#divine arm of dawn
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dailyfatefigures · 7 months ago
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Divine Arm of Dawn by Mad Hands
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tobeholyistobeempty · 12 days ago
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you’re drunk - simon ghost riley
part two. find part one here.
“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”
sober you is a lot less bold, but simon is a man of his word. 18+. insane amount of dirty talk, reader afab, PIV. smut smut smut smut. size kink.
——————-
the headache you wake with is devastating.
biblically so.
and not in the sunday service, water‑into‑wine sort of way. this is old‑testament vengeance. locusts and brimstone and a hammer slamming the earth between your temples. divine retribution for every godless thing you said, every blurred line you crossed - like some higher power watched you drink yourself stupid last night and said let there be suffering.
and fuck, suffering you are.
you’re barely coherent, hardly sentient, when you squint into the cold morning light and find the realization of what happened last night dawning in on you in fragments. out of order, scrambled like eggs - simon’s arm around your waist. you calling him big. military‑issued. ruin‑her‑life‑in‑a‑single‑night kind of hands. been into you for ages. god yes. please. y’don’t know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart. the way he said you’re makin me hard like it physically pained him.
practically moaning into his motherfucking palm.
wait - practically? no. you did.
you spend majority of the morning with your head buried under blankets and pillows mourning the death of your past self because you know your soul must be charred. burnt like the edges of hell where your feet are now firmly planted.
“you, wakin up with my dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”
fuck sakes.
you’ve known hangovers, you’ve known embarrassment, but this - this is some divine hybrid of the two. a cocktail of humiliation and mortification laced with whatever residual high you’re still riding from him saying come say it t’me sober like a goddamn dare.
and of course it only gets worse when you finally make it to your feet - teeth brushed twice after two whole water bottles and a shower hot enough to burn the devil out of hell - and notice something silver glinting on the table by your door that most definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning.
“oh…god.” your heart flips up into your throat.
his dog tags.
you’ve known simon long enough to know what this is. he didn’t forget them. he didn’t misplace them. he left them there to tell you he heard every fuckin word you said and he’s not letting you off the hook for it. it’s a test. if you meant it - which you did - you’ll bring them to him. you’ll say it to him sober like he asked.
a man of morals. who knew war criminals had it in them.
you spend what has to be a full ten minutes just staring at them - like maybe you’re still drunk, maybe you’re seeing things and they’ll vanish if you focus hard enough. maybe you can unsay every devastatingly honest thing you said with sheer mental fortitude alone and they’ll magically fly back to him on their own.
spoiler alert: they don’t move. because of course they don’t. and it takes another ten before you finally stuff them into your pocket.
it’s probably best to just rip the bandaid off. bring them to him before you have to face him infront of the others in mess or briefing - damage control before the rest of the world finds out about the stunt you pulled. you don’t even know what you’re going to say - sorry? thanks? let’s just pretend i never told you i fantasize about fucking you when i can’t sleep?
fuck. it doesn’t matter. you know you owe him the return. a peace offering, a penance, a silent white-flag kind of knock on his door.
and so you walk the hall like it’s the green mile. you’ve never done a walk of shame but you imagine this has got to be as close as it comes. his door is shut when you reach it, and you stand in front of it like a coward for another unnecessary amount of time - complexion almost ill. ghostly. like you could float right through the fuckin wood if the wind blew hard enough.
finally, you knock.
it’s a moment, and then he answers, filling his doorframe with those thick shoulders stretching a tight black t-shirt, looking right as rain besides damp hair and bloodshot eyes.
you wonder, fleetingly, if he even slept. but then his gaze drops over the length of you and you busy yourself with fighting the urge to run for your fucking life.
you clear your throat. “can i..uh. can we talk?”
he nods and pops the door open, gesturing for you to come in. you take a few steps into his room - dark, organized, rather sparse - and nearly jump out of your flesh when the door shuts behind you. the click of a cell door closing, announcing your sealed fate.
you spin to face him once his boots have stopped dragging across the tiles, and find him leaning back against his desk - ankles and arms crossed.
you swallow, and pull the tags from your pocket. “i um. i think you forgot these.”
his brow twitches, barely, as he takes a glance at your hand. a flash of something behind his eyes you can’t name.
“did i?” he doesn’t move.
you shift your weight. the mortification could eat you alive. you’re certain it currently is.
“figured i’d bring them back.” you add, quieter now, trying your fucking hardest to sound normal. like you didn’t just spend the night saying all kinds of unholy things into the palm of his hand. “incase…uh, you were looking for them.”
he still doesn’t take them.
“strange,” his lips tilt. the first sign he’s shown that he's enjoying this. “coulda sworn i left em’ somewhere on purpose.”
your stomach flips. you try to laugh but it’s brittle. “right. sure.”
he shrugs. “not the kinda thing i usually misplace.”
you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed, unsure how to respond to that. it’s hard to even breathe with the way he’s watching you - like he’s taking notes - reading everything you’re not saying in the line of your mouth, in the way your fingers tremble around the chain of his tags.
“shaky this mornin, yeah?” he says, just casually knocking the rest of the wind out of your chest.
“i-“
you falter, because what the fuck are you even supposed to say? no, i’m fine. i’m totally good, actually. i definitely didn’t spend all morning curled fetal, praying to gods who’ve certainly damned me for a head injury so i can forget the mental car crash that was last nights events.
simon waits, eyes blazing like you’re a twitchy little experiment. trying to see which wire makes you spark the hardest.
you clear your throat. try again. “m’just tired.”
“mm.” he hums with a lazy nod. “musta been all that talkin you were doin.”
and there it is. here it comes.
“can’t really remember, but i’m sure it’s part of it.” you lie with a forced laugh. lie so awkwardly it hurts. “tequila. you know how it is.”
“do i ever.” he replies, dragging a hand through his damp hair.
silence stretches thick, after that. it’s so thick it makes the walls feel closer, the floor feel further away. you avert your gaze, and realize almost immediately how big of a mistake that is because the motion pulls your eyes across his forearm - his bare, inked forearm, tendons flexing with the movement he’s making.
you remember that arm last night, wrapped tight around your waist. pulling you close before you moaned god yes and please beneath the big hand attached to it like fucking gospel.
when you flinch, he smirks. not even pretending like he didn’t notice. “y’remember nothin from last night, then?”
your eyes snap up to his. you hate yourself for the fact that all of last nights confidence seems to be no where in fucking sight.
“well, uh, it’s fuzzy but…i remember bits.”
“bits.” he echos. nodding. “yeah. must be a shame.”
oh god.
“shame?”
“shame t’forget all that detail.” he lets the words sink in, watching your face as he leans a hand on the desk behind him. “pretty interestin things. real deep. could write a bloody novel, the way y’were goin on.”
“oh.” you choke, again, and mentally slap yourself. get it together. “well. thats-“
he hums again. “suppose i could walk y’through it.”
“walk me-“
earth tilts. he doesn’t let you finish. “y’know. help piece it together. fill in the gaps.”
“you don’t-you don’t have to-“
he lifts a hand to gesture vaguely toward his bed. your pulse races to the moon.
“your room, y’were right there. lookin at me like i was gonna eat y’alive.” his voice lowers. you swallow and it tastes like sin. his finger shifts to the space before his bed. pointing at the edge. “and i was right there, tryin’ like hell t’be a fuckin gentleman.”
you could laugh, maybe cry, or just absolutely combust right there on the floor because it all floods back in an instant. the way you moaned his name when he knelt over you to undo your boots. the way your thighs tensed as you told him you think about him. the way you stared at him while your brain short circuited and your mouth betrayed every secret you thought you’d die with.
part of you did die, you suppose. the part with your dignity. right there on the floor of your room, next to your boots he took off.
“look, simon-“
he steps closer now. just a step. “y’said you’d been into me for ages.”
you blink, holding your breath.
“said y’think bout me when y’cant sleep.” his voice is a rasp now, the muscle in his jaw ticks. “i asked y’a question, then. d’you remember it?”
fucking hell.
“yes.” you exhale.
“what was it.”
your heart is a jackhammer, breaking through your sternum.
“you-you asked if i think about you when…” you hesitate, and he cocks an eyebrow. “…when i touch myself.”
“yeah.” he says lowly. a breath, not a word. “tha’s right.”
your skin is burning and your limbs feel foreign, at this point. you feel nerve endings pulsing in place you didn’t know you even had nerves.
“d’you remember your answer?” he continues, taking another step toward you.
and it’s then that the anxiety takes over - you blink twice and bite down until you taste blood, shaking your head no. not because you’ve forgotten - fucking hell you remember everything - but because saying it out loud feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
he doesn’t buy it.
“mm, sure y’do.” he calls your bluff, says it so soft it’s almost a coo. “y’know i know your tells - two blinks while bitin the inside of your cheek.” his eyes gleam as his lips twitch. “y’can’t lie t’me, princess.”
christ, you can’t help but laugh at that. it’s exactly the reason why you’ve been into him - he’s perceptive and cunning and cocky all at once.
this is the man you’ve thought about fucking for months.
“yes.” you whisper in admittance. “i said yes.”
“god yes.” he corrects with another step until he’s so close you have to kink your neck back to meet his eyes. his shoulders swallow the edges of your vision until all you see is him. “…still true?”
you nod. a broken thing. “yes.”
“yeah?” his head tilts, the heat of him sweltering. “y’think bout me when y’put hands on yourself?”
“simon-“
he hushes you with a shake of his head, eyes dipping to your lips. “tell me.”
it’s then that you realize dragging this on is for nothing. whatever drunken confession you made last night clearly cracked open whatever restraint simon’s been exercising for months.
clearly whatever you feel, he’s feeling it too.
“yes.” you confess, as firm as you possibly can. nothing coy in it now. “yes, i think about you when im alone. when i touch myself…doesn’t even feel right unless im picturing you. your hands. touching me.”
it all comes out of you in a rushed whisper, desperate and dripping sweet from your lips like it’s been saturating behind your teeth for too long. when he doesn’t respond right away, you realize you’ve stunned him, and pull on whatever courage you have left to press forward.
“i’ve wanted you for so long ive stopped tryin to figure out when it started.” you murmur, lost in his eyes. “and you?”
his breath catches. just the faintest hitch, like he wasn’t prepared for the edge of your honesty to turn and face him instead. it’s delectable, the slight composure tilt, but it doesn’t last long. because slowly - slowly, his mouth curls into something wrecked. something that says fuckin hell, it’s on.
his knuckles come up to graze your jaw, he lowers his head until his lips find your ear—
“y’askin if i think bout you when i’ve got my fist wrapped round my cock?” you inhale sharply, then choke on it when his mouth brushes your lobe. “course i fuckin do.”
your hands lift timidly to find his shirt, curling into it, dog tags still clinking between your fingers.
“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”
your lashes flutter. his free hand slips around your waist. “fuck, simon-“
“i know, sweet’eart.” he murmurs it, almost gentle, like it’s something you share. “tha’s what y’need, ain’t it? f’me to admit you’re not the only one losin mind here.”
you nod, partly frantic and partly delirious, and he exhales something strained - something from somewhere deep, catching on the parts of him dying to stay patient.
“good.” his hand slides up the back of your shirt, while the other finds the one of yours still holding his tags. “y’really come here just to return these, then?”
“no.” it chokes out of you instantly, mouth tilting toward his. “you wanted me to say it to you sober. made a promise bout what you’d do if i did?”
something feral flashes over his face, at that. translated through the grip he tightens on your waist, the exhale he washes over your jaw.
“yeah.” he says, tight. “i did.”
his mouth is barely a breath from yours.
“well here i am. sober.” you whisper. “wanting you more than i did while drunk.”
he makes a sound you’ve never heard before. not a groan, not a moan, something deep and feral punched straight out of his chest.
“fuckin hell.”
and then he’s kissing you.
no more waiting, no more games. simon’s a man of his word and it shows in the way his mouth crashes into yours - hungry and bruising and impatient - teeth knocking, one hand fisting in the back of your shirt and tearing it off you while the other pulls you in. he spins you both so your ass hits the edge of his desk, and then breaks away - trailing spit slick lips down your jaw and throat, thick fingers working to tease the band of your sweats.
“tell me where y’want me, sweet’eart.” he growls into your pulse.
you blink, dazed. “i-what?”
his teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, before his mouth drags back up beside your ear - ruinous in the inflection.
“tell me how you’ve imagined it,” his finger tips slide under your waistband, just teasing. “what you’ve pictured when you’re thinkin’ of me like this. right ‘ere.”
“oh god, simon.” you moan by his words alone, too wound to be embarrassed, fingers cinched tight in the fabric of his shirt. “your-your fingers. your mouth. your cock-“
that sound again. deep and devastated. restraint being ripped out by the roots.
“fuck. filthy thing f’me, aren’t you?” he says, as two fingers slide lower, slipping under heat soaked fabric and finding your slit, pressing in no further than they need to before circling back up - spreading the mess you’ve made just to feel it. “you’re fuckin soaked.”
you whimper as he teases your clit. his mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing where your pulse stutters wild beneath flushed skin. you don’t trust your legs to hold you upright under the weight of it all - his touch, his voice, the feral gleam in his eye when he looks at you like you’re some prophecy being fulfilled.
“s’this what i do t’you?” he murmurs. “just from talkin t’you like this?”
you nod, a frantic little thing. “yes-god, yes.”
he exhales hard like it's kicked out of him, tugging your sweats down until they slide off your ankles before he lifts you back onto his desk and parts your thighs with hands so big they nearly span the entire width of them.
you fucking moan at the sight.
and of course it only fuels him - braces you back on your elbows, spine arched, breath caught in your throat as he steps in close between your legs. his eyes drag down to where you glisten in the dim light - slick, flushed, waiting - and he lets out a curse before returning his fingers to your aching cunt.
he presses in one digit slow, then adds another. knuckle deep until your eyes roll, hips jerking at the stretch.
“oh, fuck-“
he hisses through his teeth. “tight little cunt. fuckin meltin f’me.”
his thumb catches your clit in the same motion - rubbing soft circles, pushing you closer, dragging you toward the edge with every brutal curl of his fingers inside you.
“that feel good?” he growls against your jaw. “touched y’self in bed thinkin bout me between your thighs like this?”
you’re panting now. shaking.
“i-“ you gasp. “yes, simon-yes-“
“yeah?” his thumb speeds up, his fingers pump deeper, your head spins. “and did y’cum like this? like you’re about to f’me now?”
you don’t answer fast enough. he bites at your jaw.
“tell me.”
“no-n-never like this—”
he growls something vile under his breath. “poor thing. s’okay. i’ve got you.”
your walls flutter around him, your thighs shaking where they frame his hips, and he feels it - feels the beginning of the end stutter through you.
“simon-“ you whinge.
he cuts you off. “look at me.”
you do. barely.
“tha’s it,” he breathes. “cum on my fuckin fingers. show me what i’ve been missin.”
you’re starved for it, beyond saving, and its only a couple more deep pumps before you break.
it floods through you - white hot and searing. you cry out his name as you clamp around his digits, trembling apart on his desk while he watches you like you’re art - jaw clenched, pupils blown - his fingers still moving, dragging you through it until you’re sobbing into his shoulder.
“there we go.” when it passes and you’re limp, blinking up at him stunned - he withdraws slowly. “attagirl. s’fuckin good.”
you swallow, watching wide eyed as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.
“been dreamin bout that taste, knew it’d be sweet.” he purrs as he leans down, wiping his spit slick digits over your cheek. “gonna need it proper soon.”
you don’t even have time to question or respond to that, because then he’s unbuckling his belt.
when you finally look back up, his eyes are wild.
“s’this what y’want?” he murmurs, tugging leather through loops before undoing the button at his waist. “when you came t’me this mornin, all flushed and pretendin t’be innocent. was this it? wantin’ me to bend y’over and take what y’fuckin offered?”
you choke as he tugs himself free - thick, leaking at the tip and throbbing - bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, nevermind taken.
the nod that follows is compulsive desperation. “holy fuck-yes-“
he smacks light at your thigh. “stand up. bend over f’me.”
you do as you’re told without hesitation - legs shaking as you stand spin and lean forward over the desk - breath still stuttering in your chest, heart going a mile a minute. your hands barely meet wood before he’s on you - no preamble. no breath between. grabs your hips like it’s instinct, like his hands were molded to hold you like this, and yanks you back against him with a roughness that steals whatever’s left in your lungs.
you shudder when he slides his cock against your slit once - twice - dragging the head through slick and stalls notched just shy of your entrance, breathing hard like it’s killing him to wait.
“y’remember what else y’said last night?”
you barely manage a nod. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he exhales something like a laugh.
“not compliments. not the fantasies. not the whining.” he drags through your mess again, slower this time. deliberate. “you said—“ his hips press forward just enough to make you gasp. “—you wondered if it’d hurt.”
you whine, embarrassed, but god it shoots straight through you. he bends low now, chest flush to your back, mouth to your ear.
“truth is, it might.” his lips curl into a smile. “so don’t fuckin run now.”
and then - only then - he pushes in. you gasp so hard your chest deflates on impact, thick head stretching sopping walls wide and dragging deeper than you’ve ever imagined - too much and not enough all at once.
“ohfuck-simon-“ your head drops toward the desk, eyes stinging.
“mm. tha’s it.” he groans, loud, burying himself halfway before pausing there. “tightest fuckin—bloody hell.”
he presses forward a little more - just enough to make your knees shake as he steadies you with one hand at your hip and grits his teeth. he pulls out just to feel you clench, then shoves back in - hard enough to jolt the desk and feed you all of him before you can even brace for it.
“ffffuck-ohfuck-“ you wail, knuckles bloodless where they clutch the desk. “you-you’re-“
“deep.” he bends over you, grabs a fistful of your hair, and drags your head back to his mouth, voice hot on your skin. “i fuckin know.”
he thrusts once. hard. then again. slower. deeper.
“jesus christ,” he undoes your bra with his free hand, paws at your tits until it hurts. “walked around this whole time with this cunt made f’me and didn’t say a fuckin word.”
“fuck simon-“
“yeah.” he grits against your ear. “tha’s how you moaned it last night. just like that.”
it’s punishing, the pace he sets. each snap of his hips smacking against your ass drags stars down into your retinas - body rocking and cervix kissed with each thrust - his grip is bruising and his mouth works at your neck, forcing noises out of you loud enough to rattle the fucking walls.
it doesn’t take long before your chest collapses onto slick wood, drool coated cheek pressed to the desk - vision bleeding white around the edges. he’s relentless - driven, brutal in rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your voice out of his head, the memory of your thighs pressed together last night when he walked away instead of dropping to his knees and giving in.
he groans, open-mouthed, flushed everywhere. he’s not just fucking you. he’s wrecking you. dragging you across the edge by the throat and holding your broken pieces together with his own.
“mmf-fuck.” he snarls, burying his fist back in your hair. his palm cracks hard across your ass before snaking around your thigh to find your clit. devastating. “this. this is what i thought of for months. you. fuckin boneless f’me.”
he pulls out slow with a shuttering exhale, just enough for you to whine before he roars back in - hard and fast, fingers never slowing.
you shriek, squirming with no where to go.
“y’got no fuckin clue what y’did to me last night.” he’s panting, fingernails burning your scalp. “sat there slurrin filth. darin me t’do somethin bout it. tested every fuckin moral i’ve got.”
your second orgasm is a charging tide - and god, you know he feels it. you know by the way he rolls his fingers faster to chase it, moans in your ear when your walls flutter around him, fucks you deeper and slower just to drag you over by your hair.
“cum f’me. give me another.” he grits. “let me fuckin feel it sweet’eart.”
“ff-fuck simon! yes-yes-“
you sob, and then it hits you - violent and wet and cataclysmic - like every single one of your fantasies brought to life, like every pathetic orgasm you gave yourself to the thought of him and his fuckin hands all combined to create this. it’s stratospheric depths of bliss, all the colours of the rainbow erupting behind your eyes as he fucks you through it, not stalling his fingers until you’re sobbing.
“mhm. messy little thing.”
he growls with it before pulling out just enough to slap his cock against your soaked cunt, watching the slick stretch, the way you whine and arch out of pure fuckin instinct.
“look at this pretty cunt,” he rasps, teasing his tip over your clit. “drippin. tremblin. fuckin cryin f’me.”
you try to say something, try to catch a breath, but that all falls void as he thrusts back in without warning - one brutal, complete thrust, pushing everything out of you. screams, his name, your fucking soul. he groans as his hand finds your jaw, forcing your head to turn just enough so he can see your face. cheeks flushed, tears caught in your lashes.
“shh. don’t run—don’t fuckin run,” he growls against your mouth, arm cinched tight across your waist when your hips jerk away like it’s too much. “y’asked for this. said it t’me sober.”
“si-simon. please.” it’s breathless, ruined, wrecked beyond meaning, your mouth falling open on another sob when his hips grind deeper, when the head of him kisses a spot that has your knees giving out entirely. “fuck. s’good. s’m-much-“
“yeah?” he snarls. “s’good, huh?”
you nod something pathetic, lost for words. broken around him.
“want y’to think bout this when you’re alone.” his free hand drags down to your stomach, rests just high on your pelvis, feeling where he’s drilling. “how deep m’buried in this tight little cunt. how good my name feels in your fuckin throat.”
another nod. another hiccuped moan dragged out of you. “y-yes-yes i’ll think about it-mmff-“
“mhm,” he kisses you once. fleeting and viscous and hot. “good. s’good.”
a few more ragged thrusts and a sound gets torn from him, pulled from somewhere deep, feral and hoarse and ragged. his hips punch forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and then—
“fuck—fuck.”
he lets go.
he groans, voice breaking at the edges, forehead falling to the space between your shoulder blades. he pulses deep inside you, all of his pent up heat flooding you full until he’s spent, until he’s got nothing left to give and collapses against your back in one shuddering, boneless exhale.
and when it’s over, it’s just breathing - a long quiet moment full of everything neither of you know how to say before you register that he’s moving - leaning over you to grab at where his dog tags were discarded on the desk.
he slips them around your neck, and then pulls out.
“man of m’word, sweet’eart.” he whispers against your jaw. “this isn’t over.”
———————————-
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pseudowho · 10 months ago
Text
"...alright. Just the usual ones? Night time too...and tampons. Don't ever apologise. Alright. We'll be home soon. I love you."
The mid-morning traffic, less frantic now than an hour before, shhhaaaahed around the car. From the passenger seat, Yuuji watched Kento with a fascination about to bubble over with suppressed laughter. Kento put the phone down. Yuuji, just a boy, grinned, almost teasingly at Kento.
"Tampons, huh, Nanamin?"
Kento looked to Yuuji, flicking the windscreen wipers on to rid the screen of drifting cherry blossom. His face remained neutral, sincerely questioning. Yuuji scoffed, bold as brass, before continuing.
"Jeez Nanamin...you're such a simp."
Kento's eyes narrowed, searching for meaning. He repeated, slowly, the word unfamiliar upon his tongue.
"...'simp'."
"You'd do anything for her, right?"
"Is that...a bad thing? You say the word, not that I know it, as if it's derogatory."
Kento tapped on his phone, and Yuuji backpedaled, his grin sliding away to a wide-mouthed grimace as he waved his hands in a fit of no, wait, I can explain. Kento appeared to be reading, his face growing dour. He huffed, one short puff of air from his nose. He tucked his phone away.
"Ah-- Nanamin-- I didn't mean--"
"A simp, hmm? Alright. Come along, Yuuji."
They drove. Yuuji bit his nails as he stared out into traffic. Kento was silent, calm.
And Kento took Yuuji on errands.
At the Conbini, Kento collected pads, tampons, snacks and pain relief.
"Do you have any of the night time ones?" Kento asked the assistant, holding up a pack of pads, unashamed, as Yuuji tried to sink into the floor, just a boy. As the assistant walked away, Kento asked Yuuji, calmly.
"Would a simp do this?"
"Ah...jeez, I...yeah, I guess so."
"Alright."
In the Florist's, Kento was meticulous with the sweating assistant, identifying only the finest blooms of your favourite wildflowers. He commandeered, insisting they were wrapped in brown paper, stamped with wax and tied with ribbons. Tapping his fingers on the counter, bored, Yuuji's reverie was once more broken by Kento's smooth timbre.
"Would a simp do this?"
Kento walked up beside Yuuji, with a spray of sweet botanicals in his arms. Yuuji squirmed beneath the schooling.
"Yeah, I...I reckon so. Probably."
"Splendid. Come along."
At the launderette, collecting your repaired jacket; "Would a simp do this?"
At your parents' house, dropping off a birthday card; "Would a simp do this?"
At Jujutsu High, filing some late paperwork for you; "Would a simp do this?"
In the car, calling Ijichi to cancel drinks the following night; "Would a simp do this?"
By the time Kento had completed his errands, Yuuji sulked, just a boy, begrudging how overboard Kento had gone, all because Yuuji had used slang that meant nothing apart from something Kento couldn't understand.
Yuuji stood back in the hallway, shucking his shoes off, as Kento walked ahead.
Yuuji's eyes darted up, to you, shocked to see that you were...a mess. You could hide the tears all you liked, but your puffy lips and salt-sore cheeks told of a whole day of crying. The dinner Yuuji usually enjoyed wasn't made. The fragrant candles that Yuuji usually enjoyed weren't lit. The curtains were closed.
Yuuji felt vicariously guilty for something he had not done, but he listened to yours and Kento's mumbled conversation.
"...sorry...so shit...haven't done anything...needed you...Yuuji must be hungry, I..."
"...shhh...done nothing wrong...Ijichi cancelled tomorrow anyway...order take-out...come here..."
Kento held you in a rustle of bags and brown-papered flowers. He did not begrudge the tear stains on his lapels. He looked at you as though your very blood ran divine, when you gave the flowers and bag of snacks a watery smile, pressing a salty kiss to Kento's cheeks before walking to the kitchen.
As Kento and Yuuji stood back, watching you swipe your tears away before beginning to fill a vase with Kento's wildflowers, Yuuji dawned upon the cusp of a bold new understanding. Kento felt it, this gentle yearning, and took Yuuji by the hand over the horizon.
Kento's voice was, slow, considered, and gut-wrenchingly sincere.
"Never deny yourself the beauty of loving someone without restraint, for the fear of vulnerability, Yuuji. Never let anyone taint the way love should guide and consume you. Because if loving wholeheartedly is weakness...you shouldn't want to be strong."
Yuuji watched the gentle golden thread of joy that Kento had woven through your sadness. He shuffled, his hands in his pockets, his peachy head tilted down as he kicked at his shoes.
"...yeah, I get you. I'll... I'll be a simp too, then. When I find the one. And...and I'll be proud of it."
Kento smiled, pressing a bag of snacks to Yuuji's chest.
"And I'll be proud of you."
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ohhiimjazzed · 4 days ago
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NSFW Phainon Headcanons for his season
3.4 SPOILERS AHEAD I REPEAT 3.4 SPOILERS AHEAD
Also this is SMUT so Minors DNI
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Character: Phainon Reader Pronouns: they/them or gender neutral tags: smut, a little angsty, mentions of pregnancy, overstimulation, praise, body worship, kinda wholesome ngl
Phainon doesn't know what to do when it comes to sex in the beginning. He holds back from it out of fear of hurting you. He's pretty big. He keeps the voice in the back of his mind telling him to ruin you quiet. You have to reassure him that you'll be okay if he wants to be a little rough. You trust this man with your life. That's the problem. So, you have a safe word and some lube.
Once Phainon gets going though, he's going. Like, you ain't stopping until Amphoreus welcomes a new dawn. Okay. That's an exaggeration, but you get it. You're getting dicked down by this man real good. He can go for a while, but when you're truly done. He's also done.
That doesn't mean Phainon won't overstimulate you, though. He'll make you cum as many times as he wants you to before even thinking about his own pleasure. "One more time, love. I'm not done with you yet," he'll say while eating you out/sucking you off. He hasn't even properly fucked you yet.
Speaking of oral, Phainon is a giver when it comes to oral. Seeing your legs tremble while your voice escapes in whimpers and moans is one of his favorite sights. He'll claim that he doesn't need you to suck him off. But, he'd be a liar if he said he didn't love it. So please do it. Let him relax, good god does Phainon need it.
Phainon will take you from behind whenever he feels particularly frustrated that day. It allows him to be a little rougher, pulling on your hair, groping your ass, etc. He'll press your face into the mattress firmly, but not enough to suffocate you.
Phainon will take you from the front the rest of the time, however. He likes being able to see your face. There's an intimacy behind that. He's not just fucking you. He's making love to you. He cups your face lovingly while your legs hang over his shoulders. The tenderness contrasts with how much he's pounding into you.
Praise kink? Yeah, Phainon has a huge praise kink. He'll tell you how well your taking him, how beautiful you look with your face all fucked out and drooling. It goes both ways too. Tell him how good he feels, how perfect he is and he'll start fucking you harder.
He's also into body worship. Phainon could spend hours just feeling up your naked body, admiring it. It's like Mnestia sculpted you from their divine hands. He'll blush if you do it to him too. Touch the sun mark on his neck/shoulder. It's sensitive and you'll get the best whimper from him.
Phainon would prefer to cum inside you if you'll let him. He'll stuff you full of his seed until you physically can't take anymore of him. He likes fingering it back into you when it drips out. It lets the voice in the back of his mind hope that one day, you'd have his child. Once these endless cycles are over and he can stop killing his friends and injecting his memories into a new him over and over, he'd be free to spend a peaceful life with you. But that's only a dream.
Phainon practically begged you to say his name in bed, not 'Phainon.' He wanted his true name to fall from your lips. 'Khaslana.' His name felt like poetry coming from you.
Near the cycle's end, Khaslana touches you with desperation. It leaves you confused. It's not like you're going to die the next day. You are. Just like the rest of them.
Khaslana's aftercare is ever so gentle. He holds you like you're a delicate piece of glass and cleans you like the most precious treasure in the cosmos. He kisses the bite marks and bruises on your body, whispering apologies all the while. You have to reassure him that he did nothing wrong and that you loved it.
Khaslana then holds you close, praying that one day, he won't he holding your dead body in his arms.
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lordprettyflackotara · 1 year ago
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Till Dawn || Eyeless Jack
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Smut, 18+, minors dni. Tw: size kink, overall rough ass sex, unrealistic demon sex, stalking, a sprinkle of cnc, safe word IS in place, obsession, blood, blah blah. all the things. i had to lock tf in to finish this, it’s been sitting unfinished foreverrr. here you go my lovely’s <3
part two is here
part three is here
You were a fascinating creature.
EJ thought so, anyways.
Many years had passed since he had been human, his interest in mortals having previously faded. That engrossment only slipping away further after he had moved into Slenderman’s mansion.
Typically, besides killing for food, (and maybe fun), he never strayed from home.
When Jack wasn’t home, he was never staying. Always passing through.
That was, until he saw you.
Your scent was divine, the demon lurking inside the depths of EJ clinging onto the idea of a tasty snack.
Once Jack had found you, he began studying you from a far.
You weren’t hard to find, the annoyed curses leaving your lips giving away your location easily. You were awkwardly stumbling over your arms full of groceries, struggling to unlock the front door to your tiny home.
Typically EJ wouldn’t have noticed your behavior at all, his animalistic instincts shouting at him to break into the window upstairs. To slide in, waiting for you to get settled. To creep behind you and slit your throat. He could hear your heartbeat, the steady pulse sending adrenaline through his veins. His mouth was beginning to salivate under his mask, his interest now peaked as he observed your life.
You liked your coffee mostly black, with a single sugar cube. You were a night owl, giving Jack plenty to watch as he hid in the shadows of darkness. It occurred to EJ as he watched you join another round of an online game, your thick headset covering your ears, that he hadn’t really thought about what humans did in a long time.
Over the years he had sort of lost the man he once was, forcing himself to view mortals as meals, nothing more. After all, one sensitive vital organ and they’d be dead. Humans were so fragile. They aged so much quicker than he did. Why would he ever get attached?
The thought of a potential attachment hadn’t occurred to him, ever. EJ was content with passing through. He was content with his minimum social interacts with his fellow creeps back at the mansion.
But your scent.
Eyeless Jack grew more and more puzzled the longer he studied you. Why did you smell so fucking good? He had never cared for blood before, wounds not visible on your body anyways. Your pulse was normal, but he heard pulses around him all the time. Including two sets he lived with. Unless he was hunting, EJ had grown accustomed to tuning them out.
What was it about you?
It wasn’t until one night he was perched up in an oak tree, watching you prepare for bed. EJ had never considered himself to be a peeping tom. The female body held no interest to him other than the organs it contained. That was of course, until he saw you changing. You had tugged your shirt over your head, your bare breast bouncing as you pulled down your pants. Your panties were lacey, a material EJ hadn’t touched in ages. For the first time in years, Jack could feel his boner brushing against the fabric of his boxers.
You were so innocent, so unaware of his presence. EJ felt heat rush to his cheeks, awkwardly looking around to make sure no one else was looking at you like he was. You were so careless, leaving your curtains open like this. He was sure you figured since you were on the second story no one could see you. Jack liked that idea, him being the only one that could see you like this.
This made him only pay more attention. His attention now was not only on you, but the people you associated with. EJ liked that you mostly had friends and regular coworkers. He had no competition, no problem to deal with. His mind overworked itself trying to come up with realistic scenarios where he could meet you. Where he could feel the heat of your body, his cock buried in your cunt.
Despite Jacks obsession, he knew that the situation wasn’t ideal. His being over 6’5 and having dark gray skin the very least of his appearance issues.
The longer he watched your life, he noticed you were lonely. It didn’t matter how many friends you hung out with, he saw the look on your face deep in the night. The photos in your room of everyone you loved, every single photograph missing yourself. The filthy books you spent your time reading, the romance movies you watched. You needed a lover. Someone to tend to your needs, every dark desire.
He was over the moon when the opportunity presented itself.
Ben had given him a heads up, letting him know a ‘gnarly storm’ was heading the way EJ had recently been camping out at.
Standing in the rain wasn’t ideal for EJ. He didn’t particularly like being wet, the rain beginning to pour down. The thunder clapping and lightning striking was comforting for him, the wetness of the situation, not so much.
It was a usual night for you, your teddy bear wrapped desperately in your arms as you attempted to fall asleep. EJ watched you turn over restlessly, the storm clearly delaying your regular sleeping cycle. His gaze wondered over to the bright pink vibrator charging on your nightstand, his eyebrows raising.
When did he miss that?
It had to have been when he went to hunt earlier. Living off of deer was borderline revolting, his craving for human organs much more prominent. However he knew if he wanted to stay, eating one too many human organs created too much attention. A good chase from the cops taught him that lesson. Took him lots of stitches to heal, ones he had to do himself.
It occurred to Jack in that moment that if he was going to go through on his idea now was the time. He slowly walked down the thick branch of the oak tree, careful not to slip as he approached your window. He crouched down, raising his hand. He tapped on your window with his index finger, the unfamiliar feeling of fear filling him. Would you call the cops? What would you do? He watched you stir in your bed, as if you were internally debating if the noise was real.
EJ waited patiently for the thunder to subside, before tapping again. This time you sat up, your eyes landing on the window. EJ nervously realized this was the first time you were looking at him. He raised his large gray hand, waving at you. Your eyebrows furrowed, throwing the sheets off of you as you approached your window. EJ knew your window was broken, unable to be locked. He noted you pretending to unlock it, before shoving it upwards.
“Can I um, help you?” You asked. The rain droplets were splashing into your dry room due to the wind. EJ didn’t like that. He cleared his throat, trying to sound as non threatening as possible. He knew humans to be sensitive and after all of these years of not thinking twice about his voice, he was thinking about it now. “May I come in? It’s a bit wet out here,” EJ said as calmly as he possibly could. He watched you study him, your eyes fixated on his gray hands.
“I’m n-not so sure that’s a good idea. My brother’s home and I don’t think-” You stuttered, the lies spilling from your lips. Jack didn’t like this. You weren’t a liar. Without touching you, he slid into your room nimbly without a second thought. His drenched clothes were dripping water on the floor, his sights scanning the room up close for the first time.
“Hey! You can’t just barge in here!” You yelled. You stormed over to your nightstand, grabbing a baseball bat with ‘Vikings Middle School’ engraved on it. You rose the bat over your shoulder, swinging it with full intent to hit your intruder. Your eyes widened in fear as EJ caught the bat in mind air, his slender gray fingers wrapped around the metal. He tiled his head to the side, observing you.
First lies and now an attempt at assault. This is not off to a great start.
Jack immediately caught a whiff of your scent, the newly founded fear reeking off of you. And it was divine. EJ pushed the bat aside, taking a step closer to you. “Dont lie to me. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to offer you what you truly want in exchange for shelter from the storm,” EJ said. You were adorable, practically shaking in fear as he towered over you.
“I don’t want money if that’s what you’re offering. I’m not interested-” You began protesting. Jack noted your heart racing, his ears twitching at the delightful sound. He made you nervous. EJ’s dark chuckle cut off your sentence, causing you to stop talking. “Thats not what you truly want,” Jack purred. With another few steps towards you, he had backed you into a wall. With his arms on each side of your head, he slowly rose his knee. With an unseen smirk, he placed his knee between your legs.
A skimpy nightgown rode up your thighs, your face turning a light pink. “You’re lonely, I can fix that. I’ll only stay until dawn,” EJ said. Consciously he made an effort to be gentle as he rose his hand to touch your face. You were softer than he could’ve imagined, the softest silks having nothing on your skin. “I’m n-not-” You stuttered. Your heart was racing faster. It was music to EJ’s ears. “The vibrator sitting on your nightstand says otherwise,” Jack replied cockily.
His new found confidence was evident, your attention fully on him. Finally on him. EJ leaned forward, tilting up his royal blue mask as he leaned towards your ear. His voice was deep and soft, his breath hot as you trembled beneath him. “I promise i’ll make you feel really good,” EJ purred. His words were utter filth, your face flushing with heat. You could feel your core throbbing, your lust for a stranger so dirty but so thrilling.
“What’s your name?” You whispered. EJ was surprised by your question, causing him to lean back and slide his mask back into place. “I’m Jack, but you can call me EJ,” He replied. You toyed with the idea of asking him what EJ stood for, but decided against it. You stood up a little straighter, attempting to take more control of the situation. “Well EJ, if you’re going to fuck me, you better fuck me like you mean it. I want you gone at dawn. Understood?” You asked boldly.
A devious smile was curling up EJ’s lips, his mask blocking the view of his razor like teeth. “I knew you’d give into me, I can smell your arousal,” EJ replied. His gaze traveled down your body, soaking in your cleave that was revealed and your plush upper thighs. As if you could sense his devious thoughts, you pushed at his chest. “Hey i’m not kidding. Be gone at dawn or i’m calling the cops,” You threatened. Jack chuckled, before grabbing both of your thighs.
He picked you up with ease, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. “Gone by dawn. I got it. If you want me to stop say red. Say anything else and I won’t, got it?” EJ asked. He carried you over to your bed, plopping you onto your soft mattress. You audibly whimpered an agreement, staring up at the man in front of you.
“Oh and one other thing,” EJ began, shoving his hoodie over his head. You marveled as his bare chest, his dark gray skin defining his muscles. “Dont freak out,” Jack finished. You stared at him blankly, blinking before he slid off his mask. EJ wasn’t a fan of removing his mask for any reason, not even to his victims. The most he would do is show his razor blade teeth every once in a while. Matter of a fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had removed his mask in front of anyone.
Jack had pondered about what to do about his appearance, the oozing black empty eye sockets something that couldnt be ignored. He figured revealing it immediately would get it out of the way, and based on the way you reacted, he’d know what to do. His obsession with you wasn’t just pure filth or attraction, you smelled absolutely delicious.
He would win in every scenario.
He would know how to make his choice based on your reaction. You were confused, watching as EJ leaned down over you. He pinned you to the bed, your body on fire with desperation. “Scared?” Jack purred, waiting to hear all of the insults he heard in his worst nightmares. You found yourself nervously chuckling, thunder rumbling outside. “Only of not cumming,” You replied in a cocky tone, causing EJ to smile. Surely the unsettling rows of animalistic teeth were going to set you off.
But they didn’t.
Your approval and calmness gave EJ confidence, his lips bringing themselves to yours. He was careful, restraining himself so he didn’t accidentally nip you with one of his teeth. He kept his tongues in his mouth, deciding that would be a surprise for later. He was rough and needy, his lips practically begging yours to respond faster. His hips pressed down lower on yours, his bulge visible and pressed against your clothed cunt.
You tasted like mint, the taste flooding his tastebuds with an intense craving. You bucked your hips upwards, whimpering in his mouth as he grinded against you. “Needy huh?” Jack taunted. He pulled down your night gown, exposing your bare breast to him. He leaned down, placing soft and gentle kisses onto your chest. “I know you aren’t talking,” You teased.
EJ growled into your skin as he lowered himself down your body, prying open your thighs. “Whys that?” He murmured, pressing his chapped lips against your plush inner thighs. You clamped your mouth shut, your hips involuntarily moving upwards towards his mouth. “Dont think I get any play huh? Thats funny, considering you’re practically begging me to touch you,” Jack snickered cruelly. He was relishing and thriving in your desperation, dragging your panties down with his razor sharp teeth.
They poked holes in your thin panties, the shredded clothing being dragged down your legs. EJ couldn’t take his eyes off of your bare cunt, your cheeks flushing a shade of red as the demon above you admired your dripping wet cunt. Jack had seen a cunt before, in his human life and accidentally in his demon one. But yours, yours was a sight for sore eyes.
With his index finger and middle finger Jack spread open your lips, admiring how wet you were for him. “I don’t have all night-” You began complaining, only for one of EJ’s tongues to lick a stripe up your cunt. Electricity shot through your body, causing you to let out a sinful moan. “You do have all night. I have you until dawn. And trust me, you’re going to remember this long after,” Jack said, returning his attention to your aching core.
To your surprise Jack had three tongues, each of them assaulting your cunt is different ways. Two had made their way inside of you, abusing your cunt by fucking you. The other was attacking your clit, stimulating you into a babbling mess. You grabbed his hair, his name spilling off of your lips involuntarily. It was all happening so fast, your body struggling to keep up with the pleasure. Jack couldn’t contain himself, unable to tease you any longer.
Your pussy tasted better than any fucking organ he had ever eaten. You yanked at the roots of his brunette hair, chanting you were going to cum. This didn’t encourage him to slow down, the killer in between your thighs only wanting to make you do it again.
“F-fuck Jack I-I can’t,” You whined, closing your thighs around his head. Jack smirked as he removed one of his tongues from your clit, allowing him to speak. “You know what to say if you actually want me to stop. I think you like this though. I think you like being treated like the whore you are,” Jack panted. You felt humiliated at his words, your walls squeezing around his tongues.
This made EJ chuckle, his gaze now settled on your bright red face. “You like that don’t you? Being a whore for me?” Jack asked mockingly, continuing to fuck you with his tongues. Truth was when Jack had caught you reading the dirtiest of books, he ensured to do his research. To imagine himself being the one to do the things to you like he read in the filth romance novels.
You tried to hold back your unholy moans, biting your lower lip as Jack stared up at you. His third tongue playfully licked across your clit again, causing your hips to jolt upwards. “I asked you a question,” Jack said sternly. His large hands pinned down your waist, prying your thighs open. “Y-yes I like being a whore,” You replied pathetically, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. Jack brought his spare hand to your cunt, drawing quick circles around your throbbing clit.
Your legs began to tremble as an animalistic, low growl left EJs throat. “Whose whore are you? Tell me,” Jack ordered, your walls squeezing around his tongues. You could barely make sense of his words, the ecstasy he was providing you too heavenly. “I’m yours, i’m your whore Jack. Fuck, please make me cum,” You pleaded.
She taste good and can beg? Fuck me.
“Cum for me like the good little whore you are.”
Your legs shook violently and attempted to close as you came, Jacks merciless assault coming to an immediate halt. He watched you ride out your euphoria, slipping his tongues out of your cunt. Your pussy was red and puffy, suffering from the abuse of a demon. He wiped his chin with his hand, crawling up closer to you. Your heart was pounding so loudly it took everything in him for Jack not to tear it out of your chest.
“You’re going to feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock,” Jack growled, sloppily pushing down his pants. He leaned back, lightning flashing as he stroked his cock in front of you. “You sure you can handle me? You seem tense,” Jack asked teasingly. He knew was far bigger than you, your eyes widening at the mere sight of his shaft. “I can handle anything you throw at me,” You say, swallowing to create some moisture in your dry mouth. Your throat and mouth having gone dry from making so many sinful sounds.
Jack smirked as he slowly slid inside of you, his tip alone stretching you out. You whimpered, causing Jack to lean forward. He sank into you slowly, peppering soft kisses on your neck. Purposefully he targeted your more sensitive skin, testing the waters to see which areas made you loosen up more. You clawed at his back, your face scrunched up in pain. EJ studied your face carefully, slithering one of his hands down to your puffy clit. “T-too much,” You babbled, your words beginning to slur. Your hand slid down to grab Jacks wrist, the killer above you not changing his mind.
“Need you loosen up a bit more. You’re doing so good. You can do it for me, yeah?”
His words were like a remedy for your pain, his cock now fully buried inside of you. You pulled your hand away from his wrist, your fingertips brushing over the outline of his cock inside of your stomach. You forced yourself to open your eyes, the sloppy circles Jack was drawing around your clit helping you adjust. You swallowed hard, meeting the gaze of the lust filled demon above you. “You can move,” You whispered. Jacks ears twitched, almost as if he was making sure he heard you right.
“Play with your clit for me while I fuck you,” Jack ordered. You did as instructed, your small fingers trailing down to your abused clit. You drew slow circles as Jack propped himself up, slowly bucking his hips into yours. You let out a loud moan, his cock hitting your g spot. The demons gaze fell down to your womb, his eye sockets widening as he saw the shape of his cock slide in and out of you. “So fucking tight for me,” Jack snarled, picking up the pace.
His thrust were brutal and animalistic, unlike anything you had ever seen before. Or felt before. His pace was relentless, his body not seeming to tire. “Jack!” You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck. He brought you into a sloppy kiss, struggling to be careful not to cut you with his teeth as he fucked you. “You feel so much better than I thought you’d feel. Fuck,” EJ groaned into your mouth, losing his control.
One of his teeth nicked your lower lip, a small tinkle of red crimson blood dripping down your bottom lip. Jack didn’t have time to think, his mouth on yours immediately. But this time, for a different reason. He sucked at your bottom lip as he pounded you, moaning at the taste of your blood. You felt disgusted how accepting your body was of this, your eyes fluttering shut as you allowed him to suck at your lower lip. Jacks orgasm was coming closer, even if he didn’t want it to.
His pace didn’t let up for a second, his body a slave to your pussy. He released your lip with a pop, growling as he felt his orgasm come closer and closer. “I’m going to fucking breed you. You’re gonna be all mine, all fucking mine,” Jack huffed, his control long gone. His gaze met yours, your face fucked out and your moans incoherent. “Cum with me. Cum all over me,” He panted, his orders now weak. Your small fingers were replaced with his own, his slender fingers resuming the assault on your clit.
“Fucking shit, EJ!” You cried out, gripping his arm as you felt your orgasm wash over you. Your walls were milking his cock, begging him for his cum. They were pleading with him to breed your pretty little cunt, to make you all his. Your orgasm was all it took, his hips stuttering as he came inside of you. His moans were no longer the human language, his sounds of pleasure reverting back to incoherent growls. EJ panted as he looked down at you, your bottom lip puffy.
Your neck was covered in light purple and brown bruises, his light pepper kisses not as light as he thought. You were fucked out, your body lying limply on the mattress below you. Slowly he slid his cock out of you, your cunt red and puffy from the abuse. EJ watched as a mixture of his and your cum dripped out of you, your breathing slow and heavy. “Y/n?” Jack whispered. He was terrified he had broken you, his gaze landing on the bruises in the shape of his fingers that had littered your soft thighs.
You murmured an audible response, causing Jack to sigh in relief. He looked over his shoulder, the sun coming over the horizon. The storm had subsided, a light spring shower coming down from the sky above instead. You sat up slowly, watching your tall demon lover dress himself. You were dizzy and tired, blinking slowly as he shoved his pants back on. “You don’t wanna stay?” You asked softly, yawning. EJ gave you a cheeky smile, before shoving his mask back on.
“We had a deal didn’t we? It’s dawn,” Jack said. He began to put his hoodie on, your eyes softening with disappointment. Jack could feel his stomach growling, the taste of your blood fueling his desire for a tasty meal. He wanted to stay, but he knew he would kill you if he lost control again. Without thinking he handed you his hoodie, before heading over to the window. You sat there dumbfounded, watching as he gave you a small wave goodbye.
“Don’t worry, i’ll be back,”
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st4rofeden · 2 days ago
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“MY IMMUNE SYSTEM FAILED— HIS LOVE DID NOT.” - PHAINON
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a/n: I plan on making multiple characters in one post. but i changed my mind!! they'll have separate one shots. Warnings: nothing. phainon sings a song from The Smiths
summary: you sick. phainon insist on singing you to sleep.
─ · ·✦•๑࿔༻𖤓༺࿔๑•✦· · ─
you gaze at the holy city of okhema, admiring the view of kephale's statue. carrying the dawn device. feeling unusually tired
You sneeze once.
Phainon gasps like you’ve been shot.
"No—no! Not my dawnlight! Not my tender starlit songbird! Speak to me!" You're alredy flushed. now it gets worse by his petnames. "It’s just a—"
"No talking!" He presses a single finger to your lips. "Save your strength. Every syllable is a diamond lost to the void."
You slip out a cough, He immediately whirls around and begins pacing the room, hands flung in the air like he’s directing a tragedy. "How dare the universe steal your glow? I should've guarded you better. This is what happens when mortals kiss the sun with uncovered shoulders."
"You’re being ridiculous."
"im being devoted!"
10 minutes later!
You’re lying in bed—buried under four blankets, a heating pad, three herbal teas, and the smell of something vaguely medicinal and fruity. he returns with a bowl of something steaming.
"I made soup. Well, attempted soup. It’s… passionate in flavor. but tastes like love!"
You take one taste and cough, he looks at you with horror— like...like he just murdered you, but you flick away his thoughts when you hold his face, squishing his cheeks.
"...why is it sweet?"
"I put honey. and cinnamon. to counter the bitterness of your suffering." what a gentleman.
"phainon, did you put love potion logic in your chicken soup?"
"...is it working?"
didn't taste bad as you thought it would be. you carefully lay down to the sheets. he gets you a new heating pad, he gently wipes the lingering chicken soup on the corner of your lips, applies your favorite lip balm on your lips to keep it moist... like he's done it countless times. he's quite sweet sometimes. even though its layered by his dramatics.
you're too tired to talk, and you told him ,and you should’ve expected what would happen next.
"Would you like music?"
"No."
"Wonderfull, because i've already written a song called "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out." what..? no. he stole it somewhere
He pulls out a lyre from somewhere (you don’t even ask anymore lol), perches at the edge of your bed, and begins serenading your fever dreams.
"And if a double-decker bus Crashes into us To die by your side Is such a heavenly way to die"
you melt for a second.. then he improvises.
“You’re beautiful even while sickly, Your sneeze is a kiss from the divine. I’d catch all your colds if it meant You’d always, always be mine…”
you throw a pillow at him, and he catches it juuust in time.
"I see. you want me close."
He climbs into bed beside you, carefully spooning you like you’re made of spun gold and paper petals. and you surrender.
as you slowly drift to sleep.. His voice softens. The dramatics fade. His arm tightens around your waist, and he presses a feather-light kiss to your temple.
"I’m loud, yes," he whispers, "but not because I’m trying to annoy you. I just love you in a way that refuses to be quiet."
You’re too tired to reply. But you fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart against your back. and he doesn't leave your side.
Not even when he starts humming your name into the warm folds of your blanket.
========================
if you bring me phainon angst...better srart counting your days....
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ghouljams · 2 months ago
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Nikolai first strikes up a conversation with you while you're sitting alone in a bar. Your friends have made their way outside for a smoke, and you—ever so thoughtful—volunteered to stay back to keep an eye on the table's drinks and purses. You're so polite—nodding along when he speaks, interjecting with meaningful questions and letting out delightful snorts when he cracks wise.
He realizes just how pliant you are once he's fucking you with your face pressed into the pillow. There's no pesky squirming, just sweet muffled moans and the way your back arches obediently when he presses on it.
After a while it dawns on him just how long your air-supply has been suppressed by the pillow and he's quick to reach down and turn your head to the side. A kind of morbid fascination fills him when he watches you reflexively gasp for the fresh oxygen. Christ, do you not have any self-preservation instinct? What would have happened if he hadn't intervened? Would you have passed out beneath him without warning or complaint?
Nikolai recognizes that someone like you isn't to be taken for granted. Others would take advantage of your desire to please, hurting you in the process. He couldn't have that now, could he? You deserve a firm, loving hand and he deserves a devoted pet. It's like he has no choice but to keep you.
Now whenever Nik has to endure stories of his friend's failed flings he just laughs and shakes his head. "Couldn't be me, my любимая is so sweet for me. Isn't that right, моя умница?"
Hunting is a young man's game, it's why Nikolai prefers fishing. Silent and meditative, waiting for the fish to find his bait before he reals them in. He likes you the same way: gasping for air, eyes glassy, floundering against his grip with no hope of escape. A single well placed slice behind the gills. It's so much more... humane.
You're not suited for self-preservation, not in this world at least. You wander about with legs that shake like a fawn's, finding your place in the world under someone else's protection, a fish out of water. It's his fault really, he knows there's no point in something as pretty as you having to breed decisions behind those wet eyes, knows that soft things like you live better as treasured pets. There was a time when you wouldn't have had anything to do with your body but sit and look pretty, softened and plied with food and drink by hands gifted the divine right of kings. This modern world is too much for something like you.
It's lucky you fell into Nik's hands when you did, lucky that he recognized you for what you were before anyone else did. He needs nothing more than to feel you wrap your arms around his shoulders, than to feel the weight of you settle in his lap, than to listen to the soft breaths you take as you fall asleep, safe and sound, in the circle of his influence.
Quite a smart thing, finding him the same way butterflies find a crocodile's tears. Symbiotic. He could no more survive without you, than you could survive without him. You even out his edges, scrape away the filth that he tracks through life. You pull his head to your breast and coo your own praises with a slurred tongue. You don't flinch when he sinks his teeth into you, when he wraps his hand around your throat and watches your lashes flutter.
There is no reassurance like the glaze of your eyes, the part of your lips, the clutch of your sweet cunt, when he presses the sharp edge of a posture collar to your jaw. It could be anything, a knife, a gun, rusted metal or freshly oiled pistons, you'd trust him all the same, allow the treatment all the same. He doesn't need you to prove yourself to him, no grand gesture could echo as proudly as the way you suffocate yourself in pillows.
You poor thing. Need Nikolai to give you the air in your lungs too, huh? He's already taken care of everything else, so why not one more thing? Leave brains and ambition for the mammals, little fish.
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hungharrington · 3 months ago
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So I was reading your post about how Steve takes pride in having a scratched up back and it got me thinking about how he’d react to his girl being physically unable to stand/walk the morning after. Like he’d be so smug for at least a week all like >:) hehehe I did that >:). And the entire day he’d be all smirky like ‘does my baby need to be carried’ and then you tell him he’s banned from sex for a week lol.
FJDHSHSHS this ask made me actually cackle it was so golden thank u so much for sending it to me <3 it’s more goof than smut <3
There’s an ache between your thighs and you know exactly where you got it.
Well, you know precisely how you got it— from the culprit currently dozing beside you in early morning light. 
You have to blink heavily as you come to, drawn out of a deep, deep sleep by the morning dawn. It’s light enough outside for the room to have a soft glow. The curtains are still drawn and the sheets are fresh, though after last night, perhaps they’ll need changing again.
Shifting about to get comfortable, you feel that familiar tenderness between your legs — it’s a soreness that you only get from particularly passionate night.
You peek to the side, searching for your love.
Steve’s hair is sticking up at all angles, mussed up, and his mouth is open, snuffly snores getting pressed into his pillow.
You can’t see that with his back to you, but you can see that canvas of tan skin and moles.
And scratches. Lots and lots of scratches, pink against his skin and raised in some places. An undeniable mark of a good time.
At the sight, some flusters and something preens in you. It stems from something possessive, a purr hiding under your skin at the knowledge you’ll both be feeling little reminders this morning.
You shuffle closer and wake him with a kiss on the back of his neck.
Like your lips stir him, Steve gives a sleepy groan in response, making you smile. You kiss him again, this time further up along his shoulder, and then give him an affectionate little bite. Barely a nibble.
“Mm, hey,” Steve says, voice faux-stern and coated in sleep. It’s gravelly enough to make you consider a round two. You watch over his shoulder as his eyelashes scrunch open. “What’re doin’ back there?”
You soothe your tiny bite-mark with another kiss and push yourself up, sheets pooling around your waist. As much as you’d love to doze off in Steve’s arms all morning, there’s things on your to-do list.
“Nothing of consequence,” you say, looking down at Steve with a loving smile. You trace across between the moles of his back with an idle finger, until he rolls over toward you, forcing you to stop.
“Mhm,” He hums. His hazel eyes are warm like the morning, like the bed, like the softness between you.
“I think that means nothing important— to which I have to protest,” He captures your wandering hand and kisses it gently, eyes fixed on you. “Massively.” Another kiss. “Majorly. Everything you do is important.”
The next kiss is so feathersoft, on the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, that your laugh is tickled out of you. Worming your hand out of his hold, you grin, even as you roll your eyes.
“Suck up.”
Steve laughs, his voice still rougher than usual. He wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Nuh uh.”
The warmth of his gaze glazes over you as you turn and shuffle to your edge of the bed, pushing on your hands to get to your feet.
It takes about half a second before the ache in your core sends out a hot throb of pain and pleasure, a very imaginable reminder of just how Steve had drilled the ache into you a mere few hours ago.
You push through it and stand, but your legs shake noticeably.
“Oho, baby,” Steve coos, noticing immediately. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder and find he’s perked up, his head held up in his hand. He looks divine — and far, far too happy about the quake in your legs.
“Rough night?”
“Shut up,” You say with no bite. “Like it isn’t your damn fault.”
Steve laughs, “That’s exactly why I’m smirking, honey.”
You take a step and your legs feel no less like jelly, a little bend in your knees you have to correct quickly.
The warm ache pulses and you can only think of—Steve pushing your thigh up against your chest, grinding his hips into you, each deep thrust pulling these desperate sounds from you as he lost himself in you—
You take another step and something buckles, making you stumble for a moment. Your face flames with heat.
“Woah, you alright?” There’s a tint of concern to Steve’s voice as he properly sits up in the bed and scoots over to sit closer to your side. Reaching out, he tenderly rubs your lower back, his brows pinched together as he checks you over.
“I’m okay,” You say over your shoulder to appease his genuine worry. Then you lean back into his hand with a dramatic huff, rolling your eyes again. “No thanks to you.”
“Mm, I fucked you good,” Steve hums casually, leaning forward to press a kiss to the hip he can reach. There’s a smugness to his tone that you actually can’t dispute because he’s absolutely correct.
“Does baby need to be carried?” He says, enjoying himself far too much.
You glare down at him, letting him simmer in his smugness for just a moment. Your hand reaches down, tangling in his hair, and you smile like you’re about to fall into his arms and say oh yes baby, please.
“I think,” You begin, casting your gaze to the ceiling as you think. “Mm, no sex for a week for that comment.”
Steve’s mouth pops open, an aghast expression on his face. “Baby!”
You wander backward, away from his wandering hand, focusing on making sure your legs keep you upright. There’s a goading grin on your face.
“You heard me.”
“That’s- you— I’m being punished for being good at my job!”
Your head tilts back in laughter as you reach the doorway. You eye him with a knowing smirk, shaking your head softly. “That’s not why you’re being punished and you know why…”
As you turn, heading for the kitchen, you don’t doubt the pout on Steve’s lips.
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dxrlingluv · 1 month ago
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The way you write Apollo,Hermes and Telemachus is so good.. anyways...
Fem!reader x Hermes.. so basically, reader is one of Apollo's muses and Hermes kinda "steals her away" from his brother & Apollo is VERY pissed that his brother is flirting with one of his muses...
Poetic dilemma
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A/N : Thank you so much! Those three are my favorites(and ody). Also… Hermes and Apollo fighting for you and your attention. What a dream, isn’t it? Hermes art is from Zieru, Apollo art is from Gigi!
WARNING : Fem!Muse!Reader, Hermes and Apollo is fighting for the reader.
Word Count : 926
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The golden halls of Apollo’s temple usually rang with the harmonious strains of lyres, the rustle of parchment, and the occasional, perfectly timed dramatic monologue from the god himself. Today, though, you were finding it particularly hard to concentrate on anything but the sheer joy radiating from Apollo. He was currently perched on a marble pedestal, mid-recitation of his new ode to… well, himself, mostly.
"And then, with a flourish of celestial light," Apollo boomed, striking a pose, his eyes alight with inspiration, "I, Apollo, the radiant one, did cast my golden gaze upon the slumbering earth, awakening it with my glorious warmth!"
You smiled, genuinely happy to see him so immersed in his art. "Very… illuminating, Apollo! The warmth truly comes through!"
He beamed, soaking in your praise. "Ah, your appreciation! It truly fuels my divine fire!"
Just as he was about to launch into the next stanza, a sudden, soft whoosh of air brushed past you. Before you could even register it, a strong, playful arm wrapped around your waist, and you were lifted clean off your feet. A familiar, mischievous laugh echoed in your ear.
"Time for a change of scenery, little star!" Hermes's voice chirped, and the world outside the temple became a blur of clouds and sky.
You gasped, half in surprise, half in delight. "Hermes! What are you doing?!"
"Rescuing you from… well, just a change of pace!" he declared, soaring through a fluffy cloud bank, his winged sandals a blur. He held you securely, your feet dangling playfully. "Honestly, I just thought you might like a break. Plus," he winked, slowing to a more leisurely glide, "I'm much more fun than listening to him wax poetic about his own sun chariot for the fifth time today. Though, he does make it sound good."
You couldn't help but laugh, the wind whipping through your hair. "He's going to be furious!"
"Oh, he'll get over it," Hermes scoffed, doing a mid-air barrel roll that made you squeal with laughter. "He has, what, a dozen other muses. He won't even notice one is missing. Besides," he winked, "I'm much more fun than listening to him drone on about his own sun chariot for the fifth time today."
Meanwhile, back in the temple, Apollo was still mid-pose. "…and the mortals, awestruck by my unparalleled brilliance, did fall to their knees in… wait a minute." He slowly un-struck his pose. His eyes, which had been closed in dramatic contemplation, snapped open. He looked to his left. Then to his right. His brow furrowed.
"My muse?" he murmured. "Where is my muse?"
A beat of silence. Then, a terrifying, earth-shaking roar. "HERMES!" Apollo’s voice thundered, shaking the very foundations of Olympus. "YOU WINGED SCOUNDREL! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY MUSE?!"
Hermes, who had just landed you gently on a particularly soft cloud, winced. "Ah, speak of the devil… or rather, the sun god. He noticed quicker than I thought."
Apollo descended upon you both, radiating pure, unadulterated indignation. His golden hair seemed to crackle with divine fury, and his lyre, usually a symbol of harmony, looked dangerously close to being used as a blunt instrument.
"Hermes! You absolute scoundrel! You snatched Y/N! My inspiration! My lyrical genius! How am I supposed to compose my ode to the perfect shade of dawn without her insightful feedback on the nuances of 'rosy-fingered' versus 'crimson-tipped'?"
Hermes put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer with a cheeky grin. "Oh, lighten up, brother. We were just... on a field trip. For creative enrichment. Very avant-garde."
Apollo's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Hermes's arm. "Field trip? You're flirting with my muse! My property! This is an outrage! Do you know how long it takes to find a muse who truly appreciates the subtle brilliance of a well-placed caesura?"
You smiled, finding Apollo's passion endearing, even when he was this worked up.
Hermes, ever the provocateur, leaned in closer to you, whispering loudly enough for Apollo to hear, "He's just jealous, you know. My charm is simply irresistible."
Apollo gasped, a hand flying to his chest dramatically. "Jealous?! Of you?! The god of petty theft and glorified delivery services?! I am Apollo! God of music, poetry, light, and prophecy! I have no need for jealousy!" He then pointed a trembling finger at Hermes. "Release her at once, you winged hooligan! She has a symphony to inspire!"
You gently extricated yourself from Hermes's grasp, stepping forward with a smile. "Apollo, it's alright. Hermes was just... giving me a change of perspective. But I'm always happy to hear your latest works!"
Apollo softened slightly, though his glare at Hermes remained. "See, Hermes? She's too kind for your thieving ways. Now, Y/N, darling, we must return. I have a particularly challenging rhyme for 'helios' that only you can truly appreciate."
As Apollo began to lead you away, already launching into a new poetic dilemma, Hermes winked over Apollo's shoulder. "I'll be back, little star. And next time, I'm thinking a whirlwind tour of the mortal realm. Much more exciting than listening to him drone on about himself."
Apollo, oblivious, continued his monologue. You just smiled, a secret thrill bubbling inside you. Being Apollo's muse was fulfilling, and seeing him so happy was wonderful. But being the object of Hermes's playful "theft" and the subsequent divine rivalry was undeniably more entertaining. And you knew, with absolute certainty, that Hermes would indeed be back. And Apollo would be just as hilariously furious.
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cece693 · 4 months ago
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Could I request some Hannigram for a reader who operates on a backwards schedule? Like eating breakfast at 9pm and dinner at 7am.
Anytime they’re seen during the daytime they just look exhausted, lol
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My Morning vs. Your Night
pairing: hannigram x gender neutral reader tags: hannigram are worried, your job is vague so it's up to your interpretation, you look dead and are exhausted, caring hannigram
You didn’t mind the hours at first. Working through the night suited your quiet nature, and the city seemed more peaceful under fluorescent lights and moonlit streets. You liked the dark, the hush it carried, and the way no one needed anything from you except your job’s unrelenting demands. But even you had to admit it was taking a toll.
You could feel your body fraying at the edges. Nights had become days—your sun rose while others slept, and your “good morning” was usually a mumbled greeting at 7 p.m. Then, when the world was waking up, you were crawling under the blankets.
Will was the first to notice the strain. He always noticed things—something about the way your eyes lost their usual spark, the way your head would loll forward in the middle of conversation. He’d be sitting at the kitchen table, feeding the dogs in the early morning, while you stumbled into the house just before dawn. His brows would crease in that concerned way, the same gentle worry he wore when coaxing stray animals to trust him.
Hannibal, in contrast, observed you more subtly. He measured the dark circles under your eyes, the slump in your posture. He noted the times you arrived too late or too early for a meal, rummaging for breakfast at nine in the evening. He witnessed how exhaustion made you forget to eat proper dinners, your last substantial meal too many hours in the past. Their worry was shared—spoken in Will’s gentle voice and in Hannibal’s carefully worded suggestions.
Hannibal was a blur of precision as he artfully arranged your plate—a culinary masterpiece that qualified as breakfast by your schedule. Hash browns with a fried egg, a delicate drizzle of sauce that smelled faintly of herbs. He placed the plate in front of you, leaning in with an elegant posture. “You must eat,” he said softly, voice like silk on porcelain. “Your body needs care even if your hours are reversed.”
You tried to give him a small smile of gratitude, but your eyes slid closed for just a moment of rest. It felt like even blinking took more energy than you had. “I am eating,” you replied, forcing cheer into your tone. You sank your fork into the food, and as always, it was divine. This didn’t escape your notice, but your taste buds and Hannibal’s cooking had begun to take a backseat to pure fatigue.
Will hovered by your side. He still wore a sweater with a few dog hairs clinging to the sleeves, and the usual shadows of his own weariness had nothing on the purple bruises beneath your eyes. “I’m worried about you,” he said, gently patting your shoulder. “This isn’t healthy. You’re coming home in the morning and not even sleeping properly. You hardly rest before you go back out again.”
Your gaze shifted to him, and your heart clenched at the genuine concern carved into his expression. “It’s just the nature of the work,” you said quietly. “I can’t exactly turn it down. They need me.” Will exhaled, and Hannibal placed a hand on Will’s shoulder as if reminding him to tread carefully.
A week later, the inevitable crash came. Maybe it was a double shift that turned into a triple. Maybe it was the pounding headache that refused to relent. You wound up driving home while the sun was already high in the sky—past 7 a.m., well into your typical “dinnertime,” but you’d missed all your usual signals.
You stumbled into the house, tears of frustration threatening to fall. You kicked off your shoes, ignoring the annoyed whine of your tired muscles, and almost collapsed in the foyer.
Will was there in an instant, arms catching you around the waist. ���Whoa, easy,” he said, voice thick with concern. “Let me help you—just breathe.”
Hannibal appeared like a shadow, as swift as a heartbeat, pressing a gentle hand to your forehead. You saw the flicker of alarm in his eyes. You must have looked truly terrible. Your eyelids fluttered, the world turning blurry. “I’m so tired,” you mumbled, as if your exhaustion was something new and shocking.
Will and Hannibal exchanged a look above your hunched form, and Will gently scooped you into his arms, carrying you to the couch. You sank into it like a wilted flower. Before you could register it, Hannibal disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a glass of water. No one spoke until you took a few sips, water dribbling down your chin. Your hands shook so hard it was difficult to hold the glass.
Then Hannibal, with a low, steady voice, said, “We can’t watch you do this to yourself any longer.”
Will nodded. “We talked about it and we think you should quit this job. Please. For your own sake.”
It wasn’t an easy decision. You’d put so much into this job. But you remembered all those times you nearly passed out at your desk, times you neglected meals, the nights you promised Will you’d be home by dawn only to arrive in the bright glare of midday. So you stood in your supervisor’s office the next afternoon (evening, by your internal clock) and handed over your resignation. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you—fear, relief, regret, and anticipation. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen a proper sunrise while wide awake.
Stepping out of that building for the last time, you felt lighter. Your phone buzzed with a waiting text from Will:
We’re so proud of you. Come home safe.
It took a while to reset your routine. At first, you still found yourself awake at bizarre hours—your stomach growling at midnight, craving what it had learned to call breakfast. But now, when you emerged from the bedroom at odd times, you were greeted by Will in the living room, dozing lightly, as though waiting for you. Hannibal often had a small snack prepared, an elegant amuse-bouche to tide you over while your body adjusted.
Some nights, Hannibal would read aloud from a book of poetry while you rested your head in Will’s lap, focusing on the cadence of Hannibal’s voice to soothe your restless mind. Will’s fingers combed absently through your hair, grounding you. Slowly, you found yourself drifting off earlier and waking closer to what most people called “morning.” You’d have breakfast around nine—actual nine in the morning. Will smiled at you over a cup of coffee, and Hannibal offered you a plate of fresh fruit and delicate pastries.
You couldn’t remember the last time you had breakfast with both Will and Hannibal in natural morning light. It felt surreal, a luxury you hadn’t realized you’d been missing for so long. The kitchen was bathed in a gentle glow from the rising sun, and for once, you didn’t have to squint against it, half-conscious from a grueling shift.
“How do you feel?” Will asked, sliding you a cup of tea.
You paused, steam rising into your face, the warmth of the mug cupped in your hands. “I feel…rested.” The word sounded alien, but it made you laugh a little. “I forgot what that was like.”
Hannibal, perched elegantly across from you, inclined his head. “It is good to see color in your cheeks again. You have a natural glow this morning.”
Will’s foot nudged yours under the table, an affectionate gesture. “Not that you aren't handsome/beautiful, of course,” he teased in his soft, playful way, “but you did look like a ghost for a while there.”
A shy laugh escaped you, and you reached across to squeeze his hand briefly. “It’s strange, but i’m glad I quit.”
“Good,” Hannibal responded, his smile as subtle as ever. “Because your well-being is paramount. To both of us.” A comfortable silence settled among the three of you. It was only broken by the quiet clink of silverware on plates and the soft hum of the dogs in the next room. You took in the moment, letting your shoulders relax in a way they hadn’t in ages. The day stretched ahead of you—not night, not the sleepless hours, but a real day full of possibilities and the promise of healthy routines. Will winked at you before biting into a piece of toast, and Hannibal sipped his coffee with measured elegance.
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rockingbytheseaside · 2 months ago
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✦ The little gifts they give you
(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia)
tw: none, pure fluff
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✧ Pierro – Love letters hidden in the house
When you awaken in the hush of dawn, your beloved is nowhere to be seen in the house. He often rises before the world stirs, summoned by his obligations as the Fatui Director during the first rays of dawn. However, even if he has to depart as you sleep soundlessly, it’s never without leaving a small note by his pillow.
A small, beautiful card, meticulously folded and inked in his elegant cursive. A masterful piece full of words that he yearns to speak when he is away at work. You only opened your eyes, yet a smile already graces your lips when you spot the letter on his side of the bed. It reads:
“You sleep like a tender beauty, your thoughts are my constant companion. Even when you rise, the pillows and covers grieve for the absence of your warmth, like the departure of summer, leaving but the coldness of winter. So does my heart miss you when I am away. May you rise like a blooming Leucojum, starting off your morning well, while I think of you every waking second.”
He often did that, leaving you small sonnets around the house while he was away at work. His fancy for poetry and writing had endured since his noble youth in ancient Khaenri’ah, a love untouched by time. This way, even when he’s away, he still manages to bring a smile to your face first thing in the mornings.
You’d find other letters elsewhere. One day, he’d leave it in your study room:
“The pen and paper you write in get graced by your wisdom. The tomes that line your shelves store knowledge for your interest, each page covets your attention. Share your discoveries with me when I am back, my divine.” 
Another, he’d hide it by the dresser:
“When you don your attire for the day, the stars and moons would gasp in awe. Yet it is I alone who bear witness to your truest splendor. I count the second until I may once again gather you in my arms, to undo every silken layer-” 
Oops, never mind. Best not to read that one aloud. Too intimate for wandering eyes. Either way, throughout the months, you’d collect these little love letters, always keeping them safe as a memo, giddy whenever you reread them, or stashing them happily for safekeeping. For such excellent penmanship, the Jester truly deserves some extra adoration from you. 
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✧ Il Capitano – Exotic flowers and seeds from all over Teyvat
‘Is a bouquet of flowers too cliche a gift for someone you miss?’ – the Harbinger pondered to himself. He stood by the outskirts of Kannazuka, not far from Yashiori Island, where the solemn sea breeze swept by crimson Dendrobium petals. He heard from locals that these flowers were thought to be instinct, yet returned to where blood was once spilled on Inazuman soil.
You’d appreciate the austere symbolism of such flora, and the Captain knelt before carefully picking it by the stem. He paid respect to each bloom, as any warrior who understands the grievances of a quiet battlefield would. Thus, by the time his mission drew to its quiet end, the 1st of the Fatui Harbinger appeared with a bouquet presented to your arms.
“Hm? You plucked these, Capi?” – You looked at him curiously, the bouquet massive in your arms. “But that means they will wilt soon.”
The Captain’s helmet dipped slightly, his unreadable face betraying a flicker of hesitance. Perhaps this was a bad idea?
“...I apologize, do you dislike them?”
You smiled at him, with meticulous swiftness, you moved with the bouquet, searching for an appropriate vase, and to fill it with water. The Dendrobiums were indeed exquisite, yet what you desired was their preservation, especially if such blossoms bore no seeds to sow. Thus, your beloved watched in fascinated silence as you showed him how to remove extraneous leaves and guard petals. It will help the flowers last longer. Now, the Captain had more ideas.
During his other expeditions, he no longer sought out just any flowers; he would seek intel on horticulture or where to purchase high-quality seeds. If he’d purchased flowers, he’d barter for seeds rather than stems and purchase plants nestled in earthen pots. If only you had witnessed the face of the poor Mondstadtian girl who overlooked the Floral Whisper shop - Flora. She went silent as to why a Harbinger was questioning how to properly maintain Windwheel Aster during transport. In truth, he was so excited to bring his beloved one more exotic plant, he could only think of your expression when you see the petals spin in the breeze. 
Thus, you found yourself with a makeshift garden, brought to you proudly by Capitano. Each flower is a fragment of his journeys, a testament of his quiet devotion. He even helped construct a modest greenhouse, sturdy and sun-warmed, to shelter those blooms that craved warmer climates. Now, every time the Harbinger is away and spots a single flower blooming in the wild, his mind wanders back to you; what else might my beloved like? 
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✧ Il Dottore – Small inventions to make your life easier
To love someone doesn’t equal to lavishing that person with materialistic luxuries. Dottore knows you have little taste for frivolity, acquiring only what necessity demands. Instead, he attends to subtler needs: when you scribble in your notebooks for hours, your fingers get tired from clutching a pen, the side of your palms are smeared with either ink or graphite. Hence, one evening, he returns with a set of gloves.
“Here, give me your hand,” – he said busily, already cradling your palms as he carefully put on two-finger writing gloves, securing your skin in comfort against the soft material. “I ensured the design is versatile when you’re writing something, without tiring or smudging your hand. Tell me if it feels better.”
You never even noticed or complained about the ache. At times, the Doctor saw you plop down on the sofa, tired and whining from cleaning around. You were always meticulous with your personal space, but none is immune from the hassle of vacuuming, dusting, or cleaning the floors. Especially if it gave you a night of painful back pain. Hiring attendants would have been the simplest solution, he thought. But he preferred an idea far more personal.
“Take this,” – he casually handed you a circular device. You blinked in confusion but accepted the new state-of-the-art machinery. “An automatic vacuum cleaner. It will map out the layout of the house so it can sweep the floors whenever you’re away. Spare yourself the drudgery.”
And another time, when you were delighted by your purchase of a sweet bubble tea beverage, you wistfully lamented how difficult it was to replicate such indulgences at home. Oh well, you shrugged, but Dottore was sitting nearby, already scheming a blueprint.
A week later, your kitchen bore a marvel: a gleaming coffee and tea machine, capable of brewing, frothing, even carbonating any beverage you wished. You just have to throw in the ingredients of your choice. Be it coffees, matchas, smoothies, or bubble teas, not even Fontainian cafes had such appliances.
“Dottore, when did you have the time to wipe out such a machine? That’s massive work!” – you inquired curiously one day, but The Harbinger waved his hand dismissively, stating:
“Hm? Oh, why, this is hardly a strain. I don’t like seeing you toil over menial tasks or seek out solutions that will just burn through your Mora. If you are in want of anything, you can always ask me. You know that, correct?”
Even in matters where you never uttered a single complaint, Dottore’s ever observant nature remained unfaltering. He would silently bask in the sight of you, committing every small nuance of your life and habits to memory. He’d sit with his chin resting on his palm, silently smiling as you enjoyed his inventions or the little knick-knacks around his lab that brought your sincere smile.  
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✧ Scaramouche – Learning to cook your favourite dishes
The Ballader never grasped humanity’s fascination with food. Concerning sustenance, survival required little. Animals hunted their prey without fanfare, yet humankind alone had transformed eating into a cult. Fawning over flavors? Creating restaurants? Scaramouche never got it, even when he first lived as an innocent puppet in the rural village of Tataratsuna.
So why was he here, eyebrows furrowed as he looked over the sizzling meat on the stove? Somehow, against all reason, the Harbinger cooked an entire meal exclusively for you! 
“Ah, you’re back at last. Come here,” – he beckoned you diligently to sit down, presenting you with a bowl of Gyudon, a beef and rice bowl topped with egg yolk on top. You obeyed, baffled yet in pure awe, while Scaramouche sat opposite you with arms crossed. “Well? Don’t just glare at it. Taste it!” 
So you did. “Um, Scara… did you cook this?”
He nodded silently.
“Did you… Add any soy sauce anywhere? Maybe salt or mirin?”
Oh no.
Turns out, cooking is no simple art form. There are careful blends of spices and garnishes that make even the simplest dishes outstanding. And unfortunately for the Ballader, he missed all the steps, underestimating the power of spices that one must add to the beef. He watched you gulp down with a nervous, hesitant smile. You radiated so much encouragement that it ached. Scaramouche said nothing, only sat broodingly still. Nonetheless, he had to remind himself that he was no longer in Tataratsune. The simple folks there often kept rice as a garnish, and many imports of spices never reached the rural islands of Inazuma. He does not have to run barefoot to scavenge for Lavender Melons from wind-worn hills.
He didn’t let that deter him. Little by little, he paid more attention to the spices he had to put in. Never too much, never too little. Noticing your love for rich flavors and blends of textures, The Harbinger challenges the kitchen like an enemy, learning new dishes and methods. When you simply asked him why the sudden hobby, he replied:
“I thought humans liked homecooking. So I hoped one day you’d come… knowing there would be some. Isn’t that where a home is?”
“Oh, Scara,” - your hand found the curve of his back, to which he never leaned away. “I think you’re a quick learner, because you made leaps of progress. And your last dish, the Unagi Chazuke? It was perfect.”
“You don’t have to sugarcoat it, you know?” – he mused whistfully.
“No, I mean it. I think Chazukes are your best. But don’t get discouraged. Inazuman cuisine focuses on subtle blends of saltiness and sweetness, relying on ingredients like rice vinegar, sesame oil, or soy sauce. But Sumeru? Oh, I heard they have all kinds of spices out there!”
You went on and on with unbridled enthusiasm, weaving tales of harra fruits ground into rare, fragrant spices, prized all over Teyvat. Scaramouche listened silently, more in delight at your simple excitement. Perhaps he started to understand why humans focused so much on food. Not out of survival, but as a cultural effort to spend time together, a silent way to stay a little longer. Because whenever he sat down with you over a meal, it felt more than just an indulgence.
Maybe if he ever gets the chance, he should visit Sumeru…? 
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✧ Pantalone – His coats or clothing after each date
It started by sheer coincidence. One time, the two of you were enjoying a splendid afternoon, when suddenly the wind stirred without warning, bearing the chill of an impending October rain. Caught unprepared without an umbrella, and before the two of you could bid farewell for the day, Pantalone stopped you.
“Wait, honey,” – he deftly unbuttoned his coat, wrapping it around your form from behind and adjusting the fur-lined collar to shield you from the cold. “Here, wear this along the road. If it starts raining, the hood of this coat will keep you spotless.”
You wanted to protest, but when The Harbinger saw you half-swallowed by the voluminous fabric, only your gaze barely peeking through, it demanded every ounce of restraint to maintain his gentlemanly expression. ‘My… my sweetheart! They look utterly precious! Like a bundled burrito!’
Your words of worry slipped past him from one ear to the other – “Ahem. Nonsense, my love. You can keep it for now.” 
On another occasion, when he had invited you for a pleasant dinner date at his estate, the atmosphere bloomed with warmth and quiet comfort. The candlelit table was set, as you aided him in arranging the plates and dishes in the dining room. Pantalone, ever at ease in your presence, casually shrugged off his sweater, remaining in a crisp button-up now that the fireplace’s warmth embraced the indoors. However, it wasn’t until you wore his sweater after dinner that he realized he had left it on the sofa, and it piqued your curiosity.
“Ah, if I had a camera on me right now, I would’ve taken a hundred photo shots of you!”
“Sorry, sorry, I can give your sweater back.”
“Not a chance now. Keep it!”
Thus, a habit was formed. Whether by intent or by innocent accident, Pantalone would gladly share with you his wardrobe – be it coats, scarves, his pieces of jewelry, or bigger lounging shirts. You assumed he let you borrow them, like the loving boyfriend that he is. Yet he never asked for them back, even when you suggested taking them off, stating proudly:
“Honey, I have plenty more in my closet. If I were in dire need of taking them back, I could simply purchase tailor-made once more. But I’d rather see you wear them. You look splendid in my clothes.”
It stirred a quiet pride within the Regrator, to be accompanied by his sweetheart in public, and the people recognizing his iconic coat draped over your shoulder. A clear message of who has his heart cupped in their palms, and who he adores beyond reverent adoration.
Yet what truly stole the crown is when you’re together in the comfort of your home, and decide to forgo any garments and simply slip into one of his button-up shirts. He’d find you, re-emerged from the bathroom, looking all cleaned and refreshed, your figure clad in his shirt.
All the blood leaves his head. There is not a single thought in his brain - just the image of you. In bed, his button-up shirt the sole remaining piece covering your figure.
“You know, Pantalone, I must admit - I love the feeling of your clothes. They’re soft and comfortable, yet they carry a whiff of your scent. Thank you for not mind me wearing them. I can give it back if y-... Dear?”
Yep, he’s about to pass out. His beloved is too beautiful. 
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✧ Tartaglia – Plushies as souvenirs from different regions
The young Harbinger took a deep breath, cracked his knuckles, and stretched his neck. A recent mission in Liyue lay completed behind him, but did that mean he could rest and take a break? No, alas, the battle has only started. And today’s battle is shopping in the busy markets of Liyue in search of gifts and souvenirs. 
He often makes a mental list of what presents to bring home to Snezhnaya. New fishing gear for his father, fine garments for his dear sister Tonia, rare tomes for Anthon, and vibrant Liyue kites for little Teucer. His arms often returned so laden with offerings that his family affectionately dubbed him Ded Moroz, or as Teucer would shout in delight upon his arrival: “Father Christmas is back home!” 
Nonetheless, despite the massive ordeal of finding appropriate gifts, the task Childe found most effortless is finding you all sorts of figurines and plushies from each region. 
Maybe this Rex Lapis dragon plushie? No, you already have a five-foot-tall one at home; no need for another. Perhaps this rotund bird plush, fashioned after some grumpy Liyue adeptus? Oh, but there are also beautiful plushies from Fontaine, resembling Blubberbeasts and otters. Even though the sight of otter plushies gave him a dreadful sense of déjà vu. Truly, there were far too many to choose from.
And knowing Tartaglia, his heart would cave in and purchase all of them for you either way. He would return home triumphant, adding to your ever-growing collection, until your bed became a veritable kingdom of pillowy plush creatures, half of them functioning as pillows all over the house. No matter what your cherished brought, you’d smile in delight at his safe return, but laugh when he proudly presented the chunky blubberbeast plush with a boyish grin.
“Oh, by the way, look! I also bought this,” – he suddenly stated and handed you a masterfully crocheted keychain of a little Sumeru creature. Its stitched smile looking silly.
“Ajax, what is that?” - you chuckled, more amused by the Harbinger’s goofy smile.
“The shopkeeper called it an Aranara. There is a legend in Sumeru that these little wood critters roam the jungles, but are only visible to children who retain their innocent childhood imagination.”
You turned the keychain over in your hands, pondering where best to fasten it. It was charming, like every other token Childe so thoughtfully brought you. Yet truth be told, everyone knows your favourite plushy to cuddle was not the entourage of souvenirs, but the Harbinger who bought them. And in Childe’s mind, that alone was the sweetest victory he could claim.
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(Some lovelies kindly asked me if I can add the Harbinger missing in my fanfics. I try to keep those specific characters in my stories, but if you ever see me not include Scara or let's say Childe - it's not because I forgot or dislike them, but because sometime in the process of writing I do not want to repeat the same tropes for all the characters depending on the headcanons :< thank you for reading so far)
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earthtooz · 1 year ago
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earth do you have any spare alhaitham thoughts 🥺 thinking ab him a little extra hard tonight 😵
nothing but fluff, reader and al-haitham are engaged, so much banter.
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"What do you think about inviting Nahida to our wedding?"
Al-Haitham looks at you incredulously, blinking slowly to register your question. You know a lengthy discussion is imminent when he uncrosses his leg, a habit of his whenever he needs to prepare for a conversation that requires most of his attention.
"You don't mean Lesser Lord Kusanali, do you?" He asks and you nod, as if it is typical to invite a god to one's wedding. "Dear, do you understand what you are asking right now?"
"I do," you sit down beside him, Zaytun peach in one hand and a small knife in the other, cutting up slices that you feed him.
"Then do you realise how ludicrous your question is?"
"I think you are overcomplicating it."
His book snaps shut. "Am I? Or is it appropriate because you just suggested inviting an archon to our very ordinary wedding?"
"You still think you're ordinary after overthrowing a corrupt government and being promoted by said archon?"
"You're crazy," Al-Haitham murmurs, shaking his head with an affectionate smile, one that he always likes to conceal by pressing a kiss to your cheek.
You poke his side gently. "Then we are cut from the same cloth."
"That does not diminish your madness."
Still, you persist. "Well, you haven't said anything in response to my suggestion."
"I called you crazy."
"You haven't said anything I want to hear."
Once again, he sighs, but the noise is too airy to hold any true malice. "Even if I reject your idea, you would personally go to the Sanctuary of Surasthana and deliver the invite yourself."
Instead of answering, you merely feed him another slice of the Zaytun peach, smile growing more and more mischievous.
There is a reason Al-Haitham wants to spend the rest of his life with you. The bouts of delightful juvenility paints endless blotches of colour on his plain canvas, carving a certain feeling of warmth and admiration in his chest that no one else has managed to recreate.
No one compares to you, and he's certain no one ever will because even after all these years of knowing and loving you, every moment he spends with you is as priceless as divine knowledge. Even when you ask ridiculous questions that perplex him greatly.
"How do you even deliver messages to the Sanctuary of Surasthana?" You wonder.
A kiss to your temple halts your thinking. "Let's find out another time. How did this idea of inviting Nahida spring about?"
You shrug. "I was merely thinking back. She's always been so thoughtful and kind to her subjects, even when the Akademiya hid her from us. Then the idea of inviting her made itself quite at home."
"I see," he hums. "Ever so thoughtful."
"Maybe it's a good omen for our partnership to invite an archon. She won't have to bring a present, her presence alone is enough."
Al-Haitham huffs. "My faith in our relationship exceeds that of a good omen, but I agree."
"Aww, you love me that much?"
"Do you still doubt me?"
"Still?" You parrot. "Darling, I've never doubted you."
"I'd like to contest that. Remember when you were vehemently against me resigning as the Acting Grand Sage?"
You feed him another slice. "It gave me bragging rights! Who else could claim that their hot boyfriend-now-fiancé was the Grand Sage?"
"So you prefer when I'm away at the Akademiya working tirelessly from dawn to dusk?"
"Well, no," you set the knife and pit of the peach down before throwing your arms around his neck, pressing yourself close to him. "I prefer having you all to myself."
Al-Haitham huffs triumphantly and you stay pressed close to him for a while, watching as he returns to his novel. He flips back to his exact page despite the lack of a bookmark.
"I'll be sure to send the invite to Nahida tomorrow."
"Alright."
Two days later, you wake to a message written in beautifully precise handwriting on Al-Haitham's blackboard.
'Can Wanderer be invited too? - Nahida'
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© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
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dragongirlpoet · 7 months ago
Text
Dark Signs 3
Summary: As Alucard grapples with his grief over what he has done, secrets are unveiled and graver foes awaken. Is it too late to save you? (Plot takes off months before *that ending* in part 2. Some parts are off-canon.)
This chapter is written in Alucard’s POV.
Themes: Dark fantasy, horror, romance, angst I Words: 4k
Warnings: MDNI. Horror, blood, gore, violence, religious themes, mentions of suicide, grief, depression, anxiety, slight smut
Pt I I Pt II I Pt IV
_____________________________________________________
To the lovely folks who are holding out for part 3, thank you! 💛 Sorry I couldn’t put this out sooner.
@s-i-l-v-e @kawaiiskeletoneggsnerd @celly-fahrenheit @skychaser777
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I tasted blood, cherry and salt. 
And I wanted more, more, more.
We were tangled in each other, our bodies suspended in the cosmic cerulean of the deep ocean. 
She was my salvation. Her kiss was my atonement. And her blood, oh her blood…it was a gift so heavenly. All my immortal life had desired only that very thing, and now that I had it, I couldn’t let go. 
Every shred of my primordial essence — powerful yet cursed, now entombed in the marrows of her soul. My blood now flowed in hers, as her blood, mine. We were fused as one, we were divine. 
My darling’s fingers traced the sharps of my jaw as she kissed me, our married blood spilling from her mouth, diluting the water. They formed red rivulets around us, as if in symbolic reverence that we were the almighty givers of ichor. 
We were safe, entwined together in eternal damnation.
I love her. I love her so deeply that I’d doomed her with my blood curse, so I could have her by my side till the sun swallowed us whole. And for that, I’d forever fester in my blasphemous sin.
“Adrian…” she seemed to say, but the snare of the ocean strangled her words, slowed our every caress… as if time at all wanted to still for our undying love.
Oh what I would give to hear her voice — seraphic, like a birdsong, my name chaste upon her lips. 
Her ivory chemise clung to her body like sculpted granite, her nipples just peeking through. They were for my eyes only. Yes…her being, her blood, her body…they all belonged to me.
But in that sacred moment, something felt…amiss. There were those jade-green veins, palpable under her eyes… they ran like fine cracks on marble, so like those on a delicately-carved statue.
Raven hair hovered around her tiny frame, resembling venomous serpents held buoyant by witchcraft. They were so in contrast to my gold, like the exact moment dusk bled into dawn.
There was the red rivulet again, this time saturating the white ribbons of her nightdress. They coiled around my arms, binding me to her. Not that I’d ever let go. 
But I had to, for her lingering touch was frost impaling even my vampiric skin. Why was she so cold?
“Adrian…” again she seemed to call out.
Her eyes, despite being underwater, were wide open, the blacks of them bereft of the soul I once knew. She was pale. So pale. And she looked every bit the angel of death. 
My angel…when did she slip from my arms? 
Our fingers entwined one last time, before a sombre gloom dragged her under. Slowly she sank, like a fallen star ousted by the heavens, syphoned of its light. 
But I’m right here, darling. Stay. 
I willed all of my immortal power to reach for her outstretched hands, but my body was deadened, as if held prisoner by spirit shackles. Further and further she sank from me, and I so terribly wanted to tell her that wasn’t where she was supposed to go.
Words evaded me, as my tears had.
The hollow abyss seemed to rise up — impatient, almost — to receive its new sacrifice. 
Blood gushed from her mouth — they were viscid, as if so thickened they had to be forced out or she would choke. The blood kept coming. They streamed out of the sockets of her eyes, running like bloody tears of the living dead. 
They say that monsters like us lack the ability to fear, yet I’d never felt more afraid than I did then. The love of my life, drowning, dying, yet I could do wholly nothing. Alucard, son of Dracula — weak, worthless…
A fissure cracked her chest open, the cavity creeping wide to reveal her beating heart. Her human heart. 
The blood kept coming. 
“Come back to me…” I begged, the futility of it sickening me.
Still, she descended. I watched in horror as the godless ocean buried her in its oblivion, until all I was made to see was the compunction of my sins. 
On her neck that I used to so lavish with kisses, lay the wounds only a wretch like me could inflict. 
I did it. I killed her. 
“Adrian…”
____________
I jolted awake. 
A numbing despair perforated my insides, a feeling I knew all too well. I stared out the window through heavy eyelids, the red moon magnified by sweat teardrops trickling through my eyelashes. 
For a long moment I just sat there, my lungs crushed by torment, my heart shattered by grief. I’d lost count of the nightmares that had plagued me over the decade…no, it’s been 96 years, Adrian. A century. A century she’s been gone.
What was I living for? 
Memories I longed to forget writhed their way into my mind, forcing me to once again relive the hell that fateful night. 
I had sat in the castle hall for days, her lifeless body cradled in my arms. My eyes burned from tears, and I wanted to die. I fed her so much of my blood, my immortal blood, still she slept. I summoned spirits, conjured the most powerful of magicks, still, she slept. My hope hanging by a thread, I fused my father’s sciences with my mother’s elixirs…still, she slept. 
I was about to drive my own sword into my heart — the only one ensorcelled enough to kill a dhampir, when a familiar voice stopped my contemptible deed. 
“Alucard! This place reeks of death, and here I thought we’d gotten rid of your father long ago.”
“Stop it, Belmont!”
“What? He may be pristine but his home sure isn’t. Alucard! Honey, we’re home!”
“Will you stop yelling?”
“Alucard’s probably busy shoving it in her, ha. I need to make sure he can hear me above their grunts and moans. Have you forgotten how loud you get, Sypha?”
“You’re disgusting, Belmont.”
“Alucard! Ah, there you are. In the hall, really? You two really are something. Do you have food? I’m starving. I…”
“Belmont.”
“Fine, fine. Beer is good as w…”
“Belmont!”
It took Belmont a long minute before he alas perceived what Sypha meant. My two dearest friends — immobile in silent trepidation, distress distinct on their faces.   
“What happened, Alucard? Was she attacked?” Sypha was the first to speak. As always, her presence seemed to bring solace, but it dissipated promptly.
“I killed her, Sy…Sypha. She asked mmme… to…tto turn her, and I…I drank too much…I killed her.” 
Mere speaking incinerated my throat, and it was then I’d realised I hadn’t stopped crying. I could scarce breathe through my wheezing, let alone enunciate words.
“I…I tried ever…rything, help me please…ppplease…save her please…”
Belmont, in a rare display of empathy, knelt beside us and took my hand in his. “We will find a way to save her, and we will not stop until we do. I promise.”
At his oath, I collapsed into Belmont’s arms. Anguish, shame, relief…they all coursed through my body — my face buried in his shoulders, weeping. Every emotion that I’d held in, all unfettered at the fact that I had someone, that I wasn’t alone to fight my battles. 
“Fault yourself not, Alucard. She never would’ve blamed you.” Sypha’s voice was soft, soothing, enveloping us in a reassuring embrace. I fell apart completely. 
A loud pounding at the doors disturbed our bittersweet reunion, arousing our every alarm. There seemed to be a clamour of sorts — yelling, mocking…definitely humans. Belmont took to receive the unusual affair, leaving a gap just wide enough to acknowledge a throng of men — bishops, priests and followers of the church. 
“I don’t remember ever calling for your conceited services, Father.” Belmont sneered. 
“It’s Father Caine to you, and I could hardly expect couth coming from especially you. Excommunicated and still, never learning the error of your ways…
I sense a great evil here…more so than I daresay…Dracula himself. Forgive our ruckus, for we, the good men, merely wish to rid the town of all that is malign…Hand the girl over, and all shall be well.” 
Sypha and I exchanged uneasy looks. What was he talking about? 
Belmont, entirely irked by the bishop’s pretentious drivel, was barely holding it in. “Take your horseshit hubris and shove it up your a…”
“Oh, but don’t you want to know why we want the girl? Not the speaker-magician…the dhampir’s lover.” 
What?
The dastardly bishop, words of scorn and malice, continued, “She now has the blood curse of the dhampir, and something in that transformation awoke creatures of the night…dark, hateful creatures…ones that possess an ancient evil…It is easy. We exorcise and burn her body, and as I’ve said…all shall be well.”
Blood searing in my veins, I raced past Belmont, the parasite parish’s body dangling midair in my chokehold. Eyes bloodshot and fangs hungry, I crushed his throat harder. He let out pathetic struggles of breath, rosary still firmly clasped in his hand. 
“Where is your God now, Father? If we are the impurity you so seek to vanquish, then what of the innocents you slaughtered unrepentently, all because they did not fit your cause?” 
I thought of my mother, the Belmonts, the heathens who simply held their own beliefs…and most of all, I thought of my sweet angel, so kind and full of love…
“What the…” Belmont cursed when we were doused with buckets of Holy Water. The “Men of God” started chanting prayers, as if their contrived communion would somehow free their pious leader. 
I let out a laugh. 
“The absolute gall you have, Father. Despite my mourning, I shall grant you this last mercy. Command your men to leave and never again return, and I shall kill only you. Fail to do so, and I’ll rip the tendons from all your wicked hearts. After all, I am a monster, am I not?”
A few men flinched at my words, casting hesitant glances to the others, while some implored Father Caine to choose wisely. Such cowards.
The bishop shifted a little in my grip, a faint smirk splayed across his face. “M…ark my words, vampire. Dark times ar…are ahead…The girl must di…” 
I tore his heart right out of his ribs.
He was right. I was a vampire. I was omni-sentient. I was a monster and a God all at the same time. The farcical impudence he had to order the execution of my beloved…Anyone who touches her will die.
With his blood on my hands, I felt my hunger creep in once again, ripping off the human mask I wore like a virtue. I needed to feed.
It wasn’t until Belmont started swinging his Morningstar than I realised the tumult that had ensued. “And God shits in my dinner once again…Alucard! Left!”
Veins palpitating from the heart I’d just consumed, I saw that the rest of the church, quite possibly under the predetermined order of the bishop, lit a pyre that massacred the foliage we used to read under, devoured the quince fruit trees we so loved to frolic around.
They will all die. 
“Get back!” Sypha cried, mutating the fire into swirls that wavered to her bidding. She channelled them towards the men, trapping them in rings of flame. Out of nowhere, fire arrows flew in our direction, narrowly missing Sypha’s face. That was enough to send Belmont into a scalding rage. 
His Morningstar cleaved through half of the men, dismembering some, dissecting others. My estoc weaved through throats and hearts, beheading some, mutilating others. The tragic irony of it all — the very men whose sole mission was to protect mankind, to do good, on an aimless rampage to kill because of a misguided prophecy.
And so the fighting went on for months, years... Night creatures, more members of the parish, vampires seeking a new world order…valiant efforts, alas they were no more than vermins effortlessly exterminated by us three. 
We weren’t certain why they had kept showing up. Whether it was a curse set off by my turning her, or the fact that they simply wanted us dead…it mattered not, nor did I make it my business to find out. I was going to kill them all. 
Sypha and Belmont had kept to their promise. Come hell or high water, they stuck with me, even moving into the castle with their son. We battled foes, and never once did they abandon their cause to revive the love of my life.
“Alucard, you need to seal her. Keep her somewhere safe, where no one but you can find,” Sypha had one day told me. I was no fool, I’d known they wouldn’t be around forever, and if I’d succumbed to my grief, all their efforts would’ve been in vain. 
“Promise me that when she wakes, you two will look after our kids, and grandkids, and great-grandkids, and…” Belmont trailed off, seemingly stumped by staple discourse.
“They’re called descendants, you idiot.” Sypha rolled her eyes. 
Managing a genuine smile I haven’t had in a long while, I replied, “I promise.”
“My lord.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to yet leave my reverie.
“My lord,” Centrio again addressed, this time with more urgency. There, bowing by the door, dressed in fine leather that I had gifted, stood the first human I’d turned after…her. I’d found him by the docks, and he was all but an emanciated vagrant on the brink of death. Perhaps it was the matyr in me, but I thought it more I had wanted to experiment…if he indeed turned, perhaps there was a way…
“The council is ready for you.” 
Donning my guise of Imperious Vampire Overlord — terrifying, deadly, merciless — I made my way down to the great hall with my most loyal emissary. I clutched at the pendant around my neck — a vial forged with obsidian and laced with gold, encased with her blood. It was the only way I could feel her if she woke.  
An excruciating sorrow once again took shape, like an enemy planting tiny splinters in my heart, except those splinters were tainted with the most malevolent of poisons, inching slowly to ravage my vital core. 
“My lord,” 
The council all greeted in unison, heads bowed in utter veneration. Men, women, young, old…I had sired them all. To have a contingency if I ever needed one, to delegate my task of finding a cure, to have some goddamn chatter in the forsaken castle…
“We’ve received word that the denomination led by Gwyth is storming in from the highlands of Brasov. They are…angered by the vampires you’ve sired. She thinks just because…” 
“Just because what?” 
The gathering fell silent, as if fearful to draw my ire. Good…that’s how I intended it to be.
“Tell me, Finnor, does your gallantry waver in my presence? If so, perhaps it was my oversight in appointing you General?” 
“Forgive me, my lord. She thinks it’s a travesty that we, vampires a mere century old, are…” Finnor cleared his throat before continuing, “...exhausting all the human blood supply here in Braila. Some of our own have gone over to bordering cities, and they’re most displeased. She thinks that just because you’re… Dracula’s son, doesn’t give you the right…”
“Dracula’s son?” I scoffed. 
“Did I not sire you all? If Dracula is my father, then does his blood not also run in your veins? 
“Yes!” My council concurred in earnest. 
Does that not make you powerful?”
“Yes!”
“Good! Then let them come. We will defend what is rightfully ours, will we not?”
“Yes!” 
At that, they broke into a resounding cheer, half howling, the rest pounding staffs, swords and what have you on the marble floor. Contrary to the revelry below, I, worshipped like a God on my throne, felt wholly insentient. I cared not for war, nor truimphs, nor reign. If I’d created bloodthirsty monsters, it was merely a means to an end. 
I wanted only one thing. 
Was this how my father felt when my mother died?
“Kindly see to it, Centrio. I wish not to be bothered.”
“At your service, my lord.”
There she was — immaculate in white, clutching the garland of daffodils I’d made her, so detached from the pain I’d caused…I had all but little choice when I’d sealed her in the underground castle chambers. I had cast a spell so powerful, that save for the both of us, no one could enter, or find, our fortress in Wallachia.
Living in the castle without my friends, without her, seeing her lifeless body…it went on for months, years…I couldn’t bear it. Her lying there, bereft of a heartbeat, of a breath, broke me in ways I never knew existed. 
And so I resolved to start over in Braila, it was the only way to keep her safe, it was the only way I could honour my vow to save her.
Cape dragging behind my lifeless steps, I trudged back to my study, thoughts once again lost in her. Innumerable letters I’d written, infinite words I wanted to say — all frozen and wayward like misplaced luminaries in an interstellar void. 
What have I done, darling? I’ve created…abominations... so many innocent lives lost because of me…Will you still love me when you see what I’ve become?
“Adrian…”
I spun round, completely entranced by her voice. 
In the doorway, against the crimson glow of the stained-glass window, wearing the white chemise just as she always had, awaited my beloved. It suddenly became daunting to breathe, my mind apprehensive to behold the sight.
“Darling? Is it really you?” I uttered, my words close to a tremble.
She said nothing, but merely moved to me with such litheness I was taken aback. Her steps were languid, like a lone willow swaying in a bleak winter tempest. 
“H…how did you find me? You don’t look well, do you need to feed? Here,” I offered my bloodslit wrists to her. She pressed her lips to them at once, as though thoroughly acquainted with my gesture. 
“I missed you so much, I…”
“Shhh…” she hushed, sinking to her knees. 
Her hands made quick work of my trousers, and too soon had my entire length in her mouth. My cock twitched as her tongue lapped over the ridges of my growing erection, licking hurried circles around my tip.
“Fuck…baby…I missed you so fucking much…” I panted, pushing her face deeper between my thighs. “Ahhh…that feels so good…” and threw my head back, shutting my eyes, relishing in the absolute ecstasy of her eagerness. 
Pumping my sex in rapid fervour, she took it further down her throat, sucking, constricting…the weight of my every burden reduced to an indistinct drone.
“Slow down, darling,” 
“Yes, my lord…”
My eyes flew open. My lord?
From where I was, I alas saw it. The sable of her tresses ran an incomparable lustre to my darling’s raven. I flung the devil thrall into the windows at once, shattering the glass, red fragments giving way to golden gleams of the inconspicuous sun. 
“How very dare you,” my voice dropping to a haunting hiss as I stalked towards her. “The audacity you possess to employ such pitious artifice…who sent you?” 
The thrall quivered at my unrestrained wrath, straining to speak against the bleeding shards skewered in her throat.
“Y…you…did…m…my l..ord…” 
I froze, the lunacy of my suffering clear as day. I must already be dead. 
Refusing to bear the yoke of that truth, I instead directed all my shame and hurt at the dying vampire whom I’d sired. 
“Why do you get to live, but she doesn’t? Why do all of you get to persist in endlessness, possess my blood gift, but she is doomed to sleep for all eternity? Why!”
All that remained was the anguished aftershock of my tirade, and the spurting of blood that had slivered their way to the soles of my boots. 
“F…forrr…give me, mmy…lord…”
“I want you to listen closely. She transcends your every breath. You will never be her.” 
I compelled my estoc to sever her head. 
____________
I liked it out here. At times the ocean waves would susurrate, tonight it was a thunder against the cliffs. It offered a quiet respite from my heartbreak, the inane vampire politics, and the endless blood war of the undead.
My hair whipped in the frigid windstorm, yet I felt nothing. I was a lighthouse abandoned — hollow, crepuscular — fleeting through the years devoid of purpose. There were nights where I would see her in the middle of the violent sea — so alone, so tormented — does she know? I would cross oceans of time to find her.
Something snapped. 
I remained still as death, my gaze shifting calculatedly to the untimely intruder foolish enough to trespass into my castle grounds. Their steps, though fairly distant and furtive, stood little chance against my heightened hearing. 
The clanging of chains reached my ears long before my sword ensnared the metal. Holding it mere inches from my face, I studied the peculiar weapon — intricate weaving of iron, spikes flared at the tip…and that leather whip. 
“Simon Belmont. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Save that garb for someone who gives a shit, vampire.”
I smirked at his salutation, perhaps a little more than necessary. “I see the Belmonts have a tradition.”
Unlike his forefathers, Simon had fallen out of favour with the Belmonts, insisting that vampires, regardless of their intent and relationship, are considered foe and should, at all costs, be exterminated with their bodies wrung out to dry. 
“The odious horde you have sired are arrogant beyond their means. Do you not care for the turmoil they have caused? The innocent lives they have claimed?” 
I no longer have the capacity to, I wanted to tell him. 
“I come here not to befriend, or beg, or ask. Halt the atrocities of your vampires, or I shall finish what my grandfather so failed to do — kill you.”
“Are you threatening me, Belmont?”
Taking advantage of my affront, he wielded the Combat Cross — one I’d noticed too late — for it struck the pendant around my collar, barely missing my chest. I watched as the vial containing her blood fracture into pieces, her lifesource splattered and devoured by the earth below. 
Seething, I lunged for Simon, teleporting behind him while coiling the Morningstar around his neck. He threshed around his imminent asphyxiation, blindly stabbing his dagger, attempting to find purchase on any of my organs. 
The tip of his Morningstar however, managed to etch itself onto my arm, igniting an unsteady glow. It would not combust in me, for I was neither human nor demon. Still, a searing pain barelled through the recesses of my body.
I released Simon as he collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving from the lack of air. Hovering my sword above his heart, I recalled the promise I had made to Belmont. 
“This is a fight for another day, Belmont. Take your weapons and leave, for I have little forbearance for charity such as now.”
Flinging a shard of the Transmission Mirror next to Simon, he was pulled into its magic before he could contend. As the mirror engulfed him in its sorcery, he glared at me with such loathing I thought it incredulous I had loved his grandparents dearly.
But it was his last words ahead of being teleported that unnerved me, roused me back to the verity of that very moment — “I know what you’re searching for, Alucard.”
I stared at the spot where Simon was, now an insignificant mass of rocks, amongst them lay fragments of my obsidian vial.
An uncanny cold snaked about my heart. Clutching at it, the hammering intensified to a booming knell, in the same manner as nights where the parish would pound at my castle doors with boulders, clamouring to burn her. My breathing soon withered to a wheeze, then a gasp, and I fell to my knees.
Without the pendant, I could feel her no longer. 
What if she woke? The indefinite dangers she would face outside the castle walls…Simon…what if he knew a way to find her…to kill her…
I was sickened with fear. Haste was of the essence, but the Transmission Mirror teleported at random — there was no telling where I would end up. Trembling, I raced to ready my stallion. 
I was going back to Castlevania. 
Pt I I Pt II I Pt IV
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vibewithma · 1 month ago
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Holy Competition
Sinners Modern Au!
Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!reader
A/N: I wrote this with “Man of God” but decided to separate it so it won’t be that long. Here y’all go 🫶🏾
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Saturday - 2:00 AM
The whole house was quiet. Not peaceful. Just on pause. That deep silence before the storm hits the kitchen.
And then BAM BAM BAM.
“Let’s go, saints! The Lord is risen and so is my alarm clock!”
Doris’s voice rang down the hallway like the opening notes of a gospel solo. You already knew what time it was, literally. You’d been sitting up in bed for ten minutes, teeth clenched, robe tied, eyes wide open in dread. If there’s anything worse than waking up early, it’s being woken up early by your grandma talking in parables.
From your bedroom, you heard the first victim: Pops.
“Time to rise and pray, husband!” Doris sang, barging into their room. “You gon’ cover this house in the spirit or you gon’ cover it in snorin’?”
You heard a groan. Then the creak of the old floorboards as Pops shuffled out of bed.
“Lord,” he mumbled, voice still gravelly from sleep. “Watch over my girls. Keep our mouths from gossip, our hearts from envy and our chicken from burnin’.”
“Amen,” Doris whispered.
Then she was on the move again.
Next victim: Gloria.
Doris cracked open your mom’s door like a soldier on a mission. “Up and at ‘em, woman of God. Fish ain’t gon’ fry itself.”
You heard Gloria sigh, already halfway awake. “Yes ma’am…”
Then came the most vicious attack of the morning: Dawn.
“WAKE IT UP, MISSY.” Doris threw open her door like she was summoning spirits, flipped the light switch and snatched the covers clean off.
“GRANNY!” Dawn yelped, flailing like a fish outta water. “It’s not even daylight!”
“And still later than I wanted you up,” Doris snapped. “You got potato salad duty and if I see one box of them pre cubed potatoes, I’m callin’ your mama from heaven.”
Dawn groaned into her pillow like she was bein’ punished by the Lord himself.
Doris opened your door and paused.
You were already sitting on the edge of your bed, hoodie on, bonnet secured, face blank like a soldier on the front line.
Doris raised a brow. “Well look at you.”
“I hate being woken up,” you said flatly.
Doris smirked. “Now that’s my girl.”
She backed out, arms crossed, proud as ever. You followed her down the hall and by the time you reached the living room, everybody else was dragging their feet in behind you like sleepy little disciples.
Except Pops, who was already curled back on the recliner with a blanket over his knees, talkin’ ‘bout, “I did my part. I’m restin’ in the Lord now.”
Doris clapped her hands once loud enough to shake the ancestors.
“Alright! We got a mission and we not gon’ fail. Y’all know who you are and what you were born to do.”
She started pointing like she was handing out divine assignments:
“Mac and cheese? That’s me. I already pre-grated the good cheese. Don’t nobody bring up that Kraft mess.”
“Catfish? Gloria. Clean, season, and bless ‘em before the grease even pops.”
“Fried chicken? Gloria again. Don’t double-batter unless you got the Holy Spirit.”
“Pork chops? Me. I got the hand for it.”
“Dressin’? Also me. Ain’t no shortcuts and don’t ask if it’s Stove Top.”
“Potato salad? Dawn. You mess it up, you walk to church.”
“Red velvet cake? Y/N, you know you got the anointing for that. Use that good vanilla extract I keep hidden behind the communion cups.”
You gave her a lazy salute and headed to the kitchen, already smelling like butter, flour and early morning judgment.
Pops snored softly in the recliner, totally unbothered now that his five minute prayer shift was done.
The house hummed with quiet chaos, hands moving, dishes clattering, the air thick with flour and tension. Gospel music floated in low from somebody’s speaker. Gloria started humming along. Dawn was peeling potatoes with the fury of someone who would absolutely talk about you behind your back at the repass.
And Doris? Doris tied on her apron “Doris Made It” stitched in gold and stood at the stove like a general ready for battle.
Tomorrow was the church dinner. The showdown.
And y’all were cookin’ like the soul of the family
was on the line.
The house smelled like heaven, your feet were swollen, your back was talking crazy and your eyes were threatening to quit but y’all did it. Every aluminum tray gleamed under the plastic wrap, each one labeled and boxed, ready to feed the congregation and their cousins.
Doris leaned back in her recliner like a war general post battle, apron stained and eyes half-closed. “That’s what victory smell like,” she said, fanning herself with a church program. “Go ‘head and call Elias.”
You picked up her phone, pick out his name and gave the phone to your Grandma.
“Elias?” Doris said as soon as he answered. “Be a sweetheart and come by in the morning to pick up some food. And tell that brother of yours to behave.”
Sunday Morning – 6:45 AM
Dawn was on fire. Hairbrush in one hand, edge control in the other. She already had your mama lookin’ like she stepped out of a ‘Just for me’ commercial top slick, curls bouncing like they had a testimony.
Granny was next.
The moment Dawn finished that wig install, Doris checked herself in the mirror and gasped. “Whew, Lord. I look like the Proverbs 31 woman and the prize.”
“Granny, stop,” you laughed.
“I’m serious. That wig sittin’ like it just got saved at the altar!”
When it was your turn, Dawn went all out defined your curls, gave them bounce and shine, even fluffed the roots like she was blessing your scalp with holy oil. You glanced in the mirror and had to admit, you were lookin’ good.
Dawn stepped back, eyes twinkling. “Mmm… might have to kiss you.”
“Girl—”
She leaned in, but you dodged and pointed at her forehead. “Get that temptation spirit up off you, we goin’ to church.”
Dawn rolled her eyes, flustered, but still grinning. Her own install a sleek straight wig with a middle part was holding up like it had security clearance.
Everybody had on white, per Doris’s decree: “It’s the color of victory. Purity. The lamb of God. And I look phenomenal in it.”
Even Lenny was suited up in white linen with matching loafers, his car keys twirling on his finger. “Y’all ready to stunt on the saints or what?”
The door rings.
Dawn opened the door and there he was.
Stack and Smoke.
White tee, gold chain, that knowing grin and sleepy eyes that still managed to look fine at sunrise.
“Hey,” Dawn breathed, momentarily forgetting how to function.
Before she could even think to move, Doris popped around the corner, wig bouncing like it had choreography. “Mornin’, sweethearts!”
He blinked. “Well, good mornin’ Miss Doris. You look beautiful today.”
Doris grinned, leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, baby.”
Dawn was frozen like she just saw Jesus walk on water.
Smoke looked at the kitchen, then back at Doris. “Y’all really came through. Whole house smell like the gates of glory.”
Dawn finally spoke up. “I—I helped with the wig. I, uh… did the design.”
Doris raised a brow. “She helped a little.”
From the kitchen, Stack called, “We takin’ the food now before we get too distracted by beauty.”
Stack and Smoke gathered the trays like men on a mission, tossing compliments and thank yous around before they dipped out.
You and Dawn rode together in your car Dawn fixing your edges at every stoplight like y’all were goin’ to the BET Awards instead of church.
Lenny drove your mom and Pops, Doris riding shotgun like she was headlining the pulpit herself.
As you pulled into the church parking lot, the sun hit y’all just right. Doris’s wig bounced. Gloria’s curls gleamed. Your red velvet cake sat like a throne offering in the backseat. The food battle was on. The choir was warming up. The gossip was already brewing.
The sanctuary was filled with people being exiting just like y’all were glowing like the second coming was due before 1 PM. You walked down the side aisle, heels clicking against the church tiles, curls bouncing, voice humming as you found your seat.
Youth Choir pew.
Third row from the pulpit.
Right next to him.
Sammie.
He was already seated at the edge, long fingers resting on his lap, shirt sleeves pushed to the elbow like temptation in cotton. His piano notes from rehearsal still echoed in your ears.
“You came lookin’ like a blessing and a distraction,” he said the moment you sat.
“You look like somebody’s unfinished testimony,” you whispered back, giving him a raised brow.
He chuckled low. “Then come finish me, church girl.”
You blinked. “Sammie—”
But before you could finish Brittnay stood and gave the nod as the choir director.
🎶 “Amazing Grace”
The piano began his hands guiding every key like scripture. His foot pressed the pedal smooth as his smile and the chords filled the room like a river of light.
You sang.
Your voice clear, your heart steady. Sammie played like he was backing you up in more ways than one. When you held that long note, he looked up from the keys right at you. His smile was small, proud, and full of mischief.
When y’all sat down, he leaned over and whispered, “That wasn’t just grace. That was divine.”
“You flirtin’ in the house of the Lord?” you whispered, faking a gasp.
“I’m testifying, baby.”
The church choir had finished and Pastor Jedidiah stepped to the pulpit, Bible open, voice strong.
“Today,” he began, Bible in hand, “we talkin’ ‘bout something the Lord been placing heavy on my heart… how to be a Godly husband and how to recognize one when the Lord sends him.”
The church hummed in agreement.
“You don’t go lookin’ for him, Proverbs 31 women. He finds you.” He continued, eyes sweeping the women, “stop stressin’ tryna find one. ‘Cause Proverbs say he that findeth a wife finds a good thing.”
The sanctuary went wild.
“HALLELUJAH!”
“Say that!”
“Amen!”
“Say it again, Pastor!”
“He sure do!”
“C’mon Pastor!”
Sammie leaned in again, close enough you could smell his cologne fresh linen and something dark and soft underneath.
“A man finds a wife,” he murmured. “And I been lookin’. Real close.”
You blinked at him, cheeks warm. “You sure you not just lookin’ for dessert?”
He smirked. “That too. But I’d say red velvet and Ruth are both worth pursuin’.”
“Now fellas,” Pastor Monroe called, “a Godly man is honest. He’s patient. He works with his hands, leads with his heart. And he honors the women in his life.”
Sammie tapped your hand lightly, playful. “Check, check, check…”
You bit your lip. “You missin’ one.”
“What’s that?”
You turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Godly men don’t flirt this much on church property.”
He grinned, teeth catching light. “Baby, I’m not flirtin’. I’m plantin’ seeds.”
As Pastor Jedidiah launched into the story of Boaz, you and Sammie sat shoulder to shoulder, hearts beatin’ just a bit louder than the organ.
And when the congregation stood for prayer, Sammie’s hand brushed yours subtle, light, just enough to remind you.
He might play piano for the choir…
But he was makin’ you his favorite key.
Taglist:
@cosmicautomatonshark @fanfictiononly4 @pinkpantheris @andthatsonmaryhadalillamb @sweetalittleselfish-honey @bleufu1 @fruitypatooties-blog
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sierrawitch · 3 months ago
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Scottish Divination Practices
by autumn sierra
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The Frith
The Frith—translating to “to find”—is a divination charm practice used to gain insight into the future, specifically about missing people or predicting events. Traditionally performed on the first Monday of a quarter, the frithir (seer) would stand in a doorway at sunrise, cross their hands or fingers to represent the equal armed cross, and observe the landscape for omens found in birds, animals, or weather patterns.
The Ritual of the Frith
Traditionally performed on a solstice or equinox at a liminal time such as dusk or dawn. Frithers would often fast to heighten spiritual sensitivity, as well as use Saining water to bless themselves
Frithers would step past a threshold of the home or other significant place (crossroads, old well, etc) to stand with either foot on opposite sides, symbolizing standing between two worlds
Observed images, animals, environmental phenomena, etc were used to divine answers to questions or prophesy
Saining
Although the practice of saining is used to cleanse and bless primarily through the use of smoke, water, fire, etc, it can also be used as a method of divination. During the saining, the diviner would pay close attention to the movement of smoke and flames of burnt herbs—specifically Juniper, which is a traditional saining herb.
An Dà Shealladh (Second Sight)
An Dà Shealladh is a prophetic ability occurring through visions, and was often associated with Highland seers. Those with the ability were said to see spirits, wraiths, or omens of death and misfortune which would give them insight into future events. It was said to be hereditary, and some speculate that the ability may have unfortunately become dormant in the descendants of previous seers.
Hearth Divination
Once logs had been added to the fire of the home’s hearth and burned, diviners could read the behavior of the wood in response to the flames. Sparks and cracks had varying indications, as well as ashes which could be read similarly to how one reads tea leaves.
Mirror/Water Scrying
Water and mirror scrying are popular forms of divination in modern practice. Scrying with darkened, spiritually significant bodies of water (wells, lochs, lakes, bulláns, etc) was very effective for identifying shapes and visions within the water’s reflection (or lack thereof). In a similar way, darkened mirrors—or black mirrors—are use to mimic this effect. The keek-stane, most commonly known by its mention in Raymond Buckland’s Scottish Witchcraft & Magick, is something of a cousin to the black mirrors that are most popular today in that it uses a glass lens rather than a flat pane.
Creating a Keek-Stane
Find and obtain a glass lens, preferably one from an old clock or thermometer face, or one made specifically to be just that—a lens (frequently found in the scientific community)
Black out the lens using black paint on the convex side, careful to make the color as solid as possible without streaking or trapping dust. Be sure that the convex side is completely opaque with no light passing through
Place the lens convex-side down in a protective container of choice (Buckland specifies a box) with the proper materials to keep it in place and keep it from breaking
Oomancy
Egg divination, or oomancy, was a common form of folk divination often performed at Samhainn, Latha Bealltainn, or Hogmanay. It was mostly used to predict marriage, future events, or fortune. An egg would be cracked into a bowl of water, and then the diviner would interpret the shapes made by the egg whites.
Salt and Wax Divination
This method of divination is achieved by pouring salt or hot wax into water. The patterns and shapes created through this method would then be interpreted by the diviner. This method of divination was commonly used during Samhainn and Hogmanay.
Scapulomancy
Scapulomancy is a divination method in which seers would divine the future by interpreting the shoulder blades of animals (usually sheep). Cracks, dents, and other abnormalities in the bones would change the outcomes of the readings. Some would use fire to create the cracks necessary to read the bone, and others would read the natural bone as it was following its cleaning. Scapulomancy was used for predicting weather and harvests, guidance for battles, monitoring the well being of communities, and other fortune telling.
Stone and Fairy Mound Divination
Stones, Hagstones in particular, were believed to enhance An Dà Shealladh when peered through. Visiting fairy mounds at Samhainn and listening to the wind or the whispers of the fair folk and other spirits was another way to divine the future.
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livingdxadwriter · 11 months ago
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Imagine reader putting on pheromone perfume before going on a date with bf!Logan but they never made it out the door bc he got his freak on 💋💋
Godddddddd the thoughts this gave me. Explicit content under the thread. Minors dni. F!reader, P in v, unprotected sex, Logan is feral asf for his girl
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He could never say not to you, no matter how much he disliked it. You could make him do anything by just batting your eyelashes at him and smiling. He had such a weak spot for you. So here he was, a nice black button-shirt replacing his usual flannel-undershirt combo. He was sighing, glancing at his watch every two minutes. You had been so adamant about going to this new restaurant that opened in town, and yet you were taking your sweet ass time.
“Darlin’, cmon you’ve been in there for like three hours.” He called out to you, impatiently tapping his fingers on his arms as he crossed them over his chest.
“You can wait two minutes Logan!” You shouted back from the bathroom as you applied the finishing touches. Your hair looked so soft and bouncy, your lips were the perfect shade of your favorite lipstick. Just one more thing.
You had bought this new perfume after your friend had told you about it, she swore it was like magic. You didn’t truly believe the pheromones in the formula would do a whole lot, but at least it smelled divine. You gave your neck two, three and four sprays, followed by your pressure points on your wrists. And with one final look of yourself in the mirror, you were happily leaving the bathroom to join your man.
Logan instantly whipped his head in the direction of the bathroom, a strange, unknown yet pleasant smell suddenly filling his nose. He scrunched up his nose in confusion as he tried to figure out just what the fuck this sudden aroma was. And then you came out of the bathroom, as pretty as ever—he thought. And then it dawned on him. That unknown smell was you. Blood rushed to his face and his heart raced as more and more of that sweet smelled filled his nose as you oh so unbothered walked up to him, a sweet smile on your face. By the time you were in front of him, his pupils were completely dilated, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he tried his best to control his primal urges.
“I’m ready.” You smiled, completely unaware of just how mad he was going over this new perfume of yours. The sweet scent mixing oh so deliciously with yours. He said nothing as he leaned down, his cheek pressing against your jaw as he took in the scent closer, straight from the source. The growl that rumbled in his throat was animalistic at best.
“Fuck dinner.” Was all he murmured into your soft skin before he was pressing you against the nearest flat surface—a wall.
You had little time to protest, with his mouth claiming yours and all. His hand reached under your dress, scrunching it up to your waist. He tugged at your panties and it took little force for the flimsy fabric to rip at the hip. Logan was unbothered by this as he ran his fingers through your slit. You were breathless, panting as you protested but you were ultimately giving into his plush lips and the delicious feeling of his fingers.
One of your legs was thrown over his shoulder, the other barely touching the floor due to his tall height as he held your by your hips. Your sweet moans were in his ear as he pressed his face into your neck, sharp canines leaving marks on the skin as he split you open with his cock. You still didn’t know what caused him to completely lose control like this. You’d expected him to end the night this way, but not before you even left out the door.
The mess of your mixed releases was dripping down your thighs, heels long forgotten somewhere on the floor. You wished you had taken pictures of your pretty makeup before it was ruined. Black residue of mascara and eyeliner stained your cheeks, your perfect lipstick stained your face, and Logan’s. And don’t even mention your hair. What a mess.
“Was it the dress?” You eventually asked in a quiet voice, your chest still heaving as you looked at him with blurry eyes. He chucked, glancing down to look at your pretty dress. It was a new one. He ultimately shook his head lightly as he gently set you down on your feet.
“It was your perfume actually.” He chuckled, pressing his nose to your jaw to give your soft skin one more inhale as he held you against him. “Is it new?”
You snorted. Well guess the pheromones did work after all. “Yeah, it has like pheromones or some shit.”
Logan pulled his face back to look at you and his eyebrows were pulled into a frown, “what now?”
“Yeah, like you know, pheromones. It’s supposed to be sexy or something.” You shrugged, pursing your lips into an innocent expression. Logan groaned.
“Fuck.” He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he was hoisting you up around his waste to take you to the bathroom. “I’ll take you to that dumb restaurant tomorrow, yeah? Just couldn’t help myself.”
“You better.” You huffed playfully as you rested your head on his shoulder.
“Just don’t wear that shit again. Unless you want me bend you over the nearest surface.”
You smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
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