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theoxenfree · 10 days ago

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ROOT ROT

possessed!scholar husband x reader|3.7k| 18+

following your cold and reticent husband's return from settling affairs with his deceased uncle's estate, he has changed and done things unheard of. once a great lover of botany and entomology, he has razed his garden to the ground as proof of his love to you. this man—this thing—os not your husband.

warnings;; pseudo-victorian setting, dubcon, mentioned dp, mentioned temperature play, cumshot on body, cum eating, other explicit sexual details, mentions of drug use (opium), unrequited love, hypnosis/trance, some horrific imagery, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.

this is a companion piece to imposter. you don't have to read it, but if you want a better idea of what is going on, I suggest you do!

a/n; I reappear after a month hiatus with this piece. I have questions and notes at the end of the fic that I'd love to have feedback to!

please reblog this if you've read it, guys! help keep your favorite writing and authors on this website by reblogging their work!!

“He is simply not himself!”

Bartolomé Medina knew his best friend better than you knew your husband, so you believed him when he said that your husband’s newly acquired, increasing eccentricities were not some fictitious imagining of yours.

Although, Medina himself could not explain the unexplainable and all of the oddness without growing visibly flustered.

A bit flushed in the face, singeing the roundness of his ears. He'd stamp out your justifications for strangeness in the same way he did the fine cigars he'd been accustomed to sharing with his friend, yet had not for quite sometime now.

“And you say his garden is dead?” Medina looked stricken with dread, suddenly ill by repeating something so blasphemous. “Now, my dear, please don't mistake my shock as disbelief. I very much believe in what you're saying. I've seen Solomon and his weirdness! Why, just this morning over breakfast, at a time where you were still tucked away in deep sleep, he wouldn't drink his coffee. So bizarre! That man knows the thousands of tastes and varieties of coffee beans, and he spat the very stuff out on the floor like it'd never once touched his tongue!

“But his garden? A botanist without his garden is like a bird without wings. A dog without a tail to wag. A newborn without his mother’s teat! Vulgar, I understand, but you see my point.” He drank from a heavy glass in his hand. The inside had nearly spilled over at one point with light brown which glittered gold under the overhead light, smelling slightly sour and earthy. “To think that Solomon would let it all die. Something is wrong. Something has happened to my only true friend and to your husband.”

You did not drink with any enthusiasm or anguish from your own cup, rather you used those seconds of delicate sipping to gap the conversation, separate yourself from it all for just a moment. You'd had your time to grieve and contend with knowing the man you had married and come to love was not the same one who kept you awake at night.

Solomon had once been a reclusive and reticent man, the only son of David Agrippa and sole heir of the Agrippa Diamond Mines and Jewelry Galleria. He'd never been able to replicate his father's ardor for business and entrepreneurship, choosing towards academic ventures of entomology and botany and most of everything belonging to the natural world instead.

Among his most prized things was a sprawling, domed greenhouse made of large sheets of pale blue-green glass soldered with metal which shifted rose-gold in bright daylight.

“I loved his garden, but I didn't much like to be in there with him,” you confessed, forgetting your manners as you kept your cup still against your lips, mumbling your words. “He liked to tell me about the plants and flowers he grew. Most of it I could never hope to understand, but… I loved seeing him come alive. He seemed to glow when he could tell me things, so I got into the habit of listening to him when he wanted to speak.”

Medina, not yet drunk or driven to any untoward behavior, set aside his empty vessel with jittering ice cubes and looked at you admiringly. “You said that you didn't like being in there with him? Why?”

“The bees. The bugs. The humidity. The fertilizer he liked to use because of the nitrogen content. He told me that it mattered what he used and couldn't just break up soil from the yard.” You said, tilting your cup.

After taking another sip, you determined you hated the taste of the liquor and how it slid down along your throat like fire trailing an oil spill, yet clung there with residual, syrupy stickiness that nearly made you gag.

“Why did you keep going inside?” Medina asked tranquilly, much of his previous frustration softened, body and soul warmed by the alcohol and how fondly he regarded your sweetness towards his friend.

You thought very little before answering, “I wanted to be where he was. It didn't matter to me if that meant his greenhouse or the coldest part of the arctic.”

That was the truth of it. Once you'd received the first crumbs of understanding who Solomon truly was beneath his stolid exterior built brick-by-brick from tragedy and grief and a lifetime of emotional ineptitude, you would've gone to any length to see more of him. To see his pale eyes gain a wild, flickering candlelight of passion, and the faintest of trembling smiles disguising how deeply your questions had aroused his soul.

In those moments, he revealed to you the things he loved the most and what you envied the most: the natural world.

The flittering, fat-bodied pollinators whose entire world were yellow and red flowers with succulent centers and lush, girthy leaves where they'd rest their weary, iridescent wings and could never understand your husband's appreciation of them.

The thousands of specimens he'd collected from every corner of the world and articulated thoughtfully against wood and felt. Their dead little limbs were pinned in place; perfect mimicry of how they would've been if still alive and crawling. He’d had them all meticulously framed and arranged across the walls in his office; trophies of his success, of his studies and hard work.

The innumerable plants and flowers he trimmed and watered in his greenhouse and the ones not contained within it. Some species he had planted in the yard, others in the cool shade of the nearby woods where they smothered native varieties with tendrils-like vines and climbed upside trees. More aquatic species were placed by the edge of the lake, growing into the water; buoyant; a woman's deep dark hair reaching forever for the surface.

He had turned the lonely, sprawling estate into a monument of life, of love that did not belong to you. And for that, sometimes you hated living there. Hated the things that he loved.

Choking the plants, poisoning their roots with any number of things from your father’s pharmacy crossed your mind more than once.

Feeding the bees something enticingly sweet and deadly; filling the greenhouse with noxious gas at night while they slept on their big leaves and your husband in his bed. It would've been such an easy thing for you to do—own your husband's grief as you held his face in your hands and comforted him in the morning when all had atrophied and rotted.

But, those feelings had become a reality you truly never wished to have seen after Solomon returned from his deceased uncle's estate months ago.

He was not the same man.

“Tell me what happened.” Medina’s voice buzzed in your ear from nearby, closer than it had been before. Your hand was caressed by tight warmth—his holding yours, his handsome face looking up at you from where he had crouched in front of your chair. “Tell me everything you've seen. It's of grave importance that you remember it all, as curing Solomon from his affliction relies solely upon you.”

You could not deny his earnestness, the squeeze of his fingers. A promise that he would not be easily shattered by what you had to say, and would think no less of his friend for it. Within his sincere stare, you saw the gleam of another, secret promise. The likes of which you pretended not to see, that he'd never speak of out loud.

“I…” you distracted yourself with the embroidery on your clothes, pinching loose threads and beads. “It was subtle, at first. I noticed some of the bees were dead on the ground. And then some plants had started developing spots. Leaves turned brown and yellow and fell off. A lot of them withered, even though their soil was still damp when I checked…”

And then, the morning came where you witnessed Solomon among a carnage of broken stalks weeping foul-smelling sap, leaves he'd ripped apart with his own hands, and some of his larger flowering plants with fiery manes completely severed. Their bountiful heads lay at his feet, flattened by the heel of his boot as he walked aimlessly, snipping and tearing indiscriminately.

“My god, Solomon! Stop!” you stepped around the countless tiny, contracted bodies of bees and other pollinators to reach him. He let go of the gardening shears as you grabbed them. “What are you doing?! What have you done?! Decades of work! Gone! Are you mad?!”

“Well, you've gone and ruined my surprise for you. I've been working on it for hours. I didn't expect you would be awake so soon.” Solomon said, sounding much like himself despite the savagery he stood surrounded by. He smiled at you in an unfamiliar way, as if trying to navigate his facial muscles around a mask. “Isn't it simply wonderful?”

The sweltering humidity trapped within this greenhouse of death had turned the air stagnant and foul, heavily pungent of detritus and mildew. Across all zones of the greenhouse, once painstakingly organized and labeled for the purpose of easier cataloging, no slithers of greenery or color remained. Each step you took in any direction seemed to sink you deeper into the decay, wet gurgling underfoot as you crossed stumpy mounds of plants and flowers he'd destroyed and thrown into piles.

“How could you? My husband spent almost twenty years building this garden and studying it. This was his life’s work!” You wished you could force life back into the severed plants; pray that the ground of yellow-brown waste would suddenly freckle with tiny, green sprouts and grow with thick stalks and thorns to keep his hands away.

“I am your husband.” Solomon took the gardening shears from your hand and tossed them aside. He leaned into your body, nose and lips pressed into the fabric covering your neck. “I've only done what you wanted. What you wished you could've done yourself, but never did.”

You flinched against the movement of his hands smoothing down your waist to the notches in your hips. Sliding inward, he unfastened the hook-and-loops and buttons holding your trousers up to push them down your thighs along with your undergarments.

“I know your thoughts and what you really think. I've been listening the entire time. I've always been listening.” Solomon let his hips roll along the back of his hand while he used his fingers to lay long, languid strokes on you. “It was tiring, wasn't it? Always competing for love and affection in a place like this. You were never going to have what you wanted. Not with this place still standing. Not with his ineptitudes and selfishness.”

His touch weakened you indescribably; like the caress of heat from the fireplace against your bare skin once the opium had taken effect. Swapping tiny pills on wet tongues with your maid until they'd dissolved into saliva and into your cheeks. You explored one another's bodies thoroughly on those cold nights, silky with sweat from the fire and exertion.

Yet, this was not the same as back then when the sexual appetite of two teenagers transcended societal morals.

Solomon encompassed you in a feeling; consumed you without ever digging into you with his teeth or nails. He could whisper hideous secrets and depravities to you to tip you over into searing euphoria. He had once penetrated you with a hot metal phallus resting on top of his own, thrusting with both until the metal cooled, and you still came anyway.

He'd put worse inside your body and done far worse than that in only a few short months since returning home, yet he never tired of the torture and you remained malleable and enthralled by it all.

“God, you are beautiful. And you are mine.” Solomon had maneuvered both your bodies to the ground, atop of the soggy detritus. Your back was exposed to the mush, leaves, and crushed flower petals, weight pushing an indentation in the loose soil. “This is the fruition of your desires, darling. Don't you love it? Destroying what he loved so you could have it all?”

The one who came back to you was not Solomon; the one fucking you into waste and dirt was not Solomon, either. You told yourself you needed to love imposter as well, because he looked like your husband; wore his signet ring, too.

At night, you imagined only his softest expressions behind clenched eyelids when he wanted to have his way with you, as something else entirely took his place. A creature so diabolical and unsightly that the servants now awaited your screams to rouse them awake in the murky midnight hours.

Every time they arrived with their candlesticks and oil lanterns, the thrusting spectre receded into the dark as a black mass hardly distinguishable from shadow.

Only Solomon would remain, and he was swift to send the servants away before they could see your improper, disheveled state sprawled across the bed sheets.

In the daytime light, his face stayed familiar and comforting to you and you could bear to see him, form some coherent words.

“Someone might—might see us out here, Solomon. Mr. Medina is supposed to—oh, oh, mmm—he’s due to arrive at any time.” You were given several long kisses, which turned into severe caresses of hot breath when his thrusts turned savage, cock reaching so deep you were starting to feel numb below the waist. A feverous response. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He adjusted himself to lay on your chest, the sweat on your bodies offering an effortless glide and new angle for his cock that made your moans deeper and dire. Such sounds, whether in agony or pleasure, were melodious to him. Addicting drags from a pipe in an opium den; an alcoholic's first sip at breakfast; a cheating man's night with a new lover.

“Wouldn't you like for them to see that? For someone to witness you being fucked into the ground? Surrounded by everything their master loved?” Solomon tucked his face into the curve of your neck and groaned, hips slow and stuttering. “Bartolomé would be the one to find it most tantalizing. His only friend in the world ruining the only person he's ever loved. Wouldn't that be a sight? We could invite him to watch.”

At the time, it had been quite jarring to learn Bartolomé harbored those silent, ardent feelings for you. It had sufficiently pulled you from whatever trance Solomon had lulled you into, reacquainting you with all the sounds of sex and the filth clinging to your skin. It was as though your mind had been locked into a mostly airless, noiseless void that he controlled and released at will.

You held tight to his shoulders as he molded you deeper into the muck and plant litter. The squat, friable walls of soil holding your shape like the cushions in a tomb, whereas Solomon was the man lowering you into the dark earth; the last to see your face before covering it in clay and dirt.

He was in your ear with loud moans that resonated through you, simultaneously as carnal as a beast amidst its seasonal rut, and velvety as the feathery smooth glide of fingers down your spine. His throat rumbled against you, resembling the intensity of a purring housecat nestled near your head in contentment.

At his tipping point, he removed his cock from your body and used the slippery stuff glistening off it to stroke himself; weepy, deep red tip to the base. You received the aftermath of his release in thick ropes across your abdomen and chest, the warmth of it already cooling on your skin while he continuously kneaded the head to force out what remained as if they were dewdrops made from pearls.

“How do you think Bartolomé would fare seeing you like this?” Solomon swept two fingers through the cum in an elegant curl to smear it around his cock. The viscous white thinned into pale gloss on his girth and a sticky residue inside his hand.

Your lips parted to give an answer, but his fingers and taste were faster than your words.

“And… that is all? Truly?” Bartolomé asked, shattering your visions of the recent past as he revealed a compact silver case from inside his vest, pulling a cigarette from within it. “You simply walked into the garden one morning and saw that he had destroyed everything? He gave you no explanation whatsoever?”

The imposter had stolen much of your dignity over the months, but enough of it remained for you to omit every significant detail from your story. You'd only told him that Solomon had cut the heads off of rare flowers, mumbled in a disorienting way, and gave you no difficulty with the gardening shears.

Bartolomé went away from your side for an open window across the spacious sitting room, matching his cigarette and blowing gray plumes out into the dense summer air.

“This is concerning.” He spoke loud enough for you to hear, even with his thumbnail tracing the underside of his lower lip, muffling him somewhat. “Solomon is considerably worse off than I first thought. We need to investigate this, retrace his every step since the moment he left you that night for his uncle's estate.”

“Oh, Bartolomé, that will be very unnecessary.” Solomon announced himself as he walked in through the open doors, offering you a tepid smile, which came nowhere close to reaching his eyes. Your chair jostled slightly as he stood behind it, a weighty hand landing on the tall back above your head. “Why trouble yourself with employing some ludicrous scheme when you could, ah, inquire as to what haunts you instead?”

Bartolomé tamped out his cigarette on the windowsill and pocketed it. “You are ill, Solomon. You may be suffering from some form of hysteria. It's time you visited a doctor, my old friend.”

“Well, that just isn't true.” Solomon kept the neutrality in his tone, but you tracked a rumble of agitation; a warning not far off. His hand followed the curvature of the chair down to the arm that you leaned against, fingers touching your shoulder, lightly kneading you through your clothes.

He was sure to be in Bartolomé’s eyesight as he did this, further aggravating the heavy disquiet. You didn't dare to move out of reach of his touch.

“But, it is true, Solomon!” Bartolomé insisted, gesturing toward the window. “What of your garden? All of your life's work now means nothing, you damned fool! You've snapped, old boy. See a doctor before you do something you regret.”

“That garden was more a source of misery than it was a boon. At any rate, I'm quite finished listening to you harp at me for one night, my dear friend.” Solomon lightly stroked down your cheek with bent fingers, coaxing you to look up at him. “It's time for bed, darling. Us impropertious brutes have kept you up for too long.”

You hesitated, and then stood when Solomon took your arm. “Alright.”

“As usual, your accommodations should exceed expectations. I'll have a servant wake you for breakfast again tomorrow.” It was too soon to call those Solomon's departing words to Bartolomé, as he stopped with you in the doorway, your hand caressing the meat of his forearm. “You know, Bartolomé, I would recommend marrying soon. There is no greater feeling than having the one you love so close to you, don't you think?”

Bartolomé became unreadable as he fished a hand into his vest pocket for the cigarette case again. You were led away for the bedroom before anything else could be said, but you knew that Solomon had struck a nerve.

“That was cruel.” you said.

Once in the bedroom, your back was pressed flush to the door while he unfastened the buttons to your outerwear and the blouse underneath it. Solomon kissed your lips slowly, first, before moving underside your jaw after shucking you down to your undergarments.

“And you are mine. You made your vows to me. Remember that, my sweet.”

You watched him strip out of his clothes and then stroke the length of his cock until it was hard.

“I married someone else. Not you.”

As he dimmed the lights within the space, sweeping the bedroom under a shroud of near pitch black, your annoyance shifted into a swell of anxiety both freezing cold and burning hot. Your body pulsed in rhythm with your wild heartbeat, throat clenched as tightly as infantile flower buds.

You waited for Solomon to touch you, startling once he finally did. His fingers had elongated and sharpened, his touch now far more delicate and methodical.

“Don't worry, he’s still in here with me.”

a/n; so, some notes real quick

do not count this scene as canon bc idk how much I'm going to take from it to incorporate into the actual story. like, certain things will be there fs, but a good chunk won't.

tbh, this didn't go as hard as I thought it was going to. by comparison to the actual story, this is pretty tame. but I've already relented that the full story is just hopelessly slutty and pornographic lmaooo

bartolomé medina was actually included late into my current version of the story outline. I wanted a somewhat paralleling foil character for solomon, and he's who I came up with. in a lot of ways, bartolomé and solomon are very similar, which is why they get along so well as friends. but, they're also starkly different in other aspects (e.g. wealth differences, careers, bartolomé forces his sociability and personality, whereas solomon can't be fucking bothered). tbh, I love bartolomé as a character and this oneshot does not do him justice—at all.

sadiya, mc's maid, is actually the most important supporting character in the entire story and is completely different from her first appearance in imposter. like, completely. I'd like to do one more concept piece where I can actually introduce her.

men moaning is one of the hottest things imo. get out of here with that silent ejaculating bs.

NOW, ONTO QUESTIONS!!!

what are your thoughts on me incorporating the idea that bartolomé is in love with mc into the actual story? there is a possibility of an ending with him if enough folks show interest before the final chapters. or, would you prefer it strictly focused on solomon, the demon, and mc? this subplot would not come to fruition as a side romance or "cheating" plotline. like I said, bartolomé exists mainly as a parallel and foil for solomon.

are you guys interested in smut scenes with actual, explicit details of the demon in his true form (he ain't pretty y'all. this story is majorly psychological for a reason). but, if you kinky fucks want it, I'm happy to oblige.

would having a bolder mc who experimented with things (mainly opium) and has a bit more of a sexually promiscuous background take you out of immersion and be a deterrent, or would you be interested in me continuing that route? be honest.

I dropped several hints in this piece on the inspired identity of the demon in the story. have you guessed who? 👀

how depraved y'all want me to get with the smut scenes fr???

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frudoo · 5 months ago

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Trapped in the forest with a feral John Price could be hot 🔥

WOOF bestie you are so right 😩

Warnings: Non-con to dub-con, John Price is stupidly big. Fem!Reader.

“I know you’re out there, birdie.”

God, you hate his taunting voice, the lilt that makes it sound like he’s singing to you. You hate your friends for abandoning you in this creepy fucking forest, you hate the way every dead leaf manages to crunch beneath your feet no matter how quiet you try to be. You’ve been sneaking away from the giant man for what feels like hours but his voice never gets further away, always right on the brink of being too damn close.

“Nothin’ to be afraid of, girlie, jus’ wanna take care o’ya.”

His call is loud, somewhere behind you, before you hear a thud and then silence follows. You stop dead in your tracks—did he fall down and knock himself out? Maybe you ought to check, make sure he’s really down and no longer on your trail. Slowly, you turn around and take a few steps where you remember the thud to have sounded, but there’s no body slumped over itself. At least, nothing human.

You gasp at the sight of a whimpering dog with an injured paw, instantly kneeling down to try and help the poor pup. You hold her paw in your hand to examine it but there’s nothing wrong, no thorns or cuts in her pads. You furrow your eyebrows and pet behind her ears, cooing softly to her.

“What’s wrong, baby? Where’s your-”

Your sentence is interrupted by strong arms lifting your body up, one hand covering your mouth. You shriek, clawing at the man’s hairy arms as you try to kick free from his hold. It’s useless—he’s so much stronger than you, and the pain you’re inflicting doesn’t even register in his brain.

He knows what he wants, and he’s going to have it.

The ‘injured’ dog stands from her place on the ground and sprints away at the man’s command, full weight on her paw. Your stomach flips at the realization. He used his dog as a trap.

“P-please don’t hurt me! I’ll do- I’ll do anything, please!” You sputter, fat tears streaming down your face as the man lays you on the ground.

“Not gonna hurt ya. No, could never hurt my pretty girl, never,” the man murmurs, and despite the fact that he’s currently binding your wrists to the tree behind you with his belt, his words are gentle and seemingly sincere.

Once your hands are secure, he leans down to kiss you, frowning when you flinch and turn away before his lips are able to meet yours. He grunts and tries again, but when you repeat the action he cups your jaw in one large hand, keeping you still and finally pressing his mouth to yours. He tastes like tobacco and smells of it too, earthy and dewy much like the grass he’s trapped you against.

“Atta girl, jus’ submit t’me.”

There’s a wide smile on his face when he pulls back, thumbing away a string of saliva that remains on your bottom lip. Then his hands trail down your body, ripping open your tank top and pulling your tits out from the cups of your bra. You can’t hold back the moan that escapes your traitorous throat when he wraps his lips around one nipple and sucks, pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger.

“N-no, please…” you cry, trying to kick him away, but he just growls and suckles harder in response.

Damn your body for not fighting him harder, and damn your pussy for getting so wet from this. His hot tongue trails down your stomach while his large hands expertly undo your pants and pull them as well as your knickers off of you completely. He even tosses your shoes and socks aside, kissing his way from your toes all the way to your inner thighs, then planting his lips right over your clit. He groans against your cunt and you can see the way his hips buck against the ground as he tastes you.

In a similar fashion to the way he’d sucked your nipple, he does the same to your swollen bud, circling his tongue over it repeatedly. You’re gushing out abundances of your arousal much to your dismay—and his delight—and he dips his tongue into your entrance to drink it all up. You hate how good it feels, how tight the coil in your belly has gotten, how close you are to the edge. He slides his tongue through your folds and sucks on your clit once more and then you’re screaming, trying to fight off the euphoric waves as they overtake you.

The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he slurps up all of your juices. As quickly as he’d started, he pulls away, and those dexterous hands shove down his pants to allow his stupidly fat cock to bounce out. It’s obviously heavy, fully erect and yet still drooping away from his soft stomach, curved and slick with precum. You whimper at the sight, shaking your head as more pleas escape you.

“No! No, please don’t, sir, please… I’ll do anything…” You sob, legs still trying to kick at him even as he parts your thighs and settles himself between them.

“You’ll take my cock,” he responds gruffly, a low moan leaving his throat when he shoves the tip past the barrier of your pussy.

The stretch burns like hell and you scream at the intrusion, wrists desperately trying to tug free from their restraints so you can shove him off. It wouldn’t have worked, anyway, not with his strength and the determination he has to claim you. With a grunt and a hard thrust, he sinks all the way inside, giving you only a few seconds to adjust before he’s rutting into you wildly.

“Ah, so fuckin’ tight. Knew ya would be. Knew ya’d fit me so fuckin’ well.”

Cold sweat trickles down his freckled face and drips onto your cheeks, making you flinch every time you feel a drop make contact. His dick is stuffing you so fucking full, and all you can do is lay there and take it. The initial pain is gone and in its place is a revolting pleasure, one that makes you roll your hips against his. The man smiles proudly, using the backs of your knees to push your legs up to your chest.

“Yeah, feels good, don’t it, girlie? Can feel your cunt clenchin’ ‘round me. Fuckin’ cum on my cock. Do it. Give it t’me.”

His pace quickens tenfold, making your vision go white as his fat tip bullies your g-spot with every thrust. Your entire body convulses when you climax but he doesn’t relent, fucking you through your high and overstimulating you in the process. It doesn’t matter to the man mounting you, his eyes so far back in his skull you’re not sure they’ll ever return to their normal position. An animalistic growl escapes his throat and then you feel ribbons of hot cum spurting inside of you, filling you to the brim.

You hate the way his cum leaks out of you when he pulls out, spilling to the ground and wasting all of his hard work. After he tucks his dick away and gives you a passionate, tender kiss, he releases you from the restraints and scoops you up into his big burly arms, carrying you back to his little shack where his actor of a pup is waiting for him with a wagging tail.

Maybe the forest isn’t so bad, after all.

#ask me!#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price x reader #john price x fem!reader #fem!reader #cw noncon #cw dubcon

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imjustreadinglmao · 6 months ago

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BLUE PART II

Paring: Azriel x reader, Lucien x platonic!reader

Series summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

Warnings: unrequited love, death, detailed descriptions of fights and blood, angst, characters being idiots

A/N: my last azrielxreader post won’t appear in the tags so reblogs are very much appreciated.

Word count: 3.3k

It’s a beautiful, crisp spring morning. The sun is shining, birds are singing, and the wind carries the lovely scent of freshly baked pies. I sigh at the prospect of leaving this peaceful place and trading it for the Autumn Court.

As I push the heavy oak doors of the River House open, I can feel anxiety coursing through my veins. After fleeing Autumn seventy-three years ago, I didn’t expect to return there so soon, even if only temporarily. It was difficult for me to leave. I couldn’t risk telling anyone about my plans, so I never had the chance to say goodbye.

Knowing my father, he had probably been more concerned about how me leaving would affect his standing with the High Lord and the other noble families. But my mother and sister… I would give a lot to see them again.

All those years, I have missed the familiarity of my home court, the traditions, and the celebrations I cherished so much as a child.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I step into the foyer. Rhysand, Amren, Azriel, and Lucien are already there, waiting for me.

Except for Lucien and me, who are wearing traditional Autumn Court attire, everyone else is dressed in midnight black.

Lucien looks up as I enter, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You look… convincing,” he says.

I let out a breathy laugh at that. The last time he saw me in Autumn colors was at a ball my family hosted, which ended with me puking my guts out, most of it landing on Lucien’s shoes.

Judging by the face he is making, he hasn’t forgotten either.

Azriel, standing beside him, nods in agreement. “It suits you,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary.

His shadows peek over his shoulder as if they want to take a look too.

I try to ignore the flutter of emotions his words stir within me. Instead, I focus on the mission ahead, on the role I must play. The safety of Prythian depends on our success, and I can’t afford to let myself get distracted.

Rhysand steps forward, a mischievous smile on his face. “I have to say, you both pull off Autumn Court fashion far better than I expected. Maybe we should visit the Autumn Court more often.”

Amren, her eyes assessing our disguises, retorts, “If you spent as much time on strategy as you do on fashion critiques, we’d have won the war by now.”

I have to cover my mouth to not laugh out loud and accidentally anger the century-old creature that’s lurking beneath that Fae body.

Rhys just rolls his eyes, clearly undeterred by her sharp tone. “I’ll have you know that looking good is part of the strategy.”

With one last look at me, he stretches out his hand and asks, “Ready?”

I nod, take his hand, and let him winnow me away.

———————————————————

Arriving at the southern border of the Autumn Court, I am immediately struck by the beauty of the landscape. The trees here are taller than I remember, their leaves a riot of red, orange, and gold, perpetually caught in the peak of autumn. The air carries the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the smoke of distant fires burning in hearths.

As we step onto the moss-covered ground, bittersweet memories flood my mind. I find myself thinking of the simpler days of my youth, the carefree ones.

I feel dark talons gently scraping at the shields in my mind and lwt Rhys in. So lost in the beautiful nature, I barely realize him wishing us good luck and winnowing back to Velaris.

Right after Rhys leaves, Azriel begins to scout the area for any magical traps or shields set by Koschei, leaving us to wait for his return. As the minutes stretch into an hour, my anxiety starts to build.

I pace restlessly, my mind conjuring all sorts of terrible scenarios.

Lucien tries to reassure me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” Lucien says softly. “Azriel knows what he’s doing.”

But his words do little to calm me.

“How can you be so sure? He could be injured… or worse. We don’t know what Koschei is capable of!” I snap.

I begin to ramble, listing every possible way Azriel could have gotten hurt. “What if he’s caught in a trap? What if there’s a magical barrier he can’t break?”

Just thinking about him being in trouble makes me want to vomit. “That’s it. He’s taken long enough. I’m going to find him and—”

Amren steps in, her voice cutting through my panic. “Enough. Get your shit together. We don’t have time for this.”

Her bluntness shocks me into silence, and I sulk, feeling chastised.

But Amren isn’t finished. “Oh, quit acting like a child. Maybe if you told him about your feelings and the mating bond, you wouldn’t be so anxious, girl.”

My mouth drops open and I look to Lucien, his face also morphed into shock. When I look back to Amren, she just lifts an eyebrow.

“How do you know about the bond?”

Amren lets out a long sigh. “Only someone stupid wouldn’t have picked up on that. And Azriel being the stupidest of all.”

She rolls her eyes and starts picking at her nails. “We all suspected it. For a while we thought it snapped for Azriel too. The way he followed you around like a love sick fool, we were sure of it. But I guess it didn’t.”

I don’t say anything else after that, my mind not coming up with a response.

——————————————————

Another hour passes, and my worry only deepens. I can’t stop imagining Azriel injured or trapped, his shadows unable to find a way back to us. Every rustle of the leaves makes me jump, hoping it’s him returning.

Lucien tries to keep me distracted, but my thoughts are a whirl of dread. He tells me stories of his own missions, but I can’t focus on his words. My mind is entirely on Azriel.

Finally, just as the sun reaches its peak, Azriel returns. He looks slightly worse for wear, his clothes torn in some places and his face smeared with dirt, but otherwise unharmed. He notices the tension immediately, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“What happened?” Azriel asks, looking between us.

I step toward him, my relief overwhelming. “Are you okay? What took you so long?”

Azriel nods, his expression serious. “There were more traps than I anticipated. It took a while to disable them all, but the path should be clear now.”

Amren crosses her arms. “Good. We don’t have time for any more delays.”

Lucien places a hand on my shoulder again, this time with a reassuring squeeze. “See? I told you he’d be fine.”

I manage a weak smile, still shaken by the fear that gripped me. Azriel’s eyes soften as he looks at me.

“We should move quickly,” Azriel says, breaking the moment. “It won’t be long till they notice that their shields and traps were destroyed. Amren and I will accompany you to the Forrest House, then we’ll separate and follow the original plan. It’s too dangerous otherwise. We can’t risk you.”

Lucien nods and gestures for me to go first. “Let’s get moving then. The sooner we’re done here, the better.”

We begin to move deeper into the forest, leading to Beron’s residence. The beauty of the surroundings contrasts sharply with the danger I know lurks nearby.

As we walk, I steal glances at Azriel, wondering how he can be so calm and collected all the time.

Gods, I nearly lost my mind over him doing his job. I am a hypocrite for snapping at him the other day. Yes, I am mad at him for courting Elain, but I also can’t expect him to be loyal to me when he doesn’t even know that we’re mates.

How different things would be if it had just snapped for him the second it did for me...

It happened three years ago. Unbeknownst to us, we were just celebrating the last winter solstice without Rhys when it snapped into place.

One moment I was admiring him from afar, the next I was connected to him for the rest of my immortal life.

He had still been in love with Mor back then, so I chose not to say anything. A huge mistake, because soon after, Elain came into the picture.

Truthfully, I never thought they were anything more than friends until I overheard Rhysand ordering Azriel to stay away from her. It wasn’t until then that I realized I had lost him forever. He wasn’t going to stay away from her, so I accepted my fate and kept silent.

———————————————————

After five hours of hiking through bushes, stepping in rabbit holes, and nearly getting killed by a boar, I can feel the exhaustion creeping into my bones.

“Can we please take a break? My legs are going to fall off,” I ask.

Amren smirks, not breaking her stride. “And here I thought you were tougher than this.”

Only Rhysand’s plea to behave and work together holds me back from strangling her. Gods, she really is a cranky hag.

Lucien chuckles softly and turns to me. “We’re only a few minutes away. Hang in there.”

I groan but press on. As we finally crest a hill, the sight of Beron’s castle comes into view, exactly as I remembered it. The imposing structure looms against the deep orange sky, its dark stone walls lined with creeping ivy. Tall, narrow windows glint in the dawning light.

“It’s just like I remember,” I whisper, a mixture of awe and dread washing over me.

Lucien glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Let’s get ready. We need to find a way to get in there.” He points to the entrance of the castle, where nobles are lined up to enter the masquerade ball hosted by the High Lord himself.

We slip through the dense forest that surrounds the castle, our movements silent and precise. Azriel scouts ahead, his shadows cloaking him in near invisibility. After what feels like an eternity, we find a secluded spot to prepare for our infiltration.

“Here,” Amren hands both Lucien and me a stack of clothes. “These are your disguises. You will pose as Lord and Lady Hawthorn. The late Lord Hawthorn died three months ago. You are recently married with no offspring or heir yet. This is your first outing as Lord and Lady. Some might recognize your name, though they should not look twice your way. Be discreet and don’t draw attention.”

“What about the real Lord and Lady Hawthorn? What if they decide to turn up and out us as imposters?” I ask.

Azriel shifts on his feet and answers a bit sheepishly, “Don’t worry, they have already been dealt with.”

My brows furrow in confusion. “What do you—” realization dawns over me. “Oh… oh, okay. I guess that makes this a lot easier.”

I grab the clothes Amren gave me and head for the nearest bush to change. When I look back, Azriel has his head tilted sideways and smiles at me.

The dress I change into is a deep burgundy, adorned with delicate golden embroidery.

The fabric is soft and luxurious and fits me like a second skin. The mask is made of similar fabric, with intricate golden lace around the edge of it.

As I step out from behind the bush, my eyes find Azriel’s immediately.

His eyes, usually so guarded, widen slightly as they take in my appearance, his gaze lingering on the details of my dress and the way it clings to my form.

“You look… stunning,” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere.

I feel a blush rise to my cheeks and look away, focusing on Lucien. Lucien is similarly attired, his outfit complementing mine with its dark tones and subtle elegance.

He grins at me. “Shall we, Lady Hawthorn?”

I bark out a laugh. “We shall, Lord Hawthorn.”

———————————————————

Getting inside the Forrest House was easier than expected. We just walked right up to the entrance, stated our names, handed them our fake invites, and were ushered in.

As we step into the grand ballroom, the sheer opulence of the scene takes my breath away.

Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a warm glow over the sea of elegantly dressed nobles. Musicians play softly in one corner, their melodies mingling with the murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses.

At the far end of the room, atop a raised dais, sits Beron, his cold gaze sweeping over the crowd. To his right stands Eris. Our eyes meet briefly, and I give a subtle nod, which he returns.

Lucien and I mingle with the guests, keeping our eyes and ears open, waiting for Eris to give us our signal.

As Beron rises from his throne, a hush falls over the grand ballroom. The guests turn their attention to him. He begins to address the crowd, his voice echoing through the vast space.

“Welcome, esteemed guests, to this celebration of our enduring legacy and power,” Beron proclaims, his tone laced with self-satisfaction.

Just as he is about to continue, the heavy doors of the ballroom burst open. A squadron of Eris’s soldiers rushes in, their armor clanking loudly. The crowd parts like a tide, murmurs of confusion and fear rippling through the room.

Beron’s confident façade falters, replaced by one of anger and panic. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice rising in pitch as he glares at the soldiers.

Eris steps forward, his demeanor calm and resolute. “Father,” he begins, his voice carrying a chilling edge, “it is time. Your reign has been marked by tyranny and cruelty, and I will no longer stand by and watch my people suffer under your rule.”

Beron’s eyes narrow, a sneer curling his lips. “You think you can overthrow me, Eris? It takes more than a few soldiers to claim this throne.”

Eris begins to smile. “Oh, I know. A noble to swear me in and an heir to secure the lineage, right? Well, here they are.” He gestures to Lucien and me.

My eyes widen as I whisper-shout in Lucien’s ear, “He cannot be serious? THIS is his plan?!”

Lucien replies, equally as quiet. “I have learned a long time ago not to question my brother’s way of handling things.”

“You are truly deluded, Eris.” Beron laughs, a harsh, mocking sound. “They won’t accept a random noble as your heir.”

Eris stands his ground, his gaze unwavering. “But they will. Take off your masks,” he says to Lucien and me.

And so we do. Nobles everywhere are gawking at us. Some eyes fixed on me, most on Lucien.

Beron steps down from the dais. “What a surprise. The lost son finally returns home.” He turns his gaze to me. “And you, you’re Lord Yarrow’s daughter, no?”

I don’t answer. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could. I’m rooted in place, not taking my eyes off Beron.

Beron turns to Eris again. “Well, it seems you really are full of surprises. But you’re forgetting one important thing. You would have to kilI me to claim the throne. And you’ve always been weak, Eris. You’re not strong enough, but you shall try.”

In that moment, I realize what Eris was doing. He was provoking his father into accepting his challenge, and Beron just did exactly that.

“I’ve had a long time to prepare.”

And with that, all hell breaks loose.

———————————————————

Chaos erupts as Beron and Eris clash, their swords flashing in the bright light of the ballroom. Beron's strikes are powerful, but Eris is swift and precise, his fire magic flaring up with every swing.

Lucien and I are quickly surrounded by Beron's soldiers. The nobles' screams fill the air as they flee the room in terror. I manage to grab a blade as the first soldier aims right for my neck.

My heart races as I parry another soldier's blow, my muscles straining with each clash of steel. Lucien fights beside me, his own fire magic scorching the air around us, incinerating our enemies with fiery blasts.

The ballroom is a whirlwind of chaos.

As we cut through the soldiers, our eyes are locked on the fight between Eris and Beron. We try to reach them, but more and more of Beron’s soldiers are streaming in.

Eris and his father fight with brutal intensity, their swords ringing out as they meet. Eris dodges and strikes with a precision that keeps Beron on his toes, but his experience gives him the upper hand, forcing Eris back step by step.

Just as Lucien and I are within seconds of reaching Eris and Beron, the ballroom doors burst open again. Five of Koschei's soldiers, dark magic radiating from them, storm in. They immediately begin slaughtering nobles, women, and children alike. Their dark magic tears through Eris's soldiers as if they were paper.

Lucien and I have no choice but to turn away from Eris and Beron and face Koschei’s magic wielders.

I take several hits to the gut, and a sword slices across my cheek, but I fight on, managing to take down one of the dark soldiers. Lucien, with his fire magic, kills two more, but before the third soldier is turned into ash, he drives a sword straight through Lucien’s chest.

Lucien collapses to his knees, blood pouring from the wound. I rush to his side, my heart pounding in my chest. Lucien's eyes flutter, and he tries to speak, but I stop him. "Save your energy," I beg.

He begins to close his eyes, the loss of blood making him weaker and weaker. "Lucien, stay with me!" I cry, trying to stem the flow of blood with my hands.

I have to get him to a healer fast; otherwise, he will bleed out. So I do the only thing I can think of.

Desperate, I tug on the bond with Azriel, praying that he will sense my distress.

A moment later, Azriel bursts into the room, Amren in tow. Azriel’s eyes widen with panic as he spots me and Lucien. He rushes to us, dropping to his knees beside Lucien.

"Azriel, you have to winnow him back to Velaris," I plead. "Find Madja , now!"

Azriel looks torn. "I can't leave you," he says, his voice tight with fear. “I— not like this. Not with you being my—”

"Amren is here, I’ll be fine," I insist, glancing at Amren, who is finishing off the last two of Koschei’s soldiers. "Please, Azriel! I can’t watch him die. I am begging you, just go, please!"

Azriel nods reluctantly, wrapping his arms around Lucien. With a final, desperate look at me, he winnows away, leaving me behind in the chaos.

With Azriel and Lucien gone, I feel a pang of anxiety, but I have no time to dwell on it. I turn back to the fight, watching as Eris and the High Lord continue their deadly duel.

Around me, the battle rages on. I join Amren, who is ruthlessly dispatching the remaining dark soldiers with a ferocity that belies her small stature.

Together, we fight our way through the chaos, our movements synchronized from years of fighting side by side.

We are fighting for what feels like hours. My arms ache from dealing blow after blow, and my eyes are getting blurry from the lack of sleep.

I steal a glance at Eris and Beron, watching as they exchange hits. Eris manages to land a few blows, but Beron shrugs them off.

The two of them are evenly matched, but the High Lord’s power coursing through Beron's veins gives him a slight edge.

Suddenly, Beron lunges forward, his sword aimed at Eris's heart. Eris barely manages to block the strike, their blades locking together. Fire erupts between them, and for a moment, it looks like Eris might be overpowered.

But Eris digs deep, summoning a burst of strength. He pushes Beron back, their swords disengaging with a loud clang. Eris's flames burn brighter, and he steps forward, pressing the attack.

The next moment, everything is quiet. No swords clashing, no screaming, just utter quiet.

As the flames subside, there, in the middle of the ballroom, not moving, is Beron.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court is dead.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #a court of thorns and roses #lucien x reader #azriel x you #writers on tumblr #eris acotar #rhysand #amren acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x reader #azriel imagine

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dinsbeskar · 2 months ago

Text

Wicked Game (Sauron/F!Reader)

He knows he shouldn't covet you, that he is above such earthy things as love. So why does he stalk you in the forests you call home? It's love at first sight, and the feeling is mutual; or:

Sauron engages in some light stalking and gets the girl somehow.

Prequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Wicked Game / Beautiful Stranger / Iris

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way

What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you

Warnings: 18+! Smut, fluff, lil bit of angst, P in V sex, fingering, licking/biting. Sauron!! He's super creepy, sorry, idk what to say, there's some stalking, some creepy behaviour, he's a bit unhinged. Love at first sight!! Like babe it's been an afternoon, calm down. Anyway we move fast!!

A/N: bro is head empty, no thoughts, down bad in this, sorry!! in this house we subscribe to the 'elves fuck once and they're married for eternity' idea, so there's that tiny spoiler for you!

Word Count: 6.2k!

Mairon was already old when he met you, unfathomably ancient in fact, wandering Arda and beholding the power of creation, amongst other things. He was sure he had already experienced everything there was on the physical plain, but you would prove him wrong indeed. When the first Elves awoke, he felt a pull, like many of the Ainur, to see the new life that now roamed the forests and plains they had sung into being. He was not the first spirit to stumble across the peoples of Middle Earth, and he would not be the last. Watching your people dance and sing and create gave him new inspiration to take back to Aulë's forge, to bring order and balance to your lives as he saw fit, for who could know better than he?

Today was a feast day, when all of your people were out in the forest hunting and foraging, mirthful song filling the glades as you ran barefoot through the trees, breathless with laughter and exertion, carrying a basket of berries meant for the evening's festivities. Pale golden light streamed through the leafy canopy, dust motes floating in the rays and sparkling like the stars above. You looked around for your companions, a little far off beyond the thicket you had picked through for its fruit. Unperturbed, you continued, hearing the silvery sound of water flowing somewhere in the vicinity. A drink or a dip was almost certain, you thought, to refresh you and your companions before the feast, but you would find it first and save them from searching. Soft birdsong and rustling leaves accompanied by a warm breeze made for the perfect setting; how could you wish for more?

He makes a great effort to be silent, not wishing to frighten you, unsure of how his sudden appearance might affect you. After all, you hadn't heard him the countless times before, why should you now? He matches your footsteps, remaining in step with you behind the trees in the merciful shadow, careful not to disturb the undergrowth, picking carefully through the wildflowers that scent the air. Your pointed ears prick up at a rustle in the trees, and you snap your head round to investigate. He darts behind a gnarled oak tree, holding his breath and awaiting your discovery. You smile and shake your head softly; what could you possibly be afraid of in these forests, your home for decades? You continue following the sound of the stream up ahead, ignoring all other sounds in the forest now, much to his satisfaction. How innocent you are, how much you need his protection, for what would you do if there were forces that wished to subdue you or do you harm? The glint in his eye grows as he draws closer, still choosing to remain hidden from you. He could use his powers to disguise himself, to stalk you unnoticed almost hand in hand with you, and had done on a few occasions, close enough to smell your soft hair, even to take a few strands for himself, but somehow he likes this better, imagining you the innocent prey to his stealthy predator, a thrill at the though of catching you rushing through him as quickly as he pushes it away. He only wants to watch you, to know you, to observe, nothing more. What interest could you possibly have in one another beyond curiosity?

The first time he saw you, many moons ago, you'd been surrounded by your fellow Elves, dancing in harmony in a field of wildflowers, sweet music in the air. He hadn't thought much of you at first if truth be told, you were all very much alike; all fair and graceful, joyful and innocent. It was only when the music picked up, your dance became faster and more frenetic, that an Elf with long golden hair had tripped and fallen, disrupting the rhythm, leaving all your companions giggling at her misfortune. He too had laughed at her stumble, grateful that the music covered his sudden outburst, but then he noticed you, with your hand outstretched and a comforting smile to greet your fallen comrade, who shook herself off while you picked stray leaves from her hair. She seemed unhurt, and no one else was concerned, already having resumed their merriment, but you held back a moment to check she was well. He was instantly captivated, itching to reveal himself and carry you off, to protect the light within you, or consume it wholly. The tiny semblance of self-restraint he had left held him back, told him to wait and observe, to absorb all he could about you; the idea of you rejecting his advances was intolerable, triggering waves of nauseous anger throughout his being. No, patience would serve him, and so he had waited, oh so patiently. Your kindness had, and would, be your undoing.

Illuminated up ahead is the stream you've been chasing; it's small, barely a trickle, but you follow it regardless. The water is cool and clear and refreshes your worn feet, and you lift your dress to keep it clear as you pad down the river bed, feeling the sandy mud between your toes being washed away as you lift your feet into the current. The light is beginning to fade now, you know you should turn back, but you're sure there is a pool nearby, and it would feel so good to swim a little before getting back to the others. They could share in it tomorrow, but today you could bask in some sweet time alone.

He has been following your softly trodden path in the mossy forest floor, but when he reaches the water's edge, it vanishes. Cursing, he casts about, searching for a hint of your next steps. He had only stopped for a moment, distracted by the way your hair catches the light, your graceful smile, the way your dress flows over your frame. A fleeting thought of taking that same dress off you, the image of you pliant underneath him, all had left him breathless, frankly caught unawares, still unused to the urge to get close to you even after all this time, and the strange feelings that coursed through his fair form that he had never experienced before setting his gaze upon you. He had passed a few golden afternoons like this - perhaps many if he were ever honest - watching and waiting for you, but every occasion felt like a lifetime, which for Mairon was indeed no understatement.

Frustration coursed through him, filling the pit of his stomach with a strange churning at the thought of losing you; it was a feeling he couldn't quite place, nor come to terms with. These mortal forms were not for him, he decided, the lack of clarity in these feelings was suffering enough, and he turned to leave, embarrassed now that he had let it get this far. It was a foolish errand, carried out once too often, following you through the forest with no thought but to see what you would do if you only turned around, saw him, embraced him-

A sharp crack rang out through the trees as he snapped a branch under his feet in his haste, all thoughts of moving in the shadows abandoned as his self-admonishment moved him to run, to leave now before he could become entangled with you. But as he scolded himself for his lack of self control, he heard you call out.

"Who's there? Did you find me? And here I was, hoping for some peace," you laugh, expecting your friends to join you as you wade in the crystal clear waters.

Your eyes widen and you stare at the stranger who appears as if from the shadows themselves, a small smile gracing his face. He is ethereal, and frankly you have never beheld a being more beautiful, but for the first time in your life, a small voice deep in your mind advises caution.

"I didn't mean to startle you, young one," his smooth voice reaches your ears and sends tingles from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

"You didn't," you lie, after a long pause, not wanting to discomfort him any more than he seemed to be. Blood rushed to your face as he regards you intensely, as if you'd met before.

"Were you looking for something? The pool perhaps? It is a warm day, I couldn't be too surprised to find someone else had the same idea." You gesture to yourself with your skirts around your waist, legs submerged.

He steps closer, still regarding you, his smile widening. You had said something right apparently, and you couldn't shake the feeling of satisfaction that his lovely smile gave you; as long as he kept looking at you like that, you felt you might be content forever, such were the tender pangs your heart suddenly felt in his presence. You didn't even know his name, and so immediately you ask.

"I have many names," he articulates carefully, eyes on yours, unblinking.

"So what name should I use for you?" You ask teasingly, beginning to step out of the water, wringing the edges of your skirts out.

Unthinking he stretches out his hand, and as if on instinct, you take it, not needing the assistance but immediately grateful you took it. His hand is warm and strong, and encircles yours comfortingly, fitting perfectly. A wave of some strange feeling overtakes you, a heat beginning in your abdomen, flowing through you. You've never experienced it before, but from what you have heard from your married kin, it might be called lust.

Your face feeling hot now, you look away, anywhere but at this beautiful stranger, and notice a small dark stain blooming on his shoe. Your eyes widen and you drop to your knees to look closer, unheeding of the change in his stance as he takes you in from above. What magic could you wield over him in this position, he wonders.

"You're hurt, my lord," you motion to his foot, and he realises that in his trance, the branch had broken his sole and pierced his flesh. The pain had gone unnoticed until now, your spell over him seeming to soothe any ill in his body or soul, but now that you'd pointed it out, he winced and cursed this body of flesh and bone, so easily vulnerable to the perils of mortality, even if his fëa was not.

"Come, let me look at it, it might be serious," you beckon him to follow you to a fallen tree trunk, lying oh so conveniently on its side, as if waiting for two lovers to take their seats on its bark. He stands awkwardly, watching you, his brow furrowed as if he had no idea what you have planned, before you laugh and pull him to sit. Without ceremony, you strip him of his shoe and examine the wound.

"That is a lot of blood for such a small wound," you murmur, tracing the arch of his foot. You find yourself touching his skin a fraction too long, and without looking at him, you straighten and go back to the pool.

His eyes never leave you, even as you avoid his gaze, ripping a strip of gauzy fabric from your dress and wetting it, before hurrying back. Almost imperceptible to the average observer, your hands shake, but he is not the average observer, and he has observed you for quite a while now. You're nervous, he realises with a tiny smirk, and it thrills him, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. All these new feelings this body gave him, they don't appear to cease evolving while you're this close, close enough that he feels your breath on his skin and nearly gasps. He needs to pull himself together, but try as he might, alas, your kindness was intoxicating. He had known such goodness in Aman when he'd dwelt there with his kin, if you could call them that, but his recent company was somewhat lacking in that department.

You sit back on your haunches and look once more at the wound, now nearly clean and seemingly smaller than it had been. Shrugging to yourself, you carefully dab away the blood that still drips onto the ground beneath you, soaking into the moss and ferns; you don't notice how they seem to brown and wilt with each drop.

"Is everything alright, my lady?" He asks, quick to notice your confusion, eager to distract you from the plants at your knees.

His lady, that did sound delightful. You know it is a manner of speech, but for a moment it is rather blissful to imagine it, the lady to this gracious lord.

"I think I might have overestimated how badly you were injured, it seems to be only a scratch," you reply, still a little bemused as to the disproportionate amount of blood. How were you to know that he could heal himself with nary a thought.

You start to pull away, but he is reluctant to let you go so soon, wishing for a moment it had been a serious matter, that he would require all of your gentle care and undivided attention for the foreseeable future, kicking himself that he didn't allow the wound to fester and bloom. He casts about for any excuse and uncharacteristically lands on a weak one.

"Your dress, my lady, how can I make it up to you? After all, your efforts ought not be in vain." He knows how to ingratiate himself with most folk, and makes the most of his skills to do so, but there is a tiny part of him now that actually feels he owes a kindness in return. It's an alien notion, and he attempts to brush it aside, but as he lingers in your presence, he realises that he would sooner abduct you from this glade than let you leave him, and if a kindness is what it will take, then he will fulfil it.

A small crinkle appears in your brow, then you glance down at the torn hem and chuckle.

"It is nothing, my lord, easily fixed, and anyone would have done the same." You graciously reply.

The way you look up at him through your lashes, his heart skips a beat; he didn't even know it could do that.

Your small nervous smile becomes radiant, beaming even, as you bask in the glow of the dappled light illuminating his face. You realise you don't want him to leave just yet, inexplicably drawn to his presence, and you cast about for any reason at all that would keep him here.

"I'm afraid your shoe is a little wet." To your credit, it actually is wet, full of blood, but in an inexplicable act to scupper his departure, before he can react and you can elaborate, you find yourself holding it on the water's edge.

Your hands move faster than your brain, and you drop it into the shallows, looking him dead in the eye.

For a moment, all is still between you, and you bite your lip, your mischievous grin suddenly uneasy as your mind catches up with you and you consider what in all of Middle Earth you just did. This is a total stranger, an ethereallly beautiful one at that, and you have no idea how he will react to your escapade. You straighten and wring your hand a little behind your back, awaiting a wrath that would never come.

"It would appear it is very wet, my lady." And he throws back his head and laughs long and hard, a sound that you want to elicit from him again and again.

When you are lying entwined together, many years and hardships later, he will ask you what you were thinking, and as ever you answer him honestly: you only wanted him to stay, however you had to do it.

With a playful laugh, you retrieve the sodden shoe and shake it off, before holding it out to him. He can still leave, you think, but it will be mighty awkward.

He takes it, throws it behind him, kicks off his other shoe, and shrugs off his robe. Your mouth falls open a little and you lick your lips unconsciously, as his frame is revealed, taut and lean, through his thin shirt. He rucks up his trousers and joins you in the shallow water, shivering a little at the sensation.

Instinctively, you outstretch your hand to steady him, and he takes it without thinking. His touch soothes any nerves you had and sparks a fire that seems to trail up your arm and end in your aching chest. You hadn't noticed you were holding your breath and slowly exhaled, careful not to alert him to your sudden onslaught of sensation. He considers you for a moment, smile tugging at his lips, seemingly fascinated by where you are joined, fingers entwined. And then he has a mad idea.

The tension in the air is cut by a sudden splash of water on your face, and as you clear your eyes, you realise he was the one that had thrown it. He had seen many an elf play-fighting in the water all the time, throwing it at one another joyously, victory seemingly determined by who doused their opponents the most. He had never partaken, obviously, but now inspiration took him, and you had made the first move with his shoe, but now as he watched your face screw up with indignation, water in your eyes and hair, he wasn't so sure it was the right jest with which to entice you.

For a moment you are dumbfounded. This stranger, whose name you still didn't even know, whom you'd only met in the last hour, had started a water fight.

Seemingly affronted, you snatch your hand away and make to leave, turning your back to him. His face falls and he realises this was probably not the way to win your affections.

"My lady, I-" his apology is cut short by an armful of water to the face, as you reach down into the pool and swing as much as you can in his general direction in one fell swoop.

Cackling with triumphant laughter, you can't help but feel a little sorry for him as he stands there absolutely sopping wet, eyebrows in his hairline, looking positively flabbergasted. Unfortunately for you, his eyes narrow as he realises your subterfuge, and the game commences.

It is over soon enough, the two of you emerging soaked and giggling like children, having run rings around each other and giving as good as you got, both of you thoroughly avenged. As you both wade back to shore, he takes your hand and holds it in the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, lords and ladies, I present the victor of the battle-"

He is interrupted by the both of you breaking down into breathless laughter once again, two strangers no more.

On the sandy bank, he climbs out first, and awaits you, but you hold back.

"What should I call you then, my lord, unless that is what you prefer to be named?" You have to ask, needing introductions now you had so thoroughly beaten him in battle, never mind your fascination with him, the overwhelming urge to pull him close.

"I have many names, my lady, and you have not yet told me yours," he replies, almost but not quite frowning at you, confused as to why it really matters, why you would need to know who he is after having passed such a pleasurable afternoon together.

"You first, I asked you before and you avoided the question." Your expression is now serious; why would he want to conceal himself from you, after you had passed such a pleasurable afternoon together?

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I have many names, but the one I prefer," he holds his breath a little, still unsure as to how you might receive him, "is Mairon."

After a long pause, in which he considers fleeing, or possibly burning the forest down, your expression brightens as you mull over his name, feel it in your mouth, wonder over the meaning.

"That is beautiful," you murmur, "the admirable? You must be something wonderful to have earned such a name, my lord."

Relief washes over him as he realises his true name must not yet be known in these parts; rumours and slander would not colour his attempts to woo you after all.

His gaze softens as he watches you taste his name on your tongue, and he has a sudden aching longing to know what it sounds like when you're on your back and breathless under him. Surely nothing could be sweeter.

"And you, love, what am I to call you?" He is so struck by you, he barely notices the crucial detail that slips from his lips, but you do, and you regard him with a strange look he can't place.

Love, he said, so casually and so delicious to hear, your breath hitches and for a second the world spins. You've only just met this man, if he is even a man, and he uses such pet names as if you've known each other a lifetime.

"Amarië, that's what everyone calls me." You had almost forgotten he had asked, and it was only the silence between you that reminded you to answer.

"Goodness. A fitting name for so virtuous a maiden." He steps closer, still on the bank, oh so tall above you, the light through the trees illuminating him from behind, leaving his features in shadow.

Of course, he already knew your name, and had always thought it fitting. Indeed, it was one of the reasons he had hesitated to approach you, for surely one so good could not possibly want nor need one such as him, despite the ache in his heart that told him you were his to take, the rest of Arda be damned. He knew his purpose in Arda was a valiant one; his methods, however, he was aware they were... contestable.

Your face grows hot at his compliment, and you look down and away, anywhere but at his gaze, currently fixed on you, intense and contemplative. He gently lifts your chin, seeming to study your every feature, every nuance in your expression until he sees what he desires.

A shadow passes over his face, before he tightens his grip and finally pulls you from the shallow water. You stumble a little, but he is right there to catch you, strong arms around you as your free hand is crushed between you, pressed against his chest. His eyes are dark, scaring you and thrilling you all at once, like a wolf studying its prey before their total annihilation. Then he takes your face in his hands and claims your lips, as if he's finally satisfying some dark long-held urge, and you cannot help but melt.

It is as if he has done this a thousand times before, teasing you with his tongue, demanding entrance to your mouth as if he wants to drown in you.

Electric tingles spread over your skin everywhere he touches, from your neck where he grips you softly, to your lips he has claimed for his own, to your waist that he refuses to yield from his embrace.

He is unrelenting, refusing to let you come up for air, even as you claw at his arms for release. Finally he seems to realise his mistake and pulls back, lips swollen and parted in pleasure. You take a deep breath, chuckling a little as you do so.

"You are no Elf, my lord Mairon," you remark, righting your dress and smoothing your hair where he had wound his fingers.

With a slightly apologetic smirk, he nods. "I am something far greater, my love, so from time to time, I might forget such... intricacies."

In this moment, you feel as though your heart might burst, wanting him close, touching you, encircling you. But a shiver travels down your spine as the little voice whispering warnings becomes a scream, beholding him not as an ethereal being sent to ravish you, but a danger to ruin you. It was all too brief and you shook it off, for how could this beautiful creature ever mean you harm?

Evening becomes night, and you migrate from the tree trunk to the forest floor. Nestled into him with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you share the basket of berries that will surely be missed at the feast of your kin, and talk for hours about everything and nothing. He tells you of his work, that he is a smith and loves nothing more than to create beautiful things, but he has never had more exquisite inspiration than you.

He seems to know just what to say, soft words whispered only to please you, and all you want is more. He traces his fingers up and down your arm, across your collarbone, into the shell of your ear, idly mapping every inch of you.

He doesn't press you further than gentle touches and tiny kisses peppering your skin. Perhaps though he is no Elf, he is aware of your people's customs, that to give yourself to him in body would be to make the two of you one forever, body and soul. You're not so sure that isn't what you want, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless; after all, you have only known him an afternoon.

It takes all of his self-restraint to suppress the urge to take you here and now, after all, who were you to stop him? But he wanted you when you were ready for him, mind, body, and soul, and he was willing to wait, even if it took an age. Admittedly it would be a difficult wait, he muses, as he realises the close proximity of your body to his is having an unexpected effect on him. He shifts position to avoid you noticing how hard he is just from touching you, and he prays to any of the Valar who might have an ear for him that his wait for you will be swift.

You twirl a tiny flower idly between your forefinger and thumb, gazing up at the heavens, your other hand wrapped in his. You are such exquisite inspiration, he muses, smirking as he realises he can have you after all. He sits up, making you groan, robbed of his warmth.

"What are you doing, love?" You complain, taking a slightly petulant tone that makes him chuckle.

"You'll see, patience is a virtue," he reaches out with his closest hand and smoothes your hair, gesturing for you to lie back down.

You kick your feet a little, suitably admonished but impatient still.

"Come back to me, I had just got comfortable, and you've ruined it now!" You laugh at him, his back turned to you so you can't make out what he is doing.

You sigh long and loud, earning an affectionate chuckle, before you lay back down and close your eyes. It is but a few moments later that he grasps your hand and pulls you up to face him. When you see what he has readied, you gasp, tears pricking your eyes.

Purple irises grow with literal wild abandon in these fields and you had always loved them, weaving them in your hair and stitching their image on your garb. In his hand, perched on his fingertips as if it is the most precious thing in creation, is a tiny iris in full bloom, its slender stem wound and plaited into a ring, with its gorgeous indigo flower crowning it like no diamond ever could.

He is on his knees in front of you, ring in hand, and for a second you cannot quite put the pieces together. You have known him a day, if that? It is a beautiful gift, but can you accept the deeper meaning behind it, that seems to lie in his expression, if not his words.

"It is beautiful, my lord," you sigh, "I think I shall require your aid in putting it on, it is so delicate after all."

Your heart aches at his wide smile, the crinkle of his eyes as he wordlessly slips it onto the fourth finger of your left hand, which surely he cannot know would mean-

"I would make you mine, my love, if you would have me," he murmurs, heart beating out of his chest, sentiment momentarily making him soft and weak for you.

So he does know the significance, and in an instant you feel as though you've been doused in liquid fire, nerves tying your stomach in knots, regarding his gift on your finger with equal parts trepidation and excitement.

You close the space between you and grasp his face with both hands, claiming his lips for your own, fingers travelling to his hair and over the pointed tips of his ears. He moans deep in his chest and pushes you backwards into your makeshift bed, peppering you with kisses until all your skin is ablaze.

"I am yours," you breathe, words so soft he might have missed them, had you not whispered directly into his ear, clutching his neck and whimpering as he maps every uncovered inch of you he can reach with his lips.

He groans, a noise so guttural it surprises you in the best way, sending a wave of arousal to between your legs. He rolls his hips against yours, and you feel something hard against your mound, through all the layers of fabric between you.

The stars blaze above you, hot and bright, but they have nothing on the way he makes you feel. You have heard of love at first sight, but never thought it might happen to you, that it was rare enough if it happened at all.

His hot breath trails down your neck to your collarbone, and his clever fingers work to unlace you from the fabric shielding you from his gaze. He stops a moment, breathing heavily.

"Tell me you want this -" his silver tongue licks your ear and sucks at your neck. "Tell me you need this."

His gaze is so heated, and his voice rough with arousal, that you clench your legs together to relieve that ache that has been building there since you met him. It seems like forever ago now, impossible that it has not even been a day.

"I need you," you hiss, desperate for any touch he'll bestow upon you. "...I'll always need you, now that I have you, I can't let you go."

Your words shatter the last remaining resolve he had not to ruin you, and he takes you as his own. Stripping every inch of you until you are bare before him, desperate for his skin on yours, he wraps you in his arms, legs entwined with yours. The violent urge to claim you was not satisfied, but he would have plenty of time to show you all of him; tonight was your wedding night, and you deserved what gentleness he could provide.

He runs his fingers through your slick, fascinated by how wet you are for him. Perhaps these mortal forms were not so bad after all.

You moan his name and beg for more, though you cannot possibly know what you are asking for. His lascivious grin sends tremors through you, a swooping feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you there is no going back now.

He loosens himself from his trousers, shucks them off almost clumsily in his haste to be inside you. He is beautiful, you reflect, as you take in his bare torso, his strong legs, and all the flesh in between. His size shocks you a little and you wonder how he plans to use it.

He sees your eyes widen and immediately covers you with his body, kissing softly at your neck so to better hear your tiny sounds of pleasure. In time he will make you scream, he vows.

"It's alright, love," he reassures you with a soft smile, "I've got you, I won't let it hurt."

His fingers move in comforting circles in the small of your back, at the apex of your thighs, across your mound. He gathers the slick from your entrance, readying himself with a stroke. He is already so painfully hard, but he has to come inside you, no way will he waste his seed on the forest floor.

He holds your gaze as he lowers himself to between your thighs, wrapping your legs around him.

"Pull me to you, love, make me yours," he pants, cock straining at your entrance, waiting for you to take the plunge.

It's like standing at a precipice; the fear of falling is so closely tied to the fear of jumping. But you bite your lip and dig your fingernails into his back, tighten your calves, and pull his lower body into yours.

You want to scream, the stretch is too much, he is too big and he's hitting somewhere delicious inside you that makes you see stars. He doesn't move, letting you feel all of him, relishing in you taking him like the good girl you are.

"Well done, love, so good for me, you feel so fucking good," he exhales, towering over you while the moon illuminates him from behind, leaving his expression inscrutable.

His fingers on your abdomen are so soothing, the stinging stretch you felt disappears, leaving only white hot pleasure in its wake. You begin to move your hips against him, aching for more friction, more skin on yours, you'd take anything he would give you.

At first his movements are slow and rhythmical, as if you are made of glass, but your impatient whines encourage him to release himself upon you, snapping his hips in time to your thrusts against him, endlessly surprised but thrilled at your eagerness to please him. He has chosen so well.

The intensity of the moment gets the better of both of you, and before long you are chanting his name in his ear, chasing your inevitable ruin on his cock.

He comes first, much to his eternal embarrassment, unable to prevent spilling inside you as your tight cunt clenches his flesh. You feel him pulse inside you and it tips you over the edge, a silent scream on your lips as fire overtakes your flesh and leaves you drowning in him.

For a second, you behold each other as you truly are, not in body but spirit, and it terrifies you; you see something black as the darkest night throwing off flames that lick at your being, triggering that sick swooping feeling in your abdomen again. He is enthralled by you, bright and radiant like the morning star, and he wants to coat himself in your light, drink it in and burn all of Arda until there is nothing but the two of you in the cosmos.

His attentions to your neck slow and he leans back to look at you in all your glory, radiant under him in body and soul, as you lazily trace his hips with your fingers, coming down from your high and needing nothing more than to be held.

"You did so well, my love, so good for me," he whispers as he releases you from his grasp, laying you down beside him and pressing himself against your back with his arm slung over your torso possessively.

Your eyes begin to droop with the lateness of the hour and the exertion of your wedding night, and while he murmurs in your ear how much he loves you, how proud he is of you, how much he needs you, you take his hand and sleepily press a kiss to his palm. You snuggle in closer as he draws his robe around the pair of you against the night's chill, and slowly drift off, a smile on your face even in sleep.

He gazes at you adoringly, murmuring sweet nothings as your body relaxes into his.

"Beautiful girl, only mine," his voice is so soft yet somehow it finds you even as you begin to slumber. "My sweet wife, we will know peace together, I swear it to you."

He wants to claw inside his own chest and pull his treacherous heart out with his bare hands, for surely that pain would be easier to bear than this. He curses himself for being so weak, and you for being so tempting, before closing his eyes to join you.

He thought by having you, possessing you, that these feelings might be assuaged, that the urgency he felt to be near you would fade, and he could move on from this unique torment. Alas they had increased a hundredfold, and he swore on his fëa itself that no harm would ever come to you, that he would cherish you all his days.

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

No, I don't wanna fall in love with you

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #the rings of power #my fic #i know the lore fairly well but tbh I've messed about with it bc it's my fic and i do what i want 😂#so there was no sex but i got into the hades/persephone vibes of him just doing it and marrying her the night of revealing himself #so now there's sex lmfao #its like playing with barbies and making them kiss 😅😂#it's a longer part than planned i kept adding to it smh #anyway enjoy!!

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famesau · 4 months ago

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Red Dead Headcanons

Finally making this post! All headcanons sfw ( unless y'all freaky ass want nsfw ones...) These are MY personal headcanons people so don't fight me if you don't like them.

P.s. sorry that Kieran has more than the others 😭 I really love him y'all.

Kieran Duffy

He has bad attachment issues after joining the gang.

He snorts when he laughs and he tells bad jokes but thinks he’s hilarious.

He has a lot of acne scars/scabs because he has a bad habit of picking his skin when he's nervous.

He is always fidgeting. With his nails, his hand, grass, his clothes, his hair you name it.

He falls asleep anywhere, when he’s not with the horses he’ll often dose off somewhere random. Arthur finds him sleeping standing up more times than you’d think.

He loves to dance but has no rhyme.

He treasures anything nice someone says to him as well as gifts. If he likes you he’ll take extra care of your horse. Sometimes leaving small flowers in their mane.

Acts of service all the way. He enjoys physical touch but gets scared to initiate or receive it. He likes to be useful and make your days easier so if he sees you working he’ll always offer a helping hand. He may not like physical touch at first but once he is comfortable with you he’ll be very clingy but mindful.

He has a tight grasp when he hugs people, it’s unintentional most times.

He loves tight hugs/ compression. When he sleeps he’ll wrap his arms tightly around himself, it helps him sleep. If he's sleeping with his partner he enjoys being the little spoon, he loves being hugged.

Bad at reading sarcasm, and takes things too literally a lot.

Really bad time perception. He’ll mess up the days often if he isn’t reminded.

His favorite type of physical touch is hand-holding. After brushing the horses and doing chores his hands get really sore. So he’d love it when his partner holds and massages his hands for him.

Extremely low self-confidence. When someone finds him attractive he thinks they're messing with him. It takes a lot to convince him you’re attracted to him but that won’t stop him from blushing.

Has very light freckles all over his body, most prominent on his chest and shoulders.

He has very prominent collarbones.

Javier Escuella

He has dimples, crooked teeth, and a lopsided smile cuz I said so.

Servely touch deprived. If given the chance to experience any sort of physical touch he’d gladly take it and deeply enjoy it. That being said his love language is physical touch. He loves all sorts of physical touch, hand holding, face holding, hugs, kisses, cuddling you name it.

Terribe flirts however when someone flirts with him back he gets extremely flustered. He’s very easy to fluster.

He has a very earthy scent. He often smells of sage and mint.

If he dates someone he is a very romantic lover, he loves singing songs for them and being physical, and his flirts are still pretty bad.

He cannot stand the cold and gets cold really quick.

When he was younger he did at a point like Hosea more but that obviously changed as he grew older.

He definitely has a collection of butterfly knives. ( Loves showing them off anytime he can)

If his partner plays in his hair/ scratches his scalp, he'll get drowsy. It's the easiest way to put him to sleep.

Surprisingly good at foraging. Being on his own for a while and thanks to Hosea he's good at identifying plants

Charles Smith

His way of showing interest in someone is by sharing nature and animal facts with you. He talks a little more but it’s usually just facts.

He always smells good, usually smells of wildflowers and herbs. also shea butter. The girls would often compliment him on how good he smelled.

He cannot handle his drinks however he never gets hangovers. When he’s drunk in camp you can find him watching bugs. He will get hostile if you kill them (only if you’re Bill or Micah) if not then he’ll just be really sad.

Love language is acts of service. He’ll craft things for you, help you with chores, or do them for you depending on the day. Actions speak louder than words, especially for him so he shows he cares for you by helping you with tasks.

He's autistic. We all know it.

Parallel play 100%. Ex: While he’s working on arrows or cravings Artur would sit next to him and journal. They never really say anything unless they’re about to leave but they both enjoy each other's presence deeply.

He likes to collect things, it is a small collection (due to them being on the run) but he loves collecting bones, rocks, feathers, animal teeth, etc. + bonus if Arthur is out and sees something Charles likes he’ll bring I back to him an leave it spots Charles often hangs out it. (He knows Arthur is doing it, he loves it)

He doesn’t think he’s that attractive.

He loves to knit, and sew too, his earrings and necklace he wears he made.

Isn't a physical person nor does he like being touched much but he loves to get back, shoulder, and neck rubs. That man is always working he’d deeply appericate the massage.

Dutch Van Der Linde

He’s really good at writing poems, he likes to write about the weather or how the day goes. Would write Molly short poems and slip them in her book.

Spends a lot of time taking care of his features. The type to have customized hair products with his initials engraved on them.

Used hair dye to cover up his grey streaks. Gave up after a while.

He’s a very romantic man, goes all the stops. Matching jewelry, nice clothes, dancing with you, reading to you, you name it. Shows you off whenever you’re out too

Love language is physical touch and words of affirmation. He tells and happily shows you how much he loves and cares for you.

Has a smoky, almost nutty natural scent but likes to smell like vanilla and lavender.

Has a big sweet tooth, and loves dark chocolate especially.

He likes to hug from behind but adores it when he gets hugged from behind. If he’s dating someone he’ll enjoy reading to them while they hugg him from behind. Makes him feel all giddy.

#rdr2 #red dead 2 #red dead redemption 2 #kieran duffy #dutch van der linde #charles smith #javier escuella #rdr headcanons

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lyubovsdiary · 2 months ago

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Unexpected guest

a.aretas x f!reader

summary: after going on a camping trip, you meet an interesting man who might be just what you needed

(set right after the end of the fourth bad boys movie)

a/n: english isn’t my first language and I wrote this on my phone at like 2 am, so ignore any mistakes you see pls. this is my first time writing something of this type, but the idea wouldn‘t leave my head so I decided to try putting into words what goes on inside my head. I also didn’t want to jump into like full on love, because they just met and I don’t wanna rush the falling in love part. they still flirt tho

You had loved camping since you were little. The first time your dad took you and your brother to a forest to “get you off the damn tv” and spend some time together, you’d fallen in love.

The calmness of the forest around you with the exception of the occasional rustling of leaves or some wild animal running around looking for food was one of your favorite things in the world.

The isolation from the rest of the world was something you craved, needed even when the weight of your job, people who constantly expected something from you and all the responsibilities which came with being an adult piled up and dimmed the joy you usually found in being alive.

So, to take care of yourself and make sure you didn’t hurt people you loved because of the attitude you caught when you got too irritated, you took a couple of days off and decided to go camping in the area you’ve been going to since you were little.

Making sure that you had taken care of everything needed, you got into your car and made your way to your usual camping site. After arriving and taking all your supplies with you, you decided to make camp next to the river which cut through the forest.

While you set up your tent you listened to the birds sing and took a deep breath. The smell of fresh air accompanied by pinecones and damp moss equalled a rich, earthy aroma that fought off the stress and calmed your nerves quickly.

Stepping back to admire the tent you had now successfully set up, you decided to reward yourself with a nap. Sleeping now meant that you could stargaze longer later and that’s something you adored doing.

Laying down feeling content, you quickly fell into a restful slumber.

Suddenly you heard rustling right outside of your tent. Looking around you, you saw that your bag full of camping supplies wasn’t there. You must have forgotten to take it with you when you went inside.

Mentally slapping yourself, you decide to go out and get it. It was probably a deer looking for something to eat. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened.

Rubbing your eyes to get rid of the remnants of sleep which were still clinging to you, you left the safety of your tent, only to be greeted by a tree branch being swung at your face. Quickly ducking and scrambling to get out of the way of the reappearing branch coming at you like a baseball bat, you notice the man attacking you standing next to your open bag.

“What the fuck- stop! C’mon man I’m not even doing anything! Goddamn it, stop swinging that thing around!” You yelled while throwing up your hands in a placaring gesture, trying to convince the young man in front of you to stop trying to kill you.

The man had a calculating look in his eyes when he looked you up and down as if to decide whether or not you were a threat. Ultimately deciding you weren’t one, he lowered the dead tree and took a few steps back.

“I’m definitely awake now,” you mumbled as you slowly stood up and finally got a good look at him.

The guy was fucking gorgeous. Everything about him was perfect. He had tanned skin, the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen, freshly cut curls and a trimmed beard. If not for the cut on the upper half of his cheek, you would’ve thought you had hallucinated the most majestic man your mind could come up with.

The cut was bleeding sloppily and now that you were looking for it, you noticed the strange guy was also holding onto his left side. On top of that he had blood smeared all over him, though you weren’t sure whether it was his or somebody else’s.

That thought worried you somewhat, but there was something about him that pulled you in. You weren’t sure what it was, but you weren’t going to put your life in a possible serial killer’s hands because of a hunch, so you kept your distance for now.

“There’s a first aid kit in there,” you broke the silence when it became clear he wouldn’t say anything. “If you want some help you’re gonna have to drop the tree branch and at least tell me your name or something.”

His brown eyes focused on yours for a long while, before muttering out “Armando” in a heavy accent. Armando slowly put down his makeshift baseball bat while maintaining eye contact.

You couldn’t lie, it was attractive as hell. Staying true to your words, you crossed the distance between the two of you and kneeled next to your bag to find the bandages you had packed just this morning. Feeling his eyes on you, you quickly found the kit and turned to the guy- Armando.

“Are you gonna sit down?” you asked timidly, not wanting to scare him off. He stared some more before settling down on the ground.

You turned to him with a piece of cotton dripping with antiseptic in your hand. “This’ll hurt,” you warn before cleaning the cut on his face. Armando doesn’t flinch, but you see his jaw clenching. Being this close to him made you hyper aware of his warm breath hitting the side of your face softly.

“What happened to you?” you asked, trying to strike up a conversation although your previous efforts were fruitless. Armando doesn’t answer right away, but as you start to put a bandage on his face he murmurs “Had to fight off some guys.”

You hum and look his face over one more time. “How are your ribs?” This time the man responds right away. “No te preocupes, I’m fine.”

“Sorry, what’d you say? I took French in school, not Spanish,” you told him, ignoring how enticing the words in the foreign language sounded rolling off his tongue.

Armando smirks at you and shakes his head. “Just that you shouldn’t worry about me, dulce niña. You don’t know me,” he claims with an easy smile.

“Yeah, but you obviously need help. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been rummaging in my things a couple of minutes ago. I won’t tell anyone you were here if you don’t want me to, but at least let me help you,” you said while looking at him. He could be dangerous, you knew that. But you also didn’t want him to die here if he had more injuries than you initially thought.

“If you don’t want me to do it, I can drive you to a hospital-“ Before you got to finish the sentence, Armando grabbed your wrist firmly, but not painfully.

“No hospital,” he declared in a pleading voice. His brown eyes were staring into yours, begging to listen. “Por favor, dulce niña. No hospital.”

“Alright, alright,” you sighed. “But tell me if you change your mind. For now, let’s take a look at those ribs.” Armando lifted up his shirt, allowing you to see his toned chest and a couple of cuts along his torso. As you inspected them, they didn’t seem to be too deep, so you repeated the same process as with the cut on his cheek.

While you were busy taking care of Armando’s wounds, he was busy looking at you. He couldn’t stop staring at your concentrated face, the way you had your eyebrows scrunched together and you bit the inside of your lower lip every time he made a sound that counted as a sign of pain.

He even tested it out to confirm his theory. At one point he grunted while you were putting antiseptic on a particularly large gash and you uttered apologies, after slightly biting into your cheek.

Armando smiled to himself as you continued to work. He hadn’t expected to come across someone like you. Hell, he didn’t even think there was someone like you. A person so genuinely good it made him feel unworthy to be in your presence. Making him feel as if he’ll stain you by merely talking to you.

But at the same time Armando didn’t want to leave your side. The fact that you would show him such kindness and trust, although you had no idea who he was, was incomprehensible to him. Your soft and considerate touches were a strong contrast to the last years during which he was in prison. There was nothing soft in prison.

But after he got out, kindness and trust still weren’t freely given. His father hadn’t been unkind to him, but he still treated him like a criminal. Not to speak of Kelly, who trusted him as far as she could throw him. No, trust is precious. It’s hard to earn and easy to lose. And yet, you were in front of him, unarmed. Helping him while compromising yourself.

He couldn’t let the first person who treated him like a person again, get taken advantage of. Because people like you - genuinely kind people - always got taken advantage of.

Once all of Armando’s wounds were dressed, your stomach rumbled loud enough to crack a smile out of him. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment, but your sole focus was on the way Armando’s eyes crinkled when he smiled and the way he turned his head as to not laugh in his face.

“Are you hungry too? I packed too much food, so we can share if you’d like,” you make known while searching through your bag for the mentioned food.

Armando looks at you in disbelief. “I can’t just take your food, nena.”

“Yeah, you can. I offered, didn’t I?” you said while pulling out two sandwiches. You don’t give Armando a chance to protest, before dropping it on his lap. He glares at you, but still grabs the sandwich and peels off the napkin you had wrapped it in.

“Muchas gracias. It’s very good,” Armando complimented between bites.

“That much I can understand. Thanks, but it’s not the best cuisine. If we weren’t in the middle of the forest, I’d have made something better, but this should be enough to not starve for now,” you chuckled.

While the two of you were eating, the sun had started to set. Turning your head, you let the sun shine on your face and revelled in its warmth. After the excitement due to the first meeting of you and Armando, the peaceful feeling had returned and you were enjoying every minute of your trip here.

Meanwhile, Armando was captivated at the sight before him. The sun illuminated your face, making your features pop and your skin glisten. He was sure he had never seen anything as beautiful before.

The moment stretched on, as neither of you wanted it to stop. Yet, the nighttime fell and something even better appeared. Hundreds of thousands of stars brightened the dark sky. Each one shining brighter than a thousand diamonds and at least ten times as beautiful.

Armando moved next to you as the both of you admired the sight in front of you with shining eyes. You hadn’t been able to see that many stars due to living in a big city, where the pollution has covered up too much of the sky to be able to see more than a handful of them. Armando couldn’t see any stars at all in jail. Their beauty was a privilege not offered to criminals such as him.

After a while you felt a sudden weight on your shoulder. Armando - the big strong guy you had mistaken for someone who would hurt you - was snoring softly on your shoulder after stargazing with you. Shaking your head while silently laughing, you tried to calm yourself. This sounded like the best date ever, if not for the fact that you had to stitch him up beforehand.

And maybe because you didn’t know much besides his name, but that’s not important right now.

After a long while in which you enjoyed the cool night due to Armando’s body heat warming you enough to be comfortable, you tried to get him inside the tent without waking him up, but to no avail. Armando woke up as soon as you disappeared under his shoulder, looking around drowsily.

“Where’re you goin’?” he asked while getting up from his place on the ground. You grabbed Armando’s shoulder to steady him and directed him to the entrance of the tent you had set up hours ago.

“Shh, go to sleep baby. I’m not going anywhere,” you said, emboldened by the night and the big eyes he was looking at you with. If anything, he looked even more handsome in the moonlight coming through the opened door.

You quickly brought in your bag from outside, not willing to make the same mistake as before. After zipping up the entrance to the tent, you grabbed your blanket from your bag and set it over Armando.

Laying down on the other side of the tent, you suddenly realized how small it really was. The one person tent allowed a distance of mere centimetres between the two of you, but you kept your distance.

Seeing you shiver right next to him, Armando grabbed you by the waist and dragged you next to him. “Eres tan terco, dios mio,” he whispered while adjusting the blanket over you.

Feeling comfortable and safe in his arms, you quickly fell asleep. Maybe forgetting your bag outside wasn’t so stupid after all.

Translations:

“No te preocupes,…” - Don’t worry

“…dulce niña.” - sweet girl

“Por favor, dulce niña.” - Please, sweet girl

“…nena.” - babe/baby

“Muchas gracias…” - Thank you very much

“Eres tan terco, dios mio.” - You’re so stubborn, my God

All translations made with a translator because I do actually take French in school! (it was that or Latin 😔😔)

#armando aretas #armando aretas x reader #armando aretas x you #armando aretas x y/n #writing #armando lowrey #armando armas #bad boys #bad boys ride or die #bad boys for life #armando x female reader #armando x f!reader #armando being soft #this is really fluffy #lyubovsdiary #lyubovvwrites

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cindol · 4 months ago

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if ur requests are open can I request earthy black girl! reader x jjk men i love ur writing lots

jjk men and their earthy black gf !

jujutsu kaisen x black fem reader

incl — nanami kento , sukuna ryomen, gojo satoru, geto suguru and shiu kong .

cw + — established relationships, slightly suggestive with gojo, reader has locs, cult leader geto,

| NANAMI KENTO

he originally met you when saving you from a curse on your shoulder before it could develop and kill you in his usual bakery. It confused you when he tapped your shoulder and got you turning to him but he made up the excuse of swatting a fly away and ever since you developed a relationship with you.

Nanami’s favorite thing about you was how in touch you were with your roots and how you weren’t someone very big on technology, a simple tv and android does good for you and that’s just how he liked it with you.

Nanami's usual activity with you was to stroll through your garden with you just picking any fruit or veggie and in season flowers.

You always refuse to let him go without a meal after work. You always saw how drained he looked after work and tutted at that while prepping to cook.

“aye, just stay there baby. You’re crazy if you think I’ll let my boyfriend just go to bed without a meal.” saying it while getting ready to chop up some veggies and greens for a soup.

Your relationship with plants is what impressed, hearing you coo and sing at your venus flytrap while plopping a bug into it’s trapping mouth made him curious and intrigued.

“if you don’t mind me asking dear, what makes you sing to it?”

you were still humming while feeding the plant their bug of the day then stopped to answer.“a venus plant is a living thing, kento and living beings need some love and words of encouragement to grow, don't cha’ think?”

| SUKUNA RYOMEN

sukuna’s old school, always has been and always will be so your earthy nature wasn’t something he was bothered by. How natural you were with everything you did reminded him of his childhood in a way, always seeing his mother in their garden.

As earthy as you are he refused to let you garden in dirty gloves, he actually scoffed in disbelief seeing you in the gloves.” you needed a new pair of gloves you could’ve really told me woman.’’

You abruptly stopped to chuckle at your boyfriend.’’i’m not a materialistic person ‘kuna, these gloves of mine have done just their job for years.’’

Anything you say goes out one ear and the other for him.”nonsense, i refuse to have you garden in those unruly gloves, i’ll call uraume to pick up a pair of gardening gloves the nearest store i’m sure they won’t mind.’’

sukuna likes to see you in your most natural state. You liked to do some little glam, a little eyelashes and lip gloss but he liked when you were all natural. To him, seeing your brunette colored locs in a ponytail and you in your dark green robe showing some cleavage was his favorite sight of you when you entered the kitchen.

sukuna not being careful of his own health doesn’t slide around him. a simple cough or wound makes you immediately take any herbs and first aid kit out.

“uraume won’t be here always to take care of you ‘kuna, you gotta let me take care of you.”

when you try to put an evil eye necklace around his necklace a loud roar of laughter comes from his mouth.“No damn necklace will protect me of all people from any bad spirit.”

| SATORU GOJO

After a long day with his students he enjoyed being with you. When he enters your house you shush up whatever ranting he’s gonna ramble about the elders.

“Let's just forget all of that, yeah? I think a nice fresh water bath would do you some good today.” whilst shutting him up and taking off his black blindfold.

gojo enjoyed bathing with you just to have a front row to see how you untie your locs and see them drop down to your back along with your towel to show your….assets.

gojo liked how natural you were down to your hair. When he asked for you to dye your hair the same color as his he was excited to see your once brown locs now a snow white color in your black headwrap.

“thought hair dye went against like, the earthy thing?”

a small tittering sound came from your mouth at that.“Henna hair dye. The earth has many resources satoru.”

| SUGURU GETO

suguru appreciates how down to earth you are, he sees it as a good influence on his girls. Being a cult leader can be taxing and takes up much of his time so when you’re around to remind them they’re not so alone when geto’s on cult leader duties it makes him happy.

when you both are alone in his master bedroom hearing how you spent the day with the girls picking tender plump fruits from the family garden and putting them into your hand made wooden baskets to bring home.

geto isn't one to restrict how you choose to dress. He’ll gladly wear his yukata with a gold kasaya garment while you walk around the place in a strapless knitted olive green dress and knitted white long sweater, and whoever has an issue with it can take it up with him

#jjk x black reader #jjk x black y/n #jjk x black!fem reader #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x fem!reader

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mattslolita · 10 months ago

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happier than ever - c. sturniolo

in which ... you sing a song about the boy who broke your heart — and he realizes he lost the best thing that ever happened to him.

( ex boyfriend!chris x black!fem reader )

warnings ; angst , crying , sad as fuck

"𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚."

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱

"y/n, you go up in ten," your manager tells you softly as she peaks her head into the door of your dressing room.

you don't answer her right away — instead, you find yourself looking in the small illuminated mirror as your hands find the necklace that still hung around your neck. even after all this time.

"remember how you told me since our sun signs are leos, we give off sun energy?" chris asks you, and you raise your eyebrows at him with a nod.

"look what i bought us."

he momentarily took his hands off your hips where they were previously placed on your hips as he walks over to the desk of your shared bedroom. chris opens one of the drawers and pulls out a small box, and you feel your heart beat increase rapidly, your eyes beginning to widen slightly.

a soft grin takes over his features as he walks back over to where you're standing, gently grabbing one of your hands that rests at your side and pulling your enclosed fingers open as chris softly puts the black, velvet box into your palm.

you look up at him and he nods to you encouragingly — you take this initiative to slowly open the box, and your eyes widen as you set eyes on two matching sun and moon necklaces. your fingers delicately ran over the necklaces as a soft grin overtakes your features.

"chris, i love them," you smile, looking up at him and he swore your beautiful smile could make him melt right then and there.

"i wanted you to have the sun because you're the light in my life," chris admits, taking the sun necklace out of the box and holding it up. "can i put it on you?"

you nod, closing the box and placing it on the desk as chris takes your hand and guides you to the mirror in your room. his hands run up and down your brown skin as he looks at you through the mirror, drinking in the beauty of your face — his eyes darted from your lips, to your cheek bones, to your earthy hues; he was so in love with you.

unclasping the hook, you hold your hair to the side as chris carefully puts the necklace around your neck — his fingers graze the soft, plump flesh of your back as he clips it into place. he gives you a soft smile in the mirror, running his hands along your shoulders again as he kisses the side of your neck sensually.

"it looks beautiful on you," chris whispers, placing another soft kiss on your shoulder before looking back up at you in the mirror. "my sunny girl."

you can feel the tears begin to prick at the back of your eyes as you run your hands along the sun, the memory playing so clearly in your mind.

like all the other gifts, you should've known — it was so foolish of you to think he meant what he said when he told you he loved you and wanted to be with you forever.

here you were, broken up and without him in the end.

"okay, i'm ready," you whisper softly, finally meeting your manager's sympathetic gaze, to which she gives you a nod.

a final look in the mirror at the necklace causes you to softly unclasp it from around your neck, setting it down on the vanity as you finally stand up.

you follow your manager's taller figure out of the door and you can already hear the cheers of everyone as they were excited for your new single.

when you finally made it onstage, the crowd went crazy — you weren't a super popular artist, which is why you had this gig at a local venue your manager had booked for you.

you gave a smile and wave to everyone, and they immediately quieted down as the band began with instruments from behind you where you stood, and you took a hold of the microphone in your hand.

"when i'm away from you," you began softly, "i'm happier than ever. wish i could explain it better, i wish it wasn't true."

the way you would pack your bags and leave to the comfort of his brother who was your best friend, because you couldn't bear the thought of him after the words he said to you.

"give me a day or two, to think of something clever, to write myself a letter," you sang, your eyes closed shut, "to tell me what to do."

"don't say it isn't fair, you clearly weren't aware that you made me," you sang, opening your eyes, "miserable."

the words sunk in as you remembered the toxicity of his ways and the long fights and nights where sleep was non-existent.

"you call me again, drunk in your benz, riving home under the influence," you sang, your voice picking up and you unhook the microphone and began slowly walking.

that night when you were in a fight, but he called you, telling you how sorry he was and how much he missed you — and you let him back, because you cared.

"you scared me to death but i'm wasting my breath, cause you only listen to your fucking friends."

he stumbled into your house another night high as a kite, not even caring about how panicked you were being that he was driving in that state. anything could've happened to him.

"i don't relate to you," your voice picked up, the guitar going to work behind you, "i don't relate to you no, cause i'd never treat me this shitty,

you made me hate this city!"

and with every fibre in your being, you hated la because it was the city where he had indefinitely broken everything you once shared with each other. the city he gave himself to another girl.

"and i don't talk shit about you on the internet, never told anyone anything bad."

all the times nick and matt told you, warned you even, that their brother was no good and only continued to hurt you — and yet you continued to defend chris because no matter how much it hurt, you always believed he would change.

"cause that shit's embarrassing, you were my everything," you sang out, pointing to yourself as you narrated, "and all that you did was make me fucking sad!"

"so don't waste the time i don't have, don't try to make me feel bad, i could talk about every time that you showed up on time," you sang out, "but i'd have an empty line, cause you never did!"

the day your manager had finally signed you to a record label, and he was supposed to be there at your celebratory dinner — after all the things you'd done for him, he couldn't even make it to that.

"never paid any mind to my mother or friends so i shut em all out for you, cause i was a kid," you sang, and that's when you felt the tears beginning to build back up.

your mother hated chris, and you knew it — your friends, even his own brother knew how he hurt you. but you both were young and dumb, and you believed that things would get better in time. after all, you thought that's what love was.

"you ruined everything good, always said you were misunderstood."

the fights that ended in tears as he cried to you about how he knew he was no good for you, but wanted to be better for you. the tears that gave you your own, because you believed in him. in the both of you.

"made all my moments your own, just fucking leave me alone!"

the last line that was sung, tears slipped down your cheeks as you sang your heart out, whilst the guitarist and drummer got louder behind you. you held the microphone away from you as you let out a scream, but not one to panic the everyone else.

and the crowd screamed with you — they felt this song in the same way you did, it was for everyone.

tears had fallen down chris's face as he watched you onstage, pour your heart. and that's when it had sunk in, that he caused this all.

he reached down to gently grab the moon necklace that still resided around his neck, his thumb running over the silver moon.

and in that moment he realized you would be happier without him.

( lilly's section 💌 )

okay what the fuck, that was so depressing😭😭 then again i've been depressed lately, so ! hope y'all liked it🤍.

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #angst #brb crying #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo angst #the sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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hyperactively-me · 1 year ago

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Ok, humor me plz. Princess!reader finally gets fed up with shit and out of frustration slaps king!ghost in the face. The need to slap a bitch in this fic is increasing by the day lmao. I can imagine he like grabs her arm when she is walking away from him while he is talking to her and she reflexively just slaps him. On the inside she is like "aw fuck" but the outside she just has fire in her eyes.

wow oh wow, yeah, this would 100% happen. love to see it. love this, thank you, anon!

You were on your second to last day of travel. Tomorrow, you will reach Kastron and officially begin your new life. Lovely.

It was the evening, sun low in the sky. Pinks and oranges fall in between the cracks of the trees, casting golden shadows all around. Honestly, you loved the forest.

You take one look back at the hustle and bustle of the servants setting up camp. When was the last time this whole journey you had a moment to yourself? Taking a breath, you turn and start exploring the forest around you. The leaves beneath your feet made a comforting, rhythmic crunching sound merging with the distant symphony of singing birds and the gentle rustling of leaves in the air. The air was filled with a soothing earthy aroma, a reminder of your garden's numerous plants and flowers. You couldn't help but notice how the sunlight filtered through the leaves above, creating intricate patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor.

You bask in the sunlight for a moment longer. The sun is starting to dip lower on the horizon, a chilly wind picking up, blowing your hair. Taking a long, deep breath in, you make your way back to camp.

That’s when you catch a glint in the corner of your eye. Armor. Helmetless, yet a balaclava still covers his idiotic face. Not that you’ve seen it before. And there Ghost is.

He's standing in a clearing, practically marching toward you like a soldier heading into battle. The intensity of his anger is palpable, radiating off him like heat from a furnace. He strides forward purposefully, like a soldier going into battle, each step echoing with frustration and resentment.

The sight stops you in your tracks, sending goosebumps up your arms. His demeanor is unwavering, his countenance a blend of rage and exasperation. It's as if his entire being is consumed by the storm of emotions brewing within him, and you can practically feel the crackling tension in the air.

Your heart begins to race as he gets closer, the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears. You're split between the impulse to flee and the realization that running will only make matters worse. So you hold your ground, your breath seizing in your throat as he approaches.

As he comes to a stop just a few paces away, a charged silence hangs between you. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of fire and frustration. You can almost taste the words that are poised to spill from his lips, words that could either alleviate the tension or ignite an even more explosive reaction.

You search for words, for some explanation or apology that might defuse the impending confrontation, but your mind feels blank, all thoughts evaporated.

“What were you thinking?” he's seething.

“I—”

“What were you thinking?”

His hands flex at his sides.

Your mouth flounders, trying to find an explanation.

“What, you thought I ran off?”

The words slip out before you can think twice, your own frustration rising to meet his anger. His eyes narrow, a mixture of surprise and something else you can't quite decipher flickering across his face. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife, and you're both caught in a standoff, emotions swirling like a whirlpool between you.

“Something could’ve happened—”

“Nothing happened!”

“You could’ve been hurt. Or lost. Or kidnapped. Or killed.”

You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air animatedly.

“Yeah, you only care about your little fiance running off because you can’t control her every move, her every—”

“No, that’s not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, your majesty, did I step out of line?

“Stop.”

“Oh, please, forgive me, your majesty, I forgot that I’m supposed to be the perfect little wife—”

“Enough.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

The forest seems to bear witness to this clash, the rustling leaves and the evening sounds seeming to echo the turmoil of your exchange. He takes a step closer, his frustration still evident but tempered by something else. His chest rises and falls with his breaths, his gaze locked onto yours.

You wait for him to say something. When he doesn’t, you scoff, not even bothering to look at him as you push past him, knocking your shoulder on his chestplate. Immediately upon passing him, he seizes your wrist to halt your movement, his grip iron-tight, whipping you around to face him. In response, before you can even think about what you’re doing, your hand instinctively meets his cheek with a forceful slap, right across Ghost’s face.

The sound of the slap is followed by a stunned silence. He doesn’t let go of your wrist, but his eyes widen in shock. His free hand comes up to touch his cheek where the sting of the slap lingers. You’re breathing hard, trying to yank your wrist out of his grip. Suddenly he drops your wrist, watching you stumble back from the force, giving you space.

His expression is a mix of offense and regret. He rolls out his jaw, tugs his balaclava more securely on his face, hands flexing at his sides. The last of the days sunlight filters through the trees, casting a gentle glow over his armor. For a moment, you don’t regret it. Hell, he’s been nothing short of overbearing and a nuisance since you met. But, for some reason, a small part of you feels bad. Maybe his anger had its roots in concern, but the way he expressed it had only fueled your own frustration.

“I’m tired of feeling like my every move has to be scrutinized,” you admit, your voice carrying a touch of weariness. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to prove that to me, sweetheart.”

“I’ve got plenty of time,” you say quietly.

He sidesteps you, a range of emotions flickering across his face.

“Don’t run off like that again,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You nod slowly, wringing your hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Go,” he commands, hand resting on his hilt.

You look up at him, his foot tapping, waiting for you to go. With that, you turn on your heel and make your back up to camp. He follows on a few feet behind you, his shadow cast over you as you head back.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#goddamn #he maybe got a little turned on by the slap #but he's respectful #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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gravehags · 7 months ago

Text

crimson headache, aching blush

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: panty stealing, panty sniffing, pillow humping, first date, champagne consumption, dry humping, grinding, possessiveness, copia being a little sex freak as per usual, tenderness as per usual

Words: 5,758

Summary: When he asks you on your first real date with him, this is not the outcome you anticipated.

a/n: hehehehe hohohoho we're almost there folks

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

He shouldn’t have done this.

That’s the thought running rampant on repeat in his mind as he lays in his bed, staring at the illicit goods in his hand. He’s filled with shame at committing such a violation of your privacy and yet…he turns the piece of black mesh over in his grip, relishing the way the fabric feels sliding against his bare knuckles. He heaves a sigh - he’s dragging this out because he’s scared what will come to pass once he does what he’s longed to do all afternoon. It’s been balled up in his pocket all day, you completely unaware beside him on the couch and in the dining hall as he surreptitiously fingered it.

It was an impulse theft from when you were in the bathroom post-nap fixing your hair and he was left to his own devices in your bedroom. He saw the hamper tucked away in a corner and he swore that in that moment his heart stopped. He could hear you humming something familiar as he skittered over to the basket, reaching a hand in to flick through your dirty laundry. Under a t-shirt he found it. His prize. His breath caught in his throat and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized you were softly singing “He Is” in the other room. He snatched it up in a moment of impulse and almost doubled over in shame but before he allowed himself to fully process the feeling and put your underwear back, he shoved it deep into his pocket. You emerged a moment later, smiling and ignorant of his crime, and grabbed him by the hand to tug him towards the couch. There you spent the rest of the afternoon curled into his side watching paranormal shows while his eyes stared forward but his mind was chaotic. He’s more ashamed of the way he ignored you for the rest of the evening, even as the two of you sat across from one another at your table in the dining hall. You had finally stopped trying to engage with him but by then the damage was done. He could practically feel the anxiety radiating off of you as you kissed his cheek with a quiet “goodnight” before leaving him standing there with only the static of his busy mind for company. By the time he called out your name in the empty cloister you were long gone and guilt sat heavy in his stomach. He shuffled back to his rooms and disrobed mechanically. When he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror he jumped - he was so distracted by his little secret he didn’t even bother to reapply his paints before he went to dinner with you. He turned off the faucet with a sigh and slumped out of the bathroom to plug his phone in. Climbed into bed and now here he is.

He wants to text you, to apologize for his horrible, neglectful behavior but it feels even more shameful when he’s holding a very private part of you captive without your knowledge. He takes a deep breath - in, out, in, out, in - then raises his fist to his face. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut as he curls onto his side, the tantalizing scrap of fabric with your scent pressed against his nose. You smell…cazzo, he doesn’t know how to properly describe it in this state…earthy and feminine and hypnotic. Dirty. His cock throbs against his sleep pants, aching for contact. Normally he’d take himself in hand and get the job done but he knows it’s not going to be enough. Sitting up he reaches behind himself to grab a pillow and swings his leg over to straddle it. It’s too late to strip himself fully so instead he yanks down his sleep pants until his cock springs forward, bobbing in front of him with pre smeared down the shaft.

“Amata mia,” he groans as he spreads his thighs and lowers himself. He brings your smell back to his nose and his hips jolt forward, sliding across the cushion and leaving a damp drag mark on the red pillowcase. As he begins to rut against it he falls forward and plants a fist into the mattress to steady himself. He imagines it’s you beneath him, your pliant flesh and your tight wetness he’s fucking into. The thought makes his mouth hang open, drool pooling in his jaw and threatening to spill over onto his bed.

“Nnngh bellezza mia,” he grunts, hips picking up a frantic pace as he humps desperately into the pillow, “So soft a-and willing for me. How you t-tease your Cardinal. Soon I’ll h-have you. I’ll–ah–ruin you, amore mio. P-piccola vergine mia.”

The bed creaks beneath him from the force of his thrusts, his fist flying from the mattress to grip the headboard. He’s close and his rhythm is becoming sloppy as the strings of his self control are slowly cut away. He can almost hear your voice speaking to him so sweetly - yes Copia, please, fuck, don’t stop - and for a final time he raises the gusset of your underwear to his nose as he hears you say it–

I love you.

He cums with a hoarse moan, painting the pillowcase and mattress with ropes of his seed, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His hips don’t still afterwards, continuing to rock against the cushion desperate to wring out the last dregs of his orgasm. By the time he forces himself to stop, tears are dropping onto the pillow to mix with his mess and he sniffles miserably in the silent room. You fool, his brain hisses, risking everything to get yourself off. She must hate you now - must be sitting in her room wondering why she ever wasted a moment of her time and energy on you. The last part makes him sob aloud, doubling over on himself before angrily tearing the pillow out from under him and flinging it to the rug. He doesn’t bother to clean up his mess, instead choosing to curl into a fetal position. His hand twitches with the desire to grab his phone and call you, text you, anything to explain himself but instead he heaves a shuddering sigh.

Why bother, he thinks to himself, messily wiping his snot with the back of his hand, you deserve better anyway.

—

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed in your pajamas with your phone in your hand, cursor in the text box flashing up at you tauntingly. You could settle this in a matter of seconds if you really wanted to. But do you want to? Do you really want to know about how he’s changed his mind about you, how he regrets ever bending to your annoying little advances? The thought makes your gut roil with nausea and you blindly set your phone back on your nightstand and flop backyards onto the duvet, running through everything you said to him today. He was fine up until…up until after your nap. After he had time to ruminate on your confession of love. Numbly you sit back up and finagle yourself under the covers, feeling embarrassed, hurt, and…angry? You’ve never been angry at Copia, never thought you could be but the blank look on his face as he sat in silence for the entirety of your meal that night while you chattered away makes something raw burn in your belly. Every moment between the two of you since last night has happened at your insistence. Every conversation, every confession, every action. What if this was just a game to him? What if you were just a conquest he could lord above Terzo, finally succeeding where the Papa had failed? What if Terzo–

Stop.

Fucking stop.

You reach behind you and bend the edges of your pillow up against your ears in an attempt to muffle the din in your brain. Copia would never. He would never purposely hurt you. You think of the raw expression on his bare face as you told him of your love, the tenderness in his voice when he spoke of his. Shame floods you, sick to your stomach that you could ever think such a thing of your beloved. That’s not the man you’ve gotten to know over almost an entire year. Something might have been bothering him tonight but it wasn’t you. You turn over and grab your phone, opening your texts.

Hey - you seemed distant tonight, is everything okay? Love you

You set the phone down and hesitate before reaching for the prescription bottle. Might as well, not going to fall asleep like this. Swallowing the pill with the room temperature water on your nightstand you look hopefully at your phone, willing it to light up. When it stays dark, you inhale a deep sigh before falling back into your pillows. There’s a smoky smell lingering on them, warm and animalic, and you realize it’s him. You drag the pillow he slept on today towards you and breathe in, relishing the scent of his cologne and his hair pomade. It makes your heart so full and you can’t bring yourself to pull away so you curl yourself into it, letting the rise and fall of your chest lull you to sleep.

You have strange dreams where you’re dancing with a black goat with mismatched eyes.

You do not remember them upon waking.

—

When Copia wakes up at a miserable hour he feels like absolute dogshit. He abandoned his remaining pillow some time in the night and now finds himself curled on his side on the mattress, dick out with a pounding headache. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but judging from the lingering damp stains on his sheets he most certainly cried until he passed out.

“Cazzo,” he groans, putting his palms to his face and rubbing it roughly. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, angling his hips to finally tuck himself away and restore even a small bit of his dignity. He looks at the stained pillow on the floor and his headache worsens.

“Fottuto idiota,” he growls, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s about to get up and throw his exhausted body into the shower when he spies his phone out of the corner of his eye. He hesitates for a moment before reaching for it. When he sees a notification on his lockscreen - from you - his heart rockets into his throat. Hands shaking he opens his messages, nauseous at what he might see.

Hey - you seemed distant tonight, is everything okay? Love you

Love you. Love you. She still loves you.

He hops out of bed, overjoyed and types out, then deletes at least a dozen different messages to you. When none of them prove satisfactory he throws his phone down on the bed and stumbles over to his closet. He said he was going to woo you, damn it all, and he intends to follow through. He selects a freshly laundered cassock - red, he knows it’s your favorite - and tosses it on the bed. His mind is abuzz with all the tasks he needs to accomplish but first - a nice long, scalding hot shower.

—

You’re tucked away in your bed - your warm, soft, wonderful bed - when you hear a noise somewhere in the back of your consciousness. One of your eyes cracks open, views the blurry surroundings, and immediately slides closed again.

Then you hear it again. It’s louder. More insistent.

You groan and roll onto your back, opening both eyes against your will to stare at the beams above you. You’re about to roll back over when you hear it again and realize it’s knocking. At your door. With furrowed brows you turn over to squint at your bedside clock - now who the fuck–

You shoot up so fast it makes you dizzy and fling the covers back, your heart pounding. It has to be him right? You’re making your way to the door, bedhead be damned, and you swear if you open it and Terzo’s idiotic face is on the other side you’re going to deck him. By the time you make it to your destination, the person on the other side begins knocking sharply again but you swing the door open midway through their progress.

It’s him, like you knew it would be.

And he looks magnificent.

He’s in his red cassock, matching biretta perched neatly on his still damp hair and holding one hand behind his back. When he sees you, his shoulders straighten and he bows.

“Amata mia, please, please forgive me for my behavior last night. I–”

You don’t even give him a chance to finish his explanation, throwing your arms around him and pulling him close.

“It’s okay,” you say, voice muffled by the wool of his pellegrina.

“Amore, no it’s not. I was so caught up in my own head that I-I didn’t treat you like you deserve. I am a poor excuse for a paramour, eh? Not even the first full day and I’ve already fucked it up.”

“I can’t lie, I was a wreck last night,” you confess as you pull away, rubbing your eyes, “your brain isn’t the only one too full. I had almost convinced myself of some really horrible shit.”

His smile drops and his brows knit together as he cups your cheek gently.

“I’m so sorry, dolcezza. Next time I’ll tell you when I’m preoccupied, but know that my love for you will never be the source of my grief.”

You lean up and peck him on the lips before gesturing behind him.

“What’s this?”

“Ah,” Copia brings his arm forward and produces a bouquet of beautifully vivid orange roses tied up with twine, “for my amore.”

“Copia!” you gasp, accepting the blooms from him, “these are my favorite how did you…?”

“Primo told me,” he says with a smile, following you into your apartment as you pad over to the kitchen, “said he’d been growing them in his greenhouse ‘just in case’ we uh…” He trails off, blushing as you pull a vase out of a cabinet.

“I think the Papas might have been looking forward to us getting together more than we did at this point,” you laugh, filling the glass with water and placing the roses inside. The fragrance coming off them is heady and lovely. You put your hands on your hips and give Copia a wide smile.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Or was this gorgeous display,” you gesture at his neatly pressed cassock and the flowers, “just your way of saying sorry? Wouldn’t mind you slipping up a little more often if these are the rewards I receive.”

His brows furrow and he glances at the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you say, moving over to him and placing your hands on his biceps, “I’m sorry, you know me and my stupid jokes. You’re good. We’re good.”

He raises his downcast eyes to look at you and you want to melt into a puddle at the pure adoration you see there. Like a Satanic puppy dog with heterochromia, a slight build and a nice ass. His little smile when he finally speaks makes you smile.

“I, eh, did have another reason to see you so early in the morning, cara,” he reaches up with a gloved hand and gently tames your flyaways, “I wanted to ask you on a…a date.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and lean forward, placing your chin on his chest.

“Mmm what did you have in mind, Cardinal?”

Not missing a beat his crows feet scrunch and he cradles your head in his hands, using his thumbs to brush at your temples.

“Dinner - in the village? I know a place.”

“Oooh…a night out on the town…”

He snorts, “I don’t think that sleepy little hamlet even counts as a town but it’s the closest we’ve got.”

“Hmm…an excuse to get dressed up and show you off? How could I refuse?”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs at your statement while you grin up at him.

“What time do you want me?”

The phrase comes out of your mouth so casually, you forget its double meaning until you see him swallow thickly and flush.

“H-how about 7? On Friday?”

“On New Years’ Eve?” you shrug, “Sure, and maybe you can come over afterwards to watch the ball drop or whatever. I’ve got another bottle of that chianti you like. Or maybe I’ll hunt down a bottle of champagne. I’ve never had anyone to kiss at midnight before.”

His eyes go a bit glassy and he looks over your shoulder as if considering something. Finally he nods to himself and meets your gaze once more.

“Sì, sì, that would be lovely.”

“It’s a date,” you say, unwinding your arms from around his body and scrunching your nose at him.

“I, uh…have some things to attend to today. I’ll text you later, sì?”

You shrug, secretly appreciative of the fact that he’s letting you return to your (now undoubtedly cold) bed.

“Mmhmm. Thank you for the flowers, my love. They’re perfect. And…if you want to talk about what was bothering you, you know I’m always here.”

He blanches and you look at him curiously before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“G-grazie, amata. I will, eh, keep that in mind.”

Turning on his heel he strides to the door and you follow him, watching as he departs. A few steps down the hall, he turns and gives you a weird little wave before pausing and continuing back down his path. You snort and shut the door with a sigh, looking over at the flowers he brought you. And to think last night you were convinced he hated you. Making a noise of contentment and yawning wide, you shuffle back to bed.

—

Standing in the entry hall, he fusses with his cuffs and straightens his suit jacket. It’s…tighter than what he’s accustomed to. Particularly in the lower half. He growls as he reaches down to adjust himself, cursing Terzo and Terzo’s tailor. You look good, fratello! It really highlights your attributes, huh? Idiota. He cuts a svelte figure in the snug black fabric, true, but all he really cares about is that you will like it. Every once in a while a sibling passes by and stares at him. You’re not late by any means but still he taps his foot impatiently against the marble, filled with nervous energy. When he reaches up to smooth his mustache he hears it - a thump and a soft “fuck!” coming from nearby. He would know that foul mouth anywhere and he straightens his posture and places his hands behind his back.

He’s not ready for what he sees when you round the corner.

You’re swathed in rich, burgundy velvet, the fabric clinging to your every dip and curve. The straps are thin and the hemline is short - tantalizingly short, he can see quite a good amount of your thigh tattoo. Gold stilettos are on your feet - he suspects the cause of the swearing earlier - and your hair is soft and loose. He knows he looks like a fucking fool, mouth hanging open as you approach but how could he look any other way when you stand before him looking like that. He doesn’t notice the way your eyes widen at his outfit, gaze lingering on his thighs and between his legs. As you step closer he sees the light glinting off his Yule gift, resting prettily on your clavicle. The sight makes him hungry.

“Copia, wow,” you breathe, giving him another slow once-over, “damn you look good.”

He’s jolted from the string of filth running through his mind by your assessment.

“Me? Dolcezza, you. You look…”

He knows the word he wants to use as his hands rest on your hips and before he can think better of it, it comes out.

“Delicious.”

The look on your face is well worth the bold step. Your painted lips part, eyes flicking over his features as he rubs circles with his gloved thumbs into your sides. You let out a breathy little laugh, placing your palms flat on his pectorals.

“Take me to dinner?” you ask, the lights in the hall glinting off your lip gloss. He nods.

“Eh…yes. Gladly. Shall we?”

He relinquishes his grip on you and steps back, offering you an arm which you take with a smile.

“Won’t you be cold, amore?” he asks, stopping mid stride. You grin and grab his arm, wrapping it around your waist nice and snug.

“When I’ve got you to keep me warm? Perish the thought.”

How he longs to feel the softness of your dress under his bare fingertips, and the pliant flesh underneath. For now he settles for holding you fast against him as the two of you exit the front doors and head to his ride. He rarely takes her out these days - too many responsibilities at the abbey - but he always has a ghoul make sure she’s in pristine condition when he can’t get to her. She’s in one of the garages and he motions for you to wait at the steps so you don’t have to make the treacherous walk in heels through gravel.

“Eh, I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he says before jogging off, fishing the keys out of the clever little pocket Terzo’s tailor sewed into the jacket. Unlocking the driver side door he slides in, praying to Satan she starts. She does, and she still purrs like a dream much to his satisfaction. Carefully, he pulls out and around to the driveway where you are waiting with a grin on your face. When he reaches your spot he puts the car in park and hustles out of his side over to the passenger door.

“Copia,” you say, giving both him and the car the once-over, “you continue to surprise me every day. A classic car?”

He shrugs, blushing as he opens the door for you and places his hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. When you’re seated and buckled he returns to the driver side and slides in next to you.

“Tell me about her,” you murmur, running your hands over the upholstery as he pulls out of the front gates.

“She’s eh, a 1968 Buick LeSabre,” he begins, heading down the dark road. It’s starting to drizzle.

“I don’t know shit about cars,” you say, smiling sheepishly at him, “but I love a good classic car. They have so much more character. Way sexier. I mean, who is imagining getting railed in the back of a Corolla?”

That makes him almost swerve off the road.

“You…you think about…”

“Well I do now,” there’s a slyness in your voice that makes his pants tighten and he’s thankful for the darkness masking him. You’ve got your arm resting on the back of the seat, fluttering your eyelashes at him. Oh, how he’d love to pull off the road and have you in the backseat. Make a mess of the leather and fog up the windows, your legs on his shoulders. His window starts to become cloudy and he realizes he’s mouthbreathing and you’re watching him very carefully. He needs to change the subject fast, or this date is going to be over before it even officially starts.

“H-have you been into the village much?”

You’ve stopped looking at him and turn your body to stare out the windshield, but a smile still lingers on your lips.

“Honestly? Only once and that was just to wander around. It’s so easy to rely on the abbey to provide everything, you kind of forget the outside world exists at all. Going home to see my parents was such a culture shock after being here so long. Does the outside feel…y’know…weird for you?”

He’s immensely glad you’ve diverted the conversation to something less stressful and he makes a little thoughtful noise.

“It did when I was younger, especially before I left Roma. As I traveled more, I got used to the stares my vestments would get. Most people just assumed I was Catholic. But…I never really fit in at the abbeys I was at, either. Too odd to really fit in in either world.”

He chides himself at the sadness in his voice - he would never regret being vulnerable with you but he would be lying if he said the thought of his life still didn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth. You stay quiet, pensive, as the car enters the main street and pulls into a spot outside the restaurant. He shuts off the engine with a sigh, slapping his thighs. You’re looking at him with an expression he can’t quite read, and you nod minutely to yourself before unbuckling and getting out. He follows suit, jogging around the car to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders before opening the restaurant door.

–

Your date goes wonderfully: the food, delicious and the company even moreso. Copia’s friendliness with the owner, a woman in her seventies with a dyed bouffant, ensures that neither of you go hungry nor thirsty that night. By the time you finish your bruschetta, your risotto, your tiramisu, and several glasses of wine not only are you content, you’re practically buzzing. You’re not drunk - nowhere near it - simply just happy to be in this moment with the man you adore. Your boyfriend. Is he your boyfriend? It somehow feels too juvenile a term for the two of you. Eh, whatever. You’ll take it. You’re torn from your thoughts by a chuckling Copia, sipping at the dregs of his affogato.

“What? What?”

He shakes his head with a smile.

“Nothing, cara, nothing. You, eh, ready to go?”

You nod and slide your chair back, stretching, deeply looking forward to getting back to your quarters and taking these damn heels off. Lucia comes by for one last hug before the two of you walk out the door and Copia ushers you to the car. Fat drops begin to splatter on the windshield as you wait for your love to take you home. When he gets into the car you slide to the center seat to nestle into him as he pulls away and down the long road to the abbey. The two of you are quiet during the drive back, his arm wrapped around you as your heavy eyelids droop and the rain hammers steadily on the roof. He pulls around and stops at the front steps.

“Your…your heels?”

You smile and place a swift kiss on his cheek before exiting the vehicle and rushing to the dry entryway. He’s not terribly long behind you and the two of you hurry into the warmth. He holds your hand as you make the journey up to your rooms and when you open the door you sigh dramatically.

“Make yourself at home,” you murmur to him as he shuts the door. You’re currently preoccupied with removing your shoes and tossing them in a corner, to be dealt with tomorrow. He settles on the couch as you remove your earrings.

“You can put on Dick Clark, or whatever,” you throw over your shoulder as you pad over to the fridge and pull a bottle out, “I got champagne - well Terzo got us champagne technically - you interested?”

“Sì, sì,” he says with an enthusiastic nod, flipping through channels, “you say…Terzo gave it to you?”

“Yeah,” you reach in the cabinet for your flutes, “came by the other day with it, apparently it’s good stuff. I’ll drink the swill you get at the corner liquor store but I thought it was nice of him.”

“Hmm, yes. Nice.” Copia says, eyebrows pulled together. You step over to the couch and hand him his glass, clinking it with yours before settling in next to him with your legs tucked to the side.

If the wine at dinner didn’t go to your head, the champagne certainly does. The two of you have polished off the bottle - and just opened another, of the swill variety - and are laughing into one another on the couch.

“You did not do that to Nihil when you were a kid,” you gasp. Copia grins wide at you and nods, making you laugh all over again.

“It’s what the old man deserved,” he says simply, polishing off his glass.

“Listen, I don’t disagree with you but taking safety scissors to his hair…Christ, no wonder he’s always bitching at you.”

Your laughter slowly dies as you nuzzle into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne making you even more tipsy. He’s got his nose brushing against your hair and you wonder if he likes what he smells too.

“This is nice,” you murmur, as you lean up to place a slow kiss to his jaw. Your hand is resting on his chest and you feel his noise of agreement rumble through him. His hand comes up to cradle your head as you kiss your way to his lips. When you reach your destination he groans as you slip your tongue against his. You want this man so very badly, more than you ever have before. When you pull away briefly he looks befuddled as you stand up and look down at him. The way he gazes up at you as your fingers dance along his freckled cheekbone makes you feel far more tipsy than the champagne ever could. Without a word you kneel on one side of his leg and pull your other leg over to straddle him. His breathing is fast and rough as you scoot your hips so the two of you are flush.

“Dolcezza,” he finally breathes, “you…we shouldn’t…”

“But I want to,” you murmur against his lips, “I’ll wait. But let me have this. Please, Copia.”

There’s a slight whine to your voice in your pleading and you feel his cock twitch against you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you flex your hips experimentally. The catch of your underwear on your clit with the movement pushes you to repeat it, over and over. Copia growls, low, before sliding his gloved hands up your bare thighs, rucking your dress over your hips.

“Go on, cara,” he grits out, as if possessed “use me. Soak through these–” his hands toy with the waistband of your red lace underwear, “--and get your sweet smell all over me. Please. Please.”

His words knock the breath from your lungs as you grind against him. You don’t even have your hand on him but you can feel that he’s big and the curve of him nudges your clit so beautifully. You’re biting your lip as you ride him, his large hands pulling and pushing your body.

“C-Copia,” you whimper, and he bucks up against you, “feel so good. Fuck I–”

You can’t even get the words out before one of his hands grabs the back of your head and pulls you down. You’re panting into each other’s mouths even as you lick and suck and rut your hips. When you finally have to pull away for breath, Copia keeps his hand at the back of your head, pressing your foreheads together.

“I am going to ruin you, amata,” he grunts, thrusting sharply against you in time with each roll of your hips, “you have n-no idea. I will hold you down and take and b-bring you such pleasure no one else will ever sate you. Sei il mio tutto.”

You feel a gush of slick come out of you at his words, your pace picking up.

“Please, Copia,” you whine, “please I need it, need you, I-I’ve wanted you for so long.”

He’s gripping your thighs with greater force now, hard enough you know he’s going to leave bruises and the thought makes you even wetter.

“Bellezza mia,” he moans as your hips move frantically against him, your eyes rolling back at the way his cock bumps your swollen clit, “anima mia, you have no–ah–no idea what you do to me. Ragazza perfetta–ragazza amata–”

Your head tilts back as you breathlessly chant - right there, right there, yes, yes, don’t stop - and he ruts up against you, his thrusts erratic. When you cum you moan long and loud - far more wanton than any sound you’ve ever coaxed out of yourself while on your own - and you feel the two scraps of fabric separating you become drenched. He’s not far behind and with a hoarse shout his cock kicks against you and the warmth of his seed soaks his trousers. You’re both trembling as you brush noses with him and press your forehead against his. Muffled cheering comes from the TV behind you, breaking your bubble, and you move to look but he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and softly brushes his lips against yours. It’s achingly tender and when the two of you slowly part he blinks up at you. You swear his white eye is glowing.

“Happy New Year,” you murmur, your arms still slung around his neck.

“Happy New Year, amore mio,” he breathes.

You could rest in his lap like this forever, were it not clear to you that he must be incredibly uncomfortable - both with the weight and the mess in his pants. When you scoot back and place your feet on the floor to stand, your knees nearly give out.

“I’ll um…” you begin, distracted by the way his gloved fingers toy with the hem of your dress, “d-do you want to stay? Not…not to…just to sleep.”

You expect him to recoil, to anxiously but gently reject you as he has in the past.

“Sì…yes. I would like that. I should…go shower…change…”

“Of course, me too,” you nod, giving him space to move. You’re overjoyed he’s agreed and smile at him warmly as he raises himself from the couch. He cups your cheek with his palm and drags his thumb along the skin.

“Some champagne, huh?” he says with a wry grin, making you snort.

“Powerful stuff,” you agree. Slowly, gently he closes the distance between you for another painfully tender kiss.

“I’ll be back, sì?” he tells you before placing another soft kiss on your forehead. You nod and reluctantly let him pull away, watching him walk towards the door and open it. He gives you one last smile before shutting it behind him.

This time, your knees really do give out.

#curator reader series #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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spookwyrdie · 2 months ago

Text

Divine Flesh

{part 1} {part 2} {part 3}

Priest Jeongin x Demon Fem Reader

summary: now that he's all chained up, what will you do to him? he'll have to accept his desire one way or another... /// word count: 7.2k /// genre: smut, angst /// warnings: priest kink, sexual themes, hierophilia, corruption kink, shame and guilt, straight up blasphemy, demons, knife play, bondage, femdom /// a/n: thanks for waiting pookies! i've been chipping away at this one for a lot longer than i expected. this is all just smut <3 luv u sexy demons, luv u faith abandoning, luv u bondage

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

Was he dreaming?

He must be, with the way your lips press into his. If this was a dream, it was his most intense yet. Every nerve ending was crackling with hunger, singeing his skin. Every small brush of your hand, your lips, your thigh, made him tremble. He was so incredibly aware of every part of you that came into contact with his body. This time, he could smell you - the sweet, earthy scent of incense, melted with vanilla and a sharp hint of a forest fire. But underneath that scent was something so essentially you. He couldn’t quite place it, but it made his throat burn with the desire for a taste.

You pull his bottom lip into your soft mouth, he groans at the feeling of your tongue caressing over the sensitive, soft skin. He tries to turn his head, to take a breath, to gather his wits, but to no avail. He feels his control slipping away from him, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is you.

The kiss deepens and Jeongin feels like he’s falling further into you. There’s a ringing in his ears as his mind goes fuzzy. He must be dreaming, how else could he feel so intoxicated by you so quickly?

He gasps when he feels a sharp sting on his bottom lip, quickly soothed again by your tongue.

Did you just bite him?

His eyes shoot open as you pull away, smirking down at him. He’s back in his body, his arms and legs still chained to the slab, you still laying beside him, leg thrown over his. This isn’t a dream, he can feel the cool slab of stone beneath him.

“You’re so responsive,” you nearly purr in his ear, pressing a chaste kiss on the edge of his jaw. A bolt of embarrassment shoots through his body at that. He’s forgetting everything he is, everything he has built, so quickly from one kiss. It’s like you were made specifically to unravel him. “I have a gift for you.”

Your hand drags across his chest, sharp nails trailing across his shirt, to reach down on the other side of him. You pick up the silver ring and hold it up for him to see. The ring itself is two inches in diameter, the band of metal is about a half inch thick with beautifully carved swirling designs in a brushed silver. Jeongin eyes it warily.

“Wh-what is it?”

You giggle. “A ring of course. For you to wear.”

You press the cold metal of the ring against his lips for a moment. You then bring it to your mouth and let your tongue curl around the band. Jeongin notices your tongue is sharper, longer than before. It’s still that luscious pink color he remembers placing a communion wafer on, but so much more salacious. His eyes widen, but he can’t find it in himself to be frightened by it. He’s mesmerized by the movement.

“That won’t fit my finger…”

You lean your face near his ear, “It’s not to wear on your finger, my darling.”

Confusion and yearning trickle into his chest. He’s not quite sure where it will go but he’s curious to find out. He hates this side of himself. He hates how fast he allows himself to be led by temptation.

“You’ll wear it once you give yourself to me,” you say matter-of-factly. Setting the ring back down, you grab the dagger once more.

“But first, let’s get a little more comfortable,” you murmur.

Jeongin audibly gulps as you start to drag the tip of the dagger up his torso once more. You follow the strip of fabric covering the row of buttons on the front of his shirt. The combination of arousal and fear is potent, constricting his chest with anticipation.

You shift your weight so you’re kneeling above him. The tip of the dagger rests at the junction where the clergy collar meets the edge of his shirt. A small whine leaves his throat, at your full mercy.

You take the edge of the blade and slice down the row of buttons from his throat to the waistband of his slacks. His shirt loosens, revealing a sliver of bare chest. You place your hand on his belly, smiling down at him when you feel his abs clench under your touch. He slams his eyes shut, his face contorting with effort to hold on to his sanctity.

Your hand is so impossibly warm in contrast to the cool stone below him and the crisp night air. With closed eyes, Jeongin can barely catch his breath. He wants you so badly he can taste it in the back of his throat. When you lightly dig your nails into his pale skin, he moans. He has to do something, anything, to not give in to you.

As you place the blade on his torso again, he begins to pray - the only prayer that comes to mind at this moment.

Our Father, who art in Heaven-

You giggle again, trailing the blade down his sternum, the cold metal leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Hallowed be thy name-

He can feel you slipping the blade underneath the waistband of his slacks, pulling it away from his skin.

Thy Kingdom come-

He hears the fabric tearing as you slice lengthwise down one leg of his slacks, revealing more of his skin to the night air.

Thy will be done-

You slowly drag your nails from his ankle to his inner thigh, making him squirm beneath you, hips raising off the slab. He can’t tell if he’s trying to evade your touch, or chase it.

On Earth as it is in Heaven-

“I can show you heaven, Father,” you murmur before moving to slice down the other leg of his slacks.

Was he praying aloud?

Give us this day our daily bread-

His legs are bare, the pink light making his skin glow in that warm rosy hue. You slide a hand up his thigh, feeling the muscle bunch under your touch. You grab the shredded material from his slacks and pull it out from underneath him with a quick motion.

Forgive us our trespasses-

The warmth of your body leaves his side, he can feel you shifting once more. He wants to look, wants to follow your form, but he denies himself that pleasure.

As we forgive those who trespass against us-

“Jeongin,” you say in a small voice. “Look at me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

And lead us not into temptation-

He feels his shirt falling open further as you slide both of your hands up his torso, moving to unpin his collar from the torn remnants of his shirt, pulling the shreds away from his body. Your hands graze over his nipples with a light touch. He cries out at the sensation, eyes shooting open.

Jeongin could cry at the sight.

He finds you hovering over him, straddling his body. The weight and the warmth of you looms over him mere inches from his pelvis.

But DELIVER us from EVIL-

This time he knows he’s praying aloud. He hears how his voice cracks as he spits this last line out.

Your body is supple. The swell of your curves, the scent of you, the way you hold his gaze like nothing else - makes him sick with desire.

For Thine is the kingdom-

You wipe the tear gathering in the corner of his eye with your finger.

The power-

Bringing that tear droplet to your lips, you wrap your plump tongue around the digit, pulling it into your mouth. You hum at the taste, eyes fluttering as if in rapture from the taste of his salt.

The glory forever-

You lower your body onto him, sitting your full body weight directly on his cock. He cries from the heat from your cunt seeping through the fabric of his underwear.

A—AMEN!

He nearly sobs, feebly pulling against his chains, chest heaving with exertion. He can’t take it, you’re too warm, too close, too alluring. Jeongin’s heart is beating hard in his chest, he can feel it in his throat. He wants to fuck you, wants to lose himself within you so badly.

Every small movement makes him more aware of how close you are. It shoots straight to his cock, hardening beneath you. He stills, breathing hard, trying to control his shaking body. The chanting of the robed figures stops abruptly.

He can hear every noise in the forest now - or lack thereof. There is only the soft breeze that whispers through the trees of the circle. Most of all, he can hear the beating of his heart as it slows, adjusting to your weight. Your fingers rub delicate circles into his skin, grounding him in this moment. The only tether from his mind to his body is your soft caress.

“Do you hear that, Jeongin?”

He gives you a confused look, a line of worry appearing between his brows. The humming stops. There is no noise other than his heavy breathing. It’s as if the world has stopped.

“Your God is silent.”

His stomach fills with ice at your revelation.

You’re right. He’s been abandoned.

“He may not be listening, but I have. I want you as much as you want me.”

“No!” He shouts, lying as a last ditch effort of preserving his faith.

“Yes! I can give you everything you want, all you have to do is accept me,” you say, rolling your hips into him. “Give me all of your shame.”

A pathetic whimper spills out of him. He wants to, but he wants to punish himself for wanting. All the years of work and remorse and abstaining, he doesn’t know who he is without it. Who could he be without it?

“And if I do?” He asks weakly. “What then?”

“You’ll have to put that trust in me,” you murmur, a smile growing on your lips. “I will care for you.”

He is stunned, looking up at you with round, shining eyes. You want to care for him? Take all of his shame and guilt? To hold him, even with all the sins he’s bottled up and stored away his whole life? Jeongin chews on the inside of his lip, thinking about what kind of life he could have without the burden of guilt.

He nods ever so slightly.

“No, Father, I need your words.”

Jeongin’s heart hammers in his chest again. He has to say it out loud, to give in completely. He needs to be the one to make the decision. He takes a deep breath, knowing this will change his entire trajectory in life.

“P-please,” he whispers.

You hum, leaning forward to press kisses into his feverish skin, drifting down his body lazily, inch by inch. “Please what?”

“Y/n, please…. I want….” He starts, but the words die in his throat.

He watches you as you grin, that pink glow flashing in your eyes. Your face is at the level of his hips, he realizes. His cock twitches in his underwear.

“It’s a process, Jeongin,” you say, fiercely holding his gaze, “to take someone’s shame. You have to open it up, expose it, before I can take it.”

A lump grows in his throat, his anxiety skyrocketing again. His fear sits before him, the main obstacle between him and you. Acknowledging the things he feels ashamed of is one thing, but to display them to another living soul for assessment fills him with a curious dread.

While he’s lost in thought mulling that over, you take the elastic edge of his waistband with your teeth and pull it away from his body. His cock twitches again in anticipation.

SNAP!

The elastic slaps back against the sensitive skin of his pelvis. He hisses as electricity shoots through his body.

“Are you ready?”

He looks at you. Even with the teasing affection in your eyes, he feels safe. Under the thick layer of embarrassment that you so easily bring to the surface, somehow he knows you will catch him when he falls.

He nods.

“Yes,” he whispers. “Take my shame.”

Your smile grows wide, your sharp teeth glinting in the pink glow that surrounds the two of you. Your fingers hook onto the elastic of his underwear, pushing it slowly down his hips. His cock twitches as the last piece of fabric on his body, other than his clergy collar, is peeled off inch by inch. His hardened length springs out as you move down, the tip flushed and ruddy.

Jeongin’s breathing picks up again as your hands slowly snake up his thighs. Your form looms above his hips, dipping down as if to kiss his flushed skin. Your face is level with his hips as they shudder beneath you. He squeezes his eyes shut tight.

Oh god… you’re going to put your mouth on him.

But, just as your hands rest on his pelvis, your mouth mere inches away from the tip of his straining cock, you laugh. The heat of your breath brushing against his cock is enough to make him writhe beneath you.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, little priest,” you mock, looking up at him.

Jeongin meets your gaze and gasps.

Your eyes are burning pink now, glowing like a neon sign in the middle of this forest. Your pupils are blown wide, teeth sharper than they were a few moments ago. But the biggest change yet - the sleek, black horns protruding from your forehead. At your hairline, the horns twist upwards about 6 inches from your head, reflecting the glow of the circle.

Jeongin notices that he can’t see the trees anymore. The fog has shrouded the area. He can see to the edge of the slab, but no further. Only pink clouds surround you, swirling like smoke.

Before he has time to absorb his environment, your hand moves to hold his cock around the base. He throws his head back with a cry, your touch igniting something fierce in his belly. He has to control the shaking of his hips or he’d start rutting into your hand.

“We’re just getting started.”

He whines, a tragic noise spilling from his throat.

You stick your tongue out, just like you did when he placed that damned wafer on it. But this time, you let saliva drip off of it slowly. He watches the droplet form and fall - right onto his cock.

Jeongin chokes on whatever air he had left in his lungs, forgetting how to breathe for a moment. Your hand starts to glide up his shaft, spreading the wetness around. He shudders at your touch, core muscles spasming as he tries not to lift his hips from the slab.

Your grip is loose on him, barely enough pressure to realize your hand is there, a ghost of a touch, but he knows. He can feel it. It’s like you’re the ocean, ebbing and flowing over him, but with each wave, he gets closer and closer to breaking.

He’s panting now like some animal, feeling his balls tighten as you keep moving your hand. His hips start meeting your movements, trying to chase your hand for more friction. A blush stains his cheeks as he feels like he’s about to find his release.

“Y/n!”

“Hmm?”

“Mm-’m gonna-”

Suddenly, there’s no pressure, no movement, just cold air as you move your hand away. He cries, his cock bobbing helplessly, searching for any sort of feeling. Your laugh rings through the night, watching as he pulls against his chains, writhing underneath you.

“Poor little priest,” you coo. “You thought it was going to be that easy?”

Jeongin feels tears prick his eyes again as he grunts in frustration.

Your hand returns, caressing him again at an excruciatingly slow pace. Your thumb finds the bead of precum that decorates the tip, smearing it down his cock. The way your fingers dance around his hard length leaves him dizzy. He has to concentrate on breathing again as he finds himself approaching the edge of bliss again.

He feels you squeeze him as you pick up the pace, rocketing him towards pleasure once again, his back arching off the slab. The sloppy, wet noises your hand makes against his length are the only thing he can hear. He’s whining again, body quaking from the heat of your hand, the speed, the ache. He grits his teeth as he’s about to-!

Then nothing. Your hand disappears once again. He cries out, his voice cracking, and you laugh at him, your sharp teeth reflecting the pink glow.

You toy with him like this many more times - bringing him to the brink and not giving him that final push over the edge. He’s delirious with want, he feels like he’s floating in the air, like he’s drowning, like he’s crashing. All he knows is every time he almost comes, he gives another piece of himself to you. The only thing he needs is your control, your touch, nothing more.

After what feels like an hour, he’s begging. Like a litany, the word “please” tumbles from his lips like a landslide.

“Please what, Jeongin?” you ask. “What do you want?”

He gulps, trying to find his voice. “W-whatever you’ll give me.”

That earns him another slow smile. You crawl up his body, kneeling above his hips.

“Whatever I give you?”

“A-anything, please!” He’s crying now, tears from all the exertion streaming down his temples as his head rests against the slab.

You settle your full weight on him again, this time his cock aligned perfectly against your sex. He hisses at the heat of you, already wet. The robe you wear, sheer and iridescent, dances before his eyes as he tries to concentrate.

“Anything?”

“ANYTHING!” He grits out.

You grind your hips down on his, sliding yourself over the length of him. He thinks he’s going to die, the pleasure is too intense, his breath shuddering in his lungs. Your eyebrows pinch together, throwing your head back as you roll your hips, losing yourself in the feeling of every vein, every ridge of his cock. He’s hard, pulsing, and wet as you grind your clit on him. You lean forward, pressing your hands against his chest, using his body to steady yourself as you move against him.

Jeongin looks up at you in awe, the glint of the pink light off of your horns framing your head like an unholy halo. He pulls against his chains again, but this time not as a way to evade your touch. He needs more, he wants his hands on you. He wants his lips on your skin. He wants to feel you as you unravel him, to hold you as he dies in your arms. He whines and pulls at the manacles on his wrists, rattling them against the stone.

“What is it you want, priest?”

“Y/n, I-” he starts, trying to lift himself up as you continue to grind on his cock. His eyes flutter at the sensation as he sighs. “I want…”

“Yes?”

“I want YOU,” he groans. “Please! I need to touch you!”

Your movements slow, your eyes filling with affection as you look down at him. The sight is contradictory. Your new frightening features - sharp teeth, horns, glowing eyes - are filled with a softness one wouldn’t expect from a demon. It makes him want you more.

“Do you give yourself to me?”

“YES!” he shouts, happily accepting defeat. “You can have me.”

You lean over his body, moving to unchain him. Your plump breasts are inches from his face, covered by only that sheer robe. He strains his neck as he tries to press his face into you, to feel you. To taste you.

The tension from the chains leaves his wrists, his arms automatically bending, sore from all the time he’s spent on this slab tonight. He watches you as you move down to his ankles, undoing the manacles around them as well. He sits up, wrapping his arms around your middle as you straddle him again. Your skin is warm and soft as velvet. Your scent is even stronger now that he’s so close.

Jeongin gazes at you again, the remnants of tears dotting his eyelashes, sparkling in the glowing light. He's never seen such a beautiful, terrifying sight. So different you are compared to the blushing parishioner who he fed communion to.

“Y/n…” he sighs your name.

“Jeongin…” you smile back at him. Your hands cup his cheeks, tenderly wiping away the tears. “Are you ready for your gift?”

He nods his head eagerly.

“Say it.”

He feels a blush rise to his cheeks again. “I- I’m ready for my gift.”

You reach over, grabbing the ring, holding it up in the light. It reflects the glow surrounding them. The ornate design on the silver looks like it’s moving, undulating like oil swirling on top of water. Jeongin is mesmerized by it, tentative curiosity burning in his stomach at what it could be for.

You press it to your lips gently, then lift it to his mouth. He looks at you quizzically before pecking it lightly. You hold it between your bodies for a moment, smiling at him with all the warmth a deity could feel for a devotee. Then, you twist your hand, as if snapping your fingers - and the ring disappears into thin air.

Before he has time to question what happened, he gasps as he feels a throbbing in his cock. He feels more sensitive than he’s ever felt in his whole life, squeezing his eyes shut and hissing at the sensation. It’s as if he can feel the very air molecules move through the breeze, his skin crackling with electricity.

What IS this?

He looks down between your bodies and balks. The ring is sitting at the base of his cock, encircling his shaft. The blood pounding through his veins is being trapped there, pulsing harder with every heartbeat. The tip of his cock is bright red and weeping. He has never felt like this before. It’s alarming but the fear is drowned out by the massive wave of lust that washes over him, pulling him into its wild current. His hands find purchase in your skin. He squeezes your plush hips, fingers digging into your flesh, holding on for dear life.

You giggle again, tilting his chin up towards your face. He blinks at you, eyes watering from everything he feels in this moment.

“This is what it feels like to be mine,” you say, and press your lips to his.

Jeongin gasps into your mouth. Now that he doesn’t have chains to hold him down, he moves against you. His hands wander, one trailing up to thread his fingers through your hair, the other pulling your body as close to him as possible. Your tongue grazes his lips, asking for entry, and he’s more than happy to oblige.

You taste sweet as he explores your mouth. Your body temperature is hotter than his, and he happily burns with every new touch. You’re soft and intense, pulling back and then crashing down on him over and over again. He revels in how powerless he is with you, worshipping your level of control over him. The need to show you his new found devotion swells within him, his cock bobbing in anticipation for what he’s about to do. You pull away, gazing at him.

“What is it you want, my little convert?”

The new nickname slams into his heart. Until now, he didn’t realize how far he was willing to jump off the ledge of his faith for you. Convert is right, he is your newest disciple. He takes a shuddering breath.

“Please,” he whispers. “Let me give you an offering.”

Your brow quirks as you grin, gesturing for him to continue. He pushes his hand against your sternum, directing you to lay down. As you settle yourself into the slab, he’s now the one that looms over your body. He reaches up behind his head with shaking hands, and unpins his collar, tossing it to the side.

Jeongin doesn’t even know where to begin. It’s been so long since he’s looked at another person so intimately, let alone touched them. He picks up the dagger, noticing a small tremor in his hand. You watch him carefully, but make no move to stop him. Whatever is about to happen will happen, it all comes down to Jeongin and his crisis of faith.

He holds the dagger up to the light for a split second, then places it near your throat. There is no fear in your eyes though, only affection and trust, as he lifts the edge of your robe and begins slicing down the shimmering fabric. Jeongin is obsessed with the way your body reacts to his ministrations, squirming as he travels down your body with the blade. When he gets to the peaks of your breasts, your nipples pebble as he tears the fabric further, the ripping sounds filling the air. Tracing over the tattoo in the middle of your torso, he marvels. It’s as if he’s unwrapping the greatest gift he’s ever received.

He hears your breath quicken as he gets to the bottom edge of the fabric. The dagger clatters to the stone again. He doesn’t care, all he needs is his hands on your skin as soon as possible. He starts at your ankles, sliding his hands up your legs, similar to the way you touched him earlier. The torn fabric of the robe slips open as he moves his hands up your thighs, brushing his thumbs lightly over the neat thatch of hair that frames your cunt. Your hips jolt at the tender touch.

He smiles as he travels further up - your hips, your belly, your ribs. You’re squirming by the time he reaches your breasts. The soft whimpers leaving your lips are enough to drive him to madness. He wants to hear more, wants to know what other sorts of sounds he can pull from your throat.

Your skin is raised in goosebumps everywhere his hands have touched. His hands palm your breasts, massaging the soft skin. He wants to bury himself in you, but he forces himself to focus on the noises you’re making, the way you squirm underneath him. He’d be rutting against your leg like a desperate animal otherwise. He grazes his thumbs over your nipples and smiles as your core muscles clench. It’s enough to make him feel like a king to make you this wanton with his touch.

He descends on you, pulling one of your nipples into his mouth. The way you keen at the feel of his wet mouth over the sensitive tips of your breasts shoots straight to his cock, filling him with a crazed need. You arch your back, pressing your chest into him, seeking more friction, as your hands tangle up in his hair.

He needs more, this small taste of you is not enough. He wants to drink from you, absorb you, make you one with him. He kisses a trail between the valley of your breasts, moving further and further down your belly. As he nears your sex, he pushes your legs open, enthralled by the sight of your wet cunt. Flushed and dripping, ready for the taking- he wets his lips at the sight and lowers himself onto his stomach.

Jeongin makes quick work of wrapping your legs around his shoulders, hooking his arms over your thighs, holding you steady. The heat of his lips finds your swollen bundle of nerves, pressing a featherlight kiss directly on it. Your hips jolt again as you moan, your hand grabbing at his hair to steady yourself. He sticks his tongue out, about to receive the body of his new god in unholy communion.

The glorious taste of you floods his senses as he descends, licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. He’s dazed by it. Sweet, musky, and so essentially you. He could spend hours here, this could feed him for eons. The way your legs squeeze around his head as he teases your clit, the whimpers he draws from you as he plays with you, it fills him with the same religious ecstasy he thought he could only feel from prayer.

Maybe this is his new form of prayer. It could easily turn into his favorite.

With his mouth still attached to you, he looks up to find you staring back at him, thrusting slightly against his tongue. Your eyes are hooded and glazed over while they glow even brighter than before.

“Jeongin…” you pant out. “Y-your fingers. Use your fingers.”

He’s never been one to be told twice. One of his arms snakes back down underneath you, slowly dipping one into your eager cunt. It’s as if it sucks him in, feeling the warmth of your body. You rock your hips into him, throwing your head back with another guttural noise.

“A-another,” you moan. “More!”

He sinks another in, gently stretching you open as his tongue still laps at your clit. Your eyes roll up as he hooks his fingers slightly, finding that sensitive spot inside you. The way your jaw slackens leaves your lips shiny with drool. You race towards your climax, with Jeongin tapping on the spot inside you and barraging your clit at the same time. Arousal drips from his fingers, from his chin, smearing it on your inner thighs.

It’s when he sucks your clit between his lips, batting it around in circles with his tongue in the vacuum of his hot mouth, do you finally shatter. Your muscles flutter around his fingers rhythmically as you cry out his name. But he doesn’t stop. As you thrash around, he is determined to ride out your orgasm with you, drawing every last bit out of you until you’re pushing him away, laughing from the overstimulation. He pulls back with a smile, the lower half of his face fully drenched in you.

“Th-that was…” you gasp for air, still giggling at how sensitive your body is. “That was perfect.”

As you come down from your high, he sits up, massaging your thighs. He has to keep contact with your body as much as possible, he needs it. It takes him a while to notice, that his cock is harder than it’s ever been in his life. He looks down, the new silver ring making him shiver, as his cock bobs every few seconds, seeking out any sort of friction. There’s a wet spot on the slab beneath him where he was laying down, precum dribbling out of his tip. Another wave of desire rolls through his body and he shuts his eyes.

After you catch your breath, you notice him shivering between your legs. You reach your hand down, a finger tracing around the shape of his weeping cock.

“Poor neglected Jeongin,” you purr. “You’ve been so good, waiting as long as you have.”

He whines involuntarily at the feeling of your finger on him, the smallest stimulation enough to make his hips shake. You slow down as the pad of your finger taps gently on his slit, a bead of precum adorning the tip like a pearl.

“So needy…so responsive,” you say, making no move to speed up your hand. He gasps at every new brush of your fingertip, trying his best to stay still. “You deserve a reward for your efforts.”

His eyes lock with yours, trying to see if you’re teasing him. You smile at him, wrapping a hand around his cock, delicately pulling him towards you. He tips forward, arms caging around your head to catch himself from falling on top of you.

“W-what’s my reward?”

You smile again, another giggle escaping your lips.

“What do you want as your reward?”

“I-” he starts, but he’s at a loss for words. It still scares him to be so open about his desires.

“We can’t do anything until you ask,” you say, slowly gliding your hand up and down his shaft. He groans at the feeling, knowing he could come from just this. “I want you to ask.”

A small fire of confidence burns in his chest. You are so sure of yourself, so ready to express desire, ready to direct his motions to make you feel good. He wants to be able to do the same.

“I… I want,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “I want to be inside of you.”

He cringes at the words coming out of his mouth, a ripple of shame shuddering through him. Your hand leaves his cock, and for one anxious moment he thinks you’re going to reject him, to leave him here, disgusted by his desire. But instead, your hands find his hips, pulling him in further, until his cock presses up against your sex.

“Good,” you say, grinning at him. “I want that too. I want that so bad.”

You rock your hips slowly, teasing his cock as it slips between your folds. The wetness from earlier spreads on his cock and he whimpers at the feeling. He drops down on his elbows, his lips finding yours again in a long, languid kiss. You two find a rhythm of just moving against one another. Every few thrusts, the tip of his cock will catch on your entrance, but he makes no move to push in. He just loves the feeling of you, he doesn’t need anything else.

”Jeongin…” you whisper, breaking away from the kiss for a moment. “Take it. Take what you want.”

He freezes above you, looking into your eyes. You’re going to make him decide to be an active participant rather than a passive toy. The decision rests on his shoulders. He looks down between your bodies where his cock sits mere inches away from what he wants. His eyes anxiously meet yours again. You give him a small nod, one full of confidence, one full of encouragement and praise.

Taking his cock in his hand, he lines up with your entrance. He inhales a steadying breath, feeling his whole body tremble with the weight of his choice. There’s no coming back from this. The vow of celibacy he took years ago was full of confidence that he’d never have a temptation greater than his love of the Lord. But no one had ever offered him something as tempting as this. Either he stops now and throws himself at the mercy of the church, embracing his guilt… or he chooses himself, giving himself to a new experience of trust and desire.

He chooses to trust you. He chooses desire.

He moans as he sinks into your heat, being pulled in the same way his fingers were earlier. His pace is agonizingly slow, trying to soak in every detail of this experience. The slight clench of your muscles, the gasp you make as he presses himself further in, the way your nails dig into his shoulders. As his cock rests inside the tight warmth of your body, he looks down. He’s seated all the way to the hilt, fully sheathed inside of you. Only a small glint of the silver ring wrapped around his shaft is visible.

The sight makes his cock throb, twitching inside you. He pulls out slowly, and sinks back into you, savoring every second. He finds an excruciatingly slow pace with you, wanting to burn this sensation into his memory. Your hands roam his body, grabbing on to his back. You meet every thrust with your own, bottoming out each time, making him choke at the feeling.

One hand cradles at his face, a gesture so sweet he could cry. He feels the tears welling up at the corners of his eyes.

“I have a different collar for you,” you say with a smirk, and gently slip your hand down to his neck, holding him there comfortably. He pushes against your grip, feeling the squeeze against his veins, making him light headed.

His hips start to pick up the pace, slamming back into you with each thrust. The atmosphere fills with the sound of your bodies meeting, rhythmic and wet. He drops to his elbows again, boxing his forearms around your head. He captures your lips again in a possessive, searing kiss. Your hands move to his back, scratching your nails on his sensitive skin.

Your moans combine, sharing the same breath, harmonizing, as he chases his own high. He can feel his balls tightening, his cock getting somehow harder as he pounds into you. He is delirious, getting lost in the feeling of you - but he needs you to come with him, it’s what he wants more than anything. He moves to sit up slightly, changing your position so he gets a perfect view of your body and his cock disappearing inside of you. He slides a hand down where your bodies meet and starts rubbing gentle circles around your clit with his thumb as he chases his own bliss. He wants you there with him when he finally comes.

You keen at the feeling of his thumb, your breasts bouncing with every hard thrust of his hips. He’s holding onto your waist, supporting your body weight. The pink glow of your eyes is fierce again as you get closer to the edge.

You arch your back off the slab as you find your peak for the second time, pelvic muscles twitching around his cock. Your voice takes over your vocal chords as you groan. It’s enough to pull him over the edge with you. Just as he tips over the edge, you grab his face suddenly.

“Look at me!” your voice rings out. “Feed me your shame!”

His eyes find yours, burning in that pink glow. Your gaze feels like a magnet, like you’re pulling him in impossibly further. He couldn’t look away if he tried. It’s like you’re sieving away the little parts of himself that make him burnwith pathetic regret.

Jeongin’s vision goes pink as tears stream down his face, a flowing path on his cheeks. His whole body feels like it’s bursting with light. His voice echoes into the night as the pink clouds swirl around him, filling his head. All he knows is you, he doesn’t care about the rest anymore.

Jeongin comes deep inside you, his hips slamming into yours, the flutter of your cunt milking him of every last drop. Sobs wracking his whole body as he trembles, the tears spilling down his face feel like a new kind of reverence. He loves you, he worships you, he kneels for you. His hips stutter, overstimulation taking over, but he doesn’t want to stop. He needs to feel you, always.

Is this what it feels like to meet God?

His vision is doubled, his head feeling dizzy and light from the blinding pleasure. As his eyes roll back, his cock twitches for the last time, and he collapses against you, unconscious.

~~~

When he finally surfaces from that inky black nothing, Jeongin feels like he got hit by a truck. He’s not quite awake, but he’s aware of his surroundings. It’s quiet as the pale, misty light of morning shines in his eyes. He can feel the warm blankets and bedsheets cocooning him in his bed. He is warm. He’s in his bedroom. Disappointment floods his veins. It was just a dream. He buries himself further into his cocoon, ashamed of what his mind apparently conjured up.

It’s strange, though - usually after one of his dreams, he wakes up hard and desperate, or covered in a mess he made while sleeping. Currently, he just feels tired. This experience was also so much more vivid than any of his previous dreams. He can remember your taste, your smell, your touch. Tears prick in his eyes, burning them. This is just another sin he has to atone.

Jeongin still wants you. That hasn’t gone away, and now it’s gotten worse. You live in his heart now, not only his shameful fantasies. His brain had to imagine you as a demon to justify the things he wanted from you. Anger bubbles up inside him, and he throws the covers off of him, sitting up in bed.

He’s naked under the covers. He never sleeps in the nude! That’s another sign of his perversion, another thing he’ll have to confess. He drops his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes furiously. Ignoring the images of his dream that start to flash in his memory, he marches himself into the bathroom, determined to shower off the sickly guilt.

As he turns on the light, he yelps as he looks in the mirror. He’s covered in bruises and scratches, his wrists are a lovely shade of burgundy where the manacles sat against his skin. His eyes travel downwards. There, sitting snugly against the base of his cock, is the silver ring.

A wave of elation crashes over him!

“It was real!” he gasps. He cautiously touches the silver ring, hoping it’s not just a hallucination.

“Of course it was real, my little convert,” your voice purrs in his ear.

Jeongin shrieks as he looks back in the mirror. You stand behind him, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your hands move to wrap around his midsection possessively. You press a kiss to the side of his neck and he shivers.

“Do you think your mind could conjure up all these marks?” you ask, licking a stripe up his neck.

“N-no…” he stammers, trying to hold back a smile as his eyes flutter again. He revels in your touch again, in the safety of your arms. If he’s losing his mind, he doesn’t care. He’s with you. ”I just thought with me waking up in my bed-”

“Shhh,” you shush him, placing a hand over his mouth. “Don’t think too hard, you’ll pop a blood vessel.”

“But I woke up feeling guilt again,” he moves his head to free his mouth and frowns. “How? I thought you took my shame.”

“I told you it was a process. It’s not like it all goes away after one time. Besides, you’re teeming with it, I’m going to keep you around because you fed me so well.”

Your hand shifts to rest on his neck, holding him there as you kiss the sensitive spot right behind his ear, dragging your teeth lightly over his skin.

“You’re mine now, little priest,” you say, a slow, sultry smile blooms on your face. The hand not holding his neck trails down his midsection towards his cock, palming over his semi-hard length. Your nails toy with the silver ring, tracing the pattern of it.

“And I’m yours. You can’t get rid of me. All you have to do to summon me is touch your ring.”

He sighs, leaning back into your touch, the relief he feels in this moment is insurmountable. Being in your arms like this makes his mind drift away comfortably, knowing that you’ll be the control he needs. He leans his head back, surrendering to your soft touch.

He chooses desire.

He chooses you.

~~~~~

{part 1} {part 2}

💘

taglist: @jeonginsleftcheek @honeyybbuubblleess @simpforleeknaur @starzpuppy @iwannahugchangbin

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #jeongin x reader #jeongin smut #in x reader #in smut #priest kink #corruption kink #hierophilia

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rush-the-stars · 3 months ago

Text

nai x reader

gothic vampire au

cw: insinuation that reader is maybe kept against her will. or kinda likes it if she is. yandere.

***

for weeks, the good doctor draws blood from you as gently and carefully as possible.

“drink, my girl.” doctor conrad encourages after taking another pint of blood from you. “i’ll not have you pass out on my watch—lord nai would be displeased.”

you let go of a puff of breath, a little irritated.

“lord nai would only care if i dropped dead, since i wouldn’t be able to provide him with fresh blood.” you remark, sinking into the settee with a sour little pout.

“oh, nonsense.” conrad says, moving the cup of tea closer to you. “look where he keeps you—at the food brought to you and the garments made for you.”

at that, you spare a little glance around your quarters.

it is lovely—rich in color and texture, deep blues and violets. a plush, lace-trimmed bed and velvet curtains over beautiful, arched windows. a little balcony for fresh air. a large basin for warm, milky soft baths.

you’re adorned in a silk dressing gown, buttery against your skin.

your closet is full of them.

“he only keeps me around because he has to—he abhors humans. he won’t even look at me.” you reply.

“if he abhorred you, he wouldn’t keep you safe here, away from other humans.” conrad replies. “or he’d keep you in chains, in a cage somewhere, barely alive.”

“a gilded cage is still a cage.” you sing.

“i always liked birds. i had some as a child.”

lord nai’s voice makes you jump.

you stand, surprised, which makes the blood rush from your head, “lord nai—“

his gaze only flicks to you for a moment before he says, “out, doctor.”

and conrad hurriedly packs up his equipment, bustling and bumbling in the silence that grows heavier with each passing moment. he scuttles out shortly after, leaving you alone with nai.

dizziness sweeps in.

you both look at each other.

you waver.

then nai picks up the cup of tea and offers it to you.

“sit,” he says simply, “and drink.”

you sink back down into the settee as if compelled and nai hands you the cup of tea carefully. your hands are shaking somewhat and you try to keep the tremor out as he hands it to you.

the tea is still warm.

“i’ll have food brought up to you.” nai says then, “you’re weak, it seems.”

“i’m fine,” you say back.

“and here you were, just complaining.” he sighs, turning away from you and towards the window—the birds outside flutter and chirp, wings beating, song high on the wind. nai glances back at you, “drink.” he says again

you obey this time, bringing the rim to your lips. it’s mellow and earthy. a tang of lemon, maybe.

“is your gilded cage not to your liking?” nai asks, returning to watch the birds outside, they flash in dashes of brown and taupe, a sudden red. a burst of blue or streak of yellow.

“no, it’s—“ you swallow, peering down at the tea wobbling in your cup, “my accommodations are lovely.”

“then what do you lack?” nai asks, finally turning away from the window to face you again, “what have i not given you?”

there is an undercurrent of frustration in his voice; it genuinely displeases him in some way. but you’re not sure how. perhaps unhappy blood is bitter. perhaps he prefers the taste of you when you’re relaxed—

“i don’t—“ you try to get out, but he suddenly crosses to to you, so fast it’s almost startling. you fluster as he appears beside you, sitting on the settee with you now.

“then why do you pout?” he hisses, “why do you whine?” he glances at the cup in your hands, the way they tremble, making the glass clink against its saucer. “keep drinking.” he then commands.

you take another sip, deeper than before, and swallow it down slowly. he waits for you, tense and poised beside you.

when you place the cup back into the saucer with another soft clink, you finally say, “companionship.”

“companionship?” he parrots.

“is the only thing you haven’t given me.”

he sits with this for a moment, straightening his back, jaw ticking.

“i’m lonely—“ you add, “kept here, with no one else. i hardly see you.”

the admission is small, soft. a little trembly and you think it’s because of the blood that had been recently drawn. you take another sip to swallow this down, to try and clear your throat.

nai looks you over, gaze slow and raking.

“humans are so needy,” he sneers, standing again, and moving away from you in a flash of pale color. he returns to the window, refusing to face you. you can see he’s tense all over, sharp and tight, holding his posture with rigidness.

you speak carefully;

“it’s all i want for now—you’ve taken care of everything else.”

the knot in his shoulders loosens. he hums at that. silence stretches, except for the faint, muffled sound of the birdsong outside.

“i’ll return later to bring you to the garden.” he finally says.

you startle—

two visits in one day is unheard of.

“why?” you ask, little heart thumping. are you in trouble?

nai turns back to you, calmer than before. his eyes, pale like the morning sky, slide back to you. over you. you wonder if he can hear the fluttering of your heart, like a bird’s wings that beat and jump.

you shudder a little. and when he smiles faintly, coldly, you see a flash of his fang the way the birds flash behind him—there and gone, quick and brilliant;

“because i take care of what’s mine.”

#i have a whole au in my head of this just know that #cielo rambles!#cielo’s writing!#cielo writes!#nai x reader #millions knives x reader

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moonselune · 2 months ago

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hiiii I’m such a fan! I was browsing ur page and I saw your requests were open!! I’ve had this idea that I think you could pull off really well (if you want of course) of headcannons with Gale and Wyll and whoever else you want from the main crew. But it’s a bard Tav where Tav is a really free spirited performer, kinda Stevie Nicks-ish if that makes sense? But just how they would react to their partner performing and being so filled with whimsy lol

of course, take your time, and take care of yourself, love ya 💋

aww thank you and I love you too nonnie ! oxox

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The Elfsong Tavern was buzzing with anticipation, the usual chatter fading to a murmur as you stepped onto the small wooden stage. Tonight, the dim, flickering lanterns cast a warm glow around the room, amplifying the earthy wood tones and illuminating the eager faces of patrons crowded around their drinks. You stood under the lights, dressed in layers of flowing scarves, fringed shawls, and beads that caught every glint of candlelight, giving you an otherworldly aura. The intricate braids and delicate trinkets woven through your hair shimmered, and your movements seemed to echo the fluidity of the music you were about to bring to life.

The tavern was filled with your companions, too; Wyll and Astarion had secured a spot near the back, their friendly bickering put on pause as they waited for your performance. Shadowheart leaned casually against the wall, though her eyes sparkled with anticipation, and Karlach was already clapping her hands in encouragement. After all, you were their one shot of paying off the drinking tab they had racked up. But amid the gathered faces, it was Gale who watched you most intently, his gaze unwavering as if committing every detail to memory. You could tell he was more than eager for this; he had heard you sing before, but he’d never seen you perform like this. Tonight, he had the look of someone watching a dream come to life before him.

As you took a deep breath, your gaze met his, and you felt a jolt of warmth, steadying you before the first note escaped your lips. When you started to sing, your voice was soft yet powerful, like smoke rising from a fire, filling every corner of the room. The melody was haunting, weaving tales of distant lands, lost lovers, and ancient magic as if you were spinning a spell in every verse. The music ebbed and flowed, pulling everyone in and wrapping them in a shared reverie. You let your hands drift through the air, each gesture enhancing the magic of your performance, your body moving with an effortless grace that only added to the ethereal atmosphere.

Gale sat close, his eyes wide with wonder, his usual thoughtful expression replaced by one of pure, unfiltered awe. He had known you were talented, but he hadn’t realized the depth of your gift until this moment. It was as though he was seeing the essence of you laid bare, wrapped in a voice that seemed to pull emotions from his soul he didn’t even know he had. His hand rested over his chest as he watched, his breath shallow, and his cheeks flushed as he tried—and failed—to keep a grin off his face.

With each song, the patrons were drawn deeper into the dreamscape you painted, applauding wildly between sets, shouting for more. Coins began piling up in the small pouch you’d left at the stage’s edge, a few admirers even coming forward to drop in gems and trinkets as tokens of their appreciation. When your final song faded, you looked out at the room, allowing yourself a breath of relief and satisfaction as the patrons erupted in applause, whistles, and cheers.

Sweeping down to gather your earnings, you glanced over at Gale, giving him a knowing smile. The coins clinked together in the pouch, heavy and promising, enough to pay off the tab and keep the camp well-supplied for some time.

“So,” you teased, swinging the pouch of coins playfully, “what do you think, Master Wizard? Impressed?” You couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the flush of color that had spread over his cheeks.

But he didn’t answer with words. Instead, he rose from his seat and, before you could say another word, leaned forward and pulled you into a kiss. His hands were gentle but sure as they settled on your waist, his lips warm and soft against yours. The kiss was deep, sweetly lingering, full of every unspoken word of adoration he could convey. You felt him smile slightly against your mouth, his kiss a mix of passion and pride, as though he couldn’t help but show you how much he cherished this moment. When he finally pulled away, there was a brightness in his eyes, a joyful awe that left you a little breathless.

“That was… breathtaking,” he murmured, voice a touch unsteady, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “You were absolutely enchanting. You always are, but tonight… I feel as though I’ve just met you all over again.”

The way he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world, made your cheeks warm, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You might just have to meet me all over again later, then,” you teased, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “For now, I think we’ve got some celebrating to do.”

His laugh was rich and warm as he nodded, reaching out to clasp your hand as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The other patrons were still clapping, some singing bits of the songs you had just performed, filling the tavern with life and mirth. As you looked around, clutching Gale’s hand tightly, you felt a surge of joy and a sense of belonging that was only strengthened when you glanced back at him.

“Perhaps,” Gale said, leaning close with a mischievous grin, “we could arrange a more private encore? Not for gold this time, but… let’s say, for inspiration.”

You chuckled, cheeks still warm, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’d be delighted, Gale,” you murmured, letting your thumb graze over his as you both made your way back through the crowd, the tavern still ringing with laughter and song.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The Elfsong Tavern was packed tonight, each seat filled and standing room claimed by folks eager to catch a glimpse of the rare performance. Word had spread that there was someone different gracing the stage, a figure draped in layers of midnight blue and silver with cascades of lace and ribbon, a glimpse of gold dusting your cheeks and collarbone. A glimmering amulet rested against your collar, catching the dim, amber tavern lights, casting an ethereal glow as you moved gracefully across the small, candle-lit stage.

At the back of the room, Wyll had found a perch along the wall, one hand resting on his hip as he leaned back, eyes fixed on you. He’d heard you sing before, often in quiet moments meant only for him and only with the flickering light of a campfire between you. It had been a comfort, the way your voice brought life to tales of distant places and people, weaving threads of fantasy that had soothed his weary spirit after long days. He’d known your voice was magic, but this was different. Tonight, you were stepping onto a stage that turned every eye in the tavern toward you, and he found himself awash in pride and something deeper, something far harder to name.

When you began to sing, the lively hum of the crowd faded into an awe-struck silence. Your voice rose, weaving tales of wild-hearted love, of spirit unbound by law or fear. Each word seemed spun from silver and mist, filling the room with a longing so palpable that Wyll felt his own heart pull with it. He barely registered the breaths he took; each one was held between your lyrics, his gaze transfixed by the way you moved, as if the tavern itself became a world of your creation, an enchanted space, and everyone present was helplessly pulled into your orbit.

You sang of love lost and found, of adventures taken in far-off lands under strange, foreign skies. The layers of your voice, low and haunting, rose to peaks of passion, before returning to gentle refrains that wrapped around each listener, drawing them into your spell.

Your eyes, half-lidded and glittering, swept the crowd but always returned to Wyll, grounding him even as he felt himself drifting deeper into your enchantment. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time, and the realization that he could fall even deeper, love you more wholly, made his heart skip a beat.

As the final note faded, the crowd broke into thunderous applause, cheers rising and the atmosphere charged with a sort of collective reverence. You smiled, a soft, almost private smile, as you offered a bow, looking radiant in the warm light, your cheeks flushed with joy. You slipped off the stage, weaving through the tables until you found yourself standing before him. Your expression shifted to that familiar look, a soft amusement in your eyes as you caught Wyll’s unblinking gaze.

“Well, my gallant hero,” you teased, nudging him playfully, “how much gold did we rake in?”

Wyll blinked, still dazed as he registered your words, his eyes slowly focusing.

“The gold… right, of course, the gold…” He fumbled in his pocket, eyes still locked onto yours as if you’d vanish if he looked away. He was meant to collect gold, to raise some money for the refugees stuck in Rivington. His lips parted, and he tried again. “The gold’s… here. I think…”

You chuckled, crossing your arms as you tilted your head, studying him with a raised eyebrow. “Wyll Ravengard, did I leave you speechless?”

“Speechless?” he said, a bit dazed, before laughing softly, his voice catching. “You left me… spellbound.” He reached for your hand, fingers grazing over your knuckles as he held your gaze, his dark eyes warm and reverent. “I knew you were magic, love. But I didn’t know…” He trailed off, swallowing as he shook his head, his hand squeezing yours. “Didn’t know you could make the world disappear like that.”

Your smile softened, your fingers tightening in his as you took a small step closer. “Just a little music, Wyll.”

“No,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “It’s you.” He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Every word, every note… I swear it was just for me.” You could see him wrestling with his own words, fumbling for how to say what he felt.

Finally, he let out a soft chuckle, his expression slipping into something both tender and slightly bashful as he ran a hand through his hair. “I think I’m a fool, standing here in a love-struck haze when we’ve got a tavern’s worth of coins to count."

“Maybe so,” you murmured, unable to resist a grin as you reached up, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “But it’s quite charming, you know?”

He grinned, the teasing warmth in his expression faltering slightly as he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close. His hand found the small of your back, his other tracing the edge of your jaw as he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against yours. His voice softened to a whisper, as if sharing a secret only meant for you.

“I don’t ever want to stop loving you like this,” he said, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “You make me feel… everything. As if all the world could vanish, and I’d still have everything I need, right here with you.”

You felt your heart stutter, warmth flooding through you as you leaned into his touch, your own fingers curling around the back of his neck.

“Wyll Ravengard,” you whispered, leaning in until your lips brushed his, “if you keep this up, we may just end up broke—because I’ll only be singing for you.”

His laughter was soft, breathy, and it melted into a sigh as he pressed his lips to yours, the tavern and its patrons fading away until it felt like just the two of you beneath a star-lit sky.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Awww i do love these softies. Hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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cassiebones · 2 months ago

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Rio and Nicky

The first time she visits them after he's born, Nicky is all but six months old, laying in a bassinet by Agatha's makeshift bed in an old, creaky house with no other furniture. It's mid-winter and they are both covered in blankets.

Nicky is crying.

Rio approaches the bassinet cautiously, eyes the bundle of blankets warily. Nicky's face is screwed up in discomfort and there's a smell emanating from him. Rio wrinkles her nose and glances at Agatha, who is soundly asleep, snoring she's so tired. Agatha never snored often, Rio knew from the nights they'd spent wrapped in each other's arms. It was only when she was so exhausted that keeping her eyes open was a Herculean effort.

Rio had tried to visit them earlier, tried to help, but Agatha was distrustful of her intentions, certain that the second Rio touched her son - their son - that she would take him away despite her promise of more time.

This is the first time she's really seen him up close.

She had expected his eyes to be blue, but they're brown. Deep brown, like hers.

His hair is darker than Agatha's. His skin is olive-toned. When he sees Rio standing above him, her human glamor turned on, he stops crying for a moment, just letting out the slightest whimpers as tears fall down his chubby cheeks. She reaches out to wipe them away and he grabs her thumb, squeezing so tightly.

Her heart swells with affection and she makes the snap decision to pick him up, cradling him against her chest. He relaxes against her and she feels a rush of strong emotion. Only Agatha has ever felt this much love before, only Agatha has been able to make her heart beat.

Now, there's two of them that can do that.

She changes him, quickly, with magic. She cleans his blankets, keeping him warm against her chest in the meantime. She places baby's breath between the blankets for sweet dreams and protection. Agatha will find the sprig later, will know she's been there, but Rio doesn't mind.

She wants Agatha to know that she's been there and that she left their son behind, like she'd promised.

She sings a song in Spanish to Nicky, lulling him back to sleep, presses a kiss to his forehead and whispers, "Te amo, mi corazon," to him. She needs him to know. "I'll be back. Te veo."

She's gone just seconds before Agatha wakes with a start and rises to check on her baby, who is sound asleep and dry. She carries him back to her bed, anyway, sleeps with him in her arms. He smells...earthy. She doesn't think too much of this as she drifts back off to sleep.

The next time Rio visits, Nicky is nearly a year old, already toddling around. He's too big for the bassinet now, but Agatha has found a way to keep him from wandering off in the night.

"A leash?" Rio whispers with a laugh. "Oh no, sweet boy. She put you on a leash?"

He doesn't speak yet, but he smiles up at Rio as though he remembers her. He raises his arms to be picked up, but Rio is cautious about waking Agatha. Instead, she takes a seat on the ground in front of where he's sat, tethered to his mother.

His hair is a mop on his head, slightly curly, sticking up at odd places. His smile is like Agatha's, wide and open and so happy to see her. Rio reaches out to stroke his cheek, lovingly.

"Te amo," she whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Te amo, mi corazon." She presses another kiss to his hands. "My beautiful boy." When he coughs, she frowns and makes some mint appear in her hands. His eyes grow wide and he lets out a giggle as she hands him the leaf. He nibbles on it and sighs. It should help his cough. For now.

She starts to sing to him like the last time she was here. She encourages him to lay down next to Agatha, encourages him to sleep. She leans over him, places a kiss on his nose, making him giggle once more before he submits to slumber. She leans further and places a kiss on Agatha's cheek.

"My love," she whispers in her ear, before disappearing.

Again, Agatha awakes just seconds later. She turns to her son, who is sound asleep, clutching a mint leaf in his hand in a place where mint does not grow wildly, especially not within two feet of where they're sleeping. Agatha knows exactly what that means, but she ignores it, wrapping her arms around her child.

Rio's child.

Nicky is three when Rio comes again. He's walking and talking and dancing and just a joy to be around.

This time, it's the middle of the day. Rio can smell something cooking from inside Agatha's little house. She has to be quick today.

"Hello," Nicky says to Rio when he sees her peeking out from behind a tree. "I know you, I think."

"Hello," Rio whispers, coming forth. "Do you? Know me?"

"Yes," Nicky says, furrowing his brow. "I think so. You're the green lady."

"I am the green lady," Rio confirms, chuckling. "I prefer the term witch. Or you could call me Mother."

"Mother?" Nicky asks. "I have a mother. Mama."

"Well she can be Mama. I will be Mother."

"Like the divine mother?" Nicky asks.

"Very much like that, yes," Rio says. She comes a bit closer. Nicky doesn't move away. "And you're Nicky."

"You know my name?"

"I was there the day you were born."

"Whoa. You must be old."

Oh, the bluntness of children. Rio cackles.

"Yes," she says, "very old." She smiles affectionately at him. "Te amo, mi corazon."

"What does that mean?" Nicky asks. "I think I've heard it before."

"Te amo means I love you. Mi corazon means my heart. You are my heart, Nicholas Scratch. I helped your mama make you."

"Oh, so then you really are my Mother."

"I am."

"Hello, Mother."

"Hello, Nicky."

"Nicholas," Agatha calls from the house. "Suppertime, child. Come home."

She appears at the door and frowns. "What are you doing so close to the trees? I've told you never to go that far away."

"I was speaking to," he turns, but finds that Mother has gone. "Mother," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

The next time Rio comes to see him, she is summoned.

"What's wrong?" she asks Nicky, who is still three, but a few months older. It's nighttime. They are sleeping outside. Agatha is snoring again.

"Nothing is wrong, Mother," Nicky says. "I just wanted to see you again."

Rio softens, her worry turning to joy. She sits in front of him, a few feet away from Agatha, and reaches out to hug him. She hasn't held him in years. He smells the same as he did back them. She inhales him.

"Why do you leave when Mama is around?" he asks her, against her shoulder.

"Mama is angry with me," Rio whispers in his ear. "She would be angry if she ever saw me. She wouldn't let me see you again."

"Why is she angry?"

"Because she owes me a debt that she does not want to pay."

"I do not understand."

"You will, someday."

"Can you take me with you, wherever it is you go? Just one night? We can return before Mama wakes up."

Rio's heart clenches as she shakes her head no.

"I cannot," she said. "Not yet, anyway. One day I will."

"Do you swear it?" Nicky asks.

"I swear it," Rio responds, holding out her hand. They shake and he beams up at her.

Agatha starts to stir and Rio places one finger over her lips, then presses them to his temple. "Te amo," she whispers. Then she is gone.

"Te amo, Mother," Nicky whispers back.

Agatha turns next to him, reaches for him, and Nicky crawls into her arms, quickly falling asleep against her chest.

Rio's visits are more regular as Nicky grows older. She celebrates his milestones with him, his birthdays. She always leaves flowers for him, which do not go unnoticed by Agatha, though she chooses to pretend they're not there. Rio has yet to take him, so she's comfortable allowing Rio to see their son for now.

Rio tells Nicky stories of adventures they've been on at night or during his solo play times. She gives him soft cures for his cough, but it just soothes the ache in his chest. It does not eradicate his illness entirely. She wishes she could do more.

Nicky becomes so comfortable with her that he starts sitting in her lap, relaxing into Rio as she tells him stories of his mother's youth. She makes him promise she will never tell Agatha that he knows these stories. She also tells him that their trip together is getting closer, that he must prepare himself.

Nicky seems to understand the implications of this "trip", understands that it's not a small thing. He tells her that he's almost ready for it. That he just needs a little more time with Mama.

Despite herself, Rio allows more time.

She listens to the song he and Agatha made up together, sings along with him, inserting some of her own lyrics. He tells them to Agatha, who smiles at them, thinking they're all from his own mind.

The night that Rio comes for him, she keeps her distance. Nicky still feels her presence and wakes almost immediately, spying her.

Rio beckons him to her and he nods, getting up, extricating himself from Agatha's grasp. He moves to follow Rio, but she motions for him to say his goodbyes. He nods and gives Agatha two kisses.

One for himself.

One for Rio.

Then he rushes forth and takes his Mother's hand, holding it tightly.

"Where are we going, Mother?" he asks.

Rio smiles down at him, tearfully. "On an adventure, mi corazon."

#I have work in thirty minutes and I just made myself cry #:)#agatha all along #rio vidal #nicholas scratch #agatha harkness #that's rio's baby

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