#//when she truly wanted freedom- away from him//

[hxperion]

//thinkin about how Jack spent so much resources into building angel's chambers and making it the most difficult thing to break in to. Like even if you get past the forcefield that kills you instantly you still have to make it past a lot of loader bots and constructors. which some one them have literal small nuclear war heads, installed as a weapon. Not mention to the BNK-3R fight which was a pain in it self and as he puts it, the weapon he personality created to defend the outside of the chambers. Furthermore he has a biosignature installed plus a voice recongizer where you gotta sound and be him to even enter her chambers. and once you in the chamber he has custom loader bots label as angelic guardians . Constantly being in there to defend against plus the shields he has on the Eridiumn injectors and Angel herself. Like this man did everything to keep his daughter prisoner. //

[chilumi-shipper]

Soulbound

Zhongli x GN!Reader (Soulmate!AU)

Summary: Zhongli hated the mark on his neck, and he hated whoever the mark bounded him to. But fate plays a cruel joke, matching him with you, as he swore he would love no one else but Guizhong.

Tags: Angst/No Comfort, Short Story, Rejection, Hurtful Words, Hatred to Love

Soulmark - A mark that binds two individuals as soulmates.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Morax had always been frustrated by the mark on his neck.

A glowing, permanent part of his body that marks him tied to a soulmate. He thinks its stupid, for the love of his life was already in front of him, a gray-haired inventor that no carving in his body could ever stop him from adoring.

He finds it unbelievable that his neck is claimed by a soulmark yet Guizhong's remain blank, and he curses Celestia above for such a foul joke.

How could he be for anyone else but her?

When her dust settled in the field of glaze lilies he thought were incomparable to her beauty, he was utterly devasted, his clawed hands held onto his neck, wanting to rip the soulmark that had been taunting him for centuries.

How could he be marked for someone else while the love of his life laid lifeless?

He loathed his mark, everything about it, and he will till his last breath.

...

Zhongli deeply dislikes you.

You are a messy, silly, babbling buffoon.

An adventurer from Mondstadt that embodies the nation's will of freedom. Bubbly, carefree, and loud, much like a fellow god he didn't particularly like.

Despite of his disdain of you, your affection towards him never wavered. You filled his somber days with excitement as you joyfully tell him stories about your adventures, share some new recipes you've learned, even ushering him to talk about obscure Liyue historical facts that you've always found interesting.

He was much too proper to shoo you away, and his cold looks and short responses didn't discourage you to try to make friends with the man that peeked your curiosity.

Ever so slowly, you had pried open his caged heart, planting a small seed that was so distinctly you.

He would have accepted you, he would have seen you as a friend... and yet...

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a faint, familiar mark on your neck, revealed when you put your hair up into a ponytail.

Zhongli knew he truly disliked you.

...

"I don't believe in the marks either, Mr. Zhongli..." You reasoned with him, but his gaze still stung you with daggers.

He caged himself back up, ensuring that you could not care for the little seed you planted, no light would be able to reach it again.

His heart would not open...

No matter how many times he catches himself smiling at your antics.

No matter if he displays every gift and trinket you give him from your travels.

No matter how much he preferred your cooking over anyone else's.

No matter how beautiful you look staring up at him with your doe eyes as you confess your affection.

No matter how frustrated he felt at himself when he made you cry as he rejects your feelings.

Because, for him, how could there be anyone else but her?

...

"Do you see why it could never be you?"

You both stood in front of a monument, surrounded by various plants and objects you assume to be from friends of this ancient goddess.

"I bet she was amazing."

"She was perfect. Perhaps that's why I was not worthy to share a mark with her."

At this point, you were used to his words, how they praise her, how they degrade you.

"You're pretty great too, Zhongli..."

Faith places identical marks on the necks of two soulmates, and the rest is a romantic story of the passion that builds up as people pursue their marks of love.

Fate is cruel to you and him.

"That mark is not for you, Y/N." The Geo Archon says to you, tearing you apart silently, as you stand and take his words.

His heart quivers despite the harsh words coming from his own mouth. Even after millennia of having the mark engraved on his neck, after concluding that maybe he would allow your little seed to prosper even just for a bit, he still chooses to cling onto his hopeless past.

Tears fall down from your eyes, but you remain quiet, only nodding in agreement.

You loathed the mark on your neck.

...

Zhongli opens the cage of his heart a little, allowing him to peak at the small sprout from the seed you planted.

So distinctly you, it was the only thing he has of you.

After letting you leave him at Guizhong's monument with tears still staining your face, he couldn't help but miss you.

He couldn't help but let you finally take your place in his heart, after so long of hating his soulmark, hating whoever the mark tied him to, he fears he has finally accepted faith.

...

"Where is it?" He grips your arm harshly, his hold not faltering as you try to shake him off. His gaze was cold, yet you could still catch the hint of alarm in his eyes. "What have you done?"

After weeks... you return to him... missing something.

You winced at the stress of his words, feeling frightened under his tense hold. "I..." His bruising grip didn't falter, urging you to explain yourself. "S-Surprise...?"

"You..." Zhongli looks at you in disbelief. "How stupid could you be?"

"M-Mr. Zhongli... it's a blessing of the Anemo Archon... I prayed for him set us free from fate."

"Y/N... I..." He was at a loss for words, his heart ached as his eyes searched your neck in vain. "Fate... going against it is painful. It must've been excruciating."

"It was... but this if for you, Zhongli..." You smiled, feeling him loosen his grip. "Because I love... loved you." You fully free yourself from him, rubbing at where he previously held you.

The wind around him picked up, and he hears the faint whispers of an old friend along with it. Whispers of comfort, as he clearly ruined what would have been the light of the rest of his days.

Your soulmark fades, but his remains...

Zhongli loathed his mark, for it bears no meaning, no one but him bears that mark.

As you leave, trying to fade away in the background of his life, you remain under a spotlight in his eyes, for you will always be the one that shares his mark, no matter if it is visible.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

What y'all think of this one? :3

I bet y'all's feelings were hurt hehe

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Unfinished Business

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Serial Killer!Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: talk of beating/raping women and children (implicit, just mention), near drowning/death, car crash

Summary: You’re the most wanted woman in the country, and the BAU finally has you in its grasp. You hunt and kill truly evil people but it doesn’t seem to matter to the authorities if the victims are rapists, killers, and abusers. You’re doing this country a favor and you’re not finished. It doesn’t matter if you’re caught or not. You’re going to find a way to continue your work.

Square Filled: criminal au (2022) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

If the damn clock wasn’t bolted to the wall, you would have ripped it from the plaster and shattered it to pieces. You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be at home snuggling with your dog who you presume is missing you. Your sister knows to take him in if she doesn’t hear from you within twenty-four hours so you have no doubt he will be taken care of.

Instead, you’re sitting handcuffed to a table in the BAU.

You’ve been on the FBI’s Top 10 Most Wanted for three years now for your notorious work in slicing up men and women who deserve it. Every single one of your victims was far from innocent, but the FBI doesn’t care if you’ve been cleaning house. All they care about is the fact you have hundreds of victims under your belt.

You’ve been killing since you were a child because your father got you into it. It started with random strangers on the highway (he was a truck driver and would pick them up). He’d get them talking and if he so much got an inkling that they were less than innocent, he’d kill them. He taught you to wear gloves, clothes that don’t fit you, shoes that were slightly too big for you, to always have a wig on, talk with an accent, and never trust anyone.

He was never caught and died almost a decade ago. Now you’re left to continue his work.

Men who rape. Men who kill for fun. Men who abuse. Women who abuse. Women who kidnap. They’re all fair game. You’re ridding the world of evil one person at a time.

The reason you’re sitting here and not at home drinking wine is that you decided it was best to work with someone to take down a small group of abusers. The group was small, maybe five or six men, but they went out and assaulted women at night and left them for dead. This other person who you shall not name knew your father and reached out to you. He wanted to work with you in bringing the group down and you trusted him enough to agree.

Your first mistake.

Your second is when you gave him the task of finding an easy way out in case something went wrong. Something did. There was another man in the house who called 911. Your “friend” got away. You got caught. When the FBI realized who they caught, you knew you wouldn’t be getting out of this alive. There have been two dozen confirmed victims of yours but you know that number is well into the three hundreds by now.

You’ve saved a bunch of men, women, and children from getting abused and hurt, and there isn’t a thing you’d change if you could do it all over again.

You’ve been sitting in this godforsaken room for nearly twenty minutes. Maybe that’s their tactic. Maybe they want you to slowly go insane so you’ll confess to more crimes. You were born at night, not last night. At best, you’ll get three consecutive life sentences. There is no way you’re going to ever see freedom… that is if you were completely alone in this. There is a reason why your father was never caught. He has friends on the inside that you can turn to, so you know you’ll be okay if you get sent to jail.

You tap the metal table with a perfectly manicured nail when the door opens and a black man walks in with a thick file in his hands. Damn, he’s not the one you were hoping would come in. The one who apprehended you was white, and he had the most beautiful brown eyes. Lean but not too skinny. Curly hair. Such beautiful features.

The man sits across from you and lays out pictures of men you’ve killed over the years. They are unsolved cases but the FBI doesn’t know that you’re responsible for them. You keep your eyes on the man as he lays out six photos of men.

“Where are they?”

“What, no introduction? No, ‘How’s it going?’ I don’t get any of that?”

“My name is Agent Morgan, and you’re going to tell me where you buried their bodies.”

“Bold of you to assume I killed them.”

Agent Morgan takes out six more photos and lays them underneath the men’s portraits. Each of the new photos is of their crime scenes. You left a lot of blood behind but none of it is yours.

“Do you know what a signature is?” You don’t answer. “You like to leave behind a name written in your victim’s blood.” In each of the photos, you can see the name you wrote on their walls or mirrors. “Femme Fatale. No one else does that but you. So, I’ll ask again, where did you bury their bodies?”

“Mmm. Ask me again. This time, add ‘please’,” you smirk.

“This is not a game, Y/N. Tell me where they are and maybe we can work out a deal.”

“I’m already seeing three consecutive life sentences for the murders you’ve already pinned on me. Unless your deal is me walking out of this building without so much as a scratch on my record, I’m not telling you shit.”

Agent Morgan nods and gathers the photos. He’s done. He knows he’s not going to get anything out of you right now. He opens the door to leave but you stop him before he can.

“When you’re ready to come back, bring in the cute one. I have a thing for brown eyes and curly hair.”

Agent Morgan all but slams the door on his way out. It’s an hour before someone comes back to you, and this time, it’s who you want.

“Ah, there he is,” you grin and sit up straighter.

“So, I’m the cute one?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Ooh, a doctor. I’m impressed. You look so young.”

Spencer opens a file and takes out pictures, different than the ones Agent Morgan showed you. They’re of your apartment, more specifically, the room you have hidden underneath your stairs. You have a basement in the house but the stairs to it are located underneath your staircase going to the second floor. The door is only accessed when you pull up the last step of the staircase. You had that installed when you bought the house so that your extracurricular activities can remain a secret.

Inside the basement are records of the men and women you’ve killed, where you’ve put their bodies, future victims on your list, and people you are suspicious of. You hate that they found that, but it doesn’t matter. You have many houses across the country and even one in Europe that all have the exact same information. If your father taught you anything, it’s to keep backups and backups of your backups.

The only difference is that every safehouse has a different list of different men and women. There are a lot of evil people on this Earth, and you’ve only worked in one country. Imagine what you’d find in Europe.

“We know you’ve killed more than two dozen. It looks like hundreds.”

“What else do you know?”

“I know that you’re smart--smarter than you’d have us believe. I know that you like to work alone. With a rap sheet like yours, you can’t trust anyone. It’s the reason you got caught. The one time you trusted another person, they let you down.”

“So, you’re not just pretty, you’re smart, too.”

“You can deny it all you want, but the facts are right here.”

“I’m not denying any of it. I killed them. All of them. You know where their bodies are. You don’t need a confession out of me which makes me think you wanted to see me.” You grin and lean forward as much as you can. “Isn’t that right, Spencer? You just wanted to talk to me.”

“I’m going to make sure you don’t see the outside of a prison for the rest of your life,” he whispers.

“I like it when you talk dirty to me,” you smirk and lean back.

“We will be transporting you to a high-facility prison before sunrise.”

“As long as you’re in the car with me.” Spencer doesn’t say anything and cleans up the photos from the table. Like with Agent Morgan, you don’t let him leave just yet. “I’m not a bad person, Dr. Reid.”

“According to your basement, you’ve killed over three hundred people.”

“Richard Sigler was raping his six-year-old daughter. Her own mother didn’t believe her when she told her about it. Benjamin Cross has beaten and raped ten women over the course of a month. He was about to add an eleventh victim when I caught up to him. Alexis Greene aided her husband in kidnapping three children. I was with my sister’s kids when she tried it with me. She never got to a fourth.” You rest your elbows on the table. “I never hurt innocent people.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything and leaves the room. It’s another two hours before you’re placed in the back of a car with Spencer behind the wheel. Luck must be on your side because you two are alone.

“What, no one else is going to join us?”

“They didn’t need to. It’s a short drive.”

“Lucky me,” you grin. “So, since I’ll probably never have a genuine conversation with anyone else, tell me about yourself.” Spencer doesn’t answer. “Let me guess, you’re a reserved know-it-all. Secret romancer? Kinky in bed?”

“Shut up,” Spencer sighs.

“Ah, so you’re kinky, huh? What are you into? Personally, I love being tied up. Choking is a big one.”

“Like I’m going to tell you what I’m into.”

“You don’t have to. I can read people pretty easily. You’re an open book.”

Spencer tries to focus on the road but it’s snowing pretty hard. He didn’t know there would be a snowstorm soon. He thought he’d be able to drop you off and return to the BAU before it hit. He turns the windshield wipers on but it doesn’t do much for the snow pouring down.

“Maybe we should pull over. Get nice and cozy in here,” you chuckle.

“And give you a chance to escape? No way.”

“I have cuffs on, Spencer. You’re the one in control. That’s one of your kinks, right? Being in control.”

“Okay, right now, I need you to shut up.”

You do only because the car is shaking. There must be black ice on the road, and Spencer is trying his best not to skid too much. Spencer doesn’t look nervous but you can tell by his labored breathing and the slight perspiration on his forehead that he’s nervous as hell. The only reason you are, too, is because there is a giant lake to the right of you, and you’ve seen too many movies where cars skid on black ice and end up in lakes.

“Spencer, maybe you should pull over,” you say seriously.

“Don’t tell me how to drive.”

The streetlights barely give Spencer enough light to see the road in front of him, and the snow piles onto the windshield faster than the wipers can remove it. Spencer jerks the wheel to the right to avoid a pothole when the car is caught on a sheet of black ice. The car spins in circles before plunging into the freezing cold waters of the lake. Spencer’s head slams into the steering wheel and is knocked out immediately. Water rapidly fills the car, too fast for your liking. You take off your seatbelt and squat onto the seat so you can slide your cuffed wrists underneath your feet. You’re very flexible for someone your age, and you’re thanking your sister for pushing you to do yoga.

You hop into the front seat and ram your elbow into the passenger window. When all you get is a bruised bone, you know you have to try something else before all of your oxygen is taken from you. After all you’ve done, you’re going to let something like this take you out. The water has reached your chest now, and you open the glove compartment for something hard to break the window.

This is a cop’s car, so they have the tools needed to break open windows. You grab the small tool and slam it into the window. It shatters immediately, and you quickly swim out of the window into the dark lake. You’re about to swim to the surface when you look back at Spencer. You can’t leave him there. He’s going to drown. He’s innocent.

You don’t hurt innocents.

You swim to the other side of the car and use the same tool on his window. You reach in and grab him only to realize that he still has his seatbelt on. The tool you have is also good for cutting seatbelts, so you slice his lap belt and pull him out of the car. It’s hard since you’re handcuffed but you have to get him out of the lake.

Your lungs burn from not having enough oxygen, and black spots start to form in your vision. No matter what, you have to get to the surface before you pass out. Just when you think you’re going to suck in a lungful of water, you break through the surface. You struggle to keep both your head and Spencer’s above water but you manage to swim to the edge of the lake. You push Spencer onto the ground and heave yourself next to him.

Shit, you’re freezing. You reach into his pockets and see if there is a key for your handcuffs. Again, luck must be on your side because there is. You unlock the cuffs and place one of them around Spencer’s wrists and the other to the very thin light pole next to him. You can’t have him following you. You look at Spencer’s face to see him paler than before with blue lips.

“Spencer!”

You lean over him, place your lips over his, and blow into his mouth. You pull back and start doing three chest compressions. You repeat the process five times before Spencer coughs up a bunch of water.

“Oh, thank God,” you sigh. “You’re alive.”

“What happened? How did you…?”

“Sorry, babe. I gotta go before they realize you’re missing.”

Spencer jerks his body only to realize he’s handcuffed to the light pole. You grin and hold up the key to the cuffs. You toss them over to him but they’re just shy of his feet. If he stretches hard enough, he’ll reach them but only after he gets his strength back.

“No, get back here right now or I’ll--”

“You’ll what? Arrest me?” You take a few steps before turning back to him. “Don’t take this personally. I have a list to complete. Oh, soft lips by the way. If things were different… As much as I like you, I really hope I don’t see you again.”

Spencer sits helplessly and watches you parade off into the night. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see you again but he’ll try like hell to make sure he does.

x

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[spacerockfloater]

The way people switched on Tamlin the moment Rhys was introduced is diabolical.

“Tamlin never really loved Feyre, it was all a trick from the start”: It is stated that Tamlin was disgusted by the idea of forcing someone to fall in love with him and considered it slavery, but ended up being so in love with her that he ultimately lets her go and choses her freedom and safety over that of his own people. Rhys confirms that Tamlin loved Feyre too much. And he loved her truly. Not because he had to. Tamlin treated Feyre with dignity when she was engaged to him. He introduced her as his lady, to be respected and cherished by all. And she really was loved by his people, too. Rhysand uses her as his lap dog to scare Hewn City and parades her as his whore.

“Tamlin never did anything for Feyre, he just used her”: He improved her and her family’s life in every aspect and offered her everything he had.

“Tamlin had sex with someone else in Calanmai”: Out of duty and responsibility because he didn’t want to force Feyre, who still wasn’t sure about her feelings, into it. All of the High Lords perform the Calanmai. Lucien says so. How convenient that this is never brought up with Rhysand. He surely does perform it as well. All the theories in here, “Lucien doesn’t know what he’s talking about/ This is a SC ritual only/ He probably just passes the duty on to someone else” are just a way for people to villainise Tam and glorify Rhys again. All of them inaccurate. The Calanmai is canonically performed by every High Lord. There’s no evidence that proves otherwise. As the son of one High Lord and the ambassador of another, Lucien would know. He is 500 years old. It’s just more convenient for SJM to never bring this up again because it raises the question of “Who was Rhysand fucking all these years?” and it makes her favourite character look bad. And once he is engaged to her, Tamlin flat out refuses to do it. Let’s be real for a second.

“Tamlin didn’t help Feyre under the mountain”: He literally could not. He was bound by a curse. He was forced to be Amarantha’s consort and a consort cannot oppose you. His powers were bound. Alis warns Feyre that Tamlin will not be able to help her. Stop acting as if he didn’t want to help her. He decapitated Amarantha the moment he got his autonomy back. Claiming that there’s no proof that Tamlin was under the influence of a spell when he literally didn’t break the curse and Amarantha’s magic didn’t allow him to use his powers is crazy. And even if he tried, he could never provide actual help. We see this when he begs Amarantha for Feyre’s life. Him showing he cares about her would only make Amarantha more jealous and vicious towards Feyre.

“Tamlin made out with Feyre instead of helping her”: He couldn’t help her run away. No one could do that. She would never make it, Amarantha would find her. In fact, Tamlin specifically could not help her in any way. He could only assure her he still wants and loves her. And she wanted that just as much. Rhys abused her physically, mentally, verbally, drugged her and much worse. And he enjoyed all of it. If he didn’t want to raise suspicions, he wouldn’t have placed a bet in her favour. Rhys is a sadist, SJM just decided to mellow him down in the next book so that we’d all like him over Tamlin.

“Tamlin ignored Feyre’s wishes and only wanted her to be his bride, he didn’t let her be High Lady”: Both Tamlin and Feyre were bad communicators going though trauma and Tam had a whole court to care for. Tamlin was unaware of how Feyre felt because she barely spoke up once. Rhys knew because he literally lived inside her head and had all the time in the world to focus his attention on her since his court suffered zero consequences during Amarantha’s reign. And Tamlin simply told her the truth: there’s no such thing as High Lady. Even her current title is given to her by Rhys, the magic of Prythian has not actually chosen her to be High Lady. The title and its power are decorative. And she said she didn’t want that anyway.

“Tamlin locks Feyre up and uses his magic to harm her”: He locks her in his humongous palace to keep her safe, after she just came back from the dead and his worst enemy is kidnapping her every month, while he runs off to protect his borders. Rhysand locks Feyre in a fucking bubble. Tamlin loses control of his magic. He doesn’t want to harm her. That’s not abuse. Abuse is intentional. Feyre and Rhysand lock Lucien and Nesta up. They lock the people of the Hewn City up in a cave. Feyre loses control of her magic and harms Lucien’s mother. Double standards I guess.

“Tamlin is a bad and conservative ruler”: Tamlin is such a beloved ruler that his sentries literally begged to die for him. Feyre had to fuck with their minds to finally turn them against him. They were his friends. He was so progressive that the lords fled his court once he became their ruler because he wouldn’t put up with their bullshit like his father did. He loved all of his people. He is against slavery. The Tithe was just tax collection. Rhysand practically rules over just one city, while ignoring Hewn City and Illyria. He treats 2/3 of his realm like shit and everyone except the residents of Velaris hates him. He collects tax, too, but we conveniently never see this. He ranks the members of his inner circle (my 1st, my 2nd etc.) and reminds them every moment that they are his slaves first and anything else second, while Tamlin treats them equally and even gives Lucien an official title by naming him Ambassador.

“Tamlin conspired with Hybern”: He was a double agent and his short lived alliance, two weeks all in all, not only didn’t harm a single soul, but ultimately saved all of Prythian as he was the only one who brought valuable information to that meeting. He dragged Beron to battle. Rhysand’s alliance with Amarantha harmed thousands and only helped save one city, Velaris.

“Tamlin is responsible for turning Nesta and Elain into Fae”: No, that was Ianthe, who got the info from Feyre. Tamlin was fooled by her, just as Feyre obviously was, or she wouldn’t have trusted her. Tamlin was disgusted by that act.

“Tamlin is less powerful than Rhysand”: Rhysand himself says that a battle between them would turn mountains to dust. Tamlin killed Rhysand’s dad, the previous High Lord of the Night Court, in one blow. He is just as powerful as Rhysand. SJM again just wants us to believe otherwise. And he is smarter, too. He was the only one not to trust Amarantha. And he was a good spy for Prythian against Hybern.

All of these takes are cold as fuck. SJM was testing the waters with ACOTAR and she made sure the main love interest, Tamlin, was insanely likeable, so that the book could be a satisfactory standalone story in case she couldn’t land a trilogy deal. She didn’t know it would be such a big hit. But once she realised she could turn this into a franchise, she had to figure out a new story to tell. She may claim otherwise, but there’s just too many plothotes to convince me. And in order to make her new main love interest seem like the best choice, she had to character assassinate the old one. There was no other way. ACOTAR Rhys was too much of an evil monster to be loved by the majority of the audience. But Tamlin was introduced to us as such a heroic and passionate man that is literally impossible to turn him into someone despised by all. Feyre’s relationship with Rhysand reads too much like cheating on Tamlin. That’s why anyone with basic analytical skills is able to realise the flaws of the narration.

[nopanamaman]

What's up with the Reizners (Kolya & Nikita)?

Better late than never: the loredump on Nikita and Kolya Reizner is finally here!

If you read my blog, you may already know some of this information. But it's always nice to have things organised.

So let's talk about them.

Childhood

Nikita and Kolya as kids.

Nikita and Kolya grew up in a small countryside town, with Nikita being older by three years. Their mother was a nurse, their father a factory worker.

Nikita was always positioned as an example for Kolya: he was the smarter one, the one that knew how to get along with people, the one that could stand up for himself. Kolya, on the other hand, was absent-minded, meek, and showed little interest in communicating with others.

This made him an easy target for bullying. Sometimes Nikita tried to ignore it, sometimes he stood up for him. Kolya would have preferred if he stuck to the former - having his brother defend and then scold him for not being assertive enough was more degrading than being picked on.

University

Kolya always enjoyed tinkering with electronics, so he went for an electrician degree. He wasn’t an exceptional student, but he enjoyed it significantly more than school. People didn’t bother him nearly as much.

Nikita enrolled in the biology department of a pedagogical university. He worked hard to get rid of his countryside accent and blend in with the more “educated” crowd.

He joined the admission committee after his first year, which is how he met Nadya: she was applying to the philology department of the university. Their relationship began shortly after.

Joining the stalker business

Kolya wanted an escape from society more than anything. And the anomalous Zone outside the city called to him, insistently so.

It was a time when the border was significantly less tight, when big stalker groups were still prevalent, but already on their way out. He met Victor Kazarin in one such group. The latter was still a young stalker, with only a couple of years behind his belt.

Still, under his guidance, Kolya’s abilities developed incredibly fast - he was a total natural. And it wasn't just his sharp talent, it was the way he walked the Zone, the way he loved it with all of his heart.

Experiencing a sense of freedom and levity isn't uncommon for stalkers. But to Kolya it went far beyond that. To him, it felt more real than anything else in the world, it was the only place that felt truly alive.

When Nikita found out about Kolya’s side gig, he was mortified. How could his slow, empty-headed brother survive in those conditions? How could he ever navigate that dark criminal business? He had to keep an eye on him.

After realising he cannot talk Kolya out of it, Nikita joined the same group. He never developed a strong sense for the Zone’s anomalies, but his biological knowledge paid off in a major way. Despite not having a medical degree, he knew more than enough to take on the rare doctor role.

After finding somewhere he finally felt complete, Kolya was once again treated as a clueless, incompetent child.

When the big group was showing signs of deterioration, Victor offered the brothers and several other stalkers to leave and form a smaller, more tightly-knit team. His connections from working in the militia (local police) created a solid basis for finding potential clients and covering things up.

Nikita's arrest

Maybe somebody snitched, maybe Kolya’s behaviour raised suspicion among his day job coworkers - whatever the reason, his house was searched and numerous artefacts were found.

But what would someone as soft and careless as him do in prison? Somebody as naive and weak could never last there, Nikita thought.

So he did what he had to: acted like the artefacts found in the younger brother’s apartment were his and then aggressively resisted arrest - just for good measure. Hell, maybe he would have managed to get away.

But he didn’t. As opposed to other stalkers having their scars bestowed by the Zone, the one on his neck was the result of a police confrontation. Nikita did not expect them to open fire when he ran. He was surprised he lived at all - the bullet grazed uncomfortably close to the carotid artery. He lucked out.

Kolya had never felt that insulted. He tried to come clean about being the real culprit. But Nikita knew how to be convincing; Kolya didn't. And Kolya felt no gratitude. 

Breakup with Nadya

The breakup in the Mill.

Nikita was given 4 years in prison, but got parole after serving just 2. He immediately returned to helping injured stalkers.

Nadya waited for him through all his prison years. Considering how their relationship was going, some part of Nikita secretly hoped she wouldn't. She was a very self-conscious person, one that was infatuated with someone who seemed so much more confident than her. To the point where she felt like without his guidance, she’d be completely lost, and useless, and stupid.

Nikita both liked it and didn’t. Who wouldn’t enjoy a beautiful girl obsessing over them? But dealing with all of that baggage was inconvenient, it was tiring. Was it even worth it? Sometimes he wasn’t sure.

Still, things looked sweet on his release. Everyone, Kolya included, seemed glad to have him back.

Then, several months later, Nadya announced she was pregnant.

Nikita didn't want a child, especially not one that would have an almost guaranteed mutation. He proposed an abortion, but the woman refused. His reasoning that she usually took as gospel did not work. And no matter how much Nadya cried or pleaded with him, no matter how much she tried to convince him it would be okay, Nikita refused to take that burden upon himself. 

There was no easy compromise. He left.

Kolya didn't have much of an opinion about Nadya. He didn't have much of an opinion about most people. And really, he didn't feel particularly bad for her.

However, hearing about what had happened made him repulsed in a quite satisfying way. The brother that always knew best, the brother that was so condescendingly self-sacrificing, had finally levelled himself with the rest of the earth's scum.

Months later Nikita would seek out the maternity hospital Nadya gave birth in. He wasn't registered as the father - he could not access any information about her. He couldn't contact her himself either.

Her acquaintances refused to talk with him. But eventually, one of them caved.

Nadya was pregnant with twins. Died while giving birth. The offspring was transferred directly to the institute. And that was it.

Raising Sergei and Sasha

It was a dumb death. A misstep. Kolya wasn’t sure what he felt when he saw Victor’s body turn to mush. It was so instant and so simple. Natural. Kolya’s breath halted, but just momentarily.

They had a plan prepared long in advance in case something like this would come to pass. Sending Sasha and Sergei to the orphanage was not an option, everyone had been well aware of the state of those systems. Instead, Victor Kazarin would live on, if only on paper.

They held a funeral of sorts: to onlookers, it was just an uncharacteristically big visit to the grave of Maria Kazarina. That was where Kolya informed Sergei about the plan. Him and Nikita would help raise the siblings until Sergei turned 18 and could become his sister’s legal guardian. Of course, they’d help him afterwards as well.

Kolya and Nikita raising Sergei and Sasha.

Sasha was fascinating to Kolya in a “child of the Zone” way, but he wasn’t very interested in her on a personal level. To her, he was the strange spaced out uncle that had cool electronics around the house and took pictures of her and Sergei. He also played the guitar like her dad used to.

Kolya and Sergei had a lot more to talk about. Kolya’s calm demeanour helped Sergei feel more at ease despite the terrible circumstances. Even with his ditzy nature, Kolya provided a certain sense of security and comfort. Kolya always considered Sergei a good kid, though he did believe his treatment of Sasha was too overbearing, especially considering his own relationship with Nikita.

The latter, on the other hand, was much closer to the girl. She liked to play with Nikita even before her father’s death, so the adoptive uncle role came to him naturally. Sasha grew very attached to him, especially since he was significantly easier to talk to than Sergei. Nikita, in turn, was happy to have Sasha around.

The Grinder incident

The group heading out to the mission in the Mill.

Beyond the Grinder lies the wishing room. At least, that’s what they say. It’s a rumour impossible to confirm or disprove. Can you really pass the whole stretch of the tunnel before your legs, your arms, your face, your whole body disintegrates? You don’t know. Do you want to find out? Probably not.

The natural human instinct for survival can only be superseded by total desperation – or apathy in equal measure. Did Kolya have enough of any? Neither Sergei, nor Olya knew. They didn’t know why he had to enter the Grinder, either. Was that what he had wanted from the start? When was “the start”? Maybe it didn’t matter.

They could not follow him. And that alone was good.  

[kyseya]

Backstory - farm brothers

So it’s fairly clear that Weston and Lucas are not normal people. Surprise, surprise they’re killers. I wanted to have a little Texas chainsaw massacre slasher vibe but don’t know if that worked very well.

Basically they lure(or people just end up there by themselves) folk to their farm and kill them. Though there are instances where they let some walk away without a scratch, but that’s only if they’re needed, will definitely be missed and could potentially be traced back there, and haven’t the slightest clue what’s truly going on at the farm. The Callaghan brothers can’t have anyone running their mouth, you know.

Their parents were pieces of shit and only had kids to lessen the work load. The farm belonged to their fathers side of the family. their mother had never planned to marry their father but an unexpected pregnancy and pressure from others made them stay together. The two of them were miserable with each other, always fighting and blaming the other partner. The mother was mostly mad about having to spend the rest of her days on a ‘dirty farm’ and work. The father hated being married to a vile, selfish woman who barely helped with anything. His own parents were old and his siblings had quickly moved far away to prevent having anything to do with the farm, which meant everything landed on him.

It was the mother who began using her son as a helping tool. Tasks like sweeping, feeding the animals, collecting the eggs and cooking simple meals were passed to him. At first, when Weston’s dad found out he was furious. But not because it came at Weston’s expense, no, it was because he saw it as a sign of ultimate laziness.

The earliest memories Weston has is of his parents fighting over him. He remembers when his father would reprimand his mother about using him to do her labour(he wanted her to suffer the same tiring days he does) while she screamed back. But then it stopped and his father would no longer complain. Nearly a year after that his little brother was born, and of course he became the one taking care of him after he didn’t have to nurse anymore.

Lucas followed his older brother everywhere. He was his second shadow when he went around and did his chores. It was fine with weston, he wouldn’t admit it but it became a comfort knowing he was a hero to someone. It made life easier. Unfortunately their parents wanted to put Lucas to work too, the moment they considered him old enough. That wasn’t the worst part though. Their mood soured significantly over the years and they verbally abused them on a daily basis, a couple shoves and blows were hard to avoid. You’d think they’d be happier with the easier load.

Weston would have been able to take it ifd only been him, but seeing his younger sibling being treated as dirt too, that wouldn’t fly. The hatred grew stronger each day. When it had boiled over the edge, the older one had decided on a plan. They would kill their parents. Sadly, they were too young at the moment, there was no way they’d be able to overpower two adults as they currently were. They would have to wait until they were older. And so they did. Years they waited for the right opportunity. The abuse and work never stopped, in fact, the older they got the more take they had to preform. Eventually everything was done by them and nothing was done by their parents. They finally got what they wanted, total freedom from the harsh farm life.

The day Weston told Lucas the plan to kill their parents, he had expected a little pushback from him, but he was surprised when Lucas was totally in on it. One might say he was even excited.

It was really easy to murder them. You just had to corner each one when they were alone and then slice their neck. The kids had far outgrown the adults, they were no match for them anymore.

After their mother and fathers death the brothers took over the farm. Despite all the bad memories they still liked it there. It was rather peaceful(especially when no one criticised you on how to feed the pigs), plus, they didn’t have much of an education beyond reading and writing. Where would they even go? At least on the farm they had food and shelter.

The killing didn’t stop though. It appeared the first murder had awakened something in the both of them. They both had found out they enjoyed it. The power and pleasure in seeing their parents fear stricken faces was too good of a high not to experience again.

Although, they might make one exception to the killing if you’re cute enough~

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Part One Part Two

☒ Summary: There was no time for doubt or guilt. It was now or never, and you had to play it smart if you wanted to be free, and you longed for that freedom more than anything.The thought of soon being in the comfort of Alastor’s arms, without any restrictions, kept you at bay. Within hours, you would be liberated.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, happy ending! silly lucifer, vox gets destroyed emotionally, lots of cursing and a light sugestive undertone, angsty and fluffy (a perfect combo) heavily yandere!vox coded, blushy alastor, husband alastor being the sweetest ever

☒ Word Count: 3,545

You awoke to an empty room after what transpired last night. Slowly, you rubbed the tiredness from your eyes. There was a note on your night table- you noticed it as you sat up. It was from Vox.

Sorry, I cannot be here when you wake, sweetheart. Val is being a pain in my ass. So, duty calls. I'll be up to check on you later. There's breakfast downstairs if you're hungry.  With love, Vox

The kinder he was to you, the more remorse you felt. 

Soon, all of this would be behind you, and that's what you had to remind yourself of. 

You took your time rolling out of bed this morning. You dreaded the day ahead of you. As you finished dressing yourself, you caught something in the corner of your eye. You spotted an envelope tucked under your closed window. The corners of the crimson letter lifted from the harsh breeze outside. You wasted no time snatching the tattered note, instantly recognizing the handwriting on the front.  

It was from Alastor.

My Dearest, Gather your prized possessions. I'll be here at midnight to bring you to your proper home- our home. Lucifer will nullify the contract you have with Vox moments after I retrieve you. So worry not, my dear. Within hours, you will be free.  Yours truly, Alastor P.S. Be sure to burn this after you've read it. 

You could hear your heartbeat as your hands shook, tossing the letter into your fireplace. The finish line was just out of reach. You could do this. You hastily began grabbing the belongings you've accumulated over the years, stuffing them into a bag Vox had gifted you for your birthday one year.

As you began gathering your things, the nostalgia kicked in. As did the guilt that sucker punched you right in the gut. 

Each item you stuffed into the tote brought back a pleasant memory. Your favorite tee that you wore to bed each night, for instance. 

You hadn't a clue how Vox even knew this piece of fabric was so meaningful to you. Nor how he obtained it to begin with. But, when Vox re-gifted it to you, you broke down. He seemed startled by your reaction, uttering apology after apology. Vox assumed his gesture did not go over well. But it was quite the contrary. This piece of home made you feel a little less alone in an unfamiliar place. You cried out a meek "Thank you." offering Vox a shaky smile as you wiped your tears away. 

You shoved all of those memories into the back of your mind. The same way you shoved your belongings into the tote. There was no time for doubt or guilt. It was now or never, and you had to play it smart if you wanted to be free— and you longed for that freedom more than anything.

The thought of soon being in the comfort of Alastor’s arms, without any restrictions, kept you at bay. You took a deep breath, slapping your cheeks a few times to snap yourself out of this stupor. Within hours, you would be free.

Vox had been so angry when Velvette called— disrupting his precious time watching you slumber. These moments were few and far between since you forbid him from installing cameras in your room. Vox grumbled to himself as he stood from the chair, ending the call with Velvette after receiving the news about "Needing to get the piss baby under control."

Slowly, he approached your sleeping frame, admiring you. The rise and fall of your chest. The pleasant expression decorating your beautiful features and the hardly noticeable tremble of your fingers at the hem of your favorite shirt.

It was a cute routine of yours. You tended to play with the stitching at the base of your sleep shirt before you nodded off each night. The sheets always slipped down your frame from how you tossed and turned, giving him a perfect view of your little habit.

Vox recorded this moment for his private use. He knew your self-soothing technique was the reason your shirt was so tattered. Vox put the pieces together ages ago. He never forgot the day he re-gifted you that flimsy old shirt.

When you started living here seven years ago, you arrived with nothing. Vox sensed your anxiety from your lack of familiarity. So he had a chauffeur take him to your and Alastor's newly desolate home. 

Vox rummaged through your personal belongings for a good while, to the lack of your knowledge. Inhaling your scent; which enshrouded your garments. One shirt, in particular, stood out to Vox. He noticed the wear and tear in the fabric, giving it so much character and conveying a story of its own. He assumed this tee was sentimental, so Vox took it. Hoping that a piece of home would put your mind at ease. He had also confiscated your perfume and other personal garments for himself. But you hardly needed to know that.

When Vox gave the shirt to you, your eyes filled with tears as you offered him a sweet little thank you. That stirred something deep within him. Something dark. Vox's obsession only doubled by the day after that, and for some reason, you were wholly oblivious.

Vox supposed that was the moment he knew his fixation with you was severe.

You took his kindness for weakness, Vox assumed. But little did you know, the love he had for you only made him all the more hostile. If he had you, Vox had no use for anything or anyone else. Plain and simple. You were all he desired— all he needed.

The memories you shared over the years replayed in Vox’s mind as he persisted in his daily tasks. He hoped you had read the note he left you by now, taking the liberty of treating yourself to some delicious breakfast. Vox had the personal chefs make your favorite this morning. He figured you needed a little pick me up after the harrowing night you endured.

His poor little sweetheart, maybe he should visit you earlier tonight. Any moment without you in it was far too long for Vox.

You paced around the ransacked room. The clock read a quarter to twelve. You were in the home stretch. Alastor would be here soon, as would Lucifer. Suddenly, a knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. 

"Sweetheart, may I come in?" 

Oh no, this was not according to plan.

Normally, Vox finished his work around two in the morning. He would visit you a couple of minutes after he finished up. But why was he early tonight? Did he possibly catch on to your antics?

"Ah! N-No! Not yet- I am indecent!" You sputtered out. Fuck, this was bad. Really bad. Vox was quiet for a moment before his voice boomed once more. 

"You sound- off. I'm coming in." You hurriedly tucked your packed-up bag under your bed, throwing on your robe to hide the outfit you had on. You prepared to take your leave, so your usual sleep attire was nowhere to be seen.

Fuck, Fuck- Fuck! He wasn't this stupid. Vox was going to see right through your bullshit. The trashed room was a dead giveaway. 

Vox barreled through the door, making a beeline to where you stood. "V-Vox! Wait-" His slender fingers cupped your cheeks, a look of worry glitching onto his features. "Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

He was too focused on you to notice the state of your room. A shaky breath escaped you as you forced a smile, bringing your hands up to your chest. You waved them in front of yourself. In an attempt to show him everything was alright. Which- it wasn't. 

"Nothing- Really! I'm okay, just a bit sleepy. Can we talk more tomorrow?" You forced a yawn. Placing your hands on his chest, an attempt to soothe his worries. Vox gave you a pointed look as he let out a sigh. His hands that cupped your cheeks traveled a little lower. The gentle caress down your neck and collarbones sent a chill up your spine. "Of course we can. Here, let me tuck you in." 

Panic flooded your senses as he tugged at the tie of your robe. "I-I'm cold! So I figured I'd sleep with this on tonight!" Your hands were trembling as you stopped him from undoing the knot. Vox looked more concerned than ever from your skittish display. "Sweetheart, you're trembling! Come, let's get you under the covers." 

All you could do was nod in agreement as Vox's hand wrapped around the small of your back. He guided you to the bed, and that's when he noticed something was off. "Sweetheart... where's your favorite blanket, and why is it not on your bed?" His voice was even but a pitch lower. You froze in place, not daring to peer up at him. "I took it to get washed! It was looking a little bleak." Your voice was shaky as you lied through your teeth.

Vox's grip on your frame tightened as he slithered his arm down to grasp your hip. His hold on you was bruising as his other hand came to clutch the opposite side of your waist. He swiftly turned you to face him, dipping low to get in your field of view. "Why the fuck are you lying to me?" 

Oh fuck, this was the end for you.

His eyes were glowing bright and swirling with anger. A frown was prominent on his monitor. "I'm not! I swear- stop! Vox- you're h-hurting me!" His grip only became more brutal as his face pushed closer to yours. Vox invaded your senses. You felt claustrophobic- trapped. "Lies, lies, and more lies! Utter one more from those sweet lips of yours, and you'll be sorry."

Tears brimmed at your waterline, threatening to spill. Sure, Vox's grip was painful- but more than anything, you were petrified. 

"I believe you are holding something that belongs to me!"

The radio static filled the room, as did an air of malice. Vox snapped his head toward your window- met with the sight of his age-old rival, Alastor. "How the fuck did you get in here? I have security cameras lining the entire building! Inside and out!" Vox's grip around your hips loosened from the pure shock of what was unraveling before him. You took the opportunity to slither out of his grasp, frantically running over to your husband. 

"Ha! Your sense of security is flawed! You'll have to try harder than that to keep me away next time, old pal!" Alastor laughed bitterly as you cowered behind him. You seized his waist from behind tightly, hands still trembling. "Although, there won't be a next time! Oh heavens no! Not after the way you put your hands on my wife." The radio crackle was more prominent as your husband's shadow tendrils outstretched toward Vox. 

Alastor restrained the pitiful man before him. You peeked over your husband's frame. Getting a glimpse of his murderous expression. His eyes were in the shape of radio dials as crimson blood spilled past his grinning lips. "You fucker! You should have stayed away! Have you forgotten that I own your sweet little wife?"

"Uhh... not for much longer! Uh oh! It looks like someone is late to the party, am I right, Malastor? Aha!" You jumped from the boisterous voice filling the room. Your head whipped over to where Lucifer himself, now stood at your husband's other side. The King of Hell nudged your husband with his elbow, looking for approval from his witty remark. 

"Malastor-?" You sounded dumbfounded before your husband cleared his throat. "Yes, yes indeed! Now, get on with it, little Luci! Time is ticking!" Alastor spat through gritted teeth, shooting Lucifer a warning glare. The short blonde man scoffed, muttering under his breath about how "He was taller where it counted most!" Lucifer approached an annoyed Vox. He thrashed against his constraints but to no avail. 

"What the fuck are you of all demons doing here?" Vox spat, eyes swirling with murderous intent. He was beyond pissed, and it terrified you. Alastor could sense your anxiety and wrapped an arm around your waist. He pulled you snugly into his side, giving your hip a light squeeze. 

"Your old pal Malastor and I struck a deal! So no more wifey soul for you Mr. TV man!" Lucifer said in a sing-song voice. Without further ado; The King of Hell's horns poked past his golden hair. Wings fluttered out as a blue aura surrounded Vox. "No! You fucking can't- she's mine!" Vox shouted, tugging wickedly against his restraints. 

You watched in awe as the essence of your soul was extracted from Vox's chest. He let out a pained groan while Lucifer held out his palms, gently cradling your soul. A gasp was pulled from your lips as your collar and chain appeared around your neck. Lucifer turned toward you, offering you a wide grin as he approached. "Looks like ya dropped something!" The King of Hell joked, earning a warning glare from your husband as he brought your soul up to your chest. 

Gently, Lucifer overlapped his hands before pressing them into your diaphragm. You let out a breathless gasp as you felt your soul lodge itself into your chest. It felt foreign. You had been without it for ages now, so to be whole again was... liberating. With a snap of Lucifer's fingers, the azure collar around your neck fractured in half. It plunged to the floor along with the leash before it withered away.

The waterworks that threatened to spill past your lashline all this time finally slipped. Hot tears cascaded down your cheeks as you let out a small chuckle. "Thank you- both of you." You turned toward your husband. Alastor smiled brightly down at you as you brought your shaky hands up to wrap around his slender neck. You pulled his face low to meet yours halfway. Alastor took the hint, a small blush blanketing his cheeks as your lips meshed with his. 

The kiss was tender and loving. Alastor's large palms wasted no time cupping your face. He gently wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "I've dreamt of this moment countlessly over the years we spent apart, my dear," Alastor whispered against your lips, forehead flush to yours. Your heart pounded against your ribcage from his words. 

"Me too, Al. I can't believe this is happening right now." You giggled before Lucifer obnoxiously cleared his throat. Pulling you out of your sweet reunion with your husband. "This is lovely and all, but I upheld my side of the deal, Malastor! So you better do the same, or else I will fuck you!" Your mouth fell agape at the King of Hell's words. Alastor just tilted his head in confusion before you muttered, "Uh... I'm sure he meant to say fuck you up, my love."

"Yeah, that! Wait- what did I say?" You shook your head in disbelief as another laugh escaped you. Who would have thought the ruler of hell would be such a goofball? "Anyway, I'm gonna go! My job here is done!" With that, Lucifer took his leave out the window, humming a little tune to himself as his wings carried him through the night. 

Alastor clutched your hand, squeezing it firmly. "Come along, my dear! It's about time you returned to your rightful home!" You nodded in agreement, releasing his hand to retrieve the bag you stashed under your bed. Suddenly, Vox's hand slipped free from Alastor's shadow tendrils. He wrapped his slender fingers around your ankle, pulling a frightened yelp from you. "After everything I've done for you... this is how you repay me?"

Vox's voice was low, wavering slightly. You could feel his glare on you. But you didn't dare to look his way. "Let go of me! I don't owe you anything, and you no longer own me. So give it up." You spat. Alastor's tendril twisted around Vox's arm, yanking it away from your ankle. The pitiful man winced as you took this opportunity to grab your things and get the fuck out of this hell hole. 

"You'll come to regret this, sweetheart! You're mine, soul or no soul! And if I can't have you... no one can. Do you hear me?" Vox shouted at the top of his lungs as you took your husband's hand. Not daring to look back at the man you spent the last seven years chained to. "See, that's where you are wrong, chap! My darling wife was never yours to claim! Ha! How pathetic you are. Thank you for quite the pitful display!"

Alastor chuckled darkly as he took your bag for you, hoisting it over his shoulder. Without another word, Alastor's shadows surrounded you both. Taking you to a better place. The last you heard before you disappeared was Vox screaming your name along with the pitful cries of "I love you!" You felt a twinge of remorse for him, but it was fleeting.

The new scenery before you was bright and colorful. "Guys! They're back!" A cheery voice shouted. The Princess of Hell pulled you and your husband into a bear hug. "Oh, I just knew you could do it Alastor! I'm so happy that your wife is now a part of our found family!" You smiled at her words, glancing over to a rather stiff Alastor. You chuckled from his posture before another voice grabbed your attention. 

"You two definitely make a cute couple! Who knew Mister Fancy Talk Creepy Voice had game? Kudos, man!" The feminine spider demon approached you before one of his hands took yours. "The name's Angel Dust! A pleasure to properly meet ya toots!" He bounced your hand lazily before shooting you a playful wink. You returned the kind gesture, introducing yourself with a smile. 

"That's a pretty name. I'm Vaggie, and it's good to have you here." The petite woman gave you a small smile and a nod from where she now stood beside Charlie. You muttered a thank you before Alastor swept you up into his arms. You let out a small yelp as your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders. 

"Alright, the meet and greet is over! My dearest and I have some lost time to make up for!" Alastor's grin never faltered as he shuffled out of the foyer and up the steps. You heard a loud whistle coming from Angel and a shout of "Don't break the bed!" from Vaggie. Which caused embarrassment to course through your veins. 

You giggled as your husband ushered you into his bedroom. Kicking the door closed with his hoof before placing you down gently. You kept your arms secured around his shoulders as you buried your face into Alastor's chest. You breathed in his scent. Something so nostalgic yet ever-present. Alastor hummed your wedding song into your hair as his hands tapped along to the tune against your waist. "Let's dance, my darling!" 

Alastor lifted you slightly, allowing the balls of your feet to rest on the tops of his hooves. You giggled as he began taking broad steps, twirling you around the large room. "Do you remember our wedding, dearest? Our first dance was nearly ravaged by a drunken Mimzy! Ha!" You shook your head at the memory. Husk had cut her off for the night- and let's just say the rowdy woman didn't take that too well. "How could I forget! Husker's tail tripled in size- and Mimzy uttered curses I had never even heard before!" 

You both laughed at the memory as Alastor slowed his roll. Gazing down at you with unadulterated love swirling within his crimson eyes. His smile shrunk slightly as he brought a hand up to grasp your chin. "I truly apologize for disappearing all those years back without notice. It wasn't my decision, and if there's one thing I regret most in this world... It's making you feel like I willingly abandoned you." A frown decorated your husband's features. His eyebrows were knit in dismay.

You cooed at him, bringing your hands up to card through his two-toned locks. "It's behind us now, my love. Please, don't torture yourself anymore. I love you, and I couldn't be happier to be in your arms again!" Your gentle words tugged at his heartstrings. A small blush coated his cheeks as your fingernails grazed the base of his ears. "I love you more, my darling." The radio static in his voice was nowhere to be found. It was Alastor's true voice conveying his authentic feelings. 

You wasted no time pulling him down for a kiss, which he happily obliged to. Your lips molded perfectly against one another. You could hear your heartbeat as Alastor caressed your waist lovingly with one hand. His other hand remained at your chin, tilting your face slightly with his grip to deepen the kiss. For being a demon in hell, it sure felt like you were in heaven at this very moment. 

What was once lost was now found, and you couldn't be more thrilled to make up for lost time with your husband, Alastor.

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts @villxinmiixx @persephoneblck @maxlynn17 @littledolly2345 @karolinda007-blog @falling-endlessly @greekyoghurtwithberries @bladeismine @aloraaaxcrystalzx @doctorswife221b @scaramoochiie @fairyv-ice @chirikoheina @veroneverleft @tired-of-life-86

[theemporium]

[4.1k] when a last minute team meeting takes them to amsterdam, lando decides to take the opportunity to see what his teammate is like under the influence. (smut)

part two to this blurb that spiralled into landoscar smut somehow

.

It happened in Amsterdam. 

With a new sponsor on the rise and the team desperate to lock down the deal before the new season started, Lando and Oscar were asked to fly out to the Netherlands a few weeks before the car launch. It put a small damper on both men’s winter break plans, the last few days of freedom they had before they dived into work mode for the new season—but ultimately, neither boy complained. 

Oscar had felt bad for having to cancel your plans, knowing how excited you were about planning a few days for the two of you to spend some time alone together—away from the world, away from everyone. In all honesty, it was what he was looking forward to the most. He knew Formula One was different, that he would be busier than he ever had been in his life, but it never prepared him to be away from you for so long. 

So yeah, he was pretty fucking bummed about having to cut the trip out of his plans but he invited you with him to Amsterdam in hopes the two of you could make the best out of a bad situation. 

After all, Zak had only wanted them for a day or two, to just sit in meetings and play up some charm and confidence to give the sponsor the last push they needed to sign the deal with McLaren.

And, by some luck you swore was from a higher power, the deal had been negotiated and signed after a very long, tedious meeting. 

But Oscar didn’t complain, he couldn’t complain when it meant that he would have more time alone with you in a country he never really had the chance to explore beyond the race tracks and most famous sites.

It just seemed like Lando had a similar idea.

“I got the perfect place to check out,” Lando insisted as they walked out of the busy office building they had been stuck in for the last few hours. “Martin recommended it, said it was insane and a necessity to check out when we were in the city.”

Oscar tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt, but the boy’s words had him intrigued. “And he’s never taken you before?” 

“Said it was best to visit in the off-season,” Lando replied, and the smile spread across his face did little to reassure Oscar’s suspicions about the mysterious place. “Bring your girl too! She will love it, Oscar. You both will.”

He raised his brows. “And you’re not going to tell me?”

“Be a little adventurous, Piastri,” his teammate teased, lightly nudging his shoulder as they headed towards their team-appointed cars. “Dress nice. We leave at eight.”

“I haven’t even agreed to anything,” Oscar pointed out, but the Brit didn’t seem all too bothered as he waved his teammate off before climbing into his car. 

Truthfully, it shouldn’t have surprised Oscar that you were up for the night out. Lando’s mysterious words intrigued you as much as they intrigued him, and you both trusted Lando enough that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to drag you somewhere dodgy. Hopefully. 

So, Oscar tried to push away the voice in the back of his head that said he should have asked more questions. He was a Formula One driver, he was used to control, he was used to always being the one in charge of his own fate. It felt weird to leave everything in the hands of Lando, even if he trusted his teammate more than he did with most people in his life. 

“Relax,” you murmured to him as you stepped between his legs, your hands resting on his shoulders as he waited for Lando to message he was waiting downstairs. “It’s one night.”

“I know, I’m excited,” Oscar answered honestly as his hands rested on the back of your thighs, trying not to think about the pretty, little dress you had slipped on for the night. He could have sworn he had never seen it before. A part of him was tempted to cancel the whole night and stay in to truly appreciate the dress. “It’s just the idea of Lando being in charge of everything…”

“Hm, you say that as though you don’t worship the ground he walks on,” you teased, smiling in amusement at the way his cheeks burned pink.

“I do not!” Oscar grumbled, but he was smiling back. “Okay, I do a little. But it’s Lando…he’s my first teammate in Formula One. He is just—”

“I know,” you murmured with a smile, leaning down to peck his lips. “And he cares about you. So relax and trust the fact that he was excited to check this place out with you.” 

The place in question—the one that Martin insisted Lando needed to check out—turned out to be something straight out of a Bond movie. 

Oscar hadn’t even managed to catch the name when Lando had muttered it to their driver, a giddy smile on his face as he turned back to look at you and Osacr in the back seat. He was excited, buzzing in his seat as he rambled off about random topics could barely even keep up with as he watched the city pass by in a blink through the window. 

It was an exclusive club, not very well-known but a local treasure to those who knew of it. One of those places in movies where you knocked on a steel door and grumbled out a password. The kind of places that you expected to feel dodgy and cautious and like you were making the biggest mistake for stepping into the establishment. One of those places that two high-profile athletes should definitely never be caught in. 

But Lando just turned to him, that stupidly huge grin on his face as he threw an arm over his shoulder and dragged him inside. 

“Relax, Piastri, nobody is gonna care who you are in here!”

And honestly, the thought shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was to him.

But despite the many warnings he received about stepping up as a Formula One driver, Oscar never really wrapped his head around how famous he was. He had his fair share of internet spotlight on him throughout his career, he was used to being recognised every once in a while. But being a Formula One driver—a McLaren one, nonetheless—was a whole new level.

People stopped him in the streets and asked for photos. His face was blasted on huge posters in airports and cities he hadn’t visited before. Every aspect of his life was constantly under a microscope now. He had fans and followers all around the world, not just from his home country. He had a level of fame he couldn’t even conceptualise. 

He had a level of fame he wasn’t even sure he wanted. 

His whole life he just wanted to drive. He just wanted to get behind the wheel and achieve the dream he had been chasing after since he was a young boy. He just wanted to do what he loved, what he had been passionate about since before he could even remember. 

It just came in a package deal with having more attention that he preferred, so the very idea of stepping foot into this exclusive club and nobody caring he was Oscar Piastri? Yeah, that sounded really fucking good.

Your arm wrapped around his biceps as you followed the Brit deeper into the club. It was dark—darker than a usual club—with red-tinted lights surrounding the place, adding a soft hue that was just enough to see a few steps ahead of you. The music thumped through the building, like the bass lived in the walls as it sounded throughout the place. 

There was no bar. And the dance floor wasn’t really a dance floor. It felt like a stage, placed right in the middle of the room for people to ogle and observe. The whole place was surrounded in these dimly lit booths, large enough that they almost felt like a room. 

The whole place was fucking weird and nothing like he expected. 

And maybe that was what thrilled Oscar about the whole situation. 

“Where do we order our drinks?” He had asked as they made their way to the far left corner, the furthest place from the door. The surrounding booths were empty but Lando still chose the one right in the corner as he flopped down onto the large cushioned sofas. 

He watched as you and Oscar took the seat across from him as he grinned. 

Oscar raised his brows. 

“We are in fucking Amsterdam,” Lando snorted, something glinting in his eyes that even the dim, red lights seemed to pick up. “You don’t come here to get shit-faced drunk, Oscar.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You brought us to your dodgy club to get stoned?”

“Best in the city, baby,” Lando said, the smile on his face widening as he leaned back against the cushions, comfortable and settled with his legs spread a little wider than he usually would. “A little birdie told me Oscar was the kind of man you wanted to smoke with.”

Oscar raised his brows. “You sound surprised by that.”

“Let’s just say there aren’t many sides to you that I don’t think I’ve already seen,” Lando answered with a simple shrug before he raised his hand, catching the attention of a waitress Oscar didn’t even notice was walking by.

And maybe it was immoral. Or sneaky. Or whatever you wanted to call it. 

Maybe it wasn’t the most truthful way to experience it but Lando Norris was a fucking curious man and the opportunity fell right into the palm of his hand. Because Logan Sargeant’s words had been ringing in his head like a loop since that night in the club, his eyes being opened to a whole new side of his younger teammate and he wanted to see more. 

He wanted to know who Oscar Piastri was under all the layers he seemed to put up when he was sober.

And with the team dragging them to Amsterdam and Martin having told him about this club with the assurance that it suddenly wouldn’t be plastered over the front page in the morning that they were indulging in recreational drugs before the season started…well, Lando couldn’t just ignore it, could he?

It wasn’t noticeable at first and, for a brief moment, Lando wondered if the American was just pulling his leg about the whole situation. He wondered if Logan had just seen his shock to clingy, touchy Oscar when he was drunk and needy and thought it would be hilarious to just add fuel to the fire that night for his own amusement. 

Because one joint in and Oscar seemed like he had hours ago in the meeting room, dressed in a fancy suit and looking slightly out of his comfort zone. 

But time passed and the edges of his own brain began to feel fuzzy, and Lando started noticing it. He noticed the way Oscar seemed to squirm in his seat, the way his eyes lingered on your mouth as you took a drag from the joint. He noticed the way Oscar’s arm had dropped from around your shoulder to his hand firmly being placed on the bare skin of your thigh instead. He watched as Oscar pressed his body close to yours until there wasn’t an inch of your side that wasn’t touching his.

And then, Oscar was leaning in, his lips skimming past your ear and instantly dropping to your neck like he didn’t even care Lando was there.

Lando couldn’t even bring himself to feel all that guilty as he watched the display, something deep in his gut twisting in desire.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the boy’s lips latched onto your neck, a small sigh leaving your lips as he began to press soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His hand squeezed your thigh, gripping onto it like it was a lifeline as he continued to kiss lower and lower until his lips were brushing against the fabric of your dress. 

“Oscar,” you murmured as you raised your hand, fingers threaded through his hair but the boy didn’t stop as he nosed the edge of your dress, his lips dangerously close to your cleavage. 

“Want you,” the Aussie murmured, something like a whine sounding from the back of his throat as he nipped the fabric with his teeth. “Please.” 

“Baby,” you choked out a noise, your eyes snapping open like you finally seemed to remember Lando was there. You felt breathless as your eyes met his, the dim light making it difficult to read the expression on his face but you could have sworn you saw something quite like desire in his gaze. “Lando is—”

“Not complaining,” the Brit finished for you, his voice a little rougher and even he wasn’t sure if it was from the smoking or the sight in front of him. 

Oscar blinked as he lifted his head, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little red. He looked at you before he shifted his eyes to Lando, his gaze dragging over his teammate. He should have removed himself from you, should have pulled his hand away and slid away—but he remained exactly where he was. 

“Don’t be shy, Oscar,” Lando murmured, and something in the Aussie’s chest sparked. “You wanna touch your girl, then who am I to stop you from making her feel good.”

“You gonna watch?” Oscar asked. 

“Do you want me to leave?” Lando retorted. 

“No.”

Lando’s smirk slowly widened. “Yeah? You two gonna put on a little show for me?”

Oscar blinked before he turned to look at you. His whole body felt like it was on fire, like there were flames coursing through his veins and burning him alight and he never wanted to stop. But as he looked at you, eyes glossy or not, one word from you and he would stop this whole thing, regardless of his own feelings on the matter.

You were his first priority. You were always his first priority.

“You wanna, baby?” He murmured, just low enough for it to only be heard by the two of you. 

“I think,” you swallowed thickly as your eyes traced over your boyfriend’s face, as the bubbling desire and strong urge to clench your legs together washed over you with the heat of Lando’s gaze on you. “It would be the polite thing to do.” 

Oscar tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Show him how good you make me feel,” you murmured as his grip on your thigh tightened in response. 

And when you couldn’t resist anymore, your eyes snapped over to where Lando was sitting. There was something thrilling about the sight, something your fuzzy brain couldn’t begin to comprehend but your body sure as hell did. There was something about him sitting across from you both, legs spread and eyes focused on the two of you as he watched in silent appreciation. 

It felt dirty. It felt wrong. It felt like the last thing the three of you should be doing in a random club in Amsterdam. And yet, none of you wanted to stop. 

Lando watched in delight the way a choked gasp left your lips as Oscar tugged the neckline of your dress down, as his lips attached to the newly exposed skin. Your hand moved back to thread through his hair, tugging softly as he pulled your dress down until your tits were exposed. 

He watched as Oscar let out a groan at the sight, as his lips wrapped around your nipple. He watched as your head fell back, your boyfriend’s name a breathy moan past your lips as he continued to nuzzle himself between your tits. 

“Would’ve never taken you as a tits man, Oscar.” Lando’s voice was rough and low, something that shouldn’t have made the whole situation hotter but it did. “Can’t blame you though, can I? Your girl has such pretty tits, would be a crime to ignore them.”

A whine sounded from the back of Oscar’s throat. 

Lando’s eyes fell from your flushed face to the hand on your thigh. He watched as Oscar continued to push the hem of your dress further up until he got impatient and allowed his hand to slip beneath the skirt. He watched as Oscar groaned something incoherent against your skin, as you shifted your hips enough for him to pull your panties down your legs with a speed that was almost impressive. 

He hardly had time to blink before he felt the soft thump against his leg, as he looked down to see your panties balled up and now resting on his lap after Oscar had thrown them. 

Lando let out a dark chuckle, his head falling back. “You little shit.” 

But Oscar didn’t pay him any attention. Oscar didn’t pay attention to anything but you and the feeling of you beneath his lips and touch. His brain was fuzzy, his thoughts were muddled and all he knew was that he really, really fucking wanted to taste you. 

Yet, you didn’t seem to share Oscar’s one-track mind.

“Not fair that we’re the only ones who get to have fun,” you murmured, your eyes watching him closely as Lando eyed the pair of panties, seeming to contemplate so many racing thoughts in his head before he reached for them. “Maybe I want a show too.”

Lando’s eyes found yours in the dark. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” it was a little high-pitched as Oscar’s thumb pressed against your clit. “Yeah. Please.”

He let out a groan. “Still so fucking polite when he is all over you.”

You weren’t even sure where the spark of confidence came from—maybe from the way he was watching you and Oscar so eagerly—but your mouth opened before you could stop yourself. “Jealous?” 

“Maybe.”

You swallowed thickly, your fingers tugging on Oscar’s hair as you watched Lando’s hand drop to the obvious bulge in his pants. “Of who?”

His smirk widened. “Both.” 

“Shit,” you whispered, an embarrassingly high-pitched noise leaving your lips as you tore your eyes away from the older driver before your whole body burned up.

“Look what a good boy he is,” Lando commented, watching as Oscar littered soft kisses all over your chest and collarbone as his fingers pressed small circles against your clit. “Barely even touched you and he’s humping the sofa.”

Oscar’s cheeks burned hot.

“Bet he’s obedient,” Lando continued as the sound of a zipper echoed through the booth, as the rustling made it clear to both of you what he was doing. “Such a good listener, aren’t you, Oscar? Just wanna make everyone happy, hm? A team player.” 

Oscar finally lifted his head, his eyes glossed over like he was drunk off lust and desire alone.

“You gonna listen to me, baby?”

He nodded.

“Gonna do what I say?”

He nodded again, his eyes locked on the way Lando palmed himself over his boxers with one hand as he held your panties in the other.

A slow smirk spread across his face. “Get between her legs, baby, I know you’ve been dying for a taste of her probably since she put on that lil’ number.”

And Lando was right. He was obedient. It was almost like his body was moving under a spell as he shifted, as he slid off the couch and settled on his knees on the carpeted floor instead. It should have felt wrong to have his back to Lando, but instead the idea that the boy’s eyes were locked on him whilst he touched himself (even if Oscar couldn’t see) thrilled him more than it should have.

His hands palmed your thighs before he slowly spread your legs, as he pushed the fabric of your dress until it pooled at your hips and exposed you. A whimper left Oscar’s lips as he tugged you closer to the edge, as one hand pushed your thigh back whilst the other guided your leg over his shoulder. 

He looked up at you, his cock twitching in his pants at the silent plea in your eyes for him to do something, to give you what you wanted just as bad as him. And his eyes never left your as he leaned down, tongue pressed against your soaked cunt as he licked upwards in one thick, broad stroke. 

“Fuck!” 

Lando couldn’t help himself as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, as he squeezed the length of himself before pulling his cock free of any restraints. 

Lando couldn’t help himself as the hand fisting your panties wrapped around his cock, as he let the lacy fabric run against his sensitive tip and resisted the urge to buck his hips. 

Lando couldn’t fucking help himself as he stroked his cock, his eyes locked on the way you panted and moaned and grasped the cushions around you as Oscar worked between your legs. 

A part of him wanted to get up, to close the distance between him and you both. He wanted to walk over, he wanted to thread his fingers through Oscar’s hair like you had done before and guide him. He wanted to watch the boy lick and kiss and suck your needy cunt until his face was dripping. He wanted to whisper just what a good fucking boy Oscar really was as he made you come, as Lando watched you come. 

But the other part of him liked this—this twisted sense of power. He liked the fact he could sit back and watch, like it really was a show you two were putting on for him. He liked the idea that this went beyond something any of you understood, the way the two of you were so eager and pliant and obedient for him. 

He liked that he could sit back, your wet panties fisted around his cock as he watched the two of you moan and squirm and desperately try and look pretty for him. 

And you did. You both looked so, so pretty for him. 

And you sounded so pretty too when you moaned out his name instead of your boyfriend’s. The way your back arched off the couch, your face scrunched up in pleasure as Oscar held your hips down. The way Lando could hear the way his teammate was groaning against your pussy, see the way his hips shifted like he desperately needed some friction against his aching cock. 

It was the prettiest fucking sight Lando had ever seen. 

“That’s it, baby,” Lando groaned. “Come for Oscar, let him taste you, yeah?” 

You nodded dumbly, far too lost in your own pleasure to even understand what he was saying. 

“Bet you’re so fucking hard,” Lando continued, his eyes locked on the way the muscles in his back shifted through his shirt. “Bet you could come just from hearing her moan, huh?” 

The whine Oscar let out told Lando everything he needed to know. 

“That’s it,” Lando groaned, his fist tightening around his cock as he felt his stomach clench as he neared the edge, as he neared his own orgasm. “Gotta finish the show f’me, hm? Gonna be good for me, yeah?” 

You chanted out Oscar’s name as you finally came, shaking and squirming as he held your body against the cushions and continued to suck on your sensitive clit. And when you couldn’t take any more, you lightly pushed his head away to see his expression: flushed cheeks, hooded eyes and glossy lips that you wanted to kiss so bad. But a shifting movement caught your eyes, your gaze moving down to look at the dark patch spread across the front of his boxers. 

“Just tasted so good,” Oscar murmured, not even ashamed or embarrassed at the mess he made. 

And then your eyes shifted to look at the boy across the room. 

He leaned back against the cushions, his chest moving up and down with soft pants. His trousers were pushed down to pool mid-thigh, his boxers just above them and his cock was still fisted in his hand, covered by your panties and his own come. It shouldn’t have been so attractive. 

“I think I prefer this Oscar much better than drunk Oscar,” Lando eventually commented, something quite like a smug grin on his face as he looked between you both. 

There was a tension in the room, one that none of your fuzzy brains could really grasp onto just yet. But it was there and it was overwhelming and suffocating and you each had half the mind to hope this night never ended. 

You didn’t know what would happen after tonight, but you knew until then, the hidden club in the depths of Amsterdam would keep your secret—the secret that maybe all three of you wanted something more than a night fuelled by lust and weed. 

.

[pressureplus]

I actually have this request in my head for a while now... but I'm not sure if you be up to do it so thank to let me know if you will do it or not. Fem! Reader who is happily married and live together with Sebastian (when he still human). Until, Sebastian was arrested and sentence to dead. Reader found no long after his dead that she was pregnant. Years later, Sebastian manage to escape Hadal Blacksite probably very injured in the process. He was soon spotted by the kid that look similar to his human self (the kid probably be now close to be a teenager now), as the kid call up their mother. Sebastian was shocked to see his wife come to view.

I'm looking 👀

Love this dramatic shit, I'm SO here for it!

I'm going to be referring to your son as S/N, so y'all can name your boy yourselves! (I'm real interested in the stuff you might choose, so if you wanna put them in the replies, I'd love to see your baby names!)

Smaller Hands

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: [Unnamed]

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy, an Absent Father, injury, and Imprisonment

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He had been running a very long time before he got to where he was now.

Escaping the Blacksite was only the beginning of his long, long journey home. He had wrestled himself from the depths of the deep ocean and fought his way all the way up to the light far, far above him.

Breaking through the surface of the water had provided him with a hope he never thought he'd see truly grow into something he could really hold. Sunlight and open air and a horizon that stretched endlessly in every direction... Sebastian hadn't known freedom in over 10 years, but there it was.

The way the natural light caught the glint of his wedding ring had him already tearing through the water with a grin, energy back in his tired body. It certainly wasn't his original ring, no, that one wouldn't fit on his new, much larger hand anymore, but the replacement that he got so he could wear a ring on his hand and not just as a pendant was enough of a visual reminder of his love, sending him treading the water the way this body was made to do. He had to get to his wife.

He had to see his Y/N again. That's always what his efforts were for.

It was days before he even reached a beach, and weeks of dragging himself through the shadows and the alleyways, keeping himself out of sight. He would squint at road maps and try to figure out how he was going to get himself home, not very well able to get on the public transport or drive himself there with a body like this. He had to be more than a little creative with how he was going to cross the countless miles between his lover and himself if he wanted to make it there at all. He'd spend his seemingly endless days hopping trains and swimming rivers just to close the distance faster, like it may wash away the last decade he's had to go without her.

Sebastian could only hope she waited for him, though those chances were next to none. She had been there the day he was 'executed', watching him get taken back to the chair that was supposed to put his story to its end. She has every right and reason to think he died that day, and he could never be angry or upset if she decided she still needed to be held the way his other hands used to hold her... Would these hands even fit her anymore? They'd outgrown his first ring... Would they be too big to hold hers anymore? The painful thought was a reoccurring one, and it plagued every dream he had in the moments he would manage to rest.

He's nearing his old cottage now, beaten and scarred from the long trip home, more than a little bit tired and definitely hungry. He's barely going to make it if he manages to get to the doorstep at all, but more thankful than ever he'd made his home with her outside of the city and out into the woods so he might have a moment to his thoughts. He could very well find her with another man, or he could find a completely new family, or even find nothing but flowers and trees- The life that he made with her could be all but ashes on a breeze that swept this place years ago. She could be a memory and this could all be for nothing just as easily as anything else. He wouldn't even have a right to be angry... He wouldn't even feel a right to cry if she's decided to move on.

"SNAKE MAN! SNAKE MAN!!!"

He's shaken from his pondering by an unfamiliar voice, a starry eyed child fumbling out of the bushes like a little animal.

He nearly panics and flees before the brave, feral little boy reaches out for his hand and looks up at him like something right out of a story book- Which, he supposed may be fair given the way that he looks now.

"Are you a forest monster!? Do you grant wishes and eat people and stuff?!" It's clear the boy doesn't know fear, young and small still, with new eyes... But familiar ones.

Sebastian's heart drops into his stomach when he begins to recognize the thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. This boy is the spitting image of the way he looked when he was around 10 or 11... It's like he's been pulled right from Sebastian's old childhood photos.

Too dumbfounded to speak, Sebastian stands there, every muscle in his body tense while his eyes flick around the boy's face trying to figure out how this could be.

"S/N! What are you doing talking to strangers, you were supposed to be at least playing in the yard and not the woods before the sun started setting." Y/N rounds the trees with a stubborn look on her face and immediately freezes when her gaze meets Sebastian's.

The air is knocked out of the both of them, leaving them only able to stare, and he notes the way she's remained nearly the same as the day that he was forced to leave her behind. Like a flower that never wilts, she stands as beautiful and as amazing as she was when he had first met her. Frozen with an expression he can't place, she makes no motion to do anything at all. The larger man acts first at the realization she must be frightened of him, going to put his two unheld hands up and open his mouth to explain himself-

"You said not to talk to strangers, this is CLEARLY a forest monster." Little S/N beats both of them to the punch and confirms to Sebastian all at once that his attitude is as strong in his blood as that unruly dark hair is.

"Heed your mother, would you? I could very well eat you." Sebastian ushers the child forward with a playful threat, the boy in reference pouting and looking back up at him.

"Come on, I'm only out a little bit late! It's not dark yet! Monsters only eat people in the dark." The boy argues, unfamiliar with the idea of real danger, it seems, but certain of himself the way only children really can be.

"Sebastian I can't believe it... Is it you? Am I losing my mind?" Putting the scolding and corrections on her son's statements off for a better time, Y/N looks up at the mutated form of her lover, hoping she might be right. When Y/N speaks, it's soft and uncertain, a hand going to rest on her child's shoulder so as not to lose him while she's distracted.

"You recognize me?" His heart practically jumps into his throat and he struggles to cope with how quickly she's guessed it was him.

"If not for the way one soul knows another, then for your voice and... Our ring." Unafraid just as well, she walks right up to the towering creature and brings her hand up to the necklace it's strung onto around his neck.

"Am I too late?" Sebastian asks, still scared.

"You're late, but never too much. You had better come home now though." She gets firm near the end and he laughs, melting.

"Awe that's no fair! I'm in trouble for being a few minutes late and he gets to be gone forever!" The boy whines and Y/N seems to laugh when she ruffles his hair.

"You can be out of trouble because it's a special day. Now, let's go home and get you to bed." Y/N's eyes stray back up to her husband, the fondness that was there in those beautiful eyes he fell in love with was something that had grown blurry and hard to recall until now. The way her gaze rested on him so softly brought him back like he'd never left in the first place.

"I think I have some things to talk about with your monster, here." She smiles at him and goes to slide her hand into his, the cold feeling against his palm of her own ring -the matching one to his from the promise that they'd made at that altar a long time ago- made him feel warm again, and made him feel alive.

"Yes, I've got a lot of things I've been waiting to tell her for these years we've spent apart."

[comfortscripts]

A Glimpse Of What I'd Do For You l Coriolanus Snow

Plot - As the First Lady of Panem, it is your duty to protect your husband. Even if it means dirtying your hands. But what is a little blood when the reward is so sweet? Pairing - Young!President!Coriolanus Snow x Wife!Female!Reader Warnings - Heavy plot + light porn. They are both mad, but sweet for each other. Murder/execution with guns, blood, body worship (??), nipple play, toxic language (??), light aspects of oral (fem receiving), softdom!corio. I fully believe he would be a total simp for someone on his wavelength Word Count - 1,288

Check out the rest of my kinktober fics

“Darling, could I trouble you for a moment?”

Words breaking through the tense atmosphere that Coriolanus has cultivated in his private office. Harsh oak furniture, meticulously organised bookcases, swirls of browns and reds with faint hints of a cool gold. The help liked to say the cold of the room matched Mr. Snow’s frozen heart, but even the ruthless President of Panem couldn’t help the way his shoulders relaxed at his wife’s delicate words.

“You are never a trouble,” he spoke with the push of his sturdy throne-like chair against the floor, punctuating his words. “Come in, my snowdrop.”.

The First Lady of Panem was nothing if not obedient. Perhaps that’s why Coriolanus allowed you into his kingdom after six months of marriage.

Wordlessly, you rounded the desk to perch yourself upon his navy-blue-clad leg and perfectly placed a light kiss against his lips. The kind of kiss that tempted him to become entangled in your sweet web regardless of duties. Piercing blues too busy consuming his prize, thinking of all the ways to corrupt his pretty petal. Not even noticing you slide a sleek silver tablet onto the desk.

“I have a gift for you, Corio.”

A glossy black screen stared back at him with a barely visible play button. Those pale digits broke from your waist to start the show before returning to their previous position. He could feel the shift of your body and took close note of how you were biting back a smile.

Suddenly a face that has haunted his dreams appeared: Lucy Gray Baird. Coriolanus could feel the bile rising in his throat at the sight of that traitor. Despite the fact she was strapped to a chair with thick masking tape covering her sickening mouth, he felt uneasy.

“What is this?”

“Freedom. Keep watching, my love.”

The tense grasp on your waist must have been aching, almost as if he was punishing you for showing him this she-devil. But it was soon alleviated as he saw your graceful figure walk into the cell of Lucy Gray. Stark white gown, as pure as snow, standing there inches away from her. Stoic guards either side of your regal stance, part of Coriolanus compared your image to the Queen being flanked by knights on his chessboard staring down a lowly pawn.

“Firstly, I'd like to say thank you, Lucy Gray. If you hadn’t betrayed the only good thing in your life, I wouldn’t have my darling husband. Truly, I appreciate it.”

This wasn’t his snowdrop. Never had he heard your voice that dominant and cold. Part of him preened at the words being spoken, yet he feared what was to come. Who had he married?

“You were very difficult to track down. See, originally, I wanted you gone because I knew he loved you, and I don’t like sharing. But then I found out that you wanted to destroy him. Drive him insane with your silly little tweety songs. And, well, no one can drive him crazy except me.”

Just as his mind caught up with the intentions of your words, a glistening of his father’s legendary pistol came into focus. Pointed between the eyes of the witch who once trapped his heart.

“Goodbye Lucy Gray. No one will remember you, and the Snow family will live forever.”

The bang of the bullet felt like an earthquake, but the image of you, his innocent little petal, with blood seeping into your porcelain dress was enough to silence all thoughts. Screen fading to black as the guards moved to remove the body.

“Did you like my gift?”

It was so small, as if you had made him a cake and were afraid that you’d added too little sugar. This was the wife he knew, and the wife he was growing to love. He always knew you were perfect; that is why he agreed to his marriage, but this was more than he could ask for.

He craved loyalty, obsession, ruthlessness, and compliance. You were everything he would ever need, wrapped in a pink bow. Finally, an equal, someone to love him the way he wished to be loved. Coriolanus would get rid of anyone you wished, and to know he has your devotion makes him feel invincible.

“It may be the best present anyone has ever given me. Let me thank you for it properly.”

Spider-like touches tingled down your spine before feeling the cool air prick your skin as Corio relieved the zip of its job, allowing your dress to pool in your lap. Three abrupt taps on the desk said everything, and within moments, you settled your bare body against the chill of the wood. There was nothing better than feeling his eyes map your body with such hunger. Swirls of lust flush through his eyes as he lightly runs his long digits over the exposed skin.

“Who knew my sweetheart could be so fierce? Those hands weren’t made for killing; they are far too pretty. And who would have expected those callous words to come from such beautiful lips? But you did it for me. Everything you do is for me.”

Standing to attention, he traced the expanse of your collarbone with featherlight touches. Eyes wide watching him in anticipation, every touch made your arousal swell. Never would you rush him; he ruled Panem and your heart. He was your purpose. He was yours. Coriolanus intoxicated you. Faint scents of leather and brandy washed over your senses; the heat of his body against your as he placed calculated kisses against your skin made you dizzy. With so little, he made you feel so much.

A gentle moan fell from your lips as the young president found his mouth on your taunt nipple, carefully flicking the tip with his talented tongue. Oh, how you wish that scandalous mouth was somewhere else right now. His appreciation was felt full force. Those large hands groped at your skin as if he were trying to consume you. Leaving a litter of marks and nips across your chest, as if he were an artist and you, his canvas.

“I would do anything for you, my dear. You gave me freedom from that whore, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to have your love. You are my only obsession. So tell me. Name it, and it is yours.”

A sense of shock washes over you; he has never once asked what you wanted in the bedroom. As with many things in his life, Coriolanus was not open to advice or direction. Images flashed of what you wanted but your tongue tangled as you went to voice it. So caught in the moment, it felt impossible to string a coherent sentence.

“I want- I want you.”

“Be specific, my snowdrop.”

He knew what you wanted. Sinking to the floor as one arm curls around the thickness of your thigh, pulling you closer to his body. That smile told you that he knew, he always knows. Coriolanus wanted to see whether your boldness extended past the video.

“Tell me, Mrs. Snow, how can I please you? You have pleased me so, and I want to show my appreciation, so tell me. Now.”

The feeling of his breath against the wet patch growing on your panties sent a shiver down your spine, feeding the need for his mouth on you. You needed him carnally. Hands wrapped in those icy locks, pale fingers curling inside, and him acting as if he were a man starved.

“I need your mouth- your fingers. Please Corio. Thank me with your mouth. Worship my pussy with those fingers, please, my love.”

Fingers hooking the corners of your underwear, gently discarding the elegant lace. Stormy blues and a haunting smirk told you that he'd be thanking you for hours to come.

“As you wish, my love. I am yours to use, as you are mine.”

A King is only as good as his Queen.

[undertheorangetree]

In The Woods Somewhere

Summary- Coriolanus does not intend on returning to the Capitol alone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ DUBCON Female reader. TBOSAS spoilers technically. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Porn with plot. Toxic relationship. Possessive Coriolanus. Chasing. Biting. Restraint. Choking. Edging. Overstimulation. Fingering. Cunnilingus. P in V sex.

Author’s Note- Happy holidays! This is not our regularly scheduled programming but I have Hunger Games/Tom Blyth brain rot so here’s this monster. Please heed the warnings and link to the full fic on AO3 below

She knows the moment he looks up at her, rifle clutched in his hands, that he will not be coming north with her. Not anymore, not now that he has the one thing tying him to this place well in hand.

She isn't a fool. She knows that his feelings for her played only a small role in his agreeing to come with her but she had been willing to overlook that. When he had cupped her face in his hand and swore that he would join her, that they would escape Panem- and their collective noose- together, she had seen the hesitation there. Coryo was not a man built for nature, no more than he was built for the districts, but she loves him and so she had ignored it. Twisted it into something romantic and noble in her head, that he would give up all this, that he would leave behind everything for her. He had promised her earnestly and she had taken him at his word.

But with the look on his face now, some potent mix of elation and relief washing over him like a wave, she knows she never stood a chance.

"It's the gun," he says, and she hates the tone he uses. The way he almost breathes the words, the way he looks up at her with the ghost of a smile on his face. Had she had doubts about what the guns would inspire in him, the look on his face is enough to prove her right.

"The one you fired at Mayfair," she says with a nod, crossing her arms over her chest. It feels almost protective now, as if she can safeguard her breaking heart. "Spruce must have known about this place too. I guess it's not as secret as I thought. We hide that and you're free."

"No more loose ends."

The way he says it, his hands tightening on the barrel as he looks down at the rifle, makes her blood run cold. This is all he wanted, nothing short of a dream come true. She doesn't like it, her reaction just as much as his own, and she fights to push passed it. Tells herself that there is nothing wrong here, not really, that he is entitled to some semblance of excitement, but she can feel that unease gnawing at her gut. It feels like an omen. A warning.

She grins, hoping to seem more at ease than she truly is, and feels her nose scrunch up teasingly as she says, "Besides me."

It's the wrong thing to do. Immediately, he goes rigid, eyes darting up to look at her and she sees the distrust there, akin to a beaten dog. It wouldn't be as startling as it is if not for their conversation in the woods not even an hour before. He is willing to kill if backed far enough into a corner and is that not what she has just done? Reminded him of the power she held over him with this knowledge? Backed him into a corner? And just like that beaten dog, she can see that he is only a moment away from snapping at her with pearly white teeth.

"You wouldn't... tell anyone?"

She feels her eyebrows draw together, all attempt at joking gone. It hurts a little, what seems to be a complete lack of faith in her, and it's almost surprising. Almost. "Course not."

But would she? She doesn’t really know now. The fact that he believes she could, as if she could exchange his freedom for her own, feels like the final nail in the coffin. She could forgive his dislike of the idea of heading north, the relief on his face when he saw the guns. But what he said in the woods- three’s enough for me- and his distrust of her now… she doesn’t think she’s safe with him. All their talk of trust, of how he agreed it was worth more than love, thrown to the wind all for the sake of a duffle bag full of rifles. Because just as easily as those gun could buy her freedom, they could secure his own too. One small step toward returning to his life back in the Capitol. He was going to leave before killing Mayfair, she knew that. And if there’s no weapon linking him to the crime, he could. Because no matter how badly she wants to believe he wants a life with her, she thinks he wants his old one back that much more.

And she isn’t sure just what he is willing to sacrifice to get rid of all those loose ends.

She feels herself smile again, moving on autopilot to fetch the knife she knows is on the shelf near the door. It doesn’t reach her eyes but she isn’t looking at him, gripping the handle of the knife a little too tightly. “I think I’m gonna go dig up some katniss. There’s a good patch down by the lake, don’t know when we��ll come across it again.”

His suspicion only grows at that, lips parted and head tilted in question, and she knows she needs to go. Though his finger has not yet shifted toward the trigger, it hasn’t moved away from it either. He has been a Peacekeeper for no more than two months, but that was more than enough time to pick up all he needed to know about firing a gun. Even if his aim is shoddy, it wouldn’t take much effort to aim in her general direction and hold down on a trigger. She had said it herself, she is the only one left who knew the truth about Mayfair’s death- her murder. If he wanted to go back to the Capitol, he needed to be damn sure there wasn’t a chance of his time here coming back to haunt him. As it is now, she is the only thing standing between him and the Snow penthouse.

“Thought you said they weren’t ready yet,” he protests, that uncertainty still more than apparent.

She prays her smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels when her eyes flick up to look at his handsome face, doing what she can to seem nonchalant. “The world changes awful fast.”

She pulls the door open, the rain pounding against the porch outside, when he calls her name. Her grip on the knife tightens a hair more before she’s turning back to look at him, keeping her eyes wide and innocent as she tilts her head in question. She knows she hesitated, knows he caught her if the look on his face is anything to go by, but rather than let her panic consume her, she focuses on his eyes. The beautiful, brilliant blue of his eyes. That may be the thing she misses most about him, after all this.

“It’s still raining.”

As if a little rain is enough to stop her from saving her own life.

“Well, I’m not made out of sugar,” she grins, taking one last look at him before shutting the door, placing some kind of barrier between them.

Read the rest here :)

[honeykaes]

lustful vices

stelleron-hunter!sunday x stelleron hunter!reader II 3.4k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no pronouns, angst, mention of blood, corruption kink, virginity loss, fingering, cunnilingus, mention of blood, minor character deaths, switch!reader, switch!sunday, unedited

synopsis: what would you do for one wish? would you sacrifice everything just to see a glimpse of it? that's a question you posed to the newcomer of the stelleron hunters, sunday. As he tries to adjust to his new life, you suggest some new vices he can indulge in to cope.

Water dripped from the corner of the dark room. Golden eyes burned into the concrete ground, widened in shock and pity. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, he was sure his gloved nails dug into the wooden chart he was chained to.

Teeth gnawed down on his chapped lips, worried at what the Heartstone woman just said and left him with

“You’re free now. Someone made a deal for you.”

Despite years of being pruned, clipped, and groomed to become the Oak Family Head, he knew no one in the Family had his back. His heart ached knowing the one person who would sacrifice something to see him alive.

“Robin…” he grunted, narrowing his eyes. What did she promise that woman?  He heard of that woman’s dealings with the Bonnajade Exchange. An eye for an eye—something Jade seemed to relish in.

Would Robin’s life be in danger now she was ensnared by that woman? She was forever tied to that snake. How could he put an end to this when he knew Jade would amusingly keep them separated until the days they perished? 

He had so much he wanted to say to his sister. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to yell at her on her decision to help outsiders. He wanted to cry in her arms and convince her to run away with him, so they can start a new life together.

As Sunday grunted, his eyes lurched up hearing noises from outside. Muffled shouting echoed from behind the door, and the sound of bullets firing to whomever were their victims. 

Could this be the Astral Express and that strange Galaxy Ranger? He fought a sardonic laugh. He tried to kill them; those people would leave him to rot just as his ”family” did.

But who is causing all this chaos? He wondered if one fray bullet managed to lodge itself in Jade’s head, truly freeing him and Jade from the new cage she had made them.

As it became silent, the door slowly opened revealing yourself. Your lips were formed in a smug smile, blood smearing across your face. A taller man narrowed his bloodred eyes as he stood by the doorway. You leaned over as Sunday tilted back, wanting distance between you two Your amused yet calculating eyes lapped up his pitiful expression.

“So this was the famous Sunday? How the angels have fallen,” you teased. Sunday grunted, eyebrows furrowing. As he opened his mouth, you pressed her finger to his lips.

“Relax there, birdie. I was just teasing. Besides, we’re here to get you out. The IPC is temporarily…decommissioned, giving you enough time to leave and come with us,” you chimed. 

The man in the doorway grunted, flinging blood that was on his broken sword.

“Seems you picked up Kafka’s bad habits with nicknames,” the man grumbled. Sunday scoffed, lips curling into a cruel smile. His golden eyes narrowed, bearing into your own.

“They already promised me my freedom. A soldier was on their way to uncuff me.”

You clicked your tongue, hand drifting to the soft feathers of the wing’s on Sunday’s head as he purged back. The wings puffed up in frustration as you chuckled again.

“Perhaps but is that truly freedom Sunday? Would you like to know the deal your dear sister made on your behalf?” you offered. Sunday tightened his jaw, looking to the ground.

It seemed like yet another group is trying to prospect him to become their tool. First the Oak Family, then the Astral Express crew, now the Stelleron Hunters? Why was everyone insisting on him becoming a pawn?

He was so sick of being controlled, yet the image of Robin burned in the back of his mind.

With a sigh he looked back up to her.

“What.”

Your grin widened.

“Your pretty dove promised to, well, never see you again. Fate worse than death when you two were so close through thick and thin,” you murmured, crossing your fingers. Sunday looked at you shocked.

“How is that even possible? How would Jade even-”

“That snake knows how to wrap around her prey. Trust me, she would make it where your sister won’t even gaze in your potential direction the rest of this lifetime,” you murmured, a more somber response than the condescending tone from earlier.

His head ached from stress as his gaze faltered away from yours, leg bouncing anxiously as he racked his thoughts with the revelation.

Making this deal, Robin was susceptible to that schemer. She’s right in the clutches of a venomous snake baring their fangs at a meek sparrow. He knew he was right to try and keep her safe, only for this to happen.

How can he fix this?

Sensing his dilemma, you leaned back, lifting your gun up and examining the weapon. Your gaze was much colder.

“You have two options now. Join the Stelleron Hunters and follow Elios’ script which will promise a reunion between the two of you…or live knowing you’re the reason why your sister is now a victim of the IPC.”

“....”

He hated this. He hated everyone. How much more did he need to sacrifice…

You crossed her arms as your colleague grunted.

“Well?”’

He’d let the world burn if it would make his sister smile.

“Fine…uncuff me.”

It had been two weeks since Sunday joined the Stelleron Hunters. He had joined them for a couple jobs, following Elios’ script to a T. Elios seemed to be pairing you and him together, but he had met the rest of the team. He recalled seeing Firefly on Penacony. 

He had learned the intimidating man in the room when he met you was Blade. He had met yet another condescending woman who also called him ‘Birdie’ and the teenager with a bad attitude who only seemed interested in hacking and gaming.

You and him resided in a bar in a hotel of whatever planet you had dragged him to for the script. Tomorrow you two will be off yet again, raising the price of his bounty bit by bit with every action he followed the the script.

Sunday sipped on his wine, feeling unamused as he placed it down. His gaze wandered to you with a bit of scorn and superiority he still felt despite not being the Oak Family Head anymore.

“...I still never would have imagined in my life I would team up with the Stelleron Hunters,” Sunday sighed. You chuckled, taking a sip of your cocktail. You leaned your cheek into your hand, soft skin pillowing against it.

“Well, I didn’t either. We all have our reasons for wanting to join, being a slave to whatever desire we are looking for,” you murmured, swirling your drink around. You eventually stop, stumping your fingers to the edge of the bar. 

“You want to see and save your sister. Firefly wants to live, Blade wants to die. Kafka wants to understand what loss and fear mean. All of us are slaves to destiny,” you responded. Sunday narrowed his eyes, it seems you withhold something important from your statement.

“And what do you want?” he asked. You snorted.

“Me? Well…I guess love,” you replied. Sunday’s eyebrows narrowed, scoffing. His eyes looked down before up again, checking your body language. Although it seems you were being serious, he didn’t believe a word.

“You? You’re joking?” he replied. You smiled and shrugged.

“My home planet was wartorn thanks to the IPC. I admit, it wasn’t necessarily as bad as Firefly’s situation but my life has been all about strategy, battles and blood since I turned 18 years old. My civilization decided to fight against the beacons of the Amber Lord….only to be wiped out,” you sighed.

“What I wish is just to go back to normalcy. Find love, settle down, find peace or whatever. Act like these 8 years didn’t exist,” you murmured. Your lips were still curved in a smile despite your somber tone. 

“What’s stopping you?” Sunday asked.

“The IPC. Got a pretty big hit on my head even prior to joining the Stelleron Hunters. I can never find peace until they’re dealt with,” you grunted, rolling your eyes. Sunday looked away from you, gazing at his reflection in the deep red color of his wine. You seemed so adapted to this despite being fairly new to the Stelleron Hunters yourself.

They all did. Although he was getting the job done, the mental toll of everything tugged on him.

“...How do you, manage all of this? I don’t get why you all sacrifice so much just to follow a script you have no idea will end,” he asked. You paused finishing your drink before swiveling your chair, so you were facing him.

“You’re doing the same, Sunday. We’re not that different at all despite you insisting we are,” you chimed, narrowing your eyes. You let out a chuckle, lightening up once more.

“Besides, all of us do little things to cope. Silverwolf for one spends way too much on video games. You should look at Kafka’s wardrobe. I swear she has every outfit combination she can, and she still purchases crap. Blade just consistently fights and spars swearing he will defeat whomever the fuck…” you grunted.

“And your vice…?”

A smirk crept onto your face. You leaned closer to Sunday as his eyes slightly widened in shock, feeling your finger tilt his chin up. 

“Teasing unsuspecting Holovians for a laugh.”

Sunday’s cheeks momentarily redden before he grunts, pushing you off. You laughed again.

“Geez, tough crowd. And I thought you were known for your upbeat personality,“ you sarcastically added.

“Be serious,” Sunday demanded.

“Fine, fine. Occasional I might go home with someone,” you admitted. Sunday’s eyes narrowed in understanding. You found comfort in sex. He never really understood what was so appealing about it, but at the same time he didn’t have much time to even focus on it to begin with.

“So lust is your vice despite you searching for love? Seems counterproductive,” he replied. Despite the insult, you grinned.

“Ah, ah, ah, Sunday. Don’t put on a high horse when Penacony was known for indulgence,” you added. “What was the saying again: whatever happens in Penacony, stays in Penacony, hm?”

Sunday momentarily clears his throat, rose dusting at his cheeks.

“That was for others, not myself. I helped people to a higher path,” he said. Your face morphed to disbelief.

“...Without indulging in any vices? Tsk, tsk, tsk. No wonder you’re so high strung,” you muttered.

Sunday narrowed his eyes. 

You lifted your hand and brushed past his feather like you did the day you two met. The wings  shuttered but didn’t puff out like the last time you tried it.

“...Well, would you like to try? Experience what you missed out years on,” you cooed, tapping his golden earring. You leaned in closer, placing your hand on his upper thigh.

“And find out just what was appealing to those hundreds of people who confessed to you,” you whispered in his ear, Sunday’s body shuttered, eyebrows furrowed.

“So you’re more like a tempress huh? Coax people to do whatever dirty thing they can. Is that your role here? As much as you proclaimed you're a fighter, the softness of your hands tells me everything I need to know about you.”

Your smirk grows at his observation.

“So how about it, birdie? Mark this new chapter abandoning all you know and let yourself experience life’s indulgences…” you cooed, blowing cool air into his ear. His hand grabbed your own. Just as you leaned back taking it as a sign of rejection—Sunday scoffed—gloved hand digging into your own.

Your gaze caught to the tent developing in his slacks.

“...Alright.”

Sunday sat on the bed, his throat felt dry. Why was he so nervous? 

His heart seemed to be wanting to lurch out of his chest..

As much as he denied it, he was curious about lust and sex. He recalled numerous confessions where people had admitted wavering their eyes from their “beloved” spouses, but he never truly understood why.

Meeting you, he’s beginning to start to.

His breath hitched—feeling you sit down on his lap—gently rotating your hips. Your core grinded against his bulge as nails dug into the silky hotel bed sheets. 

Your hands made their way to his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. With each pop of the button he could feel sweat beginning to cling onto his hair. His eardrums pounded as he gaze continued to flip to your expression, and to his slowly revealing bare chest.

Just as the final button was undone and you slowly pulled his top off. Your lips hovered next to his jugular, soft lips pressing down on the warm and tense skin. 

“You need to relax more. Are you sure you want this? We can stop now,” you suggested. Sunday shook his head, trying to snap him out of his timidness.

“No. I want this. I…need this,” Sunday admitted. He could feel the smile you made press against his nape.

“Oh, so the spoiled rich boy can tell the truth?” you cooed. Sunday rolled his eyes and was about to yell a retort only for his voice to hitch as your swipe swiped along his neck.

You guided his hands onto your chest. With hesitantly squeezed the mounds, as you chuckled.

“See, you’re doing good. Just follow your heart and instincts.”

You had eventually taken your shirt off, letting it fall to the ground with the other articles of clothing.Sunday rolled his thumb against your nipples, lips parted as he could feel them hardened against his touch.

With a quivering lip, Sunday leaned into the soft mouths pressing his lips to the plush breast. His tongue slowly darted out before skating around the perimeter of your nubs. 

As your hand reached down, cupping his cock, Sunday gasped, letting the nipple plop into his mouth. He sucked, eyebrows narrowed as you hand made way beneath his pants, pumping his cock.

His cock jolted. You could feel it pulsating at your touch. It seemed longer than you expected, with a bit of heaviness to it too. Just as your thumb grazed the tip, Sunday bit down on your tip of your nipple. You gasped and chuckled.

“Guessing you enjoyed that, huh?” 

Sunday lifted his mouth up, lips gleaming from his saliva.

“...Stop teasing me already and get to the point.”

“Ahhh you’re rushing the best part. I’m guessing you didn’t know foreplay typically makes things feel better for you,” you cooed. “But alas, I understand. You’re eagerness is showing former Oak Family Head.”

You shimmied Sunday's slacks and briefs off, as his cock plopped onto his lean and toned chest. It quivered, lolling to the side desperate for more of your attention. You had risen from your seat, taking your own pants off.

Sunday caught the strings of slick that connected the fabric of your underwear, thighs and cunt. He felt his mouth water, gulping slightly as he drank up your entire nude form.. His hand reached out and connected with your thigh. It wandered from up as he relished the touch of your soft skin, pillowy texture of your chest, to the district angles of your face.

This was lust incarnate, he knew it in his heart.

“Ready?”

You leaned on top of his lap, cunt hovering above his throbbing cock. You circled your click in preparation, slowly sliding it down.

Sunday swore he felt bells as soon as his tip connected with your velvety entrance. His hips intentionally bucked up, sliding himself deeper as you chuckled, finally gliding it down.

He sucked a breath in. wrapping your arms around you tight. His heart fluttered fighting the urge to plow inside. He could feel your tight cunt squeeze and coax him to slide deeper, if it was possible.

Just as you lifted your hips, about to ride him, Sunday’s grip on you got tighter, a loud groan reverberating throughout the room.

Thick ropes of warm cunt shot inside of you, as his hips meekly jolted up. His back arched, covering his moan of any further pathetic noises from escaping. His eyes slowly opened, feeling his high finally come down gazing at your slightly disappointed face.

He could feel himself softening inside of you.

“I-I…I don’t know what happened…” Sunday admitted. “I tried to control myself but”

You sighed but gave a supportive smile.

“I know. It’s your first time. I would have been surprised if you lasted longer to be honest. You never masturbated or have sex, right? This was bound to happen,” you murmured. You lifted yourself off of his cock, his eyes gazing at his cum leaking down your thighs.

“I won’t lie, I am a bit sad I won’t get my fill but there are other ways of that,” you murmured, laying beside him, looking up at the ceiling. The burn of arousal was beginning to shimmer between your thighs.

Sunday looked down, lapping up the view of your body.

“Like what?”

You grinned at the question, lulling your head to the side.

 “Curious still? Well, there’s different ways. Toys, but I didn’t pack any. And these guys,” you stated, wiggling your fingers.

“Show me.”

You hummed, letting your hands slide down the curves of your waist and thighs before settling at your cunt. Your finger slides along the slit a couple of times before you gaze a dramatic moan as Sunday tensed further, to your satisfaction.

Your thumb settled on your clit, beginning to rub circles. Sunday noted that was the same spot you did before getting on top of him.

“Doing this for a little while can get me to that euphoric feeling you just had. You can also slide your fingers in too, but the main focus should be right here.” you hummed. You continued, and closed your eyes, letting your other hand grip tightly on your breast.

Your hips began to grind down on your fingers, inching closer to your high.

“Wait! Let me do it!” Sunday grunted. You opened your eyes to see Sunday, moving your hands away. His long fingers followed the same movements, grazing your slit before letting his calloused thumb press tightly against your clit. His movements were slow but began to go faster as he felt more sure of himself.

You were squirming beneath him, and he couldn’t help smiling. It was so interesting, having him on top of you now. He liked it. He liked you under him, his touch being the ultimate desire of reaching euphoric highs.

He liked being in control.

His fingers sank into your cunt, drilling as his pace didn’t let up. He noted the way your nails harpoon against the bed sheets as his timidly once did. He noted the way your moans didn’t seem fake, they were as soft and pathetic as the ones he had made.

Your face leaned to the side, gaze half-lidded beguiling him further. 

He thought righteousness would save him. No, perhaps sin will instead.

After all, he can just ask for forgiveness later.

He leaned his head into your cunt, tongue beginning to swirl on the bundle of nerves as his fingers continued to plow against him. Your hands weaved their way into his silver hair, pulling him further into your core. He could taste your sweet arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cunt, an aroma that he knew would dream off once everything was settled in the early hours of the morning.

He felt your walls begin to clamp on his fingers, giving him a harder time plowing as quickly into you. Curling his fingers up, to try to slide deeper, he heard you gasp out his name loudly.

“There! Right there Sunday!” you shouted. He continued his ministrations there, watching your body spasm as his other hand connected with your thigh, spreading you out further.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cursed out, throwing your head back. Your hips lifted up as Sunday’s eyes widened. He felt you clamp onto his fingers as he slurped up the excess essence drooling out of you. Your whole body rocked, with whimpers and whines falling from your lips.

As your body plopped down, Sunday lifted his head up from your core and slid his fingers out. He tongue lapped up the remaining juices clinging onto him, watching your tired eyes open again. Your chest was heaving, drool managing the drip down a corner.

“I thought you were just a virgin…” you muttered breathlessly. A new found but familiar confidence fell over Sunday As he crawled on top of you. His cock lurched, hardened and pulsating, eager to try again as it nudged against your burning clit.

“I’m a fast learner.”

Perhaps he can adjust to becoming a Stelleron Hunter better than he originally thought.

[filmsmakkari]

Part of Her World 𓇼

rhaenyra targaryen x mermaid! oc

Summary: A mermaid princess finds the only person who understands her in a princess from another world

Word count: 3.5k

CW: None!

A/N- I use a character name for this because it was easier for me to write but it can still be read as an x reader because that's what I had in mind writing it! I am seriously considering making this a series saurr let me know if you'd be interested!

Above the thrashing, powerful waves of the deep blue sea, a ship headed by a golden dragon cut through the tides like a swordfish. 

Rhaenyra Targaryen's hair blew wildly around her face in wild silver waves as she overlooked the sea from the side of the great ship. She was in the midst of her betrothal tour- a humiliating ritual where she sailed from house to house and offered herself up like a piece of meat to the great lords.  The young princess desperately longed for freedom, and here, during these quiet moments, alone on her ship, she felt that she could get a mere taste of it. At night, when she was meant to be getting the proper amount of beauty rest for a royal princess, she would sneak out and watch the sailors in their evening merriment. Drinking and singing shanties. Life at sea gave them freedom. Total control over their lives and fates. No one was forcing them to dress up like dolls and present themselves to bidders. Rhaenyra truly longed for the same.

As she should, a light sprinkle began to drop from the air. Rhaenyra didn't acknowledge the way the raindrops glazed her face, wishing the sea would swallow her whole.

"You should go inside, princess," the profoundly irritating voice of Ser Criston Cole cut through the soft music of the rain, disrupting Rhaenyra's peace. "I imagine the weather will only get worse as we approach the Stormlands."

"I am not made of sugar, Ser Criston," Rhaenyra said, exasperated. "I will not be washed away with the rain."

"Of course not, your grace, but in fact you are our princess. You must be protected and kept in perfect health at all times. Now, if you please," Ser Criston tried to pull her to her chambers, but she shrugged him off.

"What if I do not want to be as my father is, Ser Criston?" asked Rhaenyra. "Complacent. Too afraid to take risks, cut off from the rest of the world. What if my desire is to fly to the edge of the Narrow Sea on Syrax and find new ways  to better our kingdom. The world advances while we remain stuck in the days of the conquest."

"It does not do well to live in fantasies, princess. Now that you've come of age, your responsibilities lie at home. Your father expects it of you."

"Yes, for me to remain cooped away in that castle in isolation and fear forever. I can't live like that. I can't explain it. Perhaps it's the blood of the dragon making me restless. But even now, I can't help but feel that there's something here calling to me.

"Princess—" a violent bump abruptly interrupted the white cloak. The knight and the princess both turned. In the distance, they could see a dark cloud highlighted with thunder and lightning.

The captain noticed at the same time. "Storm coming in fast, all hands on deck!" The first mate parroted the message, and the entire ship descended into chaos. Sailors rapidly climbed the mast, desperately cutting the lines, as the first mate rushed to the helm and furiously spun the wheel, attempting to guide the ship away.

"We need a lifeboat for the princess, immediately!" Cole shouted at the deckhands, pulling Rhaenyra by her arm. 

Rhaenyra watched as lightning struck the mast, and fire quickly spread across the deck. Her eyes widened at the catastrophe. Deckhands rapidly cut a lifeboat free, tossing it into the water for the young princess. 

"Hurry, your grace!" Cole attempted to shove Rhaenyra into the boat, but she would not go.

"No! The sailors and my ladies first!" She broke free and ran, shouting like a mad woman for all the men and her ladies in waiting to board the lifeboats themselves. The sailors didn't need to be told twice, and though they attempted to encourage her to join them, she refused, searching for every soul aboard to make sure they'd escape safely. 

"Madeline!" Rhaenyra shouted her lady's name. The small girl was curled up in a corner, holding Rhaenyra's little dog, Meria. 

"Princess!" Madeline yelled, relieved. 

"Come! Quickly come!" Rhaenyra grabbed Madeline and pulled her across the burning deck. Avoiding the masts as they crashed down and the canons as they rolled from side to side. Rhaenyra helped Madeline rise to the rail and jump, the dog still in hand. Rhaenyra watched as the pair hit the sea. The violent waves separated them. While Madeline was quickly pulled aboard a lifeboat, Myria lingered behind, desperately paddling to get to the boat. Rhaenyra panicked, but suddenly, it was like a gravitational force took hold of the dog and pulled her to safety. If it hadn't been a life or death situation, Rhaenrya would have pondered how it happened. However, given the circumstances, she quickly took it upon herself to climb onto the rail. But just as she was about to jump, the entire ship turned on its side, and she fell backward into the black sea.

All she saw was fire. Her lungs filled with water as the sigil of the mighty House Targaryen burned. A flash of purple. And then it all went dark.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

Children of the sea do not have tears. It is that fact, perhaps, that separates the merfolk from the humans. Long shimmering tails and siren songspells aside, the simplest divider was that when humans were hurt, they wept. But when the young royal princess of the Carinae Sea, which humans called the Blackwater Bay, was upset, all she could do was swim for hours around her gilded cage of coral and cowrie stone. 

Princess Lerína angrily swam through the seaweed drapes that kept her grotto hidden from all others. Her powerful tail thrust behind her, creating a shining kaleidoscope of purple and blue. As she frustratedly sat down on the large rock on the ocean floor she'd made into her little sofa, her long black hair, a mass of braids and flowing curls decorated with shells and pearls,  cascaded around her head, irritating her further.

"He just doesn't understand, I don't have to see things the way he does!" she said angrily to Flounder, her childhood companion. 

The princess and the little fish had just been scolded by her father, King Oceanus, for spending time on land.

The day had started a happy one. Lerína had managed to escape the watchful eye of Kunle- the crab majordomo her father had assigned to watch after her, met up with Flounder and gone to find Scuttle- her seabird friend- to show him her recent human finds. Her latest favorite was what he called a Dinglehopper, used to create an aesthetically pleasing hairdo. She'd returned to the castle smiling, saying hello to every shark who made up her father's kingsguard and humming sweet songs. However, the day turned sour when Flounder accidentally mentioned to her father, King of The Seven Seas, that she'd been spending time on the surface again. Her father had done what he always did. Yelled, waved around that trident of his, and said that of every problem in the sea, she was his most troublesome. He'd given her the usual reminder that she would soon be married to a noble merman and that her fixation on the human world would not make her a more desirable bride. Bringing up how humans butchered the queen, however, was an unusual low blow. The reminder of her mother's fate sent shivers down Lerína's spine.

Now, as she was sitting in her grotto, the one place she had to herself, she pondered her father's words. Looking around, she took in the beauty of her human treasures: the shimmering little gold coins she'd found in a pouch lost in a kelp forest, the countless books written in a human language she couldn't understand, and the gold sphere with two glass ends that made everything bigger she'd just found that very day. 

Lerína chuckled dryly. "I just don't understand how a world that makes such wonderful things could be so bad. I just wish I could learn more about them. See them dancing, walking around on those… what do you call them?" she asked, gesturing to her fins.

"Feet!" Flounder responded joyfully.

"Oh, right," Lerína smiled. "Up there, they just walk and run wherever they want! Wandering free, without the constant eyes of crab babysitters and shark guards watching their every move. Tides, I wish I could be part of that world." Lerína looked up at the circular opening at the top of her grotto, admiring the colors the rapidly vanishing sun cast onto the ocean surface.

"Well, what would  you do there? If you could," Flounder asked.

Before the young mermaid could respond, she noticed the colors she'd admired just moments before being blocked out. A ship, she thought. She'd never seen one so close. Real live humans, so near that she imagined she could hear their voices through the waves. With the reminder of her impending doom wedding looming over her, Lerína, it occurred to Rhaenyra that this may be her first and last chance to ever see humans up close. 

Father will never know.

"Lerína, I know that look. It's the bad idea look. What are you-" The little fish was abruptly interrupted by a powerful gust created by the sea princess's tail as she rapidly swam for the surface, quite literally chasing her dream. As she grew closer to the surface, she reached out her arm in front of her, desperate to be close to humanity. 

And when she breached, she couldn't believe what she saw.

The ship was smaller than most of the wrecks she'd seen underwater, but it was still the most stunning thing she'd ever seen. The wood was a rich brown, with a golden sharp-toothed creature at the head. Lerína believed the beast to be a dragon. She'd heard stories of dragons as a child. While tails, songspells, and salt ruled the seas, fire, blood, and wings ruled the skies. She'd been told that rulers of the human world chained them up and rode them like seahorses- just another sign of how primitive they were. And at the top, two large black sheets with a three-headed red dragon on them.

Dragons have three heads? Lerína thought. I wonder how humans came to control them.

She swam up close to the ship, admiring the craftsmanship of each groove and hook. 

"Isn't this amazing?" Lerína semi-rhetorically asked. 

"NO! It's terrifying! Let's go home!" said a panicked Flounder.

Lerína shot him a look and continued on, ignoring him calling her.

She swam alongside the ship, coming across what appeared to be another boat tied to the larger ship. Only much, much smaller. She wondered what use humans could possibly have of one that size. As she took it in, she noticed two people conversing. Her heart skipped a beat. She'd never seen them this close. She wanted to get a better look, so she did something perhaps dangerous. Grabbing onto the small boat with both of her hands, she pulled herself inside the contraption, her long tail hanging out of the side.

There was a small hole in the ship's side, and she took a better peak to see the pair more clearly. The man was rather plain-looking, she supposed. Brown hair, a round face, and a strange, metallic, heavy-looking suit. He reminded her of  Tíeres- her father's kingsguard who used to follow her around. Nothing particularly special physically, besides the fact that he had legs rather than fins. But the girl who stood beside him… the very sight of her made Lerína's fins tingle, and her eyes widened with a feeling similar to awe. 

She didn't look like any of the pictures Lerína had found on the seafloor. Her hair was nearly as long as Lerína's, flowing like an ocean wave in beautiful ringlets down her back. Her skin was pale as a pearl, with pink lips like the corals her sister, Calypso, grew in her bedchamber. But the feature that stood out the most, the one that made Lerína's heart flutter, was the eyes. Lerína had never seen eyes like the girl's before. They were a beautiful shade of lavender, pure and bright. Lerína felt like she could see the girl's spirit through her eyes, a gentle yet regal and powerful one. She felt as though she could get lost in those eyes and never return.

Another thing she noticed was that the girl wore a crown. Similar to her own, but instead of rainbow abalone, pearls, and cone shells, the girl's was made out of gold, with three ruby eyed dragons in the middle. Lerína wondered if the girl was some form of a princess on land. Her question was swiftly answered as she heard the man speak.

"You should go inside, princess. I imagine the weather will only get worse as we approach the Stormlands."

A princess, like me. 

"I am not made of sugar, Ser Criston," the girl said, and Lerína knew that irritated tone well. It was the very same one she frequently used on Kunle. "I will not be washed away with the rain."

"Of course not, your grace, but in fact you are our princess. You must be protected and kept in perfect health at all times. Now, if you please," the man said.

"What if I do not want to be as my father is, Ser Criston? Complacent. Too afraid to take risks, cut off from the rest of the world. What if my desire is to fly to the edge of the Narrow Sea on Syrax and find new ways  to better our kingdom. The world advances while we remain stuck in the days of the conquest."

"It does not do well to live in fantasies, princess. Now that you've come of age, your responsibilities lie at home. Your father expects it of you."

"Yes, for me to remain cooped away in that castle in isolation and fear forever. I can't live like that. I can't explain it. Perhaps it's the blood of the dragon making me restless. But even now, I can't help but feel that there's something here calling to me.

Lerína had never felt more seen or understood by anyone. Her six sisters had all taken to their roles as rulers of their seas with ease. They knew their place in the world and fit into it. Meanwhile Lerína never seemed to get anything right, much to her father's displeasure. They could never see eye to eye, and every stroke of her tail felt like a mistake, a disappointment. She knew what happened to her mother, and yet she always felt like there was room for progress. Contact with humans could help dawn a new era for their people. She felt foolish sometimes for thinking such things. But this girl, a girl from another world, she understood.

Suddenly, the ship, and the little boat in which Lerína sat began to shake violently. A man in a pointy hat ran across the deck, shouting "Storm coming in fast! All hands on deck!"

Suddenly all the humans began to scurry around like a panicked school of fish, tugging on ropes and climbing around. The man in the metal suit pulled the violet eyed girl away- much to Lerína's disappointment. She rose up on her arms to try to get a better glimpse, but the girl was already on the other side of the ship. 

"Lerína, watch out!" Flounder's voice called out. 

Lerína turned to see a group of large rocks right in front of her. She quickly hopped out of the boat and dove into the water, escaping just seconds before the boat was destroyed. She swam around, surfacing again to see the entire ship had descended into chaos. Bright, hot wisps of orange and red were rapidly spreading across the deck, and Lerína realized that this was fire. She had previously thought fire only existed in small boxes in human homes to keep them warm, but this fire was certainly not that. Everywhere the wisps went in their violent dance things broke and shattered. The humans used knives, similar to the stone and shell ones merfolk used, to cut free more boats like the one Lerína had hid in, and quickly jumped overboard into them.

Lerína watched as the land princess helped a brown haired girl, and a furry creature with a tail jump over. The girl was able to make it onto a boat, but the other creature was being pushed back under the waves. Lerína took a risk, diving under the water, grabbing hold of the creature and pushing it towards the boat, dipping under it just before she could be seen by any of the humans. 

She swam back around to the side of the ship, looking for the girl, just barely catching a glimpse of her before the entire ship turned on its side, and the girl fell backwards into the sea. Lerína swam around the front of the ship as quickly as a swordfish, tossing away priceless human items in search of the girl. She was nearly crushed as a statue of a woman came flying at her from the ship, but she narrowly dodged it. She dove down deeper, finally seeing the girl sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss. Lerína swam as fast as she could, quickly taking hold of the girl and bringing her to the surface.

Above the sea, as the waves rocked them back and forth and the burning remains of the ship illuminated the night, Lerína felt a strange sense of calm. She looked down upon the girl in her arms, and she looked so peaceful and beautiful. Lerína's heart fluttered once again. Saving a human would go against everything she had ever been taught. If she ever came in contact with them she was meant to swiftly escape, and in the worst case, use her siren song to kill. As she looked down on the most beautiful face she'd ever seen, Lerína knew what she had to do. 

So she held the girl tighter, and allowed the waves to swallow them whole.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

She had never been this far from Atlantis before. She could feel the dry sand burning her hands and the top of her tail, while the waves caressed her fins back and forth. Her hair was damp against her back, and the land princess was in her arms.

Lerína laid the girl on her back against the sand, immediately leaning against her chest to check for a heartbeat. When she couldn't hear one through the girl's thick, fuzzy red and black garment, Lerína quickly unbuttoned it and pulled it apart, leaving the girl in nothing but a thin gown, which, in its dampened state, made the girl's breasts plainly visible. Lerína's cheeks, for no reason she understood, got hot. She shook the girl a few times, trying to rouse her. Finally, the girl coughed a few times, spitting out seawater. Lerína moved back, preparing to escape before she could be noticed. But when the princess didn't move, Lerína did something foolish. 

Taking a deep breath, Lerína closed her eyes, and began to sing. 

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

Rhaenyra didn't know where she was and she didn't know what was going on. Vague memories quickly flashed through her mind. Her tour, talking with Ser Criston, saving her ladies and her friends, and going under the water.

Suddenly, there was a voice. A voice so enchanting it flowed through the mist of her mind like a beacon of pure light. It was like a siren guiding her back home. She could barely open her eyes, only being able to make out a girl with long hair- she couldn't make out the color. From what little she could tell, it wasn't anyone she knew, and yet she felt incredibly safe and trusted her immediately. With what little strength she had, she lifted her hand and placed it above the girl's hand on her chest. But just as she was starting to regain her full vision, voices began to shout and call her name. The girl's hand quickly left her chest, and she vanished on the beach like seafoam. 

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

Lerína, hidden behind a large rock, watched as a group of men and women descended down the mountain, all surrounding the girl in a panic. 

"Princess!" "Your grace!" "Rhaenyra," they cried as they gathered around her. 

The man in the metal suit Lerína remembered from the ship lifted the princess in his hands and carried her back up the mountain, the entourage following behind him.

Suddenly, Lerína was overcome with a feeling she could not explain. But somehow she knew, from this moment on, things would never be the same as they were.

I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know something's started right now. Someday, I just know I'll be part of her world.

She watched as the princess was carried over the mountain and disappeared when she realized something—she knew the princess's name.

Rhaenyra, she thought. I'll be part of Rhaenyra's world. 

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

[demonkinguwu]

The Three Subcon Bosses [My fanon version lol]

The trickster shadow, the wrathful queen, and the disappearing moon

Lore Below <3

Snatcher: Once was a kind lonely prince whose only talent was painting, often overlooked and ignored due to this. He fell in love with Vanessa quickly as she was the only one who understood the loneliness of his paintings. The two married after a year of courtship, but the prince worked hard to learn to rule by her side, even going to law school. Unfortunately, he ignored the terrible treatment by his frantic wife for fear of true loneliness until it was too late...

Now the kind prince turned into a terrible and manipulative shadow, using robbed souls and his smarts to grow as powerful as he is, growing to be the sole ruler of the Subcon Forest. He prefers to be in control and over-possessive of everything he deems 'his', including the terrible wife who killed him painfully. He despises her but deep down knows she's the only person who will ever truly care for him even as a monster so she gets to stay as his pathetic little toy <3

However, he can't help but enjoy the very small snippets of moments between them that remind him of a better time when they were young and naive. He can't help but smile as the princess Vanessa was once shines through that red mass of anger, oh how he wishes to rip open the beast and find his princess within it, safe and innocent as she used to be

Vanessa: She was once a kind and sweet princess filled with so much loneliness especially since her father ran away. On a visit to a foreign kingdom, she was immersed in the large gallery of paintings depicting how she felt perfectly, lonely. She soon fell for the painter, a kind but mischievous prince who was just as lonely as she was. But her horrible mother was jealous of her daughter's happiness and poisoned her heart and mind with her evil words, reminding the princess of her father who ran away. The princess' desperate thoughts turned dark and possessive, wanting the prince all to herself, even getting rid of her mother who she thought wanted her prince. The now Queen was more desperate, her heart and mind growing darker and bitter with each day that passed without her beloved... Soon it would all explode, taking every soul within Subcon with her.

After a few years of mindless wrath and pain, she 'cooled down'. Finally gaining sense and guilt, but since no one wished to accept her apologies, she learned not to care over such matters anymore. Her heart grew bitter, cold, and uncaring of much but the evil monster her beloved became. His very existence enrages her, reminding her that her kind sweet prince is gone and all she has is this thing, this terrible and evil shadow who took everything from her. But even so, she can never get rid of him, for he is the only one who will 'care' for her, who could relieve her of her loneliness even if his actions are cruel and taunting. She doesn't want to be truly alone, but he is the only one she can truly trust, so he is the only intruder who will remain safe from her terrible wrath even if she hates him so. Though she knows her prince is gone, she relishes the small brief moments she could see a flicker of him through the monster's wicked being. Oh, how she wishes she could grab her prince in that brief second and never let him go.

Moonjumper: He was once a naive but adventurous lad, a time traveler who shone bright with the moon. Crashing into the strange planet, he met a cold princess whose heart was as cold as ice. He felt understood as he didn't understand what love was either, so he decided to stay with the princess and become her king to find out what love was. They soon had a princess who they named Vanessa. The king loved his daughter very much but didn't love his title or his wife, for he was a being of freedom. Without confronting his wife, he planned to take Vanessa and escape, but he left her behind once his wife figured out his plot. His wife, who grew to love him, was heartbroken and distraught over his betrayal, and so she cursed him with her magic to death, over and over again.

The man became a distorted time rift, cold and alone, wanting nothing more than to find someone to stay with him in his lonely horizon, especially his little princess.

Hundreds of years have passed, and he watches on with great pain as the sweet girl his daughter was once turned into a monster. All thanks to the monster who took over Subcon with that disgusting smirk, he made his daughter the monster she is! And she was no better! Being easily influenced by that monster and turning into a monster herself, they were both horrible beasts! Both were responsible for taking away his little princess! Once he has the chance, he'll get rid of them both! But since he is much weaker and scared of them, he'll abide his time until he can finally avenge his sweet daughter. For now, he searches for someone he could keep in his lonely prison, someone who he can raise to be just as perfect as his little princess...

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Deluding

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Targaryen reader

Part one

The first time she noticed her uncle Daemon watching her, truly watching her, she felt a spark of satisfaction. He thought himself so subtle, standing in the shadows of the Great Hall, his violet eyes smoldering as they followed her every move. She didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered, the way it sharpened when she laughed or brushed against another man’s arm.

She pretended not to notice, of course. That was the game. To him, she was the picture of innocence—a naïve little princess, untouched by the cruelties and schemes of court life. It amused her how deeply he believed it, how convinced he was that she was unspoiled and unaware of the power she wielded.

Daemon Targaryen might have been a dragon, but he wasn’t the only one in their bloodline who could play with fire.

She had always admired him, even as a child. While the rest of the court whispered of his unpredictability and arrogance, she saw something else freedom. Daemon moved through the world as though he owned it, as though the rules and expectations binding everyone else simply didn’t apply to him. She envied that. Craved it.

But it wasn’t until she was older that her admiration began to shift into something… darker. Something forbidden. She noticed the way he carried himself, the way the light glinted off his silver hair, the lazy arrogance in his smirks. And she noticed, too, the way her sister Rhaenyra looked at him.

Rhaenyra thought herself subtle, but she wasn’t. Not to her. She saw the way her elder sister’s gaze lingered on their uncle, the way her voice softened when she spoke to him. It was obvious. Rhaenyra wanted him.

But so did she.

And she was determined to have him.

The first time she caught his attention, it was almost too easy. A soft laugh here, a shy smile there. She let her fingers brush his when he offered her a goblet of wine, let her gaze linger just long enough to send a shiver of uncertainty through him. She saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes darkened, and she knew she had him.

From that moment, the game was hers.

She let him think he was the one pursuing her, let him believe he was the predator circling his prey. She played the part of the innocent maiden to perfection, wide-eyed and trusting, allowing him to draw closer and closer until he was utterly ensnared.

“Kepus,” she would murmur, her voice soft and, as though his presence flustered her. She would glance up at him through her lashes, her cheeks pink from the warmth of the firelight—or so he thought. The truth was, she knew exactly what she was doing.

She enjoyed watching him unravel. The way his possessiveness grew each time she laughed at another man’s joke or danced with a visiting lord. She could feel his gaze boring into her back, searing with jealousy and frustration. She savored it.

When he offered to escort her to the dragonpit, she accepted with a demure smile, feigning awe as he spoke of the great beasts. She let her fingers brush his arm when she stumbled on the uneven ground, let her hand linger just a moment too long before pulling away.

“You are always so kind to me, uncle,” she said softly, her voice laced with gratitude. She saw the way his lips curved into a satisfied smirk, the way he stood just a little taller, as though he’d won some unspoken victory.

Fool.

She was no innocent. She knew exactly what he wanted, what he thought of her. She saw the hunger in his eyes, the way his gaze devoured her when he thought no one was watching. She gave him just enough to keep him on edge, to keep him circling her like a restless dragon.

It wasn’t enough for him to desire her, though. She wanted more. She wanted him to burn for her. She wanted to consume him, to make him hers so completely that no other woman—not Rhaenyra, not anyone—could claim even a piece of him.

But she had to be careful. Daemon was dangerous, unpredictable. She couldn’t push too hard, couldn’t reveal her hand too soon.

So she let him believe he was in control. Let him think he was the one pulling the strings, the one drawing her into his web.

“Do you trust me, sweet niece?” he asked one evening, his voice low and intimate as they stood on a balcony overlooking the city.

“Of course, kepus,” she replied, her voice trembling just enough to sell the lie. She turned her wide, trusting eyes up to him, and she saw it—the moment his resolve crumbled, the moment he decided she was his.

But what Daemon didn’t realize was that she had already won. He was hers. He just didn’t know it yet.

[rememberwren]

Dichotomy of Thought || 11

Past and further chapters here.

Simon and Johnny make up.

|| Chapter warnings: Anal fingering, anal sex, baby-trapping, medication tampering, medication control.

-

Your boyfriend manages your medications, a one-man pharmacy. 

Every morning the pills are waiting for you on the table in the foyer beside where you deposit your keys in the evening. There are two of them. 

The first is oblong, tan. Your boyfriend hoards and hides the bottle, but you’d fished the information pamphlet that came from the pharmacy out of the trash, and you know everything there is to know about it from that page jam-packed with text. Sertraline, 50mg. Otherwise known as Zoloft. Just swallowing the tasteless pill makes you remember the even darker days than the ones you’re living now, the ones that had led you to that waiting room with your boyfriend in the seat beside you waiting for a doctor to see you. How do I know if I’m depressed, you had asked the doctor, bold as anything even with your boyfriend’s hand on your knee, or if my life just isn’t worth living? 

You’d learned. By God, you’d learned. 

The other pill is your birth control. Round, sometimes blue, sometimes white, depending on where you are in your cycle. Today it is white and—

It looks—different. 

He wouldn’t, you think to yourself, thumb nudging at the pill in your palm, like seeing it from a different angle might jog your memory of it. He wouldn’t do that. A kid is the last thing he wants. He wouldn’t sacrifice his own freedom just to keep you trapped underneath his thumb. 

Except—wouldn’t he? 

“Hurry it up,” he says, yawning, like you kept him up late last night. “I want to go back to bed.” 

You try to take a picture of the pill in your mind before you drop it onto your tongue, taking a swig from your water tumbler, but your brain feels so scrambled that you forget it right away. You can’t even remember the color—had it truly been white, or had it been the pale sky blue of  robin’s egg?

It goes down like a lump of chalk. He makes you show him your empty mouth before he’s satisfied that you aren’t cheeking the pills, and then he kisses you and tells you to have a good day at work, honey. 

-

“Rooster wants you in his office,” Jackie says under her breath, helping you hurriedly clear one of your tables. You’re slow with the splint on your smallest finger, the throb of pain lancing all the way up your wrist each time you use the damaged hand. Jackie has been an angel in khakis picking up your slack. 

You wish that you had one of the pills that they’d given you in the emergency department. It hadn’t taken away all of the pain, but it’d made your head feel light and floaty and like you could care less if all your fingers were broken. Or maybe you wanted one of Johnny’s pills—the ones that put him in a peaceful sleep. You haven’t had such a thing in so long that you can’t remember when, even your moments of relaxation tainted until ‘rest’ is just waiting for the next act of violence. 

“What does he want?” you ask. 

“Probably to tell you about the raise,” she says. She rolls her eyes and twirls a fingers, mouth set in a grim smile of comradery. “Fifty cents. Writing home about it as we speak. Or maybe he wants to grill you about who keeps stealing from the registers—like we all don’t know it’s Ruth.” 

Fifty cents. You can’t even turn up your nose at it. Every penny is one that brings you closer to that apartment across town. With a promise that you’ll return as quickly as you can, you step off the floor (avoiding making eye contact with any customers who would happily sideway you for refills or to complain) and into the back of the house. It’s quiet back here, cooler. Rapping your knuckles against Rooster’s door, you wait. 

There’s no response, and no sign of him in the hallway. Some of the line cooks are coming in, filtering toward the break room to start their shift. You feel their eyes on you as you stand impotently outside the door. One of them says something to the other, and there is laughter, too loud and boisterous for the enclosed space. Your heart has begun to pound, sweat breaking out at the nape of your neck. 

“Hey,” one of them says to you. 

“Hi,” you mutter, forcing a smile, unable to make eye contact. 

Still there is no sign of Rooster from either end of the hallway—never would you have considered the short man your savior. Heart racing, you crack the door open and see that the office is empty. You slip inside, shutting the door safely behind you. 

The room is as self-important as you might imagine: a desk that seems too large for the space, filing cabinets in the corner. There’s a corkboard pockmarked with holes after years of use, and you drift over to it, too anxious to take a seat in the chair on the other side of Rooster’s desk. A calendar is posted there, Rooster’s neat handwriting here and there. 

Something catches your eye: LOCKER CLEANOUT marked for two weeks from now. 

It seemed like the last locker cleanout had just happened. You had only collected five hundred dollars back then, but it was far too much to want to explain to Rooster, and you had nowhere else to stash it that was safe. In the end, it had sat in an envelope under the driver’s seat of your car while Rooster took the week and went through each of the lockers to ensure compliance with the restaurant’s rules (all because someone used to have a penchant for leaving snack cakes in their locker leading to a bad case of ants that almost led to the restaurant being shut down). It had been the longest week of your life, like driving around with a live bomb underneath the front seat. 

Now you have nearly two thousand dollars. Where the hell were you going to put it? 

The door opens. Rooster looks at you suspiciously, eyes flickering between you and the calendar. 

“Next time, wait outside,” he says, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. It makes your skin crawl to be alone with him, even if he’s never done anything slimier than asking you to pull a double shift. You know the darkness that lies inside men. All men. 

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, taking his seat in a squeaky rolling chair behind the desk. His smile is a dismal, strained thing, like interacting with you is just as painful for him as it is for you. “Next time, just wait.”  

-

Johnny and Simon spend the day in bed. 

Johnny’s knee is propped up on a pillow, red and swollen. Simon lets his fingers hover over it, gentle, feeling the warmth of Johnny’s skin. Johnny winces, like even the brush of air against his knee hurts. 

“It looks infected,” says Simon. 

“It’s not.” It can’t be. Johnny can’t handle that—can’t handle the idea of having to go through the surgery on his knee again, the recovery, the way recovery is just synonymous with pain. No, it isn’t infected. “Just looks like that because he hit it.” 

Simon leans down and brushes his mouth against Johnny’s thigh. It’s meant to be sweet but—well. It’s the closest his mouth has been to Johnny’s cock in more than six months, and just the sight of it has Johnny’s heart skipping a beat and picking up again in double-time, his face growing flush. Not privy to Johnny’s thoughts, all Simon does is press a chaste kiss to the skin a few inches above where Johnny’s swelling starts—nevermind what else might be swelling now, too. 

The two of them lay entwined together, Simon curling up around him. He plants a hand on Johnny’s clothed chest, right over his heart, like he’s trying to remind himself that Johnny’s here. That Johnny’s alive. The look in his eyes is far away, mouth drawn down into a tight frown. All at once, Johnny’s downright sick of it—sick of them not having anything to smile about. Sick of fighting. 

Johnny takes Simon’s hand, laces their fingers, and guides it down. Down over his slim, firm belly, watching from the corner of his eye as Simon’s brows climb up his forehead. Down until their hands cup his half-hard cock. Simon’s hand shifts straight away, fingers curling around the solid length, thumb stroking up the side, the gentle rasp of his calloused fingerpad loud against the cotton of Johnny’s boxers. 

“You’re hurt,” Simon reminds him. 

“Don’t care.” 

“I do.” 

“We don’t have to fuck. I just—” he doesn’t know how to explain, how badly he needs to feel something good. How badly he needs to know that his connection with Simon isn’t ruined. How badly he needs to see that they’re still lovers, that Simon isn’t just his live-in caretaker. How badly Johnny needs to feel like a human being—like a grown man. He finishes, a little lamely: “I just need it.” 

Simon’s grip goes firm. Johnny’s eyes shut, mouth falling open at the sensation. He hasn’t even touched himself like this in weeks, and while he hadn’t necessarily been keeping track, his cock clearly has been. Simon seems content to go on like this, mapping the shape of Johnny’s cock through his boxers, thumbing over the head until a wet sticky spot appears in the cotton fabric, his hand sometimes drifting down to cradle the warm heft of Johnny’s balls. 

Johnny, usually impatient, contents himself with this torture. Let Simon tease him all day, if he’d like, until Johnny is liable to go off at the whisper of a touch. The thought has his cock jerking toward the warmth of Simon’s palm, and Johnny groans when his grip tightens. 

“Fucking pretty, aren’t you?” Simon mutters, his eyes on Johnny’s face.

Johnny snorts. He tosses his arm over his eyes, but beneath his arm, he’s grinning. “Shuddup.” 

Simon clicks his tongue. “Be good, Johnny. Let me look at you.” 

Johnny moves his arm and gives his grin room to breathe. His head feels light and airy as Simon sits up and helps him work his boxers down his thighs just far enough to draw his cock out. The first touch of skin on skin has him hissing a breath in through his teeth. Fuck, it’s good. Just as good as it always was—maybe even better, because he needs it so bad. 

“Want you inside me,” Johnny says on a whim, feeling the truth of it in his chest. He doesn’t just want it—he needs it. 

Simon leans down and kisses him, just a little too hard to be mistaken as anything but desperate. How long has it been for him, Johnny wonders. He spends every waking moment with Johnny except his perfunctory showers. Does he indulge then, between soaping and rinsing off, holding his breath to hide his sounds while he strips his cock with one slick hand? 

It takes some maneuvering to get Johnny on his side, knee nicely cushioned. He can’t reach back and touch Simon, can’t grip his hip and pull him in closer, and it���s just another reason to miss his arm. Because there are a hundred thousand touches Simon deserves that Johnny can’t give him anymore. 

They’re lucky for the shelf life of the lube. It warms Simon’s fingers as he works them past Johnny’s rim. He takes his time, hands shaking where they touch him. 

“Need it bad, huh?” Johnny wonders. 

Simon snorts but doesn’t deny it. Just curls his fingers searching for that tender spot inside Johnny’s ass that makes him grit his teeth. His cock drools onto the bedspread, red and throbbing with his heartbeat. By the time Simon slips inside him, chest to Johnny’s back, Johnny feels liable to go off at a moment’s notice. 

For all the time they haven’t fucked, Simon remembers everything: the way to touch Johnny,wrapping a strong arm around his chest to make up for the one Johnny lacks, fingers playing with the whorls of Johnny’s chest hair or teasing one of his nipples; the way to angle his hips to nail Johnny’s prostate. 

“Quit,” Johnny groans, shifting until the stimulation isn’t so good, so dead-on. His cock aches, balls heavy and tight. “I don’t want to cum yet. Don’t want this to be over.” 

“Can’t miss Johnny; dick’s too big.” 

Johnny guffaws. The sound nearly startles him—when was the last time he fucking laughed? With you in the park—but he doesn’t need to be thinking about you now, not you with your small, soft hands and the curve of your mouth…

“Fuck—touch my cock, please touch my cock—“ Johnny whines, body trembling. He’s right there, right fucking there, too close to go back now, fuck it all, he wants to cum. Simon’s strong fingers curl around his cock and strip it firmly, and the pleasure inside him bubbles up and over, left too long to simmer. He nearly headbutts Simon in the face, his body shaking and jerking and cum splatters against his belly and the bedspread and down over Simon’s fingers. 

“Just like that—so good, Johnny,” Simon murmurs. His pale hand grips at Johnny’s sharp hipbone, cum smearing against Johnny’s skin. “My turn.” 

Afterwards, Simon gently helps him undress and goes to get them both fresh clothes. Johnny’s knee throbs freshly just from his muscles tensing, but he barely feels it. For the first time since his accident, he thinks that maybe things will be okay. He has no arm—but so what? There are many with a lot less. He’s John fucking MacTavish. He can do this.

Simon has gone still at their closet, holding something in his hands. Johnny leans up on his elbows. 

“What is it?” he asks. “Did you find my lighter?”

Simon holds up with no preamble a skull-embossed balaclava. It’s worn, the fabric gone gray at its most threadbare spots, but the image imprinted on the front hasn’t faded.

“Blast from the past,” Johnny says, throat uncomfortably tight with an emotion he can’t name. “Thought you threw those out.” 

“Thought so too.” He doesn’t look eager to throw this one out though, his fingers tracing over the teeth, like he’s tracing the lipless mouth of a lover. 

“You miss it,” Johnny says, the glow of their sex fading rapidly. Of course Simon misses it. The military had been his entire life—until Johnny’s accident. Until Simon had discharged with him, to take care of him. Johnny hadn’t just blown apart his own life by going down in the helo in Kazakhstan, he had blown apart Simon’s life too. 

“No,” Simon says simply. “It’s not that.” 

Johnny frowns. “What is it, then?” 

“The night of the poker party—I was Ghost again. It was the only way I could…compartmentalize. Stomach it. I’d forgotten.” 

“Forgotten?”

Simon glances toward him. “Forgotten how useful Ghost could be.” Reaching up, Simon slips the balaclava over his head, adjusting it on instinct until it rests just right against the bridge of his nose. His hair is getting long, little blond strands visible, curling at the ends. 

“Now I want to fuck you again,” says Johnny, just to fill the air between them, and because sex used to be such an easy way to fill it. 

Simon doesn’t smile. 

“Johnny.”

“I was just teasin’—“

“Not that,” Simon says. Even his manner of speaking seems different, words clipped, tone short and no-nonsense. “What if I wanted to go visit our neighbor?”

The question lingers in the silence between them. Johnny swallows, the sound of his throat an audible click in the tense air. 

“You,” Johnny wonders, when he can speak again, “or Ghost?” 

Beneath the balaclava, Ghost smiles.