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punkshort · 4 months ago

Text

Roommates | 9. hold onto each other

Pairing: pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You build up enough courage to finally talk things out with Joel and tell him how you feel before the wedding is over.

Chapter Warnings: language, food and alcohol consumption, lots of smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, oral (f!receiving), pussy pronouns, fluff, discussions of mental health, shower sex, mirror sex, having sex while on the phone (don't know what else to call it, also don't know if that requires a warning), thigh fucking?, dirty talk, idiots in love

WC: 7.6K

A/N: I will not apologize for what you're about to read. (It's filth. Pure, unadulterated filthy smut).

Series Masterlist

"That is the man you were roommates with?" your mother asked enviously as she gazed at Joel across the dance floor, who was standing with another groomsman while he held up his mom's pink sparkly phone to record her dancing with Tommy.

"Yep," you said longingly, tearing your eyes away from him to look back at your mom. She tilted her head to the side and her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

"He looks familiar."

Your eyes widened and you tried your best not to scream into the palms of your hands as images of your own mother stumbling across Joel's porn filled your head.

She snapped her fingers with a smile. "Mitch and I saw him at the bar the other night! He must have been helping Tommy, he was carrying boxes of alcohol."

You shook your head. "No, Mom, that couldn't have been him."

"No, I'm certain it was. I remember even telling Mitch at the time they looked alike. And I would never forget those arms. The way they practically burst out of his T-shirt-"

"Mom!" you whined, begging her to stop.

She chuckled and took a sip of her wine. "Oh, please, let me have my fun."

You groaned and drank the rest of your champagne. Well, at least she didn't recognize him from porn.

The song changed to another ballad and you watched as Mrs. Miller kissed Tommy on the cheek before breaking away and motioning towards Joel. A small smile tugged at your lips as he pocketed her phone and took her hand before leading her around the dance floor. His face was filled with such love and adoration that it made your heart melt.

As you continued to watch Joel and his mother move around the dance floor, you felt yourself growing nervous again. Now that the cake was cut and the first dances were done, most of the significant parts of the wedding were over. Which meant soon you would need to muster the courage to talk to Joel.

Fuck, maybe you should have one more drink.

No, you didn't want to be drunk when you told him. He needed to know you meant what you said. You've done enough to him in the past year, jerking him around and unintentionally hurting his feelings. If you had any shot in hell, you had to make sure you were somewhat clearheaded.

Your mother was just finishing up her cake when she looked over your shoulder. Her eyes lit up excitedly and she straightened up in her seat, smoothing down her dress. With a frown, you turned to see what she was looking at then felt your heart skip a beat when you saw Joel approaching.

"Evenin'," he said to your mother, his voice deep and syrupy. "I'm Joel, brother of the groom." He stuck out his hand and your mother giddily handed hers over while giving her name. He brought her knuckles to his lips and she giggled, making you roll your eyes.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she gushed, her cheeks tinting pink already.

"Pleasure's all mine, ma'am," he answered, dropping her hand with a smirk. She gave you a look and raised her eyebrows.

"Ma'am, did you hear that?" she loudly whispered to you.

"Yes, I am sitting right here," you said flatly.

Joel cleared his throat and you looked back up at him.

"Was wonderin' if I could have this dance," he said to you, then glanced at your mother. "If you could spare her, that is."

Your mother giggled again and waved him off. "Of course! You two have fun, I was getting ready to go home soon anyway."

You quickly said your goodbyes to your mom before allowing Joel to lead you out onto the dance floor. He took one of your hands and held it out to your side, the other sliding around your waist while you rested your hand on his shoulder with a smile.

"I'm so honored," you told him with a teasing lilt to your voice as he slowly lead you around the dance floor.

"Why?" he asked, brows furrowed.

"I haven't seen you dancing with anyone else except your mom."

He smirked and tilted his chin up to look somewhere over the top of your head. "You been watchin' me?"

Your cheeks warmed from embarrassment but you didn't really care. "Maybe."

He hummed, smirk still stretched across his lips as he looked around the banquet room, but he wasn't really looking at anyone or anything in particular.

"You look handsome."

His eyebrows shot up and he looked down at you once again. "Thank you?"

You giggled and felt his fingers grip your waist a little tighter. "Is that a question?"

He grinned and shook his head. "Tryin' to flatter me, what're you up to?"

The butterflies began to stir in your belly once again so you dropped your gaze. "Well, there is something I wanted to talk to you about."

The smile slowly slid from his face when he heard the serious tone to your voice. "Everythin' okay?"

"Y-yeah, everything's fine," you quickly assured him. Just then, Michael Bublé's voice faded out and the DJ picked a Black Eyed Peas song that instantly caused the dance floor to break out into cheers, completely ruining the atmosphere from a moment ago. "Nevermind," you said as you attempted to step away, but he tightened his grip. "I'll tell you some other time."

"Tell me now."

You winced when a handful of girls nearby began to drunkenly scream along to the lyrics. Joel looked frustrated when he finally dropped his hand from your waist but kept his other hand firmly wrapped around yours. "Follow me."

He lead you through the crowd and as you passed by your abandoned table, you grabbed your clutch. Shit. Were you really going to do this? Were you really going to pour your heart out to him in the middle of his brother's wedding? What if he shot you down? What if he got mad at you for trying to drag him into your messy life once again? What if you were about to ruin the fragile relationship you just rebuilt?

He pulled you into the lobby, which was relatively empty given the time of night, and found a small area with a few couches and chairs and a television airing the local news on mute with the closed captioning on.

"Alright," he urged when you sat down next to him on one of the couches. You could hear the bass thumping from the closed banquet room and people's laughter echoing over the music, but otherwise it was quiet. You fiddled with the hem of your dress, trying to give your nerves a chance to settle, but it was no use.

"So, I told you I've been in therapy," you began, staring down at your lap, pretending to find a loose thread in your dress.

"Mhm."

"Lately, I've been working on my insecurities and self destructive tendencies. Specifically, related to you."

His fingers that were once casually tapping on the back of the sofa suddenly stopped.

"Okay..." he said slowly.

You cleared your throat and kept your eyes pinned to your lap.

"... and your job," you added, biting the inside of your cheek. "I've been working on... learning to be okay with it. Focusing on the source of my insecurities and why I feel the way I feel about it and I think I've made some progress."

"That's... good," he told you, clearly confused. "But why are you tellin' me this?"

You sucked in a deep breath and forced yourself to look at him. He was staring at you softly with his perfect lips pouting so enticingly, giving you the final bit of courage you needed to say what you wanted to say.

"I'm telling you this because... because I want to be with you, Joel. If you'll give me another chance, I want to do this right." His expression remained unchanged so you barreled ahead. "I don't care about your job. Not anymore. I just want to be with you. You make me happy, you make me laugh, I think about you all the time." You were growing more nervous with every passing second where he didn't say anything, so you continued to fill the silence with your own rambling thoughts. "Any time something good happens, I want to call you. Any time something bad happens, I want to call you. It's always you. It's always been you. And I'm sorry for everything I put you through and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to fix myself, but I couldn't -"

"Stop."

Your words died in your throat at his harsh tone. Biting your lip, you closed your eyes and tried not to cry as you waited for the sting of his rejection, but to your surprise, it never came. Instead, you felt his fingers gently pinch your chin. You opened your eyes to find him leaning forward, his gaze seeming angry despite his soft touch.

"You don't need to fix yourself," he said bitterly. "You're fuckin' perfect."

You exhaled loudly, a dry chuckle slipping past your lips as you wiped away a tear or two. "I'm not."

"You are," he told you firmly before finally closing the distance between you and brushing his lips softly against yours. "You are," he whispered again and again, each sweet kiss becoming more urgent than the last. You grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands and held him close, pressing your mouth against his tightly before leaning back and pushing your foreheads together with a smile.

"Is that a yes?" you laughed.

"'Course it is, you kiddin' me?" he said quietly before sliding his hand up to grip the back of your neck, his nose gently nudging yours, the both of you taking a few tender moments to soak everything in with matching smiles. "I should probably tell you somethin', though."

One hand dropped from his collar and you tipped your head back a fraction so you could look him in the eye. "What?"

He grinned and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "I quit my job."

Your eyes widened and you leaned all the way back in surprise. "What?!"

"Months ago, actually," he said with a laugh. You smacked him on the shoulder but you weren't mad. In fact, you were smiling so much it almost hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "I didn't wanna pressure you. You said you were workin' on yourself and all that."

Your lower lip trembled and you smacked his shoulder again, but with less force. "I can't believe you," you whispered before tugging him forward and sliding your tongue past his lips with a moan. There was something so beautiful to be had in that moment. Each of you had done something monumental to try to make it work between you and it was so moving, so powerful that you found yourself getting carried away, completely forgetting where you were as you climbed into his lap, his hands immediately dropping to squeeze your ass. But who could blame you, when you've waited so long for that moment?

Joel pulled his head back with a sharp inhale, breaking the kiss when he heard a door across the lobby open and close. "Do you... we oughta... they're probably wonderin' where we are." He lifted one arm so he could check the time on his watch, then glanced back up at you. You were staring down at him, breathless and needy, your eyes already drifting back down to his mouth.

You didn't need to say anything.

"Fuck it, c'mon," he said, quickly lifting you off his lap so you could both stand. In your eagerness to race to the elevator, you almost forgot your purse. Doubling back as fast as your heels would carry you, you grabbed it from the couch and hurried back just as the elevator doors opened.

He jabbed the L4 button numerous times until the damn doors slid shut.

"Christ, wanted this for so long," he whispered, eyes squeezing shut when you pushed him up against the side of the elevator. "Wanted you for so long," he corrected himself after a moment. Your mouth found the exposed patch of chest at the top of his shirt and your tongue slipped out between your lips, flicking against his skin as you continued to leave wet kisses everywhere you could find. You made it to the hollow of his throat when the elevator dinged and you tore yourself away to drag him down the hall.

"Which room?"

"Don't care."

You picked yours. Your fingers were shaking as you raked through your small clutch, then tapped the hard plastic against the sensor, getting frustrated when you were going too quick and the door wouldn't open. Joel chuckled behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, digging his hips against your ass so you could feel his arousal through your clothes.

"Not helping," you muttered before forcing yourself to slow down and finally the door gave way and you stumbled inside.

His mouth was on you in an instant. Eager lips pressed against your own, champagne soaked tongues reunited, tangling together while you recklessly shoved his tuxedo coat over his shoulders, leaving it crumpled on the floor near the bathroom as you made your way to the bed.

Joel's hands slid up and down the back of your dress, fingers plucking at the fabric, trying to locate the zipper without having to pull away. You tugged one of his hands to your side without looking, blindly leading him to his target. He smiled against your lips and yanked the zipper down so fast, he nearly tore the fabric.

Leaving your dress in a pile at the foot of your bed, you pulled away from the kiss so you could fall back onto the mattress. Your chests were heaving in unison as you both fought for air, staring at one another, anticipation growing thick.

His eyes drifted down your almost naked body while his fingers worked the buttons on his dress shirt, lips parted to suck in more air as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Is this real?" he asked, eyes catching yours once again after he shrugged off his shirt.

"I think so," you replied quietly, sounding just as incredulous. "I hope so."

He loudly unbuckled his belt, then the fly of his pants as you laid before him, sprawled out over the plush comforter like an offering.

"Ain't ever lettin' you go after this," he warned as he stepped out of his pants. "Never again, hear me?"

You nodded. "Please don't."

He cupped his palms around the backs of your knees and tugged, pulling you to the edge of the bed with one rough motion.

"As pretty as these are, they gotta go," he murmured, hooking his fingers around the lace edge of your panties and sliding them down your legs. A little pained sound rumbled in the back of his throat when he spread your knees and saw the evidence of your arousal between your legs. He fell to his knees and rested the side of his face against your thigh as he gazed down at your aching center.

"Missed you," he whispered lovingly into your folds before dragging his tongue, slow and broad, through the entire length of your slit.

"Oh, my god," you whined when his lips puckered around your clit and gently sucked. "Were you talking to me or her?"

You felt his lips twitch against your sensitive skin and released your bundle of nerves with a little moan. "Was talkin' to her but I missed you, too."

Some sharp, sarcastic comment was on the verge of slipping past your lips but quickly got swallowed down and forgotten when he began to lick, his tongue probing into your cunt while his upper lip pressed against your clit. The friction from his beard on the most sensitive part of your body made you see stars. Your back arched and you cried out his name, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he continued to lick and suck with a deep groan.

"Joel," you whimpered, legs weakly stretching and kicking under his ministrations. He quickly put a stop to that by grabbing both and tossing them over his shoulders then using his hands to grip your thighs, but still you writhed in his hold.

"Y'got know idea what you do to me," he whispered under his breath before diving back in.

"Fuck... I-I can't..." you panted, fists grabbing the comforter, pulling and tugging, desperate to grab onto anything. His fingers dug into the crease of your thighs, holding your hips against his face, fucking you relentlessly with his tongue as if he were afraid he would never get a chance to do it again.

He slid one hand flat over your mound and pressed down on your clit with his thumb. You bucked off the bed, everything feeling too sensitive, too sharp. But still, he pinned you down, his tongue that was once lapping at your pussy suddenly more focused and calculated when his lips puckered together in favor of loudly kissing your sex with a deep groan.

With two quick and firm circles over your clit, you fell apart. He was saying something, you could feel the vibrations of his voice, but you had no idea what he said. Your throat had grown hoarse, fingers grabbing for his hair while your heart pounded in your ears.

"It ain't ever been like this," he said, and finally you were able to understand him. You slowly opened your eyes to find him hovering over you, his beard and mouth shiny with your slick and his eyes so wide and soft it made your chest ache.

"I know," you whispered, running a hand through his hair. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed when you pulled him close and pressed your mouth against his. He pushed you up the bed so your head rested on the pillows, never once breaking the deep kiss. It was slower, now. There was no rush, no need to hurry to keep what you had a secret.

"Shit, my condoms are 'cross the hall," he mumbled against your lips. The very last thing he wanted to do was leave you. Not now. Not ever.

"Just make sure you pull out," you told him, apparently also unwilling to let him leave, and reached down between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his thick length.

"Y-yeah, okay... okay," he breathed when he felt you line him up with your entrance.

His brain went numb and his features went slack as he slowly eased inside you. He couldn't take his eyes off your face; the way your eyebrows pinched together and the sound you made when you gasped softly, your body being forced to adjust to his size after months without him.

"Fuck," you whispered, eyes welling with tears as you gazed up at him.

"I know, I know," he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips over your nose.

"Joel, I love you," you whimpered in his ear when he finally buried himself fully inside you.

"What?" he asked breathlessly, certain he misunderstood.

"I love you," you repeated, your teeth nipping at his chin as you writhed underneath him, willing him to move. His eyes squeezed shut and he wrapped his arms around your middle, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"I love you, too," he choked out, voice thick with emotion that he tried to stifle with kisses to your throat and jaw. "Love you so fuckin' much. Always did, I think."

He clenched his jaw and flexed his hips, pulling a sweet moan from your lips as you tipped your head back and closed your eyes. He was so slow with it, making sure you felt every inch when he dragged his cock in and out, your arousal painting his inner thighs every time his hips made contact with your skin. You might have felt embarrassed if you both weren't so preoccupied with trading love bites and occasionally whispering you feel so good, I missed you, I love you, I love you, I love you, chests pressed together, desperate to get as close as possible.

You unhooked your ankles from his lower back and slid your legs up his sides so your knees were resting near his ribs. With his tongue still tangled with yours, he blindly reached down to grab one of your thighs and gently pressed forward, pushing your knee towards your chest. Your eyes flew open and you gasped at the intense angle, but still he kept up the same pace. Every thrust was slow and deep, every groan was low and soft, and every whisper sounded like a prayer.

"Just wanna feel you," he murmured against your neck, his beard scraping your skin, making it feel warmer than it already was. "Wanna fuck you like this always. Shit, baby," he moaned when he felt you clench around him. "Shit, that feels good. Such a soft pussy..." he trailed off and latched onto your lips for a fast and messy kiss. "Oh, fuck... best fuckin' pussy I've ever had."

And oh, did you love hearing that. You smiled and threaded your fingers through his hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp with a deep sigh.

"Yeah? You love her, too?"

He grinned. "Y'know I do."

He hitched your other leg over his arm, practically bending you in half while grinding into you, watching as your breath quickened and your tongue shot out to wet your lips. "Joel," you whined, the pressure mounting low in your belly, "I'm close, I'm... fuck, I'm gonna come. Please," you begged, not really sure what you were begging for in the first place. Maybe for him to keep going. Maybe for him to kiss you again. Maybe for him to fill the hole in your heart that's been destroying you for months.

When you came, you squeezed around his cock, his name getting caught in your throat when his mouth crashed over yours.

"So pretty," he mumbled, voice a little strained as he tried to keep it together long enough for you to come down. "Love watchin' you come. Who makes you feel good, baby?"

"You do," you whimpered, weak fingers grabbing at his shoulders.

"'S'right," he said, his breath growing ragged. He could feel his stomach tensing and he knew he only had a few more moments. "Only me. Tell me you're mine," he pleaded, his sweaty forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"I'm yours, Joel," you told him, voice a little clearer but still shaky. "And you're mine," you added softly, corner of your mouth lifting when you heard him groan.

He pulled out and grabbed his cock, giving it only a few quick strokes before he painted your stomach with his release, the both of you watching in a daze until he stopped with a shudder and collapsed onto the bed next to you, chest heaving with an arm draped tiredly over his eyes.

"I'll get somethin'," he told you, gesturing vaguely towards your stomach with his eyes still hidden. "Just... gimme a second."

"Mhmm," you mumbled, catching your breath with your arms stretched above your head. "I need a shower, anyway," you told him, all the hair products and makeup from the past twelve hours beginning to feel like paint.

"Oh?" he questioned, sounding disappointed when he turned his face to you. "Okay, sure."

"Will you stay?" you asked, hating how pathetic you sounded. But he smiled warmly and pinched your chin before planting a soft kiss against your lips.

"'Course I'll stay," he whispered, kissing you slowly once more before releasing you.

Joel watched with a lazy smirk as you stood with a quiet ow under your breath, your body no doubt already sore.

"Gonna have to get that pretty pussy used to me again," he teased, laughing and dodging the pillow you grabbed from the other bed that you chucked in his direction before entering the bathroom and shutting the door.

He laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the water turn on and the shower door close. He kept waiting to wake up, kept thinking the past hour was some crazy dream or fantasy, but it was real.

You loved him.

For years, he tried to find someone like you. Someone who would love him for him and not just use him. Sure, in the beginning he didn't mind being used. But the past few years he found to be painfully lonely. Especially once Tommy met Maria, that ache in his chest grew every time he saw them together, or every time he heard Tommy on the phone or talk about her with such fondness in his eyes. Selfishly, he always wondered why not me?

Now he had his answer. He was just waiting for you.

He heard you humming in the shower, your voice echoing off the glass walls and he smiled. He imagined you in there cleaning yourself up, your perfect body all soapy and wet and he felt his cock twitch.

"Shit," he muttered, lifting the thin sheet to see himself begin to swell once again. Would it always be like this? Would he always have an insatiable appetite for you?

A minute later and he was almost fully hard once more. He palmed it over the sheet and he looked longingly at the closed bathroom door. What was taking so long?

Then a smirk spread across his face and he jumped up from the bed, cock bobbing at attention between his legs as he walked to the bathroom and quietly opened the door.

The mirror was fogged up and so were the glass shower walls. He could hardly see you through all the steam, but he heard you. He heard the water cascading off your body and your fingers running through your wet hair.

Carefully, he opened the door and was pleased to find your back was to him as you rinsed out the last of your conditioner. When he wrapped his arms around your waist, you jumped and screamed a little before collapsing into a fit of laughter and turning around in his arms. Fuck, you looked so beautiful. All the makeup was down the drain but you looked more radiant than ever.

He leaned forward for a wet kiss, his hands sliding down to cup and squeeze your ass before pulling on your hips, tugging you closer so you could feel how hard he was for you.

"Need you," he murmured, but he meant more than just the obvious. He didn't want to be without you now that he had you, not even for a second.

"Already?" you breathed, but he just nodded, his lips dragging down your neck, your skin smelling like roses and vanilla.

"Too much?" he asked, mouth trailing slowly over your shoulder. Your nipples were pressed against his chest and his cock nearly hurt from how hard he was.

"No," you whispered, letting your eyes slide shut as you curled your arms around his neck. "Never too much."

Without hesitation, he crouched and grabbed the backs of your thighs, hauling you off the ground so he could press your back against the glass. You wrapped your legs around his waist and gasped when the tip of his cock nudged at your opening, the width surprising you, even still.

You let out a loud moan when he pressed forward, sinking himself back into your sore, aching heat, right where he belonged. One of his hands supported your ass and the other was flat against the glass next to your head, his fingers leaving wet smudges as he rocked his hips into you, swallowing down every whine and moan that tumbled from your mouth. That perfect fucking mouth he dreamed about for the past year. And now it was all his.

"God, Joel, yes... right there," you cried out, cunt already pulsing and gripping him so tight that he had half a mind not to pull out that time.

"Yeah?" he groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he nipped at your chin, watching as your head rolled listlessly against the foggy glass while he drove into you over and over. "There?"

"Yeah," you practically whined, hand shooting up to grab his hair, fingers slipping through his wet curls. "No one's ever... I can't... you're so-" you rambled half formed thoughts as your heart hammered in your chest, your orgasm steadily climbing, unable to tell him what you wanted to tell him.

"No one's what, baby?" he growled, thrusting himself impossibly deeper inside your cunt. "No one's ever fucked you this good? Huh?"

"No," you whimpered, biting down on your lower lip.

"What else? No one's ever made you come this much? Tell me, I wanna hear it," he groaned in your ear, his hot breath melting with the steam from the shower.

You shook your head then nodded, as if you didn't know how to answer. And you couldn't. Not when he was fucking you like it would be the last time.

"No one's ever - oh, fuck," you gasped, swallowing a mouthful of air, "no one's ever m-made me feel so good. I've never w-wanted anyone the way I want you." You squeezed your eyes shut but he quickly bit your jaw, forcing them back open.

"Keep your eyes on me."

You nodded, jaw half open as you did as you were told. His brows were furrowed deep, eyes wild and skin flushed as he pounded into you, forcing you over the edge for the third time in less than two hours.

"I got you," he murmured when your body sagged from the effort. He wrapped both arms around you now and fucked up into you recklessly, chasing his own high as quickly as possible so he could take you back to bed and rest.

Even though the voice inside his head was screaming at him to come inside you, he miraculously pulled out, spilling himself all over the shower wall between your legs.

"You okay?" he asked breathlessly, setting you down but still holding onto your shoulders. You nodded and slumped against his chest, legs visibly shaking. He chuckled and reached for the shower knob, turning the water off before walking you towards the door. Swinging it open, he reached out blindly for a towel. Finding one, he wrapped it around your shoulders, swaddling you and keeping you warm while he reached for another.

He messily knotted it around his waist and led you to bed. You didn't even bother to put any pajamas on or remove the towel, you just buried yourself under the covers with a contented sigh.

Joel was about to turn back to the bathroom and clean up a bit before you spoke.

"Come to bed."

His heart clenched in his chest and he smiled as he rounded the bed and slid under the sheets to join you, unable to resist.

Quickly, you scooted over to him, tossing a leg over his stomach and an arm over his chest and buried your face against his neck. He held you close, breathing in deep before you whispered, "I love you, Joel."

"I love you, too," he spoke into your hair, his chest ready to burst with happiness as you both fell into a deep sleep.

When you awoke the next morning, you smiled before you even opened your eyes. Joel's natural scent combined with the floral shampoo you used that the hotel had left out filled your nostrils. You breathed in deep and buried your face further into his warm, bare chest. He stretched underneath you, muscles pulling under his tanned skin, his fingers digging into your shoulders as he flexed.

"Morning," you whispered groggily, eyes still closed. You felt his arms wrap around you as he rolled onto his side, tugging you against him.

"Mornin'."

It can always be like this now, you thought. Waking up next to each other whenever you wanted. No sneaking around, no more hiding how you felt. It was perfect.

Until Joel's phone rang shrilly on his nightstand. He groaned and, keeping one arm securely around you, reached behind him to grab it.

"Hello?" he answered, voice thick and rough with sleep. Your body responded instantly, your core softening at his voice like it was a command, but what came with it was also a tight hint of soreness from the night before.

You could hear Tommy's voice through the phone, but you couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Nah, I'm hungover as shit, gonna order somethin'," Joel said.

You thought he had been joking the night before about getting your body used to him again, but you began to realize he was probably being serious the more you squirmed around and felt the stiffness in your muscles and hips.

"Yeah, alright. If I don't see ya later, I'll catch ya at the bar tomorrow."

He tapped his screen and tossed his phone haphazardly behind him with a smirk. "C'mere," he murmured, pressing his swollen lips against yours, his hand drifting to cup your face.

Christ, you were sore but you still wanted him so badly.

You flicked your tongue against the seam of his lips, deepening the kiss the second he dropped his jaw. Right when you were about to curl your leg around his hip and roll over to straddle him, your own phone began to vibrate loudly against your nightstand.

You both froze, lips still seared together, then slowly opened your eyes.

"Hold on," you grumbled, rolling over so your back was to Joel, then picked up your phone.

"It's Maria."

"Answer it," he said, inching closer. He pulled you back against his chest, cock hard and pressing between your bodies as you begrudgingly answered the phone.

"Hey! Have a fun night?" you asked cheerily. Your eyes snapped up to see movement in the full length mirror across from the bed. It was narrow, but you could see from your stomach down. Joel was pushing the sheets off himself and you watched as his hand drifted in front of you, tugging the sheet away from your chest, exposing yourself to the cool air. When he palmed one of your breasts from behind, you had to bite back a moan so Maria wouldn't hear.

"So much fun! I hardly got any sleep," she was saying, but you could barely hear her when his fingers slid down to pinch your nipple. You turned your face upwards to gasp softly, hoping it didn't get picked up by the receiver.

"Yeah?" you asked, hoping that would be enough to encourage her, and it was.

Maria kept babbling about things that happened the night before, things you missed after you and Joel snuck away. She was telling you something about a groomsman who attempted to do a split in the middle of the dance floor and ended up ripping his pants when you saw Joel lift your leg in the mirror, hooking it around his inner elbow and spreading your hips wide. Embarrassment flushed your face when you saw your pussy in the mirror, already glistening with arousal.

Then his cock slipped between your legs, nudging at your folds, his smooth tip coating itself in your slick before he pushed forward, parting your swollen cunt. The pain was brief, yet intense, but you were entirely distracted with the way it looked in the mirror. How fucking big he was and how you opened up and stretched so beautifully for him.

"Did the phone cut out?"

"Huh?" you squeaked, eyes transfixed on your reflection, hips rocking steadily in rhythm with his. You felt him chuckle behind you, his arm pulling your leg up even more so you could see everything.

"I asked if you wanted to join us for breakfast? The rest of the bridal party is meeting at the restaurant downstairs in twenty minutes."

Fuck, he felt so good. Combined with the visual, it was almost too much.

"Uh, I'm gonna pass. I already ate, I'm pretty full," you told her, eyes briefly fluttering shut when he began to move faster, his skin lightly slapping against your ass. You thought you heard him mumble yeah, you are, and you had to bite down hard on your lower lip.

"Well, okay. If you change your mind, we'll be down there at ten."

"Okay, thanks! I better go, my mom's beeping in. I'll call you later," you said hurriedly, hoping you weren't being too rude but if you stayed on the phone with her for one more minute, you knew you wouldn't be able to hide what you were really doing.

Mercifully, she hung up and you tossed your phone onto the floor, uncaring where it ended up, and reached behind you to curl your fingers around the back of Joel's head. He leaned forward and kissed you. It was messy and heated, and the way you had to twist your neck was awkward, but it didn't matter.

"Fuck yeah, baby. Look how good you take me," he groaned in your ear when he spotted you glancing towards the mirror again. "So pretty, ain't it?"

"Mhmm," you whined, still entranced by the way his thick cock split you open and you knew for sure in that moment no one else would ever come close to Joel. You were stupid to try to fight it.

Your hand dropped to clutch your pillow, your stomach drawing tighter the faster he snapped his hips, every devastating thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm gonna come," you whimpered, and he readjusted his grip on your leg, prying you open as wide as you would go.

You felt his teeth graze your shoulder, his breath hot and quick as his exhale puffed against your skin.

"That's right. Come all over my cock, baby. Give it t'me," he growled, hips slamming into you from behind so forcefully it almost pushed you off the bed, each thrust driving him deeper and deeper inside you.

Your eyes squeezed shut and you cried out when you came, your walls pulsing around his length, your body trying to suck him in and keep him there and fuck if he didn't want that, too.

At the last second he pulled out, watching in a daze as he dropped your leg, his cock now sandwiched between your thighs. With a deep groan, he watched in the mirror as he shot thick, white ropes of his seed all over your legs and the hotel sheets.

"I love you," he gasped, his sweaty forehead pressed against your upper back as he dragged in mouthfuls of air, waiting for his pulse to settle. "'M sorry, can't stop sayin' it."

You reached behind you and found his hand. Lacing your fingers together, you wrapped his arm around your middle, mumbling I love you, too, never tiring of it.

You waited a respectable amount of time for the bridal party to eat and leave the restaurant before venturing downstairs together, hand in hand. You contemplated just ordering room service but you weren't entirely certain you could keep your hands off each other long enough to eat, so forcing yourselves to leave the room felt like the best option.

The hostess led you to a small table towards the back of the restaurant, the room still buzzing with activity even though it was late in the morning. Your fingers linked together across the table as you sipped your coffees, exchanging little smirks whenever your eyes met.

"Can I ask you a question?" Joel asked, and you almost found yourself laughing at how serious he suddenly looked.

"Of course."

He glanced around the dining room quickly before leaning across the table. "You ain't on birth control anymore?"

You knocked the heel of your hand against your forehead. "I'm sorry, I should've told - no, I'm not. I took myself off the pill because I wasn't... y'know," you trailed off, embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Joel couldn't stop his smirk when he put it together so he pursed his lips and tilted his face toward the table, trying to hide it before saying, "so you're tellin' me you didn't have sex with anyone else since me?"

"Don't act so proud," you teased with a grin.

"I ain't," he said defensively, then thought about it for a moment before laughing. "Okay, maybe I am."

You giggled as you watched him take a sip of coffee, daydreaming about your future together and all the endless breakfasts you'll share. You imagined getting up early for work and showering, then coming into the kitchen to find Joel in just his pajama bottoms pouring you both coffees with unkept hair, asking if you saved him enough hot water because he still had to get ready for work.

Work. Suddenly, your smile fell when you remembered something. "Wait, you said you quit your job?" you asked, and he nodded, his thumb rubbing against the inside of your wrist. "So what do you do now?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "You ain't gonna believe it."

"Try me," you teased, knees bumping together under the table. You were close but still felt so far apart.

"I bought the bar," he said, sounding almost sheepish. Your eyes widened in surprise.

"Our bar? Tommy's bar?" you questioned, and he nodded. "H-how?"

He chuckled again and raked his fingers through his hair with his free hand. "What'dya mean how? With money."

"Yeah, I figured that," you said with a roll of your eyes, "but you just bought a house, too. How can you afford all that?"

He opened his mouth to reply when the server came to drop off your food. You finally unlinked your hands so you could pick up your silverware, and only once your waitress left did he respond to your question.

"Porn paid good," he said with a shrug. "I did it for a long time and I lived with my brother payin' next to nothin' in rent and utilities."

"Wow," you breathed in awe before shoveling some eggs in your mouth.

He watched you eat quietly for a few minutes before clearing his throat, drawing your attention from your breakfast.

"Why didn't you just ask me to quit? I woulda done it."

You paused your chewing and set your fork down on your plate.

"Because," you began, swallowing your food. "I couldn't ask you to do that for me. It wouldn't feel right and I was afraid if I did, you would grow to resent me."

His brows furrowed and he reached a hand across the table for you. "I woulda never resented you."

"You don't know that," you told him.

"I wasn't happy doin' it. Not like I used to be, anyway," he said. "Kept me from havin' certain things in my life. Could never make a relationship work and as I got older, it was somethin' I really wanted. I just didn't know how to get out. I mean, who can put somethin' like that on a resume?" he laughed softly. "Then Tommy mentioned his boss was lookin' to retire and I thought, hell... won't have to put shit on a resume if I'm my own boss."

You nodded and squeezed his hand, feeling guilty for never realizing he had his own internal struggles going on. Then you swallowed nervously before asking your next question, your curiosity unable to be ignored.

"Well, what about Sadie?" you asked, "she seemed really into you and she obviously wouldn't have had a problem with your career."

He gave you a small smile, eyes flashing with guilt when he thought back to his brief date with Sadie. The night he invited her over for board games and he ended up going down on you in the bathroom while she was left to talk to strangers in the living room.

"She was nice but there wasn't anythin' there. Not really. I was jealous of Sam and knew she liked me... I shouldn't've asked her over that night. It was wrong," he admitted, rubbing his chin. "She never stood a chance. She wasn't you, baby," he said softly.

You felt your chest clench from the tortured look in his eye, and for the millionth time you mentally berated yourself for spending so much time avoiding your feelings for him. Choosing not to deny yourself any longer, you stood up from your chair and closed the short distance between you. Cupping his face with both your hands, you leaned down and kissed him, trying your very best to put every ounce of love you had into it. It must have worked because you could feel his lips curving into a smile, then yours did the same.

It didn't matter how long it took, what mattered was what you had now.

Unfortunately, your bliss was short lived when you heard an all too familiar voice shriek excitedly behind you. You tore yourself away to swivel around in surprise, only to find Tommy and Maria standing a few tables away with their jaws hung open in shock, very clearly having witnessed your kiss.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, tugging on Tommy's arm to drag him over to your table. "I knew something was up when neither of you wanted to join us for food!"

Cheeks blazing hot with embarrassment, you were about to return to your chair but Joel's arm wrapped around you, pulling you to sit sideways in his lap. "No more hidin', yeah?" he murmured in your ear. You grinned and gave him one more quick peck.

"Yeah," you agreed right before they approached. "No more hiding."

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us au #roommates fic

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berriblossom · 2 months ago

Text

Oh, Great Divine!

☆| It's time for a SAGAU, more so a comforting one. Reader's gender is ambiguous and gender neutral, archons adore reader, in this sense the Nahida tag is platonic!|

☆ Tags/warnings! | Socially Aware Genshin AU, archons and people of Teyvat treat the reader as a god or heavenly figure, religious references (cathedral of Mondstat and Narukami/ Sangonomiya Shrines of Inazuma) some minor lore for reader, Reader is referred to as "Their Grace" or "My/Your Grace" and "The Great Divine" ALL PORTRAYALS ARE FICTIONAL!! anyway, enjoy.|

Within the lands or nations of Teyvat, for centuries the practice of worshipping an Archon was beyond common, more so for those who wish not to believe in spiritual practices concerning the gods of each element are more on the rare side to find. However even if such existed, there was one thing to never be doubted within the lands of Teyvat.

The Great Divine's presence over mortals and immortals alike.

The creation of Teyvat in many national mythos credits the sole ideas and creation to the Great Divine. Even the archons and the sources of their celestial names were blessed upon them by their divine grace. Depending on which nation you visit, some may say that their archon is specifically blessed by their grace.

In Mondstat, the nation of wind, song, freedom, wine, and bard's ballads, once every 100 years they celebrate the freedom blessed to them by Barbatos and the Great Divine. A tradition stretching for the last millennial to show the love and deeply routed affection given by its people and archon. Yes, Barbatos, or now the "drunken" bard known as Venti among his people. Every festival of a "New Eve" as they call it, is another 100 years for him to show his affection for his beloved divine. Despite his defiance to Celestia and the natural order placed after your departure, he still fully believes in your care and love for humans and archons alike. To Venti, whispering to the wind like he did with you thousands of years prior, even in his wind-spirit form. You'd sit together where now the great tree at Windrise and speak about the future of Teyvat, something despite having the authority over you simply spoke to him as:

"For what will come, Your nation will prosper and learn the true meaning of freedom and song..."

So to this day, he sits under that tree and thinks of the years since, missing your warmth from curling up in your hands as a wind spirit to laughing and humming beside you in his divine form. He has seen it for the last few hundred years, the art, songs, plays, books, and even food and weapons made in your name, and every hundred years he repeats the same. A small prayer from his soul is whispered into the wind as he tells his deep care and love for his dear grace. And the people of Mondstat no different, all gather at the great Cathedral and warmly sing about the Great Divine and Lord Barbatos as they place to wine, food, and gifts at the altar of your image. When alone Venti will sneak in and sit under your statue, missing the warmth of your hands but relishing the love in your image.

In Liyue, the nation of Geo, contracts, and the adepti, the greats divines are influenced by the first contract Rex Lapis made with them over 7000 years ago, even before Liyue was a fully combined nation. Zhongli remembers the conversation you two had, sharing a simple game of wit and tea. Then he was immature to your influence and power but now he relishes in it. Proudly in his vast historical knowledge, preaching his love and the power the great divine holds. How you could shape the sea with a flick of your wrist, how you've created mountains from your fingertips, how your vast knowledge is spread throughout teyvat as a bible to be studied and read over and over again. But mostly what he and all of Liyue celebrate is the contractable care and affection you give him and the people of Liyue.

This time around Liyue is a time spent every hundred of years a new eve of dawn as it is called, one Zhongli and his fellow adepti never get tired of. A time to give gifts of care to neighbors, friends, and even coworkers in the busy harbor. Even the Northland Bank celebrates by lowering interest on loans!

(But only for this amount of time and by the next New Eve of Dawn the Interest WILL reset)

But mainly it is a way to give worship to the Great Divine and their trust in Rex Lapis and his Adepti to protect and serve Liyue. Everything Zhongli has done was for your gratitude and divine love. So when a New Eve comes, he sits anywhere in Liyue, the mountains, hills, somewhere to overlook the harbor, and enjoys a warm cup of tea. Your favorite while imagining your smile as you talk, the games you'd two play. He watches his disciples and Apeti celebrate with gifts, food, and songs at your altar set around Liyue. He sips his tea and awaits your fated return, happy to share more memories and stories with you.

Within the land of Eternity, formerly transcience, Inazuma's style of celebration differs slightly from some nations. The Grand Narukami Shrine would hold a private ceremony, cleansing the sacred Sakura tree and your statue underneath, barhing the precious stone engravings with crisp clean water. Meanwhile the people if Inazuma would be celebrating on their own occasions, firewroks light into the clear sky, dancing ceremonies at the teahouse fill with guest.

However, the new electro archon herself sits alone at the top of Tebshukaku. Quietly walking down memeory lane in her mind. For the last five centuries of the New Eve of Dawn celebration, she'd sit in her space of Euthymia alone in solitude quietly sulking at the idea of your everlasting figure. How her and Makoto would chat down the lane of inazuma speaking about plans of you, speaking of your visions of the nation of electro, Makoto laughing at how embarrassed Ei used to be around you and your divinity. Now Ei smiles solemnly..

She knows now that she as archon must take the mantle, for in your teachings that it the goal of the heavenly principles you've left. Fated to return, she prays that you'd come to her first. She dreams and imagines in her meditations within her quiet Euthymia that you'd hold her. That her loneliness would be cured indefinitely. But for now she waits, with a plate of dango and some ofdly colored tea, shit eats alone as the fireworks set off atop Narukami island, she whispers a promise to herself and her nation on your honor.

"For it will be fate...my grace...you shall return to us...to eternity...we shall be reunited."

Far off in the lands of eternity, however, the island that formed the resistance sings and dances around the bonfire, the resistance army of Sangonomiya and Watatsumi laugh as they praise the late OmiKami, or the serpent god Orobashi. The fire dances as troops tell stories, shrine maidens sing and laugh, and her priestess sits while holding a book. She smiles softly. Kokomi looks above at the horizon and sees the corpse of their late god, she wishes silently to herself and for her ancestors to below the sea. That once the great spirit of life and forefather of the vishaps would return to bring life to the benevolent serpent. But for now, she sits alongside Gorou as they watch the troops enjoy the holiday.

Within Sumeru, however, and alongside it, Fontaine...the New Eve of Dawn has been on the academic calendar differently, which is how some older nations react. For those in the rainforest, it is a blessing of Lessor Lords Kusanali's birth. For the dessert, it is the bringing of a new promise for the scarlet sand kings doubted return. Within the nation of dendro, it is a holiday of now academic activities, no scholars shrouded in work, but a day off. The people worship by their own will and sit in taverns, bars, and cafes to drink mereily while chatting with friends. Some visit your altar within the Akademiya, and others pray at home.

Nahida sits on a branch of the great tree that houses the knowledge many wish to obtain, in her hands an ancient seed of fate, she herself has no memory or knowledge of where it came but holds ot and teasures its existence. For she has a kindling that it is tied to this divine spirit that is expected to awaken. From her small conversation with Apep, the seed is treasured. Hence, she holds it and feeds the growing plant bits of dendro elemental energy. She sighs as she watches the sun set and the cheers from the streets and grand bazars performances. Nilou must be dancing now, she thinks. She hums a small song while kicking her feet, her hands warm with caution. She may not know you yet, but she knows already... Your spirit and divine will watch for her and her nation. The goddess of wisdom has many questions for the great creator of this world, but for now, she just hums and sits happily, a great birthday gift indeed.

Meanwhile, in Fontaine, similarly, it is deemed a weekend off of work. Many go home, some go to the Opera to catch performances of the holiday, others read tabloids of the steambird that some random person in the court has the great divine in their basment all along. All fiction truthfully. Furina reads her book as she makes another plate of pasta macaroni. For the occasion, she bought extra special ragau to taste amazing. She dances around her kitchen listening to soft music. For years her mind would have doubted and even hated this day, anxious fears of disappointment and disapproval looks from her days as stabding archon. Would you have hated her? Did you think she failed fontaine and you? Was her a cursed human taking title of archon an insult to you? Furina had nightmares even of the prohecy and your return to see fontaine gone and underwater. But now, as the prophecy and fontaine were safe and out of fear, she ate and asked a good question this new century.

"What kind of pasta would their grace like..."

Soft rainfall drops onto the steps of the Palais Mermonia, the evening rain was forcasfed but welcomed, Neuvillette wrote on the papers softly, agreeing to a few celebratory events the Opera wanted to hold. Usually Lady Furina would be jumping for the task but here he was. Dread builded in his soul. This time of year brought many pains to Neuvillette.

A new century meant a new set of hundreds of years he gets to oulive humans, melusines maybe, but also the clock inches closer and closer to your return. Neuvillette spent early years of his lofe researching and discovering his species and kind for decades. Figuring that if you are the forefather and creator of vishaps and the sovereignty. Why was so many things done the way they were? Why ddi the power the gnosis and archons hold come from them? Why can't he understand your implications, even such his ancestors didn't wish to think against? What power do you hold and how did aid Fontaine in the end? He knew Focalor and Egeria spoke to you, even asking for forgiveness before your departure, so why? Neuvillette, places his pen downs and stands to look out the window of his office to look down at the streets of the Court of Fontaine, a glass of crisp water swirls in his hand. He sips slowly and sighs, coming to think.

"In this new century...please with it, may you come along too my grace."

In the nation of fire, victory, war and passion, raors could be heard from the stadium of flames as people of different tribes shouted and cheered the competitions down below. Surfing races, climbing achievements, conbat bouts, even break dancing competitions held. Mavuika sits at her throne above as her people cheer and celebrate, raising glasses, foods, gifts, and money even in your image. She slips away from the fesitivites to be alone in the speakers chambers, past the sacred flame, and into her personal get-away. Now empty, she stares at the famous wheel of the sun, Natlan has held for centuries, the same you blessed the first pyro archon with, as their rules of ruilibg were left in your favor. She smiles as she too holds her head high, similar to her ancestors before her.

She remebers before she was even archon, how her parents would tell stories of the Great divines influence, love, and power. That the spirit of victory belongs to the pyro archon yes, but the strength was given by you as well. She remembered your fave engraved in ancients temples and stones around Natlan and now some statues around the lands too. She knows too well her nation is blessed by your, not only for the peoples cheers and vitcories but the long-lasting stay they've had against the threat of the abyss thus far. Maybe when you return and ward off the abyssal threats for good, she top could ask something of you...for that she won't know until she sees you herself.

"Until we meet my grace...may your memeory burn eternal.. and your power live within my people."

-> Did i go overboard, yes...but eh...hoped you enjoy, and also i may make a small series out of this..who knows..

#genshin impact #berri bomb🍓#genshin impact x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin sagau #sagau x reader #sagau #acrhons #venti x reader #zhongli x reader #ei x reader #nahida x reader #furina x reader #Mavuika x reader #berri writes #sagau cult au #genshin impact sagau

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coralinnii · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! I saw that you were opening your requests for the next day or so to celebrate getting 2.7k followers! First off, I wanna say congratulations, and may you have a good day/night (almost wrote 'not' lol)!

Anyways, I read your rules, and wondered if I could get a fic with Leona, Vil, Malleus, and Lilia being in a relationship with a Venti! Reader? Essentially, Venti is a Genshin Impact character who plays the lyre, controls the wind, and has a playful personality.

‧₊˚✧ As Free as the Wind ‧₊˚✧

↳ Twst guys with a Venti!reader

feat: Leona ❋ Vil ❋ Malleus ❋ Lilia genre: humor, mild fluff note: no pronouns were used with the reader, Venti!reader is of legal age to drink, no spoilers regarding the Genshin Impact storyline, minor spoilers for TWST Book 7

Thank you reading my rules, always appreciate the extra effort people make! I deeply apologize for how late I am with this, but I hope you enjoy the post. Hopefully I captured Venti's personality well enough >_<'

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Ooff, did he first thought you were a pain in his tail.

Loud, cheeky, no fear of disturbing anyone for entertainment or favors… at least Ruggie has the decency to be useful.

He scoffed when you smile and act as if he can’t sense a dangerous well of power within you, the playful persona you present may fool a common man but not Leona.

He’ll play your game though. There’s no benefit to him to pry into your secrets. He finds this side of you, the one that would play a soft ballad for him for some booze money, much easier to deal with.

This is a strange relationship, but Leona can respect someone strong and most of all, doesn't tell him what to do. You believe in free will and freedom above else, which Leona appreciates.

“The concept of one king ruling over all... I can’t say I’m too interested in a land like that.”

Leona laughed at your boldness. With you, there’s no sense about stuffy responsibilities and obligations.

There are sweet days where you and Leona would spend the day in the greenhouse, Leona sleeping soundly as you play your lyre while humming your new poems, the wind carrying your melodic voice.

“Huh, do you have a song for me? Hah, what do you want from me this time? Fine, I’ll let you play.”

Vil immediately clocked something powerful about you, your nonchalant persona is good, but you cannot fool a seasoned actor like him.

No matter, though. Vil has no interest in delving into someone’s past like that. Vil assumes that if you must act so easy-going yet private about yourself, then he won’t pry into such things. One must have reasons, he supposed.

However, Vil cannot let go of your pension for the “occasional” drink or two. Vil doesn’t care that you are older than your appearance suggest, alcohol impacts your body and health as you age so he rather you limit that little habit of yours.

“Come now, Vil. Another bottle wouldn’t hurt~”

“Hmmph, you don’t have to worry much about yourself when you’re drunk but I most certainly do, especially when you come to me reeking of wine.”

But you always managed to quell his anger by singing ballads and poems about your wonderful beloved Vil. That always lifts the Housewarden’s mood and you end up with a mere reprimanding. Hehe.

Vil will not, however, forgive you so easily if you get too mischievous with him. The beautiful man can respect your talent with wind and currents, but he doesn’t appreciate the gust you would conjure up if it messes up Vil’s appearance too much.

“Don’t even think about running away from me. I know you were behind the sudden rush of wind, my mischievous one. Acting cute or sweet words is not going to work this time.”

However youthful you may appear, Malleus can sense an old soul within you which feels familiar and powerful.

Malleus is often surprised by you, for your playful and bold nature while handling the wild winds as skillfully as you hold the lyre. You bear similarities to a certain someone that he can’t help but respect you and hold you to a higher regard than any typical being.

Malleus doesn’t hate that easygoing personality of yours. On the contrary, he enjoys that spontaneous side of yours as you suggest the strangest of ideas to a powerful figure such as him.

“Let's go jumping in puddles and see who can make the biggest splash!“

You are a sociable being, making friends so easily that it baffles the young fae. A few cute words from you and it was suddenly so easy to lower one’s guard around you.

However, when you’re alone and don’t realize his presence, Malleus catches that gleam of loneliness in your eyes as you gaze from your tall resting spot. A look that Malleus feels a kinship with you in that regard.

”You would like to take a stroll with me tonight? Oh, a race in the sky, you say? Very well, but don't be conceited enough to believe I’m so easily bested.”

Dear Sevens, why would you ever let these two chaotic gremlins be in the same vicinity? Do you know no mercy for others?

The two of you would hit it off so well, it’s almost concerning. Lilia finds you a delight to be around, almost a kindred spirit even.

“So, you also took care of a dragon long ago.”

“Yeap, but he sorta became a nation-wide threat when I decided to leave and go off on my own.”

“Ah yes, those things do tend to happen.”

(if you can’t tell who’s saying what, that really speaks to how similar a coincidence that was)

Jamming sessions ALL. THE. TIME. The campus has not known a single moment of rest as you display your musical talents in the courtyard while Lilia encourages you all the way, occasionally playing along with an instrument of his own.

Lilia is fascinated by your lyrical retellings of your world and would love to visit this kingdom that values freedom among all else, and of this dandelion wine you speak so lovingly about.

As a man with his own… history, Lilia isn’t the type to ask too much about you if he sees you dodging the question. He can recognize that familiar look of longing and loss, so Lilia doesn’t press further and instead indulge with you in one more glass of bittersweet wine.

“What tales do you have to regale for tonight? I’m always captivated by these grand adventures of yours, it’s almost tempting for this old soul of mine, hehe.”

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 11 months ago

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I don't know if your request is open can you write Creator reader who favorites Zhongli, Venti, Nahida?

They need love ok 🙄

Yep yep, got it! Lemme see what I can pull off :)

Favoritism! With The Archons (Discluding Ei and Furina—)!

(Warning: Might Be OOC!)

Nahida

She honestly loves the attention you give her! She's really happy to get to spend time with you, and really get to know you and who you really are despite your title as the Almighty Creator.

Loves it if you play with her—and especially loves to learn the kind of games that you played before you re-descended down to Teyvat. There's UNO...and that's pretty much all that I can remember but you get the idea—

Loves visiting you in your dreams to see what you dream of. The Almighty Creator would surely have dreams of all forms filled with creative and inspiring ideas!

Nahida would 100% try to ask you to hang out with her through the streets of Sumeru. She has no shame :D And, if anything, her people would see this as a blessing.

"Come on, Your Grace! I want to show you somewhere I found!" Nahida would also take you to the Aranaras, where you would eat fresh fruit, make flower crowns, and even play some hide-and-seek.

She loves making and meeting new friends, the Almighty Creator is no exception! Spend some time with her as much as you can, Nahida will cherish it!

Venti

Hohoho, you're down to hang out with this carefree bard? Well, the first hangout will definitely be inside the most extravagant tavern of all time!

Yes, he means Angel's Share. Or the Cat's Tail. Man has his standards and he ain't afraid to take you there. Prepare for the best wine you'll ever taste, because Venti sure as hell is proud of the wine of Mondstadt.

Loves to share ballads and songs with you. Some of them are even based off on you! Loves when you give him your feedback as well.

Give him apples. He'll be happy—that's not saying a lot. Any apple dish, he will eat. Even if the apple is very little.

"Yahoo, Your Grace!~ Wanna hear a ballad this amazing bard has made for you?" Would absolutely perform these ballads during Windblume Festival, so please praise him :D

Zhongli

OSMANTHUS WINE TASTES THE SAME AS I— *Aggressive Truck Noises Driving Pass*

Take him out for food, buy him any gifts, ANYTHING. This man loves anything you'll give as well (trust me)

Just take some time to spend with him. Strolling through the area, the market, it doesn't matter—he cherishes all moments with you, as you are a friend (and more cough cough)

Osmanthus wine. Yes.

"Ah, Your Grace. I am blessed to know that you have the time to spend it with me. Please, allow me to pour you a fine cup of tea." If you're a tea lover, you both are gonna have a really good time.

Zhongli loves to share stories, so if you like to know more about Liyue's history, you came to the right guy :)

He's also a good listener, so you can also share stories and he will be rapt with attention. He loves every single story you tell.

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: My procrastination is impeccable. I'm on a living streak, clearly. Welp, I hope this satisfies you—hopefully, the next request doesn't take too long (watch me eat those words).

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #sagau x reader #genshin self aware #sagau #sagau genshin #yandere sagau #genshin cult au #sagau brainrot #sagau cult au #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin imact

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dissapointu · 3 days ago

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you are so QUICKK 😧😧!! this is real talent! may you please do arcane characters reacting to their partner with a love for singing??

OKAY OKAY, ipersonally love this one Mamas.

Jinx

“WAIT. YOU CAN SING?!” Jinx immediately demands a private concert. She’ll sit crisscross on the floor, eyes wide like a kid, yelling, “DO THE HIGH NOTE! DO IT!” And if you’re shy? Oh, she’ll fix that real quick. She’ll grab your hands and start twirling you around like, “C’mon, babe, we’re making a musical!”

Also, she absolutely wants you to sing during her chaotic explosions. “Nothing says boom like a ballad, right?”

Vi finds out you can sing, and she’s floored. Like, totally stunned. “Wait, you never told me you were this good.” She’ll act all cool about it, but the second you start singing, her cheeks turn pink, and she’s just like, “Oh, okay, so I’m dating an angel now?”

She’ll tease you sometimes, though, like, “Not bad, babe, but I can definitely do better,” and then she belts out the worst off-key note you’ve ever heard.

Sevika

Sevika is the definition of lowkey obsessed. She pretends it’s no big deal, but you catch her watching you with this soft little smirk whenever you sing. “Not bad,” she says, but the way her eyes stay glued to you? Yeah, she’s in love.

Also, she’ll tell anyone who’ll listen. “Oh, yeah, my partner? Killer voice. Better than any of those Piltie performers.” If you ever sing her to sleep, she’s done for. Total simp mode unlocked.

Silco

Silco is SHOCKED. Like, he didn’t expect this at all. He’ll raise an eyebrow and say something like, “A hidden talent, hmm? Fascinating.” But deep down, he’s super impressed and maybe a little emotional.

If you’re singing in private, he’ll quietly sit and listen, his sharp features softening ever so slightly. He won’t admit it, but he loves the peace your voice brings to his otherwise stressful life.

Vander

Vander is SO proud. “You’ve got a voice that could stop a fight in its tracks,” he says with a grin. He’ll encourage you to sing whenever you feel like it, even if it’s just humming while you’re both cooking.

He’s also the type to suggest performing at The Last Drop, like, “C’mon, they’d love you!” And if you do? He’s in the front row, cheering louder than anyone else.

Ekko

Ekko is IN AWE. “Yo, how did I not know you could sing like this?!” He’ll immediately start making plans for you to perform at one of his Firelight gatherings. “You’d totally kill it on stage.”

If you’re shy, he’s super supportive. “Okay, okay, what if you just sing for me? No one else, promise.” And if you sing to him while he works on his gadgets? He’s melting on the spot.

Jayce

Jayce is your #1 fan. “Babe, your voice is incredible!” He’s the type to hype you up SO MUCH it’s almost embarrassing. He’ll make sure everyone knows you’re talented. “Yeah, my partner? Total rockstar. No big deal.”

He’ll also 100% try to duet with you. Spoiler: he’s terrible, but he doesn’t care because you’re laughing, and that’s all that matters to him.

Viktor

Viktor is absolutely enchanted. The first time he hears you sing, he just stares, blinking like, “That was… beautiful.” He’s not one for grand gestures, but he’ll quietly hum your songs while he’s working, and if you catch him, he’ll blush and be like, “You’re contagious.”

On tough days, he’ll ask you to sing to him, his head resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, “You make everything feel lighter.”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn is blown away. “Darling, your voice is stunning,” she says, completely captivated. She’ll encourage you to sing whenever you feel like it, even suggesting you try performing in Piltover. “I could arrange something, you know.”

She also LOVES when you sing to her while she’s relaxing. “You’re my personal lullaby,” she says with a soft smile.

Mel Medarda

Mel isn’t even surprised. “Of course, you’re a talented singer. Why wouldn’t you be?” But when you actually sing for her, she’s completely mesmerized. She’ll sip her wine, eyes fixed on you, and murmur, “You should perform for the entire council.”

She’ll commission a full orchestra just so you can sing with them. “You deserve the finest accompaniment, my love.”

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa is so nonchalant about it, but you KNOW she’s impressed. “You’ve got a nice voice,” she says, as if it’s no big deal. But the next time you sing, she’s sitting up straighter, arms crossed, totally focused.

She’ll casually mention it in conversation, like, “Yes, my partner is a singer. No, you can’t book them. They’re mine.”

Cecil B. Heimerdinger

Heimerdinger finds your singing fascinating. “The human vocal range is truly remarkable!” He’s full of weirdly specific compliments, like, “Your pitch is mathematically perfect in the upper registers.”

He’ll hum along with you in his adorable, squeaky way, and if you sing while he’s working, he’ll call it “a most delightful soundtrack.”

Salo

Salo plays it cool, but he’s secretly super impressed. “You’ve got some pipes, huh?” He won’t say much, but the soft smile on his face while you sing says everything.

He’ll also tease you sometimes, like, “I should start charging people just to hear you.”

Scar

Scar is HYPED. “You’re a singer?! That’s so badass!” he will demand a private concert and cheer like a maniac after every song. “Encore! Encore!”

If you ever sing while he is working, she will totally get distracted and start singing along, turning the whole thing into a random jam session.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie is your BIGGEST FAN. She’s recording videos of you singing, posting them everywhere, and hyping you up like, “Look at my babe absolutely KILLING IT.”

She’ll also try to harmonize with you, even if she’s awful, just because she wants to join in the fun. “Okay, I’m bad, but I’m here for the vibes.”

Lest

Lest is quietly enchanted. She doesn’t say much, but the way her eyes soften when you sing says it all. “Your voice suits you,” she murmurs, his tone full of quiet admiration.

She loves listening to you sing while you’re doing everyday things, like cooking or cleaning. “It makes the world feel a little brighter,” she says softly.

TL;DR: They’re ALL obsessed with your voice. Whether they’re cheering, bragging, or blushing quietly. you’re THEIR star.

#x reader #arcane x reader #character x reader #imagine #arcane imagine #headcannons #arcane #arcane headcanon #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #arcane sevika #arcane silco #arcane ekko #arcane jayce #ambessa medarda #maddie arcane #mel medarda #arcane victor #arcane vander

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romcomeon · 2 months ago

Text

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄

✒ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋: life and fate are scary; and it takes immense sacrifice for one to be legendary.

✒ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓: reader as calypso, solomon as odysseus, barbatos as athena, luke as telemachus, mammon as hermes, + a few special guests!

✒ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: solomon x gn! reader, epic the musical au, odyssey au, greek myths reimagined, unreciprocated love, signs of manipulation, angst, angst, angst, mentions of grief and death, character death [lightning strike], solomon has a breakdown at the end, "penelope" is gender neutral

✒ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒: wc: 7k+ | read on AO3 .ᐟ

✒ 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒: @mammonsrockstargf ﾉ @satangcrush ﾉ @eraofkalki ﾉ @sadpancakeface ﾉ @torchvic

He whose fate was swallowed by the high seas was no less of a love-driven fool.

For years he never returned, yet for centuries, his legacy strives within legends. Epic poems crafted by the most renowned of writers, curated to accurately depict his outstanding feats whilst making them a tad more magical. All these stories were sung in praise by orators as crowds gathered around—eyes, ears, and minds working wonders.

They themselves create their own interpretation of fantasized play for their greatest hero. The crowd’s silent roars, begging for a glimpse of a life once treasured.

A valley without its savior. A court without a martyr. An army without a leader.

Ballads and tragedies dedicate themselves to the fallen. With scholars utilizing this artistic medium as a bloodless graveyard for the ghosts of those who never returned. Their souls rest in peace among the wrathful flames of the underworld, dancing to the chants of the oracles. When the songs are as beautiful as the late Michael’s melodies reeking to the echoes of a meadow suffering drought to the god’s ear, perhaps, the scholars prophesied, Olympus would be merciful.

Of course, that would be if the world were as harmonious as the plays of the great Mephistopheles, with his cult's undying joy of wine and lust. Gaia was born from the depths of Chaos; Chaos had never been one for mercy.

By Satan’s decree and Barbatos’ valor, ruthlessness prevails in war. War was a testament to humanity’s own morals and beliefs. To relieve the growing surge of bloodlust when conflicts arise, bathing Troy in deep, luminous crimson. Screams of the deceased haunt these barren lands, filling the ruins of a grotesque landscape. Resembling the numb trauma soldiers possess murdering women and children, the hubris of the rulers sought to persuade them to do more.

Ruthlessness was mercy upon themselves.

Amidst hamartia, these idols were worshiped by their men. Allowing their flaws to be redeemed, gifting them with celestial grace to guide them away from danger. The scholars call this peripeteia, the reversal of one’s fate. With bad turning good or divine turning corrupt, the choice was given to Chaos’ more prominent writers: the mortals.

Peripeteia never guaranteed a positive turn, even as most stories seem to suggest. The loud guttural roar bounced off stone walls, spreading across the vast lands. From the skies to beneath the sea, his name repeats itself.

“Praise him, oh great Solomon of Ithaca.”

Whispers of that name make the masses perk their heads up and gauge the source. The majority shake their heads in a low huff, mourning the disappearance of Greece’s greatest warrior and his crew of men. Tales depict him as one who matches Achilles in glory, Alexander in rule, and the gods in intellect.

Ask a cowardly soul about their view of the king, and they’d bashfully avert their gaze. Sealing their mouths shut lest they’d be able to speak for another day. The braver minority ridiculed the king’s rule, even as to boast about the castle remnants. With no hero, there was no order. Hundreds of suitors flock to the palace, offering sexuality for power. To them, this legend was no less of a dead man.

A kingdom without a king. A queen without a lover. A prince without a father.

Being the God of Wisdom, Barbatos made sure his greatest warrior survived the most gruesome of trials that rivaled Hercules’ challenges. Molding the king to fit his ideals; triumph basking in newfound glory with every ferocious beast his hands slay. Well trained to become a warrior of the mind; cunning and wit, quick to produce a plan for his own benefit.

The making of a warrior comes with many pitfalls. Intelligence carries a heavy burden of excessive knowledge, and with owning knowledge comes humanity’s impuissance—kindness. For knowledge is a gift of victors, but why supply ruthless killers with a force opposing their ideals? That was considered torture. A strong, well-respected legend was merciless. Never was it that there’d be justice, that was part of the reason, yes, though being just was clemency.

That marked the beginning of Solomon’s peripeteia. His virtue to spare one of Leviathan’s cyclops turned the narrative against him.

It’s what turned his own god against him.

Albeit, those were years ago, and the said old god knew that. Barbatos lets out a sigh, trailing his gloved hands along the cold tread of marble stairs. He took off the old rusted helmet, dark and vibrant green locks swaying along to the warm breeze. The headpiece was set aside, carefully gracing the dark turquoise cloth adorned with embroidery of owl feathers and slippery snakes.

He never pictured that in all these years he’d be reminiscing of those fond moments with that lily-livered soul. Each faint ‘tap’ ticks for every second, recalling a memory as if it only happened yesterday. The time before the great fall, watching the familiar tufts of white hair, black robe with an ombre of white and night-sky blue, and stars; stars that marked a better time.

He stood tall at the forecastle deck of his ship, raising the sword up high in his hand. Gray eyes fall upon the cyclops’ wounded figure, his face ridden with specks of blood. For he was no man nor mythical, his form casting a large shadow looming over the terrain. No man, but the reigning king of Ithaca. Leading with peace, working to save his comrades while the titan feeds. Hundreds of men’s deaths shan’t go in vain.

Remember him for if the beast chooses not to spare another weary soul, so be it. Perish. Solomon raised his chin up, pointing his sword to whoever sees. “I am your darkest moment,” he says.

“I am the infamous Solomon.”

Stupid. Foolish. Mortals were always foolish. Barbatos shakes his head in disapproval upon the memory. Perhaps, maybe, things would’ve been much different had he himself…

What could he have done? He was a god, a divine force of nature, either a friend or foe to a benevolent protagonist. Yet perhaps if he had done something. Perhaps if he hadn’t simply lashed out at Solomon’s blatant naivety of showing mercy, then he’d be fine. They’d be fine. Barbatos already knew that mortals were susceptible to demons lurking in their minds, waiting to coerce an unintelligent soul’s light to go dark. Maybe, if he had just been a bit wiser, they’d be fine.

"Your friend?”

"Hm?" Barbatos lifts his gaze up, hearing the curious sound of a bright young boy, There he stood balancing on the stone balustrade. The boy, well, man, fixed his balance before walking towards the god. He swept the fabric beneath him before sitting beside the other, slowly inching closer.

"I do not know who your friend is, or the mistakes, and..." he trailed off, averting his golden blue eyes to the side whilst his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his chiton. He cleared his throat, possibly to not be any more awkward. "Well, my time with you has been splendid!"

Barbatos glanced at him, cocking his head. "How come?"

Stars glint within the boy’s eyes. Clenching one of his fists as if to grab an imaginary sword, before eventually exclaiming filled with excitement. "'Cause I got in a fight and I didn't die!"

He catches himself for a moment, blushing bashfully before scratching the back of his neck. "I've never felt strong before,” he admitted. Sure it was surprising, but the young prince wasn’t necessarily like his father. Though it’d made sense, had the young lad last seen the king when he was an infant.

Barbatos could remember earlier events. Antinous and the other suitors, flocking the palace and picking fights with an unarmed little wolf. Barbatos knew that he can be stronger with the right guidance, so he did what he could; go into the warrior’s mind to quicken his thoughts, and make him effortlessly lunge attacks towards the bullies.

The prince had the motivation, the dream, and the intellect. Much like when Solomon was younger, he too had a good heart.

Then again, Barbatos knew this was different. This was no longer the same man who he grew apart with all those years prior. Rather of a hair as white as the brightest clouds, he was greeted with a soft, gentle blonde. And his eyes, not a harsh, stone cold gray, but a bright blue with golden ombre. That detail made Barbatos perk a smile, as in his thoughts, both of them looked like parts and recombinations of a certain godly messenger.

Those similarities turn to not be as glaring when he sees the fresh sparks of pure adoration on the prince’s face. Barbatos watches as the other composes himself, careful to choose his words but not holding back from ever portraying the swell of giddiness of his demeanor.

What shocked the god was instead was the words that escaped him. He spoke gently, invitingly even, but still nervous. He seems to not be so sure if these were acceptable to say, but he did. “You're my friend, I couldn't ask for more," he said. “Maybe if life wasn't spent as planned. Though, I think it's time that you lend a hand— and I don't think he'll mind.”

He reaches out, raising his hand. “If not his friend, then mine.”

Barbatos stared at the boy’s palm, confused. For as many long years as he had lived, he had never seen this generous act of… celebration? Nevertheless, understand the traditions and gestures mortals made with other mortals. Although, he understood that the divine weren’t necessarily mingling with these mortals in the first place.

Nevertheless, it was a new start. And the bridge between gods and mortals have slowly become invisible in the time of war.

So Barbatos also raised his hand, slapping his palm against the boy’s—if that’s how you do it. He thinks he did it correctly, seeing the prince’s smile widen. "You're a good kid, Luke," Barbatos sighs, smiling more in ten minutes than he ever had in ten years.

Luke only nodded his head. "Thanks!"

A billow of clouds seize themselves over the mortal realm. Hidden within the trenches of the sea of indefinite wonder lies the peak of mount Olympus. At the foot of the temple, a black owl swiftly glides through the air. Once it reaches the foot of the temple, it shapeshifts back into Barbatos’ figure, dusting off any dirt that got on his clothes.

“So… Barbi,” a voice lurks within these halls. It didn’t take long for Barbatos to recognize that diction: zany and all reminds me of tricksters. “Still missing yer mortal?”

“Not now, Mammon.” the god of Wisdom sighed. “I’m busy.”

Mammon, the messenger of the gods, groaned. “This ‘bout the ‘moni guy again?” he complains, crossing his arms as his winged sandals lift him up in the air, allowing him to lie down on almost nothing. “C’mon, it’s been years.”

The god almost circles around Barbatos, with how his gold and silvers clang with his every movement. “Haven’t moved on, hm?” Mammon flipped himself over, resting his face on his palms while kicking his feet in the air. “Say it, Barbatos, you miss the guy as much as the last one.”

Barbatos only walked away. “Keep yourself out of this. This is simply urgent,” he said.

Mammon scowled, standing upright while clearing his throat. “Well I supposed the time he went hookin’ up with Thirteen wasn’t as urgent—”

“Thirteen?”

Barbatos stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at the messenger. “What about Thirteen?”

“Ah,” golden boy realized his mistake. He gave a faint whistle, tugging a few strands of dusty beige behind winged ears, averting his gaze so as to not directly anger the literal god of wisdom and war. Thirteen, daughter of Helios. Protector of nymphs, and known for turning men into swine.

Mammon cleared his throat. “So ya didn’t know.”

Barbatos’ eyes narrowed, the shadows in the temple deepening around him. Suddenly his spear was pointed at Mammon, inches away from scarring the other’s throat. “What happened?” he pressed, his voice a low growl.

Mammon shrieked, hands in the air. “‘was that for!?”

“Say something,” Barbatos smiled, patience growing thinner.

Mammon groaned, shrugging. He leaned casually against a column, twirling a golden coin between his fingers. “It’s best if ya see it for y’self,” he said, sapphire eyes subtly hinting at mischief. “Sol’ gone be damned to do a billion more fuck ups than fraternalizing the old man.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he paced restlessly.

Barbatos raised an eyebrow, retreating back his spear. “I beg your pardon?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of concern in his tone.

“‘s speakin’ the truth ‘ere.” Mammon stopped, casting a piercing gaze back at Barbatos. It was rare to see the troublesome messenger of the gods be so serious. Though moments like this don’t last long, before a smirk breaks itself on his face. “Don’t thank me,” Mammon waves off, fanning his hand.

“He might as well may die.”

The sirens’ songs scream through ocean waves—no longer in an alluring tone that stops seafarers in their way, but an eerie melody whom irks many sailors to change their trajectory. “Spare us, oh spare us please.”

Wailing cries die out with the thunderous waves reaching alarming heights, a yard longer with every second the sea god’s fury boils. The storms guard Sparta from any unwanted pests, for a simple step was met with a bolstering beam of light as the gods’ roar echoes through the mortal’s ears. Although what tickled his ears, or the contrary, was how quiet it got. Immensely calm; the sounds of despair long gone with every wave hitting the shore. In a matter of life and death, it was odd that it suddenly got so peaceful.

Specks of sand reach his eyelids. Solomon begrudgingly opens his eyes, greeted by the harsh golden rays of the sun. Lifting himself up off the shore, he lets out a low groan as his hand dusts off the rest of the sand. Long strands of hair fall on his face, his fingers scratching the bit of fuzz on his chin. The last time he recalled, he only had bits of stubble that he planned to shave off with the remaining beeswax they still had on the great ship.

The ship. Curse godblessed cattle.

He stays sitting there, eyes cautiously observing the surroundings. Unlike in the past years of his voyage where it was filled with dull, brooding shades of life and the underworld, this place almost hurts the eyes. Instead it is filled with light, soft yet vibrant hues of lush trees and serene waters: even the sand, finer than Spartan shores, colored in a beautiful light peach brown. Cupping a handful, the sand only smoothly glides through his fingertips; not a particle on his palm.

The sea greets him with little seafoam meeting the outline of his body, but not once wetting the worn out fabrics of his clothes. And at that moment, he realized, this was no ordinary island.

“Where am I?” Solomon whispers out, feeling the well of dread picking up from the deepest swells of his stomach. This place looked lively; and by his induction, too lively. No land on Gaia would be this swell when there was that god’s ongoing rampage.

As Solomon was about to go and try to scavenge the shore for more clues on this mystery island, a loud, sing-song voice booms in the air. Your voice, waving your dominant hand while the other holds the woven basket filled with sweet fruits. You had a feeling he’d wake up sometime soon, though you underestimated the speed of time. “Good morning sleepyhead!” you cheered, walking towards him in rhythmic skips and hops on the sand.

You slowed down as you got closer, seeing the other flinch and take a step back, with his arm at his front and his brows furrowing. On the contrary, you softly smiled, humming. You extend your hands toward him, though not touching his skin quite yet. “You’ve been resting for a while,” you said, almost with a small bit of laughter. “I swore you were dead.”

Solomon clicked his tongue. “Who are—”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” you asked, your hand now resting on his scarred check. Carefully running your finger to the trace of his jaw while you gush about how adorable it was, hearing his gentle murmurs even when most of his words were incoherent. Pristine snow-colored hair, marvelous earthy gray eyes, delicate and commanding diction.

Though you do wonder of a word that you could understand. Or well, not a word to, but a name. A name you heard through every gasp while his body twitched on the sand. They seem to grow more desperate with each repetition, a poor soul calling for someone in an endless void. Naturally, this had you curious, questioning him while your hand began to trail down his neck. “You keep mentioning their name quite lot. Who’re they?”

You didn’t expect him to grab your wrist, clenching his fists around it. You winced at the pain, though you observe how his actions may be harsh, yet his eyes, expression, looked happier. He wasn’t looking at you, no, far from it; he looked zoned out, catching imaginary glimpses, a loving smirk ghosts his face.

Solomon spoke gently, fondly even. Similar to his restless whispers of the night. “They’re my spouse.”

Suddenly that smile you had faltered, replaced by a confused expression. Your lips formed a small “oh,” your hand retreating back to the basket’s handle.

You weren’t exactly terrified. Very much on the relative opposite; disappointed. It’s common in the legends for great to be utterly devoted to their lovers. A waste, your eyes falling back and inspecting his figure head to toe. The man looked ragged. Hurt. Malnourished. Dirty. Your thumb wipes itself on your index finger, remembering the rough, but smooth sensation of his imperfect flesh.

“Well they aren’t here now, no?” you tilt your head.

Solomon looked appalled, his eyes widening in offense. Was it something that you said? You weren’t lying— his spouse wasn’t here. You’re far from his homeland; whisked away to the safest, luxurious cove that you kept hidden away. That’s what there was with you, you’re rather secretive. You keep what’s yours hidden from peering eyes, where no mortal won’t get the privilege of seeing.

It took you a second to note your slip of the tongue. Noting that honesty may come off as rude. “Ah, forgive me,” you said. You bashfully averted your gaze, small hues of pink flushed on your cheeks. Being lonely on this land has made you too excited to see someone who even survived getting here. You worried that once his pulse came to a halt, you had to send his corpse away from the creatures to wholeheartedly devour. “It’s been a while since I’ve met someone.”

You were honestly starting to love this change of pace. It’s no fun if he leaves so soon. Perhaps the fates could care less if you allow yourself to adore him—even with his conflicting feelings

So you shake your head, giving him the basket as you take his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Anyways, come my love!” You chime, small stars sparkling in your irises. ”The island awaits us!”

His face grimaces, pulling back his hand yet your grip was just too strong. Solomon spouted bitterly, raising a brow in offense. “Your love?”

You paid no attention to his words, instead touring him of this wonderful landscape. Open arms, twirling around taking in the bright greens and luscious blues of wild flowers and old trees. So giddy, even come to admire this lonesome place even more. “We have everything we could ever ask for!” you jolly along, taking a brief glance at Solomon.

The other still looked to be so perplexed. His hands gripping the basket’s handles, his feet dragging themselves as if they were leashed to your arms. His eyes seem to wander, but not once purposely in your direction.

Still, he must still be processing being in such a wonderful place, isn’t he? You giggle. You stroll around, slowing down as to not yet lose your now forever lover. A small crab scuttles near your feet, pinching at the air with its tiny claws.

It’s a vivid shade of red, almost glowing in the sunlight. You crouched down, opening your hand as you waited for the little one to climb on it. Sadly, it didn’t seem to reciprocate your friendly actions. Instead it waddled away, strutting as quickly as it could with its little crab feet. You pouted as you watched, inching closer to instead grab it by the shell, before placing it on your shoulder.

“Much better,” you laugh. Now that it’s there you twirled around, eager to prove to Solomon how wonderful heaven feels. How wonderful it’d be if he sees the joy soon. “Oh, we thank Queen Rose,” you giggled again. Ogygia was just as bountiful as the maiden you used to serve’s magical prowess.

You noticed that Solomon had placed the basket on top of a moss-covered rock, feeling his hand along the bark in a calculated expression, mumbling something.

You spoke aloud in a melodic symphony. “The place is beautiful,” you coaxed, stepping closer with your hands behind your back. Closer and closer, you watch him stiffen up and he faces you, right hand quick to grab the handle of his sword.

“It is.”

There was no denying that he was supporting your sentiment. For the first time.

You thought about how to get more from him, with each slow footstep you took forward. It couldn’t be helped that you felt cheeky, seeing the brave, powerful warrior back up against the tree; defensive, but oh so helpless. Tattered robes with rusted pieces of armor, worn out sandals and puffed up bruises. Stunning, you thought.

“Perhaps,” you cheekily say, the back of your hand running along his chest. “Soon into bed we’ll climb and spend our time.”

Solomon swats your wrist away. “I’m not your man.”

‘Not yet,’ you thought. Again, you ignore all possible signs of rejection, clinging towards him.

“I’m what you want. What you need, dear,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the outline of his armor. “It’s just you and me, my love in paradise.” You step closer, your breath warm against his skin.

“Now until the end of time, from here and out, you’re mine.” You smile, leaning in just enough to brush your lips against his. “All mine.”

Solomon pushes you away, causing you you tumble back. As you were about to recompose yourself, you see a dull, rusted blade pointed at your neck

“I could kill you where you stand,” Solomon spouted bitterly, lifting your chin with the tip of his sword. “I’m no pet. I’m a married man.”

Oh. He’s feisty, and can wield a weapon well. You left out a soft chuckle, holding the blade with two fingers as you moved it aside. “Oh handsome, you may try, ” you tease, even as you trace the sharper end of the sword, “pricking” your finger at its tip.

“But last I check, gods can’t die.” You kiss your own fingertip, one eye open to gauge at his reaction.

Solomon furrowed his brows, lowering his sword. “God…?”

You smile, resting on one of the larger rocks. You spoke not a word, but your cheeky smile and prominent glow at the ends of yours hair settled your case. You weren’t just some creepy owner of a secluded island that doesn't seem to appear in any of the olden maps. No. Of course you had to be a god.

This was bad. Very very bad. Solomon wished not to mingle with the gods.

Solomon wished that you weren't a god.

“But fear not, I bring no pain!” you reassure. “We’re stuck in paradise. Where no one can come and go, as my island stays unknown—”

“This is no paradise.”

You raised a brow. Had you heard it correctly? It was a plethora of beautiful flora and fauna. “What are you talking about?”

Solomon only shook his head, giving a coy, but per say partly polite smile. “I won’t be drawn to ‘love in paradise’. Get me out this instant.”

“Oh! You really are such a fool.” You pout. Your eyes scan over him, lifting your hand to your chin. Humming, you spot a small, beautiful hyacinth blooming beneath the rock. You crouched to pick it, examining the wondrous petals.

“We could fix that starting with this bit of hair,” you said. As Solomon was about to interject, you had placed the flower up at his ear, making sure to lightly touch his skin. “Aww, poor you. I’m here now.”

“Not ‘till the end of time.” Solomon takes a step back. “There is NO way—”

“But you’re mine,” you take a step closer once more. The man felt trapped, as every step he moved away only got you to inch closer. For gods, he expected a bit of decency. As far as he was concerned, mortals were more like puppets, only keen to serve every whim. Gods weren’t particularly opposed to mortal relationships, so why not?

Had he a choice?

You give him a sudden, tight hug. “All mine.”

“They’ve kept you out of your control,” Barbatos muttered, watching Solomon all the way from Olympus.

The god pinches his temples, processing what he just saw.

Not only was Solomon truly making a barrage of avoidable mistakes, but now he's stranded in an island with a homewrecker and no crew.

"Time can take a heavy toll," the god sighed once more. He's quickly to splash along the waters, hopeful to catch small glimpses of progress. What kind? anything that can safely get him back.

'Seven years...'

It was the break of night, calm bright festive colors all reduced to the dark, lonesome blues and grays. You woke up to the cold gust of wind hitting your skin, feeling the warmth retreat back. You flutter your eyes open, only to be met with emptiness; the only indication that he was there was the subtle dent on the white silk.

You sighed, running your hand along your hair as you set up, blanket on your lap, staring at the cold bedside. You loathe the routine of getting up and fetching your lover, muttering silent prayers that he hadn’t whisked himself away and droned in hellscape. The only sign of warmth was only the moonlight peeking through the window of the wooden hut, and even that sent a chilling sensation down your spine. It was a matter of time before his thoughts would begin to unravel, and for his nightly cries to spiral.

You turned to your side, legs on the ground as you stood up from the kline.

“Solomon?” you yawned out, stretching your arms in the air before grabbing another silken sheet to cover yourself. It was during night where there were the harshest of colds, after all. Deafening silence, only exposed to the loud dining of crickets and other critters that lurk in these darkness.

At day time, you would catch Solomon often sulking along the shoreline. His head hung low as he sat on the sand, arms crossed over his knees, pulling them closer to his body. In rare instances, he’d trace his fingers along the grains of sand, marking it with countless words, names, and symbols.

One that stood out to you one time was his repeated scribbling of a certain phrase. You swore to have heard of it before, but watching as the perfect bed of sand and seashells instead was carved with constant repetition, seeing him grip whatever his hand got a hold on tightly as he goes to recall memories of a past he once lost.

Of how it was to be kind. “Greet the world with open arms. Relax, my friend.”

It felt psychotic. You had to lull him out of his wicked trance before he went to hurt himself physically. Wiping off the dirt that stuck to his face, trimming his long hair to a more manageable length, and having to watch so he doesn't starve to death. He was a lot, going for hours without uttering a word or making eye-contact. Every time you nudge his arms and join you, whether it be in an act of passion or whimsy, the sparks in his eyes only continue to fade. Void of any speck of hope.

“Solomon?”

You call out once more. Walking out the safe confines of the hut, you went into the now quieter, eerier, more maniacal-driven call of the night. Every night, you’d wake up to sniffling whispers and faint sobs coming from the other side. You’d attempt a soft hum, hopefully soothing him to a calmer state of mind, caressing his sides and watch him twitch his body away from your touch. On more restless nights, he’d swat your wrist away before you’re able to touch him, huddled in a fecal position and shivering with the hour growing colder.

It’s at night where you feel helpless. Every attempt proven futile, every act of service ignored or unsupported. Every word working to console him only worsens his cries. Long periods of solitude have rendered Solomon uncomfortable in the company of others. Within your shared hut he laments, and there was nothing you could do.

You find yourself at the foot of a steep cliff, all from following smudged footprints on the grass. You squint your eyes, making out a figure on top of the cliff, only illuminated by the bright moonlight as this figure stares down into the mellow waters. Slowly, as to not hopefully startle the figure, you inch closer, carefully tracing your eyes along his form.

Subtle white glow basking in the moonlight, the freshly woven chiton you made for him reflecting the rays through golden crewels of birds, waves and stars. When you made that, the symbols were supposed to represent hope and longing, a fortunate outcome if he gave you more time. Though when he adorns the garment, signs of hope turn into withering longing. Only engraved memories of the past that forever haunts him.

He stood as still as an oakwood tree, mildly resisting the harsh waft of air. As you inch closer you reach out to him once more. So that please, he’d turn around and see you eye-to-eye.

You desperately called out for him, worrying exuding through syllables when you took a momentary pause to utter his name. It was familiar, but foreign. “Solomon?” you pleaded, fingers clenching your palm when you still see him stand there. Still. A man who can’t be moved or accept the present; always stranded in the labyrinth of the past.

“I hear them,” he uttered. Catching his breath with every word, stifling a sob with every annunciation. “All I hear are screams.”

Solomon takes a step forward. Tiny pebbles drop themselves towards the water. Ripples that marked tiny specks of heaven sunken beneath the surface. You flinch, rushing towards him yet still shy of a few steps. Small comets that guide the sky fall down and crash as a meteor, falling into seas where ripples turn into tides when they reach the shore.

“‘Moni, get away from the ledge.”

“Quiet,” Solomon snarked. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through. You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed.”

The scholars would call this anagnorisis. How a tragic hero discovers the cruel reality of his circumstance. How despite any attempt for kindness—for mercy—all is worthless in his peripeteia. Loss was something you couldn’t understand. Being alien for a majority of your life had you numb to the thought of loss just yet.

Yet.

Perhaps you were instead afraid of experiencing that loss.

“Every comrade I long knew,” you hear Solomon say. Drowning in anagnorisis. Panting. He lifts his hand up to grab tuffs of snow locks, tugging on the strands. “ Every friend. I saw them die, and… all I hear are—”

“It will be fine, dear.”

Solomon turns his to the side, as if catching even a small glimpse. You held your ground, staying firm. Comforting him with gentle melodies, singing a small ballad to soothe his nerves once more.

“ Come back inside, dear,” you said. You hesitate, inching closer but make sure to keep your pace quiet. Your voice cracks, feeling the burning drops of tears trailing down your cheek. “Love of my life, please.”

“Come back to paradise.” “Just let me close my eyes.”

You hear him resisting the melody, dueting your ballad with hoarse dissonance. Still, you continued, all until you were able to palace your hand on his shoulder. Squeezing it to give a blink of reassurance, pulling yourself closer to coddle him in your embrace. Though you don’t plan to hurt him. Never did, and never shall. You lean near his ears, whispering, “I know your life’s been hard. I’ll stay inside your heart.”

“If you could just see…” “All I hear are screams.”

“I love our time here,” you pause, gulping. “I love your company, It’s just..”

“Life would be so much worse if you had died.” “JUST LET ME CLOSE MY EYES!”

Solomon snaps, pushing your hand away as he strides forwards, turning around and finally facing you. Finally seeing you. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? There you were, gray eyes with bits and the tiniest stars dying out in lonesome nebulae. Tears stream down the corners of his eyes as he takes erratic, shaky breaths. His hand still grabbing tufts of his own hair, running itself along it and pulling at the string begging for an ounce of control.

He noticed you, and you can vividly see the absolute madness swirling in his eyes.

“‘Moni,” you call out, grabbing both his wrists and gently grabbing him off the end of the cliff. He follows you, eyes now trailing downward, brows furrowed. His lips quivering, his lungs gasping, his hands warm from cold sweat; from all the stress of these memories.

“Please stay away from harm,” you lull him further, wrapping his arms around your waist. They’re dead, but you’re here. He wasn’t alone, you had a splendid time together. Flowers, petals, birds and bees—this was all you thought a man could ever want. There he stood, the only time ever acknowledging you since his first arrival was one of terror. One urging you to leave him. You run your thumb gently on his cheek, wiping those streams of regret.

“Stay in my open arms,” you cooed. You carefully caress his hair, your hand gliding through each silken strand. You were here, and you welcomed him to a palace where he’d otherwise may die.

You hear Solomon’s breath hitch, staring at you in shock. Irises turn into pinpricks, flinching as he grows appalled by your words. Suddenly, all in his view twisted off into blurs and blobs of a series of different hues and arrays of various colors. Shades of blue, yellow, browns and pinks littered his vision, and your form melted away into nothing but just a color of shapes.

“Moni?” Solomon could hear a voice. A voice not like yours: it wasn’t melodic, in a sing-song tone that’s as soft as the flutter of butterflies. This was more kind, more earthy, more human. And lastly, more familiar. Your voices swallowed by the whispers of a distant past, silken velvety words in a calming diction. It wasn’t yours. It was no longer you who clouded his mind.

The image of your gentle smile was gone; turned to instead to be more genuine. One of excitement. Suddenly, Solomon saw the day at night. Sun kissed skin and curly, dark brown hair, with the figure’s bright cerulean eyes becoming clearer with the second. The hand was no longer on his cheek and the base of his neck, but tightly grabbing both his shoulders while lightly shaking him in glee.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms!” the figure cheered, taking a step back and he did just as he said: he opened his arms wide open. As if welcoming Solomon in a tight embrace.

Solomon gasped, reaching his hands out. A small, hopeful smile ghosts his face. “Simeon?”

Simeon chuckled, moving his hands around before slowly, blobs and blues start to resurface along the base of his arms. Colors of light, periwinkle blue contrasted with specks of black and wave strands.

The king’s smile fades, squinting his eyes to focus more on the mysterious figure that his friend was holding.

These blobs and sharp shapes of diamonds and triangles instead morphed into the innocent figure of a young baby boy peacefully asleep in his blanket. Solomon’s eyes widened, even shaking his head while closing his eyes. To do a double take as to make sure the child he saw wasn’t who he thought he was.

The child from the wooden crib back at Troy. The child whom the gods had ordered him to… to…

Simeon hummed, rocking the baby in his arms. Solomon’s ears perked up from the soft, childish giggles exuding from the blanket. Simeon chuckled, letting the young prince play with his finger. “He’s wonderful,” the lad crooned, chuckling before slowly going back to a playful tune. “To think a man like Hector was able to have a child. Tell me, Moni, why didn’t we get to keep him?”

He raises a brow as he pouts to confront Solomon. Though it doesn’t last long, a simple sneer quickly puts him back in his playful act. Simeon gave Solomon one final look, nodding his head. He said: “Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart.”

After that, Simeon’s figure soon faded away, carrying the down sleeping child. ‘Right,’ Solomon thought. He’s dead. He’s forever damned in the underworld; taking care of that Trojan. Although the man couldn’t help it. The image of a boy who once resembled his son before he left for war was too much for the king to bear.

And Simeon was too kind to be a father that he couldn’t be, unlike someone who would match Solomon’s lack of mercy.

“Captain?”

There it was another voice. From Simeon’s warmth it shifted to coldness. Bitter. Solomon took a brief glance—not that you were able to perceive any coherent shape—and was only met with blurred circles and squares of gray and muted browns. And unlike Simeon, he didn’t need clarity to focus on who it was, nor was he really willing to face the obscured face. Hair and body perfectly matching a memory, yet face scribbled away as to not recall his mate’s dismay.

Solomon held his stance, tilting his head up whilst staring back at the figure. “Raphael,” he said.

Akin to the lack of facial features, Raphael never focused on his captain. Instead, as a mouth starts to clearly come into view, he seems to be talking to someone far in the distance. He’s quick to grab the handle of his sword, his grip tightening. And Raphael repeats it once more, “Captain?”

“I have to see them.”

Solomon turned around again, as he heard a more uncanny resemblance. Instead of the ghost of the past haunting him, it was instead a clear image of himself. The only difference would be how ragged and scarred he used to look before being under Ogygia’s care. This wasn’t a blurry spectacle spawning itself to hurt it, this was just torture.

Not bearing to look at himself, he goes back to staring at Raphael. His mate’s eyes came into a clear view, and he wasn't mad. No. Instead he looked to be that he respects Solomon’s decision, but that wasn’t enough to ignore the stifling of his nose watching. “But we’ll die,” Raphael tried to reason out.

Raphael tried even as he knew that what Solomon said was final. Even with the regret lingering on right after, he was a man of his word. Even with his back facing his double, he could imagine himself hesitantly raising his hand, pointing towards his crew. Hearing the phrase he told the thunder bringer.

“I know.” “I can’t.”

Solomon watches Raphael’s shoulders relax. He sighs, clicking his tongue before bowing his head, only giving a cold, bitter gaze in dark, lapis irises. “How much longer till your luck runs out?” Raphael shots his gaze to the real Solomon. The flashing lights of lightning reflect at the of his shoulders and hair, illuminating a bright white light from behind.

The roaring sounds of thunder fill the air, as the flashing grew more erratic. “Wait, no! Raphael!” Solomon exclaimed. He tries to take a step forward, but knees betray him, instead falling down to the ground. “You can’t do this to me!”

The lightning’s flickering worsens, and with ragged deep breaths, he looks up. Raphael looks down at him, shaking his head in disappointment. “How much longer till we all fall down?” he asked one last time, before closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath.

“RAPHAEL!”

The sky rips open. A jagged bolt of lightning arcs down, striking Raphael with a blinding flash. Time seems to stretch as Solomon watches. Horrified. The air crackles with energy, and the sound is deafening, a roar that drowns out everything else. The light envelops his mate’s body, and for a heartbeat, he was only a mere silhouette against the storm. All suspended in the surging flames of chaos.

And all Solomon can see is the silhouette of Raphael collapsing. “No…” Solomon cries, scrambling to his feet, adrenaline surging through him as he races toward the fallen figure. “No. No. No. No..”

Each step feels heavy, every step conspires to hold him back. “Raphael!” he shouts again, desperation clawing at his throat. Once he reached where the lightning struck, it was over. Raphael’s body was no more.

Solomon falls to his knees, grasping at coarse sand. His other hand reaches out to scramble along finely combed locks, ruffling it up in a tangled mess. “Please don’t make me do this,” Solomon wept. “Don’t make me do this.”

The voices of sirens fill the air, trapping him in an endless echo of screams, terror and revenge. Melodies of “waiting..” bounces through imaginary walls, each note striking his ears to bleed. He covers them lowers, lowering his head down to deafen the silence.

“Waiting…” Make it stop.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Make it stop.

“And it’s no longer you.” Make it all stop.

The loudest of the voices resemble yours. A loud, brash symphony that’s louder than any of his other demons. Your figure walks towards him, pulling his hands away from his and placing them on your cheek, whispering to him to open his eyes.

Your figure meshed with the colors of someone else from a distant past. As if your forms blended into one, where one can no longer be separated from the other. Washed out imagery of the bed made of trees that lies in their shared bedroom could be seen behind you, as leaves carefully drift down in a steady pace.

You smile, making him open his eyes. In a sing-song voice, you cooed. “Let me take the suffering from you.”

Solomon was quick to hug you back, sobbing into the fabric. You playfully scoffed, caressing your hands along his hair, murmuring sweet nothings. For judgment was blurry in watery eyes.

You also weren’t real. Not this mashed, stitched together doll that only took to keep half of your figure.

And Solomon realized that too soon, when you come tumbling down as nothing but sand along the shore. Grains clinging on to his clothes, specks reaching his eyes as they grow even more red. He can’t bear to understand. He fought to save lives, but not killing ended up leading all his men to perish.

Had he avoided it all if he hadn’t shown mercy.

And how foolish he looked begging for it. The gods were right; he was a Greek who reeked of false righteousness. The worst kind of good for he cannot be great.

The cauldron had overflowed, as the voices grew louder once again. Taunting him as their endless comedy, in his peripeteia, suffering in anagnorisis. In a final, desperate moment, Solomon went back to the safe confines of closing his eyes. To shut himself off from the truth. To move on, and hopefully get back on track to returning to Ithaca.

His queen. His child. That was who he fought for.

Hands clenching his chest, Solomon screamed.

“BARBATOS!”

Call him a fool. He’ll never allow himself to indulge in hubris once more.

a/n: this was honestly too much for the heart. so uhh, i hope you enjoy! also if anyone is able to spot all of the references then you'll be getting a small little bonus

thank you all for your support for this event, and for your patience as this was published a day late. Never fret, we still have more stories to come! and i hope you're there to follow me along through this journey.

and also, don't forget to greet the world with open arms! <3

event materlist | main masterlist | divider by cafekitsune

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stolas-arsgoetia-rp · 17 days ago

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(Freya starter)

The small Imp sat on the walls of the estate, taking a swig of the tonic wine from her bag. The day had begun on a rough note, having sinners and hellborns alike boo her off the stage before she could even get through her first song.

It clearly agitated her.

Slightly buzzed, she was unaware whose estate she was sitting on. With a grumble, she tuned up her guitar as she began to sing to whomever would listen.

Stolas was alerted to the imp who sat on the walls of the palace when he heard the guitar start to play from near by. He had been in the gardens, pulling weeds and feeding his plants when the music began. The prince made his way around the greenhouse to find the source of the music, and what a strange sight it was! Of course, he was used to hellborns of all kinds breaking into the palace walls but never had he seen one simply sit there and play an instrument.

He slowly made his way over as she began to sing, enraptured as he was by her voice and song. He walked silently until he was directly behind her and didn’t say a word until the song came to a close. His hands were clasped behind his back as he examined the strange imp. “That was lovely.”

#hellaverse rp #helluva boss rp

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tinkerleaf · 8 months ago

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Drunken Ballads

This one is so funny to me. Don't judge me for the song choice, I've been blasting it for days. Synopsis: reader gets tipsy, dazai and chuuya to the rescue Genre: comedy? Words: 675 Pairing: dazai/reader/chuuya Warnings: cursing, a little suggestive, alcohol

The Armed Detective Agency didn’t allow you to drink too often, and there was a reason for that. There’s a story that the office tells the newbies before they get carried away, just to keep them from acting out the way you did one special night.

After a particularly hard mission, you felt you needed a little something to relieve the tension you felt. You decided to go to a nice bar that offered cute little cocktails because you deserved it. It had been a rough week for you, and nothing hits the spot better than getting drunk.

At the time, you had only meant to get a little buzzed. Unfortunately, you were wasted.

Something that this bar was known for was its large stage for karaoke and other forms of live music. There was a dancefloor in front of it, and behind that stood a plethora of couches and tables. Lots of people were there, it was quite popular.

This was the first time you had ever been to this club, and you failed to consider who owned it. Some of the Port Mafia members were scattered throughout the place, but you wouldn’t have realized it anyway due to your condition.

A certain redhead placed himself in a black leather chair at the opposite end of the room. He didn’t know you were there yet, but it wouldn’t be long before he did. He sipped on the last bit of his wine, and before calling someone to fill his glass, he choked. He almost dropped it when he saw you on the stage, singing “…Baby One More Time” (specifically the Tenacious D version).

“No fucking way…” He couldn’t lie, you were doing great, but you were certainly drunk out of your mind.

“Hey boss, isn’t that-”

“Nope.” He lied. He knew this would be awful for your image if people realized who you worked for.

The mafioso didn’t respond, other than to roll his eyes.

Halfway through your little “performance”, Chuuya reluctantly dialed a number he hadn’t rung in a while.

There wasn’t an answer. Instead, he finds Dazai walking up to him with a smug look on his face. “They sure know how to put on a show, huh?”

“The crowd’s loving it.” He glances over to his former partner, “Apparently so are you.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m just waiting for them to fall off the stage.”

“You didn’t have to call me by the way. I already knew about their after-work plans, but I had no idea it would be this entertaining.”

When you finally made eye contact with the two, you knew you were in trouble. You quickly stumbled down the side stairs and attempted to escape without them noticing. This was an awful plan, however. Your current state was equivalent to a fawn, wobbling to keep balance.

A strong arm pulled you close. “Where do you think you’re going like that?” Chuuya asked. “You can barely walk!” His cologne was intoxicating.

“You’re so handsome…” You slurred quietly.

“Damn, they really are wasted,” Dazai retorted, earning a scoff from the other man. He moved some of your hair from your face, “Guess it’s time you come back with me, sweetheart.”

You smiled, “You both can take me home.” Dazai laughed, while Chuuya’s eyes widened.

“Get them out of here. Make sure they get home safe.”

“Of course.”

The rest of the night was a blur. All you could remember was Dazai taking you back to your apartment and then waking up in your bed the next morning. He left a note on your nightstand, along with a glass of water and some painkillers.

Upon walking into the office later, you had a serious migraine. You couldn’t afford to stay home, however, due to the massive amount of paperwork you had to fill out from the last case.

Sitting at your desk, Dazai had quite a smirk on his face. “How you feelin’?”

You held your palm at him. “I don’t want to hear it from you right now.”

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estellan0vella · 6 months ago

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Cherry - Ryomen Sukuna AU Word Count: 6.9K Content Warnings: Death, Guns, Violence, blood Masterlist for Eras AU

The thrum of bass pulses through the walls of Sukuna's club, a steady heartbeat that syncs with the electric energy of the night. Neon lights flicker and dance over the crowded floor, casting vibrant hues across faces lost in the music.

The rhythm of the music reverberates through your body, each beat syncing with your steady pulse as you lean against the polished mahogany bar. You exude a confidence that commands respect, your every gesture deliberate and controlled. The dress you wear, crafted from the finest red silk, clings to your form.

The ruby necklace around your neck catches the light, casting tiny red reflections that dance across your collarbone. Each piece of jewellery is a statement, a testament to your status and power in this underworld kingdom. The cigarette between your lips burns steadily, a trail of smoke curling upwards, adding to the smoky allure that surrounds you.

Your signature red lipstick glistens under the dim lights, staining the cigarette between your lips, the colour earning you the moniker "Cherry" among those who know you—and fear you.

Sukuna may be the kingpin, the ruler of this underworld, but you're no mere consort. Your presence demands respect, not just because you're his lover, but because you've earned your place. You can handle yourself, and everyone knows it. Tonight, though, Sukuna is away handling business, leaving you to watch over the club.

Your eyes scan the room, always alert, always aware, even as you sip on the cherry wine Sukuna specially imported for you. The crowd is thick tonight, the air electric with anticipation as they wait for the next performance. You take one last drag of your cigarette, exhale a plume of smoke, and extinguish it in a nearby ashtray.

You finish your drink and set the glass down, the clink lost in the surrounding noise. Your stilettos click against the marble floor as you stride toward the stage. The club's manager gives you a nod as you pass, a signal that everything is set. You make your way to the back, slipping through the velvet curtains and into the dimly lit backstage area.

The stage manager hands you a microphone, and you take a deep breath, feeling the familiar weight and cool metal in your hand. The crowd hushes as the lights dim, the anticipation palpable as they wait for their Queen. With a sultry smile, you step out onto the stage, the spotlight capturing your every move.

As the first notes of the piano fill the air, you begin to sing. Your voice is smooth and intoxicating, weaving through the melody with practised ease. The audience is mesmerized, their eyes glued to you, every word and note wrapping around them like a spell. This is your domain, and you revel in the power it gives you. The song is a slow, haunting ballad, a perfect showcase for your vocal prowess and emotional depth.

The music crescendos, your voice rising with it, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. The neon lights cast an ethereal glow over the audience, reflecting off their entranced faces. The song comes to an end, and for a moment, there's silence, the kind that holds a world of unspoken appreciation. Then, the applause erupts, filling the club with thunderous approval. You smile, taking a gracious bow before stepping off the stage.

As you return to the bar, you notice a group of men at a table near the back. They're not clapping, not even smiling. Their eyes are hard, their postures tense. Rival gang members, trying to blend in but sticking out like wolves in a flock of sheep. You can see the tension in their shoulders, the barely concealed weapons under their jackets. They don't belong here.

With a slow, calculated move, you finish your drink and set the glass down, the clink lost in the surrounding noise. Your stilettos click against the marble floor as you stride towards the back office. Inside, you open a hidden drawer, revealing an array of firearms. You choose a sleek, compact pistol, feeling its familiar weight in your hand. A quick check of the ammo, and you're ready.

The music fades as you step back into the main room, your senses sharpening. The rival members have spread out, moving towards key points. Your heart races, but your mind is clear. You're not just Cherry, the glamorous moll of Ryomen Sukuna. You're deadly, and you're about to remind everyone why.

One of them makes the first move, pulling out a gun and shouting a command. The crowd panics, screams rising as people scramble for cover. You don't hesitate. In a fluid motion, you raise your pistol and fire. The first shot hits its mark, dropping the man before he can fire a single round. The club erupts into chaos, but you're a storm of precision and fury.

You weave through the terrified patrons, your heels clicking with each step, a sharp contrast to the chaos around you. Another rival member appears, his eyes widening as he recognizes you. He hesitates, and that's his mistake. You take him down with a single shot, your aim impeccable as the bullet makes its mark between his eyes.

The others are more cautious now, trying to regroup. You use the confusion to your advantage, taking cover behind a pillar and assessing the situation. There are five left, moving towards the VIP section. You dart out, firing two shots in quick succession. One hits a man in the shoulder, the other in the leg, incapacitating them.

The remaining three try to flank you, thinking they can corner you. They underestimate you. You duck behind the bar, grabbing a bottle and smashing it for a makeshift weapon. As one comes around the corner, you slam the jagged glass into his neck, dropping him instantly. Another comes from the opposite side, but you're ready, shooting him in the knee and then the chest.

The last one is the biggest, clearly the leader. He's smarter, staying back and using the crowd as cover. You spot him across the room, near the DJ booth. He's aiming at you, but you don't flinch. With a calculated move, you dive, rolling across the floor and coming up firing. Your bullet hits his gun, knocking it out of his hand. Before he can react, you're on your feet, closing the distance.

He tries to swing at you, but you dodge, your movements swift and precise. You land a hard kick to his gut, making him stagger. He grabs a chair, swinging it wildly. You duck, feeling the air rush above your head. You counter with a high kick, your stiletto connecting with his jaw. He goes down, dazed and bleeding.

You stand over him, gun trained on his forehead. "This is Sukuna's territory," you say, your voice cold and steady. "Tell your boss if he tries this again, he won't have anyone left to send back." The man nods frantically, his fear palpable. You lower your gun, satisfied.

As the police sirens wail in the distance, you holster your weapon and straighten your dress. The club is a mess, but you're unscathed, your lipstick is still perfect. You walk back to the bar, grabbing yourself your bottle of wine, the respect in the eyes of the staff and patrons unmistakable.

You're Cherry, and you've just reminded everyone that you're not just Sukuna's lover. You're a force to be reckoned with, heels and all.

Later, as you sit in Sukuna's opulent office, sipping from your wine bottle, the door creaks open. Sukuna strides in with his characteristic confidence, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. A smirk plays on his lips. "I heard you had some fun tonight," he says, his voice laced with pride and amusement.

You smile, leaning back in the plush leather chair. "Just another night in the life, love."

He crosses the room with purposeful strides, pulling you into a fierce kiss, his hand tangling in your hair. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with admiration. "You're amazing, dollface."

You grin, wiping a smudge of your maple cherry lipstick from his mouth with your thumb. "I know."

"You know, my sweet Cherry, it's times like these that remind me why I chose you," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "You're more than just a pretty face."

You chuckle softly, leaning into his touch. "I'd hope so, considering the trouble we've seen together."

He smirks, his gaze intense and unwavering. "You didn't just handle it. You owned it. This place, these people—they're all under our control because of you."

You tilt your head, playful and confident. "And because of you, my king. We make a hell of a team."

He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "A deadly team," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "And tonight, you were magnificent."

Your heart races, not from fear but from the thrill of his words. You slide your hand up his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. "I had to keep our empire safe, didn't I?"

He chuckles, the sound dark and alluring. "And you did it in style, as always."

You feel his hand on your waist, guiding you to sit on the edge of the desk. He stands between your legs, his presence dominating yet comforting. "Tell me, dollface," he says, his eyes locked onto yours, "what did it feel like, taking them down?"

You smile, a slow, dangerous curve of your lips. "It felt powerful. Like I was in complete control. They thought they could walk in here and challenge us, but I showed them who really runs this place."

Sukuna's eyes darken with desire and pride. "You're incredible, dollface. And you're mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You lean in, your lips inches from his. "Always yours, Ryo. Just as you're mine."

He closes the distance, kissing you fiercely. The world outside might be chaotic, but here, in this moment, there's only the two of you. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his grip on your waist tightens. The kiss is a battle of dominance, each of you pushing and pulling, testing boundaries and revelling in the power struggle.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless. Sukuna's eyes are filled with a mix of lust and admiration. "You're my queen, dollface. Never forget that."

You smirk, your fingers tracing his jawline. "And you're my king. Together, we're unstoppable."

He nods, his gaze never wavering. "Tonight proved that. But it also reminded me how dangerous this life is. I need you to be careful."

You raise an eyebrow, amused. "Careful? Where's the fun in that?"

He growls softly, a hint of frustration and amusement in his eyes. "Just promise me you'll watch your back. I can't lose you."

Your expression softens, and you press a gentle kiss to his lips. "I promise, Ryo. But remember, I'm not some damsel in distress. I can handle myself."

He smirks, his hand cupping your cheek. "I know, dollface. That's why I love you."

You smile as you lean into his touch. "And I love you, too. Now, what do you say we get out of here? I think we both could use a little... downtime."

His eyes glint with mischief. "I like the way you think. Let's go home."

You slide off the desk, hand in hand with Sukuna, ready to face whatever comes next. The two of you make your way through the club, your presence commanding the room as you pass. The staff and patrons watch with a mixture of respect and awe, fully aware of the power you wield together.

Outside, the cool night air is a refreshing contrast to the heated energy of the club. Sukuna's car, a sleek black machine that screams luxury and danger, awaits you. He opens the door for you with a flourish, a playful smirk on his lips. "Your chariot, my queen."

You chuckle, slipping into the passenger seat. "Why, thank you, my king."

As Sukuna slides into the driver's seat, you can't help but steal glances at him. The streetlights cast a soft glow on his sharp features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes. You feel a thrill of excitement, a mix of love and admiration for the man beside you.

The drive home is a silent yet intimate journey, the two of you content in each other's presence. The city lights blur as Sukuna navigates the streets with ease, his hand reaching over to rest on your thigh, a reassuring and possessive touch.

When you arrive at your lavish penthouse, Sukuna parks the car and leads you inside. The moment the door closes behind you, he pulls you into a fierce embrace, his lips finding yours with a hunger that sets your heart racing. You respond with equal fervour, your hands tangling in his hair as you lose yourselves in the passion of the moment.

He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your lips. "You're everything to me, dollface. Never forget that."

Your eyes lock onto his, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. "I know, Ryo. And you're everything to me."

He scoops you up in his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom. You laugh, a joyful sound that echoes through the penthouse. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "And you love every minute of it."

You do. With Sukuna, every moment is an adventure, a blend of danger and love that keeps you on the edge of your seat. As he lays you down on the bed, you pull him close, your lips meeting in another searing kiss.

The night is yours, a sanctuary from the chaos of the world outside. Here, in Sukuna's arms, you find solace and strength. Together, you're an unstoppable force, ready to face whatever challenges come your way. But in your home, in this moment, you and Sukuna are simply together, entwined in a love that's as fierce and unbreakable as the empire you've built together.

The night in your penthouse feels endless, a blur of passion and whispered promises. But all good things must come to an end, and with dawn, reality intrudes. The underworld doesn't rest, and neither do its enemies.

In the 1950s, Chicago was a city that never sleeps, a sprawling metropolis where the shadows are long and the danger is ever-present. You and Sukuna have built your empire on the edges of this world, carving out a kingdom in the neon glow of nightclubs and the whispered secrets of back alleys.

The morning light filters through the blinds as you lie entwined in Sukuna's arms, the warmth of his body a comforting shield against the harsh world outside. You trace the lines of his face, memorizing every detail, knowing that each day could be your last. He stirs, eyes opening to meet yours with a soft smile.

"Morning, dollface," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

"Morning, Ryo," you reply, your heart swelling with love for this man who is both your protector and your partner in crime.

He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. "We need to be careful today. Word on the street is that some of our rivals are planning something big."

You nod, your mind already racing with possibilities. "We'll handle it, like we always do."

Sukuna smiles, but there's a hint of worry in his eyes. "Just stay close to me, alright?"

You reach up to kiss him, a slow, lingering touch that speaks of your unbreakable bond. "Always, my king."

The weeks pass in a blur of meetings and preparations. Your network of informants keeps you updated on the movements of your enemies, and you and Sukuna make plans to counter any threats.

The two of you spent most of your time in your penthouse, the safest place for you to be while there were threats against your life but the King and Queen of the Underworld had to show their faces ever so often. Show their power and status.

As night falls, you dress in your finest once again, a vision in red silk with your signature ruby necklace. Sukuna, in his tailored suit with a red silk tie, looks every bit the kingpin, his presence commanding and dangerous. Together, you make your way to the club, the heart of your empire.

The club is bustling, the thrum of bass and the chatter of patrons filling the air. You scan the crowd, always alert, always aware. Sukuna stays close, his hand resting possessively on your waist. There's a sense of foreboding, a whisper of something dark and deadly lurking just out of sight.

The first shots ring out as you're crossing the dance floor. Chaos erupts as people scream and dive for cover. You and Sukuna react instantly, your guns drawn as you move in perfect sync, cutting through the crowd with lethal precision.

The attackers are relentless, their numbers overwhelming. You take down as many as you can, your bullets finding their marks with deadly accuracy. But there are too many, and for everyone you drop, another takes his place.

In the midst of the chaos, you catch a glimpse of Sukuna fighting off two men at once. His strength and skill are unmatched, but even he can't hold out forever. Your heart pounds in your chest as you fight your way towards him, desperate to reach his side.

A bullet tears through your shoulder, the pain searing and sharp. You stagger but keep moving, your determination driving you forward. Sukuna sees you falter and his eyes blaze with fury. He fights with renewed ferocity, cutting down anyone who stands in his way.

You finally reach him, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Ryo," you manage to say, your voice trembling with pain and fear.

His eyes lock onto yours, and in that moment, everything else fades away. "Stay with me, Cherry. We can make it out of this."

The pair of you sprint from the club, heading for Sukuna's car. Not hesitating to shoot any man who pursues you from inside the club.

The street is chaos, sirens wailing in the distance as police cars converge on the scene. You and Sukuna slide into the car, bullets whizzing past you as you peel away from the curb, tyres screeching on the pavement.

Sukuna's driving is precise, his focus unwavering as he navigates the maze of streets, the city lights blurring into streaks of colour. But the police are relentless, their pursuit dogged and determined.

You glance at Sukuna, his jaw clenched in determination as he pushes the car to its limits. "We need to lose them," you call over the roar of the engine.

Sukuna nods, his eyes scanning the road ahead. He takes a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding a collision with an oncoming vehicle. The police cars follow, their sirens blaring, but you and Sukuna are one step ahead.

You duck down in your seat as Sukuna swerves into a narrow alley, the walls closing in around you. The police cars hesitate, unsure if they can follow. It's all the time you need. Sukuna guns the engine, the car lurching forward as you burst out of the alley and onto a deserted street. The police are nowhere in sight, left behind in the maze of the city.

You and Sukuna share a triumphant grin, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. "We did it," you breathe, relief flooding through you.

Sukuna squeezes your hand, his grip firm and reassuring but his eyes flit to the bullet wound in your shoulder. "We always do. But right now, we need to get you patched up,"

You nod, gritting your teeth against the pain. "We can't risk going to a hospital. They'll be swarming with cops."

Sukuna's jaw clenches with determination. "I know a guy. He owes me a favour."

You trust Sukuna implicitly, his connections running deep in the criminal underworld. You lean back in your seat, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in your shoulder as Sukuna speeds through the deserted streets.

Minutes later, you pull up outside a nondescript building, the windows dark and the entrance hidden in shadow. Sukuna leads you inside, his hand steady on your back as he guides you through the dimly lit corridors.

The man Sukuna knows is waiting for you in a makeshift medical room, his face hidden beneath a surgical mask. He nods in recognition as Sukuna approaches, his movements swift and efficient as he begins to tend to your wound.

You hiss in pain as the man cleans and stitches the bullet wound, but you refuse to cry out. You're Cherry, after all, and pain is just another obstacle to overcome in this dangerous world you inhabit.

Once the man is finished, Sukuna hands him a wad of cash, his expression grim. "Keep this between us," he says, his voice low and menacing.

The man nods, slipping the money into his pocket. "Of course, boss. You know I'm good for it."

You and Sukuna leave the building, the night air cool against your skin as you step back into the car. Sukuna's grip on the wheel is tight, his knuckles white with tension.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice laced with concern.

You nod, forcing a reassuring smile despite the pain throbbing in your shoulder. "I'll be fine. We've faced worse together, haven't we?"

Sukuna's expression softens, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of admiration and love. "We have. And we always come out on top."

"So I'm assuming now we plan revenge?" You ask with a sly smirk.

Sukuna returns your smirk, the fire of determination burning bright in his eyes. "Oh, you can count on it, dollface. Those bastards will pay for what they've done."

You lean back in your seat, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins despite the pain in your shoulder. "Good," you say, your voice low and dangerous. "Because I'm not done with them yet."

Sukuna nods, his jaw set with determination. "We'll hit them where it hurts. They'll regret ever crossing us."

The days following the attack are a whirlwind of planning and preparation. You and Sukuna call upon your most trusted allies, gathering your gang for a meeting in the depths of your penthouse. The atmosphere is tense, the air thick with the promise of vengeance.

Sukuna stands at the head of the table, his presence commanding. "They thought they could walk into our territory and challenge us," he begins, his voice steady and cold. "They thought wrong. We're going to remind them who really runs this city."

You stand beside him, your shoulder bandaged but your resolve unwavering. "We won't just defend our empire. We're going to take the fight to them. Every last one of those bastards will pay for what they did."

The room fills with murmurs of agreement, the loyalty of your gang unshakable. Plans are made, weapons distributed, and alliances solidified. The night is long, but by the end, a clear strategy is in place. You and Sukuna will lead the charge, a united front against those who dared to cross you.

That night, you and Sukuna drive through the darkened streets of Chicago, the city lights casting eerie shadows on the buildings. Your destination is a rival gang's hideout, a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Your gang follows in a convoy of black cars, each vehicle filled with armed men and women ready for battle.

You arrive under the cover of darkness, the warehouse looming ahead like a fortress. Sukuna gives the signal, and your gang moves into position, surrounding the building. You and Sukuna lead the charge, your guns drawn and ready.

The attack is swift and brutal. You burst through the doors, gunfire echoing through the warehouse as you and your gang take down anyone who stands in your way. The rival gang is caught off guard, their defences crumbling under the onslaught.

You move with precision, your every shot finding its mark. Sukuna is a force of nature beside you, his strength and skill unmatched. Together, you cut through the enemy ranks, leaving a trail of bodies in your wake. As the last of the rival gang falls, you and Sukuna stand victorious, your gang cheering in triumph. But there's no time to celebrate. This is just the beginning.

The days turn into weeks as you and Sukuna dismantle the rival gang piece by piece. Each attack brings you closer to your ultimate goal: the complete annihilation of those who dared to challenge you.

The air in the city is thick with tension, and every night brings a new skirmish, a new victory that pushes you closer to the final showdown. Your enemies fall one by one, their operations dismantled, their power crumbling under your relentless assault.

But the police are closing in. The chaos you've wrought has not gone unnoticed, and the city's finest are determined to finally bring you both to justice. They launch raids on your safehouses, arrest your allies, and close in on your operations. But you and Sukuna are always one step ahead, your cunning and resourcefulness keeping you out of their grasp.

The final confrontation comes on a stormy night, the city streets glistening under a relentless downpour, the air thick with tension and the promise of violence. You and Sukuna are on the run, your loyal gang members doing their best to hold off the police but the net is closing in, and you both know you can't run forever.

As you speed through the streets in Sukuna's car, the sirens wail behind you, their lights a chaotic dance of red and blue in the rearview mirror. "We have to lose them," you shout, your voice tight with urgency and fear.

Sukuna's jaw is set with determination as he navigates the narrow alleys and winding streets, the rain hammering the car roof like the drumbeats of war. He swerves and skids, his skill behind the wheel keeping you just ahead of the law. But the police are relentless, their numbers overwhelming. Each turn is a gamble, but Sukuna's fierce resolve never wavers.

The chase leads you to the edge of the city, the dark waters of the river stretching out before you like a maw waiting to swallow you whole. Sukuna's car skids to a halt, the police forming a tightening semicircle around you. There's no escape.

You and Sukuna share a look, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever. His eyes, stormy with resolve, meet yours, and in that moment, you see everything you need to know. "We go out together," he says, his voice firm and resolute.

"Always," you reply, your heart swelling with fierce love and determination.

You step out of the car, your guns raised, ready to face the inevitable. The rain soaks through your clothes, chilling you to the bone, but you don't flinch. You and Sukuna stand side by side, your fingers intertwining for a brief, final moment. The neon lights of the city reflect off the wet pavement, casting an eerie glow on the scene.

The first shots ring out, the sound deafening in the night. You and Sukuna return fire, your bullets finding their marks even as the police close in. The air fills with the acrid smell of gunpowder, the flashes of gunfire illuminating the rain-soaked streets. The world narrows to the sound of gunfire, the sting of rain on your face, and the warmth of Sukuna's presence beside you.

You feel a bullet tear through your side, the pain searing, but you don't stop. You keep fighting, your love for Sukuna giving you the strength to push through the agony. Beside you, Sukuna is a whirlwind of fury, his every shot a testament to his determination to protect you. His face is set in a grim mask of concentration, every move precise and deadly.

But the odds are against you. The police are too many, their firepower overwhelming. You feel your strength waning, your vision blurring as the blood loss takes its toll. The pain is almost unbearable, but you grit your teeth and keep firing, refusing to give in.

In your final moments, you turn to Sukuna, your eyes locking onto his. "I love you, Ryo," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the chaos.

His eyes soften, his love for you shining through even in the face of death. "I love you too, dollface," he replies, his voice strong and steady. "Forever."

As the world fades to black, you take comfort in the knowledge that you faced your end together, as you always promised you would. Your fingers lace with Sukuna's one last time, a final connection in the midst of the storm as he pulls you close to him. The pain fades, replaced by a sense of peace, and you let go, knowing that you lived and died by his side.

The unrelenting rain continues to pour from the darkened skies, cold and unforgiving, as it washes away the crimson stains on the cobblestone. The solemn figures of police officers stand vigil over the lifeless forms of Cherry and Sukuna, the esteemed and infamous Queen and King of the underworld. Both figures are bathed in a chilling coat of red, their lifeless hands still intertwined, and Cherry's body lying atop Sukuna's, the fallen king's arms enfolded protectively around her.

Even in death, he cradles her close, as if defiantly shielding her from the world's conclusive acts of cruelty. Their once vibrant eyes, wide open yet now unseeing, reflect the tumultuous sky above, the rain intermingling with blood, each element bearing witness to the tragic tale of their final and valiant stand.

"They were some crazy fuckers, huh?" one officer mutters to his colleagues, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and disbelief.

Another officer, younger and less jaded, stares at the entwined bodies. "Yeah," he agrees softly. "But look at them. Even in death, they didn't let go."

The senior officer shakes his head, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. "Love like that," he says quietly, almost to himself. "It's rare. Even if it was twisted and dark, it was real."

The squad car lights cast eerie, flashing shadows on the walls of the surrounding buildings, illuminating the tragic scene in bursts of red and blue. The officers move to secure the area, but for a moment, they all pause, drawn by the haunting tableau before them.

As the rain washes away the last traces of their life, the officers stand in silent contemplation, each lost in their thoughts. The weight of what they witnessed lingers in the air, a testament to a love that defied the world and left an indelible mark on the annals of crime and passion.

Decades later, the legend of Cherry and Sukuna, the formidable King and Queen of the underworld, continues to capture the imagination of many. In a hallowed lecture hall at an esteemed university, a young, pink-haired criminology professor stands before a rapt audience.

Behind him, illuminated by the soft glow of the projector screen, hangs a grainy photograph immortalizing the enigmatic duo, their visages frozen in an eternal dance of defiance and allure.

Cherry, a vision of elegance and allure, is adorned in a luxurious satin red dress that clings to her every curve, its neckline plunging daringly low, a scandalous testament to her boldness. A luxurious black fur coat drapes languidly over her shoulders, a symbol of her opulent lifestyle. Around her neck and wrists, dangling from her ears and adorning her fingers, jewels glimmer in the dim light, all encrusted with the finest rubies and diamonds and a cigarette dangles between her red-painted lips.

Beside her, Sukuna cuts a striking figure, a cigarette in his left hand, his presence commanding and formidable. Clad in a meticulously tailored black suit, he exudes an air of effortless sophistication, his fedora perched at a rakish angle atop his head adding a touch of mystery to his already magnetic allure. A crimson silk tie, perfectly knotted, matches Cherry's dress. His fingers, adorned with silver rings encrusted with rubies, trace a possessive arc around Cherry's waist, a silent declaration of their unbreakable bond.

As they gaze into each other's eyes, the intensity of their connection is palpable, a potent blend of desire, admiration, and mutual respect. In that fleeting moment captured by the lens of history, they are more than mere criminals; they are legends in the making, their love and ambition etched into the very fabric of the underworld.

"Cherry and Sukuna," the professor begins, his voice carrying the weight of history. "Two names that struck fear into the hearts of many in the 1950s. They built an empire in the shadows of Chicago, a kingdom of crime and power. But they were more than just criminals. They were lovers, partners, and in many ways, they were inseparable."

The students listen intently, their faces a mix of fascination and awe. The professor continues, "Their love was their greatest strength and their ultimate downfall. In the end, they chose to face their fate together, side by side, just as they had lived. Their story is a tragic one"

He pauses, looking at the photograph. "They say that Cherry and Sukuna's love was so powerful that it transcended the criminal world they inhabited. It was a love that defied the odds, a love that was both their greatest strength and their greatest vulnerability. And in the end, it was a love that would be remembered forever."

The professor pulls up the crime scene photographs, Sukuna's car riddled with bullet holes, blood staining the right side doors. Then he shows the picture that had led to the criminal lovers gaining their infamous post-death moniker: 'The Eternal Lovers.' The picture is of Sukuna and Cherry's corpses.

The image is haunting: Sukuna's lifeless body cradling Cherry's, his arms wrapped around her as if to shield her from the world even in death. Cherry's dress is soaked with rain and blood, her hand still clasped in Sukuna's. Their faces, serene and defiant, seemed to challenge anyone who dared to separate them.

"They say a picture is worth a thousand words," the professor murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of reverence and sorrow. "But this one speaks volumes about the depths of their connection. It tells a story of love, defiance, and tragedy. Cherry and Sukuna's legacy isn't just about their reign of terror; it's also about the unyielding bond they shared, a bond that death couldn't sever."

"How did Cherry and Sukuna meet?" a student asks, their voice cutting through the silence.

The professor smiles a hint of mystery in his eyes. "Now that is something no one knows," he says, leaning against his desk. "One day, the criminal underworld was ruled by a King, and then suddenly he has a queen."

He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. "There are countless theories, of course. Some say they met in the most unlikely of places, others believe it was a fated encounter. But the truth is, Cherry and Sukuna's meeting is shrouded in as much mystery as their reign. The local museum has a lot of memorabilia collected from the time of their reign. They have the car from the final stand on display along with the outfits from that night"

As the lecture comes to an end, the students file out of the room, their minds filled with the tale of Cherry and Sukuna. The professor remains behind, staring at the photograph. He can't help but feel a sense of admiration for the couple who lived and died by their own rules, their love immortalized in the annals of history.

His thoughts drift back to the rainy night that marked the end of Cherry and Sukuna's reign. The police reports, the newspaper headlines, the testimonies of those who had witnessed the final showdown – they all painted a picture of a love that was fierce and unyielding, even in the face of certain death.

The professor had pored over these documents countless times, trying to understand what drove them, what bound them together so tightly that they chose to face their end together rather than surrender.

He recalls a particular line from a witness statement, an elderly woman who had watched the final moments unfold from her apartment window.

"They stood there in the rain, hand in hand, as if nothing else in the world mattered. It was as if they were saying goodbye to everything and everyone, but not to each other. He pulled her close and the bullets rained down on them and tore through them. Even when they dropped, he held her like she was his everything. I suppose she was."

The professor sighs, turning off the projector and gathering his notes. He knows that in another few weeks, he'll be teaching this same lesson to another group of students, passing on the legend of Cherry and Sukuna. As he locks up the lecture hall, he takes one last look at the photograph.

Walking through the quiet corridors of the university, he wonders about the choices we make in the name of love and the legacies we leave behind. Cherry and Sukuna may have lived a life of crime, but their story is a reminder that even in the darkest of places, love can shine through, defying the odds and leaving an indelible mark on history.

The professor's footsteps echo down the empty hallway as he walks past glass display cases filled with artefacts from the same era: vintage newspapers, old pistols, and police badges, each item a silent witness to the turbulent times of Cherry and Sukuna.

He stops in front of a case displaying two pistols, one sleek black and one with cherry red accents. The guns, reputedly Sukuna and Cherry's, were found at the site of their last stand. He stares at them, imagining the man and woman who once used them, a couple who lived fiercely and loved even more fiercely.

A soft sound startles him out of his reverie. He turns to see a young woman standing nearby, clutching a notebook. She looks at the photograph on the projector screen, then back at him.

"Professor, can I ask you something?" she says hesitantly.

"Of course," he replies, curious.

"Do you think... do you think they knew how their story would end? That they would be remembered this way?"

The professor considers her question. "I think they knew they were living a life that would lead to an inevitable end. But I also believe that they were more focused on living each moment fully, especially with each other. They were aware of the risks, but their love gave them the courage to face those risks head-on."

The young woman nods, deep in thought. "It's just... it's kind of beautiful, isn't it? To be remembered for something so... passionate."

The professor smiles. "Yes, it is. It's a reminder that love, in its purest form, can transcend everything – even the darkest of legacies."

As the young woman walks away, the professor turns off the last light in the hallway. He leaves the university, stepping out into the cool night air, the story of Cherry and Sukuna lingering in his mind.

As Professor Yuji Itadori walks through the rain-soaked streets, he feels the weight of his family's legacy bearing down on him, a legacy shaped by the love and turmoil of his grandparents, Cherry and Sukuna.

Growing up, Yuji had been shielded from the darker aspects of his family's past, but snippets of their history had always found their way to him, whispered secrets passed down through generations. He had listened with a mix of fascination and trepidation, knowing that his own identity was intricately woven into the tapestry of Cherry and Sukuna's legend.

Yet, despite the allure of his family's infamous past, Yuji had chosen a different path. He had forged his own identity, separate from the shadows that had haunted his grandparents. He had embraced his surname, Itadori, a surname his grandparents had given their only son before sending him away from the criminal underworld of Chicago.

But even as Yuji sought to carve out his own destiny, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still tethered to the legacy of Cherry and Sukuna. Their blood flowed through his veins, their stories whispered in the winds of his dreams. And as he walked through the rain-soaked streets, he couldn't help but wonder about his place in their tale.

Was he destined to follow in their footsteps, to be consumed by the same darkness that had defined their lives? Or could he forge a new path, one guided by his own principles and convictions? The answers eluded him, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts.

As he navigated the streets of the city, Yuji felt a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. The weight of his family's history pressed down on him, a burden he couldn't shake. But amidst the storm clouds that gathered overhead, there flickered a glimmer of hope.

For Yuji knew that the legacy of Cherry and Sukuna was not just one of darkness and despair. It was also a legacy of love, of sacrifice, of the enduring power of the human spirit. And as he walked through the rain-soaked streets, he vowed to honour that legacy in his own way, to carve out a future that was uniquely his own, yet forever intertwined with the echoes of his family's past.

Taglist: @sad-darksoul

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doodle-pops · 2 months ago

Text

Drunken Autumn Nights

Fingon x reader

A/N: Some fluff for a change instead of my usual October content. I was in the mood for lots of cozy autumn fluff this time of year. So, to start Flufftober, have some Fingon. Enjoy!

Warnings: fluff, intoxication (drunk reader), humour

Words: 2.1k

Synopsis: The best way to spend autumn nights when your beloved was free of duties, was to give him an impromptu (drunken) task.

The evening had settled with a soft breeze that rustled the vibrant leaves, painting the world in shades of burnt orange, deep red, and gold. Fingon and you had chosen the quiet seclusion of a small forest clearing, far from the demands of his duties as Crown Prince. The air was crisp, biting just enough to be refreshing, but not so cold that it chased you indoors. A perfect autumn evening, really—where the natural beauty of Arda was at its finest, and the skies had only just begun to darken with the twilight.

You had both brought a few bottles of wine along, eager to unwind after a particularly long stretch of obligations that Fingon had been forced to endure. He had been working tirelessly, and the chance to escape into nature was a rare one. So here you were, seated on a blanket in the soft grass, bottles uncorked and laughter already in the air. Fingon poured another glass, watching the liquid swirl before he handed it to you with a gentle smile, his eyes sparkling beneath his dark, braided hair.

At first, the conversation had been light—about the trees and how their leaves looked like flames against the sky. About Fingon’s recent duties and how he felt relief now that he could spend time away from court. But as the night grew older and the wine flowed more freely, something began to shift.

You were laughing at something Fingon had said—something about how Maglor once tried to compose an entire song about leaves, and it somehow ended up being a dirge for lost love. “He’s so dramatic,” Fingon chuckled, his smile widening as he glanced at you. “I swear, if he could write a tragic ballad about his morning tea, he would.”

But you weren’t really listening anymore. Not properly, anyway. The warmth of the wine had begun to work its magic, wrapping you in a pleasant haze where everything felt a little softer, a little funnier. You leaned back, gazing up at the sky that was now peppered with stars, and took another long sip from your glass. Fingon’s voice was still in the background, but your thoughts were wandering, losing focus, drifting like the leaves that tumbled gently from the trees.

“Fingon,” you said after a moment, your voice just a little too loud and slurred at the edges. “Did you know…did you know that leaves…they fall because they’re trying to run away from trees?”

He blinked and glanced over at you with a bemused smile. “Run away? Is that so?”

You nodded, as if you had just revealed some great secret of the universe. “Yes. Yes, they’re done with the whole tree business. They’re like, ‘Nope. I’m out of here.’ And then—” You made a dramatic hand gesture that sent some of the wine from your glass sloshing onto the grass. “—they just drop, you know? Just…they’re free.”

Laughing, Fingon set his glass aside as he leaned back on his hands, watching you with clear amusement. “I had no idea you were such an expert on leaves.”

“Well, now you do,” you said, leaning forward as if to share something even more important. “And, and the pumpkins…do you know why we carve them?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said, trying to hold back another laugh.

“It’s to scare away the spirits of all the pies we didn’t make last year,” you said with utmost seriousness. “They’re vengeful. That’s why they’re orange. It’s the colour of rage.”

At this point, Fingon was openly laughing with his head thrown back, the sound rich and warm in the crisp night air. You, however, were utterly lost in your own world of autumnal conspiracy. “And the hay bales! Oh, don’t even get me started on those. They’re…they’re a trap for the woodland creatures. But they’re too clever. They know. That’s why you never see any animals near hay bales. Only humans fall for that trick.”

With all your enthusiasm for conspiracies, Fingon had shifted closer to you, his gaze soft but still amused as he took in your increasingly incoherent ramblings. “You’re quite the scholar tonight, aren’t you?” he teased affectionately.

“Of course,” you said, finishing off your glass of wine with a flourish. “I know all the secrets of autumn.”

The wine had hit you hard by this point, your thoughts growing more tangled with every passing moment. You tried to stand up, but your legs wobbled beneath you, and before you knew it, he was at your side, his hands gently guiding you back down to the blanket. “Easy now,” he murmured, his laughter still lingering on his lips. “I don’t think you’re in any state to be walking around.”

You pouted and rested your head against his shoulder as your body felt heavy and warm. “But I wanted to dance with the ghosts,” you muttered, your words slurring together.

Fingon raised an eyebrow. “Dance with the ghosts?”

“They’re here. Watching us. Waiting…” You waved your hand dramatically at the trees, your voice taking on a ghostly tone. “Ooooooooh, they want to join our fun.”

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steady you, he chuckled at your statement. “I think you’ve had enough wine for tonight.”

You frowned. “But what about the spirits? You can’t just ignore them, Finno. That’s how they get you.”

“I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for them,” he promised as humour danced in his eyes. “No spirits are getting to you while I’m around.”

As if weighing the sincerity of his words, you squinted up at him. After a moment, you seemed satisfied and leaned further into him with a contented sigh. “Good. Because I’d hate to be taken by a ghost during the best part of autumn.”

Fingon smiled down at you, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Of course. I wouldn’t let that happen.” Watching as you settled back onto the grass, your thoughts drifting along with the gentle flow of the brook. The night was growing cooler now, but the warmth of the flask still lingered in your veins, keeping you comfortable as you continued to mumble incoherently about leaves, stars, and whatever else your mind latched onto.

Fingon shifted slightly, pulling his cloak around himself as he kept an eye on you, making sure you didn’t attempt any more dangerous feats. He had grown accustomed to your antics over the years, and while he knew he’d likely have to deal with the aftermath of your intoxicated state in the morning, for now, he was content to enjoy the absurdity of it all.

“You know what else is spooky?” you muttered with your eyes half closed as you lay on the grass, your voice a little more sluggish now as the effects of the alcohol weighed down your limbs.

“What else is spooky?” Fingon asked, clearly humouring you as he shifted to sit more comfortably against the tree, his gaze still trained on you with a mix of amusement and fondness.

“The moon,” you mumbled, as if you had just revealed some great cosmic secret. “It’s always watching. But not like…the stars. The stars are nice. The moon is…suspicious.”

“Suspicious, you say? And why is that?” he chocked as he attempted to bit back a laugh bubbling in his throat.

You struggled to sit up again, your movements clumsy and uncoordinated as you pointed a wobbly finger at the sky. “It just hangs there, all big and bright, but it never says anything. Always just…lurking.”

“Lurking,” he repeated, nodding solemnly, though his lips were twitching with barely concealed laughter. “I see.”

You waved your arms dramatically, nearly losing your balance as you did so. “Exactly! One day…one day it’s going to do something. I’m telling you. We need to keep an eye on it.”

Before you could topple over completely, he reached out to steady gently. “I’ll be sure to keep watch,” he said, his voice gentle and amused.

Satisfied that he had taken your warning seriously, you gave a drunken grin. “Good. Someone has to. You never know when the moon might make its move.”

With a soft sigh, you finally allowed yourself to flop back onto the grass, your body sinking into the cool earth as the last remnants of daylight faded away, leaving the sky a deep, velvety blue. Fingon watched you for a moment, the smile still playing on his lips as he pulled his cloak tighter around himself to ward off the growing chill.

Despite your increasingly ridiculous ramblings, there was something endearing about seeing you so carefree, so lost in your own drunken thoughts. He rarely saw you this unguarded, and though you’d surely regret the amount of alcohol you’d consumed come morning, for now, he was content to enjoy the peaceful, if slightly absurd, moment.

You turned your head to look at him again, blinking slowly as if it took a great effort to focus. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?” you slurred, a lazy grin spreading across your face. “Always looking out for me…and listening to my nonsense.”

Fingon chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say it’s nonsense. It’s certainly…creative.”

“I’m a genius,” you declared, raising a finger as if to emphasise your point. “A visionary. No one understands the moon like I do.”

Fingon raised an eyebrow, smiling. “A visionary, are you? Perhaps you should write a treatise on the subject.”

You gasped, as if the idea had never occurred to you before. “Yes! I’ll write a book. ‘The Suspicious Moon and Other Spooky Things.’ It’ll be a bestseller.”

“I have no doubt it will be,” Fingon said with a grin, unable to suppress the warmth that bubbled up in his chest at the sight of you, so thoroughly convinced of your own brilliance in this inebriated state.

The night deepened around you both, the woods growing quieter as the last of the birds settled for sleep, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze was the only sound that accompanied the gentle trickle of the brook. Fingon leaned his head back against the tree, his gaze fixed on the sky where the stars now sparkled in full force, the moon casting a silvery glow over the landscape.

Beside him, you had fallen into a more subdued state, your drunken ramblings slowing as your body grew heavier with exhaustion. Fingon could tell you were nearing the point of falling asleep where you lay, and as much as he enjoyed the peacefulness of the evening, he knew it wouldn’t be wise to let you sleep out here in the open.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice low but gentle, “it might be time to head back. The moon may be suspicious, but it’s getting cold.”

You groaned in response, rolling over onto your stomach with a grumble. “Don’t wanna move.”

Fingon sighed softly, though his tone remained patient. “If you stay out here, you’ll be regretting it in the morning even more than you already will.”

With a great deal of effort, you pushed yourself halfway up, your head spinning as you tried to find your balance. Fingon was quick to help, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you as you swayed on your feet. As much as he knew you’d be feeling the effects of your little adventure in the morning, for now, there was a quiet contentment that settled over him, a rare sense of peace that came from knowing you were both safe, happy, and—for the moment at least—free from the worries of the world.

“Let’s get you home,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the rustle of the trees. The night air was cool, but not unpleasant, and as the two of you walked together beneath the watchful gaze of the “suspicious” moon, Fingon couldn’t help but smile.

Despite the silliness of the evening, despite your nonsensical ramblings about leaf spirits and conspiratorial celestial bodies, there was something undeniably perfect about the moment. It was a brief respite from the weight of responsibility, a chance to simply enjoy each other’s company without the pressures of duty or the looming shadow of the future.

And for Fingon, that was more than enough.

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