#and it is within his nature to corrupt souls

[isekyaaa]

The Frog and the Scorpion is such an interesting fable in regards to the concept of nature and I would love to use it in a story one day. Just the idea that no matter what you do, you cannot betray your nature is such an interesting concept. A monster at birth will always be a monster at death. No matter how much you deny your nature, it will take hold of you sooner or later. It's such a tragic thing.

[inknopewetrust]

𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠

When the Emperor summons you, you always answer the call. [Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader] [wc: 3.38k]

Warnings: minors DNI, smut, 18+, slight exhibition kink, pinv sex, unprotected sex (this is Ancient Rome, whores), Geta be a little submissive and possessive, corruption, dirty talk. I do not take responsibility for satan causing me to write this.

When you were summoned to the coliseum after dark, there was no questioning what be the cause.

The corridors of the great arena were near silent; distant growls and scratching claws filled its catacombs with a crawling anticipation: when the Emperor called, world at his feet quieted to hear his presence. Feeling the sands of the stage shift and meet the seats of the empty audience, there was nothing but the moonlight and wind to greet you.

You were not alone in Rome’s greatest achievement. The ghosts of the gladiators watched over the wicked as they fed off the suffering of the poor.

But when the guard left you to your devices upon the imperial seat looking over the arena, you forgot the evil that took over the man who called.

“It is quite the sight, no?”

In the silence of the amphitheater Geta’s words were quiet yet threatened to bounce off in echos. You ran your hands over the marble ledge. It’s once smooth nature lifting in bumps every inch of the glide your hand made. A gust of wind fluttered the fabric of your chiton to dance around your legs.

Geta dismissed his most loyal guard at the sight of you.

“It is different in the light,” you answered. The sand below you was not stained of blood and there was no chanting of what the Gods would decide of fate. “Peaceful… if I dare say.”

“If you were not to speak freely I would not have let my men go.”

“So there is no fear to be had here?” You turned your head over your shoulder. Barely capturing him in your vision, Emperor Geta leaned against his brother’s seat. The edge of the stone resting his body as his eyes traced you against the backdrop of his arena.

“There is no one to fear, my lady,” he spoke.

Emperor Geta was a man you had known for a long while. As children he often sought you out as a companion of play while his father helped prime himself and his brother, Caracalla, for their ascent to the throne. You, on the outskirts of royalty within a wealthy family of semi-relevant status to the Caesar, were allowed in their court as a potential wife.

The status of wife never came but it did not stop Geta from perusing you into adulthood.

It was on nights like these when the clouds floated to cover the moon and the poor laid soundly on the gravel on the outset of the building that Geta felt a need to see you, to have you for himself before the reality of morning came tumbling upon him. Weakened by his thoughts of want and bruised from a victory turned sour, his eyes shimmered in the darkness while the necessity grew.

But you knew the intent.

The one guard, never different from the last, summoning you from your villa with a coded message of: vi et animo, with heart and soul. Descend upon the place where he shall be waiting and when the act is done, as always, the same guard would see you home and little would be said between the next occasion. An invitation to sit behind him at a fight always went unanswered; the feasts in a Senator’s name would go uneaten.

You always had something to fear when a man, whom you had grown to be so utterly conflicted in lust and hatred, reigned unfairness from his palace on top a hill. The shining city of Rome was not what it once was but Geta cared for nothing except what he wanted.

And while you never accepted the invitations beyond these, the jewels around your neck, the ones that hung from your ears, and the pulsing of your heart spoke wonders for the truth within you.

Geta watched as your head turned back around and your hands curled over the balcony’s edge. His fingers rapped against the back of the chair; rings clashing against the golden adornments at the bristle of your objection.

“What summons me here?” You prompted. “Are the others not enough for you? Do they not fill your cup on nights as brutal as these?”

You were not to call the women he sought whores. They made their choices, or, they had none, but their actions did not relegate themselves to lesser. How were you any better than them? With your gold and your home and your money? You believed yourself, on the worst of nights, to be a wealthier version of what they had been subject to but unlike many of them, you let this linger beyond the reasonable time.

“I wish to think you know better than to question the call of your Emperor. You showed, after all.”

“I do not question your wants… what keeps you ticking,” you turned to rest your back away from the arena. Geta admired the wrap of your gown tightening against the stone. “You should be celebrating the conquering. Rome has just expanded. There is a celebration at the palace and yet you are here amongst the prisoners and the animals.”

“And you,” he looked pointedly.

Geta’s makeup was gone from the day. He wore a tunic of red and white with the golden laurels weaved in its fabric. The orange of his hair had gone muted in the dark.

“And me,” you agreed. “You have me here, Caesar—“

“Geta.”

You eyed him.

“Why are you playing a game tonight? You denied my invitation—“

“It is not my place,” you cut in. “I am no wife, I am not a… woman of a man’s delight. I did not wish to be an object on an arm.”

“I could have your head for such an implication,” he warned.

“You wouldn’t,” you affirmed. “No one else would be dragged here to kneel before you so willingly.”

“You want to be on your knees?”

You shook your head at him with a tick. No one would dare to speak to him like you. But you knew it bothered him in ways he couldn’t manifest. The blood rushing through his body—you challenged him in a way only he would allow you.

Geta removed his arm from the back of the seat and stepped down to you. Each step closer and closer until he came to rest directly in front of you and caged you like the animals below. Arms expanding on either side of you; his breath invading your space as his nose nicked yours. You shuddered; back piercing into the travertine not in fear but anticipation.

To be the lover of a corrupted Emperor… you had him in the palm of your hand.

“You speak so freely,” he hissed. “And yet you tremble in my presence.”

In an instant, your breathing had gone staggered. His hands drew into you. Feeling up the sides of your body as he pushed himself on you.

“The tremble is not you. It’s me.”

“I am the only one to make you feel this way, yes?”

His hands roamed freely. Geta’s thumbs rumbled up the fabric of the front of your body while his fingertips hardened against you. The plushness of your skin was melting to him. His nose tipped against your chin to turn your head upwards.

“Your Emperor asked you a question.”

“If I said no,” you breathed in as his fingers groped harder. They cupped your breasts from above and back down again. “What would become of me?”

“I’d lock you away,” he wouldn’t. “I’d see to you myself in the cells below the palace. You’d wear nothing,” you scoffed and his lip quirked up. You could feel his lips change against the column of your neck. “And when people would ask of you, they would not be allowed to see you.”

“So you would not want them to see us like this?”

He let out a low, bemused chuckle. “This is for me, us, to enjoy. But if you imagine the whole of Rome watching us, then please, my dear, listen to them.”

Geta rose his lips to your ear as his hands fell to your hips and then one of your legs. He maneuvered to grip the back of one of your thighs and opened up space for him to fall further into you. You could feel his excitement; the prodding of his want against your clothed self. His hot breath and lips danced across your cheek.

“Can you hear them? Gasping at the sight of you. It is the most beauty they have ever seen. So wet and glistening for their ruler.”

“And what of their Emperor?” Your hand came to clutch the extra fabric of his chest. His heart under your hand was picking up in paces. Beating against his ribcage while his eyes blew lustful.

“They should see their Emperor on his throne,” you commanded.

He dropped your leg and with a push from your hand on his chest, Geta stepped backwards until you pushed him to meet his throne. The seat wide for his liking, he sat upon it and grasped at the loose fabric of your dress at your hips.

“Further.” He pushed himself further back into the seat. Using the small step at the base of Geta’s seat, you lifted yourself onto him with your knees on either side.

“While he’s on his throne,” you let him pool the fabric into his hands and draw it upwards. You sat atop him and relished the way you could feel him grown underneath. “They shall see his weakness.”

“I do not have a weakness,” he growled, one hand clasping the back of your neck and forcing your face an inch from his own. You rolled your hips on him. His fingers adjusted the grip on the back of your neck and he hesitated. “I-I do not have a weakness.”

“Then what am I here for?” You asked against his lips and through his hesitancy, he gazed into your eyes before capturing his lips with yours. You sucked in a breath; cupping his head with both of your hands in strength.

Your fingers raked through his hair with a tug as his lips refused to separate themselves form yours. So desperate in want, he clutched himself on to you and your tongues melted together as one the longer he held you. One of his hands pulled on your dress and moved you forward, then tugging backwards to encourage you to grind above him. You needn’t a command to roll your body onto his.

Where your core rested on him, his erection formed against his tunic. You lined up, dragging yourself along the length of him and back. He pulled his lips away with a tug on your bottom lip. Geta bunched up your dress and watched as your cunt glided as best it could along his clothes. Each thrust painting the fabric a shade deeper he could see even in the night.

He was mesmerized. Entranced by your body—no different than the times he had taken you in the light or dusk of a day. You pussy glistened in the moonlight. Dripping with ecstasy as you only felt the outline of his cock above the thin piece that separated you.

Geta, annoyed the the amount of fabric that was your gown and released it roughly.

“Take it off,” he ordered. You huffed, unfurling it from the ties in on the side and letting it fall to the step below. Fully nude on his throne, his hands groped your ass to kiss you again.

“What of you?”

Geta simply pulled up the tunic on his chest and his cock sprung up in response. “You should know conscience now.”

“Us women do not see the same pleasures,” you meant in the form of clothing being simply. Geta quirked his head to the side and leaned it back against his seat.

He sat an awkward angle but was semi-sitting up with you on top of him. You lifted on your knees and palmed at his member with purpose. Remembering the lines and curve like the stones outside of your home, you pumped him as a grunt left his throat.

“I see that you do.”

“Not that anyone would know,” you snided.

Again, he furrowed his brows. “Do you want people to see? All of Rome to see what a woman of your stature does to me?”

“They don’t need to see, Geta,” you sighed and moved up on him. “If you wish to take a wife, that is already implied.”

“You are far too beautiful to be a wife. You are a goddess.”

“Who can only be sought in darkness.”

“That is when you come alive,” his eyes closed at the feel of his tip at the entrance of you. Moving back and forth along your slit while the wetness gathered to make his intrusion easier. The pull of your walls making room for him as you sunk down to take him whole; the claw of your fingernails into his chest at the sensation.

Your knees dug into the harshness of the chair as its girth, and his own, sent you ascending. Your back arched as his fingertips drove goosebumps along your spine. You started grinding on his cock slowly. Clit rubbing against his pubic bone, gently caressing your most sensitive bit as he gripped your hips tightly. You looked down at him prompting his stare to reach through you. It grabbed your soul and reminded you of all the reasons you kept answering his call.

Geta filled you completely. The stretch of him long and wide, your hands fell back to his knees and propelled you as you bounced on him the best your body could. He trusted up to you as the matched inside of you both struck hot and heavy. The burn of your body, the pulse of heat between your legs grew while the slick of your arousal coated his dick every time you sunk back down.

His hands bruised. They tightly gripped you as though you would slip away into the darkness should he let go. He needed to feel you in more ways than one. The digging of your nails into his skin transposed by the burn of his palms on your waist, hips, thighs, and wherever else they could touch.

“Look at you,” he praised breathlessly. “A God to a King.”

A Venus of Rome.

“My Venus,” Geta cut between his teeth. “Mine.”

His own pace superseded your own. Geta’s hips snapped up, racing a high that hit him like Cupid’s own bow straight to the heart. His pace was parading his strength he did not often show beyond words and measures. Your hands failed you on his knees and forced you forward.

Geta grabbed at your jawline, hand crushing your chin.

“You are mine,” he repeated. “No other man shall have you—as a wife nor lover.”

Your silence maddened him. He was relentless in his mission to send you to the edge. You could barely catch your breath and your chest, naked as the day you were born, rose and fell rapidly as the faint sheen of sweat washed over you.

“Do you understand me?” Geta stopped his movements and your shoulder jolted uncontrollably. He was the only one who had ever sent your body’s muscles into overdrive.

“Yes,” you nodded with his hand still grasping your jaw. “Yes, Geta.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between your own. You were truthful even if you hated him some days.

“Good,” he agreed with his own nod. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around,” Geta ordered again. “Your Emperor commands you.”

He released your jaw dismissively and let his hands fall beside his legs. You lifted yourself from him with a shiver and maneuvered yourself front facing. The arena before you, the empty spectator seats still viewing you freely in coitus. Geta’s hands roamed over your ass and up your back as you turned. He grasped himself at the base of his cock and lined up his head to you again.

“Come down,” he commanded.

You joined together as one again and you were quick to realize you had no bearings. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to support you except what little resistance your knees could gather against the harsh seat.

As though Geta could read your mind, he drew you back. He leaned you all the way against him to where you were nearly laying as though on a bed yet still angled as though lounging on a chaise. The new angle pushed his cock to the sweetest pull, pushing against your plush walls and letting a gasp escape you in turn. Geta smoothed the sides of your body while your feet turned under you and you let your weight lay on him.

He ran over your breasts slowly. Nipples long pebbled, he squeezed the flesh and brought them up before releasing them again. Geta brought his head to incline into yours as he thrusted into you once more.

“I see their jealousy. All of them—“ the non-existent spectators “—wanting to fuck a woman like you. If they saw an Empress so bare, so exposed, what would they do?”

Geta’s tone had become selfish. His pace returned to an unrelenting finish. He pounded into you. Each snap hitting your most pleasured spot perfectly as his hands cradled you and his words filled your mind with him.

“How would they feel seeing their Emperor defile the most exquisite creature that has ever graced Rome?”

“They would all wish to be you,” you admitted. His words of praise hit you as hard as his cock. Your head tossed back onto his shoulder.

“Open your eyes, darling. Head up.”

You did as commanded—like any good subject would do.

“This will be yours,” he guided one of your hands into his and brought them both to your bud as the other wrapped around your waist. With his finger atop yours, he helped circle your clit as his end was near.

“This land, Rome, can be ours. Just ours.”

That was, if he would ever be given permission to marry and the match was fixed.

“Gladiators in your name, fighting to see your beauty. Feasts and splendor for the sake of our children…”

The familiar heat in your core began to bubble like the markings of a volcano. You turned your head to his and kissed him deeply at the thought, rubbing your clit furiously with the help of his hand and relishing the way his cock completed your body.

“I will marry you,” Geta reaffirmed as his words caught every second his hips threatened to stutter at his release. “I will marry you I swear to the Gods if it is the last thing I do.”

Maybe you believed him, maybe you did not. Yet you would feel nothing but him and only him and everything he gave you in that moment. The utter devotion and the most raw form of his propensity.

If the night were not already fallen, you saw the waves of Heaven wash over you as the eruption of your orgasm shakes you to the core. The blinding hues of what Venus had brought upon you leaving you gasping for breath. Thoughtless and wordless of promises that carry on with the shaking of your thighs and soft whispers of marriage from his lips. Geta’s own release was missed by you. Mere seconds after your own, he stilled as his hips stuttered into you and the legacy of his spent began to leak beyond where he filled you.

Geta released his hand from your own and rubbed your arms soothingly as you laid heavier on him than before. The wear of your brilliance forging his content sighs. He closed his eyes as your head knocked into his own and the two of you sat there, in the empty arena, alone as one.

“I swear to the Gods,” he assured once more. “I will make you my wife.”

And if the Gods were fair, you would know it to be true. But they have never been fair in the life you knew. So, how could they be true now?

A/N: couldn’t help writing for Geta. The men of gladiator have me in a chokehold. Thanks for reading and while it isn’t required, reblogs and comments help writers the most! ♥️ [not proof read yet]

[cuppajj]

MASTERPOST

Synopsis: Beast Ancients AU [BAAU] explores an alternate universe where the ancients corrupt into beasts. With the looming presence of the original five beasts as well, the cookies of Earthbread must grapple with the threat of ten beasts vying for power, domination, or annihilation.

This Masterpost is updated as of 10/24/2024.

GENERAL

RULES

DM rules

Save for a few exceptions, DMs are generally not allowed. Those exceptions include requests for references or help with writing a fanfiction set in the universe. The creator only engages in long and/or frequent DM conversations with mutual followers and friends.

Do NOT DM if you are under 16 years of age. This is a 16+ blog for its general tone.

NO CHARACTER AI / NO AI

Creating a Character.AI or any other chat AI of any BAAU-related character is strictly condemned and nonconsensual. This includes creating a private chat AI and feeding any BAAU related work, or the creator’s art, into any generative AI. NO AI MEANS NO AI.

Fanart

Fanart is allowed, including art including OCs/self inserts. Shipping is also allowed, but explicit NSFW art is not.

[Fanart Tag] - #beast ancients au fanart

Fanfics

Fanfiction within the BAAU universe is allowed with the same rules as fanart. X readers are also generally allowed as long as they are not NSFW.

[Fanfic Tag] - #beast ancients au fic

Please note that lore created for fanfics and fanart should not be interpreted as canon to the primary AU itself. Lore includes anything from worldbuilding to individual character ideas. All canon information and lore regarding BAAU and its world comes from the creator.

TAGS

[Main Tag] - The tag for main BAAU related posts. #beast ancients au

[Askbox Tag] - For questions asked about the world, including its story and characters. NOTE: As BAAU develops, certain information will be outdated. Older asks have a higher likelihood of this. #beast ancients au ask

NOTE: I do not answer askbox questions through DMs. Refer to the exceptions under DM rules for what will and will not pass as a DM question. If your question does not pertain to them and the askbox is closed, please wait until it is open again or else I will not answer!

THE CAST

THE BEAST ANCIENTS

Otherwise known as the Neobeasts, these once noble heroes have turned into shadows of their former selves. What was once a tight companionship has become a fragile alliance between powerful entities whose ambitions clash and contradict with each other; but they have a vested agreement that their original counterparts must be defeated. Their personal goals also spell dread for the rest of the world in their own dangerous ways.

Saint Vanilla Cookie - Beast of Penance

The king of the Vanilla Kingdom was once gentle and selfless, wishing nothing but peace, love, and healing for the world. However, his hopes would turn to despair as pain and hardship began to consume him. Deducing that only he could be the one to save the world from its endless cycle of pain and torment, the Hero of Truth formed a messiah complex that turned his caring, selfless nature into a toxic compassion for the emburdened. His self proclaimed destiny is to bring salvation to the entire world: but where he sees the liberation of souls, the unfortunate feel the agonizing pain of disintegration. For the Beast, it is all in the name of his penitent love.

A never ending stream of tears flows from his face. Some think it’s his immense empathy for the pain and suffering of cookies across Earthbread.

He purifies with his touch. It is painfully lethal, and affects anyone who has a soul. The bodies purified turn into faint white sparkles, but their souls disappear.

He can see through any vanilla orchid that has been planted by gazing into the eye of his staff.

He is next to never angered; he pities what would upset anyone else, including those who villainize him. His smile is also semi-permanent, though it can fade in serious situations or moments of deep thought.

His final goal is to ascend to that of a god: with divine power in his grasp, he could finally bring salvation to the whole of Earthbread. However, he is yet to find a means of doing so, and he’s aware that it will be a long and arduous path. However, over the timeline, his appearance changes the closer he gets to godhood.

He has a group of followers known as the Lambs of Penance.

He was the last to corrupt.

[TAG]

Midnight Lily Cookie - Beast of Sovereignty

Awoken into a world scarred by her hands, Lily struggled to heal the wounds of both it and herself. With the death of one of her closest companions the rise of an unfathomably powerful force, and the threat her other half continued to pose behind the scenes, she forged an ironclad autonomy for herself that disregarded true morality in the name of fixing what was broken. The new guardian of the Silver Tree soon became a queen of darkened lilies, turning her entire kingdom of loyal fae into willing tools of corruption. She will not rest until she has delivered her retribution, and will scower the ends of Beast Yeast and Earthbread to find and wipe the blemishes she created; and if cookies and their civilizations are choked by her invasive vines and parasitic flora, the end simply justifies the means.

Lily is called the Silver Queen, Queen of Midnight, Guardian of the Tree, or Lady Lily. The silver fae have many affectionate names for her.

She has chlorokinesis, and uses her powers for both good and harm. She has made the forest around the kingdom a nigh-impenetrable shield, with blades of grass capable of turning into impaling skewers at the flick of her wrist. The reason for the darkened lilies may also have something to do with it.

Though the Beast of Sovereignty believes in the value of free will, she can just as easily take it away. The Silver Kingdom is a sleeping hivemind, its inhabitants capable of going from autonomous individuals to mindless drones if Lily trills it so.

Saint Vanilla visits her often. In the beginning, the Beast of Penance wanted to purify her first out of his immense care for her, but the queen convinced him to let her witness his ascension instead, the last to go if the time came. Saint agreed, and has now become her closest ally. Being with her exposes how touch starved he really is.

[TAG]

Dragonberry Cookie - Beast of Pride

No greater Passion was the Queen mother’s passion for power, fueled by the desire to stand up to any and all threats that came her way. That gluttonous desire drew her attention to the power of the Red Dragon and their kind, and she soon made it her mission to become a dragon herself. With her soul jam and the legendary power of a dragon, nothing could stand in her way. Blinded by draconic obsession, she imprisoned her former ally, and turned her attention to the rest of the conquerable world. Wherever Dragons had been, her legion of researchers and soldiers would follow, their new prime objective to help their queen ascend. In the meantime, she’s happily enjoyed staying in power on the Hollyberrian throne, drinking lavishly as her family act as mere puppets under her will.

Even as a beast, she’s vey jovial.

While Royal Berry and Jungleberry Cookie are still technically the rulers of the Hollyberry Kingdom, they’re entirely in Dragonberry’s pocket. She will give them direct orders if she feels like it, and they are made to listen.

Despite this, she still has a genuine fondness and love for her family; the thing is that her pride, ambition, and the way she treats her family make it hard to tell. She’s even fond of Pitaya, but it doesn’t stop her from treating her equal like a pet half the time.

She ritually drinks doses of poison to build her immunity to it. It’s gotten to the point where assassins can’t tamper with her juice anymore.

She’s stronger and heartier tenfold, capable of tackling giants out of the sky and leveling armies by herself. She’s always eager for a good fight, which is why she holds the gladiatorial matches and combats uprisings in her tributaries.

[TAG]

Frigid Cacao Cookie - Beast of Solitude

The licorice sea was once the greatest threat to the Dark Cacao Kingdom. All of that changed when its resolute king, against all odds, tamed the nightmare. It was a period of historic celebration in increasingly bleaker times, but it wouldn’t last forever. The king slowly regressed into isolation, falling silent, and one day became completely immobile on his throne. He was still aware of the world, however, aware enough to know that his entire kingdom was beginning to freeze over in dark permafrost. As fleeing Cacaoians were consumed by ice, not even the king’s closest advisers could reach him, until all but the citadel were frozen over. Ever since that day, remaining within the walls has become the new normal for everyone. Licorice creatures roam the streets, and the sea slowly expands beyond the kingdom’s borders. While his servants’ wavering loyalties to him remain, they can only live oblivious to the chaos lurking underneath Frigid Cacao’s shadowed eyes. He is solitary, but soon he will be everywhere; and everywhere will feed the abyss.

He rarely leaves his throne, and all but the First Watcher and a few of his advisors are not allowed into the throne room without summons. Even still, no cookie is allowed to touch him.

While he is stationary most of the time, he is sometimes seen in the hallway or outside in the snow. When he’s outside, on some occasions, he’s seen staring at a frozen Cacaoian, an unreadable expression on his face. Sometimes he touches it, or even kneels.

He rarely shows up to Neobeast meetings, sending the First Watcher instead. However, even those instances are rare, and thus Cacao’s seat in the council chamber is almost always left vacant.

Licorice creatures are always docile around him, and will follow his every command. Cacao’s subjects wonder how…

[TAG]

Celestial Cheese Cookie - Beast of Conquest

It wasn’t enough for Golden Cheese to let go of her kingdom and those within it. No, she didn’t need to cling to desperate hopes until the day she could have her golden city back. She could start right then and there, reviving her kingdom of Abundance into an entire empire, powerful and unstoppable. Not only that, but she could keep going. If the world was her entire oyster, then why not indulge in that fact? Among the desert sands and badlands sits a new and expanding kingdom, touting itself as a safe haven from the ills of the other Beasts. Cookies are encouraged to become part of the empire, contribute to the radiant Sun’s grand design, but she’s aware she’ll have her detractors. Fortunately, they’re all taken care of: she turns them to gold and decides their fate accordingly, whether it be another golden decoration in her palace, an automaton to do her bidding, or another alloy used to forge the weapons of her conquest. And for those who aren’t in her celestial bubble, conquest is all they’ll ever taste.

Her Golden City still exists, kept in an altered state by highly protected servers. The souls still kept within them exist in an in-between state of awake and asleep.

Her appearance changes constantly, especially when presenting herself to others. It’s likely she has avatars of herself, though it’s unknown if her main appearance is her true physical self or yet another one of them.

She can summon countless arms, all with the ability to turn anything to gold. If one arm is cut off, two grow in its place.

She and Dragonberry have a fragile relationship. On some days, they antagonize the other for being a callous conqueror, but on other days, they have the tightest alliance of any beast.

Her eyes frequently shine bright rays of light, making it hard for people to look her in the eye by design. However, her eyes are normal underneath.

[TAG]

THE ORIGINAL BEASTS

The first five fallen heroes, observers of the Neobeast’s rise. They see the new faction of beasts less as new allies and more as obstacles that have made their striving for their soul jam halves more complicated. In turn, the Neobeasts are still interested in defeating them and taking their soul jam halves as well.

Shadow Milk Cookie - Beast of Deceit

As the first Beast to awaken, Shadow Milk was there to see the first four ancients fall to corruption. Believing he could use the despair of Pure Vanilla to acquire his soul jam, his plans were muddled when he became a beast himself. Further still, the body being baked for him was completely destroyed, leaving him a specter in need of another vessel. With his options thin, he’s had to resort to more unconventional means of getting what he wants…

For some ulterior purpose, he’s become Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s benefactor, helping them navigate the world in ways Choco can’t. He sees a common adversary in Saint Vanilla, and claims he needs Crepe’s help in order to defeat him.

It’s unclear if he remembers their name.

Silent Salt Cookie - Beast of Silence

Information TBD. Relevant to Lily Saga

Eternal Sugar Cookie - Beast of Sloth

Information TBD. Relevant to Berry Saga

Has a connection to the protagonist of the saga, might come in after the timeskip.

Mystic Flour Cookie - Beast of Apathy

Information TBD. Relevant to Cacao Saga

What is known is that she views Cacao with more pity than disgust, interested in putting him out of his misery.

Burning Spice Cookie - Beast of Destruction

Information TBD. Relevant to Cheese Saga

Has a connection to Yellow Feather.

THE PROTAGONISTS

Each Beast Ancient has affected someone in some way. The protagonists of their respective sagas grapple with their influence, whether it be to actively fight against them, avoid them at all costs, or seek to understand a deeper plot that leads them right into their hands.

Strawberry Crepe Cookie

Once a magichanical prodigy within the Vanilla Kingdom, Crepe’s sense of safety was shattered the day they became the sole witness to the Beast of Penance’s rise. They escaped with their life but at the cost of their prized headset, leaving them completely defenseless, on the run, and alone. They were eventually found and taken in by the estranged Cacaoian prince, and while they ultimately seek safety together, Crepe’s ingenuity may just carry a key to defeating the Neobeasts; and that fact has not gone unacknowledged by one Beast in particular.

When they ran, they left their headset behind. It had protected them from Saint’s touch, and was the only way they could summon their arms and wafflebots. Before Choco, Crepe had been on the run with nothing to defend themself.

Saint Vanilla is looking for them.

They struggle to stay strong amidst their trauma. They thought they didn’t need anyone, but losing two people who made them feel welcomed made them realize that they had been taking closeness for granted.

[TAG]

Dark Choco Cookie

The missing prince of the Dark Cacao Kingdom, finding his personal redemption. When his father tamed the licorice sea, he was happy but insecure of whether or not his father and the much stronger kingdom truly needed him anymore. Straying far from the mountains, he didn’t know of the fate that would befall his father and the kingdom until he caught wind of the news, which shocked and unnerved him. Deep down he wants to know why his father became a Beast, but with his newfound responsibility in looking after Crepe, he has other priorities. However, the shadow of his father continues to loom over him, and one day, it may finally get to him.

Sometimes he hears the Strawberry Jam Sword calling to him.

He’s hesitant to return to his kingdom.

He’s become crepe’s new guardian of sorts, providing food and warmth for them. Choco also keeps them out of danger while they’re still without their headphones, but he and Crepe are looking for ways for them to defend themself, since he knows they can fight.

[TAG]

Princess & Knight Cookie

Princess was aware of what her family was becoming after her grandmother’s corruption. Complacent, afraid, and submissive under the Beast’s influence, when they were once happy and loving. She yearned for the old days before Hollyberry turned, but she was forced to live in the present, expected to sit and look pretty as her parents were puppetted by Pride. Her tolerance of the new situation could only go so far, and on one fateful night, she donned a cloak and slipped out of the palace, escaping into the dark. Now on the run, she searches for help in taking her kingdom back. Alerted to his princess’s disappearance, Knight Cookie was quick to scramble for her. While he initially tried to convince her to return home, Princess’s headstrong nature ultimately made him choose to stay by he and protect her. At the end of the day, his job is to be her guard…

They are eventually joined by Tiger Lily.

Princess is stronger than she looks, which may have helped her escape Wildberry a couple of times.

There’s no incentive to bring Knight back safe and sound, nor is there any telling what Dragonberry would do to him if it does happen.

[TAG]

Crunchy Chip & Caramel Arrow Cookie

The two had sworn an oath to stand by their king's side to the bitter end. They fought with him as he protected his kingdom from internal collapse. They watched with elation as he brought the Licorice Sea to kneel before them and never threaten the kingdom again. However, when the Beast of Solitude replaced their resolute leader, their vows were put to the test as the kingdom was soon claimed by permafrost. While Crunchy Chip cookie had seen the writing on the wall, Caramel Arrow Cookie remained steadfast even as everyone froze around her. In her desperation to get through to the king, Caramel Arrow Cookie made the mistake of stepping out of line, her arm consumed by ice the moment she reached out to him. Crunchy Chip Cookie was quick to pull her away before she could be frozen entirely, and the two fled into the mountains. Crunchy Chip Cookie has been looking for someone to help bring his confidant back to good health before the frost completely engulfs her, and not only that, but he has been questioning their duties as Cacao’s protectors ever since. If they want to find a way to return their kingdom to normal, what—or who—might they need?

Caramel Arrow Cookie is unconscious most of the time, but she experiences lapses of consciousness, especially when around a heat source. Crunchy Chip’s cream wolves will huddle around her to keep her warm.

The two are looking for someone with deep knowledge of ice, whether it be an ordinary cookie or an elemental who could hold the answer to everything.

[TAG]

Yellow Feather Cookie

In the middle of a harsh golden desert, a single cookie awoke among the sands. She carried no memory of how she got there, much less who she was before. Vague memories of sprawling skylines and illustrious lights dotted behind her eyes, but she couldn’t fathom what they meant. She wandered aimlessly through the dunes until she was found by a friendly team of cookies working under the Celestial Cheese’s exploration and research collective. Given the name Yellow Feather Cookie, she was brought into their fold as a member; but even with her new name and new friends, the burning question of what happened to her still remains painfully unanswered. And when the amnesiac cookie experiences strange phenomena like glitches, digital aberrations, and foreboding visions of a cookie with burning red eyes, it only drives her further to learn the truth.

She is an iteration of Rich Cheese Cookie, a concept cookie for CRK who was ultimately scrapped. Unlike her concept version, Feather is neither a child nor Celestial Cheese’s daughter.

The few memories she has are of the Golden City, which little to none of her cohorts have heard of. They usually assume she’s referring to the kingdom itself.

She doesn’t know who or what the Beasts are, let alone the Ancients. She knows there is a world beyond the kingdom, but her knowledge comes from word of mouth and books she’s read. Perhaps it explains why she’s not alarmed by the visions she gets.

[TAG]

[Lily Saga Protagonists TBA]

SIDE CHARACTERS

These are all the known side characters. More will be added later.

SIDE PROTAGONISTS

Clotted Cream Cookie

The Consul of the Crème Republic, one of the last large safe havens present in Earthbread. With his former allies turning into adversaries, he has had to lead the resistance against the forces of darkness largely by himself. It’s caused a lot of stress for him, but he has tried to retain his strength as much as possible for the sake of his people, even as the walls slowly close in.

Gingerbrave

Has been assisting the resistance in the Crème Republic, working closely with Clotted Cream, the other councilors, and his own friends. While he nervously worries about and for the ancients, he retains his focus on helping those in need in the city, encouraging them to stay brave. He’s become a beacon of optimism among the nervous masses.

Custard Cookie III

The Nephew of Clotted Cream Cookie and close friend of Gingerbrave. After Pure Vanilla’s corruption, he questioned his aspirations to be king. He’s done everything he can to help his uncle’s people while learning about what it truly means to be a leader.

Madeleine Cookie

The Knight Commander of the Crème Republic. Despite everything that’s happened to him and his people, he’s retained his smile and his courage as best as he can. However, a tall shadow hangs over him.

Tiger Lily Cookie

A cookie who has lived in the jungle her whole life, watching from the brush as the Hollyberry Kingdom shifted under the new beast. She finds Princess and Knight while they’re on the run, and joins their party as a guide. Neither her nor her long lost sister are aware of their connection to one another.

Pitaya Dragon Cookie

Chained deep underneath the Hollyberry palace, the Red Dragon is the beast’s highest profile prisoner. To further her mission to become a dragon, they are researched and experimented on day in and day out, while Dragonberry sometimes stops to play twisted games with them. Such include dragging them out to fights, sparring like old friends, or giving them the illusion that they’ll ever have a chance to escape her.

Wind Archer Cookie

Sworn to vanquish the darkness no matter the cost, he has made it his mission to bring an end to all ten beasts who threaten Earthbread. However, some of his beliefs in how to defeat them conflict with the protagonists’, and if he sees anyone as obstacles in the way of his mission, including them, they will need to be cleared.

[Post for Princess, Pitaya, Crepe, Chip, Carrow]

SIDE ANTAGONISTS

Wildberry Cookie

Dragonberry’s right hand and loyal bodyguard, who has retained his sworn oath to be by her side since before her corruption. Where Dragonberry is bold and valorous, Wildberry is cold and lethal, dealing with the Beast’s messes lest she chooses to involve herself in them. Even though he is aware of what his kingdom has become, his loyalty to his adoptive mother keeps him at her side. He was in charge of monitoring his rambunctious niece when she was in the palace, steering her away from her grandmother’s personal matters; but on the night she ran away, he had discovered her plot far too late. Dragonberry has ordered him to track her down and retrieve her, and no matter how many times she escapes him, he will never let up until his duty is fulfilled.

First (Second) Watcher Cookie

After Caramel Arrow’s departure, the Second Watcher was appointed to the new First Watcher. When the Neobeasts hold meetings, he is sometimes sent in Cacao’s stead. More information TBA

Cream Wafer Cookie

The right hand of Saint Vanilla, bishop of the Lambs of Penance. He is in charge of all of the cult’s operations, aiding in fulfilling his lord’s wishes. Saint Vanilla himself has little involvement in the operations beyond certain rituals and appearances, as the bishop and his followers do everything for him in his stead. It gives the beast time to walk the world by himself, dedicating time to the affairs of the other Neobeasts among other personal goals. Despite preaching peace, love, and pacifism, there’s a gleefully dark glint in his eyes when pain is delivered in the name of the light.

Like Saint Vanilla, Wafer uses a vanilla orchid as a wand. However, he can’t see through it; instead, it’s used to mark souls for purification, drawing the beast’s attention to whoever gazed into the flower.

Before Saint, he was likely from the Crème Republic.

Holy Dart Cookie

The lambs’ best marksman and surveillance operator. Once a sister of the Pastry Order, she found a new name and purpose under Cream Wafer, and serves him in the name of Saint Vanilla. Because the Beast frowns on the notion of killing, the darts she uses to snipe from the shadows merely tranquilize; it’s the only thing keeping her from being regarded as one of the most dangerous assassins to wield the bow. Her knowledge of the world around her makes her formidable; since she wears her honorary bandages, her senses are incredibly keen, and she can tell where her target is from the slightest noise or change in the air. Victims of her darts are taken back to the lambs themselves, for whatever purpose the bishop has sought for them.

OTHERS

Black Raisin Cookie

Pure Vanilla’s old friend and Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s found guardian figure. She had been by the ancient’s side as he declined, doing everything she could to ensure he remained hopeful. However, not even her kindness was enough to save him. One day, she was embraced by the light, leaving nothing but her raisin crows behind. Many of them now follow Crepe around.

Espresso Cookie

Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s lab partner who entrusted an important journal for them to keep.

Silverbell Cookie

One of Midnight Lily’s closest friends and guards. Despite his loyalty to her, he’s been quietly questioning the state of his kingdom under her.

The Triple Cone Trio - TBD

The Legendaries - TBD

NOTE: As of current update, the whereabouts of the Cookies of Darkness are still TBD.

THE STORYLINE

NOTE: The official timeline of BAAU is a long way from being finalized. However, the AU takes place across a vast stretch of time, so there are plot points and elements that happen before and after a time jump. It’s unclear when BAAU properly begins, but there has been a gap in time long enough for the Neobeasts’ presences to have become the new normal for Earthbread.

The Vanilla Saga - The storyline that revolves around Saint Vanilla Cookie.

Features Strawberry Crepe and Dark Choco as the main protagonists. This is considered the “main” storyline.

The Berry Saga - The storyline that revolves around Dragonberry Cookie.

Features Princess, Knight, Tiger Lily, and later Pitaya as the protagonists. They are traveling Earthbread while evading Wildberry and the Hollyberrian guards sent after them.

The Cacao Saga - The storyline that revolves around Frigid Cacao Cookie.

Featues Crunchy Chip, Caramel Arrow, and later Dark Choco as the protagonists. They are searching for a cure for Carrow’s permafrost injury, which may also be the way to heal the entire Dark Cacao Kingdom. However, there may be someone they need to find—but who knows if he is the key to helping them, or an instrument that will make everything much, much worse.

The Cheese Saga - The storyline that revolves around Celestial Cheese Cookie.

Features Yellow Feather as the protagonist. The story follows her as she seeks to recover her lost memories and remember who she is, drawing her into the battle between the beasts of Destruction and Conquest. One of them is hiding a secret, the other is hiding a truth.

The Lily Saga - The storyline that revolves around Midnight Lily Cookie.

Features two protagonists who are to be revealed in the future.

THE WORLD

The Kingdoms of the Beasts

The Vanilla Kingdom

Founded, destroyed, rebuilt, cleansed: when Penance awakened, his light awoke in every corner of his kingdom, and sparkling dust drifted through the air like a sea of stars. Now, the kingdom has become the base of operations for the Beast and his loyal followers, many of them descendants of his royal subjects. No one else but them live here anymore; in some places, it’s easy to think it’s a ghost town. However, the moment one steps through the gate, they will always have the feeling of being watched. The Council Hall is the primary room where the Neobeasts gather for meetings, but the unsettling feeling never leaves the others.

The Hollyberry Kingdom

Things about this kingdom have changed in ways ranging from subtle to drastic. Its lively culture of partying and drinking have remained, imbued with a bigger emphasis on strength and battles. No place is this more apparent than the coliseum that hosts events every week, where the strongest warriors from across the kingdom and the ones captured outside it are brought to fight each other for the amusement of the Beast and her citizens. On special occasions, the Red Dragon themself is brought out for her to show off and subsequently defeat - another one of her mind games that keeps them subservient.

The Dark Cacao Kingdom

Choked by blizzards and permafrost, it’s hard to navigate through the tundra the Beast of Solitude has made the place. Licorice creatures skulk the kingdom’s snowy plains and the frozen streets. Most Cacaoians have been frozen where they stood the day the frost consumed their homes, but those who survived live within the Citadel itself, the last haven where all the Beast’s servants and warriors remain. They are hesitantly loyal to their King, believing he will someday wake up from whatever nightmare plagues his mind; until then, they remain unaware of the darkness and hunger that lingers beneath the seams.

The Celestial Kingdom

Even those who antagonize the Beast regard her kingdom as a desert miracle. Celestial Cheese revitalized her kingdom, spreading it across the desert and beyond and welcoming anyone and everyone into its fold. Some even regard it as a safe haven in itself: it’s guarded by warriors made of gold, flanked by advanced proximity sensors. Those the Beast of Conquest doesn’t want, such as Lambs or Hollyberrian spies, are warded away before they can pass through the walls. Life feels normal, like a dream even, for all of the cookies who live there: cookies who once belonged to their own villages and settlements in the desert, now taken in by the Beast and given everything they wanted and more. It keeps them happy, it makes them believe that her conquest is just—and it keeps them oblivious to what happens to those who refuse to be conquered. Those who reject her grand design end up part of it, one way or another; and next to no trace of them or their settlement survives.

Some of the residents in Cheese’s kingdom include Cacaoians who managed to escape during the great freeze.

The Silver Kingdom

Isolated from the rest of the world. Through the hostile, deadly forest that protects its borders, and indeed much of the safest entries to Beast Yeast, lies a kingdom ever at work. Ordinary silver fae live most of their days doing what they’ve always done, caring for themselves and their kingdom in whatever duty they have. Under the Beast of Sovereignty, their individuality freedom is as valued as their devotion to her. From ordinary fae to Silver Tree knights, they are as dedicated to the kingdom’s protection as they are their queen. While she is no conqueror, her kingdom is expanding its reach through its spreading flora, kudzu-like walls that overrun and choke anything and anyone it reaches. Others living in Beast Yeast have become increasingly aware of the Silver Kingdom’s presence, but direct means to either negotiate or attack the fae have been unsuccessful. On the other side of the world, Crispians like those in the Creme Republic have failed to reach the continent, its ships struck out of the sea and sky by vines and plants. Many cookies who venture near there are never seen again.

The Safe Havens

The Crème Republic

One of the two largest safe havens in Crispia. Maintained by the Convocation of Elders, the republic’s internal differences have been mostly set aside as they unify under the need for stability and safety. In the shadow of the Beasts, there is only so much they can do to remain out of harm’s way, but the Elders and the Consul know that they will one day have to fight. Until then, the Republic has prioritized its citizens’ safety, harboring and maintaining contact with resistance groups, and researching any way to end the threat of the fallen heroes.

Parfaedia

Protected by high walls, this city has stood vigilant against outside enemies since the time of legend. However, the Beasts pose its biggest threat yet: housing ancient research and relics, Parfaedia has no doubt drawn the attention of a few of them. It remains in close contact with the Creme Republic, and the two cities share information and updates about anything related to the Beasts, their movements, or internal affairs that require assistance. Both are also aware that the third magical city, Scovilia, once part of their triple alliance, cries for help underneath its new ruler. Both cities strive to liberate it one day, but they need to prioritize keeping all citizens and refugees within their borders safe.

Others

Scovilia and Dragon’s Valley

Annexed into the Hollyberry Kingdom’s expanding territory. Dragon’s Valley in particular is the site of Hollyberrian dragon research, and the Beast has made it a pastime to frequent the place and quash any revolt before it has the chance to grow. Dragonberry is very fond of Scovilia in particular, its strongest champion added to her collection of gladiators.

The existence of the Cookie Kingdom is still being decided, as it has little importance to the game’s story.

EXTRA

MISC POSTS

The very first BAAU post [original neobeast references]

Full picture of the masterpost banner

Average neobeast meeting [meme]

All I Ever Wanted [animatic]

X reader headcanons

TAG LIST [for easier access]

Main tag

Askbox tag

Fanart tag

Fanfic tag

Old Masterlist [Includes links to more specific asks/questions]

Old FAQ

Creator’s note: Thanks for reading!! If any of the links above do not work, please let me know. -CJJ

[justaz]

post magic reveal arthur is like “:/ mmm i’ll open up communications with the druids but idk about repealing the ban :/“ and merlin is like “??? why??” and arthur’s like “well magic is evil, that’s all i’ve been taught and all i know. i know you’re not evil but idk about other sorcerers, i can’t just let them free.” and merlin’s like “what’ll get you to consider it” and arthur’s like “well you say that magic isn’t something you chose, it choses you. alright, but people still chose to use it.” and merlin who has never followed this train of thought before is like,,, “you wanna test it? experiment? i can stop using my magic and we’ll see what happens” and arthur who has been playing his father’s lessons on magic through his head for the past like month since he found out and has been trying to figure out a way to get merlin to stop corrupting his soul jumps on the opportunity and is like “great idea :] nothing could go wrong :] you stop corrupting yourself and i don’t have to set magic free :]”

merlin stops using his magic for everything. he makes a conscious effort to force it all down and away and the first few days pass by fine. then he starts to get a little dizzy and then he gets spacey and distracted but not rambly, just staring off into space. then he’s just like. not there anymore. druids come to camelot to speak with arthur but can’t stop staring at merlin and eventually cut the conversation off to point at merlin and ask whats wrong with him

when they find out whats been going on they go all “oh shit” and urge everyone to stand still and not make a move. arthur inquires and they answer. magic has built up within him. magics natural state is free, it wishes to be used and to fly free, to be cooped up within someone is like caging a wild stallion. it bucks and kicks at the gate, bites at its handlers, and fights like hell to be set free. the magic thats been trapped within merlin for a couple of weeks is practically tearing him apart from the inside trying to set itself free. but! they can’t just tell him to use magic here. even the smallest use of magic would be a crack in a dam that would crumble like ash and set all the magic free. and with all that magic - all of emrys’s magic? he could very well flatten the city.

they cautiously, EXTREMELY cautiously, guide merlin out of the room, out of the castle, and into the middle of the woods. they urged everyone (who followed which is like arthur and his knights) back and out of the forest. then from a distance, the eldest druid mentally reached out to merlin and instructed him to let his magic loose. within seconds a blast of pure golden light shoots forth and flattens the entire forest, the druids casting a large shield to protect themselves, arthur, and his men.

merlin staggers to his feet in the distance and the eldest druid reaches out again, for safe measure, and tells him to let loose once more. merlin obeys and reaches down into the ground and pulls all the trees back up and imbues them with life so they thrive once more. the druids claim the forest as their own, sacred by order of emrys. arthur allows it. and then goes home to draft up a magic ban repeal. and an apology to merlin.

[cosycafune]

JEALOUSY; EREN JAEGER:

a summary of this chapter: your boyfriend is mad at you for dismissing him the whole night, chatting away to your puny friend. naturally, he wants to have his way with you — just so your full focus is on him.

a synopsis of acts: smut, rough sex, corruption kink, sadistic tendencies, cumming, creampies, sizing, crying, brat taming and potentially more.

“Eren, please!” You so desperately spewed, your drool inevitably on display whilst Eren’s ample cock laid upon the bottom of your curling stomach.

“Please, what?” Eren bluntly questions you, the largeness of his delicious cock swiftly moving towards the soppiness of your folds.

Eren has sufficiently ruined the entirety of your resolve, mindlessly committing sexual acts that he know would have you eating out the palm of his broad hand. His hand. Not no random man your gaze steers upon, to elicit jealousy within the neglected aspects of him.

Inevitably, Eren knew you were his to indulge in — to stuff the vastness of his cock within and consistently breed you until you’re marked and tinted with a beautiful ivory.

“P-Put it in!” Whimpering, tearing and extremely dazed, you chew your bottom lip with the uttermost shame. Shame as the liveliness in Eren’s viridian, emotion-packed eyes completely admire yet scrutinise the desperation within your choked pleas.

“Why? You spent all day pretending to ignore me, just to talk to that aloof man,” At Eren’s harsh statement, his thick brows furrow before he skims the girth of his cock between your nimble thighs — unable to fathom the concept of not overwhelming and dominating you.

“B-Because I’m yours,” Gulping at your bestowed announcement, your eyes widen as Eren swiftly burrows himself within your cunt — leaving your eyes to widen erratically.

“Say it again,” Loathing the lack of repetition you gift, Eren greedily presses his hips upon your pelvic structure. Cock stricken, your purpose completely flees your lips at the impenetrable closeness of his blessed hips.

“‘M yours! All yours! Ah!” Your melodically generated moans command Eren into beginning to harshly pound within you, yearning to completely break away at the bratty exterior and interior you had settled upon him.

“Then, don’t do that shit again,” Eren grunts out, his eyes lovingly cloudy while he bucks his hips loudly within you — slamming into you at an inhumane pacing.

“F-Fuck! I won’t!” A barely comprehensible mess, you feel the beautiful within Eren’s pace — entwined with unwritten emotions.

Eren’s usually so whiny, so seeing him dominant, complex and riddled with anger heightened your emotions but also played upon your building guilt.

“Say it again!” Eren’s eyes boil and soothe at the concept of you lovingly taking his thick cock, completely overwhelmed and worshipping the heavenly feeling of it all.

“I love you…and I’m yours,” Softening slightly, Eren continues to abuse his reckless pace — his lips instinctively kissing your unchallenged lips.

“I-I love you, too,” Wavering momentarily, Eren lips delicately smother your own — all before he safely buries his head within the crook of your neck.

“Ah!” You harshly moan out, feeling yourself subconsciously cum upon the entirety of his inhumanely-thrusting cock.

“G-Got to be quick, I’ve got a concert soon,” Despite Eren’s suggestion, you innately wrap your toned legs around his sculpted waist — knowing that he’s bound to cum.

“I’d…get you pregnant, just so you’d be all…mine,” Eren chokes out, his delicate breaths laboured before he constructs himself into filling your flowery womb with the soul of his thick, white seed.

“Y-Yes!” Panting with false agreement, you glance into Eren’s strained eyes — drawing him into your homely arms.

“S-Shit,” Carried away, Eren comfortably pulls out of you — glimpsing at you with subtly glassy eyes.

“I’m sorry for making you jealous, Eren,” Apologising so sincerely, you press kisses upon his lips — uncaring for the arrays of cum that spew from your pulsating, abused cunt.

“Just don’t do it again,” Eren groans out, “I love you, though.” Muttering, curling into your hair stroking, Eren relishes all the love that you have embedded within him

“I won’t,” Kissing the crown of his forehead, you apply a kiss upon the top of Eren’s crumpled mind.

—

do not copy my work; all rights reserved. cosycafune, 2024.

[gumiluver]

21&29 with nanami; like 21 for the beginning and reader is still shy especially when 29 comes into play :) fem reader pls 🥺

you don’t know just how heavy I fuck w this idea I’m so here for it!! hope you enjoy luv!! <3

prompt 21: "If you wanted me to fuck you then you should've just said so, love. No need to be shy with me—you're my everything."

prompt 29: "Ohhh fuck—baby...did you know you could squirt?”

lover <3: nanami kento x afab!reader

byr/byi: the content in this fic is not suitable for individuals under the age of 18--minors will be blocked (DNI), wc: 1.7k

cw: smut, nsfw, pwp, afab!reader, praise kink, manhandling, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, squirting, pet names (love, baby)

an: requests still open! check out the guidelines here for more info :)

border credit: @/cafekitsune, pic credit: oh5629289 on pinterest

“How long have we been together now love—two years and you’re still so shy f’ me?” Kento questions you, peppering soft kisses along the nape of your neck. His burly hands move along the sides of your hips, one slowly trailing upwards to cup and caress your left breast while the other molds around your hip, pulling a whine out of you in the process.

“C-can’t help it Ken’…you make me so flustered,” you whimper, pulling from his grasp to shy away from his intense gaze. He’s quick to grab your chin tho, forcing your eyes back to him to meet his sly gaze. Your shy nature easily amuses his, loving how quick you are to break your composure and fall for his ploy.

“Is that so, love? What makes you so flustered, hm?” he teases, an uncommon occurrence that makes your empty pussy clench helplessly. You whine and shift around in his hold, wanting to break away from your lover's grasp to hide under the covers and save yourself from his teasing. Your thighs squeeze together, aimlessly hoping to satisfy the deep ache that’s settling in your cunt and, of course, he takes note of that.

Nanami has always been so observant over you.

Like how he knows when you’re holding in your pleasure filled moans—the little scrunch of your nose and furrow of your brow gives you away.

Or when you try and sneak a quick orgasm in after he’s warned you to hold it—the way your pussy clenches his tip for dear life even after he’s stilled your hips makes your plans damn well known to him.

And even when you’re trying to hide how horny you are—like how you are now—he can tell; from the way you shy away from his touch and overt your gaze as if he were the apple of sin you couldn’t help but sink your teeth in.

And he fucking loves it. He loves getting to see your agitated and flustered state—it inflates his ego like no other. To see you, the most beautiful being he’s ever laid his eyes on, become so enamored and needy for him has him feeling like a fucking god.

“What is it, baby? You can tell me. What is it that you need me to do—say it,” he demands, pressing you deeper into the wall, grinding his hard cock into your clothed pussy. The moan that spills from you fuels Nanami’s head with even more sinful deeds he’d love to corrupt you with.

“I-I need…” you trail off, panting like a bitch in heat over how flustered he’s got you. You let out a small whine, feeling his left knee shift between your legs to press against your slick mound, rubbing his strong thigh against you to provide you with the pleasure your body oh so craves.

“Yes? What do you need love,” he whispers, moving the hand on your hip to place a light grasp around your neck, holding you steady and meeting your gaze.

“Ahh!! K-Kento please!!” you beg, unsure of what exactly it was you were even begging for—but nonetheless, you plead. The pleasure pulsating through your sweet cunt sends shockwaves, hitting deep within your soul and making you preen.

“Say it. Be good and tell me what you need,” he groans out, patience wearing thin at the feel of your heat leaking through your panties and onto his slacks. His tan pants presenting a wet spot on the thigh that’s pushed up to your cunt—how lewd.

“N-need you…in me…��� you whimper out, shamefully closing your eyes to save yourself from the embarrassment that is begging for dick.

But fuck did it make his cock throb hearing it.

The second he hears your pretty plea, Kento makes haste in stripping you of your clothes and sprinting to the nearest surface he can find.

“If you wanted me to fuck you then you should’ve just said so, love. No need to be shy with me—you’re my everything,” he coos, hovering his hulking body over your smaller one. Sheepishly, you glance away from him to gawk at his toned body. Ripples of muscle decorate his form as his tanned skin glows a pretty shade of pink, no doubt from the sheer excitement coursing through his veins.

He brings a hand upwards to cup your chin again, wanting to make sure that your wandering eyes don’t miss all the fun that’s about to start, “keep your eyes on me love—don’t look away.”

His demanding tone a clear contradiction to his usually gentle demeanor, making your mouth fall dry and your pussy run wet. You nod quickly, making direct eye contact with your lover's hazel eyes, and the hum of approval he lets out makes you clench your thighs that are hung around his waist.

Slowly, he rubs the tip of his cock against your folds, carefully collecting the slick that escapes from your pussy to thoroughly coat his cock—all while gazing intensely at you. After all, he didn’t want to miss seeing your face morphed into that pleasure-filled look he positively yearns to see.

A whiny cry of his name pulls him back to reality, ripping his gaze away from yours to stare down at your entrance and fuck—what a fucking mess.

“Ohhh baby, look at you,” he groans loudly, smacking the tip of his cock against your soaked cunny. Lewd ‘plap’ ‘plap’ ‘plaps’ radiate against the room with the way his heavy cockhead smacks against your clit. You’re quivering now, moving your hips to avoid the torturous teasing that your sorcerer subjects you to.

And just as you were about to whine for him to just put it in, you felt his heavy tip catch against your little hole. Gasping, you frantically reach for his biceps, nails digging into the skin as he slowly feeds you his monstrous cock.

“Ha’aaahh—kentooo!” you cry out, unable to comprehend the sheer stretch that is his girth. Regardless of how many times you’ve taken Kento, or how long he spends between your thighs prepping you, nothing could ever mentally prepare you for the actual feeling of his cock splitting you open.

“I know baby I know—just a c-couple more inches, fuckk,” he groans, glancing up at you every so often to make sure you’re still being his good girl and watching everything he does, “being so good for me.”

It felt like eons have passed before Kento finally sheathes himself fully into you. But, as soon as he’s inside you, he’s quick to unsheathe and start up a brutal pace.

“I-I can’t!! Oh f-fuck—slow do-own Ken’!!” you whimper out, his sharp thrusts breaking up your sentence. He fucks you with a passion that rivals that of a warrior, composed and dead set on his goal of fucking you to completion. He wants to ingrain himself into your womb, wants your pussy to react to his touch, his voice—and his alone.

“Fuuuuck this pussy’s perfect for me love, keep your legs spread—yeaaa just like that,” he grunts, absolutely lost in a haze of lust and pleasure. He’s so pussy drunk on you that he doesn’t even realize just how far gone you are. His usually observant nature completely bypassed the way he could only see the whites of your eyes, how your body is shaking—convulsing even, and just how sensitive your body is slowly starting to feel. Your pussy’s fluttering ridiculously, spasming around his thick shaft so much so that it felt like his cock was getting massaged by your womb. The wetness of your cunt made the nastiest sounds, filling the air with a lewd atmosphere that screamed sex.

But something felt…different.

It felt…off.

You jolt upwards—or at least tried to, considering how quick Nanami was to push you back down, not wanting to let up on his precious girl.

“K-Kento it feels weird!!” you cry, pushing at his arms to try and escape his ruthless pounding, but it’s pointless—he’s got you caged in his arms, right where he wants you.

“s’okay love, let me make it feel good—can feel you squeezing my cock so nicely, fuuckk” he lets out an animalistic grunt, pressing more of his body weight into you to immobilize you. You let out a long, languid moan, the feeling of his tip proding in places you didn’t even realize he could reach was making you see galaxies rather than stars. But yet again, that same foreign pressure began to burn deep within your womb, almost as if you were going to explode.

“N-nooo, p-please!! It feels like I—ahhh—…feels like m’gonna…” you trail off, unable to formulate your words. You’re panting so much that all you could do was move your hands to his chest in a measly attempt to push him away.

“Gonna what, love? Gonna cum? Come on baby, give it to me—cum for me,” he grunts out, his voice going octaves lower—so much so that you could feel the reverb of his voice hit your clit. His thrusts move quicker and with much more vigor, aiming to push you over the edge. Sneaking a rough hand down to your mound, he maneuvers his thumb to find your pink pearl and circles it in that specific way that makes you go fucking crazy.

And that final motion was what came of your undoing.

A bright flash of white obscures your vision, and the sheer ecstasy that courses through your veins sends you into an early release that spills all over your lover's pelvis. Nanami’s eyes widen in shock, seeing the guttural force of your orgasm shake the literal wind out of you makes his pride swell like none other. He couldn’t believe it; who could’ve known that his perfect little angel could do something so…lascivious—so sinful.

“Ohhh fuck—baby…did you know you could squirt?”

an: the way this man makes me go absolutely feral…anyways, I hope you all enjoyed & requests are still open!! Please be sure to check the guidelines before you submit a request!! <3

As always, likes, comments, follows, reblogs, and any other form of interaction is greatly appreciated <3 #supportcreators

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #29

The Heir

Imagine dis…

You know what, it’s been a while since I added the infamous Al Ghuls to my stories.

…

The Lazarus Pit, a sacred lake in the League of Assassins' fortress, was said to provide immortality and bring back life. However, its underlying nature was considerably more sinister than its therapeutic properties indicated. Ra's al Ghul, the centuries-old leader, stood before the pit, his ancient and knowledgeable gaze fixed on the pool's depths. He sought the ideal successor to take his mantle and lead the League into a new age of domination. 

Ra's al Ghul had governed the League for generations, utilizing its vicious assassins to further his goals. As his death approached, he realized he needed to safeguard the League's future for it to survive. As the Lazarus Pit continued to bubble and churn, Ra's al Ghul considered the gravity of his decision. The selected heir would need strength, talent, wit, and ruthlessness to traverse the League's treacherous internal politics.

Ra's al Ghul's ravenous thirst for power ruined his yearning for the ideal heir, Talia's son Damian. Despite knowing Damian had the detective’s DNA, Ra was concerned that his influence would corrupt his heart and undermine his ruthlessness as leader of the League of Assassins, just as Damian's compassion and sense of justice would jeopardize his legacy.

Ra's al Ghul stood in front of the Lazarus Pit, its menacing glow casting eerie shadows throughout the enormous chamber. Though he was not religious, he couldn't help but feel fascinated by the magical power hidden within. He had achieved immortality here, at the very founding of the League of Assassins, and he was now looking for something even more valuable: a worthy heir to carry on his legacy.

Ra's offered a secret prayer to the Lazarus Pit, pleading for an heir who would transcend all others. And, as if in answer to his intense desire, the pit erupted in a dazzling burst of light, temporarily stunning Ra's and his collected assassins.

When the light faded, they saw a sight that struck them with awe and wonder: a newborn floating serenely amid the Lazarus Pit's shimmering waters, its eyes gleaming with an otherworldly green light. Ra's felt a rush of elation and insane glee pouring through his veins. He saw in this infant the embodiment of his deepest desires, the ideal vessel to carry on his legacy of conquest and immortality.

Ra's al Ghul approached the newborn with almost fanatical reverence, reaching out to hold it in his arms. He felt a force emanating from the child, a potential so huge and untapped that it sent chills down his spine. Here was his heir, the one who would take the League of Assassins to even higher levels of power and dominion.

As his supporters watched in wonder, Ra's al Ghul pronounced the newborn to be his chosen heir, the League's future leader. And in that moment, basking in the light of the Lazarus Pit, he realized that his legacy would last for centuries.

…

Talia stood in the shadows of the League's fortress, her heart full of mixed emotions. She had previously thought her son, Damian, would inherit her father's legacy, but the appearance of Daniel Daan Al Ghul dashed those expectations. The resentment of being passed over for a new male heir wounded her, reflecting the patriarchal norms that had formed her existence.

Nonetheless, as she watched Daniel develop under her care, she couldn't deny the wisdom and power emanating from him. His eerie green eyes appeared to look right through her, penetrating her soul with their ferocity. Despite her initial disdain, she found herself captivated by the youngster, seeing in his brilliance that much above her desires.

When Daniel was just five years old, he shocked her by entrusting her and Slade Wilson with separate sections of the League to lead. It was a gesture of trust and empowerment that left her dumbfounded, as she realized Daniel saw potential in her beyond her role as caretaker or assassin and guardian.

In epochs gone by, when the female hand grasped the scepter of might, she ascended to the echelons of immortality. Why am I precluded from such transcendence with you? I perceive the dormant titan within you, hence I proffer my dominion, both to you and to its awakening, for in you resides the essence of dominion.

He told her when she asked why. At that moment, she realized the extent of Daniel's strength and compassion, and she promised to serve him faithfully.

Talia's allegiance switched dramatically when Daniel personally intervened to save Jason Todd, her beloved’s son, from the lunacy of the Lazarus Pit.

Intervening just as her father, Ra Al Ghul, was about to order Jason Todd's execution because he was no use to him or the league, Daniel silently appeared beside her father and slowly walked down from the throne to the floor where Jason Todd was kneeling, still brain dead, as it was still a mystery to all how he was revived as he dug himself out of his grave.

Guard the tender soul, mend his wounds, for he is but a fledgling, entrusted to my care for solace and salvation.

He proclaimed to her father, who stared at Daniel, perplexed as to why Daniel wanted to keep this teenager, but agreed to utilize the pits for his purposes. When Jaosn emerged, he was already deep in the pit madness; when he raced towards Daniel, all assassins had created a wall around the heir, but Daniel told them to step aside; with a single touch, the madness left Todd and he went out.

Talia took on her job as Daniel's right hand from that day forward, leading him with her knowledge and cunning. Though her heart grieved for Damian, she knew Daniel was the rightful heir, destined to lead the League to greatness. And when she stared into his hypnotic green eyes, she saw not just a leader, but a judge and a god on the rise.

…

Slade Wilson, often known as Deathstroke, had always been a formidable force in the League of Assassins. His skills were unparalleled, and his reputation was legendary. However, as the years went by, a seed of ambition germinated within him, fuelled by a desire to seize League leadership for himself.

The discovery of Daniel Daan Al Ghul's emergence as a new heir fueled Slade's internal strife. On the one hand, he wished to stage a coup, seize authority, and establish himself as the legitimate leader. On the other side, he was captivated to the mysterious power emanating from Daniel, the heir born of the Lazarus Pits.

As Slade trained Daniel and Damian, he couldn't help but be amazed by Daniel's extraordinary abilities. The youngster was a genius in every way, with an intellect and prowess unparalleled by anybody else. And when Daniel, with his penetrating green eyes that appeared to capture the essence of the Lazarus Pits, recognized Slade's worth and appointed him to a position of responsibility within the League, Slade felt a weird mix of awe and reverence.

Untouched by the forge of opportunity, you, a blade honed in both physique and intellect, lay dormant amidst neglect, gathering the patina of obscurity. Yet, now, I bestow upon you the helm of leadership, for only you possess the whetstone to sharpen others to their zenith

Daniel informed him after he sought for an audience.

In that instant, Slade realized his fate was connected with Daniel's. He pledged his unwavering service, promising to serve his new lord until his soul was shattered. Slade saw Daniel as more than just a leader but as a being with incredible power and potential. And as he peered into Daniel's fascinating green eyes, he knew he'd follow him into the depths of hell, for even death couldn't break the link between master and servant.

…

Damian Wayne, raised under the League of Assassins, had always felt he was meant to carry on his grandfather's heritage. But when Daniel emerged from the Lazarus Pits, enveloped in their miraculous waters, Damian's fate changed.

As they grew, Damian was awarded the duty of Daniel's guardian, a position of great distinction in the League. He fully committed to this role, practicing tirelessly to prove himself worthy of defending the League's successor.

Damian was upset when Daniel unexpectedly dismissed him from the League at the age of 10. He couldn't understand why his lord would dismiss him so abruptly. Damian confronted Daniel, desperate for answers about his dismissal.

Youthful spirit, the horizon stretches before you, beckoning freedom's call. Yet, wanderer, when the winds of destiny bring you home, return to me. I relinquish the chains of selfish desire, for I discern your potential for greatness. Embrace the world, then return to my side, where together, we shall forge greatness anew.

Daniel then disclosed his genuine goals, which were to drive Damian to greatness and help him reach his full potential outside of the League. Though initially astonished and offended, Damian realized the underlying message in Daniel's actions and decided to earn his master's trust.

Going to his father's side, Damian sought out Robin's mantle, battling Tim Drake for the title. In doing so, he aimed not only to recover his place by Daniel's side but also to establish himself as a suitable successor to his grandfather's legacy, ready to embark on the path of greatness that Daniel had envisioned for him.

…

Daniel, a young heir to Ra's al Ghul, led the League of Assassins with unrivaled potential and strength. His wisdom and charisma won the respect and allegiance of powerful individuals such as Lady Shiva, Cheshire, and David Cain. Ra's al Ghul trusted Daniel to protect his legacy, knowing that the League would continue to develop and prosper under his leadership, assuring its domination for future generations.

…

Daniel meanwhile at the back of his mind kept screaming as he never thought that it would get him far. 

He was just walking around Amity when his ghost senses pinged something he could not see, one moment he was in his teen self and then he was a baby surrounded by ectoplasm and being carried by someone with major fruitloop vibes. He tried he tried, he tried to become a cryptid like Clockwork since it always makes him grit his teeth at the vague sentences that came out of him, heck even Pandora and Frostbite look at Clockwork and thought of strangling the ghost for his cryptic answers, he is pretty sure he does that for shit and giggles, but it made him look like mature and wise, someone who has infinite wisdom.

Danny thought of laying down low when it came to training but with the combined efforts in training with his mom and the various ghost mentors and fighters in the Infinite realms, he became a formidable fighter before he even reached his double digits. As years passed by each time he tried to deflect or even pass on his so-called political power to others was returned with undying loyalty that he didn't need. 

He just hopes that the Bat Furry brigade can help him out.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: As you can see, I posted a bit early, I am busy during May so this is another early post. bye-bye!

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Demon! Nanami Kento x Angel Black!Fem Reader

Rating/CW: grey morality, religious undertones, corruption kink, worship, power dynamics (subtle fem submission), monsterfucking, smut, tongue fingering, pronged tongue, vaginal sex, oral (f! receiving), mild blood/biting. MDNI!

Summary: The thick muscle of your wings press against cold ancient stone as he circles you with wicked, stone-faced intent. Glimmering obsidian fingers trace along your feathers until they quiver--fluttering with touch-starved bliss no angel should ever feel. It's forbidden--this sensation in your belly, this humiliating slick between your legs that be can smell, this overwhelming desire that you've spent eons trying to quell.

But now, trapped before a demon so captivating that you can't help but feel equally terrified and dreadfully aroused, reality burns your skin like the holy water that bubbles whenever it's within your reach.

You're not here to serve a divine purpose--you're an offering. And only Heaven knows if you'll fall to your knees before him, begging for corruption.

Author Notes: Here it is! My submission for @tsukimefuku 's Spookinky event! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you, Fuku, for hosting such an awesome event, and I truly apologize for the filth (I do not apologize). Thank you all for your support, and thank you, @aliasnnmknt, for letting me use your art for my banner and helping me create it. Your art really inspired most of this fic!

Header: art by @aliasnnmknt | Divider: @arcielee @enchanthings | network tag: @pixelcafe-network

JJK Masterlist | Twitter | Ao3

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

You’ve never set foot in a demon’s realm.

You’ve heard the stories—flames that burn flesh from bone, screams that echo for eternity, demons that feast on corrupted souls. For the many eons that you have been in existence, the pristine light you thrive in tells enough horrid stories to keep you away.

You do what you can to show you are pure in your thoughts and heart and that you will walk the line given to make the one above you proud in His selection of you. You’ve done well. It’s why you’ve been given this task—a pilgrimage to a sacred altar within this dark realm, to find the relic it holds and be promised enlightenment and a deeper connection to your spiritual life. For once, you feel special. You are special.

The relic you search for holds ancient divine text that the Heavens would like to make sure does not fall into the wrong hands. Your ability to decipher that text and other old tongues made you the perfect choice—though you try not to question why that ability exists at all. This mission feels important and they insisted you were the perfect choice. Your gifts would serve the greater good. Serve Him.

Maybe that’s why they sent you alone. A single angel, moving quietly through dark territory, would draw less attention than an entire group.

Finally, after so many years of wary glances and hushed concerns. Your many ‘gifts’ that have set you apart—the way ancient texts rearrange themselves under your touch, how you see patterns in chaos that other angels cringe from, your thirst for knowledge that shouldn’t be explored. Finally, it’s all paid off.

Or…at least that’s what they told you. Even as something in your grace whispers warnings you choose to ignore.

Angels bask in absolutes, in the pure warmth of divine light and the straightforward clarity of purpose. There is certainty in right and wrong, never a grey in between. Your wings should bask in holy breeze, not in this thick air that tastes of dreadful sin.

You expected the realm to smell of death and destruction, to look as if every natural disaster had run through the land so the shadows could roam freely to commit sin. It’s what you’ve been taught at least. This Realm specifically is forbidden and faith has been used as a boundary to keep other angels in line.

The outskirts of this realm is covered in a haze, a thick russet fog that smells of ozone and decaying flowers. It settles on your skin like an uncomfortable garment, scratching the surface and burning your dermis. Your wings curdle in pain, burning to ash and regrowing through your bleeding muscles. Gnarled, skeletal trees reach up like claws, the birds that sit on their branches malnourished and dying. Distantly, you hear the constant drip of water from a faucet, yet there is no water in sight. Whispers of sin and moans of agony carry on the wind.

Your white dress flows like liquid moonlight, now stained with ash and ember burns. The neckline dips lower than most angels would prefer.

“To be comfortable in the vessel He gave you is to honor His creation.”

Is what they had said, their justification now seems like a cruel irony as the fog caresses your exposed cleavage with burning fingers. The bottom of your dress trails on the ground as you walk, the dirt burning with red soil that seeps through the toes of your bare feet. It feels as if you’re walking on hot coals, the heat burning the fabric of your hem in tendrils of smoke.

You knew to expect this pain, but it’s different. There is a calculated precision to it, intentional in how it burns you as if testing if your form is solid, if your soul is worthy of corruption. The bell sleeves of your gown flutter in a nonexistent wind, ash and soot collecting in the folds of fabric that they once praised as divine elegance.

Your eyes burn, tears streaking melanin-soaked skin that cannot absorb the shrouded sun up above. As you navigate blindly through the oppressive haze, the shadows around you morph with the darkness and skitter past you on multiple hands and contorted feet.

An infinitesimal part of your grace shivers in fear. It’s small yes, pushed away and ignored like you have been taught, but it’s there in the quickening of your pulse and the break of sweat on your neck, it’s there as you walk further through the vicious landscape of horror and pain, as you try to ignore the gurgling of what you do not know from all around you.

Your wings curl around your body, a small gesture of protection that you fall into when the fog gets thicker. It slides languidly up your nostrils and down your throat, catching along the corners. You cough, sputtering wildly through ash and decay, your eyes bubbling with more burning tears. That fear flickers again in your chest and wiggles like a worm in search of moist dirt in your rib cage.

You can do this. You have been chosen. Your lips curl and part as you recite your prayer in silence, asking for strength even as your fear climbs higher to the surface of divine worship.

Then—through burning tears, you see it. A path of pure obsidian that cuts through the horror, its surface covered in a thin layer of water that reflects starlight not in the skies above. Your feet pick up in pace, moving before conscious thought, drawn to its dark beauty and vast difference of the world around. The moment your toes dip into the water-slicked stone, the moisture sliding off your skin without wetting it, everything changes.

The burning on your skin and feathers stops. The pungent fog parts like a curtain and dissipates into the air. You pull in a deep breath, savoring the thickness that is no longer there, your throat coated in clean oxygen. Your dress, moments ago stained with ash and fiery burns, returns to its pristine white. Once the tears in your eyes clear, you take in the changed landscape.

Perhaps the realm only transforms if one gets this far, because now there is no destruction but a defiance of what you see. The sky is tinged a permanent grey, overcast even though there’s a warmth to the low hang of the clouds. There are no lakes of fire, and the ground beneath your feet is no longer hot with clay-colored dirt that seeps between your toes. The obsidian path winds before you through tall garden walls of pearly white flowers, the leaves pitch black instead of earthly green.

Above the dark canopy of the garden walls, a monolith looms tall, piercing the grey sky as if demanding to be let into the heavens. It’s built to resemble a vast tree, its surface rippling with starlight, the bright core pulsing like a heartbeat, beckoning you deeper into this realm of misconstrued beauty. The garden path must lead to it. Even the pearly white flowers weaved into the walls all point forward, ushering you on.

Your wings furl closer to your spine as you shuffle to one of the garden walls, hesitantly reaching for the flowers twined in the vines and leaves. It’s a beautiful white, with small petals that curl toward a sage core. They’re littered along the walls, a beautiful landscape against darkness but the closer you get, the more you realize—

Hemlock

A poisonous flower, the symbol of death, betrayal, and sacrifice. It sits in it’s refined beauty, enhancing the black leaves around you, but they are just as dangerous.

You snatch your hands away as if stung, clutching the fabric of your dress like a lifeline. You try not to think about how the hemlock watches you with pale eyes. You try not to think about what they represent. You try not to question why these flowers would point and line a path to the divine relic you seek.

With every step you take, the pulsing from the monolith in the distance vibrates through the ground, the water rippling currents with each beat. The obsidian path narrows, forcing your wings closer to your body, your arms so close to the deadly blooms. The garden walls rise higher, leaves trembling in that same empty breeze.

While the air no longer feels thick, it is heavy with a taste both nonexistent and flavorful. Flavored with the knowledge you seek when others do not look and secrets that make your eyes linger even as your grace warns you against it. The questioning urges of your nature that Heaven always tries to quell stir awake like a beast being poked after centuries of rest.

You should ignore it. You should ask for forgiveness and count the blessings you have been given in this long existence. But your heart leaps at the chance you have also been given, right now.

The monolith’s base reveals itself slowly, the garden walls parting gradually with dark promise. Your breath catches at the sight—this is no crude demon architecture. The structure rises before you like an otherworldly giant, jet black vines weaving within its bright innards.

You’re struck by the beauty of it all, a resplendent sight that you never imagined would bless your eyes. And as you draw closer, the glass obsidian floors open up before you. From the open floor, a column of marble rises, its surface bleached bone and covered in aging vines and greenery.

On that altar, rests the relic you seek. It is no crystal that contains energy to create vasts universes. It is no seed that once planted will wreak destruction with its pollination. It is no amulet capable of manipulating time.

It is a book.

A single book that is thick with words of forbidden knowledge, its cover worn and weathered from eons of hiding in the shadows, its pages yellowing along the edges.

Such a simple relic, but you feel it’s dark power from your spot at the altar.

You’ve been tasked to tuck it away and sneak back to Heaven, to deliver it to your superiors and be given your eternal reward. While simple in theory, your hands hover over it, hesitating with shaky fingers.

Do not open it.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

Do not look inside.

These are your rules—your absolutes. And yet…

Your fingers twitch, reaching and pulling back at the elusive call of the tome, your feathers trembling with a desire you shouldn’t feel. Your eyes burn with tears of veneration as the symbols on the worn leather illuminate and rearrange before your eyes like dancing embers, the translated text reading in your mind like an endless scroll.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

You snatch it up, pressing it to your chest as a means to stop your racing heart. Your soul palpitates with want, a baseless need to curl your fingers under the lips of the book and tilt it open.

It’s temptation, that festering desire that always seems to coil in your belly when the explanations you are given never feel right, when the world around you seems too pristine and you want to know more, when you linger in the mortal realm, watching the humans with a curious eye that is more than what is required of you.

It’s quick and on a whim, you pulling the book from your chest to look down at it, as if by looking it will answer the questions you seek. You trail your fingers along it’s ancient skin, soft and unmarred fingertips feeling along ridges and scars along the cover. It looks as if the relic has gone through it’s own personal Hell, no doubt jerked around from realm to realm over the centuries, pried open and its secrets stolen. There’s a faint beat of sadness that you feel in your chest at the thought of what it must have gone through.

But your fingers still finger beneath the lid, the worn pages jagged on your tips as you worry it up with a slow movement.

Do not open it.

You squeeze the tome, pressing the pages inside more into each other in a silent attempt to seal it and your temptation away forever. Your toes curl into the water beneath you, cold on your skin but still passing over you dry and without moisture.

But once again you catch yourself loosening your grip, your fingers adventurous, your mind begging for more and it’s right here.

In times like these, you find yourself turning to the one manifestation that has never answered you, but exists in your very being.

“Father,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Give me the strength against temptation.” Your wings draw tight, your spine aching from the sudden action, before they expand in a glorious span, feathers opening like extended fingers before they curl around you to shield you from your own curiosity. “Guide me from this darkness, keep my thoughts pure…”

But even as you pray, your body rebels—your fingers part a page and slide along the rough texture of papyrus. There’s a power to the book now, a deep pulse that seems to be in rhythm with the monolith, beckoning you further. The ancient text burns brighter, the translated words whispering in your ears to give in just this once—look inside, soak in your knowledge, seek what others deny.

Your lips quiver, eyes burning with unshed tears at the way your body betrays you. You’re no better than a fallen angel, than a demon or a human who walks the path of darkness—easily tempted and consumed.

You’re not damned, you’re not, you’re not—

“What do we have here?”

The voice slides through your tumultuous thoughts like silk, rich with bored amusement and something darker. Your prayers die in your throat, catching along the edges of your esophagus, your body icing over with a chill of what you try to rebuke as fear.

You’re not alone and you knew the dangers of wandering this realm so freely. You call upon your grace, manifesting a celestial dagger of light and purity, before you whirl around to face the demon who pursues you.

But you’re met with nothing—just the empty garden path you came from.

When you turn back to the altar, your scream catches in your throat.

He stands with casual power and predatory grace. His skin is a pitch lighter than the obsidian paths, but still scattered with constellations. His hair falls in golden-blonde waves, the ends touched with flame that frames sharp features and elegant black horns that curl from the top of his head. His eyes are a burning yellow, studying you with a calculating hunger that makes you shiver.

He stands tall, an inhuman height that makes you feel incredibly small, his wings the color of dark flames spread lazily behind him, their edges flickering with crimson light.

The armor that adorns his upper body is otherworldly and crafted not by divine or mortal hands—navy as dark as night, trimmed with gold that wraps around his shoulders and sides, his chest bare. His hip rests against the altar as if he owns it, expectant like he’s been waiting for you.

He’s beautiful, a manifestation of dark and light, a being that walks his own line not predetermined. As you study him, something tugs at your memory—flashes of encounters that have grown fuzzy over time. In the mortal realm, when you linger in the shadows to observe the humans, a tall figure in navy and tan, warm eyes hidden behind glasses with no arms, hair not tipped with flame but parted clean and tucked behind his ears.

He lingers in the darkness, in damp alleys and abandoned buildings where misery and pain give birth to grotesque figures that terrorize the mortals. You’ve seen him—or you think you have—convinced it was a coincidence and ignored the way your wings would shiver at his distant presence, tilting toward him as if searching for someone lost.

And in your dreams too—dreams of large hands filled with experiences of the world, of whispers in your ear of eternal knowledge. You’d wake with your grace trembling, convinced it was just your mind playing tricks even as the apex of your thighs trembled with the sheen of your sweat and forbidden essence.

Perhaps that’s why your superiors ask for you after these dreams. Perhaps that’s why they press their fingers to your temples and bury the memories deep. So you do not have to worry. So that you can resist temptation. Right?

Yes. All of it is a temptation to test your faith.

But now he stands before you, solid and real, and those ‘coincidences’ suddenly feel intentional. Had he been watching? Waiting for this very moment?

You adjust your grip on your dagger, forcing away those thoughts that never seem to go away. You stagger backwards, your celestial dagger shaking in your hands, your prayer wielded before you like a shield.

“Our Father who art in Heaven,” you whisper, desperate words that feel as if they fall on closed ears, your fear radiating from your bare toes, through the strong muscles of your white wings, and up to the top of your skull. “Hallowed be thy—”

The demon moves towards you now, each step gobbling the distance between your retreating form until your back hits the garden wall, a gasp dying in your throat.

“That name,” he murmurs, sultry low as he cages you with muscular arms, “holds no power here.” His eyes drag down your form, cataloging you bit by bit, lingering on the sight of a shaking chest that is pressed to the tome you clutch.

He leans in close, too close, until you feel the burning heat from his skin. You press your back harder against the garden wall, dark leaves and hemlock brushing along your cheeks and neck as he inhales deeply along the column of your throat.

He smells like the archives you lose yourself in, like the green tea you love to drink in the mortal realm, like a dark concoction of burning honey that would make the noses of other angels crinkle but your nostrils open to inhale more. Your divine senses blur.

This is temptation, you tell yourself as your wings putter against the wall behind you. You’ve practiced for this, you know what you should do. But your body betrays you, your head tilting slightly before you can think about it, offering more of your neck for his inspection.

Horror at your sin, ice cold as it washes over you, makes you act. You press your celestial dagger upward, against his bare chest where one particular constellation burns brighter than the rest.

But the blade dissolves like sugar in the rain the moment it touches him, holy light scattering for a home as it shimmers across his skin to form new constellations.

“How interesting…” The deep voice inquires, hot as it puffs on your neck. “An angel, stealing what does not belong to them. Surely there’s a rule about that, is there not?”

You clutch the tome tighter to your chest, your mouth opening to snap that this is your mission, your divine purpose. But the book vanishes from your grip in black tendrils of smoke, your hand smacking into your breasts from the gap created.

“Give it back!” Panic rises in your throat as you try to meld with the leaves behind you, your fingers wrapping around vines and leaves like a vice.

A sigh, long and drawn out as if mentally exhausted, as if this isn’t the first this has happened, leaves his giant form and travels over your body.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he drawls, pushing off the wall and walking away as if your presence means nothing. He turns to face you at the altar, eyes half-lidded as he rests his forearms on the marble surface and opens the tome that is now manifested in his hands. He’s giving off every impression that the relic you seek will not be going home with you, and he is more than prepared to read it all until you go away.

“W-well, you…” you trail off, your eyes flickering to the open book in his hands. You can’t see the words inside, but you can practically smell the papyrus, a smell that warms you when you trail your fingers along the archives in Heaven. You tighten your grip on the leaves, flexing your wings to extend in a display of dominance, even though it feels as if this demon has read you the moment you stepped into this realm.

The tome sits like an infant in his hands, small and precious as he turns a page, long galaxy shimmered fingers gliding along the text as he reads. That curiosity beckons, a familiar pulse of sin that fires along the nerves in your legs to take a step toward him, to peak over the edge of the book and look inside.

“Demon,” you press, swallowing a lump of your frayed nerves.

His eyes flicker up at you, burning gold irises mildly offended.

“That is not my name.” He turns another page, pulling his gaze away from you, dismissive. “Though, I suspect you already know what it is.”

Why would you know his name? While the sight of him invokes some distant memories, you both have never spoken. The confusion mixes with your flood of panic, your eyes locked on the ancient text in his hands.

“I don’t—I’m here on divine purpose. The Heavens sent me to deliver this relic.”

“They sent you to steal this relic,” he corrects. He slams the tome closed, the sound making you flinch before he walks back to you in casual strides, his form almost gliding on the obsidian floors.

“I would not steal.”

“Coming to a place without invitation and taking the items inside is, indeed, stealing.”

You sink back into the flowers as he draws closer, your heart pumping erratically in your chest, your limbs filling with shame at the logic he draws. But still, you resist.

“I was invited.”

You’ve always been around to see the return of angels from long missions where they are surrounded by darkness and pain. They seem so strong, their chests puffed in pride, their wings shining brighter as a badge of honor. There’s a bravery that you wish you could have right now. But you’re afraid—whether that fear is pure or mixed with something sensual and dangerous—you still don’t know.

“I-I was chosen,” you insist, despite what you feel.

“Oh, I’m sure you were.” His head tilts as he regards you.

The book disappears from his hands before materializing in your own, warm smoke wrapping around your wrists before dissipating. “Take it. Return to your divine purpose.”

You clutch the tome, hoping for relief to fill your wings, but you can only feel disappointment instead. You hesitate, flickering your gaze up to the demon who stands expectantly with arms crossed, like he knows what the outcome will be. Like he knows you will be back.

You turn around and flea down the obsidian path. The garden walls adorned with pearl flowers blur past you until—

The walls part again, the altar and demon coming into view.

“That’s not—” you spin, turning back toward the path and running faster this time, your relic pressed to your body, your lungs burning with the truth that you’re trying to deny.

The hemlock flowers seem to laugh as you pass, their white petals pointing the way with mocking fingers until—

The altar. The demon, an eyebrow raised. Again.

“Stop this!” Your voice breaks as you turn around to try again, sprinting so hard that your wings flap against the wind, your toes touching the top of the thin layer of water below you. You come to the altar a third time, then a fourth, each leading back to his knowing and patient form.

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice holds a gentle pity that pricks at your skin. “But why? Why would they send their most curious angel into a demon’s realm? Why alone? Why you?”

Something in his tone, in the endearment wrapped around seduction makes your grace shiver. You long to have an answer ready on your tongue, and you do, but it’s more practiced, copied, and spit out and resonates in your bones incorrectly.

“The relic requires eyes that can transcribe so I select the right one. My abilities—”

“Your abilities,” he interrupts softly, materializing behind you, “the ones that they’ve tried to suppress. The ones that they’ve feared. Yet suddenly, all of it is for naught, and you’ve been given this divine purpose?”

The towering demon circles you slowly, analyzing you like a predator waiting for his wounded prey to finally submit. You swallow hard, fingers digging into the leather of the book, eyes downcast.

“They finally saw my worth,” you insist, but the words sound hollow even to your ears. “I am pure. Free of sin. I do not stray.”

Warmth by the shell of your ear, the rich smell of him forbidden, an erotic melody that makes your blood long to sing.

“Lies.”

Your wings slash through the air in deep powerful strokes, twitching in their plumage. “I would not lie!”

“Neither would I, little angel. But it seems you have been led here under false pretenses.”

“No.”

“There is no relic.” The tome in your hands disappears, it’s solid form no longer tethered to existence.

“Give it—”

“There is no mission,” he presses on. “There is no divine purpose. There is only you. Cast down here and given to me.”

“To you…”

“An offering, little angel.”

The word makes you chill over in disgust, the very thought of being a sacrificial lamb enough to make you sick to your stomach. You shake your head vehemently, insistently denying as best as you can even though your grace radiates with the truth.

“No. They would never sacrifice someone. They—they wouldn’t—they wouldn’t do that to me.”

The demon clicks his tongue, pity filling his otherworldly features with a slight pout of his lips as he studies you. Before you can take another breath, the realm shifts, reality bending in a plume of smoke. The monolith and altar disappear, the darkness of the garden walls fading to give way to the eternal light you recognize as your home.

The tall pearly gates that surround your kingdom smile down at you, pearlescent clouds that seeps beneath the doors kissing your bare toes. Your wings waft in the air with ease, pumping euphoria through your veins as you smile up at your home. The tome is back now, cradled safely in your arms, reminding you of your mission. With a hope bright in your chest, you rapt your fingers on the doors.

“Father! I’ve retrieved the relic! I’m home!”

But the doors do not open. There is no sound of movement on the other side, no shift in the white clouds around you. It doesn’t even feel as if someone is not home. You can feel your siblings, you’ve always been able to sense them in your grace, but this sensation is reluctant. As if they peak through closed curtains on the other side, watching through a window with their hand on the door to prevent you from coming in.

“H-hello?” you try again, voice shaking as you knock with more fervor, denial warring with growing dread. “I-I said I’ve brought the relic.” Silence. “Hello?!” You smack on the doors now, the holy wood splitting at your skin and healing over again. Surely someone must be home. Maybe they are away? Maybe they are busy and do not hear?

You press your forehead against the door, wings drooping. Through your grace, you feel them there, still watching. Waiting for you to leave. But not to welcome you home.

“Please,” you whisper, eyes stinging. “Will someone—”

“They will not open the doors, little angel,” the demon speaks from behind you.

You jump from his sudden appearance, your body drained of all blood at the sordid thought of what is happening right now. Reality shifts again, the divine light of your home sucking back into darkness, the monolith and marble altar and obsidian floors coming back into view.

Your legs threaten to give as realization washes over you. You shake your head, lip quivering as tears blur the edges of your vision, your fingers curling on the altar. How could they do this to you? You have always struggled in this life, always been so ashamed that you do not think like the others. But to cast you out? To give you these wings and then make you feel as if you are beyond saving?

“Perhaps it is a mistake,” you whisper, your hope crumbling with every word. You feel his large form next to you before you hear any steps. “Why would they do this to me?”

You have no choice but to look up at him, to seek some form of answer in his burning yellow eyes. There’s a flicker of something that crosses his face—amusement? Maybe pity?

“They have offered you to me. A sacrifice to take the darkness from their pristine walls and feed it to the realm it belongs to.”

The words hang in the air, the horrifying truth once again presented to you. Your heart lurches in your chest. You recoil, your wings drooping to brush along the water covered floor.

“They fear you, little angel,” he continues, voice softening. “Your potential, your curiosity, your unwillingness to follow their absolutes.”

You slap your hands on the altar, the sound reverberating through the emptiness around you. “I will not.”

The demon chuckles, a low, sardonic noise that crawls up your dress and wraps around your throat. “Such defiance,” he purrs. “It’s quite…alluring.”

You can’t help the noise of shock and anger that crawls up your throat, shooting him a dark look. “I will not be corrupted by the likes of a demon like you.”

“Like me? So you imply that another demon may have a chance?” His jests fall on rageful ears, your wings flapping in defiance as you gape at him. He leans in close, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers. “You deny it all little angel. But you already are corrupt.”

You try to pull away from him, but a large hand falls to the small of your back, his fingers weaving through your wings in a caress that makes you choke on a whine.

“Come now, my dear.” The tip of his nose trails along your cheek, the touch sending flames of desire down your neck. You curl your fingers into a fist on the altar, your body ramrod straight.

“I can smell it on you,” he continues, his voice a silken caress. “The insatiable curiosity, the yearning for more, the essence that pools between your thighs every night before you sleep.”

The fingers in your plumage massage your skin, your shoulders relaxing into a traitorous sigh before with a swift motion, he plucks a feather from its root. You wince, your hand flying back to bat him away before he holds the feather in front of you, its tip stained a deep, inky black.

“Do you not try to hide it? You sneak to the archives. You let them smother your dreams. You do not tell them that you sneak away to the mortal realm to watch them eat, and bathe, and sin.”

He turns your wing to expose the underside where the feather was plucked, your eyes widening as if you’ve been caught. The skin is marred with a dark scar, the muscle underneath dried with blood and presenting as damning evidence of you plucking those feathers over and over, your cheeks covered in tears as you did your best to hide them away.

“You pluck your true self,” he whispers, voice laced with dry amusement. “But they only grow back stronger, don’t they?”

A breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through your defenses that you have built with weak mortar and brick for eons. Your eyes catch his, your desire reflected in burning gold.

“Even so…I cannot leave?”

He hums in reverence, a pointy finger trailing along your collarbone to brush a lock of hair from your shoulders, exposing more of your scent for him to breathe in.

“You have tried to leave already and you cannot. There is nowhere for you to go. I can let you roam to any realm you choose, but the doors of Heaven will be locked for you forever.”

Your eyes bubble with tears. It’s an unfortunate hand that you have been dealt. A hand always opened to you in promise even as the other held a dagger behind the back of divinity. There’s a deep part of you that would try to find some sort of silver lining in moments of darkness, a silver lining that only benefits you.

“If I stay…what will you give me?” you ask, your voice small and defeated.

The demon sinks to one knee in front of you, his eye level now only a little taller than you, but still more humane than his hovering from before. He offers a slow, predatory smile, his lips parting to reveal sharp pearly white fangs.

“You already think in ways that will benefit yourself, don’t you? Whatever you desire, little angel, I will give it.” The sharp point of his nail trails down your cheek, casting a wave of arousal down your body, your stomach tightening. “Anything at all.”

You cannot deny the promise of whatever you want does not make you perk mildly with curiosity, the same curiosity that was always quelled.

You lick your lips in thought, a nervous habit that your siblings have always discouraged. It’s unbecoming of an angel, they’d say, a physical manifestation of want. But you’ve always like the way your tongue feels against the plump flesh of your lips.

“Anything?”

He inclines his head to you, eyes answering without having to say. You hesitate, your mind racing with possibilities, unleashed with nothing to hold them back.

“I want…” you begin, stopping short at the coil of desire that burns in your body. You’ve never given it a true voice, and now that you’ve been presented with the opportunity, you are unsure of how to proceed.

The demon’s eyes roam over your form before they brighten with understanding. “You wish to read the tome.”

You nod, unable to speak past the dry lump in your throat. He summons it quickly, the worn leather materializing in his enormous hands as he hands it to you like an offering of forbidden fruit.

“Take it,” he urges in a seductive whisper. “It is yours.”

You reach out with trembling fingers, your grace pulsing with desire, it’s feel growing bolder as you snatch it up into your hands and let it flow through you. The leather is cool beneath your fingertips, worn with the promise of centuries of words you’ve always wanted.

When you open the book and let your eyes fall on the faded script, they rearrange themselves like before, translating to you in a seductive dance that makes your toes curl. The knowledge overwhelms you, flooding your senses in a wave of information about this realm—its history and inhabitants and magic. You feel a thrill of excitement, a suppressed sense of liberation as you turn page after page.

From your peripheral, you see the demon offer that same predatory smile. With a snap of his fingers, the world shifts around you again. You are further from the monolith but instead of the altar, you are surrounded by looming bookshelves, all filled to the brim. Ancient tomes and scrolls, dusty relics that have been neglected over the years but kept in condition by this demon who rules this realm.

“This is a taste of what I can offer you. All of it is yours.” He steps closer, the energy that he radiates filling your space with darkness and seduction that terrifies and excites you. “There is so much more I can show you,” he whispers in your ear again. “Would you like that?”

Even though your body and soul buzz with satisfaction from the books around you, the shame is still there, still bubbling beneath the surface next to your dejection.

Sensing your unease, he places tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that you long to fall into before the world morphs again.

He takes you back to where you began, the realm’s outskirts. However there is no russet fog that is thick and smells of decay and misery, this time your vision is clear. The shadows that once hovered around you in your quest to the monolith now reveal themselves as souls—humans that you recognize from your years of observation.

“Do you remember her?” the demon asks, pointing to a small woman tending to a bush of flowers. “The woman from years ago who stole medicine for her dying child because she had no money.”

You do remember watching with tear filled eyes. It was an ancient time where death was a sentence given freely, and this mother had been called to the land of the dead for stealing bread.

“You watched her pray for forgiveness even as she did what was necessary.” His hand rests on your lower back, reassuring in its pressure. “Heaven would have condemned her. I gave her purpose.”

“How do you give purpose if you are a demon?”

The demon huffs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “It is true that I gain my strength through corruption. But it is corruption through intellectual rebellion and questioning minds. I am strong because no matter how many years may pass, there will always be a soul that questions.”

Each soul that you pass triggers a memory—struggles you watched but could never reach out and help. And in each memory, you gain more clarity—he was always there in the mortal realm, appearing in navy and tan just like you thought.

“You’ve been watching me then,” you inquire, tucking your tome closer to your chest as you cast a sidelong glance to him.

“It is my nature,” he rumbles from next to you. “You understand the beauty in grey areas. The necessity of balance.” His fingers glide along the empty space where you plucked your blackened wings. “Here, you could judge with mercy and justice. Rule in the knowledge they feared.”

Power.

A destructive thing that has elevated so many and torn them down. But the call of it has always been sweet, and now you are the subject of it. The very thought of it makes your knees weaken, your grace fluttering like a leave in the wind. This could be something more honest, not Heaven’s sterile authority.

The soil that is no longer red vibrates beneath you, pulsing up your ankles and calves, around your waist and torso in thick vines that pull you to the monolith miles away.

“Easy, my dear,” he murmurs, a muscular arm sliding around your waist to prevent you from swaying further. “The first taste of true power always overwhelms.” Your grace flickers between divine light and seductive shadow, somehow grounded by his hold.

Every soul’s story calls to you now, complex choices and grey morality making your divine nature pulse with stomped out recognition. You lean into him, falling more into his scent, your wings brushing his back to seek balance.

“I…” you trail off, clutching the relic in your arms, using it to ground you through your thoughts that fight between light and dark.

“What else would you like?” he purrs in your ear, his hand reaching out to the realm beyond that begins to shift again. A vast kitchen filled with warmth and enticing scents. “Earthly pleasures are denied amongst angels.” The pristine counter tops are soon overflown with rich goods and goblets of wine. “Even something as simple as this.”

You’ve never had wine—it’s forbidden—at least for you. But the way it catches the warm fireplace behind it, deep and rich…your mouth waters.

“Freedom to roam where you wish.”

Glimpses of different realms flash by—clouds of different shapes and sizes, landscapes of mountains and water as clear as crystal, beings that take on their own forms as they wander the lands—places you’ve only dreamt of exploring, of asking to see and always been denied.

His voice drops lower, more intimate and hot on your cheek. “Or perhaps…” Another shift. A dark room you remember faintly—through gauzy curtains, you see two figures entwined in candlelight. The brown skin of limbs and curves wrapped around tan that shimmers faintly. You recognize the hips of the woman, the collarbone and hair, and you realize it’s you. You wrapped around this very demon next to you who appears in the mortal realm as a human with carefully parted locks and a height fit for yourself.

Your blood boils beneath your skin as you try to look away. But like every forbidden thing that’s ever called to you, your eyes are drawn back to the scene—to the way your dream-self arches into his touch, the way your neck cranes, the sight of his tongue sliding along the sweat of your brown breast.

He hums from behind you, his demonic form pressing closer as you watch his human glamour worship your other self. That familiar wave of shame wars with the desire in your body, trying its best to smother the arousal that tightens your nipples beneath your white dress. All of it you suffer night after night—your grace singing, skin hot and sweaty—essence coating your thighs.

“I—” you stutter for words, eyes locked on the human form that rolls his hips and swallows a moan that shakes from your other-self. “This is wrong…”

His starlight fingers trace your collarbone, mimicking the tongue of his human form. “Your body remembers what they tried to smother away. How many nights did you wake burning for this? For me?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The realm shifts one final time, the familiar garden walls and monolith appearing before you, the altar pressing into your back. The demon circles you, giving you no time to recover as his prying eyes pick you apart feather by feather.

“Even your grace recognizes where you truly belong.” He reaches out, trailing pointy nails down your spine, your body arching of its own volition. “Here. With me.”

His hands engulf your entire waist, his touch making you gasp as he lifts you up to sit on the altar before him.

“Every dream they tried to bury,” his hands trail up your thighs, “every desire they made you forget…” he steps closer, taking the oxygen from your lungs that you expel, his naked chest a hairsbreadth from your searching fingers. “All of it has lead to this moment. To me.”

“I—” you try to protest, but it dies in your throat as he tilts your chin to face him.

“You were meant for this realm,” he leans in, trailing his nose along your shaking lips. “I will make you mine. As my queen, my consort, my equal.” You press the tome further into your chest like a lifeline as his hand rests on the side of your neck, his nails grazing the lobe of your ear. “You’ve always known it. Even in those dreams where you surrendered to me so sweetly.”

His lips are close enough to kiss you, but they brush your jaw instead, trailing electricity down your throat. “Anything you want,” he breathes against your pulse, smiling at the sight of it’s rapid flutter, “you will have, little angel.” His mouth moves to that sensitive spot behind your ear that you discovered one night centuries ago. “But you must surrender to me. You have been offered and now you must be consumed.”

You clutch the tome tighter, using it as a tether even as your head tilts to give him better access. “I should not…”

“Surrender,” he whispers, lips ghosting your shoulder now, each kiss punctuated with promises that you should deny. “Let me worship you.” A kiss to your collarbone. “You will never be denied again.” His mouth traces back to hover over your lips. “Submit to what you have always wanted.”

The burn in your body makes your skin tingle, your core pulse with forbidden need, your nipples tighten in pleasure. Everything you’ve always wanted, could be given to you right now.

All of your dedication to faith has only led to tears and shame and disappointment. But here, you could be rewarded for your curiosity, exalted for your power to see what others do not, consumed in pleasure without the eyes of disdain looking down on you.

Here, with this beautiful demon, you can have it all.

For as powerful and as dark as he is, despite the patient hunger in his golden eyes, you realize he’s waiting. You must give the final say. A final say to do away with eons of denying, of plucking dark feathers, of letting them bury your dreams…

“Please,” the words shake from your lips before you can stop it, the tome slipping from your defeated grasp.

His eyes flash with satisfaction, mouth twitching with the urge to smile, but he relents. “Say it properly, little angel.” His mouth brushes the corner of your lips in not quite a kiss. “Tell me.”

Your wings spread wider of their own accord, trembling and stretching past invisible threads that have always held them down. “I want…I will to surrender.”

You hardly finish your words before you feel the press of his lips against yours, gentle and almost reverent. It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed, and it’s as euphoric as you’ve always thought. Your toes curl in satisfaction, your body hums with arousal, low and beneath the surface but quickly growing.

The hand on your neck tilts you up so he can feast further, a wet tongue sliding along the seam of your lips in a quiet ask for permission. You let your body guide you, opening your mouth to welcome him with a groan.

He tastes like he smells—green tea and honey, a hint of rich bread that you occasionally try in the mortal realm. It’s intoxicating, dark mingled with your fading sweetness. One that speaks of corruption and surrender.

What started as gentle quickly turns hungry and consuming. Your grace shivers as you catalogue every shift in your body, learning from the lessons of his tongue. Each stroke of him feels like corruption, like freedom, like finally coming home and you arch into him for more.

Your white dress slowly disappears before you, your body revealing to him naked and shivering. You try to cover yourself, an urge ingrained in you since your coming of existence, but the demon’s large hand stops you, gathering both hands in his strong grip and placing them at your sides.

He does not wait a second longer, his mouth trailing in worship down your neck and across your collarbone to pepper the swell of your breasts, your core pounding incessantly as he gets closer to one nipple before he wraps it in his hot mouth.

A moan shakes from your mouth, unexpected and loud into the quiet air of this monolith room. Your hands reach up to card in his golden locks, they’re warm and impossibly silky, the flame colored ends burning more than the rest. You let the pain of it singe your fingertips, basking in the euphoric pleasure pain of your skin growing back and burning all over again.

His hand envelops your other breasts, his sharp nails teasing your nipple before he drags it slowly across your areola. Your fingers tighten in his hair from the pain, your core dripping on the marble altar you sit on.

“You taste wonderful, little angel,” he purrs into the wet skin of your breast, pulling away before he gently nudges you onto your back. Your wings stretch languidly to make you more comfortable against the flat surface. The urge to cover yourself is not as insistent as before, the desire eating you up without reservation. “But I must taste more.”

He leans over the altar you lay on, kissing your lips gently before his tongue slides along the skin of your neck and down your body. It’s longer than a mortal tongue, and when they circle your nipples again, you shake at the pronged tip that flicks your bud.

He worships down your torso to dip in your navel, over the dip in your hips before his hands push your legs up onto his shoulders and he licks your sopping core from bottom to top.

You arch sharply, teeth digging into your bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the moan from shooting from your throat.

You’ve watched the humans many times in the shadows, transfixed when their mouths worship these parts of their partner, but to experience it yourself? To feel the demons tongue part your folds and circle the bud at the top that makes you cry into your pillows at night. Heaven has hidden away beautiful pleasure.

“Look at how much you give me,” he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh before you feel his tongue on you again, prodding your entrance that you’ve sunken your fingers into at night.

You bite down on your lip, shivering in pleasure as he prods further and further, your legs widening with each current of pleasure until he sinks his wide tongue inside of you. You taste copper from your bleeding lip that heals over quickly, your bare feet digging into the demon’s broad shoulders as he feasts on your essence.

With every gasp, your wings quiver in anticipation, curling into your body to protect yourself from a euphoria that is growing so quickly in your stomach.

“Please,” you whisper in disbelief, hands twisting his hair with your divine strength. He hums in satisfaction, satisfied with what you give and digging for more.

His tongue strokes inside of you with purpose, caressing something along the roof of your hot walls, his nose brushing your bundle of nerves once, twice, the pleasure enough to make your jaw drop, to make you pant feverishly into the air, to make your back arch until the base of your spine hurts as you come apart by the seams.

Your release makes you cry out into the air, the sound brushing along the monolith, the constant pulsing stopping to take in your pleasure before it resumes its steady pulse.

He rises slowly as you struggle to catch your breath, his golden eyes tracing over your shivering form from head to toe. His grey obsidian hands slide up your trembling thighs as he leans over you.

“Beautiful,” he purrs before he kisses your lips. You swallow your taste—tangy and rich like the divinity that courses through your veins. “But I must have all of you to make this complete.”

All of you?

You look down to find that his pants are gone, starlight shining bright on his hips that seem to point down to the member that hangs between his thighs. Your eyes widen—he’s definitely bigger than mortals, purplish veins that trail along the sides, a tip that is darker than his grey, the skin flickering with those shimmering stars you are growing to love.

He’s beautiful, and without thinking you reach out to touch. He’s impossibly hard but also incredibly soft, and you watch in fascination as his dark flame-colored wings expand and shake in supplication.

He leans his head back to the grey skies, swallowing deeply at your touch and there’s a sense of power you feel. To know that with a single touch you can make this powerful demon fracture just a little.

He wraps his hand around yours to stop you, pulling you up so that he can sit on the altar instead. Even though he’s tall, you’re able to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.

Your wings stretch and flap behind you, sparse feathers wafting in their air to fall around you both in white, grey, and black. Even though you feel loose from your first release, there is a subtle power that thrums with every flap of your wings.

You look at the monolith again. The pulse has picked up steadily, seeming to match your own heartbeat. Maybe there is a connection to the power inside of it and what might be coursing through you now.

As you tail up the length of it until it disappears into the grey clouds, you think faintly of those who cast you out. The pleasure fractures a little with pain, your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

“My angel,” he calls to you, softly, turning your gaze back to him. His golden and flame locks are messy, his horns pulsing with shimmering light, the navy and gold armor gone so that he is as naked as you are. “That pain that you feel will go away with time. I will make sure you will never know it again.”

The promise fills you with hope, and the press of his lips to yours makes the sordid thoughts fall to the wayside, your pleasure humming to life at the base of your spine.

The touch of his fingers to your core makes you whine into his mouth, pulling away with only a gossamer of saliva connecting you both. He strokes your bud, drinking your sighs and moans as your thighs and stomach tighten, your fingers digging into his soft shoulders.

He pulls you up onto your knees, your wet entrance brushing the thick tip of him before he guides you onto him slowly. It’s a stretch, far thicker than your fingers and foreign inside of you.

The initial pain makes you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. It feels as if you’re being split in two from your hips, torn apart with a strength that only makes you shiver and moan.

One hand slides along one wing to soothe you, his lips pressing to your neck. Eventually, the pain gradually melts into pleasure, his hands possessive on your hips as he guides you with careful restraint. You quake at the feel of him inside of you, stretching and molding your muscles in each euphoric stroke.

“Perfect,” he breathes against your shoulder. “Look how well you take me.” His voice resonates deep in your core, a sound that both terrifies and entices you, a forbidden melody that you are slowly learning the notes to.

You whimper in response, relishing in his praise as you begin to move faster on top of him, bouncing with a newfound sense of purpose. Your wings flap with more insistence, stretching and bending with the power that begins to seep out of your skin, white feathers less in abundance with each flap.

The demon’s nails dig into your waist and you sigh into the pain, picking up the pace until you’re not sure where he stops and you begin.

The power takes you higher and higher, your skin breaking into a sheen of sweat, your gasps dying in the air as you pant and moan above him. The pleasure at the base of your spine heats quickly, bubbling with sticky satisfaction as it slides down your vertebrae and into your core.

“That’s it,” he growls, nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks, canting your hips toward him so the tip of his member brushes that spot on your upper walls once again.

You choke on a moan, head thrown back in bliss, nails dragging down the solid muscle of his chest. Your wings curl around you, dark feathers replacing white with each thrust.

“Transform for me completely. Embrace what you truly are.”

“Yes,” you hiss, your mouth falling open as you struggle for breath. Your core tightens around him, the bundle of nerves shaking even untouched, and you’re falling, you’re falling, you’re—

The demon shifts again, his member leaving your hot core and denying you of release, your hands now pressed to the altar as you’re bent over. You whine in annoyance, looking over your darkening wings at his large form as he heaves with breath.

He regards you with a dark look, one that shows just how capable he is of picking you apart, and your mouth fills with saliva at the thought.

He draws one leg up onto the altar before sliding into you once more without pretense. You groan around the stretch of him, marveling at the pinch of pain that bleeds into overwhelming pleasure as he picks up his pace inside of you.

What starts out as reverent and gentle soon turns feverish. His strokes are deeper, his hips snapping against your open legs, a haze of pleasure clouding every crevice of your mind as he kisses spots inside of you that makes you groan, hiss, and whine.

The monolith picks up in speed, pulse matching your heartbeat as you climb higher and higher up a ladder of darkness that has always been denied.

You don’t know why, you don’t know where it comes from, but the last slivers of your salvation slide to the surface, tickling your throat one last time before they leave your soul forever.

“Please, please, Father,” you moan, eyes filling with tears of satisfaction as your body jerks with every harsh thrust of the demon behind you. One of his hands weaves into your locks, curling tight before yanking you back to him, arching until our stomach presses into the altar. “Forgive me.”

“We will have none of that,” he warns, out of breath. “You seek forgiveness to someone who is not listening. You pray to someone who has cast you out. And here you are. Under me. Calling for him as you weep on my cock in pleasure.”

His sharp fingers slide down your hip to circle over your bud of nerves and you cry out, tears streaming down your face, power radiating up your limbs. “Keep moaning, little angel. Keep begging.” He leans over you, pressing his hot chest into your wings, his breath hot on your ear as the tips of his pronged tongue slide along your lobe. “In your eyes you are soiled. Filthy. And my sweet goddess loves it, doesn’t she?”

You shake your head to deny, deny, deny. But a hard thrust, a stroke of his thick cock that kisses your cervix, and you sob in the pain that molds into pleasure. Your nipples brush against the cold marble, each icy touch shockwaves down your spine.

“I’ve watched you, my dove. When you study the humans in their pleasure. I’ve seen the way your pupils dilate. I’ve smelt the essence between your thighs. You dream of this don’t you?”

You try to whisper your Father’s name one last time, to show with your last breath of divinity that you were an angel who worked hard.

“You won’t say his name here anymore. Not in my realm—in our realm. Not in my arms while you cum on my cock. The only name you will moan and beg and plead is mine.”

Your wings flap in reverence, responding to his demands as they stretch around you. No longer are your feathers white, now they are inky black, as dark as midnight, as mysterious as the darkness you peer into.

The monolith quickens, a hummingbird’s wings, the bright core sliding up and down the tree-like structure and bleeding with vibration through the ground and up the altar.

Even as your mind tries to deny what you are becoming, your soul speaks otherwise, your core clenches around him unwilling to let go. The demon behind you grunts with each thrust, low and seductive on the back of your neck, his nose smelling the skin.

“I can’t—” you choke, fingers sliding on the altar from your sweat. “Please.”

“Please what?” he groans.

“More, please more, more, more,” you beg, words and resolve splintering in your throat as he rewards you with deeper thrusts, each one making you see the stars that shimmer along his skin.

“Say my name,” he demands, one hand sliding up your throat. You gasp at the subtle pressure on each side, not enough to do anything, but enough to make a dark current of pleasure pulse inside of you. “Let the skies above hear who you belong to now.”

You don’t know where the name comes from. He’s never given it to you. You’ve never asked. But somewhere, deep down in some ancient place in your soul, you’ve always known all along. Known him.

“Nanami,” it falls from your lips like a broken prayer. “Nanami, please—”

His teeth graze your pulse, sharp fangs dragging along your skin as pleasure builds in your body beyond reason. Your wings spread impossibly wide, your skin hums in arousal, hot and stinging.

The monolith’s pulse quickens with you, its light growing brighter as the power in your body travels through your veins to complete a transformation you can feel in your fallen grace. Even with every harsh pump of his hips, you feel worshiped. Worshipped by his hands. Worshipped on this altar in front of a monolith that watches over you both.

“You were an offering—a gift to me. Molded by the heavens. And now you’re mine. And your Father sent you to me,” he growls against your throat. “My dark goddess.”

His thrusts grow harder, more desperate, each one a brand searing its mark into your very soul. A mix of your essence and his precum pools on the altar where you are joined. The last embers of your angelic resistance crumble completely, replaced by an insatiable hunger that mirrors his own.

“Let go. Surrender to me completely.”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

That hot lava at the base of your spine explodes like a volcano of unholy fire as his teeth sink into your neck, marking you as his. Your release bursts from you, your core squeezing his thick member, your muscles seizing as your mouth falls open and your cries echo through the realm as divine light fractures into starry darkness.

All of your abilities that have been repressed swirl within the darkness and mix with the forbidden powers awakening within you. It feels like the very essence of your being is changing, transforming into something wild, a reflection of the demon who guided you with a sultry voice down this path.

You feel a rivulet of your blood trail down the side of your neck from his puncture, blazing with the essence of darkness that now pumps through your veins. He releases his teeth from your neck and turns your head to him with more force than necessary, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he kisses you senseless.

You can’t breathe, your body is loose, your grip on the edge of the altar slipping with each relentless thrust but you love it. Every smack of heavy balls against your clit, every slide of sweaty muscles of his chest against your wings and back, every pulse of your cunt around his cock.

Nanami pulls away breathless, the hand around your throat tightening imperceptibly, the sharp tips of his fingernails breaking skin. His pronged tongue slides along your cheeks to collect your fallen tears.

Every noise that leaves your mouth is against everything you hold dear, a sound of sin, debauchery and lust.

“I’m yours,” you whisper against his lips, your breath punching out of you with each desperate thrust. Nanami’s eyebrows furrow and his nose crinkles with a snarl, his wings pulsing with flame as his release climbs up his body as well. “I’m yours, Nanami.”

“Take my essence, little angel,” he demands, biting your lip until you draw blood. You lick up the coppery tang, falling into the prickly grip on your neck as he takes what he needs from you. “One day, when you have ruled with me for centuries to come, when you are one in your skin, perhaps my essence will take root.”

Your eyes widen at the implication, your soul no longer quivering in blasphemy but in satisfaction. How you would love that. One day. With him.

“Yes, Nanami,” you whisper into him, accepting one more kiss as he strokes once, twice, and a final time before he shivers from head to toe and groans with deep pleasure into your mouth.

His darkness seeps into the remnants of your light, a forbidden dance of shadow and flame now made true. He pumps hot semen into you, far too much for comfort and your essence combines with his demonic energy, feeding the power that still ebbs in your veins.

He falls into you, his hold on your throat vanishing to slide down to your naked stomach, pressing to the spot where he is still lodged inside. You reach back, carding your hands through his burning hair, reveling in the shiver he gives you.

He pulls out of you slowly and your cunt clenches around nothing, legs shaking at the feel of his semen dripping from you. He does not entertain the mess but gathers you in his arms, carrying you past the defiled altar and monolith that has fallen into a gentle ebb once more. The obsidian floors open up again, the thin layer of water rising within a large tub of water that steams with inviting heat.

He sinks you both into the steaming water, your new darkened wings flapping at the moisture that touches your plumage. When he dips your head beneath the surface, it feels like baptism in reverse—washing away heaven’s hold rather than blessing you with it. When you emerge, you feel reborn, your shame and disappointment for your former family now washed away.

You sigh at the effect hot water on your muscles, melting into the large expanse of his chest. He does not speak and you do not ask questions, content to watch him manifest a tray of oils and soaps that smell of green tea and burning honey.

He plucks a marble comb from the tray and drags it gently through your curls, each stroke bending with the texture of your hair to guide without tangle, each pass worship and calming.

Once your hair is untangled and silky, he washes your skin with the soap and oils that smell of him. You study him openly now—the way constellations shift across his skin, how his golden eyes hold both demonic power and intelligent precision, the careful way he maintains order even in darkness.

He dresses you in black fabric that flows like liquid shadow, clinging to your curves like his possessive touch. Instead of the starry sky, the black material is adorned by golden accents that match his eyes and armor.

The altar recedes into the floor and in its place, two large thrones emerge. Carved from pure white marble shot through with veins of gold, they’re identical in height and grandeur—a statement of what he promised you—equal rule.

Dark vines curl around their bases, blooming with black roses, while plush velvet cushions in deep navy make them as comfortable as they are magnificent.

He throws you an inquisitive rise of his brow, what was once used to pick you apart upon first meeting him, now make your lips curl in a smile. You pretend to ponder which you will choose, humming noncommittally before you sink into one chair, sighing into the softness around your body and wings.

Nanami bends down, taking a hand in both of his before he kisses your palm. “You look magnificent,” he purrs, your hand still in his while he sits on his throne.

With a snap of his fingers, the garden walls disappear, revealing the vast landscape that was once shrouded in horror and fear when you first arrived.

Now it appears without malice, without misery or shame, but of exotic greenery and souls who have been neglected for only choosing a path that feels wrong even though it is right.

The heavens is but a distant memory now, infinitesimal in the many years you will continue to exist. Now, you bask in the new power in your bones, in the brush of Nanami’s lips to your palm once more.

As the stars on his skin ebb and fade with light, you take in the muscles of his torso, the strength in his movements as he worships you without speaking.

It has taken eons to get to this moment, but some part of you preens with the satisfaction that Nanami has always been watching, waiting for you to come to him.

Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween!

[xoblondie]

The Forbidden Fruit

TW : 18+, stalkerish, dark!Mattheo, religious undertones, non-con content, prey/predator metaphors etc. Nothing is actually explicit but it’s all intended (HEAVY symbolism).

Temptation.

The cardinal sin that ravaged through his body, mimicking his blood flow. Taunting him with every movement you made. A war was ravaging inside Mattheo’s mind and body. A fight for control of his actions as he observed your every move.

A fight he was currently loosing, as he watched you amongst the crowd of your peers, moving seamlessly amongst them. Like you weren’t the only thing plaguing his mind no matter what he did. He couldn’t escape your fingers he found himself wrapped around. And you were completely oblivious to his unholy intentions and his lingering stares.

To him, you were as pure as powdered snow; you were soft, delicate and easy to fall into. Creating a mixture that made his mouth water with the thought of you. You were an elixir that he found himself hooked on, like an addict chasing a high.

To you, he was dark and corrupted. With bloodied knuckles and his teeth bared to the world, you knew he was bad news for you. His violence had no place amongst your peace, even if he had a peculiar place within your heart.

But what he wanted, he always got and he knew you were too innocent of heart to ever understand his underlying intentions. You were a lamb caught by a timber wolf. Purity that would be forcefully taken by a predator, no matter how much you fought back. A lamb would never grow up and grow the pointed canines it needed to protect its wool. And like a predator he would lure you away from the safety of your herd, into his sharp fangs.

In the later hours of the night, in a large leather chair perched by a fireplace, he watched your soft locks frame your face, accentuating the natural pout to your plump lips. You read your book as if it were an ancient text, showing you the answer to all your life’s questions. Your oversized sweater and tiny shorts struggling to cover the tops of your exposed thighs as you sat amongst the faded leather. Silky skin pooling against the existence of the fabric, accentuating your plump hips. The sight driving his primal urges to cave into his temptations.

His lamb was oblivious and vulnerable to the fate before them, as he closed in.

Stalking his lonesome prey, he would pin you down before biting your neck, leaving a reddened ring of his mouths artwork. Creating art out of you, all while you attempt to fight his lapse of control. He would eat your heart out. Ripping into it like a rich pomegranate, just trying to get to the fruitful seeds hidden beneath. And he would ignore as the juice stained his hands a bloody red, showcasing his corrupt actions. He would rip apart your ribs just to taste every part of your being. Drinking up your blood like cherry wine and kissing your lips as if they were the last thing he would ever taste in this life. The way he loved you was sacrilegious, an unholy tribute to the gods above.

He was godless in his actions, with roughened love and a darkness behind his fiery eyes. He burnt for you and only you. And you were a moth to his light, sacrificing yourself to his ritual as he tore away what was once pure.

Falling for his temptation was never your plan, but you became more and more addicted to his drug with every hit. No god could save you from the starving wolf as it striked down its prey.

You were his forbidden fruit, the lust he could never control. He would be bound to your soul forever, alike Persephone to the underworld. For your beauty was worth the mess he made of you. Destroying your light, to fulfill his dark sins and desires.

A/N: im afraid I ate with this one. LITERALLY. this is definitely a different writing style than what I normally do but I’m in LOVE with how this turned out <3

[yanderestarangel]

♡ 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧 ♡

TW: ftm reader, afab anatomy, non con, v!sex, forced feminization, kidnapping, manipulation, praise, use of powers, power play, unprotected sex, degradation, fingering, hard sex, overstimulation, dark themes, breed!kink, porn plot.

'Easily manipulated' was a word that summed up your persona for the grandmaster, he could see your gentle and sweet nature, which made him feel like it would be so easy to take advantage of you like that.

𝐓𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

Just thinking about it drove him crazy. Bi Han can feel that his pupils are dilating just by looking at you - This showed him how much you affect him, so his already corrupted mind thought of the safest and quickest plan of having your soul and body all to himself... Kidnapping.

It was easy to convince you to be alone with your kind leader... And right after a cup of green tea, everything went dark, and with an unbearable headache you woke up naked in a big, unfamiliar bed - with your breasts hanging out, and your wrists tied. over your head, wearing white lace panties, your body was hot and your mind was in a confusing blur - until you heard the door slam, and saw bi han walk in, but before you had any hope of the ninja being there to save you... You saw the crooked smile painted on his lips, you had no escape there - his gauze filled with dark desire as he continued to massage your soft skin, his hands caressing every inch of your exposed body. His touch was both gentle and possessive, like a predator savoring its prey.

"-You are so beautiful... a little prince, I did exactly what I wanted to do. I brought you here to indulge in your deepest desires," he whispered huskily, his breath tickling your ear. "-I can feel how hot you are, how wet and needy. It's as if your body is aching for my touch." His fingers trailed down your stomach, tracing circles around your navel before sliding lower, closer to your glistening heat.

"-I've fantasized about your moans, your desperate cries for more. And now, I'm going to make those fantasies a reality." With that, he dipped his fingers into your wetness, his eyes never leaving yours. He started with a slow, torturous pace, savoring every gasp and whimper that escaped your lips. His touch was expert, his fingers dancing skillfully over your swollen clit. "-You're so responsive," he purred, savoring the sweet sounds you made. "-Just like I imagined. Such a good little slut for me."

You moaned as your body betrayed your mind, you wanted to scream, cry and push the cyromancer away from you - but the bonds and his thick, cold fingers deliciously stretched every bit of your cunt. You mumbled a few words, feeling the lace fabric brush against your fingers, the pain and discomfort of being exposed were disappearing in your core.

"-You don't understand how much power you hold over me," he whispered, his voice filled with raw lust. "-Every time I see you, I ache to touch you, to taste you. Your body, your essence, it drives me wild." he added a second finger, stretching you to accommodate him - your moans growing louder as your orgasm built within you.

He watched your every reaction, his arousal evident in the bulge straining against his pants. You accumulated a little of your conscience, even with the eminent pleasure that accumulated there, closing your thighs and kicking the older man, but the dreaded 'sub zero' wasn't going to let a little boy like you deny him, on the contrary, that made him even more excited - after all, he was not one to shy away from his desires, nor was he afraid to manipulate the situation to suit his needs.

"-I can always take what I want... by force." He cupped your breasts in his hands, his touch possessive and demanding. He kneaded and squeezed, his fingers pinching your sensitive nipples. "-Do you really think you can outrun me, defy me? Your body, your very soul, calls out for my possession. I can feel it, just as surely as I can feel your wetness against my fingers." he tore your lacy panties apart, exposing your wet and swollen pussy to the cool air, his gaze locking onto your delicate folds.

"-I'll show you just how much of a prince you can be," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "-You crave my cock, don't you my little prince?" Bi Han positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock grazing against your folds. The anticipation was almost unbearable, both for him and for you. He relished in the knowledge that he could give you pleasure like no one else could.

"-You can resist me all you want, but I'll break down every wall, every defense you have until you're begging for more. You're mine, whether you like it or not." Without warning, he thrust into you with a powerful force, claiming your tight, wet heat in one swift movement - you feel him stretching you, filling you completely. He groaned in approval, his eyes locking with yours, as his hips began to move. The grandmaster smirked cruelly, relishing in the power and control he had over your delicate body - reveled in the lewd scene, watching as your pussy clenched and winked around his cock, he could see the need in your eyes, despite your attempts to resist.

Bi Han's thrusts quickened once again, his strength and stamina evident as he pounded into you, "-You're trying to resist, but your body betrays you. Your moans, the way your sweet pussy clenches around me, it screams surrender." He relished in the sounds of your moans and cries of pleasure, his own groans intertwining with yours.

"-I'm going to fuck you senseless, make you come untouched, until there's nothing left but a trembling, submissive mess." He paused mid-thrust, his cock still buried deep inside you, and leaned down towards your ear. His breath was cold against your skin, sending shivers of fear down your spine.

"-I can feel how wet you are, how close you are to breaking, my little slut..." he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "-And when you do, I want you to scream my name. Scream it loud enough for everyone to hear." The words hung in the air, heavy with their meaning. He wasn't just talking about sex; he was claiming ownership, marking you as his. And as if to emphasize his point, he thrust deeper than ever before, hitting an angle that made you cry out.

"-You see, my little boy? No matter how much you resist, no matter what lies you tell yourself, deep down, you crave this... You always wanted me to abuse that cute pussy of yours, didn't you?" Sub zero thrust deeper, his cock hitting an angle inside you that made everything around you blur. The sensation was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. It was like he had unlocked some hidden part of yourself, a dark and twisted desire that had been lying dormant until now. "-Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough with need. "-Do you want my seed inside you? Do you crave the thought of being pregnant by me?"

"Fuck no" was the last thing you said before your orgasm hit, a wave of pleasure so intense that it almost blinded you. But instead of repulsion or disgust, all you felt was a raw, primal need for more. "-Yes... You crave it. You want my seed inside you... Such a good boy." his voice filled with triumph.

His words were fuel to the fire, making your body tremble with unbridled lust. And as he spoke, he came too, his cum mixing with yours, creating a messy, wet bond between you two. As the intensity of your orgasms subsided, reality began to seep back into your minds. You found yourself wrapped in his arms, your body still wet from your combined fluids. And despite everything that had happened, despite the manipulation, there was an undeniable connection between you two.

"-I didn't mean for it to be like this... But I couldn't resist you…"

🌸 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 "𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧" 🌸

𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨𝐦!𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧

𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧

𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭 ©𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 2024. 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓹𝔂, 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓼𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮

[kentstoji]

ㅤㅤㅤ NECTAROUS

ㅤㅤㅤ pairing. mk men x gn reader.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤsetting. mortal kombat.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤtype. headcanons (a little suggestive).

ㅤㅤㅤkissing liu kang was a divine experience, akin to discovering a new world and venturing into it, relishing every romantic ecstasy. his arms were strong and warm, carrying a distinctive fire befitting his position attained after his triumph against kronika. being enveloped by him in a loving and almost possessive embrace was like diving into liquid lava, yet the flames were harmless. (the most they could do was leave purple and reddish marks along your beautiful neck, while liu kang's experienced and bold lips traced a path, and your face took on undesired shades of scarlet.) your lips part in fervent lamentation, breathless.

ㅤㅤㅤbi-han was, by nature, a conqueror and consequently, a born leader. a dominator in various aspects, and in the romantic realm, this particularity wouldn't easily alter. honoring the element he proudly manipulated, bi-han had frigid lips, like a morning after an intense snowstorm. his hands, firm and calloused by years of battles and victories, established a rule at the base of your neck, keeping you under the grandmaster's longing, shaping you to fulfill his needs and desires. it was a selfish dance in which you never had the chance to be victorious, but teasing him to the limit was as satisfying as winning a battle. he exploded, and you loved paying the price. (kissing him was like feeding a voracious, wild creature that had no basic knowledge of emotions. the beast, however, calmed when tasting the flavor of your lips, biting them until he felt the sweet taste of your life essence flowing crimson between his lips.)

ㅤㅤㅤjohnny cage was a provocateur, and you were his favorite victim. maintaining a playful spirit, Johnny's kisses were a wet mess, lips colliding eagerly, a overwhelming need. his hands fixed themselves on your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer as he yearned to merge into one body, immortalizing the passion and love between you. it was common to find a glistening line of saliva when you finally parted. you were breathless, your chest moving frantically in search of oxygen and... something more. johnny would notice this. (of course, he would notice. he always made a point to observe the reactions when you were together.)

ㅤㅤㅤ"can you handle more, sweetheart?" he questions, his pink, swollen lips curving into a wicked smile, full of cruel promises.

ㅤㅤㅤwithin and outside a relationship, you are shang tsung's test subject, the perfect specimen at the mercy of his dark ideals. breakable and submissive, like a pet, you've become his favorite pastime, the perfect challenge. unraveling the mysteries of your body is an art for him, a game where every touch and kiss are strategies to corrupt the remaining shreds of sanity within you. he appreciates knowledge, and your genuine reactions are accompanied by translucent pearls of warm tears. tears of ecstasy, he concludes with arrogance. shang tsung is a selfish partner; (his kisses are long and suffocating, embedding themselves in you like a parasite.) the scent of his perfume will linger, intoxicating and persistent.

ㅤㅤㅤhanzo is an uncontrollable romantic, and his soul is as warm as the affections he displays in the comfort of the space he now calls home in your relationship. kissing him is an open invitation to be consumed by hungry flames, much like his emotional yearning. his hands rest on your face, fingers gliding in a long, gentle caress, savoring every reaction you show: the flushed face and trembling hands are signals for him to continue. with your consent, he does. you are led to a dark precipice with kisses planted at the base of your neck, discreetly directed towards your chest. hanzo, experienced and considerably older, knows what he's doing, aware of the buttons to press to make you dance with madness.

ㅤㅤㅤ"breathe, my love," he says, noticing your open eyes, seeking more of his touches. "the night is still young, and we are just getting started."

[justblades]

⌕ AT WITS END, 18+

⟢ CHARACTERS : jing yuan x afab! reader x luocha WC : 2.1k

⟢ WARNINGS : SMUT, MINORS DNI. dubcon, drugging, threesome, anal sex, double penetration, use of sex toys, porn with plot.

⟢ SUMMARY : the xianzhou general and a merchant doctor take notice that you were dr~gged by a suspicious syndicate. they are at your disposal to save you from the grave situation, but it could only be done when the drug's symptoms are quenched.

being luocha's apprentice in the medical field alone takes up most of the space on your plate, especially now that you're assigned to jing yuan to be his personal physician— the jobs just keep on overflowing, too much for the feeble mind to handle.

in actuality, you weren't supposed to be stationed in the xianzhou luofu. it's just that luocha isn't fond of having much spotlight shone upon him that therefore lead to you being referred to be the general's doctor. as soon as you caught wind that you piqued the interest of one of the charioteers of the luofu, you were determined to perform at your best - to be chosen.

and the gods of luck only spat at you when you were employed by the general jing yuan. he never committed any grave sins nor did such heinous things, it was just his way of governing that left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth as soon as you got to know more of jing yuan. you harbor a strong dislike for anyone regardless of their position to be cowering in the shadows when particular problems arise, saying sham excuses like "i am forbidden to take action because of my rank."

seeing the gray headed general opens up old wounds; a scar you thought that has healed a long time ago. as someone who used to be in the bottom of society's hierarchy, it was until then you grew old you started to understand corrupt officials. those who live in their privileged bubbles, enjoying the comfort of their power and own homes.

as meticulous jing yuan is, it was natural for him to not mind your small banter and snarky remarks against the general. the way he reacts is exceptional, he doesn't bother defending his name amidst the comments he's been receiving since day one. jing yuan never loses his composure and pays no heed to trivial matters.

you grit your teeth as you recall those moments, swearing to yourself that you'll br able to crack him and spit in his face that he's a no good leader. mentally cussing him out as childish as it seems, you continue to do your job, which was preparing your equipments and kits containing vast range of medicines.

drawing a sloth sigh in the end, you carefully lift up the objects. pivoting your heel to take a swift turn, suddenly, your eyes lock a glance with the familiar golden hues, those that exude indolence and of mystery. shock rakes your spine and goosebumps break over your skin, making you fall down on your butt as you feel a tug from your upper clothing.

you were too occupied at piercing through the general's soul with your bitter expressions that you didn't notice the matter at hand in present. "to what do i owe you the pleasure?" your words hinted with sarcasm, you end the question with a cozen smile.

much to your surprise, he crouches down to your level and helps you pick up the strewn pieces of gadgets and equipments on the wooden, varnished floorings. you cock a brow at his actions and proceeded to watch him in confusion; but a sudden puff of glacial wind traces your skin, reaching parts of your body from within.

glancing down at what could be the cause, it was a little too late for you to realize your clothes were torn apart, exposing your treasures right in front of the man you hate so much. instinctively grabbing the largest piece of ripped fabric, you immediately cover the last part of your dignity with it, closing your eyes shut to recall what transpired in such a short moment of time exactly.

"your senses are way too off lately." his smoky voice cut off your rowdy train of thoughts meanwhile you spiral further into bewilderment on what he's hinting at. "you've fallen prey for their false marketing. however, worry not. i'll do what i can to take it from here."

your eyelids unexpectedly felt heavy, as if jing yuan's words are making you feel dizzy. you could only ask yourself 'what is he plotting', until the moment his large slender hands support your figure. "i'm certain you're puzzled; but the food you ingested two days ago had long term effects of a particular ingredient - similar to an aphrodisiac. fortunately, its symptoms erupted just now and not while you were on duty."

he drapes your arm on his shoulders and snakes his hand around your waist. jing yuan carefully lifts your body and leads you to a particular vicinity. you hoped to see where he was taking you at least, but your vision betrays you as you fall into a deep sleep.

you peel your eyes open to well-lit ceilings, etched with luofu's motifs. you scan your surroundings amidst the lethargic feeling weighing your body down, only to see the despised general welcome your vision once again. "unfortunately, there is only one way to rid you from its symptoms." you part your lips open, but your throat feels dry - no words follow suit of what you wanted to verbalize.

"this is a grave situation but i need to have your consent."

another static voice erupts in the vicinity, seemingly coming from a gadget jing yuan had in hand. "general, we're running out of time already." his brows knit in exchange, and mumble few words right after. "doctor, forgive me."

your body jolts awake from the intrusion you felt from your lower region, only to see a makeshift of lewd toys handled by the grizzle haired. as much as you wanted to protest, it all just started to make sense, as usual, a late epiphany after series of events unraveling. it was the ingredient preventing you from speaking.

he pumps the object in and out of your cunt at such an abrupt pace, catching you off guard with every thrust. pro tem, you grip the sheets of the clinic's bed, holding on for dear life as if you were about to die from immense pleasure. panting hard, jing yuan doesn't halt, he only quickens his movements, a sole goal occupying his mind.

the gods really frowned upon you, for the guy you harbor such hate is now having you softly mewl because of a predicament. you were uncertain of what and who should take the blame— as expected, no one is to be blamed but you. if only you weren't craving that particular food that has been circulating in the ship for quite a while, you wouldn't have ended in such position.

being before him bare, fragile fuels nothing but your fury; but your body language says otherwise. your toes curl as you could feel the toy send virations in your pussy, your g-spot making friction against its surface sends your mind afloat the abode of sanity.

your song of moans was interrupted when another figure makes his entrance this time. the tall carved wooden doors swing open, revealing a blonde male who was a little too recognizable for your eyes carrying his iconic, gigantic coffin. "general, i'm afraid that won't do."

with a short span of time, the two comes in an agreement, shifting of positions follow suit. you're apparently underneath the merchant while held up by the mentioned general, his dominant hand tightly clasped on the remaining scrap of fabric wrapped around your hips.

everything happened in a flash and a foreign sensation makes you wince. your two holes were being prepared for further accommodation of the two males' dicks, using up half a bottle of a lubricant to make sure everything will sail smoothly. a nod of approval is all that it took for your entrances to be prodded by large girthy cocks in unison as you grant them such abashed moans.

jing yuan controls your pelvis with his mere one hand, discering every detail of your body language to see if he's making progress of easing the mysterious ingredient's effects. his aureate hues fixate only at you, his usual carefree demeanor and a lively smile replaced with pursed lips; followed by a crease forming in between his eyebrows.

luocha was the same, even though you were far too tantalizing for a man's eyes, they had to focus at the matter in hand. his flaxen irises examine evey nook and cranny of your body, scrutinizing every beads of sweat trickling down your skin as mere indicators of the symptoms. the unfamiliar feeling welling from both sides of your walls seep in to your system— whilst the two males exert the best of their efforts to pleasure your yearning body.

the blonde head's breathing becomes ragged in rhythm, each of his pants deepen in each thrust. after all, he's not someone sexually active, nor someone who performs hard labor at the daily; it was anticipated for his stamina to thin out. however, the situation doesn't seem to improve, not one bit. it was then jing yuan starts to change his tempo, he slows down as he pulls out, and picks up the pace once he rams in.

jing yuan's flow grants him mewls slipping from your lips, his long, deep back strokes seem to do the job perfectly from how you were reacting. gushing noises blends with the squelching sounds from the sounds of two dicks pleasuring the both of your entrances at the same time. a warm stream of fluid spills into luocha's clothes, the white fabric darkens into several splotches.

as embarrassing as it was, they heeded no mind. if anything, it's a proof that their method is working - reinforcing their resolve to quench your lustful feelings. luocha's gloved hands cup your tits bouncing up and down, nestling your perked up nipples in between his fingertips. he attempts to catch his own breaths, exerting more force into his thrusts deep into your pussy.

he rocks his hips upwards and your walls coil around him from the tip down to his last inch. you could no longer stifle your moans, you were way past caring for your pride— jing yuan, as always to your rescue, his calloused hand presses your cheeks, making you close your mouth forcibly. even though your chin was smeared of your drools already, at least there wasn't a lot, looking at the bright side.

the grey head general gently holds your dampened face, making you face him. from a second, you catch a glimpse of his expression; one that can be practically assumed not seen by anybody. his brows tightly knitted, luminous golden eyes locking a short glance with yours that were clouded of ecstasy. a guttural moan bubbles from his throat, along with luocha's deep mewls of satisfaction rushing to his cock inside your velvet walls.

"y-you're so tight." jing yuan utters under his breath as he continues to piston into your asshole. it was a new occurrence to see him stammer for he always addresses everyone with exemplary choice of words and smooth dealings. getting to see the general like this from what your body had to offer felt intimate— but luocha's actions catches you by surprise more.

he nibbles on the soft plush of your right breast, the left one being toyed with rather harshly. the general accidentally lets go of your face and your vision was brought back to seeing luocha's guise once again. the doctor looks up to meet your tantalizing gaze, whereas there he felt the two of you shared a mutual understanding. you crash your lips into his, your wet cavern being invaded by his warm tongue. it was a deep, sloppy kiss, you swear you could feel a hint of fuming jealousy behind you.

even so, your pleasure - your life comes first before trivial matters. the general lets it pass, and there a furor of release brews from the three of your bodies, all in sync. with one last deep thrust from jing yuan's and luocha's throbbing dicks; the life threatening situation finally rests at peace.

after everything that transpired, the general greets you with his usual blithe smile, accompanied by the golden gleam of his irises and a kiss of an angel just below his right eye. you had to soften and warm up to him everytime you remember your life is indebted to him.

although you couldn't lie, a thought crosses your mind, "perhaps jing yuan planned all of this." a part of you agrees as he knows you wouldn't cozy to your employer unless put in a dire situation and another part doesn't since it believes he's a kind soul deep inside. you also started to realize the general's nature, his governance and how he managed to keep the xianzhou's peace for a long time.

admittedly, it was your shortcoming. you knew deep down you were better than what you showed him - and so you strived to improve and understand at the end of the day. as for the blonde doctor, luocha, he pretends it never happened. after all, the two of you share a past bond forbidden to speak of in the present time.

all's well that ends well.

my masterlist !

[thr0wnawayy]

Rei-Demption: A problem and my solution (ft. Rei's trauma and Hori's bullshit)

Might as well give my shot at it.

My take on Rei's personality has always been based in suppression.

Rei's whole life has been a balancing act of doing enough to protect her family, while still staying within the lines to not get disposed of.

She's everything Enji isn't. An iron will, a golden heart and a strong sense of empathy.

So with that in mind, hopefully it she'd light on it thought process with this post

A theory I have is that Rei was aware of the hospital's corruption

These panels always felt off too me, it always made me wonder: "does she know?"

The wording is very specific.

"I told him I liked it, around the first time we met. But only once"

It always struck me as odd, We're talking about the man who looked at his eldest death and kept going, man who destroyed multiple lives for a redundant pipedream.

It's not even why would he remember such a small detail, but rather how?

Unless... the doctors are feeding him information.

Think about it, who pays for all this. Surely it's not Fuyumi, on account of this being a massive money sink.

You really expect her to pay for all that on a teachers salary?

It can't be Natsuo because Enji has likely cut him off from everything to his name.

And that's assuming Enji even bothered to save up a college fund for any of them. Plus Natsuo is a full time student of medicine.

If the doctors are watching her every move, looking for any sign of deviation from the narrative then it makes sense for her to disguise her words.

Of course there's still more

Having PTSD isn't something you can keep someone institutionalized for. Especially when Rei's is very proportionate, given what she's gone through. (No, Japan's stigma of mental health wouldn't justify this)

I mean what are Rei's triggers?: Enji and that's about it.

"But we still... haven't met face to face, I'm still too afraid"

That's a standard reaction to have to your abuser (especially when he raped you multiple times)

('Just stop' gets a whole lot darker when you consider it's context)

Not to mention she's no longer fearful of anything resembling Enji, just Enji himself. So there is no real reason to keep her there unless they are afraid she might speak out.

This whole thing makes me think she's trying to tell Natsuo and Fuyumi what's really going on, in a way.

Subtly and under the calm, complacent mask she's expected to wear, in case anyone else is listening. Anyone who could report back to him.

It might also be she doesn't trust them. Fuyumi or Natsuo could blab or say something within earshot that could set Rei back months.

And she can't have that, not with how close she is to finally breaking free. She loves her children, all of them but the trust just isn't there, how can it be when when they don't have all the pieces.

So here's my theory: The hospital staff are in Enji's pockets. Either taking bribes (as recent as Dabi's Dance) or they were given a large sum of hush money when Rei was first hospitalized, with the goal of keeping her there as long as possible and possibly molding her to either keep her mouth shut or (sickeningly) gaslight her into returning to Enji.

(Note how she was only released when they could no longer keep a lid on things, the moment Dabi frops the bomb. She's out, no struggle)

This paints a picture of grotesque corruption, sloth and apathy (the very same cocktail that created Shigaraki) even by Hori's narrative standards. Shedding light on just how deep MHA's despotic nature goes.

The anime makes this even more apparent. Rei's fake smiles make the whole thing that much more viable. She seems so dead, it's like she smothered her soul or something.

I've seen both the sub and dub of this scene. The sub is the correct translation, the same as the Manga panel above.

The Dub however, while severly off mark, adds it's own flavour of dread. Rei sound so hollow, it was jarring the first time I heard it.

It sounded like she was reading a script (in-universe). Like she'd rehearsed this in her mind a million times, staring at the same 3 white walls + the window and waiting for an opening to finally speak.

That was supposed to be Shoto, until the dorms ruined that. Suddenly Rei's lifeline is gone, reduced to letters that don't even tell half the story.

10 years, 10 fucking years reduced to lines on a page.

Can you imagine the despair, dear reader?

The frustration. The sheer vitriol coursing thorough her veins, far hotter than Touya could ever manage.

Having to do the same thing she's been doing even before she was locked away. As the the skeleton in the closet of a criminal with a license.

Wearing masks for so long you can hardly breath and in the brief moments you can take them off. You can hardly recognize yourself, how you once were.

It must be the truest form of hell.

The Rei-demption Arc

Rei's redemption arc takes the attention of our theoretical arc without overtaking it.

The arc would mostly focus on the more domestic aspects of our trio being: Midoriya, Shoto and Uraraka.

A few minor changes would occur. The dorms never happen, allowing the characters to exist outside of UA.

There is solid confirmation that Fujiya is corrupt and is keeping Rei institutionalized on illegal grounds (ie: not meeting the criteria set up to ensure her silence)

The dinner scene would still happen only it would bd framed for what it really was. A pathetic attempt at creating a moment that never existed.

There's no family with Enji.

Just a family held hostage and a tyrant. I have my own grievances with Fuyumi, but I'll leave that for the future.

The only difference besides Natsuo being properly portrayed as a victim acting well within his right, the reasons for our trio going would be for Shoto's emotional wellbeing, because he asked them to.

Uraraka could have a moment where she realizes that money is as much as good as it is bad. An actually decent shift into her change of goals.

Here Enji motivates her to "watch the watchmen". Her need for money is still a crucial part of her reasons for becoming a hero, but she also has a more front and center goal.

I'd imagine she has a moment parallel to Midoriya's during the Sports Festival.

Where (alone in front of the Dojo after the failed dinner) she rightfully calls out Enji for being a self pitying piece of shit and that "sorry" doesn't cut it.

"You've hurt them in ways you can't imagine." Would probably be the last thing she says before walking away.

She may not know the whole story but she knows it hurt them and that's enough.

Rei's ascent

Rei's biggest hurdle is accepting that she was also an abuse victim. She's furious but she's only furious on her children's behalf and what they lost.

Her unintentionally harmful actions weigh on her, be it her neglect or the night she scalded Shoto, these events have impacted her deeply.

She learns to reconcile with her past, improve her relationship with Shoto and even meets Shoto's friends at one point.

Eventually she finds closure but that's later on.

She also acts as an advisor at times, having given Shoto the idea of using Ice projectiles (as seen in the Licensing Exam)

The second half comes from the Hospitals corruption, as Rei learns that she is long overdue for release (by about 8 years) among other horrific practices. This would play out as the arc's B plot, building up to what I call "The Summit"

The Summit

Eventually Rei fights Hood.

After gathering the evidence, she escapes the hospital. Planning to go to Natsuo for protection. As she's walking across a crosswalk however, she hears what sounds like an explosion.

Eventually she hears screaming and is forced to use her quirk as a bus is suddenly sent hurdling in her general direction.

As of her body moved on its own, she envelops it in her ice. Stopping the bus and saving those behind her in the process.

Only to see Hood land on top. They lock eyes and Rei can't help but see Touya in Hoods ambition.

In response to Rei holding her ground, Hood dashes. Rei counters this by manipulating her ice to send him crashing into an empty building, impaling him on the glaciers end.

Hood is impressed by Rei's proficiency and chooses to fight her.

Rei having no experience, fights for her life. Where as Rei avoids Civilians, Hood has no care for them which forces Rei to play the role of hero.

Rei uses every weapon in her arsenal in order to stave off Hood, who only gets more relentless as the battle stretches on. The upside is Hood's regeneration struggles in the cold, which Rei is constantly producing.

Each side gets blows in, with Rei taking them surprisingly well but still being worse for wear. Hood notes this saying "as if y-you've done t-t-this before" (close, Hood very close)

Eventually Hood gets the upper hand, towering over Rei in a manner that triggers her PTSD and leaves her stunned.

One of the civilians (Horoshi Tameda) emboldened by Rei's efforts, picks up a loose chunk of pavement and chucks it at Hood's back. It hits, causing Hood to look back.

Civilians begin making loud noise, others begin picking up anything they can find and throw it at Hood. Further catching him off guard long enough for Rei to snap out of her episode and strike back.

From here the fight kicks into high gear, with Rescue heroes & paramedics arriving on the scene and a camera crew recording the fight from above. Overall I imagine the scene to be very uplifting, with the Orchestra swelling as Rei prepares a final attack.

The move rivals that of Shoto's, arguably even surpassing it. Hoof is incased in a prison of Ice, covering an entire city block worth of destroyed buildings. And the fight finishes with Rei collapsing to her knees.

From here on out things change. Rei's newfound fame leads to the hospital being forced to do their job. Because of this Rei gets out early (around the time the Internship arc would started had I not scrapped it)

As for what this could lead to I'll let you decide. I'd love to read some suggestions.

Bonuses:

Theories:

The reason they kicked Fuyumi from her job is because she covered an abuser's ass for years. While Fuyumi is a victim, it doesn't excuse her complacency in regards to Enji's treatment of Shoto before and after his "self pity" arc.

Natsuo didnt go to someone because he wouldn't likely be believed, being seen as bitter and untrustworthy (his time away from home wouldn't help with pinning evidence).

Extra:

Hood survived the fight, Rei opted to capture him as opposed to kill him. That doesn't mean he didn't get frost bite. Police found out it is very difficult to question a Nomu.

Out of all her trauma. Rei accepting she was never given a choice will be the hardest to accept.

Rei's family is not inbred, rather her parents ran away so her father wouldn't be forced into a marriage with his cousin. Only to ironically do the very same to their daughter.

Hiroshi still becomes a meme, his 'Can't you see speech' leads to him becoming a motivational speaker.

The reason Hood appeared is because Dabi lost track of him. He nearly had a heart attack when he discovered his mom was holding the Nomu off.

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Toga’s AU Concept

He visited Sanctum on a whim, he was in Mistral visiting his niece Saphron after all, why not visit the school that was training it’s future protectors… Was it truly chance that it happened when he got there at that moment. That he stumbled upon the horrified students backing away from a scene from a horror movie.

A girl over a boy, her skin pale, hair a dull gold but utterly contrast by the crimson of the boy beneath her, of his blood leaking, his eyes wide in equal parts horror and confusion as the girl above him drank deeply. Her aura lighting, brightening with every drop more she drunk.

But from her eyes another purely liquid dripped, tears that contradicted the madness in her eyes, others stood confused. But not him, never him, he didn’t hesitate, to hesitate was the let others suffer. The girl moved with surprising grace, avoiding him while her features altered, matching her victim’s.

His hand reached out as he enforced his soul into him, willing thew boy’s body to mend though his soul’s light. The second he saw the student’s face gain some of it’s blush ensured his life her turned on her and launched after the girl.

She’d been smart to run instead of fight, it was a fight she wouldn’t win, couldn’t win, but escaping was just a futile. She was fast, agile and athletic yes, but he was a skilled tracker. If she was faster, he just had to rely on endurance to carry him through.

And it did…

She’d been locked up, and they were debating her sentence, the sentence for an aura user with combat training, she was a threat. And perhaps he should’ve left it well enough alone, but he didn’t, and spoke to her.

And he realized the tragic madness that spurred her on. Toga Himiko was not a monster, she was a girl, gifted with a powerful Semblance, great potential and an honest easily corruptible heart. One’s semblance could influence a persons personality quite easily. After all, it was the manifest of your being, of your soul. How could you not begin to ponder its meaning, how could you not attempt to reflect it’s nature on your person, within your actions.

She was dangerous yes, unstable without a doubt… But, she was also alone, her family couldn’t understand her and feared her for it. Somewhere inside he knew she understood her sense of love was twisted. Was not the norm, after all, why else would she have cried when expressing it.

This was no monster, no villain of demon, she was a girl, a pitiful, lonely, misunderstood child who wanted nothing more then to express her love the only way she could. They way her very soul demanded she act out. All she wanted was a connection, was someone to understand her, was to have friends, family and a love that could accept her deviant nature, a nature she had no control of.

How could he call himself a Huntsman if he couldn’t save a single girl from her crippling, cruel loneliness. So he visited her, again and again, using his pull and connection with Ozpin to freeze the freeze the girl’s sentencing while he worked things out.

She started to look forward to meeting him, and he’d admit to the same, after all she was so cheerful and oddly endearing. If not for her eyes being amber instead of blue he’d had thought her one of his nieces.

Apparently after he started visiting regularly she ceased any resisting and even halted trying to escape, he started to bring her things, even cooking for the girl. Not helping but to feel she needed food a bit better then what they served here.

… He hadn’t expected her to cry, she, she couldn’t remember then last time her mom had made her food… The last time they treated her like a daughter instead of a Grimm. It angered him, it infuriated the Arc. But he held his tongue, and focused on what mattered.

On calling in favors, on talking to his family and getting his affairs in order, Jaune was many things, he was a Huntsman, next in line to be patriarch to the Arc House and a teacher at Beacon. But he was also a criminal who’d cheated his way into Beacon once upon a time. His hands had cut down men, his decisions as a leader had led to the death of innocents before as well.

Toga almost killed a boy, she needed help, needed understanding, to be given a chance. And he was all to willing to risk giving her one.

-0-0-0-

She tried to be normal, to live normally, to act normally, to love normally, she tried so hard, it was also such a struggle, other people’s normal. Other people being able to express themselves, to be themselves and be accepted for it. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, why couldn’t her way be normal… Why couldn’t she be accepted?

Why couldn’t her parents understand her, accept her, but no, they told her it was wrong, that to be so fascinated by blood was wrong, sick and twisted. That she needed to be normal… Were they saying her soul was wrong? She could feel it, ever since her semblance first manifested, since she stumbled upon it so long ago when she’d licked her wound…

Blood was to the body what aura was to the soul, it was beautiful, profound and unique to every person, and she, she could understand it, could indulge, could become others through their blood, she could understand them, be them… It was her normal.

But her parents refused to accept her normal, society refused it, the world and everyone in it refused it… She obeyed, she tried, she struggled to be everyone else’s normal… Until she met him.

Saito was a amazing boy, he was kind, smart and popular, everyone liked him, everyone respected him, just like a lot of other girls she grew to like him. So often she fought the urge to ask him for some of his blood, she wanted to be like him, to know him, to Become him…

But she smothered those urges, because she knew he could not accept them, nobody could accept a freak like her so she resisted the urge. She fought to stay ‘Normal’ To be a average, cheerful, reasonable, well-mannered girl that others could accept, even if it was all a act…

But then Saito got into a fight, and seeing him like that… so wonderfully bruised and bloodied, it made what was so twisted inside go crazy. And it all came crashing down… And she was upon him, moving on not instinct but pure natural movement, as unconsciously as one breathed she gave to her semblance’s nature.

His flesh parting so easily from a mere box cutter, his aura was shattered in the fight with other beforehand. She drunk from him, his blood tasting like the sweetest of irons, so warm, so filling, so unique to him and him alone…

It was ecstasy, finally, finally she got to be herself, she was able to express her love, she felt herself turning into him. His aura, his soul, his being, she understood it so much more in that moment. She knew it was all over, her life, all her efforts, they would come crashing down. But for just a moment, she wanted it, to be her own normal, to be herself…

And then he appeared, he saved Saito, and stopped her, his gaze held so much in it, there was the anger and disgust she expected, but also something new… Pity.

His name was Jaune Arc, he was a Huntsman, a professor, and he stopped her, but he didn’t stop there. He should up to met her in her jail cell, they talked, well, he talked, asking why she did it. And eventually she explained… And, and he listened.

He didn’t understand, but… But he tried to, he asked more, and she could see it, the disgust this anger and confusion, but never was that all she saw. She could see him trying, struggling to comprehend. Time and time again he’d visit, and talk to her, ask her question she’d never considered, asked if she thought what she did was okay.

She knew it wasn’t you can’t force your love on others, but he understood, not because it was normal to him, or because he was like her. No, because he tried to do what nobody else did… He tried to understand her.

He wanted to help her, and then he asked.

“Toga, I need to hear you say it, where you trying to kill Saito?” She knew he needed to hear her say it, so she did.

“No, I just, I wanted to express my love…” And then he told her.

“Toga, you’re not normal, but that’s okay, everyone is different, it’s what makes us unique, what makes life beautiful.” He hugged her.

“You’re not a monster, or a Grimm, your human, and you’ve been through so much.” He was warm… The words slipped from her mouth.

“Please, can I, can I drink your blood.” He paused and she knew she’d be rejected, pushed away and left alone…

“Toga, listen.” But she wasn’t rejected, pushed away, instead the man met her gaze, a sternness in his gaze but also a sympathy, one she’d never seen before.

“You don’t behave like others, and it can be dangerous.” She knew that, of course she did.

“But it doesn’t have to be.” He begun to glow, a soft, kind but powerful white.

“I know, you can help people, more than even I can with your semblance.” His big, calloused hand landed on her head.

“The same way you can take other’s blood, if you gave your love back, you could help so many people.” She shook, she’d thought that too, but, but never hoped others would, would.

“You’re not a monster, twisted or evil Toga, your just different, your semblance, your soul, your beautiful.” It was the smile of a father, of someone who genuinely wanted nothing more than to help her, then to comfort the girl who’d spent her entire if not short life being rejected by others.

“Himiko, I can’t just let you free, unfortunately the law is very clear on that.” She saw the sadness, the anger in his eyes, it was for her sake. But soon enough they were both overtaken by what she would come to know was his most prominent trait, Determination.

“If you agree to it, to come to Vale you can be put on Probation, under my supervision. I’’ be your guardian and probationary officer.” She knew her parents must’ve given up their rights to her by the slight anger that burned in his eyes.

“We’ll attend therapy lessons and you’ll be taught about aura control by me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled it out then, a vial, the most beautiful shade of red.

“Toga, I know the way you view things are different then mine own, but that doesn’t mean you can’t understand me, you lived in this world, acted appropriately for it as well. You understand how the general public views love.” He offered her the vial, the beautiful crimson flowing with his aura, with his soul.

“I can’t promise others will accept your views, or even try, but I promise, at the very least I will do everything I can to make a environment you can be yourself in… And that I’ll try my best to understand you.” She reached, her fingers grazing the glass, the vial warm… Her heart pounded as she looked to the beautiful crimson.

Slowly, cautiously she undid the top, he never looked away from her, never tore his gaze from the sight, there was no rejection as she took him into her. As she felt his soul through his aura, as his being and iron went down her throat becoming one with her.

She felt herself change, becoming him, her pale ash-blonde hair becoming a shade of livid golden-wheat, her fair skin pinking with a healthy flush. The slits of her pupils dilating, the Faunus trait vanishing as her pupils rounded and turned the most expressive blue.

Her aura converting, her soul changing and being replicating that as her very body matched the new soul she was temporarily hosting. And he looked at her through it all, reaching out and patting her head, the smile was genuine.

“If this is how you want to be that’s fine, I’ll learn to get used to it, but please, don’t stop being yourself, even if your appearance changes.” From his hand aura surged into her, his aura, given freely, pure and unfiltered.

Her answer finally came alongside the tears.

“Yes.”

-0-0-0-

She rushed down the hall from her room, excited for the day she’d looked forward to for so long, she couldn’t wait. Reaching the kitchen she found three people there, her sister and brother, Ren and Nora, two others he’d taken under his wing.

At the stove flipping the immense amount of pancakes the Valkyrie craved was Jaune, they waved to her, well Jaune and Nora did. Ren sat patiently at his seat enjoying his tea, she sat there beside them, besides two people who knew her, truly knew her, who accepted her almost as much as Jaune.

Two simple years was all she spent with him, but in those two years she’d felt more joy, more acceptance then ever before. She’d realized truths about herself and flaws in her actions.

She was free to express her love, but not to enforce it on others, to take from people who did not want to return her affections. It was wrong, cruel and that act whether it be her form of expressing love or ordinary expression of it by others were no less disgusting.

She’d help so many people with her feelings though, a little blood and she’d given so much back in turn, to children who needed it, to people with unique cases and blood types meant nothing to her semblance with regular people. She couldn’t help but want to help, even if Jaune worried, she loved him for that… She loved him, loved him more then others. More then anyone else.

But it wasn’t the same type of love she always felt, always knew, no, this was different, she wanted to both love him and be loved by him. To be loved as Toga Himiko, by Jaune, she didn’t want him to conform to her standard of love.

It wouldn’t be fair, it’d be like who she was forced to follow the standard society before she met him, she wanted to love Jaune as herself but also as him whenever the fancy struck her. But she also wanted to love him as Ren did, as Nora did, as so many of his students did…

And soon, she would be able to, today would be the start of it, a plated landed in front of her then, and looking up she met his smile.

“Are you ready Toga, your three will be trying out for Beacon today after all. So you all need to eat up.” He served her her breakfast, more than Ren’s but nothing near the mountain of pancakes he placed before her eccentric sister. But then again the pile her put before himself was barely any smaller. He needed it after all, because he regularly gave her blood, regularly accepted her form of expressing it and indulged that aspect of her.

She loved him for it, wanted to love him even more, even deeper, more intimately then any other, and once she passed Initiation she would. She only hoped that when she did succeed, her partner would be as understanding as her.

Maybe even being able to understand her love, Or Better Yet! Maybe They’ll Love Jaune As Much As She Does! Oh ‘Giggle’ she meant Professor Arc.

[dirtnapdreamfactory]

Sweetest Sin [Part One]

Content Warnings: Priest Kink, Breeding Kink, Corruption Kink, Loss of Virginity, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Female masturbation, Breaking Vows, Abandoned Celibacy, Etc. Etc.

Please let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 5.5K

[If this work looks familiar to you, it probably is. I originally had it posted to my old account that has since been deleted, so I am reposting it here.]

The grand archway of the cathedral framed Father Astarion Ancunin, his tall figure casting a shadow against the golden light that spilled from within. Despite being a creature of darkness, he had become an integral part of the town of Emberwood, serving as their shepherd of light. His vampiric nature had initially drawn cautious glances, but the townspeople's faith in him seemed to outweigh their fear. They flocked to the cathedral and found solace in his words, a paradox that the elf would have scoffed at decades ago—a vampire spawn preaching salvation.

"Good evening, Father Astarion," Mr. Tiller called out, his voice warm as he passed by with his family. "Your sermon today was truly moving."

"Thank you," Astarion replied, his smile genuine but unable to reach the depths of his crimson eyes. "Peace be with you."

For a quiet moment, the pale elf held up the silver band on his finger to catch the light, marveling at the small miracle that allowed him to walk under the sun. This ring symbolized not just his commitment to his vows, but also to a life he never thought possible. Each day, the weight of his past sins grew lighter as he embraced his newfound purpose with tentative gratitude.

"Father?" A timid voice broke through his reverie.

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Silverleaf." He recognized the couple instantly, their devoutness etched into every line on their faces. "What can I do for you?"

"Your words—they're a balm to our community," The man began, wringing his hat between his work-worn hands. "And…we hate to ask but…well, we've come to ask a favor, if you're willing."

"Of course. Speak freely," The priest encouraged, folding his hands before him in a gesture of openness. 

"It’s our daughter... She strays further each day from the path of righteousness," Mrs. Silverleaf confided, her voice laced with worry. "She has no care for piety or decency."

"Her soul, we fear, is in peril," her husband added, his gaze pleading.

"Would you speak with her, Father?" The woman asked. "Perhaps guide her back to the ways of the faithful?"

The couple's words hung heavy in the air, a weight that Astarion couldn't quite shake off. He knew his duty was to guide and correct those who strayed from the path of righteousness, but the thought of speaking with you, their fierce and free-spirited daughter, filled him with conflicting emotions.

On one hand, he felt a sense of obligation and responsibility towards your soul, which they clearly feared was in jeopardy. But on the other hand, the memory of you tore through his mind like a stormy sea, tempting him with desires he had vowed to renounce.

The request coiled tightly around his heart. The memory of that first night that he had laid eyes upon you surged forward, unbidden and wild. It had been a chance encounter at the tavern, where he had gone to seek solitude among the clamor of tankards and low-burning hearths. You had burst through the door, a vision of ferocious vitality, your presence so startling that even the rowdy din of the establishment had hushed for a brief moment. There you had stood, cloaked in the glory of your conquest—a deer, by the looks of your spoils—and had commanded attention with the ease of one who knew their own power.

"Talia, go fetch Lorrick! And tell the cook to get his shit together, yeah? We're having fuckin' venison tonight!" you’d declared, voice rich with triumph.

Astarion couldn't help but watch you, his eyes tracing the line of sweat that made a glistening path down the column of your neck. Each droplet reflected the light from the hearth, casting a warm glow on your skin. Your soft hair cascaded messily down your back and beckoned his fingers to explore its texture. The sight of you- so raw and vibrant - was like a sharp blade to his senses, breaking through the protective walls he had built around his chastity.

"Father, will you not try?" 

The distant echo of Mrs. Silverleaf's voice pulled Father Astarion back to the present, interrupting his thoughts. He nodded absently, his mind still consumed by the image of your mischievous smirk. Despite his inner turmoil, he affirmed to the couple that he would speak with their daughter, a wave of heat flushing his cheeks at the thought.

"God bless you," Mrs. Silverleaf and her husband intoned together, their sincerity in stark contrast to the hunger gnawing at Astarion's resolve.

"Peace be with you," he replied hollowly, his own words drowned out by the cacophony of conflicting emotions within him.

As the couple disappeared from view, Father Astarion turned back to face the sacred confines of the cathedral. Its cool silence offered no refuge from the heat that still coursed through him, memories of his struggle against temptation flashing through his mind. He had whispered fervent prayers and battled against his desires for flesh and sinew that night at the tavern.

"Forgive me," he muttered to the empty pews, unsure if his words were meant for his deity or for himself. His duty was clear - to meet with the girl and guide her towards the light. But as the sunset painted the stained glass windows in fiery shades of red and gold, Astarion couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to enter a battle for which he may never be fully prepared.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and called upon every ounce of divine strength to fortify his spirit. He would offer counsel to this wayward lamb and do his best to protect her from darkness. But as he locked up the church and began to trudge his way towards your home, nestled at the far edge of town, he couldn't deny the thrill of forbidden excitement coursing through his veins, like a fire burning just beneath his skin. Though he knew that this could prove to be a rather dangerous task, one that could potentially lead him down a path of temptation and ruin...for the sake of your immortal soul, he was willing to take the risk.

The dying embers of the day cast a warm, orange hue over the town as Astarion tread softly along the dirt trail, his boots pressing into the uneven ground scattered with pebbles and twigs. The outskirts where you resided was tranquil, the only sounds were his solitary footsteps and the distant chirping of crickets. He could see your home now, a quaint cottage that seemed to be in a perpetual embrace with the encroaching forest. The air was scented with damp earth and the sweet tang of herbs that hung from an overhang, swaying gently in the evening breeze.

"Ms. Silverleaf, it's Father Astarion," he called with measured calmness, rapping knuckles against the wooden door. His voice felt strangely intrusive in the stillness. "Your mother and father bid me to speak with you."

Silence greeted him, thick and unyielding. He knocked again, a little louder, allowing authority to lace his tone. "Ms. Silverleaf, please. This is a rather important matter."

The quiet persisted, and a frown teased at the edge of his lips. 'Perhaps she is out,' he thought, but something about the soft glow from within your home suggested otherwise. He reached for the doorknob, finding it unlocked. A moment's hesitation lingered like a warning. With a breath to steady himself, he pushed open the door and stepped into the muted warmth of the interior.

"Y/N?" he ventured again, voice barely above a whisper as he closed the door behind him.

Before him, the small fire in the hearth crackled its last dance, casting flickering shadows across the room. Astarion scanned the space, noting the absence of any presence. His gaze fell on the simple furnishings, the homely touches that bespoke a life lived simply yet fully. In that moment, he felt like an intruder in your world, privy to a privacy not his own.

His ears, sharper than most, caught the faintest sound—a rustle, a breath hitched in distress. His dead heart sank. 'Might the girl have injured herself?' The concern edged his thoughts as he moved silently, his steps practiced and light. The noises grew clearer, more defined, and his pace quickened with a mix of worry and something less definable.

"Y/N," he called out softly, reaching the slightly ajar door from behind which the sounds emanated. With the utmost care, he nudged it further open, just enough to allow his eyes to seek out the source of the commotion.

He stood motionless, his hand still resting on the door, as the scene within unfolded before him.

His eyes widened, the crimson depths reflecting a scene of forbidden desire. There in the dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desperation, you writhed upon your simple bed—a vision of unbridled sensuality.

"Gods above," he murmured under his breath, unable to tear his gaze from the sight. His voice was a mere whisper, lost amidst the symphony of your pleasure.

Your small fingers danced along the slick folds of your sex, each movement deliberate and hungry. Lustful whines escaped your lips in ragged sighs and your moans pierced Astarion's heart like an arrow. You were yet unaware of his presence, lost in your own world of ecstasy.

"Y/N," he finally managed to say, louder this time, but the plea in his voice was drowned by your cries. You did not hear him, or if you did, you gave no indication, consumed as you were by your own touch.

'Stop,' he thought desperately, 'you mustn't witness this.' But his body betrayed him, rooted to the spot, drinking in the sight of you. The heat that had been kindling within him since he'd first laid eyes on you now blazed uncontrollably.

He watched, transfixed, as your back arched, your breasts rising and falling with each labored breath. The soft mounds were flushed with arousal, your nipples taut and begging for attention. Your other hand alternated between caressing your breast and pinching your rose-colored nipple, sending ripples of pleasure through your body.

"Please," you gasped, the word a prayer for release. "I need... I can't..."

Father Astarion felt a surge of protectiveness, intermingled with a darker, hungrier sensation. He knew that he, a man of the cloth, should not be standing there, should not be watching this intimate act of self-pleasure, yet he found himself entranced by your uninhibited display.

"Is this what you seek?" he asked silently, the question for himself more than you. "To be the one to push her over that edge?"

His blood roared in his ears, drowning out the remnants of piety that screamed for him to leave. There was a battle raging within him, between his vows and the yearning to step forward—to replace your hands with his own, to taste the salt on your skin, to hear his name on your lips instead of the silent gods you seemed to be reaching for.

Another whimper, more tortured than the last, pulled him from his daze. He took a half-step backward, the creak of the wooden floorboard underfoot sounding like thunder in the quiet room. Astarion’s throat was dry, his body tense with longing.

"Forgive me," he whispered, turning his face away, though his eyes betrayed him, sliding back for another glimpse that lasted far too long. "Forgive me..."

His breath hitched, a silent witness to the carnal symphony playing out before him. Shadows clung to the corners of the dimly lit chamber as the fading light of day bathed your writhing form in an ethereal glow. Your fingers, slick and unyielding, danced fervently within yourself, your movements both desperate and deliberate. The decadent chorus of your pleasure—a blend of wet, rhythmic sounds—sent involuntary tremors through his body.

"Gods... yes, just like that, please..." Your voice was broken and full of lust, a prayer for release that echoed off the walls.

He swallowed thickly, the taste of his restraint bitter on his tongue. His hands, traitorous and curious, sought the heat beneath his breeches, and he winced at the contact – a touch both foreign and achingly familiar. The sensation clawed at his resolve, tearing at the fabric of his vows.

"Ah... A-Astarion..." you moaned, your voice slowly morphing into a sinful incantation - a desperate plea to the heavens, or perhaps to the depths below. His name rolled off your lips like a sacrilegious mantra, stoking that fire within him into something unbearable.

"Gods above…," he whispered under his breath, a ghost of words lost amid the melody of your solitary passion. Envy gnawed at him, its sharp teeth sinking into his heart as you envisioned another, even if that other bore his visage.

"Please... Fuck - ruin me..." you begged the illusion, your back arching, your body tightly stretched like a bowstring. The priest within him recoiled, but the man, the primal creature lurking beneath the clerical collar, stirred from its slumber.

"Enough," He hissed to himself, his conviction giving way to carnal desire. He could no longer be a mere observer, a passive guardian of sanctity. As you called out for him, in flesh or fantasy, he felt that familiar longing within him awaken. With a growl, he shed his clerical collar and entered the room with purpose. This was no longer a soft tread of uncertainty, but the confident steps of a man who knew what he wanted. You needed him, craved him, and he... he needed this. Gods above, he needed this.

"Ms. Silverleaf," he said louder now, his voice cutting through the haze of your ecstasy.

Your eyes snapped open, bright and piercing, locking onto his deep, vermillion gaze. Your silky hair cascaded around your face as you stilled, your body drawn with anticipation. In that moment, your eyes were a tangle of fire and gold, two stars colliding and igniting a blaze that consumed you both. Your stillness was a bird poised on the edge of a branch, ready to take flight at the slightest movement. And in that moment, the question hung in the air like a forbidden fruit, tempting and dangerous: Which would it be? Salvation or damnation?

"F-Father Astarion," you breathed, a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and something...darker. Something hungry .

The pale elf stood tall and imposing in the dimly lit room, his pastoral leash discarded and forgotten on the floor. The light streamed through the window, catching the soft curls of his silver hair and casting an intimidating glow in his intense eyes. You laid bare before him, a true vision of ethereal beauty - your pleading eyes and wild hair fanned out around you, nearly forming a halo around your glistening, desperate form.

"Tell me, my child," He began, his voice low and steady, "What manner of evil has reduced you to this? A whimpering, sodden mess baring yourself so shamelessly before a man of God?"

"Please, Father...I-I’m so sorry. Please…p-please help me," You whimpered, your voice soft as velvet.

"Of course, child," His voice was a soothing balm, yet it was wrought with an undercurrent of something depraved. "Would you have me guide you in prayer, to cleanse these wicked ideations from your soul?"

Your head shook, a silent bell tolling 'no'. His gaze never left you, sharp and probing as he began to unfasten his shirt, each button relinquishing its hold with deliberate slowness. The pale flesh beneath his priestly attire came into view - his lean, muscular body sending a sharp jolt to your needy cunt.

"Or perhaps," he continued, his tone laced with concern, "you'd prefer I summon the physician? They might concoct a remedy for your... afflictions ."

As he circled the bed, the air around you charged with unsaid words, he grazed your cheek with his knuckles, the touch feather-light yet scorching. Your skin burned under his caress, your heat evident to his discerning touch.

"Ah, you are quite warm," he murmured, almost to himself. He leaned closer, his breath fanning your face as he tenderly pushed away strands of hair that had clung to your dampened forehead. "What then, my dear, do you seek from me?"

You swallowed thickly, your body betraying your desires with a soft whimper. "I don't need a doctor, Father," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Then what?" Astarion whispered back, his proximity intoxicating.

Your breath hitched; you bit down on your lower lip, trapping it between your teeth. In a voice suffused with shame and longing, you uttered the words, "Touch me."

Astarion clicked his tongue, a reprimand and a tease all at once. "You know that is not possible. My vows..." He let the sentence hang, unfinished, yet heavy with implication.

But desire was a siren's call, relentless and seductive. As your fingers resumed their salacious dance, the soft wet sounds that they made reached his ears, sending a bolt of raw need through him. He watched, transfixed, his body responding despite his resolve.

"Is this a habit of yours?" he asked, his voice husky with restrained passion.

"No," you breathed out, your movements unabated.

"Has another taught you such pleasures?" His inquiry was both invasive and achingly tender.

"N-no. Never," you admitted, your voice tinged with innocence and discovery.

He hummed, acknowledging your confession. "There is much to learn about one's own flesh... to understand what brings pleasure, what stirs the soul."

"Please," you gasped, your plea floating between you like a fragile leaf caught in a tempest. "Help me, Father... Show me how to feel good..."

"Perhaps," he whispered, his voice a thread of silk amidst the tension, "a slight... guidance would not be deemed sacrilegious." The words felt foreign on his tongue, like a dark incantation that could unravel the very fabric of his being.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if absorbing the gravity of what he proposed. Your lips parted in a silent plea, your desire an unspoken prayer that beckoned him closer.

With reverent trepidation, he extended his hand, the silhouette of his fingers ghosting over the valley of your chest before descending. The heat of your skin seared his palm as he cupped your heavy breast, feeling its softness yield beneath his touch. Your sharp intake of breath was both a torment and a balm to his conflicted soul.

"Ah..." you sighed, a delicate sound that underscored the urgency of this illicit communion.

Astarion allowed himself a moment to marvel at the responsiveness of your body, the way your flesh puckered against the chilled air, inviting his thumb to graze over the tight peak of your nipple. To him, it was the first transgression – a tactile whisper that spoke volumes of forbidden pleasures yet explored.

His hand trailed lower, a painstaking journey across the landscape of your ribcage, the undulating terrain of your belly, each movement deliberate, a testament to the restraint he fought to maintain. It was an artist's touch, painting strokes of fire upon your canvas of anticipation.

"May I?" The question hung between you, laden with consequences yet to unfold. His eyes sought yours, seeking absolution in their depths. Your gaze held his, fierce and unyielding—a mirror reflecting your shared hunger.

"Please," you breathed, the single word a key turning in the lock of his resolve.

His fingers, cold and steady, grazed the small of your waist, drawing your attention away from his eyes to the point of contact. You shuddered as his touch met the sensitive skin just above your hips. His fingers traced the delicate curve of your pelvis, kneading it gently, exploring your body with the reverence of a man discovering the wonders of the world for the first time.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your hip. "Sinfully so, darling. But your wants, your needs... they are only human."

Astarion's eyes lingered on the curve of your hips, tracing the silhouette of your form with his gaze. The desire within him threatened to consume him whole, promising to both destroy and purify. He knew that once he crossed this line, there would be no going back. You were both aware of the weight of your transgression, heavy like a shroud about your limbs.

But your voice broke the silence, another soft plea that cracked the veneer of control he had so meticulously constructed. "Please," you begged, your voice trembling.

His fingers found you, hesitant at first, exploring the soft folds that lay between your legs. The air was heavy with the scent of arousal and anticipation, a heady cocktail that intoxicated you both. Astarion was no stranger to the touch of a woman, but this was different. This was sacrilegious. He could feel the weight of his vows bearing down upon him, threatening to suffocate him, but he persisted.

Your body tensed at his touch, the resistance only serving to heighten his desire. As he continued to explore you, he whispered softly into your ear, "You are allowed to feel pleasure, sweet girl. It's alright..."

Your breath hitched as his fingers delved deeper, your body arching against him in response. He could feel the heat radiating from your core, the pulsing life within you behind the delicate tissue that covered your being. He had never felt anything so alive, so vital, so right.

His fingers continued their exploration, sliding gently against your skin, tracing the pathways of your desire. Every touch was a caress, a promise, a confirmation that you were real, that you were there, and that he was not alone in this sin.

As his fingers continued their journey, he felt a surge of pure lust wash over him. He knew that he could not resist any longer. He needed to feel you, to possess you. He needed to experience the fullness of your passion and the sinful pleasures that awaited him.

He could feel your heart racing, your breaths becoming short and ragged as he touched you. Every touch, every brush of his fingers against your skin sent electricity coursing through his veins.

"Gods," you keened, your voice a desperate plea for release as he slowly sunk his middle and ring finger into your tight channel. Your body trembled, and you pressed yourself against him, urging him to continue.

Astarion released a long, shuddering breath. This was madness, this transgression. But the need was far too strong, too powerful.

His pale skin almost seemed to shimmer as he shifted his position on the bed. His scarlet eyes, usually so intense and piercing when preaching from the pulpit, were now dark with lust as they focused on your form laid out before him. The contrast between you was stark—him, the embodiment of forbidden restraint, and you, the very image of uninhibited desire.

"Father," you panted, your voice a sultry melody that tugged at the most carnal parts of him, "please..."

He slid his fingers deeper, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. The sight of your pleasure, the way you arched beneath his touch, drew a low groan from Astarion's throat. He was no longer the vampiric preacher who had given his life to God and vowed celibacy; he was a man, flesh and blood, driven by primal urges he could no longer deny. Your scent filled his senses, intoxicatingly sweet, and it sparked a curiosity that overshadowed all rational thought.

"Gods, I shouldn't..." He murmured, more to himself than to you, but the words died in his mouth as his tongue dared to taste the honeyed sweetness of your center. The flavor burst upon his senses—a delectable mix of sin and innocence—and his groan vibrated against your sensitive skin. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated need.

"M-more...please..don't stop," You encouraged breathlessly, your eyes half-closed, hands finding their way into his silver curls, urging him closer.

Astarion complied, his once-hesitant licks becoming more insistent, delving into your folds with fervor. The holy man within him screamed for repentance, for restraint, but he was drowned out by the carnal beast that had been awakened. With each stroke of his tongue and curl of his fingers, he mapped out every contour of your dripping cunt, committing your responses to memory like sacred scripture.

"Ah, Astarion," you moaned, a symphony to his ears.

"Y/N," he whispered against you, his voice husky with passion, "you taste positively divine ."

As he continued to worship at the altar of your body, the church bells of propriety and oath rang distant, irrelevant. In this moment, there was only you and the undeniable truth that you were bound by something far stronger than doctrine. The friction of his fingers inside of you, coupled with the relentless pursuit of his tongue, stoked a flame within you that threatened to consume you both.

"Father," you gasped, your plea a beautiful litany, "Aah - Gods, yes.."

Your hips bucked beneath him, the fierce desire in your eyes melting into a tempest of ecstasy. The supple flesh of your sex clenched around his fingers, and the sight of it, the feel of it, sent a shiver down his spine. The moments of hesitation were a blur in the past, all that remained was the hunger between you, the natural dance of bodies, the silent pleas for release.

He felt that familiar throb of anticipation, the prelude to a world of pleasure and sin. It would be a fall from grace, a transgression of the utmost magnitude. But he knew, deep down, that his heart would break if he denied you the satisfaction you so desperately craved.

He could feel the tension within your body, the resistance slowly fading away as you came closer to the edge. Your breaths, once short and gasping, now deep and labored as you allowed yourself to fully succumb to sinful bliss.

His fingers, still buried inside of you, crescendoed their rhythm, matching the tempo of your heartbeat. He traced the swell of your clitoris with his thumb and lapped at the nectar that spilled from you, staining his lips with its sweetness.

"Astarion," you whispered, your voice a low, sultry moan. "Please, I need more."

He understood. He needed more, too. He plunged his fingers deep within you once more, eliciting a scream of unadulterated pleasure. The supple flesh of your sex clenched and spasmed around him, and the sight of it, the feel of it, drew a deep growl from within his chest.

His breath was a harsh rasp, his every sense alight with the raw scent of desire that rose from your flushed skin. Withdrawing his hand and mouth from your quivering, wet warmth, he couldn't help but admire the sheen of arousal that coated him, a decadent gloss that marked his sin as much as it did his yearning. He gazed upon you, reclined and panting, through eyes hazed with lust, finding you all the more enchanting for the sweat that painted your delicious curves.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice laced with both reproof and undeniable affection, "such a greedy little thing."

His fingers, still trembling with the remnants of your pleasure, worked at the ties of his breeches with a deftness born of necessity—this shedding of his final vestment felt like the peeling away of his last vow. The fabric fell away, pooling around his knees before he kicked them off, discarding the cloth and constraint alike into a forgotten pile on the floor.

Bare now before you, the dying light cast shadows across his lean form, playing over the muscles that tensed with anticipation. His heavy, aching cock stood proud, a testament to their forbidden ardor, twitching as though it had a life of its own, the tip shining with evidence of his need.

"Can you handle more?" he asked, his voice a low growl that vibrated in the charged air between you. It wasn't just a question of your endurance; it was a challenge to his self-control, a plea for absolution for the hot sin you were about to commit.

Your response was caught in your throat, your eyes wide as you drank in the sight of him. In your gaze, Astarion saw the war between lust and trepidation—yet when you swallowed, it not only discarded your fears but also his lingering doubts.

"Please," you whispered, your voice thick with want. "Take me... I want to be yours."

The words crashed into him like a wave, sweeping away the last of his restraint. A part of him—the man who had clung to his faith amidst a sea of past temptations—whispered that this was the point of no return. But another part, deeper, more primal, rejoiced in the offering you presented.

"Then mine you shall be," he vowed, his mind afire with images of your union, of how he would fill you, stretch you, consume your essence until there was no distinguishing where one ended and the other began.

As he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick heat, he felt the weight of years of celibacy poised on the brink of oblivion. His heavy balls tightened, aching with the promise of release, the need to claim and be claimed overwhelming him.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Yes," came your breathless reply.

And with that single word, Astarion surrendered, gently pushing forward and guiding himself into your tight warmth with a slow, deliberate thrust.

You gasped as his girth split your virgin pussy, your body writhing beneath him, a silent plea for more. Astarion pushed in deeper, sinking slowly into you…inch by agonizing inch until you felt his balls press against the tender flesh of your ass. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced, a divine mix of pain and pleasure that sent shivers down your spine.

"Ohh, Gods above ...you're so tight, little one" he whispered, pulling back just enough to tease your entrance and admire the pink ring of your ruined maidenhood around his shaft before plunging himself into your core once more.

You moaned, your hands clawing at his back, urging him on. “Mmf! Ahh…d-don't stop, please..."

Astarion groaned, his hips bucking urgently against you. He wanted to savor this moment, to take his time, but the beast within him demanded satisfaction. He shifted his angle, his cock rubbing at that sweetest spot inside of you just right as his crown pressed rough kisses against your cervix over and over again, and you cried out in pleasure and pain.

"Ahhh - fuck ," you cried, your voice a mixture of ecstasy and anguish, "Gods, it's too much...I can't-”

"Yes you can," Astarion whispered reassuringly, his breath hot against your ear. He thrust faster, harder, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. "You're taking me so well, sweet girl. Being so very good for me..."

Your body arched beneath him, your nails digging into his back as you climaxed hard, your orgasm hitting you like a whirlwind of bliss and agony.

Astarion felt your muscles clench around him, a vice-like grip that threatened to pull him under. His release was imminent, and he knew that once it came, there would be no turning back.

His thrusts became more frantic, the need to conquer your petite body overtaking him. Each movement was a battle, each thrust a plea, each twitch of his manhood a promise. He could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Forgive me," he grunted, his voice strained, his voice echoing your pleas from earlier. "I just can't control myself around you..."

You let out a needy, lustful whimper as your overstimulated body trembled beneath him, matching his rhythm as you reached once more for the edge of a new kind of bliss you had never known.

"I don't want you to control yourself," you huffed. "I want to feel every bit of you inside me."

Astarion groaned, his eyes rolling back as he plunged into you with reckless abandon, his cock twitching and pulsing within your snug hole. He felt your walls tighten around him, milking him for everything he had to offer. This was it; this was the moment. He knew that once he emptied himself inside of you, he would be lost in you forever. With a desperate cry, he buried himself to the hilt inside of your molten core, stuffing you completely with his thick, neglected manhood as his seed flooded and filled you, a substantial overflow seeping from where you remained joined - a testament to your sinful union.

As he collapsed onto you, his breathing came in ragged gasps. You lay beneath him, your eyes closed, face flushed with the afterglow of your lovemaking. You felt his cock twitching inside of you, still wrapped around him in a tight grip from your shared ecstasy.

He could feel your heart racing beneath him. This was not merely sex or desire; this was something forever altered, indelible in your souls. As your bodies calmed from their fervor, he found himself still nestled within your warmth, where he belonged.

He knew that to stay burrowed within you would be to invite temptation's final caress, but he could not make himself retreat. Not now, not ever. You were his now, and he was yours; there was no turning back...

[watcheraurora]

I know there probably won't be an Empires S3 and that's genuinely fine

But imagine with me for a minute

It's 1,000 years since the end of Empires S2, and the souls of the rulers are reincarnated yet again, fresh and new as before

And one of them in particular—a blond, brown-eyed young man—wanders the land with a pair of yellow-gold wings folded against his spine

Those wings bear him through the sky, soaring high above anything else. Sometimes he wonders if he could even fly so high that he would reach Stratos, the long-forgotten, mythical land of the gods. Or, according to myths and legends, the last god

With those yellow wings in the sun and his warm blond hair, he's given the name Canary King by his people

He builds his empire from scratch. He plants orchards in a plain biome—a canary's natural habitat. He trades honey and apples with the other kingdoms

He builds homes for his people with his bare hands. He builds his seat of power nearby. A palace for an Avian nestled in the branches of the tallest tree in the world. He made the tree himself, in a way. With the help of a little magic, he grew a sapling into a true marvel. A grand treehouse, high in the air, is where he builds his throne. The perfect fit for a wingéd king, born for the high blue skies

Sometimes he dreams of a homey swamp full of cod and slime. He dreams of gills in his neck and webbed hands. He dreams of a woman with blue skin and pink hair like Lizzie's in a light, flowy dress. He calls that woman sister, in his dreams. He dreams of an elf from the cold, high mountains—an ally. Sometimes he wonders if there was something more there. He dreams of the demon. The corruption.

Other times he dreams of a mesa—badlands. Exact opposite of that homey swamp. Instead of perpetual damp, the mesa is bone dry and blisteringly hot. He dreams of a brass badge on his chest. Tall boots to keep the sand out of his socks. He dreams of a hat to keep the sun off his face. The mesa is empty and lonely. He dreams of enclosed walls meant to emulate the blue sky and clouds the badlands are too hot to form. He dreams of mocking laughter. Shouts of "Toy!" He dreams of strangers appearing in the world, smaller than most everyone else. He dreams of the world the strangers—Hermits?—came from. A Rift in reality. He dreams of a funny old man with a grey beard teaching him to be "better" in his role

He dreams of a man with blue fire for hair, blue eyes with darker blue sclera, and a long black coat rarest of all, but they are always the sweetest dreams. The Canary King wears the brass badge and boots in those dreams, and the blue-fire-hair man isn't like the others—he treats him kindly. Even sweetly. In stark contrast to the mocking teasing of the others

The Canary King dreams he builds the two of them a ranch in the badlands, and then sees the fortress in the frozen norths of the Hermits' world that the blue fire hair man built himself

The Canary King always wakes up from these dreams feeling nostalgia. Like he misses something he never had, or lost something he no longer remembers

He serves his people and enjoys the company of the other rulers, his friends. He pretends he's not haunted by these dreams and the lives that seemed to be contained within them. No one else speaks of reoccurring dreams. No one else seems to notice the thousand-yard stare that he has when he thinks about them

Sometimes Scott smiles at him a little too fondly. Sometimes Joel's teasing needles him a little too deeply and he feels much smaller than he is. Sometimes Lizzie scolds him in a tone that sounds like the older sister the Canary King doesn't have—

And he remembers those dreams all over again

And his wings pull closer to his body, trying to protect him. He seeks comfort in the feeling of his feathers against his hands. He ignores the flashes of red-yellow-and-blue macaw wings on one of the Hermits in his dreams

So he flies. He flies and flies and flies. He sees the world whiz past below him. He flies so far and so fast, he tries to let the wind steal his thoughts and dreams from his mind. The skies are his home even more than the treehouse he poured blood, sweat, and tears into. The skies bring relief. And quiet. And solace. He still hasn't flown high enough to reach Stratos. He doesn't think he ever will

He doesn't want to anymore, with those dreams following him

The Canary King flies for days, barely sleeping, barely eating

He doesn't stop until he sees a mesa below him

It pulls him up short. He circles as he descends, eyes sweeping the land

He lands and kicks at the red sand here and there, thinking himself ridiculous for hoping to see—to find—anything

Until he slams his foot into something

He digs with a shovel and a pickaxe for what feels like hours. He exposes the ruins of an old town. He knows exactly where he's going to find the next building, somehow. As familiar with this town's layout as he is his orchards and the villages he built with his bare hands back home

He finds a small wooden sign with Welcome to Tumble Town! etched into the wood

He drops the sign and takes wing again. He deliberately ignores every swamp he passes over

He flies until he can't anymore. Until his beautiful, strong, yellow wings have no strength left and cannot bear him on the winds any longer. He crash lands in the snow and does not get up

The Canary King expects to freeze to death and never see his orchards or his treehouse palace ever again. He expects to finally be free of the dreams

Night falls. Creepers sneak around the mountains. Spiders spit and skeletons clank. Zombies groan

The world has grown dark, and the Canary King's vision begins to become even darker—

A blazing golden light flares. A voice cries out and then giggles

That same voice asks if the Canary King is alright. A warm hand rests on his shoulder

The newcomer has yellow fire for hair and red eyes with darker red sclera. He has the same face shape, the same nose, the same ears as the man in the Canary King's dreams

The newcomer is concerned and the Canary King is on the brink of unconsciousness. The newcomer promises that he's safe now—he'll be taken care of. It's the last thing the Canary King remembers before passing out

He wakes up in a cozy ranch house

He feels like he's home for the first time since the dreams started