#demon!Rhys au

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Obsidian Salt

Summary: A little Witch!Reader x Demon!Rhys AU for my Spooky Season Fic List

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My hands shake around the ancient text, the worn tome heavy and dust laden from years upon years of sitting on a shelf, untouched and forgotten. The old latin script is illegible in places, the ink faded and hidden under unidentifiable stains; the parchment is dog-eared and scribbled in, the margins full of strange, archaic markings I’ve never seen used in our Coven’s rune work. These are not the spells of my ancestors, not the runes my mother and grandmother cast upon the old foundations of our family home. We are a family of witches, dating back beyond the ages of written word; I am supposed to carry on that legacy, but truth be told, I’ve always been terrible at spellwork. My potions are mediocre; powers of persuasion abysmal. I truly am a poor excuse for a witch, and everyone in the coven knows it. Perhaps that is why Sister Ruth chose me to put on a demonstration at the Solstice Festival tomorrow. If I cannot prove my worth, well, maybe it is in the best interest of the coven to throw me out, or worse, make a sacrifice out of me. 

I would not be the first.

I grip the tome a little tighter. I must prove my usefulness. I cannot fail my sisters, or worse, my grandmother.  She raised eight successful witches, it would be to her utter shame to have been my teacher all these years for nothing. 

I draw a shaking breath. These spells are old magic. Dark magic. But I must get good at something quickly, and the gods know I will not get there on any natural talent. Perhaps I don’t need to be a natural. Perhaps I just need to summon something that is. 

On the old wood floor of our basement, I have laid the circle of obsidian salt in three overlapping circles, each etched with runes of chalk for protection. Just in case, I’ve dusted the floor with dried rosemary and anise seeds; an added barrier against whatever evil I might accidentally conjure if this goes wrong. My mother’s amulet feels heavy beneath my sweater, the cold iron biting against my skin as if in warning against what I am about to do.

I take another deep breath and ignore the warning. I must not fail.

The words are clunky, foreign on my tongue, the first couple of tries produces no results at all. Perhaps I really am the worst witch ever!

I grip the tome so tight the spine groans as I try again, slower this time, sounding out each word piece by piece. I will not fail.

The whole basement is lit with candles and as I finish the final words of the spell, the light suddenly snuffs itself out. 

The air in the room drops to near freezing temperatures. My hands so stiff and shaky around the old tome that the book slips from my hands and falls somewhere in the darkness. I make it onto my knees to look for it in a mad scramble before the sound of rushing wind fills the tiny room. It’s so loud I have to cover my ears with my shaking hands. 

In the center of the salt ring, dark shadows begin to slither out from a crack in the floor, hissing like a dozen tiny snakes. 

What have I done?!

I scramble to find the book in the dark, hands tearing over the anise seeds and clumps of rosemary. Perhaps the crushed scent of herbs will be enough to ward off whatever terrible shadow I’ve just called upon!

The temperature of the room continues to drop, lower and lower, even as the screeching wind gets louder and louder. The shadows within the circle grow darker and thicker by the moment, spinning now like a whirlwind. At least the salt holds. 

And then, as quickly as the noise had begun, it suddenly quiets. All the candles light themselves again, allowing me to see where I’d dropped the book: Directly into the circle, having bounced over the line, and it now sits at the feet of the most handsome male I’ve ever seen in my life.

I can do nothing but stare. I had meant to summon some help, the soul of an old mage or a spirit from another world, perhaps, but not… well, whatever he is. He’s definitely alive, his bronze, bair chest rising and falling, making the swirl of dark ink over his skin move in twining patterns. Not a spirit, though I do not know what to make of the great, bat-like wings that sprout from his back, the leathery membrane twitching as he brings them close to his body to avoid the barrier the salt creates. And his eyes! Gods, there like two blazing, violet suns inside the sharp planes of his face. 

“Well isn’t this interesting,” he purrs, voice smooth as velvet.

“Gods, what have I done?” I whisper to no one in particular.

His mouth twists in a devilish grin as he bends down to pick up my tome. From the tips of his fingers come dark claws. A bit of living shadow curls over his wrist, moving like snakes across the worn pages. “No gods here, Darling.”

I, somehow, find it within me to stand, despite my shaking legs. It is still terribly cold in this basement; the source of it seems to be coming from him. “What are you?”

He chuckles as he flips through the pages, claws running affectionately over the runes written in the margins. “Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

The longer I watch him the more off I realize he is. There are fangs in his mouth, the sharp tips of them glinting in the candlelight. Tiny, glittering drops of starlight glisten in the strands of his raven-black hair. Intertwined within the ink across his chest are smaller versions of the runes written within the pages of the book. 

“I’ll stay right here,” I say.

He sticks out his full lower lip in a pout. “That’s no fun!”

He takes a step closer to the line of salt, testing the barrier with the tip of his boot. At least I managed to summon him half-way decent in a dark, leather pair of pants and boots. I don’t know what I’d do if I had summoned him fully nude. 

My cheeks flush at the thought, drifting down to follow the defined V of his abs, and where his pants slide low on his hips. If he were human I’d climb him like a tree. 

“Don’t tell me you summoned me just to gawk?” He presses. When he catches where my eyes are on his body, he adds, “Although you’re welcome to enjoy the view for as long as you like.”

I let out a huff. “I didn’t summon you for anything! I was trying to talk to the spirits.”

“There’s only one spell that can summon me, and you picked it,” he turns the book to show me the exact page I’d been reading from. “So tell me, what is it you want, Witchling?”

The way he says Witchling makes my skin flush; the heat in his tone enough to make me second guess myself. Why did I think that spell would summon something else? 

Perhaps I am a fool for saying it, but I blurt, “I need help.”

“Do tell,” he purrs.

“I’m supposed to give my coven a display of my magic tomorrow, for the Solstice, and well… I’m kind of the worst witch ever.” 

He glances at the herbs on the floor, and then back up to me. I swear there are actual violet flames moving around within his irises. I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think it’s anything that can help me. But how am I supposed to send him back without the book?

“I meant to summon a spirit to guide me in some quick magic. I didn’t mean to summon, well, whatever you are.”

“I am many things,” he says, walking a slow circle around the barrier, testing it. It’s like watching a recently caged animal at the zoo; he’s testing every point for a weak spot, and if he finds it, he’s using it. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. What do I do if he gets out?

“But you can call me Rhys.”

If there is any heat left in the room, it leaves in a rush. “As in Rhysand? One of the Princes of Hel?”

Rhys drags his claws over the invisible barrier the salt creates and I watch the magic ripple and pulse under those sharp tips. “Perhaps.”

“You need to go back,” I say in panic, even though I know it can’t work that way. I summoned him. I have to be the one to send him back. Without the book, Hel, even with the book, I can’t do anything. 

“Then send me back, Witchling.”

I’m going to have to get my grandmother, and everyone is going to know that not only am I a failure as a witch, but I am a danger to all of us. I can’t even read a spell book right! I summoned a Prince of Hel by accident!

I chew on my thumbnail, pacing now myself around the outside edges of the salt. What do I do? What do I do?

“Oh but you can’t, can you?” He teases, knocking the book against the barrier. “Not without this pretty little thing.”

The dried herbs crunch under my boots as I keep pacing. There are no other tomes like that accessible to me, not without the Elders knowledge. This one had slipped past unnoticed in my grandmother’s grand collection, I had found it by sheer luck. There were no other texts to help me out of this one, and at this rate, even if there was, could I even get it to work?

“So how about we do this my way, hmm?”

A shiver crawls its way up my spine. 

“You break the barrier, and I will help you with your little Solstice tomorrow.”

I finally turn to look at him. “You would do that?”

“After tomorrow night, you can send me back and we can pretend this whole thing was a bad dream.”

Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all! Maybe I can still turn this around!

“You won’t cause any trouble?” I ask.

He puts a clawed hand over his heart. “I will not cause any trouble.”

“You swear it?”

“I cannot break my word, Darling,” he returns. 

My hands shake. What other choice do I have? “Just until the Solstice passes.”

“I promise you, that is all the time I will need.” I have to admit, his voice is strangely soothing. He does not strike me as some malevolent ruler of darkness at all. 

I grab a broom off the wall. “It’s a bargain then.”

He grins wolfishly the entire time, watching my every step as I approach with the intensity of a wolf stalking a deer. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s only one night, what could one night hurt? With one last shaking breath, I drag the broom through the salt and break the seal.

The book clatters to the floor for a second time tonight, as he lunges forward, a clawed hand wrapping around my neck as his momentum propels me back against the wall. I hit the worn stones so hard dust rains down from the ceiling. 

Panic grips me; I have no magic to save me as a real witch ought. He’s taller than I thought he was, towering over me as his grip on me tightens to the point of pain, the tips of his claws leaving indents in my skin.  Rhys chuckles at my plight as he leans down and brushes his lips over mine in the ghost of a kiss. Ice fills my veins at the contact. “Silly little, Witchling, a night is more than enough to make you mine.”

[damian-lil-babybat]

here's a quick doodle of Respawn smiling. I am reminded of how few my fanarts are for him, so there.

He's canonically half brother of Damian. And he still has no human name! Been waiting for Deathstroke to give him one, but I guess he has to earn it?

I just HC his name as Rhys al Ghul Wilson (nickname for Respawn) for now.

Robin (2021) #13

[deathtrap-01]

My inner demons Leif

[turtiowo]

The tiny mermaid Syalis was happy when humans were not yet hunting her kind. When the hunt began, her elders protected her, and she lost everyone she loved, one by one, until her heart turned into a piece of ice. There was a time when she fought against humans, but this did not decrease their numbers, but increased them. So much that the mermaids began to become extinct. The seas were polluted with blood and the power of her kind diminished, and Syalis fled… unwillingly. For centuries, she had no time to rest. Whenever she found a new place, it was discovered immediately. It's unclear whether she was trapped because she was tired or because she gave up.

[starmieee]

Thinking about my Reverse MID au (inspired by a fanfic yes im not original) and its funny that Rhys and Asch most definitely hate each other THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE of loyal right hand man and prince

Since Asch is a nepo baby (i think thats the term) or is the child of an extremely rich person and doesn't have to work meanwhile Rhys has worked his entire life in order to get a good career (he's still in college) so you can imagine the beef they have

[daddyanubi]

Messy sketches based off an angel and demon au I have for these two.

[mid-parasite-au]

RHYS!!!

Repost cause I forgot his glasses

[creamecream]

"Ta~ you are on timeout."

Magnolia May belongs to @abyssnighthawk

Pose found on Pinterest.

[phenikas]

Just wanna let you all know I am in the middle of so many wips it's not even funny... I'll try to get at least one thing out this week but bear with me cause work is absolutely kicking my ass and I do not have as much free time as I wish I had

There's still two reqests I wanna finish but then there's a Halloween thing I wanna do that involves editing Jack and Rhys' textures and also slightly modifying Rhys' old Tales Atlas model.

And then there's another thing that I wanna do for once I reach 200 followers which honestly I have no idea when that's gonna be (hint: AI Jack RGB lights) (another hint: it's gonna be a video with actual voice lines taken from tales files this time)

Also I started writing one of my wips again that I haven't really talked openly about but it is the same AU as that one drawing I did earlier this year and I feel like it's not supposed to have a definite ending so I might just put whatever I wrote on AO3 sometime soon and then get back to it later once I have more of it written down

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Obsidian Salt III

Summary: Demon!Rhys' plan for the Solstice comes to a head

Content Warnings: Dark!Rhys, Mental Manipulation, DubCon, Slight NSFW; a dash of slut-shaming/body issues; mentions of blood and burns, nothing super graphic.

Part One / Part Two

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There is only one thing I can be absolutely certain of: I have no control of my body. Flames dance from my fingers, the color and shape of them wrong. It’s not the orange and yellow hues it should be, but shades of blue and purple that don’t burn, no matter how much pours from my fingers. My skin doesn’t blister. The heat doesn’t touch me. Stranger still, I can’t feel the pull in my chest that tells me I’m using too much energy, even though I should. The words on my lips are a spell in a language I know I don’t speak, but they flow off my tongue as if it is all I have ever known. 

Worse still, I can’t remember what it is exactly that I do and don’t know. There is only this thick darkness in my skull and the flames that glitter around my fingers like tiny Sprites. There is nothing before this, and nothing ahead of this. Only now, watching the pile of tomes and old books burn on the charred forest floor. A blood moon rises swiftly ahead of us.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Witchling?” My companion’s voice is a lover’s purr, rich and silky next to my ear as he watches from over my shoulder. I can’t remember where or when I met him. All I know is that I want more of his approval. I think I might do anything for it as his hands settle on my hips. My head feels strangely empty of everything except him and the strange fog, but I don’t entirely mind the quiet, as long as I get the reward of his lips and body against my own.

“Mhm,” I hum, leaning back against the firm planes of him. 

His hands slide under my shirt and skim higher, his claw tipped hands drifting with enough pressure to make me shiver without drawing blood. “We’re almost free of them.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth and bite down against the whimper threatening to slip out of me as his hands come up to cup my breasts. My body is not my own because it’s his.  I crave every bit of affection he’ll give me, every touch and kiss and whisper of breath against my flushed skin feels like a gift. 

“Why start by burning books?” I ask, trying not to sound so needy by moaning like I want to when he gives my nipple a harsh tug. My body betrays me in the end, chest arching into his touch, practically begging for more.

“No spells to counter us,” he replies. I know he can feel my desperation, know he’s egging it on by rocking the hard length of his erection into the supple flesh of my ass, but his hands slide back down my body, robbing me of the pleasure I so furiously crave.

 His hands stop at my hips, claws dipping into my skin as he holds me in place. “Not yet, Little Witch. You’ll have your fun once we’re done here.” 

I tilt my head back against his shoulder, pouting, hoping he might change his mind as I rock my ass back into him. 

One of his hands leaves my hip to grab me firmly by the throat. “Don’t be greedy. You’ll take what I give you, when I decide to give it to you.”

My body freezes, held by some invisible grip even as he releases me. The loss of contact makes panic swell in my chest. “I’m sorry! I’ll focus.”

The hard lines of his face, distorted in the firelight, soften just a bit. “Good girl.”

The panic settles in my chest as the invisible grip on my body falls away. That’s better, even if he doesn’t put his hands on me again as he motions me away from the dying embers of our book pyre. At least I have him close. 

Rhys walks with his hands in his pockets now, wings tucked tight behind him. His gate is unhurried, as we stride through the quiet woods, the blood moon lighting the way. I think its arrival might be important, but I have no memories of why. 

“The witches will be gathering soon,” he says. “They’re expecting you.” 

Violet eyes glance over my attire and he adds, “You’ll need to change.”

I don’t question him as he steps onto a well worn trail and follows it all the way to a house. My house. The memory of it comes back into focus as if it had been lifted out of a fog, though it looks strange to me now. The runes along the foundation look like they were made by children, the wards they cast are flimsy at best. Strange, I’d always thought they were the best in the neighborhood.

“You see them as I see them,” he explains as he lifts a clawed hand and tears right through the glittering ward. “Key is in your pocket.”

Right. I slide my hand into the pocket of my jeans and find the key along with a couple crushed pieces of dried rosemary. What the hell was I doing with it? 

I slide the key into the lock and step into the dark house. It’s utterly silent, all the lights off. When I reach for the light switch, Rhys bats my hand away. “The neighbors don’t need to know we’re here.”

I somehow know my way around in the dark, even as the memory slowly returns, slipping out from the fog like a frightened prey animal. My room is the smallest, crammed into the attic, my footsteps echo on the stairs as we walk, but Rhys makes no sound. If anyone was in the house they would have assumed I was alone. Every once in a while I have to glance back over my shoulder to make sure he’s still there.

He only lets me turn the lights on in my cramped bedroom once he’s sure there are no windows to give us away. The sight of him having to duck to not slam his head against the slanted roof is amusing enough to make the risk worth it. He settles himself on my bed after a moment of knocking things around with his wings, long legs folded beneath him on my worn quilt, a frown crossing his handsome features.

“I’ve seen prison cells with more space,” he huffs.

I go to the wardrobe jammed in the corner, the old oak doors hanging on by a single, rusted hinge that squeaks when it opens. I wince as I start pushing old sweaters and jackets around, unsure of what I’m looking for. “What’s the dress code for this?”

The apex talon on his left wing scrapes against the wall, slashing through the worn wallpaper, and he huffs as he wraps the leathery membrane around himself like a cocoon. “Fucking witches. All so godsdamn small!”

Once he’s sure he’s not going to wreck anymore of the decor, he turns his attention back to me and I feel heat rush through me once more as those violet eyes roam over my body. “You’ll look good in black.”

A blush works its way up my cheeks as I start pushing pastel sweaters and multicolored t-shirts out of my way, looking for anything black. There’s a small, lacey thing tucked in the back and I have a distinct memory of someone telling me not to wear that to some function or another but the details or fuzzy. All I know is that someone, somewhere, made me feel small the last time I’d worn it. And I will never let anyone make me feel like that again.

I pull it out of the wardrobe and hold it out for Rhys to see. Something about him heightens all my worst emotions. My anger feels tenfold. My insecurities have tripled. I need him to quiet one and use the other, that much I do know.

His fangs glint in the witchlights the bob from the ceiling as he takes it in. “Certainly not the attire of a virgin sacrifice.”

A shadow from within the fog lets me see my grandmother’s threat from yesterday and I ball the dress in my hands up in my fists. “I’m no one’s sacrifice!” There’s something… different in my voice, and whatever it is makes the witchlights shutter. 

Rhys only grins triumphantly at the sight. “That’s my girl.” 

I take a shuddering breath to calm the pulsing of something I feel in my veins, something I can’t identify, something I don’t remember possessing before. Something that belongs to Rhys just as much as I do. It starts with a buzzing feeling in my spine, where his sigil sits. 

“I’m going to go change.” A tendril of shadow snakes out from underneath his wings and snags me by the wrist, pulling me towards where he sits on the bed before I can even take a step towards the door. 

“Why so shy?” He teases, wings unfolding enough for him to reach out a clawed hand and brush it against the buttons on my jeans. “What are you afraid I’ll see?”

I shiver at the contact, my legs moving on their own accord until my knees bump against the bed frame. He has such complete control over me, I don’t know if he even knows it. “I’m not afraid of anything!” I try to protest but my voice shakes when I speak.

He grins as his claws retract to let him pop the buttons open, large hands slowly pushing the loose fabric down my hips. It is an effort to stand still, to not climb into his lap and straddle him right here in my ratty bedroom. 

Once the fabric is past my thighs my jeans fall to the floor in a pool around my ankles on their own accord, his callused hands now stroking up my exposed flesh to reach for the hem of my sweater. I am no blushing virgin, but I have never been this aroused by a simple action before either. I find myself biting my lip as I watch the way his hands move over my body. I’m scared if I move too fast or make too much noise he’ll stop, just like he did earlier, leaving me empty and cold in the loss of his touch.

He leans forward on his knees, wings parting just enough to let him lean forward without batting into the walls, to brush his lips over my stomach as he removes the sweater inch by inch. Every second passes by like an hour, his kisses slow and unhurried as if we have all the time in the world. 

I squeeze my eyes shut as his lips ghost over my ribs, nose brushing up against the band of my bra. His lips are so plush and warm, I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like wrapped around my nipple. The thought makes heat pool between my legs and I instinctively clench my thighs together, looking for some form of friction to take the edge off.  

He nips teasingly at the valley between my breasts, but leaves my bra in place as he finally pushes the sweater over my head and onto the floor. “Aren’t you pretty,” he purrs.

I can’t stop myself from leaning forward, one hand braced on his muscular shoulder to keep myself from falling directly into his lap. I need to kiss him. I need to have his lips back on mine.

He chuckles wickedly as he stops me with a hand on my throat, squeezing just enough to halt my movements. “What did we talk about earlier, hm?”

“Please, Rhys,” I whimper.

“After we’re done,” he promises, unbothered by the effect he has on me, knowing I’m so totally at his mercy and desperate for any attention. I think he likes keeping me here. Likes knowing he can dangle pleasure within reach and then rip it away from me before I can truly have a taste. It might be the most effective way to keep me from looking into what we’re doing and I am a fool who keeps falling for it, but anytime I start to question why I allow it, the fog returns in my head and all the questions disappear in a rush. Just as they do now.

My eyes feel heavy and my head empty as I nod, the movements of my body foreign, like a puppet being jerked around on a string. 

He pulls the dress over my head with the same slow, teasing pace as he’d taken off my clothes, and it only makes the heat beneath my skin all the worse. The dress halts on my upper thighs, just long enough to cover all the important bits, and his hands linger on the hem, fingers tracing strange shapes on the inside of my thighs.

I might be desperate enough to try begging one more time, were it not for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Rhys dissolves into shadow and smoke and dives underneath the bed as the door opens and my Mother strides in, broom still in hand from the flight over.

“What are you wearing?” She says in greeting.

That pulse of anger that had made the lights flicker returns and she glances at it with one, manicured brow raised in surprise. 

“I thought it looked nice-”

“You look like a whore,” she returns, hands smoothing over the green cloak dusting her shoulders. If she cares about the new display of power, she doesn’t mention it. Probably thinks it's a fluke. Or perhaps an errant flair of her own magic, she certainly has enough to spare. “Change before you head out. I’m sure your performance tonight will be embarrassing enough as it is without you being seen by everyone in that awful outfit.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment. 

“You told me you were going on a diet,” she continues to chastise. “That dress certainly proves that a lie.”

I run a hand over my stomach self-consciously, but I can’t think through the fog to find an argument. 

“Honestly, Y/N, is all this a joke to you?”

“No!” I protest but she cuts me off.

“You certainly could have fooled me! Our family name is on the line here, you understand the reputation you have to uphold, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mother,” I try again, but she continues on like I hadn’t.

“Our family holds the front line against both the human world and the demon one. Do you know how much work that takes, to keep the demons leashed to their dimension and keep those stupid humans in the dark? Do you have any idea the sacrifices we’ve all had to make? The work we’ve all put in?”

“Yes-”

“Do you know how many Sisters I have lost? How many I had to decide to sacrifice to preserve our coven’s strength?”

“I understand-”

“To show weakness is to invite our destruction. This peace you have gotten to grow up in has come at a terrible price. It is not a game.”

“I know-”

“No, you don’t!” She hisses. “Because if you did, then you would have taken your lessons seriously. You would have studied harder. You wouldn’t be an example of weakness today.”

My hands are clenched so hard at my sides my fingernails have left indents in my palms. “I will not disappoint you tonight, Mother.”

“You only have one shot to prove yourself, because if the Salem girl beats you, you’re the sacrifice, you understand that don’t you?”

Rhys’s sigil on my back burns. “I know. She won’t beat me. I’ve been practicing.”

She frowns as she shifts her broom to her other hand. “I wish I believed you.”

She might as well have hit me. 

“I have to hunt tonight, there are too many humans on the border.”

And as powerful and proud as my Mother is, she can’t stand there and watch me make a fool of myself. As always, the Coven provides a perfect excuse for her to not be around while I “disgrace the family name”  and “make her wish I was never born”. The instances in which she said those very words flood my mind at a feverish pace, spinning round and round like a whirlwind movie performance. The burning at my back spreads all the way to my fingertips and I swear I feel the flicker of a flame between my clenched fists again.

“Do you really think so little of me?” I ask, my voice a lot smaller than I mean it to be.

“I stopped expecting big things from you a long time ago,” she retorts, straightening her cloak again. If she feels any remorse for the words or concern for my wellbeing, she doesn’t show it. I am as expendable as any other witch in the Coven, maybe more since she thinks so little of me. “Just try not to die tonight, ok?”

“I won’t be dying tonight,” I say through my teeth.

She nods, turns towards the stairs, then glances back one last time over her shoulder. “Change before you go.” Those are her parting words for my impending doom?

The door shuts behind her and I lash out and slam my fist into the wall in frustration; the first movement of my body all day that has felt distinctly mine and not so terrible intertwined with Rhys.. The wood groans under my burning knuckles, but worse still, the fading wall paper smolders, the edges burning and crinkling, the smell of melting glue filling the air. I glance down at my hands long enough to see a flicker of those blue flame disappear between my knuckles through the tears brimming my eyes. 

Rhys materializes from under the bed, looking annoyed that he can’t stretch out his wings. “That was harsh, even for a Witch.”

I stretch out my hands, palms splayed, no more flames to be seen, even if the wallpaper still smolders. “Is this from you?”

“It’s the amplification of what’s already inside you,” he says.

My Mother’s words still ring in my ears. “There’s nothing inside me.”

He reaches out a hand and tilts my head up to look at him. “We both know that’s not true, Darling.”

I wish I could remember how he came to me; remember which god I needed to thank for bringing him to me. No one understands me like he does. He makes me feel seen, like I’m not entirely a burden. The fleeting moment of control I had over my body disappears, dispelled by this new touch of his hands against my face.

He wipes the tears that slip down my cheeks with his thumbs. “Ready to show them exactly what you are, Little Witch?”

I’m not going to change the dress. And I’m not going to die today either. “Yes.”

He grins wickedly, eyes going all black again. “Then let’s give them a Solstice no one will ever forget.”

Those words are the last thing I remember before the fog takes me completely. There is only darkness and shadow, floating and swirling so intensely around me that I lose sight of everything. I am not a person, I am a thought, tossed around in the dark. Dully, I am aware of sounds. Of a flash of heat on my skin. Of the distant sound of screaming. Terror becomes a companion, but it is never an emotion that comes from me, only something that walks alongside me in the dark. Through it all, there is never a moment that I am not aware of him. His being is as intertwined in the darkness as I am, I think he might very well have been its creator as well as its caretaker. Even here, the brush of him is enough to keep me from thinking too hard about it. The darkness is good and soothing and nothing to fear, no matter what sounds come from outside it.

When he finally sets me free from the darkness, it is in a world once again on fire. What looks like a celebratory parade now lays in cinders, the charred remains of a skeletal figure clutching the melted wheel on the front. The air is heavy with ash, the wind blowing embers across the blood red sky. 

There is more screaming. Underneath what once might have been a floral arch, twisted in the burning ribbons are people… no witches, fighting for an escape that doesn’t come as the winged death god that has followed me all day stalks towards them with his claws out, chuckling at their plight.

Something in me recoils, fights against the invisible hands that hold me, just enough to let out a scream of horror as the witches meet a bloody end, the gore splattering across Rhys’s wings. He turns to look at me then, grinning wickedly, no violet in his eyes to be seen, only endless black pits.

The shadow in my skull parts just enough to remind me what he really is: Demon. Prince of Hel.

My hands shake at my sides. My back aches and burns like someone had tried to set me on fire, but I am wholly unscathed compared to the carnage and destruction around me.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

But the fog in my head closes in tighter, sharper now, like talons digging into my skull. I scream as I fall to my knees, but the hands that hold me won’t let me reach for my head. Blue flames still dance from my fingertips, flames I don’t remember unleashing. 

“What?” Each word is a battle to get out. “What did I do?”

The blood on his hands is cold as ice as he brushes a hand over my cheek. “What you were meant to do, Little Witch. What they were always scared you could do. Don’t you see? You’re free!”

Free? Whatever the Solstice celebration was supposed to be is irrelevant now, there is only death and fire and it’s all at my hand. The moment guilt starts to creep in, the fog rips it away from me, replaces it with that same need to please him.

“You freed me?”

Invisible hands help me stand again. He braces a hand on my hip to steady me as he brushes his lips over my forehead. The fires seem irrelevant like this. “They’ll never hurt you again. They’ll never hurt us again.”

I can’t remember what he was saving me from. Before I can ask the question, a false sense of gratitude worms its way into my chest. Another gift from him. The more gifts he gives me, the more hollow and cold I feel my insides becoming. My head doesn’t know reality from the world he creates inside my mind, but my heart is another matter. There is something very, very wrong with him. With me. But I am not strong enough to fight it. The sigil at my back burns when I try.

“What now?”

Plush lips brush against mine. My body moves for me, chasing the heat of him. Chasing the blissful pleasure of emptiness that comes when he touches me. His wants are mirrored through me somehow. 

“What would you like now, My Little Witch? The rest of the Coven? A throne perhaps? There is nothing in your way. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

I don’t know that I want anything. Nothing feels real. Nothing but him.

“Want you,” I say, voice a little breathless, as if conjuring up anything of myself from within the fog is a tremendous effort. It certainly feels like it. I don’t know if that’s another gift from him or not. Everything is becoming so very muddled again. 

The demon grins as he asks, “And then?”

Images swirl around my head. Each carefully planted by those invisible hands. I am powerless to resist their influence. “No more witches.”

“I couldn’t think of anything better, Darling.”

-----

Tag List:

@girl-math-aint-mathing / @hjgdhghoe / @gloomy-hag / @barb00235 / @scxrletwitches

Thank you for all your patience! <3

[serpentandlily]

Wicked Games - Halloween Special

Dark!BatBoys x Reader (modern au)

Summary: The boys corrupt their captured Angel.

Warnings: drug use, thigh riding, dark themes (mdni)

a/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! 🎃✨ hope you enjoy this little Halloween special with our favorite boys!

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥Part III

༺♥༻

Halloween Special

༺♥༻

The music was pounding through the speakers, the lights pulsating mixed colors on the floor and walls. The atmosphere was dark and sensual. Fake cobwebs hung in the corners of the walls, spooky decorations placed all over.

It was Halloween night and the club was packed full of people in all sorts of costumes. You surveyed the dance floor, watching the mixture of bodies all moving together to the fast paced music.

You were where you always were when you came to Velaris, the illustrious night club. In the VIP section, perched on the owner’s lap—Rhysand’s lap.

He was lucky he was much taller than you otherwise the white feathered wings you had strapped to your back would’ve smothered his face.

You were dressed as an Angel. Your costume had, of course, been picked out by Rhysand. It was hardly more than some skimpy white lingerie completed with a halo headband and the wings.

Rhysand was dressed as the Devil in all black, with horns clipped in his hair. Not much of a costume but considering he already was a devil in disguise, it suited him.

Cassian and Azriel were dressed as his demons. Both also had horns clipped to their hair and wore massive bat-like wings.

An Angel and her devil and two demons.

You had to admit, they all looked hot—devilishly handsome. Just the sight of them alone had your pulse racing. You knew by the grin on their faces that they felt it too.

You sipped on your cocktail, already on your second one and feeling a nice buzz. Rhysand leaned forward, brushing your hair to one side.

“Having fun, Angel?”

His breath ghosted the tip of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Not too long ago you had been in a similar position with him while his fingers were inside of you. The thought of that night caused an ache between your legs.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, leaning into his touch. His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand flat against your stomach.

“Such good manners tonight,” Cassian teased from next to you. “Maybe you should always keep this costume on.”

“Don’t tease her, Cass.” Azriel’s dark and husky voice came from your other side. You felt him graze the back of his knuckles against your upper arm. “Not while she’s being such an angel.”

You smirked at Cassian. You always loved it when Azriel took your side. Cassian playfully narrowed his eyes at you in challenge.

“I think she deserves a sweet treat,” Rhysand purred. “Do you guys agree?”

You twisted your head to the side to look at Rhys. Your eyes met Rhy’s violet ones full of mischief and lust. Your eyebrows raised in question as his two demons nodded their agreement.

Rhysand reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It was a small baggie filled with a few translucent looking patches.

“What is that?”

“This, Angel, is called the Devil’s Tongue,” Rhys whispered. He leaned down, nipping at your ear. “It’ll make you feel good. I promise.”

He sat up straight, raising a single eyebrow at you in question. You weren’t a stranger to drugs, though you’d never tried this one before. But it was Halloween after all, and the Devil was offering you the chance to sin.

You held out your palm but Rhys smacked it down.

“Pick one of my demons, Angel.”

You were confused, facing forward again to look at Cassian and Azriel. Cassian grinned at you but Azriel’s face held just a small smirk.

“Azriel,” you said. He had been on your side earlier, after all. Cassian gave you a faux pout while Azriel’s smirk turned into a grin.

A grin that looked anything but friendly. You swallowed nervously. Perhaps you had chosen wrong.

Rhysand opened the baggie and pulled out one of the tiny square patches. You watched with curiosity as Azriel opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. Rhys placed the translucent patch right on his tongue.

The Devil’s Tongue indeed.

“If you want it,” Rhys purred as he gripped both your wrists in his hand. “You’ll have to take it from him.”

You knew where this was going. Rhysand was going to continue to hold your arms back so if you wanted it, you’d have to use your own tongue to take it from him. It really should’ve taken you longer than half a second to decide what you wanted but when in Rome…

You made eye contact with Azriel, bristled at the challenge in his hazel eyes. Fine then. You’d show them.

You leaned towards him, your eyes fluttering closed. You stuck your tongue out, letting it swirl over his before licking the patch right off his tongue. But you took things further as Azriel pulled his tongue back into his mouth and smashed your lips against his.

Azriel was quick to react, meeting your passionate vigor with his own, a small grunt escaping from him. Rhys shifted you in his lap with a groan, clearly enjoying the show you and Azriel were putting on.

You felt the drug dissolve in your mouth as you continued to kiss Azriel. His tongue darted out again, swiping your bottom lip. You parted your lips with a small gasp, letting him in.

Cassian let out a jealous growl from behind you, his calloused hand gripped your thigh. You continued to make-out with Azriel, groaning into his kiss as you felt Rhysand harden beneath you.

Cassian’s large hands moved to your waist, yanking you from Azriel and pulling you to face him. You smirked at the feral hunger in his eyes, the envy behind it.

“My turn,” he growled.

You tilted your head at him. “I don’t know, Cassian. I don’t think you’ve been very good tonight.”

His eyes sparked and he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “Tonight isn’t about me being good, baby girl. It’s about seeing just how bad we can make you.”

He pulled back to give you a wolfish grin.

“Why don’t you show my demon a little mercy, Angel?” Rhysand murmured. “Open up.”

The command in his voice had you parting your swollen lips, sticking your tongue out so he could place one of the tiny patches on it.

Cassian launched forward, licking the drug right off your tongue before grabbing you by the back of the head and crashing his lips against yours with a groan.

Azriel’s kiss had been sensual, slow and tantalizing. But Cassian was rougher with you, a mixture of teeth and lips that had you panting. You mindlessly grinded your ass into Rhysand’s hard cock needing more and more.

The drug was starting to kick in now. You could feel it inside of you, amplifying the emotions you were already feeling and leaving your mind spinning. Desire lit a flame in the lower pit of your stomach, your core pulsating with need.

Rhysand pulled you away from Cassian, who whined in response. You squealed as he spun you around easily, until your legs straddled his hips and you faced him. His eyes were dark with lust and he growled as his cock pressed against your clothed center.

“Open,” he commanded.

Your eyes were half-lidded as you stared at him with just as much hunger. You stuck your tongue out, letting him place another tablet on it. He swirled his tongue around yours, much like you had done to Azriel, before licking the patch from you.

Every inch of your skin was on fire. The air was heavy with desire and need. You wanted so much more. Wanted to take and take and take what you needed from them.

Azriel and Cassian’s hands were all over you, stroking your spine, your thighs, your shoulders. Any bit of exposed skin they could reach. You tossed your head back with a sigh, looking up at the pulsating colors on the ceiling that changed to the beat of the loud music.

“You are so hot,” Cassian growled, scraping his canines against the lobe of your ear.

“Beautiful,” Azriel breathed, kissing up your shoulder to your neck.

“Our little Angel is just as sinful as we are,” Rhysand purred.

More. You needed more.

“Rhys,” you whined, unsure why. All you knew was the ache between your thighs was almost unbearable. Cassian nipped at your throat as Azriel’s tongue lapped at the swell of your breast.

“What is it, Angel?” Rhysand crossed his hands behind his head, his gaze drifting between your eyes and your body that was perched perfectly in his lap—The Devil, king of the underworld without a crown, letting his demons corrupt his captured Angel.

“I want…” you mewled out between pants of air. “I need more.”

“Go on, Angel.” Rhysand grinned and you were spinning again. “Take what you need from me.”

Cassian’s hands trailed down your thigh, sliding under it and lifting your leg moving it between Rhysand’s lap so you were straddling one thigh. Azriel was kissing up your throat, gripping your chin with his hand to keep you in place.

Rhysand jerked his knee and you gasped as his leg rubbed against your center. Your eyes widened as you turned your head around to glance at the club but with Azriel and Cassian huddled so close to you and Rhysand, their large wings blocked your view.

“No one can see you, sweetheart,” Azriel said darkly, twisting your face to his. “No one is allowed to see you. Not like this.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. You kissed him back, relishing in the feeling of his soft lips. Cassian’s hand roamed your body, kneading your breasts, running up and down your bare thighs while Rhysand watched intensely.

“Help her, Cassian,” Rhysand ordered.

You were still too wrapped up in Azriel’s kiss, letting his tongue explore your mouth to understand what Rhysand meant. That is, until you felt Cassian grab you by your hips and rocked you on Rhysand’s thigh.

You gasped into Azriel’s kiss, a shot of electricity piercing through your body as your core rubbed against Rhysand’s leg. Cassian rocked you again and again, guiding your movement as he lapped at your throat, your jaw, the tops of your breasts. Anywhere he could.

“That's it, baby girl,” Cassian encouraged. “Use Rhys for your own pleasure. Let us make you feel good.”

Your Angel wings and breasts bounced softly with every roll of your hips. It wouldn’t take much to push you over the edge, not with the drug amplifying every feeling, every brush against your skin.

Cassian’s hands went back to roaming your body as you took over riding Rhysand’s thigh on your own. The grunts and groans coming from all three of them, the sight of Rhysand straining against his pants, only turned you on even more.

The pressure was building and building in the pit of your stomach. The colors of the club mixed together, the beat of the music serving as a guide for the movement of your hips.

You were so close. So close.

Azriel bit down on your bottom lip right as Rhysand purred, “Come for us, Angel. Let us hear those beautiful cries.”

The tiny spark of pain, his words, the feeling of his thigh rubbing against you—it knocked you right over the edge. You pulled away from Azriel’s kiss, tossing your head back as your orgasm shot straight through you.

It was lightening, euphoric, peaking you so high that the tumble down had you falling limp against Rhysand’s chest.

“Good girl,” he muttered, stroking a hand down your spine. “Our perfect little Angel.”

Because that’s what you were.

An Angel, captured by the Devil and his demons.

But if this was hell, you never wanted to go back to heaven.

༺♥༻

Tag list: @justdreamstars @minakay @f4iry-bell @godletmebeanf1wag @judig92 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @peaceandcrackers @glitterypirateduck @gorlillaglue25 @the-lake-is-calling @danikamariemain @sousydive @mis-lil-red @hallucynatiing @librafairy @poshestpigeon @sirenaobscura @red-rabbit-13 @elle4404 @strangelycami

[senjiiblogs]

My Inner demons but they enjoy a Slice of Life AU

(nah this is just my excuse to draw Hula pierce Cus I headcanoned him Hawaiian/Polynesian)

And Rhys trying out coconuts.

[wishcamper]

Smoke Signals chapter six

A modern Nessian AU

CW: past drug use, past physical and verbal abuse, general sibling dysfunction

i love these fools, i could never leave them alone for long. big juicy preview below the cut!

And so without pomp nor circumstance—without much thought at all—they fall together.

It’s gravitational, really. As if for so long they’ve been vaulted into the ether and can finally land where they’re meant to be.

They’re both tentative at times, like newborn fawns, skittish when they sense the other is drifting elsewhere. He tells her about the woman and the girl in the picture, the drunk driver whose final act stole their lives. She tells him about Mom, Grandmama. About the thin years when Niles was determined to be an abject failure, self-interested in every moment.

It’s nice, to feel held. To be seen. Even when it’s hard.

An argument with his family makes him angry one night. He slams his fist on the counter in a way that has her seeing stars, and it takes a few very confused minutes of crying to explain what’s going on. His devastation is immediate and unnecessary, so determined he is now to not set her off, not if he can help it.

It’s too new to want anyone else’s opinion, though he’s met her friends. Annoyingly they’re obsessed with him, giving her those looks she knows mean Don’t let this one go. Nesta only recognizes then that no one gave her the same about Tomas.

“We like him,” Emerie whispers when Cassian gets up to refresh the cheeseboard in the kitchen, top off drinks. “But if you say you’re over it, then he’s dead to us.”

“No, Nesta likes him, too, I can tell.” Gwyn giggles, her freckled cheeks flushed from prosecco.

So, it’s definitely happening.

They drive separately to the cabin for Christmas, despite both leaving from her apartment. Her to pick up Elain and him to chauffeur Azriel and his cat Shadow, who his brother is apparently very attached to despite her being, in Cassian’s words, a demon.

Amren and Varian—whose name Nesta finally knows—are in Havana. Niles is on an all-expenses-paid cruise Rhysand sent him on, and she suspects it was at Feyre’s request, though for whose sake it’s hard to say.

Nesta learns all this pressed to the back of the bedroom door where they first crashed together, greedy hands roaming under her shirt. Elain is downstairs with the stand mixer on high, the rest having gone to the store.

“Things you should know,” Cassian manages between kisses. “Don’t let Mor refill your drink, or she’ll never stop. Rhys picks fake lint off his shirt when he’s trying to distract you, don’t fall for it...” He trails off, preoccupied by the soft spot behind her ear until Nesta digs her nails into his shoulders. “Don’t mention Azriel’s weird sleep schedule. And don’t talk to him about buying something from Amazon or a targeted ad. Or say that your phone is ‘listening to you’. Or Elon Musk. Or TikTok. Or politics.”

Nesta huffs a laugh before Cassian captures her mouth again, a low groan in his throat. That last one won’t be easy, especially with Graysen, Elain’s fiance, arriving soon. He has.. opinions.

“Sounds like I should try not to talk to him at all.”

“That’s.. not a bad idea. And don’t try to pet Shadow’s belly, no matter how cute she is. It’s a trap.”

[shadowriel]

ACOTAR Couples & Halloween Costumes: Headcanons 👻 🎃

Feysand: Feyre and Rhys definitely have a cute family costume planned with Nyx, but as soon as they leave him with a babysitter, they have to be the hottest couple in a 25-mile radius. Think Mr. & Mrs. Smith, think mafia AU, think Feyre in a slutty dress and Rhys unable to keep his hands off her

Nessian: Nesta and Cassian start planning their costumes at least a year in advance. No expense is spared, no detail is overlooked. Sure, they get into semi-heated arguments leading up to their favourite day of the year, but it’s well worth it. My vote goes to them being sexy pirates, or a gender bent Hades and Persephone.

Elucien: The thing about Elain Archeron is that she will always be that bitch, so well-dressed that people can’t help but stare. Lucien LOVES it! He’s also more than happy to take off his shirt at Elain’s request. A Greek god (or warrior) and goddess definitely works for their day court vibes (bonus points if Elain is Aphrodite).

Azris: Eris and Azriel famously refuse to put effort into Halloween. Azriel has been known to throw on cat ears. Eris has worn a mask or used fake blood on more than one occasion. Yet, somehow they end up surprising everyone by dressing up as a cop (Eris) and sexy criminal (Azriel). Yes, the handcuffs are fully functional. And, yes, Azriel wears a crop top.

Emorie: Our fave girlies have one goal on Halloween, and that’s to look ridiculously hot. Mor lives by the fact that “hoes don’t get cold” and usually makes a costume out of lingerie. Emerie’s been known to follow her lead or dress in something’s that more comfy. I think they would absolutely slay as an angel and demon.

Bonus addition: Emerie as a witch (and Mor can tag along as a black cat)

Gwynriel: These two always go with a costume that’s ridiculously niche or nerdy. Sometimes, Gwyn will get Azriel to dress up as her favourite male characters. Sometimes, she’ll wear a gorgeous costume on her own (and Azriel will just be there, looking at her with hearts in his eyes). Batman and catwoman is a fan favourite, but Gwyn loves the year she found her new favourite book and got them to dress up as a priestess and shadowsinger.

Elriel: Elain is hot (see above), and Azriel is more than happy to take a supporting role when it comes to couples costumes. Elain wants to wear a fancy dress? Azriel will offer to hold her purse. It’s an Elain Archeron world and Azriel is loving every second of just being in it. I feel like a flower and gardener costume would be cute couples costume for them.

Jassa: Jurian and Vassa are here to have fun. All of their costumes are easy-going and definitely bought last-minute, but they still look amazing. They’re known to find things around the house, and wear a costume that they insist is a pun. Some years, they remember they have these race car outfits at the back of their closet.

Gwynlain: Gwyn and Elain are for the Pinterest girlies. They always have the most gorgeous costumes, and their makeup is impeccably done. Dare I say, they’re the second hottest couple in a 25-mile radius. My brain is literally malfunctioning at the thought of them dressing up like Bloom and Flora from Winx Club.

I honestly could go on and on (and on…)

[All images were found on pinterest]

[lady-bluebird-luv]

Happy @officialfeysandweek! This is my contribution for the day 7: AU prompt. I'm a little nervous about this one, but also really hyped. :)

Feyre frowned. “You’re a cannibal?” Jesus, she loved this man, and he fucking ate people?

"Oh, Feyre." Rhys leaned in until they were sharing breath, their mouths no more than a feather-width apart. “Cannibalism implies that I’m human.”

Something moved in a corner of the room. On the wall, his body's shadow unfurled. Feyre gasped softly as immense, leathery wings cocooned her.

Word Count: 4,950

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand

Additional Tags: Morally Ambiguous Rhysand (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Blood Drinking, Feysand Week 2024 | Tumblr: officialfeysandweek, Shameless Smut, Face-Sitting, Possessive Sex, Biting, Dark Rhysand (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Rough Sex, Morally Ambiguous Feyre, Wife Guy Rhys, jealous feyre, Established Relationship, Demon Rhysand (A Court of Thorns and Roses), I Wrote This While Listening to Ethel Cain's Music, Human Feyre Archeron, Mates

[littlest-w01f]

FeysandWeek Moodboard

For @officialfeysandweek

Day 7: AU

A/n: I... I couldn't choose just one...

Pirate x Siren

Pirate!Rhys who is the scariest man on the sea, Siren!Feyre who gave him his most brutal scars.

Feyre failed at making her first kill, accidentally leaving Rhysand alive, with claw marks on his chest and bite marks on his throat. Not that he cares much, his Siren was just marking him the way he was sure he would get to mark her in return.

Angel x Devil

Angle!Feyre who got kidnapped by demons during the war and Devil!Rhysand who couldn't bring himself to hurt her

Watching Feyre fight off his demons while caged up, impressed Rhysand, how she didn't back down, he set out to make sure she was protected in his realm, he never expected to fall in love with her.

Artist x Businessman

Artist!Feyre who is just starting out selling her work, Rich Businessman!Rhysand who buys her paintings for 10x the price because he's smitten.

Rhysand asks her to come over to his billion-dollar mansion so he could commission a portrait from her, Feyre thinks he's just a snobbish rich guy with money to waste, but he's paying her thousands of dollars so she doesn't complain.

Mob boss x Doctor

Mob boss!Rhysand who got injured in a deal gone wrong, Doctor!Feyre who treated him while he laid back and formed an obsession with her.

Feyre didn't know who he was until long after she was done treating him and he escaped from his bed. When she returned home, she found flowers sitting on her front door with no note, and every day after that.

Princess x King

Human Princess!Feyre who is forced to marry the Fae King!Rhysand as sacrifice to keep Fae from attacking her kingdom by her mother

Rhysand chose his bride, out of the three sisters the one the family had made sure was out of the way, and decked up more like a servant than a princess, while Feyre just loves stepping on his toes to try to assert her dominance but it's quite humorous for him.