#battle of blood ridge

[aceofwhump]

Hacksaw Ridge

[frau-rainyfox]

[fanbun]

The music we've been getting in the past two seasons has been awesome and I can't wait for more official soundtrack releases.

[advnterccs-archive]

Put “Is this you?” in my askbox and my character will respond to yours finding an old picture of them! || accepting

@dynamoprotocol sent; "Is this you?"

The picture in question had been one that Rick thought he threw out or lost. It was hard to say given that keepsakes were rare and how it came from a particular time in his life where he was going through a lot more shit than to the previous years before it; an end to those golden days.

Walking over behind her, keeping a distance, he studied the picture a little bit more. That day played so vividly in his mind. It was hard to not forget how he felt.

Clearing his throat, he answered. "Uh, y-yeah, back when I was in a band and traveled the dimensions in shit,"

What he wouldn't comment on was the fact that in the picture, he was in a battle suit. Obviously by him. An black one with orange accents. His helmet off his head with three other galactic beings next to him. His best buddies at the time: GearDude, Squanchy, and Bird Person. All posing in front of a large ship of some kind.

Then his tone shifted. "Wh-Why the fuck are you looking through my stuff anyway? I said don't touch my shit."

[the-unofficial-village-idiot]

Forcibly adding birdrick to the list of gays who couldn't properly run away together

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part six) (18+)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Bucky and the reader finally give in to their desires. In 2018, after the battle in Wakanda, Steve Rogers decides to be selfish and takes what he deserves (also known as, smut-filled self-indulgent chronicles with our super soldiers) + in the 1950s, Steve is greeted with the most unexpected of visitors

themes/warnings : language, smut ahead! 18+ - minors dni

word count : 4.3k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2024, seven months after Steve's departure

It felt strange at first, feeling Bucky's lips against yours.

He's gentle, each kiss punctuated by a pause, like he's savouring each one.

He's worried that you might not kiss him back and that you don't feel the same.

But how could you not feel the same? How could this not feel right?

He pulls back for a second, and he takes you in. Your eyes blinking at him, lips left parted with a wet sheen over it.

He smiles. You mirror his gesture.

It's okay, he tells himself as he presses his forehead to yours, I am not alone in this.

He looks on as his warm-blooded hand grazes down to your collarbones, snakes above your ribs, then halts by the curve of your hips, gripping with a bit more strength, his reservations easing.

He wants more. His deep blue eyes beg the question.

That blue reminds you of someone else's for a split second, ones you would recognize anywhere, ocean eyes that you think you would love for all time.

Or so you thought.

Kissing Bucky feels like waking up from a drawn-out fever dream. All your life, you've been on the run, never quite finding a haven. Save for that cabin, many years ago.

But now, you could have this, and this something - someone - could actually be just yours.

You pull him back in, giving in, shivers running down your spine when his tongue snakes past your lips and dances with your own. His hands cup your backside, then lifts you up to wrap your legs to around his waist.

He slams you back against the wall as a result, and Bucky is quick to appraise you, asking, "Is this okay?"

Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, "Bucky, this is more than fucking okay."

His body slumps in relief against you, and he nuzzles your neck, breaking into a grin, and god help you if he doesn't feel better than the warmth of sunlight after an endless winter.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ 《18+》 ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

He kisses you again, messily sucking at your bottom lip as he deftly carries you over to your kitchen island. You feel flushed when he pulls back to admire you, his pupils dilated, and says, "You taste so good, doll."

"Bucky," you pant, your fingers curling at the back of his neck.

"So good," he repeats. "I bet you taste good all over, too."

You're suddenly grateful to be wearing only teensy pajama shorts, feeling the rough pads of his fingertips pressing against your skin. The ridges of his bionic arm leaving tingles in their wake.

He lowers himself, until his face is level with your regrettably still-clothed crotch. His every breath gusts between your inner thighs, and when he bites his lip and slowly pulls your shorts and underwear down, down, until they slide off your ankles, the hungry look that forms on his face is almost enough to make you explode.

"You don't know how much I've wanted this," he whispers, lips gliding along your upper thigh, until it lands at the crest of your labia, where he places the softest, open-mouthed kisses. Your ass presses against the cold tile on your kitchen counter instinctively, your tight-knuckled hands bracing at your sides.

Maybe this is all a damn good dream. Maybe you imbibed yourself to sweet slumber, white wine bottle rolling empty by your bedside table.

Bucky licks a stripe along your cunt, before eagerly sucking at your throbbing opening. He uses his bionic fingers to stretch you open, sliding in and out, as his tongue plunges just above. After a while, he looks up at you for assurance.

Yes, god yes.

He's real and he's warm and he's here.

"Say you're mine, doll," he says. It's a command, but it comes across almost pleading. You can't exactly fault Bucky for having his fair share of doubts and insecurity. Steve Rogers has a light that is hard to eclipse, even in memory.

But that's all he is now. A memory.

There are voices in the back of Bucky's mind that taunt him, saying, she'll never be yours. Not really. How could she, when you don't hold a candle to her former lover? The hero, the soldier, the Avenger.

But he drowns them all out, even just for tonight. One look at you falling apart from his touch is enough to quell all of his worries. I deserve this, he thinks. Steve left to get what he truly wants. Who's to stop me from doing the same?

"All yours," you say. "I'm all yours."

His heart soars, and his lips stretch out in a smile, glistening from the juices of your cunt.

He stands, his face levelling with yours, and his mouth gravitating towards your own. Your hands find purchase in his hair, holding him ever closer, fingernails massaging his scalp.

He groans in pleasure at the sensation and against your lips, he admits, half-muffled, "I could kiss you forever."

"Good thing you super soldiers live quite long then."

"Hmm," he agrees, then adds breathlessly, his blue eyes burning into you, "I wanna... wanna fuck you, doll. Would you let me have you?"

By his tone, you almost wonder how he held himself back from adding please at the end.

"Bucky," you can't help but smile, "do you even have to ask?"

And it's a goddamn blissful whirlwind from there.

He pulls you from the kitchen island, and you land clumsily on his shoes, tripping into his arms in the process. He laughs, jokily saying, "My girl right here..."

"Yeah," you wag your eyebrows, "I am so smooth."

"It's almost impressive," he responds, both hands framing your face, about to lean in.

"Almost?" you reach up and trace his lips.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were some secret agent or something," he makes a suspicious face, and it's all so silly that you break out into a giggle.

"Oh yeah?" you play along, while you two sway aimlessly, arms wrapped around each other.

"Yeah," he nods, then says, "come here and kiss me already."

"Just a kiss then?"

"A kiss," he nips at your earlobes, "then y'know, maybe we can make love and all that," then he pecks at the corner of your lips, "maybe... I dunno... you'll finally let me fuck you senseless." He shrugs at that, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You come to realise that Bucky Barnes has perhaps always been this charming. Was he like this in the 40s - a smooth talker, perennial ladies magnet? You remind yourself to ask him about it later.

But now... now the two of you stumble into your bedroom, in a flurry of kisses and the rest of your clothes haphazardly thrown on the floor.

Taking him in, you see how Bucky is undeniably well-built, his every muscle defined and trained to perfection. He makes a sound of appreciation when the last article of clothing is stripped from your body, his hands grabbing on the closest patch of skin he can find. "You're so beautiful," he preens, squeezing at the mounds of your breasts. He then guides you down on your bed, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking and gently nipping at the flesh.

"Are you kidding," you can barely speak, eyes shut in pleasure, when he plunges his fingers back into your soaked cunt. "Have you seen you?"

He merely continues, watching as you grip his wrist and beg, "Just like that, Buck... so good... faster...."

Adding a third finger in, he whispers in your ear, "You gonna come for me, doll?"

"Y-yes... keep going..."

"So damn perfect," he purrs, fingers making hook motions inside of you, speeding up the pace.

He alternates between kissing you full on the mouth, and nipping at your neck, letting you take grateful breaths of air. Your chest rises and falls almost in sync with his fingers audibly slopping in and out of your cunt.

Bucky can't seem to take it any longer when straddles you, lining up with your entrance. His sucks your pre-cum from his fingers before giving his taut cock a few strokes for good measure. He tilts his pelvis forward, his tip pressing right against your opening. Keeping it in position, he half-crawls up to you, until his forearms brace by the sides of your face.

His pupils are blown out and his eyes appear entirely darkened when they meet yours. You nod once, biting your lip in anticipation.

His cock enters you, stretching you out wide. It's a familiar kind of pain, one that's most welcome. He watches in awe as your eyes roll to the back of your head as he slides in, inch by inch, until he's fully sheathed.

He lets out a deep exhale, partially in relief. He's here, you've accepted him and you're only his for tonight.

You catch him smiling to himself, and ask, "Amused, Buck?"

"Oh, it's nothing," he replies. He slides out of you just so, before burying himself back in, right to the hilt. A moan bubbles out of you throat.

"Just thinkin' about how lucky I am," he rasps through another quick snap of his pelvis. "Thinkin' about how damn perfect you sound, taking my cock in so well like that."

"Mmmphh," is all you can manage, when he picks up the pace, slamming into you with every thrust, his balls slapping against your ass. He sits back, lifting your legs over his shoulders.

The new angle allows him to plunge in deeper, hitting that one sweet aching spot each time.

"Bucky," you moan, hands reaching to steady yourself using the headboard, greedily looking to where his body connects with yours. To where his thick cock disappears inside your pussy, again and again.

It turns sloppy, frantic, your legs freely extending to the sides. Beads of sweat forming by his brows, grunts freely emanating from his lips. He falls forward, and you wrap your arms around him, nails scratching his back.

"Oh yeah, doll," he would say, "...feel so good... so good..." until the words are no longer coherent, his pelvis jackrabbiting with no rhythm.

"Bucky," you moan, feeling your release nearing, getting hotter and hotter.

His forehead connects with yours, and with one wet all-tongue kiss, you feel him convulse inside of you, filling your insides with his cum.

He makes sure to keep moving, to keep kissing you all over, until you follow not long after.

Hands gripping the sheets, you're overwhelmed with bliss. It's all pleasure, all warmth, all Bucky.

He collapses next to you after a moment, breathless. The two of you share the smile of satisfied lovers, and he wants to say more. He wants to say it, but the confession isn't fully formed.

Not yet.

For now, this is enough.

You lean in and press a gentle kiss on his lips.

Oh yeah, he thinks. This is more than enough.

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2018, two nights after the battle in Wakanda

Once it started, it was like dominoes cascading right into place.

There was no stopping it - you and Steve definitely had no desire to stop.

He appeared in the doorway of your quarters just after midnight, the Avengers compound somber and silent. Once he spoke your name in that low voice, you knew what he wanted.

You wanted it too. Needed it even.

You both did everything you could, put it all on the line and it was all lost in a single second. With just a mere snap.

You were still trying to process the depth of your loss, still haven't reached out to your friends to check if they still existed. You didn't want to face the possibility of calls unanswered, no one left on the other line.

Steve was the same, but he bore it harder than you. In that moment, he hated himself - the so-called leader of the Avengers, ever the figurehead of guidance and hope. Everyone always looked on him to be perfect and dominant and steadfast.

He knew none of that would ease up anytime soon. And to the rest of the world, he would have to be Captain America. They would look to him for answers, and advice on how to proceed. He would be expected to carry everyone through their pain, and he would.

But who was ever there for him? When will he ever be allowed to just be Steve, and to show that he also feels completely vulnerable, especially in that time?

He whispered your name, just the once, and that was all it took.

America's Golden Boy had been holding everything in ever since they got him out of the ice. That night, you allowed him to release it all, and the two of you collided in a frenzy of lust and longing, frustration and defeat.

And unbridled love.

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Steve kissed you hungrily, much harder than he did right after the battle, if that were even possible.

That kiss had been bruising, but this was uninhibited.

No, there was nothing unsure in his movements. There was no doubt of what he wanted when he picked you up bridal-style, biting at your neck.

He gracelessly plops you down on your bed, and you bite your lip at the sight of him. He'd shaved again, so it was easy for you to spot the fleck of fresh blood on his lips.

He took notice, and he carelessly ran his thumb over it.

"You bit me," he said, "you fucking minx."

Steve Rogers sure had a mouth on him when he wanted to.

Getting on your knees, you pull his hand to your lips and suck the red spot off his thumb.

"Goddamn it, angel," he whispers huskily, eyes glazing over in lust.

Angel. You felt your warmth pooling down below.

He hurriedly stripped off his white shirt and stepped out of his navy sweatpants, then beckoned to you with a tilt of his jaw, "C'mere."

Standing upright by the foot of the bed, he simply watched as you crawled closer to him.

You knelt on the bed, palms pressed against his bare chest. Even at that height, he was still angled at almost a foot taller than you.

"What do you want?" he asked, his fingers tilting your face up at him. "Use your words, angel."

Tell me you want me.

"Steve," you started to say, but your words fumble when he started peppering soft kisses on your neck.

"Mmm," he purred against your skin, "what was that?"

"I... I want you."

His stony mask fell, but it was short-lived. His lips curled right back into that imperious smirk.

He then bunched his fists in the neckline of your shirt, then rips it down the middle, like it was nothing but paper.

Your torso left bare to him, he cast a hungry look over the curve of your breasts, before his eyes met yours again.

"Off," his fingers ran along the waistband of your trousers, drifting against your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. "unless you want me to rip it apart, too."

His commanding voice made you scramble to follow, shakily pulling your trousers off and pushing them off the bed.

"All of it," he impatiently added. So you complied.

Aye, Captain.

Your underwear landed atop your trousers on the floor. You were exposed to him, fully, cold air making your nipples rise on attention. He shamelessly took you in, but he does not make a move just yet.

He made it known that you should follow his orders. "Well?" he said. "What are you waiting for?" His eyes lower to the shape of his cock straining against his boxers, then back to you.

Licking your lips, you lowered the cotton, until his erect manhood was revealed to you in all its glory, glistening at the tip. You'd imagined it, many times before, wondering whether the serum also made this part of him enhanced.

And it did. God, it did.

Or maybe Steve Rogers has always been this blessed.

Your eyes flit to him for permission, and he just looked amused. Gripping at base of his length, you angled your head forward, and let your saliva drip down on it. You use the wetness from your spit and his pre-cum to give his cock several, good strokes, making it twitch in the process.

He hummed, the sound deep in his chest. "Good girl," he praised you, making your whole body feel like fucking jelly, "don't keep me waiting, now."

Your mouth formed an O-shape, sliding down on his cock, and you take him in fully until his tip touched the back of your throat. He fucking moans, the sound so lewd to your ears, disjointed by his little shaky breaths.

"That's my... good... girl," he praised, when you moved your head up and back down, lips gliding smooth on the thick girth of his soaked cock. He pressed his palm on the back of your head, guiding you, making you suck him a faster pace.

It's too much - your own increasing pleasure, and the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat - that errant tears escape the corners of your eyes.

"Shhh, my angel," he purred. "I'm coming... just you wait..."

"Mmm," you could barely make a sound, only glancing up to appreciate him. His eyebrows are ruffled, maroon lips parted and panting, his head tilted to see his good girl at a better angle.

His moaned loudly, almost growled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Fuck, fuck," he curses, "I'm so close..."

You slid him in deep one last time, before he pulled out of your mouth suddenly, pushing you to your back. He clambered onto the sheets in a flourish, before releasing streams of hot milky cum on your chest.

His fingers squeezed his cock, as he emptied himself onto you, watching as the rivulets stream from your nipples down to your bedsheets.

"Steve," you watched in amazement, entranced by the sheer pleasure in his expression. "Take me."

"Oh I will," he promised, still stroking himself at the sight of you. He's hard again, and you just laid there, aching to be filled.

He positioned himself, darkened gaze greedily taking you in, pleased by the unabashed desire on your face. He doesn't break eye contact as he mercilessly pushed his cock inside you in one fell swoop. The sheer size of it gave rise to a slightly painful sensation, and you bit your tongue to keep from screaming his name.

He didn't like that, didn't take to the idea that you were holding back.

"Scream my name, angel," he prodded. "You know you want to."

And scream his name you did. You couldn't help it, repeatedly exclaiming, "Fuck yes, Steve," as he pounded into you without abandon. He gave it everything, let go of it all, with each relentless thrust.

Your eyes were closed in sheer pleasure when suddenly he deftly twists your body over, his cock never leaving the slick warmth of your pussy.

The sudden change in position rendered you alert for a moment, your hands out reaching out to brace yourself.

You're left on all fours, hands gripping the sheets, as Steve kept slamming into your dripping cunt. He kept a tight hold on you, squeezing your raised ass, using it to bury himself even deeper.

He made you see stars with every sharp snap of his hips, made you moan his name again and again. Your cunt getting slicker, the warmth in your belly spreading each time he praised you with, "My good girl," or, "You take me so well, angel."

He soon released again inside of you, then pulled out, your pussy dripping with his cum. But he wasn't finished just yet. He effortlessly carried you over to one side of your room, your back pressed against his chest.

You immediately realised what he wanted to do, when he stopped right in front of the full-length mirror, and bid you with a stern, "Hands up."

You braced your palms against the glass, catching his eyes in the reflection which were clouded over in sheer lust. He pressed his palm on your lower belly and takes you in from behind, his cock sliding right back into your cunt. The pleasure of it hit so damn good, that you knees almost gave way.

"Look at how good you take me," he groaned from behind you. "Look at how beautiful you are, angel."

Your moans melded with his, along with the slick constant sound of his cock plunging into your sore pussy.

At some point, you fell forward and the motion made him follow. Your breasts pressed against the mirror, and he tilted your head back to sloppily kiss you, one hand applying pressure on your neck. He left bites on your neck and shoulders, his sharp teeth sinking into the skin to muffle his moans.

He fucked you wildly, drunk on the sight of your blissed-out face in the reflection. When your release came, it fell almost in sync with his, cum spilling down your thighs.

It took a long while to come down from such a high, and you lay in bed, letting everything sink in. You watched as he retrieved a wet towel from your bathroom and cleaned you up promptly.

When he joined you a moment later, he encased you with his entire body, legs entwined with yours, face nuzzled against your neck.

You felt tiredness quickly setting in, as you stroked his face, lovingly whispering, "How about we just go back to our cabin, hmm?"

That was just a dream, and you both knew it. The world just wasn't in the habit of allowing you two to simply be happy.

In that moment, Steve wanted to cry. Because you were perfect, just so perfect, and he wasn't.

He could never be good enough, never be the Steve you thought he was. Your Steve. All he was is a man out of time, a man who can never come home from the war.

He was broken, and all he had left was the last truth he held onto, the one thing he could give you.

"I love you," he whispered as you drifted to sleep.

He wouldn't be there when you woke in the morning. But you would remember everything, and like a resounding echo, his words would never leave you.

I love you.

If only that was enough. If only that made him stay.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2024, seven months after Steve's departure

Bucky stays over for the night, and you wake up in his arms.

It's a lazy day, no routine in place, the two of you falling in and out of sleep, talking nonsense and sharing food. Smiling against kisses. Having to bite your lip at the sensation of his metal fingers pleasuring you over again.

At some point in the early evening, you decide to wash up and get dressed. You settle on the couch in your living room, as he takes it upon himself to make sandwiches in the kitchen.

You switch the TV on and the main news channel appears, the sound lowered as you watch Bucky find his way around your cupboards.

"Need any help?"

He winks at you, funnily waving a piece of toast up, "I got it, doll."

Then something flashes from the corner of your eye, that metallic red, white, and blue.

It's on the screen - that shield - being paraded around by some stranger.

Your heart pounding, you increase the volume to the maximum, and Bucky's attention is immediately piqued.

The sounds of a full marching band erupt in your apartment, theme music being played in what looks like a high school football field.

Bucky is now at your side, his work in the kitchen forgotten.

John Walker is our nation's new Captain America, the screen reads.

"What the fuck?" you exclaim.

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The 1950s, seven months after Steve's arrival

The visitors at the door render Steve alert, the sight an immediate wake-up call to his senses.

Nothing ever happens in his life in this time. There is no reason to look out for danger in his calm piece of suburbia.

Steve doesn't understand why it feels like he all but welcomed the presence of a threat, his neurons finally firing back up, all of his senses heightened.

"Loki," he greets coldly.

"Right," Loki says, then turns to his companion, "I told you he wouldn't be too eager to see me."

"Come on now, what do you mean?" the man responds. "This is Steve Rogers, he's possibly the most polite person of his time."

"Okay, but even this dutiful soldier would surely punch me in the face after what I tried to do to his world - "

"Well, you were being plain ridiculous when you made everyone kneel," the man says, without missing a beat, like he was simply talking about something regular that occurred over lunch.

"I know, I know," Loki shakes his head. "Can't we just forget about that?"

"Stop," Steve snaps, and the two visitors fall silent. He addresses Loki, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh," the man smiles, "Language, Cap."

He's met with an impatient glare from Steve who towers over him.

The man balks, "Hmm, isn't that a thing you say to - "

Loki only shakes his head at him.

"Well," the man straightens, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Captain," he offers his hand, "My name is Mobius and I work for the TVA."

Steve reluctantly shakes his hand, while routinely keeping watch on Loki.

Mobius, aware that Steve's sense of suspicion has no chance of easing, goes straight to the point.

"Steve, we're here because... well... you're not supposed to be here."

💌 Update! Steven or James?

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx @mrsevans90 @heartarianagran @tinystarfishgalaxy @kyoquixote @mochibochinochi @spngingerbread21 @zbeez-outlet @rena15 @raging-panda @marveldaydreamer @integers @torntaltos @imthebadguyyy @iidear @blackhawkfanatic @smhnxdiii @nommingonfood @fortunatelyweepingninja @cyberaestheticals @loki-laufeyson68 @queenofshinigamis @samkickikc @utterlyhopeful-fics @mthealy

I know what you're thinking - how can Steve still leave after ALL THAT???? Well, he's a complicated man, darlings. And he'll battle his fair share of self-loathing and depression in the years prior to Endgame. Love is brutal sometimes, and Steve just won't be able to allow himself to succumb to it when he's not at peace :(

Also - I wanted to reverse the usual theme of Steve being the gentle lover, and Bucky being darker and self-assured. But I wanted it to still make sense - here Steve was rough because he's using it as a form of release, after all the trauma he went through. And sweet Bucky was understandably a bit reluctant because he doesn't trust himself completely yet.

you get the gist ;) I've loved each and every one of your comments/messages etc. Stay tuned for more of our beloved bolters 💙

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 1.5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: There is a little, annoying human trapped in this bay with him. And he's going to eat them. (Vil's POV)

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

There was a little, raggedy human staring up at him from the sand, and Vil had never felt so miserably persecuted in all his years.

The thing had been bound to him in a mess of ropes and frantic, bipedal flailing, and he’d honestly thought that it had drowned. Hoped that it had drowned. But no, apparently he couldn’t be quite so lucky. None of his pod’s raids had ever gone so terribly, and normally he was better able to keep his head about him. But it had been Epel’s first attempt at sneaking on board one of the grand, creaking, human vessels, and maybe he’d been a touch concerned about it. Like a fretting parent sending their guppy off to the deep for their first solo-swim. And perhaps he’d struck a bit too quick and sharp when he saw things headed South. Not taking the normal care he would to assess for traps, or weapons, or stupid humans and their equally stupid, fraying ropes.  

But none of that mattered. It was hardly a crime to want to protect your family. It had happened, that was the end of it. There was no changing things. And now he was here. In this cove. With that thing.

You pedaled backward in the sand like those two legs of yours hardly worked at all, and even though it looked like you were retreating (rightfully so, at least you were smart enough to realize this was a lost battle), Vil still bared his teeth in a challenge. Because he was angry, and sore, and at the moment you were the cause of every, single one of his problems in the world. He tossed his tail in the surf, splattering stinging bits of ice water into your face.

“Stop! Stop!” you squawked, wheeling away like he was dousing you in acid rain rather than a bit of pissy water warfare. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

“Of course you weren’t,” he spat. “From the looks of you, you don’t plan much of anything at all.”

You didn’t respond to his scathing insult, only kept scooting yourself back against the sand on legs that still apparently refused to work. Or maybe you’d simply forgotten about them. You seemed like you could be the type.

He ground his talons into the damp sand at his hips and felt the ridges of the fins along his spine prickling tight and painful, trying to puff out in a predatory display that they simply couldn’t because he was still bound in the godforsaken rope.

“I don’t know what your little plan was,” he hissed, “but you’ve done both of us a disservice. And while I’m sure you’re used to disappointment, I am not going to tolerate this.”

More silence. You looked—not confused, per se. But definitely not particularly keen on following his very justified rant against your person. Your gaze kept darting from his vicious glare, to his claws digging up the shoreline, and then to his lips. He could see your own mouth moving a bit alongside his, like you were trying to echo the shape of the insults flying off his tongue.

“Listen here, you fleshy rat,” he snapped, jabbing a black talon in your direction. “You’re going to tell me the course that your ridiculous ship had set so that I can return to my pod at once. Do you understand? And if you’re lucky, I won’t crawl my way up there to bite off your fingers one by one. How’s that sound?”

You blinked back at him with no comprehension, like his marvelous depiction of having your bones gnawed on for snacks just wasn’t a vivid enough picture.

The rage in his chest bubbled bright and hot, and the age-old magics in his veins zipped through his blood like a stroke of lightening.

Insolent brat.

Fine. He’d make you listen then.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you said, and oh, you were a nuisance. He was going to rip your nerves out from the depths of your useless, human limbs. Feast on your bones until the marrow had been picked clean and leave the scraps for the gulls—

He parted his lips and sang loud and sharp—letting that familiar lull roll off his tongue like the sweetest poison. His Call had always been the strongest in his pod, after all. That’s why it was his job to keep them safe, to ensure that no one was lost in a hunt that was meant to be so simple just because they couldn’t keep their purple-headed curiosity under wraps long enough to not to be caught—

Vil turned his sneer back your way, fully prepared to see you kowtowed before him with your nose buried in the sand. And—

You were just sitting there. Butt in the muck and just as wide-eyed and brainless as before. Staring back at him with a startled sort of expression on your face and nothing else. Normally there was a sort of tether between him and his victims. A call, an answer. Simple principles. And while he could never see the tangible net of his influence tightening around their brains, he could always sense it. Or at least something like it. But this time, there was just… nothing.

Vil snarled, swallowing around the spiky pinch of something in his gut that he refused to call panic, and canted his head back to sing louder.

The shallow dregs of the cove rippled at his hips with the force of it, and he could feel the swell of his influence curling out further and further. Digging its claws into anything and everything it could reach. He could feel one tether spooling out and grabbing after the other, feel the familiar pull of subservience from the very sea itself. And—

“I can’t hear you!”

Oh, you mocking piece of—

He widened his mouth until his jaw was creaking and his tongue was going numb from the sharp bursts of arcana snapping from throat.

“It’s not a challenge!” you wailed, hands cupped over your mouth to try and shout over his howling song. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

His mouth fell closed all at once, the Call cutting off so abruptly that the returning wave of snapping magics almost made his head spin. The power of it hung along his nerves like the zipping prickle of electric eels, and the water at his hips churned and bubbled.

“There,” you huffed, like someone who’d just been horribly inconvenienced by a gust of wind ruining their hair, rather than a human bearing the full weight of a siren’s fury. Brushing off some of the most powerful magics in the ocean like it was nothing worse than a bit of sand in your trousers. It was… unnerving. And it had something uneasy curdling in Vil’s stomach.

He dug his claws into the sand, fins flaring along his sides in a defensive display before he could help himself. Your eyes tracked the way the muck gave way beneath his talons and he watched your throat bob. Good. You should be afraid of him. Because he refused to be afraid of a human like you. No matter how the hair at his nape prickled or the fins at his ears pinned against the sides of his head.

“Well…” you said after a long moment, awkward and stiff. “I should get going, I suppose.”

And then you were stumbling your way to your feet to venture deeper into the crags of the small island. Vil smacked his tail against the surf, loud and sharp. A plaintive ‘good, begone,’ if ever there was one. But you didn’t even flinch, let alone turn around to witness his grand ‘fuck you.’ He wasn’t sure why he was expecting you to.

He watched you crawl your way up a mess of boulders and old shells, eyes narrowed and that same, unpleasant prickle running through his nerves. Once you were well and truly out of sight, he returned to his fins and started doing all he could to assess the damage. The sooner he could deal with this setback and set out into the depths of the ocean, the sooner he could return to his pod. And the sooner he’d be away from you, and all your strange, human ways.

.

.

You returned maybe an hour later, only a few minutes after he’d given up on trying to pick the horrid mess of twine from the wounds along his tail. His claws weren’t made for such delicate work, and the poisoned tips of them weren’t doing his shredded fins any favors.

He turned on you with a snarl that would have sent any other sentient creature scurrying for cover, fins pinned and canines on full display. But apparently you had less self-preservation than even the brainless, teeny, rock crabs burrowing hurriedly into the sand.    

“Hello,” you said. Like that was any way appropriate.

“Get lost,” he snarled.

You nodded back, simple and sage, and then pointed to the mess of your ropes twined along his fins.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

Vil sneered and surged forward to scrape his claws through the muck again, hoping his demonstration of what he would do to your face if you stepped near him was clear enough to get through your head.

“Touch me and you’ll be lucky if all I do is eat you.”

You blinked back, and he watched the way your eyes jumped across his expression. Trailed to his mouth, his brow, his teeth. Reading whatever you could see there. And then you shrugged again, unbothered by his spitting threats as before.

“Alright. Your loss, I suppose.”

There was a keenness to your gaze though, a sharp, pointed consideration that had his hackles rising all over again.

“If you think that you can be rid of me that easily, you’re solely mistaken,” he spat, smacking his fins into the shallows until the water was churning wild and angry. “This is all your fault, and whatever ridiculous plot you’re considering, I’ll gladly return it tenfold.”

Your face pinched like you had any right to be annoyed by this at all, and then promptly turned away from him like you’d lost all interest in his theatrics. You meandered around the shore, scooping up the battered remains of some of the fish that had stranded themselves during his failed Call. Then you sat yourself well away from the water’s edge and pulled a knife from your boot, running it along the fish’s scales and clearing out the muck.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly, making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so. Like that little blade of yours was supposed to be any sort of a threat. Perhaps he could use it to pick the leftover bits of you out of his teeth.

Vil turned up his nose and returned to carefully grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

“You’re an obnoxious brat,” he growled, wincing as his claws caught over a frayed patch of scales and began to bleed all over again. “And I’m going to drown you.”

Naturally, you did not respond.

.

.

The rope burned, and he knew he wasn’t helping himself. The twine of it was frayed, poor quality. And combined with the tacky, salt-sticky damp of the waves, it made the worst sort of web. Vil threw himself around in the shallows like a pup stuck in their first net. And he knew—knew—this wasn’t going to make things better. But the more he worked to free himself and the less progress he made, the angrier he got (Not afraid, angry. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t).

A tight bit of fibers snagged along the delicate mesh of the fins at his hips and gave a shrieking riiip that had him collapsing into the sand bed with a bitten off noise that he refused to call a gasp. But Sevens, it did hurt. He pressed his face into the shallow pool of warm water beneath his chin and forced his breath to calm, to dig his claws into the grit beneath him rather than his own scales. Because this wasn’t working. And he—he needed to fix it. On his own. Because he was on his own. And he was going to manage, just like he always had.

There was a noise off on the shore—the tumbling of pebbles against stone as you shifted around in your little, makeshift hideaway. And he refused to look up to meet your gaze. Because surely you were staring. Humans were always so happy to watch his kind suffer, flailing about in their traps and bound in nets like a garish display. And he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of knowing he’d been seen like… like this.

So he forced himself to go still and silent, ignoring the pain biting into his sides like the teeth of a shark and the panicked, clawing thing in his gut that kept screaming that he was going to die here.

.

.

The next morning, you were wandering the shoreline, scrounging after the remains of various crabs from the day prior. Vil refused to look at you, and spent the time pointedly running his claws through the tangles in his hair and primping himself like he didn’t have a care in the world. Because if a stupid, lowly human fit for nothing but an after-dinner-snack could thrive in these circumstances, than surely he could do even better.

There was the soft, wet sounds of your footsteps behind him, and Vil turned on you with a roaring snarl—fins pinned and spines perked, defensive.

“What?” he snapped, beating his tail.

You awkwardly held up one your pickings—a round, red crab with fat claws.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…”

Vil fought the urge to gawk. Were you offering him one of—but why would you—

He bit through his surprise with another sneer. “Firstly, crabs are crustaceans, not fish. You’d think any self-respecting creature that spent their days on the ocean would know something as obvious as that. Secondly, why would you even think that I would share a meal with you? Even I didn’t think humans could be that stupid, but you’re certainly setting a new bar.”

Your mouth twitched at his very sharply enunciated ‘stupid’ and he fought a smirk.

“Oh. Know that one, do you?” he cooed, all mocking.

“Look, do you want it or not?” you snapped, irritated, and his fins flared up again—wide and defensive.

Vil crossed his arms on an exaggerated, pointed huff and turned in the other direction. A clear dismissal. “I’d rather starve.”

“Whatever,” you griped, voice canted sharp with your foul temper, and then there was a crack and a yelp.

Vil turned back to see you reeling away, hand over your mouth to catch a mix of blubbering, wincing curses and a shattered crab shell clenched between your fingers in the most obvious show of stupidity he’d perhaps ever seen. He burst out into laughter before he could help himself, and you stormed away with warm cheeks and pieces of jagged, red shell still clinging to the corners of your lips.

.

.

That night he fought the ropes even harder, ignoring the way they pulled, and tore, and dug into places that he knew they should not. And maybe it was self-destructive, stupid, but if he didn’t get himself free of this horrible mess his fins would never heal. He’d never be able to swim properly again. And he’d never be able to leave this cove, never return to his pod, his family. Never—

A shell walloped him in the back of the head and Vil turned with a shriek so vicious it nearly startled even him. Because there you were—the bane of his existence. Standing at the edge of the water with that ridiculous, deadpan look on your ridiculous face and already scrounging about in the sands like you were looking for something else to throw at him. He didn’t even know what he was screaming at that point, absolutely brought over the edge in rage, and pain, and fear, and it was all. your. faul—

Then something in your expression snapped and you were storming forward towards the surf—absolutely incensed.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you shrieked, stomping in the sand and nearly pinning the longer, trailing ends of his fins beneath your heels. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

“You trapped me!” he howled, outraged. “You were going to kill a member of my pod! Who’s barely out of his pup days! And he was my responsibility, and you were going to attack him!”

Magic zipped along his tongue, demanding that you kneel. Show your throat and be done with it. But when you just kept glaring back—absolutely stone-faced and seething with indignation—Vil forced himself to take a breath, and then another.

“Epel,” he spat, low and exaggerated. He saw your eyes flicker to his lips, trace the outline of the word. “Epel,” he said again, sharp and angry. And when your own mouth began to subconsciously follow the shape of it, he was off and running again. “He’s my responsibility. Epel. He—” Vil pointed at the pale, lavender creases at the base of his fins. “His hair is like this. You saw him. You spoke to him. And you were going to tie him up just like you did to me.”

Your eyes narrowed, sharp.

“That kid,” you said after a moment, lips twisting in a frown. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

“Epel,” Vil spat again, smacking his fins into the surf to douse you in a mess of seawater. “Not some kid. A pup. Barely of age. And you were going to—”

“You—” you hissed, scrubbing the salt from your eyes with the back of your hand. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. It splattered along Vil’s hips, barely a sprinkling in comparison to his own tidal waves. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

Vil snarled, and the twist of it left a bitter, rotten taste on his tongue. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t matter what you wanted, because you were just some human. Humans were vile, and cruel, and good for nothing but filling their bellies. And this was his family. So what if you claimed you were just standing up for your own brood? It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.

So he turned back to dive into the shallows with as much force as his aching, crippled fins could manage. Sinking to the bottom of the cove in a huff of bubbles and clawing his way through the muck until he was well and truly hidden in the murky, sandy depths. He smacked his tail against the mess of pebbles and rocks until every creature beneath was scurrying for safety—fleeing outwith the flailing, destructive force of a Siren’s tantrum.

Was that why he was here, then? Bound and gagged on some hellhole of an island because of his own mistakes? Because you’d just been aligning yourself with the moral high ground he’d been riding this whole time? Saving your kin at the cost of your own, fragile skin. Dragged overboard to fight the monsters trying to devour your family whole. Ridiculous. He wasn’t going to let himself feel bad for the slighted prey in a hunt gone wrong. Sharks certainly didn’t regret the fish they chased, nor did the great black-and-white whales that pursued those sharks in turn. This was just the way of things, the circle of life. And he wasn’t going to feel guilty about the tight, protectivelook on your face as you shouted him down about defending your own pod at all.

.

.

You were curled up by the same rock the next morning, sleeping soundly against the rough hewn edge. It looked hideously uncomfortable, with your chin tucked up against your chest and your head pressed against half-a-dozen layered, jagged ridges. Vil had always heard that humans were used to luxury—soft, plush blankets made of foreign fabrics and great, stuffed squares of bedding that could put even the finest woven siren nests to shame. And there you were. Scrunched up with a shell clearly embedded in your cheek.

He frowned, fins rippling awkwardly at his sides where the majority were still knotted up in twine.

He needed to leave this cove. As soon as possible. And get away from… all of this.

It generally wasn’t considered the best of ideas to Call openly across the sea. Lone sirens were prime targets for all sorts of nasty scavengers. Human hunters, rival pods, even other rogues looking for a fight. It was dangerous to mark one’s position so openly, let alone in a manner that made it obvious of the less than stellar situation they had no doubt found themselves in. It was also a nasty toll to try and Call so far for so long, on himself and the environment around him. A screeching, horrible thing that he’d only heard a few times in all his years. It was a terrible idea for everyone involved, himself and his fellow castaway most of all. But, well, desperate times, and all that.

Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be able to hear it anyways.

So began his endless song.

He’d sing, and sing, and sing—feeling the ripples of it carrying across the surface of the water and shivering through the air. And then, after he’d worn his throat ragged, he’d pause. Just long enough to swallow around the sting and tilt his head to listen. His fins would flare out against the side of his head, and he’d wait. And then, when there was no answer to his Calling, he’d circle back and do it again. A part of him hoped there would be none. He’d taught his pod better than to do something so foolish—to put themselves at the mercy of all the monsters of the sea. And… if they didn’t answer, perhaps that just meant they were searching for him. Using his own, ridiculous harping to trace him down. And if not that, then at least that they were off somewhere safe. Somewhere far, and hidden.

He swam and sang until he was too exhausted for either. Bound fins a heavy, leaden weight at his hips and head barely cresting above the water.

When the sun set over the horizon, Vil let himself roll in alongside the surf to rest in the sand, boneless and sore. His eyes slipped shut with the encroaching darkness, too heavy to hold open at all. He hadn’t seen much of you today. Occasionally you’d wander down to the shoreline, head popping up over a cluster of rocks to shoot him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but for the most part you’d stayed hidden away. Out of his hair, at least. Perhaps you’d finally learned what was good for you, and that keeping as far away from the beast lurking in the shallows was the only way you’d be getting out of this alive.

And then his eyes were snapping open to a field of stars overhead and the moon hanging fat and low in the sky like a fruit ripe for the plucking.

And there you were, hovering over him with that laughably small knife of yours.

Carefully and gently working the rope away from his tattered fins.

Your fingers were delicate, precise. Every time those woven fibers tugged in a way that could even begin to hurt, you were softening your touch and muttering reassurances under your breath. He wondered if you realized you were doing that at all—chattering quiet, rambling nonsense like a nervous tick. ‘Ack, don’t twitch so much, it’s just going to cut deeper,’ and ‘sorry! Sorry! I didn’t think that would move like that! Just—just stay still and it will all be done way faster and then you can swim off, and—’ You were exceptionally careful over the areas of rough, beaten scales along the dip of his tail, wincing in sympathy at the raw, raw skin there. The blade never strayed anywhere it wasn’t needed, and you never touched any part of him that wasn’t in an effort to work another tangle of knots free.

Vil kept himself perfectly still and his breaths even and deep. He watched you through the low, golden dip of his lashes, eyes tracking your fluttering hands and quiet mumblings.

The last of the rope fell away with a wet, heavy plap in the sand and when you sighed there was a smile in your voice.

“There,” you muttered, soft. “Now he can swim home again.”

He froze, startled, and something dropped low and tight in his gut.  

Because humans were cruel. Humans were food. Humans were nothing more than vermin crawling over the surface of his ocean in their hunkering, wooden vessels and finless feet. They didn’t deserve sympathy, or anything of that ilk. And—

Your gaze met his and the spark of horrified realization didn’t even manage to settle properly in your wide, wide eyes before he had you pinned in the sand.

It was easy—far too easy. Compared to him you were so small, so fragile. No heavy, bulk of muscle and scales to help keep you alive and fighting. Just fragile limbs and lungs that were good for nothing. He dug his claws into your shoulders and felt the warm prick of blood curl up beneath his talons—could see you wince with the first pinch of acrid poison sharpening the wound. He was going to rip you apart, just like he’d said he would. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear him, he’d show you. Because humans were vile, and no matter what you’d claimed, you didn’t deserve anything better than an end beneath the points of his fangs. Fuel for the journey back to his pod and nothing more.

‘There. Now he can swim home again.’

He reeled back, nose scrunching and teeth grinding in his jaw.

You were still beneath him, blinking up in shock but not fighting. Like being flipped onto your back had been startling out of principle, but not unexpected. Like the idea of dying at his claws was just something you’d been expecting from the get-go.

And yet—

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ you’d been rattling. ‘Ah, if you squirm it’s just going to hurt, you stupid, overgrown fish—'

Vil reared back with a snarl that had goosebumps racing all along your arms, and then he was diving back into the shallows—swiping the tip of his fins against your nose as he went in a sharp crack that he hoped would have you yelping and stumbling away from the ocean’s edge.

He paced along the edges of the bay, newly freed fins slowly uncurling in the lull of the tide. And he felt free. Sore, certainly, and aching in ways he never had before, but free.

When he popped his head back out of the water, you were sprawled out in the sand like a dying starfish, absolutely out of your mind and babbling nonsense about ‘captains’ and ‘collars’ under your breath.

‘Good,’ he harumphed, diving back into the shallows to twirl along his unbound tail. ‘Maybe that would teach you to stay out of the water.’

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[pursuitseternal]

“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.” You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

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Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic

[christinebloodwrittings]

Dream a little dream of me.

Request: I had an idea for you to accept yourself and feel comfortable doing so, of course! 💕

Well, what if the reader was a human from an alternate universe who fell into the world of Hazbin... And the reader has a secret, that she can use magic, but refuses to use her unique magic, until the day of war. .. The reader hates wars and seeing her friends getting hurt, so use her unique magic, where she summons magical flowers that cause drowsiness, and with that, making everyone in hell and the angels sleep peacefully and as a bonus, healing everyone who are suffering while they sleep (The reader's plan is to make everyone sleep until the extermination time ends, so that no one gets hurt or dies)... And in their dreams, people would be living their greatest desires and dreams come true, having and discovering what they really want, even if they refuse to admit it when they're awake...

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader Summary: A decision made in between desperation and love, to protect everyone reader makes everyone sleep, while she made sure everyone was taken care of. Warnings: Blood, violence.

(The real ones will acknowledge 2 references) Also I tried, but I simply can't write yandere characters XD it came out cringy.

You felt a slight distant feeling in the spirits surrounding the hotel. A battle was coming, not quite a war, but no less deadly. You sat in the windowsill, watching the red city thrive with life and evil, unaware of the affairs dealt within the hotel’s walls.

Sorrow was not an emotion you would attach to a situation quite like that one, but thinking in all the princess has done for you, and how open minded she was of your condition and your posture against violence, you couldn’t help to feel a great deal of sadness, contemplating an untimely death for everyone inside.

“Y/n, I know you had told me before, but would you please consider changing your mind?” earlier, the princess pleaded, her hand caressing your arm. Your dexterous ability with magic was clear to her, so she tried to bend your arm – figuratively – to get you to join the battle.

“I’m sorry princess, I cannot” you watched the sadness wash over her eyes. Her girlfriend offered some reassurance after she walked away from you, not wishing to press the matter onto you any further.

“What was it like, in your dimension?” Husk asked, not looking up from the glass he was cleaning. “Violent, dark, strict” as if you could describe your birthplace, not quite like a home but a prison, a place that seemed like hell, just with a tad of more fire.

“I dare bet that you used to be an angel, dearest” the radio demon slid onto a barstool, taking the one closest to you. “What makes you say that?” he took your hand off your drink, rising it to his lips, feeling each and every single one of the cold scales on your knuckles against his skin. “There’s not a single demon in hell with your capabilities, specially those to resist the call to freely infringe pain” in another life, maybe, but seeing what your anger could do, you simply couldn’t.

“I’ll take that as a compliment Radio Demon” he made a static sound as he chuckled, finding your cheekiness adorable. “Wasn’t it?” he still held your hand in his, enjoying the ridges on the back of your hand. “In your tongue? No” you made your scales stand in point, prickling one of Alastor’s fingers, which made him wince and hiss.

“I wish you bests of lucks, Alastor. May fortune be on your hand when you slay that ignorant so-called angel” you saluted him as you would do to a soldier or a knight. He watched you go up the stairs, his favorite time of the day was when he could just watch you flee.

The gentle sway of your hips had a vice grasp on his sanity. Your eyes were those of a snake, captivating and mysterious, with the most beautiful color he had ever seen, such combination couldn’t have an earthly name, he once thought. Your skin seemed soft and undamaged, yet it hid millions of little scales that shined subtly with the fire’s light.

If it weren’t for your black crooked horns that made a crown at the height of your temple, and the black bat-wings that you dragged behind on back, you could be mistaken for a divine creation. Alastor knows he made that mistake upon first meeting you.

How easy was for you to make his powers flee him, and a chill to travel up his spine to the tip of his prongs. He not only met arousal for the first time, but also attraction.

You are intelligent, Alastor was aware of that from moment one. That's why he knew that you would never choose a sinner of his level as a life partner, you were made for greatness, for something far out of his reach to become. If his pride didn't get in the way, he would easily kneel at your feet, and make you his, even if he had to beg you for it. But his pride and denial of his own feelings was as big and vast as hell.

But oh, how he loved to see you go. It was a spell itself, the way you took his breath away as you disappeared inside the corridor.

The next day, the battle was freely fought in the front garden of the hotel. In your room you kept the little creatures safe, while you kept yourself safe. But there's only so much a person can take, so much explosion and dismemberment, it made you jump out of your hiding place and take to the field.

“ENOUGH!” you hit the earth with your fist, not breaking it, but your green power made grass grow up from the dry and dead soil of hell. Then, red little flowers bloomed, the spores made everyone who smelled it fall asleep, including Alastor and Adam on the ceiling.

“What is this magic?” Lute remained on the sky, covering her mouth with a cloth. “Poppies, they’re just asleep” you flew to meet her level, she didn’t take that too nicely since she rushed to attack you with her sword, “So you can kill us faster?”, you were quick to avoid her advances.

“Not at all, please pick up your wounded sisters and leave” you gave her the chance, “Why, what makes you believe I will-” you summoned your spear, made of dark magic, and pointed her neck with it.

“If you fall to your blinded nonsense and attack me once more, I will retaliate” you mere poked her crown with the flat blade before making it go away, “If I do you will be the last one to die” the aura surrounding you, made her wings twitch. “Let’s see about that” was what she muttered before launching herself at you.

One of the properties of the sleeping poppies, was that they provide whoever that smell them a pleasing slumber, dreaming with what they desire the most.

For Charlie it was the hotel finally working.

For Vaggie, it was Charlie happily married to her.

For Angel Dust, it was to be free of Valentino’s grasp. Husk shared that exact vision.

Everything was dark. Guided by the smell of humidity and damp earth, Alastor walked blindly, the only sound was his own footsteps and his heart beating in his ears.

He felt short of breath when he heard a second pair of footsteps behind him. He quickly ran, spotting a light between the trees, without knowing why, he followed it. His chest was heaving painfully, and each gulp of air felt like fire down his throat.

When he reached the light, he felt himself fall, and when he opened his eyes Alastor was laying on his back, green grass under him, and a cool refreshing breeze softly moving the tuffs of hair on top of his ears. He hadn’t seen a blue sky in a century, he didn’t even remembered he missed the feeling of the sun on his brow. But he did.

“Earth to Alastor!” he looked to his right, and there you were, “Hey mon cher, penny for your thoughts?” you had a fork on your hand with a strawberry on it. The intimate gesture of you feeding him something seemed surreal, but he neverminded, opened his mouth and relished in the sweetness, even though he wasn’t a fan of sweets.

“It’s a lovely day” he was unsure of what to say, one moment he was with Adam, and in a blink of an eye, you were with him. “It sure is, we haven’t had one like this in a while, huh?” he pressed his hand on your cheek, not believing for a second this fake sense of peace in the air.

“This isn’t real” he whispered for himself, but you caught on his words nonetheless. “Wasn’t trying to convince you otherwise” your voice was so gentle, had you always been like this?, “Then, where are we?” he felt a tug on his face, his smile, he didn’t noticed he wasn’t smiling.

“You tell me, my spell reflects the desires of the person in their dreams, so where are we?”  he didn’t recognized the place, It could well have been some postcard image, he liked to see them on the way to the studio, but he wasn't sure.

“On a hill…wait a dream, what about the battle?” what about his body? Although, everything was so idyllic, but in no way did he, after being killed in battle, ascend to heaven. It didn't even cross his mind.

“I’m taking care of everyone as we speak, I’ll be done in a minute” Outside, you were flying over the battlefield, while looking for a way to immobilize Lute without killing her, she made it hard to do so by moving a lot, and attacking you.

Alastor sensed your eyes and your mind were far away, given the stare into nothingness you had. “We lost?” he startled you, so you gave him a rushed answer, entering a separate state of mind connected to his dream.

“No” he was confused, why would you put everyone to sleep after denying the use of your powers? What was the reason of the change of heart?. “Then?” he tried searching in your face, any sign of anything, his ego was dying to know if he managed to kill the winged-wretch of Adam.  

“I heard all the screaming, then…your voice, I just couldn’t anymore” You couldn't handle the thought of losing more people, and dammed as he could be, you had taking a liking over the radio demon’s antiques and old personality.

Your face contorted into a grimace of pain, all of a sudden Lute had attempted to plunge her blade into you, but failed only by a few inches, making a piercing wound on your torso nonetheless, but not in the way she wanted.

“What is going on?” The cuts, given Lute’s advances, were starting to reflect on your skin, staining your white sundress. “I got distracted, is all” you did your best to disregard your situation, making a cover that soon was shattered by another whimper of pain on your part.

Your handle on the situation grew weaker by the minute, until one of her movements graced your wing, forcing you to land forcefully on the Hotel’s ceiling. “I'm going to take advantage of your curse, and when I'm done killing everyone here, I'll come for you” she laughed with a sinister tone.

There was so much hatred in the heart of that angel, it surprised you, you even wondered if he shared the sky in your world with this one, and I hope that's not the case. You were surprised at how cruel a divine being could be.

A ravenous roar echoed through the air; you were immediately held by a huge hand with enormous claws. You looked down in search of Alastor, who had been asleep for a while in a bed made of poppies, but he was not there, and in his place was the beast with red hair, huge jaws, and eyes like...radio dials.

“Holy fucking hell, Alastor!?” the beast took one look at you before pressing you near his wounded chest, as if he was trying to shield you. Lute had to fly backwards, because of Alastor and also because Lucifer made it to the scene.

Seeing his daughter on the ground made him think the worse and he took it on not-so-poor Lute, killing her after a lot of punches. “Ah, sir?” the king of hell took a side look at you, his blood pumping with raw anger, “It’s a sleeping spell, she’s asleep” as if nothing happened, Lucifer’s mood shifted like a light switch, “Could you undo it?” his tone was a bit too stern despite his much better mood, which caused Alastor to growl in warning.

“Relax Albert, I’m not gonna hurt your girl” due to Lucifer's inappropriate insinuating gesture, Alastor tried to crush him with his free hand, failing due to the obvious advantages of the fallen angel, but he still received the message.

After waking everyone up, kicking Adam's ass back to heaven, and a quick remodel of the Hotel, everyone was able to return to their respective rooms to tend to their injuries. Alastor was the first to move towards his room, with you still in his hand.

Still in his large, demonic appearance he entered the room. You didn't remember him having a bed the last time you saw his room, and yet there was one, with red satin sheets, in which he was kind enough to gently place you on.

“Alastor, are you alright?” His size became more normal as he walked to the bathroom, as he did so his fur also began to dissipate, and if it hadn't been for his adorable little tail, you would’ve seen his full naked ass on his way to hide in the bathroom.

“Is your wing alright?” he asked, out of breath and seemingly upset, but it was hard to know from your distance. “I asked first” a robe few from the closet to the bathroom, then Alastor walked back into the room.

“I’m fine, your turn” you knew damn sure he was not okay, but you weren’t going to press the matter, yet. “It’s not bleeding anymore” you showed him the cut on your extended wing, his eye twitched then proceeded to ask, “And your body?” given the extensive cuts on your cheek, arms and legs.

“Alastor what the hell happened back there? I appreciate you getting defensive, it was a bit attractive, not going to lie- I mean, how the fuck did you woke up?!” It hit you harder than a train when you put two and two together.

"I don't know, I just did" the fact that his dream started out as a nightmare, the scenario similar to how he died, and then there was you. It was unconscious to wake up and transform, but the fact that he took you in his hands and had the intention to protect you was not only visceral but also something that he felt was right.

“That’s impossible” he shook his head at your words, "Listen, in your spell, was it my head making you talk or...were you really there?" He sat in front of you, bandages in hand that he magically made appear, ready to tend to your wounds. "What do you think?" he took your hand, watching your inky black blood coloring your skin, you were an enigma to him.

"I heard you calling me" when you said that, his ears twitched. Your spells are accurate, but people's wishes are not written in stone, they change, grow and are full of life. Alastor was calling to you, whatever that reason was, it was strong, enough to split your subconscious to be with him.

You knew, just by seeing the relief in his eyes upon seeing you, that even without calling you, your image would have been reflected in his dream.

“I…I want you to stay” he brushed up your wing, to put a large band aid on the cut, his face close to yours. “I’m not going anywhere” you whispered close to his lips, “I mean–” you pecked his lips, “I know what you mean, I’m not going anywhere” his hand caressed your cheek, passing your pointy ears and down to your neck.

After a light tug he pressed his lips onto yours.

An electric feeling ran through his body, inside his pants his little tail was wagging because of how happy he finally felt with the truth on the table. To think that his heart fluttered in his chest at the thought of losing you in battle, he simply couldn't have lived with that.

“I will finish this up, you did a great work with my wound by the way” he kissed your cheek, sighing onto your soft skin.

After leaving you to be more of a bandage than a person, Alastor opened his heart to say something he hadn't said since his mother passed away. "Y/n, I think that, more than just a desire, I feel like I can't breathe properly if you're not present. The idea that you could have died yesterday filled me with rage, I couldn't tolerate the image in my head” he took your hands in his, they were shaking.

“I think that I love you, but I also feel that that term falls short, and I’m afraid I don’t understand it very well either, or you for that matter” Alastor hadn't felt this nervous since the first time he auditioned to be the new voice of the radio, and being a man of color, damn he was nervous.

Fun fact, he was less afraid when fighting Adam.

“Well, I have no desire to come back to my home-world, so we have time” a genuine smile painted his face, as he slowly pressed his lips back to yours, “You’re magical” he sighed, taking you into his arms, no matter how much it hurt post-war.

"I don't understand it either, but once I had a dream of you Alastor, similar to this"

"When?"

"Half a century before we met"

"Destined to be, then?"

"Yeah, feels like it"

"You know this means I won't let you go, right?"

"I was counting on that"

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

DUDE YOU JUST READ MY MIND IN THOSE TAGS!!

Haha thank you! Steven Universe was my main special interest for a while and it's really fun to analyse it and compare it to Rick and Morty!

I did have a whole ramble typed up here but I think I should make a separate post for that because there are so many thoughts going on and it's an unorganised mess currently 😅

But yeah Steven and Morty have a lot of similarities and it's really cool! I definitely want to compare them in more detail at some point!

Speaking of SU/R&M comparisons, Rick and Pearl do actually have a lot of similarities (despite being a crackship) - they both fought a long/traumatic war solely because they were in love with the person fighting it, they have someone they've lost who's hugely important to them, they're wildly out of their depth when it comes to the 14 year olds they're responsible for.

[aceofwhump]

Hacksaw Ridge

[frau-rainyfox]

I love this Paul and Keel moment.

[storiesoflilies]

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N - Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I think you guys really will too. Ehe! It might be easier to guess about the interludes after you’ve read this chapter, so please feel free to guess and comment your thoughts!! Ko-fi.

Next Part - Chapter 8.

-•-

Chapter 7

Y/N was awoken by the sound of screams, pulling her consciousness from the depths of slumber.

When she opened her eyes, her vision was bathed in a fiery red hue, and she was convinced that she had gone blind. It was harrowing to be stuck in this limbo that seemed to be eternal, condemned to travel through all the shades of crimson known to the universe. Amidst the all-consuming glow, it took Y/N much longer than it should have to realize that the blood-curdling screams were emanating from within her own throat, with such raw force that it ignited her lungs in agony.

“Easy, Y/N. Easy. You’re hurting yourself.”

Large, calloused and warm hands firmly enveloped both sides of her wrists, whilst thick heavy legs hooked with her own, effectively anchoring her in place. She felt his shallow breaths tickle her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine, as the weight of his body pressed into her; tangible and solid against the swirling tempest of red and pain.

Y/N didn’t need to see to know it was Toji.

“Easy,” Toji repeated, his rumble a soothing balm. “I’ve got you.”

He has me.

Y/N ceased her screaming, and her lungs cried out in relief as she was released from the initial suffocating grip of terror. The red veil began to wane, allowing her to discern the dark silhouette of Toji’s figure hovering above her; a beacon amidst her tumultuous sea. Each breath she took was a battle against the ebbing tide of red, ragged and ungraceful, as a blooming pain started to spread on one side of her face. The rough ridges of his hands ignited sparks of electricity against her skin, sending tingles coursing through her skin that rose into a lightning storm. Y/N found solace in the heat of Toji’s touch as she finally gazed into his blazing eyes.

“C’mon, c’mon. You can see me, I’m right in front of you,” Toji coaxed, his voice smoky and deep as he leaned his forehead against hers. “That’s it, focus.”

Y/N could feel his breath trembling just as much as hers. Here was Toji Fushiguro, a King of Hell, brought into such a state of desperation and frantic urgency. She was so engulfed in the whirlwind of his various sensations, tantalized by the possibility that if he bent down just a little lower, then their lips would touch and meet as the universe always intended. But the pain persisted, wrathful and intent on cutting their red string of fate.

Oh, the pain.

She gasped and whimpered, instinctively bringing a hand to cup the vulnerable side of her face, but Toji’s grip on her wrists tightened. His face remained impassive, yet his emerald orbs burned with such fierce determination; pupils blown so wide that she could catch her own reflection in them. For a moment, Y/N almost forgot about her pain, or why she was feeling it in the first place.

“You really need to stop nearly fucking dying on me,” Toji breathed out shakily, in a whisper that was so frighteningly unlike the way he usually spoke. “Stop making me feel this way, I can’t handle it anymore.”

It was the way his voice cracked, and his eyes communicated with her soul in a thousand ways his words couldn’t, and it softened Y/N like a tender summer’s breeze. Toji’s emotions were crystal clear through their bond, and he wasn’t hiding anything from her; bare and vulnerable as she was lying there. Y/N knew then for sure that he never thought she was insignificant, or ever cared that she was Fallen – to him, she was his very soul. The kaleidoscope of everything that made up her being also moulded him.

Toji’s lip twitched, and Y/N noted just how painfully deep his scar was embedded. His lips moved closer by a hair, and Y/N really thought he was about to kiss her.

Until screams pierced through the air, coming from right outside her bedroom doors.

Geto burst through, wild and twistedly feral as his eyes locked onto Toji, and Nanako’s cries reached a high pitched cresendo as the door gave way. His lips curled into a snarl, Y/N sensed he was about to strike, and her body bristled in preparation for a fight.

And yet, Toji was so much faster.

A black flash hurtled towards Geto, and his weight was no longer on top of her.

With such force that shook the room, Toji pinned her brother against the wall, his forearm pressed against Geto’s neck. With gritted teeth, he snapped, “This wasn’t me.”

Geto struggled against him, but Toji’s iron grip was unyielding and far superior in strength, and a vein popped in his forehead from the strained effort.

“M-mahito,” he choked out, sputtering as he glared daggers at Toji. “Nanako s-ugh-saw him fleeing.”

With that, Toji released Geto from his grasp, who roughly shoved him away. The two kings stared each other down, eyes brimming with violence, neither willing to yield to the other’s intimidating display. However, Toji’s patience was wearing thinner by the second; Y/N could feel it, his essence dominating the atmosphere in a chokehold.

“Go on,” he goaded, chin tilted upwards as he looked down at her brother. “You want to try this again, huh?”

Geto audibly growled, chest heaving – he was cornered, and he knew it. But that didn’t seem to deter him; shadows gathered and danced in the room, as the host of Curses gathering to her brother’s defense snapped and snarled. Toji simply smirked, unperturbed by her brother’s offensiveness, and Y/N knew Suguru would be crushed in an instant if she didn’t intervene.

She sat up abruptly, her bones screaming and aching as if they hadn’t been used in an age, and desperately rasped, “Toji, please.”

Toji stiffened.

He waged a battle of sheer will within himself, torn between surrendering to his instinct to win and immerse himself in the thrill of combat, and the rational part of his soul that was tethered to her – urging him to yield and fight another day.

And he did.

A great king of Hell yielded to a Fallen Angel.

Toji took a step back, hands raised in mock surrender, wearing a sly smirk directed at Geto, who was slowly refracting his shadows while still maintaining an offensive demeanor.

“Did you know?” Geto hissed, like a coiled viper.

Toji’s eyes narrowed, his expression wiped from any cockiness as he turned deadly serious. “You seriously think I would give them my approval for this? No.”

“Then why didn’t you pursue him?”

“Why the f- because my mate was fighting for her fucking life.”

Her brother’s eyes flitted over to her, taking in the lines of red over the right side of her face, and he scowled. “Are you alright now? Can you fight?”

Y/N got up from the bed, trying to ignore that her decency was compromised in her sheer nightdress, and was about to respond when Toji interjected with a harsh tone. “She is not in any state to fight, are you mad?”

“I didn’t ask you, did I?” Geto snapped, quickly ramping up his offensive stance, his fists clenched and muscles tense. “Don’t forget where you are, Fushiguro.”

Concentrated effort… restrained anger.

Toji deadpanned, completely unimpressed. “I haven’t, but see reason, Geto. Nobody understands how Mahito’s power works. Do you want to risk Y/N’s life again?”

Geto clenched his jaw, and Y/N could almost sense the whirlwind of emotions raging within him. He craved a fight, his thirst for vengeance threatened to turn him into a harbringer of justice, and it was making him not think straight. A faint tremor rippled through to his tightened fists.

“I can fight, Suguru. I feel just fine,” she said firmly, displeased at the two Kings talking over her like her voice didn’t matter. If she was going to die, it would have happened by now, surely they both knew that.

Toji gave her a hard look. “Not a chance.”

“Mimiko is dead,” Geto murmured to her, low and almost shameful, completely ignoring what Toji had just said. “Mahito touched her as he was fleeing.”

Her heart dropped.

Oh no, not her.

Poor Nanako.

Tears swelled in her eyes, and fury ignited in her chest. Her green eyed Curse looked at her with a softer gaze, expression filled with pity for her loss.

“He’s killed a member of your court, and tried to kill me,” Y/N hissed, voice thick with malice. “We have to find him and make him pay for what he’s done.”

Geto shook his head. “No, Fushiguro is right. You need to see a healer and make sure your soul hasn’t been harmed.” He shot Toji a loathsome glare, and snapped, “Take care of her, or so help me, I will tear you apart.”

Before either of them had time to respond, her brother surged out the door, barking orders with a crack of his whip. The bustle of activity outside Y/N’s bedroom shifted away as Geto’s subordinates were driven into action, and Nanako’s wails dissolved into an eerie silence.

“I would like to see you try,” Toji muttered, mostly to himself. His gaze settled back on her, and he asked. “Who’s the best healer in this place?”

She swallowed heavily, exhaling deeply. “Dead.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tch, of course. Well, come with me then.” Toji’s eyes briefly roamed her figure, before he looked away and cleared his throat. “You’ll want to change first.”

She ignored his last comment, and asked suspiciously, “Where?”

“To find a healer. The rest of yours are going to be occupied with the casualties of war, and I’m not risking subpar idiots trying to help you.”

War.

Here it was, once again.

Only this time, she had become the very thing she had once fought.

And this was to be a war unlike any other she had ever faced.

“So this is it, then. It’s begun?” Y/N whispered, as the weight of the events of the past day and night took its toll on her.

“I’m afraid so. Mahito has obviously sided with Jogo, and an assassination attempt is a clear declaration of war,” Toji replied simply, almost casually. “Now, are you coming or not?”

Y/N knew the rational thing was to go and ensure there was nothing fundamentally wrong with her, and yet, the thought of leaving Geto on his own to fight made her physically ill. But it wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter; Toji would probably drag her kicking and screaming wherever he wanted to go.

“Y/N,” his voice called, snapping her out of her thoughts. Y/N’s breath hitched as Toji regarded her with that same gentleness he had not moments ago, and he murmured. “This war isn’t your fault.”

She scoffed. “Of course it is, I’m not stupid. I owe it to myself and Suguru to make sure they all pay for this.”

“And you will,” Toji agreed, annoyingly placating. “But you won’t be much use if you burst into pieces, hmm?”

Burst into pieces.

Just like Nanami.

Her stomach churned.

Bubbling anxiousness …

Y/N couldn’t say anything against that. And so, in addition to feeling Toji’s palpable fear for her through their bond, she relented and sighed.

“Wait for me on the balcony, I’ll be ready in a minute.”

-•-

Y/N hadn’t expected Toji’s healer to dwell somewhere so… dark.

Toji had vanished into completely into the inky black mist they had stepped into from the portal, causing Y/N’s heart to race frantically at the thought of losing him. She whipped her head around frantically, consumed by irrational dread, fearing that she was doomed to the darkness forever. Suddenly, he reappeared right in front of her, completely spooking her, with a sly smirk on his face.

“Need some help?” he teased, and she scowled.

“Why’d you bring us here?” Y/N grumbled. “What’s your healer doing in a place like this?”

“I called in a favor while you were getting dressed,” Toji answered, as if that explained everything, and held out his hand for her to take.

She took it.

Tingles and sparks danced between them, each electric connecting sending Y/N’s heart pounding with a frenzy so fierce that she thought it would leap from her chest and settle inside him instead. Toji’s green eyes seemed to almost glow in the darkness, captivating Y/N so deeply that she had to avert her gaze. He cleared his throat, evidently as affected by their intense connection, and began to guide her through the mist.

“A favor?” she whispered, breaking the tension.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Mei-Mei will be there to mediate the exchange.”

Mei-Mei? Exchange?

Her heart stung at the mention of Toji’s second, and yesterday’s argument rushed to the forefront of her mind. “Sure,” Y/N said flatly.

She knew Toji could feel her coldness creeping back in, and he gripped her hand tighter. “You know, I-” he started, searching for the right words to say. “This isn’t the time to talk about yesterday, but I just- I didn’t mean to be so...”

“Cruel?”

Toji visibly looked uncomfortable, almost shameful, and he nodded. Y/N sighed heavily, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Let’s get this over with.”

He pursed his lips, and she knew he had so much more to say, but he didn’t. They pushed on farther into the mist, and Y/N’s eyes adjusted to the midnight darkness the longer they walked, although she could have sworn it was getting even blacker.

Plop!

Y/N recoiled sharply as her foot was submerged in water; unnervingly warm and thick.

No… not water.

She sniffed the air, and squinted at her foot.

Blood.

A strange sense of déjà vu hit her.

“Toji… where are we?”

“At the borderline with Sukuna’s territory. We’re going to meet with Uraume.”

“What? Uraume doesn’t serve you.”

“No, they don’t. That’s why this is a favor.”

She was going to meet Sukuna’s second. What sort of things had Toji done to earn a favor from the King of Curses? Y/N almost didn’t want to know, and her previously uneasy feelings were now sprouting into a full-blown panic.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing me here?” she hissed in a hushed tone, as if the mist would carry her words all the way to Sukuna’s ears. “How can we trust them?”

“Do you trust me?” Toji stopped abruptly, turning to look at her with narrowed eyes, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, because it was the truth. “Yes, but-.”

“Then trust that I’d kill them if they try to hurt you,” he swore in a low, voice as dark as the mist surrounding them.

She shivered.

A loud caw of a crow sounded above them, followed by the sloshing sounds of someone moving through the water towards them. Y/N gripped Toji’s hand tighter, and he returned the gesture. Mei-Mei’s slim figure came into view, a sultry smirk on her lips as she balanced a great battle-axe on her left shoulder.

“Uraume is just ahead,” Mei-Mei announced. Her gaze flicked down to their joint hands, and the corner of her lip curled upwards.

“Are they alone?” Toji asked.

Mei-Mei hummed in response, casually shrugging her shoulders. “They killed most of my crows that got too close. I can’t see.”

He made a sound of displeasure. “Fine, let’s go.”

Toji pulled Y/N forwards, and as they past each other, she and Mei-Mei exchanged a tense glance. Something deep within her gut told her that the lilac-eyed Curse looked down at her, as if she were no more than a speck of dirt on her pristine boots. The mere thought of Toji even kissing her filled Y/N with horror and a burning rage she didn’t know she was capable of feeling.

Within a few moments, the mist cleared ever so slightly, and the slight figure of Uraume came into view. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how small and delicate they appeared, like a tiny porcelain doll amidst a sea of blood. But much like Mei-Mei, they obviously concealed their violent tendencies with beauty; although, theirs was a quiet and ancient kind of strength. The bones of various creatures floated about in the blood, and some formed clusters that had somehow caught flame, burning in brilliant shades of red and blue. The air was far hotter here, and Y/N wondered just how blistering the heat must be at the center of Hell.

“Your mate needs my help.” Uraume’s voice sounded out from the distance, cutting straight to the point.

“You know the Curse, Mahito?” Toji’s voice echoed across the blood sea as he responded. “He touched her skin.”

Uraume cocked their head to the side, their air cold and intelligent. “She looks alive and well to me. Why did you bother calling for me?”

“I need to make sure he hasn’t latched himself to her soul,” he boomed back. “You’re the only one who can see.”

Their unique deep pink orbs settled on Y/N, and she straightened her back. It was if they were deciding whether or not to help, and Toji shifted impatiently beside her.

“You may approach me, Y/N,” Uraume finally said, and gave Toji a pointed look. “Alone.”

With that, she let go of Toji’s hand and stepped towards Uraume, remaining acutely aware of the dagger beneath her sleeves she could whip out if she needed to. But the way they looked at her, as if they knew what she was thinking, dared her to try it. Y/N knew better than to stand against a force she didn’t understand, and so she stood rigidly in front of them.

Uraume suddenly gripped her chin, their fingers seemingly made of ice and frost, causing Y/N to shudder.

Uneasiness…

The Curse turned her face side to side, observing every single little detail as if it were of vital importance. “You don’t remember?”

“I was asleep,” she answered, and Uraume shook their head, leaving Y/N with the feeling that she had answered the question incorrectly.

They hummed, letting go of her chin. “You soul is intact, so you have nothing to fear.”

Relief…

Uraume’s fingers ran down her face, like tender icicles melting in the sun, and Y/N felt the tenderness of where Mahito had touched fade away. They pulled their hand away and looked at her as if admiring their handiwork, while Y/N grazed her own fingers over her face.

“Do you know how I survived him?” she asked Uraume, a shot in the dark.

They raised an eyebrow at her. “You remember nothing anyways. It does not matter how you lived, only that you did.”

“Is it because my soul has the power of two? Because I’m Fushiguro’s mate,” Y/N asked desperately. She was on borrowed time, and Uraume seemed to have all the answers. “Does it mean that I could still survive should Mahito touch me again?”

Uraume held up a hand, silencing Y/N. “You survived, and that is the end of that. I would, however, advise against allowing Mahito the opportunity to place his hands upon you again.”

The cold Curse appeared to be in no mood to linger any longer than necessary, and to say that she wasn’t disappointed was an understatement. Y/N disliked being left in the dark; she much preferred to know exactly how and why everything worked the way it did. For Uraume to knowingly withhold information about her own body from her was absolutely despicable.

But what could Y/N do against the general of the King of Curses?

Not a thing.

That notion alone was maddening.

“One more thing, before you leave,” Uraume added, reaching into their pocket to bring forth a small box, and offered it to her. “Lord Sukuna has asked me to give you this.”

What?

Toji was next to her in a flash, watching like a hawk as Y/N hesitantly took the box from Uraume. She could feel him preparing for a fight, the energy coursing through his veins mirrored hers, but why he was so on edge she didn’t know. Y/N opened the box to reveal a dainty golden ring, the gleaming metal twisted and curled, prompting a deep frown from Toji.

“Why is he giving her this freely?” he asked, his words laced with confusion and suspicion.

“Lord Sukuna,” Uraume corrected icily, before continuing. “Told me to give Y/N this ring if her soul had no cursed energy.”

“That doesn’t tell me why,” Toji interjected abruptly, as she plucked the ring from the box and inspected it closely.

“That’s none of your concern. Do not question Lord Sukuna’s motives; just accept his gift,” Uraume bit back, casting a pointed glance towards Y/N as she said the last sentence.

Too unnerved and perplexed to form a coherent sentence, Y/N could only stare at the gift from Ryomen Sukuna himself. She felt even more in the dark than before, overwhelmed by a wave of confusion and apprehension. With a sudden gesture, she snapped the box shut as if hoping to conceal her unanswered questions within.

Mei-Mei cleared her throat and spoke for the both of them, “Thank you for this, Uraume. We are grateful for you and Lord Sukuna taking the time to help us.”

Uraume’s gaze swept over the trio, and Y/N could have sworn the blood beneath their feet was freezing over as they replied. “You owe him a great deal, Fushiguro. Don’t forget it.”

Toji’s nostrils flared, and he grumbled. “Sure.”

Uraume didn’t seem to appreciate his response but said nothing. They gave Y/N one last look, before they stepped back into a portal and disappeared.

Mei-Mei let out a small breath in relief, and commented, “That went well.”

She hovered closer to them, as if anticipating something, and Y/N tensed. Toji rolled his eyes, and reached into his back pocket, tossing her a small bag. Mei-Mei caught it effortlessly with one hand, and the bag clinked loudly – the noise betraying its valuable contents.

“Thank you. Do you need anything else,” she offered, and Y/N realized this was the first time she had glimpsed a hint of real emotion from the Curse at receiving her payment.

“No. You can go,” Toji answered, and Mei-Mei was gone in an instant, leaving the two of them alone standing in the ocean of blood.

Y/N opened the box again, carefully observing the ring. She noted the minuscule featherlight markings adorning the band, perhaps an inscription of some sort, but she couldn’t make out the words. “What is this?”

Toji sighed and extended his left hand, displaying a thicker gold ring resting on his pointer finger that Y/N hadn’t noticed before. “It’s a ring, just like this one, and it’s imbued with Sukuna’s cursed energy. It allows Curses like us to conjure portals.”

“Why would Sukuna make something like this for us? How did you manage to even get one, then?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. He came to visit me when I became King and gave me it. Said I was strong, and that I was the prime example of a perfect Curse. I apparently… fascinated him.”

It was the way Toji hesitated, looking visibly uncomfortable as he recalled his encounter with Sukuna, that intrigued Y/N. His emotions swirled with mistrust and nerves, and she realized that her seemingly invincible green-eyed Curse was almost afraid. It was a frightening reminder to her that Sukuna’s strength, particularly now in the absence of Gojo Satoru, was probably the only threat to Toji’s life.

“I suppose he’s given you a ring because you’re my mate,” Toji murmured, although it seemed as if he was thinking aloud.

“You don’t seem so sure,” Y/N replied, closing the box once more and safely tucked it away.

Toji’s expression darkened. “I’m not sure of anything Sukuna does, or why. I’d prefer to avoid anything to do with him as much as I can.”

It was no question as to why he was afraid, but Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to have been in the presence of Ryomen Sukuna.

“Well, it seems I’m not going to die,” Y/N joked lightly, wanting to lighten the tension that was gripping them both.

Toji snorted, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “So it seems. I’m glad.”

The ring on his finger glowed a faint golden color, and a portal of the same shade materialized in front of them. He looked at her expectantly, cocking his towards it. “Let’s get out of here”

-•-

“Welcome to my city. I know that you and your brother are more traditional than me, but I still hope you’ll like it here.”

It was a pleasant surprise to find Toji’s city bustling with activity. The streets, although well-paved and smooth, had veins of molten lava coursing through it, casting a bright orange and red glow that illuminated the area. The buildings eerily reminded her of Heaven, but in a polar opposite way. Grand dark stone towers stood tall amidst the midnight sky, adorned with intricate carvings of strange and grotesque creatures.

Toji led her to the main marketplace, bustling with various stalls and shops selling food, clothing, and trinkets. It was teeming with all manner of Curses; some resembled her and Toji, some a mixture that blended both monster and humanoid features, and others were more horrid and twisted in appearance. As they passed, the Curses immediately took notice of their Kings presence, their stares burrowing holes in the back of Y/N’s head. But none dared to approach them directly, which was a relief. This was quite a public display of their bond, but with their secret out in the open, Y/N supposed it didn’t matter much anymore.

She decided to voice her inner thoughts. “This reminds me of Heaven.”

Surprise…

Toji looked at her as if she had grown two heads, one eyebrow comically raised. “Huh?”

“Yeah, your city is like Heaven, but flipped the opposite way. I don’t really know how to explain it, maybe Geto would disagree with me.”

“Is it… a bad thing?”

“No! It’s quite beautiful, actually.”

Toji appeared gladdened, as relief washed over his face, though Y/N could sense his underlying nervousness and shyness through their bond. She had to stop herself from smiling, because it was quite endearing. Following his lead, they strolled through the streets of his city, which he seemed to know like the back of his hand. She understood now why he was so determined to protect his people; Toji provided and protected them well, ensuring they wanted for nothing. This contrasted starkly with Suguru’s citizens, who often exuded an aura of sadness and neediness due to their struggles. Food was scarcer, skirmishes and raids along the border were common occurrences, and they had lost their King, whom they had known for centuries.

Of course, not having to worry about an impending war would certainly help.

Toji broke the silence with a question. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’m curious. Do you miss it? Heaven, I mean.”

Did she?

Did she miss those first moments of the day when she lay in her bed, watching the first rays of the dawn filter through her window? There something so profoundly peaceful about that time, so uniquely ethereal, that it was one of her reasons for getting out of bed everyday.

Did she miss those moments when she and Nanami used to sit together on the lush meadows after a sparring session? When they would enjoy the cool breeze and the sun on their faces, and she would watch the wind flow through his golden locks.

Did she miss those times when Gojo used to gather a feast of figs from the trees outside his tower for them both to enjoy? He would always peel the fruits for her, a smile on his face as he let her have the best ones.

It would be a lie if she said no.

“Sometimes,” Y/N admitted quietly, not wanting to acknowledge the magnitude of how much she actually did miss it. “Parts of it.”

Toji hummed. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t, it was your home for…”

He suddenly started to chuckle, and she looked at him quizzically. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, but I don’t actually know how old you are.”

“Well, how old are you?”

“I asked you first, but I’m somewhere in the middle of the eight-century mark, I think.”

“I’m five hundred and seven.”

“Oh, very precise.”

“And you’re very old.”

Toji barked out a laugh. “Why should I bother counting, then?”

“So you don’t accidentally say you’re older than you actually are. You could be fifty years younger and you’d never know.”

“Pft! Fifty years isn’t much.”

“Fifty years is a lot.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll ask if Mei-Mei has some old records from the Zenins. See how old I am exactly.”

Y/N’s mood turned sour at the mention of her, and her smile vanished from her face. She recalled their argument yesterday, and how Toji had told her she had no business knowing anything about him. Yet, here he seemed to have had a complete change of heart. Her near-death experience shouldn’t have been a requirement for him to allow himself to open up to her – something he still seemed reluctant to do. Was she not deserving enough to know who he really was? Would she ever be?

If not, then what was the point of fate – God – bringing the two of them together?

Toji sensed her mood shift, of course he did. It was still new to Y/N, the idea that her emotions could be sensed without his essence overpowering her psyche, the way Gojo’s had done in his Infinite Void. But Toji remained silent, which disappointed Y/N. They had reached a grand staircase leading up to what could only be Toji’s palace, as there was no other building they had passed that was as large as this one.

“I’m assuming you’re hungry,” Toji remarked, pushing open the oversized dome-shaped doorway to the palace. Y/N nodded, and he motioned for her to follow him.

The Curses dwelling inside the palace stared at them with wide eyes, bowing respectfully at Toji as he passed, their hushed voices whispered excitedly after the pair passed. Y/N could have sworn she heard the words ‘mate’ and ‘Queen’ being whispered, and that filled her with alarm. Toji led her to a balcony overlooking the city, dimly lit with smoldering lanterns, complete with a table and chairs.

“This is where I usually eat,” he explained, his voice gravelly. “It’s nice. A good view of the city.”

Y/N hummed in agreement and took a seat. Toji did the same, and servants immediately came in from the inside to place platters of steaming food in front of them both. They looked at her strangely when she thanked them and respectfully bowed at both of them as they left. It was awkward silence, to say the least, as they ate. Y/N could feel Toji glancing at her often, trying to lock eyes with her.

Toji finally spoke, pushing his plate away from him, and Y/N could feel his leg bouncing rapidly beneath the table. “Look, I’m not good at these things. But about yesterday, I couldn’t say all the things I wanted to say the way I wanted to – the right way, you know?”

“You’re not obligated to tell me anything, Toji.” Y/N replied evenly, though she was quite taken aback that a King of Hell was rambling. “Just how I’m not either.”

“No but you… you share things with me anyways. Freely. You don’t hide yourself from me, and I’ve never felt you do it.” Toji admitted, his voice slightly strained, his gaze fixed on his lap as his leg bounced faster.

He’s so nervous.

“What I’m trying to say, it was both of us that suffered a loss yesterday. We were both vulnerable, but I was so angry that we were so exposed. Because it was me who should’ve killed Mahito when I had the chance.”

“Toji, you said it yourself. Killing him would have warranted too many questions.”

“Yeah, but this outcome is so much worse because it was something neither of us could have controlled. Killing him would have been controlled.”

Toji sighed, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter, and it’s not what I’m trying to say. I should have been there. I should have stayed. I wanted to ask you to come with me, to stay here with me. That’s why I came to you yesterday.”

“I know, Geto told me,” Y/N said gently, as if revealing some embarrassing secret.

“Oh, right. I forgot about that,” he chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “I suppose that was me being desperate.”

“Clearly,” she giggled, her laugh tinkling like bells, and Toji’s eyes lit up. “You really think Suguru has that much influence?”

His face fell a little at that. “So, you won’t stay? Not even after what happened last night?”

Y/N could see it again now, Toji’s soul laid bare and raw before her. He was choosing vulnerability this time, laying his emotions on the line for just for her. It was truly what he wanted, for her to stay with him. Y/N couldn’t help herself, she reached over and placed her hand over his.

“No, Toji. It would be running away and leaving my family to fight a war that I caused,” Y/N replied softly, afraid of breaking him apart into tiny pieces.

“You wouldn’t be running, not to me,” Toji murmured, his eyes fixed on her hand over his.

“I know, but I would never forgive myself if I left them now.”

Toji stared at her, and she sucked in a breath. “You have such a fire in you now, you know? You know exactly where you need to go, and what you need to do.” He gripped her hand, sliding his fingers between hers. “Don’t ever put it out.”

She blushed heavily, feeling any lingering tension she had for her green-eyed Curse crumbled into dust.

“But if you need me, then call for me. I’ll come to you,” he continued lowly, his voice rumbling and almost sultry, as he squeezed her hand.

Y/N smiled shyly. “Thank you, Toji.” She looked over to the city, shying away from the intensity of the moment. “I can see what you’re trying to protect here.”

“They don’t deserve to be dragged into my… feelings.”

They sat together in comfortable silence, their hands still firmly in each other’s grasp, and Y/N had to fight to keep the smile from spreading widely across her face.

“You, uh-,” Toji cleared his throat, hesitating before continuing. “You asked me if Mei-Mei and I eve-.”

Y/N cut him off, waving her other hand quickly at him. “No, no Toji! You were right yesterday, and it’s something I don’t want or need to know.”

He sighed, rubbing his thumb on her hand. “Well, I didn’t mean that. But you should know that I never did anything like that with her.”

The relief was so immense that Y/N had to refrain herself from sighing loudly.

Anxiousness…

Toji mumbled, “Did you and Gojo ever… do anything?”

Y/N giggled wildly, and it was his turn to look at her quizzically. “I think you forget seraphim don’t do anything like that until after marriage.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, seemingly embarrassed. Perhaps he didn’t know, and Y/N wondered how much Curses really knew about Angels. After a minute of silence, Toji added. “So, uh, you- are you? Tch!”

She found his flustering quite endearing. “What?”

Toji sighed pointedly, gathering his thoughts to formulate a proper sentence. “Would you still prefer to do things that way?”

Y/N frowned. Toji was making her consider aspects of her old life that she had never thought of before. Would she remain pure until marriage? She’d embraced everything else about being a Curse – the freedom, the bloodlust – so why was this any different? And yet, strangely enough, Y/N couldn’t imagine doing it any different.

“I think… I think so yes,” she finally replied, her words slow, as if she doubted them herself.

Toji hummed. “And what about other things?”

Y/N almost choked on her own spit, her cheeks flushing bright red again. He smirked at her, and she pursed her lips indignantly. “Stop that.”

“What?” Toji said with mock innocence. She gave him a sharp look, but a smile was threatening to break out over her wavering lips. “Okay okay! Fine,” he conceded, a handsome smile lighting up his features as he laughed.

In that moment, Y/N thought Toji was the most gorgeous creature she had ever been blessed to lay eyes on.

“Tell me what Heaven was like then, if you don’t mind,” Toji asked, leaning in closer to her from across the table, his hand still deliciously warm.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “That’s quite a long story. I think I’ll need to hear more about you afterwards.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

-•-

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[honeyshiddendesire]

Boss’ Office

Garp x female Reader

Warnings: INCEST PLAY!!!! (No blood relation!) Use of name Grandpa!

ONCE AGAIN INCEST PLAY!!!!

vaginal penetration, chokehold with reverse cowgirl to backshots, dirty talk/teasing, exhibition/voyeurism, age gap, pet names, office sex, boss/subordinate

Another warning !!

⚠️ INCEST PLAY⚠️🙄

*Author's Note: Posted this on my old account but had it saved so decided to post it again 🩷🤤*

*banner*

Slushing wet noises and slapping skin filled the office space. Light layer of sweat on your skin as your muscles tightened and pussy fluttered.

“Yeah you like this old dick don’t chu sweet thing? No one your own age can handle a little minx like you. You need a man like me fucking this little cunt how it should be.” Garp grunted into your ear as he held you in a head lock. Sitting on his girthy cock had you shaking like crazy, thighs trembling on his lap.

Hand rubbing at your clit under your black tennis skirt, toes curling under your knee high socks and Oxford heels. Your nails clawing at his furry thighs to hold yourself steady. “Nngh! Ahh! Yess! I-I love it! Please grandpa! Please~! D-don’t stop!” Your begging was everything to your boss that pounded you down onto his thick cock.

Ridged veins rubbing against your sensitive walls making you twitch and spasm around him. “Grandpa~!” Your moans so loud it filled his office easily making his all male staff jealous and harder than you could imagine. Some running to the bathroom for a quick nut off or others saying fuck it and wacking at their desks. The man in his cubicle right across from Garp’s office was fisting his long veiny cock as he looked at the show.

“Fuck princess~ they love coming to work cause of you, you know that right?” Garp grunted against your ear making your eyes roll back. “They love seeing their dirty old boss fuck his pretty granddaughter.” Garp kept saying such taboo things that made your brain dizzy in the best way possible.

“Especially him. Look at how excited you made him, his cock is leaking so much for you princess.” Garp breathed out as he turned your attention to the young blonde man with curly brows. Pretty sure his name was Sanji but at the moment your brain was too fucked out to recall.

Sanji’s long cock was aching as he watched your pussy being split apart. Angry red tip oozing drops of cum making you whine as you watched it drip down the length of his cock. A loud moan leaving him as he watched Garp pick up your skirt so he could see the view of his cock entering you.

“Bet he wants to fuck you so bad.” Garp groaned as he rolled his hips up in time of pulling you down. Your screams high pitched as he knocked it out of you, cockhead beating your cervix up deliciously. “He probably wishes he could come in here and use one of these slutty holes you got.”

Garp’s own brain going dizzy from the lewd words he kept spilling but he couldn’t stop when he had you like this. Drooling on yourself with your tongue hanging out like a bitch, his bitch, in heat.

“I know for a fuckin’ fact that he does.” Garp snapped, “But that’s- Too. Damn. Bad!” Garp growled as he stood up, pushing your chest into the desk with a heavy hand.

“Scream whose pussy it is.” Garp snarled out, jealous but the desire to be watched always battling each other. “Let everyone know that this old man is the only one that can touch you. I wanna hear it.” You tried to nod but it was a pathetic attempt.

“Grandpa Garp ! Ahh nghhh ohhh yesss~ yes grandpa~ puhlease~ don’t ahh stop!” Voice hoarse from the pleasure of how deep his cock fucked your cunt. “So big! Fuck yes! Feels so fucking good! Ahh ha Nngh yesss right there Garp! No one can -ahhh fuck- no one can make me cum like you!”

Your squishy walls sucking him in with every thrust that he gave you. One of his large hands held both of yours behind your back, using it as leverage to pull you back. Other hand reaching around to hold your face to look at the onlookers.

Everyone knew when the ceo started making you answer questions that he was trying to make you cum. All the men looking over to see the expression. Men of all ages and types looking at you as they fisted their cocks in hunger. Garp loved seeing the want in their eyes and the power that he held in knowing he was fucking your cunt and not them.

“Yeah only I can make this pretty pussy cum huh baby girl” Garp kissing along the side of your neck making you whine. Moans slipping at the feel of his balls slapping into your aching clit.

“Garp fuck! Yesss~! Your cock is so big!” You screamed out loud with dreamy eyes, “Feel you so deep~”

A proud smile and a glare painted on his face that made the men shiver at their shameful release.

“Grandpa~ wanna cum~ pleasee~!” You pleaded as your pussy fluttered around his meaty cock that bruised your insides. Your juices spraying all over his cock pulling him in deeper. “Yess! Cumming~!” You moaned out.

Garp kissed the side of your face as he felt his cock twitch. Grunting as he fucked your cunny harder. “Good fucking girl.” Thrusting in your pussy to help you both ride out your orgasm.

Groaning as he sunk in deep before painting that cunt white. “Such a good pussy baby.” Garp grunted as he kissed your neck.

His eyes glared at the man watching from the door, “Beat it! GET BACK TO WORK!”

Turning to face you he kisses all over your drooly face making you giggle, “The only one that gets to slack off is the office princess who’s stuffed full of my cum.”

Making the man laugh as you hit his arm playfully, “GARP~!”

“Careful saying my name like that doll you’ll make me hard again.”

[endlessburningdarkness]

Tempted to do a post maigu ridge fic where Shen Yuan isn't magically untruamatized from his experience and the peak lords don't let him run out to the person they believe to be the reason for his death and alarming injuries.

And a Luo Binghe that without the influence of Xin Mo is wracked with terrible guilt for harming his Shizun and seeks punishment for his sins. Even if he wasn't in control, he should have died before harming his beloved! Luo Qingge is more than happy to deliver it for him, cue public whipping as punishment.

Shen Yuan is horrified but his protests fall on deaf ears, even Luo Binghe gently refuses to resist the punishment. It's alright Shizun, he deserves it. Shen Yuan eventually hits on punishing Luo Binghe himself as a solution. He'll be gentler than Liu Qingge. The whole thing is his fault anyway and so he should take responsibility.

Luo Binghe vehemently disagrees and tries to convince him otherwise, Shizun shouldn't sully himself like that! but Shen Yuan's stubborn will is even stronger than the protagonist halo and teary eyes. (Shen Yuan actually has his own protagonist halo) And Luo Binghe can't pretend it doesn't appeal to him.

If Luo Binghe wants to be punished, its only right that his Shizun be the one to do it.

Shen Yuan battles nightmares of maigu ridge, and an irrational new fear of his beloved. He knows it's not logical, but he can't help it. His body remembers the pain and doesn't comprehend logic or language. It can't be ordered to behave the way that he wants it to.

Luo Binghe weeps on his knees when Shen Yuan wakes up screaming and tries to leave, he can't sleep in the same bed as Shizun if it results in this! Shen Yuan has to grab him and hold him there. Weepy apologies ensue on both sides. Shen Yuan thinks exposure to the source of his fear will cure him. Isn't that how they cure phobias? (it's not)

They fall into a non-sexual power exchange wherein Shen Yuan deals with his trauma by learning that Luo Binghe will obey him completely, and Luo Binghe deals with his guilt and fear by handing control over to him and receiving punishment.

The other peak lords are reluctantly gratified that Luo Binghe is receiving punishment and making up for his wrongs. He goes around and heals the crippled cultivators with his demon blood. Arranges a demon vs cultivator tournament so both sides can fight it out without innocents being harmed.

Shen Yuan slowly de-tangles his sexuality when he becomes aroused at Luo Binghe's submission to his will. A latent sadistic streak rears its head, nurtured on by a Luo Binghe who both enjoys pain and believes this is the only way Shizun will touch him. He's surprised and feels even more guilty when Shen Yuan takes care of him after the punishments.

Shen Yuan starts to have wet dreams, and is forced to resort to masturbation to deal with them. Despite waiting for months and bracing himself, (he can handle it now!) Luo Binghe won't touch him, terrified of losing control again.

The nightmares fade as Shen Yuan's faith in Luo Binghe's iron will to never harm him again solidifies into certainty. He even tries walking around underdressed, and protagonist still doesn't jump him! He has to find a way to conceal his arousal during punishments, and he can no longer ignore how much Luo Binghe enjoys them.

His own desires grow and grow until he's so sexually frustrated, he makes the first move. It's been a whole year since that terrible day, Binghe, let this master teach you how to kiss. Tentatively they begin to court, much to the relief of their colleagues, who are tiring of all the pining glances, wistful sighs and rock-solid obliviousness. It's about time!

After months of frustration watching Luo Binghe spar, and bend over and submit and get hard during his punishment. Shen Yuan learns he must communicate exactly what he wants, so he can finally get some relief.

Maybe they have a wedding, arranged by a collaboration between cultivators and demons, the many fighting tournaments resulted in something like friendship as the two cultures met together frequently. Even Liu Qingge throws flower petals over them. He and Luo Binghe have bonded over how difficult it is to keep Shen Yuan from getting hurt, and are sort of frenemies now.

this is one of my reluctant sadist shen yuan ideas...