed the handkerchief in his hand and composed yourself, you told him to keep it and to bring the wound to the physician to get some antiseptics before running off to god knows where.

A few days after that incident, you meet another one of them except..

You couldn't help but rush, you were late for this supposedly short promenade your family has spontaneously planned. Your favourite gloves are no where to be found and with the three sisters you have, you checked room to room, seeing who might've borrowed the lacey white fabric with the sewn in bows.

Without looking your body slams into a wall, is it a wall? You softly groan, your delicate fingers brushing on your forehead that felt like it would bruise later on. Your eyes remained closed for a few seconds as the impact caused you to feel shaken, light headed.

You open your eyes to one of the outlaws, you blink up as your vision adjusted a bit, his dark skin against the light from the window really did something..

"Are you hurt, my lady?" He asked, his deep voice was smooth and rich, almost velvety. He held you up from falling.

"N-no.. Thank you, uhh..."

"Kyle, her ladyship can call me Kyle. Although I hope it's not too informal to your status, my lady." You smiled at his words, certainly a respectful fellow despite him and his group's reputation.

You felt warmth on your sides, his palms against the fabric that separates his skin on yours, he was only being kind for steadying you after you almost fell from the earlier impact but his touch felt addicting, too much as it continued to linger.

"Kyle, it is then" You said softly, suddenly a bit more aware of your surroundings.

Fuck. He was sure he felt something just by hearing the way his name fell from your lips. Normally he'd give people, employers only and only his last name. He was so used to having been called by "Garrick", he had no idea his name would sound different, so sweet coming from a pretty maiden's lips.

He stutters for a moment, realizing that his hands are touching a lady inappropriately, something only someone she's married to would have the privilege of doing. He swiftly removed his hands from your waist and formally excused himself from your presence with the excuse of his duties.

The next time you met one of them was through your mother's ball, she was always the first to throw one to bless the upcoming season of hopes that you, your sisters and brothers shall wed soon.

You had no taste for it after having a lord step on your feet at least 20 times and not even bother to apologize with how high of a pedestal he puts himself in, you found yourself escaping through the back of your estate to the gazebo in the center of your beloved garden.

You took your tight, restricting shoes off and felt the grass on your feet as you walked toward the gazebo, now close enough to see that you weren't alone but you still continued, your feet against the cooling marble platform. You sigh as you prop yourself to sit on the stone railing next to the stranger who was currently taking a puff of his cigar.

You turned your head away, you were thrown into a fit of coughs from the strong scent of the smoke while you swatch some of it away. You tried not to heave for actual air to breathe while the man next to you chuckles, making you feel irritable.

"M'sorry love.." his gruff voice whispers which make you turn towards him, the man offering you a comforting smile.

"Shouldn't you be in there with your family, miss?" Price asked. To which you hum, "I wanted some "fresh air" and silence" you answered. Moments of silence have passed, nothing but the sound of wind that rattled the trees a bit and each other's breaths.

You look towards the light of windows of your home, the ballroom filled with laughter and talk of celebration. You sighed, knowing you must return as your parents would come looking for you, also not wanting for them to punish you for sticking around unchaperoned with their new hires.

He knew you were about to leave, it would be rude for a gentleman to leave a lady without help, hmm? He wasn't a gentleman though, an outlaw, one of the worst titles one can ever bestow a man. He was considered to be of low honor but who cares?

He kneels down on one knee in front of you, gently taking your leg in his huge hand using his thigh as leverage so he can gently slip on you shoes. For a moment you felt his forehead on your knee before he pulls away and offers you his hand..

You took it hesitantly as he helped you off the railing, you look up at him meeting his eyes. Something about them burned, making your stomach churn but not in a manner of discomfort.

You watched his back as he walked away, his footsteps on the cold marble the only thing to be heard as the noise died down..

The morning after, you've barely had enough sleep, was it the events of the previous night? Nevermind, at least you had a day or two for yourself after conducting a proposition to your parents. Free time was worth it for the sore feet you had to endure.

Not really in the mood to change into anything tight or itchy, you remain in your night clothes. Finally, some well deserved time alone, comfortable and flipping pages of a book was your type of thing.

Sure, socializing has it's benefits however nothing beats your time alone or so you thought you were alone..

A table and a few chairs were set up by the servants to your request at the gazebo, giving you the perfect view of the greenery that you have planted the seeds of.

You had your head comfortably leaned onto lounge as you continued reading. Buts something was just so distracting, a few minutes of the constant snipping and twigs breaking, you look up wanting to see who was there tending to the garden.

Your eyes widened a bit, it was improper for a lady to stare a man who has very less clothing. Nothing but his jeans, belt and hat keeping his face shielded from the heat is toned, muscular and tanned torso and arms exposed.

A little later, you hear a grunt coming from the man, Soap was it? You can't quite remember much from the night you eavesdropped on them. You heard his footsteps on the grass nearing the gazebo but you didn't bother to look up, not until..

"Ma'am? May I stay 'ere a moment? Afraid the heat is getting to me" You look up from your book and sit up to see the same man breathless. You nodded and watched as he sat on the stairs, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Excuse me.." You said, loud enough to hear and catch his attention, he looks back from his position. You moved one of the chairs to face your lounge, "Please invite yourself here, I can only think of how uncomfortable the floor might be, especially when you are working at a weather like this one" Signaling him to take a seat on the chair you adjusted.

He gets up yet reluctantly makes himself comfortable on the seat, you pick a drinking glass on display from the silver tray and poured some of the cold lemonade into it, you place it down on the table and slide it to him, offering a warm smile. Your fingers on the base of the drinking glass slightly brushing against his as he takes it.

He thanks you for it and you both enjoyed the tranquil and peace.. yet you can't go back to your book, asking questions and being further interested by the man each minute passes.

The way he talked was something else, it was alluring, comforting and oddly lively, he's told you about his "past" and how he used to be a child.

"Was quite the troublemaker you see, though my family was poor and food was scarce, I found a way to feed the street animals I adore—"

You look at him, so invested on what he was about to say next, it was refreshing to have someone to converse with who isn't interrogating you and practically forcing their ideals of how many babies they want you to birth for them, practically wanting you to die for them.

"I used to steal bread from my neighbor, not a very nice man, selfish really. So I'd often sneak into his shack, leftovers, scraps and anything light enough for me to carry. I'd bring it to Lassie, my favorite stray dog. You remind me a lot of her Bonnie" He said.

"I remind you of a dog?" You weren't so sure if that's a compliment, then again he just called you "Bonnie", what exactly does that mean?

"Home, you remind me of home. Can't say I have felt this comfortable in years, friends and I are usually reserved yet you bring this side out of me, Bonnie. So what spell or witchcraft did you use?" He joked raising a brow at you, for a moment his attention falters as he looks down at the soft mounds of skin exposed on your chest.

"Eyes up here, Johnny."

You warned as you laugh at his question, you notice one of the servants coming out from the estate and into the garden, Johnny smiles and tips his hat to you to excuse himself so that he could get back to work.

Well this is interesting.. isn't it?

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @snowdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo

[sh1-n0bu]

✿ 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 ✿

characters: self aware!acheron x isekai!gn!reader, slight dan heng x reader to the end

warnings: fluff, poor attempt at humor, consumption of alcohol, lying (from dan heng), brief appearance of playable characters, description of acheron test run, reader is isekaid into the hsr world and is just trying to live their life, reader is referred to as aeon of life and your excellency

notes: just had a shower thought and remembered acheron interaction from the cosmodessy event and BOOM! part 2 of dragon fic is on the work i swEAR PLS DONT EAT ME the divider is from @/rookthornesartistry

“hmm…”

what a tricky situation. acheron had been wandering through the dreams of penacony to find out about the truth of the oak family. or at least, finding some hint and cases that has been silenced by the family. but on the way…

“i seem to be lost”

yes, the amnesiac galaxy ranger had found herself lost once more. she had briefly agreed with the astral express to meet them later at the clockie statue of golden hour, but the poor woman was now wondering which way is which and which direction she should be heading towards. oh well, she’ll figure it out later. right now, she needed to know where she was or attempt to find a familiar face.

looking around herself, acheron could hear the faint sound of jazz playing further down one of the halls. there also seem to be other people there as she could make out laughter and murmuring of people alongside the scent of alcohol wafting through the air.

a bar, perhaps?

quietly, she makes her way to the end of the hall, opening the double doors and coming to what she guessed was a bar. it did indeed seem like it, though just maybe a bit smaller than the usual grand and bright neon sign filled ones at the golden hour. briefly, the woman takes a moment to look around, hoping to find a familiar face. there was a bartender behind the bar, a halovian mixing a drink. perhaps she could ask her—?

a familiar colored hair catches acheron’s attention just as she was about to make her way over to the bartender. there, far away from the crowd of people at one of the seats sat the aeon of life. their back turned to others, seemingly running away from attention as they hunch over their table. acheron had never personally met the aeon of life before but she had felt their warmth, heard some snippets about them through the trailblazer and during an odd battle she was forced to fight in and have seen glimpses of their visage through the screen that the trailblazer allowed her to.

when acheron was first teleported to some theme park of penacony, she wondered if someone had kidnapped her. but when the ranger tried to move herself, she had found it impossible. until she did. someone or something was controlling her body, making her draw her blade and fight, yet she found it hard to hate the puppeteer. it felt… warm. to the lone galaxy ranger, this odd puppeteer of hers gave her a warm feeling, like being gently cradled by the sun. gentle and kind as the puppeteer moves her around, muffled gasps of awe and words of admiration falling onto her ears. this puppeteer of hers’ voice sounded gentle, soothing her heart, filling the loneliness of her soul. as quickly as it came, it disappeared and she was back in her room at the reality of the hotel.

when she briefly mentioned of this incident when she met welt of the astral express, he simply smiled with a knowing expression. the older man had told her about the aeon of life — or at least their reborn mortal self �� and how they would sometimes guide some people to help them solve their problem or to bless them with more strength. most of the times though, these people were pathstriders, he told her.

and now here she was, in the flesh, being able to see the aeon of life themself.

quietly, the ranger makes her way towards the hunched over aeon. they seem to have had some glasses of drinks, the ice in them melting inside the glass as they lay their head on their arms, one hand wrapped around the glass of their next drink.

meanwhile, you try to fight back some sleep. drowsiness falling over you due to all sorts of drinks you’ve consumed. though, most were alcohol free, they still managed to knock you down a peg. must be the secret of being penacony dreamscape drinks or something. or maybe it was just siobhan’s specialty. she seemed very skilled in the art of free mixing.

the faint sound of heels clacking catches your attention though, making you stop and take a moment to listen carefully. not so soon after, the sound stops right behind you, along with a faint presence behind your back. you try to play asleep, hoping the person would just buy the act and leave you alone. ever since you were isekaid into the star rail world, people have been clamoring for your attention left and right. you came to penacony with the express in hopes of blending within the bright lights and dazzling signs of the dream world for people to ignore you and give you some time to breathe.

though, the presence continues to stay. lingering just behind you.

gulping, remembering an iconic meme back from your world, you slowly get up from your laying position and turn your head around to see who it was.

“YAAGHH—!” you yelp out loud, nearly shrieking as you jump from your seat when you saw acheron just silently staring at you, a bit closer than what you would prefer. the woman blinks, eyeing you carefully as she takes in your appearance. meanwhile, you hold a hand over your heart to calm the rapid beating of it.

breathing in and out, you eventually manage to calm yourself down. keeping an awkward eye contact with the ranger, you reach out to your unfinished glass of drink, taking a long sip from it. all the while, acheron continues to hold this somewhat awkward stare down.

“a-acheron, what are you doing here? you scared the shit out of me” you say, now finally calm after that last gulp of your drink. the woman’s exposed purple eye widens slightly, as if she was surprised by the fact you knew her. ah right, you two haven’t officially met each other in the flesh. so of course it will come off as weird to the galaxy ranger.

“i appear to be lost, your excellency” she replies, noting the unusual hue of your eye. it had a ring of gold in it, making you look otherworldly. but in this life where people can easily travel from one world to the other, that wasn’t exactly a compliment enough to say that you looked beautiful.

right, you remembered now that acheron had a tendency to forget things very easily and she would continue to be amnesiac until she draws her blade.

“well… where do you need to go then?”

the two of you have made your way out of siobhan’s bar, out of the dreamscape reverie hotel and towards the golden hour as she had said. but first you made little detours in your walk, stopping a few memory zone memes that has become unstable — during the whole time, acheron had told you to stay behind her so you would be safe — taking your time to admire the scenery of the dreamscapes before you two finally made it to the golden hour. it was buzzing, bustling with people from all over the galaxy and street vendors raising their voices to catch someone’s attention.

seeing a floating ice cream at the other end of the street, acheron steps onto the road without looking.

“ache, watch out!” you quickly reach out, holding her hand and yanking her back to yourself as a speeding car nearly runs her over. warm. you felt warm to the touch, gentle in the way you handled her as if she was made of glass. tender, almost, like a lover would hug another to their heart. she liked the way you hugged her, even though it was one born out of protective instinct.

“are you okay?” you ask, squeezing her bicep gently to take her attention. acheron turns her head to look at you, nodding her head that she was fine. everyone would be fine if they were in your protection after all. warm, safely tucked into your loving embrace.

“ache” she spoke suddenly, taking your attention back to herself. “you called me ache, your excellency. do you like the nickname?” the ranger asks, having never received any nicknames from others. this was her first time, having lost everyone she was close to and being forced to walk a lonely road until she caught the gaze of nothingness itself. even if she did indeed had gained nicknames from others before, she had long forgotten them. so this newfound form of kinship in you, in being given something intimate to be referred to by someone, brought a feeling of joy to the lonely ranger.

“i mean… do you like it?” you ask, looking at her face if she would give away any indication that she disliked it. to which you saw nothing. only the faint smile growing on her face. you liked that look on her face. the brooding, sad, melancholic look that she usually wears never fitted her. but when she did that, had a small smile on her face with a face of contentment, it seemed to suit her much better.

“mhm” acheron simply nods, an odd feeling of childish glee in her heart at the thought of having earned an intimate nickname. not from just anyone, but from you — the aeon of life, the very first living being that came to existence and decided to bless other lifeless things into meaningful ones. the aeon of life whose love and care held no bounds, reaching all over galaxies and world — even to ones that were distant and lone — embracing them in your love and care.

acheron liked the nickname “ache”. a heron liked to enjoy her time beside you. with you.

holding hands, eating floating ice creams and magical popcorns, the two of your take your sweet time during your detour to the clockie statue in golden hour. some people stopped you to ask for your autograph or a selfie together. it had become a common thing for you to experience ever since you got isekaid into this world.

the way you stopped to laugh at acheron’s face, where she had undoubtedly made a mess when eating her newly favorite peach flavored ice cream, the way you took out a napkin, wiping away the mess from her lips in such a tender manner caught the attention of a certain bloodhound. gallagher watched, jealous and other unknown bitter feelings swirling inside him as he watches your “date” with acheron from a bit away. he didn’t understand why he was so jealous. he was already in your grace, having come home to you many times while the ranger hadn’t came home to you even once.

but coming home, being in your grace and going on dates with you and holding hands were two completely different things. maybe he should invite you to come over at siobhan’s bar more.

finally, the pair of you made it to the clockie statue. when nearing to your destination, you felt the metal clawed hand of acheron tightening around yours. she seemed sad over the fact she had to let you go. it was nice to be beside you. holding hands, making jokes, feeling of belonging and comfort easily sweeping over her in waves that she never felt before. and yet she had to let go now. the express members were looking at you two weirdly.

“it’s alright, ache. we’ll go on more walks together later, okay? you have my phone number after all. you can text me if you want” your soothing voice graces her ears, filling the empty void of her heart. the woman remembers now. you gave her your number on the way here.

nodding, very reluctantly, acheron’s hands lets go of yours. immediately she wanted to reach out to hold your hand again, to feel the warmth of the sun from your skin again. but she holds herself back, afraid that she might scare you off with how forward she may come off as.

“see you later!”

“aaah… hopefully, today won’t be filled with creepy stalkers or annoying fans running after me…” you groan out, slumped over on one of the seats at the theme park. there wasn’t much people around, even if there were, the people here were too immersed in the exhilarating experience of the theme park. this place really was the world of dreams, huh…

“good afternoon, everyone. this is the ipc broadcast, coming back with news from all over the galaxy” one of the radios that was placed around the theme park speaks up, the familiar voices of the two npc’s coming through to catch some gossip loving folks’ attention.

“yesterday, at the world of dreams penacony, many people have reported to seeing their excellency, the aeon of life, going on a date with a certain mysterious purple haired woman” oh fuck no. no more gossip regarding the most basic things you do. please, no more scandals.

“some reports have stated that their excellency was sighted holding hands and going around one of the most famous dreamscapes of penacony — the golden hour — in a seemingly intimate date with the woman” it wasn’t a date! besides, people were too damn invested into your life.

groaning and silently spewing curses under your breath, you tune out the rest of the news broadcast, instead focusing on the taste of soulglad in your hand. at least there weren’t anyone around to bother you today. or anyone to spook you by just silently standing behind you. breathing down your neck, quietly standing there as if waiting for you to slowly turn around with “it’s behind me, isn’t it?”.

wait that’s too specific.

“your excellen—“

“whAT THE FUCK?!” safe to say, you jumped out of your seat when the familiar soothing voice of dan heng reached your ears. some people around turned to give you a weird or concerned stare.

“dan heng?! the hell are you doing here? aren’t you supposed to be back at the express?” you choke out, thankfully having not thrown your glass of soulglad in your fright. in return, the quiet dragon only tilts his head slightly, a sheepish look on his face. he lowkey reminded you of a puppy with that face…

“i came here to check on the other express members. they weren’t replying to me in the group chat. and now—“

“— and now you’re lost” you finish for him, waiting, keeping an eye contact to see if he would deny or agree. to which he simply nodded his head as slight pink hue spread over his cheeks.

“alright where do you need to go?”

“the golden hour, clockie statue”

“alright, alright. jeez, what’s up with you guys always meeting up at the statue?”

“uhm… your excellency?”

“yeah?”

“can we… hold hands?”

tomorrow, another hit news was broadcasted by the ipc broadcast, speaking of how the aeon of life was spotted going on another date with a young, handsome man from the astral express.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Dealing with zombies

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Undead alien horde wanders into town Alien: Run for your lives! Human: Why? Alien: Monsters are coming!!! Alien 2: They can’t be killed! Human: So they’re undead? Alien: Yes!! Human: Goes home and revs chainsaw Fucking finally. ----------------------

Alien: Watches human carving through undead horde Alien: How are you so calm!?! Human: finishes carving through undead Me and my friends used to do stuff like this all the time when we were kids on Friday night. Alien: Are these undead such a problem on your world?! Human: Oh they flare up from time to time, but then the market gets saturated with them and people just lose interest. Alien: What the hells does that even mean!?!?” ---------------------

Alien: What are we going to do? Human: *swipes everything off table and lays out giant map Human: We need to reach the local Costcoooo Mart and seal it up. Human: The walls are at least two feet thick of concrete so we only need to worry about the main doors, emergency exits, and loading bays to seal up. Human: There should be enough fuel there to power generators and supplies to last us a while. Alien: *Looks down at detailed map with several cascading footnotes. Alien: Why do you have this? Human: Have what? Alien: This map…..why do you have it already prepared? Human: Oh, that. Human: Every human has a zombie plan ready; sometimes several. Alien: Really? Human: *Shouts down corridor Human: Yo STEVE! What’s your zombie plan? Steve: *shouts back from down the hall Steve: Take my family to countryside where it is isolated and hold fort on a farm until things blow over. Human: *Turns to alien Human: See? Everyone’s got one. -------------------

*Pair of humans and aliens sneaking through zombie infested streets Human 1: Alright; if we can make it to the train station we should be able to follow the rail lines out of the city. Alien 1: There are too many of them; we’ll never make it through. Alien 2: This will help. Alien 2: *Hefts large plasma pistol. Human 2: Are you crazy?! Human 2: No guns! Alien 1: Why would we not- Zombie: *Lurches over to them and groans Alien 2: *Panics and fires plasma pistol. *Zombie is cut in half by the weapon blast but the loud boom attracts every zombie in surrounding area towards them Human 2: That…..That is why genius.. -----------------------

Alien: Why do you prefer using melee weapons? Human: Because they don’t run out of ammo, are relatively quiet, and you look badass while using them. Alien: Really? Alien: You are using a cricket bat. Human: Badass right? Alien: To quote a human saying. Alien: “You look like a wanker.” --------------------

Alien: Why do the undead keep falling down? Human: *Watches zombies step forward and fall down Human: God bless undertakers. Alien: Huh? ---------------------

Alien: How can you be so calm about this? Human: They’re only human zombies, nothing to be worried about. Alien: Only…. Alien: What do you mean by that? Human: The real shit hits the fan when the animals start turning zombie. Alien: Like? Human: Zombees. Alien: What? Human: Zombie bees; Zombees. -----------------------

Alien: I’m still surprised you have a functioning vehicle during these times. Alien: Let alone one with such a lovely shade of red. Human: Well to be fair it was white this morning? Alien: Really? What happened then? Human: Speed bumps. Alien: Speed bumps? Human: So many speed bumps. ---------------------

*Zombie horde approaches Alien: Don’t worry, I got this! Human: Wait don- Alien: *Uses flame thrower on zombies Human: You idiot, that does not kill zombies! Alien: What?! *Sees flaming zombies now shambling towards them Human: Damnit you’re just making them deadlier! -----------------------

Alien: So you are saying I shouldn’t wear armor? Human: Some armor, but nothing heavy. Alien: Why? Alien: They wouldn’t be able to get through heavy armor. Human: True, but when they swarm you and drag you down you won’t be able to push them off. Human: So you’ll either starve or have them eventually rip the armor off you and eat you slowly. Alien: Why do I feel like you have debated this before? Human: It’s a tale as old as time…. -------------------------

Alien: We’re surrounded. Alien: *Looks down at dog. Human: Why are you looking at my dog like that? Alien: If we set the dog loose it’ll attract zombies and we can escape. Human: Ah, no. Human: We are not sacrificing my fluffy boy. Alien: But- Human: One more word and I’ll throw you to them instead. Alien: Surely you wouldn’t. Human: *Cocks pistol Human: It’s a gamble you will lose. Human: *Scratches top of dog’s head

[p0orbaby]

Forgive Me, Father, for I Have Sinned

summary: two horny idiots risking eternal damnation for a quickie

warnings: SMUT 18+, sex in a church, yup, you read that right

a/n: loosely based on this request

word count: 2.6k

-

“This is so wrong,” you breathe, the words practically dissolving into Leah’s mouth as she presses you against the back wall of the church hall. The stone feels frigid through your dress, even in the sweltering summer heat; it’s that old kind of cold that sticks around in centuries-old buildings, regardless of what’s happening outside. The whole place smells faintly of damp wood and incense, a mix of candle wax and lingering prayers that seems completely at odds with what’s going on right now.

“Yeah?” Leah murmurs, with that infuriatingly calm tone, as though you’re having a conversation about the weather instead of whatever this is. Her hands are already hiking your dress up higher, bunching the fabric around your hips, her fingers deftly working with the same quiet confidence she shows in on the pitch—calculated, precise. “Seems like you’re coping just fine”

You catch yourself almost laughing, but it comes out as a choked breath instead. Somewhere in the background, the distant murmur of the christening service continues, the priest’s voice droning on in a sort of meditative monotone that feels strangely far away. It’s all “bless this child” and “holy sacrament,” while you’re up against the cold stone, your knickers soon to be halfway down your thighs. You think about how the acoustics in churches are supposed to be excellent, but all you can hear is the maddening thud of your pulse in your ears and the occasional scrape of Leah’s teeth grazing your neck.

It occurs to you that maybe you should care more about the fact that you’re technically still within earshot of Leah’s great-uncle reading from the New Testament, or that her mum is seated just a few rows away with her eyes shut in reverent concentration, her face an expression of serene grace. Leah’s brother is the godfather, you think, or at least, you’re pretty sure that’s what she said in the car on the way here, when you were barely listening because you’d just spotted a stray thread hanging from the cuff of her shirt and were fixated on the way it danced back and forth as she gestured.

Leah’s fingers hook under your jaw, pulling you back to her with just the right amount of force—gentle, but insistent, like she’s read your mind and knows you’re distracted. “You’re thinking,” she says, her voice barely a murmur against your lips. “Stop doing that”

You glance around, a half-hearted attempt at convincing yourself that no one’s actually going to walk in, that the ancient, creaking door isn’t about to swing open and reveal this scene to some poor, unsuspecting churchgoer who’d only stepped out for a breath of fresh air. The kind of person who’d probably drop dead on the spot just from the shock, like a character in one of those Victorian novels who faints whenever someone mentions anything vaguely improper. You almost want to giggle at the thought, but Leah’s hand slips lower and that faint urge is replaced by a much more urgent kind of distraction.

“I’m serious,” you whisper, though you’re not even sure why. It’s not like Leah doesn’t know the situation is mental—she’s the one who pulled you into this alcove in the first place, after all. You’re not entirely convinced it wasn’t premeditated, either. There’s a flicker of memory—Leah’s hand on your thigh during the ceremony, her fingers tracing idle patterns just above your knee as if to say, this isn’t the place, but let’s see how far we can push it. The way she’d glanced at you, eyes gleaming with a glint of amusement that suggested she was already considering how scandalised everyone would be if you just vanished for a few minutes.

“This is your cousin’s christening,” you hiss, as if stating the obvious is going to somehow ground the situation in reality. But Leah’s lips are on yours again, and you’re suddenly very aware of the way her hand slides down your back, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your knickers in a way that makes your knees wobble.

“Distant cousin,” she corrects, voice muffled against your neck. “Barely know him”

“It’s a baby,” you shoot back, though you’re already arching into her touch, your voice catching on the last word as her fingers find their mark. “Not sure how well anyone knows him”

“Exactly,” she says, like that settles it, as if committing some vaguely sacrilegious act in the back of a church is completely justified because the baby in question probably won’t remember this day beyond the dozens of poorly framed photos on the mantelpiece twenty years from now.

Your head falls back against the stone wall with a dull thud, the kind of sound that suggests ancient masonry, the type of historical significance that’s more suited to solemn reflection than whatever obscene thoughts are currently racing through your mind. You find yourself half-listening to the priest’s voice drifting in from the main hall, the rhythmic lilt of, “We commend this child to your care,” and you think about how ironic it would be if God really was watching right now. There’s a brief flash of Catholic guilt that flares up somewhere in your chest, though you aren’t even Catholic, and it’s quickly extinguished by the scrape of Leah’s teeth against your earlobe.

“Thought you didn’t believe in all that,” she whispers, her breath warm against your ear.

“I don’t,” you manage to reply, though your voice is strangled and you’re not entirely sure if you believe yourself. “It’s just… bad form, isn’t it?”

Leah lets out a quiet, breathy laugh—so close you can feel the vibration against your skin. “Well, you’ve never been big on good form,” she says, and it’s impossible to argue because she’s right and you both know it.

She’s always known how to push your buttons, ever since the night you first met—a benefit gala, of all places. You remember standing there in some ridiculously overpriced dress, holding a glass of champagne you didn’t really want, staring at a painting you didn’t really understand while Leah’s voice, smooth and confident, drifted over your shoulder with some cutting remark about modern art. “I’m pretty sure my dead nan could’ve done better than that,” she’d said, and you’d laughed, not because it was particularly funny, but because there was something about her nonchalance, the way she didn’t even pretend to be impressed, that made you feel instantly at ease.

The ease didn’t last, of course. There was that night in Paris—somewhere between the hotel bar and the Eiffel Tower, where you’d argued over directions and ended up wandering aimlessly along the Seine, half-drunk and clutching onto each other for warmth. You’d made up in a dark alleyway, pressed against a café’s shuttered doors, and you remember thinking then, as you do now, that Leah had a knack for getting you into situations that were entirely inappropriate and yet felt ridiculously right at the time.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath now, half in frustration, half in something else entirely, your fingers curling into the fabric of Leah’s half open shirt, tugging it harder as she shifts closer.

“That’s the spirit,” she murmurs back, and there’s that smirk again, the one that makes you want to throttle her and kiss her in equal measure.

For a split second, you wonder if anyone’s noticed your absence. The baby’s mother—Leah’s aunt, or second cousin, or something equally convoluted—had been so preoccupied making sure the godparents were holding the child correctly that you doubt she even noticed the two of you slip out. The priest’s voice carries on, something about being welcomed into the flock, and you’re almost tempted to peek around the corner to see if Leah’s mum has adopted that expression she gets when she’s half-listening to anything vaguely religious—eyes closed, hands clasped together in front of her, the picture of devout piety. You’ve only ever seen her like that at weddings, christenings, and funerals, and you briefly wonder if she’s ever actually questioned any of it, or if it’s just habit by now.

“What would your mum say if she knew?” you ask, though your voice is breathless, barely more than a murmur.

“Probably something about needing to go to confession,” Leah replies, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, her fingers tightening around your thigh. “Or at least light a candle”

The laugh that escapes you is entirely involuntary, echoing faintly against the high ceiling, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, your eyes wide as though you’ve just been caught breaking some sacred vow. Leah’s grin widens as she leans in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and you feel the warmth of her breath against your skin, as though she’s branding you with it.

It’s insane, really. The whole situation is insane. There’s a plaque on the wall above you, some inscription dedicated to a saint you’ve never heard of, and you wonder if people are meant to kneel here to pray or if this spot is usually reserved for flower arrangements during weddings. You picture the church bustling with activity—weddings, funerals, christenings—the whole spectrum of life’s milestones, and here you are, using it as a makeshift boudoir. It’s enough to make you think about eternity and sin and all the other things people pretend not to care about but secretly obsess over in the middle of the night. You imagine explaining this to someone—anyone, really—and the look on their face. “We couldn’t help ourselves,” you’d say, as though that’s a reasonable excuse for dry-humping your girlfriend in the shadow of a marble saint.

Leah’s hand slips under the hem of your skirt, her touch gentle and yet completely assured, fingers tracing the line of your thigh with maddening deliberateness. Her fingertips are cool against your heated skin, and the contrast sends a jolt through you—a reminder that this is happening here, now, in a church where every whisper echoes like a confession. Her fingers slide higher, brushing against the damp lace of your knickers, and the way she smirks as she feels how wet you are only makes the whole thing more obscene.

The distant hum of the priest’s voice is a low murmur, as if he’s conducting a prayer in the background of your own private, silent worship. Leah’s touch is reverent in a different way—her fingers slipping beneath the fabric, tracing slow, teasing circles that make your hips twitch involuntarily. It’s a game she plays sometimes, just to see how far she can push you before you break; her thumb grazing over your clit with just enough pressure to make you gasp, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle the soft whimper that escapes you as her fingers dip lower, stroking along your slick folds with an infuriating patience. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck as she whispers, “We could get caught, you know.” There’s a wicked glint in her eye, like she’s daring you to care, like she wants you to make her stop just so she can ignore you and do it anyway.

The idea of someone stumbling across you both in this state—your skirt hiked up, knickers pulled aside, Leah’s fingers deep inside you—is scandalous in a way that only makes you wetter. You can’t help but glance towards the arched door, half-expecting to hear it creak open at any moment. But no one’s there, just the faint rustle of hymn books and the distant shuffle of feet, the sound of polite society carrying on obliviously while you’re being shamelessly fingered behind an ancient stone pillar.

Leah’s free hand grips your waist, pulling your hips towards her with a firmness that makes your breath hitch, as if she’s grounding you in this very moment—her fingers curling inside you, her thumb finally pressing against your clit in a rhythm that’s far too sinful for this setting. “Look at you,” she breathes, her voice a soft tease, as though she’s amused by just how quickly you’ve unravelled. “Anyone would think you’ve got no self-control”

You would glare at her if you weren’t already clutching her shoulders to steady yourself, your head tilting back against the wall as a quiet moan escapes you. The pressure builds with each deliberate thrust of her fingers, the slick heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to think about anything but the lewd wet sounds of her hand working you over. There’s a heat spreading through your chest, a kind of wild desperation that feels almost holy in its intensity. It’s like being on the edge of a fever dream, where nothing exists but the maddening insistence of her touch and the electric pull of release just out of reach.

“Shh,” Leah whispers, though her voice is laced with a kind of arrogant amusement, as if she knows full well you’re not capable of being quiet right now. “You’re going to give us away”

Your nails dig into the fabric of her dress as her thumb keeps circling your clit with a precise, unyielding pressure, and you swear you hear the creak of a pew somewhere in the background, the faint shift of footsteps as someone else moves within the church. The thought that anyone could be wandering towards the back at this very moment only makes your pulse quicken, your body tightening around Leah’s fingers as she pushes deeper, curling them in a way that makes your whole world collapse inward.

“Fuck—” The word slips out before you can stop it, and you’re not sure if it’s a prayer or a curse. Probably both. Your hips grind against her hand, chasing the friction, desperate to come undone in a way that feels almost defiant in this sacred space. Leah’s lips curve into a slow, smug grin against your skin, her breath hot and ragged as she watches you unravel beneath her touch.

“You’re close,” she murmurs, her voice low and throaty. “Aren’t you?”

You nod—there’s no point in pretending otherwise—your hands sliding up to bury themselves in her hair, tugging her closer until her lips are a breath away from yours. You kiss her then, hard and hungry, swallowing the sounds you can’t keep contained, your thighs trembling as she drives you closer to the edge. The faint taste of her lip balm lingers on your tongue, that familiar cherry sweetness that always reminds you of her bedroom, and the first time you kissed her, with one hand in her hair and the other fumbling with the hem of her shirt.

The climax hits you suddenly, like the shuddering crash of a hymn’s last note echoing through the church. Your whole body goes taut, your breath catching in your throat as Leah’s fingers work you through the wave of pleasure, coaxing out every last tremor as you gasp into her mouth. For a second, the world is nothing but a blur of sensation—hot and electric and thoroughly blasphemous.

Leah’s hand slows, her fingers slipping out of you with a final, lingering caress that feels like both an ending and a promise. You’re still catching your breath when she leans in close again, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, her lips curved in that maddeningly smug way.

“Still think this is wrong?” she asks, and there’s a softness in her eyes, an intimacy that lingers despite the scandal of it all.

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still tangled in her hair as you look up at her. “Completely,” you murmur, your voice breathless but certain, and you know she’s right when she smiles at you like that, because this might be wrong, but it’s the kind of wrong that feels so damn right.

[aurorawritestoescape]

DESTINIES INTERTWINED

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader x Lucilla

Summary: you spend a passionate night with your lovers.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, mff, unspecified age gap, soft!Marcus, soft!Lucilla, polyamorous relationship, praise, f!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding, mention of lactation, power imbalance. Sorry for any inaccuracies about Ancient Rome. Pics are only for the mood, reader has hair, but no other physical description.

Word count: 3k

A/n: should I even explain myself? A horny goblin inside me wrote it. Hope you will like it! Love you all!💖

Soft Marcus kiss to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

MASTERLIST

You hear him before you see him. His heavy steps echo through the vast halls of the palace and reach your ears even through the soft music that the servants are playing. Then the bedroom doors loudly open and he enters the room— a warrior, a leader, a conqueror, ready to discard the worries of his day, to offer rest to his mind and soul.

Lucilla and you lying on the bed, leaning on the pillows and holding each other close. You two have been kissing and talking quietly from time to time but the atmosphere, a perfect image of leisure and softness mere moments ago, gets electrified, charged with masculine energy. The servants leave immediately, knowing well that General Marcus Acacius does not allow anyone to see what he does to his women.

You can never believe how generously the gods blessed you. After a life of slavery and abuse you are now cherished as if you’re of noble descent. Even better, you feel loved.

Marcus freed you from the brutal hands of your owner and though you still are enslaved to an outside eye, you have never felt more free.

The General made you his servant first and you welcomed his order with gratitude. You were happy to serve such an honorable man. He and his wife were kind masters and they did not see an object when they looked at you. They saw a person. Not much time passed before you found yourself in bed with both Marcus and Lucilla. You three quickly became one, regularly drowning each other in pleasure and adoration. So you were not surprised when Mercus suggested intertwining your destinies forever.

You shouldn’t be nervous, having had plenty of time to get used to the General’s overwhelming presence. But his power, his strength, his intelligence and beauty struck you every single time like the first. Your heart is fluttering and you squirm against Lucilla’s shoulder, and always attentive to your mood, the woman envelops you in her arms tighter, sharing more of her warmth with you, while nothing but thin nightgowns separate your bodies.

“Soften your expression, my love. You’re scaring our little rose.”

Marcus pauses discarding his gear and turns to you, eyes piercing and dark reading your features.

“Is it the truth, my beautiful girl? Am I still a scare for you?” he asks, walking up slowly to the bed. His voice is gruff, molded by countless battles, but for the two of you it’s silky and soft.

“No, General.. Marcus,” you reply in a soft voice, big eyes looking up at the man with adoration and piety. The sound of his name on your lips and your devoted gaze do the trick— his face softens and he gives you a warm smile. You smile back shyly and Lucilla pecks your temple, laughing,

“Our General can be quite intimidating. Yet you and I know that he is as gentle as a warm summer breeze. For us.”

Marcus smirks and continues taking off his gear and undergarments and soon he’s standing naked next to the bed— a broad torso, strong, defined muscles glistening softly in the dim candle light, his big heavy cock swaying with every move. The sight of him takes your breath away.

He leans down and kisses his wife first as his chest hovers over you and the scent of rose oils caresses your senses.

Then it is your turn and he watches your face for a few seconds before he greets the beginning of a passionate night with you, planting a gentle kiss on your lips.

“How are my loves?” He asks, sitting down on the bed, facing you two, as you lick your lips, savoring his taste.

“She’s ready. Bona Dea favors us— the time is perfect,” Lucilla hurries to inform him, excitement painting her every word, “I played with her during the washing. She must come as much as possible for the seed to stick.”

Your cheeks start burning and your chest is heaving as you avert your gaze from the man in front of you but Marcus pinches your chin and gently lifts your face to his, searching for your eyes.

“Nothing to be shy about, my heart. You will give me.. give us a son, my heir and our destinies, mine, yours and Lucilla’s will be intertwined forever.”

His lips curve in a warm smile and you relax, taking a big calming breath. A whimper escapes your lips when his hand slides from your face to your chest and then belly. He puts his palm over it, rubbing it with his thick thumb and the heat of his touch, warming your skin through the sheer fabric, ignites your core and paints your face with need and desire.

“Yes, Marcus. I wish for nothing more.”

“Sweet little rose,” he coos at you and hunches down so he could press his face to your covered mound. The General takes a deep breath and you open your legs wider so he could revel in the scent of your arousal.

“Our beautiful rose,” his wife echoes, “Give her one more before we start, my love. I shall assist you.”

You turn your head to look at Lucilla’s gorgeous face, your eyes full of lust and gratitude and you reach for her to kiss you. She smiles and soon her soft lips are caressing yours, her tongue is licking into your whimpering mouth and you gasp against her lips when her husband latches onto your bare cunt.

Bunching up your nightgown over your waist Marcus is feasting on your sweet nectar, flowing generously from your clenching hole. Lucilla drew an orgasm from you mere minutes before and he’s reaping the fruit of her labor.

When he starts sucking on your puffy clit, you part from the woman’s lips and direct your gaze at the General eating you out, his lips and tongue celebrating your pussy, methodically bringing you to your high.

Overwhelmed by the sight of this man, strong and powerful, sliding his warm tongue through your glistening folds, you softly moan. Soon your whimpers fill the room as you're writhing in bed, running your fingers through his silky curls.

"She's close, my love, do not stop," Lucilla tells her husband and her hand slithers to your chest and pulls down the neckline of your nightgown.

She gently cups your breast and her fingers twitch your pebbled nipple. You moan as her touch sends a new surge of wetness to your entrance for her husband to lap up.

Marcus’s obsidian eyes flick up to the sight of his wife playing with your tits and he parts from your cunt to ask,

“Will you give me an honor to taste your milk when it’s time, my little rose? I would love your sweet breasts to nourish me, just like your little cunt is nourishing me right now.”

You moan at his words and eagerly nod, biting your lower lip, and Marcus’s slick-coated mouth curves into a content smile.

Lucilla whispers, “We love you,” against your temple and they continue pleasuring you, her hands kneading your breasts, his mouth on your soft pussy and soon you’re coming, shaking against Lucilla’s body, as she’s praising you throughout, while Marcus is quenching his thirst with your plentiful juices.

When he lifts his head his bearded chin and mustache are shining with the evidence of your ecstasy and you reach your arms towards him to pull him close and lick it off his face. Lucilla rushes to help you and soon the three of you are kissing, tongues and lips moving passionately in this lustful dance of three. You’re comforted by their bodies, caging you against each other, and you wish for this moment to last forever.

They give you only a moment of respite before Marcus takes your nightgown off and wraps his throbbing cock in his big veiny hand. He pumps it with a few languid strokes and you swallow loudly, watching his huge manhood grow even bigger. Marcus cups your cheek with a free hand and coos,

“Don't fret, little rose. You’ve taken me before. I promise to be slow and gentle.”

“Lie down between my legs, my love, so I could feel every thrust Marcus gives you,” Lucilla purrs, helping you to shift and you happily lean your back on her chest as she wraps her arms around you.

“This time it will take, I know it,” Lucilla continues, as her palms are gliding over your shoulders, breasts and belly in a calming gesture but your cunt tingles again at her soft touch.

Marcus lies between your spread thighs, his hard cock pressed to your mound, and gifts you another heady kiss, reminding you of his love and care.

“You’re strong, my love. You shall receive my seed and grow a new life for us three. You shall be mine forever.”

You breathe out a quiet ‘yes’ and he brushes your cheek with his lips at the same time pushing the tip of his cock into your soaked hole. You already feel the dull stretch and grasp Lucilla’s arms enveloping you and she whispers,

“I shall help you, little rose.”

Her hand slithers between Marcus’s and your bodies and she finds your throbbing clit, soaked with your cum and her husband’s saliva. She begins rubbing it in tight circles, murmuring in your ear,

“Relax, my precious, open up for him. Let Marcus fill you up with his seed. Sometimes I wish I had a cock too so we both could make you full with cum.”

You mewl, hearing her words, while the General thrusts in, close to bottoming out, and the fullness, the stretch that he bestows on you, quickly overwhelms you and your head whips to the side as your needy eyes search for your female lover.

“I need you,” you admit with a weak voice and she smiles down at you and moves your torso slightly to the side, freeing her chest.

She takes her breast out of her sheer nightgown and brings your face closer. You take a sharp breath at the sight of her beautiful tit and latch onto her puffy nipple. You flutter your eyes shut with pleasure, enjoying the sweetness of her skin, as she’s holding you close to feed you her breast better, while her husband’s cock prods deeper and deeper inside your wet hot cunt.

Her bud hardens in your mouth and she starts moaning while you’re licking it, swirling your tongue around and then suckling on the nipple. She knows how much you love it, the feeling so comforting and ecstatic, you whimper as your pussy gushes around Marcus’s cock.

The man grunts and growls, thrusting his fat stiffness little by little inside you,

“Oh gods, you are just as tight as our first night together. Remember, little rose, how long it took me to fully sheath my cock into your sweet cunt?” You move just your eyes to glance at him, not parting from his wife’s tit, and hum in agreement.

“I shall be slow now as well.” His voice is strained and he grinds his teeth, trying not to pierce you with his girthy length in one go, desperately wishing to bottom out but holding up for the sake of your comfort.

Finally his heavy balls slap your ass and you both moan loudly as his tip gives a kiss to your cervix. You feel so full and happy, your lips leave Lucilla’s breast and you take Marcus’s face in your hands to kiss him. The giant man moans as your soft mouth thanks him for the gift of his cock and you can’t make yourselves part from one another, reveling in the taste of your love and desire. He twitches deep inside you and not tearing his lips from yours he begins rolling his hips, fucking you slowly and gently, massaging his length with your snug walls and it feels like he fucks into your belly, into your soul and heart, so deep that you hold your breath, afraid to move, scared he will split you in two with the might of his manhood.

Judging by her soft moans, Lucilla senses his thrusts, as if he’s fucking both of you, and soon she starts grinding her pussy against your ass and you feel her wetness smeared on your skin.

Marcus’s heavy cock drugs in and out of your hole, caressing your core and pushing on the pleasure spot inside you. But you can not be that selfish as to enjoy this beautiful and hopefully fruitful night without your other lover so you part from the General’s mouth to murmur,

“Lucilla, I want—.”

“What is it, my love?” the woman behind you asks and Marcus pauses his movements to let you speak.

“I wish— wish to feel you on my tongue.”

Your voice is barely audible as shyness overtakes you but it’s loud enough for your lovers to hear.

“You wish to…,” Lucilla starts but you interrupt her. “Yes, sit on my face. Please,” you plea as you turn your head to look at her.

They’re quick to fulfill your wish and soon Lucilla gets from under you and plants her knees on the sides of your face. Her cunt is hovering over your mouth, as she’s facing her husband, who’s still buried deep in your heat. She discards her sheer nightgown and you take a sharp breath, as her gorgeous naked body blesses your vision. Her glistening folds are calling for you to taste them. So you pull her down with your hands on her thighs and, after opening up as wide as possible, you cover her cunt with the warmth of your mouth. You hungrily lick a path from her clit to her hole and gather all the wetness off her hot skin. She doesn’t let you wait long and soon she’s gushing more onto your waiting tongue.

“My little rose!” She gasps, surprised by your eagerness and lust, “So good to us,” she coos at you while her fingers are running through your hair. The woman moans when your tongue prods her hole and you slide it deeper while your hands knead her asscheeks and thighs.

“Is it nice, my love? Is our little rose making you happy?” Marcus asks his wife, who’s moving her body up and down now, fucking herself on your tongue.

“Oh, yes,” she breathes out and throws her head back in ecstasy.

You don’t see Marcus but you feel him, so much of him as he’s thrusting his cock into you with steady and deep strokes.

“You two are perfect and you’re mine,” he growls, “I am thankful to the gods for giving me both of you.”

Then you feel his big hands on your breasts and he begins caressing your nipples with his calloused fingers, making you whimper against his wife’s cunt.

“Wish your tits were full of milk already. The warm nectar would trickle down my hands right now,” he accentuates his words, kneading your breasts, “When you bare my child I shall make sure to have you on my cock and in my mouth every day, to devour your sweet cunt whenever you wish.”

His words make your heart and pussy flatter and he grunts, as his cock twitches deep in your core. Marcus increases the pace at which his stiffness is spearing you again and again and you grab Lucilla’s thighs to keep yourself from sliding up the bed.

“My love, her mouth is heaven,” the woman moans, addressing her husband and the next moment you hear their lips moving against each other. His cock, stuffing your soaked cunt, your tongue in her wet hole, the sensations pull you to the heights of pleasure and, overwhelmed with ove and lust, you come, moaning loudly, your sweet noises muffled by Lucilla’s cunt.

It sets a chain reaction and your walls, clamping around Marcus’s cock, make him explode and he begins shooting his hot load deep into your contracting core. He quickly fills you up and soon you hear the lewd noises of your cunt, squelching with his every thrust.

You desperately wish for Lucilla to come with you too and, still trembling with ecstasy under their naked bodies, you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, lick, flick it with the tip of your tongue bringing her higher to meet Marcus and you there. Soon you’re successful and she cries out your name until Marcus kisses her and drinks her moans.

When she stills, her cunt leaves your mouth and she lies down on the bed next to you.

You finally set your eyes on the General and marvel at his beauty — his strong muscles are bulging, the skin, dewy with sweat, is almost glowing in the warm candle light, his curls are tousled and some have fallen on his forehead. Your lover is panting heavily, descending from his hard climax. He gives you a warm smile as he coos,

“Look at you, my beautiful rose, your lips are coated with the evidence of Lucilla’s love for you. Let me…”

With that he leans down not pulling out and kisses you, licking the slick of your lips and chin.

“Do not spill the seed, my love,” Lucilla warns him and he hums against your mouth.

“Never, not a drop shall fall,” he mumbles, as his lips part from yours, “Your full cunt shall be plugged by my cock all night, little rose.”

You nod, barely having any strength to do so, and he carefully lies down next to you, gently turning your body on your side and you feel Lucilla’s arms embrace you from behind. Marcus’s manhood is still in your stretched hole and he puts your leg over thigh and bucks his hips to plug you better.

You revel in their warmth, adoration and love, resting between your lovers. They start talking about your future together, your baby and how they are going to take care of you two and you drift off with a happy and hopeful smile on your face.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback motivates me so much!❤️

Masterlist

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk

Tagging some lovelies who commented on the Wip post @ozarkthedog @fruityreads @604to647 @corazondebeskar-reads

If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕

[lure-of-writing]

His little sister

Summary: Azriel point of view of the things you do as Rhysands little sister (This should be read only after reading all in a days work and knock before you enter otherwise it probably won't make any sense as you need the know what happened in the other two for this to make sense )

word count: 2.5 k

Note: Hello! For a while I was stumped on how to continue the little sister series so boom! I present to you Azriel's pov. I would love to hear what you guys think about having things from this perspective also! please don't be shy and let me know!

The playful touches and not so subtle glances across the room paired with the seductive bit of your lip as it lifts into a forbidden smile is not lost upon the spymaster of the night court. In fact everything you did never went unnoticed by him. As Rhysands little sister he was more or less forbidden from having any relationship with you that was purely platonic or sibling-like. Much to the high lord's irritation, once you learned of the rules set in place for the general and the shadow singer, you had made it your own personal mission to see just how much you could get away with. Just how far could you bend the rules before your older brother snapped? 

Azriel was well aware of the game you played in hopes of causing your brother a small amount of distress. Unfortunately for him, he respected his high lord and his wishes to much to counter your advances with some of his own but that doesn’t mean he can’t help you accomplish your lifes works of making your brother rub his temples with a long sigh and a shot of whiskey or which ever bottle of alcohol appeared before him first. 

It had been just a few short weeks after your fifteenth birthday when you had learned about the guidelines Rhys had set for the two other males in your family. Being told what to do never sat well with you, neither did being told who you can and can’t do things with. At first your reaction was to find your brother and argue with him until he couldn’t think straight but when you were on the way to his office you bumped into your favorite member of the bat boys.  Azriel was leaning  against the wall of Rhysands office waiting for his meeting with Helion when you were stuck with a brilliant idea. “Az?” his hazel eyes shifted from the dark oak doors to where you stood in the middle of the hall. “Yes?”  as soon as the word had left his mouth he knew you were up to something. It was the way your eyes lit up in excitement and you shuffled over to him with hurried steps. Huddled close to his body you beaconed him to lean down so you could whisper in his ears. Wordlessly he follows your commands. “Would you like to help me make Rhys question why he was blessed with being my brother?” 

The sly smile and trouble that brewed in your eyes was enough to get him to say yes. Not like he could ever say no to you in the first place but that wasn’t important. From that moment on he would allow you to flirt with him and crawl into his lap with no rejection. This drove Rhysand up a wall. He said that they could not try to flirt with you but you never said anything about it being the other way around and you had taken full advantage of that each and every single time the opportunity presented itself. 

Family dinners amongst the inner circle were never an uncommon thing but since everything that transpired over the last fifty something years had the family dinners becoming a more common tradition. After dinner talks and catching up had been moved to the living room. Silently Azriel sat by himself, listening to his family talk. Perfectly content with listening rather than speaking. While Cassian went on this third rant about why he was certain that he could fight Bryaxis, if and big if here, they weren’t so scary looking, when you had gotten up from where you were sat next to Mor on the floor. He watched as you left the room and not even a second later his shadows informed him that you were getting another wine. 

His attention shifted from his brother onto you when you had reentered the room with a glass full of wine and strutted over to him and made yourself comfortable in his lap. Az would never admit it but the feeling of your arm draped over his shoulder and playing with his hair was one of his favorite feelings in the world. As your body leaned into his, the temperate difference between the two of you became very apparent to the shadowsinger. Without thinking he placed his much warmer hand on your freezing and goosebump covered leg to help warm you back up. The slit in your dress had done nothing to help keep you warm. 

Without saying anything he watched as his brother marched his way over to where you had chosen to sit, also known as Azriels lap. He watched as Rhys reached his hand out in hopes of pulling you off of closest friend and he watched as Rhysands face morphed into one of confusion to anger as Azriels wings furled around you to keep your brother from grabbing you from him. If there was one thing that the shadowsinger knew with one hundred percent certainty, it was that you could handle yourself. The context didn’t matter, you could always handle yourself. So while you and your brother went back and front he mindlessly began to rub comforting circles where his hand had found purchase on your leg. And once Rhysand had made his way back to his mate, he had leaned down and pressed his lips against your hairline. “You are a menace” giggling you smile up at him before shrugging and taking a sip of your forgotten wine. 

Visiting the court of nightmares was never something that brought Azriel much joy. More often than not he was watching for any threats against his high lord's life, now he had to worry about his high lady also. It wasn’t as if Azriel wasn’t capable of handling such a task but when you had revealed that you would also be in attendance, it brought Azriel another level of stress. He knew that you could handle the court politics and the volleyball of words sent back and forth with hidden messages. Hell you had even been trained by all three males and Morrgian. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself but there has always been a part of Azriel that couldn’t rest when he knew you could be in danger at any moment. 

Now the notoriously quiet male, while known for not saying much, always had something to say when it came to you. There was no comment too small that you made that didn’t get an answer from Az in return.  As you finally made your way down the staircase to your awaiting family Azriel had just about a thousand thoughts and compliments he could give you at any moment. While your brother had a meltdown in the background all Azriel could focus on was you and as you made your way down the last few steps he reached his hand out helping you the rest of the way down. Shamelessly he looked you up and down not caring that your brother just might beat his ass for looking at you in such an outfit. Once his eyes reached your, you sent him a wink and beaming smile. Az could tell that you had wanted to ask him what he thought of your clothing choices but decided that dealing with your brother would be the best idea  before he dragged you back up the stairs himself and forced you to change. 

While at the place of nightmares the shadows that sung to Azriel hung close to his body, only leaving to secretly watch over you and make sure you were ok. For most of the night all was well, at least as well as things can get in the court of nightmares. That was until his shadow came back to inform their master of the predicament that had presented itself to you. He watched from afar as you pushed your way out of the crowd and towards himself. Pushing off of the pillar he was once perched against he made his way towards you. Az’s blood began to boil when he watched the random fae male wrap his arms around your waist and pulled your body into his. In two long strides he was in front of the strange male and yourself, demanding he release his grip on you or he would do it for him. There wasn’t a part of Azriel that enjoyed the violence he brings upon those he was tasked with gathering information from but holding truth teller to the male's neck did in fact bring him joy. 

Upon your release he guided you back to where he was previously standing to make sure you were ok and that the random male didn’t inflict any harm to you. After his thorough evaluation of your body met his standards he returned his gaze to meet your and suddenly your cold hand was pressed against his warm cheek and the burn of the two temperatures had never felt so nice before. Once again your hand had found its resting place in his hair and your lips on his and Azriel swore hes never felt something as soft as your lips on his.  As soon as your lips had met his, Az knew he was in for a whole world of pain when Rhysand got his hands on him but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Az recently pulled away when he felt the anger of his high lord coming at him with the purpose of making him bow to the power radiating off of Rhysand. “We should probably get out of here before he kills you.” looking down he saw the mischief twinkling in your eyes and he positive nobody can pull off that look quite like you can. The wink you sent over your shoulder as you grab his hand pulls him out of the trance you had put him in. Willingly Azriel followed your lead out of the ball room while you bumped into his arm periodically. “Honestly he just might kill us both.” he felt you mumble into his shoulder as you hid your face and laughter in his body. Chuckling he couldn’t help but agree before winnowing you back to the house of wind. 

After Rhyand had actually considered beating the shadowsinger to a pulp your usual antics had dwindled in frequency which saddened Azriel more than he was willing to admit. During training you kept clear of him in case your brother didn’t approve of you even looking in his general direction and it had been almost two weeks since he had last talked to you for more then five minutes and honestly it was starting to drive him crazy. After a family dinner consisting of you, Nesta, Cassiand and himself he finally approached you. “You're going to the Summer court tomorrow right?” As the resident know-it-all he already knew your answer but he waited nonetheless “Yes?” Azriel watches as you place your book in your lap to give him your full attention and he swears he could bask in it forever. “I’m not doing anything for the next week, would you like me to go with you?”  The beaming smile you sent him was confirmation enough. 

That's how he found himself in your room the next morning helping you get ready. You had asked his opinion on basically every piece of your outfit and Azriel had never been so happy to assist someone put together their clothes for the day. After you had pulled all the needed pieces of clothing from your closest you held up the corset you picked for him to see. “I’ll need your help putting this on.” And that's how once again Azriel feared Rhys would consider pummeling him once more. 

Not once during Rhysands withering glare did Azriel stop pulling the strings of your corset until they were tight enough and only then did he gently pull the strings into a bow before removing his hands from your body. After finishing his assigned task Az thought it was best to leave the siblings to deal with each other and he would wait for you on the rooftop to begin your journey to the summer court. Only after he could assume was a long lecture from your older brother on being safe did the two of you join him on the roof. “I swear if a single hair on her head is out of place I will kill you.”  As much as Azriel wanted to laugh at the worn out sound of his friend he simply nodded his head before acknowledging what he said. 

The week in the summer court with you felt more like two days. Any time with you never felt like enough. On the way back Rhysand had talked to him and you that he wanted a debrief before you did anything upon your return. Gently he set you back on the ground once he had landed in front of the river house and he already missed the feeling of your body on his. He really wished and in that moment that he never agreed to those rules Rhysand had set for him and Cassian all those hundred of years ago. 

The silence that engulfed the room would make anyone who didn’t know the two males squirm from how uncomfortable it was, but these two males had dealt with much more stressful problems and had sat in more silence than the average people did. Azriel knew that lately your antic had been pushing the line but he had never stopped you nor had he ever thought too. Mainly because he didn’t want you too but also in fear that if he asked you to stop you would never come to him again. “Truly Rhys there is nothing going on between me and your sister. You and I both know she only does this to get under your skin and she does that very well. As long as it bothers you then she will keep doing it. You know this.” 

After a long and much needed talk Azriel made his way to the stand outside of the river house collecting a much needed breath of fresh air while he came to terms with his conversation with his oldest friend. A few moments pass before you come waltzing out of the house as if you had accomplished some great mission. “Maybe next time he’ll knock” Azriel knew exactly what you were talking about and couldn’t help but laugh at what you said. He didn’t need to ask you what you did as the one shadow that always kept you company told him all about what you had just done to your brother and his poor unsuspecting mate. Without another word Azriel scooped you into his arm while pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. Gods he wished this wouldn’t be the last time he felt your skin against his lips.

Rhysand had asked him to put a stop to your behavior towards him. Not that you made the shadowsinger uncomfortable, gods no, you could never do that. It was just you were your brother's pride and joy and he refused to let the males he considered his brothers to be the reason your heart broke. Rhysand would never be able to forgive or look at Azriel the same and he knew that. Azriel just wished the golden string tying the two of you together didn’t have to be hidden from everyone including you.

Taglist: @kemillyfreitas @gorlillaglue25 @willowpains

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare part.3

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Description: Aemond tests his handmaiden's resolve not to fall in love with him and might just be rewarded for his efforts. But rumours surrounding the dismissal of Aemond's previous handmaiden threaten to derail their budding romance.

Previous part

Writer's note: Thank you so so much to everyone who follows this story. Your comments genuinely make my day 🥺. Aware Aemond has been fighting for his life to get Y/N to love him at an absolutely glacial pace...hopefully this will make up for the slow-burn thus far ;) Also I got carried away so there will definitely be a part 4 if everyone still cares for it.

Warnings: female reader, slight mention of blood/injury detail, slight angst, Aemond has some anger issues, mention of Granny Vhagar, potentially ooc Aemond (though I stand by him being a total sweetheart with the person he loves), so long it's not even funny anymore.

Y/N felt a headache coming on, though she could not tell whether it was from contending with her conflicting feelings for Prince Aemond or if she was coming down with an illness.

Of late, the Prince had become bolder and always seemed to be touching her or inhabiting her space in some small way, as if tethered to her by some string she could not see. Although he never crossed the boundaries of what was appropriate and seemed to always be watching for her response. His hand would graze the small of her back as he reached round her to take a book from his shelves or his fingers would brush against hers as she handed him a goblet of wine. Before, he had always sat across from her in his favoured chair when she came to him with questions of what she was reading with Helaena, or he simply asked her to sit and talk with him.  Now he had begun to sit beside her on a chaise, close enough that their arms and thighs pressed together and his knee brushed against hers as he turned towards her to speak.

Only the other day, when the Princess had beckoned him over to look at Y/N's needlepoint on a dress she was mending for Helaena, he had positioned himself right behind her seat, one arm falling upon the arm rest, and leaned over her shoulder close enough for her to feel the reverberation of his chest as he spoke, sending her heart racing. "I am blessed to have a handmaiden that is both pretty and skilled in equal measure, sister." She rarely felt his eye stray from her when they were together in his chambers or Helaena's, and felt his gaze even as they crossed paths in the halls of the Keep during the day.

There were few periods of silence between them as from the moment she entered his chambers, Aemond would be asking her all sorts of questions about herself and about her day. Nothing was too insignificant for he seemed to want to know everything. And so she found herself complaining to him of his brother Aegon's new manservant who had begun to develop airs and graces, ordering the handmaidens about, much to her chagrin. Realising Aemond had been silent for a long time, Y/N began to feel slightly self-conscious she'd been boring him.

"I apologise, my prince. I'm wittering on about nothing."

She turned from him, feigning organising the items on his desk though she had already rearranged them earlier that day. She heard his soft tread approaching her before his hand covered one of hers to stop her movements. "Everything you have to say is important to me." His hand wrapped more fully around her own as he brought their joint hands towards him. Y/N knew she should pull away, that she shouldn't accept such intimate touches from the Prince, but she couldn't bring herself to do so, her own feelings for him having spread like wildfire despite her best intentions. Aemond graced her with a conspiratorial grin, leaning down to chase her eyes as they nervously flitted from him to the tapestries over his shoulder. "Would you like me to dispatch him for you?"

Y/N snorted at his jest and immediately covered her mouth with her free hand, embarassed that the sound had escaped her in front of the Prince. Aemond only chuckled and pulled her hand from her mouth so he had both gripped in between them. "Pease do not try to suppress your laughter around me, little one. I am gladdened to have been the cause of such a sweet sound." Y/N was certain she was blushing furiously at the Prince's attentions. Seeming to sense that his handmaiden was feeling overwhelmed, Aemond gently squeezed her hands before releasing her, only to raise his hand to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. "I hope to see you in the morning, Y/N, before I leave to train. That will be all for this evening." Y/N only nodded at the Prince, slightly dazed by his tender touch as she gazed at his handsome features. She found herself wanting to trace the contours of his face with her hand, to run her fingers along his cheekbone. Aemond's smile only grew in response, prompting Y/N to inwardly shake herself and turn to leave. When she reached the door she chanced a glance back to find him still watching her as if expecting her to turn back to him. His knowing smirk had her quickly flipping back round to exit his chambers.

As the morning sun cast a warm glow upon the Red Keep and its inhabitants began to waken, Aemond awaited the arrival of his lovely handmaiden to see him off before he left for the training yard. He was satisfied with the progress he had made to endear Y/N to him. Since he'd realised she at least harboured some attraction for him, he'd continuously tried to test the waters of her feelings, hoping with time their currents should strengthen into something more substantial, that she would come to reciprocate his love for her. He did not wish to make Y/N uncomfortable, ever aware of her shyness, or for her to feel duty bound to accept his touch. So he analysed her reactions carefully each time he initiated any physical contact with her or paid her compliments. Every time she simply blushed as he purposefully brushed his arm against hers, instead of shifting away from him, a gratified smile would ghost onto his face. Her reactions renewed him with confidence, assuring him that his attentions were not unwanted, his pursuit of her not without hope.

Looking up with a smile as the door to his chambers opened, his face fell as a different handmaiden entered than the one his heart yearned for. A heavy feeling of dread came over him almost immediately. Had something happened to Y/N. Was she unwell? Had she been mysteriously dismissed as his previous handmaiden had been? When the new handmaiden could not provide him with an explanation of Y/N's absence, he stormed from the room in the hopes that his sister Helaena might have knowledge of Y/N's whereabouts.

"Do you know where Y/N is? She did not attend to her duties this morning."

Helaena looked up from the tapestry she was sewing, alarmed by the abruptness of her brother's arrival and the slightly demanding tone of his questioning. "She complained of a headache yesterday and I sent her back to the servant's quarters to rest when she felt well enough to stand. Mayhaps it still ails her."

Aemond felt his chest constrict with worry and his voice came out quieter than he would have liked at his fears having been realised. "She is unwell? Should I go to her, ensure she is comfortable and being cared for?"

Helaena rose to take his hand "Most assuredly not, brother. It would only raise unwanted questions from the household staff and Y/N should be left to rest. Perhaps send her a token of your affectation instead, do you know which flowers she favours?"

Aemond nodded at her suggestion, his sister was wise and he trusted her judgement, though he knew others were quick to ignore her. "Of course, she has expressed a preference for bluebells."

Helaena's eyes glazed over as she considered this and Aemond patiently waited for her to share what she was thinking. "I believe you can find some on the eastern side of the Blackwater. I spotted them while flying overhead with Dreamfyre."

Aemond swiftly raised his sister's hand to his lips.

"Thank you, sister. I will ride out with Vhagar hence."

At the scratchy feel of her throat that had swiftly accompanied her headache, and the nausea that washed over Y/N in Helaena's room, she realised she was in fact ill. Awaking the next morning, she felt even worse than she had the day before, finding it difficult to move her head without pain and she groaned quietly as she rose from her bed to prepare for the day. It took her one attempt to stand to realise she would not be able to work that day, as a wave of dizziness sent the room spinning and she fell ungracefully back onto her bed.

"You look terrible. Are you sick?"

Y/N raised her head just enough to look at her friend Celeste.

"I feel terrible too. Can you ask the matron to find a replacement handmaiden for me today?"

Celeste nodded before grinning at Y/N. "Oh but how will Prince Aemond do without his favourite handmaiden?"

"I don't know what you mean" Y/N rolled her eyes at her friend, causing her to scoff.

"Don't give me that. I've seen the way he looks at you when we pass him in the halls." Y/N blinked in surprise that anyone else had noticed Aemond's regard for her, that it was not just a figment of her wishful thinking.

"How does he look at me?"

"Y/N, he only looks at you. I rarely see him cast his gaze elsewhere."

Y/N suddenly felt grateful for her fever, as she was able to use it as an excuse for her flushed cheeks.

A light tap against the door of her shared room woke Y/N in the late afternoon. Pulling herself up, though her limbs felt heavy as lead, she opened the door to be met by a young squire holding a large bouquet of bluebells.

"Prince Aemond wished these to be delivered to you."

Carefully taking the flowers from the squire and thanking him, she shut the door. Leaning down to smell the fragrant perfume of her flowers, Y/N smiled at the Prince's thoughtfulness and care for her.

Aemond felt sick with worry, he'd not heard any news of Y/N for days and he was beginning to think he'd have to fall back back on his original plan to go down to the servant's quarters and check on Y/N himself. The soft click of his chamber door opening had his head snapping up as it did everytime, just in case it was Y/N. His heart soared at the sight of the very object of his thoughts on the threshold. Aemond strode up to her, taking her smaller hand in both of his, his expression one of gentle concern.

"Have you been very unwell?"

His handmaiden looked somewhat bashful under his steady gaze, but he found he could not look away, even to save her from embarrassment. His eye flitted rapidly over her face to memorise her features oncemore, not having seen her in several days.

"I am well now, I apologise for my absence." Y/N titled her head up to smile softly at him, causing his heart to stutter. "I must thank you for the flowers you sent. They were beautiful and brightened my day."

Aemond squeezed her hand gently in response, his heart gladdened that his gift had been so well received. He leant down to whisper teasingly in her ear.

"I will gladly bring you as many flowers as should please you if you will only smile at me so prettily."

Aemond chuckled at the look of shock on his handmaiden's face, releasing her from his hold and grabbing his sword, giving her a chance to collect herself. "I am headed to meet with Ser Criston, but I hope to continue our conversation later."

Aemond paid no mind to the audience that had gathered as he continued to parry every blow that Ser Criston levelled at him. His concentration was broken, however, when he spotted his handmaiden in his peripheral vision walking through the training yard, basket in hand. He noted that she had stopped to watch and threw himself into the duel with greater fervour, wishing to impress her. In a brief moment of distraction, as he redirected his attention back to Y/N to gauge her reaction to his swordsmanship, Criston's sword nicked his torso. Aemond hissed in pain, looking down to see blood beginning to spread across his tunic, though he did not think it could be deep. Criston lowered his sword immediately, panicked at having actually injured Aemond, who he'd come to see almost like a son. He had expected him to block his blow easily, not having counted on the Prince's distraction.

Y/N ran to Prince Aemond's chambers, tripping over her skirts in her haste. She'd heard of his injury in the training yard and could barely contain her concern as news of it flew about the Keep. She felt a flash of embarrassment as she remembered how she'd stopped to watch Prince Aemond duel with Ser Criston, impressed by his skill as he seemed to dance around his opponent. Though she'd left before he had been injured and needed to confirm for herself that he was not badly harmed. Flinging open the door without knocking, she burst into the room panting for breath. "My Prince, are you..."

The rest of Y/N's words got away from her as her eyes fell upon the Prince in question sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless. She cast her eyes over the Prince's bandaged chest and torso, looking for his injury, but realised she'd been staring for far longer than was appropriate and quickly looked back up at his face to find him smirking at her. He could not be so gravely injured if he was still able to manage that, Y/N thought, embarassed by her own wandering eyes.

"Come here, Y/N."

Aemond's voice pulled Y/N towards him without her ever realising she'd been moving, although she stopped at a respectable distance away from him.

"Closer Y/N, I will not bite."

Y/N grew immediately suspicious of the mirth in the Prince's good eye and his teasing tone, but she took the final few tentative steps until she was positioned directly in front of him.

Aemond positively grinned up at her. "You are welcome to look."

Y/n's mouth fell open in shock at his meaning and she was certain she must look like a fish with her gawking. The Prince gave her no time to refute his allegation of staring, though in truth she had been. She could not deny even to herself that she found him beautiful.

"It is your fault after all." This startled her. How could he blame her for his injury? She had not swung the sword at him.

"My fault? What can you mean, My Prince?"

"I was merely distracted by your beauty, a stroke of luck for Ser Criston who could not have bested me otherwise."

Y/N took the time to swallow thickly, feeling slightly dizzy.

"You should not say such things, it is inappropriate. You are a Prince and I am a servant girl."

Aemond surveyed her for a moment, his eye trained on her face as he looked up at her.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Y/N knew she should tell Aemond that yes, it did make her uncomfortable, pretend she didn't feel anything for him. That would have been the sensible thing to do. But she could not bring herself to lie anymore. Not when he was looking at her as if she placed the moon and the stars in the sky each night. Rather, as if she were both the moon and the stars for him.

"No."

"Then I do not care."

Aemond snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her towards him so abruptly that their knees knocked together and her hands fell onto his bare shoulders to steady herself. When he received no objection from the lady, Aemond wrapped his other arm around Y/N and pulled her down onto his lap. Tilting his head down, his nose grazing against her collarbone, he spoke against her skin.

"I always want you this close."

The door opened abruptly as the maestor entered the threshold. Y/N rose quickly, practically ripping herself from Aemond's arms, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the position he'd found her in with the Prince. Head down to avoid seeing the judgement in the maestor's eyes, she sped past him without looking back. Though she still heard Aemond angrily shouting at the maestor for "scaring her" as she strode down the hall and an involuntary smile rose on her face.

Y/N tried to clear her thoughts of Aemond, but the terrible rumour she'd just been made privy to by Helaena's maid sent all of the feelings she'd tried so hard to repress bubbling back up to the surface. She had just begun to give into his pursuit of her only to find out he had pursued his previous handmaiden in the same manner, leaving her with child and dismissed from the household staff, so the rumours went. In hindsight, she'd been foolish to believe the Prince could ever truly care for her, feel anything deeper for her than mere attraction. Perhaps it was the chase itself he valued and she felt an uncharacteristic rage rise within her at such callousness.

Brusquely entering the Prince's chambers, she ignored the way his eyes lit up at the sight of her and the way he rose to greet her from where he'd been reading. She pretended not to notice, side stepping him with a simple "Good evening, My Prince", to begin lighting candles, the light of the day having waned. Aemond caught her wrist, stopping her in her movements, and gently turned her towards him.

"Has something happened? Have I done something to displease you for you to act so distant?" He raised his hand to brush some hair out of her eyes but Y/N recoiled from his touch, side stepping him again.

"I do not wish you to touch me. I have been made aware of your last handmaiden's fate and do not seek to follow her."

Aemond's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his jaw clenching. "I do not know of what you speak, Y/N."

Y/N heard her own anger and sense of betrayal seeping into her biting retort. "Would you so soon forget her? Did she not bear your child. Was she not promptly dismissed by the Queen for it?"

As her words registered, Aemond's face blazed with indignation and he spoke through gritted teeth.

"You think me such a villain? That I would be capable of such depravity?"

"I do not pretend to know the ways of a Prince."

Aemond's voice was colder than she had ever heard it, though tinged by a note of insecurity. "I never did such a thing. Indeed, I have no idea as to why my mother dismissed the handmaiden, only that it was not of my own doing."

Y/N searched his face for the truth of his denial, but she could not find it within herself to believe the Prince could want her when he could have a noble lady or a princess if he wished. And she could not shake her suspicions as a result.

"It does not make sense for you to have behaved as you have towards me. What possible other reason could you have for pursuing a lowly servant girl?"

"So this is what you think of me? That I am a monster who preys on the hearts of young maidens only to ruin them?"

Y/N startled at the unbridled rage on the Prince's face. When Aemond's fist swung out and connected with the nearby cabinet Y/N shrieked and turned her head to the side, bracing for a blow that never came. A few moments of silence passed before she dared to look up. Aemond was looking at her with his mouth parted in shock as if she had struck him instead. "Did you think I would strike you?" His voice came out softer now, though this did no good to calm her nerves, which were still on high alert. She tried to brush away the tears that were rapidly forming and causing her vision to blur, not wanting to feel any more vulnerable than she already did. At the sight of her tears, Aemond took a step towards her, his arms held out as if to comfort her. "Please don't cry my love, I would never harm you." She took a frantic step away from him, cowering against the wall closest to the door. A look of acute pain fell across Aemond's face and he halted where he stood, arms falling back down to his side. She could see his fingers twitch slightly, as if it was only with a concerted effort that he was able to stay where he stood instead of going to her. Y/N hated the note of hysteria that laced her voice as she breathlessly gasped out her next words. "Can I leave?"

Aemond's head fell and she heard him take a sharp intake of breath before looking back into her eyes. His movements slow and considered, he opened the door for her and stepped aside to let her pass, though she heard a slight tremble in his voice. "I would never keep you here against your will." Y/N judged that he was telling the truth from the sincerity in his eye and all but ran from his chambers.

When Y/N entered his chambers the next morning, Aemond tried to apprehend her to apologise, to ask for her forgiveness. He had felt so hurt, so angry that there was a possibility Y/N should think of him as negatively as others seemed to, when he valued her opinion of him above all others. He'd purposefully made himself a formidable warrior, someone to be feared and respected, in response to the indignities and abuse he faced as a child. But he had never wanted Y/N to be afraid of him. He had only spoken her name before she rushed out "I only came to make my survey of the room and take the empty goblets, My Prince." Aemond was silenced by the trace of panic in her voice, how she should feel so afraid that she flew about the room to complete her duties and be free of him as soon as possible.

The following day Aemond had looked up hopefully at the sound of his door to see another maid entirely enter his chambers. On the third evening, Aemond did not expect to see Y/N, beginning to fear she might never feel comfortable to seek him out again. He resolved that if another day passed he would have to storm down to the servant's quarters to apologise to her if she would not come to him. It had been torture to be without her, so accustomed was he to seeing her everyday, and he felt he could go mad from missing her. Worse still was the knowledge that he had frightened her so severely that she should think he would harm her. The very thought struck horror into his heart and his head fell into his hands.

Y/N felt somewhat cowardly feigning illness so she did not have to see Aemond, another maid stepping in to fulfill her duties instead. But she had learnt the truth of his previous handmaiden's departure from the Princess Helaena, that she had indeed fallen pregnant, but with the child of her sweetheart who she promptly married. And now she felt ashamed at having levelled such awful accusations at the Prince. He had only ever been kind and a gentleman to her, only ever respected her boundaries and made sure she was comfortable with each one of his advances. Surely he would not wish to see her again. And yet she felt she must at least apologise for her part before requesting a new post.

Around the Hour of the Bat, a slight creak of wood alerted Aemond to his chamber door opening. He shot up from his seated position at seeing his beloved standing in the doorframe, her hand gripping the handle as if prepared to bolt at the slightest provocation. He cursed himself at his rapid movements, which had caused Y/N's eyes to widen and her to take a step back away from him. He wished he could pull her to him, hold her and tell her over and over that he would never harm her. But he knew that assuring her of this would require a much more delicate approach. Her name fell from his lips as a reverant whisper "Y/N."

Something in his expression or voice seemed to calm Y/N enough for her to softly close the door behind her and take a few tentative steps forward. Though, with grief in his heart, he noted how she would not meet his eye. Her voice came out so quiet and timid he could hardly bear the evidence of the fear he had wrought in the one person he wished to protect and care for above all else.  "You are not still angry?"

Aemond took one step forward and then another as he watched carefully for any signs of distress, aware she was like to be flighty. He approached until he was close enough to touch her, though he refrained from doing so just yet. "I was wrong to raise my voice at you, and to lash out so that you should think I would strike you. Your misapprehensions were entirely understandable and I bitterly regret being so blinded by anger that should never have been directed at you, the one I love."

Y/N's eyes shot up at his words, her brows pulled together quizzically. "You love me?"

Aemond smiled sadly down at her. "I adore you. I am sorry indeed if I have not expressed this clearly enough."

Gently taking one of her hands in his own he started to pull her towards the chaise in the centre of the room. She followed without complaint but still looked wary of him. Once she was sat, he knelt before her and took both of her hands in his this time. Aemond tried to endow each of his words with weight to express the truth of his love for her as he gazed into her face. "If you can find it in yourself to forgive me Y/N, I will make you a promise now that I will never again raise my voice to you, nor will I ever comport myself in such a brutish manner before you. I would never harm you, my sweet girl" He slowly raised a hand to rest it on her cheek. "You are most precious to me. I wish only to see you happy and safe, for you to let me love you. If you permit it I would make you my Lady Wife. But, if you do not think you can ever feel safe in my presence again and you wish to part from me I will try to bear it."

Aemond feared he had mispoken when Y/N's eyes watered until her head fell forward to rest on his shoulder. His hands rose up slowly to hold her against him, one hand tenderly placed against the back of her head. He waited patiently for Y/N to speak but felt relief roll over him at the thought that she had looked to him for comfort. "I love you, Aemond."

He gripped her to him tighter, feeling that no words could be sweeter to him. He had hoped for so long to hear her say those words, for her to return his love and yet now he still feared he might lose her. Aemond tried not to panic and hold Y/N more steadfastly against him as she pulled back to look at him seriously, seemingly now in control of her emotions, her face level with his. "I want to trust you, to trust in your intentions. I will believe you if you say you love me as I know now that I was wrong about your previous handmaiden. But you must realise I am a servant. Can you really wish to marry me? "

Aemond beamed at Y/N as he realised she did not wish to cast him aside, that he could still acquit himself to her and prove his intentions. Smiling at her, his eye softening, he raised his arms to place them on either side of her. "It is my greatest and most earnest desire that you become my wife. You would no longer be a servant but my Lady" He hesitated for a moment, thinking of how he could put into words his devotion to her. "I wish only to continue in your light." Aemond lightly trailed a hand down her arm, his heart beating erratically as he awaited Y/N's answer. Aemond stilled as she raised her own hand to rest against his cheek, worried that the slightest movement from him would cause her to reconsider her actions. Leaning into her hand he placed his own atop to hold hers in place and briefly closed his eyes in bliss at her touch so willingly given. "Then I will marry you."

Aemond wasted no time in sweeping Y/N back into his arms, letting out a laugh as the pressing weight of her potential rejection lifted, leaving behind only joy in her acceptance of his love. When he felt her gently push against his shoulders he immediately pulled back, concerned he'd somehow misread the situation and only dreamed she had agreed to marry him. His mind quickly quietened at her loving gaze, only to begin racing again as she unexpectedly pressed a chaste peck to his lips. Y/N had hoped to convey her own feelings for Aemond by initiating a kiss, but she immediately felt embarassed at her own inexperience, sure she had not done it correctly. Aemond was only too happy to take control, feeling an overwhelming sense of affection rise in him at her innocent gesture and the bashful look on her face. Smiling at her, he pulled her to him to capture her lips with his. Aemond tightened his hold on her waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck to bring him closer.

If you got this far you're a legend. Thank you so much for reading. I have ideas for at least another part so pls let me know if you want me to continue.

@nanawaffles

@youknownothingjohnwatson

@jjkysnk

@callsigncrushx

@misspinkonmars

@hyacinthesiss

@bitchyfestivalbouquet

@truly-abysmal

@void21

@sapphiresandferrari

@pinkykats-place

@superintenseart

@idonotknowenglish

[sagesskies]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴇɪᴛʏ

✒ ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ʜɪꜱ ꜱʜᴏᴛ

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ: ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ (ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ꜱᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ʙᴏᴡʟ), ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴜʜ. ʀᴀᴄɪꜱᴍ (ᴛʜɪꜱ ɢᴏᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟꜱ!), ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ɢᴏʀᴇ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, Qʜᴇᴛᴏʜʀ ᴊᴜᴍᴘꜱᴄᴀʀᴇ, [ɴᴀᴍᴇ] ɪꜱ ᴀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄᴇ, ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏ!

Yandere Love Deity whose temple you grew up in; Intricate paintings and marble sculptures depicting their ethereal figure surrounding you as the years pass and you go from being one of the children raised within the temple’s immaculate halls, to the most devoted priest serving Luvarin. 

You firmly believe that love goes beyond just romance, the love between two partners in union, but extends to a love that matters just as much; the love between family, between friends, or even the simple love for your neighbour. It shows in how you preach, emphasising the importance of that connection and teaching the children that just as they should pursue the kind of love depicted in the sacred partnerships of the Gods, they should search for the love between two great friends, like that of the Merciful One and his sibling Qhetohr. 

Yandere Love Deity who hears your name in only a few months after your induction into priesthood. But really, they took notice of your presence before that. It was hard not to. Not when your offerings were always of the highest quality: Intricate carvings of sparrows, wines brewed with the strawberries grown in the temple, and not to mention the hymns you sang and wrote for them which were always a delight to listen to. 

But what really drew them to your offerings was not merely the quality, no, no, they had no shortage of extravagant offerings from their wealthy followers. It was the fact that you had taken the time to create them yourself. Now, handcrafted gifts weren’t uncommon either, but really it was the dedication. To truly devote yourself to creating such impeccable displays of faith… why, it was enough to make their heart flutter. And that was no small feat. Luvarin decides that it’s high time that they reward you. 

It’s small at first. Little things that build progressively till you realise that life has been treating you suspiciously too well recently. Your recently published text debating the moral lesson one should take from the fall of the house of Arus has taken off to unforeseen heights. You’ve been promoted in the temple. You managed to avoid getting hit by a vase dropped right on top of you, unintentionally of course, because it somehow, miraculously, got blown away by the wind. 

Yandere Love Deity, who is of course, the one responsible for it all. It’s almost like you know that, because your prayers become more intimate and personal. Truly grateful for everything Luvarin is doing for you– Well you don’t exactly address it to Luvarin, you’re praying to the Gods in general, but still. They’re the reason why you’re so lucky in the first place, and hearing you passionately thanking them so genuinely, is enough to have them giggle and kick their feet with absolute delight. 

‘O Children of Kases, hear my call, I offer you my deepest gratitude, for the countless blessings you bestow upon my path, For the love that surrounds me, both seen and unseen, for the beauty of the world and the kindness of hearts.

Thank you for the lessons, both gentle and harsh, that shape me, mold me, and help me grow. For the strength to overcome challenges, And the wisdom to see the truth within. 

In the quiet whisper of the leaves, In the gentle glow of the moon, I feel your essence, ever near, Guiding me, loving me, holding me….’

Laying in the fluffy, warm, and comfortable surface of their bed, Luvarin sighs. Truly, they were amazing. They’re aware that your prayer is not just for them, but for all their siblings as well, but sheesh, who were they kidding? Of course, this prayer was meant for them! Who else has been aiding you so much? Giving you such powerful blessings and bountiful gifts, their merciful brother had competition!

Luvarin sits up, and summons their scrying bowl. It was a new one that they haven’t used yet, it was a gift from you, one of your beautiful wood carvings. 

They don’t usually like using wood in their equipment, it was for commoner mortals. But this bowl was of a perfect shape, the width was of their exact preference, it wasn’t flimsy and easily scratched or damaged, and it was designed with carved drawings of myths that centred around Luvarin themself. 

Seriously, how lucky could they be, to have a follower as devoted and as considerate with his offerings as you are. Compared to the rough and unpolished quality of the mere commoners and the superficial and needlessly gaudy level the nobles reached, yours were a breath of fresh air in how much care was placed into them. 

Thinking about it is enough for Luvarin's already present smile to widen further.

Luvarin waves their hand in a delicate flourish, and the bowl fills itself with a clear, mystical water, the surface shimmering with images of the activity below the heavens. They press one tawny finger, and it pauses. 

Their brow furrows in concentration, Luvarin purses their lip, and close their eyes as they search for your presence. 

“Aha!” There you are darling.

Luvarin's eyes open, gleaming purple, and they clap their hands with delight as the water morphs to show them the familiar sight of your room in the temple. The bed on the right, blanket strewn haphazardly on the soft mattress. Your desk is on the left covered in the drafts for your latest text. Then there's you, on your knees in front of the window, hands held in prayerful position, head bowed submissively and your eyes closed in concentration. The moonlight pouring in and shining down on you.

Despite being one of Kases’ powerful children, a literal god, Luvarin was a mere afterthought to the mortals. Unlike mighty Uren, or their fearsome twin Qhetohr, why should one concern themself with the deity of Love for anything more than matters of romance? They were a joke in the Heavens, mortals literally painted them as a cherub with a pathetically small bow and a heart tipped arrow. 

Not to mention that a lot of their priests were nothing better than scammers who tricked desperate and lonely people and naive mortals who believed that serving in Luvarin's temple could give them luck in their love life. 

But, then there was you. [Name]. Sweet, genuine [Name]. 

Luvarin traces their finger around your face, enjoying each and every detail. Sometimes, when they watch you, from the scrying bowl or in the form of a sparrow, they have the desire to just reach out and touch you. To truly feel the warmth that you radiated. To know that you're real, and not just something that their mind has come up with. 

A wisp blows in. Luvarin clicks their tongue, less than pleased about the interruption. They snatch it out of the air, it wiggles and tries to escape from their grasp, but eventually it tires. 

“Speak,” Luvarin drawls, tapping on their leg impatiently. 

Wisps, little creatures born from the mist of the Jaurdenia River and used by Luvarin and their siblings as messengers. Round, bouncy, balls of wind that glowed far too brightly for Luvarin's keen eyes. They were cute and Luvarin loved to throw them around their palace and watch them zip and crash into the walls, but right now it was [Name] time, and [Name] time was as sacred to them as the annual Luvercalia ritual. 

The wisp squirms a bit, their golden centre glowing darker in concentration, before relaxing as the honey-like smoke pours out of it. The whispers of their merciful brother carried by the fumes, “Luvarin, please do know that I will be visiting you soon to discuss some matters.” 

Luvarin groans, frustration rolling off of them in waves. They loved their merciful brother. Really who didn't? But they'd much rather get back to watching you from the scrying bowl and listening to you sing their praises. 

However deep down Luvarin knows that if they were to not show up, then he would worry and tell Qhetohr to check on them, and then Qhetohr would find about you and then– 

To the deepest pits of Demorta, why are they dreading the mere idea of Qhetohr discovering you? Their beautiful, precious, fragile mortal. Oh, it's precisely because of that. You're mortal, you're fragile, and Qhetohr would delight in absolutely tearing you to shreds if they found out you're the reason why Luvarin stood up their merciful brother. 

Luvarin gnashed their teeth, their hand squeezed the wisp so tightly in their stress, they're snapped out of their furious thoughts by a sharp pop and the cool mist that seeps through their closed fist; the remains of the unfortunate wisp. 

Fine. Fine! If that is what must be done to keep you a secret, safe from Qhetohr’s blade. Then they'll do it. 

Luvarin waves away the scrying bowl, and with a flourish of their hand, a regal purple chlamys settles over their shoulders and they rub at the cool, golden brooch holding it in place. 

Their steps echo through the lavish, empty halls of their palace. A bird flies through the nearby garden, sunlight seeping in through the gaps between the chiselled pillar, and the smell of rain-soaked leaves pervades the air. Last night they forgot to renew the barriers that prevented the rain from getting in. Usually they would just flick their wrist to get the job done, but they were watching you work away at your latest text on Uren's Rebellion. 

Luvarin halts as a realisation dawns on them. When did they start to care for you? If they paused and took a look at the situation, it was strange. It shouldn’t even be possible. 

Them, a Love God. Twin to Destruction and Insanity themself. One of Kases’ powerful children. A literal living legend, responsible for the Fall of the House of Arus. And here they are, pouring their time and attention into a simple priest, their very own servant, and practically mooning over him instead of doing literally anything else. 

Before they can ponder further on this topic, a familiar figure enters their view. He waves, and flashes them a smile that Qhetohr would kill to keep for themself. Luvarin beams, pretty portrait perfect smile reserved for greeting guests and people they would rather not deal with at the current moment. 

They’ll deal with you later. They have all the time in the world, after all. 

Yandere Love Deity who starts to fall in love with you. They would like to say that it’s a slow and gradual process. But honestly, it’s not. It’s humiliating how quickly it all happens. One day they’re watching you writing your newest text, one moment you’re pondering your next sentence, then your eyes light up with a brilliant idea and Luvarin can’t help but genuinely smile, because they’re happy for you, for your breakthrough, because it’s something that you wanted, and what you want they want you to get and when that thought pops into their head that’s when they realise what the burning flame in their heart actually is. 

Yandere Love Deity who has had mortal lovers. They were all the same; Bold, filthy little creatures full of hubris that thought they could surpass the children of Kases. Luvarin’s infatuation with them never lasted long, they weren't meant to. They were all only mortal after all. And they completely expect the same to be true with you. Yes, they know what they’re feeling is love, but really what is the difference between loving something and desiring it?

So they descend to earth in human form, ready to charm you, have a bit of fun, and then leave like it’s nothing. It should be easy, right? 

Yandere Love Deity who disguises themself as a wandering traveller, settling into the town for a short while. After all, Luvercalia is coming soon, what traveler wouldn't want to take this opportunity to partake in the festival right in the town that Luvarin had once used as their base of operations during the rebellion? Mortals were weird, but they get it. To witness the sacred ritual dedicated to Luvarin take place on the very soil their holy blood was once spilled on, any god worshipping mortal worth their salt would not hesitate to take this opportunity. They are simply as one would say, blending in with the locals. 

Yandere Love Deity whose first meeting with you is not like what they imagined at first. They imagined that they'd charm you first, then they would sweep you off of your feet and seduce you into breaking your vow of chastity, pardon you from whatever punishment they dished out nowadays and then leave. 

Yandere Love Deity who barely even  gets to say since you're running through the town, making preparations for the upcoming Luvercalia festival and the ritual. Instead of a proper introduction where the two of you exchange pleasantries and get to know each other, all you get to say is: “Ah, hello traveler. Please, make yourself welcome here.” Before being pulled away to select a sparrow to sacrifice for the ritual.

But then they manage to catch you in your downtime, and you look at them for a moment as if you're trying to figure out where you've seen them before, and then you snap your fingers and you smile, your eyes creasing and wrinkling a bit at the edges and you apologize for not getting to introduce yourself properly earlier, but you remember them. You remember them even if they were probably nothing more than just one nameless face in your hectic day, and that… for some reason the mere fact that they were still important enough for you to remember amidst everything else that was going on, it just… 

Yandere Love Deity who isn’t prepared for how you make them feel. Holy.. the way you have their heart racing has them thinking you are the one who’s the god of love here, and they’re the one who should be worshipping you and singing your praises. Just seeing your smile has them weak in the knees. It shouldn’t be possible, you’re just some mortal destined to die out and fade away while they are a literal God, who has seen kingdoms and empires fall and rise in what to you is centuries, but to them is merely a small drop of water in the vast ocean of their existence. 

Yandere Love Deity, who still thinks that they can get out of this. Just like their destructive twin, they’re as stubborn as a mule. An immovable object that refuses to budge no matter how hard you push them. 

Yandere Love Deity who changes their mind so quickly it’s embarrassing. They try to distance themselves from you and pull themself out of whatever hold you have on them, but each and every attempt is foiled, not even on purpose, by you. You and your natural charms that has them caught, hook line and sinker. How can they not fall deeper in their love for you when you make it so easy to just descend deeper? 

Yandere Love Deity who continues to interact with you in mortal form. Slowly they become as much of a daily fixture in your life as you are in theirs, and they can't be more pleased about it. However their joy is short-lived when their greatest fear comes true; Qhetohr finds out. 

Cruel, wicked Qhetohr. Obsidian eyes curling with a malicious delight as they remind Luvarin that though beings such as them, deities, will continue to exist even when they will be forgotten and turn from reality to mere myth, that you will return to the dust and dirt that Uren used to mould your kind into shape.

Yandere Love Deity who comes to the realisation that a life without you is no life at all. And so they waste no time in ordering the clouds to part, for the sun to shine down right in front of you, and then descend down to you in their godly form, their entrance announced by pale rose petals gently floating down from the heavens.

Yandere Love Deity who does everything properly. They had a ring forged by Ularus, encrusted with small, absolutely dazzling rubies. They've wrapped it in a pure white cloth, with sparrows and roses embroidered into it. 

They get down on one knee and unveil the ring, and say those four famous words. 

“Will you marry me?”

Your eyes are wide and your mouth is gaping. Clearly you're shocked. They understand. You've just learned that sly, mischievous Erasmus is the very God you worship, serve, and mention in each prayer— and now they're proposing to you! It would be mind blowing for any mortal. 

But they let you calm down and process everything, they're patient like that, and they wait with bated breath and an eager grin for your response and the words that leave your lips are–

“I– Forgive me, Lord,” You take a shaky step back, your eyes dart around– People are staring– you purse your lips, “But I cannot accept your proposal. You're a god and I'm a mortal and it just– It won't work!”

“[Name], darling, please,” Luvarin laughs, clearly you're not thinking straight, still in shock they suppose, “In all the years that I have walked this earth, I have had many, and I am not joking when I say many, lovers. And many were just like you my love: Mortal. With crimson blood running through their veins and fragile bodies doomed to age.” 

They stand up and reach for your hand. You flinch and try to pull away, and even if their heart twinges, they soften their smile– Remember Luvarin, mortals are sensitive creatures. Be patient– and grip it tighter. 

You wince and they swear they can feel a phantom around their own hand in response.

Luvarin slips the ring on your finger. They wrap an arm around your waist, they ignore how you whimper and the fear in your eyes, and they bring you closer. 

“But you… darling, you are special. Compared to all those shallow creatures, your soul is vast, as wide as the earth, and the only one able to captivate me in the way that only you are uniquely capable of.”

“None of them can compare to you. Nobody can,” Luvarin can feel you shaking as they press a kiss to your temple, “And that is why I want– no need to marry you. I need you in my life [Name], and it's because you're mortal that we need to get married as soon as possible.”

You push them away, and this time they let you just so they can see the look on your face. 

Your brows are knit, and your lip is stiff. They've never seen this expression on you before. But they've seen it on Uren. On their merciful brother. On countless other gods and mortals through the ages. 

It was an expression that told Luvarin that they were about to hear something they didn't want to hear. 

Yandere Love Deity who thinks that you made an attempt to be gentle in your rejection, at least at first. But then it was their persistence that got to you. 

They saw glimpses of it in their time masquerading as a mortal. Your anger. It simmered underneath your skin and has been burning since you were young and pure. 

Their merciful brother told them, he knew you before when you barely reached their mortal form's waist, that you came from a pagan land. A land that was ransacked and pillaged and absorbed into Uren’s ruling. You came in, resentful and bitter with no desire to listen and obey to the people who killed your family. 

They know that you don't like the gods. Even now that you're a priest. But they thought that they were an exception, you got to know them as not a god after all, as Erasmus and not as Luvarin. 

Yandere Love Deity who is met with your frigid glare and… Gods, they can't bring themselves to remember the words you wielded like sharp blades. All they remember you telling them before they allow themselves to be swept away by the wind is that they should find another god to marry instead

Yandere Love Deity who weeps with such force that the skies turn grey, the oceans crash and churn, and the wind blows so violently it's nearly enough to have you whisked away from the earth's surface. It's enough to draw the attention of Qhetohr who cackles at the sight of Luvarin’s tear-stricken face. 

“I told you so!” Qhetohr’s obsidian eyes flash menacingly, “Mortals are fools. Arrogant, bumbling, fools. You could promise him the world and he would still turn up his nose at the thought of spending an eternity with you.” 

Luvarin clicks their tongue and avoids Qhetohr’s gaze, they wipe away their tears before facing their twin with a burning glare, its force lessened with the redness of their eyes, “Are you done?” 

Qhetohr snickers, they plop down on the kline beside Luvarin and hook an arm around their shoulders, ignoring their protests as they bring them closer, “Don’t be like that. After all,” Qhetohr smirks, “I’m here to help you.” 

Yandere Love Deity whose love for you turns bitter, it’s still there but it’s tinged with resentment, and Qhetohr only fans the flames higher till Luvarin doesn't think twice before saying yes to whatever Qhetohr has cooked up for you.

Yandere Love Deity who continues to watch you, watching as you experience misfortune. It starts with you injuring yourself more frequently. You struggle to think of what else to write in your latest text. The roses you've been growing in the temples wilt. If your public rejection of them wasn't enough already, this was enough to convince the town you're bad news. The temple's head priestess who once told you she understood why you refused Luvarin now glares at you coldly as she hands you your things and tells you you are no longer welcome within their walls.

Then it intensifies, your bad luck bleeding out into your surroundings. The food in the stores turn foul and rot. The animals start dying, flies surrounding their corpses and crows picking away at the meat. The village falls to unidentifiable sickness that the physicians and priests are not able to cure. It all comes to a head when the waters become infected and run black. 

Who else could be responsible other than the ex-priest who rejected his own god? 

They scream at you, they curse you out as your ‘brothers and sisters’ hold you down with flinty stares on top of the stone table. Your bare skin pressing on the cold surface. They stripped you down to your loincloth and doused you in the freezing waters of the Yulerine River all in preparation for this moment.  

One acolytes light the candles at the feet of the altar, and another one pours wine into a bowl and sets it in front of the statue of Luvarin behind you. A priestess lights the incense sticks and the air is filled with the scent of smoke tinged with roses.

The head priestess holds a hand up and closes it, the crowd goes quiet. You can see them, their purple eyes framed by their golden locks, royal and cold, narrowing with what you can only describe as a sadistic glee.

“We stand here today,” The head priestess bellows, “To witness the execution of a traitor to the temple, to our patron and god: Lord Luvarin.”

“Sister, please–”

“He has offended our Lord!” Her voice drowns out your pitiful voice, “And by his death, we shall rectify his foolish mistake. We shall offer his life as an offering to our Lord and beg for their forgiveness by giving them the man who has refused their love that which he does not deserve to have!”

You search the masses for somebody, anybody who can see past this farce and save you. But amidst the mass of people who you have grown up with, who you have helped, who you have supported through the hardest of times only to find aggression and rage that should not be directed at you. 

The head priestess starts to chant the prayers for ritual. The damn Luvercalia ritual. You want to laugh. You spent weeks planning everything meticulously down to the tiniest detail, and you don't even get to see the fruit of your labour because now instead of the sparrow you picked out from the town's aviary, the adorable little bird you've spent so much time grooming and preparing for this exact moment, you are now lying here, being rushed through the sacrifice preparations that should've been done over the course of two weeks. 

You want to laugh, and so you do because now that you're going to die you don't have to care about maintaining appearances. 

One of the acolytes holding you down, a teen boy with freckles and mousy hair named Kreo, glares at you, “Shut your mouth, swine.” 

You only laugh harder, because this little boy is trying to act tough when you've already seen him bawl his eyes out when he broke an ankle trying to save a cat from a tree. 

A balled up piece of cloth is shoved into your mouth and you choke on your own spit and gag as it touches the entrance of your throat.

Usually you love it when it rains, but when it starts to fall in slow drops, building up till eventually you're shivering from the rain, you want to cry because when you died, you at least wished for golden haired Ebris to grant you the mercy of letting the sun shine down on you in your final moments.

As the head priestess starts reciting the prayers, and the men and women who you grew up with in the temple anoint with you oils and salts for the sacrifice, you search for them in the sea of faces and you find them easily. Their lips spread into a devious grin, teeth shining from beneath their hood, and they mouth to you: This is your fault.

“This is your fault!” A grieving father screamed at you as he held his dying daughter. 

“This is your fault,” Your friend hissed at you from between her teeth when the cows on her family's farm began to drop like flies. 

“This is your fault,” The head priestess spoke with a measured tone when you were removed from the temple and your position as priest, “And that is why you are no longer welcome here.” 

The head priestess lifts her head from her prayer, and she spreads her arms wide, “Let the ritual begin!”

The people cheer as your eyes widen and you struggle against the hands holding you down. You try to find somebody with even a hint of pity in their face, but all you see is disgust and resentment.

Despite your struggle and the clear panic and fear in your eyes, an acolyte holds out a wooden box decorated with intricate carvings of flora and sparrows, too pretty to be holding the deadly sharp blade forged from Ofriedian metal that you had personally shined and sharpened to perfection. 

The head priestess plucks it out daintily, holding it with reverence. She weighs it in her hand, before gripping the hilt and pressing it against your bare skin. 

She leans down into your ear, you can barely hear her voice amidst the raucous noise of the eagerly awaiting villagers, “You have cursed us all with your actions,” Her breath that smells like citrus and ice fans against your sweaty face, “But today… today you can repent [Name]. What we are doing may seem wicked and cruel, but I assure you. This is for the greater good. By your death the village will be saved and our Lord Luvarin will forgive you.”

“You will thank me for this. You will thank us all.” 

The head priestess rises from where she bent down, and then she lifts the blade and presses it back down on the area of your upper abdomen, the cold blade digs into your skin, and the blood starts to seep out. 

At first as the knife pierces your skin, the pain is equivalent to an ant bite, if the ant's mandibles were aflame. Then she drags it across his skin like she's making one long stroke with a paintbrush, and a guttural scream is wrenched from your throat but is muffled by the gag and drowned out by the people's cheers.

–

Luvarin felt suffocated within the large mass of people, mortals. Sweaty, ailment stricken mortals burning with rage and righteous fury. Despite how sickening this was, they had to be here. 

They meet your gaze that is resentful and full of fear at the same time, and despite the tension between you two their heart flutters and their face breaks into a lovesick smile. Though it quickly morphs into a frown when you turn away. 

People keep jostling them and the mortal woman with grey streaks in her blonde hair is speaking, but the only thing that Luvarin cares about right now is you. 

You who have the kindest eyes they've ever seen. You who held them in your arms when on the nights they'd visit and pretend to be cold. You who despite your past continued to respect the gods and adhere to the strict rules that came with being a priest. 

Then they remember Qhetohr's words. And Luvarin remembers your other side.

Your other side. The you who looked at the ring, their genuine feelings, and listened to their heartfelt confession, who they allowed to see their vulnerabilities. The you who chose to turn your back to them just like he did all those years ago. 

Luvarin's hands clenched into fists, and their immaculate nails dug into their divine skin. They can hear you laughing from the altar, and that is enough to fan the flames of anger higher. Their skin breaks and golden ichor drips to the earth. 

Eventually your laughter is cut short when you are gagged, and somehow that only infuriates them even further. Emotions they can't understand are brewing inside of them, and it reflects in how the earth responds to them; the sky darkens, and the sound of distant thunder approaches. 

Rain starts to pour from the sky, and they can hear some of the mortals around them start murmuring about how Luvarin must be watching them. Yes, they're watching alright.

Luvarin flinches when you look at them again, they hope you don't notice. Looking at your eyes again, the fear seems to have only increased, and the anger is slowly being replaced by… regret. They smirk, and slowly it turns into a grin. 

Their lips move quicker than their brain, “Yes. This is your fault. Regret it. Regret it and wish that you had just come to me instead.”

They can see that as the rain runs down your face, so do tears. Tears that despite whatever they may want right now, they feel the need to wipe away with gentle kisses.

No! They curse in their head, You can't be thinking this again. Remember what Qhetohr told you. 

You could give him the world and he still wouldn't choose you. 

Before Luvarin knows it, the woman with greying hair lifts her arms to the sky and exclaims, “Let the ritual begin!”

Despite Luvarin's superior senses already being overrun by the harsh sound of ecstatic cheers, they can still hear your pitiful whimpering, like you're a wounded animal. 

The woman is handed an Ofriedian dagger and then–

Thunder strikes the same time you scream. 

Luvarin can't look away. It's like cold hands are digging into the sides of their head and are forcing them to witness consequences of their action.

The Luvercalia ritual traditionally has them cutting open the stomach of a fattened sparrow, removing the organs, and then cleaning it with purified water and then filling it with herbs before wrapping it with a rope soaked in purified oil and tied to a stick before it is lit on fire. 

You kick and fight, tears streaming down your face, indistinguishable from the rain. The woman cuts your stomach open, stopping when the blade reaches the beginning of your loincloth. Blood starts to seep from the wound, the flow intensifying when two acolytes dig their hands in your wound, ignoring your thrashing, and pull the wound open wider. Luvarin feels as if their own stomach is being ripped open as they continue to watch this.

The woman's face is calm and serene, but her eyes have a satisfied gleam as she rolls up the sleeves of her pristine white robes. She reaches a hand in and starts to pull out your organs. The way she goes about can only be described as methodical. First she cuts out the liver, then the gallbladder. She's unbothered by the crimson that begins to stain her skin and bleed into her soul that no amount of prayers or bathing would remove. Hair falls in front of her face as she is pulling out the stomach and a priestess immediately steps in to tuck it behind her ears. 

Luvarin has seen no small amount of blood in their lifetime, before they were an adorable cherub, they were a war hero who walked a road soaked in gore and ichor but this… They… They can't bear the sight of your violent but ultimately futile attempts to break free that only grow weaker as the light begins… Oh gods. 

Luvarin shoves a hand over their mouth and pushes their way out of the crowd, ignoring the protests of those pulled out of the trance the ritual placed on them. 

They barely step foot out before their immortal body is no longer able to hold any of it in. 

As they heave, they try to grasp your heartbeat and stabilise it. You don't deserve this. They made a mistake, but they could still fix this. But just as they're trying to anchor you in the land of the living, something else, a deity or something of equal power, is dragging you to Demorta. 

No, they weren't going to let you leave them, you were going to stay with them and they were going to fight harder than before, and this time they won't accept any rejection you may have ready for them. 

However maybe it was the vomiting, or the opposing force was simply that powerful. Whatever it was, when they whip their head around as soon as they can no longer hear your already fading heartbeat, they use their enhanced eyesight and you– You've stopped moving. The blood is slowly pouring down the altar, moving slowly, oozing even. 

They are already cleaning the now hollowed out stomach of your body and reciting the blessings to purify the herbs. Rosemary. Basil. Sage. Lavender. Thyme.

Luvarin is still as they watch the woman, hands cleaned but forever dirtied with your innocence, place the herbs inside, and then sew up your chest before closing your eyes. 

She claps her hands, and they tie you to a large wooden pillar with the rope. They recognize the wood, they– they can see the little carving you etched into its surface when the two of you visited the grove. 

You smiled as you sheathed the dagger back on the strap in your leg, satisfied with your work.

The first letter of both of your names with a + sign in between the two of them. 

“Some of my finest work yet,” You chuckled, but the look in your eyes tells them it's more than just a joke. 

They brush their hand against the letters, and they smile. It's not perfect, but it's.. it's human. 

“Do you like it?”

“I… I love it.” 

The woman recites prayers before your body as an acolyte waves a golden thurible around your body, letting the smoke curl itself around your corpse and purifying the body these so called holy servants of theirs have sullied with their cruel, filthy hands. 

A man, the village chief, steps forward with a burning torch that struggles to remain lit against the rain that has only grown stronger. He turns to the woman, “Priestess, are you sure that this will work? The rain–”

“The fact that it is still lit is a sign Xander,” She nods toward the unlit pyre, “Please, get on with  it.” 

He nods, and lights the pyre. It is weak, sputtering, and despite the muttered prayers of the temple’s servants and the mortals watching, the flames die out. Killed by the rain. 

“Priestess…” The village chief starts, but the priestess raises a hand. 

“This is… It is an issue with [Name],” She looks to the sky, “Luvarin may not want anything to do with him anymore.” 

Those words cause something to snap inside of them, and as if in response lightning strikes the pyre. The priestess gasps, the village chief falls on his ass, and the people are struck with fear. However the lightning does not set the body aflame, instead the fire lights the earth and it spreads faster than the rain can extinguish it. It bites at the feet of the acolytes trying to put it out and burns them with all the strength of Luvarin's rage.

What happens next is a blur. 

Qhetohr's told them about this before. When your body becomes nothing more than an extension of your weapon and it's like you're not in control of it. 

Everything you do in this state is controlled by instinct alone. 

When they wake up, one of Luvarin's hands is caked in blood and bits of flesh are stuck beneath the nails. They are standing over that woman's corpse and her neck has been punctured with holes that could have only been made by their hand.

Her body is floating, half submerged, and they are knee deep in water. The rain has stopped, and they're no longer wearing their robes. They see that it's wrapped around the village chief's neck like a noose. The village in the distance has been ruined by the flood, and there are more bodies floating around them. 

The only thing unaffected? Your body. The grey clouds have parted and there's a beam of sunlight shining down on you. Your eyes are closed, your head is slumped, and your wet hair sticks to your face. 

You're still beautiful, even as your skin begins to grow pale with death. 

Luvarin sees the Ofriedian knife, they pick it up and sever the ropes. They catch your body when it falls, they drop the blade, and they wrap both arms around you. 

They inhale whatever remains of your scent that hasn't been washed away by the rain and the ointments. 

Luvarin frowns when they feel the unfamiliar sensation of tears stinging the corners of their eyes. They burrow their nose in the crook of your neck and mumble into your skin, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen.” Their voice is like a sputtering torch about to succumb to the harsh rain. 

If they strain their ears and focus on the wind, they swear they can hear you. 

They can hear your voice, but they don't know what you're saying. 

“I'm sorry,” Luvarin croaks once more, “I didn't want to hurt you. I never did. I just wanted you to notice me. Not Erasmus. Not Luvarin the Deity of Love. Just me.” 

“A- And I couldn't take it when you said no. I need you in my life [Name], and I still do. But I'm not so selfish tha- that I'd do something stupid. It was Qhetohr,” They can't stop their voice from quavering, “Qhetohr made me do this, s- so if you're gonna be mad at anybody just be mad at them okay?” 

Your silence is deafening but they press on, “I'll do anything,” They look up to the sky, as if begging for any of their siblings to help them. Dignity be damned, “I'll do anything.” 

But nobody answers. Not Qhetohr. Not their merciful brother. Not Uren. The only response is the quiet, occasionally interrupted by the sound of rain dripping from nearby leaves. 

Yandere Love Deity who fixes your body. They place back your organs, mend your skin, and make everything normal again. Or as normal as it can be now that there's a gaping hole left in their existence.

Yandere Love Deity who keeps your body in a coffin they make from their own hands. You have made them countless gifts, but their favourites were always the adorable wood carvings that they can tell you poured more time and effort into than they would ever deserve. 

It is imperfect and made of mistakes, but it is sturdy, and it is genuine. Ularus volunteers to help, he insisted, but a flinty glance is enough to discourage him from continuing further. They need to do this. This is the least they can do for you after all you've done for them. 

Yandere Love Deity who is visited by their merciful brother the day that they lay your body to rest in the coffin. 

“He was always such a bold child.” 

“[Name]?”

“Oh, of course! He may not seem like it now, but well, you remember what I told you.”

“Who else would, if not us? We're the only ones who know now. We're the only ones who will ever remember him.”

“He loved you.” 

“He loved Erasmus.”

“Are you not also Erasmus?” 

“Dear brother, no. Erasmus is the mysterious charming mortal. I am Luvarin, to him I am nothing more than the master he hates– hated and would have never had to serve if he had the choice.” 

“He loved you Luvarin. He was simply confused. He can respect the gods but that does not mean he likes them, and well– to love the god he detests the most is not the easiest thing to come to terms with.” 

“What are you trying to say here?” 

“I'm saying that the two of you could have worked if there was simply time, time that you no longer have.”

“...” “My condolences to you, Luvarin. He was a good man.”

☏ - ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇᴍᴀɪʟ: ᴍʀ. ꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ.

[slavicviking]

Dipping my toes in the ‘oblivious Eddie has no functioning gaydar which results in mild miscommunication’ genre of the Steddie experience, hope you enjoy!

Ao3 extended version

“My, my, are my eyes deceiving me? Steve Harrington himself has graced these sinful halls?”

Instead of a sneer Eddie’s been expecting, Steve’s face lights up with a smile. He lifts his hand to wave at him with much more enthusiasm than expected. Which is… weird since they have maybe talked once when the guy picked up Eddie’s new freshmen from Hellfire. Well, almost as weird as meeting a Harington in a gay bar itself. 

“Munson, hi!”

A little dumb-founded, Eddie waves back weakly, his eyes catching the sight of Robin Buckley at the bar behind them. Ah, so there’s the reason Harrington’s here.

“You’re here as an ally, I presume.”

“Uhm, yeah I guess so?” Steve pouts, confused, before smiling again. “You too, then?”

“Sure, let’s say that.”

“Hey, you should sit with us,” Harrington grins as if that’s actually a good idea. Before Eddie manages to think of an excuse, he’s being dragged towards Buckley by the sleeve. “Come on.”

“Munson,” Robin nods at him in greeting, something akin to a mischievous smirk on her face. Why, he doesn’t begin to understand. 

“You look good, by the way,” a deep voice whispers into his ear as they set off towards the tables and Eddie has to do everything for his soul not to leave his body. Steve… is being way friendlier than expected. But that’s what it is, he has to remind himself before it gets too dangerous, just guys being dudes.

The ‘us’ in question turns out to be more than just the bizarre Harrington-and-Buckley duo. There’s Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers and some tall guy with the best hair he’s seen, not counting Harrington of course, bless his hair-sprayed soul. They don’t seem all that surprised he’s here at all which - fair enough, but also that he’s here at this table and that he doesn’t know how to explain. Nancy Wheeler, though, ever the enigma keeps shooting him loaded glances. He’s pretty sure she sniffed out his embarrassing crush on, ugh, Steve Harrington and she’s- Jealous maybe? Probably? As if there is a universe where he, Eddie Munson, poses a threat to someone like Nancy fucking Wheeler. 

Steve sits himself closest to Eddie, maybe because he’s feeling guilty - as he should be - about throwing him into a table full of basically-strangers or maybe for a different, Harrington-unexplainable reason. The point is, he’s close, Eddie can smell his aftershave and cigarettes and it’s the best and worst thing that’s happened to him. 

He keeps talking, too, asking Eddie questions about DnD (and isn’t that a head-scratcher in itself) and what conditioner he’s using because he really likes his hair (as if Steve wasn’t the embodiment of every shampoo commercial ever made). The gin-and-tonic Eddie’s been sipping must’ve been stronger than he thought because he swears he hears Steve saying something like ‘I don’t know, I think you’re really pretty’ at one point. 

Eddie is starting to wonder if Harrington, perhaps, has been replaced with a pod person.

There’s a few more attempts at small talk from Steve but Eddie’s too confused and trying so hard to not be hopeful because a second edition of a pathetic crush on a straight dude (Steve, his mind supplies helpfully) is going to be too painful. Harrington seems kind of down afterwards, sliding off his chair and towards the bar which leaves Eddie with an infamous Buckley glare. Followed by an aggravating assault to his shin. 

“Ow, Jesus, what the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” Robin is quick to retort. “What’s your problem? I thought you had a crush on him! It’s frankly kind of fucking obvious.”

Okay, whoa, rude. 

“I don’t,” Eddie sneers back but falters when she levels him with a blank stare. “Fine, I do. Whatever. Way to kick a man when he’s down.”

“Dingus, he’s been all over you for the last hour. He’s been flirting like crazy and you, for some reason, keep shooting him down, what the hell?”

“But-” But he’s straight. Right? He turns to see Steve at the bar and - oh, there’s some guy with curly hair touching Steve’s arm and Steve’s smiling and blushing and- “What?”

That won’t do.

“Go get your man,” Robin says, practically shoving him off his stool to emphasize her point. Eddie scrambles from the floor, ignores the intense looks from the rest of the table and marches towards the bar.

“I’m coming, Stevie.”