#& — au : heaven's reign .

[sugarcandydoll]

happy birthday to the most handsome man in the world mr. eren jaeger!! ♡🧸💞 03.30.2024

[viladlind]

like a broken mirror, shattered pieces of fiyero keep falling at his feet. there's not much else to do but to keep looking at them. bits and pieces of memories that are his own yet somebody else's, amplified by emotions he knows belong to him. he sees zevran, in some of the pieces. there's his smile and his frown, his jokes and his laughter.

   more than the sight of him, it's the warmth that should fill fiyero.

   the comfort of the two of them slotted together in bed. the joy of being tangled in each other with a wine glass in each hand. his own claws, carding through golden hair. the trust, deep enough to open a small corner between them for love, affectionate and adoring.

   it should feel warm. fiyero looks at his hands, covered in zevran's blood, and feels cold. entirely numb, if not for the devastating gap in his chest filled with guilt and regret. there's so much of it he doesn't know what to do with it, much like the red clinging to holy robes.

   his wings slumped enough to drag against the ground as he walks, fiyero is aimless. he stayed with the body until it disappeared. what was he to do afterwards? with recognition suddenly sparked, only once it was too late to do anything about it? it was his own hands that tore through zevran's body. he meant to hurt him.

   he meant to kill him. he killed him. he—

   he feels the presence of aurelius a little too late. his focus isn't there, stuck in his own mind. so many parts to fiyero that are pulling back and forth, memories of another life and this one. isaiah in his hand, dripping with blood, clatters to the ground. he discards it as if he was disgusted with it. he's only disgusted with himself.

   looking at aurelius, his expression is entirely defenseless. where there should be a picture of solemn respect, fiyero is ... hurt. in the purest sense of the word. distraught, distressed.

   ' ... divinus imperator. ' robotic, in the way his mouth moves without his input. he can still feel aurelius, even if he's half drowning in another world entirely. he doesn't straighten, lacking any of the disciple that was instilled in him. his six wings curl around, closer, almost shielding his body. he looks on listlessly.

@hollowfaith

[innerbeast]

boom!

islands combust and crumble away, dar's attention swiveling to the lands now visible. watching as their existence comes to an end, replaced with flames and scattered remnants of what once was. flora and fauna caught within the carnage, lives stolen in place of the one he refused to part with.

the world suffered where he refused to fall.

somehow, he felt it familiar. the way in which his chest tightened, how his gut churned and folded in on itself. realization sitting against him like a heavy weight, crushing him down; lower and lower. dar'khol knew it to be guilt, but the level in which is sat should be something foreign to him -- at least within its current magnitude. but, no, he knew this weight... he knew it well. part of a life memory did not recall.

your fault, a voice whispered, it's your fault.

truth was held in what it said, but only in pieces. it was not he who set wrath against the world below, not he who tore apart the body of the innocent and left them to rot. tangled in a mess of turmoil and hatred. he was not at fault for keeping his partner trapped under a veil of lies! only for making them known. that, he would take fault for, he already has.

once more, the demon turns to face the golden bloodshed. squinting less with the, now, dimming glow. a sight that didn't alleviate the weight between his ribs any less, only strengthened it if nothing else. not for aurelius' condition or what the moment spelled for him, but of the lasting impression it would all leave on the seraph that held him still. the being responsible for the rush of golden blood, for the influx of blades and feathers that pierced the commanders form.

he could only imagine the toll it must have on him. never would dar have been able to bring himself to do the same, needed or otherwise.

no one should have to go through something like this.

"klaus..."

a low, sympathetic calling of the seraph's name is all dar'khol can bring himself to offer. eyes left watching on as flaming wings remained crackling behind him, as the distant sound of falling rock and debris rang out.

the demon's expression falters; scrunching with guilt-ridden upset before he's tearing his gaze away. part of him still yearns to watch the angel's downfall, to see life fade from his holy visage and fade away, regardless of how the stars would merely bring him back. but klaus couldn't do it, he shouldn't have to.

lids squeeze shut, blocking away the demons own eyes of gold as a shaken breath steels him.

"it has to end," he mutters, a final side glance given. "whatever you choose to do, klaus, needs to be what ends this."

dar'khol's stare lingers, still, mouth moving wordlessly as if to add something more, but he doesn't feel like he should speak what sits on his tongues edge. two simple words that feel distasteful after all his involvement.

so, he leaves it unspoken.

' i'm sorry '

he relieves himself of the battlefield, the angels' left to decide amongst themselves. fiyero and seofon still remained upon one of the isles, he'd occupy himself with them; see how they fared within these chaos-stricken waves.

his part in this was over.

( @hollowfaith , @anghexescu exit stage left -- the spotlight's all yours! )

It was bad enough that a fallen angel was with them. It would be near blinding and the effect of the holiness would have gotten to the demon with too much exposure. Klaus knew that he had to act fast.

He hears Dar'khol.

If this kept going on, it wouldn't just be him.

It would be everyone else as well, and he couldn't have that. He promised that no one else would be getting hurt by Aurelius.

...

Aurelius is suspended in the air, impaled by his own wings and the chains wrapped around his limbs. However, it isn't enough to stop him. Aurelius didn't care who got caught in the attack, and this was enough to enrage The Seraph all the more.

Barriers after barriers shields any rocks from hitting near or at beings below.

The choir above ensues, continuing their hymn and when the sword rises higher, by Ithuriel's side, the choir gets louder. The swords that the angels hold up risen out of their hands to circle around Uriel and Ithuriel all the same.

Klaus' arms outstretch, the mouths across Klaus' body open to singing along to the hymn, a soft tenor. No matter how soft and gentle their voices were, there were other voices that overlapped with it. Voices unrecognizable and distorted, these mouths were still the loudest among the angels above. Despite this, they sounded warm and physically felt to be something of a warm, fuzzy blanket type of feel that cascaded over them. It would be the only time Aurelius heard the seraph speak.

{AURELIUS VANE-TEMPEST. FOR ALL THE SINS YOU HAVE COMMITTED WILL BE JUDGED.}

When the name is spoken, Uriel's tip comes into contact with the spear, as do the other swords around them. The angels continue to sing as well as Klaus' voice joining them. It was time to give their judgment. The molten rocks disintegrate whenever they come into contact with barriers scattered about. They'd become specks of dust falling from the skies where they'd blow away.

Feathers fall from Klaus' wings and become sharp like swords. He drives them through Aurelius, plunging them deep within.

Holy, holy, holy.

The angels will sing and praise their Lord. With each 'holy', feathers upon feathers pierce through every part of Aurelius. Once more where he had once been pierced before, he'd be stabbed again. Though only this time, the steel-like feathers will stab through eyes in which their Lord had gifted in order to see, the throat in which Their Lord gave them to sing his praise with a voice they've given them. HANDS in which the Lord have given to care and love those around them, feet and legs to allow for walking, and running. All four wings that were blessed and gifted by the Lord as one soared through the skies were also pierced through before Klaus worked to rip them right off

Aurelius Vane Tempest, the Cherub, was unfit to be an angel of the Lord.

The angels above grabs their own swords once more and they all point at Aurelius.

Holy, holy, holy.

The swords are released, but instead of falling down, they all zip toward Aurelius, stabbing him over and over again in all the places in which Klaus had pierced previously.

...

I can't kill him...I can't....I can't do it. Please....please Aurelius...please stop..

...

And in that last moment when the plunging of swords work through their last stabbing, they cease and remain within Aurelius' flesh.

Klaus looks up to his sword. It speaks to him, pleads almost. Ithuriel had been put to sleep from the angels hymn and there was no NEED to kill Aurelius as he'd only return.

In truth, the Seraph knew Uriel was right. Klaus couldn't even bring himself to actually go through with it. This had already been hard enough. To strip away the things that made an angel an angel...Aurelius' golden wings were no longer on his back.

He couldn't kill Aurelius. It hurt almost as much as when everything else had been revealed.

@innerbeast & @hollowfaith

[pirtirys]

“a princess doesn't cry.”

open starter / Maegor I Targaryen / eternal king au

[valalice]

Hello there!! I really love your work! Could I request some older! gf caitlyn with some subtle and soft dominance? Doesnt need to be nsfw [but won’t complain if it is ;))]

It could just be about how she acts with the reader when in public, at home, etc. [i.e: cooking for reader when they’re busy for exams, putting her hand on reader’s thighs when sitting in public, or big spooning reader when they head to bed.]

That’s all. Please remember to stay hydrated and take frequent breaks! Keep being you and don’t overwork yourself :)).

— 🐢

ꪆৎ HEAVEN, HEAVEN. ft. 𝓬𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓵𝔂𝓷 𝓴𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓷.

ʚɞ summary. subtle ways your older girlfriend caitlyn shows dominance towards you.

warnings. fem!reader. reader is in college. age gap (10 years or more). no use of y/n. modern au! where cait is an office worker. fluff. in one headcanon there's a mention of curly hair (it's all for inclusivity and bias tbh—coming from a girl with curly hair). pet names ie: darling, love, baby, ect. smut nsfw. bottom!reader. dom!cait. hair pulling. mommy kink (reader calling cait mommy & cait calling herself mommy). squirting. cait had a bush. reader is a brat kinda. slight exhibition. fingering (r!receiving). orgasm denial. oral (c! receiving). strap (r!receiving). the strap is referred to as cait's cock. not proofread. wc. roughly 2k to 3k

an. thank you for the request, lovie! and i'm happy that you're enjoying my work ☺️ i decided to take this request and turn it into a headcanon format so i hope that's okay! you are too cute with your kind words and i hope you are taking care of yourself, drinking lots of water and eating yummy meals <3 i also decided to add some nsfw headcanons 🙈 so i hope you guys enjoy them. and for any of these headcanons i am willing to expand on them if you guys are interest :) remember to support your writers by reblogging & commenting !

m.list. | arcane m.list.

࣪ ˖ SAFE FOR WORK.

‣ straight away with caitlyn you notice her dominance. even before the two of you started dating and she was courting you, as she'd say when reminiscing with you or her friends on the early stages of you two, she exuded an air around her that's nothing less than confidence, pride, and dominance. she's already tall at 6 foot, but her posture is always upright, her appearance sleek, and she reveled in maintaining eye contact. and before her you usually didn't find people who were overtly dominant attractive, but when it comes to caitlyn it's completely different, natural. it's the way she carry's herself and it rubs off on you.

‣ the first subtle way of cait's dominance you noticed was her ability to make decisions. she's knows what she wants and how she wants it, and that's something you're relieved about, being too indecisive at times. so being able to let caitlyn reign free on decision making was something that gave you peace of mind. and it wasn't that she was a control freak (she kind of is, but that isn't the point), she helps level out the playing field when you're iffy.

"what would you like to eat for lunch, darling? my treat." she ask, clicking on her keys to unlock her car, taking the bag from off you shoulders to hold it in her hand.

"hm," breaking away from cait to walk around her car to the passenger seat, just before your slide in. "i don't really know." you cringe, you couldn't even count on your fingers how many times you've said this phrase in your relationship so far.

you hear caitlyn hum and the sound of her swinging open the back seat door and the shuffle of her setting your bag in the backseat before you enter your seat. she joins you in the driver's seat, clicking in her seat belt, her gaze settling upon you scrolling away on your phone. "would you like to eat out somewhere or pick up fast food and we can take it back to my place?"

your head darts up to look at your girlfriend, lips twisting up, thinking about your options. "i want something good."

that's earns a chuckle from cait, "i know that silly," her hand coming up to boop you on your noise, which caused you to scrunch it and giggle, swatting her hand away. "but what is exactly good?" she presses.

"well what do you think is good?"

"that wasn't the question."

you grumble, "you're so difficult."

"says you." she teases.

"'m always the one who picks. what would you like." you ask turning in your seat towards her as best as you can.

"i'm fine with whatever you'd like. you know that."

biting your lip you think about the choices she gave you earlier. "i think we should go back to your place."

"that's a start. do you have a taste for anything."

"i already answered that."

"darling." she sing songs in a tone similar to a warning.

she starts the engine, finally, and you immediately connect to the bluetooth.

"y'know we haven't had chinese in awhile." she proses, eyeing your expression from the corner of her eye.

"oh, that sounds really good actually."

cait perks up in the drivers seat, "you're usual?"

"yep!"

"alright," she stretches forward to twist the volume nob lower. "i'm going to call it in and we'll pick it up on the way home."

‣ cait also does the general dominate things; like opening up doors of any kind for you when she can, interlocking your fingers when the two of you walk together, walking slightly in front of you at all times as well as guiding you. you secretly love it though when instead of guiding you through a crowd by being in front of you, you love it when she does it by standing behind you, a hand or both hands securely on your hips as she leads you forward from behind. she's also a firm believer of switching places when walking, on the street and you're near the road? she's switching with you. in the parking lot and your facing the intersections? she's using her hand on your lower back to guide you to be the closest near the parked cars.

‣ she will also never let her girl look out of place, so she fixes anything that is "off" with your appearance. like fixing a certain stand of hair, taking that fallen eyelash off of your cheek and raising her finger with the piece of your fine hair on it in front of your lips so you could wish and blow it away, fixing your jacket so it's straight or the neckline of your shirt or dress, the straps of your bra will never be showing when you're wearing thin strapped items as long as caitlyn's around. holding your little compact mirror while you fix up your makeup or reapply your lipgloss. your necklaces will always be facing the correct way. picking off lint or stray hairs from your clothing. and she somehow always notices when your sneakers are starting to untie before your, pulling you aside so she can get on a knee and pat her propped up knee so you can place your foot there and allow her to tie your shoe, when she's done she pats your foot to let you know and she dust herself off before leaning down to give you a kiss.

‣ when out in public she'll usually always keep one hand on you at all times. in a comforting way for the both of you, especially if the two of you will be around her friends or people her age. she knows you get antsy around them and there's anxiety about being the youngest in a room full of older people. so, there will always be a comforting arm wrapped around your waist or a hand in or lap or on your thigh.

you look around the room, there's people you've met before. caitlyn's friends and a few colleagues, but for the most part a majority of them are new faces. and you can't help but feel like everyone is looking at you.

you've never been insecure about being with caitlyn. yes she's older than you, but it's never stopped you from feeling head over heels for her and that feeling overpowers any doubt or insecurity you could ever have. it's the fact that it seems like you're the youngest in the room, there's nothing inherently bad about that. but everyone here is successful, and you're well. . . a college student working a job that has nothing to do with what you're going to school for.

a warm hand snaps you out of your thoughts. lifting your head, caitlyn's already looking at you with a soft expression. "you're shaking your leg, love."

"oh," looking down at the leg with cait's hand on it, still shaking. you stop it on command, focusing your gaze back on your girlfriend.

"are you okay?" she tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowing and the ponytail her blue hair is in swishes behind her, cute.

you give her a tight smile, nodding your head. "hm." you hope you're convincing enough.

caitlyn takes in a breath, breaking her gaze from you to look around the room. "y'know that woman over there went for the same major as you." she points out.

"really?" observing the woman who's talking with a few of their colleagues before turning your wide gaze back to your girlfriend.

"hm. she doesn't do work with it," she pauses, turning her head back to you with soft eyes. "but, what she does now is something she loves."

her hand smoothing up and your thigh, comforting you. "what i'm trying to say is that don't worry about your path right now being different from others around you." she reassures. reaching out to take a hand from your lap to take it in hers, bringing your hand to her lips and pressing a kiss.

flushing at her gesture, "thank you, cait." your voice small enough for only her to hear in the chatter of the room. your hand stays up near her lips and she presses a few more kisses, causing you to giggle.

"there she is." she muses.

you bring her hand holding yours down down into your lap to clasp her hand in between yours. leaning forward, a few inches from her face.

"kiss?"

caitlyn leans forward to meet your lips, not connecting them just yet. "any thing for my darling." she whispers against your lips.

‣ it was also established pretty early that caitlyn is the big spoon in the relationship. she enjoys and you love it. caitlyn also finds it pretty cute whenever the two of you are laying anywhere whether it's the sofa or in bed that you turn your back to her and keep shifting until she notices your moving form, coming up to wrap herself around your backside. not really big spooning but caitlyn enjoys the feeling and pressure of your laying on top of her, always telling you how it grounds her whenever she pulls you along to the bed and flops you on top of her. but you never complain because you find it comforting too, the side of your head press against her soft chest, focusing on the steady rise and fall of it and the buh dumbs of her heartbeat, you usually fall asleep quickly like this.

‣ older gf!caitlyn knows how draining it is to be in college. you get so focused on your education by sainting grades or completing assignments, not to mention the exams. so, she's always doing her best to help you out and make sure that you keep yourself in check rather that be mentally or physically. during hard times where you have midterms or finals or just back to back exams caitlyn will always tell you to not worry about picking up shifts at your job, she already knows you're overworking yourself by studying and doesn't want you to exhaust yourself further by working long hours. because she knows you and that if you could study then work a shift and study some more afterwards you would, but she knows that isn't healthy for you. so she always reassures you by saying that she'll support you financially for a little bit, transfer sums of money into you bank account for rent, bills, groceries, ect. it gives her peace of mind to know that she able to take a weight off your shoulders and provide for you. cait is also an insanely amazing cook and you always rave about her cooking, so she began taking a day out of her week every week to cook you some premade meals. she always comes stocked and ready on a weekend to your place with her tote full of meals to pile into your fridge. and during exam season it became pretty common for you to send time at hers for a few days. she does it to watch over you to make sure you're not running on fumes, but you like to think of her as a built in study buddy for reviews. during these days cait will come home from work to most likely find you at the dinning table studying, she'll kiss you on your forehead, and she'll head straight to the kitchen to cook dinner. as much as you dread exam season you don't dread spending this time with cait, there's just something so inherently domestic about cait providing for you. coming home and cooking dinner for the both of you, it makes your mind go numb. and it makes her feel successful when at night when she drags you to bed and for her to wake up to begin getting ready for work that you're still in bed soundly sleeping and that you didn't sneak off somewhere to study.

"dinner's ready." caitlyn chims, poking her head into the dinning room where you sit.

you lift your head up from your notes to eye her. sniffing the aroma around you. "chicken alfredo?"

"hm. you said something about craving it last week, so when i went shopping i picked up the ingredients."

"you're so sweet, cait." you hum, watching as she exits back into the kitchen. you prop your elbow up the table to rest your head in your hand, eyes flicking back down to your notes. you needed to understand—no—absorb this material into your brain for your exam coming up in a few days. listing off multiple curses within your head for taking this course and major and your professor for being a difficult teacher.

there's crinkling of sheets of paper around you. cait's suddenly bending across the table to organize the scattered papers in her hands. "c'mon, love. you can study a little more later."

fixing your gaze back up causing your eyebrows to raise, dumbfounded as you watched her. releasing your head from your hand to reach it out for the papers. "but—"

"but?" her tone is questioning and harsh. blue eyes narrowing at you.

"just a few more minutes, please, baby. i almost have this down."

you watching her graceful figure walk to the edge of the table where the rest of your materials lie and she places the stack down. she stands tall, placing a hand on her hips. "you can always study some more afterwards," she begins to walk over towards where you sit. "your notes aren't going to miraculously grow legs and run away, love. they'll be here." she assures. you blink and look back down at the notes in front of you, then back up at caitlyn. and for the first time you notice her attire, her hairs in a messy ponytail, still in her work attire but she's discarded her blouse and is only in her under tank top and slacks, she too has has had a long day.

"okay." you agree.

caitlyn smiles, showing off her toothy grin and her front gap you adore. she takes the material in front of you and places it with the rest.

"we're eating at the island. i have a sneaky feeling your cute bum has been sat on that chair all day." she teases.

you stand, bones cracking. your eyes shoot straight to look at cait, the both of you bursting into laughter. the noise proving her suspicions correct.

she sways back towards you, "come before the food gets cold." she muffles out, taming her laughter.

beelining to the kitchen island you sit back down, but now on a high top chair. lifting yourself up by your hands on the counter to eye the dish of chicken alfredo on the other side of the counter.

"looks s'yummy, cait."

"hope it is."

"always is" you correct.

watching as she stands on the other side, empty plate in hand with tongs in the other, dishing up some pasta and chicken.

"good?"

you eye the plate, "hm" you nod.

she heads behind her to the stove where steamed broccoli lies, piling some onto you plate. opening a drawer next to the stove, grabbing a fork and slamming it shut with her hip. she turns around and walks around the island. the clank of the plate landing on the counter, placing the fork down next to it.

"dig in, darling." pressing a kiss into your hair before going to fix her plate.

‣ she takes care of you in softer domestic ways. such as taking off your makeup for you after a long day or a night out with friends. bathing you and carefully washing over you in the shower. washing your hair, even going as far to learn the type of products you use and buying spares for her place so she's always stocked if you happen to spend days at her place and it's a wash day. she even learns how to care for you hair type if you have curly hair, hearing you complain endlessly about the process of washing and styling it, so she'd take it upon herself to observe you and learn so that way she can help and maybe even completely take over the process to give your poor arms a break. a certain domestic thing she does is call her place home. not just her home but your home too. whenever you're spending the night and the two of you out she'll always say "alright, let's head home, love." at the end of it. and it never fails to make your heart skip a beat that she views her space as your guys's collective space. she makes it knows that she's ready for you to move in whenever you feel most comfortable, and the day that you announce that you're ready to live together she is beaming.

࣪ ˖ NOT SAFE FOR WORK.

‣ a subtle way she asserts dominance is maintaining eye contact with you. she relishes in being able to make you flustered from simple eye contact, watching you get all fidgety and stumble over your words. but it's also her silent cue whenever you're acting out in public. a tilt of her head, dark gaze, heavy lids and a narrowed eyes will usually set you in place.

‣ caitlyn knew a lot about herself before she met you, she kept a list of all things she liked and didn't like, and those things rarely changed. but what she didn't know is that she'd find being called mommy so attractive. she knows she can be assertive and demanding at times, always the one with the plan. she was even deemed the "mom friend" when she was younger, but not once in any of her other relationships had anyone called her mommy. and maybe it's because she's never dated anyone, before you, with a large age gap. but the first time the word escaped between your sweet lips it was when cait had you face down, ass up, drooling into a pillow. fucking you at a particular angle with her cock that caused you to go dumb and roll your eyes to the back of your skull. realization didn't strike you when it muttered out, you were too far gone, but of course caitlyn heard it, she hears everything. her hips stilling. "what was that?" you barely heard her question, only worrying about the fact that she stopped fucking you, pressing your hips back to gain her attention to begin thrusting again. "please—mommy." oh. she liked that.

‣ older gf!caitlyn expects nothing but the best behavior of her sweet darling. she finds it intolerable and disrespectful when you decide to be a brat and act out, and when you take it further and push her past her warnings? she's seething. but two can play that game.

cait lets out a laugh along with her friends. the two of you were where at this restaurant for hours now. you didn't mind your girlfriend's friends, you loved and enjoyed their company. but you didn't expect to be here for this long and it's getting antagonizing having to sit and pretend like your understanding anything any of them are saying, especially when cait looks like that, blue hair flowing down her back, dainty silver jewelry decorating her body, in that black silk dress the one with the modest (you don't think do) slit. you begged her to cancel the moment you saw her, but she persisted, and now you're suffering.

she's even been uptight today, shutting down your sly advances, saying something about acting out and wanting to enjoy a night with her friends in a long time when the two of you took a bathroom break. the bathroom break had backfired too, you prosed the question about going to the bathroom hoping she'd shuffle you into a stall and finger you, but that was a bust.

when you peak down to look at the time on your phone you catch something interesting from the corner of your eye. caitlyn's exposed thigh from the slit, her dress is bunched up a little at her waist so the amount of skin showing is more.

your nimble fingers trace down her thigh, smirking at the feel of goosebumps rising on her skin. settling your hand on her thigh, not too far low and not too high, just yet.

cait turns her head to peer down at the hand on her thigh, your pinky rubbing back and forth on the soft skin. then to your face, you flash her a smile and she does the same, pressing a quick peck to your lips before she turns her attention back to her friends. you feel as though a grey gloomy cloud was cast over you in that moment.

in a burst of inspiration you begin to inch your hand high, little by little until a few of your finger tips are dipping past the slit of that dress towards her clothed cunt.

her head instantly snaps towards you, eyes narrowed.

"what do you think you're doing?"

"i want to play." you shrug.

"and i told you not here."

"but i really want it," your gaze on caitlyn growing dark. "mommy." purring out the name so only the two of your could hear it

caitlyn's eyebrows raise in shock before they settle back down, turning her head to see her friends are still deep in conversation. her hand pulling yours from between her thighs. there isn't a harsh grip around your hand but it is tight, and with that hand she pulls you forward.

"fix your attitude and behave. maybe i'll think about touching you when we get back home."

you sit up straighter a grin forming on your face. nodding your head "m'kay." caitlyn squints her eyes at your sudden sudden change, releasing your hand.

a few moments pass by and you're already thinking of defying cait again. this time your hand finds her shoulder. you're bored so you begin to trace shapes on it, but then that gets boring so you start toying with her dress strap.

"stop that." her voice startles you.

you roll you eyes, confidently, because caitlyn isn't even looking at you.

"'m not even doing anything."

"yet." the pronunciation of the word is precise and harsh.

she turns back to you, "you're thinking of doing something. so i suggest before you do, that you don't."

"cait." you whine.

"what's going on with you, hm?"

"i told you."

"you're never this bad in public." that's true, but you've never had to wait this long for your girlfriend to touch you.

"you don't get it."

she eyes you. "no, i think i do," leaning forward her lips ghost yours. "seems as though i've spoiled you rotten which is causing you to act like a little slut in front of all my friends."

her voice dropped to an octive, enacting a reaction of chills down your body, wetness pooling between your thighs.

"be quiet or you won't cum for a week." she commands, pressing a kiss to your lips and refocusing herself.

"wha—"

suddenly caitlyn's hand dismisses the fabric of your skirt to between your thighs. fingers getting to work by rubbing at your clothes clit. you look up to see that cait now has her drink in her other hand, bringing it up to her lips to take a sip. her peripheral vision catching you and flicking her eyes to you, corking an eyebrow up at you.

as she is finished with her drink and sets it down her fingers push past your panties, spreading your legs a little wider to welcome her large hand. slow lazy circles on you clit was all you got for awhile, but it was enough to simmer your ache.

without warning cait bullies a finger into your sopping heat, causing you to let out a loud gasp. the entire table turning to you.

"are you okay?" one of her friends asks.

"yeah. you feeling alright, love?" her voice is laced in false concern. slipping another finger into your greedy cunt, observing your reaction.

you shuffle, looking around the table, then down at your empty plate. you can see cait's hand flexing as she pumps fingers in and out of you.

"uh— none of us has ordered dessert yet! it's not a dinner without dessert," you prose. "hm, right?"

the table agrees, and someone beckons the waiter over.

while everyone is occupied, caitlyn leans forward to your ear. "quick thinking, little one." she praises, watching as the waiter takes everyone's dessert orders. "order up, love."

"and what would you like?" the waiter asks.

biting down on your lip, hard. "hm, what's good?" there was an infliction on your voice from cait pressing her thumb against your clit as she fingers you.

"the molten lava cake is our most popular—"

you cut them off. "i'll take that!" a muffled moan escaped through your mouth, "hmm, sounds very delicious." hoping that saved yourself.

the waiter writes it down on their pad, turning their attention to caitlyn. "and for you ma'am?"

"oh, her and i will share." she confirms.

as the waiter walks off your head turns to cait, glossy eyes boring into her cold blue eyes. "cait—"

"i know" she shushes, she already knows you're close by the way you're desperate sucking her fingers back in. you're not sure if it's all in your head, but you swear cait fingering you underneath the table is causing the obscene squelches from your messy cunt to reverb and echo through the restaurant. to combat the noise you squeeze your thighs around cait's hand, but she persists.

flinging a hand down to grip at the hand between your thighs, you're so close that you don't even care if her friends caught on. not when her slender fingers that spot so deep within that only cait can reach.

just as you legs begin to shake uncontrollably, caitlyn whips her fingers from you needy cunt and between your thighs. grabbing the cloth napkin to wipe off your juices from her fingers, an icy glare is sent your way as she sets it back down, one that tells you everything.

brats don't get to cum.

‣ going back to spooning with caitlyn, she also loves to place you in her lap while the two of you watch tv. your head in the crook of her shoulder and a hand of hers in your hair, playing with it. until suddenly when she was innocently twirling a piece of your hair you'll feel a tug at it, causing you to gasp unexpectedly. or she'll get straight to it, so a her hand will find its way on the nape of your neck, slim fingers threading themselves through the underside of your hair before she yanks, now this will cause you to moan out, head falling back so she's cradling it in her hand. wet lips finding their way to your exposed neck, kissing and nipping away at the sensitive skin. you'll whine out, only for cait to shh you, "let me have my fun, love."

‣ there's something intoxicating about you being naked while caitlyn is completely clothed. the contrast between your crumbling figure and her composure. she also loves seeing how your sensitive body reacts to the feeling of her clothes on your body. her favorite is to press her clothed chest to your bare one while the two of you are messily making out, your nipples immediately hardening. even the way she can feel your slick soaking through her slack covered thigh, tainting the material. it drives her insane when she makes you squirt, your juices all over her button up making the material darker.

‣ when you're particularly needy and need something to shut you up she'll shove a few fingers in your mouth, watching the way your eyelids drop and you focus on sucking on her fingers. on other occasions she'll order you on your knees, grabbing a cushion for them. and she'll strip slowly and teasingly for you.

you watch her hips sway, raking in her naked body. her blue bush in your face and you feel drool pool into your mouth, gulping. a hand comes to your chin, pushing your head up to look up at her.

"you've been needy," she begins. "but, you've also been good. so i was thinking of putting your neediness to use, i want your mouth."

nodding your head aggressively, eyes dropping back down.

"words."

a hand still on your chin tips your head, peering up with wide doe eyes, cait's expression is cold as she stands over you. "yes, use me mommy, please."

her face relaxes and she smiles down at you, "good girl." your chin is released and her hand smooths over the back of your head, pushing it forward.

taking her clit in your mouth, you moan into her. lapping her up, you free your hands from your lap, placing them on her hips to burry yourself further between her pretty thighs. eyes fluttering shut, savoring the taste of the woman standing above you.

"ah, that's it. s'good." cait's noises of pleasure sounds like music to your ears. opening your eyes to view up her body, she truly is a stallion. her eyes are shut, her shirt long discarded on the floor as she toys with one of her breast, her hand still on your head keeping you pressed up close to her, and her mouth is agape.

your wet muscle working away at her, gliding through her sticky folds. slurping up all her arousal, not wasting a drop.

"so—" she begins. but gasp when you take her clit and suck on it. "shit. so," she gasp again, "so eager to please."

nodding into her, not wanting to let up. releasing a moan into her, causing the grasp in your hair to tighten.

"c'mon, love. make me cum," doe eyes staring back into her drowsy eyes as she lazily talks. "make mommy cum."

caitlyn addressing herself as mommy made you clench your thighs, the ache between your thighs becoming very apparent.

your pushed so far into her that your nose is up against her bush, her scent only enhancing your eagerness.

cait begin to slightly rock back and forth in your mouth maneuvering your head so she's practical long dragging her cunt against your face. your finger nails grip into her hips, adding to her movements. her juices dripping down your chin to dip down your neck.

"fuck!" she yelps, her sweet release washing over her shuttering body and you quickly slurp it up.

the grip in your hair releases. when your satisfied you let up, but quickly you place a kiss upon cait's clit, letting up with a mwah. a shiny sheen covering the bottom half of your face, even the tip of your nose.

cait's hand finds it's way on your face once again, but it cradles you jaw this time, thumb swiping over your plump, slick cover lips.

"my baby always knows how to care of me, doesn't she?" she purs, droopy eyes sparkling down at you with a dazzling smile to match.

‣ whenever cait is strapping you she prefers to be gentle with you. it'll take a lot of begging and or pressing your luck to get her to be really rough with you (like the first time you ever called her mommy). she also just prefers it. she likes taking it slow with you whenever she fucks you with her cock, in missionary so she's able to see your twisted up face from pleasure. she's also just a plain sucker for intimacy, the two of you so close that you're not even sharing space the space you two take up is its own completely new thing. everything of the outside world just washes away, and she gets to focus on you and only you. she loves being able to look you in your eye and dip her head in the crook of your neck to litter kisses and love bites across it and down your collarbones to your tits. and she really loves when you cum, your back arching off the bed your chest pressing further into hers, your head falling back, mouth agape and releasing pretty moans and whines of your climax, even your toes curling and uncurling. she eats it up. she loves it. she loves you.

[saintobio]

LUCIFER.

his fall was not from grace, yet in his descent, he found freedom—a kingdom of his own making, where he rules not with light, but with the shadows it casts. and you, unfortunate soul, are the sin that fuels his eternal reign.

♱ genre. gothic, dark romance, smut, angels/demons au, 18+

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ tags. 5.2k wc. this fic will contain dark and twisted themes. please heed the warnings and proceed with proper discretion. demon!sylus, sylus is ooc, not set in lads universe, profanity, heavy sacrilege/blasphemy, catcalling, sadistic undertones, noncon/dubcon, toxic relationships, corruption, sex in church, dacryphilia, mentions of obsession, allusions to stockholm syndrome, yandere, fingering, unprotected sex, explicit smut.

♱ notes. this is an old rewritten/reimagined fic of mine bcos i saw a theory abt sylus being a demon. and coincidentally, rewatching a season of lucifer only made my brain rot tenfold D; so if you've seen me post this fic before with another character, pretend you didn't >:D

Thunder grumbled as a flash of lighting struck through the dark blanket of twilight skies. The rumbling sound angrily resonated through the stretch of clouds as if the heavens were to wash away human sins that have long been plaguing this era of the 21st century. A shower of rain soon followed that started in huge droplets and later cascaded from the slate gray clouds like waterfall. 

Checking your old leather watch, it was only 6PM. It had been two hours since the power outage doomed the whole neighborhood because the utility poles were severely damaged after the hurricane ravaged the city yesterday. 

The thick soles of your boots landed heavily on the tessellated sidewalk with every step, holding your umbrella closer to seal you from the heavy rainfall. Your eyes followed the beads of rain that bounced off the cold cement as your mind wandered further than where your body could take you to. 

You had left Sylus sleeping in bed back in your shared apartment so you could walk around the city and drop by the church. It wasn’t like you sneaked out, but was only reluctant to let him know of your whereabouts because you didn’t want him to follow you around, especially to such a scared place like church. Before you left, however, you did ensure that his silver cross was still enclosed around his collar just for your sanity. 

It had been a while since you last visited the church. With the power out and nothing else to do, you decided it was the perfect time to visit the cathedral where you always made your most solemn prayers.

The streets were still in shambles, though. Road signages were sprawled on the sidewalk, branches were barely hanging off the trees—the city had vestiges of wreckage from the hurricane that emptied a usually busy metropolitan area today. Most people were still at the leisure of their homes as work and classes have been suspended until further notice, for everyone’s safety and to allow the government to clean the roads. 

You could already imagine Sylus shaking his head at your resistance to just stay indoors and simply be with him. The only reason you were confident to leave his side today was because it had been awhile since the last incident. You could live with the thought of coming back home to Sylus and his usual self. Sylus, who was always thoughtful and tenderhearted albeit his dominant exterior. Never did you think that you could land a man of such warmth—a year in two days—but how you met was a story made for another day. 

Amidst the already dismal atmosphere outside, stepping by the narthex inside the baroque church greeted you with an even more caliginous surrounding. Darkness enshrouded the interiors of your chosen place of worship with only as much as three paschal torches by the apse to light up the altar. Still, with God’s presence, your feet carried you in slow footsteps along the velvet red aisle as you made your way towards the nave. 

You were alone in the eerie cathedral, but fear did not consume as you were in attendance to the crucifix above the high altar. This was your favorite cathedral among all the others in the city simply because of its gothic Victorian architecture.

Fixed with the cathedral’s grandeur and bedight with ornate decorations, you became more comfortable at situating yourself by the pew—genuflecting on the elevated wood behind the stretch of oak benches as soon as you found your usual spot. 

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” you whispered in sotto voce, performing a sign of the cross with your eyes glued to the crucifix that represented Jesus Christ. You had your elbows propped atop the bench as you silently prayed. 

Loving and gracious God, with all love and mercy, we thank you for blessing us with another day and protecting us in times of natural disaster. 

You wanted to ignore the unusual cold air that slithered on your skin in horripilation. Your prayer resumed despite the Stygian gloom that darkened the cathedral’s interior or the sound of the harsh wind slamming through the towering doors by the vestibule. The storm is coming again, you mentally noted. 

With your grace and kindness, Lord, I pray that you will continue to guide us—

The manly fleer echoing through the vacantness of the church made you halt from your recital. “I knew my cute church girl would be here.” 

You knew that devilish voice all too well that it had you shutting your eyes, petrified. No wonder the air felt sinister. But if your gut-feeling about him was right, then there was no need to be frightened. “Sylus, I’m in the middle of a prayer,” you hushed, although before you could turn around to face his silhouette, he had already transported to your side with a wicked smile plastered on his pallid face. 

“I’m not him,” he spoke in an orotund voice, stepping closer and closer. His ash blond hair did not hide his incarnadine eyes. “Stop looking for that runt when you’re with me.” 

You stepped out of the pew with a rapid heartbeat, standing by the aisle as the tall man towered over you. “S-Sylus, where’s your—” you searched for his silver cross and found it still hanging around his neck, “did you break it?” 

He glowered at your accusation. “You know I would if I could, sweetie.” 

You exhaled a deep sigh. This was not Sylus, this was the malevolent demon inside of him. You ought to be cautious of yourself. “Okay, well... Leave me alone. I’m praying.”

“Ordering me around?” Each step that he took reverberated across the cathedral. He stretched his head from side-to-side in a manner that showed his ennui. “Don’t you miss me, kitten?” 

There was no stopping to the loud thumping of your heart as you stood along the aisle with Sylus backing you off further to the center. “Sylus, I said not now,” you begged, but he refused to listen and only wiped his lower lip with his thumb. 

“I hate it when you make me wait,” he muttered, stepping forward until your lower back hit the credence table at the altar. You found yourself trapped in a decreasing distance between yourself and the sadistic devil in front of you. “Don’t look so scared. We do this every time.” 

“I’m not scared, but...” Your voice was getting softer, yet filled with fret. You pressed a hand on his chest as he locked your body with both arms around the table. “Please, not here.”

You had to be firm, you just had to be but you couldn’t muster the courage to fight back in Sylus’s presence. He was the embodiment of power and you were the representation of weakness. 

He was a demon that thrived on sin, and he drew strength from indulging in the seven deadly sins. Vainglory, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth—all of those fueled his existence. Today, however, it was the third sin that consumed him, the one that ignited his darkest sexual desires. 

“I’ll be quick,” he bargained, undoing the upper buttons of your dress despite your failed attempts at pushing him away. Doing it at such a place! You sent him a glare but he only returned a sly smile. “How about we show your God what you’re really like underneath that maidenly exterior, hm? Show him how dirty you really are?”

God, help me. You desperately shook your head, now overthinking if someone could see what he was about to do to you in this holy sanctuary. Long before you could cover your chest, he already pinned your wrist on the side as he lowered the fabric to show your collar. “Sylus—!”

“Don’t be shy, kitten,” the whisper he sent through the shell of your ear caused shivers to your spine. With his heightened senses, he placed his mouth on your ear, “No one’s here to watch us except for your God. Be a good girl now.”

You tried to push him once more to no avail as he sucked on the flesh above your shoulder. There was no warning to prepare you from the sudden harsh suction. “I-It hurts!” 

Your nails dug into your palms to leave crescent marks on your flesh while you were squirming out of his strict hold. 

“It hurts? Good.” He continued to leave marks all over your flesh as he caged your waist around his arm. The feeling of his teeth pricking your skin had you whimpering in pain, and his eyes had grown rutilant when he momentarily pulled away to look at you. “You’ll hurt even more,” and then he erupted into a deep chuckle as if you were a meal that he was seasoning with a sprinkle of fear, “I should really just keep you for myself.” 

Your desire to breathe grew exponentially. “I’m not yours.” 

A low sneer and a dissatisfied ego had you pressed against the oak table in surprise. “Yes, you are,” he reiterated as though he was enforcing the idea in your head. “Your soul, your heart, your body—you are mine.” 

“I’m not! I wasn’t born in this world to be your property,” you protested, pulling away from his grip only to be slammed harsher on the table. You knew you should never anger a demon but his possessive nature irked you. Aside from your already shameful situation, you wanted nothing but to get away from him. “You’re evil.” 

“What makes you so brave? Your beliefs?” he gritted, reaching for an object near your head that turned out to be the Bible. “This?” he quickly opened the sacred handbook and ripped the pages in front of your very eyes with a distasteful smile. How easily he ripped it, how easily he also tossed it. “Whatever, then. There’s no God. You humans are complete idiots for worshiping a nonexistent being. Weren’t you the ones saying that I’d burn as soon as I stepped into a church?” 

“He is your father!” You sat back up, revolted by his blasphemy. He had no right to mock God like this. “Don’t taint my beliefs with yours. My faith in Him is stronger than you think.” 

“You should know what it’s like to be in hell before you say that shit,” he retorted, placing his lips back on your ear, “I’ll take you there with me.” 

This is not the time and place! What a shameful situation he was putting you through, so unbelievably shameful and obscene that you couldn’t look at him in the eyes. “Sylus, I swear. I’m going home if you’re gonna keep on—”

He huffed, showing boredom by dismissing you with a wave of his hand. “Ah, fine. You’re boring. Continue the prayer, then.”

For one of two things; first, Sylus would never let you off easily. Every act of defiance would garner you a punishment. Second, he was a time bomb. You never knew when his most cruel intentions would come to show. He was a malefic being that wouldn’t give two shits about where he was as long as he was having fun at torturing your soul. 

You should have known that when you chose to finish your prayer back at the pew. Sylus would simply not last long enough to just sit by your side in his apathy. 

“Holy Father, please forgive us for our sins—”

He snorted in ill-humor. “Pitiful.” 

And while you sat there looking up at the crucifix, Sylus’s hand was already sneaking its way under your skirt. His icy fingers traced your inner thighs until he reached your center, and that was when you finally grabbed his wrist to stop him with wide, scandalized eyes. Was anyone on the qui vive to see you right now? 

“Sylus, for heaven’s sake,” you hissed, pulling his wrist away but his slender fingers were already coordinating motions against your clothed core. You had to look around in panic lest there be any unknown audience peeking from the shadows. Despite your refusal to submit, the contact was eliciting suppressed moans out of your parted lips. “Y-You’re insane. This isn’t the place.” 

His smile was full of triumph and excitement, his right eye glowing ominously he spoke. “What makes it different?” he asked, raising your skirt and inserting his fingers inside your underwear. You had to press your lips together as soon as he started rubbing his fingers on your clit. “See, you enjoy the fuck out of it. I can see through your deepest desires, kitten. It’s telling me… ‘don’t stop’.” 

Your palm was pressed on his chest while his other hand tried to spread your legs open. The very position you were in—leaned on the wooden bench, legs spread apart, and being fingered in the presence of God—you were certainly going to hell. This was going against your belief, having your chastity corrupted in arrant disgrace by a man who was the devil himself. 

How exactly did you find yourself in this predicament? You came here to offer a quick prayer, not to be pressed on the bench by a man who was now unbuckling his belt in haste. You could only think of how Sylus, who was an angel beyond his demons, was perhaps trying to come out of being trapped in the dungeon where Satan had him caged.

“This is so wrong,” your lips quivered as you spoke, both of the curling of your toes and of the shameless sacrilegious act. You knew you couldn’t stop this no matter how hard you tried because Sylus would remain tenacious until he got what he wanted. 

With that, you fully submitted yourself to him and let the back of your head rest on the wooden surface while you stared at the stained glass that roofed the cathedral in different hues. 

Sylus was fast to display a smirk while positioning his hardened length on your entrance. The bands of your underwear were now resting mid-thigh as he pressed himself down on you with one knee supporting the angle of his hips. He was running his throbbing tip between your plump folds to lubricate himself with your slick. No screams could be released because you restrained your own whimpers, but your tears brimmed on the corner of your eyes from the initial penetration. 

“Ngh!” Your nails dug deep on his forearms. “S-Sylus!” 

“Are you crying?” His carmine eyes glinted of sadistic humor, running his gelid thumb across your lower lip only to sink it deep inside your mouth. “How does it feel knowing that the God you worship can’t save you?” 

A tear slid down from your eyes to your temple as Sylus started moving his hips in an achingly slow rhythm, each thrust going deeper than the last. You almost bit his thumb before he released your mouth by gripping your wrist. “Sylus—someone could see—!”

To your irony, the crucifix stared down at you and enkindled your conscience from this sinful act. Father, forgive me. You could only whisper those words in your head because your mouth was too occupied in crying out Sylus’s name.

“So warm.” It was hard not to think of how attracted he looked when he raked his fingers through his hair, later meeting your eyes with overpowering lust. He didn’t hold back at burying his cock into your cavern, allowing your walls to fit his girth like tight gloves—the feeling garnering his raspy grunt. “You’re mine, sweetie. All mine.” 

Sylus. You blinked your tears away as you closed your eyes. Sylus’s lips were now on your neck as he increased the pace of his member sliding in and out of your cunt with squelching noises that shamelessly echoed across the cathedral. “Sylus,” your lips were on his ear, “we’re in—aah—church.”

Unlike you, he was nonchalant about the sacredness of the house of God. He was mocking the supreme being that you held faith to as an act of engraving his existence into your mortal soul. While you restrained your moans as he slammed his pelvis against your hole, there was fulfillment rattling in his bones when he pressed your face to the side before diving in to suck on your sweet flesh.

“Cry more. Did you know your walls get warmer when you’re aroused?”

It was hard to describe the feeling. The median between pain and pleasure was the closest example you could liken it to. The grazing of his fangs added to the burning sensation that you had all over your body as if fire was ignited to light up all your nerves. 

Your hand latched onto his shirt before his body collapsed on top of you. With your legs spread wide, his head hung low on your neck—still and unmoving, strangely like he had fallen asleep. 

“Sylus.” You tapped his arm through the heavy rise and fall of your chest.

And before you could move away, he shot straight up and looked at you with those foxy incarnadine eyes that were now in the shade of deep crimson. Eyes that were wide and full of horror as he looked around the cathedral before he slowly realized what he had just done. 

“Y/N,” he said your name regretfully, pulling your dress down to cover your exposed parts, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I did this—? I don’t—” 

Long dried were the tears on your cheek. As you two scrambled to fix your clothes, you pulled him into a hug while he murmured endless sorry’s to your ear. At least, for now he was back. That was the most important thing with all the sanity you had left. 

“Just get me out of here, Sy,” you said, back into the arms of your human lover. 

~~

You’ve always wondered why Sylus often slept during the day. Or why his normal heartbeat was at the pace of someone who was having a heart attack. Or why he could get serious wounds but managed to heal himself fast. Sometimes he would disappear from your sight and transport himself into another. Sometimes he would see and hear things a thousand times clearer than any other person could. 

For almost a year of dating, these questions only came up to you without much of an answer. You thought that you were simply theorizing over things that you shouldn’t. Why does Sylus always wear that cross around his neck? At the back of your head, you were always intrigued. 

You didn’t find out about the real reason until two months ago when you finally met ‘Lucifer’ out of nowhere. If Sylus was Jekyll, Lucifer was his Hyde. It was his way to allow you to form a dissociation between the two beings in one body. 

You never believed in devils until Sylus showed his demonic face to you one night while you were supposedly peacefully sleeping. You recalled the screams that you released when you found out that Sylus was the fallen angel all along. That the rosary around his neck was meant to seal his dark side, the side that you still didn’t know much of. Up until this day, he didn’t provide a concrete answer as to why he needed to seal himself. He was taciturn about the topic of his other self despite you bringing it up every now and then. 

But because you loved him, trusted him, and believed him when he said that he didn’t plan to hurt you—you stayed. You knew his human side better than the monster within him, so you told yourself that you could stay for him. You just needed to learn more about him. 

There were still moments where you felt cautious around him, but when you looked to see his softened expression, you were comfortable at seeing the Sylus that you knew. 

“Y/N,” he broke the silence that lingered between you two as you walked around the city, “I’m sorry.” 

You tugged at his hand in reassurance. “It’s okay, I just...” As flashbacks of the earlier events returned to your head, you felt ashamed at having done such dirty deeds at a holy place. “He always gets what he wants.” 

Because you let him. 

“I can’t do anything when I’m trapped,” Sylus mumbled, keeping up with your footsteps as you strode along the street. 

Your curiosity bubbled from his statement. “What happens when he’s taking over?” 

This time, Sylus didn’t shy away from giving an answer while he interlaced his hand with yours. “I can hear everything, but I can’t feel or see. It’s all black, like I’m in a dark void.” 

“Like comatose?” 

“You could say that.”

How could a rosary seal his other self? How come he had two versions of him? 

“He’s obsessed with you,” he admitted, frowning at the thought as you passed rows and rows of boutiques and restaurants. “Your soul, your scent, your body. That’s probably why he always has the urge to come out.” 

The thought of it permeated heat on your cheeks even when it shouldn’t. Sylus had always been sweet and loving with his intimacy with you, but his other side was rough and sadistic. He liked tormenting your innocence with his immorality. 

“You said the rosary was meant to seal him, but how come he keeps on—”

“It doesn’t work these days. Only my father can help, but I don’t wanna go that far just to tell him about this.” 

Father. It was the first time he had ever spoken about his father in your twelve months together. Or did he mean father as in God? “Where’s your father, Sylus? Or the rest of your family? Are the other archangels roaming on Earth, too?” 

You could see it in his saintly face that he was about to give an answer and you anticipated it, not until the nearby catcalling distracted you two. 

“Nice legs, gorgeous,” whistled the man who was leaning by the street railings with a cigarette in his hand. The man was probably in his mid-40’s with disheveled hair and unshaved face. You sent him a glare but a crude wink was returned. 

“It’s a bit rude to ogle at my woman in front of me, don’t you think?” was Sylus’s warning, the tendrils of his black-red mist extending to surround the man.

You could hear the man hooting again, unaware of what would become of him. “Ha ha! You punk. I’d spread those legs in a heartbeat.” 

While Sylus’s eyes were deepening into a darker hue, you knew you couldn’t risk seeing him release his demonic side again. It was a dangerous gamble. And the city could become a bloodbath. So, in your insistence, you told your lover to just leave it be.

“Sylus, let it go,” you gently asked, tugging at his arm softly. You wanted to avoid confrontation and just continue walking with you until you could reach your destination. “It’s okay.”

~~

“Happy anniversary to my favorite couple!” 

The clinking of glasses was followed by cheers on the booth where your boyfriend and your friends sat together. It was Avery’s idea to celebrate the special day two days prior as an excuse to hang out and drink. Luke and Kieran, being Sylus’s minions, were very much willing to join. 

“It’s not until Wednesday,” Sylus corrected with a smile, sipping on his pint before putting an arm around you. He gestured towards Avery and Luke with a knowing look. “Now you two should date each other.” 

You giggled at the thought. “Yeah, I totally support that.” 

Instead, the two of them reacted heavily against it—faking a gag, making a face, name it all. They were adamant on showing how disgusted they were at the thought of dating each other and it was quite a hilarious sight to watch. 

“Boss, come on,” Luke replied in outward distaste. 

Avery, on one hand, was rolling her eyes. “You wish I was interested. I’d rather do Kieran than you.” 

Kieran was Luke’s twin, the less obnoxious and more empathic one. But when those two were combined, their level of mischief wasn’t really any different from each other. 

“Picking Kieran is the most insulting thing you can say to me,” huffed Luke, earning yours and Avery’s chuckle. 

After an exchange of playful banter and teasing remarks, the conversation was redirected back to you and Sylus as Avery curiously brought up how you first met your boyfriend. It was only a year ago and the memory was still vivid in your head. 

“Oh my God. I remember how Y/N first saw you at this auction,” she gushed towards your boyfriend while you blushed, gripping his arm closer, “and she’s acting like she just saw her soulmate.” 

Kieran decided to chime in, “Boss was looking at her too, though. He may look tough, but he’s a hopeless romantic deep down—”

“Enough,” Sylus warned before sipping on his glass. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and relaxed against him. “Next thing you guys know, we’re living together.” 

Frankly, everything was normal until Sylus showed up. 

“What do you like most about her, Sylus?” Avery egged on with a grin spreading on her face. 

Your boyfriend didn’t even take a second to answer, “She’s cute like a cat,” he said, caressing your hand with his thumb from under the table, “and smart, and caring. Can get spicy, too. It won’t end.” 

Sylus was the same, if not better. You didn’t have much experience when it came to dating, but you were surely on top of the luck department for being blessed with a man like him. He was the most protective person you knew, the most affectionate, the most thoughtful. Sylus was the moon that illuminated your dark nights. You could even remember how he would wait outside of your workplace to pick you up in his motorcycle—those were the little things that lasted for a lifetime in someone’s memory. 

“She’s also a nun.” 

The sudden panic in your eyes came simultaneous to the fast beating of your heart. You swiftly whipped your head to look at Sylus who was now displaying a deriding smirk across his pale face. Oh, were you doomed. The ruby eyes and the stony face was clear confirmation that the demon had taken over him. Twice in the same day. 

Even Avery was surprised by his word of choice, but nonetheless found it amusing as it was rare for them to see Sylus acting bold. You were grateful for her obliviousness because you didn’t know how else you could explain the situation at hand.

“She’s a what, boss-man?” Luke jeered, chugging on his pint and looking at his boss in his newfound entertainment. He was among the very few people that knew Sylus’s true nature. Because the twins were demons like him.

“A nun,” Sylus answered, sending a look of mischief your way. You were deeply panicking that you had to squeeze his hand in hopes of stopping him from showing his true colors. “What? Don’t be shy, kitten. Didn’t we have fun in that church?”

You quickly shook your head and denied it in front of your friends. “We didn’t. Don’t believe him.”

Avery was unbelievably taken aback. “Wow,” she held back a chuckle, “I didn’t know Sylus has a vulgar mouth.” 

~~

The night carried on while the downpour engulfed the streets heavily. Your desperation to leave the dinner earlier than intended was solely because you weren’t comfortable at having Sylus around other people. The man was clearly enjoying the embarrassment that he was putting you through. And you, you were only being cautious. Who knew what things he could do to Avery while in his other form? 

You didn’t want things to end up where Sylus would be ostracized by the people who knew him just because they couldn’t understand that he was completely harmless in his benevolent self. 

It took a lot of effort to finally make an excuse of getting home early while the skies have temporarily calmed down. However, as you two strolled across the street, Sylus wouldn’t stop blabbering on and on about how you should have stayed more to talk about how prudish you were. 

“I’m not in the mood right now,” you spoke in a detached voice, moving away from him as you walked together. Because you ruined it, you wanted to add. The cold breeze kissed your face through the dark. 

Sylus only moved closer to you. “You shouldn’t be so uptight,” he countered, “Is that how kittens should act? Or do I punish you back at home?”

Punishments. You didn’t wish to go through another round of his ‘punishments’ because you weren’t certain at how creative he could be at delivering them. There was no doubt that a man who traversed the ages would have seen enough torture devices used during the earlier times. Perhaps he could get inspiration from those. 

“I just wanna go home,” you muttered, almost inaudibly had his heightened hearing senses not worked. 

“Good, then I can have fun with y—” Sylus halted from his words as his face froze at the sight in front of him. His body had completely gone stiff and his jaws were clenched. You would have thought that he was angry until that evil upturn of his lips came to show. 

“Sylus...”

Following his sight, he was all eyes on a man from a distance before he dashed towards the stranger, leaving you utterly stupefied from where you stood. What’s he on about? You rushed as your heels landed in lightweight steps across the sidewalk while you watched in terror how Sylus mercilessly throttled the man by the neck and dragged him into a dark alleyway. 

“Sylus, stop!” 

As you reached him with a panting breath, you realized that the man he was holding high up against the wall was the same person that catcalled you earlier. The man was wriggling away from Sylus’s tight grip, only to be asphyxiated harsher than before. 

“Wh-What’s your problem?” The man struggled to breathe due to the strangulation and you were pulling Sylus’s other arm to stop him. 

At the sight of Sylus’s crimson eyes and vicious stance, you knew there was nothing much you could do to prevent harm. He was determined to do what he wanted without paying attention to his surroundings. 

“You’re fantasizing her, huh?” Sylus taunted with a sinister undertone in his words. “You wanna spread ‘em open?” 

Recalling the very words he spoke, the man saw you with frantic eyes as his face was reddening from the lack of oxygen. With a rushed shake of the head and a face that was begging for sympathy, he tried to break free. “N-No, no. She’s—haaa! She’s all yours.” 

“Sylus, stop it.” You grabbed his arms and attempted your best to pull him away despite the trepidation that caused you goosebumps. “Please stop, you’re gonna kill him.” 

Every time you saw this demonic creature, you were learning new things about him and most of those things were of the worst kind. Not only was he possessive—he was diabolical, potentially obsessive, and a cutthroat sadist who wouldn’t even blink before ending someone’s life. This was the true nature of a demon, not some silly fantasy that today’s pop-culture portrayed them to be. 

He was a body without a soul.

Unfortunately, you should have thought twice before choosing to get involved with him. 

“That’s my plan, sweetie.” 

[viladlind]

even with his brows knitted together in grief, zevran touches him as if he was whole. something to behold, to hold.

he has not told fiyero that he loves him yet, but he doesn't need to when his every word, his every action bleeds with adoration so strong it rivals all of fiyero's sweet promises.

fiyero's breath trembles as they slot against each other, his hands driving across the fabric of zevran's pants over to his chest and shoulders. there's a desperation in it, palms grasping at nothing and tightly holding on once they find their grip. he wants to fit himself right here and never look elsewhere again.

zevran repeats those words imprinted in fiyero's mind. a part of his song, now and forever. i am yours, as long as you will have me.

he doesn't cry, but he can't muffle the small sob that hiccups out of him when they part and he feels zevran's lips wander. he knows he must not make a pretty picture, bare of any of the prettiness that zevran must have grown so used to. freshly-scarred and heavy-shouldered. and still, nothing in his touch has changed. and still, nothing will change.

' i love you. ' pressing his head into zevran's lips, fiyero shudders as the last of his resolve crumbles away. he nudges the assassin with his horns, slips his arms around him properly. kisses him again, not as tempered and careful as before— desperate, wanting, pressing against zevran hard. as though he'll only find the air he needs to breathe against the other's lips. that's not pretty, either, fangs occasionally peeking through, teeth clashing where they don't want to.

' i'm sorry. ' he wishes he could know. how do you feel undeserving of something that is given so reverently? ' gi melin. díheno nin. my dove, my crow. i lost you and i lost myself. you're— '

a hand travelling to his tattoo, tracing it with a feathery-light touch. pressing their foreheads together, words spoken with loving awe. ' you're part of me. i'll always have you. '

the little nudge fiyero gives him is all he needs to sink to his knees. this time it does not hurt. his palm still cups the tiefling's face, touch filled with reverence suited for a god. for something precious. a treasure.

what he has been unable to put into words he puts into the brush of his lips against the bard's. all of his need, his regret, his forgiveness, his love. were it possible to freeze time so that they may stay like this forever -- just the two of them, kneeling on the floor of fiyero's apartment, taking their fill of one another again and again -- he would do so in a heartbeat. forget whatever lay outside the front door. they didn't need it.

when he parts, he only does so for a breath, and a whisper, "i am yours. as long as you will have me."

another brief press of his lips to fiyero's.

"nothing has changed. nothing will change."

and another. and then a kiss to the corner of the tiefling's right eye, another to his forehead. the hand that had been resting upon fiyero's cheek moves to rest gently on the back of his neck instead.

"mi tesoro. you do not know how much you mean to me."

[mocamagical]

Charlastor Week 2024: Day Two Heaven AU i think im happy with these designs, you know what i like em, im proud of myself. Heaven AU, Alastor decides Hell looks a lot cooler with the tap dancing, show stopping princess at the reigns.

[nyoomerr]

Fic prompt: SY is the chosen cleric of LBH, the world's most possessive divine emperor, accent on the divine. He did not sign up for this. (Meanwhile, LBH is trying to figure out how he can fit a divine empress into this pantheon)

i actually got very into this AU once i thought about it for 0.5 seconds, so here's a lil drabble that i hope to expand on and put on ao3 in the future ;>

---

Shen Yuan wouldn’t consider himself to be particularly religious. He believed in the gods, of course - the proof of their existence is written on every street corner and under every roof. The lights of the city that have no discernible power source outside of the goddess of invention herself, the unemptiable food basket that had been gifted to Shen Yuan’s father by the god of plenty, the buzz of raw energy in the air each weekend when the city gathers to say its prayers. 

Undoubtedly, Shen Yuan had grown up in a city blessed by the gods, so naturally he believes in them. He just doesn’t much care for them.

A city blessed by the gods is also a city kept by them, after all. No inventions that could possibly be construed as a weapon would ever be approved by the ministry of creation. No civil courts existed when the gods could directly send down divine punishment to sinners.

No life in the city would ever survive if the gods found it unworthy.

Shen Yuan knew, objectively, why the rules of the gods were so strict. Divine Emperor Luo wrote them himself, and each one had been crafted specifically to prevent the sort of strife and abuse that he had witnessed when he was a mere mortal. Every schoolchild learns the story of the pitiful Luo Binghe who struggled to reach the heavens, faced every day with proof of humanity’s dishonor and ugliness.

When that pathetic Luo Binghe had awakened his blood as the Divine Emperor, he’d immediately sought to rewrite the rules of the heavens to fix the issues he’d seen as a mortal. It made sense. It even worked, to some objective degree of measurement: starvation and war between human lands was barely heard of, these days.

Shen Yuan casts his eyes up to the ceiling of the chapel. A mural of Divine Emperor Luo is painted in bright splashes of color, his eyes piercing down at the viewer as he holds a drink in one hand and a woman in the other. An image of wealth and wellness; a warning to stay in line if you wish for a similar happy ending. 

Shen Yuan thinks that the Divine Emperor must truly have had a hard life, to rule as such an immature god. A child that never got the chance to grow up freely, now imposing their black-and-white outlook of life on an entire land of people who are mature enough to understand that life isn’t so simple.

Shen Yuan looks back down, peering through barely open eyes at his feet. He isn’t supposed to have his eyes open at all, during prayer. It’s just - despite the issues he has with the gods’ reign, and despite the apathy he feels in place of admiration or piety, he really can’t help but think - 

How pitiful, to have ascended without first understanding the joy of being human. How sad, to have your ‘happy ending’ worshiped by the masses without understanding it yourself, believing it to be good only because it follows your own strict rules. 

Shen Yuan sighs, a quiet release of air in the quiet of the chapel.

His next breath in feels electric. 

The vaulted ceilings of the chapel suddenly feel claustrophobic. The quiet hum of hands rubbing against hands in silent prayer rises to a crescendo of skin and movement and life. What low light the candles lining the pews had provided now burns as brightly as the light of a hundred divine lanterns, but there isn’t anywhere Shen Yuan can cast his eyes towards that is less shocking to look at. 

And there, at the front of the chapel, is a god. 

Shen Yuan’s breath catches. He can’t look away. The god is beautiful; more divine than any blessing that Shen Yuan has ever witnessed. 

He is also looking directly at Shen Yuan, meeting his gaze through half lidded eyes and with the laziness of an apex predator. 

Around Shen Yuan, the other church-goers have begun to break from their prayers, startled and choking on the divine presence around them. Many of them dare to sneak peeks at the descended god, but none of them seem able to look directly at him, their eyes sliding off of him before they quickly duck their heads and take up the pose of prayer once more.

Shen Yuan still can’t look away.

Slowly, the god steps down from the pulpit and begins to approach. He doesn’t bother to look at Shen Yuan as he moves forward, casually glancing around the chapel as if assessing it. His eyes catch on the mural on the ceiling - his own face looking down at him, though paling in comparison to the beauty and power of the real thing. 

And then he pulls his eyes back to Shen Yuan, and Shen Yuan realizes with a start that he’s stopped walking, standing directly in front of the pew Shen Yuan is sitting in.

Shen Yuan wets his lips. His pulse beats jack-rabbit fast in his throat.

“Divine Emperor Luo,” he greets. “How - how can I serve you?”

The weight of the Divine Emperor’s attention is no lighter than if Shen Yuan had held the entire ocean on his shoulders. He looks at Shen Yuan as if he might eat him, and expects Shen Yuan to thank him for the honor of filling a divine stomach.

“Do you think you can?” He asks, and Shen Yuan shudders at the sound of his voice. An infinitely powerful being, and he’s speaking to Shen Yuan as if Shen Yuan were a peculiarity, something fit to either be played with or disposed of once the god has finished assessing him. 

“Can I - um, my apologies, Divine Emperor, can I…?”

“Serve me,” The gods says. “Or did you offer such a thing unthinkingly?”

Shen Yuan stares at him. Divine Emperor Luo stares back, his gaze sharp as he takes Shen Yuan in. 

“Can you,” Divine Emperor Luo says, voice low and dangerous, “serve a god that you see as pitiful?”

Shen Yuan jerks back as if slapped. How useless would it be to say that he hadn’t meant it? If a god can hear any thought about them, not only directed prayers - for certainly, Shen Yuan’s private ruminations about the tragedy of Luo Binghe’s story had been nothing like a prayer, and yet they had clearly been heard - then there is no point in lying. If Shen Yuan were to claim one thing with his mouth and another with his mind, he’d only be branded one of the many sinners to be smited by the Divine Emperor’s just hand. Deceit was hardly looked favorably upon; to lie to a god that could hear the truth from your own mind would be suicide. 

Shen Yuan hesitates. At his back, he knows his family must be terrified, and yet he also knows that they dare not look at the Divine Emperor, and that their heads must be bowed in prayer like everyone else in the chapel. 

A room with a hundred people, and it may as well just be Shen Yuan and his god.

The Divine Emperor’s lips quirk up. It isn’t a friendly expression. 

“Your god, little Shen Yuan?” He asks cruelly. “You can pity me, and you can know in your heart that you are incapable of serving me, and yet you claim to be devout to me in the same breath?”

“Aren’t I yours, Divine Emperor?” Shen Yuan asks. His voice does not waver, but it is a near thing. “If I didn’t belong to you, could I dare to live in this city? Every living thing here must live by your rule; naturally, we must all belong to you.”

“What pretty words,” Divine Emperor Luo says. His eyes glint red from beneath his lashes, and Shen Yuan thinks -

Ah, so red is truly the color of the divine. 

Divine Emperor Luo’s eyes are very suddenly the same deep brown that his murals all portray him with. Shen Yuan lowers his gaze deferentially, and wonders idly if all the other too-sharp pieces of the Divine Emperor would smooth out if Shen Yuan’s thoughts lingered on them. 

“If Divine Emperor Luo finds my words pretty, then I will dare to keep speaking,” Shen Yuan says, keeping his eyes turned down. 

“Go on, then. Speak.”

Shen Yuan takes a shuddering breath in. His family is still cowering behind him. The old lady who lives down the street is shaking in her pew across the aisle. 

And Shen Yuan has never considered himself especially religious, because believing in the gods is very different from placing your faith in them. 

“To spy is the manifestation of distrust,” Shen Yuan recites, the words long since memorized after a lifetime of growing up under the gods’ many rules about morality and punishment. “A lack of trust in others implies something impure within yourself. Spying should be punished with ten lashes.”

Shen Yuan’s mother lets out a quiet sound of alarm, stifled so quickly it sounds like a whimper. Shen Yuan does not bother to send her any sort of mental apology; it would not reach her, and would instead be intercepted by an outsider. 

Besides, Shen Yuan had known well what he was doing, quoting the rules that the Divine Emperor had written right back at him, implying that a god should be punished. It would be foolish to apologize for something he had done so purposefully. 

“Spying,” Divine Emperor Luo says, after the silence in the chapel has stretched long. “What a funny way to describe listening to the prayers of my followers. Is it spying for you to hear a call made to you from within your own house?”

“If all of the prayers that the Divine Emperor receives sound like what he heard from me,” Shen Yuan says, glancing back up to meet the god’s eyes defiantly. “Then I wonder why he hasn’t bothered to descend before today to scold us all.”

“Does little Shen Yuan think I will scold him?” Divine Emperor Luo asks, voice soft. 

“I think,” Shen Yuan says, “that a god normally so busy with punishing us would not bother to descend unless it was to fulfill those duties.”

“The world is good, from the work that I do,” Divine Emperor Luo says sharply. 

“Is it?” Shen Yuan asks, and he finds that his fear has been pushed down, his chest tight with a lifetime of reading about the gods and wondering why, if Luo Binghe’s life was so miserable, would he be unable to recognize misery in his own subjects, living every day in fear of him? 

Luo Binghe had been pitiful, and he’d never been allowed to grow up peacefully, and Shen Yuan truly thinks it sad that a divine being could live in such a tragic way. 

But that doesn’t make him blind to the way that Luo Binghe’s immaturity has scorched the mortal plane, nor does his pity completely dissolve his anger over such a thing. 

Shen Yuan’s fate had been sealed from the moment they the Divine Emperor had descended. If he’s going to be punished regardless, then it will be for having said his piece. 

Dying from bitching this pathetic god out is a far better story than dying from having only thought it. 

And yet, before Shen Yuan can open his mouth again -

The Divine Emperor turns suddenly, facing the cleric at the front of the chapel. The old man is clutching at his prayer book with shaking hands, and he ducks his head instantly when the god looks his way. 

“Take him in as a disciple,” Divine Emperor Luo commands, gesturing lazily in Shen Yuan’s direction. “I want him trained and moved to the main church by the end of the year.”

Shen Yuan looks at the cleric, and then back at the god in front of him. He - what?

The Divine Emperor glances back at Shen Yuan, his lips quirked up and his eyes once more a blazing red. 

“There’s another reason for a god to descend than to administer punishment,” he says. “We must also appoint clerics.”

And then Divine Emperor Luo is gone, the space where he once stood crackling with divine energy. 

In disbelief, Shen Yuan - the first cleric to be personally appointed by the Divine Emperor in nearly a century - falls to his knees. Fuck, he thinks, and he hopes that the god is still listening to hear it. 

[seoulbye]

GENESIS | SUKUNA RYOUMEN

syn. isolation can lead to insanity and the desperate will do anything to live.

── sukuna ryoumen & fem-bodied!reader, apocalypse!au, blood, religious themes, suicidal ideations, death & violence, minor character deaths, reader is described as skinny, cannibalism, biting kink, bruising, forest sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, etc | 4.4k words ( minors, ageless, & blank blogs: do not interact. )

note. here's a small playlist to accompany you on your reading journey. i hope you all enjoy this. please let me know your thoughts afterwards in the comments or in your reblog. thank you so much!

credit. thanks to my babe, leilani, for helping me out and screaming about this idea with me. im so happy with it :3

Dilapidated buildings with rust growing on the side, resembling the colors of a forest fire. A deep auburn that grows into orange and yellow as it rises. Overgrown grass, the vibrant and various hues of green growing in the dirt and critters dig and groove around in sanctum. They’re free to roam through the deep crevices of soil, still living in harmonious nature as blood shed rids the rest of the Earth. 

The number of humans dwindle as they become rotting flesh running amuck in search for something to satiate that hunger inside of them. No longer a society built on order, but one fighting to survive in hopes of seeing a better future. They tell themselves that soon a god will come to free them from their trepidation and ease their aching hearts. However, the longer they look through their windows— what’s left of them— that optimism slowly dwindles into nothing. Just bullshit that they tell themselves as their guns become more enticing and the sweet taste of one bullet to the head will take them out of their sweet misery. 

It’s come to a point where everyone knows that there’s no point in having faith in their government. All televisions and radio responding in static, and no one hearing anything from them. It’s always been a world structured towards survival of the fittest, the rich leeching off the poor. Now, it’s whoever can leech off of who. 

Once upon a time, you called yourself a true child of God. Church every Wednesday and Sunday, a prayer every morning and night. When the announcement of a deadly virus sparked the news, you prayed to God for sanctity, knowing that it was your time to join him and for the angels to sweep down and take you away. However, you must have missed your stop.

Deadly missiles launched into cities, killing multiple of thousands. They looked like blinding light, what you believed to be heaven reigning down upon the Earth. Oh, how you cried to join the dead and sought refuge with your people. However, the moment they landed was just as quick as they left, and after that, God never answered your prayers ever again. You asked time and time again, did you do something wrong? How could you repent and join Him? 

You had done everything right. You had been an obedient child through and through, through every calling moment. What was He seeing that you didn’t? Did you really need to be damned with the rest of them for it?

The small religious group you sought refuge with started growing weak in numbers, their naivety leading them open to numerous attacks from the selfish and the careless leading zombies inside the church. Slowly, did a group of fifty turn into twenty-five, and twenty-five turned to ten. Ten to five, and five to two— you and Sukuna. 

Sukuna Ryoumen, a brute of a man he was. Someone who came seeking refuge with a group of five, though he always did voice how much disdain he had for the church. Oftentimes, he snorted during sermons and rebuttal the word of God with self-proclaimed pastor, Geto Suguru. He belittled everyone and everything, even when it came down to you being the last to survive alongside him. He scoffed, crimson eyes that matched the bloodstain on his white t-shirt. “Of all people, you’re the last to survive.”

Later that day, he bashed the window in. The rest of the church was flooded with the undead, the outside much clearer than the hoard still in search of them. It was a distance down, but nothing to kill you both. You looked at him as if he were crazy when he asked you, “Are you coming or what?”

What else was there left to lose? All of your immediate family, gone. Having joined God up at those golden gates, watching you with a heavy amount of disgust. What did it hurt to keep on surviving?

In a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved sweater, you dusted away the rest of the broken stained glass with your sleeves before asking for a hand. Neither of you said anything, Sukuna helping you up before you were holding onto the window panel. You stared out, eyes widening as your heart raced. Were you really ready to take this leap?

The memory is foggy, but you can’t remember if Sukuna pushed you out the window or your mind had made the decision for you. But all you remember is eating dirt before someone yanked onto your sleeve, forcing you up and dragging you alongside him. Sukuna dragged you through it all, managing to pull you both to safety. 

Before that, all you saw was a selfish and sinful man that only sought for his protection and safety, but now you see him in a different light. He could have thrown you to the wolves and watch you get mauled by a stampede of the forever hungry. However, his steps were always careful and he never looked back, a set determination to make sure that the both of you survived. 

And God said, Let there be light. You always took that as a saying of hope. That with darkness comes light and whenever the sun shines, it’s your reminder that God is a true man. Only, Sukuna has become your god. 

Sometimes, you still read the bible. Just something you use to give yourself hope before you’re pulled back into reality and only to realize that it’s all bullshit and lies. And that Sukuna was right, God is just a bunch of bullshit. However, it’s a constant reminder of what you used to be, and who you used to be. The bible now a set of affirmations though you know that in your sweet death all there will be is an eternal inferno waiting for you. 

Out in the woods, everything is silent. Only the occasional grumble of a walker lurking through these parts. It’s a surprise that the two of you have lived for so long by yourselves, but Sukuna’s managed to toughen you up. Teaching you how to shoot a gun and aim right for the head, though the two of you never use guns often. It attracts them. 

Opening up to him, you reveal that you used to be a nurse. In turn, you teach him how to disinfect stitches with the supplies the two of you find and how to create holistic remedies so neither of you die from a cold. Neither of you give without taking, always having something in return for each other. 

Right now, the both of you equally have as much to give as it is to take. In a tattered dress, dirties and white, you peek from behind the trees as a group of survivors follow the dirt path back to you. The growl of a walker sounding from behind you as it’s shackled on a chain, the key dangling in your hold. Every step you take is careful, stepping over twigs and making sure every part of you is soundless. You move slowly to loosen the manacles off the zombie, but making sure he’s not entirely free. You feel bad for the poor man that you’re taking advantage of. Underneath all that decay, he couldn’t have been older than thirty-five— a healthy and active man to be blinded by whatever factors that led to his demise. 

One day, a voice rings inside your head. That will be you. However, just like all those constant reminders, you push them to the back of your mind as everything’s set in place. You just have to do your part while Sukuna does his. 

The five stay huddled together, never losing their guard for a second before they hear the rushed snaps of twigs and the crunch of leaves underneath a pair of feet. Mechanic weapons already in bat— a crossbow, a bat with nails embedded, a bow and arrow, a katana and a sharpened staff, aiming it towards the direction before finding a small figure running out of a band of trees. You run barefooted, no longer hissing at the sharp pricks and pebbles that poke at your bare skin as you’ve done this routine a dozen times now. 

Your breath comes out in heavy pants as you cry and moan. “Please… Please… Help me!”

They lower their weapons, but not enough to where they’ve lowered their guard. Staying wary as they huddle together in one group, so cautious over such an “innocent” thing like you. “Please,” you croak, your footsteps staggering as they take in your tattered appearance. “I need help. My– my–”

The waterworks start, able to spill the salt so easily now as tears prickle from the corner of your eyes. “My boyfriend, he got hurt and I don’t know if he’ll make it! I promise, I’ll be out of your hair. Just… Help me, please.”

The desperation that reeks from you, wide eyes that look so helpless. You look like you’re barely surviving, dirt covering every inch of you as you pant heavily. They’ve run across people looking to take advantage of people, making them on the constant lookout for those who’re the bait. There’s usually an underlying piece of evidence that singles them out, it's a hidden identifier. However, before they can come up with a conclusion, snarls behind them call for their attention. Three zombies— two handled by Sukuna with yours in tow— trudging in their direction. 

“Walkers!” One says in a hushed voice, raising his bat and ready to swing. With their backs turned to you now, a smirk graces your features as you trail behind them in their preparation to fight. Dark hair with a bowl cut, you attack from behind just as you were taught, lodging the pocket knife that you had hidden away into his neck. He gurgles blood, unable to say anything, managing to grab ahold of the blonde next to him. 

“Haibara!” the blonde cries out, but before he could lunge at you, you kick him in the path towards the zombies with all your strength. Two down, three to go. Unfortunately, just as your victories came, your losses came in twice as fast as the three zombies were quickly handled by the three that were left. One with white hair that seemed unreal, a girl with auburn hair stopping at the nape of her neck, and another girl with jet-black hair and a gnarly gash running across her face. 

With gazes filled with determination, they’re ready to attack within a split second. The unsheathed katana comes out to play, swiping through the air. You manage to duck right in time, dodging the sharp blaze to your body. The next to swing at you, the bat with rusted nails that would possibly lead to a disgusting infection if it got into your skin. You back up and back up until you’re at the right spot. When the girl goes for her final lunge at you, you manage to jump in time, clipping the string and unloading the trap. The heavy cleaver swung in the air and landed straight to the head. 

The play of events leaving the two that are left in shock and giving you ample time to hide away. All you can hear is, “Where’d they go?”

“I don’t know, but keep your eye out,” the male says. In this neck of the woods, you have the reign. The vastness of a playing field that you’ve managed to memorize. You’re as silent as a ghost, having them second guess every direction they look in. 

Sukuna was right in a way. You shouldn’t have lived as long as you have, but you’ve also come to learn that the strong can’t win all on their own. Where Sukuna will excel in a battle of strength, you’ve defied your very teachings, surviving off of deceit and mischief. Every trap set in place a work of your own while Sukuna cleaned up your mess, leaving the two victims clueless to the fact that their three friends have already been properly disposed of. 

However, he leaves you the crossbow behind. Bending down to pick it up, you think you’ve won another round until your hear the click of the gun. “Smart, I have to say.”

The man with white hair smirks at you, cocking the gun right in your direction, aimed straight at your head. “You had me fooled. You had… us fooled.”

You stand tall, posture straightening as you stare straight in the man’s eyes. Your hand is still on the crossbow, you know if you move your hand, you’re dead. He glances at the weapon. “Drop it.”

You don’t listen. “Drop. it.”

Again, you stay stubborn as a mule. His finger is so close to pulling the trigger, he tilts his head to the side. “Drop it.” 

It’s a risky move. You know it, but you make a run for it. The gun fires throughout the forest and immediately alerts your partner. He’s immediately on your trail, making sure not to lose you from his sight again. You drop the crossbow, leaving yourself completely defenseless now in your dash to safety. You can hear him gaining in on you, his gun finding refuge tucked back in his pants. The palm of his hands open and ready to grab you when you halt abruptly, too quickly for him to gain proper footing. You use it to your advantage, turning around and knocking him on his back. 

You jump on top of him, the pocket knife revealed as you take his disadvantaged state and stab him repeatedly. Blood splattering from his arteries, it splashes against your skin as you find yourself lost in bloodthirst and all that you can see is red. Before that voice of the god you follow rings through, bringing you back to reality. “Woah there, princess. I think he’s dead now.”

“Wait,” you pant. Both hands around the handle of the blade, you use your strength to plunge the knife inside his skull. Finally, you look up at Sukuna, eyes bright when you say, “He’s gone for good now.”

—

“You were reckless,” Sukuna breathes, the two of you walking back to the cabin. You dragged back the white-haired man and the boy named ‘Haibara,’ while Sukuna managed the rest— chaining one to a tree so that they could have a zombie at leverage. Both covered in blood, the metallic stench of it has become a habitual thing now. You grunt, used to his chastising now. He always has something to knit pick at every time the two of you go on a hunt. 

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” you shrug. 

“And next time, you’ll die,” he sneers. “I’ve taught you all that you need to survive. Stop with the theatrics and get straight to the point.”

“If it’s my time,” you shrug again. “It’s my time. Fate will tell.”

“Oh, don’t start with your religious bullshit again. I thought you were over that by now.”

“I am, but—” He drops the bodies, hands immediately on you. The blood’s starting to oxidize, the red hue darkening as he grabs you by the face. You no longer flinch in his touch, letting him grab you by your cheeks and pull you in. You can feel his breath on you when he snarls, “Then, stop with the suicidal crap. It’s getting old.”

At one point, you swore that Sukuna hated you. However, whenever he looks at you like this— feigned anger as his vermillion pupils stare you down— you know you were all wrong. There’s a longing inside of him, he needs you. He needs you just as much as you need him. You don’t know if it’s because of the familiarity and losing the sense of that that makes the two of you feel this way, or if it's genuine. Nonetheless, whenever this moment is sparked between each other, neither of you are afraid to ignite those deadly flames. 

“Okay.” You give in. He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t turn into an obedient puppy on me now,” he breathes, grip on your cheeks tightening. “Give me something more.”

Letting go of the lifeless legs, your hands reach for his biceps. The palm of your hands, providing him the warmth of you. When you look at him, there’s always awe tinged inside of your pupils. “I’ll do whatever you want of me.”

There’s something carnal about sex. It reminds you of when you’re baring out your teeth, gnawing at human flesh. The hunger and need that you have for each other closely resembles the battles the two of you share while hunting, watching the life leave your poor victims’ eyes. Sukuna’s brute strength on your body, pulling you and manhandling you in any way he deems fit, reminds of you the way he steals a person’s last breath. Veins protruding from his hands, squeezing the air out of someone’s lungs. 

It reminds you of the moments with his hands around your neck, his length pounding into you deeply as you can barely utter a word. Thumb and index pressing just where they need to restrict air flow as he presses down. Scratchy moans and mewls that manage to escape as tears escape from you. He batters your pussy how he pounds on the defenseless, punching them until their face is unrecognizable and lifeless, and taking away that privilege of revival with a knife through their skull. 

When he manhandles you and pulls you just where he wants, it reminds of moments like these heading back to the cabin, dragging your next meal to your shared abode before starting a fire. The sky darkens and the two of you are still in your soiled clothes, a deep red painting the two of you. It only becomes worse when Sukuna hands you a cleaver, the two of you chopping away and more blood spilling on the palm of your hands. A heavy tension that cascades the two of you before the human meat is properly distributed into smaller chunks. Sukuna did the heavyload of harboring it away with the rest of them.

And when he comes back, his hands are still bloody and you do the favor of cleaning him off. Holding his much larger hand in yours, the taste of blood becomes a regular occurrence, no longer shying away from it. Pink tongue that tickles the palm of his hands as red melts on your tongue. You’re careful and thorough, making sure that you’ve reached every crack and crevice. A purr reverberating off his chest as those vermillion pearls look right into your eyes, how your lips hollow around his digits. He’s a blood-born predator the way his chest vibrates; you, the only one able to tame the beast he is. 

Every inch of him makes you feel frail, how he’s able to tear you apart with his bare hands. He rips through the fabric of your clothes, turning them into scraps in his impatience. He’s left you bare in a matter of seconds, fingernails digging into your flesh as he pulls you impossibly closer to him in a deep need for your proximity. 

Warm-blooded, his body heat beats off of him as your nimble fingers cling onto his shirt, tugging for him to remove. And one-by-one, you help him out of every piece before you’re being lifted into his arms, legs draped around his refined torso as the two of you share such fervor and passion in a kiss. Saliva dribbling from the corners of your lips before you’re pulling away, hooded eyes that darken before your tongue lulls out again. The splotchy patches of blood getting cleaned off and making his skin shine. The twinkle and sizzle of the fire guides a path to the busted patio furniture. 

Your back pressed into the cushion, like this, the two of you resemble two cats grooming each other. Both taking turns to sweep the dried blood from each other’s bodies, the taste of each other’s flesh being something heavily embedded in each other’s memories. Each other’s potent stench of sweat and musk so familiarized in each other’s senses. Rough and calloused hands come to explore your body, further ingraining the softness of your skin deep into his core. Groping and grabbing at the fatty flesh of your breasts as he takes in deep breaths. His breath tickles your neck, providing you warmth as the cooling night comes to cascade down on the both of you. He kneads at your breasts, thumbs flicking at your pert and erect nipples. 

You hum a sultry melody before yips of pain end the song abruptly, the pinch of Sukuna’s canines marking at your skin as his mouth clamps down on you. Your hips buck when he pulls away, a string of saliva following in his path before the band breaks. When he sinks his teeth in you, it reminds you of how dangerous a man he is. Every part of your body is a weapon, he told you once upon a time, and thus proving it when he killed a man with his bare teeth. Arousal that had pooled inside you watching the moment and arousal that pools inside of you now as he covers your body in bites, a call of ownership as his hands bruise your waist and his length pressed to your stomach. 

One hand around his cock, aligning himself to your entrance while the next pushes the strands of hair that dare to get in front of your face, it’s a short period of gentleness before he’s pressing his mushroom tip inside of your walls. The way you gasp out from the pain, a stretch that you always have to brace yourself for before his teeth pulls at your bottom lip. This brave face you always try to pull in front of him falters as a single stray tear falls and you’re holding back your cries. He sees right through you, his pretty little thing. Someone once so fragile has stepped into the light, mustering up strength out of you to become a cold-blooded killer, but yet you’re still so weak in so many ways.

Like, how your knees always come to buckle at the sight of him, always falling into submission like a dog loyal to its owner. Your eyes twinkle as if to forever promise your evermore devotion towards him, casting a light upon him and naming him your god. You lay so much trust in one man. One man, that if he truly wanted to, could play God and end your life. Sometimes he comes to question whether you continue to survive for him or for yourself. But now, he’s come to ask himself the same thing. Who is he surviving for? Because in his mind, all that comes up is you. 

The taste of mankind is a flavor he’s well accustomed to, but no matter how many times he made you bleed and have bitten down on your soft flesh, it’s one that he’ll never find himself acquainted with. It’s something so intoxicating and something that always makes him feel weak in the bones, his hunger for you so overpowered that it drives him to insanity. 

His cock sheathed inside of you, the way your walls clamp down on him has his body shuddering. A breath he forces himself to hold until he withdraws himself completely before battering your poor pussy. As the stars shine and the two of you are more at risk of being attacked, the two of you willing to take such a risk just to indulge into each other’s pleasure. The buck of Sukuna’s hips drives you wild as the sting subsides and is replaced with euphoria. One hand clamping around your mouth as he forces you silent. You poor thing, never able to hold yourself back with your pathetic claims that he just makes you feel too good. 

The way he drills his cock inside of your pussy, pistoning inside of you with such vigor that it has your nails digging into his back. Creating more scratches to accompany the old ones that are slowly fading away, your mewls and moans go muffled as he grunts and groans from above you. Glossy eyes that stare up at him with such heavy admiration as you hold on for dear life. Your juices intermingle with the translucent precum that seeps from his tip, his hips holding no rhythm as he selfishly uses your body. For a moment does he uncover your mouth, replacing his hands with his lips to swallow down your moans as his pelvis beats into yours. And though the undead prowls through the night, the squeaks of the battered and overused patio sofa goes unheard, the crickets and cicadas creating a song to deafen the lustrous intimacy the two of you share. 

When you cum, it reminds him of the desperate who plead for their life, so weak and torn that they whimper out so pathetically that it sends blood rushing straight down, the depiction reminding him of you. A look of craze that always washes over his face before he lands the finishing blow and they’re no more. Your face contorting in pleasure as you beg and plead to him. You pull away from him, calling his name. “Su…Sukuna, please.”

Please, that one word he associated with weakness. A word that he’s always associated with asking instead of simply taking what you wanted. You weak little thing, begging for something you know he’ll always grant you just to see the way your body responds.

He grabs your face, squishing down on your cheeks before his index and middle finger shove their way inside your mouth. No gentler than before, he only continues his abuse on your cunt, the head of his cock kissing roughly at your cervix before your body stiffens. Your legs tensing up and trapping him inside you as your mouth falls open. You resemble a wounded animal, whimpering and croaking out in pure lust and ecstasy. 

Your pussy flutters, beckoning for his orgasm to follow in suit as you cream around his cock. One more bite— letting go of your lips and his mouth now on your neck, a high-pitched squeak leaves you as he spills his seed inside of you. He paints your walls white as your heat holds him tightly inside, canines digging inside your flesh as he groans in pleasure. A white ring forming around the base of his cock, a beautiful picture painted as both bodies lay pliant in attempts to catch your breaths. At the end of it all, your eyes close shut. Just like all of his victims, accepting a pitiful defeat. 

Only, yours has come to be something he loves.

( 🫀 ) : @r0ckst4rjk @kasukuna @pixelcafe-network @satsattoru

[viladlind]

fiyero thinks of nights at camp where she was able to truly rest. the moments were far and few between. sitting at the campfire cleaning her instruments, halsin coming by to whittle another wooden duck at her side. sometimes he would show her the vague shape and ask for opinions he did not need, if only to pull her mind from the dreadfully serious matters of the day. there were also the few evenings with volo, whistling songs together and sharing tired laughter. when her heavy shoulders would melt under the joy.

   smaller moments there, also. hints of rest. karlach, weaving their tails together as they were eating whatever gale prepared for the evening. the rhythmic sound of astarion sharpening his daggers. an almost domestic sense of being together, absurd in the face of all that violence and bloodshed. but what else were they to do, to hold themselves together?

   all fiyero does is carry. now that she can't, now that her feet can't steady her and her face can't form a smile, she doesn't know what she'd do if she couldn't hold onto seofon. if he slipped through her fingers to exact his revenge. but her words, thank the gods, her words seem to do the trick. it's another vicious detail she wishes she could spare him from, but it makes it just that clearer— she needs him.

   for now, she has him.

i won't leave, he says, and fiyero lets out a shuddering breath that wracks her entire body. her horns bump against his chest, once, twice. the relief sits so high in her throat that she makes a drawn-out, miserable noise. her chin trembles with it. ' please stay, ' she mumbles nonsensically. ' don't leave. '

   he talks about food and she immediately wants to throw up. somewhere in her mind, the offer makes sense. it's something she would say, if one of her loved ones was clearly not well. a good meal can go a long way, a warm bath as well. fiyero doesn't know how long she's been stuck in that bed, has no semblance of time.

   it's been a very long time since taking care of herself has felt like a chore.

   it takes a while until her mouth can form words that aren't please or no. a sentence unrelated to all of this. she leans back in his arms, nestles against his shoulder. one hand raises to wipe at her eyes, tears having slowed at least a little bit. ' maybe ... a broth? i don't know how much i can keep down. ' she sounds unsure of herself, but she also doesn't want to deny seofon when he's given her this. his presence, here, staying. she sniffs quietly. ' and ... a bath. i don't know. the scars are— ' tugging at her open collar with one hand to pull it across the scar on her chest, fiyero closes her eyes.

   ' ... they're ugly. ' i don't want to look at them.

Seofon's seen a lot of awful things, he's heard about so many awful things done to others- hell, he's had more than his fair share of fights where he hasn't come out unscathed- but this is one of the worst things he's ever heard of. It's worse, because it's happened to the person he loves.

There had been times where he'd wonder what sort of person would be able to cause such devastation to another. The answer, he often found, was rather simple: a cruel one, an evil one. What Fiyero speaks of is beyond that. Knowing her agony makes his blood boil. It makes him sick.

Before he formed the Eternals, Seofon had traveled the skies with the rather harsh mindset of "stab first, ask questions later." It had been ... not terribly effective. It had been cruel, even when he said it was for the betterment of the world. How many warriors had he laid low; taking their fighting spirit, adding their blades to his own arsenal? He called himself a hero of justice, held onto that power because he was so certain that no one else could handle it. Or that no one else was worthy of it.

He used to be just like Anosiete.

Meeting Anre had changed him. Saving Seox, adopting Feower and Tien, meeting Tweyen and Threo and Fif and Eahta and Niyon- they had changed him for the better. They gave him reason to act a little more relaxed- maybe too relaxed. Meeting the Captain had also changed him; he learned more about trust. He learned that maybe he didn't really have to shoulder everything on his own. He reserved his harshest judgements for true threats- like Ceodric, drunk off of power from the Phoenix's blood. Like the distortions caused by Orologia's pain. And then, he'd been spirited away to Spirale.

Meeting Fiyero was in fact the best thing to happen to him in his life, and that was why it hurt so badly. Because she'd died- she was tortured and he hadn't been there- and she knows. He knows she's well aware of what he's feeling, what he's thinking, because she begs him to stay.

Anosiete urges him to take his revenge.

❝ I won't leave. I'll stay here- ❞ at least, he'll try his best, because he's so angry- someone tore out her heart, feasted on it, reveled in her cries of agony. She thought she deserved it. If there was anyone who deserved something like that, it was whoever had done all of that. But what sort of lover would he be if he left now? He knows what the right choice is- the right choice is to stay. To comfort her, to protect her. ❝ I can't say I won't still be angry at the person who did this to you- I'd love to have a nice long chat with them ... but not now. Not when you need me here. ❞

Really, he's not sure if he'll make it through the night without rushing off to do something impulsive. He knows that ultimately ... he probably will do something he'll regret.

But it will keep her safe if that person is dead. That's what you want, right?

I don't break my promises. I'll stay- as long as I can, I'll stay. I'm not like you.

But, this time you want to be.

Yes. It sickens him that it's true.

❝ How about I make you something to eat? A nice stew or something- ❞ He offers a small smile, trying as best he can to hold back all of his anger and pain, because she doesn't need to see all of that. She needs him to be Basilio- ultimately, he want to be, too. ❝ And then we can ... we can do whatever you want. I'm here for you. I love you. ❞

[viladlind]

there is something addled in fiyero's mind.

   to hunt the other demon he's come across on the island, it was easy. he smelled like one, he acted like one. golden eyes that spoke of greed, speech that revealed arrogance. fighting him was easy, too. it's what fiyero was trained for from the moment of his birth, his being geared towards the destruction of sin.

   he looks at this one, and he feels wrong.

   the scent differs, for one. it's still hellish, but not the one he's familiar with, after thousands of demons slain by his hand. he'd be surprised at the audacity of walking around in his demonic form, the horns blatantly on display, but the other one did that, too. no hiding away, no outright trickery. he looks casual, in the crowd.

   as though he belongs. as though he's allowed to be there.

   and perhaps the worst thing is that he doesn't immediately react to fiyero's presence. heaven and hell know each other intimately, can recognize each other from aeons away. and fiyero being a seraph, it's not only his reputation that precedes him. but there's an act of familiarity here that he doesn't understand.

   his hand, covered in plated gloves, grips at the demon's collar. fiyero shoves him, just once. his expression looks empty as he looks him over, blue eyes boring into him. there's something missing, there. he thinks it should be anger. (he knows it should be affection.) isaiah in his other hand, the grip around his sword tightens.

   he feels empty. he feels confused. he feels wrong. ' what have you done to my mind? ' it's a tense demand. his sword hand twitches. there is a thin line here, keeping him from attacking outright, but it's untethered, fragile. fiyero knows the danger of curiosity.

   this one has golden eyes, too.

@corvisque

[ataraxiaspainting]

King of Infinity.

Yan (Villain) Gojo x F Reader. 

Synopsis: You don’t get the starring role. You’re partially happy about it; because you don’t have to break a leg.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships/kidnapping(?), descriptions of genocide, descriptions of corpses, manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome(ish), and degrading language against the reader.

Word Count: 1.1k.

can technically be considered a roleswap AU but up to you as geto isn’t talked about rcfncodnorjr…

*~*~*~*

“I never considered you someone who would be fond of apartments.” Satoru pushes his sunglasses up with his pointer finger as he wraps an arm around your trembling shoulders.

The same hand that holds you so very tenderly in the eyes of his followers is the same hand that turns on the lighter to envelop his cigarette in a small flame – a flame you had learned long ago to not attempt to put out, lest you would like it seared into your palm like the tattoo he forced on your neck.

‘The Star.’

“It’s a good strategy though,” Those words are the closest thing to a praise you have heard in months. They are akin to Satan reflecting on his reign of hell and comparing, considering whether or not it would be better to serve in heaven. But then he would laugh as his servants danced, not wanting any angel or God to take such bliss away from him.

Satoru had you dressed in what he considered to be the highest quality fabrics monkeys can make, while he had attire made from the sorcerers he had wrapped around his finger. Yours were not suitable for Tokyo’s snowstorms and his clothing covered up more skin than he would ever let you cover – because you aren’t him, the one he loves the most more than anything else in this beautiful world; Gojo Satoru, the special grade sorcerer that killed more than thirty thousand people in a single hour outside Jujutsu High and was never punished after that fateful evening.

You still remember that night. It is etched into your memory like a child had drawn it on a white wall. Despite everything, you will not ever be able to erase it. You will grow old and never dream of anything but him, the center of your now small universe, the only flower that is allowed to bloom under the eternal blood moon. Everything else will rot – even the earth’s shadow will not remain once Satoru’s dreams are realized. His will is all that matters now, he is the priest of the god of destruction and you are so very far below him. 

A monkey. That is where you will stay and continue to be after you rot and he steps on the soil placed on top of you so you cannot breathe or scream. Only gratitude can fall from your disgusting lips because Gojo Satoru’s only fuel is the groveling of every living creature that makes up the infinite number of galaxies. He will gladly replace your tongue with the worms who decompose you if you have more to say than that. After a while, he’ll comfort you and say that it doesn’t get too bad underneath because that is your one true purpose in life; to not speak and only do.

“You didn’t cry too much this time,” The ends of Satoru’s mouth move upwards, having the freedom to do as they please because his lips aren’t sewn shut. Yours on the other hand can hardly get something that tastes pleasant. “That’s an improvement, wouldn’t you say? I’ll be sure to get you some mochi after this mission, pet.”

You’re not sure if he is talking about the car ride here or the corpses strewn across the floor – occupants of this apartment and a poor security guard that just so happened to be in the general vicinity and heard flesh being torn apart like paper.

There are glimmers coming from the knife block in the kitchen area, the sunlight hitting them just right to make them glow a silvery hue. But the idea dies as soon as you feel its warmth – almost nonexistent because of the burning cold – and slink back into the shadows where you belong, where you are meant to be.

“I never took you to be one for planning. Usually, it is Nanami who does that.” 

A puff of smoke comes out, but you can still see his glowing eyes. You can always see them no matter what you do, even if you close your own, so you decide to imagine them as a different color; something less bright and more normal, something like black or brown. Sometimes you get away with it, and other times he somehow knows.

“I don’t mind it though.”

From across the street, you see the clocktower that stands at the gate of the nearest train station… or bus stop. You don’t care enough to remember which it was. Most likely the former though – you highly doubt any mere bus station would have a clock that large when said buses only hold less than fifty people.

“Will you miss me?” The tone in his voice is teasing, you think because his lighter isn’t on his lap or in his hand – it is on the little coffee table beside the sofa you two are sitting on. But you must still behave according to Satoru’s design because the placement of the flames can easily change. The comfort is cold, but it is better than a scorching hot truth.

“Yes.” 

The real reason you had chosen an apartment and not some corporate office that was under the thumb of the Star Religious Group was because you wanted to be somewhere that was halfway normal. It’s selfish, you know that. But the floors are aged and not polished daily, the air smells different and the heating is at its lowest setting because the owners wanted to save a bit of money. It was oh so very selfish of you. But when you are forced to be the companion of Gojo Satoru, someone who is every definition of the word, you have to combat it in a way that won’t leave your skin black and blue.

“It’s almost eleven,” Satoru groans, stretching his arms up to the ceiling. Some blood managed to get up there along with a bit of a leather shoe, probably the husband’s. You two ignore it for different reasons that are just as strong as the other. “Be good.”

When he reaches towards the table, you think he is reaching for his lighter. But with a slight detour of his hand, he opens his wallet instead. A few thousand yen is handed to you when your eyes are closed, your mind prepared for another fight or flight response. All you get is another poke of your cheek.

“You know where the market is, don’t you? The one I took you after our date last week.” 

You nod. “Would you like mochi, master?”

“No,” Satoru chuckles. “Get me something you like.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Another celebration ficlet request! The original ask for this one seems to have gotten deleted, and it was sent on anon, so I can't even tag the person who sent it in. 😫

I hope you still see this and enjoy, nonnie! 💖

Heaven's in the backseat

Rated: E

Words: 1,000

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Mob boss Dick Harrington; Mentions of Stommy; Knife play; Dubious consent; Obsessive behavior; Violent thoughts; Car sex; Eddie has anger management issues and Steve is a little slut

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

Eddie has just lit his first cigarette of the night when one of the waiters informs him that Mr. Harrington wants him outside. As he grinds the cigarette under his boot, he imagines doing the same thing to Dick’s stupid head. 

Working for a mob boss is so goddamn exhausting. 

A week where Eddie doesn't come close to kicking the proverbial bucket is a good week - especially now that Dick has been taking him along as a bodyguard more and more often. He’s not complaining about that, though. Occupational hazard. 

No, what’s really annoying is the damn black tie affairs. As if squeezing into a fucking suit wasn't enough, the social dynamics of the underworld are mind-numbingly complicated. All of the big mob families are either related or out to kill each other - more often than not both at the same time. It makes events such as this an interesting affair, to say the least. All night long, Eddie has been hovering at the edge of the room while the boss ate and drank and shook hands with other important farts. Always vigilant, always ready to pull his knife from its holster under his suit jacket. And now he can’t even step out for ten minutes to have a fucking smoke? 

The car is parked in the driveway when he arrives. Next to it are the boss himself and a swaying figure with disheveled chestnut hair wearing a rumpled suit. 

Eddie’s blood bubbles and his steps speed up.

“-fucking disgrace,” Harrington says just as he flies down the stairway leading to the car. “You’ll do anything for attention, won’t you?” 

Eddie doesn’t catch the slurred reply, but it must’ve been the wrong one, because Harrington slaps the boy across the face before wrestling him into the backseat. Eddie’s hand is already on the knife when the asshole turns. For a heartbeat, he revels in the temptation of lodging the blade right in the middle of that ugly face, but he reigns himself in. Too much security, too many witnesses. 

“My son is drunk,” Harrington says. “Drive him home.” 

Before Eddie has a chance to reply, he has stalked past him and back into the venue.

*

“What the hell took you so long?” 

Eddie casts a look into the rearview mirror to see the venue disappearing behind them and Steve straightening up in his seat. His voice is still slightly slurred, his eyes a bit unfocused - but he's nowhere near as drunk as he appeared seconds ago. Eddie's mouth tugs into a grin. 

“What, I don't get a thank you for driving you? Where are your manners, little nymph?” 

“Why should I thank you for doing your literal job?” Steve’s mirror image scoffs at him. His bottom lip is pink and a little puffy where his father slapped him. “And don't call me that.” 

“I'm a bodyguard, not a chauffeur,” Eddie says. “There's a difference, y’know?” 

“You're a dog,” Steve drawls. “You do whatever my dad tells you to.” 

Eddie’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. Steve’s mouth curls at the edges, but his eyes stay bored. 

“How about you?” Eddie asks, once he has blinked the crimson shadows from his vision. “What did you do to incur his wrath? Must’ve been pretty bad, if you feigned being so wasted he’d send you home like some misbehaving child.” 

“None of your business, is it?” Steve snaps. Then, after a second or two, the aloof facade slips back on and he shrugs. “He caught me in the bathroom with Hagan.” 

Something slithers low in Eddie’s gut, dangerous and deadly like a coil of venomous snakes. 

“What? That ugly, freckled fuckface? C���mon, you can do better than that.” 

Steve laughs, a sound like the edge of a knife - bright and pretty and sharp-edged. “Why do you care? You don’t own me. What is it to you if Tommy fucking Hagan shoves his cock up my-” 

He doesn’t get any further than that. Eddie pulls over to the side of the road and slams on the brakes. One fluid motion later, he has scaled the middle console and has Steve pinned on the backseat, wrists trapped over his head in a one-handed vice grip. 

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, voice low and lethal. “But this is where you’re wrong, see? You are mine. And one of these days, I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.” 

Those pretty eyes go wide as he slides the knife from its holster. The blade gleams, catching what little light there is in the dark car. With one flick of his wrist, he slices away the top button of Steve’s expensive shirt, revealing the long, graceful line of that neck. Steve exhales a shaky breath and his throat bops with it. 

“One of these days,” Eddie murmurs, trailing the tip of the blade over tan skin, leaving just the thinnest of red lines. “I’m gonna kill everyone who ever looked at you or touched you wrong and claim you as mine. Stuff you so full of my cock you forget about everyone else, until the only word you remember is my name. Carve my initials into that pretty skin of yours so nobody ever forgets who you belong to.” 

Steve looks up at him, eyes bright and hazy, and a little whimper falls from his perfect lips. He writhes deliciously in Eddie’s hold, and for a moment, Eddie thinks he’s scared, that he’s gonna plead for mercy. 

But then he slots his leg between Steve’s thighs to hold him in place and he feels it. He looks down at the boy in awed surprise and can’t help the grin that creeps over his face.

When Steve speaks, his voice is hoarse and breathy, but not from fear. 

“Do it, then,” he challenges, rolling his hips and grinding his hard cock against Eddie’s thigh. His lips strain to meet Eddie’s, breath warm and wet against his skin.  “Make me yours.” 

Eddie has never been so happy to obey in his life. 

Part 5

More celebration ficlets

[viladlind]

   earthly pleasures are not for them to enjoy. heaven and hell are as far from humanity as they should be, heavenly skies and hellish flame on opposite sides. if it weren't for the simple fact that most demons are traitors, angels warped into something sinful by choice, there might have been a reason to leave them alone. but dar'khol is here, isn't he? mingling amongst the crowd, proving once more that hell can't help but stir where it shouldn't.

   a demon's purpose, to tempt innocents into ruin. he may gain some amount of enjoyment from being here, but that's a disservice to the peace fiyero is trying to keep. allowing his existence to continue without snuffing out his fire ... it's simply not possible.

   fiyero was forged for this. with heaven as his sheath, he'll bloody his hands in accordance to the cardial rules that lent him his position. there's no other way.

   ' if you had stayed faithful, you'd know that i was never mortal. ' not truly, two halves of a whole. perfectly suited for heaven's wants and needs right from the start. ' now you'll never learn. ' there's a twitch there, a smile that reaches deeper than the surface. almost a grin, revealing fangs that shouldn't exist on any other angel. part of fiyero tries to dig through whatever murky memories still cling to him.

   loyal to a faith that despises him. a dog at their heel, waiting for scraps. shouldn't it feel wrong?

   his jaw opens further, unhinging unnaturally. an ear-shattering wail rings out between the two of them as the seraph advances at the same time, isaiah shining bright in his hands. his own ears feel fuzzy with it, but it only serves to help fiyero hone in on this: the weapon in hand, the wings unfurling behind him, the target in front of him.

   he'd go for the legs, but he knows most demons have the ability to fly— instead, he drives the length of his sword from one hipbone to the middle of his stomach. dar'khol will have to limit his movement if he doesn't want to spill his guts, though fiyero can already hear the sizzling of holy light against demonic skin. taking a step back, he flips the hold he has on his sword and runs at the demon, wanting to drive it through his middle.

he can't say he doesn't feel it, the way in which his heart decides to race. adrenaline coursing through his veins like an electrified current at the challenge presented. it's always been that way; always gleeful at the thrill of the hunt even if he, himself, was to play the role of the hunted.

a given excuse every time. to bare fang and claw against those despised so thoroughly.

"when have any of you made anything easy for me?" he questions in turn, head cocked to one side, decorated comfortably with a crooked smile. despite how literal the statement was -- he was playing with fire. flames of the highest temperature, even, if those revolting wings were anything to go by.

recognized by tales alone, what heaven had strove to provide itself. dar'khol had been fortunate enough to not have such high hopes placed upon himself, making his escape all the easier. but this one? poor, wretched fool she was.

with a breathy 'hmph' the hell spawn opens his arms, outstretched in a show of exposure; to play against the seraphs wording. how he may run, or hide. "seems you're correct! i've never been one for laying low. i rather like the sun on my skin, the wind through my hair." his smile softens, albeit remaining naturally slanted, and dar'khol's arms slowly lower. "is that so difficult a concept to grasp?"

and as the question falls from his lips, golden gaze flickers to the awaiting tip of a blade. for a beat he does naught but stare, until a brief closing of lids results in returned attention to the angel that wielded it.

"for one once mortal, you're certainly quick to change your tone once we no longer fit your fancy. when we no longer wish to blindly follow a poisoned faith."

beneath planted soles does hellfire spark -- rising at his feet to dance readily against his person. it grazes over a steadied palm, falls from an expelled breath. he holds no weapon of his own, what was the need? he was already a weapon made.

"come on, then. prove yourself a loyal dog and let me see how hard you bite."

[tk-duveraun]

PIDW au (a very similar concept has been talked about but I don't have the link off hand)

Time passes and magic mostly goes metaphorically underground as industrialization sweeps across the world.

LBH is down to a bare handful of wives (losing them through death or ascension as he clearly stopped giving any fucks). His kids are the same, adopting lives in the mortal world to explore, tinker and experiment with technology since there was never any chance of them surpassing their father.

Let's go early industrial period.

Despite the gradual and seemingly inevitable weakening of spiritual energy in the world, LBH is suddenly feeling a resurgence of strength. By this point he knows very well to inspect this gift horse's mouth and eventually finds out he's being worshipped as a god.

The cult's official writings very specifically never call him a god, the closest being 'the son of heaven' (at first he thinks some Christian missionaries went very wrong somewhere) but deeper in the writings he finds an eerily accurate accounting of his early reign - including many details lost to time and forgotten by everyone but him.

He digs deeper and finds the cult leader is an archeologist who, against scholarly convention, believes in magic and demons. He's been cast out and ostracized for insisting they were and are real which combined with his zealous dedication to heavenly emperor luo binghe spawned a cult in his wake

LBH infiltrates the cult easily rushing through the ranks by knowing intimate details of his own life until he's introduced to SY, the cult leader, himself.

LBH is fascinated by him in a morbidly curious way and basks in the praise of his person he hasn't enjoyed since... Well, with that level of zeal and sincerity, ever.

SY is happy to finally have an assistant that isn't a mindless sycophant or power hungry cretin trying to cash in on cult life

Look, SY knows cults are bad, but the body he transmigrated into wasn't exactly flush with cash and he might be on several government extermination lists for his open heresy and sedition.

At least he's not predicting the end of the world or making people cut ties with their families - honestly the members that flock to him are mostly ALREADY disenfranchised and need the community support his followers provide.

And! And! He encourages them to study modern readings and competing findings to his own, is just that... Well aside from his new assistant, no one really does that.

Also holy fuck where did this guy learn to cook? Is he one of LBH's descendents? It would explain his objective beauty.

LBH sneakily trains SY as a cultivator (to better understand his research subject) so he can have him forever