#i am not claiming to be free of sin but

[verysleepyfrog]

im sorry but if you can’t handle character.ai being down you need to go outside and talk to a person

[hongjoongscafe]

Angry F*$!

Drabble

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: smut.

Summary: maybe getting angry sometimes isn’t too bad.

Word count: 3.1k+

Warnings: orgasm denial, pussy slapping, spanking, creampie, spitting kink, face slapping, hair pulling, name-calling, smoking, oral, fingering, panty sniffing (he stuffs his boxers in her mouth, too), unprotected (wrap it up, people, wrap it up or else Namjoon will spank you), cum eating, degradation, daddy kink, doggy style, cuffs, anal, breath play(?), choking, biting, aftercare ('cause I love it).

Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist. Unedited.

Masterpost.

“Do you even know how dumb you make me look?” your husband, Jungkook, screams at you. “Fifteen fucking years together and this one bitch comes and you trust that cunt over me?”

“Am I wrong?” you scream back. “A hot, sexy assistant is what you got to know and why wouldn’t you wanna have a taste of her?!”

Jungkook’s new assistant is, to say the least, known for wrecking homes. And somehow that bitch wrapped your naive heart in her fingers and filled you with rumours regarding him and herself accidentally as she didn’t know you were his wife as if you two haven’t been together out on the events and face of every possible magazine at least once.

Jungkook’s jaw ticked as he stood up and walked towards you with a feral look in his eyes. “Taste of her?” he growled.

“Yes, taste of her. Isn’t that right? Wouldn't you want to fuck her; someone sexy, hot, desirable?” you push his chest.

“Why would I?” he yells.

“Why wouldn't you?”

“Fucking-,” he cut himself off and hold you by the roots of your hair and pull you with him to the mirror. “Because I wanna fuck you and love you forever!” he makes you look in the mirror, nowhere being gentle.

“I don’t believe you!” you turn around in his hold and slap him across the face. Your jealousy hitting the skyline.

Jungkook’s face turned dark. Your only warning before he threw you on the bed was “Then let me make you believe.”

You bounced as you landed on the bed. He roughly pulled your legs up, yanked your shorts down your legs and threw them somewhere behind him. “Mrs doesn’t believe,” he scoffs. “Now you fucking will and never forget.”

You gasped as he pulled you up by your hair and draped you across his lap as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He harshly pulled up your thongs, making you inhale sharply as the flimsy cloth rubbed against your clit. He rubbed your ass gently before landing a tight slap across your perfect ass cheek, “fuck,” you groaned.

He dipped his fingers under your g-string and pinched your clit making you moan pathetically. “Be a good bitch and count,” he pinched it harder when you didnt start counting.

“One!” you gasped.

He hummed and landed another smack, worse than before. Your pussy clenched around nothing. “Two.”

“Look at your fucking pussy already leaking through his sorry piece of panty,” he pulled and snapped back. “Might as well get rid of this shit,” he growled as he tore it apart and brought the big wet patch to his nose and sniffed it deeply. “Oh,” he moans. “Keep the counting going.”

Like you weigh nothing, Jungkook picked you up and threw you back on the bed. You looked up at him as he removed his pants and white button-up. His hot abs are now on full display. His muscles flexed as he climbed over to you and ripped your tank top off you. Your boobs jiggle free and your nipples tighten with the utter, shameless need for this sinful man in front of you. You looked down at his huge bulge as your mouth watered.

“You want me to agree with you as you claim to cheat allegations on me?” he muttered, darkly. “You want me to agree with you that I will leave my fucking sexy wife and fuck some fucking assistance who is nowhere near as beautiful as you?”

Your heart rammed against your ribcage. As much as your insecurity flared in front of that sexy bimbo, you felt filthily gorgeous as he was looking at you like an animal. Deep down you knew she was getting into your head but your doubt on yourself was too much to argue with her.

“What? Cat got your tongue. Hm?” he snarls. He spreads your legs wide open as he lowers himself between them. He buried his nose between your wet folds and sniffed as he groaned. Look into your eyes.

“Jungkook!” a surprised scream left your lips as he slapped your wet pussy, hard. His palm inflated on your pussy as rubbed it painfully slowly.

“And leave my delicious cunt for someone else,” he bit your inner thigh, leaving his mark there.

You were gasping for air from his harsh treatment. He had never been this hard on you. And now when he is being hard, you crave it more.

Jungkook could feel your clit throbbing against his palm, hotly. “You like that, huh?” he bites again. “You like it when I bite you, huh? Such a fucking whore,” he spits on your cunt and wraps his lips around your clit and sucks it in his mouth, his tongue flat against your nub, playing with it.

Your back arches and fingers fist his hair and push him flush against your pussy. He works down and thrusts his tongue in your hot cunt, his big nose rubbing deliciously against your throbbing clit. “Please,” you don’t know what you are demanding.

“Shut up!” he snaps and slaps your clit, making your whole body shudder. You look at him wide-eyed. Jungkook has spanked your ass plenty of times but your pussy? Your eyes roll back as he lands another one, harder than the previous one. “Count.”

“Three… four,” you whine as he shoves his two thick fingers into your hole.

“Look at that,” he kissed your thigh as he watches his fingers in your cunt. “Your fucking cunt is swallowing my finger like the greedy cunt that it is.”

“Mmm,” you hummed as he groped your tit. He crawled up, his fingers still inside you, and sucks your other nipple. His soft hair brushes your chin. Your breath hitches and let out another moan as he slaps your dripping cunt again. “Five,” you whisper in his ear.

Your walls clenched around his fingers as he thrust them back. Knowing you were cumming, he removed himself from your trembling body.

“No!” you cry out loud at the loss of his touch. You were so close to coming undone but he ripped it apart.

His chest was pumping up and down with his laboured breath. You looked so fucking fuckable as you lay there covered in sweat and that needy fucking look in your sexy eyes.

He removed his boxer briefs and bunched them in his hand. “Open your mouth,” he orders. But you just gape at him like a damn fish. Already running low on patience, he squeezed your cheeks and stuffed them in your mouth.

Your fingers fisted the sheets. Everything was turning you on more and more. It felt like your body was on fire. And he was just fueling it more and more.

He pulled out your favourite pink fluffy cuffs. Pulling you in a seated position, he cuffed your hands behind you and pushed you back all while you shamelessly eyed his long, fat cock swinging with each and every move he made. A pearly bead of precum was shining on top. All you wanted to do was to lick and choke yourself on his length.

“I’ll make sure you never fucking forget that I will only fuck my slutty cunt,” he rubs hot length against your slit, making it wet and ready with your slick. He thrust his thick, angry pink head in your pussy and mercilessly fucks you.

Your bed bangs against the walls and makes a creaky noise. His cock hits deep inside you, fucking your spongy spot, making your toes curl and eyes water.

“Fucking, whore,” he growls. His thumb rubs tight circles of swollen clit and his other hand wraps around your neck. He chokes you just enough to make you lightheaded.

You moan loudly against his boxers as he fucks you into the mattress. You were already going half-dumb under his sinful spell.

“Look at you,” he taunts. “All whiny and dumb for me.”

His fingers were digging in your neck. You could feel all of his angry thrusts in you. He was hitting the spot with each of them. His breath was coming as wretched as yours. The sweat was beading down his hard chest and abs.

Jungkook removed his hand from your clit and neck, still inside you, he grabbed a cigarette and lit it. As he took a deep drag, he removed his boxers from your mouth and blew it in your mouth. He smirked as he felt your walls trembling around his length.

“Jung-,” your breath hitched and turned into a moan as he thrust back into you.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed. Your loud moans and his groans filled the room. “Fuck!”

He bent and squeezed your mouth open, “gimme your fucking tongue,” he rasped. You barely followed his order and he spat on your tongue. “Swallow.” Your eyes rolled back as you swallowed. Surprised by his lewd acts, you clenched around his length as you came all over his cock.

You gasp when he lands a slap across your face. It was not painful but just hot enough to make your cunt clench painfully around him. “Did I ask you to fucking cum?”

“N-no,” you whined.

Jungkook pulled out and manhandled you on your belly, pulling your hips up. His large hand pushed your face into the mattress, gripping by your hair.

“Then how dare you fucking come,” he moaned as he plunged back. “Fuck, your cunt is always ready to take my cock,” he rasp, spitting on his cock as he pushes back in.

His other hand holds the cuffs around your wrists, cigarette clutched between his fingers. “Daddy, please,” you moan and bite the sheets.

“Such a fucking slut, my whore,” he pulls your head back and spits on your face, smearing it and pushing his fingers down your throat as you choke on them.

His hand left the cuffs and brought the cigarette to his mouth and clutched it between his teeth and wrapped that hand around your neck, keeping you in place.

The drool was running down your chin to your breasts. He has never been this rough with you but fuck, you would poke him every day if he turned into this demon.

You turned your head to the side to look at his face. His hair was sticking to his face, his lips wrapped around the cigarette. He took a drag and blew it in your face. He was hot.

Your tongue licked his fingers and moved as if giving a blow job. A smirk pulled on his pretty face. He plastered your back to his hard front, removing his fingers, he tossed you back on your back.

“Open your mouth,” he said as he climbed on top of you and slapped your face with his heavy cock. He ran his pink head around your lips. You wrapped your lips around his swollen head and sucked it with hollow cheeks. You moaned around him, tasting yourself on his cock. He pushed it all into your throat, making you gag around him. He was all the way down your throat. He pinched your nose and fucked your mouth. You could taste his salty precum in your mouth.

With every second, his thrusts got sloppier. Your lungs burned with the lack of air. You thrashed under him.

“Fuck,” he moaned as the thick spurts of his cum started to hit the back of your throat. He pulled his cock out and pained your face with the rest of his cum.

He sat next to you and smeared his cum all over your face. You were so fucked, and coughing as you were finally able to breathe again. “Would I let myself cover that bitch in my cum? Fuck no.”

He brings the same hand down to your cunt and fingers your hole “or this?” he said and stumped the burning butt on the ashtray.

“Daddy,” you whimper.

“What?” still fingering your quivering pussy. “You thought this was over?” he scoffed and stood up.

From the drawer, he pulled out the lube and unclasped it. Pulling you by your legs, he brought you to the edge of the bed.

Pushing your legs apart, he bent you in half. Your knees were touching your chin. You could barely keep your eyes open. Your body jerked when he poured cold lube on your tight rim.

“Wha-” you began.

“Take whatever I give you,” he rubbed your rim with his fingers and slowly pushed them in. “So fucking tight,” he groaned. “Gonna fuck you so good, y/n, gonna fuck that shitty thought out of your fucking brain,” he scissors your tight hole. “Look at your cunt, I knew you were a fucking whore for me. You are dripping everywhere,” he runs his fingers across your sensitive cunt and bends down to suck your clit in his mouth as he helps you get used to his fingers in your ass.

When relaxed enough, he replaced his fingers with his cock. His blunt head pushed past your back hole. “Daddy!” you screamed at the intrusion.

“Yes, baby. Scream for Daddy. Beg me to fuck your hole full of my cum,” he sank more and more of his cock into you until his pelvis was touching your thighs, growlung. He pulled your legs around his shoulder and leaned down to capture your pointed nipple in his mouth, letting your hole ease around his length. “So fucking tight. Remind me to fuck you more here.”

“Fuck me!” you whimper, letting him know you were ready. Your loins were on fire.

Jungkook found it hard to keep his breath equal. He was just as ruined as you were. He finally pulled his aching cock slightly out then plunged it back inside with a forceful thrust. Slowly, he started to fuck you harder and harder.

Your mouth fell open, hot noises came out of your mouth. Your tits juggled with each sharp thrust. You had no thought left in your brain. If someone asked you your name, you wouldn't remember.

Jungkook looked at your juicy pussy and pushed his fingers, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Your back arched painfully and you let out a silent scream, clenching around his cock tightly, you came all over him.

His eyes were wide open as he looked at your cunt squirting over yourself and him. He slapped it, making you tremble with shocks running down your body.

His cock twitched in your hole, finally bursting and filling your asshole with his hot cum. He slowed his thrusts and slumped over your shivering body.

He had never come so much before. His own body was trembling with how hard he came into your hole. Your heartbeat was running wild against his ear, matching his own.

Your sight was to behold. Your face was covered with his cum and spit. Your makeup was running down your face. So fucked and beautiful. Your pussy and asshole was throbbing with how sensitive they were. Your cheeks, both face and ass, were red from the slapping and spanking.

Jungkook pulled his phone and took a picture of you so that he could show you just how fucked and gorgeous you looked when you were not dazed.

“Did you see what you just did?” he asked you, looking at your dazed, cum and spit-coated face. “Baby?” his eyes widened when he saw you breaking down.”

You surprised Jungkook and yourself by squirting. Now once in your whole life, you ever squirted. “Mmm,” too tired to speak. You just wanted to hug him close and cry, not because you were hurt but because you were overwhelmed with strong orgasms he pulled out of you. “Hands,” you whispered.

Jungkook quickly pulled out, making both of you hiss in sensitivity. He took the key and unlocked the cuffs from your back. Your wrists were red and bruised. The sheet underneath was torn by how hard you were clutching them. Jungkook pulled you into his lap and kissed your wrists.

You wrapped your arms around him and silently cried in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, baby. I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'm sorry,” kept repeating.

You pulled slightly and took his face between your hands. “I loved it,” you muttered around his lips. “I’m just overwhelmed and overstimulated, that's all.”

Chuckling, he kissed your lips. Your tongue tangled with his as he rubbed your back with a soothing hand. He then picked you up and brought you to the bathroom. “I would run you a bath but I can't wait to cuddle you, baby.”

He helped you under the warm shower and clean yourself. His gentle hands washed every part of your body. You flinched when he cleaned your pussy.

Soon, you were wrapped in a fluffy towel and sitting on the sofa chair in your room as Jungkook changed the sheets.

You both ruined the previous one completely. “Maybe we should keep them in memory of our first filthy fuck,” He joked but you knew he would indeed wash them and keep them in his closet.

Jungkook brought you to the bed and helped you under the blanket. He rubbed the ointment on your wrists, too, and gave you water and a little snack.

Cuddling you close to his chest, he lit another cigarette, kissed your shoulder and then your head. You both shared the cigarette back and forth while talking.

“Baby, never doubt my loyalty for you,” he muttered. “Why would I cheat on you? You are my part. My love. My heart. My soulmate. My freaky partner. My everything.”

You shifted in his hold, “I just— I don't know, she is so much better.”

Jungkook frowned, “the fuck not. She is not. You are! You are my woman, my wife. The most gorgeous, beautiful, magnificent, immaculate, majestic, marvellous woman ever.”

You giggled and hugged him tighter. Your body was still recovering from all the lewd things he did to you. “Promise me you will fuck me like this more often?”

Your husband laughed and tickled your sides. “Aren't you a dirty girl?”

“Only for you,” you kissed his chest.

“If I had known, I would have fucked you like today way before… and made you squirt…” he peppers your skin with kisses. Then he looked into your eyes with seriousness. “Tomorrow, the first thing I will do is to fire her, yeah? I don't want that bitch to work under my name. I won’t accept such behaviour. And she made you cry and doubt my love so she must suffer.”

You would ask otherwise but this one time, you won't mind. You don't want her to work for him either. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, baby…” he cuddled you even closer and dropped an innocent kiss on your lips as you slowly drifted away, letting the sleep overtake you.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

…..

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes @chimmisbae @demonshauntingthedoves

@jjkkkk15

Have a nice day/night💓

[allgirlsareprincesses]

Choosing the Beast: Modern Folklore Heroines Embrace the Animal Husband

“I choose the bear.” The refrain rang out across the web, with many a woman nodding in agreement or at least understanding, and certain men huffing with indignant outrage. Just a meme, really, but did it speak to a deeper truth? Is it merely age-old mistrust of patriarchy talking, or a true desire for the beastly, the wild, the untame?

I’m no sociologist, of course, but I have noticed an emerging trend in fem-gaze media that seems to reflect this view. In movies like I Am Dragon (2015) and recent shows like My Lady Jane and The Acolyte, the heroine chooses the beast, loving her animal husband in his wild form rather than requiring him to transform back into a mundane man to earn her affection. This is such a departure from the typical folktale pattern that it’s difficult to even find an historic example where this occurs.

Commonly thought to reveal the desire to tame a dangerous mate in a patriarchal society, most animal husband tales (ATU 425a) feature a hero who ultimately transforms permanently into a human. This is viewed not only as freeing him from the maddening effect of his wild form, but also saving his bride from committing the sin of bestiality. In these tales, the animal mate’s transformation is necessary for the salvation of both.

Is the modern heroine then damned by choosing her husband’s beastly form? Or does she actually free them both from the yoke of patriarchal expectations?

Bathing: Discovering the Wild Masculine

The first motif that stands out in these modern screen examples is bathing. In animal spouse tales, there is often a dynamic of the hunter and the hunted, and thus a moment when the hunter comes upon their would-be lover unawares. Perhaps they find the animal spouse sleeping, or they cast a light on them unexpectedly, see them without their animal skin or disguise, and so on. And of course, they often come upon the lover at their bath.

There is an implied eroticism in this discovery, finding one’s quarry not only undressed, but also in the most private of activities. Water of course symbolizes fertility, but bathing is also purifying, symbolically washing away all that might make a mate undesirable. And this, perhaps, is the reason that historically this motif is used almost exclusively for animal brides, not animal husbands.

For the animal husband, he either actively chooses to reveal himself to the bride (perhaps on their wedding night), or she violently strips away his disguise, often armed with “flame and steel” like Psyche and her many avatars. Animal brides on the other hand are nearly always discovered at a body of water, bathing. The hunter will then capture her either by stealing her animal skin or cloak, or by placing his own clothing on her. What does it mean, then, when it is the husband who is discovered bathing in a body of water, held as an erotic object in the feminine gaze?

In The Acolyte, Osha follows Qimir to a pool where he slowly undresses, in full knowledge that she is watching. On the shore, she steals his lightsaber, just like the hunter who steals the animal skin, symbolically claiming him. When he emerges, Qimir dons new clothes, as if acknowledging that he is a different person than before he entered the water, almost purified in a way. Osha is forced to confront that there is more to the murderer in the mask than she realized.

Similarly, in My Lady Jane, our heroine goes looking for Guildford just before sunrise on their ill-fated wedding night, only to discover him bathing in the stables. The scene is gratuitously filmed from Jane’s (very horny) perspective, flipping the script on the countless scenes in screen history shot with the masculine gaze. Immediately after she discovers and confronts him, Guildford transforms against his will into a horse, and Jane realizes that he is an Ethian, a creature she has been taught is demonic and unnatural.

And in I Am Dragon, Mira makes several discoveries in quick succession: first, she deduces that Arman is actually the dragon. In the next moment, she slips from the island’s peak and falls, saved only when Arman transforms at the last moment and breaks her fall with his dragon form. The water begins to wash over his unconscious body, and at first Mira thinks that she will allow him to drown. But the sight of Arman in his human form after he rescued her, worried over by his animal familiar, stirs her to pity and she wraps him in a sail and drags him to safety. In this way, she clothes him, claiming him as her own.

Each of these heroines discovered a new aspect of her husband at the bath, finding him unexpectedly alluring, and ultimately choosing to begrudgingly claim him. Each animal husband tried to wash away his beastly form, to separate himself from the wild masculine. These men feel a sense of disassociation from a part of themselves, but now that their brides have discovered it, there will be no more hiding. Further, the bride now holds the power in the relationship, evidenced by how her husband needs her: Qimir needs Osha to be his apprentice, Guildford needs Jane to help him “break the curse,” and Arman needs Mira to heal him from his wounds.

Playing House: The Half-Husband

The second feature of these stories is a period of domesticity for the couple. For a brief time after the husband’s beastly nature is revealed, the lovers “play house” like children. While sexual tension is present, they typically do not consummate their union during this time, but instead cook, eat, rest, and care for one another. What’s more, they ignore or even attempt to actively destroy the husband’s animal form. They deny that this is part of him and therefore part of their relationship.

In I Am Dragon, Mira heals Arman, and wakes the next morning to find he has left food for her (dragonfruit, appropriately). Together they begin building a home out of shipwreck debris they find scattered around the island. A cheery montage shows them decorating a living space, choosing clothes, playing music, and dancing. But the specter of Arman’s monstrous form lurks on the edge of their idyllic life. Mira has nightmares, and tells Arman how much she fears “the dragon,” notably not referring to them as the same person. And eventually, it emerges that Mira has been planning to escape, rejecting Arman’s dragon form entirely.

After he sheds the helmet and robes of The Stranger, Qimir turns his attention to caring for Osha: he heals her, lets her sleep in his bed, provides clothes, and cooks for her. In turn, after some lightsaber-wielding, Osha becomes more comfortable in his home and accepts the food he offers, eventually even trying on his helmet. Later, they bicker amiably on their way to Brendok, like an old married couple on a road trip. When not facing down Jedi, Qimir leaves his menacing persona behind and transforms into an empathetic, protective, and alluring partner.

Jane Grey, meanwhile, finds herself using her honeymoon sequestered away in a private cottage to try to cure Guildford of his Ethianism. With her knowledge of medicine, she concocts various potions and magical cures, but none of them succeed. Guildford often checks in on her after these disappointments, making sure she’s getting enough sleep and taking care of herself. It’s also clear that they’ve been regularly dining together when Jane suddenly dashes off to rescue her friend. Guildford follows her and the two protect one another, followed by an almost-tryst. Even when they move into the palace, their day-to-day (or rather night-to-night) life is one of comfortable domesticity, although they continue to deny Guildford’s horse form.

In each of these cases (although less so in The Acolyte without Season 2 to continue the story), playing house can only last for so long while the husband’s animal nature is denied. There is a part of him that is suppressed, rejected, and this leads to him being incomplete, a half-husband. Each hero is unable or unwilling to accept and celebrate his whole self with his bride. Eventually, it is that denial that leads to a rift between the couple, which can only be healed not with the transformation of the husband, but with the embrace of his animal form.

Enforcing Patriarchy: The Rival

Each of these relationships exists in direct opposition to the dominant culture in the story: Arman as the Dragon is the literal enemy of Mira’s people, Qimir as Sith is the enemy of Osha’s Jedi masters, and in My Lady Jane, intermarriage between humans and Ethians is punishable by death. By choosing to stay with their animal husbands, even for a brief time, our heroines are openly defying the patriarchal norms of their societies. But no oppressive society is about to take that transgression lying down. In each story, a rival emerges to enforce the patriarchal order, kill the beastly husband, and retrieve the bride.

In I Am Dragon, Mira’s betrothed and descendent of the dragon-slayer, Igor, journeys to rescue her from the dragon. Over the course of the story, it becomes clear that Igor cares nothing for Mira herself, and merely feels entitled to her as his bride. Dragon-slaying is his heritage, so he must find her, kill the dragon, and take his place as the hero of his people. Even the marriage ceremony illustrates his ownership of her: he takes hold of a rope tied to her boat and reels her in, thus binding her to the patriarchal order. Contrast that to Arman, who offers her the power of flight, a symbol for freedom.

In Osha’s case, Qimir’s rival for her loyalty is clearly Master Sol, who wants to keep his former pupil dependent on him and the Jedi. Sol takes patronizing fatherliness to an extreme, constantly rescuing Osha rather than letting her stand for herself, teaching her to deny her feelings and instincts, and lying to her to “protect” her. The Jedi refuse to allow that there might be any other way to access the Force than their own, thus invading the home of the Brendok witches and ultimately orphaning the twins. Sol continues to press this dominance to the end, challenging Qimir and insisting to Osha that his own lies were justified.

In My Lady Jane, there are two rivals, both women. Lady Frances attempts throughout the show to dominate her daughters and crush their wills, forcing them into unwanted marriages, applying political pressure, and even counseling Jane to abandon Guildford to save herself. The other rival is Mary Tudor, who is determined not only to emulate her father’s violent, oppressive, and misogynistic reign, but to crush anyone she considers “unnatural” or who poses a threat to her rule. These characters stand as clear examples of how women can enforce patriarchy, too.

In each story, there is a moment when the rival briefly recaptures or “rescues” the bride from her beastly husband, bringing her to a moment of decision: will she stay within the bounds of patriarchy like a good little girl? Or will she make an act of defiance to choose her own path?

Marriage: Choosing the Beast

The bride’s choice will ultimately decide not only her fate, but that of her mate as well. As an independent character, the wild masculine is deeply wounded, separated from himself and thus from his bride. He longs to transform not into a greater, more whole person, but into a lesser, half-person. Alone, without the embrace of his anima, he cannot see the value of his beastly form. Instead of healing, he faces annihilation.

As a part of the bride’s psyche, the beastly husband represents her innermost desires, the truth of her heart, and a spirit freed from the expectations of her society. He is her animus, her missing wild masculine. If she transforms him into a man, then she will tame his wild nature, bringing him to heel under the boot of the patriarchy. Choosing the human form and rejecting the beast means rejecting her own psychological needs. It would be just another form of psychic dismemberment.

Fortunately and unusually, each of these modern brides chooses her beastly husband without demanding he transform. When Osha finally agrees to become Qimir’s apprentice, she takes his hand under the willow tree, clasping the newly-bled lightsaber between them. A few scenes later, this wedding imagery is repeated when they hold hands over the saber again, this time looking into a sunrise/set. Notably, at the moment they “marry” under the willow tree, Qimir is wearing his beastly helmet with rows of menacing, wolfish teeth. He has not come to the light side or shed his Dark Side persona, but Osha has embraced him anyway without fear. And while they might not both be healed (yet), they are more whole together than they were apart.

When her efforts to cure Guildford of his Ethianism repeatedly fail, Jane begins to suspect that his “condition” cannot be cured at all. But listening to her Ethian friends Susanna and Archer finally convinces her that the truth is Guildford doesn’t NEED to be healed - being an Ethian is who he is, and it’s nothing to fear. Unfortunately, Guildford still associates his beastly form with his mother’s death, so he is unable to accept it as Jane encourages, and flees. After a near-death experience, he uses his equine speed to return to the castle just as Jane is deposed and captured. As our heroes battle toward the end, Guildford comes to learn that there are many other proud Ethians, and that his family loves and accepts him in any form.

Still, he’s unable to transform at will, and when Mary captures him and sentences both husband and wife to death, it seems their story may end in tragedy. But as Guildford has been struggling to accept himself, Jane too has been battling with her own conscience. Does she renounce Guildford to save herself? Use her wits to kill the guard and escape? Bend to her mother’s manipulation? Jane confronts each temptation, and ultimately chooses to face death rather than betray Guildford or herself. But when her Ethian friends (the wild instinct) appear to disrupt the execution, our heroine seizes the opportunity to rescue Guildford. Unable to free him from the burning pyre, she confesses her love for him, and they kiss amid the flames.

Fire is often a herald of transformation, burning away illusions to reveal the truth. And when Jane and Guildford exchange their vows in this symbolic marriage ceremony, Guildford’s fears and illusions are finally burned away. Now that his bride has accepted his beastly form, he can accept it too, and so he at last transforms at will into a horse so that they can escape. Their story ends with them married and whole before the sunrise.

Among our modern heroines, Mira is the boldest in her embrace of the beastly husband. Offered yet again as a bride to Igor, she realizes that this is not what she wants, and casts off the tether from her boat. She declares “I love the Dragon!” using the name of her husband’s animal form rather than his human name. Then, she sings the song that will call the dragon to her, and he appears to carry her away again.

But their story is not over yet! Earlier in the story, Arman told Mira of how he loses control when in dragon form, and that dragons are compelled to reproduce by burning maidens to death and retrieving their offspring from the ashes. Returning to the island with her a second time, the dragon drops her on the altar and prepares to spew fire, but Mira lunges up and kisses him. This act of love, even when he is a monster, stuns the beastly husband. Again, Mira declares her love and kneels before him, saying she does not wish to be parted. We might expect the animal husband to transform in this moment, but instead he lays his fearsome head in her lap as a lover. Their story ends with a child and a flight in the sky, silhouetted by the sun just like the other couples.

Each bride, when confronted with the option to return to the patriarchal limits of her childhood, chose instead an act of love and acceptance for her wild masculine. This embrace helped the beastly husband to accept his whole self, and he is healed without having to cut off the wild parts of himself.

What Does It Mean?

Again, this story is so rare in world folklore that it’s difficult to even find examples. On fleeting occasions that the woman chooses an untransformed beast, it is presented as a cautionary tale. These women are framed as a danger to the community for their bestial impulses and abandonment of the social order, much like witches who were said to consort with the devil. It was certainly never presented as a happy ending, insofar as we can tell from written accounts.

So what does the emergence of this tale mean for our culture? I would argue that this is just the latest step in our ongoing reckoning with historic gender roles, as well as renegotiating with other forms of systemic oppression. People of all genders are pressured to reject a part of ourselves, cutting us off from our own truth and desires that run counter to the enforced social order. We must not challenge patriarchy, must not embrace different gender expressions, must not blur established hierarchies of power, must not find joy and power in our identities, and so on.

This enforced denial does tremendous damage to everyone caught in the system, and so through story, we dream our way to escape. We dream of embracing the dark, wild parts of ourselves, of flying free on a spaceship or a dragon or enchanted horseback, and of being totally loved for who we are.

It’s clear patriarchy is still fighting back against this emancipation of the wild feminine and wild masculine, given that both The Acolyte and My Lady Jane were canceled not long after their release. In the case of The Acolyte in particular, there was a sustained campaign from its announcement to harass and silence the creators. Demoralizing as this phenomenon may be, it’s important to remember WHO ultimately owns these stories:

“Fanfiction is a way of the culture repairing the damage done in a system where contemporary myths are owned by corporations instead of owned by the folk.

-Henry Jenkins, NYT 1997

Ah, an oldie-but-goodie. But Dr. Jenkins is right. Corporations may greenlight, film, release, and then cancel these stories, but ultimately they belong to the people. We take from these tales what speaks to us, leave what does not, and then retell them ourselves in fanfiction, in art inspired by the stories, and in lessons we pass on to our friends and families. If the embrace of the wild masculine speaks to you, let the story take root in your own life. Do you know someone who needs to be embraced, just as they are? Do you need to accept the parts of yourself that society tells you to hate? Do you want to be free, healed, and whole?

If so, then let these stories show you how, and tell more like them. Embrace the beast, and find your joy.

Sources:

Beauty and the Beast Tales From Around the World by Heidi Anne Heiner

In Search of the Swan Maiden: A Narrative on Folklore and Gender by Barbara Fass Leavy

And a relevant song for you, as a treat:

Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D.

[night-dazai]

Demons Wife

“fuck …oh my ….” full lips pulled into a smirk while sharp fangs peeked out “You even made me curse, such naughty lady aren't you, “ he said while white-gloved hands roamed your body pulling at your nipples and thrusting a finger into your wet weeping cunt.

“Seb…seabass….” you tried but nothing but strangled moans left your mouth, you had no idea how long it had been since you were in this position.

7 months into your marriage with Sebastian to save you from being a slave, you thought Ceil and his butler were kind men who had saved you and little did you know. You would sometimes question your husband's actions and behaviour, but with his gentlemanly aura you never even thought for a second he could be a devil or anything even close to evil. ”y/n we got married too soon, it might be a shock for you my dear, “ he said softly gloved hands creasing yours “Let's get to know each other and maybe one day we can consummate this marriage “ his smile angel like you could not thank god enough for such a caring and loving husband. In the 7 months, you guys would go on cafe dates and night outings cause that's when he was mostly free from his butler work. Holding hands after 2 months and kissing after 5 months broke it for you. You were sure you could give everything of yourself to him. “Sebastian, we can consummate this marriage, “ you said a month ago while you were out for a walk after dinner. His red eyes widened for a second and were soon replaced by a kind smile “Don't force yourself, love, it will be hard “ he said squeezing your hand reassuringly “But “you said stopping him “I want it to be you “You looked up dead in his eyes” I want you to take my virginity and all of me… I give it to you “ you said giving your hand to him. His red eyes looked at you quietly for a second before he got on his knees took your hands and kissed them “Your wish is my command y/n” he said smiling. You thought his eyes became darker for a second or maybe you were dreaming. But after the confession, your gentle husband made it his mission to get you accustomed to his touch, and light makeouts which left you panting for air.

“y/n I would like it if you looked at me more “ he said taking your hands which covered your tear-tainted face which was bright red. You looked up at him “Beautiful “ was all you could think but soon you pouted and turned your head to the side “No..not fair “ you said softly.

He chuckled kissing your jaw” What's not fair love ?” he asked innocently, you were sure he knew what it was. You lay naked and vulnerable on the bed while he was still fully clothed. You pulled at his shirt, chuckling at your cuteness “My my of course what is this rude behaviour of mine “ he said and moved back removing each piece of clothing with deliberate calculations and making sure you got a full show of him doing it.

“Now things are just going to get more rude “ he said pushing you back to the bed. The dimly lit room had both your shadows on the wall while some of the candles near your bed flickered a little due to the tension in the room.

That was when you noticed it fully, red eyes, fangs ready to draw blood and the smile of the devil, a shadow deep and darker than hell your husband smiled down on you creasing the side of your check “It will hurt, we have all the time so we can go slow okay “.

It was not a question, it was an order, telling you nothing will stop him. You have heard many call your wedded partner a devil and there were many questionable things that you have seen but …..” does it matter ?”.

Smiling you opened your arms wide “If you are going to hell or even if you are hell ..take me …”. That when the realisation hit you “I knew …… did not accept it “ you said “Claim me “

You did not know what effect your words had on him but his actions stopped, his dick right at your entrance while he stared into your eyes “Do…do you even know the meaning of the things you said ? What if I am a sinful being and ..not even human ?” he asked softly but there was no gentleness in it “that has nothing to do with me . You are my husband “you said still smiling like a child at a candy store.

The demon's red eyes flashed a dangerous red but collected himself he smiled, face filled with nothing but love “You surely will drive me crazy one day before that whiny master of mine does “ he said chucking and as you both were busy laughing his shaft moved right into you in one thrust.

Your back arching completely off the bed, air completely out of your lungs and eyes rolled back you held on to his shoulders for your life. Kissing your exposed neck, the devil smiled biting it, making you moan and yelp in pain and pleasure “All mine “ eyes red as fire and shadow darker than hell … The devil claimed his wife ………….

I always had a soft spot for the demon butler and also wanted one for myself ..but @chooyahh reminded me of my old lover. Thank you for that!💕

[gingerteafairy]

𝑬𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

"Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

tags n warnings: smut, obsession, ghost sex, heavy angst, vampire, cursing, death, blood, devotion, praise kink, fingering, oral, piv. word count: 5k

@ikkyfics thank you for making me post this and not hiding it on my virtual shelf, you deserve the world <3

Friedrich Harding’s anguished cries tore through the air, echoing across the desolate countryside. The sound was primal, raw—a lament that seemed to pierce even the heavens. Strong hands gripped his arms, restraining him as he thrashed against them, desperate to reach the coffin that housed his beloved wife. His wife. The one who had once been his anchor in a chaotic world. But those who truly knew Friedrich understood a deeper truth—his devotion to her paled in comparison to his adoration for you. For you, he had defied every societal expectation, every unwritten rule. Now, his world lay shattered before him.

Despite the lingering fear of the plague that had claimed her, he yearned to hold her one last time, to press her lifeless form against his chest and plead for the impossible.

“Friedrich, stop this madness!” Sievers barked, his voice tinged with both command and desperation as he struggled to contain the grieving man. Harding’s fists swung wildly, his face twisted in despair. The crowd watched in stunned silence, their expressions a mixture of pity and disdain. Mothers shielded their children’s eyes from the spectacle, while fathers stood grim-faced, their silence betraying their discomfort. Children whispered questions to their parents, too young to grasp the depth of the tragedy unfolding before them.

“Release me! I command you to release me!” Friedrich roared, his voice a storm of grief, his blue eyes brimming with tears that fell freely down his face.

“Friedrich, enough!” Hutter pleaded, his grip tightening as he tried to restrain his friend. “This will not bring her back! You must—”

“No!” Harding’s voice cracked as he wrenched free from their grasp, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he turned to Thomas. “She was everything, Thomas! Everything I had. God help me, what am I to do now? What is left of me? Damnation! Damnation upon this cruel fate!”

He collapsed to the ground, his body trembling as he crawled toward the coffin, his shaking hands reaching for the cold wood that separated him from her. But Thomas intervened, pulling him back into a firm embrace.

“Friedrich,” Thomas murmured, his voice soft yet insistent, “you must find strength. Look at me. Look at me.”

Thomas cupped Friedrich’s face, his hands rough and calloused, yet gentle as they held the face of a man utterly undone. The dark hollows under Harding’s eyes spoke of sleepless nights, of relentless grief that gnawed at his very soul.

“I can’t, Thomas,” Friedrich whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “She was my life. How can I go on living when my heart is buried with her?”

“Friedrich,” Sievers began, stepping forward cautiously, “I did not know your wife well, but I am certain she would have wanted you to find happiness again. Life does not end here. One day, you may find love again—”

The doctor’s words were cut short by a vicious punch that sent him stumbling backward. In a flash, Friedrich was upon him, gripping his collar with a ferocity that belied his weakened state.

“Curse you, Sievers,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with fury. “How dare you speak of love to a man who no longer has a heart? Insolent doctor! You know nothing of my torment.”

Thomas and the others rushed forward, pulling Friedrich away as he sagged against them, his strength finally failing. His body, ravaged by exhaustion and starvation, could fight no longer.

By the time they returned to his estate, Friedrich was a shadow of himself. He sat in silence, his eyes empty, his face devoid of the fire that had once animated it. He stared into the void as though nothing in the world could reach him now. Even if the earth had split open before him, he would not have flinched. He was a man as dead as his wife, his soul entombed alongside hers.

"Promise me you'll be well," Thomas pleaded as he stepped down from the carriage, his voice wavering as he struggled to maintain his composure. His eyes, heavy with worry, searched his friend’s hollowed face. "Promise me you'll eat, care for yourself. Do not fade away, Friedrich."

Harding did not respond. He merely turned, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his grief, and walked toward the door of his home. There was only one solace left to him—the fragile hope of seeing you in his dreams. To escape into a world where you were still alive: radiant, healthy, untouched by the horrors of the plague. There, you would be free, unburdened by the cruel fate that had stolen you away.

Later, cradling a glass of brandy in trembling hands, Friedrich lay upon his bed. The liquor did little to dull the sharp edges of his sorrow. His body shook with silent sobs as he closed his eyes, desperate to summon even the faintest memory of you—your touch, your voice, a fleeting whisper of your essence.

A scream tore through the silence.

He woke with a jolt, his sweat-soaked hair clinging to his brow, his breath hitching in panic. The room spun around him, and then he saw you.

You stood beside the bed, bathed in pale moonlight that streamed through the window. The white gown he had chosen for your burial clung to your form, pristine and ethereal. You were unblemished, untouched by disease, impossibly beautiful—more luminous than you had ever been in life. To him, you were divine, a vision too perfect to be real.

For a moment, he was paralyzed. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Fear and longing warred within him. If he moved, if he dared to reach for you, would you vanish? Was this some cruel trick of his shattered mind?

"My heart," you whispered, the words ghosting across the room.

Before he could react, you faded into the shadows, dissolving into the night as though you had never been there.

Friedrich collapsed onto the mattress, his body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as a guttural, muffled scream tore from his throat, buried into the pillow to escape the ears of the empty house. The pain was unbearable, clawing at his soul, leaving him raw and broken.

The next morning, he awoke to frantic knocking at the door. The sun was high, its rays spilling harshly through the curtains, though it brought no warmth to the bleakness inside him. Disheveled and barely able to stand, Friedrich stumbled toward the door.

Thomas stood there, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide with dread.

"Friedrich. This is... it’s terrible," Thomas choked out, his voice trembling as his fingers combed through his disordered hair.

"What has happened, Thomas?" Friedrich demanded, though his voice was hoarse and distant, his mind still clouded by the haunting vision of you.

"Sievers," Thomas whispered, his hand instinctively covering his mouth as if to trap the horrifying words before they could escape.

"What about Sievers? Speak plainly!" Friedrich snapped, irritation flaring as the ache in his head throbbed from the brandy. "Thomas, what is it?"

Thomas hesitated, his voice low and filled with a grim finality. "Sievers is dead. He was found this morning... his chest torn open. His heart—" Thomas paused, his voice cracking. "His heart was removed."

The words struck Friedrich like a physical blow. He stumbled back, collapsing into the armchair behind him. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his temples. Memories of the night before flooded his mind, your whisper echoing like a ghostly refrain.

“My heart.”

It couldn’t be real. It was madness, surely. Yet the coincidence was too stark, too chilling to dismiss. His thoughts spiraled. Could it have been you? No. Impossible. And yet... Sievers had spoken of finding another, dared to suggest that love could replace the irreplaceable. Perhaps this was divine retribution—or something darker.

"Friedrich! Friedrich!" Thomas’s urgent voice pulled him from his reverie. The friend’s hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him gently as if to rouse him from the stupor.

Friedrich’s eyes cleared, a strange light igniting within them. He rose abruptly, pacing with a frenetic energy that had been absent for days.

"Call Von Franz," he muttered, his voice low but commanding.

"What?" Thomas blinked, taken aback by the unexpected request.

"Von Franz," Friedrich repeated, his tone sharper, almost desperate. "Summon him at once. That lunatic priest may know something—or I may be mad to even consider it. But summon him, Thomas!"

Without waiting for a reply, Friedrich strode toward his room, his steps hurried and unsteady. He needed to prepare. If there was even the faintest chance that Von Franz held the answers to this nightmare, Friedrich would face him. Hatred or no, he would endure anything to uncover the truth.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his hollow eyes scanning the face that no longer felt like his own. With deliberate precision, he splashed cold water on his face, the droplets clinging to his skin as if they could wash away his torment. A smile curled on his lips, unnatural, strained—then erupted into a jagged, manic laugh. His reflection in the mirror mocked him, a fractured visage of sanity, twisted by grief.

"Ah, my love," he murmured, his voice trembling as his fingers brushed the surface of the mirror, tracing a line over his own reflection. "You change me, even in death." His hand fell to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his coat as though he could rip his own heart out. "My heart… It belongs to you, always."

With newfound resolve, Friedrich shed his clothes, stepping into a bath as if it were a sacred rite. The water lapped at his skin, cleansing not only his body but the remnants of his despair. He emerged renewed, obsessed, his every movement deliberate as he trimmed his beard and dressed himself in his finest attire. His appearance was immaculate, a mirror of the man he had been on his wedding day.

When Von Franz arrived at the residence, the pastor, startled by Friedrich’s transformation, dropped his glass of wine. The shards scattered across the floor, but Von Franz’s gaze remained fixed on the man before him, his face pale as though he were staring at a ghost.

"By night, I sought him whom my soul loves," the pastor recited, his voice trembling with unease. "I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but I found him not."

The verses fell from Von Franz’s lips as if they were a prophecy, words carried by something beyond him. Friedrich stood still, each syllable piercing him like a dagger, his jaw tightening as the pastor's voice resonated deep within his chest.

"I must tell you something," Friedrich began, his voice low, commanding the attention of both Von Franz and Thomas. They moved cautiously toward the table where candles flickered, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit room. The once-bustling household was eerily quiet, the absence of servants amplifying the oppressive atmosphere.

Von Franz broke the silence, his voice a mix of awe and warning. "Your devotion echoes through eternity, Herr Friedrich." He studied the man before him, a shadow of the grieving figure from the day before, now alight with a dangerous fervor. "But it is selfish."

"Let it be," Friedrich replied sharply, striking the table with his fist before withdrawing his hand to retrieve a cigar from his coat. Lighting it with a flick of his lighter, he took a slow drag, the smoke curling around him as he spoke again. His tone softened, but his determination was unyielding. "Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

Von Franz’s voice grew urgent, his hands pressing against the table as though he could anchor himself to reality. "This is perilous, Herr Friedrich. You toy with forces beyond comprehension. Death is the final vow—'til death do you part.' To defy it…"

Friedrich interrupted with a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. "Something as absurd as death cannot separate me from my beloved." He exhaled a stream of smoke, his head tilting back as he closed his eyes. The faintest sensation brushed against his chest—soft, velvety, unmistakable. His breath hitched. "Ah, my love… Do you approve of my words?"

Von Franz stumbled backward, his wide eyes fixed on Friedrich as the air around him grew thick and heavy. He reached for Thomas, pulling the young man close as they both watched in horror.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.” Your haunting voice tantalized Von Franz and Thoma’s ears, but delighted your beloved ones, hearing every word slipping from your icy and dry lips, rough against the warm soft cheek of him. 

From the shifting shadows, your form began to materialize. Von Franz’s voice faltered, barely audible. "Impressive…" he muttered, though his face betrayed the terror rising within him.

Thomas’s mouth fell open, his voice shaking. "This… this cannot be real."

His words trailed off as your ethereal hands appeared, their ghostly outline pressing gently against Friedrich’s chest. His head fell back further, his body convulsing with an eerie ecstasy.

Von Franz’s composure broke entirely. He yanked Thomas’s arm, dragging him toward the door. "We must leave. Now!" he hissed, his voice frantic. "If you wish to keep your heart beating in your chest, boy, then we must flee this place!"

Friedrich's grin turned wickedly amused as he closed the space between you intentionally this time. “Oh, my love. Be careful what you wish for.”

“I never play when it comes to what I want,” he muttered, swallowing hard as your fingers curled slightly into the fabric before reaching his arms. “And I want you, my muse.”

As he spoke, his eyes darkened, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he regained control. “You have something I've been searching for and found in you” he continued, as if sensing his sudden vulnerability. He placed his hand on your waist with a delicate yet firm grip, guiding you into a slow, intimate dance across the room. “Something to wish for. You made me feel something…”

His movements were measured and graceful, leading you effortlessly as if he already knew every step of the dance. “Something?”

“Passion.”

Your hand seemed to tremble. For the first time, you felt like your words ran away from your thoughts. Something unexpected in your movement as you gently lifted back up. “You're not sure of what you're saying, Friedrich. I don't…”

"If you don't want this," Friedrich cut, swallowing hard, navigating the labyrinth of his own courage, "then why does your body say otherwise?"

"I’ve learned not to trust what my body says," you replied, but your wrist didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in, your fingers brushing the stray strands from his face with a tenderness that belied your words.

"Then listen to mine," Friedrich urged, stepping closer, pressing your hand against his chest. His heart raced beneath your touch, a frantic rhythm betraying the calm he tried to maintain.

There was something about Friedrich Harding—a tempestuous allure that made falling for him feel as deep as the ocean and as electrifying as the crackle of thunder before a storm.

His fingers lingered at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his touch sending an unspoken message straight to your heart. “You’re my wife, my woman, the only one I love. God spare me from my own sinful behavior through this sick pleasure.” 

“Would love be a pleasure?” you asked, your voice soft as your eyes locked with his. He studied your face for a moment before speaking.

“Perhaps the worst of them,” he admitted, turning his attention back to the fire’s flickering light. “I’ve avoided love at all costs since the last time I fell. And then you came along—wild, untamed, like the very flames in this hearth. I knew getting close to you wouldn’t end well for my… redemption.”

“Redemption?” you echoed.

“Indeed,” he murmured, leaning toward you, supported by his arm. “But it seems I’ve never learned to control myself when it comes to love. Lust, perhaps, but passion—grand, classic, all-consuming passion—never. You're my everything.” 

His voice, low and velvet-soft, broke the silence. "Make me yours again, my love.” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. 

"You’d have the world at your feet... but I'm afraid I only offer darkness." Your voice came out faint, clinging to him, the warmth of his body anchoring you. 

"You don't have to offer anything but yourself," he replied, his voice trembling slightly, but full of resolve. "And I choose you.”

With his fierce determination, his hands tightened on your waist with a strong reverence, crushing you against him as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with your own. 

He poured every ounce of his feelings into that kiss, the way you had consumed his thoughts and dreams.

His hands roamed over your back, mapping out the curves and contours of your body in that gown, committing every dip and swell to memory. He slid one hand up to tangle in your hair, gripping the locks and tilting your head back to give him better access to the sensitive skin of your neck. 

His heart raced, pounding against his ribs like a drum as he lost himself in the taste and feel of you, the softness of your cold lips and the heat of his tongue.

“Touch me, Friedrich.” You whispered panting as your lungs felt the breathing of life again, curling your fingers on his neckline. “Feel my heart. Even when I'm dead, it beats for you. Strong and hard for I love you more than everything to overcome death itself.”

He pressed his hand against your chest, squeezing painfully the soft flesh on his palm, feeling the frantic pounding of your heart beneath his palm, the way it raced and leapt at his touch. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, a sudden, overwhelming emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"God," he whispered, his voice breaking on a sob, "I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. You're everything to me, everything I've ever wanted and everything I know I don't deserve."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours once more, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to regain control over his emotions. He could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, but he didn't care, not with your arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

“Make love with me, Friedrich.” you begged as the cold tears fell, cupping his strong face in your hands. “Take me the way only you know how. Make me feel alive, let your blood boil in my veins as you make me yours because I can't stand any other night without you, Friedrich.”

His heart leapt at your desperate plea, covering your hand with his own, turning his head to press a fervent kiss to her palm before tangling their fingers together. “I love you so much it feels like I can't breathe or sleep without you, I need you to survive.” 

He took your face in his hands and slightly pulled your hair back so his nose could longer on your neck, breathing in your essence that remained intact even among the light aroma of earth and ashes with the lilies placed with you in the coffin.

“You're my everything.” He shivered, sobbing, biting your flesh, sinking his teeth, leaving his strong mark, his saliva mixing with his tears that fell every time he realized that you were there with him. “Everything.”

He captured your lips in another searing kiss, hands sliding down to grip your thighs, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you towards the house, to the known love nest. 

He laid you down gently on the bed, his body covering yours, his hips nestled between your spread thighs. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of your locks splayed out across the mattress, skin glowing in the dim light of his bedroom.

Slowly, reverently, he slid his hands under the hem of your gown, pushing it up and over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He drank in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over the swell of her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples straining on the cold air of the night.

He leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft, sensitive skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you as he gripped on your breast as his anchor, pushing him back to reality, his thumbs brushing over the nipples, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Please, Friedrich. I need you, I'm begging, please.” You sobbed, choking on your own passion as you desperately searched his face in your hand, nipping the bottom lip as you tied him with your thighs. 

"Then you shall have it, my queen," he whispered before closing the distance, his kiss deep and unyielding, as though sealing a pact written in the shadows of the room.

He held you tighter, his hand now resting firmly on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. The words you had spoken hung between you, a weight neither of you could ignore. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt like it was balancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

He slid his hand up your thigh, cupping the heat of your sex. He groaned at the feel of you, already so wet and ready for him, his fingers slipping easily between your folds.

“How is it possible?” He demanded, light headed with the feeling of his beloved intimate again, he could search in all the places, he couldn't find the one who pleased him this way. 

“You're giving me life, Friedrich.” You whispered, arching your back at the travel your husband is. Loving, intense, belonging. 

He slid a finger inside you, then two, pumping them slowly, letting you adjust to the new-old sensation. “God, how I missed you.” he groaned, curling them just so, rubbing against that special spot deep inside that made you see stars. “Missed your touch, missed your laugh, your moans, your cunt. The way you moan my name, oh… everything, yeah, keep moaning for me. Please, darling. Say my name just once more, can you?”

“Oh, Friedrich.” You moaned, curling your toes as your heart beated and you felt your pleasure slip on his knuckles with your peak. 

He leaned down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your stomach. He looked up at you, his blue eyes blazing with love and desire and a fierce, unbreakable connection. 

“Say you want me to claim you, to fill you, to make you a part of me in every way possible.” he demanded miserably, panting on your stomach, digging his fingers on your hips. “Say my name, tell me I'm not out of my senses and you are here with me. Say you need my sex deep as you crave life again as my seed overflows on your delicious inside.” 

“I want you, please. I want everything more than anything in this world or next. Fill me.” you whimpered, forking your hands on his locks, pressing him against you, grinding your arousal on his chest. 

He sighs, running his hands down your thighs, as well as his face that camped on your core, inhaling the essence and feeling an immense desire to cry at the touch of his tongue on your sensitive nerve, taking in every note of your taste.

He sank there, never wanting to leave, he just wanted to please you with his entire being, to adore you, swirling his tongue in the exact places you loved, because Friedrich knew you like the back of his hand, you were an open book to him, he deciphered all your secrets and dreams.

Everything you loved, his tongue in your canal, at the entrance, swirling on your clit and taking it all in to suck the little spot and leave a soft kiss.

“Frid, Frid, my love.” you called, sensing your approaching orgasm, you patted his head, his answers delayed by his fixation on your cunt. 

He swallowed the remaining taste, lifting his face lazily and meeting your eyes. “I love your taste.” he whispered, settling himself between your thighs, the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your slit. “but I love being inside you even more.”

With that, he thrust forward, sheathing himself inside you. He groaned at the feel of your pussy so tight and perfect around him, it was made just for him, to wrap the way he wanted. 

Then, he began to move, his hips rocking against you in a steady, sensual rhythm, foreheads together to hear every moan, purr and whimper from you. He kept his thrusts slow and deep, wanting to savor every moment, every inch of you. 

His hands slid up your sides, cupping the soft, supple curves of your breasts, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he lost himself in the feel of you. He knew he would never get enough of this, of you, of the way you made him feel alive. 

“You're my life, darling.” He panted, deepening the sway of his hips, capturing your lips. “If it's necessary to be dead to be with you everyday like this, I'd sell my soul for just a moment. Take everything you need. Take everything from me.”

“As you wish, my love.” You whimpered, your moans becoming even higher as you craved your teeth on his neck on his pulsing point as a thin amount of blood flowed to your mouth. “Oh, God. You taste so good. Oh, fuck. You… Darling, uhmm…”

“Fuck, take it. Take more. Take every drop of me, love.” He begged, nuzzling his nose on your neck to mark you as you licked the remaining blood salty with his sweat. “Come on my cock while you suck me with your pretty cunt and your teeth. Take my soul.”

He could feel you starting to tremble, your body tensing and tightening as your climax approached. He doubled his efforts, his thrusts growing harder and faster, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he drove into you.

"Come for me, my heart," he urged, his voice a low, desperate growl, licking your bloody face. "Come on my cock, my queen. Let me feel you, all of you, now and forever.”

“Frid. AH!” The sound of your scream, raw and filled with ecstasy, pushed him over the edge. He groans,  burying himself to the hilt inside you as his own release overtook him.

"Fuck," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the bedroom. "I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming so hard! Take it, darling."

He pulsed and throbbed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your womb as he held you tight, crushing you against his chest. He could feel every clench and flutter of her walls around him, milking him for every last drop as you rode out the aftershocks.

He could feel his body growing weak, prolonging that orgasm as he gave the last thrusts, his eyes turning blank and the grip loosening. 

"Frid... Frid, my love." You cried out, watching him smile weakly, his eyes nearly fading. Desperate, you stood up and slapped his face gently against your chest. "Frid. Friedrich. Friedrich, answer me!" you sobbed, cradling his nearly lifeless body in your arms, your tears falling heavily.

"It will be over soon..." he whispered, his hands weakly resting on your back, pulling you closer. "Soon I’ll... be with you... my love... Eat my heart, and you can live with our daughters."

"How? What do you mean, my Frid?" You shouted, gasping, as life slowly drained from him.

"Wasn’t that how you... came to me? By eating Sievers' heart?" He coughed and gasped for air, his lungs sinking from the lack of oxygen. "That's what Von Franz thinks... he knows about it. You trusted him before me... I didn’t believe in you..." 

"No..." You trembled, your eyes wavering as you turned his face towards yours, gazing into his pale blue eyes, already touched by death. "It wasn’t like that, Frid. You brought me back. Your love brought me here. I manifested because of you. I can fix it. I know I can, we can live forever."

You bite your wrist, but nothing came, your blood was dry. You tried to rip your ribcage to get your heart and make him eat, but you weren't strong enough.“No… no…” you gasped

“I've always admired you. You always did your best to make me live comfortably, made me feel a king, love.” He gave a soft laugh, his body moving slightly with it. "I'm glad... I could do something… I'll love you forever" he murmured, finally succumbing to eternal peace.

“And I'll love you always, Frid.” You sobbed, holding his lifeless body in your arms, rocking back and forth as you sang a soft lullaby, the weight of your sorrow deepening, while your body slowly disintegrated, returning to dust and slipping back into your coffin.

In honor of Friedrich's love, Thomas crafted a grand coffin, large enough for both of you. They carefully prepared his body and placed it comfortably in the wooden vessel, where your hands were intertwined with his, bound together for eternity.

[r0-boat]

Defile

Whb!AsmodeusxGn!Reader

Happy Halloween, and enjoy this sinful fanfiction

Cw: Corruption, primal, predator/prey, breeding, mind control, womb tattoo(what's the gender-neutral term for that), Heat, religious play, CNC, Asmodeus yaps a lot, aftercare

You kneel at the end of the sanctuary your hands clasped together As you pray in the dead of night. As the rest of your brothers and sisters at the monastery slumber, You had woken up early dreaming of sin, pools of blood red eyes staring into your very soul as you feel hands grasp and touch you in ways the Lord will not permit.

You had been plagued with sinful thoughts and dreams for a while now. So you pray hoping that someone would answer your prayers, and you'll be free from temptation.

But in the ivory halls of the church, with nothing but the light of the Moon and the candles lit around the altar to keep you company. Little did you know you were not alone. A darkness more sinister stalks closer. The candle sticks that littered the Sanctuary blow out one by one starting from the entrance when the doors creeped open.

You didn't open your eyes And one by one each candle blows out all around you. You did not open your eyes until you smelled the smoke. The only candles that were still lit were the ones around the altar. You thought as though the wind must have blew them out.

Your eyes adjusting to the dark as you squint looking around for an opened window or door that you are not aware of that could have caused the candles to go out. Your eyes peer into the blackened void behind you. You could almost feel at stare back.

That's when you heard it.

"well well well, What do we have here. A little lamb astrayed from its flock?"

It bellowed. Echoing throughout the entire chamber, your heart quickens as you lose your balance from the shock, falling from your knees to your bum. Your eyes widen as they dart throughout the room, But all you could see was the same inky darkness that not even the moonlight could pierce.

"W-who are you?" Your voice cracks the only words you can manage to get out.

The figure finally steps into what little light that could reach into the monastery. Long pitch black hair his naked figure covered by a single white silk robe ironic for what he was. Chains and barbed vines around his arms and legs and his piercing red eyes with a single yet unmistakable curled horn.

There was no mistaken of what he was. Your breath shakes your whole body shakes. Grasping the gold pendant around your neck You scoot away.

The demon chuckles. "Don't be afraid dear human, I promise I'll take good care of you." The way that word rolled off the tongue made you shiver. You didn't want to know what he meant by that.

"You're not supposed to be here!" You call out

"This is a house of God! You are not welcome devil!"

The red-eyed monster grinned, his smile wide and sinister, flashing his fangs. He let out a deep chuckle. "Your God will not protect you." He smiles. You can hear shackles on his arms and legs shake as he stalks closer. That sinister smile seems to grow wider and wider.

"Do you think you're pathetic little prayers will keep the incarnate of Lust away from what he has claimed. Look into my eyes prey you know who I am..."

As the being gets lower to your level, his claws scratch against the marble tiles as he practically crawls toward you. Eyes full of longing and hunger. Getting so dangerously close, you could smell a sweet temptation coming from him.

They warned warned you about him; One of the seven deadly sins.

Asmodeus.

He didn't have to hear you say it because he could see it in your eyes The delicious fear. He could hear every pump of your heart getting faster and faster And of course you reeked of desire. Pretty virgin things like you always made the most delicious of prey.

"I can smell that you crave for me." He growls.

Your heart practically stopped; that sentence alone finally made your feet move, scampering on the ground before taking off. All you hear was a laugh echoing through the halls as you keep running.

You could hear him coming for you his heavy breath the footsteps behind you that sound less and less human and more like a pack of hungry wolves.

You didn't look back; you didn't dare to. You could already hear how close he was and that he was gaining. Your lungs burned as you pushed as hard as you could. You could only reach outside in the courtyard, the moonlight showing his full figure before he tackled you to the ground, his whole body weight bringing you down.

Using his entire strength, Asmodeus forces you to the ground. You are at his mercy as you try desperately to fight him. You swore you felt drool dripping on your skin when he buried his nose into your neck, deeply inhaling your scent.

"perfect, simply perfect. I've been watching you for a while. And now that you're underneath me, You are far better than I ever could have imagined." His breathy voice tickled your ear as you delicately felt his claws and fingers around your neck. Your heart dropped as you felt a bulge in his clothes pressing against your pajamas. You try to squirm out of his grip, anything to get out, but you are trapped, caged in his arms, back pressed against his chest.

"your ass grinds against me, mate; You're so eager for me to claim you as mine." He sneered. His claws were ripping and shredding through your clothes as if they were paper.

Treating you like a mir doll for his amusement. Asmodeus flips you over, holding your arms together with his big hand.

"Yes, let me see you, let me see my new bride." He purrs. His eyes rolling over you like a piece of meat.

Your struggling was cute, It highlighted how much bigger and stronger he was compared to you but he began to grow tired of your useless attempts at freedom. He likes his mates 'willing' after all.

He let out another animalistic purr pressing his tongue against your collarbone looking up your neck as his other hand presses down on your lower stomach.

You felt heat underneath his palm a sweet pleasurable heat burning into your core when he lifts his palm a mark appears and its place.

That warmth from your core begins to spread all over your body. Places where he has touched, bit, licked, or sucked, begin to tingle all the way down to your core.

Asmodeus watches with a pleasant grin as his influence slowly takes over your body. He presses harder against you, his skin against yours. All he was doing was touching you, yet you felt so sensitive—that little warmth beginning to grow hotter and hotter as It became increasingly harder to think. The demon above you begins to explore your body with his hand and his tongue, licking and groping every part he can, feeling up his new favorite toy.

"Good human, become nice and obedient for me. Feel your mind slip away and become mine." His voice seems to echo in your mind; you feel it with your whole body, sending ripples of pleasure throughout.

Asmodeus, lets go of your wrists. Finally, you have a chance to escape, but your body has other plans: staying underneath him, obedient and ready.

Knowing that your body has completely submitted to him, the devil leans backward, unveiling his cock hard and throbbing, his balls swollen. "Come to me, human, come serve your new male. Prepare him for breeding." He moans, His hand squeezing his shaft with one lazy pump before cupping his balls.

His voice echoes in your mind and you obey him without question. The more you resist the deeper you fall.

As your mouth begins to drool at the sight of his dick. You crawl forward on your hands and knees. He watched in delight to your tiny hand wrapping around his demon cock before taking it in your mouth.

His natural musk, sweet yet woody fills your nose All you want to do is bury your face into him and ride him till the sun comes up. Your own drool runs down his shaft using it as lube to pump his cock with your hand while you struggle to take it deeper.

Despite your eagerness to please him, your movements were that of a virgin; he could smell that you were turned on by this, Even if you are under his influence. He plays with his jet-black hair idly, His teeth sinking into his lip. The desire to corrupt you with his demonic seed grows with every bob of your empty little head.

With a wave of his finger for you to stop, you obey like an obedient dog in heat; His cock is coated with your saliva, and your mouth drools from the taste of his pretty cock in your mouth. Asmodeus smirked as he crawled back on top of you with one hand. He parts your your thighs, preparing to sink inside you.

"I've had enough waiting, I'm going to breed you like the sow you are." Asmodeus growled

You arched your back as his cock filled you up just right. Putting your legs over his shoulders as he pressed his entire body weight down onto you. He didn't wait for a moment because if he did, you would be screaming and begging him to move.

With every slam of his hips the symbol on your core begin to glow brighter and brighter.

At that moment, your mind was not yours. It belonged to the man claiming you, but you could still feel it begin to change and warp with every thrust. His cock hits the deepest parts of you, and he snarls, feeling you clench.

"I know you're close. Cum as I fill you with seed and marry you in Unholy Matrimony right outside the very place you kneel and worship Your Lord!" He pants, a crazed look in his eye as he chases his orgasm. He's close, So close, ready to flood your insides and mark you as his. He could feel you tighten around his throbbing cock; you were close, there was no need in try to fight it. He's going to shatter your pitiful attempt at rebellion and rip the orgasm out of you.

Asmodeus let out an animalistic growl, drilling down into you harder and harder. If it wasn't for his voice ringing into your head, all you could hear was the slapping of his hips and his balls against your ass. "I will bind you to me, and you will worship me like your new God! Cum on my cock whore!"

It was a command, ending it with sinking his teeth right into your neck. Your eyes rolled back clenching and exploding all over him. Asmodeus letting out a maniac laugh before slammed with one final thrust deep inside you to steal his hips. He made sure to lift your lower body just right so he was reaching as deep as he could before filling your deepest parts with his virile seed. Your cunt milks him as you cum like it's the first time you came in your entire life milking his cock as you feel every spurt of seed as he drains his balls inside you.

Even as you stopped even after he stopped he still pressed inside you. Making sure every drop stays deep.

The two of you back in the afterglow before you feel as modius wrap his arms around you He nuzzles into your neck peppering it with kisses.

"beloved, My dearly beloved."

He groaned still deep inside you You can still feel how hard he was.

"I still want more... I want more of you." He whined overdramatically, grinding his still-stiff shaft against you.

As much as he wanted to have more of you, as much as he wanted to drill you into the dirt till the two of you were spent and on the verge of passing out, He knew that you probably had had enough. You were merely human, after all. Deliciously and lovingly human.

You felt his tongue drag across your neck again this time affectionately you giggle and push him away "All right get away from me stinky. We can't stay here for long." He lets out a groan despite him being much stronger than you he plays along moving his body giving you a little more space. Only a little.

"Satan doesn't have to know what we use this place for."

Asmodeus purred playing with your hair as he stayed glued to your body like a clingy lover. He cared little for the names you gave him It was a nickname from you and he would accept any.

"I highly doubt he wouldn't know after how loud we were."

He just let out a goofy chuckle. Guilty was charged He wasn't exactly the quietest either.

"Will you stay with me tonight? I promise we can bathe together."

It was a tempting offer. He was desperate to have you in his arms for a little while longer Even if that means doing the one thing he hated. But your answer is still the same, knowing that one night with him will never just be one night...

"You know my answer."

You heard the pout in his voice "Mmh Okay... But at least let me bring you back to your bedroom. I'd like to tuck you."

[lxkeee]

Helloo, I was wondering if it was alright for u to write a lucifer x male reader where the reader is also a powerful demon and goes with lucifer to visit Charlie in the dad beat dad episode, and Charlie is just like OMG i have two dads now, this is awesome

if u don't write for male reader, then feel free to change or ignore this lol

MY GAYDAR IS NEVER WRONG!

—Lucifer Morningstar x m! Reader

warnings: mentions of s*icide.

When Charlie called Lucifer, he was excited that his daughter wanted to invite him to see the hotel. He thought he would be able to handle it.

In fact, he did not.

The poor man had a complete mental breakdown as he over thought what would happen, how would he act around his daughter, what should he say, and etc.

So, he decided to ask for help and he just knows the right person for that.

His beloved boyfriend of one year, [y/n].

Backstory time,

Lucifer has been seeing and secretly dating the man for a year already, it took a while but he got charmed okay? [Y/n] is literally so charming, very handsome, very chivalrous.... And very tall...

And is a pianist.

Lucifer met [y/n] in a famous restaurant, that only elites or the rich can enter. [Y/n] so happens to own that restaurant.

The only reason he was there at that time was because the other seven deadly sins wanted to have a get together.

As the dinner with the other seven deadly sins progressed, Lucifer was enamored the whole night, his eyes staring at the tall and graceful man sitting in the middle of the restaurant as he played the piano for the guests so beautifully.

Asmodeus even teased him, making the king of hell blush.

That's where his frequent visit to the restaurant started.

Lucifer claims that he just wanted to listen to the man play and nothing else.

Of course, [y/n] noticed his frequent visits and decided to approach the smaller man.

Of course, Lucifer was cautious.

Lucifer was suspicious why the man looked more humane than others, aside from his sharp teeth.

Eventually, the two slowly got along and then slowly developed romantic feelings for each other.

They started telling each other their stories too.

Lucifer found out [y/n] was a pianist when he was still alive, he was born in the 1920's and died in 1945.

[Y/n] died as passionless artist, who lost his inspiration and will to live.

But despite all that, [y/n] managed to find his passion for music again in hell and despite the era he was born in, he managed to go with the flow of time.

Yes, he knows gen z slang 😭

He's got serious problems when it comes to saying "lmao" "purr" and "slay"

Anyways, after finding out and realizing why [y/n] is here is because the sin he committed is that he didn't appreciate the life was given to him and decided to take it away by his own hands.

Lucifer's caution around the man was gone and maybe, not all sinners are bad.

[y/n] confessed first and Lucifer reciprocated by giving the taller man a kiss (he had to pull down [y/n]'s tie okay?)

And Lucifer didn't regret it, [y/n] is a passionate lover. A green flag of all green flags.

“Why are you here? You're so nice, you shouldn't be here.”

“If I was up there, then I wouldn't have the pleasure of meeting you and calling you mine.” [y/n] said with a confused tone.

Unaware rizz.

This man, doesn't know how much his words affect Lucifer.

And the fact he can carry Lucifer bridal style and calls him his muse is the cherry on top.

Anyways, back to the scenario. I'm done with the backstory lmao

Lucifer decided to text [y/n] telling him about the situation, wanting emotional support as he's nervous going to an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.

He thought [y/n] wouldn't be able to come as the man got work but he was wrong as not 15 minutes later, [y/n] bursts through the door looking absolutely disheveled.

[y/n] ran like his life depended on it.

“My muse, I am hereeee...” the poor tall man wheezed out, hunched on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Lucifer had to help the man out by using his wings to dry him up.

“Better?”

“Better, thanks my love.”

Lucifer had to explain the situation to him on the way to the hotel and [y/n] giving him peptalk after.

After arriving at the hotel, [y/n] stayed at the side while he watched Lucifer interact with the others.

He swore he heard the pink arachnid say, “Is anyone's gaydar going off right now?”

“It's just you, Angel.” the gray haired girl says with a deadpan.

After Charlie introduced the rest, she noticed the taller male companion who came with her dad. The male was just admiring the interior of the hotel.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

“So... Dad, how about you introduce me to your friend that you brought over?” Charlie asked, making the two males flinch in surprise.

[y/n] giggling as he watched the flustered look on Lucifer's face.

The two males just looked at each other, having a silent conversation.

“Do you want to tell her?” is what [y/n]'s facial expression says based on the raised eyebrow.

“I guess it's time to tell her.” Lucifer says through his facial expression, as a sigh left his lips.

The others just stared in silence as the two males looked at each other in silent conversation.

“Charlie, this is [y/n]... My... Significant other.”

After Lucifer introduced the unknown man, Charlie's jaw dropped.

So did the other's.

The only thing Charlie can think is “Holy shit, I'll have two dads.”

“SEE?! I FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT MY GAYDAR IS POPPING OFF SINCE THEY ARRIVED”

It was a wild night. From the dad off, some loan sharks deciding to cause a mess. (Charlie has three dads now)

Do you guys want this as a series? I'm thinking of actually writing this concept because aihsjans it's so cutee and interesting 😭🤭

Also, I absolutely write for male readers as I myself is a man 🤭 aosjsi maybe I should write more Lucifer x male! Reader?

[sorcerersandskillusers]

Fyodor and the Devil: Analysis of Fyodor's motives and role in the narrative

Asagiri has stated that he based Fyodor not on Dostoyevsky the author but on a specific scene from one of his books The Brothers Karamazov where Ivan Karamazov confronts “the devil” in his room.

(It's a really good book, you should read it if you have time. Also. fun fact, Fyodor and the devil wear the same hat, “His soft fluffy white hat was out of keeping with the season.”)

Having read the book and gone over this scene, I realized that this could be used to find out a lot more about Fyodor as a character than we see in the story, including a potential glimpse at his real motivations.

A bit of context for the scene. Ivan Kramazov is a clever but deeply trouble man who has struggling with the concept of God and rationalising him with the cruelty of humanity, at one point while very sick, Ivan starts seeing a man in his room who claims to be “the devil”. Their conversation is a fascinating look at morality and why evil exists in the world, and if you look at it closely it reveals a lot about the role of a “villain” in a story.

This line from “the devil” is really interesting to me, and seems to explain a lot about Fyodor’s character, as well as align perfectly with how Asagiri has described Fyodor in interviews:

Before time was, by some decree which I could never make out, I

was predestined 'to deny' and yet I am genuinely good-hearted and not at all inclined to negation.

'No, you must go and deny, without denial there's no criticism and what would a journal be without a column of criticism?' 

Without criticism it would be nothing but one 'hosannah.' But nothing but hosannah is not enough for life, the hosannah must be tried in the crucible of doubt and so on, in the same style. But I don't meddle in that, I didn't  create it, I am not answerable for it. Well, they've chosen their scapegoat, they've made me write the column of criticism and so life was made possible.

Basically the devil is saying that he was created because without evil then good means nothing, if everything was perfect then nothing would happen or change, life couldn’t exist, so he was forced to be that evil even though he never wanted to be.

This is so similar to how Fyodor is described in the BSD exposition 2020:

Fyodor is the antagonist, he is the villain of the story, that is the role he plays. This explains why he chooses to commit so many atrocities in the name of  “following God's plan”. It even connects to his line in The Dead Apple, and his ability name. He is both crime and punishment, as “crime” or sin originates with the devil, but it's also the devil who punishes sinners.

(I mean the title of the episode he is introduced in is literally “My Ill Deeds Are the Work of God” by committing evil acts he is fulfilling God's purpose for him.)

And if Fyodor is really based on “the devil” it's very likely he also either does or used to wish for release from this role that was assigned to him, but he knows that he cannot stray from his path or the story will cease to exist. My evidence for Fyodor wanting to be free of his mission is just one interaction, when he kills Karma.

Look at Fyodor's expression here, this is the only time in the entire series where we see him look truly sad. This isn't an act, there is no one there for him to trick, he simply says a quiet prayer for the life of a boy who's only purpose was to suffer and die.

This next part of “the devils” speech actually seems to fit very well for Dazai, it's interesting since he is the narrative foil to Fyodor and clearly is a very similar character.

We understand that comedy; I, for instance, simply ask for annihilation. No, live, I am told, for there'd be nothing without you.

If everything in the universe were sensible, nothing would happen. There would be no events without you, and there must be events. So against the grain I serve to produce events and do what's irrational because I am commanded to.

For all their indisputable intelligence,men take this farce as something serious, and that is their tragedy. They suffer, of course... but then they live, they live a real life, not a fantastic one, for suffering is life. Without suffering what would be the pleasure of it? It would be transformed into an endless church service; it would be holy, but tedious. But what about me? I suffer, but still, I don't live. I am x in an indeterminate equation. I am a sort of phantom in life who has lost all beginning and end, and who has even forgotten his own name. 

This ties perfectly into Dazai and Fyodor’s debate on the nature of God in the sky casino arc.

Dazai here points out that it's not perfection and harmony that make the world move, it's the irrational, it's the foolishness and stupidity of humans who charges into life making a million mistakes but always finding ways to fight on through it. Here Dazai and Fyodor represent the conflicting sides of “the devil” with Fyodor embodying his mission to drive the world and Dazai embodying his secret love for, and wish to join, humanity.

“I love men genuinely, I've been greatly calumniated! Here when I stay withyou from time to time, my life gains a kind of reality and that's what I like most of all. Yousee, like you, I suffer from the fantastic and so I love the realism of earth. Here, with you, everything is circumscribed, here all is formulated and geometrical, while we have nothing but indeterminate equations! I wander about here dreaming. I like dreaming. Besides, on earth I become superstitious. Please don't laugh, that's just what I like, to become superstitious. I adopt all your habits here: I've grown fond of going to the public baths, would you believe it?

And I go and steam myself with merchants and priests. What I dream of is becoming incarnate once for all and irrevocably in the form of some merchant's wife weighing eighteen stone, and of believing all she believes. My ideal is to go to church and offer a candle in simple-hearted faith, upon my word it is. Then there would be an end to my sufferings.”

“"Why not, if I sometimes put on fleshly form? I put on fleshly form and I take the consequences. Satan sum et nihil humanum a me alienum puto."*

* I am Satan, and deem nothing human alien to me.”

This piece from the devil feels like it could be a description of Dazai’s character, his wish above all else to find happiness and love as a human despite believing he is a demon. Both Dazai and Fyodor have strong ties to the Devil, both of them are often described as demonic or inhuman, with emphasis placed on the darkness of their souls and the isolation they feel due to their minds.

But the difference between them is how they dealt with it, Fyodor chose to embrace it and fully commit to his role in the story as the ultimate evil for the greater good, but Dazai has always shown a fasciation with humans and has spent his life trying to connect to them and find meaning in his existence.

Finally, let's look at what we can learn about Fyodor’s motivation. Fyodor is the villain, he is the final obstacle the protagonist has to overcome, he is the driving force behind so much of Atsushi’s life and the reason so much of the series has played out at all. He sent Shibusawa to torture Atsushi as a child, he was an informant to the guild who put the bounty on Atsushi making the mafia turn on him, he was involved in the guild invasion, and obviously he was the master mind behind cannibalism and Decay of Angles.

If he is aware of his position as the antagonist, then he also is probably aware Atsushi is the protagonist, he knew he was the “envy of all ability users” after all, so he knows Atsushi has some significance to the world as a whole.

Atsushi is also the “guide to the book” which is seemingly Fyodor’s end goal, so even though Fyodor doesn’t seem to be focused on Atsushi, he has been indirectly influencing his whole journey up to this point. This also explains why Fyodor is only moving actively now, because the protagonist has appeared and his role as the villain can finally be fulfilled and he, like “the devil” can finally get the “annihilation” he asked for. Hence, Fyodor’s true goal is to erase himself from the narrative.

There is actually quite a lot of evidence for this. The obvious part is that Fyodor wants to rid the world of ability users while he himself is an ability user, he cannot exist in his perfect world. 

Then there’s the fact that in the Dead Apple, Fyodor calls himself “crime” if Fyodor is “crime” or “sin” then a world free of sin would not contain him at all

Even when Fyodor talks about sin, he says how humans are easily manipulated into killing each other, while he constantly manipulates characters into killing each other, he is the cause of the sin he fights.

A really strong bit of evidence is this interview with Asagiri and Harukawa

Not only does Asagiri reiterate Fyodors role as the person who moves the story, Harukawa specifically mentions that Fyodor might be trying to create a world without ability users because he thought it was a “bad thing to do” aka the action a villain would take that would lead to a hero stopping them.

“Dos-san is the biggest villain in the story so far, but I have continued to draw him with spaced out eyes that are neither righteous nor evil for a long time. The only time I drew his eyes completely white was when he said he would create a world without skill users. It was because, in reality, we would decide what is evil or not by our own scales, but I wasn't sure if he himself was doing it because he thought that was a bad thing to do.”

This also connects to how Fyodor was able to understand Gogol when no one else could, Gogol is chooses to fight against the way the world is to prove to himself that he truly is free. Fyodor, who is bound to play a part in a narrative, would understand that feeling and that longing to be truly free.

To be clear, I don’t think that Fyodor is really a good person whose just been trapped in an awful position against his will, we see many times that Fyodor revels in his cruelty and enjoys killing and torturing others. Its the same with “the devil” in the book, although he hates the job he was given, he tells Ivan stories of the people he’s corrupted and seems very proud of himself for it.

My personal interpretation is that the sadistic zelot personality Fyodor displays is a mixture of a mask and a coping mechanism, kind of similar to Yosano developing a sadistic side to help her deal with the guilt of half killing people in order to heal them. I think it makes sense that after centuries of cruelty and manipulation a person would become detached and stop really caring about the lives he destroys.

This analysis is partially unfinshed but I wanted to post it now and see what other people think of it.

[haru-natsuka]

The fate (Anastacius x Female Reader x Claude)

Chapter 5 : The Mistress's Child

It was normal for a wife to hate her husband mistress and their child, but for her, the mistress was the person who had treated her fairly instead of the husband. When the latter died during childbirth, the wife pledged to herself to raise her child with care and love, giving the child the affection and treatment she deserved but had been deprived of...

Female reader will be named as Celestial

As always, Celestial hid behind a pillar to oversee a certain little girl who was approaching the Emerald Palace. She had observed the princess and noticed that she resembled Claude when he was a child, and there were no evident traces of Diana's characteristics except for her curiosity, similar to the latter and yet a lot of people did claimed the princess followed her mother features more. However, the princess did not take any precautions or seem concerned about the risks of being at the Emerald Palace, despite it being a place only for the Empress and the Emperor. Did she not feel scared if she accidentally met the emperor who had ignored her own mother?

Athanasia, a name that Diana bestowed on her own daughter before her passing from childbirth, also became the name that Claude used mockingly, being aware of its meaning as immortality. As if she was begging Claude to not kill their child. ​But, the crown prince had grown distant from Diana, not taking her feelings into consideration and only seeking for himself. And so, as Claude claimed to have lost a lot and could not bear to lose any more. Then, if he killed his only child, would he did not do anything except for losing some more? Celestial had lost her freedom because of Athanasia and Diana, but still she could not help but worry about the princess' fate.

"I am willing to do anything of your choice. I will support you with all my strength. I will be a good wife in exchange for saving the life of a child who was born innocent and free of sin. I beg you to have mercy and spare her, Claude. She is a pure being who only needs to be protected,"

Celestial pleaded as she hoped for the princess' safety. She could not help but feel the sense of urgency to protect Athanasia who was motherless and help Claude understand that this would be the right thing to do.

Celestial, despite having not bowed before anyone in her life, was now kneeling on the floor before her egoistic, monstrous husband. She lay her forehead on the ground in order to plead with the emperor to spare the princess' child from being killed. The scent of blood and corpses was overpowering and unpleasant, but Celestial remained to make sure that the innocent princess was protected. She could not risk it, having the sense of urgency to protect the pure and precious life of a child, despite her hatred for Claude. She had to save Athanasia with her very life.

Celestial refused to look at her husband, knowing that he was looking at her with hatred and anger. The surroundings were tense, due to the emperor's anger and the tense situation at hand. Knowing Claude, Celestial was fully prepared to sacrifice her own life to protect Diana's child, which she held so dearly. The mistress of her husband, Diana, was a kind person who was by Celestial's side when her husband neglected her and mistreated her. Because of her deep care and affection for Diana, she would go to any lengths and give her life to save Diana's child.

"Her name. Tell me,"

Claude ordered coldly, increasing the tension in the room and causing Lily to tremble in fear. She was desperate for her life and the newborn baby too. As they were the only ones alive amongst the sea of corpses, the Emperor's focus was firmly upon them. Lily was so terrified that she began to speak, answering his question with all her might, hoping that this will appease him and spare her life.

"Athanasia, Your Majesty," was the answer she gave, hoping that it was enough to keep her alive.

"Amusing. I wonder how long this thing can live in accordance to its name." Claude, upon hearing the response from the maid, chuckled madly and turned around to left the room without a second thought. He did not bother to look back, and in a stern tone to regard his wife. Knowing that Celestial gave him an offer to let the princess live, Claude finally agreed to this in turn for her devotion. He seemed to be satisfied by this outcome as he got to chain his wife by his side as long as he desired.

"And I would take your offer to me to let that filthy thing live"

While the palace was full of tension and conflict, it seemed that Athanasia enjoyed her time there. The little girl, having turned five years old this year, felt like a big girl as she was actively engaging in thievery of the palace decoration. The empress, could not help but notice her efforts to steal some decorations from the palace. In fact, she was so exposed in her position that anyone could locate her. Celestial, noticing her acts, tried hard to conceal her laughter, for she felt joy looking at the little princess engaging in such antics.

"I never know our guards are this incompetent that a thief can trespass into the main palace?"

Athanasia was caught off guard by a voice behind her. She then turned around, adorably showing of her doe eyes as she stared pleadingly at Celestial, who had witnessed her multiple times committing such sinful acts. Knowing that Celestial was aware of her daily activities, she hoped for her mercy and tried to gain sympathy by looking appealing and cute to her. However, Celestial had already grown accustomed to her thievery and antics, and the fact that Athanasia had gained a large collection of stolen items in her pockets had become a routine matter for both of them which the empress gave her full support for the girl. Let's make the palace be poor!

"Auntie, please don't tell anyone. Athy will give you my precious chocolate. Please keep this a secret," the little girl begged Celestial, referring to her as 'auntie' as she never know the true identity of the woman who she had met since a week ago.

"Is it the chocolate that you steal from the kitchen?"

"It already in my hands so it is Athy's!"

"You're funny. Am I not giving you enough jewels yesterday?"

"Athy just love pretty stuff so much that Athy wants it to be mine! Auntie is pretty too! Athy loves your hair and your eyes the most. Athy loves Auntie the most!"

Celestial knew the princess wanted her to keep her thievery a secret, but it was fun for her to tease Athanasia from time to time. In a way, being with this little girl had brought life to Celestial's darkened world, and she was glad to spend proper time with someone who was open and honest in their thoughts. She knew that the princess was a little wild at times, but it was far more enjoyable to speak to someone who was sincere and innocent compared to communicating with an adult with hidden agendas.

"Athy, I have a present for you for visiting me again, please extend your hand to me," Celestial told the little princess, who was more than happy to accept the gift.

"Is it bigger and sparkly than yesterday?" Athanasia asked with excitement, clearly expecting a magnificent gift as she had gained many trinkets from her previous visits.

"It is better than yesterday, Athy," Celestial replied with a smile, indicating that the gift would be better than what she had given Athanasia the day before. She gave the princess a little pouch, which she took in her hands curiously.

"It's not a jewel or gold?"

"Open it. I assure you will love it a lot"

Athanasia, the little girl from the royal family, opened the pouch with a sense of doubt, as she had certain expectations when it came to gifts such as this. She considered only gold and jewels to be worthy gifts to receive, as they were the only things she deemed to be invaluable for her future. The princess was not easy to please when it came to gifts, for these precious items were crucial for her future, and she wished to find out whether her expectations would be met.

Athanasia, the princess, was overjoyed when she opened the pouch and discovered that there were endless amounts of gold and jewels inside. She was overwhelmed with joy at the sight of the precious items and was amazed at the seemingly endless space inside the pouch. She was thrilled by the knowledge that she would no longer have to struggle with hiding the items she had stolen, for the pouch's space could hold everything with no one being able to notice. She thought that the gifts that she had been given were more than worthwhile, for they had truly exceeded her expectations.

"It is a limitless space inside the pouch so after this, you can put everything inside the pouch instead of your pocket. No one will notice if you steal anything more after this"

"Athy loves it! Thank you, Auntie!"

The princess hugged Celestial and gave her thighs a tight hug, as a way to show her appreciation for the gift she had just given. Celestial, in turn, also enjoyed the hug for it was a way of bonding and communicating with the little princess. She would also look forward to more future interactions, for the time she had spent with Athanasia had been an important and precious experience for both of them.

"I'm glad that you love it" She caressed the little girl hair gingerly to return her action. Celestial and Athanasia were in their own pleasant world, being completely unaware of the presence of the two individuals approaching them. However, they were soon pulled back from their dreamy moments when they heard a loud voice coming from somewhere nearby. It seemed that the princess and Celestial were not the only ones in the room, for two individuals had arrived and spotted them from a distance.

"What is this filthy bug doing in my palace?" The two girls turned to face the source of the voice, curious to see who had spoken out in such a way. It was non other than the emperor, Claude De Alger Obelia

@fluffy-koalala

Chapter 4 << Previous, Next >> Chapter 6

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) V

Masterlist

Previous Chapter - Next

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter V: Not a lot, just forever (Intertwined, sewn together)

What have you done? How could you do such a thing?

You had practically run back to your room, Ser Rickard following close after. Before he could inquire about your state, you closed the door behind you, sliding down on it, shaking your head, sweating cold blood as you panicked.

You foolish girl, had you learned nothing? This is how it begins, your downfall, your own end.

You had shut yourself in your room, no one to enter unless you wished otherwise. As such, your meals were left at your doorsteps, which you cared not to take.

That same day, in the late afternoon, Jacaerys came to see you. Still shaken by your choice of actions, the whispered words, and the untold understanding between you and Lord Reynford, you gladly accepted his entrance into your room to get yourself off your raging mind. As if him being there with you could soothe your itching soul.

Oh, how much like your mother you were. Feeling guilty for wanting things you thought were within your rights to be yours, to demand for yourself, to want, to yearn. You yearned for things like a normal person. You had desires, wants, and needs, could it be so wrong to reach for what you wanted? Freedom is such an abstract concept. What is freedom? You’re free right now, within the confines created for you, but even farmers’ daughters were freer to do as they pleased themselves. So, how come you ate at yourself for being human?

Why did your chest burn with the guilt of treachery? Why did your mind chastise you with words of petulance?

How could it be your fault when the gods made you in the same image of the mother whose womb you were born from? The womb that gave you life, the womb that shaped you into who you are? From the father’s whose seed created you in his liking? The hands that, in the haze of pleasure, moulded you?

The gods made the sins they make common people like you afraid of so much stronger than the nature of mankind. A nature you were taught to fight against, to negate, to reject. But how could you when your soul demanded of you to be like others? They temped, they tethered, they schemed, awaiting, with baited breaths, as they watched you descend into a madness of your own making. For the moment, you’ll slip into the trap set for you to fall in. The gods are cruel, but they’ve been crueller.

Jacaerys had come for two reasons. One, because he had learned that you had shut yourself in your room, not wanting either maids or visitors to come in. And two, he had witnessed something he had never seen before in his life.

A dragon in distress.

He was very much aware of how close the bond between dragon and rider could be, and upon learning from one of your maids, one he paid to keep an eye on you, of your ‘situation’ once he returned to the Keep, he wondered if your indisposure and been the cause for Silverwing’s more than alarming state.

When he, Baela and Rhaena had gone to the dragonpit earlier that day, he was told that he could not access the cave where Vermax rested. The dragon keepers told him it would be too dangerous to venture into the dark of the pit when Silveewing, a dragon known for her friendly nature towards humans, was in such disarray with herself.

He had not heeded the advice given to him, citing that Silverwing had not hurt anyone ever before, even those who attempted to claim her and were unsuccessful in doing so. You were kind, and so was your dragon, he trusted that your nature fed off to Silverwing.

But when he approached the cave where Vermax rested, just a few paces from where Silverwing’s was, he understood why he was cautioned not to. She was whining, wriggling around, the chains pulling at her neck, clearly not used to them. Why would she? When she was a dragon known for her freedom. He remembered how often you used to fly with her, many times a day, almost every day. It was your only freedom, the one autonomy you were allowed in this world of men and gods. Something your mother used to reprimand you for, citing it was not good for a lady of your station to be more on the wild saddle than participating in courtly matters.

The moment Silverwing saw him, she tried to walk to him, possibly out of recognition of the many flights you and her had taken with him and Vermax in the past, until she was pulled back once more by the chains, agitating her.

When he didn’t try to help her, she grew angrier, batting her wings and snapping her jaw at him, baring her pointy and sharp teeth. Before he could make another move, she was blasting her blue flames at him, making him stumble back in surprise. She had never done that before, not to him, not to anyone. He was used to her friendliness, and her erratic change of attitude worried him.

He had not gone for a flight that morning. Instead, he waited for Baela and Rhaena to return with Moondancer, Rhaena riding with her since Morning was still too young for her to fly with. After all, the pink beauty was only four years of age, just a big hatchling still. It would be long before Rhaena could fly atop her.

With the time he was given, he contemplated what he had just found himself at the hands of. It was no secret that you missed Silverwing, the separation from your other half leaving you, at times, a shell of the person you used to be. He knew how much you yearned for the skies, not just for the sake of flying but to feel the air blow through your hair, flesh against your skin when you did so with the mount you used to spend your days upon.

Perhaps today, more than any other day, you felt more melancholic than usual, the disparity of your situation truly pulling at you.

There were….days when everything got the better of you. When you refused to go out, to eat even less than you already did, to get out of your bed. He worried for you; he truly did, and his worry did not come from a place of pity, which he knew you hated. It came from a place of care and concern for you, your well-being, and your sanity.

Jacaerys always felt that you had a special place in his heart, one he would always reserve for you. His childhood had not been the best despite his more-than-awaited royal birth. His mother shielded him as best as she could, but she could not change the nature of the world they both lived in. You were the only one, aside from Helaena, who saw him as more than what he was, seeing through the prejudices and rumours spread about him. Kind, ever the open-hearted and understanding girl you were, you made a point to defend him from your brothers when their words would get less than kind in his regards. You two read together, under the weirwood tree in the Godswood, mostly histories of Valyria and the history of House Targaryen, which you always seemed more versed on than him, one of the reasons why you also taught him most of the Valyrian he knew, which you had taken an affinity than he couldn’t compare to, even years after, when he had become a studied mind and an ample linguistic in the old tongue of his ancestors.

He remembers how you used to show him every single needlework you would sew when you first picked your needle and thread because of the lessons your mother had made you take. Your first true work was an embroidered handkerchief with Silverwing and Vermax on it. He had never felt his heart swell so much as it did that day. He was eight years of age.

He was so enamoured by the gesture that he used to sleep with the handkerchief under his pillow, worried that someone would try to steal it from him, like little Luke, who would surely tease him endlessly for it. Even now, years down the line, he never parted from it, a true testament to just how much it meant for it. It weighed in the pockets of his trousers as he watched you intricately weaving the needle in the fabric latched into the wooden hoop. A silent reminder of who you were for him.

“What will that be?” He asked, his voice just a murmur so as to not break the silence that filled the room, the flickers of the fire crackling in front of you two.

“I don’t know yet” you muttered. He noticed how you were quieter than usual as if something you did not want to say would come out of your mouth otherwise.

“I like the colour,” he said, watching the red strings sawn together “It would go well with gold”

You raise the hoop to get a better look at the weaving dragon you were sewing before moving to hold it up against his doublet to see how it would fit upon it, or something similar, like a shirt or cloak. 

“Or black,” you said, before looking at his face, only for him to stare back at you. “If you like it I shall give it to your seamstress. Perhaps she can make good use of it. A shirt or doublet”

“I wouldn’t want to take away such creation from you for a mere shirt” he huffed, not taking his eyes off your inquisitive ones.

“Even if I insist?” It wasn’t often that you were so bold as to order around or dictate to others, especially not your servants, who you were always kind to and left to their own devices most times because you did not want to bother them with your bothersome nuances. Hence, Jacaerys knew that when you insisted upon something, you did so because you genuinely wanted to. It seemed now that you wanted him to have this piece of embroidered fabric for him to do as he pleased with it.

“You did the same with your last piece, I cannot accept any more” he argued against the offer, taking your free hand in his, absentmindedly caressing the skin of the back of your hand. “And I’ve yet been unable to repay you for your free labour”

You scoffed, admittedly not out of anger or annoyance, but, maybe, as an instinct of sort to show your displeasure with his words, “How can I show you that I do not do any of the things I do because I seek recognition or payment from it?”

Your words hit a nerve, it seemed because you noticed and felt his hand tighten slightly around your caged one “I did not mean it like that”

Jacaerys didn’t want you to believe that he saw you in the same light as he would a maid or a servant, who did things that they were asked to do only so they could be praised or honoured for their work later, such as that maid he pays to watch over you, who only betrayed your services because of the pouch of golden coins he handsomely bestowed upon her.

Loyalty can be such a fickle thing if you know just how to bewitch lonesome victims. To her fairness, the maid had a family to feed, and self-preservation demanded that if the occasion for her to improve her impoverished conditions would lay at her feet, she should then throw herself at them to do so. He was sure you, too, would not blame the maid for her treachery if unmasked, and she begged for your forgiveness for her disloyalty. After all, you were not privy to how desperate means called for desperate measures. And as a product of her own environment, you would not expect less of her.

“I know you didn’t, but, truly, I want to” you sighed “I would not get any use of it anyways. I would rather have you have it, than for it to gather stifle dust in this storage of a room”

Jacaerys tightened his lips at your words. He did not like your living conditions either. Your previous room, back in Maegor’s holdfast, had always been a sight to behold for him, rich in decorations and luxury. Full of Hightower heritage, green had dominated the space —and the more devout your mother became, the sparer everything had begun to look around the Keep, a reflection of your mother’s strong desire for order and control. There were a few things that made your personality stand out among your mother’s undigitised desire to be everywhere, like your collections of books and trinkets. Helaena liked bug collecting, but to the sometimes messy and soiling activity, you much-preferred flower pressing, amounting to a collection of books containing them that rivalled Helaena’s many viewing screens for her insects.

When he was younger, he liked to come with the two of you to the gardens, watching over as you and Helaena spent your afternoons and mornings indulging in your preferred pastimes. Sometimes, when Helaena was too afraid of certain bugs to pick, frightened at the possibility of hurting them, he would pick them up for her, swallowing his own fright and the revolting sensation that washed over him at the bugs crawling in his hands. He, too, preferred the art of flowers more than that of bugs

Instead of pressing them, you would bind them, creating small bouquets of all sorts of arrangments for him to bring back to his rooms, the freshness of the newly picked flowers haunting his room with their smell. In an effort to impress you, he tried his own hand at it, often creating bouquets of all colours, which clashed against one another, not quite as effortlessly as you did. He much liked yours better.

You appreciated the effort nonetheless, complimenting him and trying to help him by giving him bits of advice for him to follow. His mother, of all, delighted in the bouquet he presented to her for her name days.

He had hated watching you be stripped of all your possessions. Your room had been given to Rhaena, who had wished for it to be rearranged in a style more to her liking, as she should be able to as the new proprietor. Whenever he went to visit her, often having tea with her and Baela there, he would let his eyes stray around, noticing how different everything was and how you would, certainly, arrange your things differently than Rhaena did, were you still living in this quarter. He sometimes missed the white and green of it all, now replaced by soft pinks and pastels, Rhaena’s most preferred colours, reminiscing of the times you two had spent together in it.

The room in the vault your family was confined to, was second rate to what you had been used to in the past, and though you never complained about it, Jacaerys imagined it to be difficult to be living in such conditions either way. Small windows, with barely any light coming from them and little to no air picking up in this part of the castle. The bells of the Sept beside the vault would create this almost monastic environment, and he would muse about how this room almost seemed to befit a Septa more than a royal princess.

He had stayed long enough to have dinner with you. To say that the ensemble on the table was pitiful would almost be a compliment to the food. Stable boys ate better than you did.

The servants ducked their eyes at his stare as they placed the food on the table. Bread, although stale, butter and honey and blackberry preserves, old ones he was sure were stuffed in the back of the pantry, a rasher of bacon and a soft-boiled egg, a wedge of cheese, a pot of tea. A sullen assembly. Still, he watched as you dived into the food with no complaints, wondering if you did not care about the conditions of the food because you had grown used to it or because you were famished out of the lack of substance you denied yourself.

Guilt is a disease, one he hoped you would soon heal yourself from. He hated how passive you seemed to become of everything, and if you were not willing to stand for yourself, he would. Had you known how he rounded the servants that had served you your food tonight, you would have surely reprimanded him about how you were more than capable of standing up for yourself if you wanted.

He had inquired, if not outright demanded, who had insisted for food of such quality to be served to you, and to his surprise, or rather, to his predictability, they had told him that it was Lord Bartimos’ orders. Celtigar, clearly, did not know how to stay his hand, a mere councillor to his mother, he had gone behind everyone’s back, his, his mother, and her hand, his grandfather, to give out orders that he had no jurisdiction to give.

It was no wonder, that the next time they had crossed paths in the middle of the halls of the Keep, Jacaerys made sure to remind him of his place and station, adding on a subtle threat that future misconduct would not receive the same mild reception. Something about being ‘fed to the dogs in the streets’.

The next time he stayed for dinner, he was more than pleased to see what you had been served. There was hot bread and fresh churned butter, a thick beef soup, capon and carrots, and peaches in honey. Even the air could be tasted, sweeter than anything you had surely eaten in months, he thought.

He had watched with a hidden delight how you had taken a spoonful of everything, letting the different flavours melt into your tongue, each delicacy bursting your tastebuds with sensations long forgotten. From then on, he took to spending his suppers in your room, eating alongside you, to entertain himself in the sight he had come to love most. Word had spread around about his ‘encounter’ with Lord Bartimos, his household and that of many, he wagered, abuzz with spreading rumours spoken by fickle tongues.

He had no time for rumours or gossiped words; he was too busy showing his newly sewn black doublet with a proud red dragon embroidery on it. Many wondered whose intricate hands had weaved such dazzling composition.

If only they knew.

Taglist: @esposadomd @aleemendoza2425-blog

If anyone else wants to be added, please comment so, and you'll be tagged in the next chapter

[mxr1na]

🌞⋆🫧`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹Sunburnt- Satoru Gojo x !black reader🌞⋆🫧`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

A/N: Just felt like writing something :3

Sypnosis: The strongest always has his infinity up, but didn't realise a potential threat to himself was imminent in his everyday life

Warning: None, unless if you don't like black y/n. Then you're the Trigger warning 😨😨

546 words~

. . . . . ╰──╮✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧₊˚ෆ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧₊˚ෆ╭──╯ . . . . .

"You have got to be kidding me," your boyfriend groans as you apply sunscreen on his hot back and face.

You both decided to go on a short vacation to Okinawa together, since you both had a free window.

"I warned you to put on sunscreen, but noooo, you had your infinity, you said. The sun won't affect you, you said," You smirk.

Satoru turns to you and pouts.

"Yeah, yeah I know, stop bullying me. Ugh, it's no fair, why do you look drop dead gorgeous in the sun and aren't a victim of the sun like I am?" He traces over your arm, which, in his eyes, glowed against the sunrays. "I look and feel like a burnt hotdog,"

"First of all, you have the intelligence of a burnt hotdog. Second, I am a potential victim of the sun, I can actually still get sunburnt, and skin cancer," You were about to go on a tangent on how its very important for people of colour to also be cautious in the sun, but Toru just mimics you in a nerdy voice that all of us are all too familiar with.

"Shut up, will ya' Toru?" You push him out of your lap, and he pretends to fall face first into the sand. Your white haired freak looks at you, with a very unappealing sand mask on his face.

"How, dare you? Turning away your boyfriend in his most vulnerable moments? Do you even love me anymore?!"

You smear some sunscreen on his face, the gross mixture caking half of his face, and begin to run towards the ocean.

"Hey! Get your ass back here!" The supposedly 'strongest' sorcerer chases after you, in an attempt to make you atone for the sins you committed.

Unfortunately, you didn't get very far, soon enough, he reached you in the water, picked you up, and like the gentleman he is, drops you back into the blue sea.

After playing like two children (And getting some looks from other young adults that clearly never properly lived once) you both get out of the water, shivering from the cold, and sit at the coast.

"You know," Gojo says beside you, flicking away some stray sand grains.

"I wasn't lying earlier, you do look absolutely stunning in the sun," He turns and kisses you.

"The way your skin shimmers like glitter, you look like a goddess," His voice is earnest, like he's speaking with his full heart, and then some.

The only reply you could produce that moment was your head nodding slightly to the side.

"What? Can I not compliment you once in a while?"

"Oh, no, you should definitely do that more, it strokes my ego in ways I didn't know were possible. You're, just, sweet when you aren't acting like a kid all the time,"

"Hey! I can be a sweet and ego stroking boyfriend whenever I want!"

"Yeah, well promise me, you'll just stay as you are, no matter if you're blue, yellow, or a certain sunburnt red,"

He somehow gets redder.

"I hate you,"

"You love me,"

You lean him in for a kiss again, as the sun begins to set.

Even though he didn't say it, he promises he won't change at bit.

For you.

. . . . . ╰──╮✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧₊˚ෆ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧₊˚ෆ╭──╯ . . . . .

Mxr1na 2024. Do NOT copy, rewrite or claim work as your own. If you see my work elsewhere, please send an ask :3

[artyandink]

amoralism | six

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: So much sexual tension it’s illegal, Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, description of injuries, gunshot wound, description of gore, blood, use of firearms, a mole in the FBI, office shenanigans, President Shurley, Asmodeus, Lucifer, Azazel, smut (very hardcore smut)

STW: marking, missionary, riding, protected sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f. receiving and implied m.)/face sitting, brief handjob, dom Dean (switch if you squint, also Dean’s an everything man), sub reader, really filthy stuff, light choking, thigh slapping, dirty talking cause FBI Dean’s a slightly rough dom and he’s good at this

A/N - I might have cooked with this chapter, who knows :)

Song Inspo: Crazy in Love (Remix) by Beyoncé (listen to this during the first scene I am not kidding it does wonders for the soul)

SERIES MASTERLIST

authoritarianism

You felt dizzy. You felt intoxicated. You felt amazing.

Dean’s lips moved hot and fast against your own, one hand of his sliding to grab the strands of your hair between his fingers and keep your mouth occupied, the other moving to grab your waist and cage you in his arms, against the rippling, irresistible planes of muscle.

One hand of yours was tracing every dip and curve of his upper back while your other was carding through the wet strands of his hair. His shampoo, conditioner and body wash acting as a drug - a stimulant - for your pressured mind.

A drug that you wouldn’t be arrested for.

You felt that muted haze dissipate and another replacing it. One more heated. Welcome. One that made your head spin and your lips collide with Dean’s over and over again, that is until his lips veered off to burn a trail down your neck.

Your head tipping back to show the artist his canvas.

Open mouthed and reverent, pressing onto your skin like claiming stamps, gripping your hair to tilt you to his liking while his other hand groped and squeezed whatever he could reach. Feeling you up with possessive intent.

To claim you.

Make you his.

His free hand slid to your ass, massaging it, kneading it in his strong fingers. Slapping it, squeezing as if he was also depleting his own stress on top of yours.

"Jesus- fuck-" Was all you could get out under the present circumstance.

Now, you weren't usually turned on by an ass man, but his ministrations had you moaning, leaving red lines on Dean's shoulders with your nails and a truly sinful sound rolling off his tongue.

"Fuck, baby." Dean growled, nipping at your neck until there was a mark that could be covered easily by your blazer and not be a pain. What a gentleman.

Dean's towel hit the floor, and it was like a switch flipped in his brain when he used the grip he had on your ass to help grind you in a dizzying pace against his rapidly hardening cock this time around rather than his thigh.

Both felt like heaven. You were sure you'd be transported there once he was pounding into you.

However much the friction of your sleep shorts appealed to his dick, Dean needed you out of those skimpy excuses for pyjamas. He took the hem of the sleep shorts and yanked them down until they pooled at your feet, biting his lip as he fisted the hem of your shirt and whipped it off.

Oh. Oh.

On you was the goddamn sexiest black lace lingerie he'd ever seen. Sweet Jesus. The bra was just the right amount of sheer and framed you beautifully, while the panties- good Lord, if Dean started describing how perfect it was he wouldn't be able to stop. Oh, hail Mary and fuckin’ Joseph.

Didn't help that he could see how soaked you were even from his position in front of you. The small grind he did as a test also confirmed it, his teeth now worrying his bottom lip as he now no longer thought with his brain. His cock was sitting in the driver's seat, thank you very much.

And he was gonna have you hitch a ride.

"Fuck." He cursed softly in comparison to the rough movements the moment before that had your nails grazing his scalp and bare upper back.

Dean gazed down at you, licking his lips. His stare lit your cells on fire while his body language paired with the way he held you - hard and so damn possessive - enough to convince you that you were a five star, five course meal that he was about to devour.

He'd be damned if he left any crumbs.

“You’ve ruined this sexy little number, baby.” Dean murmured, the backs of his fingers trailing down your side, down, down, down until he gripped your thigh with a sure hand. A smirk tugging at his pouty, kiss-swollen lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll ruin your pretty pussy to match the set.”

You’d let out a gasp had it not been for Dean hitching your leg over his bare hip, supporting you with his other hand on your lower back and lifting you effortlessly, carrying you with a smooth motion over to the conveniently placed bed and almost slammed you down, and before you knew it, his lips were back on your neck. It was different than before. Less reverent, less worshipping, more feral.

As if the very feel of you had Dean’s pure instinct taking over.

Pure instinct had you arching into the hard ridges of his muscle, baring your neck shamelessly, your mouth falling open as the hand previously on your lower back rushed to keep himself upright by planting it firmly into the mattress beside your head. Dean’s other hand used the purchase on your thigh to grind down hard and heavy, his breaths coming the same against your jugular as he bit at it, sucking but not enough to leave a mark.

He did vow in his head that he’d only leave it where you could cover it. Couldn’t have the office asking questions.

“Dean…” You whined out in a voice that you could barely discern was yours, your hand in his hair until you felt him take that hand off, fabric sliding off your shoulders and skimpy lace being discarded carelessly off to some odd corner in the room. You couldn’t expect Dean to care where that thing went.

Dean took his thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it while he came back up to watch you, you in your glory. Forget God, he’d worship only you from now on cause damn, were you a goddess.

You.

He let his thumb go with a slick pop, trying to hold onto the last thread of his restraint as he took you in. You, flushed, panting, your eyes slightly hazy from the intense sparks of heat he’d sent through you with a few hot brushes of his lips. His own defined chest heaving just as his eyes locked on your tits, and- mhm.

That thread was cut fast.

His thumb made contact with one hardened nipple, making your jaw go slack again and your hands fly to him again, letting out a moan that would make a hooker blush. Rolling it over and over and over as he buried his face in between your tits so he could kiss the valley between them, the underside and-

“Oh, shit!” You cried out when Dean’s hot mouth closed around your nipple, that damn talented tongue swirling around it before he sucked masterfully, flicking the other in a way that had your hips attempting to lift to make contact with his again, and he answered for you. Grinding down so you could feel every damn inch of what you did to him. What he’d been enduring five years ago and even now.

You were Dean’s drug. And when you weren’t there, he had withdrawal symptoms. Serious withdrawal symptoms.

He sucked, nibbled and licked, sucked, nibbled and licked until you were a moaning mess on the bed from the way his hand tweaked your other nipple and how his cock felt against your clothed pussy.

God, Dean could do this all day. Give him a chance and he would.

You never noticed when his hand left your other nipple, never noticed when your soaked panties left your body and were tossed aside, never noticed until you felt him dragging his fingers over your cunt and to your clit, the sharp but needy sound from you making him grin devilishly into your skin.

Dean popped up, licking his lips and then chuckling. “Got so much pressure built up, dontcha, sweetheart? Want someone to release it for you, dontcha?” He heard a needy whine and plea for him to ‘not stop’, which had him clicking his tongue.

“Oh, baby.” He purred, rubbing his thumb on your clit. The calloused pad having shocks of pure, welcomed electricity through the tips of your fingers to your brain and down back to your cunt. “That little session we had in my office ain’t enough for you, is it? Needy little thing.”

No thoughts. Pussy in charge.

It was definitely in charge when he thrusted two thick fingers into you, demanding and possessive and- fuck, that’s good. Your hips bucked into the touch, another moan leaving your mouth that really had you questioning if you knew your own voice; it sounded so shameless and needy and wanting.

It sounded good. It felt even better.

You didn’t care that Dean was your colleague, the one rule you’d had for five years smashed with a sledgehammer because no, you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when his fingers were pumping in and out of you, working you, making your back arch and hips rocking to meet his ministrations. Yep, you knew he could play you like a fine tuned violin and god, was he doing that.

He crooked his fingers just right, an “oh, fuck!” leaving your mouth and moans in quick succession as his tongue laved at the nipple his mouth had neglected, which did not help you to think straight. It had you clenching around his fingers, the pads of them hitting your g-spot deliciously instead.

Adding another finger and doing it again.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Dean growled against your skin, licking over your nipple as well. Looks like he was a tits man as well, with how eagerly he was worshipping them. “Squeezin’ my fingers so tight. This pussy’s so tight- you sure it can fit my cock? Shit- fuck.” He groaned as you clamped down on him again at the syncing of his fingers against your g-spot and his thumb rubbing at your clit. You were about to drive him insane.

“Dean,” You took a moment to breathe, your head falling back as you tried to get your bearings. You failed, but ah, well, another day. “Mmh, s’close. Gonna come. M’gonna come.”

“That right, baby?” Dean chuckled, sucking a mark in the valley of your tits. Hey, you had absolutely no problem with that. “Gonna come for me? Come so pretty for me?” He bit his lip and then licked them at the sight of you nodding and writhing on the bed, your hips meeting the movements while he made a mess of you with his mouth on your tits and his fingers buried knuckle deep inside you. His mouth moving to hover by your ear, teeth teasing your earlobe. “Go on. Wanna hear my name when you do it. When you release all that tension that’s had you bitchin’ all this time. Just needed me, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

The words, so dirty and filthy. His breath, hot and searing. Teeth skilled and precise.

It was like Dean had been rehearsing for this moment. Got the perfect cadence of his gravelly voice just for you. The perfect rhythm of his fingers just for you. Just for you, so they would have you coming - eyes rolling back, jaw slack, hips stuttering and thighs twitching, sweat beading at your temple as your foot propped on the bed and curled the best they could into the grey satin sheets - just like you were right now.

Oh, dear.

Oh, Lord.

Oh, fuck-

You could barely fathom after your first orgasm of the night what would happen next, but you found out right when Dean got further down the bed and pulled his fingers out of you, getting a taste of you and moaning at it. You were ambrosia in human goddamn form.

Before you could adjust, he licked a long stripe up your soaking cunt, lapping and getting all of you on his tongue, the sweet flavour flooding his taste buds and dimming everything in the room but you. You. You-

My god, this wasn’t enough.

Within seconds, Dean manoeuvred you both so he was flat on his back, head pushed back against the pillows, nestling your thighs on either side of his head. You looked down at him from your position, hand flying to grip the headboard just as he grinned up at you from beneath you, your pussy right there for him to devour. Where he felt like he belonged.

Dean looked like sex. Hell, he probably was sex.

Without a word, Dean rubbed up and down your thighs, feeling the softness in his palms before he seized your hips, pulling you flush against his face and beginning to- oh, God, shit, fuck, hail Jesus and Mary and Joseph, and all of Nazareth.

Fuck.

“Dean- oh, Dean- Dean!” Your brain was short circuiting. Your eyes were rolling back. Hand gripping the headboard so tight your knuckles went white. Your other hand finding your hair and gripping it tight as your mouth fell open and let out a string of expletives adorned with his goddamn name.

Dean was devouring you. Lapping at your pussy, sucking, drinking you dry like you were his first meal in so long. His tongue sliding over your cunt before pushing in once, twice, thrice before slipping out and repeating the rapid strokes. And then a harsh suck on your clit, just to get you to your limit that much faster. To get you to whine, moan, whimper - anything - his name.

That’s what his shit-eating grin was for as he got his lips and chin messy eating the living daylights out of you.

He groaned out something about you tasting like heaven, but you didn’t hear, instead focused on chasing your orgasm while your hips mindlessly ground against his face. He slapped your thigh in response, but when you stilled obediently - thinking he wanted you to stop - no, he took your hips in an almost bruising grip and did the work for you. Rolling your hips down to meet every suck and lap of his until you were shaking again, falling over the edge again to the rhythm and play of his tongue sliding over your pussy.

Once he’d gotten that second fill of you, he hitched himself up so he sat with his back to the plush velvet headboard, so you could see him after he’d wrecked you for the second time around- going on a third, at this rate.

His lips were glistening and his chin the same state, pupils blown wide as he panted and grinned at you like the pure goddamn sex he was.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart.” Dean muttered before he cupped your jaw and drew you into a searing kiss, so that you could taste yourself on his tongue. Taste yourself while he gave you the most sloppy, filthy, sinful, perfect kiss of your life.

Don’t tell him you said that.

With a bite of his lip, a checking out of your body and a quick slap to your ass, he took a hold of you and rolled you over, pinning one hand above your head by entwining your fingers with his own and keeping them there.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Dean smirked, spreading your legs and in turn spreading you open. He caught sight of your dripping cunt, and he felt a swell of pride that he made you feel that good. That he forewent his own pleasure (he only realised how much his cock ached for you round about now, he was that focused on you) to take care of you.

He was about to smirk out another sentence, but then he was cut off by a groan, caused by your hand on his cock, rubbing your thumb over his slit and spreading the pre-come before using it to pump your hand up and down. Dean could have spent forever with you jacking him off, but he stopped you, panting.

“Sorry, baby, but if you continue like that, m’gonna embarrass myself.” He chuckled, tearing a condom packet with his teeth and rolling the rubber on. “Need to be inside you. You ready?” When he didn’t get a response, he slapped your thigh- which got a squeak from you. “Words, sweetheart. I need words.”

You nodded, frantically, panting. “Yes, yes, I’m ready, please, I’m ready-” You let out a broken moan when Dean thrusted roughly unto you and god, the pace was bruising but felt… so. Damn. Good.

Dean’s thrusts were rough, but deep. Purposeful. As if every move was calculated. He had gripped the velvet headboard in his free hand until he went the extra mile, changing the angle by hitching your leg over his hip, his eyes rolling back when your heel pressed against his lower back and had him magnifying the feeling of you wrapped around him so deliciously tenfold.

“So fuckin’ tight, baby.” He groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as his hips snapped forward, the bed creaking under the force. His teeth nipped at the skin, the hand holding your thigh securing your leg over your hip before placing his hand on your throat; not squeezing, just letting you know that it was there.

And by the way you moaned and your head fell back, you enjoyed it. Damn, Dean never knew you were freaky.

He loved it.

With a few rough snaps, he felt himself suddenly fall over the edge, spilling into the condom with a low, guttural moan. Even so, he sloppily thrust into you a few more times to have you going down with him, your lips meeting in a filthy, desperate kiss.

Now, you’d have thought three mind blowing orgasms would be enough for you, but it didn’t seem close to enough once Dean rolled you both over, seizing your hips and making you ride him. At first, it was him lifting you to the head of his dick and lowering you until you sheathed him completely but then it was all you, you, you.

“Dean,” Was all you could say as you set a steady rhythm, your nails raking down his chest and leaving red trails and crescent marks. Those had him chuckling and nodding in approval.

“That’s right, good girl. Mark me up.” Dean grunted softly, gripping your hips tighter, the vein in his neck popping for an extremely good reason as his head fell back against the pillows. “Ride my cock, baby. Look so good, bouncin’ like that. Fuck, never stop. Could see you like this all day. Shit, sweetheart.”

You took gasping breaths, trying to reduce the embarrassing amount of moans leaving your mouth, your pussy clenching tight around Dean and letting him know you were close. His hands slid to your ass, kneading and rolling the softness in his hands, propping himself up to suck and lick at your nipples, which got you there that much faster. Didn’t help when his thumb found your clit.

Rubbing. Flicking. Ruining you.

Damn, he knew exactly what he was doing. Because now your eyes could only see stars and you were coming on his cock, him following you about five thrusts later with a loud and choked moan. You could have almost collapsed forward had it not been for Dean holding you up, and the next thing you knew, you were both breathlessly chuckling.

“Well, that’s a way to, uh, let out the stress.” You breathed, biting your lip and running a hand through your sweaty hair. “Carajo.”

“Damn straight.” Dean laughed, pulling you off his cock gently and laying you down next to him. “I’ll give it to you, sweetheart, you are one damn good fuck.”

“We just…” Fuck. “We just fucked.”

“Yeah, we did. Objections?”

“Dean, this is what I’ve been avoiding. Sure, we torched the Code of Conduct by making out in your office but now I’m pretty sure it’s disintegrated.” You sighed, the growing throb in your pussy from being pounded into by Dean Winchester beginning to take over. Yep, you’d be walking funny. “It's not a mistake, I participated with sound mind, body and soul, but I just...”

Dean understood. "You're confused."

"Yeah." You nodded, biting your lip. "And with everything that's going on, I'm not even sure that getting in a relationship - let alone with you - is a wise option. I'd just be a shitty girlfriend."

"Sweetheart, I don't want you downplaying yourself like that again, you hear me?" Dean said sternly, his jaw set, looking the picture of perfection and porn with his skin shiny from the water and sex induced sweat, the remnants of bliss clinging to his gorgeous features, cheeks still carrying a slightly rosy tinge. Not to mention how his lips and chin still shone with the sweetness he'd tasted eagerly on his tongue the moment before. "I'm not gonna judge you for wanting to take it slow. Especially when we got crime Lords out there."

Beat.

"But if you need some assistance in satisfying that gorgeous pussy, then I'm one text away."

Shit. You needed a round two stat.

The White House. What a place for pretentious politicians.

“Mr President, you have a meeting with the Russian Ambassador at four, and the British Ambassador at six.” Chuck Shurley’s assistant, Becky Rosen, read off a tablet while President Shurley himself was looking at himself in the mirror to check if he was wearing the right suit for his next press conference.

“So many ambassadors.” Chuck muttered under his breath as he took off his blazer to exchange a tie for another one. “Look, Becky, can you be a dear and move my six o’clock to three tomorrow? My days’s too swamped and you know the Russians, they’re probably going to take up most of my time.”

Becky nodded eagerly, tapping on her keyboard. “I can do that, sir, let me put in a phone call.” Then there was chatter on her earpiece, and she let out a small “oh!” of surprise. “You have a visitor, Mr President.”

“And who’s that, Becky?” Chuck turned around with two ties each in his hand. He took a look at the four and put two back in the drawer, examining the other two.

“Your sister, sir. Amara.”

That piqued Chuck’s interest. “Yes, I know who my sister is. Send her in, and you leave.”

Becky nodded, already beginning to leave. “Of course, sir.”

The door shut behind her, and while Chuck was busy trying to figure out which tie worked best with his slacks, the door opened and closed, in coming Chuck’s sister.

Amara Shurley. Sister of the President and the First Lady since Chuck had no game.

Her black dress swished and her heels thudded against the soft carpet as she looked out upon the massive crowd and array of cameras waiting for Chuck’s statement on the recent leak of there being a crime lord called Asmodeus out wreaking havoc in America. “What will you say to them?”

“Anything.” He turned around with a soft sigh. “Those people out there just want reassurance. They’re willing to believe any lie, even if it’s on some cue cards that they can’t see on my podium.”

Amara frowned slowly, fiddling with her hands. “So, what was that policeman? Nick Santiago? Was what you said strictly for reassurance?”

“Of course not.” Chuck scoffed, shaking his head as he examined the ties. “I wouldn’t be in this office had it not been for that police sergeant. I wrote that bit of speech myself. I have to give myself some credit for that. I could be a writer if I hadn’t become President.” Chuck laughed slightly, then turned to Amara, holding up the ties that had made the cut. One navy, diagonally striped red and another that was plain navy. “Which one? Can’t choose.”

“Plain.” Amara replied simply and almost curtly, pacing. “You need to play this smart. Some criminals are out for your blood and there will come a time where your security detail isn’t as good as you think they’ll be. My advice is to tell everyone the truth.”

Chuck spun around, vigorously doing the tie in barely restrained shock. “The truth?!” He burst out, shaking his head and pointing out of the window to the masses of people, oblivious people. “Those people will go insane if I tell them the truth. That there’s a high profile crime syndicate out to kill me and possibly a large section of the population with their large-scale attacks. I’ve been briefed by the Major Crimes unit’s director at the FBI. There are dangerous individuals out there who haven’t been properly identified. If I tell all that to the public, America descends into chaos and I lose my position as the President.”

“So… you’ll lie.”

“Politicians lie, Amara.” Chuck snapped, putting his suit jacket on and beginning the last finishing touches to his hair. “I’m a politician. I lie. It’s how people like me get by in this train wreck of a country!”

“And I’m one of the only civilians that aren’t left in the dark.” Amara muttered, dejected. “Fine, Chuck. But know that if this goes downhill, I warned you.” Amara turned on her high heel, leaving the room promptly.

Chuck rubbed his forehead, smoothing out the creases, but he didn’t have time to worry over an argument with his sister. He put on his cuff links, checked that every strand of his hair was perfectly set, then stepped out of his room and met his bodyguards.

“Carlson.” He muttered to one of the guards, who nodded back.

“Mr President.” Carlson replied curtly, looking forward with an earpiece attached to a wire that disappeared down the front of his suit jacket.

Time to lie again.

“Alright, every agent involved has to be on the clock and alert, y’hear?” Director Singer informed all of us. We’d gotten word from our contacts undercover in crime rings that the syndicate dubbed ‘Hell’ was going to make their move on the British consulate. Tonight, at a meeting in the British Embassy. It was Agent Lafitte, Agent Garrison (who had been taken off suspension) and S. Winchester’s job to secure the perimeter.

As for Dean and I, we’d been assigned a full sweep of the building with some MI6 agents on the case to protect the British consulate: Agent Mick Davies and Agent Arthur Ketch. Neither you nor Dean looked forward to be meeting with the Brits, but hey, it was your job.

“You two,” Director Singer gestured between the two of you, “everything needs to go smoothly with these MI6 agents. I don’t want any reports to come back from their supervisor. Winchester, I’m lookin’ at you.” He pointedly stared at Dean, who returned the glare with a deceivingly innocent expression. “They’ll meet you in T minus five minutes.”

Beat.

“What’s everyone waiting for? Go, go, go!”

Everyone split off, and you and Dean were left alone, and he shot you a sideways smile. “So… Sam knows.”

“Yep.” You nodded, sighing. “Andréa knows as well.”

“Damn.” Dean whistled lowly, folding his arms and giving you a sideways look. At least it wasn’t the usual searing looks that had your mind going places. It was more muted, probably from the previous day’s intense release(s) of the day before.

You didn’t know whether to call it a mistake or the best damn night of your life. You had to admit, relinquishing control, letting Dean put you under him and hearing him talk dirty with that deep voice into your ear was heaven and hell on earth. But when he rolled you over and set you above him, you felt almost powerful.

So you didn’t know what to think. All you knew is that you and Dean Winchester in the same room was a recipe for disaster. Because it always ended in hardcore sex.

Or even hardcore making out. Anything with the term hardcore would do.

“You the FBI associates?” Two men walked up to the two of you. One short, and frankly dressed in the least stylish suit you’d seen. He gave you the impression of an extremely off brand Patrick Dempsey. He put his hand out to Dean with a polite smile, eyes scanning the both of you. “Mick Davies, MI6.”

“Dean Winchester, FBI.” Dean replied, shaking Mick’s hand, and with the small flinch in Mick’s expression, Dean had pulled out the ‘hell of a grip’ move due to the inflation in testosterone.

Davies’ associate, however, was taller, and he looked like he permanently had a bad smell under his nose. That is, until he saw you. That was when he put on a rather ‘pretentious dick’ smile and extended his hand to you. “Arthur Ketch.” His eyes had a glint in them that you didn’t trust. “MI6.”

“Nice to meet you.” You said curtly, then cleared your throat. “Our work is to protect the Consulate. Our agents are securing a perimeter as we speak. We need airtight security, and airtight security detail. That means no distractions, and all eyes on any suspicious figures in the room.”

Dean had a feeling the ‘no distractions’ bit was very aimed at him. Knowing you, it probably was.

“We have it covered, darling.” Ketch flashed you what he thought must have been a charming smile but instead looked constipated. “You hang tight.”

“I’m not ‘hanging tight’.” You responded with a hint of frost to your words. Who were you kidding? That frost was as strong as a tequila shot. “I’m doing my job. Do yours as well.” You walked off, adjusting the straps of your FBI vest, going to Director Singer to check if the perimeter was secure.

One thing. Can one thing in your life go right?

“Harvelle, what do you mean by ‘the files are scattered’?” You hissed into your phone, trying to watch the room but also dealing with a problem back at the office.

‘That’s the literal term.’ Jo almost winced as she seemed to be collecting all the files. ‘Somebody broke into the office and searched through.’

“Ok.” You took a breath so you wouldn’t spontaneously combust and fantasise about Dean taking care of you again. “Right. Here’s what you need to do. Sort the files, get Tran to help, and run all the collected files and its contents through our database. If anyone’s taken anything, we know it’s a class one priority. You report to me, tell me what’s missing. Any evidence that’s been tampered with, report to me. Got it?”

‘Yeah.’

“Now, I have a Consulate to watch. Bye.”

‘Bye.’ Harvelle squeaked, and cut the call. You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Nope. Nothing could go right.

Dean walked through the halls, radio up to his mouth as he gave orders and updates on the situation. He passed a large group of people, and as he did, a very discreet movement with made. Using a sharpened pocketknife, with one clean flick of the knife, they cut the side of Dean’s bulletproof vest. If, by chance, he made one wrong move, he was exposed.

While Consulate Sutherland of Britain was shaking hands with the mayor of Washington, Vince Gray, you were approached by a lady asking for the bathroom. She seemed innocent enough, then you saw it. White suit, slicked back salt and pepper hair, raising a pistol.

Asmodeus.

The lady was a distraction.

You quickly cuffed her and handed her over to Agent Lafitte, running, but you didn’t think you’d get there fast enough. “GET DOWN!”

Dean saw your sprinting, and he got there before you, diving to tackle the Consulate and mayor down, but his cut vest ripped, and the bullet that was fired with a deafening bang struck him in the side.

Your steps faltered for a moment, especially as you saw the supposed ‘distraction’ raise a small-duty detonator. You snapped the fastenings on the metal table, flipping it. You heard her make the cry “For Azazel!” before a much smaller blast than the one at the President’s speech ripped through the building, pushing you back and replacing all sense of sound with high, white noise in your ear.

It was deafening, blocking out all sound, but your eyes were in full working order. Asmodeus raised his gun again, and that prompted you to quickly flip the table in front of you just as the bullets flew, making dents in the metal from your side. Reaching for your handgun, you cocked it and flipped the safety, Dean saying something that you couldn’t make out through the ringing in your ears, instead popping up from behind the table to fire a shot before ducking back down.

“Sweetheart.” You could make out from under the ringing, alone with Dean’s hand clutching his side, compressing the blood flow.

You couldn’t hear a thing, looking blank even as you kept shooting at irregular intervals, only able to remain up for a short amount of time which sent your aim off kilter a bit. Didn’t help that Asmodeus was surprisingly agile for a man that seemed to be older.

You fired a quick and precise shot, having regained your bearings a bit, hitting the gun from a diagonal and sending it skidding, which forced Asmodeus to run. You could have run after him. However, as you’d recovered, you nodded to Dean. “Yeah?”

“The mole.” Dean panted, holding his hand to his side. “Probably compromised our position. You need to go get ‘em, sweetheart.” He grunted, unable to move much. You were torn between staying and leaving, but he chuckled. “I can see the cogs. Go. Now.”

Your job’s duty was right there, with the rapidly retreating figure of Asmodeus. But it was also with protecting your colleague, so you took off your jacket, gesturing for Sam to move in on Asmodeus and begin chase, while Benny, Cas, Meg and Ruby headed to secure a tighter perimeter.

Rolling up your sleeves, you took a look at Dean, gently removing his hands and checking for his signs of consciousness. “You’re gonna have to keep talking, ok?” You paused, and then chuckled. “As if you had any trouble with that before.”

The comment got a laugh and a shake of Dean’s head, huffing. “Smartass.” He coughed slightly. “I’ll fuck that attitude out of you when m’healed up.”

“Trust me, counting on it.” You grinned. Even if you weren’t sure if that would happen again. You pressed your hand firmly over the wound, quickly calling for medical backup and checking it over. “No major arteries. But this needs to be checked out, Dean. I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are.” Dean insisted, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re better kickin’ ass instead of checkin’ on me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Double sure?”

“Double yes.”

“Dean.”

“I’m not hearing this.” He lightly shoved your shoulder. “Go on, get.”

“Classy.” You sighed, replacing the clip of your gun and cocking the barrel. But you conceded, sighing. “Fine. Fine. I’m going.”

“Good girl.” Dean murmured, cradling your jaw. “Give ‘em hell, darlin’.” You nodded, then ran after Asmodeus, leaving Dean alone as he saw paramedics pull up outside.

“Son of a bitch.” He grunted, looking at the scarlet on his fingers.

In the meantime, you sprinted down where you thought Asmodeus went, but found nothing. Nothing except a dragged trail of red, which you followed.

The streaks of red on the stone floor ended at feet. Which were obviously connected to legs and then hips and a torso and a... neck. Oh, God.

The guy you'd found was deader than dead. His throat was slit deep and almost surgically, blood dripping steadily into a puddle on the ground.

And over the cleverly painted mural, above the poor dead civilian, were words painted in blood. Hasty and hurried words.

I WARNED YOU.

NEXT UP:

"My baby." Your mom whispered, sitting beside you in your hospital bed, smoothing back your hair. "God, look at you."

You rolled your eyes, prepared for the worst. After all, nothing more or less could be expected of your traditional mother other than and personal comments to your appearance.

"Spit it out." You groaned. "I look like hell." You felt like you'd combust. You'd do it. Fragile chine be damned.

Like, comment or reblog! I’d love to hear your feedback. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

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@katherineeekai @freefallthoughts @angzls

To be added to any character’s taglist of mine , find my form on my master list.

[justblades]

⌕ SUCK HIM DRY, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : jing yuan x afab! reader WC : 1.7k

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI. dubcon, succubus! reader, hypnosis

⟢ SUMMARY : a succubus preys on a luofu general — a battle of wits, who will outsmart the other given that both parties should not be underestimated? perhaps only time can answer.

the mara-struck, the ambrosial arbor— the legends drift to outsiders once they set foot on the xianzhou luofu. almost everything is possible in this setting, it was natural for devils who feed on sins to exist along with these species, and so you descend into the ship undercover, looking for a particular victim.

your interest was piqued by a distinct foxian lady whose ears are tall and in tan color, especially the notable, fluffy tail wagging just behind her. she has a little wooden table set in front of her and atop the birch surface are multiple pictures of a silver long haired male, smile as cunning yet blithe at the same time. the most notable feature however is the angel mark just below his left eye, followed by his long onyx lashes framing his aureate irises.

from the clothing he dons, it was clear-cut he's someone of a high ranking. you were not to be underestimated now that you're running low on your fill, so you opted for unconventional methods: by buying intel about the person and immediately found almost everything the luofu general does. a small price to pay for your deprivation.

apparently his name is jing yuan. it rolls off your long tongue smoothly. his charisma, his aura and his name: he's a perfect target. your adrenaline levels spike as you envision what you'll do to him once you lay your hands on the male, dozen scenarios flashing from one to another.

at present with a remarkable entrance, you finally emerge out from the shadows and make an appearance for your victim. although jing yuan's eyes are heavy lidded as he was a second apart from completely dozing off, he manages to brandish his weapon in an instant, hoisting it at your figure. the indolence he displayed from earlier immediately dissipates into thin air, his masculine voice cuts through the thick ice of tension lingering in the vicinity.

"you finally showed yourself. i've been waiting since earlier." it was just 10 words but he exceeds your expectations. never have your presence been sensed by anybody as that is one of your skills, to be able to conceal yourself and your true identity. jing yuan isn't to be taken too lightly, it appears. but no matter how he was able to anticipate your arrival, he still fell prey on your yearning hands.

he suddenly grunts in struggle as his limbs get pinned down on the sculpted, hazel chair before him. jing yuan loses control of his own body and you continue to stride towards him, a lecherous smile carved on your lips. "general jing yuan . . you're quite an attractive man." you whisper as you lean closer to his face, your hot breath ghosts a caress on the very shell of his ear.

the general was addled at first, trying his best to discern what kind of creature you really are. "you look confused, i'll grant you the privilege of knowing what i am." your words were honeyed as your eyes lock a wary gaze with his golden hues. "i'm just a demon who feeds on people . . the sin of lust particularly, and i'm here to claim your life once i successfully do so."

forcing a kiss on his sultry lips, your fingers grab a hold of his chin, making sure to deepen further your tongue in— making you feel more tantalized than before. jing yuan's brows furrow, continuing to struggle to break free from the curse you laid upon him. quickly breaking the seal of the kiss, you couldn't help but chuckle, "you taste so delicious general! i wonder if it's the same down here."

jing yuan glances at where your other clawed hand trails, his vision landing on his erection, all exposed from how you swiftly ripped his pants open. slowly gliding your digits against his prominent veins of a reddish tan mixed of violet shades, you merit yourself with the general's grunts of arousal as he closes his eyes shut.

he grinds his teeth, "i've heard of such creatures but i never would've imagined they were true." he struggles to speak eloquently like he always does now that he's under your teasing touch. suddenly, a warm feeling envelops his twitching length, only to realize you were sucking his girthy cock. "does it feel good, general?" you query, bobbing your head up and down while making a vacuum like suction as you suck all of him in, your tongue fiddling his dick's folds.

the silver haired throws his head back in defeat, unable to budge a movement as he was stuck in a sitting position. with a succubus pleasuring him, he couldn't deny it was a wonderful sensation. he eventually lets his guttural moans come undone and follow suit one after another, sounding into your ears like awards or prizes for doing your job well. amidst of this, he starts to think of a way to free himself from these invisible restraints but you heeded no mind and continue to indulge yourself in carnal desire.

however as you didn't underestimate jing yuan, the same could be said for you. after all, you meticulously planned to draw away everyone's attention in jing yuan's office just so you can prey on him. time flashes by rather quick and liquids of release sprawl into the hidden depths of your throat as you also toy with your sloppy cunt, growing eager to lap all of him even more.

"one out of three. once you cum thrice, it's a bye bye." the sentence cut off jing yuan's rowdy train of thoughts, but as he was powerless before such specie, you were able to insert his dick in, straddling his thigh, facing the male. he flinches as your tight walls coil around his shape, the head of his dick meeting with your cervix, " . . you're big!" you exclaim, your eyes widening into two full moons, shock coursing through your veins.

resting your hands on his broad shoulders, you begin to bounce on him, raising your ass and push your hips down on his thick, heating dick. your eyes never left jing yuan's, and you swear you could feel how much he's been thinking in spite of the low mewls he lets out— "yes, just keep looking at me like that!" taunting the general even more, his piercing, brazen stare sharpens, almost penetrating right through your soul.

"oh, general . ." you call out to him as you moan his name, "general jing yuan . . xianzhou luofu is such a pretty place!" naughty, squelching noises reverberate inside the vast space, accompanied by you and jing yuan's bit back moans of satisfaction. now locking your hands around his neck and fingers ruffling his long, luscious, ashy strands, you give him another open mouthed kiss, one that is much more gentler than the other, eyes closed to engage with the sensation.

noticing the littlest details of a person's body language, gifted to every succubus or incubus birthed into this universe, you could sense how his dick throbs, signaling for his release soon. the corners of your lips lift, displaying a smug smile once you pick up your speed and add more force on your movements, shaking your hips slowly to earn more sounds from the male's mouth.

"i— i'm—" jing yuan groans and the second round of his climax dawns, filling your velvet walls with his muddy white seed to the point that a good amount seeps into your womb. you feel your body lighten and improve in condition, "i wasn't wrong in choosing you at all. even your cum tastes refreshing— i can also make you do this."

the general's body moves by itself as he bends you over the table this time with one push, your face slapping against the varnished surface. his hand tightly clasped on your shoulder blades, you wiggle your pelvis so his head meets with your lips— and prods through your fluttering folds once more. he heaves deep breaths, more waves of pleasure crashing on him, even though it was against his will, he couldn't deny that he feels good from it.

your head spins as his thrusts were far more powerful than you expected. you didn't take into account how raw power works in these instances but it made the experience hundred times better— you were starting to lose your mind as he fills you with his cock, beads of his satisfaction trickling down past your thighs.

"what a naughty general!" you remark with absolute mockery, "is this what you fantasize about while you keep the luofu's peace, jing yuan?" snickering at the end of your sentence, you were surprised to hear him respond. "yes, and it seems like you're a perfect fit." you were taken aback by his reply.

he proceeds to flip your body around, carrying your figure with his mere two arms. he rises from his position and guides your legs to lock around his waist, his cock reaching deeper than before and rubbing on the other parts of your walls. "what— no! how could y—" jing yuan cuts off your protest with a passionate kiss, you could feel his lips tug into a smirk.

"where's your playful nature now?" jing yuan's words exude of irony and sarcasm: having enjoyment at how confusion washes over your facial features. "i'm not an ordinary being either - i'm afraid to say you only set yourself up for failure." the cocky aura from your stature ceases, jaw falling agape and your lustful eyes' gleam die down.

he speeds up his thrusts, intruding your tight cunt with an unrealistic speed. despite of worry gnawing at your perturbed mind, you couldn't stifle the mewls slipping from your lips. "it only took me . . a while to overcome your binds." the general clarifies and with one last stroke, more strings of milky like substance spring out from his cock, painting your walls white.

as soon as he fills you up, he lets go of your body, making a loud thud sound. you were left there unable to move, even more perplexed as to why. even though it didn't hurt you one bit, your mind was just occupied at just how powerful the general is. he exits your peripheral vision for a while, only to come back with new clothing donned as if the ones you ripped earlier weren't busted at all.

the seat of divine foresight's gates swing open, revealing numerous cloud knights in preparation for combat.

"be careful bringing her to the cell, this one's dangerous. i shall pay a visit later."

my masterlist !

[hazbinheadcanon]

THEORY: ROSIE IS CHARLIE’S REAL MOM (pls hmo)

SPOILERS FOR HH S2 LEAKS UNDER THE CUT!!

Okay, first let’s establish who Roo is.

Roo is the “root of all evil,” who is said to make an appearance far later in the series. Very little is known about her, but personally, I believe that she could be Eve.

Reasons:

- Adam is in Heaven, Eve is missing, despite both of them eating the fruit of knowledge. Eve is shown to have eaten it first, which set free all sin (this thing), which was contained in the fruit.

- Eating the apple first could have caused evil to possess Eve, turning her into Roo.

- In an interview, Vivziepop said that season 3 (or 4 I can’t remember) would delve more into family, which I think could mean a lot if we are going with the theory of Roo being Charlie’s real mother and with Lilith being away.

But why do I think Roo is Charlie’s real mother? Let’s look at the physical similarities:

- Both Charlie and Roo have red eyes with those little black slits

- Both have the puppy dog nose. Neither Lucifer nor Lilith have this.

- Charlie’s hand is able to turn into a giant claw, which Roo has.

Lucifer also made a comment to Adam about sleeping with Eve. I don’t think Lucifer would cheat on Lilith. If Lilith was infertile, Eve/Roo could have served as a surrogate mother.

Okay, so if Roo is supposedly Charlie’s real mom, why would Rosie be Roo? More importantly, if she is Rosie,what does she want to do with Alastor?

Based on the leaks, we now know that Rosie actually owns Alastor’s soul. So why do I still think Roo does?

(To clarify, I am not gonna leave clips for proof just out of respect for the team behind the show, but if you want to see what I’m talking about the leaks are not hard to find if you dig hard enough)

Firstly, Roo seems to act as a very ominous and mysterious figure, known to be dangerous and kinda acts as an urban legend in Hell. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for her to go undercover to keep her whereabouts and actions secret. In this case, disguising herself as the mayor of Cannibal Town. Second, there is a lot of eyeball imagery in regards to Roo and throughout the show. For example, the deal that was made between Rosie and Alastor was that Alastor would gain a large amount of power in exchange for something. We know that a majority of his power comes from his staff, which, you guessed it, has an eyeball on it. If we go with the idea that Rosie created this for him, we can associate it with Roo’s magic. Also, both in the hotel and in Alastor’s radio tower, there are eyeballs. Is Roo watching them?

Additionally, these last few may be a stretch, but notice how both Rosie and Roo have a big hat? Share a first letter in their name? Roo is depicted with chains, and Rosie is known to give out services in exchange for favors. Is it possible that she owns other souls? Rosie seems for some reason a lot more powerful compared to other Overlords, not to mention she is implied to be one of the few hellborn overlords.

Alright, last thing. If Roo is Rosie and Roo is Charlie’s real mom, what was the deal she made with Alastor?

Well, I believe that Roo could be jealous of Lilith and wants Charlie. It could possibly explain Lilith’s absence, who maybe made a deal with Roo? I’m still unsure of Lilith’s case on why she’s in Heaven, but Charlie and Lucifer I have a better idea of.

When meeting Charlie, Rosie acts very motherly towards her. You could blow this off as her being kind hearted, but given the evidence, I think it says so much more. In the leaks, Alastor tells Rosie he quit working at the hotel after “playing nice” because she promised him power, claiming “they really weren’t getting any closer to—“ before getting cut off by Rosie saying that quitting wasn’t his decision. Getting closer to what? Why does Rosie want Alastor at the hotel so badly? I always thought that Alastor just randomly showing up to the hotel for “entertainment” was kinda dumb. Maybe, he could be trying to get a hold of Charlie to bring to Rosie. It would explain his weird hostility towards Lucifer. Possibly frustration over his loss of control over Charlie since he had built up a trust? Maybe as part of the deal, Roo wanted some sort of revenge on Lucifer. It gets a little messy and it’s hard for me to put into words, but it makes much more sense in my head.

That’s basically it.

TL;DR: Eve is Roo, Roo is Rosie in disguise, Alastor made a deal with Rosie in exchange for power that involves gaining Charlie’s trust and bringing her back to her real mother and tearing the Morningstars apart as some sort of revenge.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

He’s not a NRC student but…

Rollo: “What are YOU doing here?” (Assuming that pre Playful Land piece you wrote happened and Rollo just happened to be at NRC for whatever reason.)

[Referencing this fic!]

This interaction is fr the "wow, these people are so weird; thank god I'm the normal one" meme 🤡 Pretend Gidel's off chasing butterflies or something--

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“What are YOU doing here?!”

The words had been taken right out of his mouth. They were spoken simultaneously, two accusatory fingers pointing in the opposite directions. One away from him, one toward…

A young man with a silvery bowl cut, bangs short, dark circles under his even darker eyes shaded by a tricone hat. His robes were elaborate in their stitching, golden thread spinning into flowers that hugged his waist and circles his arms. The aura he radiated was quiet but intense, all the heat and power of a devastating wildfire contained in a single human being.

“I remember you!” Fellow cried, brusque with his declaration. “You’re that shitty brat with the awful personality! The one that brushed us off at the docks and threatened to set me on fire!"

"And you are the incredibly shifty, invasive conman who sought to lure innocent children into the claws of magic." Rollo grimaced, pressing a handkerchief to his nose. "... It seems you've dropped the polite pretenses since our last encounter."

"Yeah, well, no point in puttin' on those airs anymore. I left my last job, so I'm not obligated to kiss ass."

"How... good for you."

Rollo’s reply, while curt, was phrased politely enough—but the pause stuck out. His eyes burned with disdain, as though he were regarding something offensive. A piece of trash, maybe. No, dirt. Perhaps something even lower than dirt.

Rollo averted his gaze, as if to end the conversation then and there. The dismissive motion grinded Fellow’s gears, sandpaper rubbing on his skin.

What, am I not worth his time to talk to? Who does he think he is?!

Fellow clenched his jaw and forced a smile. “So, my good man! What have you been up to since we last met, hmm?”

“… Official business.” Rollo glanced at the documents tucked under one of his arms. “As Student Council President of Noble Bell College, it falls to me to act as our representative and to engage with other magic schools.”

Fellow blew out air through his teeth. “You’re a real hotshot, huh?”

One of the lucky ones, polished and put on a pedestal. Envy tugged at Fellow’s heartstrings. What he would give to be a part of that glittering world, not a worry to his name.

“One could say that, yes.” Rollo seemed to be frowning with his entire body. His expression, his posture. “Hmph. It is a burden I did not ask for. How troublesome.”

Fellow straightened—irked. “What are you talking about? You have any idea how many people would kill to be where you are? Be a little more grateful, wouldja?”

“Excuse me?” Rollo’s brows twitched. “Who are you to judge others and determine how they ought to behave?”

“You don’t have to be a somebody with a fancy title to know when there’s a bad seed around.”

“You do not know me,” Rollo said icily. “Do not presume that you do.”

You could never understand what I’ve been through!!

He looked the beastman up and down, noting the patchwork in his attire, the holes in his façade. “… Pray forgive that I do not place much stock in your word. You do not present as a scholar, nor an upstanding adult of any sort.”

The comment cut deep, striking at his core. Fellow lashed out in defense.

“S-So what?! I don’t need a hoity toity kid like you labelling me. You’re bound to school and its rules. Me? I’m free to go wherever I like, whenever I please.”

Rollo sniffed, unimpressed. “So you claim—yet you linger at the feet of this institution of those who worship sin. It’s perfectly clear what your motive is, Mr. Honest. Like an parasite drawn to rotting fruit, you seek to be in the vicinity of that power, hoping to leech some of it for yourself. You too are one of the mindless sheep clamoring for a crumb of magic, not recognizing that pursuit will inevitably lead to your demise.”

Fellow blinked. His anger wavered, mixing with confusion. “Wh-What the hell, kid! You always gotta talk like a doomer?! Unclench your face for a second and take a breather, sheesh! I’m getting depressed just standing here listening to you mouth off.”

Rollo scoffed. “If you ask me, you do not take life seriously enough.”

“Life’s meant to be fun. Not all work, no play. You’ll become a dull and jaded grown-up if you keep going down this path.”

“I would rather be that than a fool who holds fast to his childish delusions.”

"Psssh. Least I'm not a hardass. All the privilege in the world and you still gotta act all sour."

Rollo stared at him, his gaze cold and steely. Fellow returned it. The same thought filled both of their heads.

He isn't satisfied with what he has now. He wants something more for himself than this. He's...

Deplorable, Rollo thought.

A greedy bastard, Fellow thought.

And when, at last, the staring became too much for either to bare, Rollo coughed into a fist. "If you will excuse me. I mustn't dawdle. These documents have to be delivered to Headmaster Crowley in a timely manner."

He paused deliberately.

"... I will pray for you," Rollo murmured as he walked off, his steps brisk and snappy.

Fellow gawked after him, appalled.

"Yeah, good riddance!" he hollered. "Hope the door hits ya on the way out!!"

[solitaryandwandering]

A Ramble: Love in the Big City Eps 1-2

I just watched episode 2 of Love in the Big City and I am... reeling. Cried when Kim Nam Gyu died, when Yeong and Mi Rae sang together at the wedding, cried at the crushing ending line. I loved the direction in these two episodes; one of the reasons I was super excited to watch this was because they're switching up the directors for each part. Such a cool way to signal transitions in Yeong's life. Now that I've seen the caliber Son Tae Gyum operated at I'm intrigued to see how direction will affect the next parts. Maybe I'll write up a thing about that in the end, but I'm hopeful others will as well! I am chomping at the bit to read the book, seriously!!

I have to mention first what a BALLSY move it was for them to open on Yeong's tryst with a man who was cheating on someone currently in the military. And he walks in the door, STILL IN UNIFORM. What a fucking slap in the face to hegemonic masculinity!!

After this first part what I am really lingering on are two things: queer loneliness and heteronormativity's relationship to misogyny. I'm just gonna put down my half-baked thoughts, I don't have the time or spoons to formulate coherent sentences haha

Though I saw Nam Gyu's death coming just based on vibes in the first episode, its impact wasn't lessened. Its significance didn't really hit me until I saw how empty his funeral was. Loneliness shaped his life - repression, liberation in meeting another gay man, falling in love with him way too fast, forming a dependent attachment, his desperation/obsessiveness in losing it so abruptly. He expressed his queerness in his photography, voyeuristic and seeking closeness with his subjects in the only way he felt was available to him. He had no friends, no relationships outside of his with Yeong. When Yeong breaks up with him and when he visits him drunk in ep 2, he says "falling in love is not a sin." To me, this shows just how removed from a loving community he has been, how nascent his queerness. He's still processing homophobia, it still influences every move he makes, everything he thinks. Clearly he has not had close relationships with other queers, where he may feel free to unburden himself. He falls back on heteronormative performance of romance, searching the best places for dates, not having anyone to ask. Knowing he's older makes this hurt more.

His story brought to mind the futility of AIDS-related deaths in the U.S., to be honest. I lost my gay uncle before I even knew him, and I know no one from his life. I know it's not a perfect parallel, but that funeral... this emptiness carries beyond one queer person's death. And Yeong's journey in these two episodes is about queer loneliness, of course. But his story is not as tragic as Nam Gyu's. He has (amazing) queer friends, and at one point had Mi Rae. He is much more connected to the queer community than Nam Gyu ever was. Despite his immaturity, Yeong is also much more familiar and comfortable with his queerness. I imagine this thread of self-actualization in the face of loneliness will continue in the rest of the show.

@twig-tea and @poetry-protest-pornography also wrote about queer loneliness in this show: here and here

And then we have Mi Rae, a vitally important relationship in Yeong's life, the love this part of the story is about. I met my best friend in college as well, so this part of the story was bringing up a lot of feelings too. To me, their friendship was as much about navigating heteronormativity as anything else, reflected in Yeong's reflection that "she learned that being a gay man sucks, and I learned that being a woman sucks just as much." Mi Rae is impacted by misogyny in every step of her character's journey: male classmates labeling her a slut and claiming her body for theirs, being groped, her challenges obtaining an abortion and mistreatment by a male doctor (where she literally claims her uterus back), her conflict with her parents (I'm assuming her mother had very rigid ideas of what a woman should be, based on her behavior at the wedding), hiding her past from her boyfriend, forced to defend herself when he questions why she lives with a man, shutting herself off from her relationship with Yeong (and thus rejecting her past) after the wedding. I looked up the status of abortion in Korea (a legal gray zone) and was reminded of how badly women there have it, which provided more context for her behavior.

Yeong must also traverse heteronormativity, which is what ultimately drives a wedge between the two and ends their friendship. In the beginning, their mutual rejection of heteronormative scriptures is what brings them together. He stands up for her against those male classmates, in an interaction steeped with assumptions of his heterosexuality. In rejecting her objectification he made himself a pariah for refusing to participate in normative masculinity. And their relationship continues thus, with her promising never to out him. She betrays him in a moment where she feels her participation in normative heterosexuality is threatened (and, indeed, it is a legitimately precarious position to be put in as a woman). Their brief reconciliation mainly consists of Yeong participating in a heterosexual ritual - he has no access to marriage in Korea. Her singing with him and letting go of her inhibitions for one last time was her goodbye to him and her ultimate acceptance of a more heteronormative life. One he can't participate in.

I hope that made any lick of sense. So looking forward to watching the next week. I am holding myself back from watching the next episodes right now. So hard.