#drabble: devout

[moongreenlight]

Greek mythology/the Olympians has been my hyperfixation for going on two decades now and I just… Soap as Dionysus.

Always brings a good bottle of wine and a few rooted cuttings of ivy as a housewarming gift. If he’s fixed his attention on you, he’ll also put a few sex toys in the little bag he brings. Puts them right on top for the pleasure of seeing your scramble to try to shove them in a drawer or tuck the whole gift in the closet.

He’s a great time. Has this intoxicating way about him. Like life is a stage and he’s the director. Playful and fun, though a little too enthusiastic at times. Handsy when the two of you hang out. You assume that’s just his nature and excuse it accordingly. Hard not to, gorgeous man that he is. A divine kind of handsome. Like his features are an eons-old amalgamation of all the most beautiful features humans have ever had.

And he gets strangely possessive, even after you’ve been nudging back his wandering hands or putting your hand between his mouth and your neck all night. Borders on vindictive and aggressive if he’s not in the right headspace.

It’s a bit terrifying to see him snapping his teeth in the face of some man at the bar who had only just asked you if you’d wanted a drink. You swear later in the night you see him babbling feverishly to a group of his friends. It sounds like total gibberish, and his friends look even more confused than you feel, but his eyes are wide as saucers and his hands are flying about hazardously. You don’t think much of it after Soap pulls you by the waist to the corner booth and tips a cocktail up to your mouth.

He keeps you out until all hours of the night. Insists on staying jovial. Club-hopping to find the best crowd, best music, best conversation. Keeps you up and active for so long that the confines of reality start to become fuzzy at the edges.

Sexuality expressed through bodies writing and twisting in drunken dance. Bumping up against one another. Collecting strangers and your own sweat in fat beads on your skin that make you shiver when they get heavy enough to trail down the small of your back.

When the room is spinning enough to make you stumble just a bit and you’re unable to do anything but giggle about it, he’s somehow able to make sneaking off into the family bathroom together seem like a good idea. He seems just as drunk as you are, slinging an arm around your shoulders when you walk. Bellowing a laugh when his hand grazes your tit but making no attempt to pull it away.

It’s less easy to be oblivious when you’re in the bathroom together. The muffled music filtering through the bottom of the door. He’s pressing up against you even though now there’s no crowd to excuse his practically grinding his groin on your hip.

It smells like sweat and generic brand bathroom cleaner. You hum when he staggers to the urinal instead of griping at him about how crass it is to take a piss right in front of you. He props himself up on the wall with one hand and a moment after you hear the teeth of his zipper come undone, he lets out a throaty, satisfied groan.

You busy yourself looking in the mirror. Checking your makeup. Seeing if you look as drunk as you feel. It’s filthy. There’s a web of cracks coming from the bottom left where it looks like someone tried to send their fist through to the wall behind it. It makes you a bit dizzy to look at and you have to bend at the waist to get close enough to see the way your mascara has smudged all around your eyes.

And all of a sudden there’s a burning heat behind you. Sickly, feverish heat pressing straight into the pillows of your ass. Soap’s spidery reflection shows up just over your smile sporting a wicked grin. Teeth and eyes flashing.

You try and swat him away, all too used to his comings-on, but he digs his fingers into the fat of your hips bruisingly hard.

“C’mon, hen. Been driving me mad all night. Relax a bit. Jus’ need this. Need you. Please.”

He has to lay flat over your back to hiss in your ear. Teeth clenched like he really needs to put some effort behind his words to sound polite. Like a petulant child who’d just been reminded by their mother to practice manners.

You were practiced in batting back his advances, but for some reason his grit made you falter. His gaze seemed to be burning a hole through you in the mirror. The idea that something inside him was hitting a roaring boil that he couldn’t stop from flowing over made your brain go foggy. The opposite of sobering. His aberrant need was contagious and catching quick.

He smelled like sweat and cheap cologne and dry, sweet wine and woods. Flirty and masculine and overwhelming. And he’s warm and strong behind you, even if he’s pushing his hard cock into you.

Who were you to deny him the pleasure of snapping his hips into your backside a few times? Letting his fingers impatiently tug at the button of your jeans and hastily tug them down with your underwear until they pooled around your ankles?

It didn’t help that the sound of him sending a glob of spit into his hand made you clench around nothing. A familiar warmth gathering between your thighs that made you shift a bit to chase the momentary relief even a touch of friction could provide.

He couldn’t even afford you the decency of pretending not to see. No. Instead he points a spotlight on you and insists you perform for him again. Nudging your legs apart and pressing his thigh flush against your core while purring the filthiest things in your ear.

“Ken I jus’ needed to wear you down, mm? Thought ‘bout this before we went out. Always did get sloppy when you drink. Jus’ needed a little push. That’s it -Jesus- cunt’s so wet. Gonna take good care of her.”

And the club is so packed full of drunken, dancing bodies that hardly anyone notices the way you two stumble out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later. Even though you’re still fumbling with the button of your jeans with shaking hands.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) x f!sinner reader Smut Masterlist✨

I thought it would be a good idea to put all of my short stories (and headcanons) for our favorite Short King in one post so they can be easily found! This will be updated if or when I write more! Thanks for all the love on these btw, I never expected this much engagement for a genre I’ve never written about, I appreciate all of you 😭💖

Headcanons

Lucifer Morningstar NSFW Headcanons

Lucifer Morningstar NSFW Alphabet

One Shots

His Queen

Opening Up

Sensitivity

Desperation

Feathers

Pretty Boy

Lucifer in Lingerie artwork by the lovely @yuckypuppie

Dress Up, Part 1: The Proposal

The Engagement Ring artwork by the lovely @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis

Teasing Lucifer artwork by the lovely @bat-boness

Dress Up, Part 2: The Ceremony

Lucifer and OC Cuddling Scene artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Lucifer and Husk at the bar artwork by the lovely @luci-lover-forever

Lucifer and OC Wedding Attire artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Kiss the Bride artwork by the lovely @yourlocalcryptidbee

Lucifer Wedding Attire artwork by the lovely @bat-boness

Dress Up, Part 3: The Honeymoon

Double Trouble artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Triple Trouble artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Dress Up, Part 4: The Anniversary

Meeting with Asmodeus artwork by the lovely @luci-lover-forever

Bucking Bronco based on this Cowboy Lucifer art by the lovely @bat-boness

Behind (Not So) Closed Doors

Lead Us Into Temptation

Snake Tongue artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Falling For You (Again) - Lucifer x f!fallen angel reader

His Forbidden Fruit - Angel!Lucifer x f!Huamn Reader

Angel Lucifer artwork by the lovely @the-other-soup

Lucifer and The First Woman artwork by the lovely @sora-712

All Dolled Up

These one shots are all on my AO3 account too!

My Ko-Fi

Asks/Drabbles

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy (short dialogue segments) - NSFW

Cowgirl Imp OC artwork by the lovely @fluffypinkpillows

Lucifer w/ reader who's never received oral before - NSFW

Full Body Length Mirror - NSFW

Lucifer w/ an ace/sex repulsed reader - NSFW

Lucifer w/ a virgin reader - NSFW

Foreplay w/ Lucifer - NSFW

Reader catching Lucifer touching himself to them - See "Behind (Not So) Closed Doors" for a full short story - NSFW

Lucifer w/ a devout reader (corruption kink) - See "Lead Us Into Temptation" for a full short story - NSFW

Lucifer loves reader's laugh - SFW

Lucifer w/ a shy s/o who has a hard time taking compliments - SFW

Lucifer w/ a bigger s/o - NSFW

Lucifer w/ reader who isn't as ready as previously thought - NSFW

Lucifer and the love languages- SFW

Lucifer w/ an s/o with scars - SFW

Lucifer doesn’t know he’s on a date - SFW

Lucifer in a rut - NSFW

Lucifer loses his s/o in an accident- Angst

Lucifer x reader in heat - NFSW

Lucifer x reader in his penthouse - NSFW

Lucifer tries to hide his demonic traits -Hurt/Comfort (slightly spicy)

Lucifer x reader dry humping/thigh rubbing - NSFW

Lucifer turns cockwarming against you - NSFW

Lucifer x virgin reader - Loving One Night Stand -NSFW/Slight Angst

Lucifer x Reader - Markings - NSFW

Lucifer x Insecure!Reader - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Sleep Talking - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Impatient - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Chains - NSFW

Needy Lucifer x Reader - Morning Routine - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Trapped - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Use Your Words - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Nowhere To Run - NSFW (Dark themes)

Lucifer x Reader - A Gift For You - NSFW

[joelscruff]

- joel miller masterlist -

dividers by @saradika-graphics

🔥 - smut 💖 - fluff ☔️ - angst ⚠️ - dark ⭐️ - new/recently updated

- series -

feelings on fire 🔥💖☔️ - you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you.

one thing i'm missing 🔥💖 - you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming.

soft!dom joel 🔥💖☔️ - a collection of important moments between you and joel miller, your grumpy new patrol partner in jackson, wyoming.

boyfriend's dad!joel 🔥💖☔️ - moments between you and your boyfriend's father, joel miller, who you have a secret relationship with.

to freeze or to thaw 🔥💖⚠️ - joel is a raider without much humanity left, except when it comes to you. you're his special girl, but you can't ignore the way his right-hand man tommy also makes you feel.

- one shots -

imperfect for you 💖⭐ - you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby.

is it that sweet? 🔥 - you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right?

this one thing you did 🔥 - dancing with a stranger at your favorite club leads to something filthy.

beyond infatuation 🔥💖 - joel & tommy have an arrangement where they share you, no strings attached.

truth or dare 🔥⚠️ - a harmless game of truth or dare ends with you tied up in a certain mysterious neighbor's garage.

keep it squeaky 🔥 - joel miller has a problem, and it's his daughter's new best friend. or, alternatively, joel listens to you pee while he's in the shower.

- drabbles -

pillow humping 🔥 - prompts: joel, reader and pillow humping + the sentence “you say it’s big but you take it. ride cowgirl” from frank ocean pyramids.

pubic hair insecurities 🔥💖 - prompt: do you think joel would say anything reassuring if he noticed reader was embarrassed of her pubic hair after the outbreak?

nipple piercings 🔥 - prompt: how would joel respond to nipple piercings and a freaky reader?

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Rafayel: Don't Look At Him | 18+

So my solid rule of thumb is that if a fic is 1k words or longer, it's no longer a drabble...and this is just over 1k. I wrote this before work in like 15 minutes though, but I hope it's still enjoyable! OH! and this was a request, by the way, so hope the requester enjoys this!

♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Pairings: Rafayel x Reader ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Warnings: Unsafe Sex, Creampie, AFAB Reader, Jealousy, Wall Sex, Quickie ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Synopsis: Rafayel is jealous that you were so close to Sylus in the N109 zone and decided to remind you just why you come home to him instead. ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Word Count: 1k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Rafayel

Don't Look At Him

There were few things scarier than when Rafayel let his perfectly made facade disappear. You had noticed it before, how sometimes he seemed a bit more rigid. He always seemed so carefree and lax, but he had fought alongside you before, you knew there was something he hid all too well from most people. Hell, there was that time you had a stalker and he almost incinerated him on sight the moment the man tried to attack you. The cold look in his eyes that day, the serious tone, you just knew he wasn’t all that he tried to make himself out to be. He was so much more and he never let you peel back those layers.

So when he allowed his quirky, artist persona to fade for a little while, you knew you were in deep shit, “So you have a new boyfriend, then?” his words were far colder than you were used to. He had gotten upset before, but it was always cute pouting, this was dangerous.

“Raf, I had to use him to not die in the N109 zone, and we just happened to hit it off and became…sort of friends…business partners?” you trailed off, “Listen, there is nothing romantic going on between me and Sylus.” you tried reasoning with him. You heard his footsteps get closer and suddenly you were up against a wall. He could’ve slammed you against it, but you could feel his hand behind your head, making sure you didn’t get injured. Even pissed he was looking out for your safety.

“Is that so?” he mused, “Are you sure about that? You two looked awfully close,” he said, trailing over your body. You squirm underneath his touch and he shakes his head, “I guess I just need to remind you exactly how devout I am for you,” his breath whispered your name almost like a prayer.

You didn’t know what to expect, but feeling him hiking up your shirt and working off your shorts wasn’t one of them, “R-Raf!,” you gasped out, feeling him taking your pants off as he looked you up and down, licking his lips.

“Sorry, my heart,” he groaned, “I don’t have time to waste right now,” he said, “I’ll be worshiping you later, but for now I need to be in you,” what the hell did he mean by that? His hand went over your entrance the moment he had your pants and underwear down your knees, his fingers finding their mark as he pushed them inside of you with urgency.

You growled out a small curse, shivering at how he began working you open against the wall of his studio…against the fucking entryway because that was as far as you had made it. His fingers felt delightful and you wanted more, rolling your hips and whimpering. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that was more teeth than tongue at this point, his desperation clear.

You heard him working his pants off, the buckle a clear indicator and you didn’t even get a chance to look down with how he was pressing you against the wall. You could feel his cock against your thigh as he worked on hiking your legs up, supporting you as he prodded at your entrance. He had barely worked his fingers in you and now you could feel his cock and gods everything was a blur.

Rafayel plunged his cock into you, making you all but scream his name against his lips as he kept you there. “Fuck,” he groaned out, “So wet, so tight,” he murmured, his forehead now against yours as he began pumping into you. Your entire body jostled with every thrust and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders for some form of support.

This entire situation was hot and you didn’t know where it all came from. One moment you were coming to the studio, the next you were being pressed and fucked into the wall next to the coat rack because this man was jealous. You couldn’t even say anything as his mouth began leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw and to your neck.

You whimpered at feeling his teeth biting into you, sure enough leaving a mark and possibly drawing blood but you were too fucked out to care. The drag of his cock inside of you was the only sensation you could focus on, closing your eyes and letting out small whimpers and cries. The familiar coil inside of you building faster than anticipated. Rafayel leaned closer, making sure his pelvis was flush to your front so with every stroke he was grazing your clit.

“R-Raf, fuck, mhm-” You were whimpering his name now, so close to release; the feel of his pulsating cock signaled his own. 

“I know, I know,” he groaned, “Wanna feel you soak my cock, fuck -hng please, m-my heart, cum for me,” he gritted out, closing his eyes for a moment before he reopened them and locked his gaze with your own. That was all it took as you clenched tighter, coming undone all over him and possibly soaking his shirt that was in the way. You were whimpering, your clutch on his shoulders stronger as he pulled shaking gasps from you.

He groaned loud against your ear as he spilled inside of you, his seed warming your insides with every stroke and his mouth came back to yours in a sloppy kiss. You groaned into it, tongue playing with his own as you savored the feeling of his languid thrusts into your sopping core. It took a few moments for him to still, catching his breath and panting against your mouth.

“Fuck…Raf,” This was probably the first quickie you ever had with him, normally he liked to take his time with you. The thought was hot though as you clenched down again on his length, earning a groan from him,

“I’m not done with you, my pearl,” he murmured and you gave him a small look of surprise.

“But you just…?” you began and he smirked.

“When have you known me for only doing one round?” his tone was lightening up again, returning to the more familiar Rafayel you knew, “Although this time I want it to be on a bed so I can take my time,” his tone trailed off and you flushed. The day was apparently still young, and your boyfriend had plans to fuck you so dumb you probably wouldn’t remember any man’s name other than his own.

Me? Writing Top Rafayel? I mean...it sometimes happens.

[lizdive]

saw ur inbox is open so i jumped right into the opportunity 🤭 just recently discovered ur blog and AUGH i love your writing!! the lack of platonic stuff is a CRIME.. 💔

could i request something with aventurine being an older (adoptive) brother to teen reader? if you want some extra lore, the ipc basically found the reader and wanted to use their powers for themselves cuz theyre like- crazy op- 😭 (reincarnation of an aeon typa shit) so they placed the reader into aventurine's care bcuz he was the only person they weren't hostile towards-

SORRY THIS GOT A LITTLE LONG ?! you don't need to use the extra lore if you dont want to btw! i just put it there :3

can be either hcs or a oneshot/drabble, u can choose!! >_<

please and thank u!!!! (ゝω・´★)

YOU’RE SO SWEET YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THIS MEANS TO ME ILUSM ☹️🩷🤍 Aventurine is my everything I love when people send me reqs about him he’s never left my team since I’ve gotten him 😭 ALSO I LOVE THE EXTRA LORE I LOVE UR BRAIN LEMME KISS IT MWAH 💋 tysm for requesting <33 if you’re unsatisfied just tell me and i’ll redo this 🫶

notes 𐙚 gender-neutral reader — "you" + "they/them" used to refer to the reader ,, reader is a teenager but is implied to be ancient ,, reader is implied to be a part of tayzzyronth — aeon of the propagation — and can be up for interpretation, however they do have swarm abilities ,, i did some research on tayzzyronth however there may be things that are not accurate or do not align with canon as tayzzyronth and the swarm is very confusing ,, reader grows a hatred for qlipoth — aeon of the preservation and their followers aka the ipc ,, platonic relationships ,, ipc activities as usual ,, penacony mission at the end ,, i feel like i derived from og request i’m sososo sorry ,, ending is cringe ngl ,, this is not proofread so ignore typos

Bugs, insects, flies — you do not know what these creatures are referred to as. You do not know of their origin, and you do not know if you are one of them taking a different form. They treat you as if you are one of them and protect you like you are their ruler.

The planet you reside on is dark. There is no other being except for these creatures that swarm you like you are their creator and their savior. You rarely move. Your cheek has grown accustomed to the cracked grounds of this wasteland as you slumber for periods of time you know not the length of. It is gray, yet you sometimes spot the colorful liquid that leaves their bodies as they succumb to the eternal slumber you sometimes seek.

There is no coldness and there is no hotness — you are always warm. They blanket you with their wings and speak to you in a language you have learned to understand.

"The followers of Qlipoth are coming!" they would say, and yet you did not know who they spoke of. The concept of beings existing that are not you or the insects that flutter about bringing you sustenance and company is foreign, and your young mind cannot comprehend it without physical proof. You assume they jest as they always do to try and humor you, and so you do not acknowledge their warnings.

"The followers of Qlipoth have come, you must leave!" And yet you chose to remain on the cracked grounds that have filled your sight for the many years you have lived. You chose to remain under their wings which shielded you as they fought against Qlipoth’s devout to keep them away from your form.

They are weak, you convince yourself, as you hear the shrieks of your swarm. They are weak, you convince yourself, as you hear the loud explosions which cause the frail floors to crack more and more. They are weak, you convince yourself, as you hold a baby bug in your arms like a toy to sooth the bubbling feeling of fear which is so foreign to you.

They are not weak, you realize, as you feel their hands pull at you from beneath the pile of dead creatures, doing their best to fight off the hallucinations from their wings.

These people — the followers of Qlipoth — are enemies. They do not deserve what the insects would call 'mercy'. The chains which cling to some of your joints barely hold you back as you scream at them in what sounds to them like gibberish. Your body is weak from the lack of movement, yet what you consider weakness is considered as strength that was once unattainable to them.

"If I didn’t know of the swarm I’d assume they were an abomination of the abundance," a woman speaks, yet her words mean nothing to you for you cannot understand them. You do not know who spoke, and you do not care. They are all enemies, and this 'Qlipoth' that they follow will be struck down by your own hands one day. They follow this being and therefor this being is the one to order them to do such horrendous acts.

You make an attempt to flutter the thin wings that decorate your back but they feel heavy. You look back and find them to be hidden away and chained. You do not feel the pain, but perhaps it is just the adrenaline rushing through you.

"Did you really have to cover them up like that?" "The workers said that they were hallucinating, we couldn’t risk it."

A gloved hand is placed in front of you. There is nothing in it. The golden rings shine under the lighting of the room you are in. The shimmer is new to your eyes and makes you squint from the reflecting light. You are used to the dullness of your 'home' planet, so when you look up to properly face the man who seems innocent enough, you recoil at the brightness off his appearance.

The many layers of clothes he adorns makes you curious. You do not wear much, only enough to properly cover you. The insects would keep you warm. Yet he wears so much — so many layers of attire made from materials you didn’t even know existed.

Your rage and hostility is pacified with curiosity, and that makes his smile a bit more genuine. He brings a hand to your head, and you’re ready to tear him to shreds should he try anything, but he only pets you gently. It reminds you of when the insects would nudge your head whenever they wanted you to wake up.

The sense of familiarity makes your eyes water but you do not shed the tears. You don’t like how they blind your sight and you blink rapidly to make them go away. The man clad in bright colors says something, but you once again can’t understand him.

But when the suffocating chains no longer cling to your tender skin, you understand that he is safe like those that cared for you and he is trying to comfort you. It works.

The man is named Aventurine — he repeated it constantly until you finally said it, albeit with the accent of a toddler. Still, he praised you. When he smiled and pat your head, you felt happy. It was a good thing.

You follow Aventurine around. He is the only one you have familiarized yourself with. He gets frightened by the swarm that follows you, so you scold them whenever they show themselves unannounced. You do not want him to leave you — you’ve noticed it happens a lot as you are exposed to human beings. He tells you he won’t leave you, how you’re his responsibility now.

You only understand a little bit of what he speaks, but you want to learn more to get more head pats and praise. The language they use is very foreign and requires much more effort to sound out the words as well as memorizing the symbols they write with. It is a lot of effort, but Aventurine is very encouraging.

Aventurine is nice. He is patient. He is understanding. He is helpful. You have been told that the one who has given you your strength was born from loneliness, but if that was the case, them shouldn’t your abilities be gone by now? Because with Aventurine, you do not feel lonely.

You want to tell him this, and one day you will. But for now, you’ll sit in his office, dressed in the nice clothing he has bought for you, and continue to practice your speech and writing.

You do not like leaving his office, because Qlipoth’s devout will then try to talk to you. You have tried many times to send your swarm after them, and you have succeeded many times, but Aventurine always scolds you. You do not like it when he scolds you. It’s a bad thing.

He tries to get you accustomed to human society. It is hard, especially because the human society he tries to make you interact with is filled with Qlipoth’s followers, but for him, you will try.

For him, you will listen to them as they order you to send your swarm to terrorize planets littered with precious material. For him, you will listen to them as blood stains your hands — blood which is not yours. For him, you will allow others to call you a monster which he reassures you that you aren’t.

For him, you will let yourself become the tool Qlipoth’s devout want you to become.

Something you have noticed and have been taught about human society is the concept that is family. You have heard the term many times, especially on this planet called Penacony. The main heads of this big hotel are called The Family. The head of The Family is the brother of his sister. You make sure to remember that.

Aventurine tells you to keep your features hidden as well as your little swarm bug which you brought with you, and you do not protest. The hotel is big, perfect for your insect friend to flutter about freely. Your hand clings to Aventurine’s coat, a habit you have picked up on. When you cling to him, people talk to him first. You don’t know why, but you do not care because it has yet to fail you.

You do not pay attention to the woman at the front desk. She speaks too fast for you to properly comprehend her words, anyways. You take note of the people around. There is nobody adorning the familiar uniform of Qlipoth’s followers, much to your relief. You tug on Aventurine’s coat, looking at him.

He hums, and looks at you while the woman looks the both of you up to check for the reservation. "Finish?" You ask quietly. "Almost. You can sit if you want," he replies, pinching your cheek playfully. You frown and shake your head.

"Alright, It seems you both have reservations. Here are the keys for your rooms. We hope you and your younger sibling enjoy your stay in penacony." The woman smiles and slides the cards on the counter. Aventurine thanks her and motions for you to follow, which you do without hesitance.

The walk is silent, and once the two of you are in the elevator, you decide to speak once more. "We are like Sunday and Robin."

Aventurine blinks at your declaration and turns so his body is facing you, leaning on the support bars of the elevator. "Is that a statement or a question?" He asks, but you don’t directly answer his question, only explaining your words.

"I am younger sibling, you are older sibling." It is then that Aventurine realizes you had paid attention to the woman’s words, or at least her send off ones. He didn’t think much of it, it wasn’t the first time people had assumed you both as siblings. Then again, you had yet to learn the concept of family and the various titles during those encounters.

Still, Aventurine smiles, chuckling lightly as the fuzzy feeling in his chest grows. "Yeah.. You’re the younger sibling, I’m older sibling." The elevator grows silent once more as you both wait for the doors to open.

He’ll need to finish those custody papers once this mission is over.

[azen13]

Your thoughts about yandere zhongli but in the au where you are the archon are tasty.... unfortunately, I don't think Zhongli will keep your Gnosis because it would be reneging on a contact and he is Contracts. But imagine... what if you sealed Morax away, and he (much like Azhdaha in canon) managed to split off a small part of himself to exist as a human, "Zhongli" the funeral parlour consultant? Your most devout worshipper.... until he frees your old enemy and friend, Morax. ♡

anon ur so real for this. i 100% agree zhongli wouldn't keep ur gnosis bc. god of contracts. the part about splitting off a small part of himself??? u truly ate. anyways here's a little drabble based on that idea! i had to rewrite it bc my laptop died and i lost my progress sobs

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Implied Stalking

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Every prayer made in your name is like a melody. They float across Teyvat, weaving together in a resonant unceasing chorus. From a young child wishing for protection for her father, to an old man begging for more time with his wife.

But beneath all the moving lines, beneath all the trills and mordents, is a peculiar prayer. A low, droning hum, one that seems to have gone on for centuries. When you listen to other prayers, you can glean out what it is saying. But while this one speaks in a language you know, it utters words you cannot understand. No matter how many sleepless nights you spend trying to decode its desires, they remain incomprehensible.

All that you know is that the person speaking it is deeply, utterly in love.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You hear it one day when you walk through the streets of Liyue, masquerading amongst mortals to understand their troubles. The sun has barely risen, its first rays turning the eaves of homes a warm amber color as you walk through Chihu rock.

Then you hear it. That low, rumbling tone, like an earthquake. It's coming from all around you, but you can't see anyone in front of you, so you spin around.

All you see is a man dressed in fine clothing, a slightly confused expression plastered on his face. Harmless. Unassuming. Even still, you cannot help but think that he looks strikingly like Morax.

"My apologies, I thought I heard something." You offer a kind smile, ready to turn away quickly, but the stranger steps forward.

"You are quite alright. It is quite early in the morning, so some exercise must be cautioned," he says, Cor Lapis colored eyes gazing at you intently. He even sounds exactly like Morax. His voice almost brings you to tears, but you sidestep your sorrows. "Perhaps we could walk together if you are concerned about danger?" The stranger asks.

You shake your head. "Thank you, but I would hate to impose on your time," you say. For some reason, the stranger's face tightens, almost imperceptibly so, but you see it in the slight frown of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes.

"I assure you," the man says, taking another step towards you, "I have no plans this morning." His words have an almost godlike authority to them, though you quickly brush aside that thought. You sense no such power from this man.

Taking another step back, you look into his eyes, as beautiful as polished amber, and stand firm. "I insist, I'm alright," you say, faking levity.

There is a moment of silence before the stranger lets out a soft sigh. "So be it," he says, pausing for a moment. "At the very least, may I know your name?"

By this point, you already want to leave. This man, human or not, is simply off-putting by how similar he is to Morax, in appearance, in voice, even in mannerisms. Still, you manage to stay smiling. "I'm Y/N," you say, offering your hand.

The stranger grasps your hand quickly in an almost vice-like grip. "I go by Zhongli," the man responds. He holds onto your hand for just a millisecond too long, but you don't pay it much mind. Letting go, Zhongli gives you a slight, almost unnoticeable smile. "I sincerely hope we meet again, Mx. Y/N," he says, turning around and casually walking away.

Something tells you that you will, in fact, meet him again.

[neobomb]

give into things i (dont) want to [lee haechan]

bully! (yandere) stalker! Haechan x innocent! church girl!reader Part of the give into things i (dont) want to series. Word Count: 1.2k Inspired by this drabble made by @neocentral Warnings: mature themes, toxic/inappropriate behaviour, stalking, forcing??, slut shaming, masterbation, choking & breathplay?, hair pulling, manhandling, MDNI, there will be smut in part 2 [Pt.1] [Pt.2] Summery: bully!Haechan is secretly in love with you and loves pulling your hair as it feeds into his perverted fantasies. btw, donghyuk is haechan's real name © 2023 @neobomb. Unauthorized copying, translation, manipulation, or alteration of this work is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

Haechan is hopelessly in love with you, a secret he vowed to take to his grave. However, his misguided attempts to gain your attention had spiraled out of control. What began as innocent teasing morphed into malicious intent. He has gone too far now. There is no going back. Over the years, he subjected you to relentless bullying: mocking you with derogatory names, spreading false rumors, and cornering you against his locker to threaten you. For as long as he had known you, he couldn't recall a single moment when he had treated you kindly.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to..” he loves hearing you plead for forgiveness. Tears welled in your eyes as he pulled your long luscious hair, your eyes looking up at him with an innocence he couldn't ignore. 

“A slut like you should know when to keep their dirty mouth shut.” he says, looking down on you. You looked like a mess. A hot mess. You’re on the floor, tears running down your face as heavy breaths left your lungs after the assault. When he goes home, he would picture this exact image of you in his head while mercilessly stroking his dick. He would imagine ramming his dick into you while pulling your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze. It was the primary reason he enjoyed pulling your hair during confrontations.

Everyday, he would follow you home after school. It didn't appear unusual since his house was only a few blocks away from yours. You never thought much of it. Each time you entered the safety of your home, you assumed he would just keep going until he reached his own. But oh…how you were wrong. 

Haechan would always linger around you at a close proximity. Your bedroom is on the first floor, facing a large oak tree, his favorite hiding spot. Peeking through the leaves, he watches you through your bedroom window. You’re sitting on your bed, reading a book. You look so peaceful. So beautiful. Whenever your hair gets in the way, you tug the strands behind your ears, revealing more of your neckline each time. Occasionally, he would take photographs of you as you undress, showing it to his friends as "evidence" of your supposed slutty behavior, but primarily keeping them for his own twisted satisfaction later on.

Haechan knows better than everyone that you’re anything but a slut. He doesn't even think that you have had your first kiss yet. Over the past year, he's spread rumors about you sleeping with countless older men, intending to dissuade other boys from showing interest in you. In truth, you're a devout church-goer with a deep love for immersing yourself in books and fiction. But still, he loves calling you a slut. The humiliation that marks your face each time he calls you those names does wonders to him. 

—

An intense heatwave has gripped the town. The scorching sun felt like it was searing your skin as you used a book to fan yourself. This summer break, aside from working at your cousin Kun's restaurant, you hadn't accomplished much. During your shifts, Haechan would consistently appear, each time accompanied by a different girl. What a manwhore, you thought to yourself. 

“If you feel as though he is bothering you, I can take his table. Just slice the salmon for me and keep an eye on the fryer.” Jaehyun offers, extending his knife to you. As your fingers lightly touch, a swarm of butterflies stirs in your stomach. You've harbored feelings for Jaehyun for some time. He's tall, amiable, strikingly handsome, and an exceptional chef. He embodied everything you desired in a boyfriend. Though only a few years older, he appeared to have everything figured out. 

From a distance, Haechan observed your exchanges with Jaehyun. Not paying any attention to the girl he was on a date with. He took note of your hearty laughter at Jaehyun's jokes and the way your face flushed crimson with every compliment he paid you. Saying Haechan was jealous would be a severe understatement; he was profoundly possessive over you. 

—

The community you live in organized a grand gathering, and by chance, your parents had offered to host the entire event in your backyard. Such events were never to your liking as you would panic at the social interactions. Worst of all, lee donghyuk was present at the event. You seek refuge in your room, after hours on end, having to endure awkward conversations. 

“Why did you cut your hair, Y/N?” Haechan stands in front of your bedroom door. He stared at you intensely, noticing how your hair falls right at your shoulder, revealing your pronounced collarbones. He suspected you might have cut your hair based on the conversation he had overheard between you and Jaehyun a few days ago, where Jaehyun expressed his preference for girls with shoulder length hair. It seemed evident to him that you were attempting to align with Jaehyun's preferences, which angered him greatly. “Yes, why do you care?” 

“Is it because you can’t just grab onto it as easily anymore?” The words you just uttered struck him with the realization that you might have uncovered his dirty little secret. He restrained himself from showing any emotion. Keep it cool. Keep it cool. You’re probably just being paranoid, he tells himself “Huh, What a big mouth. Why would you say that?”

“You obviously have something against me. I mean, every day at school, you pull my hair and shove me against your locker," you state, setting your book on the surface of your nightstand. He steps into your room, wearing a deeply unsettling grin, and closes the door behind him.

"Why do you think you can just come into my room, DongHyuck?" You ask sharply, rising swiftly from your bed. You urgently sought an escape from the situation, but Haechan's imposing stature blocked your exit.

“You’re not going anywhere, Y/N.” He gets a rough grip around your neck, pushing you into your bookshelf. Once again, he noticed the familiar panic in your eyes, a sight he disturbingly loves.

“You think I won’t be able to man-handle you just because you cut your hair short. Well, think again.” His grip around your neck gets tighter and tighter. You were no longer registering his words. His words became a distant echo as your mind retreated to a different realm. He has never grabbed onto your neck before. It was certainly a new sight for him, a sight he was going crazy for. The way your hands grab onto his wrist, desperately trying to ease his grip, and the way your eyes almost fall shut by the intensity of the situation. It all turned him on so much. 

He gradually loosened his hold on your neck, observing as you gasped for air and color that returned to your face. As you caught your breath, Haechan abruptly pressed his lips against yours. The fervor of the kiss was overwhelming. He bit down on your lips with force, leaving a faint metallic taste behind. His patience has ultimately run out.

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

Hello!!! Can you please write a Seo Moonjo fic, where he becomes possessive/obsessed with Jongwoo's gf or with a female who works with him?

Overcompensate

Absolutely lovely! Here's a bit of a drabble for you!

Pairing: Seo Moon-Jo X Reader

Warnings: mentions of gore & possessiveness, Moon-Jo shows very yandere tendencies, cannibalism allegories

Moon-jo was a simple man.

Not necessarily in theory, but in practice. He knew what it was he aspired to obtain in his lifetime and with the amount of work and dedication he put into those aspirations, it makes sense that he would achieve them. Simple.

But as to what he wanted and the lengths he would go to, stopping at nothing...that was a little more complicated.

To his surprise, he had found himself in a situation where the goal wasn't in relation to dentistry or murder. He was having a bit of an issue sorting out just exactly why the new tenant of Eden Residence was so captivating, so enthralling to him. What was it about the boy who lived next door that led Moon-Jo to believing that his existence was some sort of spiritual awakening he would have to come to discover? Why was he suddenly so fascinated in the idea of pulling back his brain and picking out all of his thoughts, consuming them in their entirety until there was nothing left of poor Jongwoo but a vessel of the human being he once was? It was Kafka-esque, a metamorphosis of his character; to watch him succumb to the ravaging animalistic qualities that Moon-Jo believed all humans to possess. It was strange and it was beautiful.

And oh, was it something Moon-Jo wanted.

So he put in the work. Day after day he spent trying to get under Jongwoo's flesh, tearing open another layer piece by piece to truly understand his newfound obsession. But with every step closer to his goal he got, the more confused he became. There was nothing he was learning that he had hoped for. Jongwoo was buckling under the weight of his neighbor's madness, yes. But he wasn't the right image of Moon-Jo's work. This frustrated him to no end.

He still remembers when everything finally clicked into place. The night had just fallen and the stars crept up in the sky, illuminating the long path to the Residence. Although the lights were dim, one could still make out the small cats darting back and forth as they played with one another in the underbrush. The air was crisp and still with no wind, a perfect temperature to end an outrageously hot summer day. Moon-Jo awaited on the rooftop with two beers, as he usually did, watching the path below for his Jongwoo to arrive back home with his furrowed expression of displeasure and overly large backpack slung over his shoulders from an excruciatingly long day at the office. He would be lucky to convince Jongwoo up to the roof where he sat and even luckier if he could manage to get him to drink his beer. He knew Jongwoo was onto him and his...stranger tendencies, but he would receive the fruits of his labor. He always did.

The beer can was cold under his grasp, the condensation slipping from his fingertips and falling beneath him as the drops pattered onto the cracked concrete. He was starting to grow slightly warm, however, he wasn't sure if it was because of the weather or the growing anticipation he felt as he awaited the boy's arrival. His eyes didn't leave the road once.

As he looked beneath him towards the winding street, he finally saw his neighbor trudging up the path, same expression on his face Moon-Jo had expected him to be wearing. But, to his surprise, walking beside the man he'd so desperately tried his best to court 24/7 was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life.

It shocked him-almost-his hand immediately dropping the beer he was holding as he lost his composure for the first time in many years. It was sudden, as though he'd been impaled by sword, piercing through his lungs and stopping his breath as his heart skipped a beat. He had never been so hungry, so devout for human meat. He didn't want to cannibalize you, no. But he so desperately wanted to consume you and your being which is almost the same thing...right? He knew what Jongwoo had meant to him now, it was almost so clear in the way it presented itself; Jongwoo was never meant to be the product of his manipulation. It had always had to have been you.

Your eyes looked up towards Eden, missing the strange man on the roof entirely. Moon-Jo found himself entranced by them, watching the way they shone under the stars and the soft light from the windows of the Residence. They were like Bosch's paintings of the divine, absolutely encapsulating the beauty of the gods. Your hair fell slightly past your shoulders and framed a face he could only assume belonged to heavens itself. Your body swayed with the movement of your feet as you followed your boyfriend's suit, duffel bag in hand.

Moon-Jo thought he had died and been met with the face of a deity.

On your end, the only thing you were thinking about was Jongwoo's warnings from earlier. Once he had moved to Seoul and started living in this dingy place, he had instantly been met with strange roommates whom he'd talk about often. You were worried about his dwindling sleep schedule and his overall safety, residing in a place like this on the outskirts of town. If something terrible were to happen here, you weren't even sure police would show up in this precinct. For Jongwoo's sake, however, you swallowed down your nervousness preparing to have that conversation with him later.

Collecting himself, Moon-Jo practically sprinted towards the stairs and made his way down to Mrs. Eom's desk, leaning against the dilapidated building's walls, forcing himself to contain the sparks flying through his veins. He had to keep himself together, make the most impeccable first impression and swoon you over, whoever you might be. He needed you to like him, to trust him. If he ruined his image right off the bat by voicing his true inner monologue, it would be so much harder to mold you to his image and sway you into his grasp.

"Jongwoo, are you sure this is something you want to do? We could always sleep at my place if you're as uncomfortable by this place as you say." You said, closing the heavy door behind you and setting down your duffel bag for a moment to regain your breath.

Jongwoo shrugged and picked up your things containing all your overnight clothes and whatever else you'd brought to work that day. He had just simple given you a "yeah, this is fine" before turning around to be met face-to-face with the one person he didn't want to see or have the imposition of introducing to his girlfriend at all. He had hoped he might be able to sneak you past and into his room before anyone even noticed he was there; as he usually did. He'd presumed Moon-Jo to be on the roof for his nightly drink, whenever he stayed at the residence and not in his own apartment.

Beside the wall-almost eerily so-Moon-Jo stood, ignoring Jongwoo completely. His eyes were trained on you as you gathered yourself enough to take him in, watching the man before you breathe in the very fiber of your being. He was tall and dark haired with extraordinary cheekbones. With a face card like that, you were sure he'd have had to be a model or do side-gigs of the sort. His smile was a pleasant one as it seemed inviting, but upon staring at it for a few moments, something about it felt off to you. His black button-up was loose around his collarbones and neatly tucked into his slacks. He was fairly handsome, you thought, forgetting that Jongwoo had warned you of this 'crazy neighbor' before inviting you to stay at his place to catch the train back home tomorrow.

A piercing feeling of nervousness took over your body and shocked you instantly. There was something extremely peculiar about this man and you wanted nothing to do with finding out what it was. There was something haunting about the depth of his cold, dark gaze, contrasting Jongwoo's warm and inviting one. You swore to yourself in that moment not to walk anywhere on these premises without Jongwoo for fear of running into this man alone.

However uncomfortable you may have felt, Moon-Jo was in love, if that's what you would call it. He wanted this-you, so intensely and so immediately that his entire body felt as though it were shaking with tremors. He would stop at absolutely nothing to have you, to own you. You were what he had been unknowingly waiting for his entire existence and Jongwoo had only been the key. Smiling, he shook his hand out towards yours, ignoring the complaints from your boyfriend from beside you.

"My name is Seo Moon-Jo. The pleasure is all mine."

"(Y/N)." You replied.

[allfearstofallto]

GENSHIN

Scaramouche:

Sweetheart

Prying Eyes

Dandelion Wine

Parasite

Head cannons+ Drabbles

"She'd like you more if you were nicer to her,"

Scaramouche with Sensitive Nipples

Mommy Kink

More Mommy Kink

"Please Don't Leave Me"

Sharing a Jacket

Yandere! Reader

"Why do you hate thunder?

How He Makes You Follow Rules

Scaramouche and His Child

Bathing Together

Yandere alphabet:

B, E, G, H, Q, T, V

Wanderer:

Headcanons + Drabbles

Shy Wanderer

On a Date With Shy Wanderer

Virgin Wanderer

Childe:

Nice

A Once a Week Arrangement

Dandelion Wine

Blessings Be to the Hero of the Nation

Devout

Head cannons+ Drabbles

Quality Time

Childe Announcing that He's Married

Voice of an Angel

Childe <3

Masochist Childe

Yandere Childe's Family

Yandere Childe Trying to Get Closer to His Son

Yandere alphabet:

A, C, D, H, N, O, W, Z

NSFW alphabet

C, H, I, L, D, E

F, J, U

Alhaitham:

Head cannons+ Drabbles

It's What you Wanted

Diluc:

Sleeping Like the Dead

Head cannons+ Drabbles:

Asking Him for "Help"

Diluc Loving Chubby Reader

Begging Him for Something

Hair Pulling Subby Diluc

"The lady is so mean to Master Diluc,"

Facesitting Diluc

Diluc and His Child

Your Plan To Escape Diluc

"You Look Very Nice Today,"

Yandere alphabet:

A, C, D, N, P, V, X

E, L, Q, R, S

NSFW Alphabet:

A, D, K, L, N, T, U

Kaeya:

Head cannons+ Drabbles:

Voiceless

Lyney:

Headcanons + Drabbles

NSFW Alphabet

B, F, K, O

N, C, I, U, W

Arlecchino:

Headcanons + Drabbles

Willing and Eager Darling

Being Her Pet

Multi:

Quality Time Scaramouche and Childe

Where the Met Their Darling Scaramouche, Diluc, and Ayato

You are Made to Greet Him When He Returns Home Childe and Scaramouche

Scaramouche Meeting Childe's Wife

Childe Meeting Scaramouche's Wife

Historical AU Headcanons Scaramouche, Childe, and Diluc

Historical AU Headcanons Alhaitham, Arataki Itto, and Kamisato Ayato

Historical AU Headcanons Xiao, Thoma, Zhongli

Sharing a Darling Diluc and Kaeya

The Wedding Day Diluc, Childe, Scaramouche

How Easy it is to Escape Them Diluc, Childe, Scaramouche

Manipulative Reader Diluc, Childe and Scaramouche's

Maids, Maids...and Even More Maids Kamisato Ayato, Diluc, Childe, and Scaramouche

[nerdanel01]

Here's an ask about Agnes and Emmrich that I hope leads to a slutty little drabble: we know Agnes has fantasized about Emmrich, but is the reverse also true? What would that look like for Emmrich? When would it have happened in their relationship: before or after she left? How awful did he feel about it?

*laughs nervously* the short answer is… a lot?? And in the most Catholic way possible??? 4k+ below the cut very NSFW

9:48 Dragon

Though he would never admit it to Agnes, the truth of it was, Emmrich found the opera to be just fine. Catching a performance with Agnes was a lovely way to spend an evening, but by no means did that make Emmrich himself any kind of aficionado. It was Agnes’ avid interest that first brought him to the theatre, and Agnes’ continued fervor that kept him coming back: he went, not to see a performance, but to see her —so engaged, so happy.

This opera, in particular, he was finding impossible to enjoy. Agnes had practically begged him to take her to The Marriage of Figaro, and by the title alone, Emmrich had thought it would be innocuous enough. Another light, romantic comedie, like the Donizetti works of which she was so fond. 

It was most definitely not that. If the opera was humorous, Emmrich found it to be a dark, almost sadistic kind of humor. The plot centered around the titular servant Figaro and his bride-to-be, Susanna… and their escalating attempts to prevent the master of the house, Count Almaviva, from asserting his droite de seigneur. Emmrich could not fathom how it was that Agnes could so breathlessly throw herself into a plot that all too well reflected what little he knew to be true of her own conception; of the cruelty and the violent torments Agnes’ mother had suffered at the hands of her father. And yet, she seemed unperturbed.

As if that were not bad enough, he could not help but feel (irrationally, of course) that the entire premise of the opera was pointing an accusing finger directly at him. Agnes was not his servant, of course—she was far more than that—but he could not help but feel that his longing for her shared a similar, lecherous undertone to Almaviva’s licentious pursuit of Susanna. Certainly he held professional power over Agnes, as the Count did Susanna; the fact that he was often reluctant to wield it did not wish that fact away. And just like the Count, his advantage of age he held over Agnes was… considerable. 

And so, by the second act of the opera, Emmrich had more or less mentally checked out of the performance entirely. Pleasant as the music may have been (when it was not pulsing, throbbing, thrumming with anxiety; imminent danger; repressed sexual desire) Emmrich found his eyes wandering across the theatre: at the orchestra playing below, at the audience seated at the level of the stage, at the wide balconies where even in the dim performance light he could make out figures packed in the seats. He had never been a particularly devout man, but sometimes, when the mood was just right, being in the opera house reminded him of the most peaceful moments he’d ever spent in a Chantry. He would give Agnes that: there was something special about all these people—strangers—gathered in the dark, assembled in the worship of a great piece of art. It was peaceful, to look upon all those dark faces. Something almost holy about it. 

Which made what Emmrich saw next all the more upsetting. 

As the adolescent servant Cherubino took to the stage, preparing to sing his invented love song for the Countess Almaviva (with whom, Emmrich had gathered, he was hopelessly infatuated), movement drew his eye to the theatre box opposite his, on the lefthand side of the stage. 

At first Emmrich blinked, resisting the impulse to shake his head—surely he was seeing things? Were they—? They couldn’t be—! And yet, they were: cozied up in a balcony box all to themselves, a young woman had snuck her hand into her companion’s lap and, by the white flash of her arm in the dim light, Emmrich could tell she was pumping that hand up and down quite enthusiastically. Though her date had taken care to conceal his lap from view by fanning his performance program wide across his legs, it was all too clear exactly what was going on from the open-mouthed, slack expression on his face and the way he was tilting his head back against the chair. 

This late in life there was not much that could still shock him, but Emmrich’s jaw fully dropped. At first he merely sat there, stunned, staring… before his senses returned to him, and he snapped his eyes (wide with disbelief) back to the action on the stage, thoughts an absolute whirl. What should he do? Agnes’ attention was fixed on the stage, deeply engrossed by the drama unfolding (though he still could not really understand why); he did not want to draw her focus to the absolutely debased act that was happening just across the room. Should he excuse himself? Rise from the box and alert one of the theatre’s ushers? Was this even something they were trained to deal with?

Perhaps they had stopped; perhaps he had imagined it. But when Emmrich let his eyes slide, as innocuously as he could manage, back to the opposite box, he saw not only that their public affair failed come to a conclusion, but that the man had thrown his arm around the woman’s shoulders, and was rather obscenely squeezing at her breast over her bodice. 

´Andraste have mercy!’

Never in his life had he witnessed such indecency, and as one of the most senior members of the Mourn Watch, his presence had been requested at some extremely indecent parties hosted by the noble class. His face was burning with shock and embarrassment. Trying to get ahold of himself—hoping that if he ignored it for long enough, they would cease or (Maker’s breath!) reach the natural conclusion of such affairs and settle down. He turned back to the stage, watching over Agnes’ shoulder at the scene playing out in the Countess’ bedroom, the teenage Cherubino, all hot-blooded and virile, singing at center stage:

“You women who know what love is, Look and tell me if it is within my heart?”

Truly, they were no better than teenagers, those two nobles in flagrante delicto across the theater. Certainly if he, Emmrich, had endured the past three years of his increasingly inescapable (and increasingly inappropriate) desire for Agnes, they should have been able to keep their hands off of each other for three hours. 

And yet, as if summoned, he felt the tickle of those depraved imaginings in the back of his mind. He watched the stage at Agnes’ side, over her shoulder; his eyes slid away from Cherubino to trace the delicate black lace of the blouse she wore over her bodice—the woven pattern of the fabric offering a rare, tantalizing glimpse at the bare skin of her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck… the tops of her breasts, straining against her bodice as she took in the aria with ecstatic, rapt attention.  

“Let me tell you what I am feeling: It is new to me, and I cannot understand it.  I feel affection, I am full of desire, A desire both delightful and miserable…”

He wanted to brush tenderly at the lock of raven-black hair that had escaped her chignon, curled and coiled charmingly tight by the summer humidity. He wanted to lean in close, to breathe hot against her neck, to take the lobe of her ear between his teeth.

“I sigh and lament without wanting to…”

Intrusive thoughts of what it would be like to pull off his dress gloves, to put his hand on her knee. To draw, slowly, inch by inch, her skirts up over her leg, revealing calves clothed in deliciously sheer stockings, the clips and straps of the garters that kept those stockings secure… to round his hand around her knee, for fingertips to creep past the band of her stockings and along the soft skin of her thigh…

“I tremble and I throb without knowing why…”

…and climb higher. To find her swollen? Wet, already? Slick with anticipation at the promise of his touch—

—and at once, the sudden, mortifying tightness in his trousers brought Emmrich back to reality. He pulled the inside of his cheek between top and bottom teeth and bit down hard, trying to anchor himself with the pain and will away his arousal. Agnes, thank the blessed Andraste herself, kept her eyes glued to her opera glasses; she did not turn to see, and so he did not have to excuse, the flush across his cheeks and his ears, nor the far more conspicuous evidence of arousal tenting his trousers. 

He did not know what would be worse: if Agnes assumed, rightly, that it was her own presence that had pitched him into the throes of desire, or if she assumed, wrongly, that it had something to do with Cherubino, a woman in men’s clothes playing as an innocent, virgin, teenage boy on the stage below them. 

“Though I find peace neither day nor night, Still, I cannot get enough of the feeling.”

Inconspicuously, taking a queue from the deviant across the theatre, Emmrich laid his paper program over his lap. Focused his eyes on his hands. Picked idly at his nails, willing away his desire. 

Knowing pettily, venomously, that if he happened to encounter the couple in the opposite box on his way out of the theatre that evening, he would do everything in his power to trip them on their way down the opera house steps. 

But of course, in the sudden throng of activity as the curtain fell and the theatre emptied, the offending exhibitionists were nowhere to be seen. Probably gratifying themselves further in the powder room, Emmrich thought with disgust (and though he would never admit it to himself, even under pain of torture or death: envy.) 

He wanted nothing more than to get back to the Necropolis, to put the evening and the terribly obvious handjob and horny little Cherubino behind him. But when Agnes threaded her arm through his and tugged him towards the champagne bar, he was as incapable as ever of refusing her—though he almost certainly should have. Though he knew it was ill-advised, he tried (and failed) to put the memory behind him with drink. By the time he had finished his second glass, Agnes was still sipping politely at her first. 

But all the drink in the world could not break the spell of her beauty. In the walk from the opera to the bar, more tendrils of hair had shook loose from her bun, and the flyaways curled like tender pea shoots around her head. He loved her most like this, he thought, when the facade of perfection and rigor and discipline she worked so hard to maintain began to fall away. His eyes lingered too long on the crimson print her lips had left on her apricot-colored coupe glass.

Desperate to shake himself out of it, Emmrich confided in her, at last: “Nessa, you will not believe what I witnessed at the theatre tonight.”

She lifted her glass to her mouth, and her bright grey eyes met his, full of curiosity and innocence. “What?”

But he was not even sure how to politely say it. He licked his lips, a wry, disbelieving grin tugging at his mouth as he told her at last, “A noblewoman in one of the balcony boxes opposite ours… manually stimulating her companion under the cover of his paper program during the second act.”

Agnes’ eyes widened; she set her coupe down forcefully enough for the glass to clink on the table top, covering her mouth politely as she coughed up the drink she had accidentally inhaled in surprise. 

“You saw what?”  

A lovely, delicious color was rising in her cheeks, red to match the stain on her lips. 

“Should I repeat myself?” he asked, full of dry humor. “Believe me, I was not sure myself, but when he started groping her over her dress that more or less quelled any lingering doubts I had in my mind.”

Agnes lifted her glass to her mouth once more, her eyes boring holes into the table before her. Whispered, lowly, “Andraste have mercy.” 

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Emmrich said, pleased to see her scandalized, to have his own reaction to what had transpired mirrored and confirmed. “I mean, really. It would have been perfectly easy for them to step deeper into the recesses of the box, into the cover of darkness where no one could see them. But did they? No, and I do not believe for a minute that is because concealing themselves did not occur to them. I think they wanted to be exposed. To be witnessed, to be seen.”

But as he continued to speak, Agnes’ blush receded. She watched him, too keenly, over the rim of her glass; she was neither as outraged nor as scandalized as Emmrich wanted her to be. Needed her to be, to draw a line: to stand in firm opposition to the Agnes he had all too readily conjured in his mind: the fictive siren that would gasp at his touch, that would part her legs all too willingly for his hand, without regard for the risk, without a care for who might see them.

“It bothered you quite a lot, didn’t it?” was all she asked him, softly, probingly, when at last he had finished his tirade.

He blinked at her a couple of times. His fingertips found the stem of his third glass of champagne, and he spun it back and forth between forefinger and thumb. “Well—yes,” he managed, at last. A terrible, traitorous heat rising in his cheeks, in his ears. “Did it—does it not bother you?”

Agnes only shrugged and offered him an indifferent smile. “I did not see it,” she said, at last, “engrossed as I was in the music. I am sorry, however, that you found it so distracting.”

“You think it was merely distracting?” Emmrich prompted, in a state of disbelief. “Not… not shameful—nor disrespectful? To the performers, to the rest of the audience?”

The blush had returned to her cheeks. With a nervous smile, she confessed, quietly, “Perhaps I am not as disciplined as you.” She was not looking at him now, staring into the fizzing depths of her coupe glass. “Perhaps… I understand how easy it is, to be suddenly overcome. By the music, by… by desire.” 

Obscene scenarios clamored for attention in Emmrich’s mind. An arched back, a cry of pleasure—how beautiful she would look, how desperately he wanted to see her overcome, to be the one responsible for bringing forth such pleasure and desire within her—!

Without looking at him, Agnes lifted the glass to her mouth and drained the rest of it in a single sip. Placing the coupe down with something like a grimace, she raised her hand, motioning for the waiter to bring her another. As soon as he did, she took a second generous gulp.

“But enough of that,” Agnes said at last, reasserting her control over herself, redirecting the conversation. “What did you think of the music?” she asked, then teased him: “The parts of it you were not too distracted to pay attention to, that is.”

The music? She was just going to drop that explosively erotic phrase into the conversation, and then she wanted to talk about the music? Emmrich fumbled for something intelligent to say. “I thought the basso who sang Figaro had a very fine voice.”

“Oh, did he not?” Agnes effused; and then she was off, chatting a million miles an hour about everything she knew about that particular Rivaini singer, his training, the roles he had performed in other venues, the lyrical quality of his singing. Emmrich nursed his champagne, happy to simply listen to her as he fought to subdue the heat in his face.

By the time they returned to the Necropolis at last it was late, the halls silent. Agnes had held his arm the whole way back—not, he feared, out of affection for him, but out of concern that he had drank too much, that without her support he might stumble and fall. He had drank too much, which was both embarrassing and most unbecoming. Worse still, the drink had done nothing to dispel the ludicrous fever those idiots in the opera had set in his blood; it had only fanned the flames. When they had reached the door to his bedroom, Emmrich had stopped for a moment, hovered awkwardly in front of Agnes as he debated, then decided against, pressing a grateful kiss to her brow. He did not think, in his current temperament, he could manage to keep it appropriately chaste.

Indeed, as soon as the door had closed behind him and he was left to his privacy, all the intrusive thoughts he had fought in the theatre and the in the bar and on the long walk home returned to him, tormenting him: the light rasp of his nails along the inside of her thigh; the fine hair of her legs standing on end in the wake of those touches; the damp warmth of her smallclothes as he’d push them aside; her anxious little whisper, aroused, anticipatory, cautious: “Emmrich, your nails…” and how he might respond, lips brushing against her ear, “I will be most careful with you.” Throbbing and freezing and burning like poor Cherubino, like a young man a quarter of his age as he imagined her wetness, the slickness of her beneath his fingertips as he circled her bud—

(There was nothing for it now but to see it through. Only one way to truly relieve himself, to exorcise the thoughts that haunted him so at last he could rest. Hastily, inarticulate drunken fingers stumbling over buttons, he unfastened his trousers and dropped onto the edge of his bed.)

—her parted lips, the little hitches in her breath, the pleasure sounds she would try to stifle as (carefully, so carefully, true to his word) he would slip middle-and-forefinger deep into her hot wet heat—

(Ragged edge to his breath like torn parchment as he closes his hand around himself and begins to stroke. Delicious tightness in his core, feet arching against the floor.)

—placing a kiss on her neck. Breathing hotly against her ear. Agnes’ hands trembling, her opera glasses shaking in her hands as her satisfaction builds, mounts; a keening cry; the way her back would snap, her hips driving his fingers into her, grinding against the palm of his hand—her cunt tightening reflexively around him—

(Free hand white-knuckling, twisted in his bedsheets. A gasp and low groan as fist tightens over the slick head of his arousal. It’s rotten, it’s foul, it’s wrong in a thousand ways to imagine her this way—but it feels much too good to stop.)

—would she follow him back after? Rise before the curtain had fully fallen, before the applause had concluded, racing with him back to the Necropolis, creeping into his room? The blush of her face in the champagne bar: “Perhaps I know how easily it is to be overcome by desire.” To hold her in his arms, to kiss her in this room—! Loose the buttons on her blouse and slide the lace past her bare shoulder, bare neck, bare clavicle… lifting her skirts, sinking into her—

(“Hha—ahh! Nessa—!”)

—with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her hands clawing across his back for purchase, enveloped in the smell of her, by her warmth… here, in the privacy of the bedchamber, where she would not have to hide her pleasure sounds but could pitch his name upon them like a storm-tossed ship, scream it as she reached the height of her pleasure—

Tension in his body snapping white-hot, shooting sparks through his limbs and coiling in his core, Emmrich held the back of his hand firmly against his mouth to stifle his own obscene, satisfied groan as he spilled into his hand. He came so hard it left his toes curling; thighs shaking; short of breath.

The next day, he did not arrive at their study until nearly noon. 

He had woken hungover, head pounding, light-sensitive. But that discomfort was nothing compared to the agonizing guilt and shame that washed over him when he recalled the events of the night prior. Why couldn’t he have minded his own business? He should not have let what he saw in the theater get under his skin; it was inconceivable to him in the sober light of morning that he had thought telling Agnes about it was a good idea. Had he really used the words ‘manually stimulating’? How uncomfortable had he made her? He recalled how quickly Agnes had changed the conversation, cringed at how long he had lingered over it. Fighting through the hangover to shower and shave did nothing to cleanse the pervasive filthiness he felt. 

He could not remember the last time he had attended Chantry service—but some habits were difficult to break. Seeking even the slightest reprieve of absolution, he left the Necropolis shortly after dawn, heading towards the Chantry in Nevarra City. But even among the incense and the singing Mothers, he could not escape from his regret, the Canticle of Threnodies echoing among the vaulted ceiling in accusation:

Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven And doom upon all the world. 

He had something beautiful—a partner to stand by him, to protect and care for him—and he was going to spoil it, desecrate it as thoroughly as the Tevinter Magisters of old had corrupted the Golden City of the Maker. Every lurid imagining he indulged in, he knew, brought him closer and closer to doing irreparable harm to the thing in his life most precious to him. 

When at last he returned to the Necropolis, Agnes was already in the study, waiting for him. The smell of lavender oil was thick in the air; she must have spent the morning cleaning, a task which he had repeatedly told her she need not take upon herself, and one to which she repeatedly insisted upon undertaking nevertheless. Now she stood at one of the tables with Wilfred at her side, watching him with scrutiny as he clumsily tried to grind down some fresh herbs, his bony hands struggling with the mortar and pestle. 

She looked up at him the minute he entered, her bright eyes full of anticipation—and was that a hint of concern?

“Where were you?”

Beaten down by his excessive drinking and shame alike, Emmrich did not have the willpower within him to lie. “In Nevarra City. I attended Chantry services this morning.”

Agnes smiled, like it was a joke. “No, really, where were you? You missed breakfast. I was not sure you’d want to eat after last night, but I saved you a bit of toast, just in case.”

Emmrich took a deep breath, following the slender line of her arm to the table near the hearth, where four slices of toast were stacked on a plate beside an artful dollop of jam and a pat of butter. Though his stomach still felt wretched, he knew eating would probably help. “Chantry services, really,” he repeated, again, in answer to her question, his tone resigned. He walked to the table, tore a slice of toast in half and lifted it to his mouth without bothering with the  ornamentation of butter or jam—he did not think his stomach could endure the grease nor the sweetness. “Thank you, dear, for saving me something to eat.”

“Seriously?” Agnes asked. Emmrich did not have to look up to know the look of incredulous disbelief on her face. It was plain by the tone of her voice.

Emmrich chewed through the dry toast, swallowed. His stomach gave a discontented growl, awakening at the prospect of food. “Quite seriously,” he answered at last. “Though I am far from the most devout among the Mourn Watch, old habits are difficult to shake. Every once in a while, it’s like an itch that needs to be scratched.” Not that the debasement and self-flagellation he frequently associated with Chantry service had done him any particular good this morning. 

Agnes gave a low huff of amusement. Without needing to be asked—knowing, as she knew him so well, that the toast would go down easier with a bit of tea to help it—she crossed the room, cast iron teapot in hand, and bent before the heart to suspend it over the fire.

“So did it?” she teased him. “Scratch your itch?”

With her back turned to him, she did not see the ugly grimace he made, the way his lips curled into a frustrated scowl at his own lack of discipline. Nor did she see, blessedly, the way his eyes were fixed upon her: her narrow waist, the pert swell of her backside as she bent over the fire. 

“No, I’m afraid not,” Emmrich said, tearing his eyes away to stare at his toast. “Not this time.” He recalled to himself the verse from Threnodies, repeated it in his mind, beating himself against it until it obliterated the image of her (legs spread, back arched) that had begun to resurface in his mind:

Those who had once been mage-lords, The brightest of their age, Were no longer men, but monsters.

[chronosdawn]

Ruins - Zhongli x Reader

Fantasy-style AU, GN!Reader

Happy (late) Halloween! This is not what I originally planned to post but alas life :') Hopefully this drabble is sufficiently spooky (I started it after watching a bunch of videos on Fear and Hunger lore so...).

Content warnings: power imbalance, reader is not having a good day, brief discussion of imprisonment.

Word count: 2k

You found the old god seated on a carefully carved throne—dark stone threaded through with veins of some faintly pulsing amber ore. Despite how long the temple had been sealed off for, there was not a single hint of dust coating the floor, nor were there any of the usual signs of wear that plagued a building once it had been abandoned.

There were stories, from the old days—decaying parchment bound in beaten-up old leather—in which the homes of the gods took on a life of their own, serving the deities from which they were born with a fervour that outmatched even the most devout of mortal servants. You really hoped those stories were just nonsense, otherwise it might mean the easy path you’d followed through the temple had less to do with good fortune, and more to do with something leading you here.

The god remained motionless as you hovered at the edge of the room, thick gold horns jutting out from underneath a white hood that concealed most of his face from view. You curled your fingers around the cool metal object in your pocket, reminding yourself that you had a plan, one that couldn’t be achieved by simply loitering in the doorway. And yet still your feet refused to move an inch as you continued to stare at the imposing figure before you, the enormity of what you were about to do weighing you down like stone shackles.

You might have remained there forever were it not for the sudden grind of stone against stone, the ground beneath your feet shifting—tilting forwards until you could no longer keep your balance, sending you stumbling into the cavernous throne room. The sound of the path rearranging itself continued behind you, and you turned just in time to see the last stone slot itself into place in the barricade that had formed in the doorway, sealing you in alone with the god.

Trying desperately not to panic, you told yourself that this was just the nudge you needed, now that the only hope you had of leaving here lay in what you’d come to this temple for in the first place. That was, at least, until you heard an intake of breath that most definitely didn’t come from you.

“It has been an age since a mortal last walked these halls.”

You looked to the god and froze. He was staring straight at you; his hood having fallen back slightly to reveal his face. You suspected he may have been quite beautiful once, with ageless finely chiselled features. But unlike his temple, the god had clearly not been left untouched by the ravages of time. Thick dark lines, that seemed to glint gold in the light from the sconces carefully arranged throughout the room, crawled up his neck and across half of his face. They almost seemed to pulse in time with the ore of his throne as you stared at them, beating in sync with whatever a god possessed in place of a heart. His eyes too, were unlike those of any human, brilliant amber with near slit pupils.

“What has brought you here, little one?”

You swallowed, clinging onto the artifact in your pocket like a lifeline. Just a couple of steps and you’d be face-to-face with the god, close enough that you could do what needed to be done and get the hell out of here. Still, you hesitated, the weight of divinity, even as rotted as this, was heavy throughout the room, seeping into your marrow. Gods had been made to be worshipped by mortals, and right now you could feel the gaze of some otherworldly influence urging you to kneel and delight in subservience.

As you fought to remain so much as standing, let alone take a step, the god rose from his throne. He was huge, you realised, a great towering figure who made the high ceilings of the room seem inadequate. The god took a step towards you and you stumbled backwards, back hitting the stone of the sealed off doorway behind you. There was nowhere to run as he approached, nowhere to hide in this great empty space. You could only tremble as he approached, fingers tightening around the metal in your palm until your muscles ached with the strain.

The god came to a stop an arm’s length in front of you, a large hand—the skin of it stained the same iridescent dark shade as the lines creeping over his face—delicately grasped your chin and tilted your face upwards until you were forced to make eye-contact with the long forgotten-deity.

“Curious,” he remarked, tilting your head lightly from side to side as he examined you. “You bare not a single scrap of divine power. What land have you come from mortal, where there are no gods to claim you?”

It’s now or never, you thought.

“I’m sorry for this,” you said, quickly pulling the artifact from your pocket and going to strike him in thigh. That’s the wonder of these things, you could hear the voice of the old man who’d sold the thing to you as it carved a clean path through the air, don’t even have to hit a vital spot for it work, just one cut and it should sap whatever power a god has left. He’d smirked at you then, continuing, if you truly think you can find a god in this day and age, that is.

For the shortest fraction of a second, you genuinely thought you’d done it, the blade of the artifact just brushing the fabric that covered the god’s lower half—an unholy prize, born from countless hours of research and trailing through long-abandoned ruins, now finally in your hands. Suddenly, a vice-like grip seized hold of your arm, dark fingers swallowing your wrist and locking it firmly in place. You blinked—you hadn’t even seen him move.

No, this couldn’t—you had to—

One moment the artifact was in your hand, the next it was gone, your fingers clutching at air as you strained against the hold of the god. You dragged your gaze back upwards, a pit forming in your stomach as you saw the god turning the artifact over in his hand, studying it.

“I see,” he said finally, and you could only watch in horror as the centuries old weapon you’d bet the last of your family’s savings on melted in his grasp, the carefully carved runes dissolving into thick globs of gold that flowed over the blackened skin of his fingers and dripped onto the floor.

“Please, I—” your voice came out as little more than a whisper, “I didn’t have another choice, I…”

The god looked down at you, considering, those inhuman eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh? And what was it my little would-be assassin planned to do with the power of divinity?”

You swallowed, throat tight. There was no answer you could give that would justify an attempt on the life of a deity, regardless of the fact not a single worshipper had walked these halls in centuries. Instead, you trained your gaze on the floor as your eyes burned, the pattern carved into the stone tiles of the floor blurring as you awaited the inevitable.

“Hm.”

There was a strange ripple in the air and you felt something reach for you. It brushed against your mind—fingers flicking gingerly through the pages of book—and memories of your home surfaced unbidden, the edges rimmed in a golden haze. The shattered city walls, the ramshackle home you’d been forced to flee to, the truth that even without gods to bring down judgment upon them, humanity would still find a way to do so themselves.

“So that’s it.” The deep timbre of the god’s voice broke you out of your trance, bringing you back from desolate days of the past to the terrifying reality of your present. “You did not come here simply out of lust for power but because you are desperate.” The grasp on your wrist loosened and the god’s thumb ran tender circles over your wrist. “Afraid.”

You said nothing, refusing to even glance at him.

“You believe I intend to punish you, mortal? Tell me, what sentencing do you think your actions merit?”

You could beg, could sob and wail until either your apologies or your voice ran out. But what would be the point? Even if—if—the god let you leave here in one piece, what did you have to go back to?

“That’s not up to me to decide, your—” you faltered, tongue tripping in your mouth as you realised you had no idea how you were supposed to address a god.

A soft chuckle came from somewhere above you.

“In ages past, your kind would refer to me as Lord Lapis. Perhaps then I may have been inclined to harsher rulings, but it hardly seems fair to hold you to the same standards as those raised with my teachings—the safety I granted in return. In light this, I offer you a deal. Swear fealty to me, that you will never again conspire against me and will instead serve with your body and soul, and I will grant you my protection, including forgiveness for your attempt to claim my power for yourself without right.”

Your throat felt thick—there was a reason humanity had turned away from the gods after all.

“And if I refuse?” You finally lifted your head and met his gaze only to find his expression unreadable.

“I hope that you will not. Along with ensuring your safety, there is much else I provide those who are faithful. In the past I would even share fragments of my own power with those who were worthy. Is the promise of that not what drew you here in the first place, little one?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“If you are truly unwilling to agree to my terms, then I will not make you. However, I should warn you that only those who have gained my blessing are able to wander these halls freely. You may have been able to enter this place through one of the corridors where the divine energy has been corroded by the years, but now that you have reached my seat of power, it is unlikely you will be able to leave on your own.”

Your heart sank like a stone. “You just said you didn’t plan to make me accept your deal but you’re telling me that if I don’t, my only option is to starve to death?”

“As I said, I will not force your choice, just as you were not forced to enter to this temple. But do you truly expect me to bestow my favour upon one who would have seen me dead with no recompense?”

Eyes darting around the room, you took in the other sealed entrances—the flawless dark stonework you would have to attempt to dig through, with no tools besides your own fingernails, if you wanted to leave this place. You didn’t want to die here, corpse left to rot along with the long-abandoned god.

“I—” you swallowed, trying to force the words out. “I’ll accept your offer, Lord Lapis.”

The god smiled at you, not unkindly, and said, “then I claim you as mine, mortal, until the end of all things.” He raised the hand still dripping with the molten remains of the artifact and smeared a streak of gold down the centre your forehead. “Just like the priests of old.”

His touch burned like a brand, searing through flesh and bone to the innermost parts of you until nothing was left unscathed. There was a name on your tongue, despite having never heard it before. Morax—the god who would now and always hold claim on your soul.

You sagged in Morax’s grasp, barely aware of the hold on your wrist falling away, only to be replaced by an arm under your thighs as you were lifted into the air.

“It will take a few moments for you to adjust, but you need not fear, little one.” A hand brushed against your cheek. “You need not fear ever again.”

[fayes-fics]

slams ask button I don't know if this tickles your kink fancy, so if not, no worries! For your 100 Word Kink Challenge here's my prompt:

Anthony + Regency + Sensory Deprivation

btw I'm not SUPER attached to it being Regency. If you think it'll work better for you as a modern, go for it!

I look forward to seeing what you come up with!

Oh! here's some inspo:

Kinktober: Anthony + Sensory Deprivation

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Paring: Anthony Bridgeton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, domme!reader, sub!Anthony, blindfolds, earplugs, restraints, teasing, oral sex (f to m).

Author’s note: hi lovely 🫶 thanks for this ask, and for that sexy inspo image oooof. 😁 Thanks for always being a wonderful friend, I really hope you enjoy this 🧡

You scrape a fingernail down his toned torso, fascinated by the play of muscles as he pants gently, so very keen. You deliberately avoid his engorged, twitchy, leaking cock, skirting instead down over his meaty, fuzzed thigh as he whimpers and thrashes his head. 

The blindfold Anthony wears, and the cotton wool in his ears blot out his senses. He can’t anticipate what you might do next, can’t even likely hear his own delicious, needy little noises.

When you reach his kneecap, his leg jerks, and he calls your name softly, begging for mercy, his whole body trembling exquisitely in the soft candlelight. 

He’s beautiful like this; so very desperate. It makes your heart and pussy clench, deciding to finally take pity on your darling husband.

When you lean down and lick a line over the hot taut flesh of his cock, he practically roars, his hands flexing in their headboard bindings. 

“My handsome boy,” you murmur over his tip, the copious precum from your prolonged teasing sticky and salty against your lips and tongue. 

He’s chanting your name in a devout staccato as you suckle him into your mouth, knowing he won’t last long but revelling in his total surrender.

No taglist as these drabbles are so short

[bloodandthestars]

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒.

priest!au suguru geto x fem!reader

tw/tags: mentions of the Bible, Christianity (it is solely picked for plot nothing more, nothing less), etc :: introduction to JUDAS, kinktober drabble series (mdni)

wc: 1.3k :: masterlist. :: next part.

The Geto family was a devout and honorable one. Generations upon generations did the men of the house dedicate their lives to reach the word of the Heavenly Father. Suguru’s route was no different— crooked, but narrow on the holy path.

He’d become the father of the church months ago, to herd the congregation into a fruitful community. Pressure weighed heavy at his shoulders, but in the end, he knew it was for the best. Wasn’t it?

“And while we are tempted by the devil in more ways than one.” His smooth voice went on. “It’s the persistence, the strength, and the true power of the Lord’s light that keeps us on the divine path.”

Suguru takes a glance to his notes, a finger moving from one page to the next. “As Peter 5:10 states: And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”

It earns him a few hums in agreement and ‘Amens’ from the crowd. He takes a breath. “So know that the obstacles in your path now, the ones you pray to be vanquished, may be the key to your own glory. For your glory, is His.”

The crowd rumbles in cheers and claps. Suguru gives the room a smile. With a slow glance around the room, he takes in all their excited faces full of hope to hear the Holy word through him. It was these same old faces he had gotten used to seeing in the worn pews of the church. The same ones he’d run around with his best friend as a child when services were over. Everything remained as it was, as it was suppose to be.

So that’s why his breath unconsciously hitched when meeting your gaze.

Your eyes were new. He’s never seen them cry in the name of repentance, never seen them look at him like he was the Messiah himself. Not even now in the mists of a worshiping crowd. Your expression was poise, calm— orbs slender in observation.

You cut the staring short, looking ahead instead. It’s only then when he can hear the clapping back at full volume. Suguru blinks a few times to return, eyes going down to the timeline in his writings. “And with that, we’ll end today’s service with a prayer.”

The congregation bows their heads in unison. He catches how you were much slower in doing so. Keeping his eyes on you cautiously, he speaks a worthy word to his people. “O’ Might One, we thank you for allowing us to celebrate you on this day. Your spirit is poured out onto this place every Sunday morning and we could ask for nothing more...”

With the service finished, church goers socialize amongst one another. Greetings, catchings of last night’s game, news that the youngest born has ridden a bicycle for the first time. Suguru always had an ear to their happenings, not that he had much of a choice. As soon as his dress shoes hit the carpet floor, he’s instantly surrounded by a group of parishioners. As always, they wanted to make their priest happy and see him smile.

A older woman clasps his hand in hers, squeezing it with a pleasant expression. “An excellent sermon, as always Father Geto!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kasaki-”

“Did I tell you about little Callie’s recital?”

He chuckles. “Yes, last week. She had practice then, correct?”

“Oh yes! It was a dress rehearsal, her big debut was this last Saturday. She was so adorable in her purple tutu! And she only picked that because she’s growing out of that pink phase, little thing. Oh! Let me grab my phone-”

A low quality video later, one handshake leaves for another. “Pastor! Did you see the new restaurant down the street that they’re building up?”

“No? I don’t think I have.”

“Oh yeah, I think it’ll be a new fusion place. Never knew that they had stuff like that!” A hearty laugh comes straight from the man’s belly and Suguru’s obliged to laugh as well.

“We’ll have to see if we can get the church together for its opening.”

“I’ll see if I can put a word in.”

“There you go, Pastor!”

And another. “Father, did you ever get the chance to look at my inquiries on raising funds for the elementary school?”

“The box tops, yes?”

“Mhm! When will you get started?”

“We can have something up by Wednesday.”

Another. “Father Geto! I just have to get your opinion on this recipe for the potluck-”

Another. “Give your parents a big hug for me won’t you! It’s been so long since I’ve seen them-”

And another. “And this is little Devon! He’ll be staying with me for the summer and he’s already enjoying the kids church service-”

Hands come and go within his grasp as he speaks with each one of them as they trail out. His father told him it was a way to build trust and community, and who was he to argue with the face of the church?

As he wishes one of the elderly women goodbye, Suguru keeps a watchful eye on her when she goes down the stairs. He turns back, starting a little when he’s met with your presence incoming. His body straightens up and you stand in front of him. “Father Geto?”

“That it is.”

Your hand extends in his direction. “Beautiful service. You have many who think the same.”

His eyes lower to your hand, glancing up to you when he takes it. The larger one warms your grasp. He lets out a soft breath. “I appreciate the flattery.”

You raise a brow at him. “Can’t be flattery, after all, your admirers would disagree too.”

Your words earn another exhale, this time with a faint laugh behind it. His slender eyes keep to yours, can’t finding himself to look away. Curiosity eats at him to ask. “If you don’t mind my asking, but are you new in town?”

“I am.” You answer politely. “My mother grew up here, wanted me to see her roots.”

“I’ll be the one to tell you that her roots were made in quite a small place.”

You chuckle softly. “Oh I’m quite aware. Still, it was one of the things she wanted us to do together before she passed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

He watches you glance down at each other’s hands. Seeing that they’re still connected, the pastor pulls it away— hoping you wouldn’t notice how quick he did it. His eyes were lowered, so they had no choice but to follow upward. That meant scanning over your body and attire— a turtleneck dress and high boots with stockings. He straightens when his eyes reach your face. “And you are?”

You give him your full name, and he repeats it back to you. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.” You repeat.

Eventually, you head to the church doors. He follows behind as you were the last to leave. You turn back to give a final glance and him a final goodbye. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Father.”

“Likewise. I hope you to see your return to the church soon.”

“Perhaps.”

Your gazes never leave each other when he goes to shut the doors. The wooden beings echo with their closed status, knocking the air back into his lungs. His brows furrow. Why did he take notice to your clothing?

You dress nice, that’s all. The father shuts his eyes, shaking his head as he goes to tidy the pews.

[manofbeskar]

[small drabble about mihawk & shanks]

i don’t think this has to be a tragedy.

we could spend our entire lives trying and failing not to fall in love with each other; not to constantly seek a gap in each other’s chassis to fill. we could tiptoe around the words we refuse to say. refusal out of need than want. pride is better than feeling left behind. we could pretend we don’t look for red or black in the crowds and ignore the joy that comes. pretend it doesn’t hurt much when we lose each other and bury our hearts six feet under (or don't bother).

mind the gap when you step into my chest. pull my ribcage apart to make room by my heart. tiptoe on the edge of all-consuming love. “tiptoeing” vs “unapologetically crushing your desperation under your boots”. my sandal soles have a better grip on dirt than my hand on yours.

chew carefully so you don’t choke on your pride. being left behind is better than never having been with you at all. i'll always prefer watching you go than seeing you leave—it doesn't make sense but neither do we.

my throat at the edge of your knife—i think you're the love of my life. tear me apart when you take me down. clashing swords instead of mouths. fight me or fuck me, both if you miss me. pin me on the wall like cupid's dartboard. sink to my knees in front of your cross—a devout follower with a poor sense of direction. give religion a chance when you look my way. misunderstand it either way.

romantic or just plain tragic? the best things have no logic sometimes. come back again tomorrow and I'll ease your sorrow. my heart is still yours if you want it. offer stands until i'm not. dig it out of the soil if you want me. kiss me or kill me if you miss me. come back tomorrow if you love me.

[throwaway-yandere]

𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃:

"–ℌ𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔱 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔞 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣; 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔤𝔞𝔷𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔟𝔶𝔰𝔰, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔟𝔶𝔰𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔞𝔷𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩, 𝔡𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔬𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔬𝔰?"

GENSHIN IMPACT

MONDSTADT:

Albedo:

"No." (Professor!Albedo/Student!Reader)

Diluc Ragnvindr:

Dinner With Steaks and Flowers

His Closest Childhood Friend (Soldier, Poet, King)

"O Capo! My Capo!" (debut: chapter 2)

Not Through The Grapevine (yandere!idol event)

I Got Reincarnated As A Server NPC In An Otome Game But A Capture Target Won’t Leave Me Alone 

Kaeya Alberich:

ESTHER (yandere!idol event)

Maid!Merman!Kaeya drabble

"Venti":

Hysteric Humanoid (SAGAU)

LIYUE:

"Zhongli":

Waking Up A Lying Dragon (Bakunawa!Reader)

"If the pedestal is beautiful, then the statue must be even more beautiful."

Xiao:

Wound Dressings (yan!idol event)

Yanfei

Quick yan!fei (lol) brainrot

INAZUMA:

Arataki "Numero Uno" Itto:

Hana Yori Dango (non!yandere itto)

Of Dream A-Dreaming (yandere!idol event)

Kaedehara Kazuha

Flawless

Kamisato Ayato:

Blind Obedience (P2: A Myriad of Fallen Leaves)

Careful, He Bites (P2: Hana Yori Dango) 

Ghost in the Kamisato Estate (minific series)

EDMR (yandere!idol event)

ERROR 401: GONE (Faceless!Ayato)

Faceless Ayato thoughts 1,

The Owner Who Broke The Leash (Chainsaw Man au with Ayato as Makima)

Raiden Ei:

Sunshowers

Thoma:

His Adorable Pen Pal (Soldier, Poet, King)

Shikanoin Heizou

Posteriori (yandere!idol event)

SUMERU:

Alhaitham:

Vision Qualifications

Worksheets 

"O Capo! My Capo!" (Mafia au series)

Alhaitham's Type (yandere!idol event)

Alhaitham selling his soul to a devil!reader brainrot

Dendro NA: 101 (Can be read as VQ’s p2)

Flawless

Cyno:

"O Capo! My Capo!" (Mafia au series)

Alone Together (yandere!idol event)

Dottore:

Click & Drag drabble (feat Cyno)

Classical Conditioning

"Aren't You Supposed To Hate Me?" (yandere!idol event)

Tighnari:

Creative Differences (check "#tag: cd - tighnari" for additional headcanons)

"O Capo! My Capo!!" (Mafia au series)

The Boar Prince/ss (non-yandere secret santa event)

Kaveh:

Paint (non!yandere kaveh, just fluff)

Canvas (drabble)

Flawless

His Version of You

Short boyfriend!kaveh drabble on OCMC/Mafia setting

Wanderer:

Apotheosis Upon Your First Feast

Scarborough Fair/Canticle (Prince au)

Flawless

Drabble: Prince Scara x Farmer

FOUNTAINE:

Neuvillette:

Death Has No Dignity

Wriothesley:

And The Sun Is Silent

SNEZHNAYA/FATUI:

Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax:

His Ice Fishing Buddy (Soldier, Poet, King)

Comfort (drabble)

Pantalone:

Apotheosis Upon Your First Feast

OUTLANDERS/KHAENRIAH'NS:

Aether:

Hysteric Humanoid (SAGAU)

Dainsleif, my beloved:

Hysteric Humanoid

Ouroboros, The 8th Capo (OC!MC!)

Estella's Modern!Dain x Reader but I made it yandere lmao (dw it's my irl bestie)

"If You Truly Loved Me, You Should Be Dead" (hitman!dain, my husband.)

Dolce Stil Nuovo

Lumine:

Hysteric Humanoid

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

SOLDIER, POET, KING

"What if Varka's cousin found 3 different secret admirers?"

"Someone like that getting admirers? As if."

Parts:

His Ice Fishing Buddy, His Adorable Pen Pal, His Closest Childhood Friend

HYSTERIC HUMANOID

"Even today, don't give up on a human heart; claim it even if it hurts." - ALKALOID

A SAGAU fic where The Creator had turned into an amnesiac who believed they're a mere impostor with a knack for gravity manipulation and not much else. And it appears that both Lumine and Dainsleif would stop at nothing to get you on their side.

Chapters, Side Stories & Their Main Focus Characters:

♦ Prologue: The Longest Devout Believers - Dainsleif, Lumine, Venti, and Kaeya

♦ Chapter 1: 500 Year Long Identity Crisis - Baizhu, Dainsleif, Lumine

♦ Drabble 1: How would they celebrate your birthday/The Creator's anniversary? - Dainsleif, Lumine, Baizhu, Venti, Kaeya, Zhongli, Ayaka

♦ Chapter 2: A Contract Long Overdue (WIP) - Zhongli, Dainsleif, Kaeya

"O CAPO! MY CAPO!"

Set in visionless 1920s Teyvat, three inconspicuous yet significant men began to spy on the Fatui's 8th Capo: (Y/n) (L/n). The story begins when the Innamorati Familia's headquarters burns down and in a twist of fate, to say that you've been dealt with an awful hand would be the understatement of the decade. Can you survive– most importantly– can you make the right choices? ((Welcome to the interactive mafia au fic! Have fun voting on the polls!!!))

Otome Game Main Love Interests:

Inquisitor Cyno, Informant Tighnari, Underboss Alhaitham, (CURRENTLY LOCKED: Church Architect Kaveh)

Secret Routes:

Visconti Diluc, "Venti" (LOCKED), ??? (LOCKED), ???, ???, ???

Chapters:

1: "O Capo! My Capo!"

2: The Capo's Soliloquy 

Bad End 1: "You're Collei's Friend, After All!"

3: The Fox Hunt (Tuqburni)

BRAND NEW ARCHON (Chapter 1-3 animatic)

Short bf!Kaveh drabble (not "canon)

"My Beloved Producer..." (GENSHIN IDOL AU)

Masterlist

NOTE: CHECK YOUR COMMUNITY LABEL SETTINGS AND TURN OFF FILTERS IF THE MASTERLIST LINK WON'T WORK. Tumblr must've thought I wrote something explicit (in a masterlist???) and tagged it as mature :///

Flawless

Aka: my last fanfic featuring Scaramouche, Alhaitham, Kaveh, and Kazuha. A fanfic-game with 4 branching endings.

Premise: You're stuck in a killing game inside your dream school. It started with 16 students– and now you're left with only 6 of them. Senior Faruzan was murdered. Who is the culprit among these 5 people?

Link

FIRE EMBLEM: THREE HOUSES

BLUE LIONS:

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd: (my fave fictional man of all time)

Saudade

ps: he's your underboss in "O Capo! My Capo!" lol

BLACK EAGLES:

(coming soon...)

GOLDEN DEER:

(coming soon...)

GARREG MACH MONASTERY:

(coming soon...)

HONKAI: STAR RAIL

ASTRAL EXPRESS:

(coming soon...)

JARILO VI:

Gepard Landau

What Happened At 10:10 (has 2 endings. Won't link it, reach the end of the story in your own way.)

XIANZHOU LUOFU:

Jing Yuan

Misaligned Strings (non-yandere, pure fluff & angst)

IPC

Dr. Veritas Ratio

His Version of You

PENACONY

Sunday

Cannibal!Sunday HCs

"ℑ'𝔡 𝔤𝔩𝔞𝔡𝔩𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡."

"𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔢𝔫𝔡. 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔦𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔩."

[babypinkhearts]

*＊✿❀ jujustu kaisen ❀✿＊*

❀ gojo satoru ❀

and then i go and spoil it all by saying somethin’ stupid like “i love you.”

desc; when does one cross the line of a mere friendship?

i prefer sleep, because that is where i might find you.

desc; it’s quite cruel how the world both blesses and curses. the devout are never spared.

always an angel, never a god.

desc; a “god” will be okay with his angel.

like the sun.

desc; satoru’s presence reminds you of the sun. like helios; the sun god, you attributed.

❀ geto suguru ❀

know it’s for the better.

desc; but butterflies cannot see their own beautiful wings, so he’ll gladly worship you quietly.

moon river.

desc; geto suguru’s heart is mellow. it beats rhythmically to match your perfect tune; disregarding your rejections, only drumming for the hope of your approval.

forgive me, for i am far too weak to control my desires.

desc; (royalty!au) thrones of splendor and magnificence await you. you are not equals, he believes. suguru is but a mere admirer.

❀ fushiguro megumi ❀

mixed emotions at my thoughtlessness.

desc; two knocks will do it. or a third.

*＊✿❀ drabbles ❀✿＊*

satoru . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

is horrible at courting.

suguru . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

is a tough cookie to crack.

yuuta . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

can’t help but admire you while you get ready.