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fadingdaggerr · 9 months ago

Note

first off, omg I absolutely love your writing. You're literally my favorite author on here. Second, the pictures you choose for each one shot are *chefs kiss*

Moving on from that, I was wondering if you could do a melissa schemmenti one shot inspired by the song "casual" by chappell roan, and with a happy ending? or the song "red wine supernova"?

I've been meaning to do it myself but I so don't have the time or motivation right now😭

and now? (18+ minors, dni)

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: melissa craved you, you craved melissa. what you crave from each other seems to differ depending on the season, based on both casual and red wine supernova by chappell roan. | 6.1k

includes: angst!!, fluff, no pronouns/gender mention for r, emotionally constipated mel and r, self sabotage from r, happy ending

warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, alcohol consumption (minimal), marijuana use (minimal), verbal fighting, afab reader (no mention of breasts in ref to r), smut throughout (oral, fingering, toy use, mel and r receiving), lots of praise

translations: sfigata (italian - loser), τουαλέτα (greek - restroom - pronounced too-ah-leh-tah)

note: on this episode of “sol complains about their inability to write under 4k words and then immediately writes 6k+” N E ways. the goal of this was to sort of have mel's perspective be carried by red wine supernova and reader's perspective to be more along casual. thank you for trusting me with your prompt/idea, i'm very honored <3

The moment she saw you, she knew she had to have you.

Tipsy at a housewarming party, uninterested in everyone around her, Melissa almost calls it a night. She only agreed to be here because Shauna said ‘a small get together,’ not ‘having half of Philly in the kitchen alone.’ Weaving through the room, she attempts to find someone she knows to say goodbye to, but her search is halted by yelling from the foosball table.

In the living room, Dominic is accusing someone of cheating. At foosball. Amused, she walks further into the room to watch, seeing Dominic miss the ball too many times to not be an effect of alcohol, and he groans towards the ceiling.

He angrily spins the handles he’s holding, jostling the table, “stop fucking cheating, dude!”

“I’m not fucking cheating, dude,” the other player responds, laughing through the answer. Hiking it onto her tiptoes, Melissa peeks over shoulders to see you, a little grin on your face that also drops the joint hanging from your lips.

“Bitch, yes you are!”

Without a second to even blink, you push the rods in your hands forward, hard, making the metal ends roughly hit Dom’s hip. Leaning over the table, you blow smoke towards his face with a sarcastic smile, “don’t call me a bitch. Thought you knew better, Domi?”

“Yup,” he responds through a wince, “yup, wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

Through a chuckle, you take another hit from the near-roach, eye flicking up at the sensation of being watched intently. Red hair sticks out in the crowded room, green eyes sticking out more. Subconsciously, you do a once over of her, meeting her eyes.

Voices, music, the people around you, they all faded away. All you saw was Melissa. All Melissa saw was you.

Your whole body goes on autopilot, trying to get you to her as quickly as possible. Dominic tries to get you to play another round, an attempt to redeem himself, but you wave him off, not taking your eyes off the object of your attention as you snub out the joint against the game table. It takes borderline shoving almost everyone out of your way before you finally get to her. Any thought of leaving early flies out Melissa’s brain, disappearing as you enter her orbit.

It’s all a blur from the center of the living room, to the back of it, to the locked bathroom with you on the counter. How she got here, she doesn’t know, nor care. All she can focus on is your hand gripping her hair and the taste of you on her tongue. The blessing and curse of music beating through the wall fills her ears, thankful it covers the moans coming from you for any partygoers, but angered she can barely hear them.

Melissa can’t dwell much when your thighs begin to shake around her head, the hand not in her hair was nearly clawing the wall. From the whines that she manages to hear through thigh-shaped earmuffs and bass boosts, she can tell you’re close, the bucking into her mouth quickening with the motion of her tongue. Melissa’s alternating of figure-eights and sucking on your clit is your downfall, struggling to contain the loud groan that desperately wants to rip from your throat.

Languid motions slow, making you squirm from overstimulation before you’re pulling her back up to your lips. You almost give right back in when you feel her groan against your lips, tasting yourself on her as she dominates the kiss, all teeth and tongue. She was addictive, your new drug of choice, one you don’t want to let go of soon.

Melissa leaves the party with your number in her phone, and your taste imprinted on her tongue.

—☽—

Melissa can’t even wait two days before she texts you, just saying it was her, chewing her thumb as she waits for a reply. Eight minutes and three seconds later, not that she’s been silently counting or anything, her phone buzzes.

hey beautiful. was wondering when i’d hear from you.

You were at her door within a couple hours, almost running over your coworker as the workday ended.

The first month of this arrangement, this is all it is. Melissa texts you a simple Are you free tonight? and you show up at her front door, grinning as she pulls you in by the collar of your shirt. She rarely takes her time with you, immediately sucking at sensitive skin and cupping your sex through your underwear, dragging her teeth down your throat. Moans and whining coming from you only spur her on. You barely make it to the couch before her fingers are working their way inside you.

It takes weeks before you can contain yourselves enough to make it to her bedroom, though your clothes are scattered from the front door to the stairs, Melissa’s black thong caught on the bannister. An altogether miracle you even make it onto her bed.

The redhead has a damn near obsession with eating you out, bold hands holding you down as you squirm, groaning into you as you grind into her face. It’s the first and last thing she does every time, before she kisses you goodbye, all soft and sweet. The two actions are so wildly different, rough and dominating followed by gentle and caring. How could one not become a fiend for the attention only she can provide?

Another month passes, and it’s almost routine. Melissa calls, you run. Melissa says jump, you ask how high. Melissa tells you to take off your shirt, it’s off before she finishes her sentence. Melissa gets you off, you leave before you’ve even caught your breath.

The expectation of you leaving drops one night when she catches the dazed, sleepy look in your eyes one night. For the first time, she lets someone spend the night. With her arm around your waist, you speak quietly into the air, “would you wanna go on a date sometime? A real one, I mean.”

Her arm retracts from your body, turning to lay on her back, “c’mon, baby. That’s not what this is, we agreed.”

Suddenly, you’re glad she’s not pressed against you anymore, breath uneven, “yeah, yeah. You’re right. Nevermind.”

You don’t bring it up again. She doesn’t try to hold you again. Your visits include dinner and wine before she dines on you and coffee before you leave in the morning, but nothing more. It tastes bitter in your mouth.

Four months in, and you find yourself splayed across her couch with the redhead buried between your thighs, fingers making sparks roll through your core. Hard knocking broke through, both of you stare at each other with wide eyes. A second round of knocking throws you into motion, scrambling to put your jeans back on, Melissa hurriedly cleaning her fingers with her mouth. Just before she opens the door, you stop her to fix her hair, immediately turning back to throw yourself on the couch.

When Melissa opens the door, all you hear is, “took you long enough.”

“Fuck d’ya expect showing up unannounced?” Melissa matches the annoyed tone of whoever’s at the door, moving aside to let them in. Blond and tall with the same Schemmenti resting-murder face. This has to be Kristen Marie, the ‘sfigata ass sister’ Melissa mentions from time to time.

“The hell are you?” The blond looks at you, no attempt to hide the judgment behind her eyes. A quick glance to Melissa, who’s glaring back, tells you to lie. You introduce yourself only as one of Melissa’s friends, the mention of knowing Shauna, however, seems to make Kristen less defensive. A sigh of relief leaves the redhead, you hadn’t been caught. A sigh of disappointment leaves your own lips.

Weeks later, Melissa’s phone rings while you’re both chopping vegetables for dinner. She mutters an apology as she pauses your conversation, showing you the contact Mama on the screen. You pretend to zip your lips with a little grin, going back to chopping the bell peppers she tasked you with.

“Hey, Ma,” Melissa says into the phone as she puts it between her ear and shoulder, freeing her hands to chop the onion. “Nah, just making dinner. I can’t stay on long, I got company,” she bumps your hip with hers, laughing at whatever her mother says before answering, “no, weirdo, not that kind of company… I’ll ask, hold on.”

Putting her phone to her chest to cover the speaker, she asks, “my mother would like to know if you’re a complete freak?”

“Contextually, yes and no,” you say, reveling in Melissa’s bursted laughter, “but tell her no.”

“No more than I am, Ma,” she says when she brings her phone back to her ear, pinching your ass as she stifles a laugh while her mom keeps speaking. The hand around your heart has pink acrylics.

In the passing months, a change you weren’t expecting comes, and you hope that if you don’t acknowledge it, it will stay this way. An undercover Eurydice.

Most nights, Melissa barely let you get out a greeting before you were pinned against the door, lips on your, hands roaming under your shirt. Some nights she was slow, gentle, loving almost, taking her time and kissing every inch of you. Those nights made it hard to separate the feelings you have from the ones she dances around talking about.

There are other days though, your favorite days. Ones like tonight, where both of you are exhausted and just want to no longer exist to the world. Instead, you feel as though you’re in your own world out here on her back porch. You peek over at Melissa as you take a hit from a joint you packed before driving over, eyes closed, Melissa doesn’t see you.

Watching closer than you should, your eyes stay on her as she moves to take a sip of the Cabarnet you bought only for her. The way her lips kiss the glass, how she licks her lips to never waste a drop. If she asked, you’d gladly kiss away rogue droplets of wine. She’s beautiful, truly beautiful. She knows it, but she doesn’t really believe it, always rolling her eyes when you mumble it against her thighs. You wish you could tell her whenever the thought crossed your mind, every time you look at her. Exhaling, you turn away, mouthing a silent fuck to yourself. Bringing the J to your lips, you try to keep from being caught.

Melissa’s head drops, propping her chin on her shoulder with droopy eyes, “can we just sleep tonight? ‘M slipping into a coma over here.”

You chuckle, copying her pose, rose-tinted eyes flitting over her, “sounds great.”

For the first time in five months, Melissa holds you as you both fall asleep in the center of the bed.

You love these nights, ones where you can pretend Melissa is just as much yours as you are hers.

A cruel, ten month anniversary gift of sorts comes in the form of a friend in the hospital cafeteria.

Your phone pings where it sits in your scrub shirt pocket, your chest tightens.

Melissa: I’ll be home around 6, if you’re free tonight.

The grin on your face is not unnoticed by your friend as she sits back in front of you. Shauna taps the table to get your attention, “that your girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” you mumble, typing out a reply to Melissa.

when am i not free for you?

Shauna scoffs, speaking under her breath, “like you actually think that.”

You place your phone back on the table with a little force, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s just using you, honey,” Shauna blurts, “you’re at her beck and call, and all she wants is sex. And I know you, that’s not what you want.”

“And what do I want, oh wise one?”

“Her,” she replies. “I’ve known you too long to not know that you’re in love with her. I’ve also known Mel long enough to say that she is going to break your heart.”

You kiss your teeth, “what do you know about what Melissa wants?”

Shauna doesn’t appreciate your defensive attitude, so she gives you the hard truth, “she said this whole thing is just casual. Pretty stress relief, I think were her exact words.”

You are stress relief, nothing more. Another ping.

Melissa: See you then baby.

—☽—

When you arrive on Melissa’s doorstep, you desperately want to turn and run, save yourself before you feel any more. The equally desperate need to be near her knocks for you, but when she answers, you can barely meet her gaze. Green eyes flick from your face to your wringing hands, pink lips shifting to a frown.

“What’s bothering you?” Melissa asks gently, locking the door behind you. When you shake your head, struggling to kick your shoe off, her arms wrap around your waist, chin on your shoulder. She feels you stiffen, pouting to herself, “I know something’s wrong, you look like Eeyore in torrential downpour.”

You huff a laugh and lean against her, “just… stress.”

“Hmm,” glossy lips press to your neck, soft and slow, “want me to get rid of some of that?” The feeling of her hands on you is so convincing, it overrides what you know you should do. Turning in her arms, you press your lips into her and let her take control.

Her mouth wraps around your nipple, thumb slowly torturing your clit as her fingers work you through your third orgasm. From the twitch of your hips, she knows you’re at your limit, carefully removing her fingers from you. Greedy hands tug at her, pulling her to your lips as you flip your bodies, straddling her hips. Traveling down, you delight in her whimpers as you suck at her skin, leaving behind marks comparable to the wine she loves.

Your hands spread her legs, taking your rightful place between them. Sensual, slow, loving kisses down her soft stomach, all leading to where she needs you most. Her hips buck as you get closer to her center, breath tickling her pearl. With a flat tongue, you fulfill her wish, licking a stripe from the base of her slit to her clit, moaning into her. Hands harshly grip your hair, tugging when you suck on her clit. Your own hand slides from her strong thigh to her plush breasts, toying with her nipples as you devour her.

Husky pants draw from her throat, pitchy whines breaking through when your fingers begin to toy with her entrance. Neither of you care about the phone ringing from the nightstand. All you can hear is hoarse moans of oh god and please, faster, all you feel, taste, and smell, is Melissa. You both peer to the nightstand when it rings again, desperately trying to ignore it. A second finger enters Melissa as her attention falls back on you, her eyes meeting yours as she moans, fueling your desire.

A third ringing of the phone almost makes her scream, and tapping your shoulder with vigor to stop you before the phone is forced to ring again. You quickly, and gently, retract your fingers, allowing Melissa to shakily reach for her phone. The blood drains from her face as she looks at the screen, staring at you where you rest on her thigh, answering with a gulp.

“H-” she clears her throat, “hey, ma.” Your eyes almost bulge from your head. “I was in the middle of a shower, sorry,” she gets out quickly, nearly laughing at herself and you purse your lips to contain your own giggle, “well, the kids had a project with glitter, had to get it off.”

“Get something off,” you mumble quietly, pressing a kiss to the junction of her hip. Melissa playfully smacks your arm as she listens to her mother, pressing her finger to her grinning lips.

“Well, I got a friend over right now…” Friend. “Yes, the freak,” she chuckles warmly, patting your hand before her hand freezes on yours, “oh- I… can ask.” Her eyes leave her lap, now looking to you, “wanna go get dinner at Cirillo’s? My parent’s treat.”

Your eyebrows rise, “do you… want me to go?” You’ve met Kristen Marie, and only quickly ran into her cousin Vinny, but her parents were a whole other story.

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” it feels genuine. You nod.

Arturo and Giorgia Schemmenti are exactly who would expect Melissa’s parents to be. Giorgia shares suspicion openly on her face, Arturo, on the other hand, has a resting smile. You think in the moment, you’ve got them figured out, but the way they unblinkingly look when you speak terrifies you, as if they’re analyzing every breath you take and every twitch of your hand. Silent prayers from both you and Melissa ask they don’t realize you were forced to wear one of her shirts, having arrived to her place in an ancient sweatshirt from your backseat.

You answer every question they ask you, although confused on the need to grill you so closely. What do you do for work? How many siblings? Ever gotten a speeding ticket? How’s your relationship with your parents? Do you have any sexually transmitted diseases? Thoughts on Reagan? Ever cheated on one of your past partners? MRI technician, sir. Two brothers. Twice, one on my way to school, one on my way to the hospital for my grandmother. Not great, I guess? No, ma’am, I get tested every two months. Hope he’s in hell. No, God, no.

“Lord, you two, let up. We haven’t even gotten the tzatziki yet,” Melissa says, laying the drinks menu down on the table.

“Just trynna get to know your friend, Meli,” Arturo turns his attention to you, “swear, all the girl does is talk about you, and I still know nothing.” The ringed hand at the edge of the table clenches, knuckles white.

You just shrug, “afraid I’m not that interesting.” I’m just a friend.

You miss how Melissa looks at you, brows turned up as she glimpses your sad smile. However, you feel a warm hand go to your thigh, squeezing gently. When her parents' attention diverts to a large party walking in, she whispers in your ear, “I don’t like when you talk about yourself like that, you’re very interesting. Should know, I’ve studied every inch of you for hours.”

It takes a deep breath and every ounce of strength to not wiggle in your seat. Reprieve comes in the shape of a definitely stoned server, lucky bastard, and reprieve is taken away when he tells you that food may be a little delayed due to the rush. Melissa’s parents nod with understanding, you nod with fear bubbling. A delay means longer here, with Melissa’s hand on your thigh with her parents speaking about everything and nothing from across the table.

It’s getting harder and harder to focus with Melissa’s fingers drawing little patterns over your jeans, skin burning beneath her touch. Peering over at her, you can see an almost-hidden mark from early, the easy smile on her lips as she talks to her dad, she’s perfect in your eyes. In this lighting, it’s hard to look away from her, orange-hued lights making her look golden.

Rising from your chair, you just give a quiet, “I’ll be right back.” You turn to walk towards the restrooms, desperate for space away from judging hazel and green eyes across the table. Melissa watches your direction, excusing herself too, following where you disappeared under the sign reading τουαλέτα.

In the short hallway, she grabs your wrist before you enter the door, pulling you to the family room to the right. Locking the door, she places her hands on your hips, “are they freaking you out? I’ll tell them to knock it off, or we can go, say you’re on call or something.”

“No,” you say, place your palms against her shoulders, “it’s just overwhelming, all the questions, your dad asking for my credit score, I don’t know.”

“You didn’t have to tell him,” she chuckles, hands dipping to your ass.

You shiver from her touch, leaning into her, “it’s a good score, though.”

“It is,” you barely hear her words as she presses her lips to yours, all the energy from earlier still running through her veins. Your hands slide down her arms to her hips, pushing her back towards the sink. We’ve been here before.

Hopping up, she settles against the porcelain and opens her legs to let you stand between them. Keeping your lips on hers, you quickly unbutton her jeans, forcing the zipping down. You know her like the back of your hand at this point, know how to touch her to make her writhe and release around your fingers, you’re utterly devoted to her pleasure.

The previously ruined orgasm comes back quickly with full force, her clenching around you quickly. Her lips leave yours, shoving her face into your shoulder to mute her moans. Lips brushing the shell of her ear, you circle your thumb over her clit and whisper, “God, you are so beautiful. C’mon, baby, cum for me.”

Teeth chomp into your shoulder as her writhing becomes erratic against your hand before slowing as she relaxes against you. Her breathing evens out, quicker than you expect, her face becoming unreadable as it lifts from its hiding place. Surprisingly, she stays silently leaned against you as you wash your hands, letting you fix her hair before you fix your own.

Arturo and Giorgia seemingly notice nothing, believing the excuse of a busy line, one visible from your seats. If they don’t believe you, they don’t give anything away, though their questions ease up once the food comes. It must be a Schemmenti thing to be quiet for the first few bites of food, taking in every flavor. It’s endearing.

Both Schemmenti’s hug you, to even more surprise, telling you how delightful it was to put a face to a commonly brought up name. Melissa pinches the bridge of her nose before hugging her mother, mumbling something to the woman before embracing her father.

The entire drive back to her house, you can’t find it in you to speak, too lost in thought. Melissa talks about you, often, often enough that her parents wanted to meet you. Why would they question you so much, especially if you’re just their daughter’s friend? Wanting to know about your ‘past’ relationships, as opposed to what, your… current one? It hits you embarrassingly late, as Melissa pulls into the driveway: her parents think she’s talking about you because she’s dating you, and think she just hasn’t officially told them. All you can do is turn and look at her, bewildered.

Hand on the key in the ignition, Melissa turns and looks at you, “I don’t know about you, but I’m exha- What?” When she doesn’t get an answer, her face screws with worry, “what’s wrong, baby?”

Blinking rapidly, you scan over her face, “you talk about me to your parents.”

“Well I’m with you a lot, it's natural to talk about you,” she says like it’s obvious, turning off the car.

“Enough that your parents wanted to meet me, know about my family and dating history?”

Her face hardens, and you wish you’d never spoken, her voice demands respect “well, they got the wrong idea. Being nosy is in their blood, being right isn’t.”

“Okay,” you’re exasperated.

“You and I, this isn’t a relationship, no expectations, no attachments. Just good, old-fashioned sex between friends,” Melissa says slowly, brow raised, “capisce?”

“Yeah…Capisce,” you say, stepping out of the car, pulling your keys from your pocket.

“What are you doing?” Melissa says, realizing you aren’t behind her as she goes to the front door.

You turn and face her, standing in the open car door, “I’m going home. You want no attachments, I can’t give that to you anymore.”

She steps down from the bottom step, “Baby-”

“Don’t. I don’t want you to be in something you don’t want, you want casual, Melissa. Stress relief,” her eyes dart to you at the wording, your eyes look down to your feet, “what I feel for you, it’s beyond that, beyond what you want me to feel.”

“You don’t know what I want,” she gets closer, hand reaching for you, but you brush her off.

“I’m all you want until I want you.” When she doesn’t reply, you sit and close the door, pulling out of the driveway with Melissa staring where you’d stood.

—☽—

Two weeks of radio silence. This is the longest in the near year you’ve spent with Melissa where you haven’t seen one another. Last time it was four days after you brought up a date for the second time, six days before that when she found out that Kristen Marie called you when she was drunk and needed a ride home from God-knows-where, begging you to not tell Melissa, accidentally blurting it herself.

You wish you didn’t miss her, her laugh, the smell of eucalyptus shampoo, her touch, her eyes, her hands, her smile, her little dance when she takes food out of the oven. She was all that surrounded you for so long, it’s all you know. It feels wrong to be without her, but it hurts to think about her. Salt entered the wound when Shauna dared to mention Melissa going on a date with some vending machine guy, immediate regret when you got up and left soon after. You're thankful to not hear of him again.

Another week passes, and as a month gets closer to passing, the hole in your chest has yet to heal over. Your phone buzzes next to you where you blankly watch the documentary that was playing.

From Shauna: i fucked up. apologies to ur door in advance

To Shauna: thank u for the context

From Shauna: i poked the ginger bear

From Shauna: by poked i mean chewed out

To Shauna: again, i fear the context has yet to appear

From Shauna: yelled at ur ex-mommy for treating you like a toy from spencers

To Shauna: i’ll pass on your apology to my door in my will

Comedic timing is a very real thing, hard knocking on your door, clearly both fists meeting the wood.

Ripping the door open, you stare down a tired-eyed, yet irate, Melissa, “unnecessary. I have a buzzer.”

“And I have a Cost-Co card,” she says, pushing her way into your home.

“What are you doing here?”

Hands on her hips, she turns and faces you, “your- I’d say our, but not right now- your friend just chewed me a new one about leading you on. Leading you on?! As if we didn’t have an arrangement, no feelings, just sex.”

“An agreement that I ended! Because I got feelings! It wasn’t just sex for me, it stopped being just sex a long time ago,” you never thought you’d be raising your voice at her like this, “I tried to tell you, all those dates I offered, everything I’ve ever said to you, I meant all of it. And what do I get? No, baby, we’re casual. So, I tapped out.”

“Because we were casual! There’s supposed to be no feelings here!”

“Then how’s that vending machine guy, huh? He’s been having conversations with just your tits for months, and he got a date, but where is he now?” She flounders. “Did you take him home? Or try?” She nods imperceptibly. “I would bet my whole life savings on the fact he probably couldn’t even get you wet, let alone make you cum. How right am I?”

Her lips tremble, “that’s not the point.”

“Just a question, needs an answer.” Melissa shakes her head, confirming your suspicions. “Why are you actually here, Melissa?”

Emerald eyes look into yours, emotion swirling through them as she asks quietly, “do you still have feelings for me?”

You won’t lie, you never can with her, “haven’t wavered once.”

Carefully, Melissa steps slowly into your space, hands coming to your sides, “I’m stupid. So fucking stupid. I thought all I wanted was sex, but when you left and I tried to just make myself… move on. It didn’t feel the same, being alone doesn’t feel the same. It’s so stupid and cliché and stupid that it took you leaving me to realize… Fuck, I feel like a Jane Austen character.”

Weary hands rise to her face, holding her with a special reverence, “I need to hear you say it.” The magnetic pull between you brings you into her, lips only an inch from her own.

Fingers grip your shirt, “I… I love you. I have since you told the Jehovah’s Witnesses to eat a bag of locusts and ass on Christmas Eve.”

The little smile that plays on her lips, clearly picturing the memory, it heals something in you. Brushing your lips against hers, you mumble, “I love you, too. ”

The kiss she presses to your lips is so different from any other you’d shared, but the desperation brings you back to that first night in the bathroom. Tongues graze, and a fire is ignited. Spinning her, you walk her back towards your bedroom, a place she’s only been twice in the last year.

Falling as her knees hit the bed, she takes you with her, and you gladly take your place. Just as the last time you were with her, you straddle her waist, continuing to kiss her with all the emotion you can express. Ringed fingers tug at your shirt, begging for contact. You don’t deny her, nor yourself, pulling her shirt off of her after yours, both lost on the floor. Jeans fly to meet them soon after.

Lips, tongue, and teeth clash as you fall into the feeling of each other’s skin. Moving down, you nip at her neck, sucking roughly on her pulse point to leave a mark. You continue your mission down her chest, leaving red splotches across her breasts. Always so sensitive, Melissa arches into your affections, groaning when your tongue swirls around her nipple, leaving a string of saliva that connects you to it as you pull away.

Shifting lower and lower, giving her abdomen attention, soft kisses trailing down. Your lips trail over silvery stretch marks, following as they lead you to her plush thighs. Teeth wrap around the waistband of her thong, eyes glancing to her as a silent request of permission.

“Please, baby,” her voice airy and whiny as she basks in the affection you so readily give her.

Pulling down her thong, tossing it to the side, your eyes fall to her pussy. Lips blooming in arousal, clit swollen, begging for a touch it hasn’t received in too long. You press a gentle kiss to her pearl, hearing another whine pass her lips, hips bucking slightly for you.

How you missed her. Your tongue licks up her slit, gathering the wetness that accumulated there, dancing up around her clit. A divine taste so feminine, so uniquely Melissa, you moan into her as you grip her thighs, working your tongue into her opening. Dusty purple nails dig into your hand, and you flip your wrist to interlock your fingers, feeling her squeeze tightly.

Your tongue leaves her, much to her dismay. Blown out eyes follow your reach to the nightstand, a clear bottle of lube procured. Your lips press to hers again as you spread the lube across your fingers and lower your hand to her entrance, replacing the contact of your tongue. Throaty moans leave her lips, more, please. Slowly, your ring finger joins the middle, allowing her a moment to adjust before quickening your motions, moaning yourself at the feeling of her cunt gripping your fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” you say against her lips, “so beautiful.” Teeth pull at her bottom lip, making her groan into your mouth, kiss going sloppy.

“I- oh- I love you,” Melissa answers through a moan, grinding against your thumb on her sensitive bud. A particular curl of your fingers makes her silently scream, soothed by your gentle mouthing of her neck.

Your index finger lines with her slit, “can you take more?”

She nods quickly, forcing your lips back to hers as a third finger stretches slowly, moans turning squeaky. All you can hear is the airy moans and the wetness of her pussy taking your fingers, sparking a warmth in your lower stomach. You can feel how close she is, how her walls refuse to let go, how her eyes flutter as they roll back.

In a sudden moment, your fingers stop, pulling from her. Her head snaps up, eyes immediately on you, “what are you doing?” God, the glassy look in your eyes almost breaks your heart.

“Hold on, gorgeous,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to her chest. Leaning over to the nightstand again, still straddling Melissa’s waist as her hands hold yours, you blindly reach into the drawer, searching for a familiar object. Finding the small, flat toy, you sit back against her, holding it to her eye level. Catching your drift, she nods, legs widening as she sits up slightly against the headboard.

Pressing the vibrator against her thigh, you turn it to the middle setting, feeling her jump a little at the sensation. Slowly, you slide it closer to her clit, using your free hand to slide one of her legs till it’s propped up. Lowering yourself, you press your clit against the top of the toy, keeping it pressed between your heat and hers, both of you moaning in unison.

Rolling your hips, a breathless moan leaves you, ducking your head as your eyes close in ecstasy. Sharp nails dig into your ass, pulling you down further, moans crescendoing. It feels like you’re too far from her, immediately dropping to press your lips to hers in open-mouthed kisses, whining against her lips as she holds you to her. Using her thigh for leverage, you use your own leg to press harder to her cunt, rolling against her in a way that forces her teeth into your shoulder.

The strong vibration against your clit and Melissa’s presence alone has you holding on by a thread, and from the way the redhead is holding onto you, you know she is too. Putting your weight fully on your right hand, your left grabs Melissa’s, tangling your fingers together. Her lips move languidly across yours, tongue dancing with yours rather than fighting for dominance, something she never did before. The emotions of it all and the coil snapping in your stomach, your forehead drops to her shoulder, panting as you feel your climax approach.

“Baby, ple-oh-please,” the hand creating crescent-shaped dents in your back shifts to your hair.

“I gotchu, let go for me,” your teeth tug at her earlobe, “cum for me, beautiful.”

A final, hard roll of your hips sets you both alight, moaning as you cum in tandem.

Both of you squirm as the toy works against you still. Lifting off her, you remove the toy from its place against her, turning it off and placing it on the nightstand to be dealt with later. Lowering yourself, you come face to face with her pussy, swollen and wet and beautiful. With gentle strokes, you lick her clean, taking your time to savor her taste.

Melissa’s husky moans spur you on, lapping up to her sensitive clit. Barely suckling on the nub has her tensing again, her grip on you doesn’t let you go far, not that you were planning on it regardless. She cums on your tongue, giving you a taste once more. Sweet decadence.

Easing your way back up with loving kisses up her body, laying on your side next to her, chest to chest. Your legs stay tangled together, no space exists between you.

The hand not in hers rises to her face, pushing loose, wild hair away, caressing her cheek. Melissa turns her head to press a kiss to your thumb, her own hand coming to your wrist.

“I love you,” she says, “I really, really do.”

You stroke her cheek again, “I love you, too.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you how I did,” her eyes water, “I don’t have any excuses. I’m just so sorry, baby.”

“Well, we’ve got all the time you want with me to make it up to me,” you say, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

She smiles weakly, “I want all the time with you.”

Your lips press to her lips this time, “then that’s what you get.” Leaning across you, Melissa puts herself on your lap, her favorite place to sit. Face hovering above yours for only a moment, she tucks herself into the crook of your neck, keeping her weight on top of you.

Sticky with sweat, the scent of sex around you, the tracing of nails up and down your sides, dancing over your ribs. Nothing has changed and everything has. You have always been Melissa’s, she has always been yours, now you finally have each other. Warm breath over your neck evens out, the lost sleep and recently lost energy catching up to her. You, however, you are invigorated.

For the first time in a year, you get to hold your Melissa.

kudos to anyone that can find all the song references and the singular lisa ann reference that is so small u will miss it

as towa bird says: scissor your friends!

feed back appreciated as always <3

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #lgbtq fanfiction #lesbian #lgbtq

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lirational · 7 months ago

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Purity and Pretense

Fallen Angel!Shalom x Reader

Note: Drabble inspired from this post by @sinful-lanterns

Warnings: Religious themes, slight prayer-blasphemg that doesn’t come from existing religions, fingering, and oral.

—

Deprivation fuels desire, emboldens curiosity, and entices even the innocent to sink into the abyss.

Purity, said to be a gift left within each human soul as the Creator sculpts them from stardust and hopes, a mirror that reflects how their souls were infused with the Creator’s wishes. With it, each human was allowed the chance to shine, to chase the sun, the symbol of the Creator, and kneel in reverence, the chance to reflect Their radiance being the only promised reward.

A gift that allows access to a reward that may well be illusionary. Perhaps it would be more fitting to call it a curse, a shackle that deprives the human soul from possibilities hiding within the dark.

As you kneeled on the stone floor, once clean clothes now tattered and stained with evidence of the sins you chose to embrace, your eyes focus on the fallen angel sitting on the stone altar in front of you, her gaze chaining you to the floor. Even though she, your master, has fallen from grace, with her wings no longer pure white, stained in graying black and glowing blue, she was still the epitome of beauty and grace, refinement and power.

“Offer your prayer, little one, or have you fallen so far you lost your reason?”

“Please, Shalom, I can’t do this anymore. I need, I need–”

Your body quivered, desire permeating each word. No longer were you able to hold onto any shred of sanity, your body begging, begging, craving for a taste of the ambrosia she would allow you to indulge as you were pleasing her.

“Offer your prayer, then. Go on, call the Creator, let Them bless and witness the pleasure of life you were about to partake in.”

Her voice drips with promise, honeyed enticement and tainted radiance that pulls– no, spurs your body to crawl closer. You were close, so close, the scent and taste of her lingering in the air just beneath her robes. A dry swallow, all from the sweet fragrance that was so close, and there, you pressed your head to the floor in reverent prayer, then, you took the final step, before you fell into the abyss.

“Oh, our Creator, ruler of the skies above,”

Perhaps it was proof that the place was once a holy one meant to worship, as each word tumbled from your lips, it echoed through the ruined halls, and Shalom drank each word, eyes gleaming in desire at the sincere plea. Despite everything, despite how she saw the human kneeling before her had almost drowned, their purity clouded with unending, insatiable thirst, the power behind the belief to the Creator still fuels their prayer, power intertwined between each syllable.

“Thy name the most sacred– ah!” Shalom had moved from her seating position, and then, a sharp pain on your ass. She had moved away from her seat, and thanks to her strike, a stinging pain interrupted your thoughts.

“I don’t recall telling you to stop.”

“-may thy sovereign rule last forevermore. From the firmament above, to–” another strike, to your unmarred butt cheek this time, and you barely remembered to continue, “-to the lands below, thy will be done.”

A cold, almost loving caress of fingers to your stinging cheeks, and your words died in your throat. She punished you with another spank, and another as you opened your mouth. “Nourish our–”

The feeling of a slap to the aching bud between your legs almost caused you to lose all train of thoughts, tears streaming down your face and seeping into the stone floors below. Again, you stopped.

“Remember my order, pet, I won’t remind you again.”

“Nourish our souls, give the traces of our marred sins a thorough cleanse.”

Shalom licked your earlobe, giving it a quick nibble. With a whisper, she reminded you, “From today, as your soul and your purity sinks to the abyss, you belong to me.”

Selfish, selfish and full of want, such was the nature of fallen angels, creatures made of light created to serve, to praise and sing and echo the name of the Creator across everything Their will reaches. After the fall, their love of worship were twisted, corrupted, and mirrored into a void of want that will never be satisfied, perhaps a manifested dark side of always being the one to give, bend over, and praise a thing that could not even bother to truly cherish the beings They claimed to love most.

“Look at me, look at me like you would look at that Creator,” she hissed the last word, full of disdain that her refined visage would have never revealed before. “Praise me, love me, and call my name, and you will want for nothing.”

“Bestow us the will,” you continued, “to for–,” a finger slipped into your sopping wet folds, stopping in time as your breath hitched at the intrusion, “to forgive, and– mmh!” another joined in, scissoring motions causing your thighs to quiver, your will scattering everywhere as the hunger for Shalom’s touch felt sharper.

“Wrong, repeat the line,” She chided, her movements stopped, waiting for you to fulfill her order.

In that moment, you had surrendered your dignity, your place, your connection to a promise that might never have seen any fulfillment, all to the true, honest, and pure pleasure that you had seen, felt, and sensed with your very flesh.

“To forgive, the way I– no, the way we all shall be forgiven under–”

A gentle, sharp press at that sweet spot had you clenching, almost stumbling in your words as you barely hung on to the order she gave you, “forgiven under the eternal grace.”

“Excellent.” Shalom was still moving her fingers in and out, her lazy movements stimulating you all the same. The pad of her thumb pressed and rubbed circles onto your sensitive nub, eliciting noises that painted the pure prayer with tainted cries. “Come, just a little more, just a little more and you will be rewarded.”

You obey, with glee, not caring even as all traces of your devotion was subsumed, corrupted into a need to worship the beautiful angel in front of you. There was nothing more to desire than to follow your angel, your goddess, even as you both sunk into the endless dark, or would it be more accurate to soar to higher heights?

After all, the pleasure mounting in your veins, gathering in your lower belly, felt as pleasing, as free as soaring on the skies.

“When desires– ah, –lead us astray, we beg–”

Unbeknownst to you, Shalom allowed herself a small smile at the irony.

“We beg for the Creator’s deliverance, as–”

“Slow down.”

You were close, so close, and it took the skin of your teeth to take a deep, shuddering breath. Shalom was teasing you, that much was clear, but every attempt to press yourself closer, to finally break in sweet bliss, was denied, replaced by the inferior pleasure of her orders and praise. “Continue, properly this time.”

“For this is thy domain, thy glory and power–”

You shivered, she was brushing close to that sweet spot again. As each word left your trembling lips, the pleasure only heightens.

“That nothing shall eclipse.”

With that final word, you shattered, broken apart as your juices dripped down from your thighs, her fingers, and splattered into the floors. With a filthy, wet noise, Shalom withdrew her fingers and took her seat on the altar, exposing her clit. An invitation to partake while she licked her fingers, tongue swirling to savor your essence.

“Good girl, now, come, take your reward,” she said in-between licks.

As you lapped at her folds, her eyes held your attention, savoring the utter obedience once reserved for gods.

#path to nowhere #path to nowhere x reader #path to nowhere headcanons #ptn x reader #ptn shalom x reader

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jessamine-rose · 3 months ago

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⋆˚♱ଘ Phantom Pain ଓ♱˚⋆

When I wrote the first fic of my Yandere Church AU, I never expected it to expand into a whole series. Now it’s time for Cartaphilus! Dainsleif x Yandere! Demon! Reader………and yes, Dain is the darling in this fic ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

I hope y’all enjoy their twisted story and the cameos to my previous fics!! Special thanks to my beta-reader @diodellet, @brynn-lear who helped me with Dain’s characterization, and all of my mutuals who listened to my brainrot~

Tw:: YANDERE, psychological trauma, blood, graphic violence, death, stalking, dubcon, noncon, mention of nsfw, MDNI, please take note of all of these warnings

Notes:: Female reader, FICTIONAL depictions of religion, inspired by Cartaphilus from The Ancient Magus’ Bride, I’m sorry Dain (*´꒳`*)

♡ 7.3k words under the cut ♡

♡ Among God’s creations, His favorite is granted a special fate. Though all lives end in death, only humanity is blessed with salvation and afterlife. Those who live righteously may thus ascend to Heaven, whereas sinners are condemned to eternal suffering in Hell. There is, however, one exception—a fragment of humanity whose sins may never be forgiven.

♡ Legends speak of Khaenri’ah, the nation of sinners. Once the pride of humankind, its citizens challenged God through their creations in alchemy and technology—and the entire nation was subsequently destroyed in a sea of flames. In the wake of the Cataclysm, pollen from the Tree of Life rained down upon the survivors, afflicting them with their final punishment, immortality.

♡ Since then, Khaenri’ahns have roamed the mortal plane in a perpetual state of living. Denied a place in Heaven and Hell, they are cursed to live forever no matter what harm befalls their body and psyche. Due to their wicked reputation, they must also live in fear of their once-fellow humans, lest they face persecution. For this reason, eternity differs among Khaenri’ahns.

♡ After the Cataclysm, the survivors scattered across Teyvat. Many established secret communities to preserve their culture and find solace in companionship. Others settled in foreign nations, periodically assuming new identities to evade suspicion. And a few became travelers, moving from place to place with no home to call their own.

♡ One such traveler is Dainsleif. After failing to prevent the destruction of his nation, he began an endless journey around Teyvat. His initial goal was to protect his fellow survivors and seek a cure for their curse. But as Khaenri’ah faded from memory, so did its people. Many succumbed to pain, madness, violence—and despite his best efforts, Dainsleif was unable to save any of them. In the perpetual meantime of a cruel eternity, all he could do was travel onwards, clinging to a thread of hope.

♡ That all changes when he wanders into the ruins of an ancient temple, 300 years after the Cataclysm. Had he known it was a place of worship, Dainsleif would have camped outside. But the structure is abandoned, inconspicuous, a perfect shelter against the ongoing storm. So he goes inside, lighting the way with his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. And only when he meets you does he realize he’d set foot in unholy ground.

♡ A pattern glows on the floor—a summoning circle he’d unknowingly stepped into, concealed with splatters of dried blood. From it, a winged figure emerges in a burst of light and slams him against the cracked tiles. Dizzily, he registers a strong hand pressing down on his neck, an aura of overwhelming divinity, a brilliant glare that strikes fear into his very soul.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Ah, let’s see. Just when I thought this place had succumbed to the elements, who has the insolence to summon me?”

In your divine presence, Dainsleif can only look up and take in your inhuman features. Sharp talons. Four wings with silvery black-and-gray feathers, resembling an eagle’s plumage. A single horn jutting from the left side of your head. Eyes as bright as miniature suns.

A demon. How in the world did he summon a demon?

He glances at the sigil etched on the floor. From what he knows of these rituals, they are only successful if specific instructions are followed and the demon’s true name is uttered. Was it because he used Khaenri’ahn sorcery within the summoning circle?

He meets your gaze. “I never intended—”

Your eyes widen. “Oh?”

Still gripping his neck, you lift him up and brush the loose strands of hair away from his face. The action uncovers his eyes, bright blue with pupils shaped like four-pointed stars.

“A Khaenri’ahn?”

At this point, Dainsleif doesn’t know what to do. He struggles in your grasp, only to stop when your talons dig into his skin. Your gaze remains locked onto his.

Slowly, your lips curve into a fanged smile.

“And such a pretty one at that.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Somehow, Dainsleif’s curse has saved him from your wrath. Still, he remains vigilant as you put him down and demand to hear his life story—why, when you have already glimpsed his soul? Reluctantly, he tells you everything from his previous life to the circumstances that brought him to your temple. Once he is finished, you allow him to stay in your temple until the storm ends.

♡ As you move, he notices a trio of jagged scars on your body—one on each shoulder, another one between your first pair of wings. He makes no mention of it, however, and instead asks for your identity. In response to that, you give him an enigmatic smile, whisper your true name, and promptly disappear. The only proof of your encounter is the dark bruise around Dainsleif’s neck.

♡ He doesn’t sleep well. At the crack of dawn, he gets up and does a quick exploration of the temple ruins. From the looks of it, it could be thousands of years old. There are sculpted images of suns, beasts, and paradises. The bloodstained floor implies a violent end for the previous intruders—or was it from your official summoning rituals? At any rate, one thing is clear: You are a powerful demon, one who was previously worshiped as a false god.

♡ He leaves after sunrise, relieved to have survived the ordeal…only for your paths to cross a few days later. And the week after that. Again and again. Most of the time, you appear out of nowhere, invisible to everyone except for Dainsleif. Other times, your presence manifests in a stray feather, inhuman shadows, the persistent feeling that he is being watched.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Oh, hello, Dain. Did you enjoy your drink?”

“...What have you done?”

In the dark alley, your bloody visage is a terrifying sight. A human is passed out at your feet, their arm covered in deep scratches and blackened veins.

Dainsleif takes a step back. That person…isn’t that the drunkard who tried to start a fight with him at the tavern?

A sinister smile appears on your face. “Don’t worry, I just cast a little curse on them.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ He doesn’t know what to make of his situation. In Khaenri’ah, demons were perceived as wicked creatures that lead humanity down the path of sin. You have yet to harm him, unless your plan is to lull him into a false sense of security first. It would certainly explain your frequent visits, your honeyed words, your cheerful demeanor around him.

♡ During your encounters, he asks you questions. As it turns out, it is difficult to find information on you. Humans usually refer to a specific demon by their title, so your true name is only useful when he is addressing you. You don’t reveal much about yourself, apart from the fact that your current role in Hell is torturing the souls of deceased sinners.

♡ The answer is found in the Sumeru Akademiya. The House of Daena has a forbidden archive that includes grimoires, research on spiritual beings, as well as related literature. It doesn’t take long for him to find the hidden room. As he examines the bookshelves, he notices a few written records of Khaenri’ah, all of which depict his people in a negative light.

♡ He begins with a book about the celestial hierarchy. According to the writer, there are nine ranks of angels and only the Second Order, the Cherubim, have two pairs of eagle wings. They also have four heads—human, lion, ox, eagle…and in the accompanying illustration, the animal heads are located in the exact same place as your scars.

♡ Next is the grimoire of Il Dottore. He flips through the section dedicated to demons, skimming the notes and sigils. There is the Puppeteer, the Fair Lady, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge whom Dottore formed a pact with, and so on. Finally, he comes across a familiar sigil.

The Beheaded Cherub

-True name: ______

-Created in the ███ Era, fell from grace in the ██████ Era

-Basic status: 1 head (human), 1 set of fangs (lion), 1 horn (ox), 2 pairs of wings and 10 talons (harpy eagle)

-One of the most powerful demons in Hell by virtue of her previous rank and her prominence in human cognizance. She was once venerated as a false god by the Temple of Light.

-Prior to her descent, she was called “the Beast of Beatitude.” █████ says her divine punishment was the loss of her animal heads and the development of her beastly traits.

-A unique specimen. It is a pity that I could not obtain a sample of her. If we meet again, more insight can be gained into the mental faculties of a fallen Cherub.

♡ The next page has an illustration drawn from memory. It’s you. An ornate choker protects your neck, and your expression is one of wrath. There is also a report of Dottore’s encounter with you: He’d trapped the Puppeteer via exorcism and obtained one of his wings. Before he could do worse, you suddenly appeared and rescued Scaramouche. Dottore theorized that you left without attacking him because you saw the Cherub’s skeleton in his laboratory.

♡ That book leads Dainsleif down a rabbit hole of texts. Historical records of the Temple of Light. Literary depictions of “the Beheaded Cherub.” The sketchbook of an artist whose muses were demons. Reports of mysterious curses that manifested in pain and disfigurement. All of those sources point to you.

♡ Well, one thing is clear: He is doomed. It’s bad enough that he is dealing with a spiritual being, what more a powerful one. It is at this moment that he senses your presence behind him.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Hello, Dain. I see you’ve figured out who I am.”

This time, he doesn’t look at you. “You never told me of your appetite for humans. Just how many were sacrificed for the Temple of Light’s offerings?”

Silence. Dainsleif continues to face the desk, closing the book in his hands.

Finally, you answer him. “That was not my command. The Temple of Light was founded by one of my earliest humans. Most of their beliefs and rituals were his own ideas, believe it or not.”

“And where is he now? Is he one of those sinners that you are so fond of torturing?”

He can imagine the sight behind him: You, in all of your demonic glory, casting large shadows against the walls. It is easy to reconcile your image with your sinister depictions.

“No,” you reply. “Once a human dies, all of their pacts are broken. As such, I have no reason to maintain ties with my former humans, especially the one who gave me such a wretched title. I let my coworkers handle their punishments.”

“And do you intend to make a deal with me as well?”

It is the only rational explanation he can think of.

“Wrong again. As a matter of fact, demons cannot form pacts with Khaenri’ahns, hence our indifference to your kind. What use is there for a soul that will never enter Hell?”

Dainsleif glances at the Lesser Key of Deshret. According to that source, most humans sought you out for the purpose of cursing their enemies.

He turns around. “Let me ask you this. Why are you following me?”

In the candlelight, your gaze has never looked more intense. “Is it not enough to say that I am mesmerized by you?”

The look he gives you is one of pure doubt.

You stand in front of him, touching his half-mask.

“I saw it all, Dainsleif,” you tell him, “when I looked into your soul. Your righteousness as the Twilight Sword, your perseverance after the Cataclysm, the hope you’ve clung to for all these centuries…I find it all so fascinating.”

He pulls away, glaring. “Is that all? A mere sense of curiosity?”

You smile at him. “Well, there is also your beauty. When I look at you, I can almost understand why humanity is the only creation which God deemed perfect.”

“Your flattery is as banal as it is unwarranted,” he scoffs. Stepping aside, he tidies up the desk and returns the books to their shelves. “I have never received the favor of God in the past. I don't see any reason I would need yours now or in the future, either.”

That is when you burst into laughter.

“Are you sure about that? Believe me, Dain, I have a lot to offer.”

As you push him against the wall, your expression becomes deathly serious.

“Two centuries ago,” you whisper, “a Khaenri’ahn was burned at the stake in Fontaine. She survived, of course, but was left with scars that will never heal. Another one encountered the wrong group of heretics and, to this day, his body is being used for their rituals.”

“I…” Dread pools up in his stomach. Does he know those individuals?

“And just last year, I heard the Church of Snezhnaya discovered a community of Khaenri’ahns and buried everyone alive. They’re all trapped underground, barely conscious. But even if they are freed, I doubt their bodies could still function after being deprived of nutrients for so long.”

Snezhnaya…are you talking about the one led by Pierro?

“Oh, and how could I forget?” You lean closer, your eyes reflecting Dainsleif’s agonized face. “Long before the Cataclysm, the Tree of Life disappeared from the human realm. Nobody, not even the angels, knows if it still exists. What more for the Khaenri’ahns who dedicated their eternity to searching for it?”

No.

If the Tree of Life is gone…

Does that mean there is truly no way to break the curse?

At this point, Dainsleif is trembling. “______, please tell me you are—mph!”

There is nothing gentle about your kiss. The back of his head hits the wall, and his mask falls to the floor. When he tries to resist, you capture his wrists in an iron grip.

It’s too much. Panicking, he resorts to his Khaenri’ahn sorcery but the galaxy-like aura is easily extinguished by your radiant light. You spread your wings, caging him in silvery feathers. Sharp fangs graze his bottom lip. He can’t do anything. He has to call for help—

Footsteps echo outside the room.

Just as quickly as the idea comes to mind, Dainsleif falls silent. What is he thinking? What if the scholar sees his cursed marks and realizes he is a Khaenri’ahn?

He stays still, praying the door remains locked. When the footsteps recede, he slumps against the wall.

His relief isn’t lost on you. Pulling away, you trace the blue veins and black marks on his face. A sinful smile plays on your lips.

“Do you understand, darling? No one, not even God, will save you.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ After that revelation, Dainsleif continues to wander Teyvat. But he does so aimlessly, in your company. There are attempts to ward you off—religious objects, carefully-worded negotiations, a few hours spent inside a church—but all end in your amused reactions. It becomes routine for you to meet him every few days, providing Mora for his expenses and information on the places he visits.

♡ Your threats are no laughing matter. Thankfully, your violence never exceeds the severity of your first meeting. A strong grip on his hand. Talons playfully tracing his cursed marks. There is that time you swooped in, picked him up, and threatened to drop him off a cliff for trying to hide from you…then you later brushed it off as an empty threat.

♡ You’re also very affectionate, if such a word can be used to describe a demon. At one point, you begin leaving gifts for him—a new cloak, bejeweled hairpins, gems in the same shade of blue as his eyes. He tries to decline your gifts on the basis of practicality but you’re difficult to persuade. Moreover, he keeps finding your stray feathers on his clothes.

♡ Then there is the matter of your physical intimacy. By now, Dainsleif is used to your kisses and cuddles. The worst part is when your hands wander, when you defile his body after sundown, when his resistance crumbles into moans and tears. Those nights always end in his skin tainted with love bites, teeth marks, light scratches. Thankfully, you are unable to brand him with your sigil though that doesn’t stop you from longingly biting the back of his neck.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“______, that’s enough.”

“Hmm?” You press another kiss to his shoulder. “What did you say?”

He gives you a tired look. “I need to sleep.”

Just how unending is a demon’s stamina? It’s past midnight, and he doubts he will be able to leave the bed later. Perhaps he can ask the innkeeper for an extension.

“All right.” You pull the blankets over the two of you. Then you wrap your arms around him, keeping him close. “I’ll give you enough Mora for a week’s stay.”

He lies on his side, staring at the wall. “You don’t have to.”

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep. In a few minutes, your grip loosens and all Dainsleif can hear is his own breathing. Carefully, he turns over to face you.

…He never knows how to deal with you after your depravity has been exhausted. You’re always gentle as you clean him up and cuddle him in bed. When you sleep, you are no different from a corpse. No sounds, no movements, a neutral expression on your face.

Sighing, he shifts to a more comfortable position and closes his eyes.

When he wakes up, you are gone. Your side of the bed is still warm.

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ A few years later, you decide to accompany Dainsleif in a different form. It all starts when he meets a fellow traveler in Mondstadt. They’d camped in the same forest and it was hard to ignore them, especially when they asked for his help. In the end, Dainsleif relented and they explored the forest together. He thought it would be safe since you never visit him on Sundays.

♡ He leaves the forest the next morning, after agreeing to lunch at a nearby tavern. But when he arrives, he finds his acquaintance being restrained and dragged into a medical vehicle. They are absolutely feral, but most alarming are the wounds on their face. Before they pass out, Dainsleif makes eye contact with them and notices an indigo glint in their eyes.

♡ A waiter fills him in on what happened: His acquaintance suddenly went mad, made a mess in the tavern, and ran straight into a mirror. When Dainsleif visits them at the clinic, they are visibly disoriented, claiming they didn’t know what came over them. They are escorted home a few days later, their face covered in scars, and Dainsleif never sees them again.

♡ The next day, he is strolling around Mondstadt City when a familiar pair of arms wraps around him. He muffles a gasp and turns around to give you a subtle glare—have you forgotten that he is in public?—only to stop when he sees you. Your demonic features are gone, and you are wearing traveler’s attire. Moreover, the surrounding humans can also see you.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“So, darling, do you like my human guise?”

The smile hasn’t left your face. It’s natural, considering the fact that Dainsleif is the one holding your hand and leading you to a secluded spot.

He lets go of you. “What are you planning now?”

You frown, placing the same hand over your chest. “I just wanted to spend more time with you. It’s no fun when you ignore me in the presence of humans.”

“______.” Your name leaves his lips in an exasperated voice. “How can I be sure that you won’t draw more attention to me?”

“Hey, have more faith in me,” you pout. In this form, you look significantly less imposing. “I’ve used this guise many times in the past. And isn’t it easier for you to interact with me this way, rather than pretend I’m not right in front of you?”

It’s not like any amount of persuasion would work on you.

He sighs. “Well, that’s as good a reason as any. Follow me, then.”

With that, the two of you return to the Market District. Dainsleif orders two chicken-mushroom skewers, not missing the way your eyes sparkle when he asks you if you want anything else.

A few feet away, a Mondstadter casts a flirtatious glance at him. But before they can approach him, you wrap your arm around his waist and scare them off with a fervent glare.

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Your human guise brings about more changes in Dainsleif’s journey, from couple promos to less strangers bothering him. At times, you break away from him to pet wild animals or purchase items for yourself. In those moments, he can’t help but watch you from a distance. Your face is capable of many expressions, he observes, some of which are actually quite nice to look at.

♡ You also continue to share valuable information with him. Once, Dainsleif picks up a book entitled Molten Moment. In the foreword, the author claimed that it was based on the life of a demon they’d formed a pact with. Not only did you confirm the truth to their story, you also stop at a certain chapter. In it, the protagonist spoke to a Power whose true name was of Khaenri’ahn origin.

♡ That is how Dainsleif learns there are angels who look like Khaenri’ahns. They have the same starry eyes and facial features as his people, though God stopped creating them a long time ago. Many of them became demons for opposing the Cataclysm out of personal attachment to Khaenri’ah. And those who remained as angels rarely use their human guise in the present.

♡ And when Dainsleif asks about the Power featured in the book, you give him a sad smile. Then you say something about a fight you lost, sparring sessions, and regular conversations. In the present, however, your encounters with Il Capitano are only a painful reminder that you are “no longer at full strength.”

♡ You also explain that unlike angels, demons typically aren’t close with one another. Though you do mention a pair of younger demons that you took in after their descent. There is a soft look in your eyes every time you talk about Scaramouche and Pantalone, and you like to buy souvenirs for them. In times like this, Dainsleif is reminded of the family he lost, the home he can never return to.

˖⋆‧˚✦

Bright. It’s too bright.

Dainsleif looks up. The sky is crimson, reflecting the sea of flames consuming his homeland.

Beneath him, the ground shatters into fragments. Screams of terror echo in the distance. All around him, he is greeted with chaos and destruction.

Where is Halfdan? What happened to the Royal Guards? How many more people are going to meet their end?

Suddenly, a ray of light shines upon his nation, so bright that it hurts his eyes. What are those particles raining down from the sky?

It burns.

He falls to his knees, coughing. Something is wrong. His body…he raises his right hand and watches in horror as the skin becomes corrupted.

Amidst his pain, all he can think of are the people he failed to protect.

“Dain? Dain, wake up!”

The holy light disappears.

Blearily, Dainsleif opens his eyes to darkness. A hand is on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

“What…?”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Your face comes into view. Gently, you pull him into a sitting position and rub soothing circles on his back. “It was just a dream.”

Another nightmare.

He glances at the window. The night sky is cloudy.

“Take deep breaths,” you continue. Your eyes, shining with a soft radiance, are the only source of light in the room. The tip of your wing brushes against his cheek—was he crying in his sleep?

For once, Dainsleif doesn’t back away from your touch. He leans against you, trying to steady himself, his gaze still fixed on the starless sky.

Hesitantly, you ask, “It was about the Cataclysm, wasn’t it? Do you want to talk about it?”

“...There is no need,” he mumbles. “My dreams are a rarity. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

He draws back, taking note of your worried expression. “Did I startle you?”

“Ah, not really,” you reply. Strands of hair are tangled around your horn, and you comb them out with your fingers. “....Though if I’m going to be honest, a part of me was curious.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Your wings twitch. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just…I’ve always wondered what a nightmare feels like, since I am incapable of dreaming.”

“I see…is that a common trait amongst demons?”

You shake your head. “No. In fact, it’s one of the first abilities a demon gains after their descent. But in the millennia since I’ve been cast out of Heaven, I haven’t had a single dream.”

His gaze drifts to your scars. “Does it have something to do with your divine punishment?”

As soon as you look away, he realizes it was a correct guess.

“Say, darling,” you mutter. “Can you stand the sight of your cursed marks?”

He looks at his right hand. “At one point, I stopped dwelling on it.”

“Well, at least those marks are easy to cover up.”

This time, Dainsleif is the one staring at you.

This isn’t his first time seeing cracks in your demeanor. He has noticed many over the years, from the occasional headache to your wistful gaze directed at eagles flying overhead. Once, you suddenly flinched and touched one of your scars, only to brush it off when he asked about it.

Even if you take pride in your demonic visage, it doesn’t erase the scars of your past.

“Do you believe your god to have punished you fairly?”

You meet his gaze, frowning. “What did you say?”

“Forgive me for being direct,” he tells you. “You do not pry into my secrets, so I never pried into yours…but if you would like to tell me, I will listen.”

For a few seconds, you just stare back at him. Are you glimpsing his soul again? From his end, all he can see is your gaze turning dim.

“My answer is no.”

Your expression turns bitter. Dainsleif lets you elaborate.

“When I was an angel,” you whisper, “I used all four of my heads. Seeing the world from every angle, speaking in different sounds, expressing multiple emotions at once…those abilities are what set the Cherubim apart from the rest of God’s creations.”

Your jewelry glitters on the nightstand. Earlier today, you’d worn an esclavage necklace with three cameo pendants. Each pendant bears the image of an animal—a lion, an ox, an eagle.

“So you can imagine how difficult it was to lose them,” you continue. You grip your upper arms, talons digging into your skin. “My beastly heads, all reduced to dust before my remaining eyes. And even then, our creator did not spare what was left of my body.”

A mirror hangs on the wall. It perfectly reflects Dainsleif’s cursed marks and your sorrowful countenance.

“This face was perfectly human until I grew fangs. My talons will always be in my line of sight. And don’t even get me started on the differences between halos and horns. It’s not…!”

Your voice cracks. At the same time, Dainsleif scoots closer to you.

In the dark, your expression looks tired. Resigned.

“So who cares if I looked down on humanity?” you mumble. “Why couldn’t I be forgiven? By now, I’ve lived over half of my life as a demon and yet…it still hurts.”

That ends your confession. You stare at your lap, wings lowered.

What is he supposed to say in this scenario?

From the beginning, Dainsleif knew it would be meaningless to believe in baseless depictions of demons. Still, it’s perplexing to see this side of you, to feel sympathy for the present source of his vexation and anxiety.

Yet in this moment, he finds himself reaching out to you. He copies your soothing gesture from earlier, placing his hand on the area between your wings.

You allow it, resting your head on his shoulder. After a few minutes, you break the silence.

“You know, darling, I’ve always wondered…why do you remain unchanged? Why do you still choose to live righteously when you will never be rewarded with a place in Heaven?”

He looks you in the eye. “That was never my goal. All I’ve ever dreamed of was peace. So even if there is no more hope for me…there must be for my fellow humans.”

At that, you hold his cursed hand and give him a pitying look.

“But darling…at this point, can you even call yourself human?”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Decades pass. Dainsleif continues to wander Teyvat, with you as his sole companion. By now, he has long grown tolerant of your presence…and he has even begun to crave it on the days when you are busy in Hell. But he keeps it a secret, along with the sparks of attraction that he is beginning to feel towards you. Instead, he chalks it up to loneliness. That must be it.

♡ Despite that, his affection reveals itself in subtle gestures. Mint brew for your headaches. Practical gifts such as gloves and weapons. Once, the two of you were exploring Dragonspine when he noticed that your scarf had loosened. He adjusted it for you, careful not to touch your scars; and after your initial shock, you stared ahead and quietly thanked him.

♡ These days, he can’t find any Khaenri’ahns apart from a few descendants. In those cases, he has a short conversation with them then leaves without divulging their ancestry. It’s enough to know that those individuals are spared from the curse and able to live ordinary lives, though he wonders if their ancestors are doing well. He can’t make any new friends, either, due to your possessive nature though he does get acquainted with your “family.”

♡ One day, he wanders Liyue on his own and encounters a bespectacled local. He introduces himself as “the Regrator” and commissions Dainsleif to collect Noctilucous Jade for him. With nothing else to do, Dainsleif accepts the job but is later paid a much higher price than the 500 Mora he’d charged. But when he objects, the Regrator gives him a saccharine smile and tells him that he is “merely showing generosity towards his Jiejie’s pet.” Then he disappears.

♡ A year after that encounter, you attend the concert of a Snezhnayan singer. The Balladeer has an emotional voice, but Dainsleif is distracted by a familiar glint in their eyes. After the performance, you bring him to the dressing room. The Balladeer is slumped over a chair, their eyes branded with a sigil, and an indigo-eyed demon looms over them. As you congratulate Scaramouche on “another excellent possession,” Dainsleif dreadfully recalls the traveler he met in Mondstadt.

♡ He confronts you about it in your hotel room. A part of him did suspect your involvement in his acquaintance’s disfigurement, but it’s different when you are guiltlessly confirming it. After a fiery argument, Dainsleif goes to sleep and coldly ignores you for the remainder of his stay in Snezhnaya. It was foolish of him to forget about your sinister nature.

♡ Not long after, he realizes that he hasn’t seen you in days. That is odd—usually, you inform him in advance if you have to stay in Hell for an extended period. Or did his outrage finally have its desired effect on you? He continues his journey, nonetheless, but it feels…different. Since meeting you, he had the assurance that his solitariness is only short-lived, that you’d always come back to bother him. But now? He isn’t so sure.

♡ He stops finding molted feathers on his clothes. When he looks in the mirror, he notices that your love bites have all but faded completely from his body. At the sight of his cursed marks, he recalls the nights you’d spend lovingly tracing the corrupted skin. You once told him that the luminous veins compliment his blue eyes, and his response had been a withering look.

♡ He goes to Sumeru. The House of Daena has undergone multiple renovations, and the secret archive has been moved to a new room. He rereads the texts about you and Khaenri’ah, taking note of each inaccuracy. How many years ago was his last visit? Has it really been 200 years since the day he crossed paths with you? So much has changed since then.

♡ Afterwards, Dainsleif finds himself wandering the area near Khaenri’ah. He hasn’t set foot in his homeland ever since the Cataclysm, but memory is a dangerous temptation. Just as he is about to walk away, he hears a loud sob and runs into the ruins.

♡ He finds a young person kneeling in a patch of Inteyvat flowers, hands clasped in prayer. When he calls out to them, they lift their head to reveal tears and star-shaped pupils in their eyes. Their face, however, is pristine. Are their cursed marks concealed with makeup? Or are they just a descendant of Khaenri’ah? Dainsleif crouches in front of them, offering his help…and that is when the person’s destitute expression twists into an eerie grin.

♡ Suddenly, the Inteyvat wrap around his limbs, restraining him. A heavy weight strikes the back of his head—the blunt side of a sword? Through his blurry vision, he watches as a celestial halo and a pair of glittery wings emerge from the body of the “Khaenri’ahn.” Two similar silhouettes appear near them, one in bronze armor and the other adorned with flowers. Everything goes dark.

♡ When he wakes up, he is in what seems to be a church. His body is chained to the altar and he feels dizzy, fading in and out of consciousness. From the looks of the stained-glass windows, it is already night. Beside him is a wounded figure, also restrained, more skeleton than flesh. They blankly stare ahead, unresponsive to his questions, and…is that Halfdan?

♡ The horrifying revelation is worsened by the presence of his attackers. From what Dainsleif can recall of the books he’d read, they are angels from the Second Sphere. The Dominion’s starry gaze is full of hatred as they narrate his comrade’s life after the Cataclysm. Halfdan had stayed behind to search for survivors, up until the angels took over their home. And in the decades since, he had been starved, tortured, kept alive only by the curse.

♡ By the end of their speech, all hope has left Dainsleif. Already, he is on the brink of passing out again and the chains have neutralized his Khaen’riahn sorcery. How can fate be so cruel to him? As the Dominion flies over to him, their multiple eyes blazing with cruelty, he whispers an apology to Halfdan and braces himself for a new world of suffering.

♡ Except they never lay a hand on him. In a burst of light, a taloned hand grabs the Dominion by the halo and slams them against the marble tiles. The other angels scream and cower in fear, a familiar name leaving their lips. Halfdan remains catatonic. As for Dainsleif, all he feels is pure relief at the sight of his savior.

♡ At this moment, you have never looked scarier. Your face is twisted in an expression of animalistic rage, and your glare could outshine the sun. You curse the Dominion this time, followed by the Virtue and the Power, before flying over to Dainsleif and breaking his chains. Before he faints again, he manages to point at Halfdan and beg you to help him as well.

♡ How long was he asleep? When he wakes up, the stained-glass windows are all shattered to reveal a sky the color of twilight. He and Halfdan have been moved to a corner of the church, kept warm by a blanket. And when he looks around the holy sanctuary, all he can see is carnage.

♡ Pieces of armor and flesh are scattered across the floor—the Power, brutally dismembered. Slumped against the double doors is the body of the Virtue, flowers and wings ripped off their cursed body. A rhythmic pattern of thuds directs his attention to the altar, where you are torturing the Dominion.

♡ They’re still alive, but barely. The eyes on their wings have been gouged out, and their halo has been reduced to fragments. You are bashing their face against the altar repeatedly—for how long? They have been disfigured beyond recognition. You ignore their desperate cries for forgiveness, only stopping when Dainsleif calls out to you.

♡ And just like that, your demeanor shifts from ferocity to concern. A loud crack echoes in the church as you finish off the Dominion and leave their corpse on the altar. Then you go over to Dainsleif, reassuring him that he is safe. But in the warmth of your embrace, he can only look at Halfdan.

♡ It’s too late for him. Irreparable damage has already been done to his body, what more for his psyche. Still, Dainsleif finds himself speaking to Halfdan, staring into his blank eyes, asking you if anything can be done to alleviate his pain. And when you ask him how badly he wants to put his comrade out of his misery…he understands the implication. And he tells you to do it.

♡ He doesn’t know if Halfdan can hear him. Nonetheless, Dainsleif forces a smile on his face, thanks him for faithfully doing his duty, and lies about the fate of Khaenri’ah. Then he moves aside, allowing him to crouch in front of Halfdan. Gently, you touch his face and whisper something to him. Then you spread your wings, blocking Dainsleif’s view.

♡ There is another crack. When you fold your wings, Halfdan’s head has been crushed and you are staring into his blank eyes. Glimpsing his soul, you confirm his comatose state and comfort Dainsleif. The rest of the day is spent preparing a makeshift grave and burying Halfdan in it. When you finally leave Khaenri’ah, Dainsleif turns back to face the ruins of his homeland. He hopes that his comrade is having a nice dream.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“I can do this by myself, you know.”

“I know. Now stay still, won’t you?”

“Right now, your health is more important.”

“And who are you to decide that?”

“______.” He gives you an exasperated look in the mirror and takes the comb out of your hands. “I am perfectly capable of brushing my own hair.”

The mirror reflects your stubborn expression. “But Dain—”

“I insist.” His gaze drifts to your bandaged shoulder, followed by the bruises near your neck. “Get some rest.”

“Oh, fine.” Shaking your head, you walk away from the vanity table.

Dainsleif faces his reflection. Aside from a bruise on the back of his head, his body is unharmed by the angel attack. To think it has only been a few hours since he left Khaenri’ah and returned to Shapur Hotel with you. He doesn’t know how he managed to get through dinner in his grief-stricken state.

At least his physical pain has subsided. And he feels better after taking a bath, though you were insistent on joining him. You wouldn’t even let him hold the hairdryer.

“Where on earth are my feathers?”

The facade of normalcy is broken by your sudden outburst. When Dainsleif turns to you, he sees you sifting through the clothes he’d just worn.

You give him an indignant look. “No wonder those angels didn’t know—What were you even doing in Khaenri’ah? Couldn’t you have at least waited for me to accompany you?!”

“...I kept them in my bag,” he answers. He walks over to the desk, where he’d placed his mask and the satchel you’d gifted him ten years ago. “I never knew there was a rational purpose to your feathers. I thought it was merely a sign of ownership.”

“Huh? Were you blind to the feathers on my brothers’ clothes?”

“That, I believed to be your equivalent of a family symbol.”

“In the past two centuries, did you even think of asking me about it?!”

He did try, at the start of your companionship, and you only said that he’d regret wasting your feathers. But Dainsleif knows better than to say that right now.

So instead, he yields to your embrace. This close, he can feel your body shaking.

“Do you know how frightened I was when I realized what happened to you?” you whisper.

“Now I do,” he mumbles. He hugs you back, positioning his hands below your lower wings. “Thank you for saving me.”

After a few minutes, he is the one to break the silence.

“Where were you these past weeks? I wondered if we’d ever meet again.”

“Oh, that? I just had a lot on my plate. Another headache, a new batch of sinners…and I figured you’d want some time to yourself. Ah, and I almost forgot!”

This time, you pick up your bloodstained clothes and take something out of your pocket.

“Here.” Facing him, you open the velvet box in your hands.

His eyes widen. “Oh, that’s…”

A ring. This isn’t the first one he has received from you, but it looks special. The gold band is engraved with intricate stars. The stone in the center is smooth, lustrous, with a radiant glow.

“What mineral is this?” he asks.

You tilt your head, and that is when he notices your horn. It looks normal at first glance, but it is shorter by a single inch.

“I commissioned one of the best craftsmen in Hell,” you explain. “How’s this? It should be easier to wear than my feathers, don’t you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” he admits, but his gaze hasn’t left your horn. “Was it—”

“It’s fine.” It sounds like the reassurance isn’t only for him. But he can tell that your smile is genuine. “It’ll grow back.”

“All right, then.” He allows you to lift his cursed hand and slip the ring onto his finger. “…Thank you for the gift.”

“Now, why don’t we get some sleep? It’s been a long day.”

With that, Dainsleif follows you to the bed. As always, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your torso against his back. Your wings also hug him, caging him in silvery feathers.

You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

He stares ahead. “If you insist.”

The window showcases the second twilight of the day. You continue speaking.

“Tomorrow, do you want to have dinner at Lambad’s Tavern? It’s been a while since we enjoyed a drink together.”

“Sure,” he says. Already, he can feel the temptation of sleep. “And afterwards?”

A taloned fingertip traces the blue veins on his palm. “We can go wherever you want. There are a lot of new places to visit in Sumeru. I’ve heard of a new resort that opened in Inazuma. Oh, and if we leave for Liyue next week, we can get there in time for the Lantern Rite Festival.”

He intertwines your fingers. “I see. That sounds nice.”

He turns his head, facing you. Your eyes are bright, reflecting the stars in his own gaze.

“We can make our decision tomorrow.” With that, you give him a soft smile and close your eyes. “Sweet dreams, Dain.”

“Good night.”

He remains awake, however, long after the sky has turned dark. His hand is still in yours, his new ring glowing brighter than his cursed marks.

…He doesn’t know what to do, honestly. In two days, he has experienced so much, felt so many emotions, and he has yet to process it all. And there is still the winding road of eternity ahead of him, a future that promises anything but salvation. But tonight…

Tonight, he shall close his eyes and accept his fate.

Perhaps he will even dream of you.

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

At long last…..Dain’s fic has been written. This has been in my drafts since April, and I’m really happy with how it turned out!! Also, if the first few bullet points look very familiar, that’s because Pierro’s fic also begins with my worldbuilding for Church AU! Khaenri’ah~

Aahhh I had a lot of fun with Darling! Dainsleif and his demon wife. I rlly enjoyed writing their dynamic, so this definitely isn’t the last time I write for them. Who knows?? Maybe I’ll spare Dain and give him less suffering (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Tag a Dainsleif enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @naraven @pranabefall @navxry @teabutmakeitazure @mochinon-yah @harmonysanreads @stickyspeckledlight

#dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #yandere genshin #genshin x reader #yandere reader #fem reader #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #spicy warning #mdni #jessamine-writing

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darin-nidk · 10 months ago

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Good enough. | Eve!Reader x —?

Content: Angst. Imposter syndrome. Self-hate.

Eating that stupid apple. Falling for his charms.

They were initially called Eve, the first woman made from the rib of the first man, Adam. A match made in Heaven to bless Eden.

But they found out that they were, in fact, NOT the first woman. Actually, a mere replacement meant to be obedient and not question Adam's authority much less God's one — the apple had been both a curse and a blessing in disguise. Eve broke down crying, initially pain swallowed her whole before it turned into rage.

Safe to say that God cursed her, but casted the two of them aside. Tossed into the cruel world. Eden was but a memory, not even a good one.

Adam had cursed, yelled and even held her forearms to shake her because "how could you?!", yet Eve was expresionless, her heart had been shattered and whatever Adam was saying wasn't worth it. His voice was enchanting to hear though, but his words weren't worth listening to.

Eve and Adam. No. Adam and Eve had a family though it was a loveless relationship, solely up to procreate and populate Earth. Or something. And their children were free to do as they please. Yes, even killing.

Eve was numb inside, but she did cry at the loss of something. Perhaps, her innocence, how she didn't want to be a mother, the painful process of birth... Ah yes, her children had been cursed with a terrible mother, Eve hugged Cain as she apologized profusely.

She didn't even care she went to Hell whereas Adam went to Heaven. Of course Adam did, motherfucker always got everything on a silver platter.

And now, down here, a beautiful and stunning figure... Eve hated that Lucifer, the one that made her commit the first known sin in the first place, he wasn't even enamored by her. Much like Adam, Lucifer was hung up on Lilith.

Was Eve... worth something? Not at all. Clearly just a shadow.

Hence why they changed their looks, their name, everything that could tie them to her previous miserable life.

Eve was no longer.

However, (Y/N) was their new chosen identity and made them feel happy for once, could Hell be kinder than Eden and Earth?

If you like my stories, consider donating to my Ko-Fi! Even cents are plenty of help!

Y si hablas español, 'tonces no seas garca y dame $2 para honrar el billete que no esta en circulación y que ni siquiera es de colección a mi MP .

(If any of my rambles inspire you, feel free to use them as inspiration).

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagines #adam x reader #lucifer x reader #🧍 he speaks

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j23r23 · 9 months ago

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Profanities!

Tangerine x Reader

Inspired through a post from @little-miss-dilf-lover. I hope this is okey!

First time writing! First time posting!

Tangerine and I were a mismatched pair of friends, bonded through Lemon, our shared love of books and our work of specializing in discreetly resolving... problems.

I, with my impeccable manners, refined speech, and knack for crossword puzzles, was the yin to Tan's yang - a boisterous, devil-may-care spirit who could make anyone laugh with his quick wit and infectious charm.

We sat at a table in a bustling café, the air alive with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the almost sickening sweet smell of pastries and desserts. Which Lemon was eyeing at in the glass case at the counter, all the while talking to the waitress about Thomas and his peculiar friends. Tangerine was sitting across from me, one leg leisurely on top of the other while he was typing away on his phone. Meanwhile I sipped my earl grey, enjoying the moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of our lives and trying to figure out what 11 words down for a two word, 2022 Blockbuster could be.

But tranquility was not in the cards when the scalding tea burned my tongue, prompting an uncharacteristic outburst of a loud “FUCK!” The word echoed trough the café as I slammed down the cup, accidentally breaking it in the process and letting out another delightful “Fuck!” again.

Tan's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his playful grin widening into a mischievous smirk. "Well, well, well, look who's joining the dark side," he teased, sitting up in his chair, and putting his phone away in his breast pocket.

My cheeks flushed pink as I chuckled nervously. "I know, I know, it's a rare occurrence," I admitted a little sheepish feeling the weight of his playful scrutiny. "But, come on, Tan, don't act like you're not impressed," I countered, mustering up some bravado despite my embarrassment.

Tan shook his head, feigning disappointment. "Impressed? More like shocked. I didn't know I was sitting across from a, wait, what did you call me the other day, a vulgarian! No, it was a cursing connoisseur!" he retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I rolled my eyes, unable to resist the urge to tease him back. “Oh, please I’ll leave the cussing to the experts!”

Tan grinned, leaning forward with a twinkle in his eye. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that? You’ve got to live a little, spice things up.” he countered, his tone teasing.

I raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of my lips. “Spice things up, huh? And here I thought I was doing just fine with my tea and crossword puzzle,” I quipped, enjoying where this was going.

And just for a short moment I could see Tangerine stare darkening and I could see this little glint in his eyes.

Wait, was that…. lust?!

I feel a rush of heat as Tan licks his lips, a subtle gesture that sends a shiver down my spine. It's so fleeting, I almost miss it, but the effect it has on me is undeniable. A tingling sensation creeps up my legs, setting my nerves on fire. We're locked in a silent standoff, both wondering who will make the next move.

Then, out of nowhere, Lemon appears beside me, pulling us back to reality. "Hey, are you up for some Sticky Toffee Pudding? Because I got some right here." he questions, looking at us expectantly.

My heart sinks as I whisper a silent fuck under my breath, my mind racing to reposition myself, my crossword puzzle now forgotten. Tan clears his throat, adjusting his tie “Na mate, I’m good,” while getting up he takes out his pack of cigarettes “I’ll be outside for a smoke”

Lemon, God bless him. Though hes a genius at reading other people he is oblivious to the situation and doesn’t notice the change in our demeanor and sits down at the table with a shrug.

I watch Tangerine as he exits the café and taking out his matches to light his cigarette inhaling his first puff of smoke. When he catches me staring, we lock eyes once more, the intensity palpable. Holding up our little staring contest I tell Lemon “You know what Lem, some Sticky Toffee Pudding sounds actually quite delicious.”

I can't help but playfully tease Tan, pursing my lips and lightly biting down into the sweet, rich and sticky cake, knowing it'll catch his attention. And catch it, it does. His eyes stay glued to mine, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously as he struggles to tear himself away. He stares as as the sweet treat coats my lips in sugar. His cigarette falls to the ground, forgotten, as he mouths a word, I can't hear but can easily decipher from his lips.

"Fuck."

And in that moment, while licking my lips clean. I knew the tension between us was far from over.

#tangerine bullet train x reader #bullet train tangerine #tangerine 🍊#tangerine fic #bullet train #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x reader #tangerine #tangerine bullet train #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #aaron taylor johnson fic #bullet train fanfiction #bullet train fanfic #tangerine fanfic #lemon and tangerine

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pinky-the-elephant-room · 1 year ago

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Exhilaration

⊙ AN: I came out of my cave to write after I got inspired by Jujutsu Kaisen

⊙ Warning: Spoilers for Season 2. Explicit sexual content with degradation. A bit of an age gap of about 2 or 3 years. Senpai Gojo Satoru x Kohai Fem Reader

⊙ Summary: He attained more power than anyone could have ever imagined - to use to better society. So why is his first thought to use it to have you? AKA the fic where Gojo has a near-death experience, develops a superiority complex, and fucks you.

⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙

Exhilarated.

That was the word to describe the state he was in.

His breath, shaky, due to the sheer excitement coursing through his veins.

His eyes no doubt if he could see himself- the usual brilliance enhanced ten folds over as if his red and blue techniques actualized themselves within the depths of his irises.

He had ascended, no longer a mortal. No longer just a sorcerer. As though the heir of the Gojo clan could just be meer chattel. He would be a pretense for a God-like perfect being. If only God himself could reach the pinnacle of his power now.

Death was the inevitable end but for Gojo it instead became the catalyst of power. Power no being could have realized nor will ever realize.

Speaking of death, he had been just a hair length away from the experience as the former Zenin proceeded to slice and dice him into pieces as if he was just another nameless target.

He would have slaughtered them all. Every single one of those…. Monsters

If it wasn’t for Suguru. He would have. Until their brain matters were indistinguishable from the asphalt rubble.

⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙

Gojo tilted her head up, his thumb pressed firmly in her mouth.

She gasped, “Ah, senpai.”

Cute, cute Y/N. Why couldn’t he also have her? Out of respect for his best friend, he was contrite to leave the first year alone. Suguru was exasperated with him for trying to mess with another colleague after the last one had gone spectacularly well.

By well he means dead.

He remembered their first meeting well. On seeing him for the first time as if unable to help herself Y/N blurted, “Oh wow, you’re so handsome.” And then proceeded in utter embarrassment to melt into the ground.

He had laughed it off thinking it as no more than a slip of the tongue from a newbie.

But he had made a mistake. By dismissing Y/N he made her uninteresting and therefore assumed her weak.

She would be considered weak simply going by her cursed energy yet the difference between Y/N and weaklings was the self-awareness she had.

She was cognizant of how much energy she had and how much she can afford to use. It made her fascinating to watch.

There was no wasted effort nor cursed energy expended. She saw the problem and figured out how to handle it while keeping her person intact.

Which was why she kept surviving and kept returning mission after mission.

Gojo figured she would succumb sooner or later to a curse. As was the harsh reality of their world.

So, imagine to his surprise when his adorable kohai was still around months later to bask in his handsome face.

He could have had her months ago if he wanted to. At least that’s what he thought. She was aching for it- her eyes persistently seeking him out whenever they happened on each other.

The blessed awareness he had so praised a few moments earlier was also the reason she kept herself safe from him.

It was like she had a rule of ‘you can look but don’t touch.’

His colleagues and friends alike shared the same wariness. But they assumed with him being an ally they were safe. She however was conscious of the fact that no one was truly safe with him.

When Gojo bemoaned shared Y/N’s reluctance with Suguru- his friend in return praised Y/N’s intelligence unlike the ones he lured to his bed.

The same friend whose eyes reflected malice and disgust when faced with the ugliness of the masses.

⊙⊙

He showed up at her door room, unexpectedly hours after the failed mission—his uniform still torn and ragged, caked in his own blood.

“Senpai,” she gasped, reaching out tentatively to grasp his shoulder as if to make sure this was reality and not something from her nightmares. “Are you ok? Should I call Ieiri-senpai?”

He grabbed her hand with his own. Taking a moment to caress her hand and appreciate its softness before kissing it.

Y/N swallowed and squirmed, uncomfortable at the show of affection.

“I’m fine. In fact, I’ve never felt so better in my life.”

Tugging her hand, Gojo pulled her into his embrace.

“Except for the moments when you’re with me.”

That line would have gotten a blush from anyone else but Y/N only stared at him contemplatively.

He ignored her unspoken inquisition to lightly press his thumb against her bottom lip. Whatever momentary conflict that was brewing within her was pushed aside as he felt her teeth nip at his thumb before licking it in consolation.

Taking the action as permission, he pressed his thumb into her mouth.

She whimpered, cowed by his dominance.

Gojo glanced down and noticed her aroused nipples poking through her soft cotton t-shirt which she had worn to bed no doubt.

He tweaked it with his other hand, invoking a groan- and reached down to grab the hem of her shirt to pull it over.

Perhaps he was mentally unprepared to see her full tits look so invitingly captivating. Gojo couldn’t help himself when he maneuvered her cunt to grind on his thigh while at the same time reaching down to suck.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as Y/N without any further prompting started to writhe and grind on his thighs.

Arousal seemed to permeate through their skin. Egging each other on concurrently.

Gojo smiled widely almost a bit deranged-like at the sight of Y/N helping him pull her shirt off completely.

He pushed her to the ground and slid the boy shorts she had on until it pooled around her knees loosely.

He admired the curvature of her spine, giving quick kisses along the way until he was met with the sight of her cunt being exposed from her kneeling.

She wasn’t quite wet yet. He wasn’t disappointed though he could change that quite easily.

Gojo took his time, preparing her one finger at a time. While keeping her mouth occupied with his own, his hands in her hair allowed him to control the pace of their kiss.

Only when he could hear the wet sounds as his fingers entered back and forth did he give her a reprieve.

Relieving himself of his pants, Gojo placed himself over her. He lined his member at her entrance and then pushed slowly.

He let out a low groan and closed his eyes. She was squeezing him tightly almost like she wanted to push him back out. A shiver of pleasure goes down his spine.

“Ah!,” she cried out. “Don’t stop. Please.”

Gojo picked up his pace and basically started shoving himself inside her. A resounding sound of flesh slapping against another became evident along with the muffled screams of Y/N as she in vain tried to suppress as she bit down on her finger.

“You’re so filthy, Y/N. Aren’t you a virgin? Letting yourself be taken in this way for your first time,” he leaned over and rasped into her ear.

He hadn’t imagined fucking her doggy style right at the entrance of her dorm room.

Just like Fushigoro Toji hadn’t imagined being killed by the brat he thought he had already finished off. But life makes exceptions for Gojo Satoru.

At that moment he bites down on her shoulder as he feels pleasure takeover his mind. He did have the foresight to pull out and spill down the juncture of her thighs.

There was sick satisfaction from watching his essence coat her cunt and thighs.

Y/N slumped from exhaustion and turned on her back to watch him.

Her cheeks flushed and hair mussed, Y/N had never looked so beautiful to him.

Feeling the sting of want bubble up in his stomach again, Gojo bit the inside of her thigh and settle himself nicely in between her legs.

He would remake the very foundations of their world. Recreate and shape the world as he saw fit. As was his right. And in his world- the rules, the tradition, and the elders would be no more than a relic of the past. In this same world, he would take what he wanted without any hesitation and right the wrongs no one ever could.

In this world, he would never hesitate to have and keep Y/N. Fearing one day she too would be gone from a curse.

And now he had the means to make it a reality.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x oc #gojo satoru x you #gojo smut #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo saturo #gojo satoru

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novankenn · 2 months ago

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My Wife is Dwarven Ghost! (Ep5)

Original Idea by @weatherman667 Additional Inspiration by @noneatnonedotcom / @drenosa / @lonesilverw0lf

Kelric sighed when the link was finally established, and the image of his father wavered into view. Calric Throlbane was a massive man, in height and mass. HIs black hair peppered with streaks of grey, as was his beard. While Kelric was dressed in his armor, his father was more relaxed in his outfit. Wearing only a long white linen shirt.

"Father."

"Kel! Good to see you, my boy." Calric greeted his son with a bright smile, before suddenly frowning. "Why aren't you sowing seeds in that fine bride of yours? I remember when I wed your mother, we didn't leave the bed chamber for a..."

"Thoria is dead."

"Oh, shit." Calric's frown vanished, quickly replaced with concern and worry. "What happened?"

"She fell in battle with a foul beast from the pits of the abyss." Kelric informed his father. "She ended up separated from me, and it struck her down in those damnable mines!"

"The mines? For the love of Kali why did you let her march on that cursed place?"

"I couldn't stop her, and I couldn't save her. I failed her. I wasn't allowed the chance to avenge her, or even recover her remains..."

"That will not be allowed to stand!" Growled his father. "The House of Trolbane will not let one it's own molder away in darkness! Inform the new queen that I will arrive with our forces to assist, with in the fortnight."

"I will, though..."

"What is it son?"

"What do you know about Dwarven Marriage Contracts, and their views on matrimony?"

"Nothing. Your mother takes care of all the bookkeeping and paper work, stuff." Calric admitted. "I actually don't do much most days. I'm more of a hit things type of guy anyway. Your mother is the brains."

"Figures."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I mother available? Because I have some serious issues with the contract and dwarven marriage views."

"I can send a rider to summon her. She's at your Aunt's. Your cousin is having her baby."

"Please summon her, and do pass on my best wishes to Cousin Clara."

"I will, but can I have more to tell your mother? Maybe something more specific?"

"They want me to impregnate Thoria's sister, and others..."

"Excuse me?"

"That's what I said."

"Your vows don't allow such a thing! That is an insult to our views! To our HONOR!"

"Father, please don't. You've already pledged to me that you'll help with clearing the mines and retrieving Thoria's body... do not also declare war on your in-laws."

"But?"

"It's counter productive, and rude."

"Fine. I'll send word to your mother. If she leaves for the return journey as soon as word reaches her, it will be about three days."

"Thank you, father."

Calric nodded to his son before his image faded away. Kelric leaned forward his elbows on the ornate desk. His head in his hands. He was tired, but he couldn't rest just yet.

While Kelric was chatting with his father and arranging to speak with his mother in three days. Thoria and Freyja were in the middle of their own negotiations.

"So this Paladin thing is a BIG deal... so how do we make it happen, BUT more importantly will this interfere with him getting busy with my sisters and cousins?" Thoria asked. "Because that's sort of his job right now seeing as I'm well... dead.

"My spheres of influence will empower him to just such a thing."

"Okay, I'll bite. What are you a goddess of?"

"Love, beauty, fertility, sex, war, and gold." Freyja replied.

"Nice!"

"I thought you would like that. But there is a problem. Well a few problems." Freyja tipped her head and scratched behind her ear for a minute before continuing. "Ah much better. Now where was I?"

"The problems." Thoria helpfully reminded her.

"Ah, yes. First and foremost is that the Trolbane family are sort of very devout in their supplication to Kali. For him to become my Paladin, and receive my blessings, and boons... he needs to..."

"Forsake Kali and pledge to you."

"Exactly!"

"Okay, how do we do that?"

"I have no idea." Freyja admitted. "I'm actually spinning my wheels. I told him to come back later after I revealed myself to him, and he's going to do that in two days." Freyja, "I have nothing to tell him. I can easily bring you back..."

"Okay, his family serves Kali. Did he try asking Kali for help?" Thoria asked.

"She blew him off."

"Wow. Rude."

"That's how she is."

"And then you appeared to him, and offered to help?"

"Sort of." Freyja admitted. "I did approach him, and chat him up and then he asked me directly for assistance... he asked me for assistance."

"Seems to me like, he's already pledging himself to you. He asked for your assistance and you're providing it... sort of."

"But he still things he serves Kali."

"So... what do we do? He's at the cusp, but how do we... a QUEST!"

"Quest? Oh a quest in my name for something that fits my image!" Freyja's hind foot thumped happily against the window sill. "An ORGY!"

"I like how you think, but the way he's resisting even bedding my cousin Mary... I think that would drive him away."

"Damn it! Orgies fix so many problems... and come to think of it... they start them too..."

(A/N - FYI the Master List can now be accessed via the title.)

#my wife is a dwarven ghost #anime idea #just having fun #original characters #dwarven marital contracts are... strange

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j0kers-light · 4 months ago

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Joker's Loyal Three: Adore You (What-If)

Adore You - Mac Edition 💙

Hey hi everyone! I polled the blog a while back to see if anyone would be interested in a short oneshot of how (potentially) you and your choice of the Loyal Three would meet! And here we are!

Next up, we have Mac! FINALLY some backstory on this man! I get to knock out several asks with this one fic! You know who you are 👀 my massive Mac lovers, I hope you’ll enjoy what I cooked up. I linked the song which inspired this fic above 🖤✨

Get ready for a whahhhhhhhhhh moment 🥰

Another networking party, another excuse to be on his best behavior. Blah, blah, blah. Sometimes bearing the family name was more of a curse than a blessing.

At this rate, Mac was going to cave in and do a fine line of coke in front of all the investors. That would really liven the place up and get people moving. It beat standing around bragging about who was the richest. As if people really needed a reminder.

He could have sworn he saw his old dealer milling about the partygoers. Maybe he could flag her down and make a sale..

Right as Mac was scanning the crowd, he accidentally bumped into someone.

Manners: he was taught young to have them and by default, he whispered an apology—until he saw the beauty before him.

“Why hello hello. And just who might you be?” He smiled.

You were in the early stages of a panic attack. Your boss dragged you to this function with two simple rules to follow.

One, stay invisible and two, don’t embarrass him. He promised to pay you double if you passed and those two requirements were rather tame compared to his more usual impossible feats.

You coveted this internship even if your boss was notorious for being the worst employer ever. This job was your ticket into the world of business, all you had to do was endure for just a few more months and graduate.

All your dreams shattered when you bumped into Gotham City’s golden child, Maximillion J. Borghese. He was within the city’s elite circle of young nepotism babies, and he reigned supreme over them all.

You could consider your career done for after this.

He didn’t notice the flute of champagne you spilt onto his designer blazer. Perhaps because he was currently getting lost inside your eyes. Would you even believe such a thing?

Absolutely not.

The party faded into the background as his pale blue eyes consumed your soul. Nothing else mattered when a Borghese gave you a fraction of attention.

You could pretend that you weren’t affected by his charm but at the end of the day, you were still a warm-blooded female.

The man was all types of fine. You were left speechless. His lips were moving yet the words failed to resister. What was he saying?

“Cat got your tongue, darling?” He snapped his fingers in your face, “A name. If you have one.”

Okay... now that insult brought you crashing back to Earth.

He was treating you like some pet he could snap his fingers at! Your boss’s rules flew out the window, and with them gone, your opinionated mind was front and center.

You slapped his hand away, “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

An attitude. He liked that.

No one was brave enough to talk back to a Borghese, not unless they had a death wish and wanted to be left penniless. He glanced down at your department store dress clinging to your figure and eyed the intern personnel pin attached to your bodice.

Suddenly, this party got interesting.

Mac stepped closer to whisper into your ear. “You’re right. You don’t have to tell me anything, however, I’d wager your boss would on your behalf. Who is your boss by the way? I do hope you’re not with those Hewlett-Schultz amateurs.”

You were... but that was beside the point.

You didn’t have to put up with this level of arrogance. There was still time to save face as well as your internship. You huffed and turned to leave but Maximillion grabbed your arm.

“Ah ah, I didn’t dismiss you yet.” He was receiving some curious eyes the longer he socialized with you, so he clicked his tongue and guided you outdoors towards the hedge maze.

It was a far ways off, yet no one would bother him out here which was exactly what he wanted.

Mac dragged you past the first few turns and let you go. “We won’t be bothered out here. Now, answer my question.”

If he thought dragging you out here would intimidate you, then he was sorely mistaken.

“You rich people are something else. Look, I’m sorry for staining your Burberry.” You gestured to his blazer. “It probably costs more than my paycheck and no, I’m not paying for dry cleaning. Buy another one on your next toilet run.”

With each word, you watched your future circle the drain. It was risky, your hands were shaking by your sides, but gods did if feel good to see his handsome face animate in shock.

Yet Mac did the unthinkable. He didn’t threaten or blackmail you, he laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound you ever heard.

You took that time to take in his features more closely.

He was like a walking Adonis with his golden curly hair and piercing blue eyes. His pearly white teeth were probably used for dental commercials and those gorgeous lips. They were the shade of strawberry lipstick, and it put you in a state of mind.

Every girl in Gotham dreamed about kissing them... and now, so did you.

The sun truly shined down on him, and he lived up to his pretty boy reputation. Maximillion was a dictionary entry for old money. Too bad his good looks couldn’t hide his ugly personality.

“See something you like darling?” Mac teased after catching the way you gazed at him.

He knew he was attractive. It was simply a fact.

He could pick any girl he wanted due to his looks and prestige. Models, foreign actresses, you name it, he dated them, but never anyone outside his tax bracket. It was just ‘wrong.’ An unspoken rule his family kept for generations.

Mother and father would disapprove, but if there was one thing Mac loved the most in the world, it was disappointing his parents.

He saw the perfect ploy to get back at them through you.

You didn’t like the way he stared at you nor how he continued to trap you deeper into the maze. You heard a fountain gurgling nearby right as Maximillion pinned you to a lush wall of green.

“D__n, you are more gorgeous up close.” He whispered more so to himself than to you.

Oh. You knew what was happening here.

Pretty boy wanted a new plaything and he already set his eyes on you. You weren’t that type of girl, and you definitely weren’t afraid to say no while under pressure.

“I don’t do blonds.” You replied in a lofty tone.

Mac laughed again. “I can change your mind in ninety days sweetheart.” He wagered.

Spoken like a true businessman. His confidence knew no bounds.

If he weren’t such an arrogant prick, you probably would have agreed with him. Any sane woman would’ve done so in a heartbeat. Too bad he was already on your bad side.

You had an urge to prove this rich boy wrong. They couldn’t always get what they wanted. The world did not revolve around them.

You crossed your arms with a smug smile of your own. “What is this, some kind of business deal?”

For a moment, Mac hesitated after seeing your alluring smile.

In his eyes, you were more than beautiful. He just didn’t want to inflate your ego. If you weren’t from the working class, you could go far in the world. Such a shame how fate was. He’d still enjoy using you for his goals.

Although he could tell you weren’t going to make things easy. There was a brain between those e/c eyes of yours.

“If that’s how you see it, darling. I consider this an investment.” He used the same endearment again, unknowingly making you melt.

You were caught off guard when the sun shifted and set his eyes aglow. They reminded you of the crystal blue waters in the Bahamas, glinting like stars.

Were you seriously considering this? His eyebrow slowly arched drawing you back to the conversation.

“R-Right and what pray tell would you get out of this investment? I can see a clear outline of my benefits but what are yours?” You let him think it over while you darted around him to finally get out of the corner he put you in.

This new section of the maze was wide with perfectly manicured hedges and white pebbled pathways. You felt relieved at the openness it offered.

You walked towards the sound of running water from earlier, giving Mac an unobstructed view of his future investment.

You were a wonder under summer skies with curves in all the right places and a confident gait to flaunt it. If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed you were swaying your hips on purpose.

But he could tell; that was all natural like brown skin and lemon over ice. He bit his lip while following your lead.

The Borghese family crest was proudly carved into the stone fountain where a lion roared a steady stream of water into a mosaic basin. He watched you wet your fingers mindlessly.

You were stalling so he brought you back to the matter at hand. “Do you agree to the terms?”

“What terms? You haven’t presented any for me to dispute!” You cried out.

So you were learning business fundamentals during this internship, that was good to know. You were smart and hot. A shame he wouldn’t be able to trick you into a contract.

Now that would give his parents a heart attack. Just thinking about a fake marriage proposal made Mac smirk. It was still on the table of ideas..

He still hadn’t replied so you flicked ice cold fountain water in his direction.

It was harmless, yet you saw how quickly those clear blue eyes of his darkened. It was scary yet hot to witness. Even with the face of an angel, Maximillion was still a ruthless Borghese.

He bent down to pick up a rock from the path that pleased his eye. He rolled it around his palm as he laid out his terms.

“I won’t require much sweetheart. I simply wish to prove that blonds are better, in every way, by any means necessary.” His voice dropping an octave made the implications quite clear.

You looked at the young businessman as if he grew a second head. Were you being pranked or something?

“I-Is that it? You want me to be your fake girlfriend for the chance you might prove me wrong? Is your ego really that big?”

You gasped as Maximillion invaded your personal bubble. He smelled of champagne and mint, an oddly satisfying combo.

“My ego is not the only thing I have that’s big.” He purred.

His words settled in the charged air surround the two of you. He was a hair’s breadth away from kissing you and you swore you felt his lip brush against yours as he asked you again.

“Do you accept these terms?” You folded faster than a lawn chair. “I do.”

Just what did you agree to, heaven only knows.

Maximillion— “Call me Mac, darling. All of my close friends do.” He corrected you early on in this odd arrangement. His full name was too prestigious, and you and Mac were anything but while together.

Two weeks in and he was making a convincing case of blonds doing things very differently.

Your exes were nothing compared to Mac both in and out of the bedroom. He was surprisingly a well-mannered gentleman and a classic romantic sending dozens of roses to your internship office like clockwork.

Fancy dinners to restaurants you never knew existed were now your average weekend spent.

He showered you with jewelry and designer clothes just because he could, and your friends were jealous— however you brushed off their envy.

“This is just a fling, girl.” That’s the lie you told yourself. You and Mac agreed to three months of this false relationship. He was convinced you would get down on your knees and profess that blonds were supreme.

As if! You would milk this situation till it ran dry or at least, that was the mindset you had when this first began.

You played the role of being almost convinced, giving Mac the idea that him and his ego were correct. Little did you know, Mac wasn’t acting, and you were slowly but surely falling in love as well.

Yet both of you were stubborn and wouldn’t say anything to the other. This was a temporary agreement. None of it was supposed to be real in the first place.

That is, until time ran out and Mac was desperate to turn the tides before he lost you forever.

He asked you on another date, you automatically said yes, unaware that this wouldn’t be a normal flashy affair. No, this date was not in public at all.

Your heart sank when you pulled up to a house straight out of your dreams. He invited you over to his place, something that he never done in the three months the two of you ‘dated.’

Something about the evening made you apprehensive but you shrugged off the feeling as Mac opened the door dressed in casual clothes, (another shock) and led you to the table he decorated with roses and candles.

He pushed you into the table before disappearing into the kitchen to grab dinner.

“No butlers at your beck and call Mac?” You joked, hoping that it would calm your nerves. It didn’t when he failed to reply after a while.

He came back with your favorite dish and kissed your cheek softly. “Not tonight, I want to spoil my babygirl by myself for a change.”

Babygirl.

You were borderline hyperventilating by now. You waited until the handsome blond sat down before hitting the panic button.

You used his full name to get his attention. “Maximillion, what's this all about?” And you got his attention in the form of pale blue eyes staring straight into your soul.

Mac set his wine glass down with a sigh. “I knew you couldn’t wait. At midnight, our agreement will terminate.”

Finally, you mentally thought. “Yeah, and?” Mac saw right through your ruse.

“I know this was only supposed to be a bet to satiate my ego, but Y/n. I can’t pretend anymore. No, sweetheart let me finish.” He said firmly when he noticed you wanting to speak.

Your leg started jumping underneath the table yet Mac continued on.

“I thought fake dating you would upset my parents. Jokes on me, Mother absolutely adores you, Father wants to offer you a position within our company, and my sister... F__k! My plan backfired okay! I tried denying it but you’re the only woman that...”

He paused mid-sentence, but your nerves could not handle the suspense.

You were following along so far despite your heart beating out of your chest. You hoped that Mac was hinting at what you been feeling for weeks now.

“That what? Spit out!” You shouted.

“You’re the only woman that I’ve ever loved, okay? F__k the agreement. I just.. You don’t have to say you love me; you don’t have to say nothing, in fact.”

Mac bit his cheek before glancing up at you. This was it. There was no going back after this but he wasn’t afraid.

His tear-stained lashes told a story he couldn’t put into words. Gone was the pretty boy who teased you in a hedge maze. Before you sat a man who would walk through fire for you and the fierce determination in his eyes proved it.

“Please.. just let me adore you, Y/n, its the only thing I’ll ever do if you say yes.”

Who could ever deny Maximillion J. Borghese of something he wanted? You smiled as you gave him your answer.

#what if #how you met #Mac x reader #oc x reader #joker’s loyal three #oc lore #love that for him #chaos universe #i hope you enjoy #dinner is served #his lighthouse #Spotify

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monstersdownthepath · 11 months ago

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Monster Spotlight: Leanan Sidhe

CR 9/MR 3

Chaotic Neutral Medium Fey

Bestiary 4, pg. 180

These powerful, influential fairies are patrons of artists of every type, acting as more malevolent Muses who can bless and inspire multiple creatures at a time with their Mythic power. Anyone visited by a Leanan Sidhe (which I've learned is pronounced 'lee-ah-nan shee') rarely realizes what their mysterious guest is, as the Fey can freely disguise themselves as any female Humanoid they wish and typically have an entourage of hired guards and devoted sycophants to lend them the air of a rich eccentric come to pay a visit. Not rebuffing their presence, though, can lead to what at first is an incredible deal... a deal that even a devil would be impressed by.

Before we get into that, let's get something out of the way: it's difficult to speak of the combat potential of a Sidhe, because they're one of the rare monsters to be completely unfit for combat in nearly every capacity. They rely on their at-will Calm Emotions followed by a 3/day Quickened Charm Person to put combats to rest and convert parties into patsies, their sole offensive spell being Crushing Despair at-will. They're even awful in melee, having a single comically pathetic dagger attack for 1d4 damage, their more dangerous attack being a touch which unavoidably shaves 1d4 Charisma from the victim. The Charisma damage will usually put down whatever's gotten in her face, but a Sidhe will likely not stick around to coup de grace a comatose victim unless they're alone.

Their protective measures are potent, having high saving throws, high AC (25), and DR 10/Cold iron and Epic at a level where that's basically invincibility, but despite these formidable defenses, a Sidhe caught in battle will always use her Mythic Improved Initiative to go first, followed by her at-will Dimension Door to swiftly vacate the premises until she can shapeshift into a nondescript woman and leave the conflict altogether.

No, if you've gotten a Sidhe into combat and have measures to bypass her DR and keep her from teleporting away, you've already won. The problem is getting there, because a Sidhe's presence is difficult to detect and even harder to justify stepping in about; whoever she's ensnared will likely defend her to their dying breath, and depending on who her patsy (or patsies) is, they may be the real boss fight. See, a single Sidhe can have up to six victims at once: three with her Skill Blessing, and three with her Spell Blessing, so that's six people fanatically devoted to her continued existence, three of which can be powerful spellcasters and three of which can be famous artists and performers.

Skill Blessing works as such: the Sidhe can freely create a cursed tool, toolkit, prop, costume, or any other such token, which can be used as a masterwork tool for a specific form of Craft or Perform check of the Sidhe's choice. In addition to the normal bonus given for being masterwork, it grants a +4 bonus to whatever check it was created to assist with. The intended recipient of this tool receives no saving throw against its allure, becoming fixated on it and using it whenever they can in whatever project they're working on, and anyone hoping to help wean the victim off the Fey's power finds that the tool always returns to its owner whenever they need it, even if it's lost, stolen, or destroyed.

Spell Blessing is the far more dramatic and terrifying power because of the might it gives to the blessed caster. By being in physical contact with the caster for one full round, the Sidhe can bestow upon them a powerful boon: The ability to recall up to six levels worth of spells each day, refreshing their own magical energy as though they used a Pearl of Power. This allows them to regenerate one 6th level slot, two 3rd level slots, six 1st level slots, or any other such combination to give them more reach than they already had. Both of their blessings make them extremely attractive to casters and artists alike, often to the point where they'll ignore the downsides of this particular arrangement.

See, Sidhe are living creatures, and all that lives must eat. Sidhe just so happen to eat life energy, but not just ANY life energy; they prefer the life of creatives and people with powerful imaginations. Whenever a creature utilizes the blessing granted to them by a Sidhe, the Fey is instantly aware of it no matter where they are, and may Drain Life from them across any range by expending one of their three Mythic Surges for the day (allowing it to feed from the same person 3 times, or three different people once each, etc). Each use of Drain Life deals 1 point of Con drain to the victim and nourishes the artistic Fey, slowly but assuredly killing the victim over time if they have no access to powerful healing magic. Stories abound of artists who come into vast fortunes and blossom with talent, only to swiftly sicken and die, and many of these stories can be attributed to Leanan Sidhe lingering nearby.

Make no mistake, the Sidhe are not fully malevolent, but many of them them possess very twisted morals as befitting of a Fey. Some rare Sidhe may only drain someone's life when they absolutely must, or they may even seek a nobody victim to dump a magical tool upon so they can feed at leisure while they bless a specific creature with unparalleled talent with no strings attached at all! Many, however... well, look at how often a genius artist is celebrated while they're still alive. The Sidhe may believe they're doing their victims a favor by inspiring them to create wondrous things for several weeks before abruptly wasting away so their works are actually treasured.

With a +25 to Diplomacy checks and the ability to, up to 3/day, make a flat 45 Diplomacy check without needing to roll, the Sidhe will be able to convince their chosen victim of their logic, whatever it may be and whatever it may cost them. That's their true danger of a Sidhe's presence--not the Fey itself, but the tragedies they create, and the torrent of emotions that stirs in their entourage if the source of their talent is threatened. A party that even becomes aware of the Sidhe's machinations will have to compete with her other patsies, as well as whatever sycophants and hopefuls she's gathered, all of whom are hoping to be the next one she blesses regardless of the danger it presents to them. They'll also have to try convincing her victims that her blessing isn't worth it so the loss of its power doesn't utterly destroy their willingness to go on, a task that may just be harder than the combat!

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #Mythic Monster #cr 6 to 10 #pathfinder #dungeons and dragons

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arachnixe · 8 months ago

Text

Only Dreaming

(Part 7 of The New Goddess - Previous: What Gods Demand)

In truth, I feel nothing toward Princess Canina, despite the effort I put into obtaining a position of service within the palace and the long years I labored to earn this position as her personal attendant.

I’m sure I’ve met her before while performing my duties, but in our brief encounters she has left me with no impression of her character that I can recall. Not that it matters. I am not here because I have any particular love of the royal family. I have a Plan, and that Plan requires me to earn the confidence of the princess.

“Wow. My first real servant.” She giggles with a giddiness that seems rather childish for a young woman her age, then clasps her hands in prayer. “Thank you, Goddess, for the blessings you bestow on me.”

Ugh. Another one of those extremely pious types, ready to thank their holy whatever for every breath they take. You’ll never catch me doing that.

“Do you… not believe in Goddess, Miss Velle?”

I curse internally. How amateurish of me to wear my feelings on my face. I fix myself, putting together an apologetic-enough smile and attempting to deflect the conversation. “Please, Your Grace, such address is unnecessary for your personal maid when it’s just the two of us. Just Velle will do.” Personal maid. Frankly my title should be—

Ah! A sudden blinding headache cuts that thought off abruptly, and I fail to stop myself from flinching away and clutching my head in my hands. What is wrong with me today? I am making a terrible first impression here and putting the Plan in jeopardy. I need to do damage control.

“My… apologies… Princess Canina.” The headache slowly fades, and I regain my grip on myself.

“Shh, it’s okay, Velle.” She wraps her arms around me in a strong hug that wildly violates my expectations of royal decorum. “You never have to apologize for getting headaches, no matter how bad they get, okay? It happens to me too, so I promise you’re talking to someone who understands.”

No, do not offer me pity, lest it inspire the same from me. Pity is a weakness. It inspires me to take unnecessary risks. I learned that the hard—

Another swell of pain forces me to divert from that thought.

“I will not allow my condition to interfere with my duties, Canina. I swear it.”

“Will you swear to Goddess?”

“I will swear it to you.”

“Hmm…” Her lips tighten in displeasure. “I think it would be best for you to not forget to address me with the proper courtesy, Velle.”

It was a mistake to interpret her over-familiar gesture as an invitation to reciprocate the omission of titles in private conversation. Or, just as likely, she really can’t handle any perceived disrespect toward her awful religion. In terms of winning her trust, I’ve managed one step forward and two steps back. I may have to re-evaluate the cost of my pride.

“Yes, Princess Canina. It won’t happen again.”

---

My sleep lately comes in fitful, short bursts punctuated in intervals by white-hot bursts of agony. The headaches torment me all night, and every time I close my eyes it feels like something is trying to come to life inside me. Whatever it is, it threatens to split my head open completely.

When sunrise mercifully arrives, I awaken to a bed drenched in sweat and have to concentrate to force my own hands to release their white-knuckle grip on my soaked sheets.

Thus dawns another day as my princess’s personal attendant and housemaid.

---

I’ve grown accustomed to the daily routine. After bringing Her Highness breakfast, I help her dress. She solicits my opinion on matters of aesthetic far more than I consider reasonable, but I like to believe I have an eye for style, if not quite the same aesthetic sensibilities as Princess Canina.

Though bashful at first, I am successful at getting her to relax around me over time. Flattery works well, and she practically melts when I encourage her vanity and suggest outfits that allow her to flaunt her figure. Not that her vanity needs much encouragement, as often as she distracts herself with lingering stares toward the grand mirror that dominates her room. Still, it’s a vice I approve of even if it means my main duties necessarily include cleaning her favorite mirror several times a day.

I accompany her on two of her three daily visits to the shrine where the princess makes her religious obeisances and mumbles prayers to the Great Whore In The Sky. I kneel with her, as she requires of me, but I keep my vitriolic prayers inside my head. The third time each day that she observes her prayers, it is a “private” religious rite, and I am grateful for the reprieve.

“Goddess bless you on this fine day, Madame Velle! Might I say that you look cute as always in that uniform of yours?”

I am content with the fact that most other servants of the house stay out of my way, but there is one lone exception.

“Jester.” I turn primly and glare daggers at the fool. “Every day I am disappointed anew to discover that you have not yet broken your neck performing one of those fanciful tumbles you favor.”

The thing before me offers a too-wide grin filled with teeth that would be more at home in an eel’s mouth than a person’s. Two of its arms clutch its chest as though heartbroken. Two more assist in its pantomime of a scandalized faint, the back of one hand to its forehead with another cast dramatically in the air.

“You wound me, Madame!” it cries out before cracking up in a fit of giggles.

Naturally, I am unamused. Once day I must find an opportunity to poison this awful creature. “Somehow I doubt you feel as insulted by my words as I do yours. I shall have to work harder until you find yourself wounded in truth.”

“You won’t believe me, but I do look forward to that day, my dear.”

I am fortunate that the princess finds amusement in my animosity toward her jester. If I had to feign politeness toward this thing, I might just be tempted to give up on the Plan altogether and quit the palace.

No, no. I would put up with quite a bit to see this through. My life’s work hinges on building a close relationship with Princess Canina. I would, however, prefer not to test my willpower unnecessarily.

“Jackie!” A shout from behind me interrupts our meaningless standoff. My Lady throws herself at the detestable jester, catching the creature in an overjoyed hug that strikes me as deeply excessive given they last ran into each other no more than five days ago.

“Thank the Goddess that She has seen fit to have our paths cross,” the thing replies with almost-human warmth. It lowers its voice as to speak privately with the princess, though not so low my ears fail to hear. “How is everything going, Nina?”

She murmurs something in response that I don’t make out, and all I catch from “Jackie” afterward is “…feathers at first for the whole bird theme, but then I changed my…”

The sheer familiarity between them is unnerving. Sharing pet names and secrets, the two wrapped in each other’s arms, one would be forgiven for assuming they have some sort of romantic connection despite the incongruity of the spectacle. As her hand falls to its thigh, even I begin to wonder if it’s not me who has the wrong idea.

“Your legs!” Princess Canina gasps, pulling away from their hug to examine the place she just touched. “They really aren’t leggings at all, but…?”

“That’s it! You found it. My most recent blessing from the Goddess! I decided to have my role as Jester carved into my body, and so She did!” The jester cavorts in a small circle. “Goddess, it hurt so much.”

Sure enough, casting a glance downward reveals that the diamond pattern on those legs are just its bare legs. Tattooed, maybe? No, the colors catch the light and reveal a certain glossy texture that resembles serpentine scales somehow. But if those aren’t pants, then… there really is nothing between the creature’s legs. Completely blank. I would be as fascinated as the princess running her hands along its body if not for my intense distaste for both this jester-thing and the goddess that so blesses it.

I look away, unable to stomach the scene any longer. I need only distance my mind from my surroundings and wait for the remainder of the day to pass, performing my duties with mechanical dispassion.

---

In dreams I watch myself laboring in an almost-familiar setting, casting glances toward myself in intermittent intervals. “Not ready yet,” I tell myself. A gesture from myself banishes me from sleep.

I awaken in pain as always.

---

“Why do you hate Goddess so?”

Canina seems unusually lost in thought this morning. Her moods can be unpredictable in the best of times, and I fear this may become an especially volatile day. Best to choose my words carefully, then.

“How much do you know of my life before I joined your household, Your Highness?” I know the answer, I just need a moment to think.

“Velle, I know nothing about you except that you once…” She stops herself abruptly. “I mean, you haven’t said much about yourself.”

What was she about to say? No, not important. How should I respond? Revealing some of myself judiciously might make for an opportunity to bond and build trust.

“I have had to learn self-sufficiency from a younger age than most, My Lady.” Lies are wonderful tools, but the closer one sticks to the truth, the easier one’s own stories are to remember. “Everything I have achieved for myself,” a headache threatens to derail me if I consider the details too closely, “I have had to strive most strenuously for.”

“Nobody ever helped you?”

“No. Many got in my way. I was hated for my intelligence, for my interests, for my gender, for my appearance. I had to fight tooth and nail for everything.“

Canina considers this for a moment. “Gender, yes, I know the king is… that way with women. But why would anyone hate you for being smart?”

“Ego, mostly. Adults hate to be outdone by a child. The old and wise cannot tolerate a novice who accomplishes what they have dismissed as impossible.” I exhale sharply as the pressure in my skull increases.

“Didn’t you have friends, though? Someone who was on your side?”

“Friends of a sort. There were plenty of people whose company I enjoyed now and then. Many of them offered help when I could have used it, but here’s something I learned at a young age: people love to offer help. It feels good to promise something nice. You get to feel like a good friend just for making the offer.”

“But you’re saying they lied.”

I bark a bitter laugh. “That’s the funny thing. I guarantee most of them didn’t think they were lying. They meant every word! Promises don’t give you those warm feelings unless you earnestly believe your own good intentions. It’s just that when it comes time to follow through, people realize they have higher priorities. Another lesson I learned: it’s a sign of a poor friend if you don’t forgive them for having better things to do than sticking to their commitments. A terrible cruelty it is to hold someone to their word.”

“So you don’t want to trust your fate to a higher power either. You have no more trust to offer.”

I grunt an affirmative through pain I fail to conceal. The princess notices.

“I’m sorry,” she offers in a quiet voice. “If those are Bad Memories for your headaches, we should change the subject. I think I understand you a little better, at least.”

I nod in gratitude and shove my own history to the back of my mind.

My Lady claps her hands together with a sudden, wide-eyed smile. “I have an idea! We should have a day all about you. And that’s not a promise for the future, we’ll do it today.“

“My Lady?”

Before I can object, Canina drags me to her ludicrous walk-in closet and tears through the racks in a frenzy. “No, no, not that one, maybe, maybe not, ah!”

With a tug, she extracts an elegant dress of shimmering black fabric and thrusts it toward me. “This one. It suits you perfectly, don’t you think?” I stammer in confusion, but before I can assemble a coherent response I see that she’s moved on, she’s somehow found an extra maid uniform and in the blink of an eye has donned the thing. “Today you get to be the lady, and I’ll play the role of maid. How’s that sound?”

It sounds like a violation of every courtly norm. It mocks royalty itself, spits on the court as an institution, and disgraces her title. It would drive the king mad if he found out, though he lives in another palace altogether. Yes, I can’t help but admit I love everything about this idea. Besides, anything that helps me grow closer to the princess serves my plans well.

Canina responds to my grin of approval with eagerness. “Now let’s get you dressed!”

Too late, I realize my error. She intends to help me change the way I do for her. “I would prefer privacy if I may, Princess Canina.”

“Nope! You’ve seen almost every part of me by now. It is both a maid’s duty and privilege to admire her lady’s figure while helping her dress. Now come here.”

Hardly a role reversal at all, I remain entirely at My Lady’s mercy, it would seem. With resignation, I brace for what must follow. My uniform comes off with suspiciously practiced motions, and before I have time to brace myself, I am exposed before a young woman who freezes in shock, staring at my body.

“Please let me explain—“

“You’re like me,” the princess whispers.

I startle. “I’m sorry?”

“You have a… man’s organ, like I once…”

“It’s not a man’s organ, it’s my organ.” Too firm. This could go badly very easily if I’m not extremely delicate. “And I promise you, My Lady, I am still a woman and still your maid.”

“No.” Her eyes well up with tears, and she embraces me in the same way she did after discovering we share the same headaches. “Not my maid.” She moves to take my hand in hers and places a dainty kiss on my fingers. “Today you are my Lady Velle.”

---

We visit the shrine. Of course we visit that damned shrine. Canina begged and pleaded until I agreed—which I did immediately because I know which of us is still truly in charge—and so we kneel as usual before the statue of the goddess she worships. Something about even that statue unsettles me, as though I ought to know more than I do about the figure it represents. Worse, by some trick of the light it feels like I catch it moving out of the corner of my eye. Of course, whenever I look directly at the thing, it remains the same as ever.

“Goddess, thank You for giving me Velle. She is absolutely perfect, and I know that You will only help her become more perfect once she accepts Your love. I pray for Your guidance to show me how I may lead her to Your holy light.”

I grit my teeth and endure. That Canina accepts me so readily is remarkably good fortune, and I will not throw such a stroke of luck away in a fit of petulance.

“Blessings of the Goddess to you both!” As we leave the shrine, we are accosted by that blasted creature again.

Yet before I can compose my retort, the princess speaks for me. “You will have to excuse us. My Lady does not approve of your antics, and it is my duty to dismiss you from her sight.”

The jester’s eyes flick between the two of us as it parses the role reversal on display. “But of course! Fool that I am, I would be more foolish yet if I displeased a woman of such high standing as Lady Velle. Worse, it would be terribly crass for me to deny a request from a maid as fine as yourself.” It winks at Canina, who breaks character with a giggle.

Content to have played its role in this game, the jester departs.

“Well done, Canina. You serve your lady well.” The princess blushes, wiggling her hips in obvious pleasure. I get the impression she’s enjoying this roleplay more than I am.

After this detour, however, I find myself at a loss for how to proceed. I’ve grown accustomed to the way my daily routine revolves around the princess’s whims, and I hardly know what to do with such leisure time. The most important thing at the moment is the Plan, but for that I need to continue building trust with Canina.

“As my housemaid, I would have you do something more for me.” She perks up, eager to be given an official task. “Plan something amusing we can do together.”

My play-maid’s eyes light up as though she were waiting for exactly this invitation. “With pleasure, My Lady. If you will follow me, I have just the idea.” With a spirited twirl that emphasizes the motion of her skirt, she leads me through palace hallways on a familiar journey back to her chambers.

#empty spaces #my writing #The New Goddess #gods #princesses #inhumanity #trans

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thesaphirusirmgardia9513 · 1 day ago

Note

Hi there!

Asking you if you have any ocs that you made out of whims and then forgotten about them altogether?

Ayo? Hello there, stranger.

To answer your question, yes. I have plenty actually. But the ones I remembered are definitely these:

Shirayuki (King of Fighters)

A clone of Kula Diamond who was created by NESTS to hunt down K' and Kula but later was swayed by the two of them and decided to join them afterwards. Able to wield blue fire and ice, depending on combo and DPS. (Brothaaaaa, idk what to do with you-)

Shiroi Masamune (Super Robot Wars/Taisen)

An artificial human pilot from a Newtype-inspired super soldier program under a pharmaceutical company called Epsilon with a lack of emotions. She was able to flee when a scientist responsible for her finally knew why Shiroi and her sibling units were created for. The pilot of Tsuyakeshi-Fuyu, a Personal Trooper with the spirit of an ice deity possessing her destroyed PTX-08R: Huckebein. (Time to play SRW again..*grabs controller*)

Nezuko Kurogami & Marcus Junius Brutus (Fate)

Ah these two. Like you read in the name, Nezuko is the Master of a Saver Servant by the name of Marcus Junius Brutus. I don't remember the further details into it however but it follows heavily the plot of the Chalice stuff where everyone is fighting one another and stuff for a big thing. They do get a lot intimate though later on. (Ngl, I wanna remake them for something else now lmao since I dropped Fate when their shit grew-)

Joan Blauer (Diabolik Lovers)

(omg, I actually liked this thing back then???)

Ahem- Well, this sort of follows the plot of DiaLovers where Joan is more to guide Yui while she searches for Cordelia, her sister figure after she was essentially trapped for...a hundred years or so(?), Joan isn't a vampire per se but sort of cursed to stay alive no matter how much she tried while she do that, she deals with Yui and the Sakamakis, Mukamis and Tsukinamis. (Legitly Yui's bodyguard, poor Joan getting martyred here too xD)

Maihime Suou (Mirai Nikki/Future Diary)

Essentially a sort of extended stuff revolving Yukiteru Amano doesn't want to become a God anymore because he misses Yuno, so he restarted the game with Maihime becomes the main lead and a man named Kaein Kurosu (who later becomes Maihime's love interest, legit dunno how that went there but-), Maihime won, revives Kaein and they kinda effed off happily ever after. (..nah no. The design for Maihime was hella neat but the character isn't worth reviving to me. *zetsubo*)

NiTE (Devil Survivor 2)

Not a thoroughly thought character here. She is essentially doing an Olympic torch thing, replacing Alcor as the Sword of Polaris with a different protagonist (id remember the name, halp-), follows the same DS2 plot and she lets herself be murdered to help the protagonist. (Yeah.. she's a heckin flop. Not worth reviving to me.. oTL)

Kagami Sankenshin (Highschool of the Dead)

A biker/racer girl (imagine Beta Claire from RE2) who is actually like an experiment from the lab that started it all. Kinda like Alice from the RE live action movies but watered down. One thing I remember is, she is good with snipers. (Girl, I wanna remake you for something else.. but I dunno what franchise..)

Schwarze Rosendamme (Ib)

Simply a Guterna's drawing that came to life. She is a skilled swordswoman who didn't have malice intentions towards Ib and Garry. Thing is, she never told them that she was a painting, simply someone who wanted to guide the two of them out of the gallery to safety. (Schwarze's look actually inspired me to draw Aurelle, my first DnD character.)

Aikawa Hibiko (Digital Devil Saga)

I think I made her on a whim when my partner made a DDS character back then. But the story I gave for Hibiko was that she is a recon for her tribe and suddenly kinda got blessed/cursed with a demon form like any other character in DDS are. (Maybe I'll use her design for something else.. decisions.. decisions...)

Anri Akamine (Original Work)

I created Anri during the whole isekai genre craze back then. She is a game developer that died due to overworking. Her powers are complete elemental manipulation, high appraisal skills and actually own high level crafting skills (she spent three roleplay sessions creating a small fridge, go figure xD) and very skilled with swords apparently. (I do use Anri from time to time... When I'm chatting with anyone from an isekai franchise on c.ai)

Mercedes 'Mercy' Harrison (Castlevania)

Mercy is essentially a Belmont, but her birth was hidden so no one would hunt for her thus the Harrison family name. Despite looking skittish and shy, she is a very skilled fighter with her whip and daggers. She also knows a little magic as well that later grows as she spends more time with Richter. (..miss Mercy, I legit forgotten about you oml... Welpp.. time to find a way to bring you back..)

---------------------------------------------------------

Well, that's all I have in mind I think? But thanks for asking the question, all of these characters do linger in my mind like a dream from time to time. Hope this answered it. Cheers!✨

#original character #oc #castlevania #digital devil saga #devil survivor #original work #highschool of the dead #ib #king of fighters #super robot wars #fate series #diabolik lovers #mirai nikki

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seaside-writings · 1 year ago

Text

I hope this prompt list brings you inspiration wherever it is needed, and like always if you do use these prompts please tag me so I can see what you’ve made!

I hope you all stay blessed and safe throughout your day.

Lots of Love & Wishes: Celia 🧡🎃🖤🕸💜🔮

🔮 “I put a spell on you, and now you're mine,”

🔮 “Your wretched little lives have all been cursed,”

🔮 “It's been three hundred years, right down to the day,”

🔮 “Now the witch is back and there's hell to pay,”

🔮 “I put a spell on you, and now you're gone!”

🔮 “You can't stop the things I do, I ain't lyin',”

🔮 “I put a spell on you, a wicked spell,”

🔮 “My whammy fell on you, and it was strong,”

🔮 “If you don't believe, you better get superstitious,”

🔮 “Watch out! Watch out! Watch out! Watch out!”

🔮 “Hello, Salem!”

🔮 “She’s vicious!”

🔮 “'Cause of all the witches working, I'm the worst,”

🔮 “Ah, say into pi, alpha maybe upendi!”

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kiaroscuro · 9 months ago

Text

Such a dapper demon birb. I love putting him in random outfits ;)

The first one is vaguely 1920's inspired because I'd been rereading Chrono Crusade and I do love me some period clothing, and the rest is just for fun.

(But also imagine an AU where Ren and Arsene get transported into the past and have to figure out how to get back to the present, only to run into Rosette on a mission. Rosette would be like: Ya also got contracted to a demon, huh? Is he friendly at least?

And Ren and Arsene would just,,, go along with it, somehow ending up at the church. Upon being questioned what fuels the contract, Ren would be like: ...my soul? And Rosette would cheer. Then the three of them (and Chrono) would wreak havoc on Aion's plans and save Joshua, haha)

A little (ok it turned longer than I'd thougth) snippet under the cut bc I got inspired.

---

Rosette stares at the demon-human pair across the street, silently wondering if she should reach for the seal of her watch or if she should shoot at him while his attention is towards the young man he's currently fussing over. She's never really seen a demon who didn't at least try to blend into the surrounding humans unless it was in the throes of an attack, but this one -- while having a humanoid shape -- has a very distinctly non-humanoid skintone and face. Compared to Chrono, who is often mistaken for an Indigenous kid with his dark hair and sun-kissed complexion, whose only giveaway of his demonic nature were his pointy ears and red-slit pupils, the obsidian-skinned demon across the street was a great warning sign.

"Chrono!" She hisses, eyes never leaving the demon as he adjusts the paperboy hat on his... contractor? Lunch? Next victim? "Who is that?"

Chrono shoots her a glare, though he's also focused on the demon, eyes furrowed. "I don't recognize him," he admits, "and I can't get a read on his power other than that it feels cursed."

Rosette blows out a breath she hadn't noticed she'd been holding. "That doesn't narrow anything down, buddy." She moves her hand from the latch of her seal to her trusty gun, lamenting that she doesn't have any of the nifty and new blessed rounds on her because Kate is stingy at the best of times.

...

"...the demon isn't even trying to hide-- are those wings? I thought that was a cape!" He had great feathered wings folded against the fabric of his trenchcoat, and Rosette wonders how no-one around them notices that he was very clearly not human.

"Rosette, don't do anything harsh!" Chrono tries, but by then Rosette is already marching over, never good at doing things like waiting or following orders. Chrono sighs in exasperation and carefully follows after his stubborn contractee, her blonde hair and blue Magdalen uniform easy to track even amongst the afternoon crowd.

He catches up to her right when she stopped in front of the dark-haired human and is already running through possible escapes in his mind when Rosette shoots the mysterious demon a look. She even has her gun out and visible, as if that would intimidate any demonic being other than maybe low-ranking legion constructs. "What are you doing with the boy, huh?" She asks, sotto voce.

Chrono felt like burying his face in his hands. So much for remaining calm in this highly strange situation. At least this demon seems more amused than anything, if his tilted head is any indication. The human splutters. "I'm sorry--" he starts, and Rosette steamrolls over him.

"You know that that's a demon, right? Are you in danger? I'm with the Magdalen Order, if you need help you can just say so."

"...ah," Chrono mutters, helpless. The demon and young man -- he's really not a boy, considering he seemed a few years older than Rosette -- share a glance, before the human looks down at himself.

"...we've been shopping, actually, because someone insisted that I need to try to blend in with the locals better."

"Thou do, yes. I'd like to think I've done a pretty good job of it, too." The demon says, his voice echoing in a way Chrono recognizes from high-ranking telepaths. Slightly echo-y, both loud and somehow in the mind. Humans weren't made for telepathy, so he doubted Rosette noticed anything weird about his voice, though maybe Satella or Azmaria would notice it.

The human rolls his eyes and turns back towards Rosette, expression wry. "I'm Ren Amamiya, this is my partner Arsene, it's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Magdalen Order."

Rosette splutters and introduces herself and Chrono after a second, and he focuses on Arsene's face to figure out if recognition will flash in those fiery eyes or not. The demon appears amused at her behavior but not otherwise murdery. He doesn't even appear to recognize Chrono's name, for whatever reason.

And then Chrono blinks. "...partner?" He asks, unsure if he's misheard. He and Rosette share a pointed glance, Chrono's eyes falling to her contract watch, before they turn back towards the two. Rosette's at least packed away her gun, finally.

"Yep," Ren says, popping the 'p', something wary in his posture all of a sudden.

Rosette stares. Chrono has a sudden, bad feeling about this. "...you know that he's a demon." She starts.

"He's certainly a devilish fiend, yes." Ren says, with amusement.

"And you're contracted to each other?" Rosette continues.

"For a given manner of the word, oui." Arsene answers this time, something cautious in his tone.

"Hush. I'm talking to Ren. You know that he's feeding on your soul if you're contracted."

Ren eyes her, and then Chrono, and then Arsene before his gaze falls back to Rosette's, something calculating in it that reminds Chrono dangerously of Aion, back when everything had been normal and before their Rite of Tuning. "You could almost say that we're of one soul, considering we share it."

Rosette nods, lost to the minute details that Chrono's been noticing. "And you still call him your partner and seem friendly towards him?" She asks, hands on her hip, any previous anymosity forgotten. Sometimes, Chrono despaired. Ren and Arsene share another glance before Ren smiles at them with a gentle shrug.

"Of course. The only people who have to worry about Arsene being a danger are husbands." After a beat of silence, he adds: "Because he loves to flirt with women," which lowers Chrono's hackles. Arsene rolls(?) his eyes good-naturedly.

"I was haggling down the price of thy hat, dear." He says, and Rosette snorts at that, completely at ease even while Chrono can't get the feeling off of his chest that this was one strange demon.

But then again, didn't he have to flee Pandemonium in the first place because he and the other Sinners had been 'strange' in the eyes of the Elders as well? Failures? It's possible that Arsene was running low on legion or was otherwise running low on astral and that was why he wasn't trying to appear particularly human, or maybe he's never gotten the hang of it in the first place, like Shader.

...though he did still have his horns, so he should be able to channel the astral energy and shouldn't even need a contract in the first place, unless he was otherwisely hurt somehow -- Chrono knows that they'd spoken the truth about 'sharing' Ren's soul, because the human's imprint was all over Arsene. It's possible that the other demon wasn't as strong as Chrono and thus could keep an open line to the human without quickly draining him like Chrono always did to Rosette whenever she opened the seal, because he had been a very strong demon in his prime, and was still powerful even with the restrictions.

"Ah, we wouldn't want to impose..." Ren says, carefully, and Chrono notices that he's completely tuned out of the discussion like an idiot. He's immediately back on high alert, but no-one's seemed to have died in the interim, so he calms down again.

Rosette is all smiles. "Nope, consider it an apology that I was so harsh to you two earlier." She says, and Ren demurrs a moment later:

"In that case, we'll gladly tag along to dinner with you." He says, with a nod from Arsene, and Chrono... blinks.

With what funds? Not the Orders, right, Rosette? He thought, but of course there was no answer from Rosette as she talked about the excellent selection of meat-based dishes from Antonio's.

Not the Order's funds, Rosette! Chrono despaired.

#myart #persona 5 #chrono crusade #arsene #ren amamiya #ren x arsene #they're soft and in love and i am just slightly obsessed #yay for hyperfixations #my writing #rosette christopher #chrno #help it turned into an actual fic #what the hell that hadn't been the plan #chrono and rosette share a single braincell and it usually belongs to azmaria #rosette meets one (1) potential friendly demon-human contract pair and is like: we'll be friends if you want to be or not #ren and arsene who use the term 'partner' in a romantic sense: you're partners huh #rosette who has too much in her head for romance: yep! we're absolutely partners! chrono is the best partner I could hope for!#chrono who noticed the tone: ah rosette -- that's not what--

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