#chapter one: redemption part I. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saetoru · 1 year

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good.

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left.

and then satoru wins.

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead.

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure.

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware.

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place.

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it.

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free.

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair.

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared.

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on.

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close.

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper.

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?”

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for.

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore.

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down.

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were.

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself.

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever.

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why.

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought.

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare.

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature.

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again.

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face.

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high.

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath.

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause.

and then you remember.

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru.

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have.

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again.

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh.

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself.

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close.

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness.

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night.

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans.

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest.

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room.

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry.

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly.

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not.

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen.

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast.

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between.

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace.

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile.

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart.

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name.

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles.

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away.

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment.

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years.

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do.

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you.

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru.

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had.

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him.

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind.

his breath hitches.

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror.

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms.

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened.

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him.

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance.

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to.

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention.

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence.

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them.

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.��

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them.

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to.

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down.

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it.

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself.

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life.

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in.

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you.

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin.

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for.

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you?

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it.

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life?

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him.

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal.

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score.

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous.

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort.

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good.

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off.

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think.

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles.

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it.

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug.

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed.

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place.

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look.

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch.

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes.

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this.

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room.

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook.

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again.

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind.

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks.

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left.

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good.

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence.

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away.

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow.

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation.

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too.

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes.

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too.

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?”

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever.

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive.

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy.

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru.

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little.

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled.

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises.

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough.

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink.

finally, for once, you’re enough.

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering.

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much.

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum.

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

#teepods.writings #fics.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru angst #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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stormhearty · 8 months

Text

Paring: former Azriel x Reader

Triggers: mentions of cheating, mentions of death, cursing, a lot of bold and italicize

Word Count: 3K+

Summary: The High Lords called a meeting to discuss the Death-God’s resurrection. However, with the death of their Seer, tensions run high between Day and Night Court, Helion outraged by the loss of your life. Truths are revealed and lies are exposed. And what happens when the High Lords realize that they have all been too late?

Note: I thank you all for all the love you have given to my one shot!! I had never thought it would have been so well received by fans and writers! I am very amused by everyone's reactions and thoughts on the one shot — everyone is wanting blood and redemption for our poor reader. And she will! This chapter is a segway/filler chapter — but still important. It's still angsty, don't worry. This one shot will probably become a 3 part series. I know in that voting poll I had done asked if you guys wanted a 5k chapter, rather than a 2- 2k chapters, but I wanted to leave you guys with one more chapter to look forward to! Please look forward to it!

Part One | Part Three | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“You had abandoned my emissary, disregarded her sight and had her take her own life in your Court… And for what? Your mate’s sister’s powers?!” Helion was fuming, amber eyes staring the High Lord of Night down, “And that her mate — - “a growl escaped his lips, as he glanced at the Spymaster next to Rhysand, “Had cheated on her for said sister?!”

The High Lord of Day’s voice echoed throughout the throne room, shaking its very walls at the allegation of what had happen within the wards of the Night Court. Helion’s fingers gripped the edge of the large round table, his claws causing the wood to splint underneath his fingertips.

“And now… you are telling me that her body disappeared?” his voice deathly low, “That your Spymaster’s shadows had whisked her body away to — God-knows-where… That, that child, never had never had a proper burial?!”

Rhysand couldn’t utter a single word against the claims placed against him and his Court — he couldn’t when everything that Helion had roared was true.

“… Show me…” Helion hissed, focusing at his old friend, “Show us what had happened that day…”

Rhysand gulped, staring at Helion before glancing around the table towards the High Lords of Pyrthian. All of them staring him down before all felt the claws of Rhysand's power creeping in their minds, images of that day of your death playing in their minds — all of them watching the confrontation between the Inner Circle and you — on how you were cornered and betrayed, leading up to your very death.

He hated it. Rhysand not only relived that that multiple times during his dreams — where he had failed you. He now had to relieve it while he was awake. Hearing your pleads and cries for him to listen to your visions, and seeing your body dying on that marble floor — to watch it be taken away by tendrils of shadow.

Once the memory came to pass, sobs echoed throughout the room. Helion being the loudest as he ran a hand down his face, his form shaking in his seat. Rhysand glanced towards his Inner Circle, watching his family relive that moment as well; eyes focusing on Azriel, who gripped the arms of his chair as his face wrinkled in anguish at the memory.

It had been a month ever since your death, a month since the sliver of shadows that once served the Spymaster had taken your body away — unknown to even Azriel on where they had brought your body to. And a month ever since more and more whispers of Koschei’s resurrection echoed throughout the Courts. The Death-God’s power vibrating throughout all of Pyrthian — it was difficult to not miss.

The High Lords gathered in Day Court to strategize on the impending danger of the Death-God. However, it was no secret on what had happened in the wards of Night Court. The loss of your light present throughout all of Pyrthian — every High Lord felt it.

Especially Helion.

He wanted nothing more to hurt and maim every member of the Inner Circle; but that wasn’t the purpose of this meeting — though he wanted it to be.

Helion reigned in his emotions, trying to calm the rage that boiled in his blood. Trying to clam the sadness he felt for the loss of you. He straightened up in his chair, letting out a shaky breath, looking back at the Night Court High Lord.

“… I regret that I ever had sent (Y/N) to your Court, Rhysand,” his tone small and disappointed, “Her powers were wasted on you and your Court. A Seer taking their life, being betrayed by the people she called her family,” His head shaking, a laugh, one so loud and so sarcastic escaping his chest that it echoed in throne room, startling the other High Lords, making Rhysand flinch in his seat. “What a damn found family you made. Betraying one’s mate, betraying a person who had served you for five-hundred fucking years over a female who barely has control over her own powers.”

Amber eyes darted to Elain, as he watched her flinch back, hiding behind the eldest Archeron sister, “What prophecy have you seen now?” the sarcasm very evident in his tone, “Have you seen what (Y/N) has seen? Have you seen the resurrection of Kosechi, as well? Your powers are nothing compared to (Y/N)’s.”

“How dare you talk to someone in my Court like — -” Rhysand started.

“You have no right to challenge me in my own Court, Rhysand!” Helion bellowed, hands slamming on the table, standing up as he glared at his once-called friend, “Do you realize what you have done?! Do you realize why there hasn’t been a Seer in millennials? Why (Y/N) has been the only recorded Seer in the history of Pyrthian? Because Seers have been hunted — by Fae, humans and Gods alike. They are so sought after, for their power, for the knowledge, for their sight. Seers have the power to uncover what is hidden, lurking in the darkness. They are the very light that unveils the darkness. They have been hunted to be exterminated for that very power…”

It had been the very reason why Helion had taken you in when you were a child, guarded carefully in the Day Court. To ensure the prosper of your power, the prosper of your light.

Amber eyes darted around the table, eyes staring at the High Lords that had situated themselves in this very room, listening to his tale before they stared back at Rhysand, “You, being the powerfullest High Lord if all of Pyrthian should have known that. And now, her body, one filled with Unknown-God-and Cauldron bound powers is missing…”

A huff escaped his lips in exasperation as he sat down back into his seat, “Her body should be buried here, in my Court, where she rightfully belongs to. But, no. And none of us could properly pray respects for the loss of her light…”

It was no secret that Helion had a soft spot for you. You were like his child, raising you since you were small, watching you grow and become a bright light within the Day Court. He knew how your light felt, how he basked in it as if it was the sun that radiated overhead.

And so when he had woken up that night in cold sweat, feeling the vanishing of your light — he knew something had gone terribly wrong.

“… — Helion…” Feyre tentatively called out to him, “You said her body is Cauldron bound? What do you mean by that?”

The Day High Lord glanced at the High Lady, staring her down before he nodded his head once. Leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand, “That’s what both myself and (Y/N) believe. (Y/N) is one the strongest Seers I have met in my life, those few Seers that I have encountered, ones that have wanted to remain hidden, are no match to (Y/N)’s powers. Your little Cauldon-Made Seer is no match for her either,” he sneered at the middle Archeron sister.

"There has been little records of Seers in Prythian, we all know that. Not even my libraries had enough information about them and their powers. But, despite that, (Y/N) was able to hone into her powers with little instructions… You know that she doesn’t just see the future, she was able to see what was happening now. She was able to focus on parts of Pyrthian and tell me what is and what will happen.

“But during the war with Hybern, much like when Nesta felt the Cauldron, (Y/N) felt it too. We didn’t know why, but we realized she and the Cauldron were somewhat connected. Whether it be the Cauldron was reason why she has her visions or if the Cauldron was the source of her power, they were bound. A natural connection between the two of them. And when the Cauldron broke, (Y/N) had told me she felt the Cauldron’s power sought refuge with her, as if the Cauldron sought her light.

“After the war, she had asked for my opinion — she felt the remnants of the Cauldron’s power tingling through her. She told me she saw more visions, visions of the far off future that she had no idea when would happen, and that her powers were starting to become out of her control. She was starting to lose herself in her powers, lose her mind to it… I didn’t know how to help her…”

The Inner Circle remembered, weeks after the end of the war, (Y/N) had asked if she could return to Day Court for a few weeks. Rhysand had let her, thinking it was not important. Azriel, too, didn’t question on her reason why she wanted to leave.

It was when they started to not care. When they started to focus their attention to Elain — the Seer that had defeated the King of Hybern.

Helion let out a broken laugh, staring at the Inner Circle, “I’m sure you never knew, did you? On how broken she started to be after the war. You never knew how her sleep was plagued with visions, that she couldn’t even close her eyes without images flashing behind them. Of how she sobbed in bed, wondering if she was in a dream or reality. She couldn’t differentiate anymore… And you…” eyes focusing on Azriel, “You never felt her pain because you put up a wall between your mating bond. Did you know, Azriel…”

The Day High Lord’s tone was seething, remembering those day.

“Did you know, how she cried for you? She begged down the bond for you to come and help. Wanting your protection, wanting to help sooth the pain she had felt? Wanting you just to be there? But all she could feel was the wall you placed, ignoring her… abandoning her when she needed all of you the most…

“I sent her back, hoping that all of you would help. I sent her back with sleeping tonics, hoping to help her with her sleep. Hoping that her family and mate would help her through her toughest time. Hoping that you all would see her. But I can see that never happened. That no matter how much she begged for you all to listen to her visions, to see her in pain, you ignored,” his voice was laced with anger, disappointment.

No one said a word. The air in the room tense and dense at the revelation that Helion lamented. No one knew of what you had gone through.

Azriel felt his his heart burn in his chest, as if his siphons were burning his skin — he felt the remnants of the broken mating bond in his chest, aching more at Helion’s words.

He didn’t know, he didn’t see, he didn’t feel the pain you were going through. He had ignored the tug of the bond when he had that wall up. He had been too infatuated with the middle Archeron sister, wanting her to feel belonged in their Court — all the while alienating the person who had been with him through thick and thin.

And, yet, he couldn’t do the same for you.

Bright blue eyes closed as Feyre silently mourned and apologized to the Heavens, to the night sky where you might have been.

But she realized on the implications of what had Helion had told them — that you might have been the Cauldron-bound object that Koschei needed to escape that lake.

She looked up at Rhysand, and he to her as they communicated down the bond. Both of them realizing what could happen.

The gesture wasn’t missed by Helion as he watched them, waiting for them to explain what they might have discovered. However, when they did not say anything, a growl escaped his chest.

“What is it?”

Feyre and Rhysand looked at the Day High Lord, hesitance shown in their features, “… It’s about what (Y/N) had told us. You all saw it in that memory…”

Helion thought, playing the memory back as he watched remembered your face, the anguish of your features shining through his head, listening to your words — your vision of what might pass.

“… That Koschei needed something from the Cauldron to be released from the lake,” Lucien pointed out from his spot next to Helion, the russete eye looking at Elain before back to Feyre.

“What if…” Tarquin mumbled, “…Koschei found (Y/N)’s body? If you and (Y/N) knew of the connection to the Cauldron, that the Cauldron sought her power. He could use her body to be freed from that lake.”

Helion looked at the Summer High Lord, amber eyes wide at the realization, “… If that were to come to pass, we would be doomed. (Y/N)’s body is probably soaked in Cauldron powers. It would be so easy for Koschei to be freed, and no one would ever notice. It is not impossible, but since (Y/N)’s body has disappeared, it is possible for her to have fallen into his clutches.”

Kallias, in the mist of the conversation, was watching, observing, the only remaining Seer in the room. He leaned forward, bright blue hues staring the Made-Fae, as he rested both arms on the table, “Have you had any visions?”

Heads turned towards the High Lord of Winter at his question. It did not phase him, as he continued, ”I heard from your High Lady that you rarely said anything about your visions, since the Cauldron broke. So do tell us, what have you seen about the Death-God?” If she had her powers still, a Seer would be still useful in this situation.

Elain visibly swallowed, as all attention was on her once more. Brown eyes frantically glanced around the table, over to her sisters and then to Azriel who both looked at her expectedly.

A heartbeat later, and the Middle Archeron sister knew that she couldn't lie.

She shook her head, “I have not seen anything… since the Cauldron broke…” her words nothing but a whisper in the wind.

It was as if a pin dropped on marble floors, the silence in the room was penetrating.

A laugh broke the silence. Eris’ shook his in disbelief on the drama they were hearing, “So you’re telling us, you have been lying about having your powers. And that (Y/N), who has actually seen those visions had taken her life?” he glared at the middle Archeron sister, “For what? Because you needed a position in the Night Court? So that you can gain the Spymaster’s affection? To bed him?”

Elain shook her head again, brown eyes desperate as she tried to catch eye with her family, with Nesta, who just looked away, brows furrowed with anguish, “… I just wanted to be useful…” she whispered in fear, slumping down in her chair, “My powers… were the only thing that made me feel like I belonged… But I didn’t have them, and… I just, didn’t want to lose my family.”

“And yet, you were willing to let (Y/N) lose her family, her mate… and her life. Just to keep your own,” Thesan expressed, "That selfishness will be the downfall of Pyrthian."

Elain flinched at the truth thrown onto her face, eyes down-casting, silence taking over her form.

Before anyone could reprimand Elain for her actions, the grand doors slammed open, a dark mist blowing throughout the room. Frightened and confused screams echoed through the room.

Helion stood up, using his power of light to dissipate the darkness that tried to cover the room. Amber eyes glowed as he watched as a cloaked figure float into the room.

Eyes watched the cloaked figure as it settled its form onto the floor, bare pale feet touching the marble.

“… I would think… that if the Pyrthian High Lords would gather… they would invite a God to their meeting. But I guess, manners do not exist in this world…” the voice was grating and brittle.

The hood swept, as if eyes inside were looking at all the High Lords that were now standing up, all attention to him.

A eerie chuckle escaped the hooded figure, spiny fingers grasping the edge before slipping it down. White hair and black eyes were revealed, pale, sickly skin glowed underneath the darkness that had surrounded him.

The figure bowed, a mocking gesture to the High Lords.

“It seems, that you are unaware of who you are being greeted by…” a boney finger raised up and pointed towards Nesta, the eldest sister stiffening, “Though I’m quite sure you do, dearest sister…” he grinned at her.

Nesta gulped and looked at the uninvited guest. She knew who would greet her like that — only the Death Caver has echoed the same words, “You’re Koschei… aren’t you…”

Koschei grinned wider, head tilting to the side as he stepped forward, laughing as the High Lords ready themselves for a battle with the Death-God.

“Oh don’t be so tense, my High Lords…” he mockingly commented, sweeping a hand, “Please sit… Do not stop your meeting for dear little old me. Though it is such an honor for you to do so.”

He rounded the table, eyes making contact with each of the High Lord, black eyes sweeping over their forms before he stopped before Rhysand.

Violet hues and black sockets stared at each other.

“Though I do have to thank you, High Lord of the Night… You have gifted me the precious gift of life. Though, it was through the loss of one of your own… You might have known her. Cared for her… Loved her…” Koschei looked at Azriel whose hazel eyes burned at the Death-God.

He let out a low laugh.

Tarquin’s assumption was right — the Death-God had used your body to free himself from the lake, right underneath their noses. No one felt it, no one knew. And it had been too late to do anything about it; months too late to prevent the resurrection, months too late to find your missing body, months too late of not listening to you.

Koschei looked behind him, far past the grand windows, the familiar cry of the bird of fire and ash echoing through the lands of Day Court, heading towards them — Vassa had come to stop the sorcerer-lord from his destruction.

However, before she landed on the balcony, an arrow, made of shadow and darkness struck her, causing the great bird to plummet to the land beneath her.

Lucien gasped and ran towards the balcony, peering down to see if the mortal queen had survived the fall; but there was no sign of the cursed queen anywhere below.

“What a dramatic entry by Vassa, as always…” Koschei said with a sigh, before another chuckle escaped his lips, dark eyes boring into the empty spot beside him, “Don’t you think… (Y/N)?”

All heads snapped towards the Deathless God, your name slipping from his lips, as they watched a swirl of darkness materialized a familiar figure. Azriel watched, hazel eyes wide as he took in your form, whisps of shadows that had whirled around you — his shadows, one that had abandoned him ever since your death.

“…(Y/N)…” Azriel whispered in disbelief, his voice shaking.

There you stood, next to the Death-God, very much alive.

Very much like a Death-God yourself.

And it echoed in your outfit — tendrils of shadow made up your dress, covering you from head to toe, fluttering near your feet as if a gown swayed by the wind. In your hands, a bow and arrow made of those shadows — the very bow that had struck Vassa down from her flight.

That was where Azriel’s shadows had gone to — leaving him, following you to your death, and making you someone completely different.

Someone that was going to be the downfall of Pyrthian itself.

Tagging: @cleverzonkwombatsludge, @setayeshmohseni, @kindasleepycryptid, @f4iry-bell, @woodland-mist, @kalulakunundrum, @topaz125, @thelov3lybookworm, @hnyclover, @harrystylesfan2686, @anuttellaa, @ithan-holstroms-girl, @judig92, @venuseuripedis, @fairywriter-oracle, @thehighlordishere, @acourtofbatboydreams, @willowpains, @historygreekqueen, @dr4g0ngirl, @ayme301, @kemillyfreitas, @crazylokonugget, @abysshaven, @michaelharrypotter, @naturakaashi, @kittenbi, @namelesssav, @guiltyreader, @awkardnerd, @je-suis-prest-rachel, @quackitysdrugdealer, @thesunloveschips, @brieflyclassymortal, @justdreamstars, @isa1b2h3, @himesuedi, @fxckmiup, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @t0uch-starved-h0e, @mybestfriendmademe

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #acotar angst #acotar x reader #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #( .one shot : pushed to the edge )#acotar fanfic #azriel angst #helion acotar #eris vanserra #rhysand #feyre archeron

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sonarspace · 17 days

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RAIN, REGRETS, & REDEMPTION. KENTO NANAMI

SYNOPSIS: promises made in the rain often get washed away, leaving echoes of what might have been CONTENT: angst. nsfw. PAIRING: ex-husband! nanami x reader. WC: 2.7k

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

it's been over five months since you filed for divorce from nanami. they say it gets easier with time, but it feels like it just gets harder every day. you miss him so much, it’s like a part of you is just gone.

you still remember that day so clearly—pushing him out the door and yelling “get out!” before collapsing on the floor, tears streaming down your face as it hit you that your marriage was really over.

it’s hard not to feel bitter when you think about how his career seemed to take over your whole life. the rare moments of intimacy—only on birthdays and your anniversary—felt more like a formality than real connection. it’s like your entire relationship was reduced to those fleeting moments, leaving you feeling more alone than ever.

the days after were a blur. you tried to stay busy, but every corner of the apartment was haunted by him. the layout of the living room, your habit of leaving your shoes by the door, his favorite mug next to yours in the cabinet, his second pair of glasses on your bedside table—everything was a painful echo of his absence.

what hurt the most was that he didn’t even fight for you. he didn’t fight for your relationship. it ended so abruptly, like a chapter closing with no chance for a rewrite.

so you did what you could to move on. you packed up everything and decided to move out of the apartment, sending his belongings back through his lawyer since you no longer knew where he lived. yet, selfishly, you kept his sweater. it was the only piece of him you allowed yourself to hold onto.

you decide to spend one last night in the apartment you both once shared, before the divorce would be finalized tomorrow. after tomorrow, you'd be free from everything that connected you to him. the place was empty, with nothing left but your mattress on the floor in the bedroom and the refrigerator in the kitchen.

you pull on his sweater, feeling its familiar warmth, and then catch your reflection in the mirror. you can’t help but think how pathetic it all seems. trying to shake off the feeling, you pour yourself a glass of wine. just as you’re about to head out onto the balcony, the doorbell rings, cutting through the quiet of the empty apartment.

you frown, wondering who could be ringing the doorbell at this late hour. when you open the door, your wine glass nearly slips out of your hand. there he is, standing in front of you—the man who caused you so much pain. whom you still can’t help but long for. his messy blond hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it anxiously. his clothes are crumpled, his shirt hanging out of his pants when it’s usually neatly tucked. he’s breathing heavily, as if he’s just ran up twenty flights of stairs to you.

the sight of him, unexpectedly at your door, floods you with a storm of unresolved feelings, making your heart ache with bittersweet emotion.

“elevator’s out of order, huh?” he says, his voice heavy as he catches his breath. you stare at him, struggling to find your words.

“what are you…” you're about to ask, but he cuts you off.

“can i come in?”

you stand there, your feet rooted to the ground. you’ve replayed this moment countless times during your lonely nights, imagining if he’d ever come back, if he’d ask for your forgiveness. now that he's here, the reality of it is almost too surreal.

you’re about to shut the door, the sight of him too much to handle. but he stops it with his foot. “please, baby,” he says softly, and it almost makes you melt. you quickly remind yourself to stay strong. “you don’t get to call me that,” you snap, sounding like a petulant kid even though the endearment tugs at you.

his eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of regret and desperation. “i know you don’t want to see me, but—”

before he can finish, you sigh and step aside. he walks through the door, and the emptiness of the place hits him hard. memories start rushing back—the way you'd run up to him and hug him when he came home from work, the new recipes you’d tried out together in the kitchen, those late nights on the couch where you’d read while he worked on his laptop. his eyes fall on the open bedroom door, spotting the mattress. the nights you spent together, a mess of tangled limbs.

his throat feels tight, and before he knows it, his eyes are filled with tears. you see the look on his face and without thinking, you set the glass down on the kitchen counter and pull him into a hug. he clings to you, holding you like you’re the only thing anchoring him. his knees start to wobble, and he pulls you down with him. you both sink to the wooden floor. his body trembles as he takes in shaky breaths, trying to hold back his sobs.

you press a kiss to his hair like you have countless times before when he sought comfort in your arms. “kento,” you whisper softly, the name feeling heavy on your tongue. “please,” he whispers back, his voice broken and desperate. you know what he's asking for, but it's too late. “you’re too late,” you say, struggling to keep your voice from wavering.

he pulls back from your shoulder. you both gaze into each other's eyes. the unspoken words hang heavy between the two of you. “i’m sorry,” he says in a broken whisper. the words you've been longing to hear for the past five months. the apology should be bringing you some sort of relief, right? but all you feel is guilt. overwhelming guilt which threatens to spill from your eyes. why didn’t you fight harder for both of you? why did you just pin the blame on him and give up after only one attempt?

as if sensing your turmoil, he cups your cheeks and leans his head against yours. “don't even think about blaming yourself,” he murmurs, his voice soft and reassuring. his hands are warm on your cheeks. his warmth seeps into you, pumping your heart. it's too much in the best way. god, you've missed him so much.

“kento,” your voice chokes. he kisses the tears streaming down your cheeks, his lips brushing against your skin with a featherlight touch.

“no more tears,” he says, giving you a sad smile. his thumb gently brushes away the last of your tears. he stands up and offers you his hand. you take your glass of wine as he grabs the bottle and leads you out to the balcony. you both stand under the night sky, covered with heavy clouds with the promise of rain.

you sip your wine silently while he takes a swig directly from the bottle. after a moment, you place your glass on the floor and, without a word, he hands you the bottle. your fingers brush against each other as you pass the bottle back and forth. you somehow find yourselves moving closer.

he turns his head to look at you as your head rests on his shoulder. you’re unsure who makes the first move and you couldn’t care less. your lips brush against each other, both of you hesitant, unsure if you should cross the line or not. you don’t know if it’s the emotions of the night or the alcohol in your system, but before you can think too much about it, you close the gap and press your lips against his.

the bottle slips from his hand and shatters on the floor as he brings his hand up to cup your cheek. his thumb moves under your jaw, tilting it higher to deepen the kiss. he groans into your mouth, and just then, the rain starts. fat, heavy drops fall over both of you as you lose yourself completely in the kiss.

the kiss starts slow and gentle but quickly turns needy and desperate as you both give in to each other. he walks you back into the apartment, blindly shutting the balcony door behind him with the rain muffled outside. he pulls away, breathing heavily, and his hand moves to the hem of your drenched sweater (his). “looks better on you than it did on me,” he smiles tenderly as he notices.

he waits for a moment, his eyes searching yours for permission to remove it. you nod and the sweater is off before you can blink. your pants follow next. you start unbuttoning his shirt as he kisses you again. both of you blindly make your way back to the bedroom. your hands find the waistband of his pants, and as the back of your feet meets the mattress on the floor, you yelp, falling backward and pulling him down with you. the sounds of your chuckles fill the empty apartment.

the room fills with tension as you both quiet down. kento’s finger gently tucks back a strand of hair behind your ear. "i missed hearing that," he murmurs sincerely. before you can respond, he captures your lips. his tongue presses against your lips and you part them, letting him in as the kiss deepens and becomes urgent.

his hands roam over your body with confidence, each caress of his fingers making you gasp against his lips. he cups your breasts, making you arch into him. he pulls back from your lips and trails teasing kisses down your neck and jaw.

he takes a moment to slip off your bra, leaving you just in your panties. seeing the blush spread across your cheeks, he grins. "you're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, his voice hoarse with need.

his hands continue their exploration, setting your skin ablaze. he parts your legs and positions himself between them, his fingers grazing over your thighs, savoring every inch. he takes in a shaky breath as he gazes down at you, reminding him of the first time you were together.

“ken, please,” you whimper, voice trembling with need. he chuckles at your desperation. “patience, my sweet love.” he spreads your legs wider, making you gasp as his tongue presses against your drenched panties. “haven’t even done anything yet, and you’re already so wet?” he asks with a cocky grin.

his eyes flutter closed as the taste of you seeps through the fabric, his nose pressed against you, sending shivers through your body. your hands instinctively find his hair, tugging him closer. his breath is hot, teasing, as his tongue traces the outline of your folds, every lick driving you closer to the edge. unintelligible sounds spill from your lips as your breaths grow heavier.

his fingers slip beneath your panties, grazing where you need him most. he teases you, taking his time, relearning your body, savoring every reaction. when he pushes two fingers inside, he growls low, “so warm, so eager.” your hips buck up, seeking more.

he withdraws his fingers and slides your panties off, his eyes never leaving you as he pumps himself slowly. he watches the way your lips part, how your eyes darken with desire. without breaking his gaze, he slides into you, and you both moan in unison. the stretch is overwhelming, your hands instinctively grip his shoulders as your body arches, shuddering under the intensity.

his lips trail kisses across your collarbones, his breath ragged against your neck. “tell me you missed me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need and vulnerability.

“i missed you so much,” you breathe out. he groans softly at your confession. his lips crash into yours, a messy attempt to kiss as his movements grow more desperate, deeper.

for a moment, the past five months of pain, regret, and loneliness seem to melt away. it’s just the two of you, tangled up and breathless, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.

outside, the rain pounds against the windows, a loud backdrop to the soft, urgent sounds of your carnal needs. the heavy rain against the windows blends with the symphony of your mingled breaths and whispered names.

your moans grow louder as he picks up the pace, your walls clenching and holding onto him he moves in out of you. your senses blur together, the pressure inside you builds fast. that tight coil in your stomach winding impossibly close to snapping. your muscles tense as you edge towards your release.

your nails dig into his back, your body trembling as you feel yourself teetering on the edge. his grip on you tightens like he’s afraid to let go, afraid of losing this moment—or you—all over again.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice cracking as he presses his forehead against yours. his thrusts slow but grow deeper, each one filled with a desperation that cuts through the haze of pleasure. “i’m so sorry.”

the words hit you like a wave, and your chest tightens. it’s hard to breathe, your heart torn between the intensity of your orgasm and the pain of remembering everything that brought you here.

but for just this moment, you let yourself drown in both. the pleasure and the ache intertwine, your moans mixed with soft sobs as you finally come undone in his arms.

your body trembles beneath him as you try to catch your breath, still reeling from the intensity of it all. he stays there for a moment, buried deep inside you, holding you like he never wants to let go. his fingers trace your cheek, catching a stray tear, and his lips press against your skin—soft, desperate.

“don’t leave me,” he whispers, voice breaking as he buries his face into your shoulder. his chest heaves, and he pulls back to meet your eyes, pleading.

you can barely breathe, the weight of it all crashing over you. he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering, trembling, like he’s holding on for dear life.

“i should’ve fought for us,” he says, voice cracking under the strain. “i messed up, but it’s not too late. i’ll talk to the lawyers tomorrow—i’ll fix everything.”

his words hang heavy in the air as he kisses you again, slow and tender, like he’s sealing a vow. and despite the conflicting emotions inside you, you let yourself lean into it, into him, just for tonight.

when you wake the next morning, the light filtering in through the curtains, you feel his warmth still pressed against you. for a brief moment, you think it’s a dream—one of those bittersweet fantasies you’d had over the last few months.

but then you feel his arms tighten, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist. he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “good morning,” his voice gruff.

“i’ll talk to the lawyers today,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing. “i’ll make it right.” you give him a sleepy smile and he chuckles fondly. you hear him moving around quietly—getting dressed, gathering his things. “i’ll be back soon,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “we’ll figure it out.”

the morning is gray, the skies still heavy from last night’s rain. you hear the sound of his car pulling away, hoping when you wake up next, this will all be over. but when you do, it’s not the sound of him coming back that wakes you—it’s the phone ringing.

the roads were slick, the rain turning everything into a slippery danger. they say he didn’t see the other car coming, didn’t have time to react. your heart sinks as you hear the fragments of the message: “accident,” “wet roads,” “collision.”

the phone drops from your trembling hand. the world around you blurs as you fall to the floor.

you rush to the hospital, your mind racing. when you finally get to the icu, you find him there, motionless but breathing. a rush of relief floods through you as you see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

you sit by his side, gripping his hand tightly. the steady beeping of the monitors fills the silence in the room. you don’t know when he’ll wake up, or if he’ll wake up at all. tears slip silently down your cheeks as you whisper, “i’m here, kento. i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”

A/N: product of me listening to pink in the night on repeat for the past two days. likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

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biconickyoshi · 2 months

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okay… I’m SEVERAL days late with this one lmfao. But this is my entry for @zukaangweek Day 5: Captured/Safe 🫂

I decided to make a comic of the tundra cave scene from my longfic The Avatar and the Fire Prince, an AU in which Zuko discovers Aang in the iceberg right after he’s banished at age 13 in 96 AG. So Zuko and Iroh are the first members of the Gaang, Zuko gets an early redemption arc, and Zuko and Aang are only a year apart in age 😇

This is from the finale chapter of Book 2: Water, wherein Zuko and Iroh have been missing for a couple weeks after they were kidnapped by some unknown Agna Qel’ans. However, just as Zuko finally makes it back to the Gaang, Zhao’s soldiers ambush the Spirit Oasis, and Zuko is forced to take Aang’s body and flee into the tundra to keep him safe. Aang is 13 and Zuko is 14 at this point in the story.

TAatFP fans, I know this is one of your favorite scenes, and it’s one of my favorites too, so I thought it would be perfect for this day’s prompt. Unfortunately it took me WAYYY longer to finish than I had initially thought, because for some reason I decided to do watercolors for the whole thing 😬 I literally started this on the actual prompt day and only just finished it last night lol.

I’m really happy with how it turned out though. I actually used a Lumity scene as a reference for the last part - TOH fans will probably know which one ☺️

edit: whoops I accidentally kept Zuko’s mittens on his hands when he pulls the hood over Aang’s head lmao just ignore that

#zukaang #my fic #the avatar and the fire prince #taatfp #zukaang week 2024 #zukaang week #zuko #aang #atla au #zuko x aang #aang x zuko #my art #digital art #artists on tumblr #clip studio paint #csp #atla #avatar the last airbender

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linkspooky · 1 month

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Ciel-Noel post

Revenge is bad, actually. Simple revenge in stories is boring and uninteresting and Kill Bill is a bad movie.

I dislike the idea of punitive justice in stories to begin with, at least in stories that don't look critically at it. However, I also think people often get punitive justice (a branch of moral philosophy) with the idea of narrative punishment (actions have consequences in stories). I'm not against narrative punishment at all, well-written stories should have direct consequences for all the important characters actions. If a character is a noble gas and no one reacts to their actions, then they are stagnant and unchanging. A character who is constantly reacting to other people, and provoking reactions in return, is a dynamic character.

Now that I've thoroughly buried the lead six feet under, let's get to the main event. Ciel and Noel is a tightly written tragedy in the horror genre. If you've ever watched a slasher movie before, horror operates on like, an extreme kind of narrative punishment. People always joke that if you have sex, or do drugs, or drink alcohol in a horror movie the slasher will kill you and yeah, that's basically it. Horror movies are relenting and unforgiving, you basically take one step out of line and get stabbed in the back for it. So, it's not at all surprising that in the same story where Ciel experiences a change of heart and goes from seeing Shiki not as a victim but another vampire to kill, to being willing to sacrifice everything to save him, Noel does not get saved. Doesn't that make Ciel a huge hypocrite going the extra mile to save her boyfriend, but putting a bullet in the head of the partner she's known for years to put her out of her misery? Why, yes. Yes it is. That's also the point.

Ciel (and Noel's) route in the Tsukihime remake are about two girls who are the victims of the same tragedy. One gets saved, one does not. One finds a person who will do anything to reach and redeem their humanity, the other does not. They both get worse and worse, but one is given a helping hand at their lowest point, and the other gets a bullet between the eyes. This is unfair, and cruel, and again the point. Nasu in the remake turned one of the routes with the happier ending into a bitter tragedy no matter which of the two endings you pick and it's great.

Nasu is a writer who understands the tools of storytelling and with Ciel and Noel, wrote a tightly constructed tragedy where both characters face a narrative punishment. Once again, narrative punishment means for every action the character takes in the story, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Characters don't get away scott free with anything. They reap what they sew. This gives the characters actions meaning, and feels like they are building towards an arc because there is an underlying point that the author is trying to make to us, by framing these characters actions in a certain light.

Nasu employs narrative punishment, sometimes even incredibly harsh narrative punishment (read every wrong choice in FSN where Shirou gets horribly maimed or just Shirou's life in general). However, Nasu does not believe in punitive justice. I mean, I made a joke about Oberon up above but like, Nasu literally wrote an entire FGO Lostbelt chapter showing how chaotic evil the fairies were, and then he still underlined it's wrong to punish people without a chance for redemption or atonement by making Oberon the final boss. Even Castoria who is an ultimate victim of the fairies who was locked in a barn and treated like an animal, and didn't even want to save them was still like "This is wrong, we should have given them some chance to redeem themselves."

That belief that punishment without the chance of redemption is wrong, is written into the core of Ciel and Noel's tragedy.

So anyway, let's get to the part where I start recapping the story with analysis so you guys have some frame of reference for what I'm talking about. Noel is a previous victim of Roa, a vampire that continually reincarnates by hijacking bodies. A victim of ROA slowly becomes possessed until the two personalities effectively merge, at which point Roa goes on a killing spree. This happened to Ciel in her french village, Ciel noticed intrusive thoughts of a voice in her head telling her to kill her family, kill her family, kill her family, and did her best to ignore and suppress them until she couldn't. She then tore out her parent's throats, and then went on a rampage only to be killed by arcueid a short while after. Not before killing basically everyone in the town except for Noel.

Ciel and Noel are the lone survivors of ROA's massacre, and both victims of ROA himself. Ciel and Noel are also the same person, so like, write that down. Are you taking notes? This is gonna be a long post you better be writing down bullet points. Big bullet point number one, Ciel and Noel are the same person this is going to be on the test later.

Is the massacre, and all the deaths that occurred Ciel's fault?

No, you'd think logically being possessed by someone else and only having your agency taking away from you would clear you from responsibility.

However, Ciel was taken in by the catholic church afterwards and they weren't having any of that forgiveness shit. Ciel after miraculously recovering from her death at Arcueid, no longer under Roa's possession, is killed repeatedly by the church, only to find she's immortal now. No matter how many times they try to torture her, or execute her to give her justice for the victims of the massacre it doesn't work. So, instead they eventually just recruit her to be a vampire hunter. Bla bla bla, metaphor for how punitive justice doesn't actually accomplish anything, bla bla bla, metaphor for how Ciel's way of redeeming herself by hunting down and punishing other vampires (which is also just revenge) doesn't work because there's no end to it, there's no forgiveness or absolution, it's just eternal suffering. Would a loving god who created the world and preaches about forgiveness really make a hell where all the really bad people get sent to, and never get any chance of redemption?

“A God who could make good children as easily a bad, yet preferred to make bad ones; who could have made every one of them happy, yet never made a single happy one; who made them prize their bitter life, yet stingily cut it short; who gave his angels eternal happiness unearned, yet required his other children to earn it; who gave is angels painless lives, yet cursed his other children with biting miseries and maladies of mind and body; who mouths justice, and invented hell--mouths mercy, and invented hell--mouths Golden Rules and forgiveness multiplied by seventy times seven, and invented hell; who mouths morals to other people, and has none himself; who frowns upon crimes, yet commits them all; who created man without invitation, then tries to shuffle the responsibility for man's acts upon man, instead of honorably placing it where it belongs, upon himself; and finally, with altogether divine obtuseness, invites his poor abused slave to worship him!” ― Mark Twain, The Mysterious Stranger

So, already we're touching on both justice, and also the hypocrisies of certain western religions, by Nasu demonstrating that justice without forgiveness accomplishes nothing. Ciel trying to redeem herself in the eyes of the church is truly the sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill of redemption arcs, because there's no forgiveness, only hard labor for her sins. Ciel will just keep killing vampires to atone until she dies, but she can't die, so that boulder will keep rolling up that hill.

This is the underlying point of Ciel's entire arc, Ciel does not save anybody. She kills vampires. By killing vampires she hypothetically stops them from killing future victims, but that's not saving them. One of the most poignant things I've ever read from Nasu was from UBW where Shirou says more or less if there's a bank robber holding up a bank, and a cop comes in and shoots the robber through the chest, that might save all the hostages but the bank robber didn't get saved. You might say, well obviously, you can't save everyone. It makes sense that you'd save the innocent victims first. At which point I would say yes, I know, I have in fact consulted the ancient texts, UBW is my most replayed route.

However, Ciel and Noel's conflict gets that same point across because there are no innocent victims between the two of them. Ciel and Noel are both victimized, robbed of their agency, and go on to do terrible things, but one of them is saved and one is not. Noel isn't the bank robber in that metaphor, she's the hostage who was cooperating with the bank robber because the robber had a gun to her head, who the swat team decided to snipe through the window.

Noel is introduced as an entirely new character in the remake, she is the only other survivor of the massacre. While Ciel has memories of herself committing the crimes and feels guilt for that, Noel watched everyone die and was tortured for days on end by Roa in Ciel's body for their amusement (someone who was so insignificant to them, that Noel refers to herself as just one chip in a bag of chips Roa was snacking on. That's right, Noel is a cheeto in the grand scheme of things). There is one quote I love from John Dies at the End where John talks about how they're not chess pieces, they're not pieces on the board, they're so insigificant that they're just a cheeto sitting on the outside of the board. That's Noel, she's a cheeto.

The thing is Noel seems to be somewhat narratively aware of the fact that in the grand scheme of things she is a cheeto. Noel and Ciel are both victims of the massacre turned vampires, Ciel is a vampire killing machine and Noel sucks at it. Ciel despite being some rando apparently is born with enough magic circuits to make ancient magus families jealous, and on top of that is the only one who ever survived Roa's possession (and got immortality to boot). In every generation there is a chosen one, she alone will stand against the vampires and the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the slayer. So you've got Ciel the Vampire Slayer, and Noel who's just a cheeto. The cosmically ordained protagonist of reality, and just some guy. Noel has to basically beg and scrape to get by, no matter how hard she works she doesn't get stronger, she doesn't get any cool super powers from the night roa burned down her home town she just gets trauma. She also doesn't get a special boyfriend who will do anything to try to give her a normal life. This is illustrated in true tragic irony, by showing that Noel had a crush on a japanese foreign exchange student who's clearly meant to foil Shiki and he was basically the support she leaned on for the entirety of the tragedy, he dragged her away from danger multiple times, only to find out the reason he saved her was to use her as zombie bait so he could make his escape.

Here's where Noel starts to shine because in a typical narrative, Noel would be the more sympathetic character. People like rooting for the underdog. However, Nasu dares to be different by making Noel extremely difficult to empathize with. For one she's extremely predatory in the way she makes constant uncomfortable advances on Shiki the main character. She's also predatory in the sense she enjoys preying on things weaker than her. She says it line for line, weak people have to pick on those weaker than them. Noel goes after small fry vampires for revenge, and to vent her frustrations, however, she doesn't just kill them she rips them to pieces and tortures them in the most inhumane way possible until they're begging for death.

Why would anyone sympathize with the weak, predatory, pathetic noel who only ever makes excuses and blames others to run away from responsibility, over the stoic, strong ciel who is willing to hunt vampires forever to take responsibility for her actions.

Well here's the thing, *gestures for you to come closer, and then whispers in your ear* all the shit that Noel pulls, Ciel does that too. Ciel and Noel are either the same age, or around the same age, so if Noel is a predator for hitting on Shiki than so is Ciel. It's almost like something happened to them in their youths that stopped all their mental development rendering them both like mentally 16. Noel mercilessly slaughters vampires for revenge, and so does Ciel. She just does it offscreen. We don't know if she tortures them or anything, but remember when Ciel hunts Shiki, how she knows that Shiki is a helpless victim in all this and still goes out of her way to twist the knife, hurt him both physically and emotionally in every way possible before making the final blow.

The reason she acted that way during her and Shiki's confrontation isn't because she was stoically forcing herself to kill Shiki because that was the right thing to do, no she was projecting herself and her survivor's guilt for not killing herself before Roa went on his massacre all over Shiki. She was getting her revenge on a helpless victim because projecting on Shiki was a way for her to punish herself. Noel hates herself for being weak, Ciel hates herself for not being strong enough to slit her throat before everything happened (ergo being weak). They both deal with this self hatred by projecting that onto vampires, even vampires who were turned against their will (especially those ones tbh) and slaughtering them. They were both taken in by the church and taught to do that, so the church could get two child soldiers to send to die fighting vampreis. Ciel is Noel, and Noel is Ciel.

Not only does Noel project her past self and her weaknesses onto vampires, she projects herself onto Ciel. In that Noel really wants to be Ciel. Which is understandable, would you rather be, a girl who's only super power is... having an axe, or a girl with like seventeen million cool weapons, has more mana circuits than most mages, and is fucking immortal.

That's just the surface though, Noel is on like fifteen levels of projection with Ciel. Noel's identity is incredibly tied up in her complicated feelings towards Ciel, both because Ciel is the face of the person who committed every atrocity to Noel, but also because they are the two lone survivors of the same tragedy. Noel and Ciel both try to make themselves into tools for killing vampires to cope with their survivor's guilt, and their inability to conceive of themselves having a normal life after what they have been through. They also were both denied any chance at healing, because the church swept in and fashioned them into hunting dogs to sick on the vampires, and fight those vampires until they die. They are also both convinced that the church is right for doing this, and that deep down they either cannot have (Noel) or do not deserve (Ciel) normal lives while they both secretly pine for it anyway. Both of them are denied the chance for recovery, (because revenge does not heal), and Noel takes that one step further by deliberately driving a wedge into Ciel's recovery.

To quote you Comun, even though you're the one that sent this ask:

And Noel is a character inserted in Tsukihime to thwart Ciel's steady recovery. A constant reminder of what she lost and how the blood is in her hands. To cope with the sins Roa used her body for, Ciel chose to be the Holy Church's most professional extermination machine. Noel is the only survivor of her village because Elesia also died that night, being replaced with Ciel, who is fueled not by emotions but by a vampire kill count. And while Noel is a petty bitch at heart, she genuinely believes Ciel's post-trauma life choice and respects her capability to pull it off. There's no sabotage to their partnership not because Noel is afraid to defy someone a million times stronger than her, but because Noel wholeheartedly agrees with Ciel's choice to never recover and to pay blood for blood for the rest of her potentially eternal life. As long as Ciel stays Ciel, Noel's vengefulness is directed solely at Roa. But then Shiki enters Ciel's life bringing with him semblances of normal happiness. The murder machine began to regain emotions. And to Noel, that's a problem.

So part of this is you know, buying church propaganda. Ciel and Noel are both victims of the same church that does not heal or save people, and only doles out punishments on the guilty.

Part of this is an interesting twist that adds complexity to Noel's character, because like she could blame Ciel for the massacre like the church does, and like Ciel does herself, but as you point out Noel clearly wrestles with that. Noel feels a mix of envy for a twisted respect, one could even say love for Ciel's strength. Noel shows a much more nuanced reaction to Roa wearing Ciel's face and killing her entire family and torturing her for days on end, when she could take the church's approach, or even Ciel's approach towards Shiki. Noel even talks about at length how her and Ciel used to bond together by talking at night about how they were going to get revenge for everyone who died that day. Noel can't just see Ciel as the villain who took everything away from her, because they are the only two survivors of the massacre.

As you said there's no sabotage to their partnership, because despite Noel being the most petty bitch ever she never does anything to hurt or betray Ciel. The reason their partnership falls apart is entirely Ciel's fault. Sure, Noel was dancing on the edge of a cliff and not the most stable person to begin with, but it's Ciel's actions that push her off that cliff.

Not only does Noel drive thwart Ciel's recovery, she also makes Ciel look like a terrible person. Because, Ciel is a terrible person. In the same route where Shiki constantly lovebombs Ciel and constantly talks about all her good traits and what a hero she is, and Ciel gets several very cool action scenes making her look like a cool vampire slayer, we also witness to Noel's soul and heartcrushing downward spiral that is caused in part by Ciel kind of not really giving a shit about Noel's feelings. Noel's downfall could have been stopped at any point by Ciel simply lifting a finger, or just noticing her partner's obvious distres but instead what Ciel does is Noel completely out of the loop (like not telling Noel that she was waiting for Roa to reveal himself before attacking Shiki) .

Like, the scene where Noel turns into a vampire is directly caused by Ciel's actions. Noel reveals to Shiki that he's currently possessed by Roa. Ciel stands up for Shiki, in what we think is Ciel not wanting to believe that Shiki is possessed by Roa. However, what we learn instead is that Ciel only approached Shiki in the first place because she assumed he would be Roa's first target, and has been keeping by his side constantly waiting for Roa to appear so she can murk him.

So, all Ciel needed to do was TELL NOEL that she was playing the long game and ask Noel to wait a little longer before showing their hand, but apparently basic communication with her partner is too much effort for Ciel.

This leads into a scenario where not only does Noel think Ciel has broken their partnership (i mean she kinda has) but Ciel directly injures Noel pretty badly and leaves her alone. When Arach shows up to prey upon Noel, Noel can't even fight back by that point. Arach is the bus that hit Noel, but Ciel sure did throw Noel under that bus for no real reason.

I mean there is a story reason - it shows that Ciel may be an instrument of justice but she doesn't save people, in fact she does not give two figs about whether or not people are saved by her actions. Ciel obsessively hunting vampires, is not really that far off from Noel torturing vampires for her own sense of petty vengeance. However, Ciel hunts vampires offscreen so we as an audience don't see really the way, she treats the vampires she kills, but from the way she both foils Noel and also the sadistic way she draws out killing Shiki possessed by Roa as long as possible you can infer that she's not all too different from Noel. That's good actually, that Ciel seems like a good heroic person, but if you squint at her she's not much better than Noel, because like that's the entire point of her character the good, altruistic senpai never existed in the first place. All of Ciel's words about atonement and forgiveness are empty platitudes, just her regurgitating the words the church fed to her.

So finally to conclude, we have the culmination of the moebius strip, where Noel the apparent opposite of Ciel, slowly morphs into Ciel. Noel's flaws in a narrative sense led to her downfall, but let's be clear Noel had no fucking agency in her transformation into a vampire. She was hysterically begging for Arach not to do it. She was pinned and helpless to escape when it happened. It is Arach and Ciel's fault what happened to her.

Noel does make choices, but her choice amounts to not immediately killing herself the moment she became a vampire. She does take like 500 shots to become an ubervamp, but like, the story clearly states that once people become vampires their moralities and personalities are radically altered. So if that's a choice it's an influenced choice.

Therefore the only choice in that moment Noel is truly responsible for is not killing herself while she was still lucid. Irony upon ironies because that's exactly what she yells at vampires to do, bow down and let their heads be cut off by the executors. However, if Noel is guilty for not immediately offing herself, so is Ciel, so is Shiki. Both of these characters get saved while Noel gets old yeller'd. This is unfair and also, you guessed it, the point. Ciels revenge against vampires accomplishes nothing. Noel giving up her humanity for the shot at revenge against Ciel accomplishes nothing. It's almost like revenge doesn't heal, it just puts more pain and misery into the world. No one is saved by revenge.

Noel is fridged for Ciel's arc, and neither Ciel nor Shiki ultimately save her even though she's not all that responsible for her own downfall. This is not the narrative playing good victim and bad victim. If anything it makes Ciel look way worse as a person. The narrative even goes out of its way to say that both Ciel and Noel have a right to their revenge and in a situation like this the winner wasn't determined by who was right but who's stronger. Ciel has no moral high ground she just happens to be stronger, that's it. She doesn't take the higher road with Noel even after Shiki went to such great length to try to reach her emotionally and tell her she was still human, no Ciel makes no attempt to talk to Noel or take a third route she just murks her.

Noel is my favorite character for this route probably second favoeite overall behind Kohaku and I one hundred percent agree with fridging her, because it makes Ciel's character a hundred times better by giving her consequences for her flaws. It's one thing for Ciel to break down crying about how much she hates herself for being a cold merciless machine. It's another thing to have this demonstrated by Ciel letting her partner fall to the wayside by just not giving a shit about anyone's feelings or anything except for her personal quest against vampires.

Noel is a victim of the cycle of revenge, a pointless and harmful cycle. In a story that's thoroughly anti revenge as evidenced in the true end of hisuis route where Kohaku having achieved absolute perfect revenge and having her plan gone entirely right, takes a knife and gouges out her own heart with it. If that's not on the nose I don't know what is.

Its poignant comun that you told me that Nasu stated there's no good ending to Ciel's routes just a normal and a true because a good ending would have saved Noel. It might look like Ciel got off scott free but if you look at it, by killing Noel and denying Noel the chance at salvation Ciel damns herself too. Ciel has not escaped the cycle in the true ending, she's still hunting vampires at the behest of the church the only real change is she has a boyfriend now. I'd compare it to the ending of UBW vs Heavens Feel. In one Shirou has Rin's support but it's implied he'll eventually leave Rin anyway and become Archer, he just won't regret saving people as Archer did. He has not escaped the self destructive cycle. Whereas in Heaven's Feel, Shiro dies and is reborn and has to you know live as a person from now on.

Ciel did not end the cycle, she perpetuated it by killing Noel. You don't end the cycle of revenge with more revenge. Since Ciel did not end it she's still trapped in the cycle herself, and she still has support in the form of Shiki but the cycle will probably consume her the way it eventually consumed Shirou. She even broke out what was essentially the UBW with black keys when fighting against Vlov. It's just like that one post on Twitter said every few years or so someone reinvent the unlimited blade works!

#Ciel #Noel #Shiki tohno #Tsukihime

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popamolly · 7 months

Text

‘ INTERNAL REDEMPTION ’ LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

summary. In the fiery depths, she captures the attention of Lucifer, who senses a unique purity in her soul. With his help, (Y/N) finds herself on the path to redemption and self-discovery with dangerous trouble along the way.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE

warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, she/her pronouns, valentino exists, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder

author’s note. inspired by @punching-pentagrams and their amazing ongoing story “Love In as Hopeless Place”, it encouraged me to write my own fic about Lucifer. go check out their story, it is so good and deserves more love!

In the dimly lit, pulsating world of Club Elysium, where the air was thick with anticipation and desire, a mysterious aura surrounded a captivating figure on the stage. Under the flickering neon lights, you moved with a mesmerizing grace that defied the earthly realm. Dressed in glistening attire that caught the reflections of the vibrant hues around her, you became an ethereal presence, drawing the attention of every gaze in the room.

Your movements were a dance of contradictions – an alluring blend of sensuality and innocence. You twirled and swayed to the rhythm of the music, casting a spell upon the enchanted audience.

Unbeknownst to the patrons of Club Elysium, you were more than just an exotic dancer seeking to enthrall with her physical prowess. Your celestial grace, forgotten in the afterlife coil she now inhabited, manifested in the subtle elegance of her performance. As you moved, you felt a distant echo of a certain purpose, an inexplicable connection to something beyond the neon-lit stage.

In the hazy ambiance, Valentino, the enigmatic owner of Club Elysium, watched from the shadows, his eyes reflecting one of red burning lust, but it was more than just lust for you— no, it was something more— it was a thirst for power that had him grinning from ear to ear. Valentino knew that in this corner of Hell he owned everything, even you.

As the music reached its crescendo, your dance reached its zenith. The room held its breath, suspended in a moment where hell and celestial intertwined. You were always the ballerina in the jelwery box, the beautiful antique that Valentino had in his grasp to show off and praise. Though he may own you outside the building you made sure to show him through your dancing, that you were the one that owned the stage. He hated when you went off script or changed the choreography but you made sure to do it on purpose and on nights you knew he was watching you.

That was your little dose of rebellion, a little taste of freedom you could only wish to have. You were content with your situation though, it could’ve been worse. At least with Valentino you were paid, clothed, and feed with an overall decent place to live. Being one of his toys had its perks— you couldn’t complain. Especially when there were those who had it so much worse than you.

“You jus’ love angerin’ him, don’t you doll?” Your coworker, Angel Dust, asked as you entered the dressing room that you and the other dancers shared. The smell of makeup and cheap perfume filled your senses, calming you with the sense of familiarity, “Cause last I checked, that wasn’t what we rehearsed.”

“Well,” You chuckled as you sat on the couch, its fabric ripped and white stuffing nearly popping out the sides, “I just thought that my choreo was better, and by the sound of that crowd and the money on stage, it was.”

“Heh,” Angel couldn’t help but envy your confidence when it came to Valentino, who owned you both in more ways than one and yet you always found a way to yank on the chains without consequence. A part of Angel loathed you for it.

You could sense the mood shift in Angel, not that you cared but you weren’t exactly heartless either. With a sigh, you get up from the couch, ignoring your aching feet as you join Angel’s side, looking into the vanity mirror so you could touch up your makeup, “Trust me, if my act wasn’t purity and innocence it would be a different story. Lucky for me, bruises and marks on my body wouldn’t sell too well.”

“Yeah, count it on luck shortcake.” With that Angel left, pushing another girl out the way angrily while snatching the drink out her hand. You could only sigh, not intending on upsetting him more but as always, your intentions don’t matter when your words spoke otherwise. It had been so long since you had a decent human connection, you were just a bit rusty.

“My sweets,” The sudden sound of Valentino’s voice had the room go silent, the air becoming so thick you were sure you’d might suffocate in it, “Can I have the room please?”

With hushed scared whispers and nervous glances, you and the other girls make your way to the door. You had hoped you could sneak past him under the cover of the other women who all but rushed passed Valentino but his slender hand caught your forearm quick, gripping it with such force that you were slightly shocked by the pain he caused— it wasn’t like him to be rough with you, “Not you, darling. We have to have a chat, don’t we mio caro?”

You turn to look at him with a frown, “About what? My performance?”

“Oh I would love to talk about that little stunt you pulled but I need you for something a bit more important,” Valentino yanks you further into the room, locking the door behind him with his other hand before slinging you against the vanity, bottles of perfume falling over and onto the ground as the desk shakes violently. Your employer towers over you with ease making you shudder beneath his fiery gaze, “I need something done and I need it done right, I trust that you can accomplish this task, yes?”

What shit was he getting you into now? You were done with porn, you had paid a hefty price to alter your contract with him and you weren’t going to slip back into the void now, not when you were so far ahead, “I won’t be one of your pornstars, Val. We had a deal.”

Valentino laughs, his pointy fingernail dragging along your cheek while he licks his lips, “This isn’t about that principessa, this is a more delicate matter. Think you’re up for it?”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” You yank your head away from his hands, lowering your gaze into a slight glare.

“This is why I always liked you, dove. You learn quick.”

“If you were going to tell me to send in a whore Val, I wouldv’e just asked you to send Angel Dust!” Vox glitched with anger, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he turned around in his chair, his claw like hands gripping onto the table with such force that it left a mark, “What makes this slut is any different from him?!”

It was hard to bite back your tongue but you did, unwillingly submitting to your role as you stood before the V’s with your eyes to the ground, not daring to even look as confident at you usually were. Not because you were scared of them, no, you were scared of embarrassing Valentino. Your boss might have forgiven you for your countless stunts but when it came to matters of business with the V’s, you knew your place.

“Angel dust thinks he is on this path to redemption, let him stay in his delusion but until I can break him fully he will never be loyal to me. Not as loyal as (Y/N) here…” Valentino wraps his hand around your neck, forcing your head up to look at Vox— who for a split second was taken back by your beauty, “I have broken (Y/N) time and time again, she would do anything for me, isn’t that right (Y/N)?”

You closed your eyes, “Yes, Valentino.”

“Good.” Valentino pushes you toward Vox, making you stumble into him, forcing him to catch you in his arms, “Quite the vixen, she would surely catch the eyes of any overlord.”

“Even the King of Hell himself?” Vox tips your chin up with his index finger, looking into your eyes with a devilishly grin that makes you shiver.

“Asmodeus throws the biggest parties in the Pride Ring that is filled with all kinds of debauchery, especially for his birthday.” Valentino explains, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his right leg over the other, exhaling out a long drag of pink smoke, “Every one of importance will be there since it isn’t just a party but a show of status.”

“And..what? Your pretty toy is just supposed to waltz in there and get the attention of any overlord that wants to fuck her?” Velvette finally tears her gaze away from her phone, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Well it is an important party of one of Lucifer’s friends—”

“Which means he is bound to be there.” Vox grins, “Get close to the king and we get closer to controlling Hell.”

“And what makes you so sure he’ll entertain such..” Velvette looks at you with a roll of her eyes, “From what I hear Lucifer is loyal to Lilith, no one has seen him with another woman on his arm and it’s been 7 years, hashtag faithful.”

“Ah, well, 7 years is a long time to go without intimacy…I say the man is touch starved and would like some attention.” Valentino says, ��Anyone can still get lonely, no matter how faithful.”

“I like the way you think Val,” Vox grips your chin as you grit your teeth. “And I think your little whore here will do just nicely.”

Before you know it was the day of Asmodeus’ birthday party. The V’s gave you the run down of the plan and how you were supposed to get close to the King of Hell himself— who you haven’t even seen in person for as long as you been hell. Which was a few years by now. You were a simple lowlife, you kept to yourself and tried to survive, only to end up within his grasp. Was he as cruel as people say? ‘What sort of question is that? Of course he was! He was the King of fucking Hell, which last time you checked, wasn’t given to just anyone.’

Of all the people, of everyone in Hell, it just has to be you. Because of your cursed deal with Val, you were stuck in a continuous limbo that you couldn’t escape from. Damn you and your loyalty, damn it all if it will end up with you dead ( again ) on the steps of Lucifer’s palace. This wasn’t fair— but then again, when has your situation ever been fair?

“Oh, you look just like a doll.” Valentino ruffled with the fake angel wings that adorned your back, fixing and prodding with whatever to make you more presentable, “Like an angel. Hell, upon just a glance mio caro you might have been able to get away with actually being one.”

And as you glance at your reflection in the mirror you felt a sudden sharp pain in the center of your forehead. Only fragments of memories came flooding your mind like a crashing wave. It was all so blurry but the word Angel held some sort of weight on you but you couldn’t place exactly what.

You held onto your head, trying to steady your breathing and relaxing your nerves as Valentino continues to add the finishing touches to your look.

“Get it together, dove.” Valentino meets your gaze in the reflection, “I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

“No..” The pain in your head quickly fades away as soon as it came, “I can do this.”

“Good, because it is just about your turn to be presented for the auction.”

The auction. Asmodeus does it for sport at every single one of his parties but now that this is his birthday party, this auction is the biggest one yet. It is where he finds Hell’s most beautiful prized possessions, not limiting to actual sinners. The hope was to capture Lucifer’s attention as he would be in the crowd through this angel facade, and pray that he would bet on you. And if that didn’t work, then you would have to move on to plan B. And you didn’t like plan b.

Valentino wished you luck as you stood behind the curtain to the center stage, disappearing into the shadows to leave you on your own and this mission that was screwed from the get go.

“And last but not least, I present to you—! what is the object’s name again?” The announcer whispers, putting his microphone away from his face to get a confirmation from another employee, “Ah! The pure and innocent, (Y/N)!”

The curtain suddenly opens, the spotlight from above blinding you in away that made you shield your eyes from the brightness. You squint, looking upon a sea of red lustful eyes looking over your figure with curiosity. You take a deep breath, as you played the part of a shy girl, slowly bringing your hands to cover yourself even though the white thin laced gown left little to the imagination.

“Hubba hubba! Would you look at that boys?” Asmodeus’ eyes nearly turn into hearts at the sight of you, “And I thought nothing could even look so angelic in Hell!”

“What a beaut’” Mammon agrees.

“Indeed.” Lucifer sat beside his friends, trying to cover his boredom with peaked interest as he looks in your direction. This whole thing was pretty fucked up to him but that was just the way of life down here, there’s no changing that— no changing people when it is just in their nature. Now usually he wouldn’t indulge such things but he was the King of Hell, and he had to play the part to maintain order even though he longed for nothing but to be constructing rubber ducks right now.

“500!” A man in the crowd closer to the stage shouts.

The announcer points in the man’s direction with enthusiasm, “I hear 500! What about 550? Do I hear 550?”

“600!” Another shouts.

“600 to the gentleman in red! But do I hear a 650? 650?”

Asmodeus sits back in his seat, taking another swig of his whiskey. Mammon looks at his friend in disbelief as the unknown sinners below them begin to shout various of numbers for you, “Is she not to the Lustful Overlords taste?”

“Ah, I have so many who do the innocent act. It gets boring after awhile. But if you’re interested…you should buy her.” Asmodeus smirks, shaking the single ice cube in his glass as he signals to the waitress for another.

“She ain’t my type, but—” Mammon gets a sudden idea, “Lucifer should have her. I’m sure he gets off to the Angel shit don’t you your highness?”

Lucifer tips his hat up with his cane, “I am married.”

“To a woman who you haven’t seen in seven years!” Asmodeus rolls his eyes with a loud groan before raising his hand to join the bid, “Lighten up! Good sir, I say 2500!”

“What a doozy! 2500! 2500! Do I hear 3000!?” The announcer nearly jumps from his stool at the amount offered, “Going once! Going twice—!”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer warned. Not wanting any part in this sinful behavior.

The sound of a gavel rang through the air, finalizing the amount, “And sold to the gentleman in VIP! Your prize will wait outback until you are ready to retrieve it! Enjoy!”

Just like that the plan was working. In just less than five minutes you were sold off like some prize. Your life being in yet another’s hands that wasn’t your own, it was a bit ironic since this life is almost just the same as the one you led on Earth. It was getting harder and harder to distinguish which one was truly Hell.

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

#𖤐popamollyposts #𖤐popamolly #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel characters #hazbin hotel fiction #hazbin hotel smut #smut #female reader #love #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust

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falling-endlessly · 8 months

Text

Boomerang (part 3)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: Your infuriating ex is planning something, and it's putting everyone on edge. But if he wants at the hotel, he'll have to go through you (and Alastor) first.

<— Part 2 Chapter Index Part 4 —>

—6 HOURS AGO—

"What," Valentino growled, claws creating cracks in the table from how hard he was gripping it. "The fuck did you just say?"

Velvette was no better. Her lip was pulled into a furious snarl, and for once her phone was nowhere to be seen. "Vox, are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Relax," Vox reclined in his chair, raising a brow at his murderous business partners. Velvette's eye twitched and the table creaked in protest under Valentino's fury. "I'm not actually going for redemption, damn, calm your tits people."

"What happened to keeping up an image for the brand?" Velvette banged a fist against her armrest, gritting her teeth. "The Morningstar bitch was literally humiliated on live television, and now you're going to personally advertise for her?!"

"The next extermination is coming sooner than ever, and people are getting desperate. This little publicity stunt can work in our favor," Vox crossed his claws under his chin, megawatt smile growing. "What's a little pity pitch going to hurt? Think about it, I can gather intel, fuck up Alastor's little project, and show Y/n where her allegiances should lie. Win-win-win," he chuckled ominously.

"Cut the shit, Vox," Valentino scoffed, leaning forward to sneer in his face. "It's obvious you're only going this far for that bitch. Can't keep a leash on your toys, hm?"

Vox grit his teeth, digging his claws into his thighs under the table. He knew this wasn't going to go over well, but to be talked down to by someone who was benefiting from him? "So what if I am?" He hid his rage with a large, mocking grin. "And by the way, where's Angel Dust? Haven't seen him around in a while."

Val's face twisted with rage. "You fucking—"

"Enough!" Velvette snapped, glaring at both of them. "I don't have time for this stupid shit. Get on with it or this meeting is over."

Vox's unhinged smile slowly relaxed into his charming PR one. "Of course, my apologies Velvette, Val. I can see why you're not...convinced yet. Let me fix that."

The projector on the wall suddenly sparked to life, displaying three pie charts and a legend with many colorful categories. He gestured to them from left to right. "This is a distribution of our profits from ten years ago, five years ago, and last year."

"We have eyes," Velvette droned boredly.

Vox's antennae sparked in irritation, but he continued regardless. "Y/n's helped develop countless programs and softwares, and with her expertise our earnings jumped thirty seven percent, especially during the collaboration between Voxtek and DeepSpace VR. Now, what happens now that she's taken her business elsewhere? Hell knows she has the computing power to run it without our servers—"

"So, we're supposed to just bend over backwards for a few bucks?" Valentino snarled, crossing his arms.

Vox's screen glitched as he struggled to keep his composure. Thirty seven percent was not just a few bucks. But he knew antagonizing Val right now was more trouble than it was worth. "Val," he chuckled, sauntering forward to rest a hand on the backrest of Valentino's chair, leaning into his space. "Since when have you said no to money?" His eye widened, rings spinning.

"Since it walked out on two legs and ignored us," Valentino snorted.

"Val, I need you to see the bigger picture!" He grasped both of Valentino's shoulders, moving behind him so he could speak enticingly into his ear. "This is an opportunity to keep our brand at the top, and get dirt on that radio bitch. The future is what matters, and we are going to be the ones pioneering it."

The projector flickered to one of the surveillance cameras pointed at an exterior angle of the hotel. Then, the image suddenly rippled to show an artificial video of the same property, but instead of the tacky hotel, there stood a modern building adorned with a bright, neon V logo.

Valentino's smile grew at his last sentence, and he turned in his seat, leaning his forehead to rest against Vox's screen. "I like your vision, Cariño," he purred, grinning wickedly to show off his golden tooth. "But, if your little money-making cocksleeve doesn't come back, well, don't say I didn't tell you so~" he said in a sing-song voice, long tongue coming up to lick languidly along the side of Vox's monitor.

Vox's grin froze on his face, screen glitching.

Valentino chuckled, pushing out of his seat before strutting away. "Oh, and Vox baby," he threw a saucy wink over his shoulder. "Come find me when you get lonely, yeah?"

The double doors slammed shut behind him, bathing the room in silence. Which Velvette quickly broke, of course.

"What the fuck, Vox?" She scrubbed a hand down her face. "All this for a profit we can afford to lose? Really?"

"Velvette," his smile twitched up to full, blinding attention again. "Have I ever let you down before? Everything is under control, trust me!"

"Uh huh," Velvette scowled, unconvinced. "You know, Alastor and Y/n are the only people you've ever really lost it for, and you're going to a place where there's both of them."

"What, you don't think I can handle myself?" His smile strained.

Velvette shook her head, standing up from her chair and approaching him. "You know, that PR shit might work on everyone else, but I can see through your bullshit, Vox," she gave him a hard stare. "Just don't fuck everything up, got it? Or I'll make you wish you didn't."

His fists clenched as she walked past him, smile dropping into a scowl as soon as she was out of view.

****

—PRESENT—

"Whatever you do, make sure he's at least ten floors away from me," you muttered to Vaggie, watching as Charlie gave the bane of your existence an awkward tour of the hotel.

The atmosphere was so tense and suffocating, it was starting to make you incredibly antsy. The others were no better. Angel was drumming his fingers anxiously on the bar counter, Niffty was curiously regarding the new "resident" and Husk was already chugging his second bottle of hard liquor. Holy hell, and you couldn't even forget about Alastor if you tried, the radio demon releasing a constant stream of static and looking about ready to sacrifice someone—preferably Vox—in an incredibly painful and sadistic ritual.

"I can't believe she's letting him stay," Angel hissed under his breath, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "Actually no, what am I saying? This is Charlie, of course she'd let him stay. God damnit."

A tap on your shoulder made you turn around, only to find your favorite stiff drink on the counter behind you. You nodded gratefully at Husk, taking the glass and throwing it back like water.

"At least the hotel's in one piece!" Niffty chirped, her one eye back to tracking any stray insects. "Less mess to clean up." Her knife gleamed as she stabbed a cockroach clean in half with a deranged giggle.

"This isn't going to end well," Vaggie scowled darkly. "He's going to try something, I fucking know it."

"Yeah, no shit," Angel groaned, Husk grunting in agreement.

"Or," Pentious chimed in, hair flaring thoughtfully. "He truly does want to redeem himself?"

There was a silence as everyone turned to look at him incredulously, before a unanimous, resounding "no," rang out.

****

"Anddd here's your room key," Charlie presented it to him with a flourish, beaming brightly. "We hope you enjoy your stay! Breakfast, lunch and dinner are served downstairs in the dinning room, or you can go out and get your own food! We'll get your survey ready for you tomorrow so that you can start building your schedule."

"Schedule?" He quirked a brow, taking the room key from her outstretched hand. "For what, exactly?"

"Oh! Um," Charlie laughed, rubbing the back of her neck. "We actually host group therapy activities and trust exercises with the other staff and residents! You'll fill out a short survey so that we can personalize—"

"O-kay, let me stop you there, sweetheart," he chuckled, grin widening condescendingly. "I think it's great what you're doing, really, I do. But I've already got a schedule, and a billion dollar company to run. I'm quite the busy man, you know?"

Charlie furrowed her brow. "But—"

"Seriously, my sales would fall and what would my clients say? Hm?" A crowd booing track played in the background as Vox shook his head like she was just some uneducated child. "So thanks, but no thanks." He shot her a wink, before the door slammed in her face.

Charlie blinked in shock, taking a few seconds to process that she'd been dismissed in her own hotel. Her shoulders slumped as she trudged away.

But that only lasted for a few steps, before she perked right back up. What was she thinking? Giving up so quickly on one of her clients?

Charlie grinned, smacking a fist into her palm. She'd just have to try harder.

Unbeknownst to her, a figure had been watching the entire exchange from the shadows. Your jaw clenched, claws digging into the drywall.

"Unbelievable," you shook your head in disdain.

****

As soon as the door shut, Vox deflated like a balloon.

"Fuckkk," he hissed under his breath, sliding down the door tiredly. "The hell am I doing?"

He allowed himself only a few minutes to wallow in self-pity, before he sighed, pushing off the floor and getting to work. In less than twenty minutes, he had the whole room wired to his needs, electronic Voxtek devices littering the previously empty spaces. Now he had a way to travel without leaving his room.

He was just about to dematerialize into one of his laptops when a familiar, chilling presence made him freeze.

"Why, you only just got here! Don't tell me you're leaving already," Alastor chuckled, tilting his head in mock concern.

The radio demon was leaning an elbow against his dresser, just casually invading his privacy. God, just his smug face made Vox want to kill him already.

"What's it to you, old timer?" Vox sneered, electricity sparking from his claws in agitation. "Unlike you, some of us actually have responsibilities. So if you don't mind—"

"Oh my, breaking your word to Y/n already!" Alastor shook his head with a grin, sound effects of a heckling crowd emanating from his microphone cane. "How very...disappointing. Truly, I'd expect better from you!"

Vox's eye widened, the swirling rings on full display as his teeth grinded in rage. "Y-y-y-you keep her fucking name out of your filthy, cannibalistic mouth! You hear me?" He glitched furiously, electricity sparking in glowing webs from his monitor.

"Aha! Someone's a little on edge," Alastor laughed in tandem with an artificial, mocking laugh track. "Really, that was too easy! You're losing your touch."

"Get the fuck out of my room!" Vox snapped.

"Gladly," the radio demon grinned menacingly, the corners of his mouth stretching to unnatural proportions. "But first, I came to deliver a little message."

Vox gritted his teeth, curling his fists by his sides. His electricity buzzed under his skin, ready to electrocute the fuck out of this crazy fucker if he needed to.

"If you and your merry band of idiots pull even the smallest stunt to sabotage the hotel," Alastor approached him, antlers growing as his eyes turned to radio dials. "I think you'll find out that absence did not make my heart grow fonder."

"What, don't tell me you actually care about this place," Vox grinned, baring his teeth. "The whole redemption thing doesn't really seem to be up your alley, no offense."

"Oh, of course not! Haha! Don't be ridiculous," Alastor chuckled like he'd said something hilarious, but it was overlayed with bursts of radio static. "But I'm afraid I've invested too much in this source of entertainment for you to ruin it with your cheap, unoriginal touch."

The message was clear: don't touch my things.

Vox curled his lip, unwilling to back down no matter how utterly disturbing Alastor's demon form was up close. It gave him chilling flashbacks of their last explosive disagreement. "Then stay away from Y/n," he spat.

Alastor's grin widened, eyes glowing an eerie green as he held out his hand. "Is that a deal?"

Vox grimaced, looking at Alastor's creepy, voodoo doll appearance. "Hell no, you creepy fucker."

Then, like whiplash, Alastor's demon form receded and the air became breathable again. "Well, glad we cleared that up, then!" He laughed exuberantly, twirling his cane. "Nice catching up, chum!"

The demon grinned as he disappeared into shadowy wisps of smoke, melding with the darkness against the walls.

Vox's jaw clenched, electric anger vibrating through him and rattling his teeth. "Fuck!" He kicked over the first thing he saw, which happened to be a wooden workbench. It took a few deep breaths for him to finally calm down and collect his thoughts.

When he was no longer at risk of causing a city-wide outage again (that had been fucking embarrassing), he made his way back to his laptop like he was originally planning to do, only to pause in shock when he saw the brand new device short circuiting, screen full of pixelated static.

An explosive rage convulsed in his chest, the lights in the hotel flickering ominously.

"You red bambi ass fucker!"

****

<—Part 2 Chapter Index Part 4 —>

Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah @yellowsubiesdance @dirk-strides @justaspectatorforfandomarts @harmoira @sunnyslug @gum-iie @lady-valtieri @mit-suri @whatelsecouldgowrong @sillysimplysilky @eternalera @aoiyx @hazellight11 @hopefully-not @tsuvvy @imcryinginemo @dinorawrss @rekoloid @ayesha-eroticax3 @sle3pyh3ad2 @l0verboyxoxo1111

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jiveyuncle · 2 months

Text

This chapter absolutely gutted me. Oh boy, if you want heavy angst with a happy ending, this is it. Love, love, loved this fic. I thought it handled really hard, nuanced topics super well and in an honest way. Themes of morality, redemption, and healing from trauma. Read tags and warnings before reading. Stay safe ❤️

Fic: audience of one by @katranga on AO3

Lance gets captured by the Galra and sent to a prison ship. Keith, raised Galra, visits Lance's cell, driven by the unshakable curiosity about the new prisoner who looks like him.

^^^this is just Part 1 of the Ride or Die series by this author - I recommend reading both parts if you want the healing aspect of the journey 💕

#klance #lance mcclain #keith kogane #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #fanart #galra keith #Langst #fic rec #audience of one by Katranga #cw blood #cw violence #cw graphic depictions of violence #cw gun violence

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mothiir · 26 days

Text

penance

the black templars discover human women. Nothing nsfw, only vaguely lewd, with canon typical violence and religious themes. Possibly will follow up with a smut if the spirit moves me

alternative summary: where is this strumpet so I might detest her with my own eyes

—

Isaiah takes his helm off to inhale the sweet scent of battlefield smoke. The sky is ruddy with dawn, and the last of the heretic cities is nothing more than smouldering rubble, the would-be rebels against the Emperor’s Will either dead or soon to be. Those too young, or too elderly, to have served a meaningful part in the uprising may yet find redemption as Chapter serfs or servitors — after all, there is little point to justice if there is no mercy to go alongside it.

Sweat gilds his high cheekbones, and drips down his nape. Taking a moment away from his brothers to say his private prayer of thanks to the Emperor is one of the small ways Isaiah keeps his sanity during these long campaigns. He would fight and die beside his brethren with pride — and yet if he has to hear one more of Reuben’s jokes, he may consider —

No. No, none of that, not even in the privacy of his own head: he must be grateful, always. Mindful and grateful of the Emperor’s blessings. Reuben is a blessing. A hardship, yes, but so often blessings take the form of hardships; of lessons to learn. Reuben is an excellent soldier, and an exercise in patience.

Perhaps it is the thought of Reuben’s damned puns that drives him further than usual, or the desire to admire the sight of a battle hard-fought. Either way, Isaiah ends up a good five hundred feet from camp before he quite realises it, crunching over charred bones and burned, unrecognisable standards.

Then: a sound. Thin, high, and vaguely organic. At once, he replaces his helmet, Captain Ezra’s words echoing in his memory: boy, there is no point prancing around like the main character in a holo — the enemy does not need to see your pretty face, and nor do I.

Anyway. The noise. His scanners alert him to a life form, hidden behind a pile of corpses. Humanoid. Rabbit-hearted, and trying very hard to remain unseen.

He upholsters his bolter, and stalks forwards: a faceless, merciless instrument of the Emperor’s wrath.

—

The clouds hang thick and red, like they have absorbed all the blood spilt today, and the heat is oppressive. A thunderstorm is coming; you taste it in the air. Soon, the rain will extinguish the last of the flaming rubble on this planet you once called home. It will fill the empty eye sockets of those who died for the delusions of your rulers. It will wash the land clean.

And you doubt you will see it.

As the Templar yanked you from the rubble, your shoulder had popped from its socket with a sick, wet crack; you had only kept yourself from crying out by biting into your tongue. Now your right arm hangs useless by your side, radiating bright veins of sheer agony. You daren’t make a move to cradle it, to ease your discomfort.

“Your world is guilty of the crime of sedition,” intones the Templar, his voice as final as a tombstone falling into place. “Your leaders rebelled against the Divinity of the Emperor, and —“

”And I should die for it,” you manage, through lips gummed together with dried saliva and ash. “Because we let it happen.”

He pauses. The subtle tilt of his helm could be curiousity; could be an invitation to continue; could be nothing at all. But you are not dead. Not yet. Something in your chest is kindled, and you remember when you were little, at a school now nothing but ash, how your teacher would complain: that girl, she always has something to say.

“We let it happen,” you continue, not sure if you are arguing for your life or begging for martyrdom. “We saw the upper echelons turn to Ch — the accursed powers.” Thou shalt not speak the name of the beast, you remember reading somewhere, lest thou invite it in to feast. “And we did not stop them. We worked away, heads bent and faces averted, and we obeyed orders, and the rot spread and ruined our world. I — I thank you, for your cleansing fire, for your — for His mercy. For bringing the Light of the Emperor to this place.”

You cannot curtesy, not in this shape, and so you drop straight to the ground, knees smacking into hard stone. You bare your nape, awaiting judgement, awaiting the blade, your heart singing against your ribs, that desperate song, that too-late plea: oh I want to live. Emperor above, let me live.

—

“That is a woman,” says Reuben, like he has never seen one before.

”Yes, Reuben, that is a woman.”

“In our dormitory.”

”Yes,” Isaiah says. ”She is in our dormitory.”

As this world lacks any proper infrastructure — due to the intensive bombing campaign needed to bring it back to the Emperor’s Grace — the Astartes have retired to their battle barge, as Marshal Ezra Rothenberg plans their next movements.

Isaiah is honoured to consider himself part of the Edessan Crusade. There are more than two thousand of his brothers dedicated to the continued extirpation of Chaos from the Edessan system: a task that was predicted to take ten solar years, and yet is proceeding far ahead of schedule — due, in no small part, to the enthusiastic participation of the new recruits Guilliman so kindly provided them. If Guilliman hoped that the Primaris Marines would take the edge off the Black Templar’s well-known zealotry, he was swiftly disappointed. Within a few days of arriving, the only way to differentiate between the new recruits and their more seasoned brothers was size.

Isaiah shares a barren dorm with Reuben, and three other brothers. They sleep on plain metal bunks, with a rough woollen blanket and a thin pillow. Other Chapters, Isiaiah has heard, are so decadent and spoiled as to have duvets — which are sacks of feathers — and sometimes even something called a mattress? Absurd. He pities his fellow Primaris Marines, shipped out to such degeneracy. He hopes that they can cultivate an appropriate sense of duty and decorum in the older generation. How can anyone value such petty things as comfort when the Emperor’s enemies still draw breath?

You are sitting on Isaiah’s bed, the blanket around your shoulders, your eyes wide. You have not spoken since he brought you here — barely whimpered when he popped your shoulder back into place.

“…what is her purpose here?” Reuben says. He sits on his own bunk, opposite Isaiah, his afternoon reading (a hagiography of one of the more exciting saints) sprawled forgotten on his lap.

“Chapter serf,” says Isaiah.

“Do we need more serfs?”

”Yes. We do. The ones we have are — uh —very devout — “

The pair grimace. The fact that the serfs spend so long in prayer is to be admired, but it doesn’t often leave them much time to perform their duties. Isaiah is sick of doing his own mending because Serf Osric and Serf Jean are once more faint from fasting and all-night vigils to the glory of the Emperor.

“Did the Marshal allocate her to you?”

Isaiah pulls an interesting series of expressions. ”Not…exactly,” he allows, unwilling to lie, and yet not wanting to admit the truth. “But he has been…busy, of late.”

”Yes. Busy. With crusading against the Emperor’s enemies.”

”Too busy to be concerned with this sort of thing,” Isaiah says, hesitantly, dangling the bait before Reuben, waiting for him to take it. Reuben leans forwards to better observe you. Isaiah feels a strange twist of pride when you don’t cringe from his regard, but meet his dark eyes with your own, your chin tipped up, your fingers curling into the blanket. Then you suddenly seem to remember who you are, and where you are, and drop your head in supplication.

“Yes,” Reuben says, slowly. “Far too busy to be concerned with this. Don’t want to bother him.”

Isaiah utters a fervent prayer of thanks to the Emperor, feeling only a little guilty at thanking Him for his brother’s aid in deceiving their Marshal. But it wasn’t really deception, was it? They weren’t lying to him at all — they just weren’t telling him! Completely different.

“Exactly! It’s beneath his concern.”

”She’s beneath his concern!”

In total accord, both Templars grin at each other, before hurriedly smoothing their faces into expressions of solemn piety.

“Yes, brother. I am glad that the Emperor has seen fit to deliver unto us a — hang on, can you sew?” Reuben says, addressing you directly. You glance up at Isaiah, then stammer:

“Y-yes my lord —“

“Excellent.”

Reuben kicks up and off his bunk, rummages in the steel box that contains all his worldly possessions, then throws a wad of fabric at you. It unfurls into a dozen pairs of socks that look very much worse for wear.

“Start with those. Then my tunic needs restitching — the Emperor’s Most Holy Iconography is starting to get a bit tattered. Then —“

”Brother Reuben, you cannot hog the new serf —“

”I am offering her the chance to redeem the sins of her forefathers and mothers with holy labour.“

“Well, yes,” Isaiah protests. “But the holy labour cannot just be confined to your menial tasks—“

”Why — do you have menial tasks that need attending to?”

”Yes!” Isaiah says, thinking of his own increasing pile of ragged undergarments. “You can mend Brother Reuben’s socks, and then you must attend to my laundry —“

”And then she can mend my tunic —“

”No, then she must pray,” Isaiah says, belatedly remembering the importance of even the most lowly baselines in adding their voices to the Emperor’s endless praises. “And attend chapel —“

”Where Marshal Ezra may behold her?” Brother Reuben says. “The serf that we do not strictly speaking have, as she has not been allocated to us?”

Ah. Yes. He had forgotten about that.

”She must pray while she works,” Isiaih amends. “And abase herself before the Emperor’s mercy.”

”Yes. But pray quietly.”

”Do you know the appropriate psalms to recite while conducting your redemptive labour?” Isaiah says. You chew your lip.

“The correct litanies while uh…mending the socks of the Emperor’s chosen may have not been included in my education,” you say. Isaiah sighs. Truly, you came from a blighted world.

“You will learn them,” he says. “The Emperor will guide your tongue. If you fail to learn them then it is a sign that you have not received His Grace, and in that case fear not — we will deliver unto you the Emperor’s Mercy.”

“She will learn them,” Brother Reuben says, with a fervent and touching belief in humanity’s dedication to the Emperor.

Or, perhaps, a fervent desire to have socks without holes in them.

—

And so it goes. The Emperor sees fit to decree that the brothers that share Reuben and Isaiah’s quarters remain on the planet to build a chapter monastery there, taking advantage of the natural resources that are now free for use. No new brothers are installed in the dormitory — a great shame, of course, but it does have the benefit of ensuring that Brother Reuben and Isiaiah do not have to face awkward questions about your presence.

Isiaiah has never been in close contact with baseline humans before, save the serfs aboard the fleet, and he knows that it is his duty to ensure that you are free of Chaos’s taint, and suitably devoted to the God Emperor. As such, he ensures that you have the appropriate reading material, and tests you to ensure that you can recite the benedictions. The first time you stumbled over an incorrect word, he had sighed deeply and sorrowfully, reaching for his bolter. Brother Reuben had dragged him to the side and explained — in hurried whispers — that humans do not have the same eidetic memory as Astartes, and the misstep was not indicative of a lapse in faith but simply a sign of your humanity.

Fascinating.

There are other baseline issues that surprise both brothers. They sleep perfectly well on their hard metal bed frames, and their serfs often deliberately braid thistles into their blankets in order to better scourge their flesh for the sin of being mortal. You, however, suffer greatly for the first few days. You end up with deep purple shadows beneath your eyes, and you wince when performing even the simplest of tasks.

“I am sorry my lords,” you stammer, when Isaiah confronts you on your constant yawning. “It is just — I am cursed to be a woman, and thus I do not have the fortitude that you have, and my body is frail and weak and cannot find rest in the blessed conditions that you enjoy.”

Reuben magnanimously permits you the use of a blanket and two of the pillows left by his brothers. Isaiah thinks that pandering to your body’s frailty could well be slowing your path to redemption, but he bows to his brother’s greater knowledge.

He is perturbed by how much you rest — as much as six hours a night, if you are permitted to sleep continuously. Once again, Reuben explains that this is normal for the baselines. Besides, if Isaiah wants devout serfs, he is more than welcome to once more entrust his care to Osric and Jean.

Isaiah stops questioning your rest hours swiftly. He does not want to go back to the days of having to convince a flagellant to polish his pauldrons. Without the brothers seeking them out, the old serfs seem happy to spend most of their time in the chapel, or wandering the halls while caning themselves and loudly declaring the Emperor’s benevolence to all.

Yes, Isaiah wants to say, we know He is very benevolent and very merciful. He also wants you to do your damn jobs.

The first real challenge occurs ten days into your time aboard the barge. You drop to your knees before Isaiah, assuming the penitential crouch you always take on when you address either of them. The sight of you prostrate at his feet — spine a neat curve, head bowed, hands clasped — always makes Isaiah’s stomach warm and twist. He enjoys seeing you so keen to atone, so eager to please the Emperor, and to receive His mercy.

“My lords, I humbly beg your permission to take a moment to clean myself — I have not managed to do so since leaving my accursed planet, and I fear that I dishonour your presence by performing my duties while unwashed.”

”You have washed yourself,” Isaiah says, frowning. He’s seen you wipe your face and underarms with a wet rag, and you wash your hands every time you go to the bathroom (a sensitive experience for all concerned, given that one of them has to escort you to the nearest convenience, and the other has to stand watch to ensure no one sees you).

”Yes, but — a shower, my lords, that is what I am asking for.”

Isaiah sniffs the air thoughtfully. True, you do smell a little sourer than you did previously, but he has lived with far more odiferous people; Brother Reuben during his ‘bathing too frequently is decadent and an offence to the Emperor’ phase for one.

(That particular penitence had been ended when Marshal Ezra had thrown Reuben bodily into the icy plunge pool and announced to all that the Emperor suffered enough on His golden throne — the Templars did not need to add their stench to the tribulations He endured.)

”Humans require more maintenance than Astartes,” Reuben allows. “It cannot hurt to permit her to bathe.”

Still, they do not want to risk taking you to one of the communal showers, nor do they want to send you off to the serf quarters. Several of their brothers are already suspicious of their suddenly-improved attire, and the last thing either of them want is to face questions about your presence — or, worse still, a request to share. So Isaiah fetches a large copper tub used by the medicae for those too unwell to stand upright to bathe, and fills it with water, and Brother Reuben donates one of his scraps of yellow soap.

“Th-thank you my lords,” you say, from your usual prostrate position; then you stand, a little unsure, eyeing them almost expectantly. The tub is set in the middle of the dormitory; Reuben is reading one of his favourite scriptures, while Isiaiah tends to his bolter. ”Uh — is it okay if I —“

You gesture at your smock. Isiaiah blinks at you.

“Are you asking permission to bathe? I have said that you may — do not waste my time with needless questions.”

He turns back to his bolter, wiping the sacred oils onto the stock, murmuring the appropriate incantations to appease the machine spirit within. A flurry of fabric; a splash; a pained squeal.

“This water is ice,” you yell, and Isaiah, startled, looks up.

His hand remains looped around the bolter, polishing up and down, up and down — but he finds he cannot tear his gaze from you. The water comes up to your waist, but the rest of you is bare, your flesh goosepimpled from the cold, your arms clutching your torso. Your elbows press under your breasts, pushing them up, where they glisten under the harsh dorm lighting. As you shiver, one nipple flashes.

Brother Reuben stares as well.

“Emperor preserve me,” he mutters, and Isaiah comes to his senses, turning his eyes aside.

“Woman!” he says, sounding only a little strangled. “Cover yourself!”

Another splash. When Isaiah peeks up — just to check that you have ceased to offend the Emperor with your naked bosom — he is gratified to see that you are neck deep in water.

”S-sorry my lords,” you say, teeth chattering.

”You are a Chapter Serf of the Black Templars,” Isiaha says hotly, his grasp tightening on the bolter, his strokes growing surer and stronger, seeking solace in the familiar rhythm. “You must act in a way that is fitting for your station! Do not flaunt yourself so! You must conduct yourself with - with decorum, and modesty. Be demure! Mindful!”

Isaiah, a little breathless after his holy vitriol, looks to Brother Reuben for moral support. Reuben is looking fixedly at his book.

“I saw nothing,” says the other Templar. “I am blind to that which does not beatify the Emperor Himself. The nudity of a serf has no bearing on my day’s prayer. It is as insignificant as the passage of a beetle along the floor.”

”Is that why you are reading your scripture upside down?”

Reuben does not look up, even as he turns the book the right way around.

“Brother Isaiah, if you polish that gun any harder it is liable to blast a hole in the wall.”

”It is not loaded, Brother Reuben,” Isaiah snaps. “I am conducting my daily worship to the Machine Spirit.”

”Is that what you call it?” Reuben mutters, and Isaiah elects to ignore him.

—

“Where did you obtain the uniform for her?” Isaiah says, the next day, his voice hushed. It is just after morning prayer-drills, and the pair are walking back to their dormitory to change, before their lunchtime prayer-drills.

”I — just from the other serf’s laundry,” says Reuben, casting a quick look around. The halls of the battle barge are more akin to that of a cathedral than a space-ship, with huge domed ceilings, and statues placed at regular intervals in well-lit alcoves. Isaiah normally takes great comfort in the stern regard of his immortalised forebears, but for some reason today he feels their gaze like a brand, like he is a neophyte and they are watching him commit some secret and terrible sin.

“They do not fit her,” Isaiah says. Reuben frowns.

“What do you mean?”

”I mean — “ Isaiah pauses for a moment, struggling to find the words. Emperor grant him Reuben’s lack of observational skills — truly, his brother is a sterling example of blind faith. “I mean…this morning. When she bent over to pick up the scripture. Her skirt. It — moved in a way that displayed her rump in a way that is most unbecoming to a serf.”

Reuben exhales, his jaw ticking minutely. “Oh? I did not notice. I do not make a habit of looking at the serf’s rear end.”

”I was not looking at her rear end!” Isaiah whisper-shouts. “It was…just there. Wiggling.”

”Wiggling?”

”Yes, wiggling.”

”Is our serf distracting you from your duties, Brother Isaiah?” Reuben says, in a tone of concern so genuine it feels like mockery.

“No! I just — it would bring shame upon our crusade if our serfs are not modestly attired.”

”I quite agree. However, I would argue that our serf is very well attired. Covered up almost to the throat.”

”Almost,” Isaiah says. “When she bends over to wash her face in the morning, if you stand at the incorrect place in the dormitory, and you have the misfortune to be looking for a book on the other side of the room, and then you find yourself looking downwards at the incorrect moment so you may observe the flagstones, you will be cursed with a view straight down her sleeping smock — and you will see both her breasts, exposed quite fully! It is revolting. A blight upon the Emperor.”

”How hideous! We must of course remedy this at once.”

”At once.”

”However,” says Reuben, as they round a corner, approaching their dormitory. “In order for me to avoid benighting mine eyes with such a distasteful view, I would much appreciate it if next time the serf washes her face you were to demonstrate the precise angle that I should avoid standing at. For I only wish to see what is pure and just in the eyes of the Emperor, and in order to do so we must have a full understanding of where to avoid looking.”

Isaiah pauses for a moment. After all, is it not his duty to guide his brothers when they seek to avoid sin? “Yes,” he says. “I will ensure that I show you most where you must not stand, and where to avoid casting your eyes. And — if I may make a suggestion?”

”Of course, brother Isaiah.”

”Perhaps it is not the uniform. Perhaps it is the way the serf has learned to stand and bend. Coming as she does from such a depraved world, riddled with heresy, it is natural that she does not know the right and proper way for a servant of the Emperor to move. Perhaps we should ask her to bend over a few times for us, and thus we can best advise her on how to avoid unnecessary…wiggling.”

Reuben grins at the thought of guiding a sinner onto the path of the righteous. “Yes, brother Isaiah. I do believe we should.”

#Black templars/reader #moth writes #my writing

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redroomreflections · 6 months

Text

II HANDS II HEAVEN

Notes: I listened to Beyonce's album and wanted to write something to this song

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 4.5k

It will be like five chapters.

"Any leads on who's joining Natasha for the upcoming couple's retreat mission?" Steve's gaze shifted from the itinerary to the team gathered around him, his tone commanding authority.

"I believe Natasha's our primary agent for this one," Wanda replied, her head tilting in contemplation.

"Indeed, but it's a couples retreat, so we need another partner," Steve clarified, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Someone who can blend in seamlessly."

"Can I offer myself up for sacrifice?" Sam quipped, raising his hand in mock enthusiasm before quickly retracting it under Natasha's icy glare.

As the meeting progressed, you were drifting away, lost in your thoughts. It wasn't your first time excluded from the team's high-profile missions. They always cited your need for further training, claiming you could not work as a cohesive part of the team. But deep down, you knew it was just an excuse—an excuse to keep you sidelined while others got to shine.

You couldn't help but feel frustrated by the situation. You'd worked hard to hone your skills, to prove yourself worthy of being part of the team. Yet repeatedly, you found yourself overlooked, and relegated to the sidelines while others took center stage.

As Steve discussed the details of the upcoming mission, you couldn't shake the feeling of resentment that gnawed at you from within. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that once again, you wouldn't be chosen to join Natasha on the mission.

Not that you particularly want to. You and Natasha aren’t exactly bosom buddies. You found yourself mostly keeping your distance from her. There was an unspoken tension between you, a mutual understanding to maintain a polite distance.

Instead, you gravitated towards Wanda and Vision, joining them for several movie nights. As a third wheel in their relationship, you often found comfort in their company, even if it served as a temporary distraction from your own frustrations.

Occasionally, you'd join Sam and the other guys for some lighthearted banter and training. But even then, you never found yourself alone with Natasha. She remained elusive, keeping her distance and maintaining her mysterious persona.

Despite the distance between you and Natasha, you remained focused on your own goals and aspirations. You refused to let her presence—or lack thereof—determine your worth as a member of the team. You were determined to prove yourself, even if it meant forging your own path separate from hers.

Joining the Avengers has been an exhilarating yet unexpected journey for you. It couldn’t be more different from your wildest dreams. The initiation process felt more like something out of a gangster movie than a superhero team induction. Three months ago, you decided to defect from the government organization you once served. Spectra Intelligence Bureau had built you up to do their bidding. Only to let you down time and time again. You had seen women come and go from the field, only leaving behind shadows of their former selves. You hadn’t known so soon you would be following the same path. You joined the Avengers for a chance at redemption and freedom. But your defection was far from voluntary, despite what everyone else believes.

You had always been a skilled operative, adept at blending into the shadows and manipulating situations to your advantage. You were a master of espionage, trained from a young age to infiltrate enemy organizations and extract valuable information without leaving a trace.

But beneath the facade of a loyal government agent, you harbored a deep-seated resentment towards the organization you served.

For years, you played by their rules, carrying out missions that blurred the lines between right and wrong, morality and duty. You became disillusioned with the endless cycle of violence and deceit, longing for a way out of the tangled web of lies you had woven around yourself.

Now, as a member of the Avengers, you keep your head down, wary of drawing too much attention to yourself. You know that the consequences of your past actions could come back to haunt you at any moment, threatening to unravel the fragile semblance of peace you’ve fought so hard to achieve.

“I volunteer y/n,” Tony said with a slight smirk.

Tony's declaration draws your attention back to the meeting. His smirk doesn't escape your notice as he volunteers you for the mission with Natasha. It's a typical Tony move, laced with a hint of mischief and a touch of amusement.

You felt a surge of mixed emotions at his words. On one hand, you're grateful for the opportunity to finally be included in one of the team's missions. But on the other hand, you can't shake the feeling of apprehension at the prospect of working closely with Natasha, especially given your less-than-amicable relationship.

Still, you know better than to protest. This could be your chance to prove yourself, to show the team—and Natasha—that you're capable of rising to the occasion. With a nod of acceptance, you steel yourself for the challenges ahead, determined to make the most of this unexpected opportunity.

“Y/n and Natasha as a couple?” Bruce spoke aloud. “How would that work out?”

Natasha remained composed, her expression unreadable as she met Bruce's gaze. There's a flicker of something in her eyes—maybe surprise or curiosity—but she quickly masks it behind her usual poker face. She offers no comment, keeping her thoughts on the matter to herself.

Tony chuckled lightly, clearly amused by the idea. "Well, they do say opposites attract," he quips, flashing a grin in your direction. His tone is light-hearted, but there's a glint of mischief in his eyes, hinting at his underlying intentions.

From his side of the table, Sam raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Well, that should make for some entertaining mission reports," he quips, his tone teasing.

Natasha's voice cut through the air, her tone firm and unwavering. "I need someone who's going to pull their weight," she stated, her gaze piercing as she addressed the team. There was no room for ambiguity in her words, each syllable laden with expectation and determination.

"Well, I assure you, Natasha, I'm more than capable of pulling my weight," You replied, your tone cool but tinged with an edge of irritation.

Natasha's gaze lingered on you for a moment, her expression unreadable. There was a hint of apology in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the unintended slight in her earlier statement. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise," she said quietly, her voice softening slightly.

“If we’re going to do this, I want to lead,” You turned away from her understanding gaze. Your competitive and cutthroat attitude had no business here but you were determined to prove a point.

Natasha's response was measured, her voice carrying a hint of steel beneath its calm exterior. "I understand your desire to take charge, but this isn't about proving a point," she replied evenly, her gaze steady as she met your eyes. There was a silent challenge in her words, a reminder that leadership wasn't about ego or competition—it was about trust and cooperation.

You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, unwilling to back down from the challenge Natasha presented. "Maybe not for you," you countered, your tone edged with stubborn determination. "But I know what I'm capable of, and I'm not going to sit back and play second fiddle."

Natasha's expression softened slightly at your words, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "I respect your confidence," she conceded, her voice tinged with a hint of admiration. "But leadership isn't about proving yourself—it's about putting the team first and making the tough decisions when they need to be made."

“Leadership is also knowing when to let go of the reins,” You shrugged. “Unless you’re wound too tight to do that?”

Natasha's expression hardened at your words, her jaw tightening imperceptibly as she met your gaze with a steely resolve. "I may be many things, but 'wound too tight' isn't one of them," she replied, her tone cool and controlled despite the undercurrent of irritation that simmered beneath the surface.

There was a palpable tension in the air as the exchange hung between you, the unspoken challenge lingering like a storm cloud on the horizon. Despite your attempts to provoke a reaction from Natasha, she remained composed, refusing to let your barbs get under her skin.

"You may have your way of doing things, but don't mistake confidence for arrogance," Natasha continued, her voice quiet but firm. "True leadership requires humility and the willingness to listen to others, even when it's difficult. I can’t have you out in the field making mistakes."

You felt a surge of frustration at Natasha's response, the sting of her rebuke cutting deeper than you cared to admit. But beneath the surface, there was also a begrudging respect for her unwavering commitment to her principles.

As you exchanged one last tense glance with Natasha, a silent understanding passed between you.

“I’ll do it,” You said. From the corner of your eye, you could see Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up. You had to admit you liked a challenge. This should be fun. Your declaration hung in the air, a bold assertion of your readiness to take on the mission. You could feel Natasha's gaze on you, sharp and assessing, as you made your decision known.

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you met Natasha's gaze head-on. You liked a challenge, and this mission promised to be anything but easy.

As the tension between you and Natasha lingered, a familiar voice broke through the silence. "Alright, let's get down to business," Steve's voice rang out, commanding attention as he stepped forward.

With a glance at Natasha and you, Steve cleared his throat before launching into a rundown of the mission details. "The retreat is called 'Shady Corners,' owned by Ilanka and Maxim Belinsky," he began, his tone businesslike as he relayed the information to the team.

But before Steve could continue, you found yourself interjecting, unable to resist the urge to jump in. "Actually, I've already compiled a dossier on Shady Corners," you stated, your voice cutting through the air with confidence.

Steve paused, a hint of surprise crossing his features as he turned to you. "Oh, you have?" he asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

You nodded, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Yes, I took the liberty of gathering all the pertinent information," you replied, producing a file from your bag and handing it to Steve.

As Steve flipped through the dossier, his surprise was evident. "Well, it looks like you've done your homework," he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Natasha's gaze flickered between you and Steve, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Looks like we're in good hands," she quipped, a subtle acknowledgment of your preparedness.

“I would kill to be a fly on the wall,” Sam whistled.

Sam's remark drew a few chuckles from the team, his words laden with playful insinuation.

Natasha's lips quirked into a wry smile, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she exchanged a glance with you.

"I have a feeling it'll be quite the performance," Natasha replied, her tone dry but tinged with a hint of something you can’t quite place.

Tony's announcement brought a sense of finality to the meeting, his hands clapping together with a decisive clap. "Great, you'll have a flight booked for the morning," he declared, his tone brimming with anticipation. With a nod to the team, he declared, "Meeting adjourned."

The tension in the room dissipated, replaced by an air of excitement and anticipation.

With a grin, you exchanged a final glance with Natasha, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

This should be fun.

********

So this marriage was turning out to be something you’re not fond of. Natasha had J.A.R.V.I.S. wake you up at the ass crack of dawn which you were able to ignore for a long while. Then came the pounding on the door of your bedroom before you finally awakened from your slumber to open it. You didn’t even bother to wipe the drool from your chin before you ripped the door open with a frown.

As Natasha stood in front of you, her expression bordering on disapproval, you couldn't help but feel a surge of annoyance bubbling within you. Her disdain for your choice of attire only fueled your defiance, and you squared your shoulders, refusing to back down.

"What?" you retorted, your voice tinged with irritation as you met Natasha's gaze head-on. "Flight is in three hours," she informed you, her tone clipped and businesslike.

You blinked in disbelief, the early hour registering belatedly in your sleep-addled mind. "You're kidding..." you muttered incredulously, turning to glance at the digital alarm clock on your nightstand. "It's three a.m."

Natasha's expression remained impassive, her gaze unwavering as she waited for your response. Despite the early hour and your less-than-ideal state of readiness, there was a steely determination in her eyes that took no argument.

With a resigned sigh, you realized that there was no use arguing with Natasha.

"Come in, I guess," you grumbled begrudgingly, gesturing for Natasha to enter your less-than-impressive bedroom. It was far from the tidy, organized space you typically preferred, a reflection of your rebellious attitude toward your former living standards.

With a roll of your eyes, you strode over to your closet, rummaging through it to grab a suitcase. Meanwhile, Natasha remained near the door, her posture tense and guarded, as if she were bracing herself for whatever chaos might lie within your room.

You couldn't help but feel a bit of annoyance at Natasha's standoffish demeanor, but you pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. You began to toss clothes into your suitcase and prepared to leave.

"We should maintain a few basic things between us," Natasha suggested, her tone matter-of-fact as she broached the topic of their fake marriage. "You know, for the sake of appearances."

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Natasha's suggestion, a hint of skepticism creeping into your voice. "Such as?" you prompted, curious to hear her ideas on the matter.

Natasha paused for a moment, considering her response carefully. "Well, for starters, we should probably establish some ground rules," she replied, her gaze ripping from the dropped thongs you’d scraped up from the floor to toss into the hamper to your eyes. "Nothing too elaborate, just enough to sell the illusion of a real marriage."

You nodded in understanding. "Agreed," you replied, a sense of determination settling over you. “So quick to set up rules though. Shouldn’t we know more about each other? I mean, we’re supposed to be a married couple right.”

“I suppose,” Natasha sighed. “Is this going to turn into a 21-question thing?”

“No, not right now,” You shook your head as you zipped up your suitcase before you pushed it to the side. You grabbed another carry-on bag, stuffing your makeup and the rest of your toiletries inside of it. You disappeared into the bathroom where you quickly brushed your teeth and washed your face.

This left Natasha alone to her vices. Though she never moved from her spot she noticed things only a spy would. Her eyes landed on the books haphazardly stacked on your nightstand, and one in particular caught her attention—the "Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois." The choice of literature spoke volumes about your intellectual depth and cultural interests.

Moving her eyes around the room, Natasha's eyes lingered on the movie posters on the walls.

In the corner, she noticed a collection of paint easels.

With each observation, Natasha's respect for you grew. There was more to you than met the eye.

“Right now, I need coffee,” You mumbled as you dragged yourself out of the room and past her. J.A.R.V.I.S. would lock the door for you.

“Seriously? “ Natasha asked asked incredulously, her voice cutting through the air as you hurried past.

“You won’t like who I become when I’m hungry,” You rolled your eyes. If she was going to have you up this early, the least she could do was not judge your choices.

You made a beeline for the kitchen, groaning as the harsh fluorescent lights automatically flickered on. Tony needed to update these settings for something dimmer and less jarring. Ignoring the discomfort, you forced a K-cup into the Keurig, desperate for the promise of caffeine to wake you up.

As you turned around, you were met with the sight of Natasha sitting at the counter, her gaze fixed on you with a fierce intensity.

"I hope you're going to take all of this seriously," Natasha said, her tone firm and unwavering.

You paused, meeting Natasha's gaze with determination. Despite your initial reservations about the mission, you knew that Natasha was right. This wasn't just a game—it was a high-stakes operation that required your full commitment.

"Of course I am," you replied, your voice steady despite the tiredness that still lingered in your bones.

Natasha studied you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then, with a nod of acknowledgment, she rose from her seat and joined you at the counter. Together, you prepared your coffees in silence, each lost in your thoughts.

"You take it black?" You asked, tilting your head inquisitively as you prepared your coffee.

"What? Like my heart?" Natasha replied with a wry smile, her tone laced with a hint of humor.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Natasha's retort. "Fair enough," you remarked, handing her a steaming cup of coffee. "To black coffee and black hearts, then."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "To get the job done," she countered, clinking her cup against yours in a silent toast. “Now can we get to the airport please, before we’re late?”

“Oh, we won’t be late. I want to enjoy this.” You hummed.

It was then that Natasha reached up to remove the baseball cap from her head, her movements fluid and practiced. As she fluffed her hair, you expected to see her familiar luscious red locks cascade down her shoulders. However, to your surprise, the vibrant red was replaced by a cascade of blonde hair.

You blinked in astonishment, momentarily taken aback by the sudden transformation. How had she bleached it so quickly? Had she slept at all? Natasha's hair was iconic—her fiery red locks were as much a part of her identity as her skills as a spy.

As you adjust to the surprise of her sudden hair transformation, you couldn't help but blurt out, "Whoa, blonde? I never would've guessed. You look... different."

Your words hung in the air for a moment, and you immediately regretted them as you noticed a subtle shift in Natasha's demeanor. Her smirk faded, replaced by a stern look that hinted at a simmering annoyance beneath the surface.

Natasha's jaw tightened imperceptibly, her green eyes flashing with a hint of irritation. "Different?" she echoed, her tone cool and clipped. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

You winced, realizing too late that your comment had struck a nerve. "I... I didn't mean it like that," you stammered, scrambling to backpedal. "I just meant, um, it's a change, you know? But you still look great, of course."

Natasha's expression softened slightly at your attempt to smooth things over, but the tension lingered between you. "Thanks," she replied tersely, her tone still tinged with annoyance. “We’re going to be late,” Natasha mumbled as she dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink.

“We’re not going to be late.” You called after her.

******************

"So, you're telling me no more flights are heading to Miami today?" You asked the flight attendant, a hint of irritation coloring your voice.

"No, ma'am, unfortunately, we're booked up for the entire week," the flight attendant replied apologetically, her tone sympathetic.

You sighed, frustration mounting as you realized the setback to your plans. "Is there anything you can do? It's urgent," you pressed.

The flight attendant shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but all our flights are fully booked. You might have better luck with another airline," she suggested.

You couldn't believe it. You can't believe it. Because you were late, your seats were given to some other lucky couple.

Frustration bubbled up within you as you stood there, watching helplessly as the plane doors closed without you.

Natasha's sharp gaze bore into you, a silent reminder of the consequences of your tardiness. You knew you had messed up, and now you were paying the price.

"We need to figure out our next move," Natasha stated firmly, her voice cutting through the chaos of the airport.

"We could rent a car," you suggested, hoping to salvage the situation with a practical solution.

"And drive a car to Florida for twenty-three hours with you?" Natasha replied tersely, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You bristled at her sharp retort, feeling a pang of offense at her implication. "Of course," you nodded, trying to maintain your composure. "Unless you have any other suggestions. Flying a Quinjet into Miami isn't exactly subtle of us."

Natasha's expression softened slightly at your response, a flicker of understanding crossing her features. "Fair point," she conceded, her tone less biting than before. "I’m choosing the car."

“Anything for you honey,” You shook your head, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Natasha shot you a pointed look. Apparently, nicknames were off the table.

As you and Natasha approached the rental car lot, you expected her to gravitate towards something sleek and inconspicuous. So, when she pointed towards a sporty sedan with ample trunk space, you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Really? This one?" You asked, your voice laced with skepticism.

"Trust me," she replied cryptically, her tone giving nothing away.

“Okay, but you’re driving,” You tossed your suitcases in the trunk.

“Why can’t you drive?” Natasha frowned. “You are the one that made us late.”

You winced at Natasha's accusation, knowing she had a point. "Fair enough," you conceded, feeling a pang of guilt for your role in the tardiness. "But I'm exhausted from all the stress of the morning. Besides, you're the expert driver, remember?"

Natasha's frown softened slightly at your admission, but she remained skeptical. "Fine," she relented begrudgingly, sliding into the driver's seat. "But don't think this lets you off the hook."

“I wouldn’t dream of it, honey,” You grinned, pushing your sunglasses onto your face.

Natasha shot you a withering glare at the nickname, her expression bordering on annoyance. "Don't call me that," she muttered shortly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You raised your hands in mock surrender, unable to suppress a smirk at her reaction. "Got it," you replied, making a mental note to refrain from using any more nicknames in the future. “Can I call you baby?” You asked unable to resist pushing her buttons further.

Natasha's expression darkened, her icy glare intensifying at the suggestion. "Absolutely not," she retorted firmly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

You chuckled softly, realizing you had crossed a line, but the temptation to tease Natasha was too strong to resist. "Just thought I'd ask," you replied with a shrug, settling back into your seat as Natasha revved the engine, ready to hit the road.

Twenty-three hours until Miami. -------> part 2

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #is this boring?#might delete later idk #x reader #marvel fanfic

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luciferlightbringer · 7 months

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Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 12

Hey! I'm so sorry that this chapter took a while! This week was a lot and smut takes a lot of energy for me to write because I care about the details and all. But now it is here! Also, I was gonna put a more cute/loving gif of Lucifer for for this one but then I saw this was and I couldn't stop laughing, so here we are. Enjoy~

Chapter 11|Chapter 12 (FINAL CHAPTER)

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 5.3 k CW: Slowburn, Angst, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, depression, anxiety, insecurity, kissing, SMUTTTT (penetration, oral, handjobs, sub/dom, sex toys)

By the end of the day, all your things had been moved over to the hotel. Lucifer had offered to put your things in his room, but you had asked for your own, both because you wanted to have your stuff separate for now... and part of you wanted a separate place to be if you after Lucifer ever had issues come up. You didn't anticipate it happening, but the anxiety that came with a new relationship, especially your first healthy one, left you needing some time to adjust. Lucifer, being the good man that he was, respected it, but not without a little pouting, but you reassured him that you would still be spending every night sleeping by his side.

By the end of the day, you were tired, and honestly, so was Lucifer. The physical and emotional toll of the day had caught up to the both of you and you went to bed early that night. Snuggling up in each other's arms.

The next morning, Lucifer woke up early, excited, with a plan for the day. Lucifer got up and got dressed for the day, gave you a swift kiss on the lips as you laid half awake in bed and whispered, "I have some things I need to do today, but see you later. Ok? You're booked out with me starting dinner time, got it?" You nodded sleepily. He kissed you again, deeper this time. "I love you, Duckie." And then he left to go pick up supplies for his plan with you later.

A little bit later, you finally woke up and laid in Lucifer's- Lucifer and YOUR's bed... that would take some while to get used to. You heard a faint sound of commotion down in the lobby. You decided to get up to see what all the commotion was about, throwing on a basic shirt and shorts. It had been forever since you had gotten to have a slow day and wear clothes that weren't required to make you look like a sex toy, the change was really nice.

You skip downstairs to come face to face with a couple of familiar faces... some of your friends from the brothel! Gemma, Natalie, and Katrina, had all come also wanting to move into the hotel and give redemption a try. They saw how Lucifer and the others had fought for you, and they wanted in on that kind of support, even if they were still going to work at the brothel. You hugs them all and cried happy tears.

"You, uhhh... wouldn't be willing to spare one more hug, would ya, Babydoll?" You turned around at the familiar voice to see Larry standing behind you.

"Larry!" you hugged him, "What are you doing here?"

"Well.." he said sheepishly, "Truthfully, I've been losing the heart to run that brothel over the last several decades... Although business is already up a lot since it got out the Lucifer used my place, haha! We will see what happens... I am still running it, but... I might not be trying to find any new girls is all. Learning about this hotel here... gave me something else to try out... if... you are ok with me being here... that is..."

You smiled at Larry and hugged him again, "Of course I am! Every sinner is welcome here! Just one thing though... my new boyfriend might not be too fond of you calling me Babydoll anymore."

Larry laughed, "Fair enough, wouldn't want to upset him, I already know what that looks like, yeeshh," he said playfully pulling at his collar, "How about just 'doll'?" You nodded with a laugh, "That should work". You helped Larry and the other girls move in most of the day. Luckily you were distracted enough that you did not see Lucifer pop in and out the the hotel several times with supplies.

Eventually it came dinner time and you went off to your own room, to shower and get dressed for the event with Lucifer that night. You walked into your room to find a beautiful black and red dress with matching shoes and a bag next to it with a note saying:

Got you a little something for our first official date, I hope you like it. Love, Luci <3

Your heart swelled, you had no idea how your life had ended up like this, but you were the happiest you had ever been. You sighed happily and went to take a quick shower, did your hair with simple makeup and put on the dress. It fit your dimensions perfectly, like scary perfectly, and had no tag.

Did he have this made for you? This was going to be a lottttt to get used to, you were dating a King. Oh my god, you were dating a King. No... you were dating Lucifer, he could have been a sinner just like anyone else and it wouldn't matter to you. He could fall to an even darker pit of Hell and you would follow him. This must have been how Lilith felt all those years ago. You finished getting ready and you heard a knock on your door at your usual time.

You went to go open the door and saw Lucifer standing in front of you, wearing a more simple suit that was still just as sexy as his normally outfit, but with more black and red details to match you. As you catch his view, he catches yours, and you both look at each other with jaws agape as you take in each other's beauty. Lucifer was so happy that the dress fit you, and in all. the. right. ways. He gave you a prideful smile.

"I'm glad I got the measurements correct," he said with a smirk.

"So it was custom made, how did you know my dimensions?" you smirked back at him.

Lucifer raked his eyes up and down your body, "I'm just... good with spacial awareness." He wiggled his eyebrows.

You chuckled and nodded with a cheeky smile, "Wow, I never thought such a nerdy sentence could sound so hot~" you purred.

Lucifer got a little flustered, "Oh shut up," he grabbed your hand and putted you into a deep kiss. You two stood in the kiss and embrace for a few minutes before Lucifer pulled away, breathing heavily.

"I don't want to get too ahead of myself, we have an itinerary to keep to" Lucifer says as he taps his cane on the floor. Before you can ask what he meant, he teleports the both of you to a secluded room with large windows that overlook the Pride Ring, music softly playing in the background, Swan Lake.

You looked at the view and smiled, "All this for me?" you ask.

"Oh this is just the beginning of our night, my love. And yes, you deserve this and much much more," he kissed both of your hands before taking you to your chair. You and Lucifer ate dinner together, spent hours listening to music, flirting, and eventually got up and started dancing together. This made Lucifer think about how things used to be with Lilith, but he could appreciate that it was different, it was with you.

He dips you and kisses you deeply, running his hands down your frame. His body had been aching for yours all day during the preparations for the night, but he knew he had to be patient just a little longer. We wanted so desperately to claim you, but also, to fill you with all the love and pleasure that he could muster. It was the least you deserved.

Lucifer pulls his head back to be able to look at you as you look up at him, his eyes full of love as he smiled down at you, "I love you my darling, and from this day on, I will make sure you never go a day in your life where you doubt that."

You felt tears well in your eyes, "I love you too, King of Hell, King of my heart. I will do everything in my power to be by your side and love you." You kiss him again as he ends the dip, standing you back upright.

"Are you ready for the rest of the evening?" He said with some flirty mischief in his eyes, wiggling his eyebrows again.

You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, "Oh I am."

Lucifer tapped his cane and you both teleported back to the hotel, in front of your door. "I have one more outfit for you tonight, get changed and come to our room in ten minutes," he asked trying to hide the excitement in his eyes at his plans for you. You nodded.

Lucifer kisses you again, deeper than all of the others, barely able to keep himself from taking you right there in the hallway. He parts and walks back to the room he called both of yours. You smiled and watched him walk away before going into your room. On the bed was another new outfit, who had put that there while you were gone? It was Angel, Angel wanted to help

On your bed, was a simple but elegant robe, the type of robe you would find at a spa or something, and nothing else. What was he up to? Before putting on the robe you also put on a set of lingerie that you had gotten a while ago, just for him to see if he had ever wanted to have sex with you back when he was still paying for your time, but now he got to see it for free, and that made you even happier.

You slipped on the robe, and after ten minutes, you walked down to your shared room with Lucifer and knocked on the door. Lucifer called for you to come in, and you opened the door to the room filled with lit candles, rose petals on the floor, a table over on the side that had stuff on it covered in a cloth, and Lucifer standing near the side of the bed, also wearing a robe that matched yours, this hat and cane off to the side. All you were able to see was his chest exposed down to the V in the robe and his black arms up to his elbows and his black legs to to the knee where they started to transition to white.

You laughed as you walked into the room towards Lucifer, "What is all this?"

Lucifer looked you over, Hells he wanted to rip that robe off of you, "Well... I wanted this all to be special. I know I could just toss you on the bed and probably have my way with you but... I want this to feel different... I don't this to feel like just another job... I want it to feel like love."

His words left a pang in your heart, you got close and cupped his face "You don't have to do all of this for me to feel like that, everything about you makes this feel like love... frankly... I struggled most of the time to see you as just a client... after a while I hated that you were because I wanted for it all to be real."

"Just for both of us to find out it was real the whole time," he said as he nuzzled into your hand, "I love you, and I'm going to spend the reset of the night and every day after showing you just how much I do." Lucifer then pulled you into a deep kiss. Both of you start to explore each other's bodies with your hands a little before Lucifer stops you again.

"Hells, you make it so hard to stop, but I have a plan here," he clears his throat, he is already shaking a little out of excitement and nerves, "You have spent a lot time using your body for others and I want to make you feel good, so I was going to give to a message. Does that sound ok?"

You melted, hell he was sweet and really hot, how could he possibly get more hot? "That sounds amazing actually..."

Lucifer's eyes lit up, "Great! And then uhh... whenever we move on to other activities... I may have uhh... gone with Asmodeus to get like... a bunch of new toys! Hahah... we don't have to use them now, if you don't want to. I just wanted us to have options..." he said pointing over at the covered table on the side.

You looked over at the table and then back at him with lust and mischief filled eyes, tucking a hair behind his ear, "We should probably get the massage started before I start perusing those toys," you purred.

Lucifer's face turn red and his loins stir, he gulps hard as he walked you over to the bed. As you laid down, you looked at Lucifer as you slowly shrugged off your robe and tossed it to the side, leaving you in only your lingerie as you laid down on the bed with your back and ass to the sky. Lucifer raked his eyes across your body and gulped hard again, this is the first time he had seen you this exposed since the night you met, and the memories alone did not do you justice.

He jumped up on the bed beside you, swiping your hair away from your back and covering his hands in massage oil before starting to rub into your back, and beginning his goal of feeling every inch of your body with his hands. He started to work his way down your shoulders, neck, lower back, and it felt amazing for him to touch and for you to experience.

As he moved his hands around your curves, he looked for points of tension and pain, and used a little magic to help in aiding his hands in relaxing you and making your body feel good. His touch feels incredible to you, even without the magic, and you can't help but moan and sigh as he worked your muscles. The attention he gave your back alone was already enough to get you turned on, even though you already had been pretty turned of from all the kisses, but you felt yourself starting to get more wet.

Lucifer held back a moan as he hear you start to sigh at the pleasure of his hands on you. He loved that he was making you feel good, making you feel pleasure. He wanted to worship you, your body. Your body was the alter to the entity that he now wanted to worship for the rest of his life. He felt himself already start to get drunk off the feeling of your soft skin, your beautiful muscles and curves. His hands started to explore more down an arm, down to your hand, working at your palm and trailing kisses down from your shoulder to your wrist before moving to the other arm and repeating the process there before doing the same down each leg.

You continue to moan and sigh as he moved across your body. The massage felt so good but your pussy continued to ache for him, every time he got close to your entrance, you started to shake and moan more. This was not lost on Lucifer, he loved seeing you quiver beneath him, and he wanted to badly to just dive into you... but not quite... he needed to torture you a little more.

He quickly snapped the back of your lingerie top and before you had time to talk, he quickly flipped you over and got on top of you. He straddled you as he slowly undid the tie on the front of his robe and slipped it off of him, leaving him completely exposed above you. You were now able to see the entirely of his well sculpted body, chest, back, hips... and his cock that was already hard and erect for you. Hells it looked incredible, you just wanted it in... so many places... He gave you a long and passionate kiss, with some exchanging of saliva between your mouths, tongues exploring each other before he starts to work to massage to front of your body.

The touch on your front was much more sensual thought than it had been on your body. Lucifer slowly kissed down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, down to you breasts. Lucifer removed the lingerie top the rest of the way before massaging around your breasts, playing with your nipples, kissing and nipping around one, before putting his mouth on it and sucking on it. The nerves in your nipples felt like they were on fire and that each flick of his tongue made your loins start to throb as you groaned. You started to weave you finger though his blonde hair tugged at it a little. He took his time before moving over at repeating the process on your other nipple.

You felt like you were going crazy with lust at this point, you had never been so desperate for someone to enter inside of you. You opened your legs a little, hoping for him to take the hint to just dive in... to devour you.

Lucifer chuckled to himself as he felt your legs shift open, he decided it was time to start ending your torment. As he finished his attention on your second breast, he traced a hand down your stomach and down to your mound, moving the fabric of your thong out of the way before starting to tease your entrance.

You start to pant and groan louder, "Luci, baby please... Please touch me... put your fingers in me... I can't take it... Mmmm.... pleas-uhhH!!!!" You moan louder as he cuts you off mid-plea by sliding a finger into you, and starting to pump it in and out. He was now able to feel just how wet you were.

"Mmm, all of this wetness for me? With how much fucking you do, I wouldn't think you would be such a dripping mess for me, I'm so honored," he purred as he stared up at you from your chest, mischievous lust dancing across him face, burning in his eyes. Slowly, Lucifer added a second and then a third finger into your dripping hole as he continued to finger you and he continued to kiss and nip his way down your stomach and down your thighs. curling his fingers up into your G-spot making you cry out with pleasure.

As soon as his mouth reached your thighs, he removed his fingers, getting better access to bite and kiss his way up your thighs towards your dripping mound, he was pussy drunk just looking at your gorgeous entrance. He looked up into your eyes as be positioned his mouth just above your folds.

"Oh my love, every inch of you is the most exquisite and radiant treasure... are you ready for my tongue to ruin you?" Lucifer growled.

"Yes... Luci, yes please... ruin me... eat me..." you whispered.

Lucifer gave you a wicked smile, "Good... because I've been starving since the day I met you, and it's time for me to eat my fill." Lucifer then enclosed his mouth around your folds and starts to swipe his tongue up and down your entrance before plunging his tongue deep into you.

You let out a scream of pleasure as his tongue assaults your entrance, it was incredible and he had barely started. Every touch from him set your body on fire. You grabbed onto Lucifer's golden locks as he lapped at you with a vicious hunger, as if he had not eaten in eons and your juices were his only source of food. Your screams of pleasure made him rock hard and he started to grind his own crotch against the bed to alleviate some of the need.

Seeing this, you make the decision that you wanted to take a more active role in the pleasure. You figure out how to flip Lucifer on his back, which caught him my surprise, and then you crawled up onto him so that you were hoovering your pussy over his face and were able to get access to his dick.

Lucifer grinned wildly at the sight of your mound hoovering above him, and grabbed both of your thighs to encourage you down until his mouth locked onto your folds again and his tongue was about to gain access to the inside of you again.

At the same time, you reached down and grabbed his dick, which caused Lucifer to moan deeply beneath you. As you started to stroke him more, Lucifer moaned more, and started to thrust his hips up into your hand. You guys try to match each other's pace with each other's pace of licking and pumping.

Lucifer pulled out his favorite trick, which was elongating his tongue inside of you and snaking it around until he heard you sharply inhale, indicating that he had once again found the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. He locked in on that spot and gave it as much attention as he could muster, even though he was finding it a little harder to focus due to the incredible feeling of your gorgeous soft hands on his throbbing shaft.

You and Lucifer continued like this for a while, an symphony of moans and sighs building between the two of you until you couldn't take it anymore, you needed him inside of you.

"Luci... uhhh... baby I need you... Oh hells... I need to feel you inside of me.." You sighed. Without another thought, Lucifer moved his hands up to your stomach and pushed you back onto the bed. He flipped around and crawled up to you, giving you a deep and hungry kiss as he spread your legs apart, finally ripping off your thong completely and discarding to the side so that it would not be in the way anymore. You loved getting lost in the taste of your juices on his tongue.

He broke off for a moment, panting, readying himself, teasing his cock at your entrance. He looked up into your eyes, a fire raging of lust and love as he growled.

"I've wanted this since the moment I saw that gorgeous sinful body of yours, since the day that the divine powers made it so that you were the one that ended up at may door, above anyone else. And now here we are, you naked in my bed, begging to feel the blessings of my cock inside of you? Oh well then I will RUIN you like this every day for the rest of your life, you hear me? This is your eternal punishment now, in my bed, slobbering, drunk off of my cock. Now tell me, darling, tell me what it is you truly desire?!"

You cried out, "I want you to fuck me Lucifer Morningstar!"

And at that, Lucifer started to slide into your entrance. You both moan loudly as you make connection with each other. Lucifer could on contain himself as his wings started to unfold from his back as he railed you. He looked down to see your head thrown back and your eyes rolling, and again he could not contain himself as his demon form emerged. Horns sprouted from his temples, eyes red, claws sharp, and a sharp black tail twisted out from behind him and wrapped its way around one of your thighs.

You looked up to see the new view of his, his angelic an demonic combination of features were so beautiful and terrifying in the sexiest way possible. His hands glided and squeezed along your body, kissing your legs as he held them up. You felt yourself starting to unravel.

"Luci-, oohhh... baby... it's soooo goodd.... I... I'm gonnnaa..." you tried so hard to hold yourself together a little longer.

Lucifer looked down at you with red eyes and growled with a smirk, "Cum for me, baby... let me finally claim that pleasure of yours... I'm so close..."

At his encouragement and growl, you threw your head back and moaned loudly as you felt yourself completely unravel, cumming and contracting around his beautiful cock. As you scream and your walls tightened around Lucifer, he felt himself also come undone as he felt waves of pleasure take him over at he hit his climax, emptying himself into you.

Lucifer then collapsed and rolled over to you side to breathe, "That... was... amazing..." he gasped.

"Ya... it was... fuck..." you weren't ready to had your hands off of him. You pulled him close and started kissing and making out with him again. He rolled back into your embrace to kiss your lips. After a few minutes, hands started to trail around each other's bodies again and you both started to let kisses roam as your bodies grinded against each other. You guys were both ready for another round.

You took Lucifer's shaft back into your hand and you started to pump un and down on it, and it did not take long before it was rock hard again in your hands. You then flipped onto you hands and knees at you continued to stroke his cock, still glistening and wet from your juices. A bead of pre-cum started to form at the tip, which you swiped off with your tongue, causing Lucifer to let out a pitiful moan and grab onto your hair.

"Oh baby... please.." he begged. All of the dominance and power he had earlier was gone, leaving the submissive desperate man you remembered meeting the first night. This reminded you of your plan from that night, you eyes glittered with mischief.

You slid your mouth around the head of his mouth, swirling around the tip before taking as much for his dick into your mouth. Lucifer was already losing it at the tip, but when you dove deeper around him he let out a long pitiful moan.

"Fuccckkkkkkk babyyyyy... ahhhh!!!!" he cried. You continued to pump your mouth up and down his mouth, some times removing your mouth completely to lick up the side from base to tip, and taking his balls into your mouth before returned back to filling your mouth with his cock. After several minutes of this, you stopped and slipped you way off of the bed.

Lucifer looked at you confused and in a happy daze as you walked over the the covered table and removed the cloth. The table was filled with more toys than you had ever seen in your life. The options were limitless, but you were looking for one thing in particular. You scanned the table until you found that you were looking for.

You grabbed a strap on and held it up, and gave a sly smile over to your prey that was still a slobbering mess over on the bed. Lucifer's eyes lit up and he gave you a dazed nod. You then took the strap on and started to secure it to you before strutting back to the bed, letting the shaft sway from side to side.

Lucifer slipped off the bed and got in his knees in front of you, taking the plastic phallus in his mouth to kiss and suck on it as well as the surrounding skin of your hips. You enjoyed the view of Lucifer on his knees in front of you for a minute, before you reach down his hand to tip his face up and make him you up at you.

You smirked at his submissive gaze up at you, "Up. On the bed," you commanded.

Lucifer nodded and scrambled onto the bed on all fours, his back arched and and up and ready for you. You grabbed a small tube from the table before slowly making your way back to the edge of the bed, putting a dollop of lube on your fingers before starting to massage his entrance. He gawked and moaned in response, especially he you started to work a finger in, and then two. It had been forever since Lucifer had been pegged, and hell did he miss it. He loved being at someone else's command, not needing to think for a minute. It was pure bliss.

You then started to spread some lube around the plastic of the strap on tip and shaft, making sure there was enough as not to hurt him. You positioned yourself to tease his entrance while you reached forward and grabbed around his throat, pulling him back, and you whispered in his ear.

"Now... are you ready for me to take you back to Heaven, darling?" you growled in his ear.

"Y-yes... yes mommy," he whimpered before you let go of the grip on his neck and slowly eased yourself into him. Lucifer let out a long moan as you slid into him. He dropped back down to all fours, and as you started pumping, he matched your pace in response. He felt so full and high on the feeling of you inside of him. As he got used to it, you started to pump faster and faster, his moans getting louder and louder. You waved your fingers through his hair, griping it and pulling his head back as you railed him, the grip of his hair making him moan and cry even louder, tears of pleasure running down his cheeks. Lucifer reached down and started to stroke himself as you pounded him. You took his other arm and held it behind him, forcing his face with squish into the bedding, muffling his cries.

After a while, Lucifer couldn't take it anymore, "Baby...oh hells... I need... mmmm... I need to fuck you... I beg of you." It made you so wet to see him like this, to have this power over him and to be pleasuring him in this way.

You cocked your head to the side and stopped you momentum while inside of him, and you pull him back up so you could whisper in his ear, "What is the magic word, Luci?" you purred.

"Mmmm... ahhh... p-please?" she whined. You obliged, removing yourself and replacing him on the bed on all four. Lucifer made quick of work of getting you in the same position you had just had him in, but with both hands behind your back as he quickly entered you and began pounding you again, screaming and moaning. You were sure the whole hotel could hear you, but you guys didn't care. It didn't take long until you both were reaching climax again and came at the same time before falling on the bed again in an exhausted heap.

Once he caught his breath, Lucifer pulled you in close, to cuddle against your naked body. Your bodies felt like magic against each other. He wanted to do nothing else other than hold you the rest of the night, you guys had the rest of time to try out the rest of the toys. He found your hand and laced his fingers in with your as he looked in your eyes. All you saw in each other's eyes was love and joy.

"y/n, I love you so much. Now and forever."

"I love you too, Lucifer."

You pulled Lucifer into another passionate kiss.

As you drifted off you sleep in Lucifer's arms, you whispered "I'm so happy we found each other, found love... in a hopeless place."

THE END

(unless?)

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Thank you all so much for the love I have gotten for this story! This is beyond anything I ever thought I would see from this and I am so happy. Some people are interested in a 2-5 years later chapter, would anyone be interested in that? This would be a chapter 13 that I would probably be posted in a few weeks. Let me know in the comments. Also! I will be starting my next Luci x Reader story in a few days, "Talk to Me", which will focus on a Fallen Angel Reader. Let me know if you want tagged in Chapter 1 of that! xoxo, dany ❤️

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