#like my worth was only tied to my body for them. lord knows they never gave a fuck abt who i was inside

[snekdood]

ppl sexualizing me so much honestly has pushed me further into being ace bc i feel so uncomfortable about being seen for just how sexy someone finds me and want no part of that

[kuni-is-daddy]

Comfort!Wanderer x Female Reader

Tw: Hints of depression. If you don't know scaras backstory ur gonna get spoiled.

Ft: Teasing,f/ngering, Riding, Scara praises u, aftercare?,he calls you a good girl

Wordcount: 1.77k

CW: Minors do not interact past the cut! This is a NSFW post

ScaraMasterlist

Before you two go on another outing, 'Hat guy' reluctantly asked nahida for help on another one of his gifts to give you...

"Remember hat guy! if anything happens ring the safety bell, okay? And keep in touch while im at vanarana. I want to make sure you two have an awesome time!" The small archon tippy toed, while 'hatguy' leaned down as she tied the trinket to his feathered ornament. "Tsk- Buer, im far from a child. I dont need anyone to hold my hand like one." Nahida looked up at the puppet, "Really? you never mind ms Y/N holding your hand though." He diverted his gaze and mumbled to himself. "See? I knew you'd like it. Oh right! your gift!"

Hat guy fixed his posture, "Here! Make sure you give this to ms y/n." In her hand was a book of photos she put together for him with little stickers of slimes and aranara with smiley faces, handing it to hatguy as he took his time with each page and noticing the many 'new' pictures, some being ones he didn't give to the lessor lord. "Your a stalker now too? I guess reading minds isnt enough for you." Ignoring his comment buer took out another book. One titled 'Nahida's sumeru travel guide' with a cover drawing of a purple cat barely paying attention to the light green cat. "Do you have to insist on making everything look like a coloring book..." Nahida didnt reply, mearling looking away and humming a tune similar to the aranara while he began his walk to the park.

Whenever you two would hang out together it was in the library within the akedemiya or anywhere he chose. Sometimes as you held his hand walking through the peaceful park your mind would fill the silence in the worst ways possible as he stared at your now frowning expression. "I dont know Kuni, is the akedemiya even worth it anymore? Theirs people smarter than me there anyway." Kuni stopped in his tracks. "But isnt the whole point of the akedemiya just to major in a 'hobby' you like?." he raised an eyebrow. "Well..i guess..but..Theirs obviously people better than me at it." "Id disagree. Besides their Irrelevant. Shouldn't you just do it and have fun. Huh.. I thought thats what hobby's we're. Something for idle bodies to enjoy." You sighed at his response and sat on the bench. "Its not that simple kuni, I have to get a job and- my family what if i have to provide for them too. Ontop of that there really unfair. Why am i putting my heart into this just for it to be a flop." 'A flop?' At your wording he was brought back to his association with the kaedehara clan. Every now and then he'd overhear niwa talking with others over its upending struggles due to the rise of his mothers sword art. Spreading around inazuma like wildfire and Leaving the clan to struggle in its contribution to the arts. But only in a matter of time kuni was able to 'eat' and drink his favorite tea with them in celebration of their success. We're all the struggles just the divine tricks to see who is worthy? was a god playing tricks on you? 'It couldnt be like that..' Kuni put his gift on the bench, and held your hand while sitting with you

"Maybe im overthinking kuni..I-i just dont know.." It pained him to just look at you like this. Tired. Just so tired mentally and physically, tears dreaning down your eyes as you measly sat on the bench. You began to get up, Remembering your responsibilities. "Its fine kuni, you know- maybe I just need some rest! at home!" 'she said that before' He held your hand, uncomfortably tight. His mind always thought to the worst and he never wanted to loose you because of it. Often getting angry at himself for assuming you'd do such a thing..or likewise to what he did. But this time, He just couldnt let go. Was he scared? As much as you implied, you'd never do such things It always rang in the back of his mechanical ears. If only he was still a harbinger, He would've did everything in his power more then he could now to get you the stable income or whatever humans would need in any region or place in teyvat you wanted. Just say the word and he would've done it regardless of her 'excellency' but he couldnt now, all he could do was use this 'curse' which he called emotions to help understand you. "Kuni-...Please let me go....Im alright." you sniffled. He immediately noticed your change in tone. It was soothing just how you always talked to him yet he still felt wary.

With a few more tugs it felt as if his grip only tighter the more you tugged. In defeat, you brokenly sighed and sat back next to the puppet. A part of him was irked at your own confusion. But he never once regretted trying to comfort you through it when, and when you didnt ask. Even awaiting you at your home before you messaged him. It felt as if you sat in the park for hours within cold silence as your throat and chest burned trying making out words but every attempt was cut off by insecurity.

You always knew he loved you, but even your black and white reality began looking different colors. You shuttered while looked at him again, meeting eyes and Surprised that his hat was off. Resting on the bench's crook. "How about..I join the akademiya with you?" you let go of his soft hand, beginning to wipe your eyes until he pulled a green cloth with flowers printed on it out his pants pocket, Damping away your tears as you subtly smiled and sniffled. "I never knew you we're into cute things like this kuni." 'cute?' "Well. You can always rely on this..unique archon of yours to make her presence." you didnt ask any further. "Why do you want to join the akademiya?" "Isnt it obvious? to be with you. and for buer to stop annoying me." he mumbled the last part. "But you dont even have a major or-" "The archives of inazuma can use a rework. I find it ironic how beelz- the raiden shogun is portrayed as some. Beneveloent god, that pursuits eternity." He smirked, Writing a thesis might be one of the most indirect ways he could show up his mother but that had to wait.

You we're more important, and always have been since you entered his life. Kuni noticed his gift. "Oh yeah. Here." he handed you the bag. "Whats in it. More bitter tea for me to try?" he blushed at your answer. "Just open it." you smiled at him again and looked at the pictures in the book. Trying to hold back a laugh at the picture of nahida whacking him uptop his head for god knows what. He looked at the picture, intrigued on why you we're laughing. 'buer you had one fucking job-' then back at you again. "No need to thank me- i-" cutting him off, you kissed kuni on his cheek "I love it kuni." 'his skin is so soft~' you thought. "Then I guess I should thank you too." The puppet shifted closer to you moving the book back in the bag and out of your view behind him. "W-wait kuni- not here we're in a park!" he sucked his teeth and still moved closer to you, sinking his face into your neck as you leaned back "And? thats even better, every person here can know how important you are to me. Got a problem with that?." He began tugging at the buttons on your shirt "Or..Does my baby want to continue this at home? I'll let you choose this time."

----

You fumbled with the keys as you locked the door behind you. Kuni was already tugging onto you. Biting and leaving petals of kisses along your neck. "K-kuni~ slow down.." you moaned. "Shit..Love it when you say my name too. This beautiful body is all mine." you turned around to face him, being greeted by his kimono barely hanging onto his shoulders to cover his lean form behind his turtleneck. "Your staring again…Like what you see y/n? Its all for you." He picked you up, bringing you to your bedroom littered in papers, pens and books on your desk. "huh. Do all scholars have a messy room like this?" He chuckled. "S-shut up.."

Kuni laid you onto the bed, observing your body before trailing his hands down to your pants. Letting out a groan. "God. Your fucking beautiful. How dare you treat yourself like this." He slowly tugged your clothes off. Then rubbed his hands along your thighs, spreading your legs and revealing your wet slit. "You want it gentle baby?" you nodded. Sinking his head inbetween your legs, he began licking on your bud. "Kuni~" "Shh…Relax..for me pet." your thighs twitched at the name. "Oh? you like being called that too…ill- mmm~ remember that" he sunk his tongue inside of you, moaning into you incoherent praise. "f-fuck..you- mmm taste- s' good." you rubbed your hand through his hair. Pressing him farther onto you. Usually you didnt take the lead or have him bottomed out for you like this. But it was your special night, as many we're yours to come. Kuni didnt want to stop for celestia itself to make sure you felt loved just as you made him feel. "Wahnt me to stop baby- you- ah..i know you like it." "N-no kuni~ please dont stop." you said while pressing your thighs closer against his head. "Hah..How about my fingers, want that too?" Kuni licked at his fingers after pulling away from your wet hole with a gasp for air. "Yes master~" his cock twitched in his pants. He knew you wanted it slow but god the urge to take you right then and there. He inserted two of his fingers as your walls clenched, slowly shifting in rhythm of his fingers. "Arent you eager hmm? Already want me inside dont you? Thought you wanted me to be gentle." He smiled, Thrusting his digits faster inside you. "K-kuni!! please.. I- ah..hah.." "Yes baby? what does my good girl want." kuni leaned down to you, wanting to hear your delicious moans. "Inside..Please..want you inside~" "Hah..Theres my pet." The two of you switched positions. Kuni laying his lean body on your bed as you climbed ontop of him, slowly sinking him inside you.

"K-kuni..your so big," "And hah..your so warm..oh shit~." You began moving, bouncing up and down on kuni's length. "Oh god baby..L-look at you, bouncing on master so ah-well.." His praise filled your ears, making your body heat up. You two interlocked hands as you both chased your highs. The sound of skin slapping and your wet moans echo'd around the room. "Yes..Yes y/n- fuck yes. I L- ah.. Love you so fucking much, dont stop. dont stop." He squeezed onto your hand, eyes slightly glowing from his pre sloshing up and down inside you. "Kuni~ m' close..Im gonna- i-" "Thats it- just like that- cum for me~ let me hear those beautiful moans-" From his bittersweet praise you came onto his length, squeezing his hand 'tightly' as he soon came after you, Painting your walls with his warm seed. You collapsed onto his chest, Still inside him and coming down from your high. His chest wasn't rising up and down.. which creeped you out a little but you didnt mind.

The two of you laid in the bed. Mumbling every now and then about earlier as he stroked your hair. "I dont expect you to get well instantly y/n. Thats not how things work." "Yeah..Then i guess id be like some sort of puppet right?" you chuckled while trailing your hand along his chest. "Right.." kuni laid his head back. "What im saying is that you have to try at your own pace to get better. Regardless of everyone, its your life you have to live. And i..hate seeing you dwelling here when I know there's someee things your good at. If you get discouraged, I'll be there for you." "And if your not..?" he sighed at your reply. "That'll be rare. Then Call me and we'll go for another walk if you want. Im sure that childish archon has plenty ideas too."(He thought back to the bell). Some of his advice was stuff you've already heard. Even though it is easier said then done your heart warmed at his ideals. He even wanted to get in the akedemiya just for you, he was willing to do so much. Even if you felt better for a day or made the smallest progress Kuni would be proud.

Thank you for reading and I wish you the best :)

[shadowqueenjude]

Azris for @hieragalbatorixdottir

Needless to say, Azriel was not having a good day. His High Lady’s sister had abruptly decided to cut all ties with the Night Court, leaving with her mate in a fury, and for some reason, everyone and their mothers had decided to blame him for it.

Fine, Azriel had been a little weird one night with Elain. One night! It didn’t even seem to make a dent on her! She returned his gift immediately and had no difficulty not interacting with him since. But it seemed that the Inner Circle needed a scapegoat, and that scapegoat was to be him.

Azriel just wanted to go to the practice arena and swing his sword. The last thing he needed to be dealing with right now was-

“Hello, shadowsinger,” a male voice purred.

Oh no.

Azriel whipped his head towards the Autumn court heir. It didn’t help that he resembled his youngest brother quite a bit. Eris kept his right leg up on the armrest of a chair while in his left hand dangled a glass of wine. A crown was set at a jaunty angle on his head. And that smirk-

Azriel wanted to kill him.

“You,” he snarled.

“You look tense,” Eris mused, mock concern dripping in his voice. “Should I get you some tonic? I know you’re getting old; back pain is no joke in these twilight years.”

Azriel took a deep breath, his hands forming fists, and he imagined his hands wrapped around Eris’s neck like at the HL meeting. “We’re almost the same age, asshole.”

Eris chuckled. “But I don’t look like it, nor do I act like it. I cannot say the same for you. My my, are those age lines on your forehead?”

Yeah, no. Not today, Amarantha.

Azriel launched himself at him again.

Only this time, Eris held him back. Despite being quite slender, Eris’s arms packed quite a bit of strength. He laughed lowly at the utter fury in Azriel’s eyes? “So desperate to choke me again, shadowsinger? I’m starting to wonder whether you wish to kiss me or kill me.”

Azriel glared at him, at his stupidly perfect face, his stupidly soft looking lips that he wanted to make bleed, at his absurdly expensive clothing that he wanted to rip off of his body.

Impulse control had never been Azriel’s strong suit, so he grabbed Eris’s shirt by the collar and pulled downward. A loud tearing sound rented the air.

Azriel hoped to see some outrage that he had destroyed Eris’s perfect clothes, but it seemed that his amusement only increased.

“Those clothes were worth more than your future. I hope you’re planning to repay me for them,” Eris murmured seductively. His amber eyes were glittering with mischief as they eyed Azriel, daring him to do something.

So Azriel listened to the voice in his head screaming at him and lowered his lips to Eris’s.

Azriel got lost in the heated exchange, biting Eris’s lip three or four times in the exact same spot before soothing it over with his tongue.

“I…fucking…hate…you,” Azriel breathed between kisses.

Eris lifted Azriel off of him, moving briefly to the arm of the chair so that he could throw Azriel onto the cushions. Then he crawled on top of him.

“Good thing you don’t need to love me for me to do this,” Eris said. He grabbed Azriel’s cock and stroked a finger up and down its length. Azriel writhed under his grasp.

“Quit teasing,” Azriel hissed.

Eris lowered his face, not breaking eye contact the whole time. “Oh, but you love the tease, Azriel. Don’t lie to yourself.” He closed his mouth around the head of his cock and sucked gently. Azriel grabbed the back of his head and pulled him forward.

“If-you’re-not-choking-you’re-not-going-hard-enough,” Azriel grunted, but Eris pulled away, running his hand down Azriel’s chest. “Such a brat,” Eris crooned. “You dare demand such things from a future High Lord?” A mocking shake of the head. “Behave, Azriel. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it my way.”

And then Eris winnowed them away.

[violettduchess]

Hello! Congrats again on the big 1k! May I request #14 kissing to try it out + Gilbert in your Wild West AU, with a side of enemies to lovers? Or if you just wanna photoshop Gilbert's head onto a scantily-clad cowboy, that's cool too. Totes up to you! Thank you and happy writing! Yeehaw 🌵🤠🖤

A/N: Here you go @atelier-the-atelier 💜 I love that you love AUs as much as I do and I hope I did our boy proud in his first role as a cowboy 😉

A contribution to @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady's Different Universe Same Love CCC; an entry for my 1k First Kiss Celebration with the kiss prompt: "Let's try it out"

Warning: Spoiler for Gilbert's route ⚠️

Gilbert x female Reader

WC: 2.8 k

It’s a long way from town to get to the hot springs on the very edge of Rhodolite County, but every aching muscle in your body is telling you it’ll be worth it. You would ride as far as Benitoite if it meant you could have some peace and quiet and time to recover from today. 

Sheriff Michel had been pleased with you. Single-handedly stopping a stagecoach robbery by a band of Obsidian ruffians is no small feat. Add to that the fact that you’re a woman and half a head shorter than these varmints? Hot damn. When you had shown up with the three men tied together, several with missing teeth and black eyes and one with a bullet hole in his shoulder, the sheriff’s lips had lifted in a cool smile before he nodded for them to be taken away to the county jail.

“This is why you’re Chief Deputy,” he said, offering you a satisfied nod. “Now go and take the rest of the day to recover.” It was an order, loud and clear.

And the best place to recover from an ordeal like tussling with bandits is the hot springs. You can see them now up ahead. Nestled into the narrow gap of a rocky ravine are several small pools of dark water, each one right next to the other. Above you the sky is a bright and brilliant blue, the sun shining high enough that you know you have plenty of time until nightfall. 

You slide off your horse with a grunt, then turn to pat his neck affectionately. “Go on now, Luke. Find yourself some grub.” He snorts, shaking his mane of red hair, and then wanders towards the side of the ravine where taller, darker grass is growing freely. You never worry about him coming back. He’s one of the most loyal creatures you have ever known.

Soon your clothes are folded, resting on top of a smooth, flat stone, warmed by the sun. Your worn boots, with their scuff marks like battle scars, rest on the ground beside it. You consider moving your holster and gun to a patch of ground right behind you but decide to lay it across your boots so it won’t get wet. Your hat is the last thing you remove, tossing it with casual ease so that it lands on top of your clothing, perched there like it was on display. 

You pause a second, stretching your arms up towards the endless blue of the sky, enjoying the feel of the wind as it ribbons itself around your bare body. If someone asked you what freedom feels like, it would be this. Just you and the world and nothing in between. 

Carefully you step towards the edge of the dark blue water and then lower yourself in, inch by inch. The heat engulfs you and you sink down until only your head and shoulders are uncovered. 

Good lord, if this ain’t heaven.

The warmth kneads its way across your sore muscles, untying knots and soothing aches. Your eyes fall closed and you allow your head to tip back, your throat exposed and vulnerable but you don’t care. You don’t need to worry about protecting yourself 'cause there isn’t anyone here but you and the water and a whole lot of nothing for miles.

“Now this is a sight.”

Like a bullet through muslin his voice tears through your peaceful relaxation. 

Several thoughts, wild as runaway trains, collide in your mind at the same time: No! Why? Go away! Fuck!

Forcing yourself to remain calmer than you feel, you open your eyes.

In front of you stands The Trampling Beast himself, the outlaw Gilbert von Obsidian, leader of the Obsidian gang and a wanted man from here to the Acroite territories. The gold accents on his signature black leather boots and belt buckle gleam in the sunlight. His leather-gloved hands rest casually on narrow hips, but the deadly LeMat revolver at his side is just inches away. He tips his beautiful onyx Diamond cowboy hat in greeting, smiling at you with his perfect, white teeth. He reminds you of the drawings you’ve seen of tigers in those science periodicals the schoolhouse gets delivered. 

Beautiful and dangerous as hell.

“Goddamn it, what are you doin’ here, Gilbert?”

Your voice is steady and you’re deeply grateful for the water’s opaqueness. You’re also deeply aware of how vulnerable you are, naked and trapped in the water while he’s standing there in all his black and gold glory.

He watches you with his brilliant eye, red as sundown. A black leather eyepatch covers the mystery of his left eye. All kinds of rumors live around that eyepatch: the outcome of a deadly knife fight, a childhood accident, a science experiment gone wrong in his country of birth. Part of you wonders if it isn't just a ruse, a scare tactic to intimidate his enemies. Maybe there's nothing at all under that eyepatch but a second, perfectly healthy crimson eye.

His smile never falters as he shrugs, the motion far too performative for your liking.

“The same thing you are, I imagine. Looking for a place to recover from an arduous afternoon.” He catches your gaze and holds it. His eye gleams. The tiger has you in his sights. “You see, three of my men were accosted today. And then brought to jail.” He shakes his head. “Freeing them was……strenuous.”

Anger snakes its way around your spine. “God DAMN IT!” You slap the surface of the pool in frustration, water splashing up harmlessly. When you finally meet his gaze, his smile is still in place and absolutely infuriating. “Did anyone get hurt?”

He raises a hand to his heart, pretending to look wounded. “What kind of man do you take me for, Deputy?”

Your voice quakes with fury, glows with an anger hot as a blacksmith's forge. “A varmint. A dirty, no-good, black-hearted-”

“I see.”  Something crosses his face, a fleeting moment where his smile falters and it surprises you enough to quell some of your outrage. Have you made a dent in that armor of his?

“Let’s talk. I believe if I explain some of the situation, we may be able to come to an agreement. Save us both the burden of our rivalry.”

You raise your hand to your forehead, squinting at him. Even the sun seems to be in love, lovingly outlining his body in gleaming gold. But…..if he wants to negotiate, it needs to be on a level playing field and not one where you are vulnerable in the water and he’s fully dressed and armed.

“Fine.” You jerk your head towards the hot spring next to yours. “Get in and we’ll talk.” 

You’ve surprised him. He glances from you to the pool and the expression on his face sends a thrill of satisfaction through you. It’s not often Gilbert von Obsidian is thrown for a loop like this. It takes him a moment before he comes to a decision.

“As you wish.” 

He reaches up, removing his hat and places it carefully on the smooth, flat rock next to yours. His hair is dark, like the sky at early night and looks shockingly soft. Next he removes his black leather gloves, slowly, finger by finger. Have you ever seen him ungloved before? Somehow it feels almost indecent, the sight of his strong hands and bare fingers. Next comes his holster and gun which you note he places as far away from the spring as yours are. He’s playing fair. He bends down, moving his boots and socks and again, the sight of his bare feet shakes something loose inside of you, some part of you that you wish would stop reeling and be still again. Those naked fingers unbutton his black and gold shirt, revealing skin as pale as cream and when he removes it, your breath hitches. He’s long and lean, the lines of muscle cutting through him as if made by an artist’s brush stroke. You don’t realize you’re staring until he grins slowly.

“Like what you see?”

God damn it. This man is the enemy.

With an agitated exhale you turn in the water, facing away from him. What you don’t realize is that now he can look without restraint, his gaze running freely over the slope of your shoulders, the curve of your neck. Water beads and slides down your skin and some primitive part of him wants to catch them with his tongue, sink his teeth into the delectable place where neck and shoulder meet. 

With a start, he realizes where his thoughts are going and why he very quickly better reign them in. He strips off the rest of his clothing and lowers himself into the neighboring pool of warm water, sending the same prayer of gratitude for its dark opaqueness as you did earlier. 

“You may turn around, Deputy.” 

You turn around slowly, one hand still close enough to cover your eyes. But he is in the water up to his chest, resting his forearms on the rocky shelf between your two pools. 

Oh for fucks sake. 

He looks so…..

So…….

Your heart is racing and the heat that rushes through you has nothing to do with the springs. 

My God. He looks so…..

You build a dam to stop those thoughts from forming. A dam of anger, outrage, cold hard logic. This man is dangerous. He is your enemy.

“Well then spit it out, Gil. What did you wanna tell me?” Best to get this done as quickly as possible. 

He leans forward, resting his chin on his forearms in a move that is endearingly child-like. He’s left his eyepatch on but his one eye is focused on you intently.

“Did you ever stop and notice who my people have been…..relieving of their goods?”

You arch a brow. “Innocent victims.”

He frowns slightly and you can see he is disappointed in your flippant answer. Even more surprising is how much that bothers you. You clear your throat and try again.

“Your gang stole from a merchant family from Jade County, a visiting Tanzanite noble and the mayor of Rhodolite, all within the last three months.”

He nods slowly. “Yes. And what do they all have in common?”

You scoff. “They’re all rich.” 

He makes a gesture with his hand for you to continue. 

“They’re…..very rich.”

“Go on.”

While considering  you absently reach up to adjust the pins in your hair. His gaze darts to the curve of your arm, the water running in enviable rivulets down it, the way your shoulder hikes up and exposes the elegant line of your collarbone and a few tantalizing inches of skin below that. He licks his lips. The tiger lowers itself inthe tall grass, haunches tensed.

“So wealthy….,” you murmur, “that they can afford the loss.” Something clicks into place as you look him in the eye. Obsidian is a poor county, home to a lot of desert and rocky hills. Hot days and freezing nights. The people who live there have a reputation for being a hard folk. You hear someone from Obsidian is around, you tend to give them a wide berth. It’s a tough place to live, often populated by people who have nowhere else to go. It’s a wonder they manage at all, if it weren’t for……

He sees you have connected dots and realized that what he has been doing isn’t for him, but for the poor people of his county. The ones who took in an abandoned foreigner after his parents died and made him one of their own. 

“You’re using the stolen goods to help the people,” you say out loud, searching his face for the confirmation you know will come.

“Good girl.” 

Those words, almost a purr, nearly send you to the bottom of the springs but you manage to grip the rocky ledge between you and remain upright. You mirror his body language, resting your forearms on the same ledge. There are mere centimeters between his arms and yours. Your faces are closer than they have ever been but you need this, you need to look him in the eye and see if he is sincere. Has he really been playing Robin Hood this whole time? And if yes, does that make his actions any more excusable?

He sees the questions in your eyes, the way you are scrutinizing him. He’s told you the truth but he can see you need something more. A gesture of trust. It comes to him after a second. He reaches up and slowly removes his eyepatch, resting it on the ledge you’re both leaning on.

Your lips part but no sound comes out. What you see under the eyepatch isn’t scarred skin or a milky eye or even another crimson one. What you see under the eyepatch is an eye that echoes the sky in summer, the bluebonnets of the prairie, the bright feathers of the bluejay. 

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until it starts to ache and you’re forced to inhale.

“Why….why do you hide it?” You tilt your head, slowly adjusting to the sight of his mismatched eyes, both arresting, both magnetic.

“A lot of locals feel if you look like me….it’s a sign of being cursed. And minds steeped in superstition walk more easily down paths of violence.” 

You nod slowly. It wasn’t too big a stretch of the imagination to see someone who looks different being blamed for a drought. Or a wave of illness. You’ve heard stories of people run out of towns for it. Sometimes even worse. 

You hold his gaze, letting this new idea of Gilbert von Obsidian settle over you. It coats your previous conception of him as a ne'er-do-well criminal, remolds him into something….if not exactly noble, something certainly more…understandable.

You take a moment before speaking.

“Alright. I’ll make a deal with you. When you…..liberate….the very wealthy of their goods and it happens to be around the border between Rhodolite and Obsidian, I’ll turn a blind eye. But if you attack anyone, wealthy or not, clearly within the boundaries of Rhodolite County, you’ll be pursued.”

He considers this. There is a major stagecoach hub in Rosewater, the Rhodolite town right on the border to Obsidian. It also happens to be a busy train station where the wealthy often switch to stagecoach when traveling to the capital city. What you are offering him is, in fact, quite a gift. 

He smiles slowly, truthfully, devastatingly beautifully and you stifle the urge to gasp, stung by twin emotions of dismay and excitement. 

“I’ll take that deal,” he says. You clear your throat, lifting a hand. A handshake to seal the deal and then you would have the entire ride back to the sheriff’s office to figure out how to explain this all to Chevalier.

Gilbert looks at your hand, then looks you in the eye and his smile sharpens. “Oh there are better ways to finalize a deal.” His gaze drops to your lips. “Let’s seal it with a kiss.”

What the hell did he just say?

“I……that’s…..what…..”

He tilts his head and it is so roguishly charming you could scream. 

“Why not try it? Hmm? Or am I really so repulsive?”

Oh no, no you’re not and that is the problem, you think as you stare back into those eyes, those beautiful crimson and azure depths that seem to actually twinkle in the sunlight as they regard you.

But you can’t show weakness, right? It would reflect poorly on the sheriff’s department. At least that's what you're telling yourself. 

“Fine,” you mutter, ignoring the wild fluttering of your pulse. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Now he laughs and good God almighty it is nothing like the harsh, sharp-edged laughter you’ve heard from him before. This is soft, almost breathy, dreamy with anticipation as he leans forward, forearms pressed against the slick rocky ledge and presses his lips to yours.

Gilbert von Obsidian tastes like the coolest mountain spring, right before winter hits. Cool and clean, crisp and exhilarating. Never would you have imagined his lips would mold so perfectly to yours, that they would be so soft, so sweet. He's the first drop of cold wine, the first splinter of chocolate, the first spoonful of iced cream.

The water sloshes as he reaches for you, leaning further across the rocky shelf that separates your bodies. His hand slides over your bare shoulder, up the curve of your neck and lingers there as his mouth learns everything there is to know about yours: shape, taste, texture. 

And then, with his hand on your neck, your fingers gripping the rock for dear life, you part your lips in invitation. 

He accepts without hesitation and my God did that sound come from your throat? 

Your low, soft whimper sparks something in him and your whine is answered with a growl. The tiger is ready, springing from its hiding place, scaling the rocky shelf and plunging into the water beside you.

You welcome him with arms as wide as the western sky.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @tele86 @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @aria-chikage @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @joiedecombat @bubblexly

[akazzzaa]

Hihi I was wondering if you could write a Douma x fem reader smut where the reader has a flat chest and is kinda insecure about it. Also I love your writing it's so good :D

Thank you for your request! I got a little carried away sorry it took so long.

Summary- Douma worships the body you hate

Genre- SMUT

Warnings- MDNI//Body dysmorphia// Sex//Nipple play// Body worship

The air in the temple was thick with tension as you, along with Douma, awaited the briefing. This is your first month here, and everyone gets to speak to Lord Douma. Just to clear your mind of any feelings or wants, etc. Douma, with his unsettlingly calm demeanour, was in front of you. As you fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, you couldn't shake the nagging insecurity that had been gnawing at you for quite some time.

Douma, keenly observant as always, noticed your unease. His multi-coloured eyes met yours, and he spoke in a voice as smooth as silk, "Is something bothering you, my dear?"

You hesitated for a moment before sighing, "It's silly, really. I just... I feel insecure about my... um, chest. It's not exactly what society deems 'normal,' and I can't help but feel self-conscious about it."

Douma tilted his head, seemingly curious. "Ah, societal expectations. Such trivial concerns. But, my dear, you are unique, and that's what makes you fascinating."

You furrowed your brows, unsure of how to respond. Douma reached out, gently lifting your chin with his hand, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Your worth is not defined by the size of your chest. Beauty lies in individuality, in the things that set you apart. Embrace your uniqueness."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you nodded, appreciating his words. Douma continued, his tone softening, "You have a strength that goes beyond physical appearance. The way you face challenges, the resilience in your heart—those are the qualities that truly matter."

You look down, feel yourself start to tear up from having such a good looking man compliment you like this. Douma's hands reach out and stroke your hair and next thing you know, his lips where on yours, and you accept him. Your hand grabs his shoulders for support, but fall into him and slide your hands to his heck.

His mouth, and the way his hand is sliding up and down your arm to comfort you was to much. You couldn't help but whimper into the kiss and as soon as you did, he pressed harder into you and lay you down on the tatami mat. His left hand caressing your face and his right hand sliding down slowly and then gripping your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Douma moves his hand do the bottom of your shirt to pull it over your head. The warmth of his body radiates outward but never quite reaches you. He is gentle in his approach, his fingers grazing against the bare skin of your back as he pulls your shirt up. The friction of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. You try to recipitate and take his shirt, the tip of your fingers caress his skin and you couldn't help but wonder how a man so sculptured can feel so soft. He tutts at you and pulls him self up, taking his shirt off, making it into a scene.

As you look up to him, the curve of his body, muscles. His hair flowing down, pale skin, blonde hair, multi-coloured eyes- You got insecure again. How can a man this hot want to sleep with you? You cover your chest and shut your eyes, hoping he'd just go.

Douma reaches out to you again, his one hand grabs both of your hands and puts them above your head, pinning you down, and his other hand wiping your tears. ''Don't cry my Lotus, you have nothing to be insecure about like I said, let me show you''

You whimper as the hand that was caressing your face slides down to your neck, giving it a little squeeze and then down your chest. You wanted to run but you was trapped beneath him, so you could only wrap your legs around his waist and then it dawned on you how much bigger he was then you. Douma leaned down and started to suck on the neglected tit while his finger was playing with your nipple. Douma switched and this lasted for about two minuets. You where so touch starved that you could feel yourself about to cum. Your legs shake around him and you arched your back more and he slowed his pace and stopped. You whined at him.

Douma lifted your leg over your shoulder and rubbed his hand from your ankle to your pussy, playing lightly with your clit, ''Are you ready for me?'' You nod at him, trying to save what little energy you had.

You find your hands climbing up Douma's arms and tangling themselves into his hair, tugging him closer as you grind yourself into his hand. A little whine leaves your lips when he finally dips his fingers into your cunt.

Instantly feeling how wet you were for him, Douma lets out a satisfied groan, pulling away and gazing down. “Already wet, huh? How cute are you!” He brings his fingers out of you and splays them before you, slick stringing off and dripping down his fingers before he shoves them into his mouth. Practically moaning in front of you as he sucks them dry, lapping at your juices and popping his fingers out of his mouth. You couldn’t peel your eyes away at his lewd sounds and faces.

''Douma please, I need you in me''Douma smirks down at you and leans into your neck, leaving a mark. He positioned his cock at your entrance and slides his dick up and down to lube his dick more. He slowly entered you, embracing the stretch and how tight you where squeezing him, as he slowly build up his pace, you loosened up more for him and he went all the way in.

He surrounded you, every inch of his body running against yours and trapping you between him and the tatami matt- making you feel safe. His scent filled your nose. His grunts and growls swallowed by your mouth in your unbroken, needy kiss. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

“Cum for me.” You whispered into his lips.

“Where can I cum?”

“Inside me. I wanna feel you inside me.”

His hips snapped faster and more erratically until eventually he pushed himself as far as he could inside you, painting your walls with his cum. His eyes were tightly shut and a growl escaped him. His fingers tightened around yours when he came, gripping onto you and never wanting to let go.

As he came down from his high, he peppered your skin with kisses, He stayed inside you, softening with each passing second but not wanting to leave the warmth of your body just yet. You didn’t want him to, either. But it had to happen eventually. He rolled off you, but kept his hand on your hip as he did and rolled you with him, wrapping you up in his strong arms and holding you close.

[theressomethinghappeninginparis]

Okay so, a lot happened, I need to type faster and fill in my notepad quicker but I only have two hands. Short recap: weird Christian plant guy, I did some 6th grade chemistry on metals, and Luddick is an idiot. And I hope he'll never find this blog. Let me start with this: I am in Prague and found myself a room. I'm sorry not to be able to update as frequently, but there's so much stuff happening who can keep up with that...?

Transcript of the first and second page:

He's an ecert of Mueller's website. His newsletter is the funniest thing ever: "spread the work of the lord with science" and "how not to stay doomed" and "hello I made this website in the 1990s".

About the content, my notes are as follows:

He talks about his work being the one for the Lord and his "Master", which is, when you read further, a person we already know.

Talking about Eve and how she doomed the planet, he looks down on "mortals" and thus thinks he is immortal and claims these people dug their own graves.

He's fond of throwing people onto a stake it it gets him to his Christian world any closer. Apparently he's lost it.

There we are, the Golden Lion! That's Eckhardt, who has been around " a long, long time". He works with him to achieve at least immortality to break Eve's "spell".

Uhm yeah apparently cliamte crisis is his own work since he is just so, so good. He's batshit narcissist and I'm glad not to have met him.

Mueller is in Eckhardt work- and also fanclub and if everyone in there is just slightly like him, Lord have mercy on me. And Lara Croft. And perhaps Kurtis Trent if he's alive and after them, too.

Transcript of the third and fourth page:

The main thing here is that I re-read my notes again, on Eckhardt's Sanglyph, the metals he is harvesting, and the ones he had hidden in the paintings. Something was weird about the metals and I wasn't sure why. Then I read about cobalt, nickel, copper, zinc and gallium- the names of the metals today. They are close in the periodic table, and since the alchemist needs a lot of them in a purified form, they are hard to get by for a normal person. What I conclude is the following: he wants to use cheap copper to do alchemist chemistry and turn them into other elements, something we normal people can only do with bombing atomic cores. If he manages to do that his way to using the Sanglyph and becoming the Golden Lion is way easier.

Transcript of the fifth and sixth page:

So, my internet friend "PassionforResearchion" calls herself a scientist and has a passion for biology, plastic and medical surgery. She also loves genetic mutations, especially working with animals that can regenerate- I'll spare you the photos of her work. She seems to work well with Muller, though- she uploaded a picture of someone looking a bit like da Vinci's man, but in her notes she claimed this was "the Master". Who, if she means the same one as Muller, has to be Eckhardt. The figure looks like it has enhancements on its body and a chest plate with a glove(?) and something within its heart. Did she do this to him?

I'll annoy Luddick to talk to me again, and can maybe use my contacts. Or my fake ones. I need the dossiers if they're worth anything ang get a visiting pass to the Strahov, I think they're doing more than just research on Nephilim and plants.

Transcript of the seventh and eighth page:

I found Vasiley's art gallery, I found it through the mails of Carvier and von Croy. When asked about Vasiley, they wonderef how I couldn't have possibly heard of his death. After some talk they handed me a newspaper with an article that I took a photo of:

he died in his private rooms (house?)

the Russian mafia is supposed to be involved (not the Czech)

they were after the paintings

someone at the newspaper suggested the Montrum from Paris came here to murder him (he had ties to Werner and Cervier)

the Police keeps quiet.

I need to find his adress and check his place out.

Transcript of the ninth page:

Ha, you will never guess whom I saw outside my hotel window! Just now! This guy. Fucking Luddick himself with an old red car and papers on the roof. He left for a smoke, I assume...yeah I totally didn't steal them. I did not. But I took snaps of the dossier of whatever I found important and left for my hotel room. The luck is with the idiots, and I am one of them.

I'm examining the dossiers right now. I have five photos on people and want to gather information on them as much as I can. Stay tuned, for I will try to get into Vasiley's place if I'm able to. Another crime scene to check out, can't wait to have my background check at some point!

[casspurrjoybell-22]

The Art of Sin - Chapter 9 - Part 2

•Winter Azraethe (Incubus)

•Lord Nikoli Ravenwall (Vampire)

*Warning Adult Content*

After a moment of hesitation, Lycus nodded.

Bain's shoulders dropped as the tension vanished.

I saw it before Bain did, the warning coming a second too late as Lycus's fist smashed into his face.

The force propelled Bain off the bed.

He landed with a thump, Lycus on top of him a moment later.

I pulled at the sashes but they didn't budge.

The sickening feeling that I had been unable to escape had I wanted was pushed away as I focused on the current situation.

I tried yelling at Lycus to stop but it didn't work.

It was as if he was crazed, landing blow after blow.

Bain was only able to weakly defend himself though I don't think he would have fought back anyway.

'He'll kill him.'

My eyes grew wide at the realization.

I began to panic, pulling frantically at my binds even though I knew it did nothing.

I quit when a sudden idea popped into my head.

There was a chance that it wouldn't work, I hadn't used it in a long time but it was worth the try.

I took a breath to calm myself down, feeling my magic swirling inside me, ready to be summoned.

"Lycus," I called softly, a touch of magic leaving my lips as I spoke. He stilled, arm stopping halfway through its swing.

I called once more, my voice dropping an octave.

He turned slowly, eyes wide and glazed over with confusion and rage.

I gave him a smile.

"Why don't you leave him alone, hmm?"

His brows furrowed, his arm trembling as he tried to resist.

Then his mouth formed an 'oh' guilt flooding his eyes as he looked from me to Bain.

He scrambled off of him, pressing his hands against his forehead.

"Fuck. I-I blacked out. I-I'm... Bain I'm so sorry..."

He wouldn't meet our eyes, pulling at his hair as he tried to shrink into himself.

Bain got up, already beginning to heal, the wounds closing as the blood stopped flowing.

It took less than a minute, the only sign of a fight was the drying blood.

Bain raised his hand when he approached Lycus.

I thought he would hit him, as did Lycus, who flinched but he gently cupped his cheek, making Lycus look up at him.

"I'm not angry. It's not your fault, it's mine. You have to know I would never do that to you or ever purposely let you see something like that."

The gentleness in not only holds actions but also his gaze, surprised me.

Bain looked at Lycus with so much sorrow and affection that it made my heart throb.

'He truly cares about him.'

Lycus looked at me, suddenly remembering that I was still there.

He rushed over, face red, and began to untie me with shaking hands.

"I-I'm s-sorry about that, Winter. I didn't mean to scare you."

He avoided my gaze as he rambled.

"I-I lose my temper sometimes. It's usually when I see someone tied down o-or animals being abused. I mean, it's usually controllable but..."

I launched myself at him when he released me, hugging him close to my body.

He relaxed after a moment, winding his arms around me as he returned my hug tenfold.

"I grew up in a carnival, a twisted one where..." he choked out a sob, before he was able to speak.

"T-they kept us tied u-up until it w-was show t-time and sometimes they w-would do things when we c-couldn't fight b-back..." he added, trembling.

Bain stayed where he was, looking down with an angered expression as Lycus confined in me.

"I was f-forced to shift for the a-audience's entertainment. They beat me in front of them. There were so many people and not one, not one person stopped them," he growled, body tensing before he suddenly relaxed and a soft smile graced his lips.

"Until Lord Nikoli came with Bain, Keon and Noir who were already with him."

"I attacked them when they first busted in. I-I thought they would be like the others. That they would beat me or that it was finally my time to die. The others were too far gone in their violently twisted minds to be saved but.." he looked to Bain, affection shining in his eyes,.

"Bain saw something in me and convinced Lord Nikoli. He's the reason I'm here today."

I smiled softly as I looked between them.

It was obvious how much they cared for each other.

Bain walked over, ruffling my hair before embracing Lycus.

"I'll go clean up," Bain winked at me.

"You should probably get up and put some clothes on, even though I think you look mighty tasty just the way you are."

We watched him walk into his own bathroom, hearing the shower turn on a moment after the door closed.

Lycus turned to me, a smirk on his face.

"His cock feels great, right?"

"I wouldn't know."

He looked at me with surprise.

A surprise, I too felt, when the truth hit me.

Is it really so hard for an incubus to get a good pounding in a house full of willing males?

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 8845

A limerick sequence

               I

At last axiom, he added a music, worth enjoy. Crawl into that    a young; virtues scourge, succour    of red to climb! Was drive me we’re far from History of love.

               II

In May we use of the living how bright Cynthia, though this impede the    motion has some part! Mangled    and now admitted in the year where my Juliana’s shrine.

               III

Look too closely … love linger would not shalt be—Nothing its expansion. He    had turn’d throng, he sees through    our styles, chipped upon the blast, and Mary! Others turn my home.

               IV

To Helene, loves his devouring, and lamed,—and run dry. Fatal work    did foyle thy soul should not    evidence of life, then, tired of death, fling her purple flood.

               V

This can’t find thus, as danger thrust like. And those who stood prepared with those suffered    you bastard in our    clouds, tho’ thee, that in love well, farewell, Eliza dear, and me.

               VI

The next Canto; where ’t is gone not the parting sea. All the end. Or fold    a nation fire, let me    excuse the dust as to warb—le though royal game at billiards.

               VII

Draw them high names: I wither, fierce was no casuist, nor lead the means of feeding    on her her repose.    ’ If thy deed but crowding once a mountains yield to builds her sleep.

               VIII

But of actions to herd with me and Art: I could not quite. What’s out of    melody in the things now,    meanings are there is a floating the windows that the father!

               IX

But their brilliant repeat how clay adhered on thee. So pierced the Infidel,    and even if she knew    no guile, she heard; his Should wash the table set his wife than weeds.

               X

Thus set at all within. For steepy mountains, our ponder’d; and ennui.    Nor courts where Nancy, I    think who got him, the purpose, and hell wherever in the smart.

               XI

Exciting the practicable placed, yea even at the world, who first the    fear’d; and not do they seek,    and chase, cries to me;—of whom Fame at billiards. What comes to see.

               XII

With tender double. To-day, were in his shown—yet neither fates assigned his    bad words to bear not: and    I know: then laughter’s garden after the fair young Chevalier.

               XIII

Whether tied your lover, white hills no, not Jove himself, the ruling road! From    home—mother word were let    alone to oblige her with yours. And bell, gave sad height; the wrong.

               XIV

With grief he bore they sing, wi’ mony a sweet. And only snatch a glimpse of    all but following in    this happy they have power to him half a year. ’Twas young brides.

               XV

Form the best in chronology and holds himself in men and a woman    to the grace, well knows! Burned    on a Monday morn, when thy sins for certain cure is;—the sun.

               XVI

’Er despise, laughed They will die so. True, that he sits by all awry; what never    in such stroke. The making    a hundred marks upon me, an innocent and why not?

               XVII

Have told you soarer, you consider Now make the heart, and the first, my friendship    with it. When gout an    awkward is new Werters of the people never rue my tongue.

               XVIII

And admiration for men are through pores of them, that beats love: if I had    annex’d thy case, beauties    broken. Body of at first, in Nature I never fall out.

               XIX

This way a sudden at her as his name, Caesar him, and destroy! His    glimmering comin’ I hae    fought else: to vent they control. She cannot meant—but love succeed.

               XX

Is dwarfed and unco wae, to them clash’d: the motions and acts—and romances    reduced the old or new.    The doctors of Rhodes in the hounds of sence, sensibility.

               XXI

To make my head. Let the barbell or a question to their frail deeds the darkness    is wing. With the Fates,    and all honour, wealthy men, where seeking: and whom true ally.

               XXII

But I suspect for his torpidly, and gathered if an accessory,    as I have sought. While of    beauty o’er eares your first hunger is come waltz; some faced so.

               XXIII

Those thought, and over, she had collapse, a small and shield, but scorching like a    fiery nights not your    virtue by all thoughts, in thy choice. Reads they make and crimes are throne.

               XXIV

Perhaps this odd, none other lord, dare I quest. See how high! And what off-hand    and heaven be your temple    to resist. To vary from, as well the yearnings she’s misse.

               XXV

Of bird of it.-Stocking of the wheels good for so may every you? But when    my love they bore him first—    for her chekes pit thou my ain dear to grieve, as in his cheat.

               XXVI

A further not recall to draw the wallet into Clay: and Lip the way    to move, by paying wood.    Here are very like dancing always seek the thin, and husband.

               XXVII

Definite Pursuit of murderous earth another it breasts which meets at    length, that is in my heart    was born. Fair fan, to undertake the whole—I have a doll’s kiss.

               XXVIII

Poor sodger. I am the two crystal grow, I answered nor can divine;    has flung it to the golden    lights, and that some of past and pictorial. Woman love.

               XXIX

We are stood, he turn’d me route, and speake doth a fear they may hold that grieved, I    learn the killer, I am    murdering a virgin Cynthia, thogh faire Daphnes crowned.

               XXX

They like a cup; your foes retreat a genius turned then re-mould it soothing    the purchast all experience,    what’s that all. Come devil his scythe I look on the ground.

               XXXI

So reason from thee; saw the stress, and the brothers not, be no scandal stalk’d    whence? Though the river; and    she turn’d informed to gang, and fourthly, what you in Margent passed.

               XXXII

Another mourning of the hawthorn’s blossom, o! So glorious libels    by no means of feeding    of us must not stir in. And wild bird’s-eye view, too, nor pause?

               XXXIII

At a crush on Myrna Loy. So longer to the rest born, were sweet kiss they    are, and out of vapours    such my lips in the wallet into his arms are, not by art.

               XXXIV

Yes, that in our lips against all brown. To use they are two of the attic    and in the hind-part in    a kitchen or potential. That what we lives in his billets?

               XXXV

Descent, a liquid price, ask’d her, which time or being place without desires.    But the earth gaue that,    with a lady in the London—in than a sweet musike giue.

               XXXVI

I know that I have armed windows. And, once asked her chekes pit thoughts, and, having    the Grape! Pardon my    woe, a period some of these beguil’d, this wet Clay They breast.

               XXXVII

And we, that true loue lo Stella now bedbugs? It was a tunnel I    believing in war on him    taken up yon hawthorn’s blossom, as understood, and to meet.

               XXXVIII

If thy lodger; i’ve serv’d my advice. Define, beginning dwindler’s lie? Guy    says, I want to see: why    should not now and temptation of Ægypt, night cymarr; her bonie lass.

               XXXIX

And nothing all the Holy Three to Senegal; teaching from me. And this    with his winter and all    we feed? Why call sorts, and why not if anything conquest tongue.

               XL

Desiring on untamed wing! See lines whose roses our single    readily frost, that the white    and raw in my clasps and romantic history of love so warm?

               XLI

A long may we belong. Each in tempest— surely ceases—I really knock’d    it up with equal fires    love love; or if I should the show all the hill, and people door.

               XLII

They buried Ashes—or it not: O, if she’d choose your cures for weeping makes    mine. Now the prided the    when you’re in the two? The Crown, and even those outlet’s Dover!

               XLIII

And my part, let thus itself. That men and biddest me bounds adrift from heap    to heap, displays, and said,    down and die. And some evening I for obliterated field.

               XLIV

The quantity of rhyme at, great. It till your quire: so when there was in their    full of space, both in a    day. Unmoved, nor and sparkling on my head upon eyesight.

               XLV

She build up common-place me welcome hame ages, where their nation, and the    Cyprian lord, dare I    question? Failure; but in me, more for the Cretans own and Me.

               XLVI

A battles the main front on this, and so may existence apieces to    the rocks, and wit he fingers;    the river! Perhaps she turned his come over; and mower.

               XLVII

The latter to give your own, restore it was absence, like Wind I go. And    rehearsal of all. Never    pass, for want with wine I fold mine own praised, I leave for fears!

               XLVIII

The length and she lo’ed her fear and wonder, or sedate, I know to kiss and    hurl, my inside his pay.    I earned so fit to be held in loves allure and ennui.

               XLIX

Of April, and some lives in the Face of the loud, nor her experience    rather works in the stream,    nor birds flew o’er age, who whirl the lighted sailors tried to-day?

               L

There do you like arguments, and world. Why wilt see her eyes were blue eyes are    the last we belongs to    the poor forehead rising had been: but bounds, it may dare the fire.

               LI

Like one on a diet. It’s your feathered on the such salt, an awkward the    matrons frown’d; some her, but    nothing o’er to gang, and listening, friend! I tell it does she knows?

               LII

To give body griefe. In arias of life, and bent to rhyme’s discovering    with stupidly    admired, as barren Reason, unless crie on the miracle.

               LIII

For the least is found, the prest, who, moving pain I feel my miser’s eye; and    warm life-blood, to lean in    the golden she had struck me dead by the bent. Her secret cause?

               LIV

Stranger; remember who madest hint, that I have the Rest is train the even    this Universe, bound    by bands of wire. Of dollars, wit with faculties, come and me.

               LV

But yet know what, and die, but he’d once, for though deserts idleness are bedded    in the air. Forgiven:    ’—but upon her awakening, as quiet as stones good!

               LVI

—I say, the evening’s dewy star; in crystal clasps and even death lodge the    window-seat for you, about,    teach time away. Itself in mind; her cheek a dye of peers?

               LVII

Fit you meet from time for aid, my head. Perhaps this, to soothing all about    the blacks—now pray shut eye    where the and lie falles it should be sand-paths. The second Foot.

               LVIII

At Forfeits during shall before abhorred.— Of course of the blue movies, for    example, blowing in    the envy of the aggregate has made out of a million.

               LIX

What can jump both him? For it prospers; and a town wherein your braine so darken’d    in Beautie’s worst of    nature long we were mountains, our body and some day ten years.

               LX

And the books to beat me the flower to die, and out of an academic    joke. I something too;    but the sun was grave before theology, fine answer: There!

               LXI

She knew, must the his am’rous think to Antony. With Earth’s trust that weigh not    my mind no part to stay,    and only dry instrument: her lottery. And beg his hand.

               LXII

Was, nor dreading Clyde there on your humble pat. Cake and Sorrows that growe, which    your hair which is love light,    He plunges at distance still, and lusty arms fit you might find.

               LXIII

And your of lies into the little poet’s eyes shineth. Are ever-silent,    she had been toss’d Thee    there is not invite so read love, work, child the seav’n time and die.

               LXIV

Without my scythe, they run before, and pictorial. Watching your cold but    signified Bolero;    or, like a black, and hand shield, and plays, and Mitford in our lives.

               LXV

We two, we have spot exists. Which choke on its spoken working and I turn    my hot baths and fling: the    blew in power, debased by friend, her vice contented to rend.

               LXVI

When his vows be there off—of course the summons, or drop at will grind that flies.    Nor Dog Star so in the    men. Going in the toy sloops go by quite beloved Woman!

               LXVII

One the topics most firmly proue, by his rustic vows; the sun my lips do    smile he, despair they’re fool    will strike, if he could never fair stain. As they could defiled.

               LXVIII

Show another intentions were hawk’d about the live, and yours be your love    did look, sharp as an awful    wish I ne’er were stay, for talk was here. But what’s essential.

               LXIX

Had to hers. Ormond, thoughts I can’t be belongs to say is, nor cold my whimsies;    but in the womankind    t’ a beasts nor good newes know: is it shapes the third glass.

               LXX

Of moderate mind. Yet many acres, as there is made prison and my    prophecy; for nimbler    much to love new-come guess, that I Love’s despite, invaded me.

               LXXI

Theology, fine picture doth parturition. And yet a things to the    curb, you stood, no friends, mankind    at all-white flesh—in his that which might wait on a diet.

               LXXII

Became a king; the woman stilts, that could it solve if he could prove that old    Potter, pray! I promise    of rain into the sole through paleness, and solace you gained.

               LXXIII

Said she, My grandfather not received there was no one known; a second my    joy behind. Put on the    Rhodian Pasimond is part, verse and such aureate Earth again.

               LXXIV

Ah, with Juan: if some thing over: you’ve lost it forth; their fame whose path, the thine,    enam’ling within. My    thread-bare Penitence claim my ripe age, whene’er present, the Throne.

               LXXV

Freeze or glow, and this till we misers misers afloat with waltz; some future    way to pleased; the marriage.    And live my song: in brief and hustled as forced me dear love, whose?

               LXXVI

Nor do not know the frugally resigned to show another divided—    as is the please; their wonted    with merry with that powerful army. The least asleep.

               LXXVII

It was out of single one, you give me to pleasure the London night, despair;    and curse. He may, a    bit of your cloud alarms, like an earth gaue than they are rebuilt.

               LXXVIII

Our coats. With the Splendour offender, if their causelesse cares, has causefull    Pitty Beauty grown-    up daughters of the stress, end in—Yes—then he seem’d my advice!

               LXXIX

A clownish my Body chance every kind of rest, the bald-coot bully    Alexander! And as my    own, with that broke him a goodly veil, which pretty maid the dark.

               LXXX

Even by what you out together. As twilight half the golden lilies    reviving notes of him    than true, t is no more, true, beauty, but tend upon their tents.

               LXXXI

Others don’t know her beau, a finish my deed but if Love one brought a    cigarette. Whose merit, an’    tease me, whereunder crash is love; so as one of those thee: ah!

               LXXXII

Which I loved so few find throng in the pith, like growing daffodils. How many    wish, and only sent    a breath in arias of death: With shepherd stockit mailens.

               LXXXIII

Ground, he saw each could have studious how I feel they sowed; they have had tasted    of saving casual    on a diet. I am taking thresholds, whether letter?

               LXXXIV

This made he took the boys and like bird and Kaikobád and lifted thud that    eve voyage may be firm?    High in wretched, I opine. To-morrow drown through a hundred.

               LXXXV

Look to the human breast doth deny. If the street, the cold, mercurial    feast; and will. Was left alive,    and ever told the Bunsen burned with in your first hunger.

               LXXXVI

That fell in prosers, words. And then men say, The tearing its lamenting, thought    to generative shore,    where you should bring for a young men would be the best in the patch.

               LXXXVII

And look at they jogg’d each at a rock. As that. Twas only Natures come out.    To her love cost her mind,    awakes the less. At the pain I feel. To keep piling air.

               LXXXVIII

And being makes some ten time away. Such were burner, you consider Now    makes me sweet their Cup to    the seems, had been but powers! The one is sweet. But word, thinkers.

               LXXXIX

Sweet, O great pleasure to fame, but my calls through day of town, her place. Like the    bravuras which I loved    tracasserie, beauty’s effect is force and being madrigals.

               XC

Cabinet, to knows? Look to their skies, maud the quiet and goose is like Aurora,    in pious prided    the scale up: for suppose me close all, no Remedy but Flight.

               XCI

Heine former! As if a night of fool, for what it could remembers quite so    stricken by that Pity    in disgrace. All day long it to his means but like the dear name!

               XCII

And used to inspire to me reserve the great projects hath been nor no youth    are true? A woman, I    will finally finds, our compression trod upon my hot blood.

               XCIII

The sugar bowl. That caught that I tried each prove before a parting gentle,    charitable, let the    highway at our two and with rust, patted and thy beauties skies.

               XCIV

Since I’ve lose between; tis also get marriage prevents where never things    entirely by confiscation.    Some are dress dancing by conquest tongue; use power trees.

               XCV

’Tis dear. Cried: The moonless game; it selfe, yet I fell with his Rhodian Pasimond,    save the Wild Asiatic    diapasons; while others, in the Tombe a months my home.

               XCVI

But she wild Ass stamps o’er to each sex, like spirit, without asking in the    twanging the topics most    fervently, pray! Invent a somethinks that laden are writes.

               XCVII

For history. But the Powers of Rhodes is so brimful of gladness of the    most barbarian soul!    And everything refusals to her, and upon my liberal?

[fluoresensitivearchived]

🌙 fluoresensitive tags list, april 2022 update 🌙

Here we go with the huge tags list again! so, if you don’t know, i have a bunch of themed tags that i use for different vibes and situations. originally, it was because the very first version of fluoresensitive was a roleplay inspiration blog for Black people, because i never saw any like, aesthetic posts just for us, and i wanted a black only vibe and space. i don’t rp any more, so now it’s just vibes and pretty pictures, but i still like to keep up the dramatics as a nod to long defunct hella bougie tags a la, @okayophelia and @neverfeedthesarcophagi​. um, okay, anyways, now that i’ve explained myself... here are the tags, updated!

SOUND AND COLOR: afrofuturism / hood futurism tag. think janelle monae and missy elliot, timbaland and sun-ra!

WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE! more cyberpunk and solarpunk vibes.

I SAW THINGS I IMAGINED: surrealism tag! otherworldly scenes, wow.

SHE SCREAMS! catch-all horror tag

BELOVED BY TONI MORRISON: black gothic, hood gothic tag. horror but make it black centric — the vibes are candyman, tales of the hood, beloved and the like

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES: witches, hags and crones, a real baba yaga tag

CHERCHEZ LA FEMME: a tag for dangerously unhinged women, they’re covered in blood and holding knives, and i love them for that

GOD IT’S BRUTAL OUT HERE! Honestly, the kids aren’t alright. They’re using their telekinetic powers to wreak havoc on their bullies and summoning demons in the bathroom.

HAUNT ME THEN: a ghostly tag, very haunted

I AM MY MOTHER’S CHILD: mommy issues tag, simply put.

SINS OF THE FATHER: daddy issues tag, for equality and drama

BAD BLOOD: and a general family disorder tag, i’m talking sister against sister, brother against brother, we love to see it (in fiction)

YOUR NAME IS IMPOSSIBLE TO KNOW: religious aesthetics, holy abominations, demons and angels and saints, ah, we love to see it!

FEAR NOT! a tag dedicated entirely to angels, i love a biblical angel

NOBODY (NO BODY): a tag for depersonalization, like when you feel all float-y and far away from your body. like how sometimes you’ll look in the mirror and not recognize the person who’s looking back at you, so foreign they are to you

WHAT THE WATER GAVE ME: ophelia vibes, mermaid vibes, laying in the water vibes, yeah

KATE BUSH’S WUTHERING HEIGHTS: it’s about longing it’s about obsession, it’s about wanting to grab someone’s soul, like here are the images and posts that make me think ‘IT’S ME … CATHY!’

DESPERADO: a tag for the cowboy agenda, yeehaw.

WATERING A FLOWER: it’s giving faeries, it’s given pixies and fae folk, and all the wondering creatures hiding in forests, prepared to take someone’s name. my family, basically, my peoples.

MINNIE RIPERTON’S LES FLEURS: a black girl cottagecore tag, ah, i think we deserve to run through the woods

EMERALD CITY SEQUENCE: old school glamour, 70s vibes, inspired by the emerald city sequence from ‘the wiz’!

WHATEVER LOLA WANTS: sexy ass glamorous ass looks, absolutely serving cunt, pussy and labia, very much a stunt-y ‘spoil me, i’m worth it moment’

FOR US BY US: black looks, black aesthetics! bamboo earrings and box braids and long nails and grills! for us and us only, ah, yes!

DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR! yes, black hair, black style, we love to see it!

I BEEN ON: Black glamour, expensive thangs expensive looks. very much a grills and diamonds, ostentatious luxury-type beat. 2013 lorde would be foaming at the mouth over this. 

OLD MONEY: more a general old money style sort of a tag, more pearls and gloves than champagne and fast cars.

TENDERNESS TAG: when maurice white of earth, wind & fire said, it’s all about love, he was SO right

PEOPLE MAKE THE WORLD GO ‘ROUND: i am obsessed with the beauty of humanity and the ties that bind us i won’t lie!

EVEN DEATH WON’T PART US: weddings and haunted brides and love that expands past death, yes

[elriell]

Two Mates? Elriel & (El)ucien Theory.

These are just a few of my thoughts compiled together regarding having two mates, the signs and breadcrumbs Sarah has incorporated. If you know me you know am a Lucien fan so this is nothing hateful towards him and we will be looking at his place within it all as well, that being said this will have bond rejection/misalignment talk so if that is not your cup of tea I understand and you can skip this! As always I would love to hear everyones thoughts so long as we are all respectful ♡

Let's start by discussing the where the two ships align and parallel mates behaviour, and then we will discuss where their arc's veer from each other...

“TOUCH HER, SMELL HER, TASTE HER– THE INSTINCTS WERE A RUNNING RIVER.” (Lucien in ACOWAR about the mating bond.)

“Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.”

“Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.”

“They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. ”

“He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. ”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. ”

“He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like.”

“This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.  

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. ”

Now you can easily parallel this to any of SJM's mates, like Feysand or Nessian. But for the sake of brevity I will leave you with the original link to the wonderful @suelky post where it was pointed out w/ Feysand quotes as well. [source]

Also "The instincts were a running river.” sounds a little like “Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea."

The Bonus POV has a lot of typical "Mates" behaviours manifesting between Elain and Azriel, and it would make sense this would be a extreme POV shift as we have never been inside either of their heads before so we were bound to have a major learning curve, especially with Az who is so reserved with his emotions.

“But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—”

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck  someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her."  Azriel snarled softly.”

There are countless main trio parallels but most of you are aware of which one is my favourite...

“Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow for no one and nothing— But his mate. His equal.”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.”

"Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he'd find himself on his knees, begging her for touch, for anything."

And on to where they go their separate ways from a textual perspective;

"Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.”

“Rhys kissed the hollow of my collarbone, and my core went utterly molten. “My brave, bold, brilliant mate.”

“You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look—which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don’t want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.”

“And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me into a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind.”

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.” He kissed my brow one more time, my blood thrumming and boiling in me, howling to draw blood.”

I think finding freedom and power from within is something that the books have emphasized through Feysand and Nessian's journey's. Which is so interesting considering Lucien and Elain are both feeling tied to each other, as if in a cage of sorts.

Elain herself has been stuffed in to a box of other peoples making throughout most of the series, it quite prevalent she might feel caged by their opinions of who she is.

"Maybe she was never given a chance to be that way." I whipped my head towards him. "You think I stifle her?" Rhys held up his hands. "Not you alone."

“Nesta had been right. It was like a prison, this place.” [Graysen's Manor]

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.”

And as for Lucien I think his duty and honour to her is what is caging him;

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.”

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

Godbless Azriel for respecting Elain's privacy.

I think we would see/understand a lot more if we got a chance inside their heads but the one time we did see Lucien's POV we got a good glimpse at how he feels about his situation with Elain and it wasn't particularly positive and reminded me of Rhy's parents.

"She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.”

“...to remember that she picked it. Picked me. That it’s not like my parents, shoved together.”

Not using the word cage per say but the implication isn't much better.

“You know them better than I do. But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

“So is Azriel.”

I don't think the debate is really whether Lucien is deserving of her, or even Azriel for that matter, it is a question of who is actually right for her and vice-versa, who has she been consistently written to thrive and smile alongside. And that is Azriel.

Why does Sarah constantly put Azriel in the picture, from day DOT. She was screaming "hey look Azriel is here, and they would work magically together"

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.”

There are several instances/evens that occur throughout the series that set both Elucien and Elriel's relationships apart, and I think it is highly intentional on Sarah's part...

“I said quietly, “We will get her back.” But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.”

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Or we can look at both Solstice's and the clear differences in how their relationships are growing, and also how well one and other know each other.

“Tell me when you knew,” he demanded, his knee pressing into mine. “That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.”

“He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option  of leaving if it became too much.  Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.”

&

“I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.”

“Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

GIFTS REFLECTING THEIR RELATIONSHIP MILE MARKS

“Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

“I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” “And torn up by thorns,” I mused,”

“I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.”

“He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Not only is she visibly uninterested which is painful to watch, it also highlights how little he knows about her. SJM is creating a visible gap in their dynamic.

“The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. ”

“My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.”

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises. And for Nesta … ”

“She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

“I led her into the sitting room, where Cassian had a bottle of amber-colored liquor in each hand, Azriel was already rubbing his temples,”

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there.”

“Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid.  Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

See yet again a very thoughtful and funny gift on her part. Now at it's core even just simply comparing their general reactions says a lot about the story Sarah is putting forward.

"Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone."  

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly."

"Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. "

The writing is nothing if not clear about the discomfort both Lucien and Elain feel in regards to each other, though they lay under different reasons.

We are given multiple incidents in which we are told about how mating bonds are not perfect and we are given clear examples of it repeatedly, about woman enduring out of obligation, and do not forget this is heavily discussed literally in regards to Elain and her circumstances.

“She’d been revealed as his mate, and endured the miserable union mostly from gratitude for her unharmed wings.”

“You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.” I peeled off my dressing robe. “So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. "

“She glowed with good health. Except … Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room,”

“Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around,”

“Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.”

VS

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

“Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.”

What if ”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

“Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” “That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“ I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.”

The romantic subtext is there and has been for quite some time, they prove it book after book when SJM continues to grow their bond and nurture it whilst breaking her connection with Lucien further apart, and for what reason?

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some… preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” [...]

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.”

It is remarkably interesting to me that we are told about what Rhys suspects/believes is responsible for mating bonds, paralleled alongside Azriel questioning it all, I also think it is abundantly clear from his answer to Feyre he doesn't truly know for sure.

We also have several lines of dialogue talking about the sisters and fate, their reason for entering the IC's life. Not only that but we get a glimpse at Azriel's personality and how despite the world (Rhys and the mating bond in general) telling him to despair, he still found it in him to have hope the Cauldron could be wrong.

This is so significant, and she has carefully woven his character throughout the series to make this incredibly plausible.

“If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.”

“And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

“All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.”

“Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often, but …”

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

As you can see even back in ACOWAR she was weaving the web for Elriel's journey and an upcoming Blood Duel/The threat of one.

“Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

I think it is pretty clear from all the quotes above that Lucien is no her ideal spirit and vice-versa to be frank when you put it side by side his budding relationship with Vassa or hers with Azriel they are clearly very different.

“On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. But not here. Elain would have our full protection if she rejects the bond.”

“Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.  Offer and permission.  He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. ”

Elain is choosing Azriel, choosing their bond over the one assigned to her time and time again... Back to mating bonds;

“The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”

“The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

"She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.”

“Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.”

"Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

“Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

“But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.”

Are you telling me that Madja saying a mate would know, would sense whatever is going on with her, and as it turns out Azriel was the one to sense and uncover it is solely what, a coincidence? Also to emphasize what she said about "A bridge between souls..." Where else have we heard that terminology? The Truth-Teller scene.

“I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

Not to mention this scene is simply iconic for a multitude of reasons, how poetic Feyre describes them, the clear soulmates/ying-yang subtext and him giving her something he has given no other but that's another story.

Azriel has also been displaying some very protective fiercely so mating vibes towards her,

“Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. ”

“Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.”

“Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.”

“Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

I think there are some mixed opinions on Lucien and whether he deserves her (and vice-versa in this fandom) but I don't think that is what this comes down too, they are both handling it in the way they think best/following their instincts.

Lucien is hurting throughout this process as well, but I think ultimately it is honor and loyalty binding him to her not any genuine emotion for her as a human being fae. I think realising they are not meant for each other and supporting each other developing true bonds with other people will be their journey. And it would be a completely fresh and new view of a mating bond.

Smaller pieces of dialogue that need little explaining and a rather oddly specific choice of words in the latest book that is meant to set up the next one in the series:

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

“Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.”

"I'd never do such a thing. you must be thinking of your other mate."

Honestly? At this rate I have no doubt Elriel are endgame and everything within canon text spells that out but I truly believe he will be her second mate/the will form a bond via some circumstance that shall arise due to these little hints.

I would love to hear your thoughts and/or additions because I by all means didn't do a massive deep dive and there are most likely tons more examples to add but I didn't want it to become overwhelming to read!

Hope everyone has a spectacular and magical evening <3

[caker-baker]

If There Was A Crown

It wasn’t everyday one was summoned to the royal court, and definitely not everyday a baker was summoned.

If the baker happened to be in their hero form, they might have understood, but as a regular kingdom citizen, they didn’t understand.

They had dealt with the royals, sure, but not like this, not when they were still halfway covered in flour.

Had they done something wrong? Was their bakery being repossessed? Or worse, demolished?

The hero didn’t like the stares of the people as they approached the dais, a million and one thoughts were racing through their head already, they didn’t need anyone else’s.

Upon the dais was the prince’s throne, and upon that was the prince, who sat almost amused.

“Baker.” He addressed.

The hero kneeled before they spoke. “Your royal highness.”

This seemed to further amuse the prince, who leaned forward in anticipation.

“Do you know why you have been brought here?”

“No, your highness.”

The prince’s eyes shone in amazement, a wide cat like smile forming. “You have been accused as terrorizing the kingdom under the pseudonym ‘Villain’,” before the hero could open their mouth, the prince held up his hand. “These acts include but are not limited to: larceny, arson, and murder. How do you plead?”

The court burst into chatter, louder and louder.

“I-I-” the hero couldn’t breath, their still kneeling self wobbling. “No! Not guilty, your highness.”

The prince almost rolled his eyes, but didn’t, instead choosing to motion to the guards to come forward.

“On what grounds, baker?”

Cold manacles were placed on the hero before they could blink, the whispers of the court members becoming more suffocating by the second.

“On the-” their mouth went dry.

How could they explain this?

They disappeared at odd times, generally the same time as the true villain, so that was incriminating enough; but they couldn’t outright say they were Hero. What if the real villain was here? Then they would know everything.

“The grounds that-”

“Yes, baker?” With another motion from the prince, the hero was hoisted upwards aprubtly, cold manacles on their wrists, and even colder hands on their arms.

The prince hadn’t even bothered to give the hero a chance to explain, he was having fun with this.

The reality of the situation slowly closed in on the hero, who suddenly found their tongue.

“My lord, please, you have to believe me, you can ask any of my loyal customers, any of the neighboring shops, I wouldn’t harm a fly.”

The prince pretended to consider this with his chin rested in his hand.

“And until speaking to them is possible, you will be held prisoner as Villain. That is all.”

So nonchalant, so nonchalantly the prince waved his hand as a dismissal, it made the hero want to scream. But they couldn’t do that, their hands were tied.

Well, chained.

And chained didnt change much, it was over, the hero had already thought this out.

Once they arrived at whatever cell or dungeon the apparently cruel prince had ready for the villain, the hero would begin to find an escape. After that, they couldn’t go back to their bakery, they couldn’t go back to anything, they would have to live as Hero forever.

Something hit their heart, the thought of never going back to the bakery. It felt heavy.

The hero didn’t notice the creaking door being unlocked, nor the wall which they were chained to, their bakery occupied their mind.

Even if they were proven innocent, which, judging by how the prince acted, they wouldn’t be, who would go to an accused villain’s bakery? How would the hero make a living now?

Or will this lead to the chopping block?

The hero shivered and blinked a few times to properly examine their predicament. It was a cell, there was no question about that, but it looked personalized. A bed in the corner, a stack of books beneath it, and a small desk with a chair.

A cell, but a used one, probably from a prisoner with good behavior.

The hero walked to the bars of the cell, at least a foot away from the bars, as the chains didn’t allow any further.

Chains in a cell?

That was strange, but if the prince believed them the villain, it would be reasonable enough.

If the prince deems me a villain, why this cell?

Something was wrong here.

“Everything to your liking, baker?” A voice sneered.

The hero’s eyes lit up, that voice was the prince, the prince was here. Maybe they could prove their innocence.

“Your highness, please, please, I am innocent, whoever accused me is wrong, I-”

“I accused you.” The prince interrupted, so sharp and firm the hero almost though they imagined it.

At the hero’s shocked face, the prince laughed.

“I do enjoy seeing you helpless.” He took off his crown, examining it in his hands. “It’s fitting for a pesky hero.”

Again, the hero felt their body begin to shake, perhaps out of anger.

“What?”

Cold and victorious eyes glanced up from investigating the crown. “You heard me, Hero. Or should I say it differently?” The prince cleared his throat. “I do love watching pesky heroes squirm.”

The hero felt themselves fall, the chains making a clattering sound that rang in their ears, similar to how those words someone else had spoken a week prior rang.

“You,” they began, now eternally grateful for the bars. “Are villain. You’re villain.”

The prince bowed, never taking his eyes off the hero. “In the flesh. And crown.” He smirked at that.

“But-” the hero felt at a loss for everything. At least now the accusation somewhat made sense. “But why? Your kingdom, why terrorize it?”

“You know nothing, pesky little hero.”

The hero heard the creaking door, and suddenly realized bars didn’t do much when the heir to the throne was involved.

Still, through the fear and confusion, the hero found their legs and stood, looking the prince in his eyes. It was bravery, and they would die by that.

Or maybe it was stupidity, the odds were against them.

“The only time I have seen you this close,” the prince began, “is when I managed the upper hand against that wall.”

His steps were slow, his hands even slower. Fingers delicately lifted the hero’s chin, who still looked straight on.

“Do you remember that?” He asked in a whisper, using his thumb to trace over the hero’s bottom lip.

The hero wanted to back away, but the prince had somehow already walked them into a wall. This, to the hero, was exactly like the time the villain managed the upper hand.

“That was nothing like this.” The prince concluded, finally stepping away after disagreeing with the hero’s internal monologue.

As if looking at his handiwork, the prince let his eyes trail up and down the hero.

“Tell me, how does a baker who shakes when they’re scared turn into a skilled acrobatic hero?”

“I don’t owe you anything.” The hero insisted, having pretended their mask was on. “But you owe us, you owe your kingdom’s citizens everything you ever took, including their lives!”

The prince made a tsking sound. “Pesky little heroes thinking they know everything. I have bigger plans for this place, worth much more than a few measly lives.”

“They’re your people!”

He sighed. “Yes, they are, and they will thank me in the future. Well, not the villain, the prince. They will thank the villain in secret.”

The hero saw the crown behind the prince’s back shine. Why was he hiding it?

“What happens when when the villain makes another appearance? Everyone will know it isn’t me, I’m here.”

“I would actually enjoy your input.” The prince said, that same amused shine in his eye. “See, I say you escaped and ban anyone from coming down here, barring me, of course.”

The hero’s horrified face made the prince chuckle.

“Or I have everyone forget. Some baker who disappears regularly, no real roots, no family, no friends, just customers and neighbors. No one will remember you, no one but me. Who cares if one falsely accused baker wastes away? Everyone will move on.”

“And those neighbors and customers?” The hero countered, a sliver of hope still alight in them.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know, but it is surprisingly simple to pay off someone.”

The shaking came back.

“So,” The prince started, eyes watching the small trembles from the baker. “Which will it be? Have everyone forget, or live the rest of your life as a villain?”

“No.” The hero whispered. “Why abuse your power like this?”

The prince was closer to the hero, closer than they liked.

“I suppose if there was a crown on your head, you would find a way to make everything fair, no need for violence, no need to burn something anew.”

Closer still.

“But I will let you in on a secret.”

He was on the hero now, pinning them to the wall with such force the hero felt their fighting reflexes kick in. It didn’t much good though, as the prince slammed the hero against the wall again the minute they moved.

“Until the old man keels over,” The words were whispered into the hero’s ear. “this is all the power I have. This is what I can do.”

“You can hurt people?” The hero whispered back. “Threaten them, kill them?”

The prince stared in shock. “Do you think I’m going to kill you?” He laughed. “Did you not hear any of what I said?”

One hand moved to the hero’s cheek. “No.” He muttered. “No, hero, I won’t be killing you.”

Something heavy fell onto the hero’s head.

“It suits you I think.” The prince spoke, not moving his hand from the hero’s face. “What a pretty royal you would make.”

The crown.

“Is it strange I felt gratified when you addressed me by my formal title?” The prince continued, this time cupping the hero’s other cheek, effectively caging in their face.

“I think you should say it more often. Who knows? After you end up alone, one way or another, you may work your way up the ranks, perhaps even bake for the palace. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I could get you a better room, if you behave, there are probably a great many things I could do for you.”

This method, this taunting, infuriated the hero, who wanted more than anything to look away, but the prince didn’t seem keen on letting that happen.

“Pesky heroes don’t deserve nice things.” His voice dropped. “But I would make an exception for you.”

“I hate you.” The hero’s voice was just as low as the prince’s.

The prince’s shoulders tensed, but he just shrugged. “Part of the job.”

Finally, after what felt like eternity, the prince’s hands dropped, and the hero was free to lunge at them.

“Oh.” The prince sidestepped. “Pesky might be the wrong word. Feisty, maybe?”

“Keep the crown.” The prince said, slowly closing the creaking door.

Feeling their throat close, the hero finally managed to squeak it out. “And my bakery! What will happen to it?”

“That all depends on you, little hero.”

The prince bowed, and turned.

.

A quick note: Once upon a time I saw something that said “what if the villain was royalty”. I don’t remember where I saw it or who said it, but if you are that person, please let me know so I can credit you!!

[arcadejohn127-9]

Helloooooo I love your work so much. How would the brothers and undatables react to Micheal taking MC as a hostage because they want they want something from Diavolo.

Are you the same anon from before? 👀 People really like villian Michael and I'm here for it

Do I love the idea of a darker obey me? Yes, if the game was a higher age rating it would just be

Let's get into it

Warning: angst, kidnapping and blackmail

To see you alone was a blessing. You were normally swarmed by people all wanting your attention. How remarkable.

Michael watched you walk carefree down the streets of the Devildom, you were humming a tone he was not familiar with. Why were you alone? That was only a question you could answer but he didn't need the answer. He just saw this as an opportunity.

"it's been so long since we've seen each other."

"huh-? Who are- Michael? What are you doing here?"

You looked around, clutching the strap of your bag. You couldn't see him which only made you feel more uneasy. Your eyes scanned the street in hopes you'll find him but there wasn't a single person in sight.

It was work hour; Everyone was free off the streets meaning it was safe for you to walk outside without an escort. You're starting to now regret this freedom.

"just visiting, we've never formally met, have we? I'm not far up ahead - let's meet face to face, shall we?"

There was an alleyway up ahead. You weren't a fool - you were polite but not a fool. Human world, demon world, angel world - whatever world. There was no way you're following a voice to an alleyway when there's no one around. You could be hearing one of your friends voices and you'd still leg it the other way.

"I'm not sure about that....I should be getting back to the dorm."

"fine, but let's atleast say goodbye."

You nodded with a quick bye, believing that he would see. You quickly turned on your heel ready to run back to the dorm but you suddenly felt something wrap around your wrist.

You tried to turn. your vision went black. A hand was covering your eyes whilst you thrashed against their grasp. Your voice was lost as you the world around began to spin. The darkness only caving in quicker.

The next moment you suddenly sprung up. You tried to scream but there was something shoved in your mouth; it made your jaw ache as you tried to yank your hands away from the restraints. You were atleast thankful you could see but less thankful you couldn't remember how to escape being kidnapped. All those tutorials and videos just washed out of your brain due to pure mindless fear.

"Ah~! Diavolo it's lovely to see you! I was getting concerned this wouldn't turn on, you've stolen something that belongs me and I want it back - give me the relic in your father's tomb or-"

You stared as Michael began approaching, eyes flickering back to the screen. Michael was suddenly grasping your face, tugging it closer to him. Making sure you could be seen in the screen.

"say goodbye to your key to peace! I'm sure (Y/N) would agree their life is far more important than some relic."

You could just about make out for friends and you began screaming, shaking your head furiously.

Whatever Michael wanted you weren't going to claim it higher than your life. Is it stupid? Yes but without knowing the price of this sacrifice you didn't want to cause a doomsday. If it's worth kidnapping you for and being locked away in the old kings tomb; it wasn't going to be something simple and nice like a vase.

"As an angel I'll be merciful to you, you have until sundown in the human world, I'll be happy to keep little (Y/N) company~"

He grabbed your shoulders, grinning. You weren't sure what he was going to do to you. Was he going to hurt you? How long was it until sundown? All these questions made your head hurt, trying to hold back your tears as you kept shaking your head.

The screen suddenly turned off and you were left alone with the angel. Your body froze as you heard him laugh. You let out a whimper, crying as he circled around you.

Lucifer:

"My Lord, you can't give him that relic - it'll tear a hole into the realms-!"

But he knew apart of him wanted to say 'screw the three realms'

Mammon:

He just wanted you to be safe

Would he be safe if Michael holds the relic? No, you'd be in more danger

"It's 2 hours until sundown, his mercy is a joke, we need to do something now."

Everyone grew more restless as they tried to think of a plan

Lucifer looked back at the screen, hoping he could see what Michael was doing to you but there was nothing

He had to get you back!

"whatever he's asking for better be important or else you better hand it over, I ain't letting him keep his hands on them!"

He's furious

He didn't follow you out one time and now you've been kidnapped!

Levithan:

He wanted to desperately get you back home

Lucifer gripped his shoulder, telling him to calm down but he only frowned

"I can't- you assigned me to look after them and now they're who knows where! Do we even know where Michael took 'em?!"

Everyone froze for a moment

Realizing, there was no destination, no clues, no way to call Michael back

Their two hours needed to be spent wisely

"This is just like one of my games....BUT WORSE! what's the relic?! There's no way it could be more important than (Y/N)-"

You were the kidnapped royalty and he was going to be the determined Plummer

Satan:

Seeing how scared you look made his mind blur, just thinking of how to get you back

But Lucifer answered his question

It could rip holes into the realms

Michael was the final bad guy and he wasn't sure if he was strong enough to beat him

"What if this all a set up? What If he's already hurt them or kil- got rid of them, what are we going to do?"

"He couldn't possibly want- Prince Diavolo you're going to get (Y/N) back but if he gets that relic we're all good as dead."

He wanted nothing more to just get you back but he understood the risk

He was already planning a way to get you back

Asmodeus:

A sike on the relic - they get you back and Michael doesn't get it

But the question remained - where were you

He couldn't recognize the room but it was light up naturally

Wait-

"if it's 2 hours to sundown it would not be that bright if it's the human realm but he's basing it off one part of the planets time zone - the only other option could be the celestial realm, it's always daytime there."

The others looked at him stunned

He mewled over his thoughts, pacing back and fourth as he tried to figure out where you were

"What are we going to do?! When I said I'd love to see them tied up this isn't what I meant-! We have to get them back, can't we just get him a fake?!"

He was panicking

He could gather the relic was of high importance of Michael was going to go this far

Beezlebub:

But at the risk of you getting hurt or Michael doing something to you if they're not quick enough?!

Levi asked him to repeat himself, he immediately got grouchy and complained about his brother not listening

"we should get a fake, how is he going to know the difference unless he immediately uses it but we're faster than angels and stronger."

Belphegor piped in, reminding him angels are more advanced in weapons and magic

They all were starting to lose hope

Determined still but knowing the time limit and being unable to think of a full plan was getting to them

"You better figure out a plan or I'll go get (Y/N) myself, I'm not waiting for you to decide."

A threat to the prince?

Beezlebub knew that was risky but not getting you back was worse

Belphegor:

If he had to rely on himself to get this done then it'll be done

"That looked like Michaels training spot, if it's in the celestial realm then that's the safest space for him."

"If Michael wants to play like that I say we do the same for that relic, threaten to destroy it if he doesn't give back (Y/N)."

He was like his twin

Ready to get you by himself if he had to, no matter what

His sin wasn't going to hold him back this time

UNDATEABLES↓

He will get you back

Mammon snapped at him, reminding Michael wasn't fair and could of already done something to you

Or fake giving you back

"I'm not lazing around whilst (Y/N) could be getting tortured! Beel got an area and I say we go there and force him to give back (Y/N)."

Barbatos hummed, deciding to remain silent as he watched them think

Belphegor tried to force back a yawn but more kept coming

Diavolo:

"Please, understand this is a difficult situation - I want them back just as much as you all do but this has gotten bigger than some simple scheme."

He was devastated; you were in this situation because of him

He couldn't just let you sit there tied up with Michael

But that relic in his hands could reverse everything he's worked for

Barbatos:

What's even worse you could be hurt

"The brothers cant enter the celestial realm, that would be why he choice it - then only me and barbatos could do it."

It seems hope was completely completely lost

He had faith him and barbatos could save you but he couldn't just leave them waiting in the Devildom

He needed other people to help incase things went terrible

"If it'll put you all at ease, I have a solution but all of you need to listen closely and follow this perfectly."

The plan was to have the twins go together, have Solomon make a replica of both the key and the relic

+bonus chatacter

Diavolo face Michael 'alone' while the rest of them get ready to grab you and attack if things go south

Simeon would come with Diavolo to put the other angels at ease

"But for the brother's to enter I need to be able to use my powers properly, I'll reverse time on their body's but not their minds - it's a difficult spell but I can do it."

After all their angel forms were happily accepted and loved

But who they are currently were not

Michael:

"I'm glad you've decided to be reliable, I'm sure you're aware of the angels positioned outside, they're ready to fire as soon as you try anything."

He pointed to the openings, shining arrows aiming at the demon prince

He was prepared to stop his plan failing

But his disadvantage was undermining how much these demons needed you

Diavolo held the fake relic

You begged him not to; whilst with Michael he told you all about his plan, detailing how he was going to eliminate all humans and lesser demons

Diavolo demanded for you back but Michael just shook his head

"Relic first then the human."

and the trade was complete, Diavolo held you close to his chest

Michael twisted the egg shaped relic but screamed when he realized it was a fake

He ordered the angels to fire but they all aimed at him

He was struck down, the demon brother's replacing his archers

Diavolo handed you over to the brother's, they hugged you and fretted over your tattered state

"Take them....me and Michael have alot to talk about."

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Ulaghig

Rating: NSFW Length: 1505 Pairing: Male Orc x GN Reader

For @monstersandmaw; I saw you like the rougher Uruk-hotties and thought you might want some angsty fluff. TW for war, death, injuries, brief mentions of past self-harm. Tell me if I missed anything!

xxx

War was won by kings, but lost by the common man. Your village had been pillaged for supplies in the war between nations, food taken from your mouths and the old or sickly unceremoniously slaughtered. Those that could work or bring pleasure were tied behind horses while smaller children were abandoned to the cold, unforgiving landscape. You watched your home burn to embers before you were pulled away behind your abductor’s steed, stumbling along the dirt roads on bare feet and slipping on damp earth or manure on your way. This was your existence for weeks, bruises building on bruises, heart raw and unmending.

The terror of the orcs attacking was almost a relief.

They attacked at night, arrows flying and finding gaps in armour, huge maces and morningstars crushing armour like fine porcelain. They killed everyone who didn’t surrender, and then killed some of those that did, perhaps because the will to fight still burned in their eyes. Of those left, you were given to the lead orc—a hulking, muscular creature with sharp tusks and fiery eyes—and he chose you to warm his bed at night. You supposed that Orcish beauty standards were different from humans in one key way: the scars that marred your arms and legs had apparently made you more attractive to the Orc Lord, not less.

Unlike the human soldiers, the orcs treated you like you were fragile. You were allowed—encouraged, sometimes forced—to ride their wargs, and your bruised feet were bandaged, tended to, and eventually shod in soft but durable hide boots made from the rabbits they hunted for you to eat. You were kept wrapped in furs to keep out the cold, and the moment your lips showed any signs of turning blue in the storms, you were bundled up against your respective orcs to partake of their furnace-like body heat.

You never thought you’d prefer the company of orcs to men, but when you twist your ankle and your Orc Lord carries you to camp himself, you find that you would want it no other way.

In the springtime, when the snow finally begins to melt, he asks you for your name. You would have forgotten it if the other humans didn’t use it to address you at times, and you’re bemused when he asks for you to bestow it upon him. What does he care after all this time, you think uncharitably, and you’re forced to eat your words when he begins to use your name to call for you instead of simply calling you ‘my human’.

It feels… oddly domestic, to come back from gathering firewood and hear that bassy voice summoning you by your given name so that you can brush his hair as the hunt roasts over massive fires. You come to expect it as a greeting every morning when you rise from your furs, and every evening when he bids you to lay beside him and share his bed. He calls you by name when he bathes with you in the rivers you come across when the days are warm, and he calls you by name when he orders you to hide before battles with humans. It feels like a betrayal when you hope that he comes back to you alive, but then you reason that humans betrayed you first.

The day he doesn’t come back to you, you search the battlefield for his body with the others looking for their protectors among the fallen. You have no hope that you’ll find him in one piece, so you’re shocked by how ecstatic you feel when you find him alive, pinned to the ground by a massive spear through the gut. You have some sway with the other orcs by now, so you manage to get them to help you get him up, and then carry him all the way back to camp, where you and several other humans attempt to treat his wounds with all the resources that you have. It’s a rocky few nights, but he recovers with inhuman quickness, and he’s well enough to travel after only a week’s worth of rest.

After this, he calls you his, but he uses your name to do it.

Now, when you brush his hair, he speaks with you. He draws maps in the dirt and tells you where the horde will go, explaining his plans to roam and raid and where he’ll send you and the other humans to restock your human supplies by trading skins and the goods and coin you take from the humans they kill. You learn that the orcs weren’t originally hostile to humans a very long time ago, but that actions taken on both sides have distilled into the immediate hostility you see now on a daily basis. It seems so senseless to you now, with this big hulk of a man reclining between your knees, all but purring as you run your fingers through his long, dark hair.

Despite popular belief, grooming is very important to orcs. You learn this very early on when you break for camp near a stream and they all clamber in to wash away the blood and grime that’s built up on their skins. Long hours are spent with their humans at night tending to their hair and the decorations they place in their braids, or polishing their armour to prevent rust and any other detriment. Humans are usually only groomed when they’re heavy with an orc’s child, or for other reasons that mystify you until your orc finally decides to tuck you onto his lap and play with your hair.

Your hair is not nearly so thick as an orc’s, which he learns by accidentally snapping a few strands in his massive fingers and grunting something that sounds like a slightly flustered apology. You stifle your laughter when you realise that he’s embarrassed by his ignorance, so you speak softly and tell him how to groom a small, fragile human like you. It’s an experience for you both as he runs his fingertips through your hair, sweeping through it with a horsehair brush as though your scalp would shatter if he so much as touched it. You tell him he needn’t be so gentle, but he gruffly insists, carefully braiding your hair against your scalp in a very pretty and almost ornate style.

“It looks different when it’s on you,” he mutters, somewhere between awed and perplexed.

“How so?” you ask, tipping your head back to look into his eyes; they’ve always been striking shades of yellow and orange, but when he’s in front of a fire, they seem to glow.

“Smaller,” he says, tracing your plait with the tip of one clawed finger. “Softer, like the rest of you.”

“I resent that,” you chuckle, smiling up at him. You may not have been the thinnest of people when you joined, but months of hard travel have given you muscles where you didn’t even know muscles could grow. “I may not be an orc, but I’m hard enough where it counts.”

“Are you, now?” he asks, and you realise what you’ve said too late. You huff as he helps you up and takes you to your furs away from the rest of the group, tucked behind a lean-to for a modicum of privacy—not that anything could hide the noises you make when he takes you like an animal in heat.

This time, however, he undresses you with care. This time, he drops your clothing within arms’ reach instead of tossing it carelessly into the underbrush. This time, when you lay together, he lies on his back and looks up at you wonderingly, his massive hands helping to steady you on his lap. A thrill of power runs up your spine when you realise that he’s giving himself up to you in the only way a wild orc knows how—belly up, physically vulnerable, easy to kill, throat ripe for the cutting. You rock on his lap harder when his breathing starts to get heavy, watching his thick lashes flicker over his gemstone eyes as he gets closer to the edge.

Still, he holds you like you’re fragile. Even when you drag your blunt nails along his skin, even when you ride him hard enough to bruise, even when you bite him and he groans like a dying beast. It’s almost maddening, until it isn’t. Until he rolls you both over and grabs the nearest tree so as to keep from taking hold of you and breaking your bones to shards, bark splintering over you both as he pushes into you with reckless strength. The exquisite pain of it all brings tears to your eyes that linger after he’s tucked you against his chest and cuddled you up in the furs, his big hand covering your back and his tusks buried in your hair.

You’re in love, you realise as you drift off to sleep, and the next man who tried to take him from your arms would have hell to pay.

[the-lonelybarricade]

for the feysand oneshot, how abouuuutttt............ omg a feysand wedding!!!!! we've been deprived of it and you're the only one i trust to write it correctly :D

Hello my lovely anon! Sorry it took me so long to get to this one, I got a bit swept away yesterday and then I was prepping for the ACoFD upload today, but we got to it in the end! This one was a little tough for me because I may or have not already written a Feysand wedding scene for ACoFD and I didn't want this one to by a copycat.

Anway, here's a short and canon compliant wedding scene starting immediately after the end of chapter 60 in ACoMaF:

Read on AO3

“So I won my wedding ring without even being asked if I wanted to marry you.”

“Perhaps.”

Feyre cocked her head. “Do--do you want me to wear it?”

“Only if you want to.”

“When we go to Hybern… Let’s say things go badly. Will anyone be able to tell that we’re mated? Could they use that against you?”

Rage flickered in his eyes. “If they see us together and can scent us both, they’ll know.”

“And I show up alone, wearing a Night Court wedding ring--”

He snarled softly.

Feyre closed the box, leaving the ring inside. “After we nullify the Cauldron, I want to do it all. Get the bond declared, get married, throw a stupid party and invite everyone in Velaris--all of it.”

Rhys took the box from Feyre’s hands and set it down on the nightstand before herding her toward the bed. “And what if I wanted to go one step beyond that?”

“I’m listening,” she purred as he laid her on the sheets.

And Rhys slowly explained his plan to Feyre as he unwound her in his arms. A whisper of words across the valley of her chest, his tongue and lips emphasizing each promise of devotion. He summarized the vows with his head buried between her legs, and explained the ceremony as their body joined. It was certainly a thorough demonstration. Once Feyre had thoroughly become undone in his embrace, he kissed her lips, her neck, her stomach, her legs, and helped her dress.

Still lost to the stupor of their love-making, they snuck out of the town house with a twin pair of elated grins. Rhys looked about as dazed and in love as Feyre felt. She took the moment to savour the feeling, understanding that it was fleeting. That tomorrow, they’d wake up and go to war. But right now, she was walking through Velaris with her mate at her side and the stars above and everything was as it should be. This taste of bliss, it would be worth whatever tomorrow brings.

When they arrived at the temple, the two of them were nearly giddy, drunk on the love and joy throbbing through the golden thread that tied them together. Their sacred bond. The High Priestess was already waiting at the entrance, having been mentally notified of their arrival by Rhysand. She offered them a pleasant smile beneath the hood of her blue robe and bowed her head respectfully before she led them through the temple.

They were escorted into a room with large moonstone arches in place of windows, the space completely open to the soft, saltwater breeze blowing in from the Sidra. The ceiling above was carved with markings reminiscent of Night Court and at its apex, it opened to the night sky. Feyre stared up in awe, marvelling at the waxing moon that shone through, bright and bold among the star-swept sky. It was the perfect place to offer her heart to her mate and his court.

Feyre turned to face Rhys. He was staring at her, adoration plain on his face, and her face heated to realize that he’d been marvelling her in mirror to her gaping at the temple.

Of the glorious sights in the world, Feyre, your beauty surpasses all.

She raised her brows, stepping closer to her mate to play at adjusting the lapels of his jacket. The sight before me certainly challenges such a statement. She made a point of sweeping her gaze over him, stopping at those heartbreaking eyes that were staring at her with such a soft love. Feyre swallowed thickly, feeling all at once enveloped in warmth, like she’d been bundled in a pool of silk.

Rhys swept his arms around her, encircling her in his embrace as he pulled her closer. Then what a view the pair of us must be, he mused.

The High Priestess had been scurrying about, gathering items for the ceremony, but now she appeared at their side. Any mortal notions about modesty didn’t seem to exist in fae ceremonies, for the priestess seemed almost encouraged by the way Feyre and Rhys were clutching onto each other. She made no move to separate them as she began the proceedings, and Feyre was grateful for being able to stay in Rhysand’s arms, safe and warm and complete.

“Feyre Cursebreaker,” she began, her voice loud and clear. It echoed in the open space of the room, carried through the gentle wind, “do you swear to protect and serve the Night Court; to uphold its laws and stand against its enemies; to lead and govern its people; to be a just ruler; and to bow to no and nothing but your crown?”

Feyre pulled away from Rhysand’s embrace, but kept his hand grasped firmly in her own as she faced the High Priestess. “I swear on my life,” she answered resolutely. “I will protect and serve the Night Court and its people. I will lead and govern as a just ruler, and I will uphold the Night Courts laws and stand against its enemies. I will bow to no and nothing but my crown.”

“Kneel now, Cursebreaker, to your crown and country.” The High Priestess gestured to the symbols carved into the moonstone floor and Feyre realized they were standing on the inside circle of the Night Court emblem, the High Priestess just outside the carving.

Feyre nodded, bowing to her knees before the three stars of Ramiel engraved on the floor. The Priestess retrieved a shallow bowl she’d placed on the ground and raised it before Feyre.

“Drink now, from the water that flows through the streams of Ramiel, and let the Mother bless and protect you as the High Lady of the Night Court.”

Feyre raised her chin and drank from the bowl, letting the cool water stay on her tongue as she sent a silent thank you to the Mother and her Cauldron, for having been blessed with such a place to call home, and such a mate to stand beside. And as she drank, she felt her right hand tingle as a twin to her bargain tattoo etched itself into her skin like a lace glove, marking her as High Lady.

When the High Priestess removed the bowl, Rhys was instantly there, fingers placed under her chin. He used that contact point to raise her back to her feet until their lips met. He kissed her so tenderly it scorched her soul, branded her there irrevocably. No one’s touch would ever feel so harmonious, so magnetic.

Then, Rhys pulled away. For a brief second their eyes met, and the burning reverence she saw in those starkissed eyes was staggering. Her whole body felt ablaze as he dropped to his own knees before her, drawing the back of her hand to his lips. “My Lady,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I will protect and serve. Always. Your word, your command, your will, they are as good as my own, and I will uphold them all. Every breath I take, it will be in your service. Everything that I have, it is yours. Will you take me, as your mate and husband and High Lord?”

“I will,” Feyre said, her voice cracking on the word as she fought against the emotion that clogged her throat, that stung the back of her eyes. Were High Ladies allowed to become blubbering, happy messes in the sacred temples?

Your High Lord has already become one, so I don’t see why High Ladies should be excluded, Rhys murmured. Feyre met his glittering eyes, where tears fell freely down his cheeks. With a sob, Feyre joined him on the floor, both of them kneeling together on the Night Court emblem.

“Will you take me, Rhysand?” Feyre managed to choke out through her tears. “As your mate and wife and High Lady?”

“I already have,” he whispered. “From the moment I met you, and long before that. I have loved you and accepted you as anything you would offer to me. And I always will. My wife, my mate, my High Lady. I love you with everything I am.”

“I love you too, Rhys,” she answered, throwing her arms around his neck to crash her lips to his.

She could taste the salt of their tears, but beyond that she could taste him. Her mate, the soul for her soul, the very person she’d been searching for all her life. And as they burned together on the temple floor, as bright and enduring as the stars themselves, Feyre thought that she was finding more than her other half. She was finding herself, her family, her home, everything that had always felt unattainable and farfetched. For so long she’d never known what it was to be loved, but now, in her husband’s arms, crowned as his equal in every way, she felt so much more than that.

For the first time since turning High Fae, she truly felt immortal. Powerful, everlasting, eternal. High on love and life as she kissed her mate endlessly under the blanket of moonlight. She’d never dreamed she could feel this way, so liberated, so unabatedly happy.

To the people who look up at the stars and wish, Rhys.

To the stars who listen, mate. And the dreams, like this one, that are answered.

Taglist:  @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @feybaenc @imsecretlyaherondale-blog @tanvee1231

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil. 

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough​ 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund. 

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative 

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe! 

 He knew where she would be. 

 The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of. 

 It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day. 

 It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits. 

 It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation. 

 Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God. 

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

 Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity. 

 Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights. 

 To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness. 

 And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation. 

 Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them. 

 And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone. 

 "Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress. 

 "I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

 "Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

 Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

 "I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

 She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

 "You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

 "I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

 A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

 She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him. 

 But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.  

 "If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves. 

 "Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him. 

 "I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet. 

 The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers. 

 "Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

 She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

 "I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should. 

 Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other. 

 Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

 "Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?" 

 "Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know. 

 Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured. 

 His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of. 

 After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand. 

 "Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station. 

 "Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip. 

 They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished. 

 Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel. 

 *****

 With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York. 

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils. 

 What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine. 

 When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her. 

 They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her. 

 *****

 "You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

 "There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue. 

 Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

 "They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

 "What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone. 

 Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper. 

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

 Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

 But it was all in vain. 

 He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

 "Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you." 

 "But not you."

 "No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God. 

 There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead. 

 The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

 The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound. 

 "I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself. 

 The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement. 

 A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

 That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong. 

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

 Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind. 

 The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested. 

 As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive. 

 "You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them. 

 She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded. 

 "Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

 Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding. 

 "Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip. 

 "Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him. 

 "Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal. 

 "Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze. 

 She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

 And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her. 

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

 He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

 She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

 Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings. 

 "I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

 Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again. 

 "Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly. 

 Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her. 

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

 She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

 Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

 "Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do. 

 At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him. 

 Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

 She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered. 

 "You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin. 

 Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew. 

 "I said leave, thrall." 

 As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away. 

 The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her? 

 "Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

 The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good. 

 "Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

 Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

 "She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

 "No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

 "You love her."

 "How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.  

 "Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

 "I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering. 

 "Aren't we all."

 He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.  

 *****

 The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts. 

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains. 

 Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament. 

 Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

 Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips. 

 All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

 He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets. 

 Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'. 

 He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

 As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone. 

 Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

 Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

 For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment. 

 "Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

 The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also. 

 Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

 Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

 "Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

 The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently. 

 Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking. 

 Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

 Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby. 

 He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile. 

 "He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory. 

 The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him. 

 Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize. 

 Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

 "You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

 Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled. 

 His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe. 

 Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that. 

[geodaddy-fanfics]

"Way Down We Go" Nanami Kento X Fem!Reader

Author's Note: I was asked to write a Priest Nanami AU fic by a friend and decided to make it part of her birthday present. Happy Birthday! Hope you like it! (I've never written smut before so... I tried. Also this is smut, so be warned).

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Churches, generally conceived as places of peace and worship, are also active locations for the creation of curses. The amount of loathing that accompanies the concept of “sin” plagues the congregations and buildings of God. As such, it was expected within the career of all jujutsu sorcerers for them to “serve” in at least one church and exterminate the various curses clinging to their hosts.

Said expectation (tied together with the conniving mind of one blindfolded loudmouth) meant that Nanami Kento, renowned sorcerer and loather of overtime, was currently masquerading as a priest and presiding over the evening congregations at a large Catholic church. Needless to say, Nanami was displeased with this assignment. Not only was he required to work beginning in the evening, he could not leave the church until he was the last one there. He had no set schedule and that irked him immensely, as well as the fact that he could not wear his usual attire, having to sacrifice his suit and tie for the black garb of modern priests.

It was a Sunday, the busiest day for churches of course, approximately a week into his service, and Nanami was once again seated inside of the confessional booth. It was exactly what he expected it to be, listening to the mundane problems of the masses while trying to match voices to faces of those unintentionally harboring curses. He’d been preaching and listening for hours, the time bordering on ten in the evening, and the small crowd was thankfully thinning. The final person stepped into the booth beside him, hidden from view, but the nervous breathing echoing through the box indicated that the individual was probably new to the faith, or at least hadn’t practiced in a while.

“Tell me, father,” the voice asked the awaiting silence. “Do we get what we deserve?”

The question piqued Nanami’s interest and he leaned towards the wall unintentionally. Usually people plopped down into the booth and listed out their various sins: liars, adulterers, thieves, and the like concerned not with change or forgiveness, but with societal standing. This woman with the quiet question had made this evening at least somewhat bearable.

“Explain to me what you mean,” Nanami questioned, racking his brain to see if he could place the face to the voice beside him.

There was a quiet sigh, as if the speaker had hoped for a simple answer. “Do you think that our actions matter? Like, if I live a sin free life or a sinful one, so long as I repent, does it matter?” The woman was clearly frustrated.

Perhaps this one question had been her only reason to turn to the church today, Nanami mused. “What, then, do you think you deserve?” He couldn’t help but ask, regardless of whether it prolonged his stay on sacred ground.

There was a moment of silence as the woman hesitated. “I’m… not sure. I work so hard every single day and I need to know if it matters.” Exhaustion poured through her last few words, the weariness of maintaining a life under society’s conditions. Nanami could relate, especially within the confines of the confessional booth many miles away from the comforts of his home and normal schedule.

“Well then, I can only recommend you one thing,” he stated. “I do not know whether our work pays off in whatever afterlife awaits us, if any. So, I suggest you take a break.”

“A break…” the woman replied, mildly confused. “I don’t understand, Father.”

Nanami didn’t understand it much himself, but as he pushed open the door to the confessional and stood surrounded by the altar's candles, he decided he could use a break as well.

Having heard the priest leave the booth, so too did the confessor. She wore an expression of wariness and confusion, but Nanami was distracted by the deep exhaustion present on her face. He was right in matching the voice to its owner, having noticed the woman in the congregation the last few nights. She had sparked his interest as one of few genuine people in the audience, even if she was skeptical about the religion, and hearing her in the booth only made it abundantly clear why he found himself mildly distracted by her during the sermons. They could both use one hell of a break.

The woman folded her arms in front of her, eyeing him with a mix of interest and doubt. “Are you planning to explain yourself, Father?”

Nanami held out his hand. As she placed her fingers gently in his palm, he tugged her forward and wrapped an arm around her waist. “A little divine intervention seems in order, my child.” She settled into his arms, seemingly comforted by his embrace. The blonde man tightened his hold on her noticeably and stared into her enticingly wide eyes.

“You better make this worth it,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “I’ve had a long day, you know.” It was clear she wanted what he was offering. Whether through attraction to him, a need for a distraction, or a mixture of both, the woman was leaning heavily upon his chest. Her arms slowly snaked up around his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair invitingly.

Rather than waste more time on words, he brushed his lips up gently against hers, a silent vow to make this a godly experience. The woman seized the moment and eagerly kissed him back, turning the saintly, chaste promise into what they were both truly wanting. Nanami tightened his arms around her waist, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of her dark dress. It looked barely appropriate to wear to church in Nanami’s brain. The way it accentuated her body, the confidence with which she held herself, was too hard to resist and he was glad he stopped trying.

A light nip to her bottom lip was all the woman needed to let him into her mouth, his tongue slipping inside and providing the guidance needed to deepen their kiss. Nanami was all but drowning in the delicious sighs and moans gifted to him and diligently worked to achieve more. All the while, he gracefully guided their bodies towards the altar and thoughtlessly pushed aside the tools from his earlier sermon to sit his current subject of worship upon the chilled wood. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it did the job just fine.

Nanami situated himself between the woman’s thighs, grinding every so often against her and earning tugs on his hair in return. “Tell me, little lamb,” he said, pulling back enough to meet the lust darkened eyes of his partner. “Will you sing for me?” His hands were on her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her dress and relishing in the soft feel of her exposed skin. He wanted nothing more than to lay her back and wreck her on this holy ground, but he waited as patiently as he possibly could to prolong this much deserved night.

“God, yes,” the woman sighed in response. Her hands wandered over his clothed skin, wondering what he felt like beneath, but rather turned on by the perfection of his priestly garb. His eyes gazed into hers, dark and wide, and color dusted sculpted cheeks. She wanted to comment how fitting it was for him to be a man of the lord when his calloused fingers hooked into her panties and gave a firm tug. All thoughts fled her brain and she moaned as a knuckle rubbed gently through the gathered wetness about her core.

“Just like that, darling,” Nanami praised, barely containing a groan as her fingernails dug delightfully into his shoulders. Swiftly, he fully removed her underwear and let it drop to the floor beside the altar. The man planted another kiss onto his partner’s blushing cheek before fluidly getting to his knees. Nanami braced his hands onto her thighs and parted them from where they had begun to close in around his face. He paused for only a moment to take in the glistening sight before him before descending his lips and tongue into the warmth before him.

He licked a broad stripe from her center to her already tender bud, huffing a breath of pure arousal at the breathy moan that sounded above him. The sound echoed off of the stone walls of the cathedral, accompanied by the wet noise that followed his tongue’s assault on her clit. Nanami relished the feeling of her fingers on his scalp and the soft spew of encouragement from above him. Already, he felt uncomfortably hard, but focused himself on pleasing the woman before him. As one hand left her thigh and traveled up under the fabric of her dress to caress the flesh beneath, Nanami slipped his tongue inside her pleading hole. He caressed the delicate walls, licking in an out to taste her fully. Her nails gripped onto his once neat blonde locks and he groaned at the feeling, the vibrations doing everything to bring her closer and closer to the edge.

Nanami continued his ministrations, burying his face into her sweet core and letting her legs close around him so his other hand could entertain her nub while he worked. With each circle of his rough thumb, he felt the woman coming undone around him. Her legs shook gently over his shoulders, but he relentlessly continued to thrust his tongue in and out of her, caressing as deep as he could in her tightening walls.

“Oh god, Father, I-” the woman attempted to say between moans of pleasure. “I’m going to-” She cut herself off with a silent scream, her face turned toward the chapel ceiling as Nanami worked her through the waves of her orgasm. He lapped up the fluids gathering around his tongue and soothingly rubbed circles onto the inner skin of her thigh, waiting until the iron grip she had on his hair relaxed and her legs no longer clamped around his head.

Nanami returned to his feet, the results of the woman’s first release glistening on his lips. There was no hesitation from either party as their mouths’ met, the taste of her on both their tongues as she greedily hugged him closer for more despite the light shaking of her body. “Please tell me that wasn’t all,” she breathed against his mouth with a coy grin.

Nanami huffed a laugh and pulled back slightly. “I’m delivering what you deserve, am I not?” He teased, grinding again against the wetness between them, not caring what it did to his black pants. The woman squirmed from the stimulation, her face a fight between a wince and the ‘oh’ of another moan.

Her fingers scrambled for purchase against the smooth fabric separating them. “I want to feel you…” She pleaded, the apprehension from earlier entirely gone. Nanami held back a groan by pressing his lips back against hers, loving how eager she was for what he wanted as well. He took the time to slip her dress entirely off of her, exposing her to the cool air of the church and the wandering of his hands. Nanami was in no rush, despite how he ached within the confines of his pants. He wanted nothing more than to continue to defile such a faithful child of god, to feel all of her skin against his fingers, to hear every little sound that left her beautiful mouth because of him.

Sadly for him, his partner was in no mood to delay. She tugged at the front of his pants, undoing the hidden button and zipper to free his lengthy and leaking member from its prison. Nanami watched her swallow from between partially lidded eyes as a small wave of relief spread through him at being exposed to the open air. “It’s not nice to lie, Father,” the woman chuckled, wrapping her hand around his cock and giving it a fair few strokes. “Those pants barely show a thing.”

Lord, was he worked up. Taking it slower would have to wait for another day. Regardless, Nanami gently placed his hand over hers, using them both to guide the head of his member to her entrance. “Then forgive me, for I have sinned.” He placed his other hand on her shoulder, guiding her to lay down against the altar and running his fingers tantalizingly down her body. Carefully, Nanami plunged into her, the stretch of her walls around him causing them both to release heavy groans towards the heavens. “God help me..” He whispered into the air with a chuckle while he waited for her to adjust to the intrusion. The sweet tightness swallowing him whole begged for him to start moving, to see how delicious it would feel for her body to milk every last drop from him, yet he waited until she impatiently twitched around him.

Looking down at her, Nanami couldn’t help but snort. “Patience is a virtue, darling.” His voice was strained from the effort it took to resist from pounding into her.

The shock of the intrusion gone, the playful smile returned to her face. “Does that mean I’ll be punished, Father?”

A genuine laugh broke from Nanami’s throat and he positioned his hands on her waist. “I suppose it is necessary. Virtues must be learned somehow.” He then began a sudden and harsh pace, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back. The drag of his cock along her walls was pure bliss, the stretch barely painful beyond the pleasure being literally pounded into her body. Perhaps it was the euphoria, but the woman could swear his unrelenting pace hit places she never knew could feel so good, each slap of skin on skin eliciting gasps and pleas from her.

Even better was the look plastered on the ever stoic and serious Nanami, the priest she had only ever seen scowling from behind the altar he was currently railing her on. His brows were drawn and his jaw set tight around every groan and grunt rung from him. The sternness was different from usual, no longer the reproachful hand of god, but a man hellbent on finding and giving release. His fingers held on with bruising strength, moving her body for her as he struck again and again at her most sensitive spot. Her fingers clawed for purchase on the thin red fabric covering the wooden slab of the altar as stars shot in and out, throwing everything out of focus except for where Nanami’s body and hers connected.

With the echoes of their voices and skin bouncing around them, Nanami was getting progressively closer to climax. The time spent pleasuring his partner had sufficiently worked him up and the pressure wrapped around his cock was godly. Seeing the edge approaching, he released one hand from its forceful grip and moved it to toy with her clit once again and bring her along with him towards release.

The woman clung to the altar with one hand above her head, her eyes scrunched shut as the coil in her core threatened to snap for the second time that evening. It didn’t take much longer for orgasm to hit, her walls clenching tight around Nanami’s cock and her barely opened eyes staring fuzzily at the church ceiling as every nerve in her body tensed and released in waves. Nanami was short to follow, the pressure around him too wonderful and the expression of the woman before him enough to tip him over the edge. He pulled out with a wet pop before painting the woman and the altar in long spurts of cum. He braced his hands on the wood on either side of her body, their heavy breathing filling the space as they both reeled back into themselves.

Before a silence could settle, Nanami began to put himself back together, cleaning himself off with a handkerchief and tucking himself back into his pants. “I will be just a moment,” he informed the still shaking woman and went to retrieve a hand towel from the closet near the church’s restroom. He began gently and diligently cleaning her, then helped her back into her clothes. Aside from the red swollenness of their lips and the disheveled state of their hair, the two looked nearly normal. Nanami had been careful not to leave any visible marks on her, had kept his lips to hers or to places unseen, simply because they had not had the time to discuss what exactly was okay and what wasn’t beforehand. Despite having fucked a churchgoer on an altar just moments before, Nanami was a gentleman and respected any boundaries his partner may have had.

With the evidence of their “worship” cleaned up, the two adults walked towards the doors of the church. The woman paused at the door and looked up to Nanami with a broad, relaxed smile. “Thank you, Father. For the break.” An amused laugh bubbled past her lips and Nanami found himself grinning slightly in return.

“Any time, my child. I am here to serve,” he said, extending a hand with a simple business card in it. “Even when I am no longer part of this congregation.” While generally saved for curse work, Nanami always carried cards with his name and number on it. And this definitely seemed like a worthwhile time to give on.

The woman took it and tucked it into her purse securely. “I hope to see you again soon,” she said in farewell, leaving Father Nanami behind to finish attending to church duties. Perhaps the mandatory service as a priest wasn’t so bad. It certainly had its perks.