#filled with holy wrath

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[brokendreamscreation]

The command of the archangel snaps Lucid out of his panicking state, blue hues going wide a moment and locking with Gabriel’s helmet. Steadied and held in place, the young angel listens, just as he has countless times to the guardian. The flickering of his halo stills to a low glow, but perhaps just a bit lighter now. When asked of his sins and how he is defined, Lucid swallows before speaking barely above a whisper. “I…I list them t-to atone them. I don’t want…to give up being good…”

Shimmering, starry tears gloss Lucid’s eyes, feeling himself begin to break once more. He wants to be good, he truly does! And despite the horrors of his actions upon both Gabriel and Lucifer, the archangel sees good and potential in him. Perhaps even more than Father ever could. This notion alone burns the dim flame of hope brighter, cutting through the darkness of his turbulent mind and thoughts.

Choking out a sob, the blue seraph begins to cry, his heart and soul overwhelmed with emotions, but a prominent one being love. Love for his brothers and in return the loved and forgave him. In truth, Lucid feels like a part of him broke apart that day under the accursed spell, leaving a gaping wound in his very being. But here was Gabriel, patching that wound with love to make the younger angel feel more whole once more.

“G-Gabriel I am so sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-” Hands brush at the flow of tears, but no matter how he wipes them away there seems to be twice more replacing them. “I never want to hurt you! I-I never want to hurt Lucifer. Or anyone! But I did, I did hurt you! I hurt you both so badly and I’m so sorry!”

✞ This was not going to be easy. This much he knew-- dreaded, even, long before he left the infirmary, before he even left the dragon's mouth, he knew. And even then, he thought how could he best disregard this tooth impaling him when his brother came to. And yet he still did not guess quite how badly it would burden them. Sometimes... he forgets they have not watched the world nearly end a thousand times, have not nearly killed Lucifer, have not... murdered their fair share of demons.

Hands find their shoulders, a steadying gesture, already feeling that they are coming undone, but he lets them finish, only nodding in acceptance at every crime they mention. He knew that they had to grieve the mistake, letting guilt and shame run its course. As anyone would-- as he would. But when they begin to reach their peak, grow erratic, he takes their hand from their chest and grips one shoulder tighter. That kind of thinking he can't abide by.

" Enough-- Lucid, stop. " A command, though his stern tone softens as he pulls them to look at him. " Stop and listen... You are not something evil, you are a person that has done an evil act under extreme duress. Please, see that there is a difference... You are no less divine than I am-- and I shall not let you believe what others pre-judge of you merely because of another's vile affliction! But... I ask you, brother... Do you tell me your sins to list all you will atone for or do you tell me because you wish to give up on being good? This-- this is what I mean when I say what will define you... " But the word still stays with him. Tainted. If it were that simple, then he must be drenched in stains... Heaven knows he's not as pure as he was at their age. His demeanor grows somber as his gaze wanders down from them as his grip on them softens.

" You are an immortal yet imperfect thing, Lucid. A very powerful one. And somehow, one day, many times as you forever exist, you will cause... terrible destruction. Accident or otherwise. But you also have endless potential for incredible good. My only wish is to raise you to see that... "

[crushmeeren]

ᝰ DICK THEORIES .ᐟ [ ༝ NARUTO EDITION ༝ ]

⋆ ft. itachi & neji ⋆

master list

༝ ᭝ ༝ itachi ༝ ᭝ ༝ [he’s got a monster hiding in his briefs.]

Itachi’s a sweetheart, even if his cock’s as thick as a coke can.

It’s absolutely a well kept secret. He’s never been one to sleep with tons of people, and, luckily, the other women who’ve managed to fit him are respectful enough not to kiss and tell.

Sure, he’d changed around other men several different times, and he’d visited onsens before, but nobody commented on it. The ones who’d teased him in good nature were his close friends, and that’s only if they managed to catch a peak while he was changing.

The first time you’re tangled in Itachi’s sheets, yanking his briefs down while he looms over you, you’re genuinely shocked at the size of his cock as it bobs free and sticks straight out. Your eyes widen, eyebrows shooting to your hairline, and a brief burst of fear rises to the surface.

Itachi retreats to sit on his calves, worrying at his bottom lip as his features pinch in concern.

“Is it…is it too much, my love?” He asks softly. You reluctantly tear your gaze away from below his pelvis, chest clenching at the unsure expression he now wears.

You push up into a sitting position, reaching out and lightly trace your fingers along the pink, soft, uncut skin of his shaft. You love how his breath catches and his cock twitches. “No, it’s — it’s more than okay, Itachi. It just surprised me is all, I’ve never been with someone so big. It’ll take some work to fit you inside.”

Itachi’s cheeks flush a rosy color, shooting you a shy smile. He places a hand to your chest and pushes gently until your back hits the mattress once again. “I won’t let it hurt, I promise sweetheart. I’ll make you feel so amazing your pretty little head will fill with cotton.”

He goes above and beyond, letting his slender fingers and warm tongue bring you to the edge more than once before he decides you’re ready.

Itachi rocks his hips shallowly, inching himself into your pussy, and a jolt of pain flares up your spine when he’s about halfway. He allows you a few deep breaths before he continues to apply pressure until you’re stuffed full. You whimper, pelvis aching when you shift your weight.

Itachi laces your fingers together and plants them by your head, resting his forehead on yours. “Such a good girl, such a sweet girl, all for me,” he coos.

And when Itachi finally does fully roll his hips, all your thoughts vanish. The all encompassing, pussy splitting stretch is brand new to you, and your orgasm swells to a breaking point within the first few thrusts. The heat is overwhelming and holy. fucking. shit. It’s insanely good.

Itachi’s got you addicted to his cock before the night ends.

༝ ᭝ ༝ neji ༝ ᭝ ༝ [he’s the perfect size.]

Neji’s cock is the perfect amount of thick, but he’s a bit longer than average. It’s the kind of dick that you’d happily beg for over and over, because it’s incredible.

He is, however, a bit more stuck up when it comes to sex. So much like Itachi, you’re not privy to what his dick is like before you get in his bed. Any other girl he’s slept with has kept their lips sealed in fear of Neji’s wrath should they gossip about him.

Despite how it irritates you, you get it. You wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of the Hyuga clan either.

The first time you have sex with Neji, you’re relieved at the sight of his dick, as odd as that may be. You were a tiny bit worried he’d be too small, but he’s not at all.

Neji wears a smug smile when you voice your thoughts, lids lowering as your fingers curl around the base of his cock, stroking him slowly.

“I take it you’re pleased with what you see, pretty girl?” Neji pushes your thighs apart and settles in between them as he speaks, hands finding your hips and yanking until your ass rests on the tops of his thighs.

Your breath catches at the harsh movement, fisting the sheets to steady yourself. “Definitely,” you murmur distractedly, staring with no small amount of heat at the way Neji’s cock curves up towards his belly.

You tuck away the desire to suck him off for another time.

Neji laughs in amusement, readjusting his stance and tilting your hips up until he’s able to line himself up with you. He slides in with such ease, pussy fitting him like a glove. Neji tilts his head back and moans, sliding his hands up and gripping your waist tightly.

You choke on your next breath, digging your nails into his forearms, eyes wide as you blink up at him. Neji brings his head back up, glancing down to where he’s disappeared, and a low moan spills from his mouth.

Neji’s impatient hips draw back and push forward smoothly, starting slow so you can both savor the hot, slick drag of his cock.

“Feels so good Neji,” you say with a sigh. Pretty purple eyes lock with yours and he bites his lip.

“Want it faster baby?” He asks playfully, picking up the pace until you inhale sharply when he hits your g-spot.

You nod eagerly, the base of your skull digging into the mattress. “Fuck, yes Neji, faster please!”

He pants softly, focusing intently on keeping up the rough pace he’s set. “Anything your heart desires, pretty girl.”

You take Neji’s cock again and again, and then one more time before you both agree to call it quits for the night.

[holygirlforjesus]

How to tame your tongue

For those of you who want to know, I’m mainly posting it because I needed those tips myself, but I thought I’d share.

1. Understand the power of words.

2. Start a swear jar

3. Fill your mind & time with holy things

4. Consider who you are hurting

5. Count to thirty

6. Pray for Holy Spirit to help you resist the temptation

7. Monitor what you watch and listen to

8. Make sure you have the right friends

9. Give up your right to be right

10. Memorize scripture about upright speech

11. Find out where your anger is coming from and resolve it

12. Only say what matters

13. Be wise and Patient

14. Don‘t gossip

Psalm 19:14

"Let the words of my mouth and the mediation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer."

Proverbs 10:11

"The mouth of a righteous man is a well of life: but violence covers the mouth of the wicked."

Proverbs 15:1

"A soft answer turn away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger."

Proverbs 16:24

"Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body."

Psalm 34:13

"Keep [my] tongue from evil and [my] lips from speaking deceit."

Psalm 141:3

"Set a watch, O lord, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips."

She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

Proverbs 31:26

[wordsmithic]

𒀭 10 + 1 Greek words for the Divine 𒀭

Please note that the full and/or root words mentioned here, like most Greek words, are still in use since antiquity. As a Greek speaker, I love sharing my interesting language with people like you! 𖦹

1. ενθεογόνο (entheoghóno, n)

"Entheogen" – A type of substance believed to induce spiritual experiences or connect one with the divine (e.g., certain psychoactive plants). Literally: "Generating the divine within."

From εν- ("in" or "within) + θεός (God) + γόνος ("Generating" or "producing")

2. θέωση (théosi, n)

Literally, deification or divinization.The process by which a person, usually a saint or a holy figure, is believed to become divine or achieve a state of union with the divine.

from θεός (god) + suffix -σις, which denotes the process or state of something.

3. αποθέωση (apothéosi, ν)

Literally, “deification”. It is used as “glorification” or as the state where the crowd claps and shouts, exalting an artist on stage.

from από- ("away from", "off") +  θεός (god) + -σις (a suffix indicating action or process.)

4. ένθεος (énthéos, n)

Literally, "god-filled," being possessed by god.

From ἐν ("in") + θεός (god).

5. θεόρατος (theóratos, adj) 

Of awe-inspiring in size. Colossal, gigantic, or immense. Literally, "godlike in appearance", or "(so big that it's) seen by the gods".

from θεός (God) + οράω (to see)

6. θεότρελος (theótrelos, adj) 

Literally, "God-mad", interpreted as "so mad that their madness goes high, to the gods/god".

From θεός (God) + τρελός (crazy or mad)

θεο- is added as a prefix in adjectives to accentuate them, to showcase their extreme degree.

7. ξεθεώνομαι (ksetheónome, v, intransitive/self-contained form) 

Literally, "to be beyond god/gods themselves". We use it as "being pushed beyond limits". To be exhausted, worn out.

From ξε- ("to the utmost" or "completely.") + θεός (God) 

8. θεόσταλτος (theóstaltos, adj)

Literally: God-sent.

From: θεός (god) + στέλλω (to send)

9. θεόπνευστος (theópnefstos, adj)

Literally, "breathed into by God." Metaphorically, "God-inspired / Divinely-inspired". This is used to describe holy books, like the Bible, that were said to be inspired by the divine, and not the human mind.

From θεός (god) + πνέω (to breathe or to blow) + -στος (-stos, A suffix denoting a state or condition.)

10. θεοφάνεια (theofánia, n)

Literally, "appearance of God." Refers to the Christian feast of Theofany (Epiphany), which commemorates the baptism of Jesus.

From θεός (God) + φαίνω (to appear, to manifest)

11. θεομηνία (theominía, n)

Literally, "God's wrath." Metaphorically, a calamity or disaster seen as a manifestation of divine wrath. Refers to natural disasters or catastrophic events, such as floods, earthquakes, or storms.

From θεός (god) + μήνις (wrath or extreme anger)

▣ ━ My masterpost with similar posts on Greek Language ━ ▣

[hughmanbean]

Titles I've Acquired

So I've decided to just jot down all of the titles I made some time ago in older posts and some more recent ones @jedipirateking helped with.

Danny:

First of Holy Name, The Reluctant King, The High Queen, Queen of the Cosmos

Bringer of Balance, Embodiment of Space, Mother of Wrath and Trickery, Siren of the Stars, The Great One, The Inevitable Authority

Danno, Little Badger

Ones we made on a recent post, focused on a joke. Not meant to signify Danny's Rank:

Avatar of Outta Here, Knight of Nope, Sir Scurry Scatter and Scram, God of Getaways, Emperor of the Bounce, Queen of Quick Exits, Prince of Poof, Zealot of Zoom, Duke of Dodge, Duck, Dip, Dive, and Dodge, The Great Gun It, Valet to Vamoose and Vacate, Baron von Bail, Scenechal of Scatter, Coup to Clamor and Climb.

Dante:

First of His Name, The Wrathful Prince, The Erratic Prince, Hate-Filled Union Born Anew, The Watchful and Filial Son

Dani/Ellie:

First of Her Name, The Mischievous Princess, The Wandering Princess, Mirror Turned Painting, A Futile Chase of Desire Remade, The Protective and Loyal Daughter

Vlad:

The Avaricious Duke, The High Queen's Rival, The Greedy Interloper, Creator of Shattered Mirrors, He Who Desires That Which Is Unattainable

Fruitloop.

Lady Gotham:

Home of Many, Perseverance in Protection, The Lady Who Commands the Knight, Bird Keeper

[wystiix]

❥ pairing: siren!robin x sailor fem!reader ❥ synopsis: The ocean listens keenly—you should have known that. You were a curious individual, so you decided to test out an old fisherman's tale. A silver offering, a song at sunset, and a voice that hums back from the deepest parts. You should have never sought an answer—but now, the sea has heard you. ❥ cw: major character death, slight mind manipulation ❥ additional tags: second person perspective, siren au ❥ word count: 3.3k ❥ notes: haha i saw the hoyofair art... holy shit robin is gorgeous i just had to write about it. yeah uh ig this is my first hsr work. not sure if i'll write more. i hope to god i didn't mischaracterise her cuz i was just writing about how sirens usually act. and yes i know i know I KNOW SIRENS WERE ORIGINALLY DEPICTED AS HALF BIRD IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY. i was mainly basing this off on how the philippines depicted these creatures (sirena), because "sirena" in tagalog means "mermaid". so ya!! i would also like to give a special thanks to bbg @papiliotao for proofreading this for me <33 love you rei, to the moon and back /p

The ocean was no stranger to you—you had known it throughout your whole life. Since you were a little girl, staring at the shimmering surface turned into a routine. You admired how it seemingly stretched out an eternal expanse of azure blue that met with the sky’s horizon before you. 

You’d dip your feet beneath the shallow waters and allow them to sink into the sand without a care in the world. The tides would crash and the waves licked up your legs. The ocean was your comfort. It was your home.

And yet, you often wondered: what laid beyond the reef?

You had come from a long bloodline of those who were masters of the sea, men and women who lived and died by the waves. Like the masters they were, they taught you everything you needed to know—how to read the stars, predict the tides, how to navigate your way through the waters to avoid getting lost. But above all, they never fail to warn you about the dangers of the deep.

Countless legends and stories have been told to you about the lives of your ancestors being taken by the same waters you had come to love. Monsters, storms, mistakes which eventually led them to their demise. However, one tale above all haunted your family’s stories.

They said the waves would often get mischievous. They led sailors’ boats further astray into the mist where the rocks waited. Among numerous creatures of the deep, none would come as close to dangerous as the ones your ancestors perceived to be beautiful singers.

They had voices like honey, sweet enough to drown out any coherent thought. They often appeared to sailors as women who were part-fish—beautiful beyond words with skin that glittered like the sea itself.

But looks can be deceiving. For those who followed their songs never returned.

However, it didn’t stop there. Some believed that you didn’t have to wait for them to find you. Apparently, you could summon them. 

It was stated that when the sun bled into the water with hues blossoming red and gold, the summoner should bring a gift—something precious, an offering of silver. Toss it into the waves and wash your face on the shore as the waves slowly take it away. Hum a tune, preferably one expressing your deepest yearnings and desires, for it will attract and bring them closer. Then, wait for the sea to answer as the sun fully sets. 

Old fishermen warn you not to cease your melody, for the sea listens keenly. These creatures aren’t particularly known for their patience; silence could summon their wrath instead. Keep your melody alive and listen closely. When you hear a tune drift back to you from the depths, you know you’ve been heard—the ritual is then deemed successful.

If you were lucky, a benevolent creature may grant you mercy. It was a common belief that they may offer you a kiss—one that could grant gifts and blessings. Stories claim that this kiss could fill your lungs with the ocean’s breath and grant you the power to swim as one of them. 

But luck was a dangerous, fickle thing to gamble. More often than not, when these creatures appeared, these gifts weren’t given freely. If they came at all, they never left any witnesses behind. They were more of a misfortune than a boon.

Now, you were a skeptic. You weren’t one to believe in such things. They were merely fairytales to you, and you knew that the ocean was more forgiving than that as long as you didn’t go beyond the reef. Though, you couldn’t help this lingering curiosity eating away at the back of your mind like a swarm of pests.

And so, you decided to test this theory.

One evening, you found yourself standing at the rocky shore. You knew the stretch of this coast well, the rocky areas always seemed to slope faster into the deep strangely. This seemed like a perfect spot to do the bidding.

In your hand was a hooped silver earring, one from a pair you had lost a long time ago. It glinted as it caught the last rays of sunlight as you watched the sun set. While it was precious, it was merely a trinket. You could live with its loss.

This was foolish. Childish, even. Testing an old sailor’s tale? You should have laughed and left it at that.

The faint smell of the salty breeze met your senses as you took a deep breath. Your pulse quickened with anticipation—or was it fear? Either way, there was no turning back now, not after all the trouble you went through to find a trinket you thought no longer mattered and to travel all the way to the beach.

You let the earring fall from your fingers. The silver flashed briefly before the tide claimed it, and it evanesced into the water. 

A sigh slipped past your lips as you crouched by the shoreline. For a moment, you hesitated. What if they were right? What if these warnings weren’t just tales after all?

No, you were here now. This was merely a ridiculous test because you had nothing to do. Nothing was going to happen. Even if it were real, you weren’t one to give in to temptations so easily. You were not exactly easy to impress after all.

The cool water lapped at your hands and you splashed it onto your face with the salt stinging your skin. A stray drop had managed to slip into your lips and you immediately spat it out, grimacing at the bitter taste that settled on your tongue.

Then, you parted your lips and sang.

A gentle tune floated from your lips. Simple and familiar, no grand notes or anything. It was the kind that was second nature to you as if it had always belonged to the waves itself.

The sun continued setting slowly, and the waters were painted with deep crimson and orange. The final note left your lips and you waited. You were unsure if you had done it right. Would anything happen at all? Did you make a fool of yourself?

Your ears strained as you listened. To keep the melody alive, you hummed the whole song over again. The last rays of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon and the ocean seemed to grow still when you finished.

Nothing. You heard nothing. You almost felt foolish.

A frustrated sigh spilled out of you and you stood up. You had just practically tossed your silver jewellery into the water to test out some absurd myth. There was no one to blame but yourself in this situation. You turned on your heel, about to walk away with humiliation.

Until you heard it.

The waves crashed against the rocks. You backed away from the edge so the waves wouldn’t catch you, but you listened closely. 

A note. It rose faintly from the waters, and the sea seemed to hum it.

Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray…

Your blood froze.

Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay.

You weren’t alone.

Conversing with a young lass who seem'd to be in pain,

Saying, "William, when you go, I fear you'll ne'er return again.

Your heart thudded in your chest painfully as you glanced at the water with your eyes wide, straining to see among the shifting tides in the darkness. And there, you espied something.

A head popped out from beneath the surface. Lilac-silver hair and emerald eyes stared straight at you. Confused, you blinked a few times and rubbed your eyes, unsure if your vision was deceiving you. But when you opened your eyes again, it was gone. The water was empty, and the eerie hum of the ocean was the only sound to be heard.

Your pulse quickened.

Had you imagined it? Something told you that this wasn’t a coincidence.

This time, you decided to be a little risky. You stepped near the edge, feeling the moss and jagged rock beneath your feet to take a closer look. Your eyes fixed on that one spot where you had seen the head. 

There was… definitely something beneath the surface. Something was moving, and it looked like a fish tail. Ripples lapped gently at the water’s edge as the head emerged again.

This time, however, it was closer to you, and you could see a few more prominent features. A crown of coral adorned her head, and gills of fish rested by her ears. The same emerald eyes stared at you as if her gaze was piercing into your soul.

“Hello?” you blurted out almost foolishly. “Did I disturb your swim?”

Her intense gaze made you nervous and made your heart race. The figure simply tilted her head as she looked at you, almost with deliberate slowness as if she was sizing you up. Then, she smiled.

“You summoned me.”

A chill ran down your spine. You blinked momentarily, your mouth parting as you thought of what to say. And then the realisation hit you, and you smacked your forehead in embarrassment. Fool, you scolded inwardly. Why in the seven seas would you ask such a thoughtless question?

“I—uh—” You cleared your throat and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. “I didn't think it was… possible?”

She merely chuckled and rose slightly from the surface, sitting on a rock just close to you. Droplets of water dripped down her face and neck, and for the first time, you could see a creature like her in full display. Her hair swayed gently as if caught by an unseen breeze. Her hair colour reminded you of periwinkle flowers; ethereal, elegant and eye-catching. The three E’s.

Her tail glistened with rich shades of violet and curled around her as she sat. Its scales were arranged perfectly with iridescent patterns that shifted in the light, creating a stunning display of brilliant colours. Were those tiny wings hanging behind her ears? Your ancestors hadn’t provided many details on these beings’ appearances.

The sight of her made your breath catch in your throat.

“Did you think I was going to leave without greeting you?” she asked, breaking you out of your trance. Her voice was smooth and soft like silk, and it almost sounded like a lullaby.

You swallowed hard. The weight of your reckless curiosity was starting to sink in.

“No…” you mumbled. Her fixed gaze on you wasn't making this situation any less frightening. The darkness didn't help either, as the sun had just set. It was as if her eyes were the brightest thing around, glowing faintly.

The sea listens keenly. You should have heeded that warning from your masters.

“I had no idea what I was thinking,” you continued sheepishly, attempting to salvage every last bit of your dignity. “I guess I wanted to know if the old tales were real—”

“Tales.” Her smile widened. “You didn’t think they were true?”

Not until now. The truth had punched you in the gut and you were left feeling lightheaded. Of course they were true.

You didn’t know whether to cry, laugh or flee. Or all of the above. Perhaps the ground could open up a hole and swallow you instead, that’d mostly be preferable.

The silence stretched for a long moment. Then, she spoke again, breaking that silence.

“My name is Robin,” she said lightly, as if offering the name was some casual gift. “And what’s yours, sailor?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, unsure if you should be terrified. However, provoking these creatures wasn’t exactly encouraged. Swallowing, you crouched down and answered nervously. “[Name].”

Robin eyed you for a moment before smiling. “[Name], how lovely,” she hummed looking down at her reflection in the water. “Well, [Name], how fortunate for you that I’m feeling quite generous tonight.”

You knitted your eyebrows together. “Generous?”

Her finger traced lazy circles on the surface of the water. “What is it that you desire the most?” she asked. “You had a reason to summon me, did you not?”

“Oh.” Shaking your head, you waved your hands dismissively. You had completely forgotten about that. “No, not at all. This was… merely a test of courage.”

“Shall I reward that courage?”

“What?”

Her tail flicked, scattering droplets into the air as she slid off the rock and sank into the sea once again. “Shall I grant you a blessing to reward your bravery?” She pressed herself against the crag and leaned in just enough to make your pulse quicken. “A curious sailor like you deserves such a gift.”

The water curled towards the rock at your feet. Had you heard her right? A gift? Something about it made you suspicious, yet her gaze seemed sincere.

When you didn’t answer, her eyes gleamed as she continued, “I don’t offer my gifts lightly, dear. A kiss from me, and you could have it all. Swim with the tide, breathe beneath the waves, see the ocean as I do…” Robin sighed and rested her head on her hand. “It’s a rare offer. One that most sailors would beg for.”

“That easy, huh.” You eyed her warily, crossing your arms. There had to be a catch.

Robin’s smile didn’t falter. “Would you rather I make it difficult?”

You blinked a few times before shaking your head. “No, I—” A sharp exhale slipped out of you. 

You were going to say no. You were sure of it. So why couldn’t you?

“So what’s wrong?” she asked, watching you closely. “You troubled yourself to come all the way here and summon me. Surely you wouldn’t just leave empty-handed? Ridiculous. Why hesitate?”

The waves lapped slowly at the rock and the rhythm of your pulse quickened. The ocean seemed to stretch endlessly behind her.

Why hesitate?

The question should have been easy to answer. So many answers, so many reasons. Yet, you just… couldn’t seem to name them.

“You’re thinking so hard,” she mused. “Is it really so difficult?”

You stiffened.

Yes, it was.

“I-I just…” you murmured, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I would much rather have my feet stay on land.”

Silence enveloped the both of you like a blanket. Robin narrowed her eyes at you, putting her hand down, and her eyes were locked onto your face which made you more nervous. It seemed like she was examining you. Closely.

Did you perhaps tick her off?

Dark waves rolled in like silk as the ocean shimmered. The air felt a lot heavier. It clung to your skin, thick with salt and something else you couldn’t name. Words are unable to be formed and for a moment, you swore you heard the tide humming. 

A haze settled into your mind, thick and intoxicating. The stars had just come out, and they shone in a way that felt unreal. In fact, your surroundings felt unreal.

She was closer now, humming a soft melody to like the lull of the ocean itself. When had that happened? Her cold, damp fingers brushed against your cheek which made your breath hitch.

“You’re trembling,” she spoke softly. “You're not afraid, are you?”

Afraid? No, not at all. In fact, the fear had eroded away the moment you heard her sing. There was something about her voice, something that allowed each note that spilled out of her lips tug at the threads of your heart. Any thought seemed to wash itself out as you drowned in the pools of her emerald eyes.

You felt her hand gently caress your face, inclining your head closer. Before you knew it, soft lips brushed against yours in a tender kiss. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears and your head spun as the kiss lingered for a moment, unable to bring yourself to pull away.

It was an unexplainable, intoxicating allure that had you trapped, rendering any attempts of resisting fruitless. Her lips tasted like sin itself, enticing you deeper—and you wanted more of it. Your mind melted as the world around you seemed to blur at the edges. It just urged you to lean in a little more, fearing that to pull away would shatter this utter bliss.

“Still with me?”

Robin’s voice was a sweet and sugary lilt as she murmured against your lips, and it wrapped around your senses—lingering like the taste of salt on your tongue. You nodded, unsure if you even remembered how to speak. Or think. Or breathe.

Her lips were warm. But why was the water so cold? You could feel it rise to your ankles. Then your knees. Then your chest.

Wait—when did you step into the sea?

Your body swayed and it felt weightless. Somewhere far away, you heard the tide singing and Robin singing along with it. You could feel her hands cup your face and tilt your head deeper into the kiss. A low hum rattled in your chest, vibrating throughout your bones.

The ocean listens keenly. You should have known that.

The ocean listens keenly. You should have known that.

Your lungs felt full as she pulled away. Not tight. Not desperate. Just… full.

She was still so close. You hadn’t moved, had you? But you were closer. You blinked slowly at her as she swam in and out of focus. Were her eyes glowing? Or were yours just dimming? It was hard to tell. She hummed a soothing melody that eased your thoughts.

“I thought you sailors were clever.”

Huh?

The realisation came in slowly like thick syrup, a heaviness that settled in the pit of your stomach. You were sinking. Or had you already sunk?

Something delicately grazed your cheek. A strand of hair, drifting freely into the water. Yours or hers?

…Had you been holding your breath all this time? The ocean was in your ears. Your lungs. Salt was burning your throat and your mind. Your head tilted back instinctively to take a breath as you struggled.

But there was no air left to take.

You tried to lift your legs, but they felt heavy and sluggish. The cold ocean wrapped around you like a blanket, pressing against your skin.

The only thing you could see was Robin’s face. Crown of coral adorning her head, and gills of fish resting by her ears. The same green pools of eyes you drowned in pieced into you.

She was smiling.

“Close your eyes,” you heard her say. At least you think you did. “It’s easier that way.”

The pressure in your chest was heavy but no longer frightening. It felt familiar—like the hundreds of warnings you have heard from your masters the moment you were old enough to walk. They echoed in the back of your head.

You remembered the tales, the stories. How they had lured those before you. How the sea listened so carefully to their songs they were later consumed. You remembered the warnings passed down from generation to generation. The fear it was supposed to ignite.

But now, as you sank deeper, there was no fear. Only acceptance.

Robin’s hums echoed in the depths. It seeped into your bones to your very essence. It was the same melody you heard her sing, the same lullaby your ancestors must have heard. The one they couldn’t escape. You thought you were clever. You thought you weren’t easy to please. You thought you could even have a chance of escaping. You thought wrong.

You parted your lips, perhaps to call out the name of your family, perhaps to scream for help, but your words got lost in the water. They were swallowed by the depths.

Now you understand. Now you understand why they didn’t run, why they didn’t escape—the allure was not just the beauty, but the temptation. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t resist it. The sailors were left with no choice. Neither were you.

The ocean listens keenly. And, like it did to your ancestors, it answered.

You felt Robin’s hand graze your cheek as she gazed at you with that deceptive, soft look in her eyes. You both then shared one last kiss. Her breath—the sea’s breath, rather—filled your lungs.

And you let it. You succumbed to what was promised eternal bliss. It was easier that way.

[thrashkink-coven]

Here are some mantras and invocations Lucifer and I came up with together 🖤

I’ll probably add more as we create them

To Invoke Lucifer/Lucifuge in his Dark Initiator Form

“Eyan Tasa Princeps Tenebrarum Volocur Melainis Lucifuge Rofocale Eyan Kenón Esōterikon Volocur Skías Synergos”

Translation:

“I invoke insight to lift me up to the Prince of Darkness, To elevate me to the Black Lucifuge Rofocale. I invoke insight to lift me up to the Inner Void, to elevate me to the Shadow Companion.”

To Invoke the Spirits of Venus in its Fiery Warlike Form, To Vanquish Enemies

“In Nomine Dei Ignis Tasa Thymós Haima Ganic Tasa Fubin Flereous Uberaca Exousia Areia Ishtari Luciferi Ganic Tasa Theua Dynamis Androphonor Satanas Imperator Umbrae Et Ignis Dominus Ignis Ascends Anā Ptō Tēn Orgēn Volocur Nikē Epi Tōn Echthrōn In Nomine Dei Attar Lucifer Fiat Voluntas Mea”

Translation:

“By the sacred name of the Gods of Fire, I consecrate my heart’s passion and Blood of Rage. I summon the fire or Flereous and I invoke the supreme authority of War in the holy Morning Star, Ishtar. I call upon the Divine Force, The Vanquisher of enemies, The Mighty Emperor of Darkness and Flame. O, Lord of the Ascending Flame, ignite my wrath, grant me victory over my foes. By the holy name of Attar Lucifer, divine spark within, I seal my will. Let it be done.”

To invoke Lucifer in his Heavenly Morning Star Form

“Agios Es Eosphoros Ourania Luxuriant Lucifer Yios Ēōs Astēr Anate Ilōn Phaneros Divum Et Vorsipelle O Astēr Killilampros Vitalis Energiam Tribue Temenos Mea Voluntas Impleta”

Translation:

“Holy Eosphoros, celestial and resplendent light, Luxuriant Lucifer, Son of Dawn, Rinsing Star, Manifest your presence. Fill this sacred space with your healing energy. My will is done.”

🔱

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Oh my GOSSSSSH, with every chapter I post, we get closer and closer to the end and I'm literally wriggling in my chair in excitement, like holy shit! hahaha, anyway, I so hope you enjoy this new chapter and the remaining ones to come! ENJOYYYYY <3

Chapter 101: The Merciless Queen 

“If we are to give Flea Bottom gold to build new dwellings, whose to say that the other small folk across the realm won’t decide to take arms and demand the same?” Lord Tyland Lannister, elder brother of Jason Lannister and Master of Coin argued, seated amongst the other Small Council members who seemed to be in a disarray since the slaying of their previous King, Aegon.

It had been a few days since his death, and whilst Aemond and yourself could not keep your hands off of each other, there was no denying the tension that still circled around the two of you. 

You had been coronated as Queen Consort, a short lived affair in the throne room with only the Small Council present, letters written to be sent out shortly thereafter to their supporters. There was no celebrations to be had, no drinking or dancing. It was short, brief, and most importantly, political move.

And now, all sat in wait for the more pressing question at hand.

What was to happen to the treaty?

And yet despite this question, and the sheer multitude of meetings with the council, Aemond let the unknown hover over your head like smoke, filling your lungs thickly and choking you.

When once Maester Orwyle had asked the same question, which was asked more than once a day, Aemond had barely given the man a second glance, and redirected the question elsewhere. 

In no time however, much to the urging of Otto Hightower and Lord Jasper Wylde, word would soon reach Dragonstone, and the Green Council would need to be ready for such events.

There was a very real possibility that at the knowledge of Aegon being indisposed of, and the Greens thus only having one dragon rider, may invoke the wrath and fury of all the Black’s power. 

And in this moment, they had it. 

And the council, knew it. 

There was an all encompassing feeling of dread that filled each member. The anticipation being a most poisonous thing, and at any loud noise or uncertain sound, Alicent Hightower would jump in her seat, eyes skating to the doors of the chamber they were in, or looking out the window to the skies. 

“Then see to it that they do not.” Breezed Aemond, the Conquerors Crown seated atop his head, ruby glinting in the light of the chambers.

“I do not see why we need to do so in the first place, Your Grace.” Maester Orwyle spoke, “The small folk are not in need or want, nor do they know more than what they have.”

Aemond blinked slowly, finger impatiently tapping on the table as he looked at his men and mother, the gold ring upon is finger clunking on the wooden surface.

“We have the gold, not much, but enough. As it is, their disdain for us was exaggerated by my brother and his selfish disregard for their needs." Aemond began, "I couldn’t care for what they do below in their shit and piss, but my Lady wife has spoken of the benefits of having the love of the small people, and we are in dire need of support.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling the eyes of all the Lords at the table, and the ever present scowl of Alicent Hightower directed at you. Swallowing, you licked your lips, fingers finding your council sphere and spinning it in its dish.

“My mother is loved by the small folk, as was I,” Before they dubbed me the Merciless, “‘The Realms Delight', they named her, most beloved and fair, much the same for my sweet aunt Helaena."

You paused, letting your gaze stop on Alicent, "Where as when they think of the King, they have little good things to say. Two Kinslayers on the throne would no doubt further press their disdain." You turned back to Aemond, "The support of the common folk is important when ruling, it makes things easier, and if the time comes, they will take up arms to support your cause.”

Larys Strong’s voice carried across the table, his high lilt directed at you. His hands were crossed over the top of his cane delicately between his knees at the table, “My spiders have told me that there are ample supporters of your rule, Your Grace.”

You scoffed, “Supporters of the Faith perhaps, or the whispers of the old militant sect even, but that support lies with Alicent, and they would surely have issue with mine and Aemond's union, as is our tradition as Targaryens, and also the very issue of us both being Kinslayers," You looked to Alicent, "Which we are very much reminded of. But the small folk, the true small folk who live in poverty, where sickness and disease is ripe, have no positive feelings of loyalty towards a King who does not see them and gorges upon riches unimaginable. My father took to the streets and killed every rapist and murderer in Flea Bottom, punished thieves and crooks, and the small people felt safer.”

“They were scared out of their wits.” Otto sighed, “The small people need nothing but the clothes on their backs. Simple minds think not of extravagant pleasures.”

Anger rolled through you, “Having proper housing and not living in the streets is not an extravagant pleasure. I would say it is a right for them to live freely and happily, to pursue their desires and passions.”

Jasper Wylde placed his long fingers upon the sphere, several gold and silver rings adorning the digits, “The Queen makes a point, Your Grace. King Jaehaerys was loved by the small folk for his benevolence, and the actions of Maegor the Cruel brought him nothing but trouble. Perhaps the spending of a few Gold Dragons on Flea Bottom’s worse affected slums could bring you support, especially now that the treaty is in question.”

Lord Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, opened the conversation for the treaty to be discussed. 

Again.

All eyes were now on Aemond, who sat stiffly in his chair, one elbow upon the armrest, the other still tapping against the table.

“Has word reached Dragonstone?” Aemond questioned Larys, noncommittally. 

The brunette leant forward, bowing his head slightly as he spoke, “As it were, a spider intercepted an attempt to alert them. Though I have no doubt they will receive word by the morrow.”

The King hummed.

“Will the treaty be renewed, Your Grace?" Maester Orwyle began, eyes flicking to you, then back to the King, "I believe it to be prudent that we do so. As it were, we are outnumbered in dragons. You are but the lone rider here at the Keep.” You narrowed your eyes at Maester Orwyle, “Perhaps if we sent word and new terms, Rhaenyra will be-“

“-No.” Aemond’s word cut through the air like a knife. Crisp. Icy.

Final.

“No?” Otto questioned, “The realm will fall to war again if-“

Your heart beat against your chest like a drum, iciness spreading across your skin and at the base of your skull.

No.

“What do you mean, no?” You breathed.

Aemond did not turn to face you.

You snapped, “If you do not sign a treaty, they will come for you, Aemond. My mother and father will come to claim what is theirs.”

The King’s nostrils flared, “Let them. I ride the largest dragon in the world. If my half-sister wishes to declare war at the risk of your safety, then it shall be your blood upon her hands, not mine.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“My blood?”

Aemond did not even turn to face you.

Your hands slammed against the table, and you shot out of your chair, leaning towards your husband as you sneered, "Have you learnt nothing? You are blinded by your hatred. You will be our ruin, not Aegon.”

Aemond breathed sharply, eye solely on you as he spoke to the table, “Send coin to Flea Bottom. Hire masons and workers, or let the small folk build it themselves.” He looked to his men before finishing, “Clear the chambers.” He commanded the room, and all Lords and Lady Alicent, stood and quickly shuffled out of the room, leaving Aemond with an enraged wife.

“Are you to doom us all with your stubbornness? Have you gone mad?” You growled, “Your thirst for the throne will kill us, Aemond. My mother and father are not to be trifled with. My brother and sisters are not to be trifled with. Do you think that we will survive this?”

Aemond simply stared at you, hand still on the table tapping, whilst the other gripped the arm of the chair fiercely, knuckles white.

“Is it your true desire to have another war? Or is this a foolish little boys dream?” You said in disbelief, looking down at him from your standing position, hands still flat against the table to ground you, “I barely survived the last one, and yet you wish to play games with my mother and father? With my life? Do you know what they will do to you? What they could do to you? You would be dead before you even reached the skies.” You sneered.

The King’s lips pulled into a thin line, brows furrowed as he looked at you, barely contained anger burning behind the violet of his eye.

“They would not do it if it meant jeopardising your life.”

You flinched backwards, as though he had hit you, curling your hands into fists at your sides as you tried to steady your breathing, but panic coursed through your veins, and your throat grew tighter with each passing second.

"Is that a threat?”

Aemond frowned at you, the lines in forehead pulling the crown down in the slightest of movements. It was as though he was offended by your question, and though you had questioned every natural fibre of his being. 

“You think I would harm you? After all that has happened? After all I have done for you?” His voice became raised, anger leaking into each syllable. 

You scoffed, “You just said that them acting would put me at risk. What will you do? Have Ser Cole at my side, sword ready to cast against my neck or plunge into my heart?” 

Aemond leant forward and sneered, “Do you truly think so lowly of me? I did this for you! I love you!”

“Then do this for me, too! Renew the treaty, Aemond.”

“I can’t do that.” He breathed.

The backs of your calves hit the edge of the chair as you leant back, looking at your uncle from down your nose, “You can. But you won’t.”

Aemond did not respond.

“Sign the treaty.” You said more sternly, anger causing the words to come out harsh, and biting.

The King's broad chest rose and fell in his robes shallowly, his one eye watching you as his hands flexed upon the table.

“Why do you wish to sign a treaty with them? After all they have done?” Aemond growled.

After all they had done?

“They cast you aside! Abandoned you here to be tormented by Aegon.” Aemond continued, voice rising.

“They did not abandon me!” You snapped, hurt and betrayal causing tears to prick in your eyes.

“Oh? But they knew what would happen to you once you were wed to me. They let you be raped. You were sold to me like a brood mare.”

“And who did those things to me?!” You screamed, a tear falling down your cheek, “Who, Aemond? Who raped me? Who defiled me? Who scarred me? Because it wasn’t them.”

Aemond’s anger seemed to bleed out of him as he looked at you.

You pushed the chair backwards hard with a kick of your foot, sending the high-backed wooden seat to crash against the stones loudly, “You raped me. You hurt me. You did that. Not them. You! You act as though you’re innocent in all of this!”

“I don’t-“

“-I will not survive another war.”

The anger was back.

Aemond’s lips curled in disgust, “You expect me to bend the knee to your mother? The very woman who wished to punish me after her son took my eye?”

Your face fell, “No.” You declared, “I expect you to give the treaty a chance. Countless lives will be lost if you start another war, Aemond. Needless blood will be shed. Could you live with yourself knowing this?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly, that it seemed that Aemond had not even needed to give it a second thought. As though he had already weighed all possibilities against each other, as though he had measured the odds.

And still, he had said yes.

You swallowed thickly, wishing the damn lump to leave your throat. And so quietly, you asked a question which clawed at you from the back of you mind. A question of doubt. Of fear. Of another ‘what if’ that you had to bat away with a swift blink of your eye.

“Even if it is mine?”

It was an uncomfortable sort of silence, and this time, Aemond did not answer straight away. Not like how he had a moment before. As though he had not weighed up this question in his mind yet, or perhaps he had, and had come to no conclusion. You watched his face as he stared at you, his seeing eye flickering across your face as a finger twirled the ring upon his hand.

“I will not lose you." He began, making a move towards you, "But I will not bend a knee to Rhaenyra, and kiss her old cunny for the sake of peace.”

His tone was final, he had hissed your mothers name like a curse, and there was no changing his mind. No shifting of the tide that had been steadily building for months now, a tide which had moved away from the shore, sucking the water and life away from the beach, revealing the jagged rocks that were hidden beneath.

You blinked again, another tear falling down your cheek.

Your uncle continued, “And if it need come to war, then so it shall be.”

It was so point of fact. 

So emotionless.

Toneless. 

Void of anything other than finality. 

War was to come.

And there would be no changing that.

“But,” Aemond’s voice startled you from your thoughts, your eyes racing over his face, “You are Queen now. My Queen. Something that is and was always your birthright.”

“Like my mothers.” You sneered.

Aemond ignored your comment and continued, “And you, as Rhaenyra’s heir shall sit the Iron Throne in her place. And then, when the time comes, our heir shall follow."

It was clear to you then, that Aemond had thought on this.

"If Rhaenyra’s concern for succession is blood, then she can be satiated in knowing that the daughter she denied shall sit where she is owed by her birthright.”

You stepped towards him, hands clenching and unclenching, “Aemond, please. Think about this. You are asking me to depose my mother.”

“I ask nothing of you. I am telling you, zaldritsos. I will not have you be pushed aside again for your bastard brother. I will not bend the knee to my half-sister. This throne is ours. It is ours by birthright. And I will be damned if I let anyone take you away from me again."

The air in the chambers shifted, and you inched towards your husband as he continued to speak.

"Do you think that if I bent the knee to them, that your father would let you stay wed to me? Think on it a moment, Y/n. Do you think that your mother would let you stay wed to a monster? The man who killed her son? They will take you from me."

You stepped away from him, turning your back as your mind raced a as you looked around the chambers, eyes casting out the veranda at the clouded skies. Dread settled in your gut.

You didn't want to be parted from him.

You loved him.

The air was charged as you spoke, voice shaking, “So what now? Are you to send word to them?”

Aemond stood behind you, the chair scraping against the stone floors.

“I will be sending Otto and Ser Cole to Dragonstone as envoys to give word to Rhaenyra and Daemon. They will be told that their blood sits upon the Iron Throne as Queen. They will be allowed to live where they do. My half-sister can have Dragonstone, I have no need for it when I have Kings Landing and you. And they will bend the knee.”

You shook your head, still not turning to face him, “You should know that they will not.”

“Not if you don’t encourage them.”

Your eyes widened as you spun on your heel to look at him.

He was deathly serious.

“You wish for me to ask them to bend the knee to you?” You laughed.

Aemond frowned, “A letter from the Queen is a hard one to refuse. Especially if the Queen is their own daughter. Tell them of the fears that you have. That war will break if they do not swear me as their King and you as their Queen. They can remain on Dragonstone, and you shall remain here, with me. Where you belong.” 

He seemed so sure that it would work. So sure that a simple letter from you would bring the water back to shore. But the tide was gone from your reach, and you were anchored on the coast atop a beached ship with no way to get off. 

Aemond stepped forward, cupping the side of your face gently as he looked at you, "They will listen to you.”

You grasped his wrist tightly, “I am not so sure.” Your voice was quiet, so fragile, like the finest of glass from Essos. One octave higher, one shift against your throat could cause them to crack or break.

If you did this, you would be betraying them.

You would be deposing your mother.

Aemond pulled you into a reassuring kiss, one he poured love and adoration into as he cupped your face in his hands. When he pulled back, his eye roamed your face softly, “I do not wish to see bloodshed, nor do I wish to see you harmed. This is the only way, surely you can see that."

And you did.

You did see that.

You saw it all clearly.

Your husband pressed another kiss against the top of your hairline, your eyes sliding shut as you breathed through your nose, preparing yourself for what you had to do.

"I trust that my Queen will know what to do.”

And you did.

You knew what you had to do.

And so with a short nod, you agreed to his terms.

“I will have Otto deliver your letter by hand.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[ronancexists]

Hi everyone. I haven't been able to stop thinking about Hazbin Hotel since it came out. I just wanted to get this thought out there and share it with people to see if anyone else has been thinking about it or if it's just me.

So, we all know that Alastor has made a deal of his own, but we don't know with who. I know a lot of people theorize that it's Lilith, and I did too until I watched season 1 again, specifically episodes 7 & 8.

In episode 7, Alastor and Charlie finally make a deal. Alastor told Charlie that the exorcists can be killed, and return, she's going to owe him favors of his choosing in which she doesn't have to harm anybody. I was surprised he didn't want Charlie's soul, but considering she is the daughter of Lilith and Lucifer, Alastor probably didn't want to take the chance of incurring Lucifer's wrath in that way instead of the petty way he did in episode 5.

At first, I was thinking maybe he didn't want it because of a deal he made with Lilith where he couldn't harm Charlie and that's why he's invested in the hotel and in helping her, but then the lyric where he says "she's filled with potential that I could guide" suggests maybe he didn't want Charlie's soul because owning her soul wouldn't be helpful to him in accomplishing whatever he's plotting. Maybe he just really needs her and her power, and by owning her soul, he'd diminish her power. Kind of like with Husk.

Then, in episode 8, the finale song, Alastor has a line that goes "The constraints of my deal surely have a back door." That line in particular is what got me into analyzing Alastor and everything he's done so far. Him saying, or I guess singing, that could possibly mean he didn't make a deal with Charlie to hold it over Lilith. It means he still hasn't figured out a loophole to the deal he made, and I know a lot of people who are on board with the whole "Alastor and Lilith made a deal" theory think the reason he wanted to make a deal with Charlie was to use it to get off of Lilith's leash. But that line he sings could mean that he wanted Charlie to make a deal with him for another reason and that he still has a lot of work to do in discovering a way he could get out of his own.

After all, we are all well aware of the fact that all the songs serve a purpose in moving the story along. Not to mention that they're all freaking bangers. Which is why that lyric has started this whole "What if..." thing with Alastor and the leash Husk revealed he's on.

That being said, it's definitely not a coincidence that he and Lilith were both missing for 7 years, and the fact that Zestial said in episode 4 that there are rumors Alastor "fell into holy arms" suggests that Alastor might have indeed figured out a way to get to Heaven, and perhaps he did meet Lilith while he was there and struck a deal with her.

I'm open to either one of these theories, but I do think it would be kind of neat if I was right and that it turned out Alastor didn't make a deal with Lilith at all, instead it was with somebody else. Maybe someone we've already met, or maybe somebody we haven't.

But regardless of what happens, I love this show and I can't wait for season 2!

Please let me know what you guys think. This thought has been niggling my brain for a while and I just needed to get it out somewhere.

P.S.- A list of things I want to see in season 2 and beyond:

- CHARLIE AND VAGGIE CHARLIE AND VAGGIE CHARLIE AND VAGGIE CHARLIE AND VAGGIE CHARLIE AND VAGGIE CHARLIE AND VAGGIE

- As in kisses, cuddles, adorableness, (maybe even a sex scene considering they did an entire episode with Angel & his pornos), Vaggie carrying Charlie as they fly around Hell

- Not to mention an ENTIRE SONG sung by the two of them. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely ADORE THE SHIT out of the reprise of ''More Than Anything," but these two need a FULL fucking song together

- More of Carmilla and Vaggie bonding and being badasses together

- Angel and Husk becoming a thing

- Learn more about what Lilith and Alastor have been up to while they've both been gone for 7 years

- What Heaven is going to do now that Adam is dead and the Extermination failed

- Also is Heaven or Emily or Sera or ANYONE even gonna ADDRESS the fact that Vaggie was revealed to be a fallen exterminator angel in episode 6?!?! Like I'm sorry but Adam dropped that fucking bomb and the only reaction they showed was Charlie's and nobody even like asked what had happened or why Vaggie was cast out?!?! I'd really like to see something, ANYTHING, that acknowledges this very big reveal to Heaven actually fucking happened lmao.

- Lilith's reunion & explanation to Charlie and Lucifer

- More of our Short King being his nerdy, powerful self

- Lute & Vaggie being toxic exes and/or getting a duet together (a girl can dream lmaoooo)

- Sir Pentious and his adventures in Heaven

- Emily and what she comes up with to help Charlie because she is the true Angel up in Heaven

- Sera getting a fucking kick to the face (or multiple) for letting the Exterminations happen and for all the other hypocritical shit that's been going on

- Everyone's reactions when they find out Sir Pentious has been redeemed

- Niffty being Niffty

- Alastor's plans and what he wants Charlie to do for him because of the deal they made

- Angel & Husk getting out of their respective deals with Valentino and Alastor

- Valentino dying a slow, agonizing, shitty death for what he's done to Angel

- What Keekee being the key to the hotel really means

- More fucking bangers to add to my playlist :)

That's all I can think of for now. If I think of anything else I'll add it on :)

[gremlin-bot]

Sleep Deprivation Should Not Be The Reason Here

This is a prompt fill for this prompt from @stealingyourbones!!

Ao3 link: Here

Tim is fighting his body. The cursed thing needs sleep and he simply doesn't have the time for it. He just needs another day of being awake, he'll have the case closed by then and all the reports wrapped up. Wait, he has that investor meeting scheduled in what would be his recovery time. He can't push that back again. 

Tim blinks hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. He has been up for… three, no four days now. He entirely blames the death cult that had entered Gotham. If those bitches had just waited like a week to start shit he would have been fine, but no! Zatanna is off-world and Constantine has a curse on him that won't let him leave the house of mysteries, much less enter Gotham. Luckily, he can still call to get advice from both.

He can feel himself slipping into sleep like he can't fucking do. He snaps his eyes open and grabs for his 9th cup of coffee, only to find it empty. 

…

Fuck it! If this is how he has to live right now, he's gonna fucking change it! He can dabble with eldritch beings beyond comprehension too—and do it even better! 

The cult wasn't even up to date on what they were trying to summon. Unlike Tim, who just so happens to have gotten his hands on the instructions for the right summoning ritual for the Ghost King and was about to fucking use it.

He gets up from the Batcomputer and heads up to the kitchen to grab the supplies he needs. He was lucky Alfred was out grabbing groceries, otherwise he would have never been able to get anywhere near the older man's kitchen. He takes the leftover Alfredo from the fridge and puts it into a small pot to warm on the stove. All he needs now is to grab silver and gold sharpies, a small candle, and one of the giant rolls of paper he used to draft blueprints. If he was at his apartment he would just draw it on the floor, but he's not risking any more of Alfred's disappointment and wrath today.

He checks on the pasta, seeing that it's warm enough, then he prepares two bowls. If he was making a meal for an occult being he sure as hell was getting some himself. 

He puts the food aside and works on drawing the array in silver and gold. After he finished the center of the array he couldn't help but feel that it looked strangely familiar. Not that he has seen this exact array before this whole mess, but by the fact it looks like some type of writing he's seen… Holy fuck it's Gallifreyan. What kind of nerd is the ghost king if they are using Gallifreyan as their summoning array? 

He shakes his head. He needs to focus and finish adding the symbols on the outside of the Gallifreyan. He looks back at the instructions to make sure he was copying it correctly when he spots it. The last bit of this array is the First Ones language from She-ra. Tim has decided this is fine, and he just won't think about it. 

He was thinking about it.

Why was this summoning like this? No wonder the death cult doesn't have the right fucking summoning. Who in their right mind would think an extradimensional death deity would have their array be made out of fake fucking languages from different TV shows. He has so many questions that he doesn't have time for.

Tim takes a deep breath, clearing his mind the best he can. He just needs to get through this, ignore the fact that whoever set up the summoning ritual is a giant fucking nerd. He reads the next set of instructions. . . 

He is going insane, he is fucking sure of it.

The fucking instructions say that the array is in several different languages and that to finish the summoning he needs to translate. He then needs to say it out loud, starting from the outside going in. Looks like he'll need to break out the First One’s translator he has saved on his phone. Luckily, he has Gallifreyan memorized (for the most part). 

Tim sets the offering in the middle of the array, placing his own bowl on the floor next to him. He takes a deep breath. The translations weigh heavy on the tip of his tongue, despite how ridiculous all of this is. Now he just has to hold back his giggles.

“Pluto is a planet. Get fucked, losers.'' As the words enter the air the summoning circle grows a lazarus green. After a couple curious moments there's a popping noise, as if someone opened a wine bottle, and there is a figure sitting across from him. 

The figure is a humanoid male with short, shaggy white hair that blows in a nonexistent wind. Their long legs are crossed as they hover a few inches from the floor. The clothes weren't too strange, just a black tight fitting jumpsuit with gray accents. It showed off their lean muscles, which Tim shouldn’t be focusing on. He has a deal to make!!

Their burring green eyes gaze around the room before landing on the offered food. Their face lights up with a fanged grin. The other’s excitement was almost contagious as they start eating. Tim follows the other’s lead and dings in himself. God, Alfred’s cooking is so good.

“Oh, fuck yeah!! I was craving alfredo!” They say around a mouth full of food.

“I’m glad it was something you like. I was worried that you’d hate it and this whole thing wouldn’t work,” Tim’s voice seemed to snap the being to full attention.

“Shit. Sorry about getting distracted there. You summoned me?”

“Yeah, I want to make a deal to-” 

“Okay wait,” the white haired being interrupted. “Before we get into this I have to place some ground rules.” 

“Of course.” Tim expected this, Nothing came without compilation after all.

“Good, first I am allowed to deny any request and or offering. Second, all deals are final once fulfilled. Finally, anything relating to the manipulation of time is off limits. I’m still cleaning up from the last time I did one, and I’d just rather not deal with that,” the other said while gesturing with his hands almost spilling his bowl.

“Is that all?” Tim asked skeptically. 

“Yep! You can make your request now.”

“I want to not have to sleep ever again. I need to make myself clear with you on this, I still want to have the ability to sleep but for it to not be something that I need to do to live healthy,” Tim stares the (presumed) ghost in the eyes, waiting for their response.

“Oh, that’ll be no problem, but what will you offer in return?” They stare back at him, burning green into his soul.

Something in Tim knows that the king wouldn’t accept his soul as an offering. After all, they didn’t even ask for any blood in their summoning, why would they want something like that now. He has to think of something different and quick, Alfred should be home soon. He should have moved this out of the kitchen… Wait.

He has an idea.

“How about in return, I take you out to get food? It can be from anywhere you want in the whole world, just give me time to set up reservations.” Tim offers, hoping that’ll work.

“And you’ll be paying,” the other asks with a raised eyebrow and soft grin.

“Of course!” 

“Deal!! It’s a date,” Tim blinks a couple times before the meaning of the other’s statement fully hits him 

“Oh! Yeah it is. I’m Tim.” He offers out his hand.

“You can call me Danny. To most I'm High King Phantom—but you know that.” Danny banters, taking Tim’s hand. 

Their hands are bathed in green flames that warm Tim’s hands pleasantly. The deal has been struck, and Tim can’t help but notice the nervous excitement coming off the other man.

Tim likes him more already.

[xxnaiad-s]

fallen glory — ushijima wakatoshi x reader

wc: 3.2k words

cw: god! wakatoshi x nymph! reader; unprotected sex; breeding kink; size kink; wakatoshi is a big boi; reader is described as a black woman; degradation; manhandling; ; creampie; not proof read; if i’m forgetting anything please let me know!

notes from author: please, if you’re under 18, do NOT interact with or read this post. i will block you.

there are legends among mortal towns, the tellings of stories passed on by flesh and bone. a god, mankind will utter through shrouds of smoke, beneath fire-lit nights of centuries old, where the stars would even hold their breath to hear the words of divine destruction. a god so mighty and fearsome that wields power in his breath alone, that the earth would tear herself apart and offer her burning heart, that she would so desperately beseech her master that this mere sacrifice would be enough to please him. mankind would sing those sorrow-filled ballads of flaming rivers that sputtered brilliant embers, so brilliant in their dying glory that venus herself would weep and beg for mercy.

and this god, oh, this righteous and almighty god, his heart would mirror the depths of darkness. how cruel, this god, that he would beckon the tempests and the floods to destroy and ruin the earth, that he would paint wars and famine across endless seas and planes until there would be nothing left of man. when he bestows his wrath on bellowing thunders and rips the heavens asunder with magnificent lightning, he holds no mercy for the weak and unfaithful. his eyes behold, and his left hand cast their judgement, and the earth can do nothing but wait with bated breath as the universe stands still around her, powerless, and without charge of the pestilence that would next consume her and wipe her filthy soul clean once more.

oh, but who could imagine the divine’s demise at the hands of a damsel?

let these words not travel far, lest they spread across continents and reveal him for what he is. let the world not know of his mortality, of a heart that quivers before summer-touched evenings and sings wretched hymns of manly lust and desire. of his visits to the holy garden, they must not learn, even less should they know of the soul that resides there — the very same that would tame the tempest, and incite a hunger so ravenous and feral only to quench it all the same.

he’s here; you know without even looking, and your intuition tells you that he knows that you know. you don’t need to look behind you to know that wakatoshi’s watching you, eyes of gold and olive that stalk you like a hunter. he takes in every part of your image as a devotee does with visions. the droplets of water that glisten across dark brown skin, the sheer white fabric that clings to your full mounds and ass, barely doing anything to conceal your perked nipples, or the dip between your plush thighs. by the heavens, you truly are a vision of sin and desire — one that held the key to destruction between two-toned lips and written like scriptures among dark coils of hair akin to sacred vines.

“well?” you sigh, sinking further into the pond. the cool water kisses your skin with a tenderness that washes away the day’s searing heat. goosebumps rise across your body and you lull your head to the side, and that’s when you see him, your god come here to visit the garden of eden. “will you just stand there or are you gonna join me?”

how brazen, you must’ve sounded, irreverent as if you knew not the god who’d walked into your sanctuary. yet you knew all too well who he was, and you knew what he’d come for. you knew that, just with the sight of your body drenched in water, you could unravel this benevolent god and reduce him to nothing but a man lost in desire. since the first day he found you here on a lonely spring’s afternoon so many years ago, you’d somehow wrapped his tongue between your teeth and poisoned him with pleasure untold so that he would return time and time again. he reminds you of a lunatic, seeking the taste of your nectar like a man who knows nothing else, and you’d become his drug and his achilles heel, the very thing that could unwind this god and render him to nothingness.

the waters part to make way, welcoming wakatoshi into the pool as he comes close to you. his body presses against yours and he leaves no room between, so greedy in the way his fingers dip into your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck to take in your scent. you reach up one hand to wrap into his long, jade green locks, and you pull him closer to you, eager to feel his lips leaving soft kisses across your skin.

“i can’t stop thinking about you…” he grumbles into your jawline, hungry and impatient. his fingers wrap into the thin fabric of your gown, nails digging into your flesh as he pulls you closer, pressing his hard cock into your ass as if he wants it to disappear between it. “fuck, what are you doing to me?”

you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips, though you know there’d be no sense trying to. coyly, you reach for one of his hands and bring it down to your pussy, pressing his palm flat against it and pushing yourself further against his length. “nothing, darling.” the words that leave you are teasing, almost to test him — accentuated by your sugary laugh when his fingers begin to peel your dress against your skin without you needing to tell him. “it’s you who keeps coming back here on your own accord.”

his fingers dip between your thighs and your knees buckle a bit when they brush against your pussy. you’re wet, wakatoshi discovers your slick already pooling into his hands despite him hardly even touching you. tauntingly, he caresses you, pools your slick along his fingers as he so barely slides them between your swollen cunt to hear the hiss that slips out of your mouth.

“look at you,” he chuckles, condescending. “so needy already, hm? do you want a god’s cock to defile you that badly?”

he’s baiting you, drawing on your words like a puppeteer, you know it. only touching you ever so slightly, giving you the smallest taste of what he knows you want, yet he wants you to beg for it. he wants you to throw yourself unto desperate abandon and give yourself up to him. and it’s working too damn well. greedily, you try to sink yourself down on his fingers, but he quickly stops you with a hand around your throat. frustrated, you whimper. “wakatoshi…” you keen. “for god’s sake, stop toying with me already!”

his teeth sink into your neck suddenly, the sensation of his lips sucking on your flesh causing your pussy to flutter. “nngh…” overcome with weakness, your head falls back against his chest, and your eyes are forced to behold the behemoth of a man behind you; the glistening droplets that slide down olive skin and the furrowed lines atop his expression. his lips part on breaths heavy and weighted as he squeezes his fingers tighter around your throat, and your own breath catches beneath his grip. you’re left wanting, needing the very air he robs you of, needing him inside your core, needing him and everything he’d give to you.

ah, you think bitterly, i’ll lose this war again today.

“you know what i want to hear from you, little one.” wakatoshi’s words ghost against the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver, heat coursing through each pulse despite the chill of the water. he takes his hand from your soiled thighs and brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch with eyes glazed by lust as he sucks your juices from them and groans. “hurry…” he huffs. his cock twitches against your ass impatiently, his balls almost ready to burst and bury themselves inside your tight little cunt. “you know i don’t like waiting…”

those words so heavy and fogged over by hunger, you know he’s teetering on the very edge of snapping, letting you know that you’re not the only one who wants the other. he makes slow, intentional work of licking his fingers clean and he sees the way your inhibitions snap behind your eyes, revels in the whimper that leaves your lips as your hands fly to remove your dress all on your own. your breasts fall freely for him to see them glistening under filtered sunlight and of sight of your pursed nipples causes his length to twitch hungrily against your ass.

“please…!” inhibitions abandon you, your pride lost on the incessant pulsing between your legs. you need him to fill you, to ravish and demolish you — you’re aching now, impatient, craving him, “please, toshi, i need you inside me… now!”

you see the very moment wakatoshi reaches his limits and he snaps.

a yelp escapes you as he hoists you up, spinning you around to lock your legs around his hip. his lips crash into yours, mercilessly pushing his tongue into your wet cavern like a beast as he drinks you in. he feels your moans rumbling through his chest and he responds in kind, the space between you non-existent and your body flushed against him.

“that’s a good girl.” whimpering, you claw your fingers into his back as if holding on for dear life. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you want to curse him for toying with you, want to shut that filthy, irreverent mouth of his but your mind is too cloudy to give anything but sweet pleas of his name. drool pools from between your lips as he draws his tongue along your neck, suckling and biting every inch of skin. you’ll bruise blue and purple, you know it, but you can’t bring yourself to care. you want him to mark you, want him to possess your body and soul.

your fingers tangle into his tresses of green hair and you pull, causing him to hiss against your neck. “enough already, wakatoshi..!” despite your harsh words, you know they sound like nothing but muddled pleas to him. he’s so much bigger than you, it’s hard to forget he still has control over you — the way his large palms squeeze your ass, the way your body has to sit just above his hip, it’s hard to forget that fact.

“just fuck me already! you act like you don’t know the things you do to me, haah, like you don’t know how much you make me want you even— nngh, even when… you’re not here…”

ah, but how unfair of you, isn’t it? how can you accuse him of such things when really, you’re the one who does this to him? how could you not know that your visage haunts him day and night? that he dreams of taking you over and over, of pumping your hole full of his seed until your tummy would swell? that even then, he’d keep filling you up, keening to hear those sweet, filthy cries of his name over and over? you must know what you do to him; he growls against your skin, sinking his teeth into your collar and causing you to cry out and pull against his hair. “then tell me what you want, darling…”

frustration bubbles within you like an erotic poison as you glare down into emerald orbs. have you not been clear enough for him? what prayers would it take to satisfy this insatiable god? for him to finally give himself to you and abandon all else? you’re already powerless here in his hands, your dress reduced to a soaking bundle that wraps around your waist where his hands palm your bare skin. the tip of his cock only barely touching your core, and you can do nothing but wait until he sinks you down unto it. struggle as you might, your need couldn’t be fulfilled until he wills it, until he finally lets in and use you like you want to be used.

“i want you to take responsibility…” pettily, you huff, eyes narrowing further at the coy grin that sits on his mouth. even with his flushed cheeks and your spit coating his skin, he looks up at you, waiting for you to finish. “i want you to destroy me and fuck me senseless. i want you to force me to take every drop of seed and use me until your fat cock empties out everything inside me.”

wakatoshi hums, pleased, it seems, by your words, though he knows he wouldn’t have been able to hold off any longer even if he hadn’t wrung them out of you. oh, the things you do to him without even knowing that turn him into a wild beast. he all but eagerly lines up the head of his throbbing dick to your entrance, and the warmth of it is already so welcoming as he parts your pussy lips, teasingly rubbing your clit.

“take responsibility, hm?” he purrs against your skin as you whimper, soon forcing out the loveliest scream of his name as he brings you down in one swift motion. he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head, drinks in the way your lips fly open as his length spreads you apart. his own eyes narrow and he clenches his teeth — your tight walls squeeze around him so deliciously, so small and delicate as they clamp around the intrusion. “such a pretty, fragile little doll, aren’t you? fuck…!”

god, he hadn’t even fully sunken into you yet, and already he felt himself hitting the tip of your cervix, pressing deeper and deeper and causing your entire body to convulse as drool pours from your lips, fat tears pooling on your waterline. your orgasm wrecks your body in waves and you tremble, already fucked too weak to even support yourself. helplessly, you fall limp into wakatoshi’s arms, neck lulling back so that you’re forced to look up at the god above you, forced to watch his face contort in mortal pleasure as your hole continues to needily suck him in.

“aww…” he coos at your pathetic form. he brings one hand to cup your messy cheek while the other continues to support your weight, pushing a thumb into your open lips. almost mindlessly, you latch unto it and begin sucking. “already? kitten, i’ve hardly done anything to you yet.” even then, wakatoshi wants more from you. he wants to fuck you senseless, break you to nothingness until you couldn’t think of anything but him inside you. so he pushes, deep past your walls until he fully buries himself inside you, his tip so deliciously hitting your womb. you squeal and tighten your legs at the sensation of him bottoming out of you, dig your nails deep into his arms as if to ground yourself from slipping further.

“w-wait…! please, toshi—!” you cry, though your words are lost on him, drowned by his heavy breaths as he presses his lips against yours, pleas swallowed up while your body shakes. “i only just came, i’m— nngaah! ‘m too sensitive, slow down— fuck! ahh!”

despite your begging, wakatoshi doesn’t give you a moment to recover. he sets a relentless pace of pounding into you, pushing deeper and deeper, the sound of his balls clapping so filthily against your slick not yet enough to hide each honey-coated wail he forces out of you. “you said to… hnngn— take responsibility, didn’t you?” roughly, he wraps his hand around your throat and forces you to look up at him, all so he can take in that beautifully fucked expression you wear, teardrops lining your lashes and your mouth wantonly gasping for air. “that’s exactly what i’m doing, darling. isn’t this what you wanted?”

“yes..!” you can’t deny it. lying to him would be no use, it’s too late to try. your body’s already betrayed you for the pleasure he gives you, your battered hole pulsing around him with each thrust as he stretched you impossibly wide. “yes, wakatoshi..! fuck! i wanted you to fuck me n use me just like this!”

he chuckles, sinful and ungodly, as he releases his hold on your throat to place it around your waist and pulls you down, over and over, repeatedly until your body can do naught but fall to his mercy. “haah..! nngh….! fuck, fuck, fuuuck!”

“that’s it, kitten, just like that.” oh, heavens help him, he already feels himself beginning to waver, his hips staggering as he drives into you. he’s so close, his cock twitching viciously inside your beaten pussy, so close to exploding and filling you up. “take everything, you hear me? i’m gonna cum deep inside your filthy little cunt, and you better take all of it. gonna breed you again and again.”

“mhn! mhn! mhhn!” you’re far too gone to even understand the words he growls at you, far too gone to care for much else other than the sensation of him breaking you apart, or for the prayer you let escape your corrupted heart. “do it..! do it, waka…! let everything out and cum inside me, please, please, please!”

oh, how good did it feel to be at his mercy, to let him ruin you time and time again, at his beck and call. beneath his hold, you release all senseless moral and surrender to the wicked hunger of a being far greater than you. without warning, your body convulses beneath your pleasure as your second orgasm crashes over you. it rips through every vein in your body and releases itself from your core and you scream, your mind gone blank as you cream and squirt all over him. the very coil wound so tightly within your gut breaks like a tidal wave and pushes you off the edge, and after a few more harsh thrusts, you’re granted your reward.

wakatoshi grunts and gasps as his cock bursts his cum inside you, near panting as he pulls you flush against his hip and forces every drop into your delicate womb. his fingers dig deep into your doughy flesh, moans falling from him like a man needing air. he’d spent every last drop inside of you, his chest heaves on the aftershocks of pleasure, but gods be damned, he isn’t through with you yet. you, crumbled against his chest and fucked positively dumb, he hadn’t yet had his fill of you.

“h-hey, wakatoshi, what’re you—!” your startled shout goes unheard by the god as he forces you off his cock, only to bend you over rear up against the edge of the pool. shivers involuntary wreck your body, your whole clenching and your form already weakened by him. “please, i can’t take anymore, lemme rest a little— gaah!”

he silences you quickly by pushing his fingers into your stretched hole, pushing his cum back inside you as your walls object, already far too sensitive. “didn’t you hear me?” he grins, though you can’t see his expression from behind you. so, he pulls you up by your neck, grinning as he towers over your small frame. oh, how feeble and defenseless you stood before him, your legs couldn’t even support your frame, and it was all because of him.

“i said i’d make sure to fill up this tight little cunt. i’m not just done with you yet.”

© mambalae-s — rb’s+feedback are greatly appreciated!!

[honey-minded-hivemind]

When Fallen Angel! Reader first fell into Heck, the place was empty. With blank black dirt and Black grey skies, the only thing with color is Reader themselves.

They cried and screamed and mourned for a decade or two, hurt by what happened. But after that, they realize that this place was pretty boring. They still had their powers, which was sharper now, harsher and less delicate. But it was still theirs, and they would make this place theirs too.

They started first with the land. Filled it with forests, cities, mountains, oceans, plains, and deserts. Each part planned and crafted out as perfectly as their old paperwork.

That occupied them for a couple centuries, but they noticed the place was still awfully lonely without living beings inside. So they roll up their little sleeves and start their next project.

The first one made is ginormous. Full of scales and spikes and fire. A drop of their blood gives him life and a touch of their own power. He is full of rage. Rage at everything. He is angry at this emptiness, angry at heaven for their misdeeds against his "parent", always angry. They name him Satan, the Sin of Wrath.

They make other sins. Asmodius, Beezlebub, Mammon, Leviathan, and Belphaghor. They are all at least triple their size at any given moment, but they all love their parent. Don't let the size difference fool you, Reader is the only mature one in the group.

They split the realm into 7 layers and assign each Sin a layer much like a parent assigning kids rooms at a new house. Reader takes the highest and most empty layer. It's the closest to the portal to heaven. They aren't sure if heaven will ever open it, and they don't want to find out what they'll do about the Sins if they do.

It was around this time they realized they have physically changed, even though it started when they first fell. Horns instead of a halo, those horns, hooves (they've always had goat legs, they're just normally hidden under clothes and their hooves can easily be mistaken for shoes), eyes, and some feathers looked dipped in red, limbs stained black, slit eyes, and forked tongue. This place has changed them as much as they have changed it.

Eventually, the Sins get bored and ask for people to fill their "rings". Not seeing anything wrong with giving them responsibility, Reader makes much smaller, much less dangerous people to fill "Heck" as the Sins call it (they don't know where they got the affinity for naming stuff). Imps, Hellhounds, Succubi, Innucubi, Goat-demons, Bird Demons, and those Shark-fish demons Leviathan loves so much. They don't make any that go in their ring specifically, but some move in anyway and start the beginnings of Pentagram City. So Reader spends a couple centuries just ruling Heck and keeping their overpowered kids in check ( they love them, but the Sins can be real jerks sometimes.)

The first Sinner comes as a surprise and with the first contact Reader has with Heaven since they fell. Their home is being used as a dumping grounds for the souls Heaven doesn't want, the Sinners are practically immortal, can't leave the Pride Ring (Reader doesn't know if Heaven knows about the other rings, and has no idea how to find out), and are filling in fast. The Sinners are a pretty rough bunch in general, so Reader establishes the Overlord system to try to bring some order, but that only forces them to have regular meetings with the worst of Sinners.

When Heaven sends a second message, telling them that there are too many Sinners (whose fault is that???!!!!) and they will send an Army of Angels once a year to cull them from existence. Any damage they cause to the ring is considered holy justice and will be Reader's problem to fix.

They consider blowing up the portal in sky. (You can't. Satan tried. It didn't work)

(Sugar, I love this ♡^♡!!!)

Reader is revered, even worshipped, in Heck. They are their Maker, their Creator! Every move move make has only made Heck stronger, safer, more prosperous! The Sins love their parent (I'll say they have a few altered designs and aren't quite the same as HB or HH, but they still have their animal motif, because they're so freaking cool).

Satan (Wrath) is proud to be a mama/dada boi. He is bossy, and tries to help Reader with the overload of new demons amd sinners by being very, very harsh with the laws and justice system. You abused your ex and tried to murder them?! You are sentenced to public execution, and your ex will have the front row seat, and can choose which method you die by! You abused orphans and uses them for labor?! You are sentenced to be a servant for ALL ETERNITY, and can only do what you're told! You dared insult Reader, his mama/papa/oldest sibling/maker?! HE WILL SEND HIS LEGIONS AFTER YOU AND BROADCAST YOUR DEFEAT AND FORCED APOLOGY! (Then he'll make sure you can never smack talk them again). Satan loves Reader and his younger siblings, and he favors the Ars Goetia, but no one messes with Reader or the peace they've brought to Heck...

Asmodeus (Lust/Love) is always looking to spread the love their parent/sibling/maker has shown them/him! He was taught its important to have consent, and that their has to be certain moral codes with acts of lust or acts of love. Anyone who tries to be a creep or jerk I on their hit list. They will not tolerate such insolence! Such cruelty! Love is supposed to be wonderful, magical, and feel good! Anyone who breaks that is about to have a serious talk (shovel talk) with the birb Sin... So just be good, and try to act lovingly, like their parent, or you will have to be corrected or executed...

Beelzebub (Gluttony) loves to receive attention from Reader. That's her mama/papa/parent! They get an invite to every single one of her parties, they are sent their favorite foods cooked to perfection, and whenever they need a break, she and Belphagor will happily take them on a relaxing vacation! She likes to indulge others, to feed their hunger for food, or love, or movies, or whatever, really! That's what Reader always did for her, and they even made all the Hellhounds just for her! And they're all so cute and precious and are perfectly loyal to both her AND her parent/sibling/maker! Now, however, she doesn't want anyone hogging all the good stuff! Reader said everyone has to share, and not neglect their needs, so Beelzebub makes sure her ring is taken care of!

Mammon (Greed) is a mischievous sort. He doesn't understand why they can't just steal Heaven from those posers and then rule it all together! (See, he's sharing this once, look how good he's being!) Sadly, they can't do that. Buuut what he can do is make sure Reader's finances amd treasury are always in check and full! He's greedy for love, for power, and attention, buuut he's willing to help others... But he will be teaching them to make sure they have what they need. They shouldn't give everything away for nothing, no! That's what happened with Readee, those idiots stole everything from them, and then cast them into this pit! So for everyone's good, he will make sure none of the rings are underfunded and that he and his siblings and Reader are safe at the end of the day...

Leviathan (Envy) is jealous of the angels. They had Reader, and got to see them when they weren't sad and angry and upset! They got to have Reader at their best self! They had ALL of Reader's love, then TOSSED it away like trash! Well, Heck no! Reader is now THEIRS, and they and their siblings and Heck will keep them! Take THAT! They aren't jealous of their siblings, but they do make sure they always have a day out eith Reader every week or so. They're making sure everyone knows who Reader is, and will paint them in the best light possible. (They totally rile up the Overlords to get back at them for being slimy. Gotta make them jealous enough to get rid of each other after all!)

Belphagor (Sloth) is a sleepy little demon. They appreciate Reader keeping them fed, and happy, and safe, and giving them others made in their image. They like to take things easy, and make it easier on others. So they make medicine that can prevent disease, or that can calm anxiety, or even some simple sleeping syrup for those who have insomnia. They want to help those who need help, and they should relax. They make sure to keep their ring healthy and relaxed, as Reader never wanted them to be overworked or anxious or exhausted all the time...

All the Hellborn are told of how Reader, seeing the Sins so alone, went and made them people, who would bring new ideas and light into this dark pit. They would live there, and be happy, and they'd be safe from Heaven's rule and burning light...

(There is a whole museum dedicated to Reader, and the creation of Heck and it's denizens).

Sinners were... well, they weren't always great people. Some were downright awful, or evil. But some were just unfortunate people who weren't bad, but broken, who'd been dealt a rough hand, who were at the wrong place at the wrong titime. Reader set up Overlords to take care of them, but... well, sometimes they had had be pruned, if they were too vile or too bloodthirsty... Sinners know Reader exist, but are not sure how far they can push their luck with them. They all just hope to please this new tiny being, and try to make the best of their new world...

Heaven is on Reader's sh*t list. The adult angels are about to purge Heaven of its "fallen" and try to set things straight. Because nononO, they are not exterminating these people, sinner or not! Those are PEOPLE.

Let's just say Heaven is about to be under new management, and that peace between Heaven and Heck might be possible...

[nowthisis-dark]

I carved sanctuaries into the hollows of my chest, filling the void with altars to your name. The walls whispered prayers to your existence, the candles burned for your return. But you walked in, all fire and fury, and called it desecration. You called it sin. You called it me.

The mosaics of my devotion cracked under the weight of your disdain, their shattered pieces a language only heartbreak could understand. Your words spilled like venom into the sacred waters of my faith, and still, I drank from the chalice, desperate for absolution that never came.

I held your image in my trembling hands, but your light burned too bright, and now my palms blister with the proof of my loyalty. You said my offerings were impure, my love a heresy, my belief a curse. You said it with such conviction, I started to believe it.

Even now, in the ruins of what I built for you, I cannot curse you. I light incense in the ashes, hoping the smoke will carry the remnants of my devotion to whatever god will listen. The air tastes of regret, sharp and bitter, and I inhale it willingly.

When I trace the scars left by your rejection, I wonder: Was it you I worshipped, or the idea of salvation in your touch? Did I crave your divinity, or was it my destruction all along?

I would build another temple, even knowing the end. I would let your wrath collapse the walls again, bury me under your absence, entomb me in your scorn. For in your condemnation, I found my only truth: there is no holiness in love, only sacrifice.

I built temples for your love,only for you to call it unholy.

~K

[mama-waterlily]

Amaryllis

This is an erotic story that contains heavy sadomasochism, diapers, blood, knives, bondage, piss, arguably monsterfucking if you believe devils qualify, and a LOT of blasphemy. All characters depicted are 18+ (and one is eternal i think idk)

A string of thick saliva descended from Amaryllis's full, burgundy lips as she turned to face the priest who had just struck her across the face. She sat bent over on her knees, her neck chained by a metal collar to the cold, gray stone floor and her arms bound tightly behind her back. Her one-piece clothing made of tough, black leather, which nearly resembled lingerie, wrapped tightly around her slender figure. It left nearly nothing to the imagination, with nearly all of her scarlet red skin fully on display. The shape of her cunt was clearly defined and the cleavage of her well-endowed chest was scarcely covered. Her near-black horns stretched from the front of her head backward, forming a crescent as they curled around her ears and pointed forward, resembling slimmer, sharper ram horns. Her black hair was fully swept to one side, flowing from the left side of her head and draping over her right shoulder.

She spoke in a deep, husky, smoky voice with a posh accent. "Aww, is that all, boys? You're disappointing me."

Her catlike, slitted red eyes fixed on those of the priest, tinged with fear as he raised the wooden crucifix he held in his hand.

"Begone, spawn of Satan! I rebuke thee in the name of the Lord!"

Her powder-white fangs glittered in the candlelight as her lips formed a delighted grin. "Oooo, the antichrist is coming! Big bad Lucy will return!"

She was once again struck across the face by an open palm. Her teeth gritted in frustration.

"Come on, you fuckers! Hit me harder!" Her booming voice echoed, causing the two priests who stood before her to flinch.

Amaryllis's eyes were constantly glancing to the massive, dark brown double doors of the church. She hastily thought of something to provoke her "captors", parsing through her knowledge of human religion. She locked eyes with the younger and less-experienced of the two priests. Her forked tongue ran over her lips as the taste of his mourning filled her mouth.

"You there! Your foul harlot of a mother is in Hell! She's burning!"

His eyes welled with tears of anger as he stepped forward and kicked her in the jaw with full force, causing her to recoil. A tantalizingly small twinge of pleasure grew in her chest. She turned to face him once again, grinning in delight as her fangs salivated. The priest reared up another kick, and was pulled backwards by the older of the two. His beard was gray, and his face aged.

"Do not be tempted to wrath, child. The Lord tests us as we condemn these beasts, and we mustn't fall to their influence."

Amaryllis laughed mockingly, continuing her provocation. "You lot are still worshipping that hippie? Come a thousand years, you'll be bowing and praying to the Beatles, won't you?"

The older priest pulled the younger further away, and she tightened in agitation upon seeing that her attempt to provoke had failed. They began speaking in hushed whispers. Amaryllis could discern a few phrases from the conversation.

"...doesn't work..." "...too powerful..."

She almost felt flattered that they believed their spiritual practices were futile because she was so strong, rather than the truth of the matter that they were just shouting book excerpts, throwing water on her, and pointing wood at her.

"Yes, lads, it appears I'm just too strong! Going to bring in the real experts, I presume?" Her voice was coated in excitement.

The older priest futilely threw one more splash of holy water onto her face before they both exited the room, leaving Amaryllis to boredom and silence.

Time passed, and the flame of desire continued to burn in her chest as she tapped her black, bound claws against the floor impatiently. After about an hour, the towering doors creaked open and wisps of smoke crept inward. Amaryllis quickly turned her gaze forward in anticipation, and her heart fluttered. A tall woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, entered the room. She had ruby red hair whose waves fluttered just above her shoulders, pale skin, a full chest, and emerald green eyes shimmering behind round glasses. A lit cigarette nestled between her lips emitted tendrils of silver-gray into the air. Her curvy, wide hips swayed and her black, knee-high heeled boots clicked with increasing volume as she approached Amaryllis. She wore a modest, black dress that wrapped her neck, stretched to her wrists with long sleeves that ended with loose angel cuffs, hugged her waist and hips deliciously, and flowed just past her knees with a loose skirt. Her outfit was complete with a red brooch at the top of her neck and a small golden crucifix charm on her necklace. The doors slammed loudly behind her. Amaryllis savored every second that she admired the woman approaching her.

"Good evening, darling! It's been a while, hasn't it? Finally excused the icky boys, ha-"

She was interrupted as the sturdy heel of a boot made sudden, heavy contact with the back of her head, the impact causing her face to collide with the stone floor. The woman held her weight on Amaryllis's head.

"Back again, are you?" She smirked and stubbed her cigarette on Amaryllis's back.

The pain of the impact frustrated Amaryllis with its dullness. She lifted her head slightly to face her. "I've missed you, Terra. My, you're just as ravishing as ever, aren't you?"

Terra lifted her foot and placed it back on the floor beneath her, tossing her cigarette to the side and causing it to roll and rest under a pew.

"Hello, Amaryllis. You're looking lovely yourself."

Her airy, elegant voice carried the same flat affect that Amaryllis remembered. She pulled her face from the cold stone. "Still working with the church?"

"No. They ask too much of me. I formed my own independent organization." Terra paced slowly, maintaining full eye contact with Amaryllis.

"Oh, prissy, are you? Too big for the ol' God boys?"

Terra snickered lightly with a small smile. "Oh, no. They just wouldn't let me alone with the beasts unsupervised." She grinned as she reached into her bag, retrieving a small, round glass bottle with a cork, filled with a semi-opaque, cobalt blue liquid. Terra approached Amaryllis and knelt, uncorking the bottle.

"Time to drink up, baby." She said patronizingly as she tightly grasped Amaryllis's neck and forced the opening of the bottle into her mouth. It burned, with a sickly sweet and bitter taste. Like vodka with too much sugar. It spilled down Amaryllis's throat and into her stomach painfully slowly.

Terra gave a mocking fake gasp. "Not even fighting me this time? What a good girl!"

The bottle was finally emptied, and Amaryllis began to cough and gag.

Her voice was strained. "Nine Hells, still goes down so easily, doesn't it? You make it taste so good just for me, love?"

The tincture coursed through her infernal veins. It wasn't long before she felt it. Her body felt heavier, and the shooting pain from her prior punishment became very real. She groaned and sighed in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck me." Her shoulders relaxed. She rattled her chains and found with delight that she was well and truly trapped. She could no longer escape. Her breath trembled. True fear gripped her lungs and her eyes widened as she felt the sensation of raw pain, one only her superiors back home and Terra with her tinctures could provide her. Dull aching radiated through her jaw from being kicked and pushed against the floor.

Terra giggled, her voice carrying the first iota of genuine emotion since she got there. She always maintained such a tough, cold artifice to keep up appearances. She reached again into her beige canvas bag.

Amaryllis struggled through the pain that was still growing. "New toys?"

She looked in confusion as Terra presented a white, rectangular piece of cloth. She tilted her head as she tried to identify it. Her thoughts were interrupted by the hard tip of Terra's boot colliding with the side of her face. The impact sent sharp agony through her cheek as she fell to her side, reeling.

"My word..." Amaryllis struggled out through groans of pain and joy.

"On your back, wretch." Terra stood above her, excitement and raw passion in her eyes as she held the white cloth firmly in her grip.

"What is- Terra, what is that?"

Amaryllis felt a tinge of genuine nervousness. She'd seen every torture device in existence. She lived in the Hells. But she had never seen what Terra held. Her mind raced. A breath constricting device? Was it merely a container for a more traditional instrument? Some cute way of storing an array of blades?

Amaryllis began to speak. "Wh-"

Terra's normally low voice cut her off and boomed with authority. "On your fucking back, wretch!" Her foot reared once again and brutally collided with Amaryllis's rib, the force turning her from her side onto her back. A stabbing, breath-stealing shock radiated through her torso. She coughed and sputtered, unable to respond. Terra kneeled above her.

"Why don't you just lay back like a good little pet and stop asking questions?" She took a condescending, maternal tone.

Amaryllis's rough voice pushed through her moans of pain.

"Terra, that-" she was quickly cut off by an icy, authoritative tone.

"My name will not once more pass your infernal lips, beast."

Amaryllis's face grew hot and she went silent, ego too large to comfortably address a human by a title of superiority.

Terra giggled as she withdrew a serrated silver dagger, encrusted with sparkling jewels from its scabbard. She admired the way it glittered with delighted bloodlust in her eyes. She gently traced the blunt side of the knife along Amaryllis's chest and spoke in a gentle tone tinged with condescension.

"You alright, sweetheart?"

Amaryllis's eyes were nearly rolling in the back of her head as she reveled in the sweet agony that enveloped her.

"Never been better, love."

Terra began to saw at Amaryllis's clothing, the look in her eyes resembling that of a wolf tearing through the skin of its prey to reach the flesh beneath. With each cut, her composure degraded. She danced on the brink of frenzy, tearing off the soaking cloth that covered Amaryllis's crotch and hastily shoving it into her bag.

She then unfolded the object that Amaryllis had still failed to identify on the floor in front of her and coated it with powder.

"Is that... Some sort of clothing? Doesn't look very scary, does it? And what's that you've got? Some sort of poison? Some chemical to burn my skin?"

Terra smirked as she lifted Amaryllis's legs up and placed it under her, and Amaryllis tightened in anticipation, waiting for the worst. She was surprised to feel... nothing. Just a plush padding under her bottom.

"This is a garment traditionally worn by human young when they have not yet developed command of their bodily functions. It is expected to be utilized in a manner that prevents soiling of floors or clothing." She gazed into Amaryllis's eyes, teasingly alluding to their last play session in which she urinated out of overwhelming pain and a particularly crushing blow to the back.

Amaryllis felt a scintilla of genuine embarrassment and confusion. "So why..." Her eyes narrowed. It didn't make much sense to her. Terra clearly didn't mind blood, saliva, or cum soiling the floor. This isn't even her home. It's a church dedicated to a religion she doesn't believe in.

"This isn't truly for utility, is it? Is this some odd sexual predilection of yours? You love to treat me like an animal companion, have you moved on to treating me as one of your young?"

Her face burned slightly at the idea. It sounded warm, and she had never had a mother. The idea sounded foreign to her, the depth of her knowledge being through observation. Devil life is ruthless. You appear one day as a fully matured imp, and you fight for your place in the dominance hierarchy. Amaryllis had never felt the warmth of motherly attention.

Terra's face became hot. She had never shared this with anyone aside from a few subs that she'd played with, but nobody as close and romantically important to her as Amaryllis. Terra didn't care what anyone thought of her. Except Amaryllis. She said nothing, and gently began to slide her fingers inside of Amaryllis. She salivated, having waited so long for her prized lover to return.

Amaryllis laid her head back and moaned in pleasure. Hands bound above her head clenching from the sudden stimulation, before Terra pulled her fingers out and gently began to massage Amaryllis's labia. She traced her fingertips along every crease and curve, admiring the way it differed from human anatomy. The curves were slightly sharper. The outside lips had small, dark red ridges that nearly resembled scales. These ridges were present along the rest of her body, most prominently along her spine and around her navel. She released her fingers and pulled the soft padding to snugly attach it around Amaryllis's hips.

Terra finished taping her up, and Amaryllis looked at her crotch to see a black cross print on the front, causing her to let out a giggle.

"Cheeky as ever, I see. Are you my mummy now?" Her tone was glib, veiling a miasma of vulnerability.

Terra gently patted her before standing to step on her padded cunt with all of her weight. Amaryllis moaned with pleasure, pain, and confusion.

"Hells, that feels weird..." Her eyes widened slightly in realization. "You wear these for kicks, don't you?" She sat up slightly and grinned in surprise through the pain of the heavy boot on her groin, her pearly fangs catching a glitter of the moonlight that shone through the window. "You've got one on under your dress, I'd wager. Give us a peek, won't you?"

She leaned forward before Terra's foot suddenly made contact with her chin, sending her back to a supine position. Terra withdrew a cat-of-nine-tails from her bag, gently running her fingers along the handle as she glared at Amaryllis, licking her lips in anticipation. She wound up, causing Amaryllis to flinch before every knot of stinging rope dragged across her face. Another lashing struck her belly, and finally once again on her face. The agonizing ecstasy overtook her, drawing a loud whine from her throat as Terra straddled her hips and lifted her dress so their crotches were in contact with one another's. Amaryllis tasted the tang of her own blood running down her face and trickling into her mouth. Terra leaned forward to draw her tongue along her cheek, savoring the taste of the black liquid that streaked her lover's face.

She gripped Amaryllis's horns with the whip still in her hand and pulled her inward, passionately shoving her tongue into her mouth, running it between the fork of Amaryllis's and beginning to grind her hips. They both moaned in pleasure, muffled into each other's lips.

"Fuck, I missed you, Ammy. I missed you so much." Terra's voice was soaked with desperation as she pulled away and continued her hip movement. "You can't stay away this long again."

"I won't, love. I give you my word." She leaned forward again to lock her forked tongue with Terra's, reciprocating the movement of her hips.

Their voices were silenced by a sudden creaking from the church doors opening slightly. Somebody had become curious of Terra's methods and decided to peek in. They caught a vague glimpse of Terra's back as she sat on top of the supine devil. Terra turned her head to face the door.

"Out!"

"Madam, what..."

"Dammit, I said out!" Her cold voice echoed through the walls of the large stone building, and the doors were quickly closed.

"My, it looks like the little mistress might be in trouble!" Amaryllis mocked in a singsong voice.

"They have no authority over me. They likely don't even understand what they saw." Terra's overwhelming desire caused her to brush off the incident quickly. Her vision was tunneling with lust.

She stood up and moved Amaryllis back to her knees, gently stroking her back with the tough ropes of her whip. Amaryllis was preparing herself for another lashing when, suddenly, Terra's foot pivoted and she drove her boot into Amaryllis's gut. She couldn't reel backward, as she was chained by her neck to the floor. She coughed and bent forward, bowing her head to the floor as if to worship the agony pulsing through every inch of her body. She wheezed, and felt a warmth growing between her legs.

"Hells below, you fucking angel." Her voice creaked, having been severely winded by the impact. She tried to catch her breath, and suddenly realized what was happening. "Nine, bury me alive."

Terra knelt behind her and placed her hand on her padded backside, which was raised in the air. She stared at the growing wet spot and nearly drooled with excitement.

"My, you're such an obedient little devil, aren't you? Pissing yourself like a filthy girl all because my boot commanded it?"

The humiliation and sheer physical throbbing sent waves of hot ecstasy through Amaryllis's body as she continued to wet herself.

"Burning Hells, is this how humans treat their young? Is this why they need these? I'm shocked that any of you survive to adulthood." She continued to cough and wheeze.

The new feeling was fascinating to her. Shame, warmth, and a squishy material growing against her aroused labia. The wounds on her face continued to exsanguinate her inky blood onto the floor. She finally finished emptying her bladder, and her head was jerked upward as Terra grasped her horn and began to saw at its base. The serrated blade vibrated her skull as her hazy vision tried to focus itself. Terra savored every stroke as she cut all the way through, removing her horn and beginning work on the other.

"Do you like these ones? I'm trying out a new, bold style as you can see." Her voice was still rough as she struggled to catch her breath. "How many have you got now? Twelve sets?" It was as if Terra couldn't hear her. Her mind was overwhelmed with desire. She continued sawing through the other, placing the horns in her bag when she had finished, and quickly but gently guiding Amaryllis to her back. She wanted to give her a break from the beatings after the last hit she endured.

Terra began removing her dress. She undid the buttons on her back and pulled it over her shoulders, revealing her bright white, lacy, two-piece lingerie underneath. She removed her bra, and all that was left on her body was a pair of lacy, ivory underwear, round glasses, and her black boots.

Amaryllis was stunned in admiration. Her eyes traced every curve of Terra's beautiful body as she sat to once again straddle her hips. She leaned forward and locked her lips with Amaryllis's. Her aggressive, frenzied movements night and day to the quiet, icy artifice she created for her exterior. She thrusted her hips to press their most intimate parts against each other. Her loins burned with passion. Her innards felt like a boiling cauldron. She stifled screams of pleasure and muffled erratic phrases into Amaryllis's mouth.

"God, I love you. You're so fucking hot. Foul fucking hellspawn."

Amaryllis closed her eyes and wrapped her tongue around Terra's. The lovely dance of pleasure and suffering twisted her guts to knots and flowed through her black heart like a raging river. Their hip movements grew more vigorous by the second, and Terra's breathing quickened. She squealed with elation as she began to reach her peak. She pulled away and grasped Amaryllis's face, fixing their eyes in contact. Her voice trembled in a whisper.

"Cum for me. Cum for your mistress, devil."

Amaryllis opened her eyes and became lost in her gaze. Her mind spun. She took boundless joy in having fully corrupted Terra. She had once been an innocent angel, now completely overtaken by lust and helplessly at the mercy of the love that burned in her soul. The love that bound their souls together.

Amaryllis arched her back as the cold rush of climax filled her body. Terra released her face from her grip and laid fully on top of her, her mouth forced open by the shock of pleasure that overtook her body. They failed to stifle shrieks of rapture as they came to orgasm in synchronization. Terra held Amaryllis tightly and dug her nails into her back. Amaryllis sank her fangs into Terra's shoulder, drawing the taste of rich, red mortal blood into her mouth. They harmonized in a chorus of ecstasy as their bodies rushed and boiled with unbridled elation.

Their waves of orgasm came to an end and they lay relaxed, panting vigorously, covered in sweat and one another's blood. Terra remained on top of Amaryllis, savoring the heat of the hot breath that met her neck. Her breathing began to steadily slow, as rolled onto the cold floor next to her to lie on her back side by side with Amaryllis.

"Stay with me, Amaryllis. Please, stay with me." Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke between generous drinks of oxygen.

"Sweetheart, you know I can't do that. I'll be around far more often though, okay? Things have changed."

"You promise?"

"I promise, Angel."

Terra cut Amaryllis's wrist bindings with her serrated dagger, finally freeing them. Amaryllis turned and wrapped her in her newly freed, sore arms as Terra ran her fingers along the smooth stumps that used to be horns on Amaryllis's head. They gently caressed one another's bodies and placed soft kisses on necks, hands, and chests. Time passed as they lovingly gazed into each other's eyes.

Terra checked her pocket watch and stood up, wiping the fluid that had leaked down her legs with a handkerchief she kept in her bag, and beginning to redress herself. She looked down at Amaryllis, who was covered in beautiful black cuts and bruises. Terra had thoroughly branded Amaryllis with her mark.

"I suppose it's about time you got home." Terra sighed, tears in her eyes as she tried to remain positive and glib. She imitated Amaryllis's accent. "Wouldn't want mummy downstairs to be upset, now, would you?"

Amaryllis chuckled. "No, we certainly wouldn't want that. Though it never does get easier for you to kill me, does it?" She returned to her knees as Terra finished pulling the dress over her head, fastening the buttons, and attaching her brooch. She retrieved a small vial from her boot, placing the rim to Amaryllis's face and collecting the midnight fluid that still trickled.

"What do you do with those? I'm quite curious."

"A... variety of things. I drink them, use them to aid my research, mix them in medicine... but I am running nearly dry."

Amaryllis narrowed her eyes, unsure of whether she believed Terra. The taste of salty-sweet sentimentality filled her mouth as she gazed into Terra's eyes. It was nearly silent as Terra filled the vial. Amaryllis waited patiently for her to finish, even if she may be betraying her brethren by providing mortals a valuable tool against them.

"I love you, Terra."

"I love you too, Ammy."

Terra finished filling her vial, sealing it with a cork and placing it into her bag. She continued to look downward at her soon-to-depart lover with painful tears in her eyes.

"Hey, love. Could you do me a favor and take this... whatever it's called off of me? Might be a bit difficult to explain to the girls back home."

"Oh, will it? Well, we wouldn't want you to be embarrassed returning to the pit covered in your own urine, would we?" She smirked teasingly.

"Yes, th-" Amaryllis was suddenly interrupted as the serrated blade slashed impossibly quick across her throat. Her eyes widened and her hands quickly tightened around her neck in disbelief. Torrents of thick blood poured from the slit, and Terra stood above smugly. Amaryllis looked up with a stunned grin, unable to help but admire Terra's delicious cruelty. Her speech croaked through blood bubbling in her throat.

"Cheeky fuck..." She choked out what laughter she was capable of as blood leaked from her mouth. Amaryllis felt her vision slowly begin to fade.

"Ta-ta, darling. I'll see you again soon." Her words were slow and strained.

"Goodbye, Amaryllis." She kneeled to place one more loving kiss on Amaryllis's dark, glossy red lips. Terra's tone had returned to her cold artifice, but sincere love and yearning could be heard underneath the facade. Her lips smiled warmly as she stepped back to once more admire her soulmate before she departed.

A roaring flame sparked at Amaryllis's feet, quickly engulfing her and transporting her body, and her embarrassing clothing, back to the Hells. In a second, it was over. Nothing but silence followed. Terra sat on a pew, retrieving from her bag and lighting another cigarette. She inhaled a drag of the acrid smoke, and tried to relax herself after such a physically and emotionally draining night. She exhaled a cloud of gray, and began to cry. She muffled her wails of longing into her hands. No matter how long she had, her time with Amaryllis would always feel as though it was cut short far too soon.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that beautiful, smug little fanged smile. She placed the severed horn against her cheek, closing her eyes and trying to be as close to Amaryllis as she possibly can. Tears continued as she finished her cigarette. She tossed it to the floor and stepping on the remaining embers. She returned her toys and mementos to her bag before returning to her feet.

She approached and pushed open the ebony doors once more while cleaning the remainder of the blood and tears from her face. The priests had been waiting in the entrance the entire time.

"Madam, what did you do in there?"

She sniffled lightly, concealing that she had been crying.

"My job. You religious types wouldn't understand."

The younger priest peered through the doors, and saw nothing but the empty metal collar on top of a pile of ash.

Epilogue

Terra entered her bedroom as the rain pattered against the window. She reached under her bed and retrieved a small briefcase. She clicked open the locks and lifted the lid to reveal a pile of bottles, all completely filled with Amaryllis's blood, each one meticulously labeled with a date and complete with a heart drawn on the front. Tears welled in her eyes as she wrote the current date on the one she collected that night, stored it within the box, and returned it underneath her bed.

She gently ran her fingers along the smooth horn she had severed from Amaryllis about an hour prior as she lay in her bed, her mind racing and constantly running over the events of the evening. Her yearning heart was warmed. Her eager loins had been satisfied. And yet, empty beds remain cold all the same. Amaryllis's voice echoed in her head.

I'll see you again soon.

She looked the ceiling and whispered, her voice trembling as she began to cry.

"Come back, my love."

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hi!!! my first little debut diving into heavier sadomasochistic stuff. i hope you liked it!!

i'm starting to get a little bit invested in writing more romantic relationships into my stories. perhaps my next one will be a bit less so, in case any of y'all prefer a more raw style over a sappy, sugary one.

a few self-notes for things i wasn't sure about:

the sex scene is a bit erratic. they move around a lot, and the actions are kinda scattered. this was intentional, as i was trying to capture the feel of terra's frantic lust. not sure if i'll change it.

amaryllis calling terra an angel may come off confusing. it was an attempt at a bit of doublespeak, as angels are the enemy of devils, though we perceive "angel" as a compliment. it's a mix, as a masochist experiences a mix of pain and pleasure. devils in d&d are known for their doublespeak, so i put a touch of it here.

i like the flow of the description of terra's outfit, though i see that it may be slightly awkward to read.

any feedback is welcome, i've never written heavier sadistic stuff before so this is all new to me <3

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Adam set the special plant down on the night side table. After what happened last time he didn't want to risk it getting broke again.

He really loved that garden, almost as much as he loved the devil who made it for him. "Luci, do you know of any plants foreign to Pride that I could grow here?"

Lucifer thought about it for a minute. "Wrath has some that are on the more man eating side if you're looking for a challenge."

"Ooou that sounds fun! Can we go to Wrath this weekend?" Even if the whole ring was filled with hick imps.

Lucifer smiled. "Sure, it'll be a good outing for us."

Adam crawled into bed and placed a kiss on his boyfriends cheek. "Thanks." When he pulled away, Adam sniffed the air. "What's that smell?"

Lucifer paused, he put his book down and sniffed as well. "Smells like smoke." The sound of glass bursting caught their attention. They ran over to the window and the sight floored them.

Adam gasped. "My fucking greenhouse!" He took off out of their room to the garden that was set ablaze.

"Adam, wait!" Lucifer ran after him. He didn't need him to do something reckless.

They got to the garden doors, flames and smoke pouring out the broken windows. Adam went to touch the door but hissed when the knob burnt his hand. "Fuck!"

"Hold on!" Lucifer brought out his wings and used them to create a huge gust of wind that blew the doors open and extinguished the fire.

Adam looked in with devastation, his hands flew to his mouth, he felt his eyes get wet. Who the fuck would do this? "No...." He walked in, every plant was chared, burnt beyond help. Everything in the greenhouse was destroyed. "It's all fucking gone." Adam let a sob slip out.

Lucifer tried to find something among the remains that survived but there was nothing. A puddle on the ground shined, he placed his hand in it and sniffed.

Holy oil. So he couldn't just fix it.

"Where would anyone get this around here?" Lucifer wondered aloud. When he heard Adam sobbed he went to him. "Hey, it'll be okay. We can clean up and replant."

"That's two years of work literally up in fucking smoke. How did this...." Adam cried into his hands.

Lucifer held him and guided him out of the ruined greenhouse, there was nothing they could do right now. He just happened to look down the hallway, an evil smiling shadow dissolved when it noticed him.

He would have gone after that fucker if Adam hadn't have been so upset.

Adam sat in their bed holding the only remaining flower that came from his greenhouse. He was glad he had the foresight to bring this one to their room. He cried silently as he gazed at the flower.

Lucifer just wanted to take his pain away. He may not be able to take away Adam's pain but he knew who he was going to give pain to. "I'm gonna go downstairs, do you want anything?"

Adam just shook his head no, slowly.

"Okay." Lucifer placed a kiss in his hair before he left.

He had a fucking deer to hunt.