#and that's why he was so adamant about finding out about his blade at the marmora base the first time and knowing what it meant

[fatkish]

Alpha Gyomei x Omega Reader

When Gyomei heard that an Omega had passed and survived the final selection, he prayed that you would survive and that you wouldn’t die prey to demons

He thought that, while admirable, an omega shouldn’t have to fight

You first met during the Kamado Siblings’s trial. You held tightly to Nezuko’s box and refused to let anyone touch it

Even though he cannot see, he could sense you protecting the box that held the demon. He thought that you must have been mistaken or confused about the demon, you probably thought it was a child, thus you would protect it similar to one

He could hear your growls whenever anyone got too close to you or the box. He was worried about how you would survive against a child demon if you ever faced one

When everyone questioned whether Nezuko would or wouldn’t attack a human you got fed up and walked up onto the engawa and apologized to Kagaya before taking your water container and washing off the scent blocking ointment covering your scent glands and even cut your hand on your blade before opening Nezuko’s box

The Hashira were each stunned and held themselves back when you injured yourself. When Nezuko refused to attack you despite being a bleeding omega, something every demon wouldn’t have thought twice about, Kagaya accepted Nezuko, and you stuck your tongue out at the other Hashira

Gyomei cried when he smelled your blood. He was saddened by your pain

When Kagaya asked the Hashira to take time to train you, Gyomei wasn’t so sure but agreed to do it anyways. After talking with Kagaya, he understood that Kagaya’s intention behind this training was to hopefully help you find a suitable mate so you would hopefully settle down instead of fighting

When you went to train with Gyomei after training with Shinobu, he was worried about what his typical training would do to you. Even though it was harsh, you stuck to it and remained determined to pull through it despite your many failed attempts

When you would train in the river, you saw that there were fish there and decided to catch a few for dinner on occasion

You would gather ingredients and make food for Gyomei and Genya. Gyomei, despite being blind, was actually very skilled in the kitchen, making him your cooking partner

You both would cook together and eat together with the addition of Genya. The poor boy was so flustered to be in such close proximity to an omega

Genya would always thank you but he never looked you in the eye. You kept trying to mother Genya since he was still a young Alpha and hadn’t fully presented yet

You’d often try and nuzzle and give Genya affection to which he’d get flustered and either shut down or run away much to Gyomei’s amusement

If Genya had food on his face you’d try to clean him up only for him to grow flustered and shut down

You’d give Genya tips and teach him a few moves while you both trained. Genya was worried for you but he didn’t know how to show it

Gyomei loved hearing you and Genya get along. Your near constant attempts to smother him like a pup and his adamant refusal that he’s not a pup

In the evenings and at night you’d get tired and snuggle up to Gyomei whilst he meditates or prays, often laying your head on his large thigh and curling up to him. He’d smile and run his hand over your head, giving your scalp a few good scratches before continuing his meditation

He was surprised when you would nibble on his fingers, a behavior often seen in omegas when they’re between the ages of 2-6. It’s often a comforting behavior as well as a familial bonding behavior. He cried realizing that you see him in a familial sense

Gyomei grew very fond of you and secretly prayed that you would allow him to be your alpha. He knows he’s large and has a rather intimidating presence, that’s why he’s always been afraid he would never find a mate

Most people are afraid of his large stature and it doesn’t help that he’s naturally very strong. That’s why he was so thankful to be able to spend time looking after you

When you finished training with him and left for Sanemi, he bid you good luck and farewell. He knew Sanemi could be rough, but he’d never mistreat an omega

Gyomei would miss you and your company

Tag list: @imagineshazamlokimight

[azriels-human]

In Your Dreams: II ☁️🌙☁️

Azriel x Reader

A/n: Heyy😖 sorry for the long delay. Lowkey, I don’t like using Y/n but since it’s more Azriel’s POV we just have to put up with it. God gives his strongest battles to his strongest warriors😔✊🏽

Summary: Az isn’t very fond of the newest member of the Night Court so much so that you even plague his dreams.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI.

Part I

Azriel could help but let his mind wander to that dream. To the way you looked at his mercy and how his name sounded coming from your lips. Those lush rosy lips.

THUMP

Azriel hits the ground forcefully, his sword flying out of sight.

Cassian rolls his eyes and extends a hand to his brother. “What the hells is it? You’re distracted this morning.”

Azriel takes his hand, standing to his feet. “Nothing.”

Cassian tugs Azriel’s hand and gives him a knowing look. “Is it the stuff with Elain?”

Azriel’s brow pinches in confusion for just a second before he answers. “No. There is no ‘stuff’ with Elain.”

As Rhysand had made it very clear to him.

For a moment he’d forgotten of the incident he shared with the Archeron sister. Of course, he has thought of her many times since but she is not what plagued his thoughts this morning.

It was you, quite the opposite, in fact.

While Elain is the picture of innocent loveliness and blooming roses, you are the essence of grim allure. The thorns of those roses.

Shit, he even forgot that he promised to take Elain to her favorite bakery as soon as he returned from his mission. He’d been so focused on not focusing on you that he hadn’t even tried to find her at all yesterday.

Another thing he adds to the mental list of reasons not to like you.

“Then what is it?” Cassian asks, readying his blade for more action while Azriel picks up his own.

Though his distaste for you is apparent, he hasn’t spoken of you to anyone but Rhysand. The only reason he ever does is to get him to do something about you. What that something is, he’s not too sure but anything works at this point.

“I have to take…Y/N with me on a mission tomorrow.” Your name feels so foreign on his tongue, chilling, as if speaking it would summon you.

Cassian shrugs, gesturing for Azriel to strike him first in their new round of training and he does. The two begin to spar once more.

“What of it?” Cassian asks dodging Azriel’s attacks.

“Only that I cannot stand the sight or smell or idea of her.” Az grunts.

“Yeah, I kind of got that.” Cass chuckles between blows. “Remind me why? is it because she out sneaked you?”

“She did not out sneak me!” Azriel growls. “Something is just off about her.”

“Like?”

“Like how bleak and foreboding she is.”

Cassian laughs, “I can’t argue with that. She’s definitely intimidating at first.”

“At first?”

“Well once I got to know her, I discovered that’s she’s actually pretty interesting.” Cassian swings his sword.

“Got to know her?” Cassians attack misses.

“Yeah. Shes kind of like you in that sense.”

Az staggers back, not from Cassian’s attacks but from utter shock. The accusation of being anything like you. “What do you mean by that? I’m not like her at all.”

“Just that some people aren’t as scary as they look.” Cassian doesn’t bother to strike Azriel in his baffled state.

Azriel really didn’t know what to make of it all, couldn’t picture you smiling and chatting away with Cassian. You’re all but a stonewall whenever he’s seen you. But Cassian wouldn’t just lie for the fun of it. Unless…

“Did Rhysand tell you to say that?” Azriel runs his hands through his hair, wiping the sweat that drips from his curled tips.

He doesn’t wait for an answer before returning his training sword to its proper area, Cassian in suit.

“Why would he?”

“Well he seems quite adamant on me getting along with her.”

“Maybe you should. She’s-”

“I get it Cass. Shes your new best friend but that certainly does not mean she has to be mine.” Azriel rolls his eyes. “Now if you��ll excuse me, I have a promise to keep.”

.☁️🌙☁️.

Thankfully, Elain wasn’t upset with Azriel’s forgetfulness, allowing him to escort her to her favorite bakery and even stopping by a jewelry shop for some new earrings.

“What do you think of these?” Elain asks pointing to a pair of small pearls.

Azriel leans forward, inspecting the timeless jewelry. “They’re very nice.”

Elain nods at the shop owner who adds them to the small pile of jewels she’s picked. “Maybe one more pair?” Elain sheepishly smiles.

Azriel nods. “Take your time.”

“How about you pick them?” Elain suggests. “They’re all so beautiful, I can’t choose.”

The idea makes Azriel smile at the middle Archeron sister. That she might like to wear something he chose for her.

Azriel scratched his chin examining the rows of elegant and extravagant jewelry. Gold, silver, diamonds, all kinds of jewelry that he knows she would appreciate but there is one piece that calls to him.

A unique piece for sure, nothing like he’d ever seen before. A silver pair of earrings with a stone so black it’s like looking into a void and the tiniest diamonds scattered across it like stars.

However, Elain is not who came to mind upon seeing them. It’s you.

The earrings would go flawlessly with your usual pure black attire but it’s the way they make him feel like he’s looking right at you.

His chest tightens. Daunting yet fascinating.

He hates himself for letting you distract him from Elain again. You, who could not be anymore different, should be far from his thoughts right now.

You steal his siphon, his thoughts, his dreams and he detests it. He just wants to return to the life he had before he knew of your existence.

“You seem to like those.” Elain’s tranquil voice brings Azriel out of his thoughts. “I’ll take them.”

The shop owner reaches for the unnerving jewels but Azriel stops him. “No, not those. The ones next to it.”

Azriel hadn’t even taken notice in the plain, diamond studs beside them and mentally cursed you for keeping him from finding a beautiful pair for Elain.

Elain nods and the owner rings her up.

The walk back to the house is silent. Azriel’s thoughts consisting of half trying not to replay his dream of you grinding on his cock and half wondering where the tension between he and Elain is coming from.

Did she know he was thinking of you when he saw the earrings? Was she upset that he’d chosen something so boring for her?

Whatever the reason, it’s your fault for being a parasite in his brain.

“You seem distracted lately.” Elain breaks the silence between them.

Distracted. The same thing Cassian had said this morning and what he is trying so hard not to let you do to him.

“It’s nothing. Just thinking about my assignment tomorrow.” It wasn’t a lie. You are the most troubling part of his work now too.

“Right, you’re going to the Hewn City with Y/n.”

Azriel’s eyes almost leave his skull at Elain’s comment. You are not a topic he EVER needs to speak of with Elain.

Elain giggles, “She told me about it.”

“You…talk to her?” Azriel asks incredulously. It’s one thing to hear that Cassian has spoken to her but Elain? Sweet, sunshine Elain?

Elain nods, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Azriel shakes his head. It felt like worlds colliding. World’s he didn’t want to mix at all.

It was foolish of him to believe Elain wouldn’t talk to you though. Despite her months of casting everyone out, Elain is kind hearted.

Even before the cauldron, when she was afraid of him, she still did her best to be polite.

“I just assumed she didn’t speak to anyone.”

Again, Elain laughs. “She gets along quite well with everyone.”

Another piece of shocking information. “Everyone?”

Elain nods. “I won’t lie, she’s a bit scary when she’s quiet, but one day she asked to join me while baking and I got to know her a bit.”

You approached her? Azriel didn’t think he could be anymore shocked but there he was his jaw practically on the floor.

That isn’t at all like what he imagined you to be like. With your cold and strange disposition, he couldn’t even imagine you and Elain in the same room, let alone baking together.

Now, Azriel by no means believes Elain to be a liar but the thought of you actually getting along with his family is so…bizarre. He needs to know for himself to believe it. So he set forth on his own personal mission.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Upon his departure from Elain at the House, Azriel begins the search for his first witness, Mor.

He beelines for her room, knocking on her door a bit too urgently.

She’ll tell me him the truth.

Mor opens her door, brow pinched in slight annoyance. “Want to knock a bit louder?”

“Have you spoken to Y/n?” Azriel wastes no time on formalities or her mood.

“About?” Mor shrugs.

“Anything. Anything at all.” Azriel sighs, growing impatient. He needs answers now, before he’s stuck with you for Gods know how long tomorrow.

“Uh…yes?” Mor’s irritation turning into confusion.

“And?”

She shakes her head, her confusion only furthering. “And what? I don’t know what you’re asking me, Az.”

“What do you think of her? What did you talk about?” Azriel runs a hand through his hair trying to calm his edge as he realizes how frantic he is coming off.

Mor taps her finger against her chin. “She’s great! We talk about clothes, we talk about clubs, we talk about boys.” Mor wiggles her eyebrows.

Boys? He didn’t care about that. He wants to know what she knows about you.

Yet he couldn’t help himself.

“What ‘boys’?” Azriel glances down the hallway, as if you’d appear there, staring him down as you always do. “Anyone I should be concerned about?”

Mor chuckles and rolls her eyes. “None. Unless you’re concerned with who she may share a bed with.”

Something like nausea twist in his gut. He did not need to know that. He will absolutely never need to know that.

“I am most definitely not. I mean, is there anything suspicious about her? Anything I should know?” Azriel shakes the thought from his head.

“Nope. She seems alright to me. Anymore questions that you can find out for yourself?”

Azriel resists the urge to learn every detail she knows and shakes his head, bidding her a good evening and setting off to search for the next subject to his questions. If there’s anyone that will tell him what he wants to hear, it’s Nesta.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel finds Nesta lounging in the den, a book (that she obviously is very concentrated on) in hand.

Nesta isn’t fond of being interrupted while reading but this is important and time sensitive. He needs to know who it is he’s going to be stuck with.

Azriel clears his throat, stepping into the den. Nesta continues to read.

He clears his throat again, a bit louder this time.

“I’m busy.” Her eyes remain in the book.

“What do you think of Y/n.” Azriel decides it’s might be worse to try and ease her into conversation.

To his surprise, she actually looks up. A smirk stretches across her lips as she puts her book down and crosses her arms. “Why the sudden interest? I didn’t think you liked the poor girl.”

Poor girl? Nesta thinks you’re the victim here? He’s the one you stole from.

“That doesn’t matter. Do you like her or do you not?” Azriel asks, doubt begins to fill the hope he held out for anyone else to feel what he feels.

Nesta waves him off. “If you’re not going to tell me, then I’m not going to have answers.”

Azriel’s patience is worn thin at this point. He has a feeling he knows her answer. He just wants to rip the band aid off.

“My only interest is making sure she isn’t going to stab me in my sleep when I take her with me on my assignment tomorrow.” His hands rest on his hips, awaiting Nesta’s response.

Nesta scoffs. “I doubt that. Though it seems you might be the one doing the stabbing. You look like you’re going insane.”

“I feel like I am.” Azriel slumps onto the sofa across from Nesta and burries his face into his palms.

He doesn’t know what to think and he has yet to see any of this ‘great’ personality as Mor had described you. Anytime he has been around you, you’ve always been tucked away in a corner, languishing in your own mysterious presence.

“Stop being so stubborn and talk to her. Maybe then you won’t run away like a scared child when you see her.” Nesta pokes fun at him but he couldn’t deny that he mostly feels the need to flee when you are around.

Speaking to you does not sound appealing, not only because you seem as interesting as watching paint dry, but mostly because of how you make him feel.

Being face to face with you always results in his every nerve being on fire and a gripping ache in his abdomen that won’t go away. He’s on high alert, anxious that you’ll break from your spine chilling stillness and put your cunning skills to use.

You are a source of stress that he does not know how to relieve. Even after learning that you’ve earned his family’s affection, he can’t settle the unease that you stir in him.

But he’s afraid everyone is right. Maybe it’s best for him to grow a pair and face the discomfort to try and alleviate some it at least.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel hesitantly searches for you throughout the rest of the evening and night, occasionally gathering the courage to peak into a room to see if you are there.

He has faced beasts and armies and kings yet facing you is what terrifies him?

The walk to the library felt long in the dead silent house. Not even Cassian’s snores can be heard from here and it only makes Azriel more nervous.

Since he could not find you anywhere else, the library seems to be where you hide at night.

He silently creeps into the library. The illumination of moonlight from the back of the room proves him right as he slips past the row of bookcases until he reaches the now open balcony.

There you were lying on the bench, eyes closed, hands tucked tightly to your chest.

Now he’s sure you are insane. Sleeping on a hard bench in the cold night.

Azriel stalks towards you, unsure if he should wake you or let you freeze the death. Maybe that’ll solve this whole thing.

But once again he just can’t walk away.

Your skin seems to glow in the moonlight and each strand of your hair glitters in the gentle night breeze. Peace replaces your usual stone features.

Heat pulses through his veins and his every nerve begins to vibrate with alarm just as he knew they would. Except there was something more.

It’s not only that he can’t leave but its as if once he gets close enough to smell you, to notice the details of your being and to be able to reach out and touch you, he is lost to an unseen enchantment that only draws him closer.

Azriel looks down over your sleeping form. His eyes roam over your nightgown clad figure. The hem, riding dangerously up your thigh, would do absolutely nothing to cover your center if you move half an inch.

Visions of his degenerate dream flit through his mind, the lewd things he did to you. The sound of your breathless moans and the feeling of your tight pussy contracting around his fingers as you came.

Unwelcomed desire pinches deep in his stomach. Despite his best attempt to push down the carnal feeling, all is for not when his eyes lock onto your lips.

Pink and plump and parted in your slumber, he cannot look away, can’t stop the vulgar thoughts flooding his mind. Hypnotized, his fingers twitch with the need to touch, to feel, to know.

Cauldron, he needs to know.

“Do you enjoy watching people sleep?”

Azriel jumps back as his heartbeat sky rockets. What the hells is wrong with you!?

You look up at him through your lashes. “Well?”

What is he even supposed to say? There is no way to make staring at someone while they sleep sound normal.

Azriel swallows, “I was making sure you weren’t up to anything.” Turning the tables of accusations is one way.

Your brow quirks up. “Oh? And what exactly do you think I’d be up to?”

Azriel shakes his head as if it should be obvious. “Stealing.”

“Stealing? With my eyes closed?” You scratch your chin. “Though I probably could from you.”

Lightning strikes his pride. “You could not. Even the worst of the worst get lucky from time to time.”

The corner of your tempting lips curl into a smirk and a chuckle escapes them. You laughed. He made you laugh. Not at all intentional but still the sound weaves its way into the deepest corner of his mind, engraving its melody for what he knows will be eternity.

He wants to hear it again.

“Okay. So what would I be stealing?” You sit up. Azriel doesn’t miss the way your soft thighs glide against each other as you cross your legs.

“Whatever you can get your little hands on.” Azriel sneers, already regretting letting everyone influence him to speak with you.

“Hm. Well, I can get these ‘little hands’ wrapped around just about anything. Sounds like you’ve got trouble then.” The smirk on your lips turns devious, like a cat toying with a mouse.

Your choice of words incite that thrill in him again. The same one when he retrieved his siphon. The same one he felt fucking you with his fingers in his dream.

“Say I was stealing, what would you do to me?” You blink once, twice.

Azriel couldn’t ignore the thrum of his heart. Just as you had in his dream, you feign innocence. Chin tilted down as you watch him behind long fluttering lashes. “I’d…”

You did not want to know what he’d do to you. What he had done to you.

For stealing he’d send you somewhere as dark and cold as you. For your arrogant attitude, it would involve three fingers in your soaking cunt and your ass grinding on his throbbing cock.

“Rhysand would lock you away.” Azriel keeps himself out of the scenario completely. He’ll be damned if he shows you just how much your provocative choice of words affect him.

“He already didn’t do that.” You pout. His frown must be more apparent than he thought it to be because your vacant eyes fill with a devilish amusement.

It’s blow after blow at his dignity as a spy master. Azriel’s ego was never high to begin with but your words get under his skin. “Yeah, instead he decided to give a very important job to a less than impressive thief.”

You chuckle again.

Azriel scoffs. Why are you laughing at his jabs at you? Why aren’t you as annoyed and desperate to end this conversation as he is?

“I beg to differ. I did impress the High Lord.” You lean forward just an inch. An inch that seems like a mile to Azriel. “And I think I impressed you too.”

“Impressed by a common thief from the slums of the Hewn City?” Azriel wanted to hit where it hurt, to knock you off your high horse.

“Where I’m from you’re either a thief or a whore.” You shrug, brushing your hair over your shoulder. “I chose thief.”

The persistent ache deepens within him as he recalls the noises you made in his dream. The way you begged to feel his fingers and make a mess of you. The way he had made you his whore.

“Maybe you would have been better at the latter.” Azriel steadies his breaths, unsure if he truly meant offense. He wanted to mean it that way but his crude memories begin to blur that line between hate and desire.

You stand from the bench, eyes never leaving his with their crushing weight. “You think I’d make a good whore?”

You take a step towards him only this time he did not step back. You tilt your chin up, a knowing look dances across your expression.

“More than a thief.”

“Why?” You ask.

Why not? Is what he wanted to say. How could you not when you made such tempting noises and felt so fucking good against him.

Upon his lack of response, your sultry smirk returns. “Is it my body? My face?”

Both. Your figure is one thing but your face is a whole other. Your darkened eyes stare into his soul, cheeks tinted pink from the pinch of the cold air and your pretty lips just waiting to be kissed.

Gods, you’re incredibly beautiful. Every time he sees you, he notices something new. More and more beautiful each time.

Azriel can’t help but stare, unable to say the words he wished to say. All he could focus on is how badly he wants your hand on his chest. For it to travel lower and lower until he stops you. For his all consuming dream to become a reality.

“Tell me what would make me a good whore.” You challenge.

He couldn’t think. With you standing so close he can feel the warmth of your skin through his leathers. He could touch you, the real you, only inches apart.

He could know how soft your kiss is in a split second.

His eyes flit to your lips then back to your magnetic eyes.

Suddenly you burst into laughter. Full blown laughter as you clutch your chest from the hysterics.

Azriel steps back in surprise.

“Don’t tell me you want a kiss, spy master?” Your lips curled back in a full grin, perfect teeth gleaming back at him.

A mix of humiliation and awe swirl through his every sense. Cruel splendor you are.

You chuckle once more and wink at him as you make your way out. “In your dreams.”

If only you knew. He doesn’t know if he’s furious or turned on but either way, he’ll make sure you pay for it tomorrow.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel plops down onto his bed, running his hands over his face, a deep sigh following.

What was he to do about you? That conversation went far worse than he anticipated. Instead of finding some kind of relief to his assumptions, he found that he wants to fuck you senseless. The attitude mixed with that silver tongue of yours is a lethal combination, cracking down on his hard exterior.

He only hopes you’ll stay silent so he can focus on the assignment instead of your lips.

His pants tighten at the thought of them. How your lips would look so good around him.

Azriel couldn’t help but squirm, the friction of his pants against his cock making him even harder inside them.

His hands don’t leave his face, embarrassment and desire flood his senses.

His hips move in slow, deep circles. The soft fabric of his briefs caressing him.

“Having fun by yourself, Shadowsinger?” Azriel silently gasps, sitting up to see you stood in the center of his bedroom. Nightgown clinging to your body, loose hair swaying at you tilt your head to the side.

“Get out.” Azriel growls. As much as he tries to avoid you, one conversation has you following him around like a lost puppy?

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” You pout.

“Leave.” Azriel points to his door. Heart racing, from surprise or lust he doesn’t know.

You shake your head, silky thighs brushing against each other as you move towards him. “You don’t want me to leave.”

“Leave.” Azriel repeats hardly over a whisper, chest visibly rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“You don’t want me to leave.” You match his volume. Your condescending tone mocking his decaying self control as you come to a halt right between his thighs.

You look down at him with those dark eyes. Words, thoughts, air all elude him as you lower yourself.

Azriel’s eyes never leave yours, his lips part slightly in fascination at the sight you kneeled before him.

“Do you?” You ask virtuously.

Azriel subtly shakes his head

Your pouted lips morph into a wicked smirk. “Then tell me I’m better.”

Azriel blinks. Confusion trickling into his intoxicating lust. “What?”

“Tell me that I’m better.”

“A better what? Whore?”

You scoff a laugh. “Spy. Everyone thinks it already, just admit I’m better.”

The haze of infatuation decomposes into disdain. For only a second he forgot about that arrogance, that you aren’t this innocent, amazing person everyone thinks you to be. You’re rotten and he’ll make sure you know it. Tonight he’ll teach you.

Azriel roughly grips your jaw in his hand, jerking you closer to him. An inaudible squeak leaving your puckered lips as your eyes widen at the unexpected movement.

“You will never be a better spy than me. You’re hardly a good thief.” Azriel’s grip tightens, pushing your lips even more together. His index finger brushes over them before he presses it down hard to keep you silent. “I still think you’d make a better whore.”

Your muffled response is lost on him as he squeezes even harder. You flinch at the ache forming in your cheeks.

“You’re going to show me just how good of a whore you can be.” Azriel’s thumb caresses your jaw. You glare at him but it only earns you a wry smile. Seeing you start to become irate just as you make him every second of the day is so satisfying.

“Show me.” Azriel releases you with a shove of your face. He leans back slightly on his palm, it’s his turn to wear the arrogant smirk.

And it’s your turn to be speechless. You only sit there, jaw clenched and red with his finger prints, debating your next move. “Not until you give me what I want.”

Azriel’s smirk widens. “I don’t think you understand. You are going to give me everything that I want and you are going to take everything I give you. Every last inch.”

You sneer up at him, eye glaring with animosity. Yet you stay there on your knees for him.

“Come here.” He coos, gesturing you to lean closer. Hesitantly, you come closer. His eyes fixate on your mouth again as he brings his index and pointer finger to rest on your bottom lip. “Open.”

You don’t open. You only glare at him as his fingers play with your lips. Moving them side to side trying to find an entrance into your mouth.

“I said open.” Azriel growls growing impatient with your attitude.

You take a second, another before parting your lips slightly. Letting him slide his long jagged fingers into your mouth. They slide across your tongue, reaching even further until they touch the back of your throat. Knuckles pressed to your lips.

Your eyes squeeze shut holding back a gag, his fingers curling deep in your throat. “This is where I want my cock. All the way back here, baby.”

He pulls his drenched fingers from your throat, sending you into a coughing fit as you try catching your breath.

Azriel chuckles, completely taking pleasure in assaulting your pride. “Good whore. Now show me where it goes.”

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as you glare up at him. “Fuck you.”

Azriel frees himself from the confinement of his pants. His throbbing member eaking with need. You bite the inside of your cheek, contemplation in your stare.

You roll your eyes with a grimace before sticking out your tongue and dragging in from his base to his cum beaded tip.

Azriel takes in a sharp breath.

You roll your eyes again, taking his head into your mouth. Lazily and indifferent you bob your head around his tip.

Azriel scoffs, lacing his fingers through your hair and tugging you off of him. He leers down at you. “Don’t be a fucking brat. Suck my cock.”

He pulls you back down into him. Your soft whimper duly noted.

You wrap your mouth around his shaft, slowly sinking, throat stretching as he guides you further.

A strangled moan leaves Azriel when his head hits the back of your throat. You gag around him, clamping his stiffness.

His stomach tightens at the euphoric feeling. He can’t imagine you anywhere but here with his cock down your throat forever.

You go to pull away but his hand holds you down tightly.

“Not yet. Stay right there.” Azriel moans, grinding his hips into your face, wanting every inch of himself to be covered in your warm saliva. “Stay right fucking there.”

You gag again, reaching up and digging your nails into his thighs as his cock pulses in your throat. He groans pulling off of him again.

Your coughs are replaced by whines as you struggle to regain your breath. “Asshole.”

Azriel laughs at the image before him. Your cheeks pink from the pressure, drool dripping from your lips and eyes glossy. He reaches out, swiping his thumb over your tantalizing lips, spreading your spit across them.

You turn your head away, glaring daggers he knows you wish to impale him with at this very second. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Bullshit.” Azriel smirks. You raise a brow in question. “I think you’re bullshitting. You want my cock in your mouth. You want me to stretch that little throat of yours.”

Azriel gently caresses your jaw. Your eyes fluttering shut. “You want me to fuck your face until you’re covered in my cum.”

You open your half lidded eyes, chewing on your bottom lip. Unadulterated lust filling your gaze.

He could cum at this sight alone.

Azriel pushes your loose strands behind your ear and his hand slides to the back of your head, cradling you with affection. “Now suck it and make it yours, angel.”

You waste no time, taking him as far as you can, bobbing your head up and down, sucking and twisting and drooling all over him.

“Oh shit.” Azriel’s eyes roll to the back of his head. He grips your hair, not needing to guide you anymore. You devour him with an insatiable hunger, gagging and choking around him.

Azriel brings both hands to cup your face and hold it still. “F-fuck, look at me.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, tears streaking your cheeks. His hips thrust up into your tight throat, wanting to be impossibly deeper in your warmth. “You look so good choking on my cock.”

Your nose crinkles as you smile and what he assumes is your muffled attempt at giggling vibrates around him. “So fucking beautiful.”

Azriel continues to drive himself into your mouth. Tension begins to build inside him, hips bucking as he starts to lose his pace in the heightening feeling.

“I’m close. Fuck!” Azriel pulls your mouth off of him. You whine at the sudden loss but quickly open wide and stick your tongue out with excitement.

Azriel groans taking his cock in his hand and stroking desperately as he tilts your head back. His tip brushing your tongue earning even more moans from the Shadowsinger.

Azriel lets out a long, breathy moan, feeling himself start to come undone. Shockwaves grip his entire body as hot white ribbons shoot across your tongue and face. A smile graces your lips as you hum in content.

Azriel gawks at his masterpiece in admiration.

You swipe your fingers over your cheek, gathering his seed and toying with it. You chuckle and he can’t help but do the same.

“I do make a good whore.” You smirk before leaning forward. Your eyes closing gently as you slowly tilt your head and come closer.

You were going to kiss him. Azriel’s heart beats even more rapidly. You were going to kiss him and he would finally know.

Azriel closes his own eyes, awaiting your lips.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel opens his eyes to see the ceiling. He sits up finding himself in the same position he had upon returning to his room last night.

Another dream? How? You were right there, making him cum.

Azriel sighs, making his way to the bathroom to clean up the mess he’d made of himself.

This is going to be the longest day ever.

Tag list:

@quinzzelx @mybestfriendmademe @quiettuba @kksbookstuff @bloodicka @lilah-asteria @honk4emoboyz

[gay-dorito-dust]

How do you think Argenti, Gepard, Dan Heng, Blade, and Dr. Ratio would react to finding their lover crying about how beautiful they are?

Argenti would be honoured that you found him of beauty equal to that of your own.

Truly he was because he was the type to believe that it took true beauty to recognise beauty in all its other forms.

He would hold your face in his hands and try to calm you down with some sweet nothings and kisses as his thumbs wipe away your tears.

‘My beloved rose,’ he’d begin, ‘to be viewed as beautiful by your eyes is an incomparable experience and I am blessed that you think so highly of me because to me, you might as well have been the originator of beauty itself as you make even the most mundane chore beautiful.’ He pushes his forehead against yours, brushing his nose against yours. ‘I am so honoured to be viewed as such in your eyes. I shall Cherish this eternally.’ He finishes as he then proceeds to kiss under your eyes, your eyelids and finally down your tear streaked cheeks gingerly as though you were going to break.

Argenti just spends the rest of the day proving just how beautiful you are in his eyes as repayment afterwards.

You’d probably had to hold onto him and tell him that he doesn’t have to repay you for speaking your truth, but Argenti was adamant in repaying you for doing so and if that meant spending eternity wait in on you hand and foot then Argenti would gladly do so.

Gepard originally thinks that something was wrong when he caught you tearing up and was about to use whatever he needed to resolve the issue, only for you to tell him how beautiful you thought he was.

Now he’s sporting a cherry red face and was at a loss for words.

He was use to people singing his achievements despite thinking that he could do so much more but getting a compliment in general that wasn’t tied to anything he’s done was enough to have the second oldest Landau a little speechless.

‘Really?’ He would ask sheepishly while rubbing the back of his head. ‘I mean I wouldn’t think so but that doesn’t mean I’m within my right to tell you whatever you think of me is right or wrong, it’s just something I’ve got to get used to to in due time.’ He adds as he then grasps your hands in his and squeeze them.

‘But I thank you for thinking so highly of me that isn’t in regard to the things I’ve accomplished and more so on me just being…well me, even if I do fail at keeping our plants alive…but still I’m glad that you’ve stayed by my side for as long as you have. I truly don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Gepard finishes his statement off by kissing your forehead, down the slope of your nose and finally a sweet and gentle peck to the lips.

Dan Heng

He was quick to come to your aid upon seeing you crying, but the moment you tell him that the reason why was because you thought he was beautiful.

He didn’t hole much of an option about himself but he certainly didn’t think he was beautiful, average maybe, but not once did he ever look himself in the mirror and saw beauty staring back at him. He just saw Dan Heng of the Astral Express, nothing more, nothing less.

So for you to see beauty in him wasn’t something he was prepared for as his eyes widened a tad and his breath caught in his throat before looking away to scratch the tip of his nose out of habit.

‘You truly have a unique way with words don’t you?’ He’d say to himself as he smiles softly to himself, glad that nothing horrible had happened when his back was turned, you genuinely had him going for a bit there and he was more then glad to be wrong on this occasion.

He’ll hold your compliment close to his chest in hopes of absorbing it and committing it to memory, guarding it as though it were a priceless treasure he could not be separated from. He often didn’t think himself as someone special, but the way you spoke about how beautiful he was while crying made him want to appreciate everything you have ever said about him in the past in a remotely positive light. He didn’t know he needed it until you came along to shower him in love for just existing.

Blade is more of an ‘actions speak louder then words’ type of guy.

So he wouldn’t exactly be moved to bits when you tell him how beautiful he is because he knew what his body looked like, he also knew that you knew what his body looked like, so he often wondered where or not you were seeing the same thing as he was.

So unless you were holding his arms, admiring his scars and or tracing/kissing them with adoration like you were doing now, then he wasn’t going to be less to easily believing in words alone.

‘I’m far from it.’ He’d reply but felt the walls he’s built inside weaken the moment you pressed a soft kiss to one of the more larger scars across his inner forearm. A simple act made from genuine affection that shouldn’t have made as much of an effect on Blade it did.

The feeling of vulnerability wasn’t one he welcomed that often but when he does it was more or less only within your presence. In those moments you could tell him anything and he would be lead by the smallest spark to believe in it, including telling him he’s beautiful as you combed your fingers through his hair with tears still blurring your vision.

He’d brush your tears away with calloused finger pads and wordlessly bring you in close to his body, leaching off of your warmth and allowed you to borrow your head into the crook of his neck, and just keep you there as his own special way of saying thank you for seeing beauty within a monster.

Ratio

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, or however that saying goes.

Veritas didn’t pride himself on his how conventionally attractive he was but more so on his intellect and extensive wealth of knowledge.

So when he caught you crying over how apparently beautiful he was, Veritas would want to naturally disagree with this statement but due to the fact that you were in a highly emotional state, he just bites his tongue and calmly walks over to you, kneels next to you and pulls out a handkerchief and start gingerly wiping away your tears.

‘I appreciate the heartfelt compliment but I do not think that it is worth your tears.’ He would then say afterwards as he coddles you into his side, making sure you could feel his appreciation for your ability to care for such things in life, seeing as how he was too transfixed on the much bigger, more complex paradoxes of life. ‘And don’t rub your eyes so hard when wiping away your tears, you’re only hurting yourself when you do that.’ He adds fussily but it never fails to make you smile and laugh at how much he cared about you in his own way.

He doesn’t stop mid work to smell the flowers but you did and he knew how even the smallest, minuet things could mean so much to someone, even if he didn’t understand the reason as to why, but he can learn to accept that what you found worth praising and what he found worth praising were two completely separate things and that was okay.

[ddarker-dreams]

In Life, In Death.

Enver Gortash x F Reader.

Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, imbalanced power dynamics, manipulation and brief mentions of blood. Word count: 2k.

Control. 

In all its variations, this word is what you associate most with the tyrant hiding in plain sight — Lord Enver Gortash.

If it’s an art form, then he’s a virtuoso. The invisible score he weaves needn’t hypnotize the listener, no, they are drawn in willingly. Lured by innocuous and diabolical plans, shackled into place by unchecked ambition. Though they may feel unique in their role, to him, they’re little notes that shall fall silent once the page is turned. 

The full vision behind the overture is unknown to even you. From the snippets you’ve overheard, it leaves a sinister impression. Discordant harmonies promise a dark future. 

You thought you’d find satisfaction in stilling his tongue. You dreamt of the day, yearned for it, like a bride one night away from walking down the aisle. From your current vantage point, you should be seconds away from fully realizing this goal. The control he exudes over himself and others can’t be infallible. Nothing is. 

If the gods can bleed, then so can he. 

If the gods can die, then so can he. 

If your fellow man can kill, then so can you. 

“One thing’s for certain, dearest,” he comments, his tongue unfettered as ever, “Our evenings together are never dull.” 

Contrary to your wishes, it’s you who is rendered speechless. 

You are hovering above him, the long skirt of the nicest dress you own rising to accommodate the uncomfortable position. Beneath you lies a man whose dark eyes inspire more trepidation across your features than what’s reflected in his own. A perfect politician’s smile accentuates the bags beneath them. The brief struggle — if it can even be described as such — has left his hair more tousled than usual. It’s splayed out against the wooden floorboards of his study. 

When he speaks, his Adam’s apple rises dangerously close to the blade kissing his skin. This is made riskier by how shaky the implement is in your hands. 

“Breathe, darling,” he instructs, stoking your frustration. Only he would have the audacity to make commands of the person holding him at knifepoint. “You’re seconds shy from passing out in a nervous fit. That would be counterproductive to your designs, I take it?” 

Your nostrils flare. “You want to enter the afterlife making insufferable quips?” 

He considers you for a long moment. 

“The delay’s left me with little else to do.” 

“‘Delay,’” you scoff. Your grip around the hilt tightens. “A self-important egoist to the end.” 

“You’ve made up your mind, then?” 

“Long ago.” 

“Hm,” he hums, the low sound resonating in his chest. “I wonder about that. Fantasizing over my death in your head is a far cry from enacting it out yourself.” 

Your eyes narrow into slits. You want to dismiss this as a petty taunt, but you both know that isn’t the case. It’s why his tone lacks condescension — he’s pointing out a fact. Everything is hitting you simultaneously like you’re being doused in an icy pale of water. The soft smile on his face, the steady rise and fall of his chest, how level-minded he remains despite what should be a looming threat.

Then there’s you. 

Sweat beading down your temples, your breathing erratic and your stomach twisting into knots. You’re acutely aware that outside the heavy mahogany doors stands a legion of Banite fanatics. Some disguised as Flaming Fists, the others choosing not to bother. At Gortash’s command, they’d have no difficulty subduing you. The agonies that’d await afterward… you shake your head, willing the thought from your mind. 

Your eyes flicker to the two golden chalices sitting atop his desk. Wanting to build up courage, you downed most of yours, whereas he nursed his. In retrospect, your uncharacteristic indulgence should’ve warned him that something was off. He, playing the kindly host, always offered a vintage bottle during your tête-à-têtes. You rarely took him up on the offer. Alcohol dulls the senses, which you need to keep razor-sharp in his presence. 

“... You saw this coming, didn’t you?” 

Gortash exhales sharply, his eyes gleaming with entertainment. “I expected some form of retaliation. I am the reason your less clever co-conspirators are idling away in the dungeons instead of scurrying about.” 

This makes you bristle.

“They’re my friends, not ‘co-conspirators,’” you hiss, leaning down to glare at him closer. “And they’ve done nothing to earn such a… a… ridiculous sentence! Libel? Treason? Sedition, of all things? What’s next? Blasphemy?” 

“It could be arranged.” 

“Bastard,” you growl. 

“It’s a jest, dear, a simple jest,” he takes a deep breath when you apply pressure to his solar plexus. His eyebrows pinch together from the pain and he coughs. He strains to speak again, though his cadence is unsettlingly calm. “My girl, there’s a great deal in this world you’re ignorant to. Ironic though it may sound now, there was dissatisfaction over your pacifism. Dissatisfaction that almost gave way to drastic measures.” 

Gortash takes your silence as reason to continue. “The Dark Lord and I are in agreement upon your value. The same cannot be said regarding your… compatriots. They lack your finesse — your practicality. Their single-minded pursuit of ‘justice’ had them poking their nose where it doesn’t belong. I can’t abide by such behavior.” 

You grit your teeth. “Then you should’ve come to me, so I could resolve the problem.” 

His response is immediate, requiring no forethought. 

“You’re soft-hearted. Charitable where you should be strict. Why else would they feel emboldened enough to act against your wishes?” 

“I…!” 

He speaks your name, effectively silencing you.

“Answer me this,” his eyes bely a certain intensity that has you swallowing thickly. “How would you see this city become the shining utopia you long so desperately for it to be? Free of poverty, corruption, and injustice?” 

“That’s never the standard I’ve aspired for,” you reply. “If it was, I never would’ve swallowed my pride and worked alongside you. Progress comes in increments. The ills that plague Baldur’s Gate aren’t chronic, the proper alms can lessen the symptoms. Righting the city’s massive wealth disparity is where I’d start.” 

He smiles at you, his eyes creasing with fondness. “My dear, the rich would sooner surrender their souls than their wealth. It’s intrinsic. When faced with outside pressure, they will exert their own, and it will hurt.” 

“I’m aware of the risks.” 

“Are you, though?” He challenges. His voice grates your ears like a drunkard’s warbling. “Your resolve is commendable — I’ll give you that. I have no doubt you’re every ounce of the bleeding heart you present yourself to be. And therein lies the issue. You can’t quell dissent with a slap on the wrist. The bones are better broken, so the hand can never rise against you again.” 

You roll your eyes. “Spoken like a true tyrant.”  

“Is tyranny so terrible?” Gortash cranes his neck upward, forcing you to move your weapon back, lest it break skin. “When I assume the role of Archduke, I won’t inflict suffering for suffering’s sake. The common folk, when left to their own devices, scramble about like livestock; beholden to superfluous pursuits and preyed on with ease. A little order would serve them well.” 

This song and dance rings familiar. 

In undermining his political aspirations, you found your paths crossing more than you would’ve preferred. It’s these ‘coincidental’ meetings that bore what he labels an alliance. You call it a temporary truce. Funds found themselves in the coffers of almshouses, orphanages, and other charitable programs in exchange for your cooperation. Cooperation being loosely defined as a more subtle subterfuge. 

You wet your lips. When did your mouth go so dry? 

“... Truthfully, I’ve never understood why you let a thorn such as myself remain in your side. These aims of yours would’ve been achieved easier with my death.” 

Outside, a bell tolls, revealing the time to be six in the evening. The window pane behind his desk barely muffles the sound of city life. There’s the clank of metal meeting metal and the thumps of arrows finding their targets as the Flaming Fist train. Children can be heard advertising the latest installment of Baldur's Mouth Gazette. A fellow bard strums his lyre and recounts daring tales from Avernus. 

It’s for these folk that you’ve toiled endlessly. You’ve always held the belief that one can rise beyond the circumstances of their birth, so long as they have the resources available to them. It’s a matter of where they get those resources. Amidst the Mistress of the Revels’ enclave, like you, from the Nine Fingers, or worse, among The Dead Three. The options are infinite yet few are good. 

“The answer’s identical to the doubt plaguing you know — ‘what if I’m offing the lesser evil?’” 

Swifter than you can comprehend, his gauntleted hand seizes your wrist. Before a spell can leave your lips, he brings the blade closer, allowing it to nick his skin. Your eyes widen as droplets of crimson gather and trickle down his neck. The setting sun’s rays reflect against the silver weapon, nearly blinding you. When your eyes readjust, you find something about his expression different. Heavier.

“I’ve seen to it that in the event of my death, no harm would befall you,” he speaks without wincing, despite the blade’s tip penetrating his skin. “My estate, research, and Steel Watch; they’d be yours. Whatever painfully altruistic means you put them to are at your discretion.” 

It feels like the air’s been forcefully squeezed from your body. “A bold lie.” 

“In my desk’s bottom-most right drawer, you’ll find a copy of my will proving the opposite.” 

“To what end?” The question comes out breathless. “You’d throw away your life’s work to— to prove a point?” 

He chuckles darkly. “My girl, your ignorance is as endearing as it is perplexing. You can’t see it? The fascination I hold for you that’d drive me to such extremes? My blatant favoritism?” 

Gortash’s grip around your wrist tightens. 

“A death by these untarnished hands…  I’d claim what remains of your innocence for myself. A prize worth the price of admission into the afterlife.” 

Your head aches, throbbing like your brain itself is being squeezed. You break out into a cold sweat. Favoritism? Is that what this is? Can such debauchery align with the word? It’s painfully obvious now; the amusement your indecision provides him. That, along with someone else. Something foreign. A sweet concept that most spend entire lifetimes chasing, twisted into an omen. 

He says your name with enough reverence to stir envy among the divine.

“What shall it be, darling? My ironclad rule or your fleeting paradise?” 

“...” 

Your hand falls limp. 

You wordlessly move to accommodate as he props himself up. Gortash cleans the blood off your knife with a handkerchief. Next, his ornamented fingers find the hair loosened from your updo during the struggle, tucking the stray pieces behind your ear. The interaction feels like it lasts a lifetime. Warily, you eye the weapon in his non-dominant hand. There’s still a chance that this is a ploy, meant to humiliate you in a final violent act. 

As if sensing your thoughts, he raises an eyebrow. “Out of consideration for our partnership, I’ve never done you any harm, have I?” 

“Physical harm is but a single category,” you murmur, the words notably sluggish. 

“True enough,” is his blasé response. He holds his palm open, as if expecting you to relinquish something. When you remain still, he sternly utters your name. “Give me your hand.” 

You obey his command. 

The gold metal forming his claw-like gauntlet is cold against your skin. He closely scrutinizes your hand, manipulating it so he catches every angle. This dedication reminds you of when he’s tinkering with a new invention. The mental notes he takes, how he maps out dimensions and improvements for future iterations. It could be paranoia, but you swear he studies your ring finger with special interest. 

Slowly, while looking you straight in the eye, he presses an open-mouthed kiss against the bruise forming on your wrist.

“Now that that’s settled… was there anything else on your agenda for the evening?” 

[laurorne]

༊*·˚ VALYRIAN STEEL | aegon ii targaryen x sister! reader summary: you’ve found that your brother was better as a lover, in more ways than one. warnings: nsfw, minors dni, targaryen incest, top!reader, smut, p in v, riding, slight masochism, a tiny bit of a blood kink? word count: 0.6k a/n: man i love tom glynn carey 😭

Aegon II Targaryen is a messy brother. With his choppily cut hair and his dire need to do well by you, you find him endearing more oft than not. He is far from the perfect son, or the shining example of a prince. But he is loyal, to his family, to his dragon, to you.

He is messy in the sense that he's barely put together, with last minute gifts that fall apart before his eyes and half-thought out plans. Like the time he had the Conquerors crown pulled from the Red Keeps vaults, only to have the rubies removed and placed into a heavy Valyrian steel necklace —the steel from a smelted ceremonial blade mind you— accompanied by moonstones imported from the Summer Isles.

Your grandsire had yelled for a good twenty minutes before his breath left him and he needed to rest, the old fart. And your mother… oh gods she had nearly nagged both your ears off, and you hadn’t even had a clue as to why the scolding was about until Aegon sheepishly presented it to you. The nameday present spoiled now, but ever heartwarming.

After that unfortunate incident, you'd found yourself wearing that necklace nearly everyday, having dresses altered just to accommodate the sheer size and intricacy of the piece. You barely took it off, the jangling of the layered metal became a comfort over the years of your marriage.

Like right now.

Your hips roll in a slow, wide circle. Your hands pinning his chest to the bed as you work yourself atop him. He's flushed red across his neck and chest, cheeks ruddy as he pants into the night air, Adams apple bobbing deliciously as he fails to swallow down the noises he's making.

"Not much t- to say now, hmm?" You glance down at him, licking your lips as you scratch your nails down his chest and stomach.

His breath hitches at a particularly fast roll of your hips, his hands pawing at the flesh of your hips as he dares to take a peak up at you. "I don't have much to say, when you- when-"

You purposely speed up, lifting your hips only to roll back down onto him, your tits bouncing and your necklace clinking. The scarlet rubies catching what little moonlight they can as you use Aegon like a common whore.

"What was that, my sweet husband?"

"You're a cruel sister." He catches his breath, finally. His fingers pinching at the skin on your hipbone, his other hand skating over your stomach and up to your tit as you lean down into his face.

"I'm only as cruel as you are wanting."

He squeezes your breast in a soft hand, thumbing your nipple as you begin slowing your pace again. Edging him to his finish, oh-so slowly.

He hums, his thighs tensing beneath you as you pinch roughly at his nipple. He arches up into the touch as you flick over it with a nail, taking in the way his brows pinch together and his lashes flutter.

You surge forwards to catch his lips in a kiss, all teeth clashing and messy tongue. He bites down on your lip a bit too hard and you can feel the release of tension in the soft skin as blood meets your tongue.

You breathe out, pulling away by a breadths width as you begin swirling your hips, his dick heavy in your cunt as you watch a droplet of blood land on his chin. He's grinning up at you stupidly, a string of reddish spit linking your lips together before he cups the side of your face and drags you back in.

Tonguing at the cut on your lip as he moans, hips rocking up into yours finally. The other wrapping around your middle as he begins fucking up into you, punching a breath out of your lungs as he devours you.

Aegon was a messy husband, and an even messier lover. But by the Seven, did you love it.

[chocsra]

✧ "Salvation; Devotion"

16! stormbringer! Chuuya x fem! reader

✧ summary: being targeted by paul verlaine after being chuuyas friend, though when he comes to talk to you with a european detective, it seems to be more than friendship. ✧ content: small oneshot, fluff, angst (kinda), adam + angsty teenagers ✧ w/c: 1.4k

Chuuya - meaning "loyalty, devotion"

Nakahara - meaning "central plain"

His devotion was not only his strongest attribute, but his most tender weakness.

You knew a boy. He was young and short, but fiery and strong. He was mysterious, born with unknown origins, and walked the wrong path, that's why he's not only humanity's most destructive weapon but a lowly, pitiful, criminal.

It was something you weren't, though you didn't mind much.

But under the guise of celestial imperfections, Chuuya was a constellation falling into place. He was beautiful. Sunkissed with the kind of foreign beauty you’d see in actors that would play some sort of prince. Your first examination of him was his wealthy and neatly ironed clothing—the kind of blazers and shoes that you’d find in a modelling campaign. Even the accented cuffs of his clothing were underlined with emerald or other precious stones. Then, his silky russet hair, one thrown into a low ponytail—the hairstyle itself still retained a strong masculinity despite the length. Or maybe that came from the musky cologne he constantly wore. A hint of cigarettes, strawberries and that strong scent of virile.

The soft glow from his copper locks then shifted to the fitted collar around his neck—an odd fashion choice, but it really accentuated the ivory of his skin. Soft, sun-kissed skin that’d make its way to his face. A beautiful face, really. Delicate and angelic features with a permanent scowl tugging on his lips—soft pink lips. Chuuya's eyes reflected a fine smoky quartz. His cheeks and nose kissed with a few scattered freckles.

You wondered why a boy so sublime had the status of an onerous beast. Even he took the words that held the weight of a blade and cut himself until he was reduced to the slit of a knife.

You met that same boy, a masterpiece ripped at every edge, not in the dangers of the mafia, but where a silver line stretches to the sea. Where the sun meets the sky, where the light shines.

But even then, you treated him differently. You didn't treat him like he was something fragile. Neither did you treat him like the monstrosity he was sought out to be. You didn't worship him, nor did you greatly depend on him. Instead, you found his humanity and treated him as such. Once a stranger, then a friend, then..

Nevermind.

"Chuuya?!"

You heard the calamity of each step he took to reach you, the boy stopping to pant. "[Y/N].. we need to talk." next to the redhead, was a tall European man with short brown hair, he didn't look tired at all compared to Chuuya. "Greetings, my name is Adam Frankenstein." You cocked a brow at his monotonous voice, the way his mouth moved didn't seem in sync with his words either. "You're rather special, Master Chuuya spent almost 7 hours looking for yo-" Adam explained briefly, causing the redhead to grimace and cut him off, "Shut it, will ya?!"

...

You heaved a bothersome sigh, elbows planted on a cafe table as the two men sat in front of you. "So.. why do you need me, Chuuya?" you question, fiddling with your fingers, "And who's he?.." your gaze uplifts to the brunette foreigner, which the man carefully takes a pack of gum and begins to unfold it, popping a piece in his mouth, before swallowing it. Your eyebrows furrow in a moment of youthful distaste.

Chuuya clutches the cup of tea between his gloved fingers and murmurs something intangible, "Adam's a detective from Europole, investigating Verlaine. He wants to know more about him, which is why he's been following me around.." he finally explains, taking a calculated and almost frustrated sip of his tea.

"Verlaine. Who's Verlaine?" You ask momentarily, causing the redhead to part his lips to answer, but you quickly halt as the detective swallows another piece of gum down his throat. "And why is he chewing gum like that?"

"That's what I'm sayin'!" the teenager half-seriously slams the cup of tea on the table, "He swallows it like a nutjob. You need help, tin man." Chuuya scoffs, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat almost nervously.

"You need help. You spent 6 hours and 47 minutes looking for h-" the brunette explains with a hint of sass in his voice, the redhead's eyes widening in shock, "I said shut up!"

You shuffle in your seat awkwardly as the two men argue. Scratching the back of your neck before Chuuya finally settles down, patting down the cashmere of his suit.

"So here's the thing about Verlaine.. he's this batshit crazy assassin, and uh.. here's the real kicker.." the mafioso mutters, fiddling with his gloved fingers uneasily. "You're gonna be the bait."

Your jaw immediately drops, a hand clasping over your chest in the offence. "Excuse me?! For what?.. to get killed?!" Chuuya looks distressed at your response, seeking Adam's gaze for at least a little help in his later response.

"Your safety is ensured. We just need to lure Verlaine out, so Master Chuuya can eliminate him." the detective explains rather calmly, fishing for something in the pocket of his suit before handing a chocolate bar to you. "Here, sugar helps with stress." the redhead smiles awkwardly at Adam's response, giving a nervous thumbs up.

You snatch the chocolate bar with a bit of attitude, eyes narrowing to Chuuya as the boy inhales sharply, "I thought I wouldn't get involved in your mafia affairs, now I have to die?" you ask with furrowed brows, anger cracking in your voice. Causing the teenager to gulp in slight fear, a rare sight to Adam, as he's never sensed fear from Master Chuuya. Especially to a young girl like you.

"Well, you won't die... More like, almost die." The detective explains, hoping he'd ease your nerves at least a bit. "Doesn't matter! M'not doing it!" You shout in vexation, hopping up from your seat as you pick up your school bag. "Plus, I couldn't if I wanted to, anyway," you murmur,

"Wait.. why?" Chuuya asks with conviction.

your gaze adverts to the different sights in the area: the park bench, passersby, and the cafe's menu. Anything but Chuuya's confused face.

"Uhm.. I have a project that's due tomorrow, and I didn't start yet."

"You can't be serious!"

The teenager runs up to you in frustration, you clutch your bag as you turn to him. "Oh, but I am!" you remark, walking faster as the brunette detective catches up. "I'm very serious! After all, this is a serious project!"

The redhead pants and wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead, "You're really gonna prioritise a school project over your own life?!" he cries out, still trying to catch up to you.

"Anything is better than being bait for the Port Mafia!" You yell out, settling your argument atop a bridge, ignoring how the sun was starting to set in an arrangement of oranges and pinks. "Shit- Don't say that so loud!"

"I'd rather finish a school project than become bait for the Port Mafia!!"

You repeat again, louder this time. Chuuya pinches his nose bridge in frustration, tilting his head up towards the setting sun. And upon you halting your swift steps, the redhead finally catches up to you, and to your surprise, he grabs your hand to spin you around.

"Look, I had a shitty week too!" the boy lets go of your hand, making you huff a little bit. But instead of letting you go, he cups both of your cheeks and pulls you close, his gaze never averting from yours. "People that mattered to me died, so many of them," the teenager explains, a melancholic glint lingering in his pretty eyes, you could see it all from the close proximity of his face. "and I'd do anything for you to not be one of those people."

You gulp hard as your eyes scan over the glass of his eyes, the once stormy grey now welling holding back tears.

Silence.

Adam clears his throat, standing beside you and the mafioso awkwardly, "Apologies for interrupting. But this whole exchange is very childish. Master Chuuya, don't you think there are better words to articulate your romantic feelings towards [Y/N]?.. Perhaps after this all over, you can solve this by getting into a relationship-" you and the boy both retort at the detective in unison:

"Shut up, Adam!"

...

"Okay, I'll help you." you frown with conviction, "You owe me a school project, though."

The redhead presses two fingers to his glabella, "I'll send someone to complete it for you."

✧ chocsra™

taglist for those who interacted in this post:

@loserzai @juice1231 @silverbladexyz @soleelia @cherylpoptarts @jackiepackiee @sapphire-tears013 @sstarshroom @n0thum4ny @roujira

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱ Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Three ♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Three Warnings: slight profanity How to find the other chapters in my pinned post.

♱Where the purest soul in Heaven falls for the Devil♱

[Chapter Three]

You kneeled by the side of your bed, clutching an angelic spear in your trembling hands. Outside you could hear the bustle of angels preparing for this year's extermination, the early rays of sunlight glinting off of their blades. 

You tried as hard as you could to not think about last year’s extermination as your lips moved in silent prayer. 

The door at the front of your house burst open. You could hear someone clumsily clattering around- something shattered and they cursed softly. You didn’t turn to look at him as Adam ambled into your bedroom, casting around a baleful eye. 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty-“ he stopped, eyebrows shooting upwards as he saw you kneeling by your bed. “Get up, sugartits, it’s time to go.”

You looked at him without turning your head, then at the clock. Still ten minutes. 

“What are you even doing, anyways?”

“Praying,” you said flatly. 

He snorted, inspecting a vase full of flowers on the windowsill, which was casting a square of pale light into the room, banishing shadows to the corners. “Of course you are,” he muttered. 

You rolled your eyes but ignored him. 

“What are you even praying for, anyways?”

You scowled. “The easier it is for me to pray, the quicker I’ll be done. You’re not exactly making it very easy.” You could almost feel him roll his eyes behind you. “So stop distracting me.”

A few moments ticked by, and you stood up, handling your blade with care. You turned to him.

“What were you praying for?” He repeated the question as you held the door open for him on your way out.

“To resist temptation, Adam,” you muttered, trying again not to think about last year. He laughed- it was more like squawking. 

“Stupid thing to be praying for.”

“It’s alright, Adam, we’re all aware that you’re quite prone to being tempted easily. Go on, then. You remember our deal, right? For the extermination.” He scowled at you.

“Haven’t forgotten, sugartits,” came the reply. You crossed your arms, pleased. A feeling which immediately dissolved after you remembered why the deal existed in the first place.

“Good,” you said flatly.

♱♱♱

The wind whipped at your face and tangled through your hair as you swooped across Hell’s red sky, eyes scanning the land underneath you, your spear clutched in front of you for protection, a notebook in the small satchel you had opted to carry with you. You’d taken the notebook as an excuse for your visits to Hell for the Seraphim: ‘observing Hell’, you had told them.

 You had been flying around aimlessly for a while now, letting your wings take you wherever your instincts did.

The area began to look familiar.

No, you thought. No no no NO. 

A telltale building began to loom in the distance. 

You almost skidded to a stop mid-air, legs kicking out underneath you to break your momentum, wings beating feverishly to stay up. You could see the broken window still, pale red light glinting off of the jagged shards of glass. He hadn’t fixed it?

You glanced around. 

Why is no one here? 

Sinners, you understood, but no angels? You gulped, and then it hit you. Why would the angels dare hang around Lucifer Morningstar’s territory? It was like a death wish. You swallowed again, throat getting dryer and dryer.

You had three options: 

Go inside via the broken window.

Explore the area without going inside.

Fly the fuck away (the rational option). 

God, why wasn’t your prayer from this morning working?

Against all judgment, you chose option two.

Your wings arched back as you scaled the side of the building, glancing through the windows. The curtains were either drawn, or the rooms inside were dark and abandoned. 

All that space for barely anything or anyone inside? 

You glanced down, and your breath was sucked out of your lungs. 

A garden? 

Your wings fluttered, shedding a feather as you descended towards the square of greenery. Well, greenery wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t very “green.” The flora? Vegetation?

A tree stood in the middle, tall and proud. The second your feet hit the ground, it captured your attention, enrapturing you and rooting you to the spot. 

Why am I even here?

You didn’t know Hell had gardens- you’d expected it to be a barren wasteland, more or less, but the lush “greenery” seemed to be proving you wrong. You quickly pencilled it down in the notebook you had brought with you.

What you definitely didn’t expect at all, however, was the apple tree you were standing under.

The fruit seemed beautiful, ruby-red and delicious. You shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, then glanced at the sky, praying the exterminators weren’t worried about you or looking for you. Adam had better held up on his promise. You looked back at the tree.

It seemed so- so out of place from the otherwise hellish landscape that you just had to take a closer look. As you took a step forward, grass crunching, you frowned, recalling Sera’s words, again.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” you murmured, then frowning.

”But satisfaction brought it back.”

You shrieked and jumped a couple of feet in the air, feeling your wings burst out behind you as you whirled around. Lucifer crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“What the hell?” You hissed, nerves frayed.

“That’s what I should be asking you. Snooping around in my garden.” His eyes flicked to the tree. “Ogling at my apples- alright that- that sounds weird when I say it like that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The point is, you’re the one who’s out of place here. Couldn’t get enough of me the first time?

You hesitated. You’d never expect the King of Hell to fumble around with his words like that. Your muscles relaxed slightly. “That is far from the truth. The tree just… piqued my curiosity.”

You both stared at each other, silently. As if on cue, an apple fell off of a branch, straight into his outstretched hand.

“Have a taste, then.”

You stared at the shining red fruit in his hand, then looked at his golden eyes. His smile seemed surprisingly genuine.

“I…”

He rolled his eyes, grinning wide at the look at your face. “This isn’t an Eve-and-the-forbidden-fruit situation, angel. It’s an apple.” He waved it around, eyebrows arched, as if to prove a point. “An apple.”

The more he spoke that way the more you felt stupid, until he tossed the apple at you without warning. You caught it, not missing a beat. The fruit felt cool against your warm skin. He turned.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, entering a small door in the wall, which led straight into the manor. You slowly put the apple in your satchel. He turned and grinned at you again. “Wanna come in?” He glanced at the sky. 

Fuck, that prayer was really not working. 

Your body was almost frozen in place, locked in with his stare. 

You cleared your throat. “Sure.”

He grinned, and disappeared into the manor. You followed.

Crap. Crap this is so weird. You stared at the back of his blond head as you followed him down a hallway. We’ve met once. A year ago. Why am I following him into his house? You felt like you were in a fever dream. 

“Um, excuse me… sir?”

He turned to look at you.

“What exactly are we doing? Or, going to do?”

He put his arm on your forearm, grinning. You didn’t shy away from the contact, but your arm burned where he touched it. “Have fun, of course.”

You blinked. “What?”

He outstretched his arms. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen another angel. It's good to have something new in life, am I right?” He paused. “Or at least that’s what that one therapist I had said,” he muttered. You tilted your head. “Anyways. I doubt you get much action up there in Heaven yourself?” Without warning, he spun you around. You yelped, hand grappling onto your satchel to stop the contents inside to go flying. 

“Who better to befriend here in Hell other than me?” He said. 

Cocky, you thought to yourself.

“Right,” you coughed, stumbling a little as he let you go. “So, um… sir, how exactly do you propose we spend our time?” 

He shrugged. You stared at him. 

“Right, I’m leaving,” you decided, starting down the hallway with conviction. 

“Come onnn,” he complained, hurrying after you. “It’ll be a waste if you just leave and we never see each other again!”

You turned and looked at him. “No, it won’t. And frankly I’m not supposed to be here. You’re the goddamn Lucifer himself.” You stabbed your index finger towards his chest. “And the Seraphim would not be pleased if they found out that we’ve made contact- twice!”

He touched your wrist, lowering your hand, and dropped his voice to a husky whisper. You stared blankly at where his skin met yours.

“What the Seraphim don’t know won’t hurt them,” he smirked. 

You could slowly feel your face turning red, and you looked up to stare into his eyes. Ugh, there it was again. That genuine, sweet smile.

“Fine,” you huffed, insides churning.

You just knew, that whatever was about to follow-

It would be the death of you.

♱♱♱

A/N: Stay Tuned!

Taglist: @boredlime, @ica1, @tremendoushearttaco, @sweetadonisbutbetter, @lucky-flowey,@kitty-kei, @thornwolfy235, @w31rd3rg1rl, @marxo5, @lvstyangel, @brainz00, @lukerycyja-reblogs, @dickmastersworld,@everlastprime259-blog, @rain-doll401-blog

[mockerycrow]

could we get some Gaz comfort, like after he’s fallen out the heli - I need to smooch him all over for that

SPARKS (Roommate!Gaz x GN!Reader)

roommate!gaz masterlist — gaz photo origin

“i’ll always look out for you.” — 1.2k words

[WARNINGS; Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining.]

Kyle arrives home unexpectedly in the night; maybe around midnight and you’re still up, making yourself a late dinner. Your whole body tenses when you can hear the front door jiggle as if someone is trying to come inside, your heart skipping a beat. You weren’t expecting Kyle to be home anytime soon, he had only returned back to base for a deployment about a month ago—is someone trying to break in? Your chest tightens in fear as you wait a moment.

The door doesn’t open, but it jiggles again, so you jump into action. Your hands tremble as you turn the burner on to a low setting and you open the junk drawer, taking a sharp breath in as you scramble your hand around in the drawer. You grab the pocket knife Kyle started stashing in there—“You never know what could happen while I’m gone.” He insisted—and you close the junk drawer slowly.

You heard the front door finally open with a break and a low grunt, making your eyes widen as you crouch down as fast as you can and you can almost feel your heart drop down to your stomach with the same force. You can see into the kitchen from the front door. You let out a harsh breath in a panic as you crawl across the kitchen floor, moving behind this kitchen island. You press your back against the underside of it as you shakily press the button on the side of the knife, the blade snapping upwards as it’s an automatic pocket knife. You grip it with both of your hands, terrified as you hear whoever’s footsteps in your home. You try your best to calm your breathing—

“[Name]?” Kyle calls from the living room—it’s him. You let out a breath and you quickly crawl out from underneath the kitchen island, folding the knife back into its sheath. Your hands are still trembling as you stumble far enough into his view, and you shove the knife into your back pocket. “Kyle, you fucking scared me, what in the hell are you—“ You pause as you actually take a look at him and fuck. Kyle’s face is not happy. He’s standing in the middle of the living room—which is connected to the kitchen—he’s holding his duffel bag and his clothes are nice and neat; they don’t match his face. His eyebrows are drawn into each other, his lips curled into a frown. His smile lines are stretched and his eyes are a bit puffy. “Oh,” You say softly. “Kyle..”

You approach him, the anger from the surprise of coming home fading into worry. You quickly take his duffel bag from him with grunt—it’s heavy, what the fuck does he carry??—and you put it on the couch cushion before turning back to him. Your stomach tightens as you see tears brimming at his waterlines, his eyebrows tightening as if he’s trying to hold back the tears. You reach up and brush a finger over the top of a bandage on his cheek. Kyle’s eyes are avoiding yours and you see Adam's apple bob as he takes in a shaky breath. Your hand near his bandage completely cups his cheek whilst your other hand gently grabs his shoulder. “Hey,” You murmur. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Kyle surges forward and wraps his arms around you tightly under your arms, a powerful shudder running through his bones as his fingers grab at the back of your shirt. His face finds its way to the crook of your neck like it always does, a harsh sob leaving him. Your chest tightens with sadness for him and concern, and you wrap your arms around him in return, returning the tight grip he has on you. The possibilities of dragging a reaction of this caliber out of Kyle are few and narrow—your first thought is did someone die? Is that why he’s home?

You shake the thought away for now; it doesn’t matter why he’s home, it matters that you’re here for him, to support him through whatever happened. That’s what you promised him when you two brought up the idea of moving in together after his first enlistment; that you would look after him, and he would do the same for you in return. Kyle hasn’t disappointed you yet, so why would you disappoint him? Even if Kyle had failed once, you don’t think you could leave him like this. Feeling his tears drip against your neck, his hands grasping onto you like a child—you could never imagine. “It’s alright, now.” You whisper, your hand coming up to rub the back of his neck comfortingly,

He’s shifting back and forth on his feet, he has been the entire time but you only now began to notice. Your hand slides down his back near his waist and Kyle lets out a pained gasp, causing you to pause. “Shit—“ You say, freezing. “Are you okay?” Is Kyle injured??

Kyle clears his throat and he reluctantly lets go of you, his hand flying up to grab at the armrest of the couch to balance himself. “Fuck, Kyle—Okay, c’mon, let’s get you sat down..” You murmur gently, grasping his elbow. You help him sit down on the couch—very gently and slowly, though—and Kyle avoids your gaze again as you watch him wipe his cheeks dry. He hasn’t said a word to you yet, but he’s been saying so much with his face. You know how to read him like a book, so you don’t need his words. The slightest shift of his brow, you know what he needs.

You stand in front of him, your eyes glancing over his midriff that’s covered by his shirt and jacket. “Let me take a look, yeah?” You murmur, asking for permission. Kyle takes a moment before shakily inhaling and he nods, his fingers unzipping his jacket. He lazily tugs it off of his shoulders with a concerning wince, and he grabs a bunched up portion of his shirt and raises it to reveal a straight line of bruising right above his waist band. You can’t hold back the soft wince you give sympathetically. “Shit,” You utter. “I should get you some ice.” Before you can move, Kyle’s hand grabs your wrist. You look at him and he looks back at you; and your eyebrows raise as you connect the dots. He fell out of another helicopter.

“Stay for now?” He asks, his voice a bit croaky. You nod after taking a moment to think about how bad the bruising is, taking a seat next to him. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” You prod gently, knowing that if he fell out of a helicopter once more, he has to be injured other than his cheek and his abdomen. Kyle licks his lips before turning his head to look at you, and you just wanna hold him again from his exhausted and sad expression. “My back,” He whispers, making you freeze. “Medics said I sprained my lower muscles.” You allow yourself to relax at that and you let out a breath and nod. Kyle leans his head on your shoulder, and you lean your head on his; you put your hand on his knee, letting him know that you’re here.

[holyfruitsnax]

Us Cowpokes, We Take It As It Comes

A/N: So this all started based on a little tidbit I saw today about a silly little southern rule that sparked my interest RIGHT away. Wear the hat, Ride the cowboy. (May do a ghoulish version of something like this as well) Anyways, I'm terrible but we're all here so...Enjoy....

Pairing: PreWar!Cooper Howard x Actress!Reader

Warnings: Ummmm smut! PnV, Foul language obviously, sexual themes, minor DNI!!!, 18+ Darlin', Workplace relations, Cooper Howard bro.

Dark worn boots beat a steady path against hard oak floors, every head in the saloon turning from the armed gunman to lay eyes on their hometown hero. "Cooper!" My voice cried out, throwing an outstretched arm towards the cowboy. The gunman laughed balling my hair tighter behind my head making me hiss "Cooper Howard in the flesh!" his voice rang through the silent bar. "To whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting you?...Couldn't be this little thing here could it? Hmm?" A dark brow raising as Cooper took in the bearded man. "No, no Mr. Palo...Y'see I've been after you since Amarillo....and as for the girl?" Cooper's hand stealthily moved to his hip to draw his pistol. Palo's eyes snapped to his holster, his hands releasing my head to grab his own gun. A piercing shot rang through the wooden building as people shouted and hid while Palo's body fell behind my form with a thud, a race he'd never have won.

"She's spoken for." Cooper took easy strides towards me, brows furrowed in concern as his gloved hand met my forearm to tug my body against his side. "They'll...They'll come after you next, mark my words Howard!" Palo coughed, his hand moved for his gun in his final breaths making Cooper's trigger finger pull one last time. My eyes squinted shut, arms pulling myself closer to Cooper's body with a gasp only opening again as the bar music began to play. "Is- is it over Mr. Howard?" I gazed up at Cooper with wide eyes, his own relaxed gaze staring back at me as he pulled me out of the saloon. "No darlin' I'm afraid not..." His voice low as he spoke to me, left hand pulling his glove off the other. "So he's honest when he says more of his men will come!" I breathed watching Cooper's fingers catch in his mouth, a loud whistle calling his horse, Sugarfoot. "Maybe so, I say let them come." His confidence radiating through his stark smile, turning to ready his horse for our long ride.

"Um...Mr. Howard?..." I coyly grinned tugging on the back of his blue button down. "Why yes? Miss Carlisle?" Cooper turned to meet my ask, my hand moving up to remove his hat bringing him closer. "I could've sworn, I heard you say I was spoken for in there." For once the cowboy faltered as we met face to face, his adams apple bobbed with a swallow. The humble cowboy nodded, "I guess I did." hazel eyes finding the ground for a moment. My head tilted ever so slight to close the distance between our lips, a nervous hand found the space between my shoulder blades while the other cupped my cheek. Cooper pulled away keeping me close, "Let's get a move on darlin'." His show stopping grin catching the lens once again.

"CUT! Beautiful work everybody!" The director clapped along with some of the camera crew. Cooper's head ducked in a modest bow, hand moving up to wave off the praise while I gleamed a smile placing his cowboy hat atop my head. "Thank you- oh ah thank you!" His voice carried around set as everyone mingled. "You know Cooper, I am so glad you decided to take up my offer on revamping an old project...I know everything's been a little downhill since the uh- Divorce- but, I really think this is going to be good for your career!" Our director insisted, shaking Cooper's hand. "Yeah, I'm just glad to be back at it! It's easier having a job in the city so I can stop in and see Janey after work...and ah-" Cooper's eyes drifted over to my face, a laugh rattling out of me as I spoke to one of our costume directors, cowboy hat still on my head. "Hey can I uh, can we chat later?" though it was an ask Cooper began to walk away from our rambling director after noticing me make my way towards the dressing rooms.

"And where do you think you're going?" Cooper called after me with a sly grin, fingers pointed up like a gun. I turned towards the older man, his gesture pulling a soft laugh from me "Oh, I'm sorry sheriff, I was just gonna mosey on along to my dressing room if that's alright with you?" I teased with a heavy southern accent as Cooper came closer. "Why no, It's not. See, you seem to have something of mine." His lips closed into a smug smirk giving the cowboy hat a flick. "Oh! So sorry Mr. Howard, I swear I wasn't stealing." I joked going to remove the old hat from my head, yet hands placed themselves over mine. "Now normally, I'd shoot you where you're standing." Cooper started again, finger gun pressed to my breasts, "But, for you I may have to make an exception." His body bent ever so slight, eyes boring into my own. "Mmmm and why is that?" My heart raced beneath his middle and pointer finger. "Cause it does look good on you...and I can't fault you that." Cooper winked, straightening his posture back out, fingers moving away from my chest to find my back.

"I don't suppose anyone's ever mentioned the cowboy hat rule to you? Hmm darlin'?" A dark brow lifted over Cooper's eyes while he guided me down the hall. "There's a rule for hats?" I asked with a tilt of my head making Cooper chuckle. "Mmmmhmmm. Wear the hat. Ride the cowboy." He teased, the sentence fell from his lips with a click behind his teeth. My eyes blew wide, brows knitting together as I collected his words, a hand placing itself against the door to none other than Cooper Howards dressing room. "Oh I seeeee." My lip pulled between my teeth, I turned to face Cooper again with my hands raised in surrender seeing his 'gun' back up with a mischievous grin. "Oh please Mr. Howard! It was an honest mistake really, I could make it up to you...If you had any suggestions?" I closed my eyes in feigned fear, sliding one open to watch Cooper look back and forth before capturing my raised wrists in on hand, his firm body pushing me flush against the door.

"The only thing I can think of darlin'...Is that rules are rules...and as a sheriff it'd be wrong if I went around breaking them. How would that look?" Cooper's brows lifted in innocence as the handle popped open for he and I to back inside of the secluded room. "Oh, well we wouldn't want that." I nodded watching him nudge the door shut, and in a moment he was on me again with a needy kiss. Thick fingers tugged at the buttons of my costume pulling the white blouse I wore open so his lips could ghost across the soft skin of my chest. "I'd really like it." Cooper's lips planted a trail as he spoke "If you took all this off for me." He gestured over my side with one hand, my shirt falling to the floor.

So I did just that, stripping the old western get up off my body, leaving me naked before the older man. Cooper's face dipped low to nip and suck at my skin as clothing fell from it his hands pressing on either side of my chest to push my flesh together, releasing to watch the soft bounce of my tits as he let out a satisfied groan. "Is there, anything else you'd like?" My voice soft and breathy, one hand combing back dark hair while the other palmed him through pinstriped slacks as Cooper explored. Hazel eyes eclipsed by dark blown pupils as I met Cooper's gaze again, his warmth retreating with fluid steps towards his couch removing his belt in one swift movement letting the leather fall with a thud, wide dominant thighs spread as fingers coaxed me closer. Cooper's hands gripped my hips placing a kiss to my sternum "I just want you." his head falling against the back of the velvet sofa to grin up at me.

My knees hit the floor beneath me finding my place between Cooper's thighs with a nod "How bad exactly?" my fingers tugging open his zipper to tug his dick free, hand stroking him slowly. "I- oh so bad darlin' been needing you allll day." He gulped watching my lips ghost over the tip of his dick, tongue smoothing over him before dipping low to take his length into my mouth. A breathy moan left Cooper while I worked him with my mouth, delicately massaging his balls. "Ahh that's, that's it." He praised finding the back of my head to guide my movements as I bobbed and sucked, plush bottom lip pulled harsh between white teeth. "There's- whoo baby hol' on." Cooper's tongue darted out to soothe his lip, accent thick as he pulled me off his cock. "Remember what you started now." Cooper tugged my hips over his own forcing my legs to straddle him. I let my hands run along the damp skin of his firm chest, hips rolling to grind my wet core against Cooper's dick making us both sigh.

"I want you to ride me- Think you can handle that cowpoke?" Cooper's lips traced my jaw, rough fingers circling my clit pulling a moan from my chest. Lips finding their place together as I eased myself down onto Cooper, his jaw going slack once our bodies pushed flush against one another. Mumbles of perfection and disbelief fell from Cooper like a waterfall, his hands gripping at my thighs. The stars chest heaved as I began to bounced and roll my hips against him, my lips leaving hot kisses along the sensitive skin of his throat with a moan. A hiss pushed between Cooper's teeth, his hips bucking to meet my own slower movements making me grin.

"What are you...playing at baby." Cooper cocked his head, drawing out a moan as he spoke, arm looping around my waist to pull me closer. "You said you wanted me to ride you- that's what I'm gonna do." My words came out in a deep whine while my movements grew bold forcing Cooper's hips to still, a hand gripping at the loose fabric of his unbuttoned shirt. I began to grind my hips down against him, tongue sliding past Cooper's lips with a groan. The sound of wet skin and heavy breaths filled the dressing room as I rode Cooper. Before long he was panting and twitching beneath me, something snapping within the man as he opened his eyes and watched my body bounce against his.

In a flash my body was bent over the arm of the couch, legs pushed wide so Cooper could slot himself back into my cunt from behind. The loud moan I gave brought back Cooper's smile as he fucked into me, hands digging at my sides, hips and ass "Hold on baby I'm- I'm almost there." He moaned watching his dick disappear inside of me with each thrust. "Cooper I'm gonna-" I whined pushing my hips back to meet his thrusts causing him to growl. "Go head darlin', come on give me what you got." Cooper licked his lips, groaning as I came around him, walls quivering and clenching. His hips continued rolling my orgasm through me until I felt warm thick ropes fill me and run down my inner thigh.

Cooper fell heavy against my back with a satisfied hum, hands massaging my skin as he peppered kisses along my spine. Pulling out of me he'd wandered away for a moment to find something to clean me up with. When he returned I laid across the smooth velvet catching my breath. "Now that's a sight." He chuckled kneeling between my legs to clean his mess, cowboy hat long forgotten on the floor next to us along with the scuff marks the couch legs had left. "Well, you know us cowpokes." I shrugged making Cooper glance up at me with a raised brow. "We take it as it comes." I giggled letting my head fall back while Cooper shook his head tossing his towel aside with a smile.

[justaz]

lance who always wanted to be a fighter pilot would NEVER be a farmer and we can throw hands if you disagree. anyways au time. allurance happens or doesn’t happen doesn’t matter but they aren’t together now. allura is queen of new altea with her advisor coran and close “friend” romelle. shiro is retired on earth w his husband adam. pidge also stays on earth and works with her parents on advancing earth’s technology. when they make breakthroughs, they relay it to matt when he pops by earth and then he takes it up into space to the rebellion who spreads it to planets that are behind on the galactic scale. hunk travels planet to planet with his moms and they connects all these different cultures and essentially does what he does in canon.

keith sort of takes over the blade and (since the war is over) turns it from a hidden rebellion group to a public aid and relief organization. they go planet to planet and help rebuild the worlds as much as they can. lance is on earth with his family but is Torn. he longed to be a fighter pilot since he was a kid, but being in space was almost unbearable bc of how bad he wanted to come home. when keith is visiting earth and talking about his travels to different planets, theres this flash of envy within lance and he comments about it. bada bing bada boom lance is joining keith into space once he leaves (he really has no idea how he gets into these things). he tells his family who are hesitant but ultimately supportive.

lance joins keith with the blade and finds himself greatly enjoying his time back up in space. he isn’t sure why until he mentions that he forgot something back of earth and keith asks if he wants to go back and grab it. lance has a choice now. he can go home if he wished and he can go up in space if he asked. when they were all kidnapped by the blue lion and jumped thru a wormhole, lance hadn’t been expecting staying up in space, away from his family, for years. the last bit of unease in lance settles and he thoroughly enjoys his time with the blade. by the time he’s set to go home, he barely even noticed time passing but he’s glad to be back.

he happens to return right as summer kicks off and he joins his family down in varadero. by the time august rolls around, he’s growing antsy again and staring up at the night sky with longing. his parents join him one night and encourage him to chase his dreams, to make younger him proud. lance says he doesn’t want to be away from his family like last time. they reassure him he won’t and point out how he could come home whenever he wished.

lance now spends end of august to beginning of june in space with keith helping planets, then june to august with his family on earth. its a good balance and makes everyone quite happy. eventually, keith starts to spend a bit more time on earth. he stops by toward the end of july and happens to catch lance’s birthday but that’s definitely purely a coincidence. keith spends a week in the states with shiro and adam then a couple of days with pidge and her family before going back down to cuba to spend the rest of august with lance before they fly back out.

rachel is the first to notice when lance and keith begin to share a bed when he stays. his mother catches them wrestling out in the water and chuckles to herself. veronica watches their hands linger against one another while doing the dishes after a family dinner that keith had attended.

its not long before keith’s time on earth extends until he’s practically following lance’s schedule. it’s not a surprise to anyone when marco walks in on lance and keith making out. he accepts responsibility as he did not knock before entering. his father had instructed them all to do so. thats on him.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Okay I got more angst prompts, not from the list this time. Consider:

After the final battle, after the hotel is rebuilt, when Lucifer finally gets the chance to go home and rest, it all hits him at once. Adam is actually dead. He didn't feel bad about it in the moment at all but now it's hitting him that Adam is dead and gone and oh no I killed one of the first people I ever loved. (Niffty wouldn't have been able to kill him if not for Lucifer, so he would have enough reason to blame himself) He's struck by grief, that love having never truly left. Charlie finds him, and comforts him.

Mayhaps her reaction finding out that her father loved Adam, their enemy? Mayhaps Luci's reaction when Adam respawns as a sinner? Up to you!

Indigo (struck with the desire to hurt my favourite characters emotionally)

*Sips coffee* Ahhh, after battle angst. Thank you for this! Please send more if you'd like :)

Lucifer hadn't had time to really let it sink in now, in his new room alone. He sat down on his bed, his chest weighed like a ton of bricks.

Adam was dead. He was dead dead as in no coming back. He still remembers the angelic blade going through the angels chest. All that blood.....

Lucifer felt his eyes pool with water. His first love was dead and he let him die. His heart clenched in his chest. Fuck. He thought he was over Adam, but guess not.

At the moment he didn't care. He was still angry that Adam would try and hurt Charlie. But he was going to let him live, Adam may have been an asshole but he was HIS asshole.

Then Charlie's little friend killed him.....

"Fucking hell." He swore as he scrubed the tears from his face. Closing his eyes, Lucifer could still see Adams face. Not the one from the battle field. The one in the garden.

Even then his eyes were bright and golden in color like honey. Soft brown hair ruffled and wild on his head, smile wide and breathtaking. Oh, how Lucifer wished he could go back to those days.

'Will we be friends forever, Luci?'

'Every day is amazing when I'm with you.'

'Luci, I think I lov-'

"FUCK!" Lucifer screamed, he gripped his hair painfully. "I'M SORRY! I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE I'M SORRY!!" He sobbed. He was just destined to never save his favorite human was he? Adam was all he ever wanted and now he was gone for good.

"Dad, are you busy there's some- Dad? Are you okay?" Charlie came in and sat down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"No." Was all he said, the guilt was weighing on him.

Charlie frowned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I loved him so much."

Charlie blinked and looked at her dad. "Who?"

Lucifer sniffed. "Adam." Not the answer Charlie thought she'd hear. "He was my first love Charlie, I was there when he was made from the dust of the earth. I showed him how to do many things. That man on the battlefield, the one filled with hate for demons. That was my fault. When your mother came into the picture I was blinded by her beauty that I didn't see who she really was." This was not a conversation to have right now. "I broke Adams heart when I chose her. I ruined something beautiful for something extra."

"But, he was the enemy. How could you love him?" She just didn't understand.

Lucifer smiled sadly. "You didn't know him like I did. The beautiful soul I knew he always was." And he was, Adam had a soul that shined so bright it was blinding. He just had up so many walls after Eden.

"What if he's not as dead as we thought?"

"Huh?" Lucifer looked at his daughter. "What do you mean?"

Charlie bit her lip. "That's why I came up here. Adam is here. Downstairs. As a sinner."

Lucifer never ran so fast in his life. Faster than Charlie could keep up, her cries in the distance. He flew down the stairs and stopped in his tracks when he got to the lobby.

There he was. In all his glory. Adam stood with his back to Lucifer, he had long black and gold horns that curved around to the back of his head like his exterminator mask horns. He was looking at his newly formed demon hands, black up to his elbow with claws sharp like knives. His robes were now black and red, slightly tattered and still dirty. He had hooves now and likely a mouth full of sharp teeth.

He was beautiful.

He was alive.

"Adam?"

Adam jumped at the sound of his name and turned to face the devil. "Lucifer." His voice sounded rough but the same. His golden eyes were firey with anger, Lucifer could just imagine how he felt about being a sinner.

"You're here?"

"I know, the fucking shocked too."

Even if he hated him, Lucifer could deal with that as long as Adam was alive and well. "Gonna give redemption a shot?"

"Might as well." Adam crossed his arms, an unimpressed look on his face.

"Swell! Let me give you the tour and get you settled into a room." Lucifer took Adam by the hand and led the way, all while the sinner followed him, grumpy and cursing under his breath. "You know, if you ever need protection down here. I'd be willing to provide it."

Adam scoffed. "Yeah, for my soul."

Lucifer looked back at him. "Would that really be so bad? To be completely safe, always?" His voice echoed around them. "I would never let anything happen to you, Adam."

He didn't miss the way Adam's face pinched pink at his words.

Maybe second chances do happen.

[tickety-boooo]

Aziraphale's Flaming Sword

I'm working on a poem about Aziraphale's flaming sword and it got me thinking all about it, so here are my thoughts and findings!

First is looks: the hilt is surprisingly plain. It's not the intricate, ornate sword you might expect; instead it's more primitive, or ancient, by design. The pommel is rounded, and the hand guard curves upward around the base of the blade, resembling a cup shape, rather than a crossguard in a straight line. Actually, it resembles the handle of a torch, which is interesting. Torches give off light and symbolize guidance and enlightenment. An appropriate weapon for our angel, I think! Aziraphale is given the sword to help him guard Eden against... what, exactly? I've never really stopped to consider what the danger is supposed to be. Could it be the animals that live outside of the garden? After Adam and Eve are cast out, they're seen fighting a lion with the sword, and in his dialogue with Crowley, Zira mentions "vicious animals". If it's the forces of Hell, then he's not doing a very good job of it, (poor angel~) letting Crowley snake his way in with the whole apple business! And since it's a sword made of fire, would that even hurt a demon? Is it holy fire? Do angels have holy water AND holy fire, and if so, do demons have a "hellwater" equivalent?!?!? These are the real questions I need answers to!! lol

I wonder if instead it's supposed to match up with what's written in the Bible. An angel with a flaming sword is sent to guard the Tree of Knowledge AFTER Adam and Eve are cast out, to prevent mankind from re-entering the garden. The angel was supposed to stop humanity from returning to paradise! I didn't know about this detail! In the show I assumed Aziraphale was always stationed there to protect Eden, even before Adam and Eve were cast out! Was this Aziraphale's actual job? Was he told to go to Eden and guard the gate after the original sin? If true, I think this would imply he had only been in the garden for a short time by the wall scene in s1ep1. And then it would make sense that he didn't try to stop Crowley from tempting Eve if he wasn't even there to see it happen originally. He's called in to work after everything already went down (like a lead balloon). But he has empathy and takes pity on the humans, and by giving away the sword he deviates from the Bible's story. I think the way this scene is cut and edited it feels like all of these events are happening immediately one after another, as it is meant to serve as a summary of Genesis (we all know the basic story) when most likely there were moments in between, like God speaking to Adam and Eve about why they're hiding their bodies and, potentially, Zira's arrival at the garden. We see in a different scene later that Zira is patching up the wall, and God asks him about the sword being missing. How is he to defend the garden against humanity's return without his sword?

Moving onnn... This scene is an origin story for how humanity harnessed fire!! And Aziraphale is the one who gave it to us, to protect ourselves and stay cozy warm and cook our food!!!! That is so cool and it completely fits with his character!! I love that the flaming sword in Aziraphale's hands is a symbol of protection and self-defense, life and survival.

And then because it's been given away, given to humans, (who now have the capacity for both good and bad after eating the apple) after thousands of years the sword ends up in the hands of the horseman WAR. That's her key item to summon her for the impending apocalypse. It now represents how humans have control over fire; they've created gunpowder and artillery and war and violence and Earth-ending destruction.

But WAR is defeated by Pepper, using the same sword that now holds this duality in meaning. Pepper, "Pippin Galadriel Moonchild", the child of a hippie mother, or in a way, a child of PEACE, defending her world, protecting the lives of everyone on Earth. Ahh it's such a satisfying narrative circle, I love it!!!!

That's all for now! I totally paused my poem work to write all this out, so back to it!!

[deathmetalunicorn1]

HELLO! How are you? Anyways. Can I request a Genya!Reader? And maybe the gods and humans reaction to Genya!Reader and his brother Sanemi and his past, and like how he eats demons to gain his strength. Maybe his backstory and how he died and stuff. Please and thank you! ❤

-You don’t do crowds or teamwork, unless it’s with your mentor, Gyomei, you prefer to work on your own, relying on nobody but you and your trusty gun, your tool to take on demons instead of the more traditional bladed weapons.

-You weren’t afraid of change, of advancing, times were changing, and demons were growing stronger, so you believed it was time to fight power with power.

-You would eat pieces of demons, usually fingers, to gain their power, to give yourself an edge. You didn’t care about the risks involved, all you cared about was defeating the demons, no matter what the means.

-The other fighters in Ragnarok were a bit thrown off by your gruff nature, your unwillingness to play ‘team’ with them, all you cared about was your upcoming match. You rejected all offers of joining meals from everyone, even Kojiro, whom you knew and respected, but still refused.

-Adam was concerned about you, seeing your aversion to joining the other fighters, as you all had the same goal, saving humanity. It was nothing new for you, you lived and died saving others, fighting demons, so fighting a god wasn’t going to be a big surprise to you.

-Kojiro sighed softly, looking towards the door you had just exited out of before a voice spoke up, “Where’s Y/N?” attention all turned to a similar looking man, with facial scars and white hair, your elder brother, Sanemi.

-Kojiro told him where you had headed off to and he went off to go and find you, as he didn’t want to lose you again, wanting to be the big brother he’s always been for you.

-After inquiring with Brunnhilde, she told the other fighters for humanity about your past, both you and Sanemi, how your mother was turned into a demon and killed all your siblings, nearly killing you and Sanemi as well, before Sanemi was able to kill her. You didn’t know at the time of her death that she was a demon, not understanding why your big brother killed your mother, cursing him and telling him that you hated him.

-As you grew, you both became Demon Slayers, with only Sanemi becoming a Hashira, and you grew in power by eating pieces of demons, losing your life in the end, reconciling with your brother as you died.

-The two of you were reunited in Valhalla, the two of you having a proper apology, in the form of a fist fight at first, then hugging each other as you both bawled loudly. Ubuyashiki spent almost an hour calming the both of you down.

-Brunnhilde then told them your secret, that you treated others harshly to keep them at an arm’s distance, not wanting o get close to them, not wanting to lose them too. You were protecting your heart from more pain by acting so harshly.

-They then found another secret out about you; you and your brother were weak with women! When Sanemi brought you back into the waiting room, Brunnhilde approached the both of you and you were both immediately red faced, looking away from her. For a pair of tough guys, you were both quite adorable.

-Your opponent was quick to underestimate you, which pissed you off, before you inhaled deeply, remembering your mentor’s teachings, to keep a calm head, as a hot head would lead to mistakes.

-Sanemi cheered for you, shouting out pointers, but after you got hit after taking his advice you shouted up at him, “Stop helping!!” Sanemi got pissed off, biting back, “If you followed my instructions you would have hit him!” you flipped him off, shouting at him and the fight was put on pause as Gyomei had to hold Sanemi back as the two of you shouted at each other like vicious cats.

-You were going to win, because your big brother had a knuckle sandwich with his name on it.

[jamiedc-they-them]

Past and present create a future (Platonic)

Requested Imagine:

"Hello!!! I was hoping if you still take Fallout requests if so, can you do a platonic child!reader with Cooper Howard/The Ghoul HeadCanons

The reader kinda reminds Cooper of his daughter, Janey but she’s ten and lived most of her life on the wasteland, and her personality is completely different, she’s cautious, blunt, and sarcastic kinda like Wednesday Adams but a bit personality mixture with Lily Iglehart & Nimona.

I just wanna see what their dynamic would be like, I’m a sucker for the found father trope."

Summary: Out in the wastelands, Cooper finds something he doesn't want to find: a reminder of what he's looking for.

AN/ This one is a bit shorter. Focused on the dynamic and more of like a scene showing that growing bond came to mind. I hope it's ok, anon! Reader is 16, as well.

You're a teen, he's seen plenty of those. Most try their luck with him, and then their lives end as teens.

You just don't even seem to clock him. Just lost in your own world.

He sees you walk into a shop, and walk out with a small pocket knife.

He follows you, and sees you sit on some stairs, using it to try open a can. It's not going well.

"You're using the wrong part of it," he says before he can stop himself.

You pause, looking up to him. Your eyes don't do the usual widening at both who and what he is. You just wait for him to explain further.

"You're killing the blade fast doin' that," he says.

You look at the can. He goes to offer some advice, when you fix it on your own.

You give him a thumbs up. For a moment, he flashes back to doing that stupid pose, and how his daughter did it too.

"You lost, mister?" you ask, dragging him back to the present.

"What?" he asks, gruff nature kickinvg back into gear.

You hold his gaze, looking unimpressed by his attempt at striking fear into you, "you look at me how other people do. Like I'm someone they know."

"How'd you figure that?"

"The grief in the eyes."

It's blunt, but he actually feels the hit of the words.

“Don't know what you're talking about,” he says as a warning.

“Comment like that says otherwise,” there's a teasing, but softer edge to your town. He tells himself its why he doesn't draw his weapon and threaten you.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N. But, rarely have I been lately with people remembering me as someone they actually know.”

He nods. A moment goes by as you finally have the can open, taking out what looks to be a kind of bean.

“You been alone for a while?”

You shake your head, “parents died a small time back. Tried to put up a bounty but had no caps.”

“Who killed them?”

You shrug, “some raiders. Let me keep my notebook.”

“Your notebook?”

You nod, putting the knife down and taking out your notebook. You open it, showing him its content.

Its art. Drawings of people and places. He thinks back to his daughter. In his heart, she is alive. Somewhere, somehow. Maybe she turned out like you. A creative person figuring themselves out, but a survivor.

“There that look again,” you say, “I'm sorry if this set something off.”

“No,” he says, “nah, you didn't, kid.”

“Well, well,” some cunt from behind says. You lean to the side, getting a better look at them, before rolling your eyes and continuing on with your beans, “seems the old Ghoul found a heart, boys.”

He doesn't have to turn around, as one of the aforementioned cunts walks into his line of vision, leaning on the stairs near you.

“Bradly,” you greet.

“Shitsquek,” Brad says back, “you know the drill.”

“What makes you think the caps, yet alone give them to you?”

He leans close, “you know what will happen.”

“You said that the past five times,” you point out, voice and face neutral, “sometimes I feel you just things like that make up for your lack of actual personality.”

“Your last name wouldn't happen to be ‘Jenkins’ would it?”

He swears he can feel the town shift then and there.

Brad backs off from you, looking at him, “n-no,” he says.

“Stutter says otherwise,” you point out.

“Can it!”

“I can't put the lid back on.”

Brad goes to say something, but the Ghoul whistles.

“Now, even before my little friend there made oh so clear the bullshit of your life; I have a feeling you might just be the Brad I'm looking for, as you look a hell of a lot like him,” he says, holding up a poster.

“You draw this?” Brad asks.

You nod, “told you said I needed inspiration.”

“You said you'd give it to Tiffany!”

“I did,” you shrug, “she said it would fetch a high enough price.”

Brad tries to go for your knife. His hand is gone the next moment. You grab your knife, driving it into him.

The Ghoul. spins around, on instinct blowing another friend away.

He hears a gun be cocked, then a choking sound. Another has your knife in his neck.

Then, silence.

The Ghoul takes his shot from his inhaler, before looking over the rest of the townsfolk.

“Anyone else?” he asks.

Everyone either continues what they're doing or shuts themselves inside. He chuckles.

He turns back to you. You retrieve your knife, then sit back on those stairs, eating your beans.

“You good?” he asks.

You nod, “thank you,” you say.

He nods, “where will you go now?”

You shrug, “just keep moving. Maybe Tiffany can give me some caps as thanks.”

He shuts his eyes. He sees his daughter. He has a full chat with her ghost, the image of the innocent girl he protected, and looks back to you once he opens his eyes again.

She said one thing to him:

“Look after them.”

“Well,” he says after a sigh, “why don't we split the caps, and you come with me?”

You pause your beans, looking to him, “why would you do that?” you ask.

“Because,” he says, “you're someone who deserves to see more of whats left of this shithole of the world and draw it in peace.”

You tilt your head, considering it, “who do I remind you of?”

He steels himself, then tells you:

“My daughter.”

That's all you need. You stand up, putting your notepad away, and walking to him.

“Then let's go get the caps and find her.”

“Thats it? That's all it took?”

“You're honest. People rarely in this world are anymore.”

He watches you walk off, still eating beans, to find Tiffany, and he looks down to his left. Janey beams up at him, proud.

He shakes his head, before following after you.

For once, something in his heart that he once thought lost:

Hope.

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 26 “Critical Stink” [Episode List] During a D&D session, Tim insists that he should be immune to poison damage. The gassy-as-usual Dave makes sure he’s gonna regret such request.

POV: Tim

Critical Stink

The evil Yuan-Ti general and his minions had us cornered: the humanoid snake turned out to be a bigger threat than our team expected. Radahm, our Rogue, managed to backstab one of the lesser enemies in front of us, who then bled to death mere minutes later. Ergg, the annoying wizard, quickly casted a defensive spell to protect us but the snake-like soldiers had weapons capable of undoing any form of magic (…something we never heard of before, in our years of adventures, but OK). 

I, the brave Paladin Desal, was our team’s last hope: I could attack our formidable foes with my mighty holy sword, getting closer to the general himself, whose venomous bite was just as dreaded as the blade of his mighty scimitar. Yet, I decided to go for it, I had nothing to fear, for The High One has granted me poison immunity many moons ago. This is why The Fate brought us here… why She brought me here.

It was all leading up to this.

I rush with all of my might towards the snake general, who noticed my deft movement, his long neck dodging my sword at the last second. He hissed back at me, his mouth going for my arm.

I felt his teeth piercing through my white armor, but once again, I had nothing to fear, for The High One has granted me poison immun-

“What do you mean I’m losing HP?!”

Me (Desal), Greg (Ergg) and Adam (Radahm) were having one of our D&D sessions, which are getting rarer given how busy we are. Dave was our DM for this Quest and… we didn’t really like where this was going. 

First, that whole bullshit with Yuan-Ti weapons undoing Greg’s magic (and magic in general apparently). Never heard of such thing nor we care, even though Dave found our shock quite delightful. And then -and this is more personal-, all of the sudden, my character stopped being immune to poison… because plot I guess!

“Dude!” I scolded Dave. “I thought we agreed on this like moo- I mean months ago.”

Adam and Greg backed me up, just because the wanted to dunk on Dave than anything else.

“Gentlemen.” our DM replied, in a mockingly formal tone. “…and Tim.” he turned to me and took a sip of his beer, then resumed talking. “What I told you back then was that The High One would grant Desal poison immunity in case you rolled a Nat 20 on a Defense Roll.”

I remained silent.

“And, I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t see a 20 anywhere on this table.”

The derisive sarcasm was just as annoying as it sounded, not even considering Dave being utterly wrong about this. If only I could find those papers where we actually took note of this…

“I’m with Tim on this one.” Greg said. “Also if he dies, our quest is basically over.”

“I guess we’re done then.” I said, referring more to the fact that Greg agreeing with me was basically a death sentence to any possibility of being right. “What about you, Adam?” I asked.

“Well, I got my share of EXP by backstabbing that snake guy, so I’m gonna try running away my next turn.” he snickered.

“Team of the year.” Dave commented, amused. 

“Disgusting.” Greg remarked.

“Wow the the True Neutral Rogue doing True Neutral things I’m such a bad player.” Adam replied.

“Hey! This is not about Adam’s admirable commitment to role-playing.” I pointed to our DM. “This is about Dave making up the rules.” 

“Here’s what I have to say about it.” 

Dave, who was wearing a brown hoodie and a pair of dark blue jeans, simply leaned a bit, the wooden chair he was sitting on cracking under his weight. One of my friend’s deafening farts soon followed, the wooden surface making it even louder. Not the first one my bro ripped during our D&D session (we were all high on beer and junk food, so gas was expected), but definitely one of the louder ones. While he still casually does it, I’m pretty sure, considering that evil smirk, that this one time he simply ripped one to, well, startle me, as he knows very well how awkward I (still) get whenever Dave is so chill about my fart kink.

“I guess a storm is getting closer.” Greg commented, after the 5 seconds blast ended.

Dave quickly snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Good call. Let’s wrap it up.”

So our DM quickly made up that those Yuan-Tis that almost killed us are afraid of thunderstorms (ripping another thunder-fart to further prove his plot point) and thus they ran away, scared, leaving us there, licking our own wounds (almost literally, given Greg rolling a 4 when he attempted to heal us).

We survived, but that was pretty underwhelming.

“So Greg managed heal me, no more poison and shit like that.” I commented.

“I’m your DM: I decide if you get to survive tonight.” Dave reminded me, that annoying sarcastic smirk drawn on his face, fully aware of how annoying he was being.

But admittedly that’s part of the fun you know.

“Well that wasn’t fun at all guys, see you in about 6 months for our next session.” Adam said, as he got up and reached for his jacket. Greg did the same.

We had one last sip of beer together and then our friends left, leaving me and Dave alone at our place. It was late, about 1:00 AM, but also a Saturday.

As me and my bro/roommate tidied up the table we just finished playing on, he decided to keep making fun of my strategies.

“The first mistake was choosing the Paladin as your class, as I told you many moons ago.” he snickered.

“Says the Wizard enjoyer. Having fun casting shit from behind the trees?” 

“Yes, because I don’t get poisoned from there. Also, I’m more of a Bard you know.” 

“I shouldn’t get poisoned, you know it. But our DM got amnesia apparently.” 

Dave laughed, rolling his eyes. “Nat 20 on Defense Roll.” he spoke slowly. “Such a difficult concept to grasp!”

We sat once again at the now clean table, opened two more beers and we kept talking.

“Look, I’m not saying that you don’t remember it. But yes, you don’t remember it.”

“I don’t remember it.” Dave insisted. “Because it never happened.”

“Literally the only thing my character is going for is poison immunity.” I stated, perhaps exaggerating, but you get my point.

“Wow immunity against the worst damage type. Congratulations, Desal! You’re a Paladin, start summoning light pillars or some other gay shit!”

“Dave, we agreed on it. I DESERVE to be immune to poison.” I insisted.

“Fine.” my friend took a quick sip of beer. “All kinds of poison?”

“Yes.” I said, satisfied. 

“…even poison gas?” Dave said, a faint smirk appearing on his face.

“Well yes of course, especially pois- I know where this is going.” I glanced at him, unimpressed.

Indeed, Dave laughed and once again leaned, another loud blast erupting from his jeans-clad ass, the wooden chair under him enduring that powerful flatulence like a silent hero. 5 more seconds of farting and he was done.

“You g-gotta admit…” I said, bravely, almost shaking for how embarrassed I was. “That’s one type of poison I’m definitely immune to.” I joked, I tried to.

“Shut up.” Dave replied, chill as usual about my fetish. “You’re tough, I’ll give you that, but Tim…” he put his hand on my shoulder, being hilariously serious about all of this. “We’re talking about my farts: one of these days you’re gonna die because of me.” 

He finished that short speech by effortlessly ripping one more quick 2 seconds rip, faking a sad expression, as if I truly was risking my life. I managed to laugh, my boner however almost hitting the table for how good those farts were, a faint smell reaching my nostrils as well.

“Come on. Let me have this at least. Poison immunity in real life!” I kept joking.

Dave looked at me, with a smirk, then turned his attention to a D20 dice we left on the table and reached for it. 

“You know…” he started talking in a tone of voice that made me think this whole thing turned into a business deal for some reason. “I can grant you your precious poison immunity… if you pass the test…”.

He was fiddling with the dice, now looking back at me. 

“Let me guess: another rule you just made up.” I said.

“Not at all! I forced you through this test so many times lately… but tonight I decide if you actually passed it.” he laughed.

I had no idea what he was talking about. Or rather, pretended not to.

“I don’t understand. Are you planning some kind of challenge?”

“Sort of. I’ll just show you how it’s going to work.”

He passed the dice to me and I just stared at it for a few seconds.

“Roll the dice, Tim.” he said, with a smirk.

I played along and mindlessly let the dice fall on the table. It rolled for a few instants and then I read the number facing up out loud. “Meh, that’s a 4. I’m just like Greg.”

In response to what I just said, Dave snapped his finger to gain my attention. As I turned to him, he leaned once again and a thunderous fart echoed in the empty living room, easily surpassing the sounds coming from the TV across the room, the wooden surface of the chair he was destroying with his gas greatly increasing the loudness of the already powerful rip.

The blast lasted around 5 seconds and… that wasn’t rocket science, I knew where this was going now. I was speechless, I had no idea Dave would even think something like this. 

“No.” I simply said, shaking my head, embarrassed. 

I stood up, leaving the dice on the table, ignoring the fact that my friend could clearly see the tent I pitched through my blue sweatpants and walked towards the couch, as I kept repeating “No”, each time my bro laughing more and more.

“Scared, Desal?” he promptly asked. 

“No!” I took a big breath, turning back to my bud still sitting at the head of the table, his eyes glued on me, his smug smirk still drawn on his face. “It’s just… come on man… I don’t want to… of course I…”

Dave stood up and walked towards me, without losing that smile, now looking a bit more chill. “You know you don’t have to worry about this, not with me, right?” he simply asked, and I knew exactly what he meant.

“Alright…” I said. “I’ll do your dumb test.”

He laughed. “This also counts as me getting my revenge for, you know, you doubting my DM skills.” 

I figured I’d just give up: Dave was gonna blast me either way, and I deeply appreciated how he wanted to make sure that no, I had nothing to worry about, he knows I have this kink, he knows I was gonna like this… but that wasn’t going to stop him from torturing me with his well-known blasts. A “revenge”, as he calls it. 

Truth to be told, as much as my boner tells you other wise… I do have my limits, and my friend’s farts sounded very nasty tonight, fueled by hours of beers and low-quality food. What made it so dangerous (and hot) is that Dave is well aware of his skills, so he knew that this was indeed going to be a test.

My bro sat on the couch and nodded at me, as if what was going to happen was completely normal, so I sat next to him. 

“So… roll for initiative?” he joked, handing the dice back to me. 

“I hate you so much.” I replied. Dave just never ceases to amaze me though.

I let the dice roll on the small table in front of us, as Dave took a sip of his beer. We both watched it bounce around for a few moments, until it stopped, a big 7 facing up. 

The fart I heard when I rolled a 4 was already impressive so… how is a 7 going to sound like? My roommate seemed to read my mind since he elbowed me, smug smile and all.

I clumsily tried to ask how, well, he was going to face-fart me this time. “What do you want me to… you k-know.”

Dave simply put the beer on the table, right next to the dice and, still silent, simply stood up, towering over me, my face already aligned with his sagging denim ass. He stepped in front of me and reached for my head, planting it on that warm ass, still stinky for all the previous farts he ripped, a faint scent of rotten pizza greeting my nose. He held my face there for a few seconds, in silence, as if he wanted me to, well, enjoy that the leftovers of his previous rips.

But now, finally, the test has officially begun: a big fart engulfed my face, my friend barely needing to push it out, ripping that blast almost effortlessly. He firmly held my head in there, as if I was going to move it away, which obviously wasn’t going to happen.

And yet, Dave keeping my face into his roaring butt, letting me take big whiffs, was always a great bonus: whether he did that because he knew my kinky ass would like it or not… I just didn’t know, but I was ok with it nonetheless… as long as he was okay with me.

He raised his left leg a bit, letting his ass roar even louder. 

The impressive flatulence lasted 9 seconds: just beautiful, but I knew this wasn’t the worst (best?) my bud was going to hit me with tonight.

Dave let my head go, turned around to stare down at me, and laughed a bit. He then sat back next to me, as if nothing gross and weird happened.

“This is how you get poison gas immunity: you gotta train those nostrils first.”

“I hate you so much.” I repeated myself, as I took a sip of his beer.

He patted my shoulder in response. “No worries, your training will resume soon.”

I reached for that cursed D20 once again and fiddled with it a bit, before going for another roll.

“How long is this test going to last?” I genuinely asked, with a hint of sarcasm.

“We’ll see.” he winked at me, while looking at something on his smartphone.

Still deciding on whether I was or not the luckiest man in the world because I have a friend like him, I went for another roll, the D20 once again bouncing on the small table in front of us. Admittedly, I sighed in relief when I saw a 2.

“Remind me to never take you to Las Vegas…” Dave commented.

Since it was 2, my bro simply spread his long legs, showing off his sagging jeans in the process, and ripped a short (but still loud, despite being muffled by the couch) toot. Small for Dave’s standards, not even 4 seconds long, but still a nice sounding fart overall.

Not that I wasn’t aware of his skills, but the fact that those were all natural, back-to-back, was almost fascinating to me. Fetish or not, I wish I had such powers.

“Still pretty impressive for a 2, I gotta say.” I said, getting more comfortable with openly acknowledging Dave’s talent. 

My roommate chuckled in response. “Such a kinky bitch.” he joked.

As my way to challenge him after that ridiculous fart, I quickly went for another roll. The dice spun for a moment until it revealed the number at the top spot, which immediately made me swallow my pride: a 16.

“Looks like you’re gonna get your ass kicked, Paladin.”

“You better shut up or I’m gonna kick yours.”

“With what? Your nose?”

As Dave (rightfully) made fun of me, he stood up once again, this time on the couch, towering over me even more than before (he had no shoes anymore, only a pair of sweaty socks).

“Just… just do it.” I simply said, horny, my heart racing fast.

Amused, my friend managed to directly sit on my head, as if I was a stool. 

“You really want me to k-kill me?”

“I’m your FM: I decide if you get to survive tonight.”

I remained silent. “FM…?”

“FM dude.” Dave kept talking, still sitting on me, as if this was such a natural way to talk to each other. “FM!”

“I don’t get it.”

“Too much blood rushing down your cock, fine.” he said, knowing exactly how true that statement was. “I’ll give you a hint then.”

Treating me like the wooden chair he soiled with his gas, Dave leaned a bit, as he pushed the next rip out… but after a few seconds nothing came out. 

“I’m brewing a big one, give me a moment.”

And we just remained there, silent, the stench of his ass almost forming a fog around me, the rough surface of his sagging jeans brushing through my hair. I heard Dave laughing, fully aware how weird that scene must have looked.

“Alright, here it comes for real. Ready?”

He didn’t even wait for an answer as an earthquake shook my skull, making my body shake down to my knees. The vibration literally made some drops of pre-cum leak out of my penis, further proof of my friend’s incredible powers. The fart, needless to say, was so loud it almost made me deaf: I wasn’t made of wood, but the sound of Dave’s blast bounced off the top of my head quite nicely, sounding like a loud, low-pitched chainsaw.

21 seconds. 21 fucking seconds. All natural, all as disgusting as it sounds. I didn’t even need to sniff as I was probably trapped in an invisible bubble of gas.

Finally, after wiggling his ass a bit so my hair would completely absorb that fart, Dave stood up, ripping a couple of small toots while doing so, and sat back where he was. He looked at me with a smirk, but couldn’t help but laugh noticing me startled facial expression.

I’ll just never get used to this.

“FM… Fart Master… Fuck you.” I said, shaking my head.

“If it's any consolation… you almost earned that immunity you wished for.”

This is all just a dumb kinky game for him. I couldn’t be happier, but also holy shit, the thin line between kink and torture was getting blurry with a friend like him.

“Just say that I earned it. It’s late, we’re both tired.” I tried to end this, not that I wasn’t enjoying it but come on, I couldn’t force my straight bud to do, well, this, even though it was his idea to begin with. 

“Fine. One last roll.” he agreed.

I shook the dice in my fist for a few seconds before finally letting it fall one last time on the table. It bounced a couple of times, I could feel the tension rising.

And finally…

No.

No fucking way.

There’s no way this wasn’t scripted somehow.

“Uhhh… Dave?” I dared to turn to him. He was already laughing.

A Nat 20, a fucking Nat 20, something that I always crave during our D&D sessions, but this fucking dice decided that a FART session was more important apparently.

“That’s gonna be a critical hit, Tim.” Dave stated, standing up again.

“No way you got that much gas already.” I bravely said.

My friend laughed again, that usual smirk drawn on his face.

“I’m just gonna blast you on command for a bit.”

The fact that he said that sentence so naturally made me leak a bit more.

“uhhh… thanks?” I said, my brain now completely devoid of any blood.

“Yeah sure, just lie down so I can put an end to this test.” I obeyed. “And also to your face, obviously.” he added, pointing down at me.

Once again, as if it was something completely mundane, Dave waited for me to lie down, so he could simply sit directly on my face, treating my head as part of the couch. Then, he just sat down on me as he said, the sagging jeans-clad asscheeks basically devouring my face. I couldn’t see anything but some details of the seams and textures of my friend’s jeans; at the same time, I felt the warmness, the stench, the sweat, all at once. I was used to my bro blasting me up close and personal, but this time it felt particularly overwhelming.

He wasn’t crushing me (I’m sure he was doing his best not to), but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t feel most of his weight all over my face. As his ass was resting on my nose, he put one leg on the table in front of the couch and leaned a bit, so he could ease some gas out… or rather in. 

As promised, Dave was gonna fart-face me on command for the critical hit. He masterfully sucked some air in, showing off his skills smoothly. I knew this was gonna be a fucking fart concert. I was both horny and scared, because my bro is indeed the Fart Master, as he bragged earlier.

His ass stopped making noises, a sign that what came in was going to be blasted out soon.

“I mean… all of this to earn something you had all along. What a thirsty bitch.”

I heard Dave say, playfully mockin- wait what? All along? But I didn’t have time to say anything back because of the loud fart that pierced through my eyes and ears. It sounded a bit more “airy” than his previous ones, given that it was on command, but oddly enough it’s like there was a mix of natural gas in there as well: the stench of spoiled beer definitely helped prove it.

The fart lasted 11 seconds, way “shorter” than the previous ones, but as I said, this was gonna be a concert, so as soon as the first blast ended, Dave started sucked air in again, faster than before, as another ass-thunder quickly went down my throat, loud and proud as my friend does them.

Basically, this concert was gonna be one long ass fart with many interruptions.

This one was more of a series of 7 loud long rips ripped back-to-back, lasting about 3 seconds each. It was insane: it was like somebody was shooting at my face point blank with a fucking shotgun.

At this point I started to wonder whether Dave knew I was still there, as he kept ripping farts as if there wasn’t anyone lying under his ass.

Now he was sitting full-weight on me, almost making me fuse with the couch. He spread his legs wide again, as much as his sagging jeans allowed him to, so he could easily release an impressive, meaty, loud, almost wet rip all over that sweaty mess that used to be my face. Now that’s definitely a mix of natural and on-command, and the fact it was slightly wet only made the smell burn my nostrils even more.

This one fart didn’t want to end instead, my bro’s ass roared all over my face like one of those beasts we fought earlier during our D&D session. A display of cocky, disgusting manliness I’ll never get used to, given how skilled Dave is.

Finally, after around 20 seconds, his ass went silent again. I heard Dave whistle in relief.

“You ok down there bro?” I managed to heard him say. So he does know I’m still here!

He got up just a bit, his ass hovering (or rather, looming) over me, just enough to let me slip out of that gas chamber. I sat back to my place as he let his ass sit on the couch again, this time without having me under it. I managed to give a quick look at my friend, who had this silly smile on his face. He was visibly disgusted, but also oddly amused.

“Than-“ but he cut me off.

“You know, you totally earned your poison immunity bro.” he paused for a few seconds. “I mean… that’s what I’d say if you didn’t already have one all along.”

Oh, right. “What the fuck does that mean…?” I asked, sounding a bit more rude than I wanted to.

Dave laughed. “I actually found our conversation from months ago.” he showed his phone to me. “This is the part where we agreed on your immunity, but I forgot.” He chuckled.

I skimmed through the messages and, indeed, I was right.

“You sick bastard.” I sneered at him.

He found it hilarious. I found it… well, I too thought that it was hilariously hot as fuck, but I had to fulfil my role of being a pain in the ass.

“So you just wanted to torture me.”

“Not at first.” he admitted. “Then again, it’s not like I need an excuse to blast you, right?” he then said, winking at me. “Plus, I’m a Bard, I can make music with everything.” he then added, patting his ass.

I just didn’t know what to say, so I did what every mighty Paladin would have done: I simply stood up, not caring about my very visible, damp, huge boner, and went beating my meat in the bathroom upstairs.

Honestly, if Dave took his role of DM as seriously as his role of being my FM, our D&D sessions would go much more smoothly.

The End

[arenabreadandbiscuits]

Okay I got one that's kinda funnyish: Vox has always wanted to try this experiment but Alastor has never allowed-- What would happen if someone stabbed his head with an angelic knife? Like, he changes it out his heads out all the time, so it should be fine right? The first time he told Alastor this theory he had, Alastor knocked him out for three weeks. And when he woke up, Alastor made him promise (there was a deal involved that Vox wouldn't stab himself with an angelic knife) and so He didn't bring it up again. He brings it up with Valentino eventually, and Valentino agrees with him. It should be alright, but Vox doesn't trust Val to run Voxtech incase something does happen so he puts off the experiment until he finds Velvette and she makes Overlord status. She thinks about it when he brings it up, and tells him give her a few years and then test it out.

When Velvette finally gives the okay, it's around the time Alastor's finally healed from Adam's attack (not that the Vees know that) and Valentino's actually pretty excited. He gets to do an actual science experiment! He excitedly tells Angel Dust, as he let's him go early and heads upstairs.

Vox grins as Val picks up the angelic blade, and Velvette shakes her head "Okay, ready? Go!"

Valentino slams the blade into Vox's screen, and Vox *screams* agony shooting through him.

Valentino's eyes widen in shock as pain goes through him a few minutes later, a black tentacle tearing through his stomach.

Alastor appears, antlers scraping the ceiling as he gently pulls Vox to his chest, one arm protectively caging the whimpering media demon. Radio dial eyes set their sights on Valentino, hate gleaming in them as the Radio demon backs into the shadows taking an unconscious Vox with him.

I hope y'all know I really love these.

Writing Alastor plus his possessiveness over Vox? Yes?

To start, imagine Vox's surprise when the blade turns out to actually hurt a lot more than he originally thought it would. Val doing the stabbing would probably makes things worse like imagine Vox whimpering, pissed because Val did it before he was actually ready, refusing to listen like always.

Alastor punishing Val for such idiotic actions really heals my cold, dark heart. Bro needs to be handled and out of everyone they have he HAD to use the blade on Vox?

Honestly Alastor might be sure that without Vox the other two really are as dumb as a bag of rocks.

Like not killing both of em the second he sees them while Vox lays, tucked safely and comfortably in his arms is killing Alastor. He wants to handle them now but with Vox literally bleeding out he mustn't.

I do feel that with Velvet Alastor would probably kill her with no hesitation, the only reason she'd survive is if Vox someone convinced him too after he wakes but up but there's truly no saving Valentino. No matter what Vox tries to tell him Alastor always keeps an eye out for the next time he sees the moth demon.

Vox would honestly be torn at first? Like he's betrayed at the fact that they did such a thing without his health seemingly being thought of so it really manages to get to him which pisses Alastor off because he's literally right there? Why is Vox dwelling when he was here with him now? Honestly it's giving a bit yandere 👀

Angel probably accidentally mentioned it at the hotel and immediately after hearing it Alastor disappeared to go find the vees.