#hot blooded temptress

[testormblog]

The Outback

I thought Dad’s annual family rail pass to be a tremendous privilege.  So did he.  If only, he and Mother would visit interesting places.  I no longer wished to wade in Southport’s still water to Mother’s allowed depth of twenty centimetres.  Regrettably, Dad didn’t like leaving the local area except to go to his beloved races or Southport.  Perhaps, he believed he needed government permission.  Mother though wished to see outside our small corner of Queensland.  She had visited relatives scattered further afield.

Once, Dad did relent to Mother’s wishes.  He agreed we could take the train from Brisbane to Dirranbandi, though without my five year old brother.  I found this funny named place on the map in my purloined Queensland Rail Country Timetable Book, my Railway Bible.  We were going to the Outback!

The two days, we’d be away, didn’t seem a long time.  How wrong I’d be!  I was excited to be travelling a great distance, further than Toowoomba to where Mother and I had previously travelled.  I didn’t worry about where I’d sleep.  Afterall, one didn’t sleep on an adventure.

At 6 am, we caught the first City train, took a tram across the bridge from South Brisbane to Roma Street and connected with the mixed goods and passenger train to Dirranbandi.  The long train had goods wagons and first and second class carriages.  The carriages were identical except first class cost more.  Posh people didn’t want to sit with the riff raff, which was nearly everybody.  Dad’s pass entitled us to first class tickets and a whole compartment to ourselves.

The train’s C-16 steam engine made good time until it reached the base of the Great Dividing Range.  I loved the train’s rhythmic motion, its constant chugging noise and the whistles its engine driver blew.  I didn’t mind the coal soot that was sucked into our carriage.  I glued myself to the window.  I didn’t want the train to reach our destination.  That meant the wonderful sights flying past my window would end.

The Lockyer Valley’s market garden farms passed by.  Draught horses with ploughs toiled in paddocks.  Potatoes, cabbages and cauliflowers grew in orderly rows.  The pumpkin vines were disorderly, occupying whole paddocks.  The train crossed flowing creeks.  Everywhere was picturesque and green.  At Helidon, men coupled a second steam engine behind the guard’s van.  The front engine pulled and the rear engine pushed the train slowly around the mountain range’s bends.  I saw rainforest and waterfalls.  At Spring Bluff Train Station, close to the range’s top, I had a vast view of the valley below.

Then the train picked up speed until it arrived in Toowoomba.  At the city’s station, the second engine and some carriages were uncoupled.  Goods wagons were exchanged too.  A new crew started.  My family sat on a bench eating our packed lunch for the couple hours.

The train pulled out at dusk.  Darkness surrounded it; yet inside, it was dimly lit.  It crossed the Darling Downs wheatlands.  I had the strange sensation of moving through the blackness without having any sense of direction as to where I was going.  The train’s motion rocked me into a fitful sleep.  Each time it stopped at a station or a siding, I awoke with a start.  I peered through the window at wooden place name signs.  By the middle of the night, it chugged into the city of Warwick where more wagons were exchanged.

On and on the train travelled further west.  Just when I thought the night would never end, the sun peeped on the horizon at Inglewood.  I watched its fiery ball rise to heaven and paint the sky in brilliant orange.  The sky seemed wider here than at home and the sunrise more magnificent.

I was in the Outback!  The countryside was foreign to me.  Parched yellow grass and spangly grey bushes of lignum dotted the flat plains of black soil.  These stretched far and wide.  The creeks were dry beds of sand and the rivers mere streams.  The rivers’ names, the Macintyre, the Weir, the Moonie and the Balonne, meant nothing to me but later in life they’d indelibly inscribe themselves in my memory.

I thought the environment was inhospitable.  Yet, it was crowded with animals.  The land appeared to be rolling with mobs of hundreds of kangaroos hopping across it.  Before, I had only seen a kangaroo on the Australian penny.  Crows picked at the unlucky dead ones that had been caught in the railway fences.  Thousands of sheep grazed on the plains too, right up to the tracks.  Flocks of birds flew overhead.  To my delight, I saw a whole flock take off from the ground at once.  I identified galahs, budgerigars, cockatoos and quarrians.  If only I could trap some of these birds to take home.  So much money flew above me!

The train took on water and exchanged mail bags with stockmen on horseback at sidings and tinpot stations.  At Noondoo, it pulled up beside a huge homestead to offload supplies.  Amidst nowhere, a stockman waved the train down and boarded it carrying a saddle over his shoulder and meagre belongings in his hands.  His craggy face resembled the cracked earth of the plains.

The new day brought heat I hadn’t experienced before, and by midmorning, was burning hot.  When I jumped from the train in Dirranbandi at eleven o’clock, my eyeballs fried from the heat and glare.  On the platform, wool bales were stacked ready for loading.  The large station was a major hub in Australia’s wool empire during the 1950’s wool boom.  We were at the end of the line.  Dad felt homesick.  He had been away from home just over a day.  Fortunately for him, the train would depart for Brisbane in three hours’ time.

The town, if it could be called that, had two pubs, a few essential type businesses but nothing for us to see.  Dad went to Mc Gregor’s Hotel to quench his thirst and ease his homesickness whilst Mother and I found a cafe.  Good fortune shone on Dad there.  He stumbled upon the local police sergeant, whom he had gone to school with.

We departed on time at two.  Sunset happened at the same spot as sunrise.  Thus, I didn’t see the wheatfields on my return either.  After sixty hours travel, we arrived home in the clothes we started in.  Mother was keen to tell her clients she had travelled to places they hadn’t.  Dad swore he’d not leave home again.  I thought I’d never be lucky enough to go back.

Alas, those black soil plains wove a spell on me.  The saying, ‘Go west young man.’, wedged itself in the back of my mind.  When the chance to return came, I did.  Next time, I’d drive and would travel the route many times.  Thankfully, the round trip by road would be a shorter fourteen hours.

The Outback was a hot blooded temptress with a coin.  One side was marked fortune and the other, hardship.  I didn’t fear it.  The four years, I’d later spend in it, would determine how lucky I’d be in life.

[ellecdc]

James and Sirius and Remus and Lily and *takes a dramatic breath* you?

this one's for you @enamoredwithbella, thanks for sorting this idea out with me @unstablereader

poly!Marauders + Lily x shy!reader who is so smitten with them

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4 // pt 5

CW: fem!reader, reader has hair long enough to be played with, reader is in Hufflepuff, swearing, consent because it's sexy AF

This was obviously a bad idea.

You’re not even sure how your friends managed to convince you to attend the Gryffindor party, but you swore to every deity it would never happen again.

There were too many people (most of whom you’d never spoken to before), it was too loud (songs you didn’t particularly care for), and the fifteenth time someone bumped into you nearly sent you over the edge.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” A low voice commented as an arm quickly righted you from your nearly horizontal position. “Y’alright?”

You looked up to see the face of none other than Gryffindor quidditch captain James Potter beaming down at you.

You were ashamed of yourself for the way that smile made you feel.

“Erm, yup! Thanks.” You squeaked, quickly freeing yourself from James’ grasp so fast that you nearly knocked someone else over in your attempt at creating distance between you and the Headboy.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like James. On the contrary; you were rather smitten with him.

Him and his partners - which was nothing short of dense in simple terms.

But you couldn’t help the way you blushed when he held the doors open for you as you walked into classes, or the friendly smile and wave he’d shoot at you when he saw you on Prefect rounds. 

You sort of wished he’d stop being so bloody nice to you; maybe then you’d be able to get over this crush that was never going to amount to anything.

But James was taken; three times over. 

And what a sodding group they were.

Heart Throb of Hogwarts™ Sirius Black in his effortless style, his devil may care attitude, and his insatiable flirting. Being noticed by Sirius felt like your favourite rockstar singing a song written just for you. 

And don’t even get you started on the enigma that is Remus Lupin; the Cassanova of Gryffindor tower. Everyone in your year (and likely the years below you) had at some point or another crushed hard on the quiet Marauder; but it really couldn’t be helped. He was tall, he was handsome, he was kind, and though he was far more quiet than his counterparts, the quips he shared with you never ceased to reduce you to a fit of laughter.

And gods, was Lily Evans ever beautiful. She was the total package; she was funny, outgoing, smart, and stunning. Looking at her even now with her long auburn hair as she threw her head back in laughter; so open and care free in her actions. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be her or being underneath-

No.

No. That was not a nice thing to think about someone who was in a committed relationship.

You let out a sigh as you zoned back into the fact that James still had one of his hands on your elbow and was smiling curiously at you. 

“Thanks for the save! I really owe you one.” You chuckled awkwardly and nearly took out one of the Prewett twins in your haste to leave Potter’s vicinity. 

Unfortunately, trouble seemed to be following you.

And by trouble, you meant Sirius Black.

“Damn, Hufflepuff!” He cheered as he moved a sultry gaze up and down your body appreciatively. “Give us a spin, dollface.”

You felt all the blood in your body migrate to your cheeks as you fought to keep your mouth from falling open.

Lily, the beautiful angel (or the evil temptress, depending on how you looked at it), swatted at Sirius from her perch on the arm of the chair her boyfriend was currently occupying.

“Down boy; you’re going to scare her away.” She teased with a smirk as she winked at you. 

You felt momentarily grateful for her.

And then she spoke again.

“Then none of us will get to look at her.”

Fucking Helga, was it hot in here? They needed to open more windows; preferably one you could launch yourself out of right now, thank you very much. 

“That’d be such a shame, really. Sorry doll, you don’t gotta spin - no one else here deserves to appreciate such a view.”

“Okay.” You squeaked and turned in search of your friends.

You know what? Fuck your friends; you were leaving with or without them. 

They weren’t….flirting with you, were they?

Surely not.

Of course not.

What a ridiculous thing to think.

But…it certainly felt like they were flirting with you.

Maybe one more glance?

Just as you were about to approach the portrait hole, you turned for one more look at the objects of your affection and your current tormentors and - yup, sure enough - Sirius, Lily, and now James were all standing there smiling at you.

They were watching you leave?!

Okay time to go, that is enough nonsense for one day. 

You spun and collided with something tall and solid which thankfully caught your arms as you all but ricocheted off of them.

“Hey there, dove. Where’re you headed in such a hurry?”

Please for the love of gods, don’t tell me…

But of course, you looked up to see the face of one Remus Fucking Lupin smirking down at you. 

“You lot are everywhere.” You whispered in awe. The bastard only chuckled in response.

“Come on you guys! We’re going to start a game of truth or dare!” Lily called over to…you (?) and Remus.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to miss that, would we?” Remus murmured lowly into your ear as he steered you towards the growing circle congregating around the various chairs and sofas littering the common room.

And listen, you’re not particularly proud that you were so placid in Remus’ man handling you.

But in your defence…

In your defence, Remus was man handling you. 

And to your absolute horror, he plopped you down beside Lily on a large chair that was not quite large enough for two people. 

You tried to swallow your heart back down which was attempting to escape via your mouth as you became hyper focused on the fact that Lily sodding Evans was pushed up against you none too casually and- Merlin’s tits, was she playing with your hair!? 

You pretended to pay attention as a few rounds passed by; your friend being dared to give you a lap dance being the most brazen thing to have taken place.

Until it got to the Marauders.

Marlene dared Sirius to strip down to his boxers for a whole round which he was all but too eager to do, apparently. Meaning he got to ask the next person.

“Moony!” 

Remus smiled down at his lap before he looked over at one of his boyfriend’s mischievously. 

“I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl here.”

You’re not necessarily proud of the way your heart plummeted at that; this is what you had been telling yourself all night. They were taken.

No matter if they complimented you.

No matter if they caught you as you fell. 

No matter if they snuggled up to you on a chair designed for one.

No matter if one of them made you feel like you leaving the party early would have been truly devastating.

No matter.

“That’s impossible; there’s two of them.” Remus said quickly, causing your heart to ache for Lily.

Who even says that when their girlfriend is sitting right here!?

You kept your head down as the party all ooooh’ed and aawwwweee’d.

James let out a funny high pitched laugh as if he were an over excited kid on Christmas morning. “Guess you’ll have to kiss them both then.” 

You really should have left when you had the chance; you weren’t sure you could watch.

It was their business if they wanted to include another, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

“Or they can kiss each other; I think I’d enjoy that just as much.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Lily said as she stood; the space she once inhabited felt cold and vacant without her.

“Well? Come on then?” She said as she grabbed your arm.

“What?”

“Come with me.” She said again, wiggling your arm within your grasp, and who were you to deny her, really?

Like a well trained dog you followed her obediently over to where Remus sat before she all but shoved you into his lap.

“You seem like the fidgety type; maybe Rem can help with that, hm?” She said as she shot a wink at Remus over your shoulder.

His arms wrapped possessively around your waist as he rested his chin on the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“Is it okay if she kisses you, pretty girl?”

You had no time to be absolutely horrified at the pathetic little keening sound that escaped your lips as you looked up at the red-head now towering over you.

“What do you say, gorgeous?” And though her emerald eyes did shine with some mischief, you could see she was earnest; this was your choice.

“Okay.” You whispered barely loud enough for you to hear yourself over the hammering of your heart.

“Yeah?” She whispered as she knelt in front of you.

“Yeah.” You agreed.

And you only got to see the soft, hopeful smile that adorned her lips for but a moment before her hands were on either side of your face and she was pressing her soft lips to yours. 

It could have been hours or centuries but it was also all too soon before she was pulling away from you; a proud smile on her lips though her cheeks were a similar colour to her hair.

You became aware of the hooting and hollering going on around you as Remus’ chest began to vibrate in laughter.

“Beautiful.” He murmured - likely more to himself than to you, but you heard it all the same.

“Do I get a turn?!” James shouted before Sirius roughly grabbed him by the waist and planted him down on his lap.

“Not before me, Jamie.” He snickered as he shot you a wink. 

The audacity of a man to still be so confident sitting in nothing but his boxers. 

You tried to hide behind your hands though it was all for naught as Remus made a theatrical cooing sound and pulled you further into his lap until you were all but cradled in his arms.

“Maybe without an audience next time, hm?” He asked you as he brushed some hairs away from your forehead.

Not trusting yourself to speak (or to even make direct eye contact with the bloke currently cuddling you in your lap), you nodded with your face still hidden.

“Way to go babe.” James said as Lily went to join the two boys on their loveseat. “You were so good, we’ll even get a next time!”

read about their first date here!

[dreaisgrayte]

Demon Slayer Masterlist

❁ = NSFW MDNI

First Kisses with the Hashira

Ideal Weddings with the Hashira

❁Lessons of Lust | Sanemi Shinazugawa and Kyojuro Rengoku x fem!reader

Reader becomes a demon during battle (request)

❁Hot and Tasty | Kyojuro Rengoku

Temptress | Kyojuro Rengoku

Topaz and Garnet Teaser | Prince Kyojuro

❁I See All | Kyojuro Rengoku

Pact | Kyojuro Rengoku

❁ “Just Friends” Full Fic | Kyojuro Rengoku

❁Sub!Kyojuro x fem!reader

❁ReHEARsal | Sanemi Shinazugawa

Behind me | Gyomei Himejima

Under the Goddess’ Veil Teaser {reworking}

❁Mister Moonlight | Giyu Tomioka

❁Get some ACTION | Giyuu Tomioka’s version

❁Hannya Mist | Giyu Tomioka x demon fem!reader

❁Moonlit Monsters | Muzan x FEM!reader

❁Half Blood | Muzan Kibutsuji x fem!reader

❁Fluttering Fluster | Demon Akaza

❁A Secret Technique | Mitsuri Kanroji

Love Bite | Chapter One

[jolalibrary]

midnight bedsheets

joel miller x f!reader | joel masterlist

summary: you and joel find some bedsheets.

wordcount: 1.2k warnings: fluff/little smutty - allusions to smut. mostly fluff those guys. i needed this. post outbreak. joel is smitten. soft!joel because he's my fave. AN: written on my phone so, mind the errors.

When the two of you had split up, Joel had a feeling that you wouldn’t look for one goddamn thing he’d asked you to.

He’d seen it.

That glimmer of fucking mischief shimmering in your eyes, tracing your lips with the tip of your tongue, hand on your hip, I’ll be sure to keep my pretty eyes open, Miller.

He doubted you would. But he wouldn’t, and couldn’t, doubt your eyes were pretty.

They had burned themselves into him by now. To the point he knows the exact shades that make them up; all well known to him, able to pick them out from a lineup, if he so needed to.

Having seen them in all manner of ways—looking up at him, next to him, underneath him. Seen them when the sun shined, when the snow fell; when the rain fell and the thunder clapped.

Kicking his foot against something picked over, he listens for your boots, for you turning over your side of the store. Clicking his tongue, shaking his head, heading your way, knowing, before he finds you, that you’ve located something they weren’t looking for.

Sometimes, he doesn’t like knowing you so well. Finding you on your hands and knees, ass in the air—hips wiggling as you stretch yourself, reaching and reaching, shirt having risen and exposing more of your skin to him. Tempting him, like the fucking temptress you are—

“Y’need any help there?”

He shouldn’t think what a sight it is, but he does.

Flicking his thumb against his finger, fighting himself about getting down onto his knees behind you and reminding you of how good he can make you feel.

Memories of you like this, his knees on the outside of yours, the feel of you enveloping him as he slid his cock into your—

“No, I’m good.”

“You sure—”

Whatever you’d been grasping for, must have come loose. Because you shoot up, resting back on your knees—head looking over your shoulder, a smirk on your face.

And not just any smirk. That smirk. The one that makes him hot under the collar of his jacket and makes blood rush to his cock.

It’s the one you sent him when out in the river washing two days ago, when you flung your soaked shirt at him—the slap sounding out in the quiet of the world. Should come warm me up, Miller. A thing he repeated in a grumble under his breath when he removed his boots, layers and trudged out to pull your wet, clean skin against him.

Now, though, he watches in real-time as the smirk shifts into something softer when you stand—when the thing in your hand comes into view. Wrapped in crinkling plastic packaging, the fabric inside folded intricately as he catches the words: Deluxe and Bedsheets.

He watches as you smear your fingers over the front, removing the thick dust, it clagging and clinging to your skin as you try to peer through the muck at what you’d found.

“What y’found?”

“Bedsheets,” you reply, not looking up—voice distant, soft, almost too soft for you.

His weight shifts as he swallows. Already imagining what you’re thinking. Remembering summer breezes in backyards, big sheets billowing, drying off as laughter plays. Hell, he can hear it himself—practically could lose himself to the memory if he tries hard enough.

“We’ve not got room for it.”

Looking up, your eyes narrow—a little bit of fury in your eyes as you roll your jaw. “But, we’ll make room. Right?”

Right. He thinks.

“Joel?”

“Fine.”

He’s not sure when he’s stopped being able to say no to you.

It’s days until the two of you are back in the familiar peeling walls.

The scent is both dire and familiar all at once as he helps you remove the bag from your shoulder, it thudding on loose floorboards as he begins to remove his.

He waits. Waiting for the moment you ask for it, the thing he’s somehow folded and squeezed into his pack. The thing which sat at the base, stared at him when he dug in for his bottle or foil-wrapped food.

You last thirty seconds.

He’d been counting. Grumbling for water as he tells you he’ll grab it, hands finding the plastic with ease—briefly, allowing himself to grasp at it, feel that familiar texture that reminds him of normalcy and shopping.

“You gonna help me?”

Shaking his head, Joel grabs the glass you’ve poured for him. Taking a sip. Letting you stew.

“Think of it like this, the quicker you help me make the bed, the quicker you can make these sheets yours.”

Chewing his tongue, he swirls the murky water in his glass, giving you a minute, not quite biting immediately. “How am I gonna do that?”

Shrugging, your fingers slide down the buttons of your shirt, popping not one, but two open. “Use your imagination, Miller.”

“Filthy, woman,” he snorts, glass slamming down as he moves around the table as you laugh.

A sound that’s beautiful, and warm. A thing he won’t admit, even as he helps, as he takes a side of the bed before your hand brushes his, handing him the packet. Reading you. Tilting his head as he rips it open, being sure to focus on your eyes, knowing they'll widen, biting the inside of his cheek when they do.

And he knows that look. The one that, if you weren't so stubborn, would be matched with your mouth falling open, all in awe.

It makes him half tempted to move around to your side of the bed and see if he’s right. Undo the button on your jeans, slide his thick fingers against the fabric covering your mound, and see if there's a patch, a damp slither as he spots you pushing your thighs together.

But, your face is blank. Unreadable. A thing you're good at, so easily able to bury the effect he has on you as you begin to hum.

A thing he tries not to shake his head at, because it’s nice. Normal. For a moment able to close his eyes and pretend they’re in a bedroom, in a house, something they’ve chosen rather than been given.

It running through his mind. As it does sometimes.

What you’d be like if the world hadn’t pushed you to adapt, whether you’d be as charmed by him as you are now. His eyes catching yours as the two of you shake your pillows in the new sheet—a smile there, kissing your eyes and gracing your lips.

And he hopes you would have been.

Thinks maybe you might have been.

It’s only when it’s done, the bed dressed, does he see the beauty of what you’d seen. The sheets a deep blue, almost midnight, decorated with intricately stitched swirls and stars that break up the expanse.

“It’s like that time we hunkered under that tree,” you say, eyes gazing down at it. “When we saw all those stars.”

He hums. Taking the corner between his finger and thumb, feeling the rich cotton—how it’s not over worn, likely has its thread count.

“Remember what we did under them?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he flicks his gaze up at you—chin still tucked to his chin. Seeing how another button is undone, exposing the valley between your breasts.

“Get on the bed.”

This time, he didn’t have to ask you twice. Thank fuck.

an: I’m a bit rusty with Joel, so forgive me 🩷

[honoredalone]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 .ᐟ

only want to fix it with a kiss on the lips, but i think i might.. 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞.

resisting your boyfriend’s blood cravings is so incredibly difficult at times especially when he looks at you with those sweet puppy eyes.

“p-please.. need you now, dove..” satoru whined into your neck, breathing in your lush scent of honey and the sweet blood running through your veins. he could almost hear the blood that flooded through your body and it made his skin crawl in desperation. “jus’ a little taste.. c’mon dove, ‘m stravin’.” he’s almost like a whining puppy begging for attention and who can resist a sweet, little puppy? that’s how you ended up here, under him, mewling like a little temptress.

“f-fuck.. keep squeezin’ me like that. y’er driving me nuts.” he groaned, his hot breath warming the crook of your neck. he inhaled deeply, his ears picking up on your blood running faster and faster as he thrusts become more and more erratic. “my perfect girl. g’nna let me have a taste? you smell so sweet.” he nearly sobbed at the throb of your pretty cunny. to entice you he lovingly nudged the sensitive spot on your neck with his nose, his mouth was drooling and his sharp canine gently dragged across your flesh.

“j-just.. be gentle?” you mewled as his thrusts slowed when he heard your permission to finally sink his fangs into your veins. his cock twitching at the simple thought of tasting your blood. “a-ah! ‘toru, feels ‘s good.” you cried, his hands gripping your waist possessively as he sucks at your neck desperately, your delicious blood sliding down his throat. he can feel his heartbeat speed as your taste spreads through his body, boosting his energy, thrusts becoming more purposeful, harder, more intimate. his pale skin started to glow, his eyes grew darker and his cheeks stained a pretty pale pink.

“never tasted blood so sweet, dove. got me addicted to ‘ya princess. g’nna let me taste you whenever i need?” his fangs departed from your neck, leaving a gorgeous purple and maroon mark. “fuck ‘ya look so good covered in my marks, dove.” he moaned like a slut gazing down at your bruised neck. his then hard, assertive movements became loving and gentle.

“‘toru, baby.. ‘m gonna— gotta..” you tried to formulate a coherent sentence but your brain just wouldn’t work alongside your mouth. “please… baby—” you begged and you were certain that he knew what you meant he just needed to hear you say what he wanted to hear.

his member started to ache with release as well, he never liked coming before you. “what is it my love? use your words.” he teased though his voice wavered as he spoke due to the painful clench in his lower abdomen. his body weight is fully laid onto you, his face obviously, in your neck. his pubic bone rubbing your clit simultaneously with his slow, sweet thrusts making your mind run laps around your head.

“wanna— needa cum ‘toru.” you whimpered, you felt his toned abs brushing against the soft skin of your stomach. he always thought you looked so pretty like this, flushed, makeup messy and your pupils giant hearts when you looked at him. satoru goes dumb with your pussy, he rambles little words. his mind is basically on autopilot, saying everything and anything that comes to mind. “baby? will you.. come inside? please ‘toru, need it. need it so so so so bad.” you babbled like a babe who’s learning to speak.

his dick throbbed, twitched and became so sore that it was almost painful. “want my babies inside? aw, how can i say no when you ask so so nicely hm?” his voice dripping in need and his hips stuttering when he finally releases without warning. “you take me so well, my pretty dove. g’nna keep it all inside?”

“yes! yes, thank you! thank you ‘toru.” you gasped as his cock hammers against your cervix, hard, shooting his cum deep inside of your womb. he continues to plunge his member in and out of your tight muscle, pushing you to the edge of your orgasm.

“how’re you still so tight, huh? make a mess, dove.” he licked a stripe over the previous bite on your pretty neck. with the intoxicating squeeze of your cunt he feels you leak all over him, the mess spreading to his porcelain thighs. “ha.. so fucking good, y’er so fucking good to me. lemme clean you up.” his long, sharp canines flash in the dim candle lit room as his pulls out of you slowly, careful not to lose too much of the white cream from dripping out of your quivering hole. he kisses down your body, your lips, chest, waist, thighs, finally setting sight onto your dripping pussy.

he nips at your thigh, drawing the smallest amount of blood. you yelped cutely, covering your reddened face. you always got so embarrassed when he went down on you but he knew you loved it, so with his lips sucking dark hickeys on your inner thighs, sucking up all the succulent blood you produced he dove in nose deep into your soaking sex. licking, sucking, kissing and biting your perfect cunt, nudging your sensitive nerves with the tip of his nose making your hips jolt against his face, soaking his chin. it was so vulgar the way his spit and your juices dripped down his face onto the sheets below him. he always devoured you like he’d never eat again and it was always so incredible.

satoru would reassure you saying that his blood cravings will never overpower the need to just have you with him. even if you had no more blood to give, he’d find a way to survive without it but he didn’t think in his 1028 vampire years alive he would ever let a mere human control him the way you do. “can’t live without you, dove. taste so fuckin’ good.” your breath became caught in your throat when he pushes his long fingers into your weeping core, curling them into your sensitive spot. “cum for me dove, c’mon i can feel ‘ya squeezin’ me. know you wanna.” he gloated, he gorgeously smirked against your radiant skin.

satoru’s other hand pressed down on your womb, pushing your climax out of you. your back arched and you pressed your core onto his face, dripping your essence onto his tongue. he moaned at your taste, closing his eyes. his long lashes brushing his blushing cheeks, his strong arms wrapped around you when he rests his head onto your waist with a content sigh. “want me to rub your back? need anything? food? whatever you need, dove and it’s yours.” he always took care of you right after nearly destroying you.

“no ‘toru, just need you to stay with me.” you whispered, placing your hand in his snowy locks, pulling gently, rubbing his scalp. it felt so good he nearly got hard again but he knows his stamina outlasts yours by decades. “i love you ‘s much satoru.” you lovingly purred, nails scratching down his neck, his fingers held each side of your waist.

he breathed small ‘i love you’s’ over and over again, leaving open mouth kisses below your belly button. sure, satoru has had lovers, many of them actually but never in his entire vampire life had he felt like this and he swears he’ll never let you go.

you’re his once in a lifetime, his one and only, his love. he’d turn you into a vampire just so you could spend eternity together or he’d plunge himself in the heart when you did eventually pass, all he knows is that he couldn’t go on in life if you weren’t by his blood-sucking side.

[saintlucretia]

Devil Wears a Suit

part Ⅱ

Pairings: Outpost!Michael Langdon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Mention of murder, Sexual harassment?, Explicit content, Curse words, Hot devil's son, Not proofread.

A/N: I tried my best, hope you enjoy.

A long night passed and the morning came. Well, if you can trust the clock. There were no windows at the Outpost for sunlight to penetrate the room, although even if there were some, it would not matter since after the bombs the sun disappeared behind a thick wall of fog. Fog of death.

I woke up with chills and sweat. Something haunted my dreams all night, making me shiver like a little lamb. Even though it was an unpleasant feeling, it added color to a pathetic parody of life that I have been having for the last 18 months.

Yesterday’s events bothered me. Moreover, they annoyed me. It was bright as day, that Langdon was messing with all of our minds, yet some part of my silly brain wanted me to believe that I was truly special. That he saw something, that no one else could.

I slowly walked to the bathroom. My bare feet touched the cold marble and I involuntarily shivered. I was tired. A mess. I washed my face and sighed, looking at myself in the mirror. Suddenly I noticed a motion somewhere behind, I turned my head and flinched. Snakes. They were crawling from the bath. Devilish creatures hissed showing me their poisonous fangs. I quickly ran out of the bathroom shutting the door behind me. What the hell? I caught my breath and sat on the edge of the bed. Are there snakes in my bathroom? I felt like I was going insane. Something cold touched my feet. Snakes. I jumped on the bed with a gasp. My closet and floor near it were full of them. They swarmed, intertwining with each other. Dozens of snakes. The other second I was already at the door, running to the hallway. Still barefoot in a white Victorian nightgown that Ms. Venable made us wear. I backed away from the room door and my back hit something soft. I turned around quickly, facing Michael Langdon's piercing blue eyes.

“Something wrong, Ms. Y/S?” he asked, preventing me from falling.

I stared at him for about a minute before words rolled out of my mouth.

“Snakes. There are snakes in my room.” My voice was hoarse, my fingers dug into the sleeves of his jacket.

He was clearly amused by my state, studying my expression. Langdon chuckled, "Oh, really? Snakes, you say?" His eyes shone with a sly glint. I watched as he pushed me aside and glanced toward the room I had just run from.  

"May I?" he asked, and entered the room without waiting for my reply. I slowly followed him. To my horror, as we entered I saw nothing. Snakes were gone. Impossible.

“They were here. I swear to God they were here.” I mumbled looking around the room.

I noticed Langdon’s face contorted in hostility. 

“Don’t say such stupid words, Ms. Y/S. It’s unnecessary here.” 

I closed my face with my hands and sighed. Considering my appearance and edgy state, I totally looked like a mad woman. Nobody believes a mad woman.

“I believe you,” Langdon said, approaching me as if he read my thoughts. “Strange things sometimes happen. But it’s just… interesting that it happened in your room.” 

"What do you mean by that?" I furrowed my eyebrows, my gaze searching his face.

“You probably know that snakes have always been representing sin. It’s their main dignity. Servants of darkness… if you believe in symbols, of course.”

I let his words sink in briefly, my gaze drifting to the ground lost in thought. Snakes… sin… Snakes slithering in the garden of Eden… temptress Eve... I understood where he was going.

I huffed at that, scoffing. "Is that your way of calling me sinful? A corrupted soul? Please, spare me the Bible lessons."

Langdon raised an eyebrow at my comment, a playful smirk on his lips. 

"Oh, I'm not calling you sinful," he said, leaning against the nearby wall, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe. “But as you said it… it would be amusing to see you getting corrupted.”

I rolled my eyes. "Then what are you calling me?" I retorted, my voice betraying a hint of irritation. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to regain some composure.

Langdon chuckled at my defensive stance. His eyes gleamed with amusement. He pushed himself off the wall and slowly approached me.

"Are you always so feisty in the mornings?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

I gulped as he came closer, a mix of annoyance and something else stirring inside me. His intense gaze made me feel cornered and yet, strangely… excited? My breath hitched as he was now standing directly in front of me, the space between us barely existent.

He raised his hand, a single finger tracing an invisible line down my cheek. "Or is it just my presence that gets you going?" he murmured, his voice dripping like honey.

The touch of his fingertip felt like a small electrical shock to my system. I tried to control my breathing, determined not to let him see me flustered.

"Your presence is hardly something exciting," I retorted, my voice a bit shaky. "It's more... irritating."

He smirked at my response. His finger trailed lower, down my jawline, and stopped at my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

“Well, as I recall it was you, who fell into my arms with fear, m?”

I hated how his words were effective. I hated how true they were. I hated myself for being so affected by his presence.

I tried to compose myself, my jaw clenched tightly. "I was just surprised," I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant, but my heart was beating too hard for any nonchalance. “There were snakes all over the room.”

Langdon chuckled, his thumb left my face and he slowly started walking toward the door. 

"Indeed there were," he replied, casually leaning against the door frame. He seemed relaxed as if the topic was of no real importance.

I watched him for a moment, trying to decipher his nonchalant behavior. He was enjoying this, the way he was playing with me. The way he was playing with everyone. 

"Are you going to explain what happened here, or just act like it's normal for snakes to appear out of nowhere?" I asked, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice.

Langdon chuckled at my question, that arrogant smirk never leaving his lips. "Isn't the mystery part of the thrill?" 

He walked out, closing the door behind me, leaving me again excited and annoyed. Silence engulfed the room after he left. I was left standing there, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind replaying the events that just occurred.

I sighed and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge with a thump. The silence was deafening, the only sound being the steady beat of my heart. I couldn't shake off the feeling of… anticipation. Anticipation for the next time I would see him. That son of a bitch.

I quickly dressed up and went to the day room. We didn’t have breakfast there. We barely ate at all. Some kind of nutrition cube at lunch and water. Balanced diet. 

No one yet tried to break the rules of the house that Ms. Venable had set, so when I entered the room almost everyone was already there. Same people, same walls, same music. I was going insane.

I took my usual seat, the conversations around me blending into a dull murmur. I felt suffocated as if I was drowning in the monotony. All I could think about was the next part of the interview with a representative of the Cooperative. 

Sanctuary could be a lie, who can verify that? All this can be a way to manipulate us. Even Ms.Venable was afraid, she didn’t trust him but obeyed. We were a flock of sheep in a pen with a hungry wolf. 

I was lost in thought when I noticed someone settling into the seat beside me. I turned my head to see Mr. Gallant.

"You seem lost in thought," he noted, his voice soft. "Everything alright?"

“Yeah, just… had an unpleasant morning,” I answered shortly, not wanting to tell him anything. I replayed all morning and yesterday's events in my head again and felt anger in my body. It made my blood hotter. 

He had no time to answer, as Ms. Venable walked into the room. Her presence immediately silenced the conversations. Her expression was stern, and she scanned the room with a critical eye.

"Good morning," she began, her voice steady and authoritative. She leaned on her cane and raised her voice a bit. “Today we are having a special treat. Don’t be late for lunch.” She turned from us and slowly started walking away, her heels echoing through the walls.

“Oh, by the way,” she stopped for a second but hadn’t turned her head. “Ms. Y/N, Mr. Langdon is waiting for you in the interview room.” She said harshly as if his name was disgusting to her.

I could feel the eyes of the others on me as they turned their gazes in my direction. I stood up slowly, trying to seem unbothered.

The walk to the interview room seemed longer than usual, the silence only interrupted by my footsteps and my rapidly beating heart. I will beat this motherfucker.

I knocked on the door of his cabinet and entered. There he was, sitting on the table, as he was waiting for me in that position intentionally. His pose was casual but deliberate. His gaze met mine, a smirk on his lips.

"Ah, Ms. Y/N," he greeted, his tone mocking yet playful. "Sit down please." 

I tried to retain my composure, refusing to let him see any hint of my nervousness. I sat down in the chair opposite him, trying to maintain some distance, yet feeling the closeness of the cramped room.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice steady but cold.

“Well, It’s the second part of your interview-” He began but I interrupted him. 

"Cut the act, Langdon.” I snapped, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. “This psychotic bitch with her ridiculous rules is already sucking our blood, I don’t want another arrogant dick here, who thinks he can intimidate us. We both know this isn't a real interview. Even if Sanctuary is true, selection is just part of your manipulation." 

Langdon raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh really?" He stood from the table and slowly started to circle me, like a shark circling wounded man in the water. I instinctively followed his movements with my eyes. "And why would I come to the Outpost then?" He stopped behind me, leaning closer, his breath warm against my ear.

I felt my breath hitch as he came closer, his breath sending a shiver through my body. I resisted the urge to lean away, instead sitting ramrod straight in my chair.  

"You tell me," I retorted, my voice betraying a hint of the unease I was feeling. He continued to circle me, his presence making the room feel even smaller.

Langdon chuckled at my response, his footsteps echoing around me as he completed his circle. He stopped in front of me. Smile gone.

“You are scared. It’s okay to be scared.” His calmness filled my mind with anger.

“I’m not.”

He smiled and leaned closer, resting his hands on the back of my chair, boxing me in with his arms.

“Of course you are,” he chuckled. His gaze fixed on mine. “And you should be.”

His arms on either side of my chair made me feel trapped. I could feel the power radiating from his body, and I had to fight the urge to lean back. I inhaled his smell, expensive cologne. Sweet, yet bitter, he smelled like dominance. It was hypnotic.

His chuckle was almost mocking as if he knew the effect he was having on me. I raised my chin defiantly.

"Why would I be scared of you?"  I retorted, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat. “You are nothing more than the obedient dog of The Cooperative.”

As words rolled out my mouth, I almost immediately regretted saying them. His smirk faded, eyes flashed with irritation and something even worse. I felt fear scratching my heart.

"Careful," he warned, calmly. "I'd watch your tongue if I were you. You don’t want to lose it, do you?”

I swallowed hard, my bravado wavering under his intense gaze. His threat lingered in the air like a shadow, and I knew he meant it. 

"I'm not intimidated by your empty threats," I managed to say, without thinking. Dumb bitch.

Langdon chuckled darkly, and the sound made goosebumps rise on my skin. Before I could say anything, his hand shot out and wrapped around my throat, not really choking me, but just enough to be a warning.

"Empty threats?" he repeated, his voice a dangerous whisper. "You think I'm bluffing?" His grip tightened slightly, causing a gasp to escape my lips. I could feel my eyes widen in panic, but I tried to maintain a brave expression. “Tsk, tsk, I can already imagine how nice it would be to cut out that pretty tongue of yours.”

I couldn't help the whimper that escaped my lips at his threat. His grip on my throat was strong, constricting just enough to make me gasp for breath. 

"You... you wouldn't dare," I somehow managed to squeak out, my voice sounding weak and fearful. 

“Oh you think your pathetic life costs anything?” he leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “I could stab your stomach and rip out your little heart with my bare hand and no one could stop me.”

His words stung like a physical blow, and I felt my heart race in panic. He was deadly serious, looking at me like I was nothing more than a nuisance.

"Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Please don't."

Langdon's hand tightened the grip around my throat. He smiled at my pleading, a cold, cruel smile. 

"Begging already?" he asked, his voice mocking. "And after you so bravely challenged me."

My hands scrambled to pull away his wrist, trying to loosen his tight grip on my throat. I couldn't speak, could barely gasp for air.

His smile widened at my futile struggle, he enjoyed playing. He leaned closer, his face inches away from mine. 

"This is what happens when you challenge someone with power," he murmured. "You get humbled."

I was unable to say a word, strangled by his hand, tears starting to well up in my eyes. The room started to spin, and my vision became disoriented.

“Still, have hesitation about my authority?” he asked, his tone almost soothing.

"N-no... no..." I managed to choke out.

His hand released its grip on my throat, allowing me to gasp for air. My body slumped against the chair, trembling uncontrollably. I took a moment to recover from his grip, my heart still pounding and my breath shaky. I felt smaller under his gaze, like a mouse trapped under the eye of a snake.

Langdon chuckled at my reaction, his eyes glinting with cruel enjoyment. "Pathetic," he said, the word dripping with derision. 

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming, and I knew he was relishing every moment of my humiliation.

Langdon reached out, his fingers gripping my chin tightly, forcing me to look at him. His touch was rough, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his voice as he spoke. 

"Now can you listen to me?"

I nodded weakly, my throat still sore from his assault. Langdon saw the fear in my eyes, and his smile widened at the sight.

"Good," he murmured, his hand slowly releasing my chin.

His gaze never left me, his eyes scrutinizing every reaction I made.

"You were smart enough to figure out the whole interview thing," he said, his tone casual yet calculating. "But you're not smart enough to know when to keep that pretty mouth shut." Langdon chuckled, a twisted sound that made me flinch. "Still, I appreciate the fire," he said. "Most of the other 'interviewees' are a little too... shallow, I’d prefer most of them dead by evening." 

His eyes never left mine, studying me intently. I tried to hide any emotion.

"They all tremble before the thought of going to The Sanctuary and willing to please me in any way. But you're…," he continued. "You're unfortunately not satisfied with just being an obedient pretty face. No, you have an attitude. And that, my dear, is your undoing."

“M’sorry.” I breathed out quietly.

"Apologies mean nothing," he said smiling. "The main thing is understanding how everything works. So tell me, did you truly understand the lesson here, or does your pretty little head need another reminder?" His tone was cold and condescending, making me feel even smaller. 

The fear that had subsided slightly came rushing back, cold and constricting - raw.

"No, no, I..." I stammered. "I understand." 

Langdon chuckled. "See, now that wasn't that difficult, was it?" he crooned, his hand reaching out to trace a finger along my jawline. His touch was mocking, a cruel gesture that sent a shiver of disgust through me and I diligently tried to hide it. It was hard not to move away. He seemed to enjoy my discomfort, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Now we can have a productive talk.” He said, turning away from me. “You have brains, I’ll give you that. So why not put them in use, hm?” 

I could feel a slight sense of relief as he turned away from me, but it was quickly replaced by a wary uncertainty. His change in demeanor was unpredictable, and I had no idea what was coming next.

"What... what do you mean?" I asked, my voice betraying my unease.

He began pacing back and forth in front of me, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You're clever, resourceful... more useful from. And I hate to see potential go to waste."

He stopped in front of me, his eyes studying me intently. I could practically feel the gears in his mind turning as he weighed his words.

"But the problem is, you're stubborn," he said finally. "And that stubbornness leads to insolence."

He leaned in, his face mere inches away from mine. The smell of his cologne hit my nose again. Crisp and masculine scent.

"And insolence, my dear," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Is a trait I don't tolerate."

“I understand that.” I said semi-calmly.

“Oh, you are a quick learner as well.” he murmured. “Good girl.” His tone was still mocking, and I hated how the praise sent a flicker of warmth through me. I tried to remain stoic, but his words were starting to chip away at my defenses. 

He stepped back, his gaze still locked on me. 

"I have an offer for you," he said. "An offer that could benefit us both, if you play your cards right."

“What offer?” 

“I want you,” he began. “To work for me.” 

“Work for you?” I asked dumbly.

He chuckled at my confusion, enjoying my surprise.

"Yes, work for me," he confirmed. "You'll be doing research, digging up information on others, doing necessary tasks, anything I need. Think you can handle that, hm?"

“But… how?” I wasn’t expecting that offer at all. And how the fuck should I dig on others?

Langdon smiled at my question, obviously finding it amusing that I wasn't catching on.

"How?" he echoed. "You seemed smarter a few minutes ago."

He leaned against the table again, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You'll be my eyes and ears, gathering intel for me. You'll tell me everything you see, hear or feel. And in return… I’ll put in a good word for you with the members of the Cooperative." 

I sat there, watching him silently.

He waited a moment, letting his words sink in. He was watching me intently, waiting for my reaction.

"I can see the wheels turning in your head," he began. "You're thinking about all the possibilities, aren't you? Life at The Sanctuary is heaven if you are friends with the authorities." He smirked.

He was right. The possibilities were spinning in my head like a whirlpool. 

But I knew there was a catch. People like Langdon never offered anything without expecting something in return. Something much bigger than collecting information. 

“What’s the catch?” 

He smirked at my question. His eyes were glittering with satisfaction, clearly enjoying his little game.

"Ah, are you always so suspicious or am I an exception?" he asked, tilting his head a bit.

“You think I shouldn’t be suspicious of the man who almost choked me to death a few minutes ago?” My tone filled with venom and I bit my tongue, afraid to anger him again.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it was just a friendly reminder” he said leaning closer to me, whispering. “And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that, you are bad at hiding it.”

My heart skipped a beat, a mix of anger and embarrassment rushing through me. 

"Enjoy that?" I shot back. "Why would I enjoy being strangled by a sick psychopath?"

He smirked at my outburst, seemingly unfazed by my anger. 

"Now now, no need for name-calling," he said with mock hurt. "You can lie to yourself if it gives you comfort, but I saw the way you reacted, the way your body tensed, and the way your pupils dilated."

His gaze roamed over me in an almost predatory manner, making me feel exposed.

“Anyway, we have more important things to discuss than your sexual desires.” He smirked. “Accept my offer?”

His brazen, almost predatory manner was as infuriating as it was intoxicating. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but I refused to look away. 

"Accept your offer..." I echoed, trying to sound strong. "You haven't exactly explained the full extent of this 'job' you're offering. I need more details before I can even consider it." I forced the words past my lip.

“It’s easy. You are loyal to me and I promise you protection. It’s always useful to have an intelligent, pretty head on your side.” he said, looking me up and down. “Before me, you were all alone among bastards, but now I offer you my hand and I really don't recommend biting it.”

“So I have to become a backstabber?” 

"No, my dear, you're thinking too low. You won't be backstabbing anyone. You'll merely be... helping me to form a new society. " He paused, his expression growing more serious. "Don’t tell me you are afraid of getting your hands bloody, I saw the way you look at Ms. Venable. You are bloodthirsty."

My eyes widened at his observation. I wasn't surprised he had caught on to my hatred for Ms. Venable, but hearing him say it out loud was another matter. 

"I'm not scared of getting my hands dirty," I said, my voice firm despite the shiver that ran down my spine. "I'm just not fond of being used."

Langdon sat on the edge of the table and smiled, almost genuine, he looked at me like I was a little kid.

“Come here.” he said calmly and beckoned me with the nod of his head.

I hesitated, not sure whether to obey his command or not. I slowly stood up and walked over to him, stopping a few feet away from him. It was crazy how he was radiating comfort and dominance at the same time. 

“Closer. I won’t bite.” 

I stepped closer and his hand reached to stroke my hair.

“You are special.” His voice was surprisingly gentle as he spoke. His fingers tangled in my hair, his touch both soothing and possessive. “You can achieve a lot or… stay here and rot with others.”

His words were like a cold bucket of water, snapping me out of the odd comfort I found myself in. I knew he was right, of course. Staying here meant settling for a life on the sidelines, living in fear and boredom. Or just die.

"You don't play fair, do you?" I said, my voice tinged with irritation. "One second you're choking me, the next you're stroking my hair and promising me the world."

"And why should I play fair, hm? Rules don't work anymore here, chaos has won." He leaned closer. 

I found myself smiling despite myself. It was probably still a shock. My mind couldn't keep up with what was happening. There was a dangerous charisma to him, an irresistible charm that I couldn't quite explain.

"That’s a convenient excuse for you to do whatever you want," I shot back, trying to sound defiant. "No rules means no boundaries."

Langdon chuckled again, his smirk widening. His hand slid down from my hair to rest on my throat again, his thumb brushing against my pulse.

"Careful," he warned, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I might start thinking you're enjoying this a bit too much." I freeze. “And about the rules… I prefer bending them, instead of breaking."

I didn’t answer, waiting for him to continue. He smiled, clearly enjoying my reaction. His thumb traced lazy circles on my throat, making my pulse quicken involuntarily.

“You don’t want to die here, do you?” He whispered in my ear. “It would be a shame if such potential would remain undisclosed…” His hand moved lower, gently touching my collarbone. “In this body.”

His touch ignited a strange fire inside me. I desperately tried to ignore the way my body reacted to him, the way my heart raced and my skin tingled where he touched me. 

"You make it sound like I'm a ticking time bomb." My voice came out a little breathier than I intended.

"Oh, don’t sell yourself short, darling," Langdon purred. "You’re more like a grenade. A beautiful, deadly grenade.” His hand caressed my skin. “So… Do we have a deal, Ms. Y/N?” 

I stared down at the floor, then back at Langdon, my gaze calculating. After a few seconds I nodded. “Deal.”

“Wise.” He smiled. “Now let’s make that official.”

His left hand went to grab my waist, while the other reached out to take something from the table. Small dagger. I instinctively tried to pull back, but his grip on me was unwavering

“No need to be scared, little lamb.” He handed me the weapon with the hilt forward. 

“Official?” I echoed.

“Yes. Deal in blood.” His answer made my body flinch.

The cool metal of the dagger felt heavy and unfamiliar in my hand. 

“Aren't you afraid that I would stab you?” I asked him, trying to hide my fear.

Langdon chuckled darkly, liking the question. 

"You wouldn't dare," he said with absolute confidence. "You're far too smart and too… intrigued by me to do something so foolish."

His eyes glittered dangerously like he was daring me to prove him wrong. "And besides... I have a feeling you're far more interested in finding out what it would be like to be on my good side."

He directed my hand, in which the dagger was clutched, and leaned the tip against the palm of his left hand. “Cut.”

I watched in fascination and slight horror as the blade made a small incision in his hand, a thin line of blood forming on his palm. He didn’t even flinch, his gaze locked on mine the entire time. It awakened in me something feral.

“Now you,” he said, his voice low and steady.

He grabbed my hand, his grip gentle but firm, and guided the knife to my palm. The sharp pain was muffled by his lips on my cheek. The warm blood slowly pooled in my palm. 

He pressed his wounded hand against mine, the touch inflicted pain. The blood from his hand mingled with mine, the warmth and stickiness of it a strange and yet somehow comforting sensation. 

 "And with that..." he said, his voice hushed. "Our deal is sealed."

I felt the burning urge to press my lips to his. Without clearly thinking I leaned to his face, kissing him hungrily. He didn’t return the kiss, but didn’t pull away either. 

"Now, now, dear," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Don't get ahead of yourself. No need to complicate things…"

His gaze flicked down to my lips, his own curving into a smug smile. I was ashamed of my bold move and confused by his stubbornness. He was a man after all, wasn’t he?

"Complicate?" I repeated, my voice tinged with sarcasm. "Says the one who just made me swear a blood pact."

Langdon chuckled, amused by my attempt at irritation. "Ah, don't pout," he said, his hand moving to gently cup my jaw. 

"Just because I'm not giving in to your every desire doesn't mean I’m inaccessible.” He leaned closer to my ear. "But keep pushing, darling. I do love it when you act up, maybe next time you wil get lucky." He carelessly brushed his lips along my wound, making me whimper quietly, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment. God, he is killing me.

Langdon pulled back, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His hand left my jaw, and I found myself missing the feel of his touch already. I leaned forward, wanting him to touch me.

"Ah ah ah," he tutted, his voice mockingly chiding. "I can practically feel your eagerness, my dear. But I'm afraid I can't have you slacking off on our deal."

He gestured lazily to the door. "You should return to your routine. Can’t have Ms. Venable catching you slinking around here for too long."

I bristled at his order, but I knew he was right. I nodded grudgingly.

"Fine."

I started to walk toward the door, my wounded hand throbbing a little from the recent events. But before I reached the threshold, Langdon's voice stopped me.

"Oh, and Y/N?"

I turned back, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

His eyes were glinting mischievously.

"A word of advice," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Try to control that urge of yours. It's going to get you in trouble..." He paused, his gaze roaming up and down my body. "Or is it already too late?"

“Check it yourself next time,” I answered boldly and grabbed the door handle.

I couldn’t see his face, but was sure that he was amused.

"I might just take you up on that offer." I heard his smooth voice, as I left the room. "Off you go, little lamb." 

I shut the door behind me and leaned on it with my back. Probably that’s what it feels like to sell your soul to the Devil.

Have a good day <3

[lesbianangeldust]

Luck of the Draw

Chapter 1 ♤

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Husk × Angel Dust (HuskerDust)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Being drugged, mentions of sexual and physical assault

In the early hours of the morning, the Hazbin Hotel bar is still open, albeit empty, except for the bartender himself. Angel Dust isn't back from work yet, and Husk finds this troubling. He's learned that it's a game of luck predicting which version of Angel will walk through that door - Angel Dust the porn star, or the real Angel. The one he respects, yet can't help holding at arms length. However, when Angel finally shows up, Husk quickly learns that luck is something that people like Angel never get a taste of.

4:28am.

Husk looked down from the gaudy parlour clock to the freshly polished bar with a grimace. Angel should have been back from work by now. Not that he was waiting for him, fuck no. He wasn’t no goddamn baby sitter. He had better things to do than sit around waiting for the kid to waltz in and talk his ear off, demanding some sickly sweet cocktail that took way too much effort to mix for what amounted to booze and fruit juice, and taunt him with his sleazy porno pick-up lines (which, admittedly, he’d been cooling off on lately). Besides, it wasn’t like Husk needed a drinking buddy – he’d drank alone his whole life and all that came after, and he’d be double damned if the flames of Hell were hot enough to melt the thick, icy shell that encased his heart.

He had to admit, though, he had been getting used to the company. It had become an unspoken routine: Angel Dust usually flounced into the hotel sometime after midnight, and the two demons would share a few rounds to see off the day. But a gambling man like Husk never discredits the influence of luck on a situation – not least when fondness has sweetened the pot – and he’d come to realise it was all down to chance which version of Angel Dust would walk through that door. Most nights he’d burst in all toothy smiles and suggestive remarks, his carefully crafted mask barely faltering no matter how many times Husk brushed off the sexual comments. As irritating as he found them, he quickly learned that after a couple of drinks, Angel would mellow out and the mask would slip just enough for the two of them to have a real ass conversation, to just shoot the shit and reminisce, like old friends – real friends. The kind you make in life. Husk even found himself at times wondering if it would really be so terrible for his cold heart to warm a little, if the burn of the whisky and the spark of a newly kindled friendship could thaw him enough to feel the closest thing to affection he was still capable of. This thought was never given the opportunity to bloom into anything more substantial before Husk would stamp it from his mind with vigour, assuring himself it was nothing more than a liquor-fuelled fantasy, tantalising him with the fickle temptress of hope.

The other Angel was a different story. Husk couldn’t help but dread those nights: the nights where Angel would skulk through the door with his head hung low, bruised and bloody, torn clothing just barely clinging to his battered body; the nights where the mask Angel clung to fell to the floor, shattered, useless up against the black eyes and smearing makeup. As openly as Husk despised Angel’s bullshit persona, and although he valued authenticity above all else, seeing behind the curtain like this could be a little too rich for his blood. The sheer stench of shame was overwhelming, and Husk had to hold in his feelings with an iron grip. Angel didn’t need to know how much of a useless idiot he felt, or the anger that burnt him from the inside out every time he thought about the evil bastard that treated Angel like his prize fucking punching bag. Husk was well aware that he didn’t know the half of the abuse that Valentino inflicted upon Angel, and, as shameful as it felt to admit, he’d prefer to keep it that way. His old, decrepit heart didn’t know what to do with the emotions that swelled within him when he dared to wonder how much Angel was forced to put up with, and he was certain no amount of booze could placate him enough to keep his cool if he were ever to find out.

But, all that aside, Husk was a bartender. He was no stranger to pouring drinks for down-on-their-luck losers looking to drown their sorrows. So, when Angel came home looking worse for wear, he would simply do what he did best and pour him his favourite drink, and the two would stew in the heavy silence until Angel loosened up and their usual conversation would trickle into balance, feigning some semblance of normality.

His thoughts were promptly interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open with an almighty shove, followed by the clumsy scuffle of heels on hardwood and hissy, murmured curses. Husk had been a bartender long enough to recognise the graceless sounds of a drunk bastard, and his eyes narrowed as Angel’s silhouette stumbled up to the bar, seemingly unaware of Husk stood behind it. Sure, he’d seen the kid in all kinds of states. Drunk? Sure. High? As a kite. Sober? You gotta be kidding. But fucked up enough to be tripping over his own feet, mumbling incoherent nonsense? This was new. Even in the depths of whatever he was high on, Angel Dust was sharp as a tack, quick-witted and oh so irritatingly fake. Eternal damnation plus addiction equals one hell of a tolerance, Husk supposed. Of course, his “supposing” was arbitrary – he knew this first fucking hand. So, to see this display from Angel filled him with a sense of unease.

As if on cue, Husk’s ears pricked up as a high pitched yelp, punctuated by a sudden smack to the floor, rang through the empty halls. Peering over the bar, he was greeted with a pitiful sight – Angel sat crumpled in a tangled heap of limbs, massaging the part of his head that had made contact with the floor and clutching a bottle of clear booze to his chest that he appeared to have been protecting during his ungainly fall. His blazer was mostly open, and the few buttons that were done up seemed to be in the wrong places. As he swore under his breath and began dusting off his sleeves, Husk couldn’t help but notice his expression. Irritated, sorrowful. Tired. The performance was nowhere to be found, and as had been the case since the real, raw Angel had started making himself known, Husk was gripped by a familiar, palpable tension. But there was a thread of something different about it, some kind of vulnerability that came with witnessing this particular scene.

That’s when he realised what – who – he was seeing: Angel Dust when no one was watching. When he thought no one was watching. Husk was struck by something akin to wonder, a glimmer of awe at the rarity of what he was witnessing, that was snuffed out instantaneously by the nakedness of it. Angel Dust, the porn star who’s entire afterlife consisted of working the cameras; the demon who, for once, truly believed he was not being watched; and Husk, the unwitting voyeur, the pair of eyes from the darkness that promised the safety of being alone.

“Need a hand?” Husk broke the painful silence. The idea of watching any longer than he already had was nauseating.

Angel’s head snapped up at the shock of realising he wasn’t alone, and his face momentarily flushed from embarrassment of being witnessed in his predicament. Quickly as the embarrassment came, it was gone, replaced by that familiar cockiness Husk knew all too well. He never thought he’d be relieved to see that fake bullshit, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than whatever the fuck that was.

“Nah. I got plenty,” Angel Dust flashed Husk a flirtatious grin as his third set of arms made an appearance to steady him against the floor, one arm still clutching the bottle tightly to his chest. He pushed himself up onto his feet with great unsteadiness, swaying dangerously before he flopped dramatically down onto a stool and planted the bottle on the bar beside him with a careless clunk. Husk whisked it behind the bar in less than a second – there was no way he was letting this kid drink anything else, and besides, Angel was too out of it to even register that the bottle had gone.

“It’s late, y’know. Even for you,” Husk immediately cringed at the domesticity of the words that just came out of his mouth, like a pent-up housewife chastising her deadbeat husband for leaving her home alone all day.

Even with his usual sharpness dulled by the intoxication, Angel was quick to sense Husk’s insecurity. He pounced in his usual manner.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve been waitin’ up for me, Husky,” he teased, his usual sultry tone sullied by slurred words. “I woulda come home sooner – ya only had to ask, babycakes.”

Angel’s flirtation bounced straight off Husk as though he’d barely noticed. He didn’t even look up from the glass he had taken to polishing to distract himself – to give himself something to look at that wasn’t Angel.

“What the hell did you take, Angel? You look-”

“Devastatingly handsome?”

This time Husk looked up from the glass, one eyebrow raised. That stupid, sleazy, shit-eating grin again. God, even in the state he was in, he managed to be the same annoying fuck he always was. The relief of the mask going back up was quickly losing it’s charm.

“You look like shit,” Husk growled. It was true. Angel was slumped over the bar, propped up on one elbow as if it were the only thing keeping him from tumbling right back onto the floor. His eyes were half-lidded and bloodshot, unable to stay focused on Husk even as he’d been shooting him those ridiculous looks, and his face was swollen, puffy and flushed crimson. This wasn’t just alcohol, and it sure as hell wasn’t coke or any of Angel’s usual uppers. The nagging, biting feeling in Husk’s gut grew the longer he went without certainty. Fuck, why the hell did he even care? This was Angel, the kid could handle himself, and Husk would be a damn fool to criticise a sinner for getting high. And yet here he was. Pissed off, unsettled and worst of all: worried about him.

Angel opened his mouth, ready to spout whatever bullshit he had ready to defend himself from the insult, but Husk held up a hand to silence him. Fuck it, if he was going to care about this stupid kid, he wasn’t going to half-ass it. “Don’t try your shit with me. It ain’t gonna fly this time.” He crossed him arms firmly, meeting Angel’s hazy eyes with a steady, piercing stare. “I’ve seen you fucked up every which way, kid, but I ain’t seen you this far gone. So let’s try this again- the fuck did you take?”

“I ain’t took nothin’, Husk,” Angel sighed. There was a softness to his voice, something almost believable. He dropped his head into two of his hands, covering his face as the other set sprawled out across the bar. His voice was slow and thick. “Well, nothin’ I ain’t used to. I went out drinkin’ after work. It was a long shoot, okay?” The softness gave way to irritation, like a child receiving a scolding as he looked up from his hands with a scowl. “What, I need your permission or somethin’? There’s other bars in Hell, ya know.”

“Not ones you get to drink for free at.” Husk retorted, and Angel let out a sharp, cold laugh.

“Oh, please. That’s cute, Husk, but in case ya forgot, I’m kinduva big deal round these parts. You think THE Angel Dust pays for his own drinks?” Angel jabbed a finger at his chest and gestured towards his body with his other arms, threatening to lose his balance and come face to face with the floor for the second time that night.

“So, you’re tellin’ me you got in this mess from boozin’ with lowlifes?” Husk scoffed. “I ain’t tryna insult you, legs, but ain’t that your idea of havin’ a quiet one?”

Angel’s eyes narrowed as he steadied himself on the bar, fingers curling against the hardwood. “Yeah, Husk, and I’ll thank ya to quit it with the third fuckin’ degree already. What, ya jealous I ain’t drinkin’ with you? I’m here now, so pour me one already.”

Husk let out a quiet humph that could almost be considered a laugh, amused at the idea that Angel thought there was any way in Hell he’d give him more alcohol, but pulled a glass out from under the bar all the same. “Kid, I’m just lookin’ out for you,” he said matter-of-factly, refusing to be affected by Angel’s irritation. “Like I said, you look fuckin’ terrible.” He pushed the now-filled glass towards Angel, who scoffed at this remark.

“Please! Ain’t no way, kitty. Besides, you don’t know me. What makes you think-” he stopped dead, raising an eyebrow at the glass in front of him before fixing Husk with a withering glare.

“What the shit is this?”

“Water. Drink it.”

As though a switch had flicked, Angel’s annoyance mutated into his usual choreographed flirtation.

“Aww, Husky! You’re taking care of me!” he crooned, reaching a hand across the bar to heavy-handedly caress one of Husk’s wings, his intoxicated state blunting his usual suaveness when it came to flirting. “Well, how about we take this to your bedroom, baby? Maybe you can... take care of me some more in there.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Husk couldn’t hold in the flurry of rage at being groped by the idiot he was trying to help. He had limited tolerance for Angel’s bullshit on a good day, and this pushed him over the edge. “Even in the fucking mess you’re in, you still won’t give it up?!”

Angel’s eyes were wide but unreadable. Husk steadied himself with a deep breath, fighting the surge of anger that wanted him to tell Angel to drop the fucking act, that he was embarrassing himself with this ridiculous charade. Did that incoherent shithead really think he was the type of guy to take someone this wasted to bed? The anger simmered down as he thought about the types of guys Angel was used to being with, and he let out a deep sigh through still-gritted teeth.

“Let me get one thing clear: I ain’t one of your scumbag drinking buddies who wanna get you all nice and lathered up to do god knows what to ya. And even if I was dumb enough to play into your goddamn games – you’re plastered, kid. I ain’t going nowhere near you.”

Angel rolled his eyes, as if the concern for his wellbeing was boring him. “Husk, you think I ever fucked sober?” he said dryly. “Not in Hell or Earth, sunshine. You don’t do the work I do without somethin’ to take the edge off,” he paused, a flicker of something real gracing his expression as he broke Husk’s gaze. “And hey, some jag off puts a little extra somethin’ in my drink, I ain’t sayin’ no. Free drugs, ain’t it?” His laugh had a shaky edge, less believable.

Husk looked at Angel, dumbfounded. For a moment, he said absolutely nothing, processing this information before blurting out densely, “What, you got spiked?”

Angel scoffed, throwing his hands up in a mocking cheer. “Aaaand he hits the jackpot!” he slurred. “Guess the wise old bartender ain’t so wised up after all. Yes, dumbass, I got spiked.”

“And what, you knew? And drank it anyway?” The hair raised on the back of Husk’s neck.

“Husk, I’ve been in the game a long time,” Angel said flatly. “I can handle it. That shit barely makes a dent anymore. Sonuvabitch knew it to, the way he kept ‘em comin’.” The laugh that followed was jarring, like silk sheets on a spent mattress.

Husk could not fathom a response, but Angel kept going.

“Y’know, he probably paid top dolla for whatever the fuck he was usin’ too,” he laughed idly. “Spent it all on little ol’ me. I’d be flattered if the handsy bastard wasn’t such a goddamn bore. I’ve had better conversations with a brick wall, I’m telling ya.” He spoke about it so casually, as though recalling a funny anecdote. “Probably thought I’d pass out after the first one. Sorry, baby, but I’m a pro. You shoulda prepared more conversation than “hey, you’re the guy from “Three Dicks, One Hole”, can you really do that with your-”

“Angel, are you okay?”

Husk felt his stomach tighten as Angel’s nonchalant facade was shaken by his remark of genuine, honest concern. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t bear to listen to this. He hated how pathetic he felt in these moments, when the weight of Angel’s chains felt almost as heavy as his own.

Angel’s gaze dropped to the glass of water he’d yet to touch, as though shielding himself from the bartender’s penetrating eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that Husk.”

“Like what? Like I’m worried about you?”

“Like ya feel sorry for me. I can handle myself, okay? This is my scene, these are my people. I do what I gotta do.” The grit had returned to his voice, warning Husk to back off.

Husk ignored his instincts and walked out from behind the bar and took the bar stool next to Angel. He wasn’t going to let this slide.

“If that guy hurt you-”

“Christ, Husk! You’re the one that keeps tellin’ me I’m a wreck! My head’s in pieces, I don’t need this right now.” The sharp, warning tone in Angel’s voice finally cracked with a defeated sigh, and he looked down at the bar. He looked so small in this moment, so... not Angel Dust. It was like Husk was seeing a completely different person. Angel didn’t look up from the bar as he spoke.

“If that guy got a piece a’ me, he’d be the latest in a long fuckin’ line of ‘em. Not like I remember anyway.”

He gave Husk a wry smile. “Hey, whatcha don’t know can’t hurt ya, right?”

Jesus. Husk took a deep breath and prepared himself for the usual sick avoidance he felt when Angel was at his most real and raw, but something within him forced a new kind of steadiness. The pain written across Angel’s face was taste Husk usually found all too sour, but this time the bitter flavour was his own. Was he really such a fucking coward? He was a goddamn bartender, he listened to people bitch and moan all day long but being there for a friend was all too much? This kid needed someone, and despite it all, despite everything Husk thought he knew about himself, he cared. And as much as that scared the ever loving shit out of him, he wasn’t going to turn away this time. He was going to follow Angel into that darkness if it meant he would have someone there with him.

Finally, Husk let out a sigh and stood up. “Alright kid, let’s get you to bed.”

“Thought you’d never ask, Husky,” Angel drawled, following suit and standing, only to tumble forward face-first into Husk, who caught him with an air of expectancy. Angel caught Husk’s shoulders as he leaned against the shorter demon, who’s hands were now holding Angel up by the waist in an attempt to steady him. Husk peered up at the sudden look of surprise on the demon’s face. There was that vulnerability, that gleam of something real that darted out from the shadows before Angel inevitably caught on and stuffed it right back down inside. For the first time, Husk decided to savour it, knowing he only had a fraction of a second before The Angel Dust Show resumed.

Only it didn’t.

Angel’s eyes were wide with unexpected emotion. It was hard to describe what Husk was seeing – was it tenderness? Fragility? Fear? He only had a moment to contemplate this cocktail of emotion before Angel’s face was buried into his shoulder, two sets of arms clutching him fiercely in a hug that felt hungry and longing. Despite Husk’s efforts to keep the lanky demon upright, Angel dropped to his knees, his impressive height allowing for him to pull Husk parallel against him in this position while his head remained fixed to the crook of Husk’s neck. Angel clung to Husk like a child to their mother, as though the desperation for soft and gentle affection was suddenly too much for him to bear. Tentative at first, Husk allowed himself to pull Angel a little closer, one hand cradling the back of the demon’s head, thumb brushing against his tangled hair. The frenzied tension of Angel’s grasp and the automatic rigidity that came over Husk when faced with affection both began to subside, and the moment morphed from a frantic, unexpected plea for something tender, into equally unexpected tenderness itself. The lull was thick and heavy, as though draped in velvet, and a sudden awareness of just how close the two demons were gave Husk a hesitant, heady thrill. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone like this.

Angel was the one to finally peel back from their embrace, and as he did, Husk felt the cold breeze brush over a wet patch of fur on his shoulder. His stomach twisted in knots as he realised Angel had been crying. The spider demon furiously dragged a gloved forearm across his face, trying fruitlessly to hide the obvious. Husk looked away sheepishly.

“C’mon. Let’s go.”

With that, Husk scooped Angel up into his arms bridal-style and began carrying him towards the stairs. “Christ, you ain’t as dainty as you look, legs.”

Angel let out a yelp of surprise. “Husk, what the hell are ya doing?”

“Getting you to bed. What, you think you can take on the stairs? That’s real funny, kid. You can’t even stand.” Husk’s tone was mocking, but warm.

Angel’s initial shock dissipated. He felt the exhaustion of the day begin to catch up with him as his aching body savoured the blessing of being whisked off his feet. His arms wound around Husk’s neck as he sank his head into his chest. “Alright, alright. Just don’t fuckin’ drop me, dickbag.”

Husk could tell he was trying to sound annoyed, but the slur of the poison and the softness of incoming sleep blunted the sharp edges of his usual tough talk. A smile toyed with the edge of Husk’s lips.

“I ain’t gonna drop ya,” he smirked. “Make no mistake though, you ain’t no small feat. You might be all legs and arms, but you’re still an 8 foot sack a’ potatoes.”

“Fuck you, whiskers,” Angel managed to mumble, followed by a string of incoherent nonsense that his sleep-addled mind mistook for a killer comeback.

Husk smiled, trudging up the stairs with Angel. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” he replied mindlessly. It would be almost cute, the way Angel was falling asleep in his arms, if it weren’t a result of the heavy dose of sedatives finally kicking in. Yeah, that was it, Husk reminded himself. Got nothing to do with the gentle moment they shared, or perhaps a sense of safety he felt in Husk’s arms. It was just the drugs. That was all.

Angel was almost fully passed out by the time Husk reached his door, and he felt himself wince as he watched Angel drifting into unconsciousness and wondered if this perhaps wasn’t the first time he’d passed out tonight. It wasn’t like Husk wasn’t used to the cruel nuances of Hell: he’d seen things – done things – that would stay burned into his mind for as long as he existed down here. But the innocence of the demon sleeping in his arms, the innocence that was taken from him over and over again until he simply signed it away... that cut deep. It made him feel sick. He knew the pain of being a victim of circumstance, of being someone’s unwilling pet. It was a fucking horror show.

“It’s your stop, kid,” Husk spoke softly, rousing the spider demon from his slumber as he stood outside Angel’s door. It was adorned with neon pink lights and cheerful photographs with friends.

Angel looked up, bleary-eyed. “Huh? Oh. Hey, Husky,” he looked around, realising where he was, and began to shuffle in Husk’s arms in an attempt to get down. Husk gave him a stern look.

“Sure you can stand?”

“Oh, yeah. Not that I don’t love ya big strong arms around me, whiskers, but think I can manage the couple steps between the door and the bed, capisce?”

Unconvinced, Husk kept Angel’s arm fastened around his shoulder as he stumbled towards the bed, where Fat Nuggets lay curled up in one of Angel’s fluffy pieces of clothing, unbothered by the kerfuffle.

“There ya go,” Husk groaned, half-launching Angel towards the bed, where he collapsed inelegantly in a heap next to his sleeping pet, who was abruptly awoken by the disturbance and squealed happily at the sight of his mama. Angel chuckled softly as the pig settled into his lap, a sound Husk had never heard him make before, followed by soft cooing as he showered the pig in affection.

“Who’s mama’s special boy? That’s right, you are! Yes, you’re my special lil’ guy, aren’t you Nuggsie? Aren’t you my special lil’ guy?”

It was almost sickeningly cute, Husk thought, although this was promptly interrupted by a flush of embarrassment as he noticed Angel start to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. He looked away hotly. Should he go now? He’d done his part, there was no need for him to be here when he-

“Hey, give me a hand here, will ya?”

Fuck.

Angel was fumbling uselessly with the last button of his blazer, clearly unable to get it to cooperate. After a moment of hesitation that felt far longer than it actually was, Husk sighed and sat down on the bed. His eyes fixed on the button and the button alone with exaggerated intensity, made all the more comical by his flushed cheeks, and with one swift movement the blazer fell open. Husk’s eyes found a spot on the bed to focus on intently and his blush grew darker. Angel cackled.

“Husk, their ain’t a sinner in Hell that hasn’t seen me take my clothes off. Now, quit bein’ a gentleman and grab me that nightshirt, ya prude,” he gave Husk a playful shove as he pointed out his pyjamas.

With a grumble, Husk swung his legs over the bed and leaned to grab the purple oversized shirt hanging off the spider’s vanity. Still averting his gaze, he handed it to Angel, who shrugged off his blazer and pulled the nightshirt over himself clumsily, before shimmying off his miniskirt.

“You need help with the boots?” Husk stuttered out. God, this was awkward. The way that Angel seemed to be lapping up his discomfort like the cat who got the cream made it 10 times worse.

“Nah. I got it. Who woulda known you were such a Prince Charming, Husky? Ain’t ya just my knight in shining armour.” Angel was still slurring but his voice was sweet and sing-songy, drinking in the effect he was having on Husk. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second as Angel started to roll down his boots, and a sudden flicker of bashfulness tinted Angel’s expression.

“Uh, do ya mind? I kinda got a thing about my feet.”

Husk couldn’t even stifle his laugh as he turned away diligently. “You’re kidding. The whole of Hell’s seen every inch of you in every position you could dream of but you’re shy about your feet?”

“Hey. Everyone’s got their hang ups, don’t they?” Angel said huffily, kicking his boots off the rest of the way and pulling the duvet around him. “You can look now. I’m decent.”

“If I turn around and you’re naked, I’m telling Charlie to give us another one of those sexual harassment lectures you love so much.” Husk muttered, relieved as he turned to see Angel cocooned in his duvet, Fat Nuggets wedged contentedly under his chin. His eyes were fluttering, looking ready to pass out. Husk smiled involuntarily, taking one long, last glance at Angel Dust before turning to leave him. “Goodnight, kid.”

Just as Husk reached for the door handle, a hushed voice stopped him dead.

“Husk?”

It was spoken like a question, with a strangled urgency that made Husk spin back around with dizzying intensity. Angel was propped up on his elbows, jump-started awake by a sharp jolt of obvious fear.

“Stay.”

Husk opened his mouth uselessly, having no inkling of a response in mind, but he was swiftly unburdened of this responsibility as Angel spoke again.

“Not... not like that.”

Husk cringed that Angel even felt the need to make that distinction: it was obvious from the demon’s distress that – for once – it wasn’t sex that he was propositioning. He sat forward rigidly, hugging his knees to his chest, eyes fixed downward.

“Just... stay. Please, Husk.” His voice was heart-wrenchingly small as he choked out his final confession.

“I don’t wanna be alone.”

Swallowing down the visceral pain in his gut at yet another unforgiving glimpse of reality and chasing it with a heavy sigh, Husk trudged back over to the demon’s bed and sat down beside him. He spoke gently, but firmly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He could practically feel Angel relax at this affirmation. His eyes closed once more as he slid down against the pillow, nestling into a comfortable position. “Thanks, Husky.” His voice was thick with sleep, a smile just barely teasing the corner of his mouth. To Husk’s surprise, a hand slipped out from beneath the covers and his fingers were interlocked with Angel’s before he could say anything. A shiver of defensiveness ran up his spine at the tenderness of the situation. It was sweet, it was intoxicating, it was inviting. It was unlike anything he’d felt in life or death. Was it worth the risk, allowing himself to acknowledge this softness? To look this sentiment square in the face, knowing it meant he could get chewed up and spat out in more ways than he could imagine? He held his cards close to his chest, he always had, but what good was that if not even he knew what he was holding?

He glanced at the demon next to him and his mind immediately muted, the sight of Angel fast asleep, hand still in his, turning down the volume on his deafening thoughts. He didn’t have to know what this was, what it meant. This was all it had to be for now. This was all that mattered. He gave Angel’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he let himself sink back into the pillows, smiling a little at the sight of his friend sleeping peacefully beside him.

“Goodnight, Angel.”

A/N: This is the first fanfic I've written since I was literally a teenager so I hope this holds up! Hazbin and HuskerDust in particular has me in a chokehold, so naturally I spent more time and effort writing this than I did on any of my uni work this year. There are going to be more chapters of this (god willing) so stay tuned! I'm not on ao3 unfortunately so keep an eye out on here if you're wanting more, I'm a slow writer though so don't expect anything for a while. Hope you enjoyed! 🪩

[roselyn-writing]

Bios of The Dark ones 🖤✨

This took me long, lol.

Aliyaa Aepel: The Queen Of Darkness.

“They came to Aliyaa as if she was some kind of protector— with unrivalled beauty and strategic mind; some venerated her and some challenged her, for those who challenged her they were struck with chains made of darkfire, giving them a slow and agonising death.”

Anzir: The Hand of Darkness.

"They came to Anzir under the cloak of twilight—drawn to the malevolent aura that surrounded him, the embodiment of wickedness and cruelty. Anzir revels in the torment of his victims, delighting in their suffering as he cunningly ensnares them in his tormenting deals."

Esmeray: The Temptress of Darkness.

“They came to Esmeray as if she was some dark and alluring dancer, her tone is silky like honey—too unfortunate that they didn’t knew her sadistic nature until too late, none had survived the cruel lashes of her whip, her darkwhip-blade that cut easily like hot knife on butter.”

Vann: The Bringer of Darkness.

“They came to Vann from shadows and beyond—from the swirling waterfalls and great mountains, but they lost their lives when they did so.”

Amotrapa: The Voice of Darkness.

“They came to Amotrapa, seeking his knowledge and guidance—as if he was some kind of a wise saint, unbeknownst to them, he is anything but.”

Gif by @theartofwriting-imagines.

Keegan: The eyes of Darkness.

“They came to Keegan as if he was some dark seer— with false delicious promises of power and wealth; they foolishly believed him, and thus, they were eliminated, and they are forever stuck in the dark beyond.”

Sire Derkaām: The First Dark One.

“The first one who claimed the Patron of Darkness, the first bearer of darkness in all of Valorena.”

Zenan: The Abyss Walker.

“They came to Zenan as if he was a noble shaman — yet he was far from that, words cannot describe how evil and horrible he was, his steps like an alluring bell that echoed in the silent darkness, warning any living creature nearby, words spread that anyone visit him won’t be seen again.”

Atlas: The Umbral Reaper.

“They came to Atlas as a mere silhouette from the depths of shadows—his presence cloaked in an eerie fog. With a scythe forged from darkness itself, he struck down all who dared to challenge his power. His dark domain is full of broken bodies and dried blood, He used stalk the souls who strayed too far from the safety of Virginia’s walls.”

Edmund: The Abyss Magus.

“They came to Edmund as if he was a guardian— bestowed with devilish handsome features, with unspeakable powers and cruelty, he sucked the lives from all he lured close, he siphoned them within himself and thus he was stronger.”

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Sangwoo Oh x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] I'm sorry. [ SYNOPSIS ] Desperate for guidance you turn to your parish's beloved priest. [ WORD COUNT ] 5.2k [ CONTENT ] DARK CONTENT, modern AU, y/n wears a dress, sacrilege (I sexualize Saint Sebastian among other things), violence, gore, noncon, sadomasochism, oral sex (m + f receiving), facial, vaginal fingering, virginity loss, alcohol, drugging, manipulation, gaslighting, degradation (he calls you a bitch and a slut), strength kink, size kink, creampie, blood, cannibalism, murder.

Mass was the only thing you looked forward to. All week you would anxiously await Sunday morning, unable to sleep. Sitting in the pews, hanging on your priest’s words was the only time you felt even a modicum of joy. It was a sanctuary, a place untainted by the trappings of the world.

The world was cruel and unforgiving, secular and obscene, a temptress. It stirred up the wanton feelings you tried to keep buried. Its lax rules and unrestrained passions marred you, kept you away from God’s shining light. However you never considered yourself wholly devoted to God; your relationship was always on shaky ground. Even as a kid you doubted your place in the church. The darkness lurking inside you convinced you that you weren’t worthy.

Your love of your family trumped your love of Christ. You coveted the riches of your neighbors, their fancy cars and their fashionable yet tasteful clothing. You were lazy, haunted by the illnesses you feigned as a child so you could miss school. You felt envious of your peers. Being a good Catholic came so naturally to them. Why was it such a struggle for you? Why were you cursed to wrestle with Satan?

For the longest time you kept your struggle to yourself. Sometimes you even fantasized about leaving it all behind. God wouldn’t miss a heathen, especially one constantly fighting the disgusting beast inside them. There was no point of keeping up the charade if you were so bad at it.

But that all changed when Father Sangwoo took over your parish. He was young for a priest, maybe a few years older than you at most. You constantly found yourself gazing at him during service. His voice was deep and reassuring. He was tall and had broad shoulders. He was an image of perfection, though he did look perpetually sleep deprived. His beauty was enough to make you recommit yourself to the Lord.

This revived fervor came with a new shade of self-loathing. You spent every Saturday night fingering yourself and whimpering his name. Lusting after a priest was unforgivable. But you couldn’t help it; you were insatiable.

This loathed hunger gave you the courage to linger around after mass though, your eyes fixed on Father Sangwoo. You never uttered a word or even approached him. You knew you’d end up saying something stupid. Lurking was the only intimacy you could handle. Having his direct attention would be agonizing. It’d bring you to your knees.

Usually you were content with this arrangement, but sitting in the back of the pews while two women preened him was driving you crazy. One fastened a loose button on his shirt. Another plucked a stray hair off his shoulder. You clenched your fists, digging your nails into your palm. They didn’t deserve to touch him.

You were so absorbed by your silent rage you didn’t notice him staring back at you. You flinched as your eyes met his. You tried to get up, but nearly tripped over your own foot. Your face was hot as you escaped, baptized by the crisp morning air.

“We’ll see you next Sunday, Father,” one of the women said in a sing-song voice as she brushed past you.

“We’ll see you next Sunday, Father,” you repeated under your breath mockingly.

A weighty hand grabbed a hold of your shoulder, pulling you out of your hateful haze.

“What was that?” Father Sangwoo asked, freezing you on the spot.

Your nerves got the better of you and you laughed. “It was nothing.”

You turned around to face him. He tilted his head to the side, his concerned look left you feeling exposed. It was as if he could see through you, like he could peel back whatever lies you were desperately trying to craft.

“I was just talking to myself.”

“Well that was obvious. But you didn’t answer my question. What were you saying?” he asked with a smile.

We’ll see you next Sunday, Father. You repeated the words over and over in your head, trying to conjure up a sentence that had a similar ring to it. It was maddening. Nothing came to mind. It was as if you had never spoken in your life.

“I… I said… I was saying—”

“Father!” an old woman shouted as she scurried out of the church. “There’s a bat in there!”

“Not again,” he sighed.

You went to leave but he latched onto your wrist. His grip made your joints pop.

“I’ve noticed you hanging around after service. It has me a little concerned.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh tha—that’s because I’m waiting for my ride.”

“Then why do I always see you walking down to the bus stop?”

“That’s where they get me!” you said, trying to pull your wrist out of his hand.

“That doesn’t explain why you look so miserable all the time.”

“Miserable?” you repeated in a small voice, finally freeing yourself from his grasp.

You felt ill. You always assumed you kept your anguish hidden on Sundays.

“I only noticed because I feel like that more often than not. If you ever need someone to talk to that understands, I’m here for you.”

It sounded strangely rehearsed, like he was acting in a play. But that could have been because speaking to him felt unreal. You never planned on getting this close to him.

“Father! The bat!!” the old woman called out impatiently.

“I’m on it!” He turned his attention back towards you, his gaze gentle. “Why don’t you come by the rectory tonight?”

“Me?”

He nodded. “You deserve my full attention.”

“I do?”

He patted you on the head. “Yes. I want to help you in any way I can. I hate to see any of my children so upset.”

“Fa—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he replied, disappearing into the church.

You stood, mouth agape. He had noticed you. This whole time he knew you were hanging around like a kicked puppy, watching him with sad eyes. You felt so exposed. But a part of you was elated. He wanted to be there for you. It was like a dream come true despite the anxiety it agitated.

The day crawled by. You felt like time slowed down to spite you. You paced around, practicing what you were going to say. Making a fool of yourself wasn’t an option. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you messed everything up.

Once the sun began to set you started to get ready. You dug through your closet, desperate to find something cute and modest. You weren’t planning on seducing Father Sangwoo or anything; you just wanted to look your best. You decided your best option was a black denim pinafore dress cut at the knee with a boxy white t-shirt underneath. Not too flashy, but not too matronly.

You took the last bus. It was a risky move, but you planned on asking him to drive you home after your talk. There was no way he’d say no. You’d be stranded without his assistance. Plotting to take advantage of his kindness felt bad, but you were greedy. The more time around him the better.

“Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t say anything stupid,” you chanted on your way up the hill.

Seeing the rectory made your stomach hurt, nerves once again getting the better of you. You stood in front of it for several minutes before you found the brave to knock on his door.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to come,” he said.

The sunset’s warm light made him look angelic. His hair was damp, towel dried by the looks of it. He was dressed incredibly casual in a cozy, chunky sweatshirt and a pair of low hanging sweatpants. You struggled not to stare at the deep, muscular v-cut of his abs.

“You didn’t specify a time so I, uh, just left when it felt night-ish.”

“I said seven o’clock.”

He was lying. You remembered how he proposed. His wording was vague.

“No. You definitely said night.”

The warmth left his eyes, but he maintained his cheery disposition. “I don’t need you telling me what I said.”

You couldn’t imagine why he’d lie about something so benign. Maybe he did say seven and you couldn’t remember. You were pretty on edge during your conversation. It would make sense that your recollection would be tenuous.

You stared at your feet. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he let you inside.

The rectory was sparsely decorated. You would never expect a man of God to have lavish material possessions, but Father Sangwoo’s home was barren. There was nothing on the walls except for a wooden crucifix over what you assumed was the door to his bedroom.

It smelled fetid, absolutely reeking of cigarettes. The walls were stained a nauseating yellow. Everything looked worn. You wondered if maybe the furniture was handed down from the previous priest. You tried to not let it phase you, but you couldn’t help but be alarmed by the chef’s knife stabbed into his dining room table. It was sticking straight up, erect in its posture.

“Take a seat.”

His couch sat low to the ground and was woefully uncomfortable. There were cigarette burns in the cushions which you willed yourself to ignore. In front of it was a round wooden table with a dying succulent in the middle. 

He took a seat beside you, his body broaching your personal space. “So,” he said. “What’s bothering you?”

“Um. Where do I begin…”

“I don’t know. Maybe the beginning.”

His tone was still sweet, but there was a bite to it. He was probably just trying to be funny, but you didn’t feel familiar enough with him to joke around like that.

“I’ve never felt as close to God as I should.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know.” You paused; you couldn’t remember any of the things you had rehearsed earlier. “I’ve never felt good enough. I feel… unworthy. I want to be closer to God, but I don’t deserve it.”

He frowned. “What makes you think you don’t deserve it?”

Your palms were clammy. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“I—uh. It’s like… I just—”

“You need to loosen up,” he interrupted.

You felt ashamed for being so uptight. He looked so bored by you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he sighed as he got up.

Your heart was in your throat as he walked past the knife. For a brief moment you had the clearest image of him grabbing it and lunging at you. You felt so guilty when he left it alone.

He came back with two shot glasses and a sizable bottle of soju. He lazily shook the bottle before cracking it open.

“Grab a glass.”

You looked at the shot glasses on the table. One looked dustier than the other. You went to grab the cleaner looking one.

“Not that one.”

You grabbed the other glass. You looked at the bottom of the glass and saw what looked like powder.

“It looks a little dirty,” you said, holding it out.

He glanced at it. “I don’t see anything.”

“Really? It—”

“Do I look like someone that would offer a guest a dirty glass?” he laughed.

You shook your head and watched him fill it. Your cheeks felt hot.

“This is my first time,” you blurted out.

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m the perfect person to break you in.”

You laughed nervously and tried to avert his gaze. It was like having a spotlight on you. The glass felt so heavy in your hands. You weren’t sure how to wield it. You never saw your parents drink alcohol, excluding the Eucharist. There was no point of reference so you knocked it back in one gulp.

It didn’t taste nearly as bad as you were expecting. It was crisp with a faint sweetness. The finish was bitter. You felt like something had coated your mouth. You didn’t like it.

“Impressive,” he said smiling. “Have another.”

You held out your glass and watched him pour you another drink. You drank it just as fast the first time. You were pleased that aftertaste was pleasantly astringent rather than bitter. You went to set your glass down, but he poured you another drink. You didn’t want to be impolite so you accepted it.

“Aren’t you going to have any?”

“I will when you pour me some.”

You wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you said, taking the bottle from him. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Your hands trembled as you served him. It didn’t help that he was watching you so intently.

“That’s obvious.” He took a sip and set the glass down. “Now tell me why you don’t deserve to be close to God.”

“I’m a bad person. I mean, maybe I’m not. But I feel like I am. I’m jealous of everyone. And nothing makes me happy so I just never do anything… which makes me feel worse. I don’t know. I feel like I’m bad at loving God and cherishing his gifts no matter how hard I try. And—this is so ridiculous—but If I can’t be the best at it, why even bother?”

“That is ridiculous,” he said, pouring you another shot.

“I know. I know. And that’s why I never wa—wanna talk about it. It’s so stupid. It’s not a competition. I tell myself that all the time, but it doesn’t stop me from comparing myself to others. It makes me wanna give up. But I’d feel so lost without the church and the world is so… overwhelming. I get swept up in the temptations. I’m not strong enough. Not strong enough to leave. Not strong enough to survive. I’m stuck.”

“Temptations? Like what exactly?”

You swallowed hard. “Uh. Um. You know… people.”

He poured you another shot. You drank it down happily, but noticed he still hadn’t finished his.

“They’re…” You let out an embarrassed laugh. “I get urges.”

He smirked. “Everyone has those.”

“Do you?”

“I said everyone, didn’t I?”

Your cheeks were on fire. You wanted to bury your face in your hands, but your arms were too heavy.

“What do you do about these urges?” he asked.

“Father, I’m not sure we should talk about that.”

“I can’t help you if you keep things for me.”

“… I don’t act on them. I wanna wait until I’m married. But… sometimes at night I…I can’t. It’s too embarrassing.”

He leaned in. “You touch yourself, don’t you?”

You started feeling woozy. “I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t know what else I’m su—supposed to do.”

“You can always find someone else to do it for you.”

“Isn’t that even worse?” you slurred.

“It depends on the person.”

He put his hand on your thigh. Your head was swimming. Your body felt heavier by the second. It was like you were slowly descending into an abyss. He slipped his hand under your dress. You closed your thighs and cursed the wet spot blossoming between your legs. You didn’t want this. Fantasizing was one thing. Living them out was terrifying. If you fooled around with a priest, you would burn in Hell for eternity.

You tried to brush his hand away. “Don’t.”

“Shssh. Let me help you.”

He lifted up your dress and opened your thighs. You winced as he rubbed the wet patch on your underwear.

“I’m serious. Stop.”

“Don’t be a tease.”

“We’re not allow—”

“Who fucking cares,” he cooed as he forced his hand under your underwear. “Just relax.”

“Father, please.”

He spread apart your folds and slipped his fingers inside you.

“I can’t,” you whimpered, your body tensing up.

He ignored you and rubbed your clit. You hated how good it felt. It made the pain of having his fingers inside you a little bearable, but still the inherent wrongness of it all weighed on you. You tried to keep quiet, but a breathy moan fell from your lips as he applied more pressure.

“Who would you imagine touching you?”

“I don—I don’t wanna say…'' you drawled.

You were losing your grip.

“Quit being a bitch and tell me,” he demanded as he fingered you.

He curled his fingers inside you, grinning as you gasped.

“You.”

He smirked. “Aw. This must be a dream come true then.”

Your body was getting limper by the second. Staying conscious was barely possible. You writhed against the couch as he thrust his fingers deep inside you. You arched your back and rolled your hips against them. You wondered if this was God punishing you for not being devout.

“Look at how easily you’re falling apart.”

You cursed your body for betraying you. 

“Don’t. Please,” you begged.

“You think you get to act like a slut and tell me no?”

Tears trickled from the corners of your eyes. You felt like an idiot for crying.

“I’m… I’m s—so sorry, Father.”

“It’s okay.” He wiped away one of your tears. “I forgive you for tempting me.”

He was knuckles deep in your cunt and showed your clit no mercy.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you moaned.

He smirked and pulled you into a kiss. His mouth tasted like cigarettes. You thought about pulling away, but things weren’t so bad now that he couldn’t berate you. It was kind of nice actually. You steadied yourself by placing your hands on his chest. He bit down on your bottom lip before brushing his tongue along the tender skin. You opened your mouth and rolled your tongue against his. You had no idea what you were doing and prayed you were doing a good job.

“Father,” you whimpered. “I don’t feel so good.”

You felt yourself losing consciousness. You could barely keep your eyes open.

“You’re fine,” he said, pressing his lips to your neck. “It’s okay.”

You tried to speak, but all you could do was groan. He sunk his teeth into your neck and you drifted away.

A stinging pain roused you from your daze. You didn’t know where you were or how you ended up there. You could barely open your eyes; it was as if they were glued shut. It was such a simple act, but for some reason it was a herculean effort. Your body felt like lead and your head was throbbing.

You felt a cool breeze against your skin, stronger than a fan or air conditioning. You fought to lift your head, but all you managed to do was roll it slightly to the side, your chin pressing against your chest. You groaned and tried to will yourself out of your haze.

God must have taken pity on you because like clockwork your eyes sprung open. Unfortunately what roused you was the sting of something penetrating your ribs. It was the kind of pain that came on sharp and fast, and radiated through your body.

You groaned and tried to focus. The world was a blur, the light blinding. You were freezing and sore. You tried to swat away whatever had penetrated you, but your arms were bent back and tied at the wrists. All you could do was writhe.

You looked down and saw your body, unclothed and bruised. You choked on your breath when you noticed two wooden arrows jutting out of your thigh. Your stomach was in your throat. You could barely shriek as another arrow whizzed past your ear.

“Whoops.” It was a low voice, eerily familiar. “Don’t move around so much.”

The saccharine tone made you sick. Spit pooled in your mouth. You finally found the strength to lift your head. Your eyes met his. You recognized him. No, you knew him. 

“Good morning,” Father Sangwoo said, shooting another arrow at you. It pierced the soft skin of your underarm.

“STOP!” you screamed. “What are you doing?!”

Stomach acid inched up the back of your throat.

He smiled. “Isn’t it obvious?”

You spat at the ground before shaking your head. You couldn’t make sense of anything. The muscles in your shoulders felt like they were on fire. You must’ve been tied up for hours.

You turned your head to the right and saw a dense forest of red pines.

You inhaled sharply. “Why ar—”

He sighed and set his bow down gently. His looming figure made his way over, dread pooling in your stomach. His steps were slow and deliberate. His lips curled into a smirk. He grabbed you by the hair and forced you to look at him.

“Why all the dumb questions?”

“M—my rib—”

He glanced at the arrow sticking out of your ribs. “What about them?”

“Hurts,” you choked out through gritted teeth.

“C’mon. It didn’t even go in that deep.”

He yanked it out. A stream of warm blood flowed from the wound. All you could do was shriek.

“Yell all you want,” he said, licking your blood off the tip. “It’s not like anyone’s around to hear you.”

You decided to take a chance and kept screaming. Your voice cracked as you called out for help. At first he seemed amused, but his expression soon changed to one of disgust and boredom.

“Are you done? Did you get it out of your system?”

You let out one last anguished cry before settling down. Your throat ached.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset. You agreed to this last night.”

You sniffled. “I would never agree to something like this.”

He laughed. “Oh, really? You told me I could while I was filling your ass with my cum. Or at least I think you did. You were saying a lot of weird shit.”

“You’re lying!”

“So what if I am? It’s not like me telling the truth is going to help you.”

His cock was hard, fighting against the cloth of his sweatpants. You started to sob.

“Please just let me go.”

“Why would I do that? You’re my little crybaby.”

“I won’t tell anyone. I won’t say anything,” you pleaded.

You clenched your jaw, grinding your teeth. You desperately tried to ignore the searing pain of the arrows.

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not letting you go.”

You fought against the rope tying you to the tree. You wanted to kick his teeth in. Your fear had mutated into a fury like no other.

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Alright. I’ll let you go.”

He quickly untied your arms. The relief was immense. You could have sworn angels were singing as your shoulders finally relaxed. As you sunk down into the ground he pulled out his erect cock.

“But you gotta suck me off first.”

You immediately opened your mouth. You’d do anything to get out of there.

“Good girl,” he said, stroking his shaft.

It was long and veiny, the slit dripping precum. He guided it into your mouth, groaning as you struggled to take it in. Tears ran down your cheeks and you choked.

“Breathe through your nose.”

You heeded his advice and it helped a little. You were too weak to bob your head so he held the base of your skull and gently thrusted against it. Anytime his cock slipped down your throat you gagged. He looked so smug as he stared down at you, grinning as you struggled to suck.

“You’re so pathetic,” he said as he rutted against your face. “You’re lucky you’re cute or else it’d be annoying.”

You whimpered.

“Is it too much for you?”

He pushed you off of his cock. A thin string of drool clung to it, connecting your mouth to his tip.

“Mhm,” you answered feebly.

“Really? Do you wanna stop?” 

“Yes.”

“Ah, I see. So you’re rejecting me? That doesn’t make me feel good considering I listened to you bitch about your life last night. You should be kinder to your host. Didn’t your family teach you any manners?”

“I—But you said you were going to help—”

He laughed. “What is it with you and telling me what I said? You keep doing that and I’m gonna have to bash your skull in.”

Your eyes were so wide you thought they were going to fall out of your head. You refused to believe this was happening. You pretended like you were anywhere else. You tried to ignore the cold breeze pricking your skin, the blood drying on your body, how exposed you felt, and most of all you tried to ignore Father Sangwoo.

“Don’t look so scared.”

You shut your eyes and thought about your warm bed. Your cat was probably curled up at the foot of it, waiting for you to come home and feed him. All it did was make you cry harder. You should have kissed his little forehead before you left. But you were in such a rush, too eager to meet up with the Devil himself.

“Hey.” He kicked you with his bare foot. “Listen to me when I’m talking to you.”

“What?” you sniffled.

“You look terrified. You should smile.”

Your expression didn’t change.

“Do you wanna live?”

You nodded.

“Then smile!” he cheered.

You grimaced.

“Perfect,” he said as he jerked off.

You sat there, grinning like an idiot and trying to ignore the immense pain you were in. He looked down at you with a predator’s gaze, teeth biting into his bottom lip. His breathing grew shallow and he tossed his head back as his cum splattered against your face.

“Do you feel blessed?” You didn’t, so you chose not to answer and kept smiling. He kicked you again. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good girl,” he said. “You look cold. I think you’ve earned going inside.”

He took his time pulling the arrows out of you, talking about how badly he wanted to fill your wounds with his cum. He assured you he was kidding, but gave you absolutely no reason to believe him. How could trust someone so duplicitous?

He carried you like a bride through the red pines. He did it with such ease; it made your heart flutter. You were still terrified, but you clung to him. You imagined you were in the arms of someone else, someone that wouldn’t call you names and maim you.

“How much further?” you asked. The forest seemed to have no end.

“I wouldn’t be in a rush if I were you.”

“I’m ju—just really cold.”

He kissed your cheek and assured you it wouldn’t be much longer.

When you reached the grounds, he went in the opposite direction of the rectory.

“Why—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The church wasn’t much warmer than outside. You actually felt less comfortable. You knew you were going to Hell. There was no escaping your fate at this point. You buried your face in his neck.

He laid you down on the altar. A clear plastic tarp was draped over it. It stuck to your grimy, bloody skin. You attempted to cover your chest with your aching arms.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to be modest now,” he said as he got undressed. “I’ve already seen everything.”

“Not in here,” you said weakly.

He rolled his eyes and spread apart your legs. He positioned himself between them and ran his tongue down your folds. Your toes curled as he kissed your clit. His gaze never left yours. He took in every whimper and moan that fell from your lips. You found yourself enjoying the bliss of his kiss and the pain radiating from your wounds.

“Father,” you mewled as you ran your fingers through his hair.

It was so soft. You twirled a strand between your fingers as he feasted on your dripping cunt. You rolled your hips against his face, surrendering yourself to euphoria. He kissed the inside of your thigh before biting into your tender flesh. You winced as he applied more and more pressure. His teeth broke through your skin. You tried to push him away, but you were too weak.

The pain was indescribable. You would have rather he shot you with more arrows. His teeth dug further into your thigh and he pulled away with your flesh between his teeth. Blood poured from the newfound wound.

You watched in horror as he swallowed. You looked at your thigh and shrieked when you saw the chunk he took out of you.

“What?” he asked as he lapped at the blood spilling out.

You tried to get up but he held you in place.

“Please stop! I’ll do anything!”

He ignored you and bit down on another part of your thigh.

“Just let me go! I won’t say anything! You’ll never see me again! I’ll leave you alone! I promise! I swear to God!”

He ripped off another piece of flesh. Your blood covered the bottom half of his face. He looked like a wild animal. He crawled back on top of you, his face unbearably close to yours.

“You should be honored,” he cooed.

You tried to wriggle away from him, but he was too strong.

“I usually don’t do this, but fuck. You’re so pure. I need you to be a part of me.”

All you could do was weep.

“Hush. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” he consoled as he forced his cock inside you. “Jesus Christ, you’re so tight.”

He began to thrust. He clenched his jaw and rutted against your limp body. You watched as his cheeks turned pink and his brows knitted together in rapturous agony.

“I couldn’t throw you away like the others. You’re such a precious, little thing.” He kissed you. “I needed more time with you. I thought about snapping your neck last night, but that would’ve been such a waste. You deserve better.”

You felt so small underneath him.

“Fuck! If I could keep you I would, but that’d be too complicated.”

“So yo—you’ll let me go?”

“Huh?” He moaned as his cock hit your cervix.

“After this… you’ll let me go home?”

He burst out into laughter. “What? Are you a fucking idiot? Of course I’m not letting you go home.”

“Then please keep me! I won’t cause you any problems! I won’t say anything to anyone! I’ll do whatever you want! Just please don’t kill me! I don’t wanna die!”

“Wouldn’t death be better than being miserable all the time?” he asked, stroking your cheek. “Think about it. It would solve all your problems.”

“No, it wouldn’t! I don’t wanna give up. Please just let me live.”

“I’ve already made up my mind. I’m sorry,” he said. “It’ll be okay. Your death won’t be in vain or anything.” He picked up the pace. It felt like his cock was going to split you in two. “I promise I’ll put your body to good use.”

“Father—”

“Shut up,” he said, covering your mouth. “I’m gonna come.”

He filled your cunt to the brim with his cum. He held your body close to him and pressed his forehead against yours. You lost all hope. There was no escape. You had completely resigned yourself to your fate. All you could do was hope his hand would be swift, and you wouldn’t suffer much.

[lustandrot]

L O V E M E, E S M E R A L D A!

"Oh, I think you know just what that promise is," he reminded her, but only vaguely. If she truly took time to think about it, she would realize that he had already explained what it was that he desired from her.

Unsure as to why he was giving her more time to more than likely turn him down again, perhaps the small sliver of hope that existed somewhere deep inside told him that it made him more merciful to once again make her the offer. Little did she truly know -- it was mercy that he ultimately would have preferred to show her. Though, it wasn't until he realized that the seconds were slowly drifting by between them that he knew she would soon be forcing his hand. It was then that it finally… resonated with him that he might actually have to hurt her.

Again, this only served as more comprehensible proof that the girl truly had darkened his heart enough with her black magic that he had been driven to do ...terrible....wicked things.

Choosing to blatantly ignore the twinge of sheer panic that was now starting to run hot beneath his blood, he heard the sound that escaped from the girl's lungs - the obvious noise of fear not actively registering with the man that she had also been in a very real panic of her own. In fact, it was too easy all together to forget that he even scared her at all. It was too easy to forget that even his presence made her strangely uncomfortable. It wasn't something he even ever really thought about.

When she was close to him, all he could ever really think about was her. Touching her. Smelling her. Having her. Whenever the bracing reality of the love that would never be accepted nor returned came sinking back in like a plague, the Archdeacon only remembered just why and how she had been nothing more than a demon temptress that had been sent to test him. Whether it was an act of God or an act of the devil, he didn't know any more.

It didn't matter. It did not change the outcome. Noticing the distance that the girl had somehow created between them once more, he did not hesitate to move closer. Carefully taking another step toward her, he rose a brow, more in response to his own thoughts than anything else - almost unsure as to just why he still continued to push it.

"Give yourself to me. Let me save you … and I will set him free…" he explained his terms quietly, the crimson scarf still dangling from his hands, though the urge to physically mangle the silken fabric only grew stronger by the second.

Inhaling, he closed in on her once more, the space between them, smaller, his fingertips now nearly aching to reach out and simply brush her soft, bronzed flesh. No. Instead, he only found himself gripping the scarf .... tighter.

"Pity me," he begged her, completely abandoning all need to conceal his truest, deepest feelings for any longer.

He couldn't.

Not if she was about to face the pyre.

"I've deserted myself …. and everything I've ever believed in…." he continued in a weaker tone, the uncontrollable urge to have her only growing inside of him much like a raging fire without showing signs of slowing or stopping.

"....E-Esmeralda! You have absolutely no idea what my love for you is! ….It--- it's --- fire! It's .... hot lead!"

Everything that the Archdeacon considered to be pathetic was living inside of him. Everything that was self-righteous about him... narcissistic, and ... disturbed --- it was all coming out and with absolutely no filter. She was finally going to see ... everything that was truly ... ugly.

"I … have put my soul at risk for you! I would rather taste the flames of Hell a thousand times over… if it meant that you would love me ….! "

------------------------------------------------------------

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//OOC; Don't mind this. A messed up part of me loves Claude when he's all pathetically deranged and love-sick. I love exploring the parts of him ....that further lead to his sickening desperation and his (ultimate) confusion / torment about poor Esmeralda --who just wants to fucking live her life.

[yaksha-lover]

Uhh slightly suggestive joke maybe idk just gonna pop a warning here jic (~ ⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)~

But I can't help but imagine telling one of the vampire guys "Oh yah the whole biting/drinking blood thing vampires have going on is kinda hot tbh" and just watching them react lmao

Riddle choking on his tea briefly, Ace trying to use the statement as fuel to tease his crush, Sebek sputtering and immediately accusing the human of being a temptress/tempter absgshsb

Idk I just feel like teasing these guys (granted idk how good I am at finding ways to do so ahaha)

Lilia can’t stop laughing, Vil’s face is full of disgust, Deuce is blushing, Rook is already running to offer his services, Jack is haunted by the statement, Leona is judging you, Azul is figuring out how to profit off of this, Floyd is also mega teasing you, Malleus’ face is neutral but he’s having some interesting revelations, Idia dies instantly.

[legacyfics-archive]

Sebastian Sallow NSFW - Volume 2

Second Volume for Sebastian Sallow x MC/Reader archive, this list is all NSFW works. More volumes coming soon. Not seeing your fic here? Send me an ask/message with a link so I can get it added!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Oneshots

A duel most desirable - @tinaexe

as our lives chance, come whatever - @shadowtriovibes

Bathtub - @sebsallowapologist

Be Ready - @imagrindylow (feat. Marvolo)

bewitched, bothered, and bewildered - @shadowtriovibes

break a sweat - @shadowtriovibes

-> blood, sweat, and tears - @shadowtriovibes

-> sweat it out - @shadowtriovibes

-> never let them see you sweat - @shadowtriovibes

Charcoal - @sebsallowapologist

Finch - @applinsandoranges

Honeymoon - @sybwss

i think i'm gonna love you (for a long, long time) - @shadowtriovibes

Keep Your Promises - @imagrindylow

Loved Like...? - @ravenelyx

make your mark on me - @hufflepuffwitchhh

-> indentation in the shape of you - @hufflepuffwitchhh

Missing Seb Returns - @blueraineshadows

Naughty Escapades and Wily Temptress - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

near death experience/smut - @blueraineshadows

Patience, Darling - @sophiver

Rope Burns and Hot Touches - @blueraineshadows

Sebastian and MC's First Time - @sebswebs

Sebastian Sallow x fuller figure f!MC - @blueraineshadows

Sit Down - @sebswebs

Slytherin Party - @finalgirllx

soft fluffy spice - @blueraineshadows

Steamy - @sebswebs

take me to the lakes - @hufflepuffwitchhh

-> i want you right here - @hufflepuffwitchhh

tease me, please me - @shadowtriovibes

tell me anything (but don't you tell me he's what you're missing) - @shadowtriovibes

The Darker Side of Life - @sebsallowapologist

The Green Imposter - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

The Hypothesis - @anto-pops

The Older Sallow - @sebsallowapologist

The Promise of Tomorrow - @anto-pops

til we get the healing done - @shadowtriovibes

To the Victor Goes the Spoils - @anto-pops

Uneasy arrangement - @cuffmeinblack (feat. Garreth)

vivarium fun - @blueraineshadows

Wedding Night - @blueraineshadows

-> Wedding Night Pt 2 - @blueraineshadows

What You Do To Me - @sebswebs

When It Rains - @sebastianswallows

where there's smoke, there's firewhiskey - @shadowtriovibes (feat. Garreth)

Worth the Wait - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

Series

Bitter Reward - @ominist

No Light Without Darkness - @blueraineshadows

The Seventh Mistake - @skittish1807 (feat. Garreth)

[way-of-love]

Oooh can you write a Namor x Reader!waterbender/powers where he meets her and is immediately attracted to her. While she is like I wanna fight this guy because he's such an arrogant douche. And namor is like damn she's hot when she's angry and the fight is basically foreplay for them and they end up being insanely attracted and horny at the end of it.

OOOOOOO Yes I can! This'll be a oneshot, just becuase I have too much on my plate to write. Happy New Years!

Also, forgive me if it seems kinda off been having writers block for the past few weeks!

It was told though mouth-of-mouth that the 'power to manipulate the water was given to everyone, if it were given to everyone it wouldn't be so special anymore.' Your mother once told you that when you first showed signs of the hydrokinetic ability at the ripe age of 4, with no help from the father you inherited it from you had to teach yourself how to control those abilities, how to grow them and how to not use them for you r own gain.

This power could have made you a god or even the next Avengers if you embraced it how your cousin Aspen Matthews did. But, she was the star of the family, there can never be two. If so one will try hard to outshine the other. Hence your mother made you swear you'd keep it a secret from everyone in her family, your friends, your lovers, even your best friend who was as normal as they can get.

'No one will ever understand your hardship! They'll turn you into a lab rat!'

It was hard to ever embrace your power thanks to your mothers harsh words. After discovering your powers, she became very...paranoid about them. Telling you all these things the government would do to you if you ever used them in public, and how you could never be as strong as your cousin Aspen, she was the golden child, you were just the extra.

That can surely crush a child's confidence.

But you grew up hidden. Making sure no one saw you use your abilities, never used them in public only at home in the shower or at a lake. Yet, it called to you. It always beckoned you to the sea.

The inconceivably vast briny deep waters yelled at you with their tides crashing against the sandy shore and the waves waving at you like a temptress beckoning her lover. You've never been to the sea. And the day that you did, you regretted it, dreadfully so.

Another day another boring and very tedious chore of listening to this man yap away about his plans for the future, your future with him to be exact. Honestly, you don't understand why you entertain this dummy! While giving him a good once over you narrowed your eyes and came to a solid conclusion.

You were just lonely.

After living alone for a few months in isolation you met a strange sea man, he wasn't dangerous nor was he a threat. Well, unless you considered annoying a threat.

It was everyday, every single day, he'd come up to shore at the same time and his mouth spewed out these sentences that irked you, it made your blood boil and you had no choice but to retaliate with your own words then it came down to your fists. He discovered your power when you were being careless on his way back from taking down a whole ship that sought out pure vibranium from his waters.

Currently you were in the midst of throwing icy water disks you created from the sea at the flying sea king who finally got you to this point. It was always something with this guy and his,'...let's burn the world together,' that never sat well with you. Hell, if you were any hopeless romantic chick you'd say yes before he finished asking. Because admit it, he was a king, a god, a mutant like you and he looked...good. Some would say you were stupid to deny him anymore than you have but you were going on a solid five months telling him no.

But the stubborn king didn't take no for an answer. Each and every time he came to the surface with a different reason why you should join with him. You heard him out at first and after you got comfortable with him around and understood why he wanted to destroy the surface being all nice and even flirty, he asked to use your power and exploit it. To destroy a nation that was hidden away from the world and for the entire planet to fear you.

Namor knew it wasn't a good idea to use your loneliness or your vulnerability you had to the world but he was desperate. He wanted to use your power, yes, but he wanted your hand along with it. He didn't want the world to know you as 'Y/N, Wakandas Destroyer,' He wanted you to be,'Y/N, The Feathered Serpents Wife' or even 'Y/N Talokans Queen.' Any of that would be acceptable but you cut him off before he could finish explaining.

Hence the physcal fights started. You didn't enjoy them but it sure felt good to kick water boys ass once in a while when you did. He on the other hand loved watching your both twist and turn, hands moving majestically through the air and summoning the waters he cherrished so much being loved by your fingertips.

Even if he was on the deadly side of those attacks he loved every minute of it. He made it clear that he loved it, getting hit, getting cut, bruised, he took it all because that was the only caresses he would get from you and he would smirk everytime he got hit.

It infurriated you. Why would he keep coming back if he got hurt all the time? Once, you beat him so bad he didn't get up. Attuma had to drag him back while shaking his head at his king. And his king being dragged back into the sea with a phantom of a smile on his bleeding lip. Namora knew Namor was holding back because of how he felt though he never said anything it was as clear as day that the king fancied you.

Panting you raised your hands in a defensive position. Your legs felt like jelly and your arms trembled. He looked ever the more dangerous right now and you weren't sure why, even Attuma and Namora who stood by the waters edge watched him come at you with all that he had and you barely dodged his attacks. It was like he was a whole different person, no more playful Namor, now stood before you was a hardened seasoned warrior of old and he was wounded.

What happened to him after those two weeks? He didn't visit you but Namora and Attuma did but barely. They were very vague about details and said Namor would explain when he came to see you again but there were no words spoken between the two except the one warning he gave you before locking fists together.

"Prepare."

You were just about to give up but you knew better than to do so. "You're so annoying and its fucking frustrating! Why did you even show up here in the first place if all you wanted from me was my power. You'll never get-"

A tanned fist came at you at lighting speed, you had your hands raised but when you were talking you left yourself open. He was going to kill you.

When that fist came it didn't connect with any part of your face or shoulders, instead you were lucky enough to be standing by a palm tree. It connected with that but you got the wind of it, with such force your bangs and loose pieces of hair went everywhere. First, a loud groan from the tree echoed through the small area around you then snapping, crackling and popping, the fibers of the wood breaking apart before finally a loud thud. But you didn't move, instead you stared wide eyed into the molten chocolate passionate eyes of the god king who was breathing heavily in front of you.

You always admired how he talked about his people, his land from before, his family, his time roaming the seas. You even enjoyed the looks he gave you when the both of you sparred just for fun but that was before he decided to go to war with Wakanda. After that it annoyed you.

Now, starring at how he looked at you with those lovely eyes made you yearn for 'what could have been'.

Dropping your arms and your stance you stood straight and proud. " I accept my defeat. As promised you can ask something of me,"

There was a set of rules the two for you followed when one lost or yielded:

Leave ego at the door.

Respect each others boundaries.

Whomever is knocked down or yields must do one thing the victor says.

The rules were easy and simple but you always won, he always told you he'd want to see you often and you banishing him from seeing you was definitely out of the question. So, you always asked for little things, trinkets from Talokan, foods from his city, and a chance to see the exotic fish humans would only dream of seeing but unfortunately some species would not survive up near the surface so you put a pin in that request.

Now, he was the victor. Dropping his tanned arm he moved closer to you placing his large warm hands on each of your upper arms gently squeezing. His eyes never leaving yours.

"You. Y/N, I want you,"

Your eyes widened a tad at his wish, a victor always got what they wanted if it didn't push the boundaries and that was one of the things you said he can never have. You.

You began to shake your head prepared to tell him that was her rule, she could never be his, your power could never be his but he shut you up by covering your mouth with his warm hand.

How rude! You narrowed your eyes at him hoping he had a good reason to be touching you in such a way.

" I know I can not have your power or whatever, but I don't want that. I want you, your body, I want to ruin you Y/N in every physical way possible until all your can think about is me," His voice was low and he leaned in close until his forehead rested upon your own hot one. Your face was red. Did his war leave him mental? Or was it the heat of this battle? Slowly he removed is hand from over your mouth.

Whichever it was it suddenly made your core tighten with a familiar squeeze you haven't felt in a while. Were you aroused by this? Yes, your sparring sometimes left you a bit flustered thanks to the words that were exchanged between the two of you but that couldn't lead to this. You were denying him what he wanted and he was unyielding of his decision, his request. Nevertheless, what he said plainly made you view him a little differently.

His arm retracted but before he took it back his warm fingers brushed against your red cheek followed by his palm, now he cradled your cheek in his hand. Namor made sure your eyes never left his praying that the emotions that played in his eyes were enough to confirm what he said. That's when you knew that he wasn't the only one who felt that same feeling.

Attuma and Namora looked at the scene and quickly scurried, well Namora forced Attuma to leave because he was ready to sit down and watch the show.

Soon the both of you were the only ones at the beach hidden by thick trees and rocks.

"Namor...Ku'kul'kan, I might be falling deep," Your voice trembled and it was quiet. There was a heat bubbling in the air between the two of you the more you realized that his words weren't just for show. they weren't painted sweet. He meant them.

With eyes casted down afraid if you looked at him further you'd loose yourself to t his sweet feeling that you just couldn't handle. Even feeling how awkward you felt Namor, without a word took your other cheek in his free palm and forced you to lift your head so you starred directly into his eyes. He was closer to you now both of your noses barley touching one another, both lips parted so your soft breathless pants mixed with his own.

"I've already fallen Y/N, I'll catch here at the bottom," With his breathless voice and your hesitancy to stop him he pushed his lips onto yours. It may have been brief but you were shocked but soon you closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his shoulders touching his bare tanned skin feeling the flesh that you wanted to so badly bruise, tear apart and scar. Now you wanted to caress it and hold it.

He seemed to have the same thoughts because he tilted his head to the side forcing his hot tongue past your parted lips and dropped his large hands to your sides pulling at your flimsy shirt. He was already half naked while you still wore fabrics, it wasn't fair.

With tongue clashing against tongue you were surprised you were keeping up with the king of the deep with how thick and skilled his tongue was. Not even men you had fling with kissed this...this romantically. Your heart was beating so quickly in your chest you could hear it pounding in your ears!

Was this what it felt like to have your feelings returned? Was this what it meant to lust, to like, to...possibly love someone?

Breaking the kiss you had to pushed against his shoulders to give yourself some space, your lips were red swollen and wet, "Wait- wait we need-"

Again, you were cut off by yet another kiss you couldn't help but succumb to. Knees buckled and legs turned to jelly causing you to lose your balance and slip onto your knees , he feel to his knees with you breaking the kiss and next his lips your on your neck licking and kissing what he could of your sweaty flesh making you moan and shove at his shoulders. But it was like pushing a freaking wall of muscle! He wouldn't budge.

"N-Namor please," Your voice pleaded, whiney, to have him release you but alas he pretended not to hear your voice and pushing the sleeve of your top off your shoulder revealing your true flesh where the sea king greedily kissed, nipped and licked.

"I'm trying to catch you, I don't want you to hurt when you get down here mi reina," Deep, accented, rich and low.

Honestly, you didn't expect this outcome whatsoever. This was just sudden, and very surprising. A surprise that had your core tighten and caused a pool of heat to make itself known between your squeezing thighs, you were.. aroused.

A man of his caliber, a man who you avoided feelings for and masked it as annoying, a man who thought war was his only means of protecting his people, a man who almost killed you, made you feel as aroused as a whore in Babylon who hasn't had sex in weeks.

Well, not the best analogy but the idea was still there.

Before you knew it you let him push you onto your back into the sand, he slid between your legs and one hand was gripping the sand by the side of your head as the other reached for under your shirt. While caressing the flesh at your tummy he raised your shirt.

"Now you're docile, its cute to see you this way mi reina." He smirked while his hand fully slipped under your shirt and his fingers brushed against the underside of your breast. Why you didn't wear a bra today? Because you truly didn't expect t have company over like this.

Your cheeks redden and you quickly took hold of his hand stopping him from fully grasping your bare tit.

"I...this is embarrassing Namor," You cleared your throat," We were literally just fighting and now we're, what are we doing?"

Namore smiled, not his cheeky cocky smile but a genuine smile," We are just two people enjoying some time at a beach, two natural bodies who just so happen to be compatible enough to enjoy a dance that many before us enjoyed between man and woman,"

He scooted further forcing your legs to spread and hang around his thighs lazily, and you felt him. Hidden beneath those dark green trunks of his was a long hard slab of flesh already threatening to rip through the marital and it was pressing against your loose short shorts. Unfortunately, they were so loose they didn't bother to cover your snatch. Your trimmed bare snatch.

When you said you weren't prepared for anything you sure weren't, it was a laundry day so everything was being washed and or dried. Meaning panties, bras and even the good clothes you'd fight the sea king with.

He noticed in your fight a small glimpse of what you hid beneath thanks to your loose fitting clothes so it certainly helped him get riled up while he riled you up. A win was a win regardless of its means.

Namor had you beneath him almost as bare as he, if not more so, ready to receive because he already felt the slick wetness of your arousal against his trunk covered shaft.

"So, that means the sooner we couple the more we can realize just how badly we truly needed each other," Sliding one hand down to his golden belt he undid it carefully making sure to press that hard print against your cunt, squishing both sexes together while the claps were undone. He pulled the golden belt away from his waist and dropped it somewhere in the sand.

Did your bodies need each other? By the way your slick juice was leaving a slight damp mark on his trousers you'd say yes.

"We do fight each other very well, so maybe we do fuck well too," It embarrassed you to even say such a sentence. Especially when all you've been spewing from your mouth were insults and threats all directed towards him.

On the other hand he enjoyed seeing you struggle talking dirty to him. All those threats and insults fueled him and made him harder than he ever was and it was all thanks to you. While watching you he hooked his thumb on the waistband of his trunks and pulled them down, with urgency and you lifted your hips just as eager to finally catch that large slab of meat with your awaiting cunt with a loud wet slap.

You didn't bother to look at the dark tanned throbbing erection of his that was already beading at the tip. Okay, maybe you did but the slap to your cunt made your eyes to flutter closed briefly while a deep sigh of satisfaction left your lips.

Namor groaned under his breath as he prepared standing straighter and laying his cock over your mound and tummy. And with a thick warm finger he guided it over the length of himself before finally reaching to an area above your belly button, right where he measured the tip of his bulbous cock.

"This...this is where my cock is going to reach deep inside you,"

Your hand gripped his forearm that rested in the sand next to your hip,"You'll-tear me apart Namor," You whined squirming already.

He reared his hips back and made sure to position his tip between your puffy folds, you were already oozing with anticipation ready to start yet another fight with him, but this time with your full body.

The sea god hissed softly running his length up and down between your folds hearing how slick you were, it was a sound not even the sea can mimic. A real woman wet and ready was a gift man should always cherish.

And now a man of the water was going to drown in it.

"Then mi reina, lets count this as a win for me."

Without warning he found your entrance and pierced you, you welcomed him with a tight hot embrace of an eager cunt. A cunt he was already losing to. He was met with little resistance but there was some when he went further than any pervious man has ever gone.

It made you almost shriek! You grabbed his arm and placed a hand on hos abdomen making him stop. You were panting starring up at him with wide eyes, "Wait! Wait please-"

Taking your hands he held each one by the wrist and made sure you wouldn't escape from his grasp. God, you already knew what he was going to do.

The sea king looked down at you with a burning desire to ravish all that you were and to bring forth a destruction that lead to your end, an end that left you limp and drooling no doubt.

"And this, is where I catch you."

Using your hands as anchors to reel you back into his thrusts. And fit finally, he did. You were speechless when his hips connected with your ass making you bonce with each thrust, the claps, the plaps echoed along the beach and thankfully not a soul was in sight.

Finally you let out a sob like cry of pleasure when his finally let go of your hands just to grab your hips and lift them up a bit so his cock hit that one spot that made your toes curl. How did he know that was the spot?

With your back arched and head rolled back into the sand your only view was the sky and the ocean, waves of calm brushing against the shore one after the other almost mimicking Namors thrusts. It was driving you crazy.

"I-It feels so-" You gasped and your eyes crossed a bit as your body jiggled and bounced." So, so good!"

The poor sea king was groaning above you gripping your hips and concentrating on hitting the spots he guessed felt good to you, of course, it was purely guessing. Maybe the two of you were meant for each other. The soft caresses of your hands reached for each of his forearms and held them, anchoring to them.

He leaned forward over your body while animalistically gripping those hips of yours like a mad dog and placed open mouthed kisses along your tensed jaw and parted lips.

"Mine, mi reina magnifica," A groan was ripped from his throat and filtered through your hungry mouth, your hands no longer by his forearms but slid up to his cradle his cheeks in each palm. You were close to that sudden release but yet you didn't want it to end here. Your body hummed with the nickname and brought forth a shiver throughout your body.

With a few more powerful thrusts he suddenly

stopped with eyes closed and lips parted panting.

Was he...was he done already?

Panting yourself you placed kisses around his lips, his nose and forehead while wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

"P-please you can't stop now, not when I'm so close you jerk,"

The words left you in a breathless annoyed huff. How dare he stop in the middle of pounding your insides. Opening his eyes once again he smirked and removed his hands from your hips, he moved them up and around you sliding an arm under and around your bare waist as the other wrapped under and around your shoulders securing himself down to you. You were forced to wrap your arms around his neck.

His face was buried into the crook of your neck," Forgive me my love, you're just so tight," Without further delay he began and this time he gave you no mercy. You could hear his teeth grind by your ear while he concentrated on controlling his hips to give you that mind blowing orgasm you've been needing.

It didn't take long before you came with a sob, digging your nails into his fleshy back and toes curling from the intensity of it. Fucking out in a public space and with the man you thought was the most annoying thing on this planet who was actually very into you, made this even more mind blowing than it was.

Soon, Namor the sea king quickly whipped his cock right out of that tight embrace of your walls and spent himself on your tummy. His load shot out so far it caught your parted lips and cheek, he panted heavily by your ear trying to catch his breath.

He shuddered and slowly straightened up he ran a sandy hand through his dark locks and smirked down at you.

"I told you I'd catch you."

[witchcraftingboop]

Ad Infinitum

In the East, the hero was born. It was said that he burns like the sun, blessed by the Gods, and apart from mortality and the ways of man. I was never really one for worship or idolatry, so I admit the words meant little to me then and even less now.

The boy breaking into my domain is said to be that hero, the golden child of the eastern territories, a herald of good triumphing over evil. Kneeling beside the corpse of my knight, it is difficult for me to see him as anything but that which he currently is: an intruder. The order comes easily to my lips, as cold on my tongue as my pledged one’s eyelids beneath my fingertips.

“Kill the hero."

My lips twist sardonically on the last word.

The whelp before me is no hero, and if I must end him to demonstrate as much, then so be it. He will learn his place by my hands, and then we will see whether his Gods’ blessings extend to death’s door.

Their hero is yet underdeveloped from what I can tell, his limbs gangly and ill-fitted to the title thrust upon him. His armor fits well enough, the polished gold burning bright under the sun’s relentless rays. The shine on a more impressive figure would likely inspire admiration, fear, but on this thin child, it makes him look small, insignificant. He is like a babe trying on an adult’s suit, unwilling or unable to admit that the fit isn’t quite right, that it will take yet more time before they are evenly matched.

My gaze falls to the comrade he stole from me.

The woman beside me looks to be around my age, well passed her second naming, and without so much as a braid upon her helmet. She was untried in battle, her sword not yet bled. A low hum crawls up my throat, my mind drifting to others like her, like myself. I had lain on this desert floor before, felt the sand grit against the back of my skull, my ears ringing with the reverberations of the sword hilt that’d hit my temple and my brothers’ noxious laughter.

They had thought themselves heroes too, and back then, I was fool enough to believe them. My elder brothers were invincible in my eyes, true shards of divinity given flesh. Even with a mouth full of blood and a headache ripe to split my skull, I was so fond of them, so full of yearning to be older, closer to them and their level of command over the world.

The hero, sword glaring in the sun’s rays, draws my attention once more.

It is said that this boy killed them.

A cold, wisp of fury rises in my chest. At one point, it had been hot like the flames of Oblivion, raging and untamable, and I had raised my armies and scorched the soil with it, turned villages to scarred lands and rivers to blood banks. Now it is cold, hollow, a figment of a memory that I cannot fully manifest.

My shoulders sag imperceptibly beneath my caped armored shoulders.

People say a lot of things. They say he killed my father, my brothers, and that the grief of their loss drove my mother and I to madness. They say my seer is a crazed man given to promiscuity and blasphemy. They say I am a devil chained within a temptress’ form festering with a heart of Vengence’s own ice.

I look upon their hero, and I feel nothing. It is the same lukewarm nothingness that I have felt for countless turnings. Only now I am older, wiser, and so I know that killing him will not throw my body back into feeling. I will not relish killing their sun, but I doubt the ones who sent him here will see it that way.

The boy is unfaltering in the face of my knights. He meets their swords, and he loses none of his shine. His sweat slicked black hair would look bleak on anyone else, but his bronzed skin warms yet further, his body seeming to illuminate itself with a blinding inner light that would give other men pause. Here, in my private residence, such untested persons cannot exist. He is not the first hero to come to my doorstep, and he will not be the last to be cut down where he stands, his holy blood rendered mere fertilizer for my private garden.

If I were capable of it, I'm sure my heart would bleed with pity for the youth. Perhaps if I were more like my father I would be capable of such emotion, such soul rendering burdensome feelings. As it is, I can only stand and avenge my fallen.

My mind alights upon ghosts.

Beside where this hero stands, my younger brother had choked around a mouthful of arrows, his tongue flayed around the feathered ends. He had not yet been named. He was the last of my father's sons, born after my eldest brothers' final breaths, and the final loss that tore my father from his throne. There, by this intruder's feet, I had felt his heart like a hummingbird flutter, flutter, stutter, and give out. Under my fingertips, clutched in my arms, I felt him return to the meadows and had stared at this hero's exact likeness, born again and again, his eyes like honeyed sunshine, jubilant at killing a toddler.

My vision wavers and clears, reality replacing my memories once more.

This time, the hero is not so joyful. He has tinted, drooping skin under his golden eyes, his hands are easily jolted against the hilt of his sword, his stance not quite as unshakable as it once was. And yet they call him their hero.

Seeing my approach, the knights that had circled around him, toying with his defenses retreat three paces, their swords brandished, patience carved into their half-covered faces like the tracks of water through stone. My hand drifts to my blades' hilt, the enchanted metal pulsing with cool joy at my touch.

"Are you not tired?"

The words leave me before I know I mean to speak them.

I have not talked to a hero in several reincarnations. I have watched him patiently approach time and time again, have looked on as he shattered his bones breaking against the walls of my keep over and over. What rage I once had has been extinguished, what love or laughter or peace wilted and decayed leaving nothing within me. If he does not feel as I do, then it must be because he is made anew each and every time while I am left on this mortal plane, neck deep in sand and death and plagues that his kings hurl at my people without ceasing.

He is not of the Gods. He is simply allowed rest where others are not-- where I am not. Once, that was enough to make me despise him.

"How many more times will you let them resurrect you, Atreus? Must I put you down like a kept dog every lifetime? Are you not tired of being sent to your death time and time again?"

When I speak his name, those eyes, which had been narrowed and guarded, zero in on my face, the pupils contracting until twin pools of molten gold blaze within his haggard face.

"Atreus?" There is a cruelty lingering in the feral edges of the smile he gives me.

I know that his next words will be another attempt to hurt me, to rip a reaction from my hollow chest, but he does not know yet how deeply our lives are entrenched in one another. I let my hand fall away from my weapon, something inside me holding its breath in anticipation, as if his next words hold my very fate, as if they alone will release me from this place.

Come, I want to say, I wait with open arms for Oblivion's embrace. Come and give it to me.

"Do you think you can call me so familiarly? You are a devil, and the luminance of God's will won't touch you even if you were to pray in my name before your idols. You-"

I grant him death with a single pull of my sword.

His eyes and armor and sword blaze in the dust. I lower myself beside his gaping throat, my knees planted in sand that will soon be stained with his loss. I lift him into my hands. His spine is rent apart with a single tug, and I rock back on my heels, my thumbs stroking down his dirt-stained cheeks.

I know what this must be doing to him, can see his wide, wild gaze mutely glaring back at me. I do not care. I wait until that gaze softens, until tears fall like the moon's pearls from his long lashes.

"Atreus," I catch his tears on armored fingers and leave streaks across his skin when I try to wipe them away, "stop coming back. It will not matter how much you struggle or try to break free. They will resurrect you, and they will pollute your mind from birth unto death. Be at peace; I will always be here to put you back to sleep."

My lost, mad love gazes up at me with the world alight in his pupils. I do not recognize the face that stares back at me from within it. She is youthful and radiant, her silver hair like a quicksilver flame, her violet eyes glinting gems upon her face. She does not look like how I know myself to be.

I remember how he used to shake from nightmares when we were children together, and I know that if he could, Atreus would be but a leaf before wind in my arms. His mute lips part and tremble, his wet lashes sticking together in clumps. Below him, his body twitches as if he can compel it to move. I hum a melody now forgotten by time, one I know he's the only one at my side who can recognize now. I shut my eyes against the fear and pain bleeding through his.

"Sh," I place a kiss between his scrunched brows, my stomach twisting around a feeling my senses can no longer recognize. "It is okay. Get some rest now. I will be here."

"Lania."

A hoarse, haunted voice travels up my palms and stabs viciously into my chest. My breath falters, my eyes heating at the sound of my past before me. I have not been called by another in lifetimes. I have been King, Undying Lady, villain, temptress, guest, but never Lania. I had realized a long time ago that no one around me remembered my name and that I had forgotten it some time ago. Here, on his lips and in that unchanging voice, I can only recognize it as another mocking twist of fate that he carries its burden still.

"I am... tired, my love."

It is like my eyes have been sealed shut. As much as I know I must look at him, must see this moment for myself, it is as if my body recognizes instinctively that it is too much. I have seen too much. I have seen too many replicas of him tortured and burned and flayed alive. I cannot gaze upon him with the softness he expects. I cannot weep with compassion for the man who has pushed my territories to ruin time and time again.

"Rest," I tell him instead, my tone chilled, indifferent. "Do not come back. It is unnecessary."

The love of my life, my harbinger of doom. How long has it been since I could think of him with anything but vague familiarity, muted hatred, forgotten yearning. The ties between us have been manipulated and burned and remade over and over and over again, but in his eyes, they have not changed. He is the same on the other side of the meadow, his soul pure and without burden every time it is released.

I do not know how to convey to him that I do not want him any more.

"Rest," I repeat, because there is nothing else I can say.

[jazzafterhours]

hawke is an honourable man, but the company he keeps is questionable. two apostates, one of which is a blood mage, and another that is an abomination. shady characters who likely deal in illicit, selfish affairs. guard-captain aveline has sebastian's respect, but even fenris is too accepting of the mages in their midst, despite knowing exactly how dangerous they are.

this is not the crowd sebastian expected to find himself fighting alongside when he offered to travel with hawke whenever the man had need of him. sebastian doesn't intend to go back on his word. he only wishes hawke were more selective with who he calls a friend.

the blood mage is among the worst. she is deceptive with her bright eyes and gentle smiles, with her unassuming stance and sweet words. she plays at being a pure being.

sebastian knows better. he has fought beside her at hawke's behest, seeing the dark power she wields in battle. abomination or not, she is something of a demon herself, luring them into a false sense of security so they might forget how monstrous she is beneath. she doesn't even try to hide her magic, she insists on advocating for its usefulness.

and she seems to have the others all wrapped around her finger.

isabela flirts with many, but with merrill, there is something undeniably tangible and charged. she claws her fingers and makes a noise like a wildcat, and merrill giggles, bringing two fingers up to her lips in a fleeting vulgar gesture. it's like the two of them are speaking a secret language about the private things that pass between them.

and merrill will say, "you haven't taken a break in a while, varric," and varric will hum low, considering, before saying, "tomorrow night, then."

aveline does not appear to have a standing engagement with the blood mage, but she looks the other way when it comes to merrill's dark, magical practices, and she protects merrill fiercely in battle. she seems to hold her in a high regard that sebastian can't parse.

unsurprisingly, the apostates have colluded as well. merrill sidles up close to anders and touches his wrist under the hem of his fraying sleeve, and he blushes even from such a simple contact.

she is a temptress, akin to a demon of desire.

while on a trip with hawke, isabela, and the blood mage, the two women exchange another one of their little flirtations, and sebastian feels he must comment.

"i pray that the others can yet see you for the seductress you are and free themselves from your treacherous claws."

isabela snorts. merrill tips her head to the side in that innocent-seeming way she does.

"seductress?" she echoes with a lopsided smile. "are you looking for some seducing, sebastian?"

sebastian blanches. "what? of course-- no."

merrill's expression smooths back out. "oh. i thought you were playing a game. i'm still working on telling when someone is using innuendo."

"playing..." sebastian mutters. she thought he was coming onto her. of his own free volition! vehemently, he adds, "that is not the man i am anymore."

isabela cuts in. "yeah, that's why you're acting all hot and bothered and your cheeks look like they could start a fire."

up at the front of the group, hawke sighs. "i don't suppose i could get the three of you to care about the fact that we're about to walk into a mercenary ambush? is anyone keeping an eye out for traps?"

"well," isabela says, "if you mean the kind of trap that clamps down like a vice, nice and tight--"

then a squad of mercenaries charges them, and sebastian is saved from having to address the unexpected turn this conversation has taken.

*

he can't stop thinking about it. of the promise she makes, of the heat in isabela's gaze and the blush on anders' face and varric's easy compliance. she has earned this from all of them, she has--

sebastian takes a knee in front of andraste's statue in the chantry and forces his mind to clear, to focus on his prayers.

this isn't the life he chose for himself, it isn't what he wanted at the time, but at the time, he hadn't known what he really wanted. he hadn't known what he needed. he'd thought of nothing but himself, of wasteful activities that served no greater good. being sent to the chantry, although not his choice initially, has turned his life around. he has been given a second chance to bathe in the maker's light.

no beautiful, trickster blood mage will draw him into the darkness.

*

merrill never assumes wrong again. she never says anything untoward, at least not to sebastian. she is respectful, sebastian supposes. or maybe she recognizes that she cannot manipulate him, and simply doesn't waste the effort.

sebastian doesn't always join the others for card night at the hanged man. these nights are always full of drinking and gambling, and often crude jokes. this isn't the atmosphere that's good for sebastian anymore. he doesn't wish to be tempted.

tonight, he goes. he is the only one at the table without a tankard of ale, and he has little coin to bet, so the others accept him as a non-gambling participant.

merrill is across from him at the table, and she smiles at him, but in her usual gentle way instead of that crooked, coy thing from that day when things got out of hand.

sebastian still can't stop thinking about it, no matter how much he tries.

it has been years now since he enjoyed the company of another. the vow of chastity had chafed, at first. he's grown to understand what it means to live a life without distraction and personal pleasure, but at first--

he'd been angry. shamed. humiliated. despairing for the future he never got to have, as the chantry became a cage so soon into his adulthood. he wonders, is it so wrong to--

something nudges against his shin. sebastian looks up and sees merrill watching him with her big, worried eyes, having found his leg with her foot beneath the table. her expression seems to ask if he's okay.

sebastian isn't sure that he is.

whatever merrill sees in his face, it makes her fold her hand of cards together and set them down on the table.

"it's been a long day," she says when the others glance her way in question. "i could use an early night."

then she smiles at sebastian again, wide and inviting.

she stands to a chorus of goodbyes from their friends, still looking sebastian's way while she pushes her chair back in at the table.

when she goes, sebastian waits only a handful of minutes before following her lead, claiming he needs to be back for a late service at the chantry. varric looks at him with a pointed gaze that seems to say he sees through the lie, and if he's planning any harm to merrill, he will pay for it.

not tonight, sebastian thinks.

he goes, and instead of ascending the great steps towards hightown, he turns down the streets to the alienage.

merrill is standing in front of the vhenadahl, her hands clasped together at the small of her back as she lifts her face to regard the old, sacred branches of her people's tree. she appears small in front of the wide trunk, but sebastian knows better than to ever consider her harmless.

when sebastian approaches, she steps back from the tree and gestures at him to follow. obediently, he does. he is unsure how to feel about that, but it doesn't stop him from entering her house and letting her shut the door behind them, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

"you can leave any time you like," merrill says as if she's reading his thoughts.

sebastian questions whether such a thing is possible with blood magic, but he doesn't think so. merrill is, perhaps, just good at knowing what others need.

"you took a vow, didn't you?" she asks.

it should be an accusation, but she doesn't say it like one. yes, he took a vow, and here he is planning to break it, to give in, and to her, of all people, a blood mage who sleeps around like there's nothing wrong with it, like she cares for nothing except--

"sebastian?"

"i--" he says. "i shouldn't be here."

"why not?"

because this is wrong. because it will make him an oathbreaker. because the chantry desires him chaste and focused. right now, those don't seem like very compelling reasons, and he's not sure why. they suddenly feel empty, flimsy.

"i don't know."

merrill purses her lips, regarding him. it's a minute before she speaks again. "if you want to stop, you tell me so, okay? say 'stop', at any point, and we stop."

sebastian has heard such things before. watchwords and negotiations and boundaries laid out on the table. he'd mostly only bothered when his partner wanted to do so. other times, he didn't care what his partner did with him, as long as he felt something good in the end. he'd assumed merrill to be similar--wicked and wild, hungry and insatiable. he misjudged her in at least a couple of ways.

"okay," he says, because she's pointedly waiting for him to reply.

"good." she smiles at him. "how about you start by taking off your armour?"

she words it like a suggestion, but there's an edge in her voice that sounds almost like a command. it is whatever sebastian wants to make of it.

he takes it as an order, and reaches for the straps of his bracer. while he works them loose and slips the white and gold metal off, merrill takes a seat in one of her rickety chairs, a respectful distance away, nowhere near close enough to touch. she merely observes, a soft smile on her face and a spark of interest in her eyes.

his bow and quiver next, then the pauldron. they join the bracer on merrill's area rug. sebastian tugs his gloves off, dropping them among the growing pile. he hesitates, swallowing a lump in his throat, before working off the chestpiece and the chain mail beneath it.

as he unbuckles his belt, he can't help but ask, "will you be disrobing anytime soon?"

her smile grows. "not soon, but i will. i want to focus on you for now."

sebastian blushes, unused to having such attention after years without. he forgot what it was like to have someone preoccupied with him and only him, liking the look of his body, eager to have more of it. eager to have him.

he stoops to lay his belt on the floor, then continues with his armour under merrill's watchful eye.

she finally stands when he's down to just his plain shirt and breeches, coming up in front of him. "may i?"

sebastian nods, then shivers when she slips her hands beneath his shirt and presses them to his bare chest, sliding up, taking the shirt with her as it gathers upon her wrists.

without a word, sebastian lifts his arms and lets her push the shirt up and off. she pauses again with her fingers at the strings of his breeches, but all it takes is a swift nod from him for her to untie them and push down, breeches and smallclothes together.

sebastian steps out of them when they pool on the floor, and then he's naked before merrill, a sharp contrast in their state of dress.

merrill spreads her fingers over his abdomen, feeling his muscles. she raises one hand to run it along his drawing arm, feeling those muscles as well. she looks up, meeting sebastian's eyes, then goes to the tips of her toes to kiss him.

in all his imaginings, sebastian never expected a kiss. her lips are warm and a little chapped, full and gentle. sebastian has not even had this during his years at the chantry, and a wave of need crashes over him, a dam broken down in one fell swoop. he circles his arm around her waist to pull her closer, tilting his head to kiss her deeper. she responds in kind, making a little pleased noise that stirs sebastian further.

being with another person like this is galvanizing, and he has missed it.

merrill pulls away far sooner than sebastian would like, but her smile is still kind and soothing, granting him patience.

"i would like to try something, if you're interested," she says.

equal parts apprehension and anticipation course through him. he hasn't forgotten who she is, what she's capable of, but she hasn't done a single thing to make him consider saying 'stop'.

"i might be interested," he says noncommittally, "what do you have in mind?"

merrill flits away with a bounce in her step, opening a chest to retrieve something from inside. a strip of forest green fabric. turning back to face sebastian with the cloth in her hands, she says, "i want to blindfold you."

apprehension grows to overtake anticipation, even as sebastian eyes the cloth, already considering it. not being able to see her, to see any touch before it happens, will leave him vulnerable. he hesitates to put himself in such a position around a blood mage, but right now, merrill isn't a blood mage. she's a person offering him a release he has been without for years, and has yet to take anything for herself. even this is not a demand, but an offer.

"very well," he says.

her smile broadens. "your hands will be free. you can push it off whenever you like, if you need to."

sebastian nods, that knot of apprehension slowly coming undone, quieting to a normal amount of nervousness for a first-time experience.

merrill walks around him, and already sebastian feels hyper-aware of exactly where she's standing, knowing that he will soon not be able to see her, only hear her. he can almost feel her proximity like a physical thing, the space between them carrying new energy like he has witnessed her with the others.

she rests a hand on his back, right in the middle between his shoulders, an oddly soothing touch. sebastian relaxes under it, and only then does she loop the cloth around his head to secure it across his eyes. the light leaves the room instantly, the heavy and dark fabric blocking it effectively.

the vow he recently made in the chantry floats back into his conscious mind: he would not let temptation pull him back into the darkness. now here he stands, allowing an apostate to pull the cloth over his eyes, plunging him into the void.

merrill's hand presses to his back again. "are you alright?"

sebastian sucks in a deep breath, swallowing down the tightness in his throat. he wants this, there's no denying it. he wishes he could just expel the voice in the back of his head for a little while.

a surprising amount of honesty makes its way into his response. "i am trying to be."

unexpectedly, lips press to his shoulder, warm and a little chapped. he jumps in surprise, but the shock is short-lived.

"i think your willingness to try is very admirable," she tells him, sounding just as honest. "thank you for telling me. i understand what this means for you."

sebastian's next exhale comes out stuttered, a wave of emotion crashing through him. she is so much more understanding than he thought--at most, he has always interpreted her demeanour to be a manipulation, but if that were the case, she's already sufficiently caught him in her web, and all she's doing is praising him. she's allowing him to process at his own pace, which isn't something sebastian thinks anyone else has ever done for him.

on unsteady but determined steps, sebastian turns, holding his hands out to find merrill and guide himself. he manages to find her hips, the warm fabric and leather of her armour beneath his palms. he ducks down, only a little, aware that he can't be exactly sure of where her face is, and he'd rather not embarrass himself with clumsiness.

she doesn't leave him unmoored. her hand cups the side of his neck, and she responds to his wordless plea for a kiss. it's a deep kiss, wet and hot and encompassing. she nips at his bottom lip, curls her tongue across the roof of his mouth, exploring him, and it leaves him shivering, growing hard between his legs.

when they part to catch their breath, he hears her take a step back, feels her hands sweep down his arms to his hands. sebastian lets her tug him across the room, unable to see where they're going.

she leads him far enough, with a bit of a turn, that he thinks they've left the main room. the wood panelling floor is rough on his soles, but her hands are soft, and she doesn't let him trip, doesn't let him stumble into anything.

they come to a stop, and sebastian hears the light creak of a bed frame. after a moment, merrill pulls him closer again, and he knows to move carefully, until he can rest a knee onto the mattress and follow her.

she guides him to lie down, careful urging rather than shoving. sebastian ends up on his back, laid straight out, while she seems to be sitting by his hip, from the dip in the mattress and the touch of her knee against his side.

the shifting of weight signals when she leans over him. her hand presses to his abdomen, and her lips brush over his collarbone. she leaves a series of chaste kisses across his skin: the hollow of his throat, the slope of his shoulder, right on his sternum, just below a nipple. tingling sensation remains like a mapped constellation.

although his hands are free, he's unsure what to do with them other than curling his fingers in the blanket beneath them; he wouldn't know where to reach for her, and doesn't want to disrupt her.

her fingers trace his hip bone, coming to his side and sliding down to his thigh. he doesn't expect her next kiss above his navel.

"you're very lovely," she murmurs against his flushed skin.

'lovely' isn't a word sebastian has ever received before. he's had partners compliment his body or how he uses it, but he was more often the one doing the complimenting, and still, no one ever chose the word merrill does. the way she says it, it feels good.

her hand pushes harder against him as she moves, and a moment later, sebastian finds her seated comfortably on his thighs. she's still fully clothed, her wrapped leather leggings smooth to the touch.

she drifts her fingers down both his arms, taking one of his wrists to lift it off the bed. she kisses a line along the inside of his forearm, then over his knuckles.

sebastian gasps in surprise when her mouth closes around two fingers, silky tongue fit between them. experimentally, he curls his fingertips down on it and drags them back to the tip before pushing them deeper into her mouth again. he's rewarded with a faint sound of pleasure that reverberates around his fingers.

her reaction amplifies his own; he has always found satisfaction in sharing such intimacy. his parents would call it a shameful indulgence. the chantry would call it a selfish distraction. he only wants to connect with another, to know someone inside and out, to feel good, and to make someone else feel good with him.

after a few more passes of her tongue along his fingers, merrill pulls back, though she keeps holding onto his hand, her index finger across his pulse point. his heartbeat is loud in his ears, even more so for his lack of sight to distract him from it.

"i'm going to get undressed now," she tells him.

it's something of a promise that makes need flow through him. he wets his bottom lip, clutches the blanket between his fingers. he nods against the pillow.

he feels her move, and expects her to stand, but not to press a firm parting kiss to his lips before she does so.

then her presence is out of his reach, but not gone. her footsteps don't recede far, and he can hear the shift of fabric as she removes her clothes. he turns his face towards her, even though the blindfold obscures everything; he just can't help but seek her out in some way.

she steps further away, perhaps to set her clothes aside. sebastian shifts on the bed, feeling untethered and restless without her touch. the darkness feels more prominent when he's alone, waiting and anticipating, thinking too much.

"sebastian," she says from a slight distance away. "i'm still here."

unconsciously, he relaxes, soothed. her voice is lyrical, light, like a wind chime rustled gently in the breeze. he isn't alone here at all, and he knows she will not leave him. he cannot see her, but he trusts that she's there, and that she will remain.

footsteps approach, and her hand comes to settle on his chest. sebastian instinctively relaxes further, lifting his face to where she must approximately be standing.

"do you want to continue?" she asks.

the question is a surprise; he hasn't said stop, his cock is hard between his legs from her leaving kisses and touches all across his body, just his being here at all is a declaration in itself that he wants this enough to break a vow and seek the company of an apostate.

but she asked it with a weight of seriousness, and so he pays it its due, taking a moment to think, truly, about what he wants.

and he realizes that what he wants hasn't mattered in a long time. he was sent away because it was what his parents wanted. grand cleric elthina was understanding to begin with, but she made her disapproval well-known in the end, too, when he chose to prioritize avenging his family over his service to the chantry. he has been shaped, he has been at the whim of others, he has not even allowed himself to think about seeking personal pleasure, until merrill.

"yes," he says breathily. "yes, i want to... to feel--"

words fail him, as he's no longer used to asking for what he wants, suddenly overwhelmed with merrill's consideration.

her hand comes to his face, startling him, but not in a bad way. she draws her knuckles from his cheekbone down along his jaw, caressing him like no one has done before.

unexpectedly, sebastian feels safe. in the darkness, there is only her closeness, her touch, her care. he need not think of anything but her. in the maker's light, he is on display, scrutinized, forced to act a certain way, but in the calm dark with merrill, she only asks him to be true to himself. "please," he murmurs.

her thumb passes over his cheek, then she pulls away, but sebastian doesn't feel the loss of her like he did when she got undressed. he knows she's still there, that she is only moving to join him.

it was wrong of him to liken her to a desire demon. he has felt the cloying touch of a desire demon, and it had been twisted and sharp, insidious, sticking in him like barbs. merrill is soft and grounding, she offers him all this without it leaving gouges, without it coming at a price. he is not relinquishing anything to her, not in the same way he has to the chantry. he is not relinquishing part of himself, he is only putting himself in her gentle hands.

knees settle on either side of his waist, bare skin to bare skin. her hand curls around his cock, an action that he should have anticipated, and yet takes him enough by surprise that he jolts up hard, groaning as the sensation sparks through him. no one has touched him this intimately in so long that he's already left breathless, feeling like he would be rendered unseeing even without the blindfold, as overcome as he is.

"merrill," he gasps, a storm of swirling winds inside of him. need and elation and shame and confusion. he wants, shouldn't want, doesn't want to disappoint, isn't sure who he doesn't want to disappoint--

"it's alright, lethallin," merrill says as she continues sweeping her palm along his length. "let go. i have you."

sebastian bucks into her hand, a whine falling from his lips. there is nothing but her touch and a sense of being cared for, all of it mounting quickly with each caress.

it has been too long for him to resist his climax, as much as the blush across his cheeks is tinged with some embarrassment alongside the desire and warmth. it overflows from him almost without warning, leaving him bowed taut and enraptured. merrill just continues sliding her fingers around him to ease him through it, gentling when she correctly suspects that he's becoming oversensitive.

the conflicting thoughts return as his body relaxes, mind clearing enough to think of more than just merrill's touch. with this, he has officially, fully broken his vow. he has done the very thing that played a part in his family sending him away. he has turned his back on all his growth, has given into temptation.

and he has not felt so good, so at peace, in years.

it's backwards.

"sebastian?"

her voice draws his focus, calming the storm. he makes a faint noise, words still beyond him.

merrill rubs her thumbs into his hips in soothing circles. "you did very well. you've been so open with me. i like seeing you have pleasure, i like seeing the real you. being able to experience this with you is wonderful, you know."

the words flow over him like cleansing water, steadily sluicing away the tumultuous thoughts. she's right--this version of him is more real than the one the chantry made him into, for better or worse. she even approves, and her opinion means much more to him than he ever thought possible before tonight.

"i was a disgrace," sebastian whispers.

her hand cups his cheek. "i did not know you back then, but i sincerely doubt it."

she has such conviction. in hindsight, sebastian does know that he was going too far back then, but it was more complicated than him simply being an unruly young man ruining his family's reputation. he wants to believe he would have listened, if his parents merely expressed concern instead of sending him away, but that was not their way. it never had been, and he had always been a spare, easy to cast away. perhaps merrill is more right than they ever were.

tentatively, he reaches out for her, finding her thighs braced on either side of him. he runs his hands up them to her waist, pausing there just to hold her.

"i'm sorry i ever thought so ill of you, merrill."

he feels her shifting, and lifts his face to meet what he can feel will be a kiss. it's light and sweet. "i understand," she says, her lips still ghosting against his own. "you still gave this a chance."

she is more forgiving than anyone he has ever known. sebastian captures her lips again, pouring his gratitude and affection into it, wanting to show her that he doesn't regret this, that she has given him something good, and he knows that, despite the confusion his time with chantry has wrought. the ingrained shame is already fading, replaced with the assurance that there is nothing harmful in what they're doing, when she has been so careful and encouraging with him.

sebastian intends to be kinder to her in return. he slides his hands around her hips to her back, drawing her closer into an embrace as he kisses her again, able to sink into the sensation of their closeness without being conflicted about it. her body is warm, and strong even in her litheness. she is holding herself in such a way to avoid pressing her cunt to his cock--so, so careful and considerate--but he doesn't need her to do that anymore. he wants to feel her, and give her pleasure.

wrapping an arm around her hips, he pulls them together, feeling the curls of hair and gathered slick. at his wordless invitation, she rolls against him, breathing out a sigh against his lips. they keep kissing and roving their hands over each other, slowly moving together.

it doesn't take much to bring him back to full hardness, his body still aching for more after long years of denial. sebastian presses his thumbs into merrill's hips, guiding her, and she responds easily, taking him in hand to align them.

a silent gasp builds in sebastian's throat. the blindfold makes the sensation more acute; for a breathless moment, his mind blanks, hooked only on merrill tight and wet around him.

she kisses him, teeth dragging across his bottom lip when she pulls back, after. her hands press to his chest, sliding downward, and he can feel her straightening up, her thighs clenching against his hips. slowly, she begins to move, and sebastian matches her languid pace, thrusting up to meet her. he settles his hands on her thighs, kneading his fingers into her skin, feeling his way upward to her waist. in his mind's eye, he creates the vague image of her, beautifully poised above him, skin flush. he hasn't gotten to see her naked, yet--he feels her, instead, finding the curves of her muscles, the jut of her hipbones, a couple spots that are rougher with scar tissue.

he can hear her breath shudder as he runs his hands over her, feel her push down harder on his cock. sebastian wishes he could see her, and yet he doesn't regret the cloth over his eyes, accentuating every touch and allowing him to be one with her, to think of nothing but her and how good it feels.

he draws his hands up to her breasts, delighting in the moan he gets when he thumbs over her nipples. she leans forward into his hands as she grinds her hips down, fingers clawing on his abdomen.

they both move a little quicker, merrill's thighs squeezing hard around him and him snapping his hips up to meet her. he presses his fingertips into the soft skin of her breasts, then drags them down to sweep through the hair around her folds, wet with her slick. her hips stutter when he pushes his thumb against her; she thrusts down and forward, her weight shifting in a way that makes him imagine her arching back, seeking the exact right position of their bodies together.

her palms land on his thighs, arms back to hold herself up. sebastian thrusts hard, and she lets out a needy cry, her nails digging into his skin again. sebastian's heartbeat strikes hard, breath caught at the sounds of her pleasure.

"merrill," he breathes like a prayer, clutching at her hips. "let me feel you, you feel so good."

she jolts, sinking down and clenching around him. each of her breaths is like a gasp, shaky and desperate.

and she comes with a shiver sebastian can feel radiating between them, her body tight with it. sebastian slows his thrusts to a coaxing roll as her climax comes in waves, a wondrous wet heat around his cock.

when she begins to settle, sebastian leans up and wraps his arms around her back, need driving him. he flips them over, pinning merrill into her mattress, and fucks into her slick, still wrapped around her--wanting her close, fully against him.

she readily hooks her legs around his hips, holding him in return, urging him on. her hands dive into his hair, mussing the strands around the knot of the blindfold. with all his senses--save sight--full of her, sebastian finds his second release, clutching her close and pressing his face into the curve of her neck. he breathes against her skin, laboured and satisfied.

this time, his mind is not divided. he feels more whole than ever.

gently, he draws away from her, shifting to lie at her side. she rolls with him, keeping her arm around his back.

for a moment, they catch their breath together, merrill's fingers sweeping lightly along his spine. then, merrill brings her hand up to his nape.

"i'm going to take the blindfold off now, okay?"

sebastian nods, tilting his head back into her touch. he feels her reach for the knot in the fabric, careful not to pull at his hair when she works it loose.

when it's pulled away, sebastian squints his eyes open, but the room is lit only with candles, and doesn't pain him. in the faint glow, he regards merrill's face right in front of his own, her skin flushed and hair dishevelled, a sweet smile on her face.

it's an infectious smile, and sebastian feels lighter than he has in a long time; he smiles back.

even so, she asks, "how are you feeling?"

he understands that she wants to check on him, just as she wanted to be sure he knew he could stop this at any time. "incredible," he answers honestly. "and yourself?"

she beams. "much the same."

she brushes her fingers along his jaw, nearly making him want to close his eyes, but as soothing as it is, he wants to take in the sight of her now that he can.

they lie together for another minute before merrill leans in to kiss him on the forehead, then turns and stands up, going to a table on the other side of the room. sebastian watches her retrieve a pitcher of water and two cups, filling them both and bringing them back, holding one out.

propping himself up on his elbow, sebastian accepts the cup gratefully, only now realizing how parched he is.

merrill sits beside him, both of them sipping the water until the cups are empty and set away on the nightstand.

"i'm glad we could do this," merrill says. "it's much nicer to have an understanding, isn't it?"

it is. sebastian still doesn't know what to think of blood magic, but he has a good idea of what to think of merrill, and she doesn't line up with the story the chantry tells. she is no manipulative temptress--she is every bit the kind woman she has always seemed. he has now felt something with her that he has never felt with another, has never felt before at all. he can't thank her enough for that, he can only do better to understand her. she has earned his trust; if she is as careful with her magic as she was with him, that is something to be respected.

"the version of you i had in my head is but a pale mirage," he says. that version was born of chantry creed and cautionary tales. there are many things about his service to the chantry that he has a new perspective on--or an old perspective that was quashed and buried, now brought to the surface again. "it's good to see you with my own eyes."

merrill grins, reaching out to run her thumb along his cheekbone, just beneath where the blindfold sat. "you are welcome to come see me whenever you like."

it hadn't occurred to sebastian to wonder at whether or not this was a one-time thing. from what he can tell, merrill and their friends enjoy time together on a regular basis. he could not have fathomed that he might fit into that equation. when he came home with merrill earlier in the night, he wasn't even sure he'd follow through with this once, let alone make a habit of it.

but he does want to, and wanting doesn't make him feel as wrong as it did before tonight. he isn't the same man he was in starkhaven, nor is he exactly what the chantry made him into. he'd like to explore who he can be when he's honest with himself, and he sees that merrill is someone he can be himself around.

"then i will," he promises.

merrill smiles again, drawing her fingers down his arm. "would you like to stay the night?"

he shouldn't, as returning to the chantry in the morning will raise questions, but sebastian doesn't want to worry about that right now. "i would."

she leans down to kiss him, just a light, brief thing, a fleeting contact, before she stands again to approach a wash basin. wordlessly, they clean up, then merrill blows out the candles, leaving them in gentle darkness as she slips back into the bed beside him.

sebastian wraps his arm around her, and she settles against his side. entirely at ease, sebastian quickly falls asleep in her comforting presence.

[ladicsa]

[ GRATIFY ]  sender asking “is that better?” after finally penetrating receiver after teasing them. 

IT'S USUALLY HER THAT DOES THE TEASING. It's the role that had been forced upon her in this life, the one the wore like a second skin, unable to shed it anymore than she can her thirst for blood. She's the seductress. The temptress. The siren that lures sailors to their deaths and picks at her teeth with their whittled down bones.

When she looks in the mirror she does wonder about fate; wonders if it knew the kind of part she would play when it brought her into the world. If her dark eyes were ever meant for anything other than hypnotising her prey. If the supple plush of her lips were for more than speaking pretty words. If each enticing curve of her body was made for that besides captivating men.

She'd played a role for centuries, and she had played it as well as she had needed to in order to survive, but now she is tired of it. And what she longs for is worship in another form. In the kind that @deceptivemorals offers to her.

Kisa has never had her body quite so lavished in kisses, has never been gripped and pulled and held in ways that speak not of possession, but of reverence. Of desire that runs hot along the body and sets fire to the veins. She is brought to the edge repeatedly with his fingers and tongue, held there in stasis, expertly kept back from falling over it until she feels like she's been driven halfway to madness.

Elijah is relentless in his teasing, and just when she thinks that she can't take anymore he gives her what she wants, kissing away the sweat that glistens across her breasts as he finally sinks into her. It isn't until he's buried all the way and his pelvis is flush against hers that he asks the question around the dusty peak of her nipple. Kisa makes a soft noise that's caught somewhere between bliss and impatience, attempting to rock her hips though the hand that pins them to the bed prevents it. "Elijah... please..." she's not begged a man for anything in centuries, but she's just about feverish with want. And it's rewarded, feeling the curve of his smile against her breast before his lips are catching hers, and he's pulling out almost to the tip before pushing back in.