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whosashan · 25 days ago

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SELF-DOUBT

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader (reader is implied to be the MC in Caleb's part)

SYNOPSIS: Doubt creeps in, unraveling the fragile thread between you, pulling you further from him before anything even takes shape. (relationship not established)

A/N: I wrote this with a glint of mischief—hope you enjoy it!

Xavier

You sat on a bench, swallowed by the vast silence of the night. Darkness draped over you like a heavy cloak, its quiet lull almost enough to pull you into slumber. Almost. But no matter how exhausted you were, sleep never came. The streets stretched empty before you, hollow and waiting, save for the restless whisper of leaves dancing in the wind.

Beside you sat a half-empty bottle of wine, an offering to quiet the storm in your mind. But instead of drowning your thoughts, it only seemed to amplify them, making every ache more vivid, every insecurity more unbearable.

You were burning—boiling in the realization of how effortlessly Xavier existed.

How carelessly he moved through life, how mistakes never seemed to chain him down. He would stumble, but he would never fall. And if he did, he would rise again, never sparing the past a second glance.

He was magnetic in ways he didn’t even try to be. People were drawn to him, lured by something unseen, something inexplicable. A presence so commanding, so sure. The kind of certainty you would never know.

And you—you were nothing like him.

Every small misstep clung to you like an unforgiving shadow, dragging you back, keeping you tethered to doubt. You were plain where he was extraordinary. Silent where he was effortlessly captivating. A mere bystander in the presence of someone who burned so brightly, he could outshine even the stars.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your palms against your temple, trying to steady yourself.

You were unfit for him.

He was a constellation—distant, celestial, unreachable. While you were the remnants of a flower long past its bloom, wilting under the weight of your own self-doubt. Once, perhaps, you had been something more. But now? Now you were just a shell of what you wished to be.

The thought alone made your head throb, your chest ache in that quiet, suffocating way that reminded you you were still alive.

How ridiculous—how utterly foolish—to believe you could ever be his equal. That you could be worthy of his attention, his time, his kindness. The very same kindness so many others already fought for, already deserved far more than you ever could.

Your gaze drifted upward, meeting the expanse of the sky. A tear slipped free, streaking down your flushed cheek. You let it fall. For once, you wished you could have something that was meant to be yours. Just one thing. Just this.

But fate had never been kind. And you had long since learned that some wishes were never meant to be answered.

Your phone buzzed, the brightness of the screen making you squint.

"You up?"

Xavier.

Probably wanting to watch a movie, play that new game he wouldn’t stop talking about. Something easy, something simple.

But doubt had already woven its way into your bones. You weren’t going to reply. You weren’t going to pretend.

And then, the phone rang.

You should have ignored it. You should have let it ring into oblivion. But maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the ache in your chest—whatever it was, you answered.

"So you're not asleep."

His voice was soft, wrapped in that familiar gentleness you had always admired. No matter what happened, no matter what he said, there was always that warmth beneath his words.

It was unbearable.

"You should stop contacting me." The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, sharp and cruel, colliding violently with the tenderness of his voice. "I don’t want to speak to you."

A lie. A desperate, pathetic lie.

Silence. You could almost picture his expression—the slight furrow in his brows, the way his lips would part just slightly in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" His voice, once steady, wavered with the weight of worry. "What happened?"

You hated it. Hated that he cared. Hated that he was giving you an out, a chance to explain. Hated that he was proving, yet again, that he was good, too good.

And you? You were selfish. Weak.

"Goodnight, Xavier."

You didn’t wait for his response. Didn’t let yourself hesitate. You hung up, turned off your phone, and let the silence settle in.

It was just you and the stars now.

You wondered if he was looking at them too. If he could feel the weight of your absence the way you felt the unbearable gravity of his presence.

For now, you convinced yourself you were doing him a favor. Letting him go. Giving him the freedom to chase something greater, something more.

Because that something could never be you.

Zayne

Zayne was the kind of man who belonged to the world. A man of purpose, of unwavering resolve—one who mended shattered lives and stitched together the fragile threads of existence. He was a savior, a beacon, the kind of person people clung to in their darkest moments, the reason they saw another sunrise.

And you hated how much you envied him.

Because you, too, had once longed to be someone like that—needed, irreplaceable. Someone whose absence would be felt, whose existence bore meaning beyond the mundane. But the truth was far less poetic. You were no savior, no guiding light. You were painfully, cruelly ordinary.

Drifting through life on autopilot, grasping at dreams that always seemed just beyond reach. And then there was him—Zayne, the ever-composed gentleman. The embodiment of grace under pressure. Always calm. Always certain. Always right. And perhaps, in some twisted way, that certainty made you resent him. Because deep down, a part of you whispered—maybe you could have been that, too. Maybe, in another life, you would have stood beside him as an equal.

But you weren’t his equal. You were a footnote in his story, an afterthought. And it was foolish—so terribly foolish—to believe you had ever belonged in his orbit. To think, even for a fleeting moment, that you were worthy of his time, his presence, his affection.

Yet a quiet, desperate part of you clung to the fragile hope that perhaps—just perhaps—he needed something ordinary to anchor his brilliance. That in the midst of his immaculate world, he might have craved something simple, something real. That maybe, against all logic, there had been a space for you beside him.

But hope was a dangerous thing. And you had long since learned to silence it.

The notification of a new message shattered the silence of your thoughts. You glanced at your phone, breath hitching as Zayne’s name appeared on the screen.

"You’ve been awfully quiet these past couple of days. Is something bothering you?"

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t type a response. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You had become quite skilled at keeping your distance. At building walls around the parts of yourself that longed for him in ways you couldn’t control. And now, as your feelings for him grew into something perilous, something unbearable, your instinct was to retreat. To destroy what little remained before it could destroy you.

You prayed he wouldn’t push. That he would let you slip away unnoticed. But deep down, you knew better. Because Zayne was kind. So painfully, frustratingly kind. And his kindness made you furious.

You didn’t want his concern. You didn’t want his pity.

And then—the phone rang.

You stared at it, heartbeat hammering in your ears. For a moment, you almost answered. Almost let yourself believe in the impossible.

But instead, you let it ring.

It was better this way. That’s what you told yourself. That’s what you would keep telling yourself, over and over again, until the bitterness was all that remained.

Every time you stepped outside your apartment, a quiet dread curled around your ribs, squeezing tight. You feared crossing paths with him—not because you despised him, but because you feared what his presence would unravel within you. Would he say anything? Would he even care?

You followed a familiar path, the one your feet had traced countless times before. The setting sun stretched long, spindly shadows across the pavement, casting the world in hues of gold and sorrow. The evening breeze whispered against your skin, grounding you in the present, yet your mind was elsewhere—trapped in memories you had no strength to relive.

You sought solace in the scent of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries, in the soft murmur of a café that had once been a haven. But even that, it seemed, was not yours to keep.

As you scanned the display, preparing to order, a voice—low, steady, unmistakable—cut through the air behind you.

"A slice of cheesecake for me, and—" a pause, deliberate and weighted, "_____ for the lady."

Your heart clenched. Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t turn around—you couldn’t. But your fingers curled at your sides as if bracing for impact.

He remembered.

Even after everything, he still remembered.

Silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, taut with everything left unsaid. You should have walked away. You should have spoken, filled the empty space with something, anything. But hope—foolish, insidious hope—kept you rooted in place.

"Would you grant me a moment of honesty?" His voice, smooth and measured, held an undertone you couldn't quite place. A plea? A demand? Perhaps both.

You swallowed, your gaze fixed on the counter. "I'm not sure what you'd like to talk about."

"Come now," he said, his tone impossibly gentle, "do not insult my intelligence—or yours—by feigning ignorance. We are both aware of the distance you have so carefully placed between us. I only wish to understand why."

There it was. Direct, articulate, impossible to misinterpret.

Panic stirred in your chest, a quiet, insistent thing.

"Zayne, please—"

"Please what?" His voice softened, yet his words remained precise, deliberate. "Pretend I have not noticed your absence? Ignore the way you avert your gaze, as if the very sight of me has become a burden you can no longer bear? Is that truly what you wish of me?"

Your breath hitched.

"Sometimes," you whispered, "some things are best left unknown."

You turned before he could see the way your expression crumbled. Before he could see the way your hands trembled at your sides.

The café door chimed as you stepped outside. The reason you had come here in the first place—the pastry he had ordered for you—lay forgotten.

But he didn’t follow.

He didn’t reach for you.

And that, somehow, was the cruelest part of all.

Left standing in the empty hollow of your own choices, you wondered—was this truly the only way? Or had you simply chosen the path that hurt the most, just to prove to yourself that you still felt something at all?

Rafayel

It was all too easy to drown in self-doubt when standing beside Rafayel.

He moved through life with an effortless grace, as if uncertainty had never dared lay its hands on him. Confidence clung to his every step, an unshakable certainty in the way he spoke, the way he created, the way he existed. No matter the circumstance, he would find a way—because that’s just the kind of person he was.

And you? You were a spectator in his orbit, a mere shadow to his brilliance.

You hated how easily he captivated others, how rooms seemed to hush when he entered, drawn in by the cruel beauty he possessed—not just in his features, but in his very being. There was something infuriatingly magnetic about him, something that made people linger, hoping for even a fraction of his attention.

And you? You lingered too.

Not because of his art, though his talent was undeniable. Not because of the way the world adored him, though it was impossible to ignore. But because he was him—a force of nature, a storm and a masterpiece all at once.

You tried to keep up, you truly did. But no matter how quickly you ran, he was always ahead. Already reaching new heights, already standing atop mountains you hadn’t even begun to climb.

Rafayel was the ocean—vast, unknowable, and devastatingly beautiful. Deep with mysteries, with uncharted depths you would never be allowed to explore. You had always been afraid of drowning, but with him, you almost welcomed it.

How pathetic.

You resented how easily he had wrapped you around his finger, how effortlessly he kept you tethered without even noticing. You were there, always there, like a loyal dog at his heels, waiting for scraps of attention, pretending it was enough.

But it wasn’t. And deep down, you had always known it wouldn’t be. You wanted to be selfish, just this once.

Because one day, he would move on. He would walk into a world filled with greater things, greater people, and you would be left behind—forgotten, discarded, chained to memories he would not care to revisit.

You refused to let that happen. You refused to be another fleeting thing in his life, another season passing unnoticed. So, you did the only thing you knew how to do—you vanished before he could make the choice himself. You let yourself slip away, gradually, like the last breath of winter surrendering to spring.

Your phone buzzed. Unread messages. Missed calls. His name appearing again and again on the screen.

You read them. Or, at least, you skimmed the words before doubt crept in, wrapping itself around your throat like an invisible hand. You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let him see you like this, drowning in the weight of emotions you could never voice.

"Cutieee, did you forget about my art exhibit??? You were supposed to be there."

No, it was better this way. You would return to the life you had before him—a quiet, simple life, untouched by the chaos he had introduced into your world. A life of routine, of predictability. That was what you needed, wasn’t it?

Then why did it feel like suffocating?

You exhaled, sinking deeper into the couch. The room was messier than usual—evidence of his recent visit, his presence lingering in every overturned book, every misplaced sketch, every forgotten jacket draped over the chair.

You refused to clean it up. Not yet.

Not yet.

Your fingers hovered over your phone, mindlessly scrolling—until an advertisement flashed across the screen.

His new exhibit. His name in bold letters, his work displayed for the world to marvel at.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would erase the ache in your chest. As if it would silence the part of you that still longed to be near him, even now.

But longing was dangerous. It was cruel, deceptive.

Your jaw tightened as you closed your phone, fingers moving with practiced finality. One tap. Then another.

Blocked.

You shut your eyes, swallowing down the lump in your throat, willing yourself to believe the lie you had been repeating for days.

It’s okay.

You’ll figure it out.

Even if it kills you.

Sylus

The night air curled around you like an old lover—cold, indifferent, familiar. It filled your lungs, sharp and biting, yet no matter how deeply you inhaled, it wasn’t enough. You were suffocating, drowning in something invisible, something that clung to your ribs like a parasite.

The glass of wine in your trembling hand felt like an anchor. Heavy, grounding. The very same wine Sylus had once recommended, his voice smooth as he described its velvety texture, its lingering finish. You had listened, hung onto every syllable, because that was what you did with him. You listened. You remembered. You cared. And you hoped he did, too.

Your reflection in the glass balcony doors was pitiful—ruined mascara streaking your face like ghostly remnants of hope, smudged lipstick from where you had worried at your lip too many times. You looked desperate. Because you were desperate. And wasn't that the most humiliating thing?

You were nothing more than a fool playing house in a mansion you were never meant to enter. A child trying to hold onto a storm and then crying when it slipped through their fingers.

Because it had slipped.

You had slipped.

Sylus had made you believe, even if only for a fleeting moment, that you could be something—someone—to him. That you were different, special. That the way his gaze lingered meant something, that his rare smiles were meant for you alone.

What a lie. What a cruel, beautiful lie.

You tilted your head back and emptied your glass in one swallow. The burn was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the fire in your chest.

Foolish.Pathetic.Naïve.

You had let yourself believe you could matter to a man like Sylus.

Sylus, who was untouchable. Who could have anything and anyone. A man whose very presence commanded rooms, whose name carried weight heavier than entire empires. He was revered, feared, an unstoppable force of nature.

And you?

You were nothing.

A momentary amusement, an interlude between greater things.

The worst part?

He had never once given you a reason to think this way. Never lied to you. Never made empty promises.

No—this was all you. Your own mind, your own doubts, curling around you like a noose, squeezing, whispering, you are not enough, you were never enough, you will never be enough.

Your phone buzzed against the railing, the sudden vibration slicing through the quiet. You didn't need to look to know who it was.

Sylus.

Of course.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t answer. Not yet. Instead, you let your eyes fall to the lock screen, to the photo you refused to delete—Sylus, asleep, his features unguarded, softened in a way you rarely got to see. It had been a stolen moment, a cruel mercy the universe had given you, because you had wanted to believe he was yours in that moment.

But he wasn’t.

And he never would be.

Your chest ached so deeply it felt like your ribs would crack under the pressure.

You should block his number. End it now before it consumes you whole.

But you couldn’t. Because you were weak. Because even now, when every voice in your head screamed at you to run, you wanted him to call again.

You wanted him to tell you you were wrong.

You wanted him to chase after you, to demand answers, to prove you wrong.

But he wouldn’t.

Because Sylus didn’t need you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the most painful part of it all.

With a heavy exhale, you turned off your phone, shutting out the only person who had ever made you feel alive.

For now, you would convince yourself this was the right choice.

That you were doing this to protect yourself.

That you weren’t just running away before he had the chance to leave first.

Caleb

Oh, how much you loved and hated that man.

Caleb, the golden child. The one who had always been effortlessly everything.

The one who turned heads when he entered a room—not just because of his sharp jaw or the way his stupidly soft hair always fell into his eyes, but because he was Caleb. Because he had that energy, that confidence, that natural magnetism that made people want to be close to him.

And you—well, you were just the one who had always been there.

The one who followed a step behind, the one who laughed at his ridiculous jokes even when they weren’t funny, the one who made sure he stayed grounded when his reckless nature got the best of him. His constant. His safe place.

But never his choice.

Never the one he reached for in the way you reached for him.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling of your dimly lit room, your fingers gripping your phone like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. The screen glowed softly, Caleb’s name lighting up in the dark.

Missed call.

Another missed call.

A message: "Pipsqueak, Where are you? You good?"

It was almost funny. Caleb always knew when something was wrong. Always had that frustrating intuition when it came to you.

And yet—he never really knew.

He didn’t know what it was like to stand beside someone so bright, so undeniable, and feel like you were flickering out. Like you were just background noise in a song that was never really yours.

You clenched your jaw, heart twisting painfully. It was suffocating—this love, this stupid, unwanted love that had lodged itself in your ribs, too deep to remove without destroying something vital.

God, how had it come to this?

When had your best friend become the thing that hurt you the most?

You weren’t even sure when the shift happened. Maybe it was the first time you realized how beautiful he looked under streetlights, his laughter warm enough to make your chest ache. Or maybe it was when you started noticing the way his lips curved just slightly before he smirked—like he already knew exactly what you were thinking. Maybe it was the nights he snuck to your room just to ramble about some nonsense, and you let yourself believe—for those fleeting moments—that you were the person he wanted to be with.

Maybe it had always been this way, and you were just too blind, too hopeful to acknowledge it.

But hope was a dangerous thing. And you were so tired of losing to it.

Your phone buzzed again. Another call.

You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers trembling.

You wanted to answer.

You wanted to hear his voice, let him pull you back in with that stupid, teasing warmth, let him fix this in the way only Caleb could—without even realizing what needed fixing.

But you couldn’t.

Because every second you spent with him, you fell a little deeper. And Caleb… Caleb never even noticed he was holding the rope that could either pull you up or let you drown.

Your throat burned as you stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the call.

And for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself imagine what it would be like. If you answered. If you told him everything. If you laid your heart bare and let him see just how much of it he had taken without even trying.

Would he laugh? Would he be kind? Would he let you down gently, tell you that you were important to him, but not in the way you wanted?

Or worse—would he pity you?

The thought made something inside you shatter.

No.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t let yourself be that vulnerable.

So instead, you did what you had always done. You swallowed the ache, buried the yearning deep where he would never find it, and turned off your phone.

Maybe in another life, things would have been different.

Maybe in another life, Caleb would have looked at you the way you looked at him.

But in this one?

You were meant to love him in silence.

And he was never meant to hear it.

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prythianpages · 5 months ago

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Hopelessly Devoted | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader x Azriel | You're hopelessly devoted to Azriel, suspecting he’s your true love. Meanwhile, Eris is hopelessly longing after you. aka Eris being your mate but you're too infatuated with Az to notice.

warnings: slight angst, reader being a bit delulu

*also disclaimer that I am no expert in astrology and my knowledge is usually what I gathered from friends or tiktok so if I'm wrong, please correct me but do it nicely pls bc I am sensitive lol*

a/n: I wasn't sure whether to include Az or not in the pairing but I liked the idea of leaving this fic up to your interpretation. Anyway, happy reading! <3

As you entered the Night Court’s observatory, you traced your fingers along the edge of the great celestial map laid before you. You could feel the soft hum of magic beneath your fingertips, still smell the faintest hint of sage–a remnant of your father’s last ritual here. For centuries, your father has served as the Night Court’s astrologer. He’s guided and advised High Lord Rhysand and on occasion, Keir, the steward of the Court of Nightmares.

Above you, constellations and planets danced across the domed ceiling, the stars gleaming as though they were ready to whisper secrets just for you. You took a deep breath, centering yourself, and placed a palm flat against the massive zodiac wheel etched onto the floor. It began to glow, a warm golden light tracing symbols of the zodiacs and planets.

“Stars above and stars below, reveal the path I seek to know,” you quietly murmured.

The markings on the wheel shifted in response, aligning and realigning with clicking sounds, the warm golden light following. Then, your own chart had appeared, shimmering above you. It was a translucent web of stars and planets connected by silvery lines. You’ve read your birth chart many times, become so familiar with it that you knew it by heart even.

But tonight, you needed the extra reassurance. So you looked up, watching as the planets moved slowly. Your heartbeat a little faster as you spotted Jupiter making transit through your seventh house. The promise of growth, abundance, luck and most important of all, love filled the air.

You slipped a small vial from the hidden pocket of your cobalt blue dress. The words Love Potion No.9 gleamed on the glass, the dark red liquid swirling. It was the enchanted perfume you’d bought from a witch last week—a little love potion designed to make you irresistibly alluring to your soulmate.

You felt a bit foolish, seeking a witch for guidance on love of all matters. Witches were frowned upon in the Court of Nightmares, after all. But impatience had finally nudged you to venture beyond the court’s dark mountain and into the surrounding forests, in search of someone who could help.

“Seek the one who walks between light and shadow with a mask of cool indifference, where fire meets the edge of night. There your heart shall find its match,” she had told you as she handed you the enchanted perfume.

Her words had only confirmed what you had been suspecting for years, centuries even.

Azriel was your soulmate.

Azriel, the very embodiment of cool indifference, wore a mask of stoicism in the Court of Nightmares, just as High Lord Rhysand did. But his hazel eyes always seemed to burn with a hidden fire. And when you were alone with him, away from the cold nobility of the Night Court, Azriel would let that mask slip, revealing a kinder side that laughed and smiled with you. He was your friend and not only did he literally walk among shadows, he wielded them. It had to be him!

And then, there was your birth chart. Your seventh house lay in Taurus—a sign ruled by Venus. With Venus positioned in your twelfth house, everything pointed to the idea that your future soulmate would bring your happiness and pleasure. And since you met Azriel all those years ago during a counseling your father led, happiness had been an emotion you'd grown more familiar with.

The stars couldn’t have given you a clearer message!

There was a flutter in your stomach as you approached Azriel. The two of you had been stealing glances at one another, as you usually did anytime you found yourselves in the same place. He looked as beautiful as ever. As dreamy as ever.

Though your High Lord and High Lady had moved to the center of the ballroom for a dance, he had stayed by the dais. “Hello,” you greeted him with a small smile.

Azriel turned to you, that mask of his slipping for just a brief moment to smile back at you. He took the extra wine glass in your hold, murmuring a small thanks. He turned his head back to the dance floor, attentive to his High Lady’s whereabouts. But he shifted closer to you, the coolness of his shadows caressing your bare arm and you couldn’t help but wonder if the perfume was working.

“You look nice,” he commented.

“Thanks.” A blush rose to your cheeks. You’d taken care to match your dress to the exact shade of his siphons. And he noticed. “So do you.”

“I wear this all the time.” Azriel replied drily, referring to his usual Illyrian leathers.

“Yeah, I know.” You cursed yourself inwardly for the awkward response, then shifted closer, leaning toward him. “Do I smell to you?”

Azriel paused, his shadows brushing close, as if curious themselves. “No,” he said after a moment.

“Oh.” Disappointment seeped into your voice despite your best efforts, and his gaze shifted to you, a hint of a frown in his brows.

“Do you want to smell?”

There’s a teasing edge to his tone, a subtle quirk of his lips. You shook your head, letting out a small, nervous laugh. "No. I just wanted to know if I smelled any…different…,” and then, in a much quieter tone, you murmured, “to you.”

Azriel considered your words. He looked to you in what seemed like permission. You gave a nod of your head and he leaned in, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. “You smell the same to me.” At the breath you let out, he quickly added: “which is good by the way. You smell nice.”

“Oh, okay,” you smile, albeit a bit awkwardly, the flutter you had felt in your stomach earlier twisting into a knot.

“Y/n, is everything alright?” Azriel asked softly.

“Yeah, I just thought—” You stopped, not sure how to explain without sounding foolish. It wasn’t like you could admit to feeling disappointed over the lack of reaction from an enchanted perfume you’d spent quite a fortune on. Especially when he was the sole purpose for it. Had the witch scammed you?

Azriel waited for you patiently, concern flashing in his eyes. Maybe the perfume hadn’t worked, but the stars and planets had never led you astray. That still had to mean something, right?

“I’m fine.” You finally said.

“Are you sure?”

The way he was looking at you had warmth creeping up your neck and settling deeper in your cheeks. “Yeah.”

A single shadow curled around Azriel’s ear and in the blink of an eye, his head turned. Your gaze followed his, to where Rhysand and Feyre were standing. Rhysand sent him a slight nod and with a sigh, Azriel returned it.

“Sorry, I have to go.” Azriel said, quickly downing the remaining wine from his glass.

You held out your hand, offering to take it for him.

“Thank you. I’ll be back. Don’t have too much fun without me, alright?”

“I’ll try not to,” you replied.

You watched Azriel disappear into his shadows before turning away from the dais and making your way to the refreshments table. You were eager for a refill on your glass. Perhaps a little more wine would help ease the sting of disappointment. But he’d said he’d be back, hadn’t he?

As you scanned the room, you noticed your father in conversation with one of Keir’s sons and your mother eyeing potential suitors for your older brother. As an elite warrior of the Darkbringers, he had no shortage of admirers, and it was only a matter of time before your mother secured him a match—perfect or not.

You suspected you’d be next on her matchmaking list, so you busied yourself with small talk among familiar ladies. Conversations were always a mind-numbing, the ladies your age exchanging beauty tips that centered around the male’s eye or fawning over this season’s most eligible males. Which this season just so happens to be your brother. Gross. If only they knew him the way you did….

Second to him was Bret—or some equally uninspiring name. A Scorpio, of all things, which clashed miserably with your chart. Not that it mattered. You had no interest in any noble of the Court of Nightmares. Or any male here. Most, if not all, were cruel and narcissists, only viewing females as child bearers and nothing more.

There was a reason why this court was burdened with the title “Nightmares.” And to marry someone from here would mean never waking up from this darkness. No stars to light your night skies, only endless shadow and despair.

So, you’d taken fate into your own hands. You’d turned to your birth chart, hoping the stars would lead you somewhere beyond Hewn City, beyond this never-ending nightmare. And they had. They led you to believe it was Azriel. Azriel, who was not only honorable and single but also, technically, part of the Court of Dreams. He’d been your friend for centuries, seeing you for who you are rather than an object or prize like most males here.

As you sneak away from the conversation, you bump into something–someone. Behind you, a deep voice huffed a low, mocking chuckle. “Easy there, librarian.”

You could recognize that voice anywhere, could recognize the heat radiating from him. It pressed down on you, leaving you simmering with irritation.

“I’m a libra, not a librarian.” You bit out. It hasn’t even been a minute and already you were exhausted by the searing presence behind you. “And besides, to you, it’s Lady Y/N.”

When you turned, you found Eris looming over you. His amber eyes gleamed with a familiar, infuriating mischief. He gave you that signature smirk of his, the one that made his sharp features all the more arrogant. “Such a harsh tone. Hardly fitting for a Lady.”

Your gaze hardened into a glare, only to have it stray toward a movement across the ballroom. A flicker of shadow caught your attention, and your heart gave a small, hopeful jump as your gaze softened. There he was—Azriel.

He had returned to the ballroom…but he hadn’t returned to you…

Eris raised a glass to his lips, amber eyes flicking lazily between you and Azriel. “Disappointment doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not disappointed.” You muttered hastily.

He gave a scoff, his smirk widening with dark amusement. “Please. I can practically feel it.”

“Liar,” you shot back.

“Azriel said he’d find me again and unlike you, he’s a male of his word,” you continued, not sure why you were telling Eris this. “He’s…”

Your words trailed off as you watched Azriel, who stood next to Nesta and Elain. He laughed–actually laughed!-- at something Elain had said, shadows absent from his frame as his focus remained solely on her. You couldn’t miss the soft smile playing on his lips, nor the warmth in his gaze. Did he do that with every female he knew? You thought he reserved that just for you…

The bubble in your chest slowly deflated.

“Keep dreaming,” Eris huffed out. He seemed to take special pleasure in your reaction. It prompted your cheeks to flush but this time, with irritation.

“Oh, go away, you prick,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?" he replied, leaning closer, his sharp gaze burning into you. You missed the flash of longing in his amber eyes, too focused on Azriel. Or the way the words that had been on the tip of his tongue faltered as your scent suddenly overwhelmed him, his breath hitching slightly.

"You smell.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled absently.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice gruff and pupils flaring. “You smell different tonight…good...”

You blinked, barely processing his words. Was he actually being nice to you? In all the years you’ve known him, he’s always had snark remark after snark remark for you. The way it would roll smoothly off his tongue always left you wondering if he’d rehearse them for his visits to the Court of Nightmares.

You fidgeted, fingers grazing your wine glass as you cast a hesitant glance back at Azriel. Your chest tightened as he remained engrossed in conversation with Elain. Turn around, please. But he hadn’t even looked your way once.

Eris stepped in front of you, drawing your attention back to him. His gaze roamed over you, your dress. He took in the shade and he knew why you had chosen it–and for whom. "You know," he said, his gaze lingering on your face. "Red suits you far better.”

“And there he is, you’re back…”

"I’m serious. This—" He gestured to your gown with a slight grimace, his fingers brushing the silk fabric in disappointment. "This color washes you out. Red would bring out the color of your eyes…”

Your jaw clenched but you remained silent, refusing to admit that his words stirred something within you. Eris was insufferable, arrogant, and yet you couldn't deny his eye for detail. He, after all, was always dressed impeccably in the finest Autumn attire. But you would never give him the satisfaction of admitting he might be right.

His smirk widened, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Do you want to know another thing?”

“No,” you said immediately.

But he leaned in anyway, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re hopelessly devoted to a male who doesn’t even look your way.”

Your mouth opened, brows furrowing in protest, but he went on. His smirk softened, fading into a half-smile. One that didn’t reach his eyes, dimming the fire that usually burned so brightly there. And then, in a much quieter, reluctant tone, he murmured, “And I am no different, it seems.”

"But…" You stammered, resisting the urge to steal another glance at Azriel. "He does look my way…sometimes.”

Eris’s smile faded, his expression tightening. A flicker of pain crossed his face. So brief, you almost thought you imagined it. "You’re delusional.”

“And you’re insufferable.” You scoffed, heart pounding.

“Better than being a fool.”

The mocking tone was there but the usual sharpness had been softened by a strange, subtle sadness. Was this… pity?

You swallowed, lifting your chin defiantly. “The stars wouldn’t lie to me,” you said, though the conviction in your voice wavered. “He’s the one for me.”`

You met his eyes then and Eris held your gaze. His amber eyes warm and molten, the intensity of his stare prickling at your skin. An unsettling flutter erupted in your stomach, rising to your chest. A feeling you quickly dismissed when you felt something cool brush against your arm.

“Is he bothering you, y/n?”

Eris scoffed at the sudden presence beside you. It sickened him to see that sweet, adoring look on your face, the triumphant gleam in your eyes as you looked up at Azriel. The sight made Eris grit his teeth. His instincts roared at him, the fire in his veins was scorching.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze, realizing both males were waiting for your answer. “No,” you said but the way you shifted to stand behind Azriel said otherwise.

Azriel’s gaze hardened as he looked toward Eris. “Stay away from her,” he seethed.

A low growl rumbled from Eris’s chest as he took a step forward, his amber eyes flaring with rage. Though not as tall as Azriel, he seemed to tower over him at this moment. His teeth flashed as his lips curled into a snarl. “I do not take orders from bastards like you.”

Azriel’s wings tensed, threatening to unfurl and the movement of his shadows quickened. Like a storm ready to unfold. But before it could, you placed a hand on his arm. Right over one of his glowing siphons that seemed to be growing hotter and hotter, daring to match the fire coursing through Eris’s veins.

“Az, don’t,” you told him gently, not wanting to draw any attention to the three of you. You felt his muscles ease under your touch, his shadows brushing over your hand in agreement.

Eris’s gaze dropped to your hand on Azriel’s arm, his expression darkening into something unreadable. He exhaled sharply, turning his head as though trying to shake off whatever thought had crossed his mind.

When he looked back, his features had shifted into his usual cool mask, that infuriating smirk sliding back into place. He looked right at you.

“When you wake up from this deranged dream of yours, come find me.”

You watched him, feeling a strange, unwelcome tug in your chest as he turned to leave. Perhaps, one day you’d realize that the enchanted perfume you had bought was not a scam.

And that the male you searched through the stars and planets for was not the one standing beside you, but the one who’d just walked away.

a/n: sorry if you're not a libra, I just thought it'd be funny for Eris to purposely say reader's sign wrong as he knows astrology is a huge influence on her.

[series masterlist]

[Eris masterlist]

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

#eris x reader #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #acotar fanfiction

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iheartmira · 3 days ago

Note

helloo I dont know if you do poly x reader but if you do, could you write shadowvanilla x ethereal fem!reader ? like genuinely reader is so pretty that other cookies ask both smc and pv on how they were even able to pull reader LMAO and reader's always emotionless but shows a bit of emotions sometimes whenever with pv and smc

Reader is also the type of person that when you insult them, they have a really good comeback against the person 😭

Hcs and scenarios could do !!

If you don't want to do this request then feel free to ignore this lol

that's all ty! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

"ethereal" - shadow milk cookie x reader x pure vanilla cookie

✧ ✧ ✧

the first time anyone saw you standing between them, the questions began.

"how?" one cookie had asked, her eyes wide with disbelief. "how did you two even court them?"

it wasn’t a mean-spirited question. no one could deny that you were ethereal. otherworldly, even. the way you moved, the way you carried yourself, the way your presence alone turned heads without effort. you were beautiful in a way that felt untouchable, a celestial being that walked among mere cookies.

and yet, there you were. between them.

pure vanilla cookie, ever the gentle-hearted, had only laughed softly, his cheeks dusted with warmth. "love is something that cannot always be explained," he had said, smiling in that patient, knowing way of his.

shadow milk cookie, on the other hand, had twirled his staff with a grin full of teeth. "why wouldn’t they fall for me?" he cackled, his tailcoats swaying with the motion. "what can i say? i’m irresistible!"

but the truth? the truth was simpler.

you chose them.

you, with your emotionless visage and distant beauty, showed glimpses of feeling only when they were near. the faintest upturn of your lips when pure vanilla cookie offered you a freshly-bloomed flower. the briefest flicker of amusement in your gaze when shadow milk cookie spun into a dramatic bow, proclaiming himself the 'greatest lover of all time.'

a whisper of something soft when the three of you sat together, their warmth on either side of you.

it was those moments that bound you all together. silent but sure.

not that it stopped others from questioning it.

"did you really choose them?" an unfamiliar voice scoffed one day, a merchant from a visiting kingdom. "you could've had anyone, yet you settled for a washed-up has-been hero and a jester who doesn't know when to shut up?"

the silence that followed was deafening.

pure vanilla cookie’s polite smile froze at the edges, his hands tightening ever so slightly in his lap. shadow milk cookie’s grin twitched, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.

but before either could speak, you did.

you tilted your head, meeting the merchant’s gaze with an unreadable expression. "and yet," you murmured, voice like silk over steel, "despite all your confidence, i still wouldn’t choose you."

a sharp inhale from the crowd. a stifled laugh from someone in the back.

the merchant’s face burned with humiliation as they spluttered for a retort, but it was already over.

shadow milk cookie let out a delighted cackle, doubling over in laughter. "oh-ho! that was delicious!" he clapped his hands, eyes gleaming. "oh, my doll, you truly are my favorite."

pure vanilla cookie sighed, though there was no real reprimand in his voice. "was that necessary?"

you glanced at him. "would you have preferred i said nothing?"

a pause.

"…no," he admitted, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. "i suppose not."

you hummed, satisfied, and allowed yourself the smallest smirk.

between the three of you, there was no need for grand gestures or explanations.

only understanding.

and that was enough.

✧ ✧ ✧

requests: open!

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run x reader #crk #crk x reader #pure vanilla #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla x reader #pure vanilla cookie x reader #shadow milk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #shadow milk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadowvanilla #shadownilla #pureshadow #shadowvanilla x reader

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d-z20 · 3 months ago

Text

Resistance is Futile (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Agatha and Rio have claimed you as their pet but you're not going down without a fight and are defiant to their advances. The two witches are undeterred and keep trying, knowing they'll break you eventually

- OR -

They've finally grown tired of your reluctance, they fuck you with their magic strap-ons until you can't think (or walk)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Agatha, Top Rio, Pet Reader, dub-conish, reader refered to with she/her pronouns, magic straps, magically enhanced orgasms, voyeurism, breeding, marking, degradation, praise, magical restraints, Agatha and Rio are dark in this universe, kind of stockholm syndrome, overstimulation, possession/ownership, throat fucking, cum as lube, maybe more who knows

Words: 4.4k

A/N: So in my head the magic straps in this are like similar vibes to Celestial Agatha in What If so you know: gay and powerful. It's easy to see how Rio got Agatha pregnant. Fic req

AO3 | Masterlist

You were not going to make this easy for them. That much was clear. The long, shadowed corridors of Agatha’s lair feel like a prison, but you don’t care. No, your defiance is all you have left—the only thing that gives you any semblance of control in a world where you are nothing more than their possession, their thing, their pet.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to survive.

Agatha’s eyes follow you as you pace, her gaze calculating and predatory. Rio sits at the table, arms crossed, her sharp smile never wavering. Their attention feels like a weight pressing against your skin, heavy and suffocating, like predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“You think you can defy us forever?” Agatha asks, her voice low and honeyed, sliding under your skin like a blade. “You think you can stay strong in this cage of your own making?”

You stop in your tracks, meeting her gaze with fiery resolve. “I’m not your pet,” you spit, defiance simmering in your voice.

Agatha chuckles, rich and dark, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “I’ve seen stronger wills break under pressure. Yours will too. Just wait.”

Her words are a subtle threat that lingers in the air, but you refuse to let her see the sting. “We’ll see,” you mutter, arms crossing over your chest as if to shield yourself from the weight of her gaze.

Rio’s grin widens as she leans forward, her sharp eyes studying you like a puzzle she’s dying to solve. “You know,” she muses, her voice smooth as silk, “you make this so much more fun than it needs to be. But I think you’re wrong about one thing. You are ours.”

—

Days bleed into weeks, and every moment feels like a war. They test you constantly. Punishments come as sharp reminders of your place—subtle and precise—but they’re always followed by praise that’s just as cutting. Agatha’s actions are cruel and calculated, leaving you trembling with exhaustion but too stubborn to yield. Rio’s methods are softer, more insidious, sinking under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I’ve seen stronger witches than you fall apart,” Agatha muses one evening, her fingers tracing the sigil that glows faintly on your wrist. The magic embedded in it burns, sparking through your veins like electricity, and you barely manage to suppress the flinch. “What makes you so special?”

You refuse to scream; you won’t give them the satisfaction.

“This supposed to break me?” You sneer, voice shaky but defiant. “Because it’s not working.”

Her lips curl, amusement dancing in her sharp eyes. “You think you’re strong? Maybe. But strength is nothing without control.”

Rio stands in the doorway, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “She’s right,” she says, her voice velvet and steel. “Strength alone won’t save you when you’re as lost as you are. But you could find control... with us.”

You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t need either of you.”

But the look they exchange, the promise and challenge flickering between them, makes your chest tighten.

—

A week later, they come to you together. Agatha’s magic is constant, clinging to you like smoke, pervasive, and invasive. Rio’s touch is gentle yet commanding; her movements slow and deliberate, as though she’s teaching your body how to respond to her. You hate how easily it works.

It begins with something small. Agatha’s fingers brush over the curve of your neck, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “So defiant,” she purrs, her voice a dark promise. “But I see cracks in your armour.”

Your breath catches, and you hate yourself for it. The pressure of their presence is overwhelming, making your head swim. Rio steps closer, her hand lightly brushing against yours, her grin dangerous and knowing. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere after all.”

—

The next night, they return. Agatha’s magic binds your movements, a reminder of the power she wields over you. Rio removes the physical restraints, her hands steady and deliberate, as though she’s peeling away the layers of your resistance. You fight, struggling against the invisible force that holds you still, but it doesn’t stop them.

And for the first time, you start to wonder if you even want them to.

It’s late when the breaking point comes. You stand in front of them, all your defences stripped bare, the cracks in your resolve widening by the second. Agatha’s gaze is unwavering, sharp enough to pierce through every wall you’ve built.

“You can’t keep hiding from us,” she snarls, her voice low and commanding, threading through you like a spell. “You’re ours. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can turn pain into pleasure.”

Your head shakes, but there’s a tremor in your voice you can’t mask. “I’m not yours.”

“You are.” Her words are a whisper, a command, and they press down on you like a weight you can’t escape. Your knees weaken, and you gasp, overwhelmed by the sheer power of her presence.

Rio steps closer, her hand curling around your arm in a grip that’s both firm and comforting. Her touch sends a shiver racing through you as she tilts her head, her voice a soft murmur. “Stop fighting it. Stop pretending this isn’t what you need.”

Their proximity is suffocating. Your body trembles with desire, with the ache of something deep inside you finally breaking free. The walls you’ve spent weeks fortifying come crumbling down in a single moment.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of surrender.

Agatha’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. She steps forward, her hand settling at the back of your neck, her fingers cool against your skin as she pulls you toward her. Her kiss is slow and deliberate, a claim that leaves you breathless. The taste of her is intoxicating, and it leaves you reeling.

Rio’s laughter is soft and low as she moves behind you, her hands settling on your hips. “There she is,” she muses, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin, sending a jolt through your body that makes you curse under your breath.

“Fuck you both,” you manage to hiss, but the heat in your voice betrays you.

Agatha pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Such a sharp tongue,” she says, almost to herself, as if considering how best to silence it. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

With a flick of her fingers, magic courses through you, curling around your wrists and pulling them above your head. The force isn’t rough, but it’s unyielding, holding you firmly as glowing tendrils bind you in place. Your pulse pounds as Agatha steps back, her eyes raking over you like she’s admiring a masterpiece.

Rio’s hands slide to the hem of your shirt, and with a whispered word, the fabric disappears, leaving your skin bare and exposed. Her palms are cold as they trail over your stomach, her nails scraping lightly against your ribs.

“Is this supposed to impress me?” You snap, though your voice is breathless and uneven.

Rio laughs again, the sound rich and dark. “No, sweetheart,” she purrs. “This is supposed to ruin you.”

Agatha’s magic shifts again, a tangible wave of heat brushing against your skin, making you arch involuntarily as it settles low in your abdomen. Her fingers move through the air, weaving invisible patterns, and you feel it—a phantom touch tracing up your thighs, teasing, testing. Your breath hitches, and you tug against the restraints, hating the way your body reacts to the sensation.

“You’re trembling,” Agatha observes, her voice silk and steel. “Tell me, pet—are you afraid? Or just desperate?”

“Go to hell,” you snap, but the words sound weaker now, edged with something you don’t want to acknowledge.

Rio’s hands move lower, her touch firm as her fingers hook into your waistband. Another muttered spell, and your clothing vanishes completely, leaving you bare under their gaze. Her nails rake lightly against your inner thigh, drawing a shudder from you that you can’t suppress.

“Look at her,” Rio murmurs to Agatha, her voice heavy with satisfaction. “So defiant, but her body knows better.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand ghosting over your chest, her magic lacing every movement with electricity. When her fingers brush your skin, it’s as if she’s leaving a trail of heat in her wake, her touch deliberate and possessive. “Let’s see how long you can keep up this act,” she says, her voice low and commanding.

You’re trembling now, every nerve alight as their magic weaves through your senses, blurring the line between pain and pleasure, control and surrender. Every touch feels amplified, every breath stolen, until all you can do is cling to the last threads of resistance—and even those are slipping through your fingers.

Agatha’s magic pulses, a living thing coiling around your body, dragging sensations across your skin that feel like whispers and lightning all at once. Her lips are back on yours, devouring, commanding, and pulling you deeper into her orbit. The taste of her is heady, and it leaves you reeling, your legs trembling as if the floor beneath you has given way.

Behind you, Rio’s hands continue their slow, maddening exploration. Her fingers dig into your hips, grounding you just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. Her mouth is at your neck now, lips pressing hot kisses against your skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot that makes you gasp.

"Such pretty sounds," Rio mumbles, her voice dripping with amusement as her hands slide down, teasing at the edges of where you want her most. "And you’re trying so hard to hold back. It’s adorable, really."

Your jaw tightens, but your body betrays you, hips twitching under her touch. “I hate you,” you breathe, though the words lack conviction, each syllable faltering as Agatha tilts your chin up to meet her sharp, knowing gaze.

“Hate?” Agatha repeats, her tone mocking as her thumb traces along your jaw. "No, pet, what you hate is how much you want this. How much you need it."

Her words settle over you like a weight, and the truth burns. You jerk against the glowing binds holding your wrists above your head, but the magic only tightens, pulling you taut and vulnerable between them. The heat of Agatha’s magic licks over your skin, and your breath hitches as the phantom touch returns—this time teasing higher, brushing against your inner thighs in a way that makes you bite back a whimper.

“Such a stubborn little thing,” Agatha muses, her fingers brushing over your chest, her nails scraping lightly. "But look at you now—shaking like a leaf, your body begging for more even while you try so hard to keep that sharp tongue of yours.”

Rio’s hands press against your thighs, urging them apart, her touch firm and deliberate. "Let’s see if we can help her find her manners,” she says with a smirk. “Think we should ruin her properly this time?”

Agatha hums in agreement, her magic shifting in intensity, winding tighter around you. The phantom sensation becomes sharper, more precise, brushing against your sensitive clit, drawing a cry from your lips that you can’t suppress. Agatha’s smile widens. “Oh, darling. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Let’s hear more.”

You stutter out a curse, but it dissolves into a gasp as Rio’s mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, her teeth leaving marks that send heat racing through your veins. Her hands, firm and demanding, leave no part of you untouched, tracing patterns down your sides, across your stomach, and lower still.

“Such a mess,” Rio murmurs, her voice heavy with satisfaction as her nails rake over your thighs, making you jerk. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. Just admit it—you like being our plaything.”

“Fuck—fuck you,” you stammer, though the heat in your voice betrays you, every word trembling with desperation.

Agatha laughs softly, the sound rich and dangerous, her magic surging in response. The phantom touch turns relentless, teasing, and tormenting, and you arch involuntarily, a broken moan spilling from your lips. Your knees buckle, but Rio’s hands are there, steadying you, holding you exactly where they want you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, leaning in to press her lips against the corner of your mouth. “Let go, pet. Let us take you apart.”

Rio’s fingers find you again, slipping between your thighs with devastating precision, and your head falls back against her shoulder as your body betrays you completely. “There she is,” Rio murmurs, her voice a low growl in your ear. “Knew you couldn’t hold out forever.”

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the world spinning as Agatha steps closer, her hands cupping your face to make you meet her gaze. “Look at me, Y/N,” she commands, her voice leaving no room for disobedience. “I want to see the moment you break.”

You can’t fight it anymore. The sensations are too much—the heat of their touch, the pull of Agatha’s magic, the way Rio’s fingers work you with merciless expertise. Your body trembles violently, and you cry out, shattering under their combined efforts.

But they don’t stop.

Agatha’s magic shifts again, coaxing another wave of pleasure from you before you’ve even recovered from the first. Rio’s hands are unrelenting, her touch alternating between rough and gentle, keeping you on edge, leaving you helpless against the onslaught.

“Pathetic,” Rio says, her tone gleeful as she watches your body twitch and tremble. “Completely undone. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You try to respond, but all that escapes is a broken moan, your voice cracking as your knees finally give out. Only the magical binds and Rio’s grip keep you upright as Agatha’s lips brush against your ear. “You’re ours, Y/N,” she whispers, the words sinking into your very core.

With a flick of her fingers, Agatha adjusts the magic holding you in place. The binds shift, no longer just keeping you upright but suspending you in midair, as if resting on an invisible bed. The sensation is strange but oddly comforting, the magic cradling your weight effortlessly. Your arms remain bound above you, leaving you completely exposed.

Rio moves to stand by your head, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead as she smirks down at you. Meanwhile, Agatha positions herself at your feet, her glowing eyes raking over you as though admiring her handiwork.

Agatha’s smirk grows as she steps closer, her fingers glowing faintly with her signature purple magic. “We’ll start slow,” her voice a soft caress, though the wicked glint in her eyes promises anything but gentleness. Her hand slides between your legs, her touch precise and knowing, and you can’t stop the sharp inhale as her fingers begin to work you open.

“Relax, pet,” she whispers, her voice low and commanding, as her other hand moves to your thigh, holding you steady even as the magic does most of the work.

At the same time, Rio hooks her fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. “Open,” she orders, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. You hesitate for the briefest moment, but the commanding heat in her eyes makes resistance futile. Slowly, you part your lips.

“Good girl,” Rio purrs, her magic flaring as A glowing, dark strap materializes at her hips. Without hesitation, she guides herself into your mouth, her grip firm as she sets a punishing pace. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch and weight of her filling you completely as Agatha’s fingers curl inside you, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

“You’re taking us so well,” Agatha coos, her tone mocking yet almost affectionate. Her thumb brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves, her movements deliberate as she stretches you open. “See, Rio? She’s learning her place.”

Rio hums in agreement, her hips rocking forward, forcing you to take her deeper. “She’s a quick learner,” she mutters, her tone dripping with amusement. “But I think she can do better.” Her hand tangles in your hair, holding you steady as she thrusts into your throat, her breath hitching with each movement. The magic allows her to feel everything, and her low moans of pleasure send heat pooling low in your stomach.

Tears prick your eyes, and your throat protests, but you push through, the weight of their control pressing down on you until you’re trembling under their combined attention. Agatha’s fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes you cry out around Rio, your body jerking in response. Rio groans, the sound rough and needy as her hips stutter, the magic amplifying every sensation as she pushes herself closer to the edge.

Her breath hitches, and a deep, guttural moan escapes her throat as she pulls back abruptly. “Fuck,” she rasps, her voice breaking with raw need as her strap pulses in your mouth, just shy of her release. She withdraws with a deliberate slowness, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she grips the base of her strap.

Rio circles you with slow, measured steps, her predatory gaze dragging over your trembling form as she moves to stand by Agatha. “Switching places for a moment, darling,” she smirks as she traces her fingers along your calf. Agatha just chuckles, her magic flaring as her own glowing strap begins to materialise at her hips, its sleek, enchanted form matching the dangerous glint in her eyes.

With a shuddering exhale, Rio begins to jerk herself off, her movements slow at first but growing more desperate as her climax quickly builds again. The room fills with the sound of her ragged breaths and low, throaty groans, the raw need in her voice making your own pulse race. As her release finally hits, a long, drawn-out groan tears from her throat. Her body trembling with the intensity of her orgasm as she cums all over your pussy. “A little something to make things easier for you, darling.” Rio says after a moment, her voice husky as she steps back, her satisfaction evident in the smug grin curling her lips.

“How thoughtful of you,” Agatha chuckles, her hand aligning the tip of her strap against your entrance, which was now dripping with a mix of your arousal and Rio’s cum. “Let’s see how well our little pet takes it.”

The stretch is slow and deliberate as Agatha pushes into you, the slickness making it easier, though no less overwhelming. She fills you completely, her hips moving in slow, devastating thrusts that leave you gasping and trembling. “That’s it,” she whispers, her hands gripping your thighs as her rhythm builds. “Take it all. Good pet.”

Rio’s eyes glint with hunger as she watches, arms crossed and shoulders relaxed as though she isn’t buzzing with anticipation. Her lips curl into a sly smile as Agatha sets the pace, each thrust precise and devastating. "Look at her,” Rio remarks, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Already such a mess. She’s perfect like this. Just for us."

Agatha’s answering laugh is low and sultry, her grip on your thighs tightening as she drives into you with more force. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure tearing through your body, amplified by the hum of her magic. She leans down, her breath warm against your neck, and you feel the sharp graze of her teeth. A shiver runs through you as she bites down, hard enough to leave her mark.

“She needs more,” Agatha purrs, her voice laced with wicked amusement. “Doesn’t she, Rio?”

Rio hums in agreement, stepping behind you. Her hands glide over your trembling form, possessive and firm as she tilts your head back, exposing your throat. "Let’s make sure she doesn’t forget who she belongs to," she hums, her lips brushing your ear before sinking her teeth into the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. The sharp sting pulls a broken moan from your lips, and you feel the curve of her smile against your skin.

“Tell us who owns you,” Agatha demands, her voice sharp and commanding as she drives into you with unrelenting force. Her magic courses through you, burning in all the right ways, overwhelming your senses until you’re teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“Y-you,” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your body trembles under her onslaught.

“And?” Her pace quickens, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“Rio,” you gasp, tears streaking your cheeks as your release builds, unbearable and all-consuming.

Agatha hums in satisfaction, her movements growing rougher as her own breath hitches. The magic connects her to every sensation—the friction and heat dragging a deep, guttural moan from her throat. “Good girl,” she groans, her voice strained with pleasure. With a particularly deep thrust, she sends you tumbling over the edge. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum tonight, as a fresh climax hits with an intensity that leaves you sobbing, the pleasure tearing through you until you’re left trembling, every muscle quivering with aftershocks.

But Agatha doesn’t stop. She presses deeper, drawing out every last spark of sensation, her own shuddering release building as she feels you clenching around her. An almost feral growl escapes her as her hips snap forward in one final thrust, her movements stilling as you feel her twitching inside you, magic amplifying the waves of her release. Her grip tightens on your thighs, her nails digging into your skin as her body shudders against yours.

When she finally pulls back, her breath comes in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she stands tall, a smug, satisfied smirk curling her lips. “Mine,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with possession, as her fingers trail over the fresh marks she’s left on your skin, her touch lingering like a brand. A slick, warm sensation follows as her release drips out of you, a vivid reminder of the claim she’s just staked.

Rio steps forward then, her hands sliding up and down your trembling thighs, her touch deliberate as if savouring every inch of you. She hums softly, her lips quirking in amusement as she watches Agatha’s cum trickle down. “Messy,” she remarks with a low chuckle, her tone almost mocking.

Leaning in, Rio gathers it on her fingers and pushes it back inside you, her grin widening as you gasp at the intrusion. “Can’t let that go to waste,” she purrs, her tone thick with satisfaction.

Only then does she line herself up fully, her hands gripping your hips tightly as she thrusts into you with brutal precision. The pace is relentless from the start, her hips slamming against yours in a rhythm that leaves no room for reprieve.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” Rio growls, her head tipping back as she buries herself in deeper. Her pace is relentless, each movement sending fresh waves of pleasure crashing through you. Her nails dig into your hips, and she drags you back against her, forcing you to take her deeper still, making you cry out in pleasure. “I thought you were defiant,” she mocks, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “And yet, now you’re practically begging for it.”

All you can manage is a broken moan, your body arching into her as the pleasure blurs the edges of your thoughts. Every thrust leaves you gasping, every scrape of her nails and bite of her teeth reducing you further. Rio leans down, her teeth grazing your shoulder before biting hard enough to make you cry out. "That’s right," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. “You’re ours to ruin.”

Her movements become erratic, her breaths ragged as she slams her hips into you, every twitch of your already overstimulated cunt pushing her closer to the edge. “Fuck,” Rio hisses, her voice breaking as her hips snap forward, her own release tearing through her with a force that leaves her trembling. She holds you tight, her head dropped back in pure ecstasy, a rough groan escaping her throat as the magic amplifies every pulse and throb of your body around her.

Rio doesn’t pull out immediately, instead grinding her hips against you, dragging out the sensations until both of your bodies finally stop twitching. Her chest rises and falls heavily, and she leans forward, pressing a possessive kiss to the curve of your shoulder before straightening and calling over her wife. “Come here, my love.”

She adjusts her position, kneeling between your legs, her hands firm on your thighs as she spreads them wider to give Agatha a clear view. “Look at this,” she says, her tone dripping with amusement as she watches their combined release trickling from your thoroughly used body. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Agatha’s sharp eyes gleam with approval as she steps closer, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk. “Absolutely perfect,” she purrs, crossing her arms as she leans in slightly, watching intently as Rio moves between your legs.

Rio’s tongue flicks out, her movements slow and deliberate as she begins to ‘clean you up,’ her warm, wet strokes collecting every drop of their cum. The sensation is unbearable, the overstimulation pushing your body past its limits as each pass of her tongue sends sharp jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through you.

“P-please,” you stutter, your voice cracking, but your plea only earns a low chuckle from Rio as her hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place.

“Shhh, pet,” Rio whispers against your skin, her breath warm as she continues her slow, torturous movements. “We’re not done until we say we’re done.”

Your body jerks under her attention, the overstimulation finally cresting into another peak that crashes through you with devastating force. Your release hits like a thunderclap, leaving you sobbing and trembling as Rio licks you clean, her tongue never missing a single drop.

By the time Rio is finished having her fun, you’re a trembling, stuttering mess, every shred of resistance melted away. They’ve undone you completely, your body and mind utterly spent. As Agatha waves a hand, the magical restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, only for Rio to catch your limp form.

“Good girl,” Agatha affirms, her voice soft yet laced with smug satisfaction as she strokes your hair.

Rio hums her agreement, her arms tightening around you as she presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re ours now,” she whispers, her voice filled with possessive pride.

And in the haze of pleasure and surrender, you don’t argue.

-----

I told myself I'd get the next chapter of Neighbourly Care out before New Years but then this fic possessed me. Oh well, if I managed to get my degrees by writing everything the night before I can certainly do the same for my fics 😤😤

-----

Taglist: @danveration @aceday @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @gbab09 @vigilante24ish @marvelwomenarehot0

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aventurineswife · 3 months ago

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Could I request Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, Aventurine and Ratio with a very generous and doting partner who makes them an abundance of gifts?

New weapons, a couple plushies, and many more

Gifts of the Heart

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Gifts, Tender Moments, Soft Romance, Lighthearted, Emotional Vulnerability, Comfort, Slice of Life, Found Family.

A/N: why was I listening to cure while writing this? 💀

Jing Yuan's office was a sanctuary of calm amidst the chaos of the Xianzhou Luofu. However, today it was anything but calm. Piled high on his usually immaculate desk were an assortment of meticulously crafted gifts: a new weapon stand made of polished silver, embroidered cushions for his chair, and a plush lion that looked suspiciously like Mimi.

You walked in with another package, your cheeks flushed with effort and excitement. "I thought you might like these," you said, setting down the final bundle—a lightweight, beautifully designed cape lined with reinforced threads, perfect for both combat and ceremony.

Jing Yuan leaned back in his chair, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Dozing General or not, I fear I might soon become the spoiled General if this continues.”

You smiled, brushing off his teasing. “It’s not spoiling if you deserve it.”

He reached for the plush lion and held it up, a rare chuckle escaping his lips. “Even Mimi has a twin now. Truly, you leave no detail overlooked.” His tone softened, and he leaned closer, his expression uncharacteristically tender. “You’ve made my world a much brighter place. Thank you, truly.”

Dan Heng was used to silence. It was his comfort zone, a shield against the chaos of the universe. But lately, the quiet in the archives had been punctuated by the rustling of gift-wrapped packages.

At first, he had been perplexed. Who needed a custom-crafted spear attachment inlaid with celestial patterns? Or a weighted blanket embroidered with stars and constellations that mirrored his room’s nightlight setting? And the plushies—one resembled Cloud-Piercer, another was an adorable caricature of his own stoic self.

You stood behind him, watching as he carefully examined a new spear stand. “Do you like it?” you asked hesitantly.

Dan Heng turned, his expression unreadable but his eyes softer than usual. “You don’t have to go to such lengths for me.”

“I want to,” you said simply. “You deserve to feel cared for.”

He hesitated, then reached for the plush Cloud-Piercer and placed it on his desk. “Thank you. I… appreciate everything.” His voice was quiet, but the sincerity in it spoke volumes. For the first time in a long while, Dan Heng felt that his solitude wasn’t a burden he had to bear alone.

Aventurine’s office was a chaotic display of opulence and extravagance, but now it had taken on a more personal touch. Golden dice-shaped ornaments dangled from the corners, a new set of playing cards lay on his desk, and a plush peacock sat proudly atop his chair.

“Another gift?” he asked, his signature smile playing on his lips as you entered with a set of intricately designed cufflinks shaped like roulette wheels.

“Only the best for you,” you replied, setting the box down. “I noticed your old ones were scratched.”

Aventurine picked up one of the cufflinks, holding it up to the light. “These are exquisite. You truly outdo yourself every time.”

You shrugged, grinning. “I just want to see you happy.”

His expression flickered, the mask slipping for a brief moment as he regarded you with something raw and unspoken. “You know, most people give me things expecting something in return. But you… you just give.”

“That’s because I care about you,” you said gently. “No strings attached.”

Aventurine chuckled, sliding the cufflinks into place. “You’re a dangerous one, you know that? Making me feel things I thought I’d buried long ago.”

Ratio’s lab was a temple of precision and order. Each piece of equipment had its place, every book meticulously cataloged. And yet, amidst the sterility of science, there was now a peculiar warmth: a plush owl perched on his desk, custom bookmarks tucked into his volumes, and a set of tools engraved with his initials.

“Another package?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as you entered with a sleek case.

You opened it to reveal a new set of instruments, polished to perfection and designed with ergonomic grips. “I thought these might help with your work.”

He inspected them with a critical eye, his expression unreadable. Finally, he set them down and turned to you. “You have an uncanny ability to surprise me.”

“I just want to make your life a little easier,” you said, smiling. “You work so hard; you deserve it.”

Ratio’s gaze softened, the sharp edges of his intellect giving way to something more human. “It’s rare for someone to see beyond the intellect and treat me as a person. You’ve done more than that—you’ve made me feel valued in ways I didn’t think possible.”

He reached for the plush owl, holding it up as a small smile tugged at his lips. “Even this has its charm. Thank you, truly.”

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vhaos-chaotic-writing · 4 months ago

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I NEED Yandere tfe and tfp Starscream being comforted by their human after his daily beat down with Megatron. You don’t understand I want to kiss him and cuddle him so bad it makes me look STUPID.

It's okay, bestie - he makes me look stupid too. (●'◡'●)

Yandere!Starscream being comforted by his Human!Darling (TFP & TFE)

WARNINGS: Yandere behaviour (soft leaning??) Hurt and comfort, mentions of abuse and past abuse. Self deprecating behaviour (Starscream's). Reader is gender neutral and a human.

TFP Starscream

"Starscream!" Your cry of concern makes the seeker whince and his wings drop lower even more than they were already. There were many injuries with already leaking energon on his frame, dents here and there and another nasty marks that gave out how Starscream had to deal with another beating from Megatron.

And Starscream didn't want to let you see him like this - he looked pathetic, weak and he always feared one day you would realize that he wasn't worthy of your love.

Sitting on the metallic floor, the seeker hears the sound of your quick steps getting closer and feels the warmth of your hands touching one of his arms.

"Please, leave me alone." He pleads with his hurt voice, closing his optics and moving his helm away to not see you.

"As hell I am leaving, Starscream - He hurt you again!" You say, clearly angry and worried at the state of your lover. And it's your genuine worry that makes the seeker's spark clench and feel warm, too. It has been so many years since someone has ever been worried over him. You were such an angel, his true saviour, and he feels so disgusting with himself. He feels tainted, disgusting, dirty and someone as precious as you shouldn't be touching anything that is beneath you... like him.

"Starscream... please, look at me." You plead softly, and the seeker can't bring himself to not do what you ask, so he opens his optics and looks down at you. That gentle smile of yours makes him wail from the inside.

"My love, I... I just -" He starts, but quiets himself down when he feels you carefully get on his lap and hug him, your arms and head resting against his chestplate.

Precious you, divine you - someone as celestial as you loving someone like him. Starscream can't help himself but breakdown, allowing himself to cry as he is being 'held' by you. He didn't deserve you, you should only witness a worthy bot, not an injured one like himself. But the mere idea of you being in the arms of another bot made his spark clench and wail.

Even if it meant to have his frame marked and injured, his energon constantly leaking and be all battered and dented - Starscream would endure it to keep you with him. If it meant to have your eyes, attention and love on him, then Starscream will allow the others to humilliate him, to push him around, to bruise his pride and ego. Anything to have your love.

TFE Starscream

"Starscream... it was another nightmare, wasn't it?"

The seeker grumbles, moving his helm so he doesn't let you see the deep frown made on his faceplate and how he is hugging his legs against his chestplate for the sake of controlling his shaking frame.

Of course it was another nightmare and you curse silently to the bot and people whom had hurt your lover for so many years. Starscream has confessed to you that he was no saint or pure bot, he had done his share of pain and evil doing to get himself kicked around and punished. Still, there were many things that gave out that Starscream endured more passing from what he did, used as a punching bag by the leader he followed to then be trapped like a bird inside of a cage and witness his teammates be also pushed around as if they were nothing.

"It doesn't matter." Starscream says.

"It does matter!" You argue back, finally approaching your lover who, without asking or waiting, already extends his servo so you sit on it and carefully brings you closer to his faceplate. You place your hands on his faceplate, making the bot ex-vent and close his optics for a moment, finding comfort in them.

"... They found us - and he found me again. And while they took me back into that cell... he took you away from me. No matter how much I cursed and fought, you simply disappeared." He finally confesses, his voice trembling a little.

You frown, concerned - this wasn't the first time Starscream had a nightmare that was either related to G.H.O.S.T or Megatron. Still, it broke your heart each time to see him this shaken and affected.

"I am not going anywhere without you." You say, hugging his faceplate, and he snuzzles back.

You were right - Starscream wasn't going to let anyone take you away from him. He has finally found a place where he belongs, he has finally found someone who loves him dearly. And he loves you, too - so dearly it makes his spark nearly explode. He would shed energon and behead anyone who tries to separate you from him. He will burn down anything for you.

"... You'll never leave me." He mumbles.

"I won't. Ever." You mumble back, reassuring him.

I apologize for my inactivity o(￣┰￣*)ゞ my job got too actively crazy last week and I am suffering the effects of burnout. Vhaos out!

#transformers #transformers x reader #yandere transformers #yandere x reader #tfp starscream #tfe starscream #starscream x reader #tfp starscream x reader #tfe starscream x reader

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hazelfoureyes · 1 year ago

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Have you ever thought about the idea of a Clueless ace reader x ace alastor trying to figure out what all the fuss is about? Couple different ways it could go obviously but I feel like it would be a perfect comedy smut

Thank you for this meal. Okay I know this is LOOSELY based on your prompt, please forgive me. Can I add in that they be a little tipsy?

Part 2 After a few drinks, you and Alastor do your usual teasing and mimicking of the others dramatic displays of physical affection. But, unusually, Alastor seems to be really invested in the joke tonight…

Warnings/promises: light smut (fingering), wrong kind of haha, sconces, bad Angel accent, Under 1500 words

maybe the tag list? Works list: @ xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

Alastor list: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

Fuck Joke Around and Find Out

The evening started with drinks among the group gathered at the bar. Everyone talking, sipping, leaning into each other to be heard better. Vaggie’s fingers playing with Charlie’s, Angel inching closer and closer to Husk until he was quite literally on top of him, to Husk’s obvious embarrassment. At some point, Angel took Husker’s hand, the two slinking down the hallway. Soon after, Vaggie not-so-discreetly followed a bouncing Charlie to their top floor home.

After realizing the couples snuck off, you turned to Alastor and asked, already smiling, “Oh I guess it’s our turn?”

Your giggling slipped into mutual cackles, his brows rose and he asked, “Your room or mine?”

You threw your leg over Alastor’s lap and straddled him, mustering your best Angel Dust accent, “Pssst rooms are for squares, baby.”

Normally, especially when having a little to drink, the physical barrier between each other was thin and easily toppled. An unspoken understanding had formed some time ago, allowing you both to relax a little more than usual when in close proximity. He still attempted his touchy intrusions to fluster and bother people, but he knew that didn’t work quite as effectively on you.

“Squares? Oh, not us.” A smirk, his head somewhat dramatically shaking a reinforced ‘no’, making his bobbed hair sway left and right.

When you start a pitifully-motivated grinding against him, losing balance and tipping backward, Alastor’s large hands come to the dip of your hips and still you. A laughed, accent-less, “Thanks, trying to do it like he did,” fell sloppily from your mouth, your hands going to his shoulders for extra security. Your head bent down, stifling another nervous giggle from spilling out. “I think this is exactly how Angel had Husk pinned. Not a convincin’ portrayal, pookie?” Your accent was shit, but he smiled all the same. His ears were pressed down and to the side, resting a little more against his skull than usual, something that seemed to happen often when he had a couple glasses. It looked more relaxed than his normal way of wearing them, but you never asked him about it.

Alastor’s finger tipped your chin upward, pulling you in for a kiss against his grin. When you huffed, fighting the awkward laugh, he swiped his tongue over your lips and slid into your mouth. A hum, as you relaxed into it. What a long joke this is, you think somewhere a little up and to the left of your liquor softened mind.

When alone together, you’d occasionally play around. Just mimicking what ridiculous things the other sinners had done recently, laughing and moving on to general gossip and conversation. Maybe the alcohol was dragging out the bit.

His hands pulled you forward, your little hip movements actually making contact with his crotch now. You hear yourself moan into his mouth before you even realize you’d made the noise.

Thinking becoming a little fuzzy, you pull back from him, “Oops. Sorry. Got carried away.”

“No need to apologize. What’s a little joking around between pals?”

You nod before a surprised shriek is forced out of you, Alastor pulling your hips down and starting to sincerely grind against you.

“I didn’t expect you to remember all the moves, Alastor.” Your hand came to your mouth trying to still the tremble of your lips as you spoke. Other hand now gripping his shoulder to stay upright. You’d never have played around with any one else but him like this. Too much confusion to deal with after. But, Alastor’s “playing” was so convincing. You weren’t minding it, to your surprise, but you weren’t sure you understood the source material as well he did.

His head fell back with a roar, “Being an infrequent lover doesn’t mean I am a bad one.”

Oh. Was the blush on your face noticeable in the dingy light of the parlor? You had never heard him say that word before. His hips were still moving, but the laughing stopped. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact you found yourself sinking a little more, letting your weight settle fully. It earned you a sloppy half-smile from him. “That would make them experts, compared to us,” You motioned your head in the general direction of the stairs.

“You think so?”, he leaned up to kiss you, you leaned back a little, causing his lips to miss yours. A quick annoyed glare passed over his face before slipping back into a neutral stare, “Are you in the mood for a good joke tonight, dear? I wouldn’t be opposed to making you”, he grazed his nose against yours, “laugh.”

You let him capture your mouth with his, a surprisingly more intense kiss, before pulling away again when you caught another moan rising up, “I don’t mind a good laugh, now and then.” Did you-you say that or Angel-you?

The sofa cushions were pressing into your back before you could process what had happened. Alastor’s body was resting between your legs, which were spread open around him. His lips didn’t leave yours, one of his hands cradling your neck to trap you between him and his hungry mouth. The other was undoing the button of your pants and sliding under the band of your underwear.

His back was arched, his considerable height forcing him to bend over you if he wanted to continue the kiss, which he apparently did. Now on your back, you wiggled under him, awkward and uncertain what role you played anymore.

When his fingers slipped past your bottom lips and the mound of his hand ground into your clit, you pulled away from him and both hands shot to your mouth. You were aware you were in a public space but you couldn’t see anything past the sofa. Everything beyond him and the tattered chaise lounge was shadowy and lacking contrast. Even then, your heart was pounding.

When did the playing around shift? Was this—- did he think this was funny? His smile was strong against your neck still, but maybe not?

You splayed your fingers out to better hide yourself, embarrassed at how your hips rolled into his palm. Looking past your hands, you could see him staring down at you now, wide shoulders hiding you from the light of the sconces above. He had the same look as always in his eyes, nothing out of place. Cooly, he asked without actually wanting an answer, “Do you think this is what they’re doing now? Or is everyone already…”

A finger slipped down and into you, your legs clenching around his hips. You heard him sigh, before a second finger began to push in. Your hips lifted off the sofa and angled into his hand, welcoming the way he was pressing down and into you.

Oh, yeah, no.

A pent up moan tumbled past your lips when his fingers crooked up and pressed into the soft bundle of nerves just inside your entrance.

“What a curious laugh you have, my dear. Are my jokes that good?” He buried his face into the crook of your neck again when a voice stopped him from leaving the little marks he had been set on.

“I thought jokes were supposed to be funny. When is the funny part going to happen?”

Alastor’s ears were pin-straight into the air, hair stiff and sharp, as his face slowly turned to the side to see Niffty sitting at the bar.

”Oh, was I suppose to leave when everyone else did?” His hand slipped out of you and then in turn, your pants.

“No, Niffty, dear. That’s quite alright.”, Ears faced back and down, eyes half lidded and smile clearly forced, “We were just— playing around.”

“Really? Cuz it kinda looked like you guys were gonna fuck.” She hopped off the bar stool and scurried down the hall, “Please don’t dirty the sofa, sir.” echoing behind her.

You patted his shoulder, lifting yourself up on your elbows, “Can I be Husk next?”

I wrote this while washing dishes— the dishes aren’t very clean but neither am I

༻Masterlist༺

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fangdokja · 3 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋

It’s offensive, really.

Gojo watches you from the shadows, arms crossed, fingers drumming against his bicep, a slow, methodical rhythm masking his irritation.

Him?

Of all the celestial pricks to be assigned to you—of all the holy creatures that could have draped their divine little wings over your fragile mortal existence—it had to be him.

Ryomen Sukuna.

An angel. A guardian.

It’s laughable. A sick fucking joke.

Gojo’s jaw ticks as he watches Sukuna hover over you, his massive, tattered wings casting jagged shadows along your walls. The angel’s touch is barely there, a phantom’s caress along your cheek, but the audacity of it stirs something violent inside Gojo.

You shouldn’t have protection.

Not from him.

Not from anyone.

He finds you alone.

The angel is gone, his presence lingering only in the faint, numbing warmth in your chest—the feeling of safety. It vanishes the moment Gojo steps into your space.

You know what he is before you even turn to look at him.

The temperature drops. The air grows dense, thick with something unseen. The lights flicker.

Then—click. They go out completely.

"Boring," Gojo drawls from behind you, the amusement in his voice sharp, cutting. "So predictable. Running to an angel? You could’ve done so much better, sweetheart."

Your spine goes rigid. You don’t turn around.

It won’t matter. You know he’s already closer.

A warm breath against your nape. A slow, deliberate hand curling around your throat.

"What’s wrong? You were so quick to let him touch you. What, you only like hands on you when they’re holy?"

Your breath catches when he squeezes.

Not enough to choke. Just enough to remind you that he could.

"You don’t even know what you’re dealing with, do you?" His grip slides down, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, then lower, lower, until he’s gripping your hip like he owns you.

He does. Sukuna had warned you about him.

A demon in disguise. A devil who’d never needed to lie to lure in his victims—just a smile, just a whisper, just a touch.

But you hadn’t taken the deal. And that—that’s why he’s here.

"You really think he can keep me away?" His voice dips lower, teasing, taunting, but beneath it is something vicious. "Cute."

You flinch when he flips you around, slamming you against the nearest surface. Your hands push against his chest, but he’s immovable.

His mouth ghosts over yours.

"Let’s test something," he murmurs. "Let’s see if you still feel saved when I’m inside you."

The first tear of your clothing is loud in the silence.

You scream. The air distorts—heat, rage, divinity.

A celestial roar echoes through the space, shaking the walls, shaking him.

And for the first time in centuries, Gojo laughs.

"Well, well," he grins, as golden flames rip through the room. "Guess we’ll have to share."

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @imnotabot28 , @han11dh

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thewitchblue · 4 months ago

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You're a deity who is placed in a random universe on a random planet. Bored, you began to meddle in the lives of the heroes. You gave them their sidekicks, which your brother didn't like and killed one of them as a warning to stop. You didn't, in fact, stop, and your brother was punished to be thrown in another world as a human. You were allowed to resurrect little Jason despite the devastation you knew it would cause.

After a long time of boredom, you've joined the Justice League as a tagalong with your true identity hidden. The Justice League considers you a grenade amongst loaded guns, but you were just on the planet as divine punishment for winning a godly game of Uno against your family. You were simply having your fun until the losers cool down and bring you back.

They have not cooled down in over sixty years. You knew they were petty, but damn. Nobody has calmed down? Not even your sweet little sister? Sure, you crushed them at Uno, but why do they still care? Is something wrong in the celestial realm?

You sighed as you tapped your comms to answer the ringing. Superman needs help, and you were the only one stronger than him in terms of powers. You agreed to come help and flew out your door towards the threat.

"You'll have to stay out of my way and do damage control while I take out Darkseid. Get everyone to safety before helping."

Clark was on it while you arrived. You looked at Darkseid with a frown,

"You should really leave this world alone. You're never going to conquer it as long as the Justice League is here."

Darkseid sneered back,

"Well they aren't here. You are. Superman left you all by yourself."

You gave a displeased hum before flying to face him,

"I told him to leave. This is a fight between gods, don't you think?"

That seemed to unsettle Darkseid. He's heard about your hero name, but he hasn't faced another god.

"I'm the creator of magic and one of the protectors of humanity."

You looked almost bored. Nobody is getting to the humanity you helped create. You'd give your eternal life protecting the earth. Darkseid looked uncertain in continuing this battle now. Someone without fear is someone unconquerable.

"As I am the creator of magic, I am also the taker of magic. You are now as useful as a mortal. Can you fight as a mortal?"

Your smile was intimidating and your expression dark. Darkseid expected his usual fight with Superman, and he was close to winning, only to find out he had a grenade hidden in his suit.

You tend to keep to yourself the best you can, often staying to the side and helping Batman with cases or aiding in combat without your magic.

Darkseid was beginning to feel weak now. His strength and magic were being taken from him, sapped away like it never existed. He fell to his knees with a gasp.

You tilted your head as you approached his collapsed body. Well, that was underwhelming.

"Look at you. You're a joke without your magic. I'm unravelling you like a ball of yarn."

Superman floated above you both. He watched with wary eyes, as he lands at your side. Just like that? You have him on his knees without a single fight?

"You fight like a coward."

Darkseid said, but you only gave him a hum of acknowledgement. Clark didn't know how to feel about this uncomfortable knowledge.

"I'm just gloating before I remove you from existence. Any last words?"

Clark looked at you with wide eyes and horror on his face. He said,

"You can't kill him! He's a god!"

You grimaced. You didn't like removing a divine being, but this being will not be missed. You already had a being of evil in your family, so he won't be missed in the scheme of the universe. You flatly replied,

"Call me a god-killer then."

You hated the taste of his magic. You love chaos, but this is just vile. You'd be embarrassed to call him a being of divine magic. Nonetheless, you executed your justice happily.

"You were an embarrassment to the divine realm."

Clark looked nervous about letting you kill Darkseid, but he allowed it. He watched with morbid curiosity as Darkseid withered into nothingness and the very last atom was removed from existence. Clark asked,

"Will he come back?"

You shook your head. Never again will he return.

"My powers hold all things involving magic. Darkseid is a divine magical being that I could unravel without consequences. My brother could easily replace him, minus the conquests. He's content to be the king of Apokolips and I won a game of Sorry (the board game) so he won't extend farther."

Clark frowned. You did not leave your spot on earth, but yet you won a board game? What happened? As if you understood his questions, you explained,

"I can be at multiple places at the same time. I'm here, but I'm also helping with a monsoon in India and having a discussion with the government in Poland."

Clark understood and said,

"Thanks for the help. I didn't know you were a goddess."

You sighed softly. This was your most dreaded conversation. You wielded your intelligence more than your magic, which Batman respects deeply. You were the one helping him on tough cases and helping with his children, who are also the brains of their groups.

"I didn't want anyone to know. It would make you think about me differently."

Clark chuckled and shook his head. He had a knowing gleam in his eyes as he asked,

"Me or Batman?"

He had a teasing smile on his face. He knew you had a crush on Batman. You blushed and looked away. Batman was your guilty crush. Someone you found unobtainable but couldn't help but love. He was so charming when you got close to him, and it left you dizzy every time he gave you a smile. He was so private that even a small smile was worth gold, but he gave you a genuine smile, carefree and charming.

"Oh, hush. I can't let him think I'm omnipotent when I'm not. I aid him with my brain alone, not cheating by splitting myself."

Clark smiles fondly at you. He's going to make you both a couple. The whole League sees it but for some reason, you two can't see it.

"Make sure to invite me to the wedding."

He said with a wink before flying off the help with reconstructing the damage Darkseid did before you handled it.

"We're not going to get married!"

You screamed after him. However, now you were anxious about what Clark will do. You bit your lip nervously.

You found out the hard way that Clark is a romantic and he kept pushing Batman with everything he could think of. He even roped in his children to push him towards starting a relationship.

You were rolling with it, not necessarily reaching out, but also not pulling away. All of the children (except Jason) were pushing and pushing, even Wonder Woman, and both of the Green heroes (Green Arrow and Green Lantern) were in on it.

You were too shy to ask Bruce out, and Bruce was scared of inviting someone into his life. He was afraid to show his dark side and reveal himself. Sure, you are the best coworker he's even had, and you do make him feel human while he's Batman, but what if it fails? Relationships are always rocky with him; granted, you are a saint and the most understanding person on the planet. Part of him wanted to selfishly keep you to himself, but he needed a push to give in. He'll need you to ask him first.

You sighed as Nightwing physically pushed you into Batman with a thumbs up. He quickly scrambled away before you could hit him.

You looked at Bruce for a long moment. He was frozen with his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. He was still steadying you when you gave him a thoughtful expression.

"What's wrong?"

He asked nervously. He was about to let you go, but you stopped him. You eyed him a moment longer before kissing him. You didn't want to think about this any longer. You couldn't stand the constant pestering when you had feelings for him. You took the risk for them both.

He stiffened in your arms but eventually relaxed into the kiss and tentatively pulled you closer. He was overthinking everything the entire time, but this is him as Batman, not playboy Bruce Wayne. He feels vulnerable in a way he hadn't expected. Even with Selina Kyle, he never felt so raw and vulnerable.

You wrapped your arms around his neck loosely while his arms wrapped around your waist much more confidently now. Your embrace made him relax fully.

Your kiss was gentle and sweet. It felt like you were waiting for him to run away. To hide like a scared child.

He did not run. He pulled away from the kisses, but not the embrace. He kept you in his arms, even when you both rolled your eyes when everybody cheered. Clark said,

"I better be at your wedding, Bruce."

You laughed, and Bruce tried not to. You buried your face in his chest with a smile.

"Let's date before getting married."

He said calmly. You gave him another quick kiss. You told him sternly,

"We're dating now. I don't care if it's our hero selves or our civilian selves or even both."

He gave you a smile and it was the most beautiful smile you've seen.

You love Bruce with your entire immortal heart.

#bruce wayne x reader #gn reader #god reader #vigilante reader #x reader #batfam x reader

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assriels · 11 months ago

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take me to church

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel was not a religious male, but you were his goddess incarnate and he would willingly worship at your feet until his dying breath

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (18+!! mdni pls), canon typical religious imagery, allusions to azriel’s work but nothing explicit

a/n: my hozier era has returned i fear

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune !

Azriel was not a particularly religious male, offering his acknowledgement to the Mother oftentimes in the heat of battle, on the brink of death as a curse on his lips, hoping someone somewhere would heed his plea to live another day. Whatever religious underpinnings existed within him were but remnants from ancient tradition, built into his body as steadily as his bones. But, aside from the rare moments he’d faced Death and lived, Azriel was not one to offer daily prayers of thanks.

Since meeting you decades ago however, Azriel had considered more and more changing his relative indifference to the celestial beings that reigned. He was sure he hadn’t done anything in his lifetime to deserve you as a lover — let alone a mate — but still the Mother blessed him, and for that he was more grateful than words or prayers could ever express.

Every brush of your lips against his skin, every tender gaze and soft smile was enough to bring Azriel to his knees every night before the altar between your legs. He sang praises and hymns until his jaw was sore, desperate to pull those seraphic moans from the depths of your throat as he worshiped you ceaselessly. He pledged his life to you the moment the bond snapped for him, never having been able to imagine an existence without you by his side.

Azriel had assumed that he was condemned to a life of desolation and loneliness, rotting with guilt and insecurity for all the things he had done and all the things he could never be. But despite the blood that perpetually stained his scarred hands and the weight of his past burdening his shoulders, you never shied away. Never so much as frowned when he confessed to you the serpentine nature of his hidden work for the Night Court or the calamity he’d endured as a young, lost child.

You had sat and listened all those years ago, delicate fingers tracing the calluses on his palm as if the lines on his hands whispered all of the things he left unsaid. You’d understood the complexities of his character, loved them as much as you loved every other part of him.

You made your unwavering affection for him known at every possible opportunity, often massaging away the crease between his brows when you knew he was losing himself to the spiral of his unwanted thoughts. You’d kiss his forehead and run your fingers through his hair, silent but understanding as you allowed him time to open himself up to you in whatever manner he pleased.

Azriel’s adoration of you was no different. He cherished the way you confided in him, revealing to him the depths of your own darkness and fears. He would safeguard your trust with his dying breath, always and forever striving to be your safe space, a lockbox where you could store your darkest thoughts and insecurities without fear of judgment.

Just as you had always done for him. Just as you were doing now.

In the comfort of your shared bedroom in your private residence, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, rolling on to your toes to kiss the back of his neck while he undid the intricate laces and buckles of his leathers. Your deft fingers soon joined his in the process as you both worked in comfortable silence to unfasten the tediously complex web of clasps.

The tension in his shoulders and the microscopic ruffle in his brow was all you needed to conclude that his latest task was a gruesome one. One of those missions that tended to stick around, following him and taunting him until his guilt festered and spread.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, voice steady as you removed the last of his Siphons secured tightly around his bicep. It was an effort not to gawk at his exquisite physique that lay hidden beneath the constricting leathers; no matter how many times you’d seen Azriel shirtless, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the sight.

He hummed in response, taking a moment to survey his torso in the mirror for any cuts or bruises that needed tending to. When he didn’t spot any — most of them had quickly stitched themselves together on the flight back home — he met your gaze in the mirror and shook his head gently, “Not really.”

Azriel was somewhat avoidant by nature, too used to minimizing his feelings in lieu of the success of a mission, but the gentle definitiveness in his tone told you all you needed to know. He’d open up about this latest operation when he was ready, but he needed time to process and think, formulate coherent thoughts about what had transpired. And as much as you wanted to soothe the emotional aches and pains you knew plagued him after every mission, you would give him that time.

You sighed and came to stand in front of him, taking both his cheeks in your hands as you forced his gaze to yours. It took everything in him not to lose himself in those pretty eyes of yours.

Azriel could sense the worry you habitually hid in the moments after he returned home, and so he leaned into your touch, turning to kiss the heart of your palm before offering you reassurances, “I’m okay. Promise.”

Azriel held his pinky out cutely and you chuckled, shaking your head fondly before wrapping your own around his. You used your joined hands as leverage to pull him down to slot your lips over his. Azriel sighed contentedly at the pressure of your kiss, his long lashes fluttering shut as his hands repositioned themselves around your body.

One hand splayed steadily on the cage of your ribs as the other made the devious trek down, grabbing a handful of your ass to squeeze playfully.

You yelped and pulled away as he smirked at you fondly. His gaze traveled over your shoulder to look in the mirror, never tiring of how the curves of your body looked pressed against his.

The two of you stayed like that for a long while, Azriel’s chin hooked over your head as your arms wound themselves comfortably around his waist. The cadence of his heartbeat was one you were well acquainted with, like a steady metronome that measured itself to the beat of your own heart.

When he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, you murmured, “Want to take a bath?”

You felt the near imperceptible quickening of his pulse against your ear and you pressed yourself further into his chest, reveling in the way he so instinctively reacted to every little thing you did.

“Only if you join me,” he responded cheekily, corners of his lips twitching in affectionate jest.

You hummed and pretended to think about it, shifting to rest your chin against his heart, pretty lashes fluttering as you looked up at him.

“I could be convinced.”

Gods, how beautiful you looked. How beautiful you always looked. Your charming allure caught Azriel off guard every single time you merely breathed in his direction, and he briefly wondered if he’d ever get used to the ease in which you enchanted him without even meaning to.

Unable to resist, his hands came up to cradle your jaw, supporting your neck as he bent down to kiss you, his nose brushing affectionately against yours as he pulled away.

“I’ll carry you,” he offered, lips brushing your skin, hazel eyes never once leaving yours.

“Deal,” you said, laughing delightedly when he lifted you, throwing you playfully over his shoulder to make a beeline to the bathroom.

Running a bath — a normally automatic part of Azriel’s routine — was made infinitely harder when he was so busy pressing his lips to your jaw, your cheeks, your mouth. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him tonight — maybe it was the adrenaline from a hard task completed, the warmth of home coaxing him to let go and savor you — but he wasn’t complaining. And neither were you, if the way you matched his fervor was anything to go by.

When both of you finally settled into the warm water, he sighed in contentment, lazily, adoringly watching as the tension eased out of your shoulders.

Before you came into his life, Azriel had never really understood the desire to worship. He knew logically that it was an act of devotion, but never did he really feel the inclination to pray to a god in thanks.

But it was moments like these — the wonderfully mundane moments of bliss with you — that finally made him understand. If the Mother was anything like you, it wasn’t difficult for Azriel to fathom a devotee’s need to pray.

He thought this as he ran his soapy hands gingerly over your body, as he buried his fingers in your hair to massage your scalp. If you were his goddess, then these were his acts of reverence and he would practice until his physical body no longer could.

And when you did the same for him, when you gently scrubbed his back and wings and arms and chest with the deliberation and gentility of an artist with a craft, he thought that maybe this gratification was what the gods felt when their followers prayed.

After a while, once the soap had run down the drain and the water was warm and clear again, you settled against him with your back pressed to his chest.

It was in that moment he realized the arousal that had slowly eked its way into his bloodstream; he had been too busy basking in the feel of your fingertips on his aching muscles to realize that your lovingly innocent touch had made him hard. Embarrassingly so.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, his attention now on the way his cock pressed so tightly against your lower back.

Your laugh — melodic and lovely — curled around his ears in a lover’s embrace, “Don’t be sorry. I’m irresistible, I know.”

He knew you’d meant to tease, but he couldn’t help but agree; if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that you’d casted a spell on him to ensnare his unyielding devotion to you. Your head fell back onto his shoulder and you captured his chin in your fingers to tilt his lips towards yours.

This kiss, unlike the ones you two had shared earlier in the night, was much more insistent, revving your desire with each stroke of his tongue.

His hands remained frustratingly chaste on the curve of your waist, and you squirmed in his embrace, willing him to touch you. The pressure of him against your back and the feel of his mouth — now leaving a scathing trail of little bites down your neck — pressed to your skin left the space between your legs slick with a wetness unattributable to the warm bath water.

Your hand settled over his and for a brief moment your mind flickered to appreciation of the ridges raised by the scars that wound themselves like vines up his fingers to his wrists. Azriel had always been somewhat self conscious of the puckered skin of his hands, but you stood firm in the belief that they only served to make him that much more wonderful.

(And you couldn’t deny the pleasurable sensation they added when his fingers were buried inside you. But that was neither here nor there.)

You guided his touch as he reared back up to kiss you again. You led one of his hands down between your legs and the other to your chest, where he eagerly played with the peak of your nipples.

“Oh?” he intoned, amusement coloring his inquiry at the feel of how wet he now realized you were.

“Sorry,” you muttered, mimicking his earlier apology with much less sheepishness.

“Don’t be sorry,” he mimed back to you. His hands fell into a practiced rhythm, circling your clit with delicious pressure.

You arched into his touch, moans falling from your lips as he teased your entrance before he mercifully sank a single digit into you. The stretch was a welcome feeling, but it quickly dissolved into the need for more. But it seemed that Azriel was in no hurry, languidly alternating between lazy strokes and nonchalant circles.

You arched again, silently pleading with him to give you more as you gripped his knee beneath the now tepid water. Though the heat of your body alone was probably enough to re-warm the bath.

Azriel indulged you, unable to resist your alluring pull. He added another finger to his ministrations, blissfully dizzy with the sounds falling from your lips. His other hand snaked from your nipples down between your legs, timing his well placed caresses of your clit to the unrelenting plunge of his fingers.

He knew you were close — so quick, he thought with a lethal satisfaction — by the octave of your moans and the desperate way your hands fought for purchase on his legs, your breasts.

He bit down on that wonderfully tender spot at the junction between your shoulder and neck, and shivered when he felt you clench around his fingers, walls pulsing temptingly around his fingers as you came.

Azriel captured your lips with his own once more, prolonging the pleasure from your release for as long as possible. You shifted to straddle him, never once breaking the kiss as the water sloshed dangerously close to the lip of the tub.

The way you ground your hips down onto his had him groaning, eyebrows furrowing with the effort to restrain himself. He could take you now, could give in to your attempts to guide him inside you, but you were shivering, goosebumps raising the skin on your back and shoulders as the chilled water and even chillier night air caressed your form.

Besides, his mind was working in overdrive, crafting plan after plan to have you keening and arching for him, all of which required a more comfortable setting than the marble bathtub in your bathroom.

He stood with ease, looping your legs around his midsection to carry you back to the bed.

He tossed you softly — though quite unceremoniously — onto the bed, and you would have complained about getting the sheets wet, but 1) you knew Azriel would make an obscene joke about how they’d get wet anyway and 2) the feel of his cock grinding against your clit was enough to rob your consciousness of any coherent thought.

Azriel was murmuring sweet endearments into your damp skin as he made the excruciatingly slow trek down your body, his lips mapping a tedious trail of kisses down your torso as if he were committing each ridge and valley to memory in fear that he’d lose his way on the journey back.

Finally, finally his mouth found that wonderfully sweet spot between your legs and he licked a broad stripe up the length of you. You shivered as he lingered, tongue lazily alternating between teasingly shallow strokes inside you to wide circles around your clit.

It was torture of the purest kind that he wasn’t giving you exactly what he knew you wanted, and by the wicked glint in his darkened hazel eyes, you could tell he was being intentional. Your fingers found their home in the impossibly silky and slightly damp strands of his hair as you attempted to pull his mouth tighter against you, petulant pout curving your lips downward.

His responding chuckle was enough to make you groan, the reverberation vibrating against your cunt before settling tantalizingly in your bones. Azriel’s arms came up to encircle your legs, effectively keeping you from grinding your hips up. You tossed your head back and keened, giving in to the languidness of his affections.

Your eyes met his at the sound of a purposely lewd smack of his lips against you, and you felt him smirk against you before you were swiftly flipped over.

“Azriel!”

What was meant to be a gasp of surprise quickly devolved into a moan of pleasure by the time the last syllable of his name left your lips. You were acutely aware of the sudden switch in positions as you were now straddling your mate’s head.

He coaxed your gaze down to his with a featherlight touch down your spine, and you were met with a swirling mix of love, lust, and adoration swimming in pools of hazel. Your chest swelled momentarily and you probably would’ve said something sweet and much more coherent than what left your mouth as he pulled you down onto him and feasted.

Azriel was addicted to the way he could make you fall apart, even from beneath you with your knees straddling his head. It was borderline sinful – an angel brought to the precipice of obscenity and seduction.

His hips shifted on the bed, body desperate to find friction. But this moment was yours, and so Azriel refrained from giving in to his baser physical desires. His tongue sang praises against your cunt, his hymns translated to the exquisite moans that fell from your lips.

It wasn’t long before you were toppling over that wonderful edge into what felt like a never ending orgasm. You could barely register the change in your positions again, head spinning and dizzy with insurmountable pleasure; before you knew it, your back was pressed against the cool sheets of the bed, eyes glassy with a post-orgasm haze.

Azriel leaned down to kiss you then, a sweet contrast to the near indecent way you could taste yourself lingering on his lips. He took his time kissing you, sending you wave after wave of undying love and loyalty down that invisible golden tether wound tight around your heart.

You briefly thought of returning the favor, of flipping him onto his back and putting your mouth on him in just the way you knew would coax those wonderfully rare sounds of unbridled, wanton pleasure from him. But his body was heavy against yours – a more than welcome comfort – and you couldn’t find the strength in you to pull away from the warmth of his skin.

You arched into him as you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while you encircled your legs around his waist. Relishing in the way he shuddered against you, you urged your hips up to grind against his, aching for the feel of him despite having just orgasmed. Twice.

Thankfully he obliged you, shifting to ease himself inside you, slowly – gods, so slowly – pushing into you with the deliberation and practiced self-discipline of a male centuries trained in espionage.

Azriel let out a half-restrained groan when his hips were flush against yours, always marveling at how close you could make him without even lifting a finger. He had meant to take a few moments to collect himself, not wanting to ruin the moment with a quick release (though admittedly he was struggling), but you shifted beneath him impatiently as you whispered salacious pleas into the shell of his ear.

The drag of his cock in and out of you was a pleasure you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to, and you couldn’t help the prurient sounds that tumbled from your lips. Though, this just seemed to urge Azriel faster, more insistent in the most delicious way.

You knew he was close by the way his breath hitched in his throat and his fingers tightened around the flesh of your thigh. The feel of his abs flexing as he pushed his hips into yours and the perfectly timed grind of his hips against your clit filled your head with a heady, hazy bliss and you nearly forgot where you were for a moment.

You wound your fingers into his hair to steady him as you bit kisses into his jaw, nails raking a gentle path of encouragement down his back.

“Come for me, Az,” you half-pleaded, half-commanded.

And he did. With a gasp and moan so beautiful it sent you into another spiral of pleasure, arching into him as he whispered incoherent praises into your neck.

As you basked in the aftermath, chest heaving and legs tangled beneath your fluffy duvet, Azriel couldn’t help but feel a lightening in his chest. He once again thought of how he had been shown so much mercy, so much kindness by the Mother, the gods – who or whatever governed the celestial plane of existence – to be bound so graciously to you. He never ceased to be amazed that he had met his goddess incarnate and had the overwhelming honor of loving her.

With your cheek resting above his heart, he didn’t doubt that you could hear the quickening of his pulse when he pressed his lips to your hair. “I love you.”

Those three words were his prayer, his penance, his praise, and he would never stop offering them to you so long as you allowed him the privilege of saying them. He could feel you smile as you kissed his collarbone, sleepily offering your benediction in return, “Love you.”

As you fell asleep, encased in the warmth and safety of his arms, he idly traced the lines of your mating tattoo, swirling tendrils of ink dancing up your hip to your waist. He always loved how they were so reminiscent of his shadows. The shadows that were now winding through your hair and tickling your cheeks in adoration.

As he too began slipping into the sweet relief of slumber, he briefly thought of his mission – it had felt so far away, so long ago now that he was guarded within the shield of your presence – and the guilt and sorrow he’d feel in the coming days. He used to dread the aftermath of his work, never allowing himself to rest comfortably for fear that sleep would be too much of an undeserved reprieve for the atrocities he’d committed.

But ever since he selfishly allowed himself to love and be loved by you, he had found solace in your embrace. You couldn’t offer absolution of his sins – if such a thing even existed – but he was certain you were his salvation. An offering from the Cauldron – that he was convinced he was wholly unworthy of – as a chance to right his wrongs. You listened and loved him and saw him for all of the parts he was ashamed of, and for that he would willingly spend the rest of his life striving to deserve.

(Though he was sure you’d frown at him and adamantly insist that he need not do anything but exist to deserve the love you gave him.)

As he let himself descend into the comforting darkness of sleep, Azriel thought that if he would be punished in his next life for the sins he committed in this one, as long as he’d be able to love you through it all it would be worth it.

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greengoblinswifey · 2 months ago

Text

Irresistible—Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— Nicholas can't keep his composure when he sees you in a stunning sparkly dress to attend a Hollywood party. His resolve crumbles as his need for you takes over and he steals you away, unable to resist showing you exactly how much you affect him.

warnings— praise kink, L bombs, ass grabbing, grinding, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— trying to feed you guys but I’ve been so busy💔hope you enjoy this <3

Nicholas couldn’t take his eyes off you from the moment you stepped out of the bedroom. The shimmering dress hugged every curve perfectly, the way the fabric caught the light made you look like a celestial vision. The matching heels accentuated your feet, and the sultry confidence you exuded left him breathless.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low as he approached you, his hands instinctively finding your waist. He pressed a kiss to your glossy lips, his gaze going down your body and back up, lingering.

“Behave, Nick,”you teased with a smirk, resting your palms on his chest to gently push him back. “We have to make an appearance tonight, and if you keep this up, neither of us is leaving this house.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his hand slipping to the small of your back as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Fair point. But don’t think I’m letting this dress stay on you one minute longer than necessary when we get back.”

The drive to the party was a challenge in itself. Nicholas' hand rested firmly on your bare thigh, his fingers idly caressing the smooth skin where your dress ended. His thumb brushed dangerously close to the hem, inching higher to your thong.

“You’re driving me insane, baby,” he said with a soft laugh.

“Nicholas,” you warned, placing your hand over his to stop its slow ascent. “Behave. If the media catches wind of anything risqué, it’ll be all over tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, a grin tugging at his lips. “But I want you to know, this is torture.”

Arriving at the venue, you were met with the spectacle of a Hollywood red carpet, complete with flashing cameras and a Polaroid booth just inside. You walked hand in hand, Nicholas’ hand holding yours steady and possessive.

The cameras loved you two, and he couldn’t hide the way he looked at you, his expression full of admiration and barely veiled desire. In every picture, he was either watching you, his gaze soft but smoldering, or holding you close, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Once inside, you sipped on red wine while Nicholas stayed by your side, sober and attentive. The music played loudly, the energy of the crowd pushing you to make your way to the dance floor.

You swayed to the music, laughing and turning to face him as you moved. His hands naturally found your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re teasing me,” he whispered, his voice husky as he dipped his head closer to yours, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I’m not doing anything,” you countered with a grin, as your hands rested lightly on his shoulders.

“You in that dress has my dick so fucking hard,” he murmured, his lips trailing briefly along your neck and his hand grabbing your ass under the dress.

“Nick,” you hissed, your cheeks warming as you glanced around. “We’re in public.”

“I don’t care,” he said simply, tightening his grip on your ass as he pulled you closer. “Let them talk. I’m in love with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you forgot about the crowded room. You smiled up at him, your fingers brushing his cheek. “I love you too. But you still need to behave.”

“Noted,” he said with a grin, though the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear his thoughts hadn’t strayed far from the idea of getting you alone.

Nicholas held you close as you swayed to the music, your ass pressed against him. His hands roamed your sides, resting at the curve of your hips as you moved together. His breath was warm against your ear, and every once in a while, his lips brushed lightly against your temple.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to glance back at him. “You’re supposed to be behaving, remember?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “You’re making it impossible.”

As the music shifted into something slower, your movements became more intimate. You spun to face him, your hands sliding up to rest on the back of his neck. His eyes locked on yours, dark, and the way you looked at him seemed to break whatever resolve he had left.

“I can’t take this anymore,” he muttered, his voice low and rough with desire.

Before you could say anything, his lips crashed into yours, a deep and fervent kiss that left you breathless. He pulled back only briefly, his hand slipping to your waist as he guided you through the crowded party.

“Nick—” you began, glancing around nervously.

“Trust me,” he said softly, looking back at you with a smirk that was equal parts reassuring and mischievous.

He led you up the stairs, his pace quick and determined, until he found an empty room. It was a small bedroom, intimate and dimly lit. He shut the door behind you with a soft click, turning the lock before leaning against it.

His eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail of your glittering dress and warm cheeks. “Look at how beautiful you are,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Nick,” you warned gently, your tone unsure as you glanced at the door. “Someone could come in, or hear—”

“There’s no one here,” he cut you off, his voice firm. “And I need you.”

Before you could respond, he dropped to his knees in front of you. The suddenness of it made your breath hitch, and he looked up at you, his yet blazing and lust filled. His hands slid up your thighs, bunching the hem of your dress as he pushed it higher.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his fingers brushing over the delicate fabric of your thong before his lips curved into a smirk. “Absolutely perfect.”

Your heart raced as he leaned in, gripping the sides of your thong with his teeth and pulling it down in one smooth motion. You let out a soft gasp, and he looked up at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Nick,” you whispered, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands steadying you as he pressed you against the door. His lips moved lower, brushing against your brown skin. “And I’m going to show you just how much I mean that.”

As he kissed along your inner thighs, his praises filled the room, low and adoring. “You’re everything I could ever want. So beautiful, so perfect. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You melted under his touch, your fingers threading through his hair as his tongue found your pussy, his voice and actions a perfect blend of passion and devotion.

His hands gripped your ass, pulling you into him as he lapped at your juices with such ferocity, your knees buckled.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned, sending shivers through you.

You gripped his hair even tighter, suddenly feeling two fingers slip inside you while his tongue focused on your clit. It was no use trying to contain your moans, he had you at his mercy, sucking on your swollen clit and curling his fingers inside you. As soon as his digits reached that sweet spot inside you, you cried out, feeling the impending orgasm.

“Now, you’re the one not behaving. So loud, princess,” he chuckled, looking up at you as his fingers thrusted.

You held back a moan, grabbing onto his hair as your back arched. “N-nick, I need to cum,” you said, softly.

“Then be a good girl and cum for me.”

His words, his tongue, his fingers and the way he looked up at you made you immediately come undone. Your pussy quivered and you squirted all over his mouth as he carried you through, his tongue slowly moving against you.

He stood up, holding you close as your knees gave out. “I need you, sweetheart. You look too fucking good,” he murmured.

You stared into his eyes, dazed. “We can’t. Someone will hear,” you whined.

“Well then, let them hear. Let them hear how good I fuck my girl.”

Nicholas turned you around, his hands firm as they ran along your sides, gathering the fabric of your dress again. He pushed the material higher, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re so fucking hot. I need you so bad,” he murmured, the need clear in his voice.

He pressed you against the cool surface of the door, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between the two of you. His lips brushed the sensitive curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as his hand cupped the back of your head, keeping you close.

“You have no idea how stunning you look,” he whispered, his voice trembling with both restraint and urgency. His hands roamed down your back, pausing just above the curve of your hips. “This dress.” He let out a low, throaty chuckle. “I swear you wore it to torture me.”

Your fingers gripped his shoulders for balance as you let out a soft gasp, feeling his hard cock thrust into you without warning. “Nick,” you moaned, your voice uneven as you tried to hold back.

He kissed the side of your neck, the sensation lingering as his teeth grazed your skin gently. “Let them hear baby, don’t hold back,” he said. “I don’t care. Let them know I’m the one fucking you.”

You couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped your lips, and he pulled back to lock eyes with you, his gaze full of affection and pure desire. “You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every part of you, perfect.”

As he continued to hold you close, his cock slamming into you and hitting your g spot, his forehead rested against yours, and he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Are you close, baby?”

Your breath hitched as you nodded, unable to form words as your pussy clenched around his thick cock. His smile was soft as he coaxed, “Cum on my cock baby, I know you want to.”

Your heart raced as you finally relaxed and came, overwhelmed by the moment and the overwhelming connection between you. His hold tightened as he murmured soothing words into your ear, grounding you as your body shook from your release. You felt his cum fill you up right after, the sensation making you cry out and he moaned in your ear.

When your high ended, Nicholas pressed a lingering kiss to your temple as he helped adjust your dress. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re really going to be the death of me. You’re such a bad influence.”

He grinned, his charm fully on display. “Then I guess we’re even.”

Hand in hand, you left the room giggling and your legs wobbly. As you walked, you could feel his cum seep through your thong and drip down your thighs.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @nicholaschavezslut69

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prythianpages · 4 months ago

Text

Just A Fool | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader x Azriel | Eris has a meeting with the Night Court's astrologer but when he enters the observatory he finds you instead. He's captivated by you and can't bring himself to understand why...until the bond snaps.

warnings: reader being delulu, mild angst (I think)

word count: 2,667

a/n: Surprise, surprise, I simply can't write one-shots! Though this can be read as a stand alone fic, it is based off of this one and takes place before. Azriel is not in this part himself but he is mentioned. Since this is in Eris's pov, I wrote it it in third person to make it easier.

Eris stepped into the observatory, the door gliding open with a quiet hiss. The room was large and spacious, his boots echoing against the smooth, polished floors. Despite himself, he begrudgingly admitted that the Night Court’s observatory was a masterpiece.

A dome of crystalline glass stretched above, revealing all the beauty the Night Court’s sky had to behold. Constellations glimmered and moonlight filtered through the room, casting a silver glow over the telescopes, charts and shelves lined with celestial tomes.

But it wasn’t the architecture that made his breath hitch and muscles tense.

A female sat curled on a velvet loveseat, her knees drawn up, and a journal braced against them as she wrote. Her head was bent in concentration, her hair falling like a curtain of shadow around her face. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and Eris let her ignorance linger. He watched her silently, taking in every detail he could for a moment longer, unaware of the weight of fate looming over his shoulder.

The dark purple dress she wore was simple yet elegant and the opal pendant that hung around her neck twinkled like starlight against her skin. Eris was certain she was not part of Rhysand’s inner circle—he would have known if she were. And to his knowledge, Keir had no other daughter aside from Mor.

Yet, the ease with which she carried herself in the room, it was as though she belonged there. She must come from a noble family but even then, the question as to why she was here still remained. Especially when he had a meeting with the Night Court’s astrologer. Had this female dared to sneak into the observatory? And how had she not heard his footsteps?

Foolish. Reckless.

And yet, Eris couldn’t deny the curiosity that tugged at him as he took a step closer, something foreign beginning to simmer in his chest.

When the door finally clicked shut, however, she flinched, her head snapping up. Wide eyes locked onto his, and the centuries of practiced composure could not hold him back, his body jerking upright. They stared at one another, the silence between them taut as a bowstring.

Her journal slipped from her lap, landing with a thud as she stood hastily. A flicker of panic crossed her face that was quickly replaced by a guarded expression. It was then that he concluded she had, in fact, dared to sneak in here.

Eris noted the slight flush on her cheeks and the way her fingers twitched. It was as if she were resisting the urge to snatch up the fallen book in fear of turning her eyes away from him.

He moved forward, each step deliberate, the measured thud of his boots filling the space between them. His amber eyes roamed her, unhurried. His lips curved faintly, a teasing spark lighting his gaze.

“Well, I was expecting someone much taller, older, and wiser...”

The female stiffened, her gaze darting to the journal on the floor, then back to him. Eris caught the motion. “What? Cat’s got your tongue?”

Her jaw tightened, but her voice was steady when she finally spoke. “If it is Lord Damus you seek, that is my father. He should be here shortly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right out of your way…”

She stepped toward the journal, her intention clear. But Eris was faster and intent on keeping her with him for longer. A flick of his wrist and the journal flew to his hand, carried by a golden thread of flame. He thumbed the worn cover, glancing down at it with mock intrigue.

“A diary?” he teased, a laugh dancing on his lips as his eyes flicked to hers. “What are you, a child?”

“Give that back,” she snapped, fire sparking in her eyes as she took a step closer.

Eris arched a brow, surprised by the boldness in her tone. The spark in her gaze sent a thrill through him, a pull he couldn’t quite place. He wasn’t one to concern himself with trivialities like this, and yet…

“No,” he replied simply, effortlessly stepping away from her poor attempt to reach him.

When she tried again, he lifted his hand, a flicker of flames dancing at his fingertips in warning. “What secrets could a Night Court female like you possibly be hiding in here? Some scandalous account of a rival’s terrible choice in gowns? Or some torrid tale of unrequited love among the court?”

His gaze dropped to the page she had left open. He should’ve let her leave. The meeting with her father was much more important than reading her diary but he was now curious about her. And even more curious to know what she had been so entranced by, enough to have not noticed his entrance.

Eris’s eyes scanned the elegant script, and his smirk deepened. “‘I love everything about him. Not in the way of soft, fleeting things, but in the way stars burn eternal. Steady and unwavering.”

He paused to glance at her. Her cheeks were flushed now but her eyes didn’t waver. There was a defiance in her gaze, even as her lips pressed into a tight line.

Eris’s attention returned to the page, a strange tightening in his chest. He hadn’t expected such emotion from her words and though he couldn’t understand why, it seemed to unsettle him.

“I love the way his eyes, the warmest shade of hazel, hold my heart every time he looks at me, the way his gaze softens. Or the way his shadows linger just a heartbeat longer around me. I wonder if they whisper my name when I’m not near…”

And then he saw it.

A name. Scribbled in a flourish of ink beside what he assumed was hers and framed by a heart. His chest tightened further, this time with something sharper, darker. He knew that name. All too well.

The flame at his fingertips extinguished as his hand fell to his side. He turned to her, his amber eyes blazing, his jaw set.

It should have been trivial. He had hoped for something inconsequential, a petty grievance or a noblewoman’s idle musings. Anything that he could dismiss with a smirk and leave behind without a second thought. Anything–anyone– but him.

Instead, her words tugged at something buried. A tether that always seemed to lead back to that wretched shadowsinger. That damned Illyrian who haunted his thoughts more often than he cared to admit.

Eris didn’t understand it and was unsure he wanted to. He was unsure if he even wanted to understand the female before him but he couldn’t bring himself to turn away from her.

So he allowed his disbelief to take over and settled on what he was familiar with.

“What a pity,” Eris said, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “That someone like you would stoop so low and waste such beautiful words on a bastard like him.”

“You don’t know anything about him,” she replied briskly and then as an afterthought, added, “or me.”

Eris laughed, the sound sharp and incredulous. “Don’t I?” He said, waving the leather journal tauntingly. The reaction she gave was almost amusing—almost. It wasn’t the insult he’d thrown at her that provoked such defensiveness, but the one aimed at him. Her precious shadowsinger.

“I think I’ve learned plenty. Enough to know you are a delusional fool. Or perhaps…”

He stepped forward leisurely, his hands crossing behind his back, like a predator savoring the chase. For every step he took towards her, she took a step back, her breath catching in her throat. He tilted his head, the amused smirk never leaving his face. He took note of the way she tried to steady her breathing. And though he thought her a fool, at least she wasn’t foolish enough to pretend she didn’t feel it. The power humming in the air around him, coiling like fire beneath his skin.

The floor illuminated beneath her weight as she stepped into the massive zodiac wheel etched onto the floor. Eris continued until he had her trapped, her back pressed against the small table in the center of the room that held up a glowing, golden globe. He was on her then, close enough that the heat of him seemed to reach out and curl around her.

She stiffened as he leaned in and then, as if it were his right, he reached out and tilted her chin up with two fingers, forcing her gaze to meet his. His amber eyes swept over her face, mockingly intent.

But when his eyes met hers, the simmering in his chest flared, growing hotter with each passing heartbeat. He brushed it aside, too caught up in the thrill of provoking her to give it any real thought.

“Perhaps, you’re unwell?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “You must’ve taken a fall recently, or been struck on the head as a child? I can’t imagine any other explanation for…”

His voice had trailed off. Now that he was up close, her scent of night blooming flowers–phlox– and amber teased at his senses. It wanted to wrap around him, lure him in. He released his hold on her, reigning in the flare of heat that surged through him. He masked the effect she had on him with a lazy wave of his hand toward the journal he still held. “…this.”

Her brows furrowed, her glare sharp enough to cut. She snatched her journal back from him with such fury he had to bite back a laugh. “I am perfectly well.”

Eris gave a grimace of resigned disbelief. “Just a fool then.”

“Tell me,” he continued, voice rich with feigned curiosity, “does he truly look your way? Or are you merely another shadow to him? Rumor has it he’s quite taken with a certain lovely, cauldron-turned fae... Oh, forgive me, my lady, did I strike a nerve?”

Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the journal tightly to her chest, shielding it as if it could protect her from the sting of his words. But there was fire in her eyes that only intrigued him further.

“He’ll soon realize that she’s not the one for him.”

“Will he? And what makes you so certain? Do you think yourself his destiny? If that’s the case, then I have quite the–”

“Crushes come and go but love stays,” she interrupted him, voice firm. She then looked up towards the domed ceiling. Her voice softened, a wistfulness creeping into her words. “And the stars and the planets, they never lie.”

The floor glowed brighter, the engraved markings on the zodiac wheel shifting with a series of clicks. From the center, a galaxy unfurled, its planets and constellations rising and floating into the air. They remained suspended in a tentative dance, awaiting an order.

An inexplicable flutter tore through his chest as he watched her expression ease at the sight above, a tender gleam in her eyes.

“It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To see where the planets align for you. To discover if the stars favor your path, if there’s any certainty to be found. To gather hope and dare to dream.”

Eris’s smirk faltered for a split second, his amber eyes narrowing. He quickly masked the slight discomfort, his expression returning to one of controlled indifference. “It sounds like you’re stuck in a dream yourself. One that will be harsh to wake up from.”

But his sharp words didn’t land as he expected. She didn’t flinch or glare back at him. Instead, she smiled at him. A smile that was so sure, so knowing. It truly made him question her sanity.

“Azriel may hold affection for her now, but he’ll love me. One day, he’ll see it. Just as clearly as I do.”

Eris could only stare at her. The certainty in her words, the unwavering belief in some twisted fate. It was maddening. She was maddening. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to continue to laugh at her naivety or… believe her.

Because she was right. He had come to Lord Damus for guidance. In a world as precarious as his, he yearned for a semblance of certainty. He wanted to hope, wanted to dream. Something to cling on to, to help him carry the weight of his burdens.

Her words lingered in the air between them, heavy and determined.

And then, as if the universe itself had conspired to provoke him further, it happened.

The world seemed to tilt beneath his feet. The edges of the room blurred, melting into golden and white light. All he could see was her. The female whose eyes reflected the endless stars above, whose words burned like a flame deep in his chest.

That simmering sensation in his chest flared again, too scorching to ignore any longer. The fire coursing through his veins roared to life, surging toward her as if recognizing its other half. His other half.

Mate.

The female standing before him, all defying words and starry wit, was his.

And she was in love with someone else.

“Cauldron above,” he cursed, his voice a low murmur. He took a step back, still reeling but forcing his composure to hold.

The sound of the door to the observatory opening snapped him out of his trance. He quickly distanced himself, needing space to regain full control.

“Lord Eris, forgive me if you’ve been waiting–what are you doing here?”

“Oh,” the female–his mate–breathed and he could feel the way her heart quickened. “I was just dusting off the shelves here, father.”

Lord Damus approached a shelf, dragging his finger along the surface. His gaze narrowed, as if sensing dust. The faintest glimmer of energy rippled in the air, imperceptible to most, but Eris saw it settle. It was, after all, his magic.

When Lord Damus raised his finger to inspect it, there was not a speck to be found. A thoughtful hum escaped him, and Eris felt her relax, even if only slightly.

“You may leave now.” Lord Damus said to her, dismissing her as if she were a servant and not his daughter.

“Yes, father.” She politely replied, bowing her head toward him before reluctantly turning to Eris. She hastily did the same, her eyes briefly meeting his once more before she hurried out of the room.

Eris watched her leave, fighting the threat of emotions swirling him. It wasn’t until the door finally clicked shut that he exhaled. As if some weight had been lifted. Though, it didn’t feel any lighter.

“Please, have a seat.” Lord Damus's voice interrupted, pulling Eris from his thoughts.

The Night Court astrologer gestured for Eris to take a seat where she had been previously sitting. But Eris couldn’t bring himself to move. He couldn’t sit there, knowing her scent still lingered.

“Forgive me, Lord Damus, but I need to reschedule.”

“But you’ve come all this way already…,” Lord Damus’s brows furrowed. “Did my daughter say something to you? Allow me to apologize on her behalf. She can be quite unnerving–that one.”

“No, not at all.” Eris lied smoothly. He lifted his hand, and a small note appeared, perched between his fingers. Flames erupted from the edges, quickly eating away at the note until it was reduced to ashes in his palm. “Something has suddenly come up in my court that requires immediate attention.”

Lord Damus considered this, his eyes narrowing as if contemplating the words. Finally, he gave a short nod. “Very well, then. We can reschedule for another time.”

Eris didn’t wait for another word. In the blink of an eye, he was gone. He winnowed directly to his room. Only then did he let his mask slip. Images of her flooded his mind and he braced himself against his bed post with one hand. His other hand clutched at his chest where the emotions were scorching, the fire there forging the threads of fate.

He lifted his gaze, his eyes landing on his own reflection. Eris had called her–his mate–a fool. Yet, as he stood before himself, he realized a bitter truth...

He was the greatest fool of all.

[series masterlist]

A/n: the next part in this au will be some fluff between Az & you 🫶🏽 that takes place after Hopelessly Devoted.

series tag list: @kaitttttttt , @nebarious , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @justyouraveragekleemain , @tothestarsandwhateverend ,

@ratgirl2020 , @myromanempiree , @vanserrasimp , @itsswritten , @acourtofbatboydreams

@imjustagirl713, @paleidiot, @scarsandallaz

if you asked to be put on the tag-list and don't see your username, please remind me!

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

#eris x reader #azriel x reader #eris x you #eris x y/n #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #eris fanfiction #azriel fanfiction #azriel x you #hopelessly devoted eris

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odileeclipse · 21 days ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 2

<<<Previous Next>>>

Shadow Milk Cookie settled into the seat beside you with an air of quiet amusement, his presence both grounding and unnerving. Up close, the details of his mismatched gaze became all the more striking, the eerie glow of his cerulean and gold eyes holding an intensity that seemed to peel back layers of pretense. It wasn’t just that he saw it felt as though he understood, as though he could pluck your scattered thoughts straight from the air and weave them into something coherent. “Let us begin,” he said, his voice smooth yet commanding. You swallowed hard, your parchment still a mess of ink-stained errors, a battlefield of numbers and theories that refused to align. Shadow Milk Cookie glanced at it, his expression unreadable as he took in the frantic scrawls. Rather than offering immediate critique, he his finger along the parchment’s edge, eyes flickering back toward you. “You are thinking too rigidly,” he observed. “You attempt to fit the answer into a predefined shape rather than allowing the concept to form naturally.” You blinked. “I… don’t understand.” Professor Almond Custard Cookie leaned against his desk, watching the exchange with wary interest. “You wouldn’t be the first,” he murmured under his breath.

Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled softly, the sound low and knowing. “Knowledge is not meant to be forcefully contained. It must be understood, internalized. Here, allow me to demonstrate.” With an effortless movement, he reached for a fresh parchment and quill, his elegant script forming a diagram an intricate illustration of magical resonance fields under celestial influence. His explanations came in measured, deliberate tones, never rushing, never expecting you to grasp concepts immediately. “You view mana stabilization as a fixed equation,” he continued, tapping a specific point on the diagram. “But it is, in truth, a dynamic balance. Think of it like… breathing. Inhaling, exhaling. Expansion, contraction. There is rhythm. A natural cadence.” You hesitated, processing his words. No scholar had ever explained it that way before. Everything up until now had been rigid formulas, memorization, the pressure to solve rather than to understand. Shadow Milk Cookie was asking you to feel the answer, not just recite it.

Tentatively, you reached for your quill, mirroring the motions he had drawn. Your lines were shakier, less confident, but as you followed his guidance, the equation began to make sense in a way it never had before. Professor Almond Custard Cookie, arms crossed, let out a thoughtful hum. “I must admit, that’s… an unusual approach.” Shadow Milk Cookie merely smiled. “Truth is rarely found in convention alone.” For the first time in weeks, the weight pressing on your chest eased. You weren’t miraculously enlightened, nor had you suddenly mastered the subject but for the first time, you felt like you were on the right path. “Shall we continue?” the Sage of Truth prompted, tilting his head ever so slightly. You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself, then nodded. “Yes.”

Shadow Milk Cookie…no, the Sage of Truth sat with a composed patience that made your nerves tangle further. Even as you hesitated, he remained steadfast, his gaze unwavering, expectant yet unpressuring. The weight of his presence pressed down on you, not in suffocation, but in silent encouragement. There was no condescension, no mockery just pure, unwavering certainty that you would learn. That you could learn. You gripped the edges of your parchment tighter, struggling to find where to even begin. Your thoughts swirled like ink spilled over a page, spreading outward in a chaotic mess. The Principle of Arcane Equilibrium. Lunar mana stabilization. Celestial harmonics. You had seen these terms in your notes, had copied them from the board, but the meaning behind them remained just out of reach. The Sage of Truth leaned forward slightly, steepling his fingers. “Let us begin at the foundation,” he said smoothly. “Tell me, what do you understand about arcane resonance?”

You swallowed, feeling your professor’s eyes on you as well. It was a simple question. One you should be able to answer. And yet, your thoughts stumbled, grasping at fragmented knowledge that refused to piece itself together. “I-It has to do with mana flow,” you started hesitantly, shifting in your seat. “How it interacts with… external forces?” You winced at how uncertain you sounded. Shadow Milk Cookie did not look disappointed. If anything, he looked intrigued. “A fair starting point,” he mused. “However, ‘interacts with external forces’ is far too vague. Be specific what forces? How do they affect mana flow?” You floundered, scanning your notes for an answer, but all you saw were half-finished scribbles and hastily written corrections. “I-” The words caught in your throat. Professor Almond Custard Cookie sighed heavily. “(Y/N) Cookie…” His tone was weary, but Shadow Milk Cookie merely raised a hand, silencing him. “I see now,” the Sage of Truth murmured, tilting his head slightly as if you were a puzzle to be examined. “It is not ignorance that holds you back. It is hesitation.” You blinked. “Hesitation?” “You grasp at knowledge but do not claim it.” He tapped a gloved finger against the wooden desk. “You doubt yourself the moment you speak. You are afraid of being wrong, and in that fear, you deny yourself the chance to be right.”

Your breath caught in your throat. How… how had he seen through you so easily? Your professor had pointed out your struggles before, but never quite like this. Never so precisely. Shadow Milk Cookie continued, his voice calm but firm. “Truth is not found in perfect answers, but in the willingness to seek them. Even in error, there is progress.” His heterochromatic gaze bore into you, gentle yet inescapable. “Do you truly wish to learn?” You clenched your hands into fists. “Of course, I do,” you said, the words leaving you with more force than intended. His lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Then let us move forward.” He gestured toward your notes. “Forget perfection. Forget your fear of being incorrect. Simply tell me what you think the answer is?” Your throat felt dry. Your mind raced with possibilities, most of which you were certain were wrong. But his words echoed in your head. Truth is not found in perfect answers, but in the willingness to seek them.

You inhaled slowly. “Mana flow is affected by celestial cycles… The lunar phases alter the frequency of arcane resonance, which means…” You paused, daring to glance up at him. He nodded, encouraging you to continue. “…which means that during a lunar eclipse, the lack of direct celestial influence causes the mana field to destabilize. So, to stabilize it… you’d need to use a principle that counteracts that absence.” Your voice wavered, uncertainty gnawing at you. “Is that… the Principle of Arcane Equilibrium?” For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Shadow Milk Cookie’s smile widened ever so slightly. “Now that,” he said, his voice brimming with approval, “was a well-reasoned answer.” Your breath left you in a sharp exhale. He wasn’t dismissing you. He wasn’t telling you that you were wrong outright. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had strung together a response that held weight. That held potential.

Professor Almond Custard Cookie let out a soft huff, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I say the same thing for weeks, and yet he gets through to you in a single conversation.” You flushed. “I-It’s not that I wasn’t listening to you!” You could only feel the pit in your stomach growing…maybe not speaking was better. Every word spoken felt like one more dig at your grave…you practically had one foot in. Your professor merely waved a hand. “Oh, I’m not offended. Frankly, if it takes the Sage of Truth himself to make you finally push past that mental block, so be it.” He shot Shadow Milk Cookie a look. “You’re stuck with them now.” You stiffened. “W-Wait” Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled. “Ah, how fortunate.” His eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “It seems our discussions have only just begun.” Your stomach twisted. This was going to be a very, very long mentorship.

The weight of the evening’s lesson still pressed heavily upon you as you finally stepped out of your professor's office, your parchment clutched tightly in your hands. The cold evening air of Blueberry Yogurt Academy greeted you with a sharp breeze, carrying the faint scent of parchment, melted wax, and the lingering traces of magical incense from the hallways. You exhaled, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. You had survived. Somehow. Behind you, Professor Almond Custard Cookie remained in his office, no doubt relieved to finally have a moment’s peace. You could still hear his parting words in your head "You’re making progress. Keep at it." though his voice had been tinged with exasperation. Whether he truly believed you were improving or if he was merely grateful to have you off his hands for the night, you weren’t sure. What you were sure of, however, was that walking back to your dorm in the dimly lit corridors of the Academy gave you far too much time to reflect on the night’s events. Your thoughts circled around your earlier conversation, looping in a relentless spiral.

"You doubt yourself the moment you speak."

"Truth is not found in perfect answers, but in the willingness to seek them."

"Do you truly wish to learn?"

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around your notes. The Sage of Truth no, Shadow Milk Cookie had spoken to you as if your struggles were not a burden, but a simple step in the process of learning. As if you were not lesser for failing. He had made it sound so obvious, as if understanding should be as natural as breathing. And yet, even now, you weren’t sure if you believed it. Your footsteps echoed softly against the ancient stone floors as you turned the corner toward the dormitories. The corridors of Blueberry Yogurt Academy were eerily beautiful at this hour, bathed in the pale glow of enchanted lanterns that floated gently overhead. The stained glass windows, depicting past scholars and grand celestial phenomena, cast fragmented reflections against the polished floors. The halls were nearly empty, save for the occasional scholar or staff member drifting by, their murmured discussions fading into the night. Then, you noticed him. A few steps ahead, walking in the same direction as you, was Shadow Milk Cookie. You froze mid-step.

His long robes, embroidered with ancient sigils and lined with deep celestial blues, trailed elegantly behind him. The soft glow of the lanterns illuminated his features sharp yet composed, his heterochromatic gaze focused forward in quiet contemplation. There was an effortless grace to his stride, a presence that commanded both reverence and curiosity. He walked like one who belonged in the halls of academia, as if knowledge itself guided his every step. You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. It was one thing to sit across from him in a study session, where his attention had been directed solely at you. That alone had been overwhelming. But now, watching him in his element, unbothered by the presence of others, was something else entirely. He was a legend within the Academy. A beacon of intellect, respected by scholars far beyond these halls. Countless students, yourself included, had looked up to him, studied his theories, marveled at the sheer depth of his understanding. He was a figure so revered that it seemed almost unnatural to see him doing something as mundane as simply… walking back to his quarters.

You barely realized you had slowed your pace, allowing more distance between you. The last thing you wanted was to seem as if you were following him. Unfortunately, it seemed he had already noticed your presence. "You need not linger in the shadows, you know," he mused, his voice smooth, carrying just enough amusement to make your stomach twist. You nearly tripped over your own feet. "I wasn’t!" He stopped, turning slightly to glance at you, and you felt yourself shrink under the weight of his gaze. There was no judgment in his expression, only quiet interest. "Our paths align, it seems," he continued, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Surely, there is no harm in walking together?" There was a simple logic to his words. A logic that did little to calm your nerves. Your hands tightened around your parchment as you forced yourself to nod. "O-Of course not," you managed to say, though the words felt clumsy on your tongue. He resumed his pace, and you hesitantly stepped forward to match it, though you kept a respectable distance between you.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, save for the sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone. You risked a glance at him, taking in the way his gaze remained steady, lost in thought. Even in stillness, there was an air of quiet brilliance about him an unshakable confidence in the way he carried himself. You wondered, not for the first time, what it must be like to think as he did. To see the world through his eyes, where every fragment of knowledge seemed to fall perfectly into place. …How had someone like him ended up offering to help someone like you? Right…Because the professor insisted so. You imagine it’s because he was at his wits end with you. The thought made your stomach churn. "You are quiet," Shadow Milk Cookie observed, not unkindly. "Is your mind burdened by today’s lesson?" You flinched. "I…Um- No! I mean- Yes? I mean…" You let out a quiet groan, rubbing your temple. "I just… I still don’t understand why you would bother." He stopped walking. You barely had time to react before his gaze was on you once more, sharper now, as if you had just presented him with a particularly intriguing puzzle. "Why wouldn’t I?" he asked simply. You stared at him. "Because you’re you." The words left your mouth before you could stop them, but they were true. He was him. A scholar unlike any other. The Sage of Truth. A role model to so many. And you were… you. He regarded you for a long moment. Then, to your utter disbelief, he chuckled. It was a soft sound, quiet yet unmistakably amused. "Ah," he mused, shaking his head. "You place me upon a pedestal so high that you fail to see the truth, even when it stands before you." You stiffened. "What truth?" "That I am merely a scholar, much like yourself." He stepped forward slightly, and you felt your breath catch. "I seek understanding. I seek knowledge. And I seek to share that knowledge, just as those before me have done. That is all." You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away. "You believe I stand beyond your reach," he continued, his voice quieter now. "But tell me… Is that not an illusion of your own making?" The words settled deep within you, leaving you momentarily speechless. He did not wait for an answer. Instead, he resumed walking, as if his statement had been nothing more than a passing remark. You, however, were left rooted in place, your thoughts spinning wildly. Was it truly an illusion? Or had you simply convinced yourself that it was?

You hesitated for a long moment, his words lingering in your mind like an unsolved equation.

"Is that not an illusion of your own making?"

Something about the way he had said it so effortlessly, so assuredly made you feel as though you had been caught in the act of deceiving yourself. As if the way you saw him, the way you saw yourself, was nothing more than a fragile illusion you had crafted without realizing it. And yet… You gripped your parchment a little tighter, your steps quickening until you fell into pace beside him once more. "If…" Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to speak. "If illusions are so easily made, then… isn’t truth an illusion in itself?" For the first time since the conversation had begun, Shadow Milk Cookie stopped walking entirely. You nearly stumbled forward from the suddenness of it, but when you turned to face him, his expression had shifted. Gone was the amused scholar indulging in a casual discussion. In his place stood the Sage of Truth, eyes gleaming with something deeper something unreadable. Slowly, he turned to face you fully. "An illusion…?" he echoed, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. Your throat tightened. Perhaps you had spoken too boldly, questioning something so fundamental to him. But it was too late to take it back now. "You said I place you on a pedestal," you said carefully. "That I see something in you that isn’t real. That my perception of you is just… an illusion of my own making. But… isn’t truth also shaped by perception? Isn’t it possible that what we see as truth is just another illusion? Something we convince ourselves of?"

Silence stretched between you. The Academy halls, once vast and endless, now felt small and confined within the weight of the question hanging in the air. The lanterns above flickered gently, their glow casting shifting shadows against the stone walls. Then, to your utter shock, Shadow Milk Cookie smiled. Not his usual, knowing smile the kind that came when he had already deciphered the answer before the question had even been asked. No, this was something else. Something closer to satisfaction. "Ah," he breathed, eyes alight with intrigue. "Now you are asking the right questions." Your breath hitched. He clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Tell me, then," he said, his voice smooth, measured. "If truth were an illusion, then what makes it different from any other falsehood? What separates reality from deception?" You opened your mouth, then shut it again. How were you supposed to answer that? His gaze never wavered, patient yet expectant. He was not dismissing your question. No, he was indulging it feeding it, waiting to see where you would take it. The realization sent a shiver down your spine. Even now, after hours of struggle, after making a fool of yourself in the lecture hall and in office hours, he was still encouraging you. Still pushing you to think, to question. Not because he doubted you, but because he wanted to see if you could reach the answer on your own. Your hands clenched at your sides. Perhaps… perhaps that was the difference. Perhaps truth was not a static thing, an unshakable force that simply existed. Perhaps it was something sought after, something earned.

A beat of silence stretched between you, the weight of his question pressing heavily upon your thoughts. Try as you might, no answer came, not one you were confident in, at least. You swallowed hard, gripping your parchment as though it might somehow grant you clarity. Your mind twisted and turned, sifting through everything you had ever learned, everything you had ever questioned. But no matter how you approached it, the answer remained just out of reach. Slowly, you exhaled. Then, with great reluctance, you admitted, "I… don’t know." Shadow Milk Cookie watched you carefully, his expression unreadable. He did not scoff, nor did he look disappointed. If anything, there was something almost expectant in his gaze.

You hesitated before speaking again, your voice quieter this time.

"When…" You shifted your weight, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. "When is our next tutoring session?" The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to sink into the floor. What were you even saying? You had spent the entire evening resisting his help, yet here you were, asking for more? But it was too late to take it back now. Shadow Milk Cookie blinked once, then let out a soft chuckle. "Ah…" His smile was small but unmistakable. "So you wish to continue?" You fidgeted, heat creeping up your neck. "I mean…" You cleared your throat. "I still can’t answer your question. And I doubt I’ll figure it out on my own." His eyes gleamed, a knowing amusement dancing within them. "Perhaps not yet." Your fingers curled around your parchment. "So… when?" For a brief moment, he simply observed you, his heterochromatic gaze searching. Then, with a slow nod, he said, "Tomorrow. Same time." Your breath caught. So soon? You had expected him to at least hesitate, to question if it was worth his time to continue tutoring a student who struggled so much. And yet, he had answered without a second thought. He had already decided. You nodded stiffly, unsure of what else to say. "Alright… Tomorrow, then." "Indeed." He inclined his head slightly, the candlelight catching the silver edges of his robes. Then, without another word, he turned forward once more, resuming his steady pace down the corridor. You lingered for a moment, watching him, still unable to fully grasp how you had ended up here. The Sage of Truth, the scholar admired by all, had willingly taken you under his wing. And, whether you were ready or not… Tomorrow, it would begin again.

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of parchment and old stone as you walked the winding path toward the dormitories. The lamps flickered gently, their glow casting elongated shadows across the cobbled walkways. The Academy was quiet at this hour, only the occasional distant murmur of scholars deep in discussion broke the silence. And yet, despite the stillness, your thoughts churned like a storm. You had asked him when the next tutoring session would be. And he had agreed. The realization sent a fresh wave of regret coursing through you. You wanted to take it back. To insist that you had only spoken in the moment, that you didn’t actually need his help, that you were fine struggling on your own. But you couldn’t. Professor Almond Custard Cookie had already made you his problem. You could still hear your professor’s resigned sigh from earlier, the subtle relief in his voice when the Sage of Truth had offered his guidance. That had been the final decision. The moment Shadow Milk Cookie had taken an interest, your fate had been sealed.

You weren’t just his student now. You were his baggage. And worse, you didn’t want to fail. No matter how humiliating it was to struggle under his piercing gaze, no matter how small you felt in the presence of someone whose mind operated at a level you couldn’t even fathom… you knew the truth. You weren’t going to make it on your own. Your grip tightened around the strap of your bag as you risked another glance at him. He walked with that same effortless grace, his long robes trailing just slightly with each step, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. He didn’t acknowledge your unease, nor did he seem weighed down by the burden of tutoring someone as hopeless as you. Because to him, this wasn’t a burden at all. That, somehow, made it worse. You exhaled slowly, willing your nerves to settle. The dormitories were just ahead. Soon, you could retreat to your room, bury yourself under the weight of your own thoughts, and figure out how you were going to survive this. Because tomorrow, there was no turning back.

The next day the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the courtyard, its warmth doing little to ease the weight pressing on your chest. You sat slouched on a stone bench, a half-eaten pastry in your hands, letting the idle chatter of your friends wash over you. “You’re lucky you weren’t in class earlier,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie groaned, stretching out beside you. “Professor Caramel Chiffon assigned three new readings. Three. And he hinted at a quiz. An unannounced quiz.” Chai Latte Cookie snorted. “Sounds about right.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his coat, ever composed. “Frankly, I don’t understand why you’re complaining. It was a straightforward lecture.” Hazelnut Biscotti rolled his eyes. “Easy for you to say, Mr. ‘I Read Ahead for Fun.’” Chai Latte turned to you then, raising an eyebrow. “Wait, weren’t you supposed to be in that lecture?” You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “…Yeah.” Hazelnut Biscotti sat up, grinning. “You skipped?” Earl Grey frowned slightly. “That’s unlike you.” “I needed a break, okay?” You sighed, rubbing your temple. “I was so lost yesterday that Professor Almond Custard Cookie actually sent me to the Sage of Truth for tutoring.” They went silent. Then Hazelnut Biscotti whistled. “Whoa. That’s, uh… That’s serious.” Chai Latte’s eyes widened. “Wait, the Sage of Truth? Like, Shadow Milk Cookie?” “The one and only,” you muttered, slumping against the stone bench. “And before you say anything, no, I don’t know how this happened. One second I was getting grilled in office hours, and the next, he was standing there, offering to help.” Earl Grey’s expression turned thoughtful. “That’s… quite the opportunity. He doesn’t just tutor anyone.” You groaned. “Yeah, thanks, I know.” Chai Latte leaned in with a sly smile. “And you didn’t immediately pass out from embarrassment?” “Oh, I wanted to,” you admitted. “But now I’m stuck. Professor Almond Custard basically assigned me to him like I’m some kind of lost cause. I can’t back out without looking like an idiot, and I really don’t want to fail.”

Hazelnut Biscotti chuckled. “So what you’re saying is, you’re the Sage of Truth’s baggage now.” You shot him a look. “Please don’t put it like that.” Earl Grey folded his arms. “Well, are you actually going to his tutoring sessions?” “…Yeah.” You exhaled, rubbing the back of your neck. “But I’d rather keep it quiet. The last thing I need is everyone knowing I need extra help, especially from him.” Chai Latte gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we won’t tell a soul.” “Thanks.” You exhaled. “I just needed a break today. I can’t handle another hour of feeling completely stupid.” “Understandable,” Hazelnut Biscotti said with a shrug. “One bad day is not gonna kill you.” Earl Grey, though still looking skeptical, didn’t push further.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, who had actually blown up the alchemy lab, whether the Academy’s bakery was secretly using illegal enchantments to make their pastries addictive, and speculation about which professor would crack under stress first. It was… nice. Until Hazelnut Biscotti suddenly grinned. “Oh, this is interesting.” You blinked. “What?” Chai Latte hummed. “A rather esteemed scholar seems to be gracing us with his presence.” Earl Grey smirked. “And he’s not alone.” You followed their gaze and your stomach dropped. Shadow Milk Cookie. Walking through the courtyard with two other scholars, deep in conversation, his presence as commanding as ever. His embroidered robes shimmered in the light, his expression composed, thoughtful every bit the revered academic you’d always admired from a distance. And he was heading this way. Panic seized your chest. If he sees me, he’ll know I skipped class. Without thinking, you grabbed Hazelnut Biscotti’s sleeve and yanked him closer. “Hide me.” He choked on his laughter. “Oh, this just keeps getting better.” Chai Latte barely stifled a giggle. “Wait, why are we hiding you? You like him, don’t you?” You gawked at her. “What?! No! That’s not-” “Ohhh, this is priceless,” Hazelnut Biscotti wheezed. “I don’t like him!” you hissed. “I just don’t want him to know I skipped class!” Earl Grey raised an eyebrow. “So, the great Sage of Truth personally tutors you, and instead of actually attending lectures, you’re hiding from him in a bush?” You buried your face in your hands. “I wasn’t planning on hiding in a bush, but if that’s what it takes-” “You’re ridiculous,” Chai Latte giggled, before glancing over at Shadow Milk Cookie’s group. “Okay, okay, he’s almost past us, just don’t move.” You froze, heart hammering. Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice drifted closer, measured, inquisitive, effortlessly drawing his companions into discussion. And then He paused. You stopped breathing. Earl Grey, ever the calm one, muttered, “You definitely look suspicious right now.” Before you could respond, Shadow Milk Cookie resumed walking, his group moving past without so much as a glance in your direction. As soon as they were gone, you collapsed back against the bench with a heavy sigh. Your friends immediately lost it. Hazelnut Biscotti doubled over laughing. “You should’ve seen your face-” Chai Latte wiped away tears. “You so looked like a guilty student caught by a professor” “I was a guilty student caught by a professor!” you groaned. Earl Grey smirked. “You’re just lucky he didn’t see you.” You exhaled, feeling utterly drained. “I really hope so.” Hazelnut Biscotti leaned back with a grin. “Either way, that was hilarious.” You shot him a glare…But at least you weren’t caught. Probably.

Chai Latte Cookie leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. “So… what’s he like?” You blinked, still recovering from your near-exposure. “Huh?” “The Sage of Truth,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “You’ve actually talked to him now, right? So what’s he like?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned. “Yeah, is he really as mysterious and wise as everyone says?” Earl Grey Cookie sipped his tea, ever composed. “I’d imagine he’s rather intimidating.” You hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under their expectant stares. The truth was, you weren’t entirely sure how to describe him. You had only met him once well, formally, anyway. Sure, you had seen him before, standing at the podium in grand lectures you never attended, passing by in the halls with that effortless air of authority. But actually sitting with him, discussing your academic struggles? That was different. You exhaled. “Honestly… I don’t know yet.” Chai Latte raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? You met him, didn’t you?” “Well, yeah,” you admitted. “But it’s only been one session. And most of that was just him trying to figure out how bad I actually am at this.”

Hazelnut Biscotti snickered. “That bad, huh?” You groaned, covering your face. “Don’t remind me.” Chai Latte Cookie nudged you. “Come on, though. First impressions? What was it like sitting across from the Sage of Truth?” You thought back to yesterday how he had arrived in the office so suddenly, brimming with discoveries before shifting his attention entirely to you. How effortlessly he had unraveled your mistakes, yet without a trace of condescension. How he had challenged you, his golden gaze expectant, patient, assured. “…He’s sharp,” you admitted after a moment. “Like… really sharp. It’s like he already knows the answers but wants to see if you can get there.” Earl Grey Cookie hummed. “That makes sense. A true scholar guides rather than simply provide.” You nodded. “Yeah, but the problem is, I couldn’t get there. No matter how he rephrased it, I just” You sighed. “I couldn’t keep up.” Chai Latte frowned. “Did he get frustrated with you?” You shook your head. “No. If anything, it was worse. He was patient.” Hazelnut Biscotti winced. “Oof.” “Yeah,” you muttered. “It made me feel even dumber.” Earl Grey considered this. “Patience can be more unnerving than reprimand. It forces you to confront your own inadequacies.” You stared at him. “…Yeah. Exactly that.” Chai Latte nudged you again. “But come on, there’s gotta be more to him than just being smart.” You hesitated, thinking back to the way he carried himself so composed, so sure. How his words carried weight without force. How he had looked at you not with disappointment, but expectation, like he truly believed you could improve.

“…He’s confident,” you said slowly. “Not in an arrogant way. Just… assured. Like he doesn’t doubt himself. Ever.” Hazelnut Biscotti whistled. “Must be nice.” Earl Grey nodded. “A scholar of his caliber would have little reason to doubt.” Chai Latte smirked. “And? Is he at least nice to look at?” You nearly choked. “What?!” She grinned. “Come on, you can’t tell me the robes, the hair, the mystique don’t at least add to the appeal.” Hazelnut Biscotti waggled his eyebrows. “All the scholars love him, you know. And not just for his wisdom.” You buried your face in your hands. “I am not discussing this.” Earl Grey shook his head. “This is hardly relevant to his academic prowess.” “Exactly!” You gestured to him. “Thank you!” Chai Latte just laughed. “Okay, okay, we’ll drop it. But you are going back, right?” You exhaled, slumping back. “Yeah. I don’t really have a choice.” Hazelnut Biscotti grinned. “Well, if nothing else, at least we’ll get more firsthand reports on the great and mysterious Sage of Truth.” You groaned. “You all are the worst.” Chai Latte beamed. “And yet, you love us.” You rolled your eyes, but despite yourself, you smiled.

A/N There will be more interactions with the sage dw but I need to build the world it would be super unrealistic if we had no friends LOL And I know there's a canon Earl Grey Cookie but I only realized after I finished sooo it's up to yall to picture him as the canon or come up with your own appearances all the other cookies mentioned are made up <3

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#cr kingdom #cookie run #crk #cookie run kingdom #cookierun kingdom #shadow milk #crk shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie crk #shadow milk crk #shadow milk x reader #shadow milk cookie #sage of truth #smc crk #sm cookie #smilk cookie #smilk

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sixeyesonathiel · 10 days ago

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deorsum in deum

CH01 – you wake again

pairing – yandere greek god!satoru x human!reader

summary : you wake in a temple that scrapes the sky, its halls carved from white marble, its pillars gilded in gold. there is no door. no way back. only the endless heavens stretching beyond your reach.

a god greets you with a touch too familiar, a voice too certain. he calls you his.

you do not kneel. you do not break. but the gods are watching. and he has all the time in the world.

warnings –> noncon/dubcon elements (due to captivity, forced submission, power imbalance), graphic depictions of death, major character death (but repeatedly undone), psychological horror / eldritch horror, forced consumption / force-feeding, power imbalance / god-worship dynamics, mind-breaking / descent into madness

chapter summary : you do not remember how you got here. the temple stretches into infinity, carved from marble and gold, vast and inescapable. he is waiting for you—draped in divinity, eyes too bright, too knowing. he calls you his bride. you run. the temple does not stop you. but there is no exit, only his patience, only his certainty. and when you refuse him, he does not argue. he simply waits. gods do not need to chase. they only need time.

you wake in a place that should not exist.

the air is wrong—too still, too dense, pressing against your skin like unseen hands. beneath your fingertips, the floor is smooth marble, cold enough to leech warmth from your body, polished so finely that it gleams under a golden light with no visible source. above, there is no sky as you know it, only an expanse of endless heavens, vast and shimmering, untouched by sun or stars. the temple stretches beyond reason, its halls extending into infinity, lined with towering pillars that seem to breathe. silence weighs heavy, yet it is not empty; it thrums with whispers just beyond comprehension, words slipping through the air in a tongue that does not belong to mortals. shadows shift at the edges of your vision, not moving, but alive, watching.

you are not alone. and yet, you are the only human.

then, satoru appears.

his presence bends reality, warps the space between one breath and the next, as if the world itself stutters at his arrival. the air thickens, charged with something ancient, something absolute. he is dressed in white—pristine, celestial, untouched—the fabric flowing like liquid light, shifting with his every movement as though it, too, obeys him. the gleaming gold accents at his wrists catch the dim glow of the chamber, refracting it, casting patterns that dance across the marble like whispered promises of something greater, something divine.

his eyes find you.

too bright. too vast. they are not mortal things, not something meant to be understood. the impossible blue of them sears through your thoughts, strips you bare without ever needing to touch, without ever needing to ask. there is no warmth in them, only the kind of knowing that is suffocating, infinite, inescapable. the kind of knowing that makes you feel small.

he does not walk so much as exist closer. the space between you folds in on itself, shrinking in a way that should not be possible, should not be real—but reality is a fickle, fragile thing in the face of him. when he lifts a hand, the air shudders, hums in recognition, bends at the command written into his very being. the universe does not just acknowledge him—it kneels.

his fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up with the care of a lover. “there you are, my bride.” he murmurs, voice as smooth as the marble beneath you, as if he has found something precious.

your breath stutters, a sharp intake of air that does nothing to steady the rising panic in your chest. the warmth of his touch is unbearable, foreign against your skin, and you wrench yourself back on instinct. the question—no, the demand—tears from your throat before you can think. “send me home.” the vastness of the temple swallows your voice, leaving it small and weak.

you do not remember how you got here.

one moment, you were in a world governed by logic, by gravity, by the certainty that each step you took was yours alone. the weight of existence had been familiar, something felt in your bones, in the ache of living, in the steady pull of time moving forward. but here, there is no weight. no direction. only an expanse that stretches in every direction, a realm untouched by human hands, suspended between what was and what will never be. nothing makes sense, and yet it exists. and so do you.

your voice shatters the hush, sharp, desperate. “take me back.” the words are not a plea but a demand, edged with the kind of terror that only grows in the absence of answers. but he does not humor you, does not meet your panic with reason. instead, he watches, gaze unreadable, as if your outburst is nothing more than the stirring of a breeze in a world that does not know the wind. then, softly, assuredly, he speaks. “you were meant for me.”

the certainty in his voice is unbearable.

your head shakes before you can stop it, rejection rushing through you like blood, like breath, instinctual and unyielding. “no.” you say, though it is not enough—not enough to break the reality he has shaped, not enough to undo the weight of his words. but he does not argue, does not fight against your refusal as a mortal man might. he simply moves, turning with the kind of ease that speaks of inevitability, a tide that does not waver just because the shore does not wish to be touched. and then, he walks.

you do not want to follow, but you do.

the temple unfolds before you in impossible ways, shifting without movement, revealing more than the mind can hold. floating steps vanish into the heavens, suspended over nothing and everything. corridors stretch into eternity, lined with pillars that hum as you pass, each one carved with words too divine for human tongues. golden doors open into halls that are endless, leading only to more golden doors. there is no pattern. no logic. no end.

and you understand.

this place is a prison. and a prison does not need walls if it has no exits.

that night, you do not sleep. you do not touch the bed waiting for you, do not allow yourself to sink into the silken sheets that gleam under the ever-present golden light. they feel like starlight, like something spun from the fabric of the cosmos itself, too soft, too welcoming, too much like surrender. instead, you curl onto the cold marble floor, pressing your cheek against its unyielding surface, grounding yourself in the only thing that feels real. above you, the ceiling stretches into forever, vast and infinite, offering no comfort.

so you close your eyes and pray. you do not know who you are praying to. you do not realize that he is the only one listening.

by dawn, you are ready.

your body is stiff from a night spent curled on marble, but the ache does not matter. there is no plan, no path to follow—only the certainty that you cannot stay. so you move. first in careful steps, then in a desperate sprint, bare feet slapping against the cold floor as you throw yourself into the vastness of the temple. the silence breaks beneath your breath, your heartbeat, the soft rustle of your clothes as you run. and run.

the temple does not resist you. it does not shift to stop your path, does not trap you within a maze of endless halls. instead, it allows you through its corridors, lets you weave between pillars so tall they disappear into nothing, past statues carved with faces that should not exist. you streak through gardens suspended in midair, where flowers bloom in colors your mind struggles to name, their petals unfurling as if watching your flight. spiraling staircases stretch downward into an abyss that offers no promise of a bottom, but you do not stop. you cannot. because in the distance, past the gleaming marble and golden archways, you see it.

an edge.

the temple ends. beyond it, there is open space, a vastness unclaimed by divine hands. your breath shudders from your lungs as you push forward, legs burning, heart slamming against your ribs—just a little farther, just beyond that threshold, just beyond there.

the sight steals the air from your chest, your heart lurching with something dangerously close to relief. you had feared there would be no end to these halls, that you would run forever, trapped in an unbroken loop of marble and gold. but this—this is proof that the temple has limits. proof that you can leave. your steps quicken, hope swelling beneath your ribs, a fragile, desperate thing. you are almost there. just a few more steps, just a little further, just past the edge and then you will be free.

you can already imagine it—the way the air will feel beyond these walls, cool and crisp, untouched by divine hands. the way the ground might shift beneath your feet, uneven, unpredictable, real. the way the sky will stretch open above you, vast and endless in a way that does not feel like watching eyes. home is waiting. home is possible. and if you can just—

you hit something solid.

the impact sends you stumbling back, confusion crashing into you harder than the invisible wall. no—no, there’s nothing here, nothing at all. you reach out, fingers pressing against open air, against something that does not exist and yet will not let you through.

your breath comes faster now, panic rising. the exit is right there, right in front of you, but you cannot reach it. you slam your hands against the emptiness, push, claw, desperate to force your way through. it doesn’t move. it doesn’t even acknowledge your existence. you choke on something that might be a sob, your body shaking, your mind refusing to accept what is right before you—there is no way out.

and then, a presence.

you do not hear him approach. you do not feel his arrival. he is simply there, as if he had always been, as if the very fabric of reality bends to accommodate his existence. you turn, trembling, breath still uneven from the force of your useless escape. and he is watching you, eyes gleaming with something like amusement, like inevitability.

his presence is effortless, unshaken, the very air bending in reverence around him. he looks at you with something like amusement, head tilting, white robes untouched by the desperation in your own. “where were you planning to go, little one?” his voice is soft, almost indulgent, as if this were nothing more than a child's game.

you barely have time to recoil before his hand moves.

fingers press against your throat—gentle, almost affectionate—before sharp pain lances through your spine. the world tilts. no, it vanishes.

darkness swallows you whole.

except it is not empty.

it is thick, cloying, pressing against you like something alive, like a great unseen weight curling around your limbs. you are sinking. or maybe you are unraveling—coming apart at the seams, dissolving into the nothingness that stretches beyond thought. there is no body, no breath, only the lingering imprint of pain, sharp and sudden, frozen in time. your neck still remembers the snap, the way reality splintered as bone gave way, as sensation collapsed into oblivion.

but then—you wake.

it is not gentle. it is not natural.

existence slams back into you with a force that wrenches your mind from the abyss, dragging you gasping into a world that no longer makes sense. your lungs convulse on empty air, trying to remember how to breathe. your skin prickles with the ghost of a touch that is no longer there, nerves firing in confusion as if they, too, do not understand why you are here again. your body is intact, whole, yet the phantom of death lingers—a whisper at the edges of your mind, a knowledge that should not be possible.

you should not be alive.

but you are.

the first thing you feel is warmth. the slow, steady brush of fingers through your hair, an imitation of comfort, of care. and then, his voice, threading through the disorientation, steady, certain, inevitable. “you’ll learn.”

you do not move. you cannot.

your body is still caught in the memory of it—of the way his hand had settled so easily against your throat, of the sharp twist, the brief, dizzying instant where sensation had collapsed into nothing. there had been no time to struggle, no chance to fight back. one moment, you had existed. the next, you had not. and now—you are here again.

your breath is uneven as you press trembling fingers to your neck, searching for proof that it happened. there should be bruises. there should be pain. your bones should still remember the way they had broken, your body should still bear the evidence of its own ruin—but there is nothing. your skin is smooth, untouched, as if he had never laid a hand on you at all. as if your death had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

as if it will happen again.

you do not want to look at him. you do not want to see the ease in his posture, the calm amusement that lingers in his presence like this is just another moment in a story already written. but he is there, waiting, watching, and the weight of his gaze drags yours to meet it. he leans back on one arm, unbothered, patient. always patient.

your voice is hoarse when you finally force out the words. “what did you—?”

his answer is simple. effortless. “i killed you.”

the breath stutters from your lungs.

he speaks the words as though they mean nothing, as though the act of ending you is no more significant than exhaling. perhaps, to him, it isn’t. you stare at him, your mind reeling, trying to force sense into something that has none. “you—” the words catch, break, and you shake your head, hands curling against the marble beneath you. your voice is a whisper of disbelief. “you killed me.”

he hums in agreement, tilting his head as if waiting for you to catch up. slow, expectant, like a teacher watching a child struggle with a lesson they were always meant to learn. “and now you’re here. so what does that tell you, little one?”

your stomach twists violently.

it tells you there is no escape.

it tells you death is not freedom.

it tells you he will not let you go.

the knowledge sinks its claws into you, heavy and inescapable. your fingers curl against the marble, nails pressing hard enough to hurt, but the pain is dull, insignificant. the temple offers no grounding, no imperfection to cling to. it is too smooth, too pristine, like everything here—an unyielding paradise sculpted by a god who bends existence to his whim. your breath is shallow, unsteady, as your mind scrambles for reason, for logic, for something that can force this place to make sense. an illusion. a nightmare. anything but real. but the weight of his gaze, the echo of his fingers against your throat, the sound of his voice curling around your fate is real.

he had snapped your neck and then he had undone it.

as if your body is not your own. as if your soul is a thing he can grasp between his fingers, reshape, return to a vessel he has already broken. the realization spreads through you, cold and numbing, stealing the breath from your lungs. you had died, and yet here you sit, reborn not by mercy, not by chance, but because he had decided it. because your existence is his to preserve. his to end. his to return.

a sharp tremor betrays you, the shudder of something inside you cracking. your hands won’t stop shaking. the silence in the temple is suffocating, thick with the absence of anything human, anything mortal, anything that might bear witness to what he has done. and yet, there is one witness. the only one that matters.

satoru exhales, slow and measured, as if you are an answer he had expected. his presence bends toward you, movement fluid, deliberate. a shadow cast by light that does not belong to this world. he reaches for you, and before you can stop yourself, you flinch.

he does not stop.

his fingers slip through your hair, slow, reverent, a mockery of tenderness. there is no force in his touch, no demand. only a patient, inevitable claim. you know what those hands are capable of. you know what they have already done. the memory of it lingers beneath your skin, a whisper against the back of your mind, a lesson written in the absence of pain. his touch is careful, measured, like he is soothing something fragile, something he expects to tremble but never shatter.

“you’ll learn,” he murmurs, voice low, warm. “in time.”

your jaw tightens, anger rising like a flame through the cold weight of fear. never.

his lips curl, the knowing shape of someone who has heard your defiance before you have even spoken it.

“rest now,” he says, and there is no room for refusal. “tomorrow, you will eat.”

your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, the sharp sting grounding you when nothing else will. you swear you won’t. you swear you will let hunger carve you hollow before you yield.

but as your gaze drifts to the ceiling above you, tracing the constellations carved into gold, a thought takes root in your mind, cold and unshakable.

what will he do when you refuse?

the feasts are overwhelming. golden goblets brimming with nectar so thick and sweet the scent clings to the air, coating your throat even as you refuse to drink. fruits spill across the table in impossible colors, glistening like carved gems, their juices shimmering with a richness that should be irresistible. meats rest on golden platters, their aroma filling the vast chamber, tempting, coaxing, laced with something more than mere indulgence. the very air hums with an invitation, a promise of pleasure so deep it borders on worship. the temple does not know hunger. it does not know denial.

but you do.

you do not touch the food. your hands remain curled into your lap, fingers digging into your palms, grounding yourself in the sharp sting. you will not eat. not when this is what he wants. not when every meal, every offering is another thread tying you to this place, weaving you into the eternity he has already decided for you. across the table, satoru watches with something like amusement, something like fondness, as if you are a child throwing a tantrum over a lesson you will inevitably learn. he sighs, but there is no frustration in it, no true disappointment. just the quiet, unwavering patience of a god who does not need to rush inevitability.

“stubborn.” he muses, tipping his goblet to his lips, watching you over the rim. he does not force you. not yet.

by the third day, the hunger becomes unbearable. your limbs are unsteady beneath you, the tremors in your hands worsening each time you push yourself to stand. your vision pulses at the edges, dark spots creeping in, swallowing the world in slow, suffocating increments. your body, traitorous and weak, demands what you refuse to give it. every breath is an effort. every step feels like dragging yourself through a storm you cannot outrun. but you do not bend. you do not yield.

and then—your knees buckle.

the world tilts violently, the weight of your own body too much, too heavy. you barely register the rush of air before the impact never comes. instead, you are caught, cradled in arms impossibly warm, impossibly steady. your head rests against his chest, the rise and fall of his breath steady, rhythmic, coaxing. for a moment, just a moment, exhaustion threatens to pull you under, lulls you toward something dangerous.

“you need to stay alive.” his voice is soft, coaxing. something presses against your lips—sweet nectar, thick and golden, its scent alone enough to make your stomach twist in agony. “i won’t let you wither.”

you turn your head away, jaw locking, resolve burning through the haze of exhaustion. the scent of nectar is cloying, thick and sweet, curling in your throat even as you refuse it. you can feel his gaze on you, unblinking, waiting. waiting for you to yield. waiting for your body to crumble beneath its own weakness. waiting for the moment when you understand—truly, inescapably—that this is not a battle you can win.

his fingers tighten.

the goblet tilts, and suddenly, you are drowning.

thick, golden liquid floods your mouth, coats your tongue, slides down your throat in a slow, suffocating descent. you choke, body convulsing against the impossible sweetness, against the force pressing it deeper, deeper, deeper inside you. your hands claw at his wrists, feeble and shaking, but his grip is unyielding, his strength effortless, divine. your lungs burn, desperate for air, but there is only ambrosia, thick as honey, filling every space where breath should be. panic seizes you, wild and primal, limbs thrashing weakly in a futile attempt to resist. but there is no resisting him.

you die gasping.

and then—you wake.

your body jerks, a violent spasm ripping through your limbs, your lungs dragging in air that is too sweet, too thick, still tainted with the memory of nectar. your throat burns with the ghost of drowning, with the phantom weight of liquid forcing its way inside you. you shudder, trembling against the arms that hold you, warm and steady, as if they had never let you go. as if they had never let you die at all.

“again.”

his voice is soft, almost gentle, but there is no kindness in it. only inevitability.

this time, he does not wait for you to refuse.

liquid rushes past your lips again, faster now, forced past your teeth before you can even think to resist. you convulse as the flood returns, viscous and heavy, filling your mouth, your throat, your lungs with unbearable sweetness. your body remembers. it thrashes before your mind can even catch up, wracked with the instinct to survive, to reject what is being forced into you. but his hands are steady, his grip effortless, and you are nothing against him. nothing but a vessel for divinity to fill.

you die in silence.

there is no final breath, no struggle that means anything, no desperate clawing toward life that changes the outcome. only the slow, sickly-sweet descent into nothing, the warmth of divine hands holding you steady as your body betrays itself, as your mind fractures beneath the weight of inevitability. the world narrows into a golden haze, thick and smothering, pressing into every part of you until even the panic feels distant. there is no air. no choice. no you.

and then—you wake.

the first thing you feel is absence—of weight, of drowning, of death that should have been permanent but never is. your lungs drag in breath after breath, but the air is wrong, thick with the ghost of nectar, too sweet, too cloying, staining your throat with the taste of something you never wanted. your limbs tremble, the remnants of dying still lingering in your muscles, in your bones, in the memory of liquid forcing its way inside you. you are in his arms again, held as if you are something precious, something fragile, something that belongs to him. his touch is steady, patient, as if this is nothing but a lesson. as if this is not the worst thing he has ever done to you.

“again.”

the word is quiet, but it is not soft.

you do not have time to refuse.

his hand tilts the goblet, and death comes for you once more. golden liquid spills past your lips, thick and suffocating, an endless flood that forces its way inside before you can fight it. your body spasms, instinct screaming at you to resist, but his grip is firm, unyielding, fingers cradling your jaw as he holds you still. your hands clutch at his wrists, weak, useless, no match for the power that binds you. your lungs burn, stars bursting behind your eyelids as the world narrows, collapses, vanishes.

you die gasping.

and then, you wake.

your body heaves. your hands shake. your throat burns with the phantom memory of drowning, but there is no water, only sweetness, only ambrosia, only him. you shudder, pressing your hands against his chest, but he does not let go. he never does.

“again.”

it does not matter if you beg. if you scream. if you sob into his hands, broken and pleading, promising anything, everything, just for this to stop.

he drowns you anyway.

it does not matter how violently you twist in his grasp, how your nails dig into his skin, how your body seizes in the final, desperate act of resistance. the goblet tilts, and the golden liquid surges past your lips, thick and cloying, sweeter than decay. your throat locks against it, but it does not matter—he is patient, fingers pressing into your jaw, holding you in place, waiting for the inevitable. your lungs rebel first, convulsing with the absence of air, the primal instinct to breathe overriding every last shred of your defiance. but there is no breath to take, only him, only his will made manifest, pouring into you in an unrelenting flood. the moment your body surrenders, when your chest caves inward and your consciousness fractures apart—he lets go.

you fall into death.

and then, you wake.

it is worse every time. the air is thick, suffocating, laced with something that no longer feels separate from you. your vision blurs, eyes unfocused, the world spinning in and out of clarity as your lungs drag in breath after shaking breath. there is no reprieve, no pause to collect yourself, no moment where your mind can catch up to the horror of your own existence. you are in his arms, as always, his embrace a mockery of comfort, his fingers still gentle as they brush damp strands of hair from your face. “again.” the word is a command, spoken with certainty, with finality, with the knowledge that you cannot stop him.

and so, he drowns you again.

the cycle repeats. slow, methodical, endless. nectar spills down your chin, drips onto his hands, onto the marble below, a shimmering gold stain that never lingers. your body fights, breaks, dies, and is remade, reshaped, forced to endure what it was never meant to survive. the first deaths are the worst—the panic, the fear, the agony of lungs burning, of air never coming, of fingers that cradle you so gently while forcing you to submit. but the worst fades into the unbearable. the unbearable fades into the inevitable. death becomes routine.

until, at last—your body, fragile, treacherous, learns.

you do not choke. do not resist. the moment the goblet touches your lips, your lips part, and the nectar slides down your throat in one smooth, obedient swallow. his hands linger against your skin, waiting, testing. you do not fight. you cannot. you have already lost.

satoru smiles.

when the final drop slides down your throat without resistance, he hums in satisfaction. the sound is low, pleased, reverberating through the air like a thread of silk drawn between fingertips. his touch lingers, trailing along the curve of your jaw, thumb pressing briefly to your lower lip as if memorizing the way it trembles beneath him. you do not move. you do not breathe. your body has already betrayed you once—you do not trust it not to do so again.

“you endure beautifully.” he murmurs, his voice warm, indulgent, as if this is something to be proud of.

your stomach twists violently. you do not know if it is hunger or shame. something inside you curls inward, recoiling from the weight of his words, from the way they settle beneath your skin like ink spilled across parchment. you want to deny him, to spit the taste of ambrosia from your tongue, to carve the memory of it from your flesh. but you cannot. the nectar lingers, coating your throat, sinking into your veins, filling you with something you cannot name. something irreversible.

he does not make you eat again that night. does not press more divinity against your lips, does not force your body into another wretched cycle of death and return. instead, he stays close, a quiet presence across the chamber, watching as you curl into yourself on the cold marble floor. you feel his gaze even with your eyes shut, even with your back turned, even with your body aching for rest. sleep does not come. it cannot—not when you know he is there, waiting, watching, knowing something you do not.

by morning, the feast is still untouched. golden platters gleam beneath the endless light of the temple, heaped with fruits too vibrant to be real, with meats so fragrant they make your stomach clench in protest. you ignore them. your fingers remain clenched against your sides, your jaw tight, your will locked in place. satoru does not speak. he does not coax. he does not force.

he only smiles. because he knows. sooner or later, you will eat. sooner or later, you will hunger for more.

sleep does not come easily in a place like this.

even with exhaustion pressing heavy against your limbs, you lie awake, curled on the too-soft bed you swore you would never use. the marble floor had been a silent protest, a stubborn refusal to accept even the smallest comfort, but the ache in your bones has worn you down. even defiance has limits. even you have limits. the silken sheets beneath you offer no relief. they are too smooth, too perfect, carrying the faintest scent of something divine, something that lingers in your lungs, in your blood, no matter how you resist.

yet, rest eludes you. the air tonight feels different—thick with something unseen, something nameless. not a presence, not a sound, but a sensation. like fingertips ghosting over your skin. like unseen eyes tracing the rise and fall of your breath. the feeling burrows deep beneath your ribs, coils around your spine, refusing to be dismissed.

when you close your eyes, it does not vanish.

you are being watched.

you tell yourself it is just him. satoru, the god who refuses to leave you be, the god who calls you his, the god who has shaped your suffering with hands far too gentle for the weight of his cruelty. but when you dare to turn your head, the chamber is empty. he is not here. and yet, the feeling lingers. pressing. waiting. unseen, but not unnoticed.

by dawn, you cannot ignore it.

you hear them first. murmurs, soft and rustling, as if the temple itself breathes around you. the whispers flit through the air, slipping between golden pillars, curling around you like strands of silk. they slither into your ears, not words but something more—impressions, laughter, secrets meant for no one and yet spoken all the same. you follow them. you do not think to resist.

you see them next. figures without faces, drifting like mist, shifting like reflections in water. not bound by form, nor by time. they flicker at the edges of the temple, where the divine meets the void, where things beyond mortal comprehension slip through the seams of existence. they do not belong to this space, and yet, they have always been here.

they are watching.

but not you.

him.

the presence of them is not like his. his is crushing, divine, vast enough to bend the air itself around his will. theirs is different—unbound, shifting, like whispers through silk, like fingertips that never touch but still press, still linger. they move like reflections on water, bodies unfixed, faces undefined, but their gaze—whatever it is, however it exists—fixes itself upon the god who holds you here.

“the god who bends the heavens is playing with his new toy.”

the voice slithers through the air, lilting, drenched in amusement, in something almost pitying. but the words do not ripple into silence. they coil, tangle, sink their fangs into the marrow of your bones.

then, laughter—light, cruel, something sharp beneath the sweetness. another voice follows, cutting through the first like a blade through silk.

“the all-seeing god is obsessed with his little human.”

your breath catches.

the weight pressing down on your chest tightens—not fear, not quite. something colder. something worse. their words do not feel like mere observation. they feel like truth. they settle into the cracks of your mind, burrow into the softest parts of you, feeding the thought you have not dared to name.

obsessed?

it does not feel like obsession. not in the way you have known it. not in the way you have heard it spoken, in the way humans wield the word like a curse or a confession. obsession is frantic, desperate, hungry. but he is none of those things. he is patient, controlled, as endless as the sky itself. the weight of his attention is suffocating, but it is not fragile. there is no madness in his touch, no recklessness in his hold.

so why does it feel like they are right?

the thought lodges itself in your ribs, inescapable.

is he?

you do not hear him approach.

there is no shift in the air, no ripple of movement, no warning. only the sudden warmth of his fingers as they brush against your wrist, the softness of his touch a quiet mockery of the power he holds. your body flinches before you can stop it, before you can pretend you are unshaken. when you look up, his gaze is already waiting for yours, bright and endless, filled with something vast and unreadable.

satoru is smiling.

the kind of smile that does not warm, does not soothe, does not reach the cold vastness of his gaze. it is effortless, easy, but there is something in it that unsettles—something in the curve of his lips, in the way they part just enough to show a sliver of teeth, a glint of something sharp. the light catches against his features, casting shadows too deep for this gilded place, painting him in a radiance that should be divine, should be beautiful. but there is no comfort in the way he looks at you. no safety in the vast, endless blue of his eyes, in the void of knowing that lurks beneath their surface.

“of course i am.”

his voice drapes over you like silk, soft, patient, almost indulgent. but there is no hesitation in it. no flicker of doubt. the weight of his certainty presses against your skin, sinks deep, settles in the spaces between your ribs. you do not know if it is meant to be a revelation or a sentence.

the chamber feels smaller, the air heavier, thick with something unseen. the echoes of laughter still hum in the walls, in the marble beneath your bare feet, in the distant, watching presence of those who spoke before. you are caught between them, between their cruel amusement and his absolute, unwavering devotion. obsession.

your throat tightens.

is this what it means to be wanted by a god?

you do not realize you have taken a step back until the cool kiss of marble stills your heel. his smile deepens. slow, knowing, an acknowledgment of your movement, of the way your body betrays the thoughts you refuse to voice. his fingers are still against your wrist, light but firm, an anchor, a reminder. you are here. you are his.

you do not know what frightens you more—that he says it so easily.

or that you believe him.

a/n : take this walmart re zero aaahh fic that has been rotting in my drafts while i write chapter six in my nerdjo fic :3 masterlist will be made once i publish chapter two. comment to be added on the tag list! xx

#cross posted on ao3 #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo x female reader #reader insert #yandere gojo #yandere #tw.dark content #tw.yandere #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo x reader #jjk yandere #yandere jjk #eldritch #dark fic

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