#lord save me from the desires of the flesh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

devieuls · 2 months ago

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ˋ Haunted . ༄

Qimir x Ex Jedi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Sith Lord Qimir x Fem ex Jedi Reader.

(during the series)

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoor sex; jealousy BDSM. Dom Qimir ANGST: toxic relationship, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Qimir 35 y.o / You 22 y.o.

Synopsis: In a twisted web of light and darkness, two opposites are facing each other, dancing on a thin thread called fate. What happens when light and darkness dance on a wire called destiny, two eternal opposites that inevitably attract each other and create something perfectly powerful and chaotic to unite the power of two in one? The answer emerges in a journey of tension and attraction, where yin and yang discover that their opposition is nothing but a reflection of a deep and unexpected connection. This is the story of how destruction is akin to peace, how the moon one day decided to save the sun, how darkness is not so dark and evil so bad. A journey towards change and desire, where opposing forces merge into a future that no one could have predicted.

(Following some events of the series)

Lenght: 5.8k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

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⠀⠀ Chapter VII: Mistakes

The night passed slowly, every minute feeling like an eternity, and you found yourself running your fingers over your lips, as if you still wanted to taste his. Every time you thought of Qimir, of the way his lips had found yours with such longing, your heart began to beat faster, your chest tightened, and desire burned inside you. You couldn't push him out of your mind; it was as if his touch had stayed on you, imprinted on your skin like an invisible tattoo.

You turned to the side in bed, gripping the sheets in your hands as the memory of those fingers that had clung to your flesh, digging in with an insatiable hunger, tormented you. You swallowed with difficulty, desperately trying to free yourself from the images crowding your mind: your mouths joined in wet and desperate kisses, his deep breaths against your neck, the shared gasps filling the air as if they were the only language you both knew. You had started it all, you, and it was as if you had unleashed a force you could no longer stop, and you were ashamed of it.

His words echoed in your head, piercing like a wound that refused to heal. “Let me be yours .” Those words had broken something inside you, revealing a Qimir you had never seen before: vulnerable, open, yet still so imposing, so dangerous. His pleading voice as he looked at you with his mouth still on your breast, as if he had desired nothing else in the world but to belong to you, was impossible to forget.

You closed your eyes, but the scene continued to haunt you. "Completely." The sincerity in his eyes, the need that resonated in every word. You wanted to forget everything, to drive away the feeling of his hands on your body, the warmth of his skin against yours. But the more you tried to push him away, the more you found yourself wrapped in those memories, as if your own body refused to let him go.

It was as if the memory of that night was alive, pulsing beneath your skin. Your breathing became irregular, and every heartbeat seemed to amplify his absent presence. His voice echoed in your mind, a whisper blending with the night wind, making you shiver. "If isn't right, then why do you like it so much?"

The memory of his touch was vivid, warm, and your intimacy began to burn at the spot where Qimir had brushed his fingers over your pants. And without even realizing it, your hand slid toward that heat that was slowly consuming you, a desire that burned without extinguishing. Every inch of your skin wanted to keep that memory of a few hours earlier alive, and the need to feel him again, to have that moment back, was becoming more unbearable. You urgently pulled off your pants, throwing them to the floor.

Your breath grew heavier and more erratic, the images in your mind more real, as if his presence was right there with you, now. His name surfaced on your lips with the same intensity as the night wind, a choked whisper, as you began to rub your fingertips over that increasingly needy bundle of nerves. Your mind couldn’t escape the thought of him. You imagined his shoulders, so broad, so strong, where you had dug your nails in. His arms wrapped around your body to keep you from going anywhere. His mouth claiming yours with hunger.

You bit the side of your lip lightly, closing your eyes and letting out a deep breath. You tried once again to push away your thoughts, but your left hand began to brush over your breast, imagining it was his. "We’ve barely begun" his slow, warm voice, gentle yet deep, echoed in your head.

You began to move your hips back and forth against your fingers, feeling your warm, wet skin, seeking more friction to relieve that strange sensation that kept growing. Suddenly, you felt breathless when you touched the sensitive tip of your bud, your eyes wide, your body trembling and slightly arched, eager to discover what else you could touch to satisfy yourself.

An irrational need to explore your intimacy further took hold of you. You plunged two fingers inside yourself, pressing your palm against your swollen clitoris, and immediately began moving your fingers, feeling shivers run down your spine, almost forgetting where you were and that, who knows how many meters away, the man you were now imagining as you touched yourself was sleeping.

This was not Jedi behavior; nothing you had done that night was. Yet, why did you keep thinking about it? The lessons from your masters echoed in a distant corner of your mind, warning you that desire was a corrupt path, a road that would inevitably lead you toward the dark side. Pleasure, especially carnal pleasure, was even worse: it would cloud your clarity, undermine your balance, and weaken your connection to the Force. But how could something that had made you feel so alive, so real, after so much time spent in apathy, be wrong?

The memory of Qimir, the way he had touched you, kissed you, and the warmth of his body against yours, made you feel free in a way you had never experienced before. It was as if he had awakened a part of you that had remained dormant, buried beneath layers of discipline and control.

You weren’t used to these sensations; you had never thought that your body could crave something with such intensity. Your masters had taught you to keep your mind pure, to not allow distractions to divert you from your path. But now, both your mind and body seemed estranged from such restrictive teachings.

The idea of exploring your body, of giving yourself permission to touch and discover yourself as Qimir had, had become irresistible. His attention to you had opened a world of desires you had never dared to explore or imagine. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his hands, felt the warmth of his breath, and the burning of his kisses, accompanied by small bites. It was as if he had unlocked a part of you that had always been there, but that you had ignored and repressed.

It was wrong, you knew that, and yet, in that moment, it felt like the most right thing you had ever experienced.

You turned once more in bed, the sheets feeling too hot, suffocating against your tense and restless skin. You gripped a corner of fabric with such force that your nails dug into your palms, leaving small crescent marks. The memory of his hands, his lips on you, continued to torment you. You bit your lip, trying to push those images away, yet every effort was in vain as you pumped your fingers in and out, searching for the most delicate points of yourself, feeling a new kind of tension building inside you, an insistent need to give more to feel more.

Your eyes clenched shut, trembling, while your toes curled with every movement you made to satisfy yourself. Your heart started to beat faster, and you felt more sensitive and weaker, reaching the point where your mind was emptied of everything, focusing solely on pushing yourself beyond the limit that seemed to slip further away.

You brought your hand to your mouth, stifling a deep moan. Your face was slightly sweaty and flushed as you felt liquid slipping from your fingers once they were pulled from your intimacy. You breathed deeply, almost panting, as your fingers slipped through your hair, desperately trying to bring some order back to your mind. You ran your hand over your face, as if that simple gesture could erase your mistakes, the ones you kept collecting, one after another, dragging you further from the path you had sworn to follow.

You got out of bed, your body still trembling, and a wave of pain shot through your ankle, reminding you of the sprain. Limping, you reached the rudimentary rock faucet inside the cave, cold water running over your hands as if it could wash away not just your fluids, but also the memories of the man who had led you to commit such a pleasurable act. You scrubbed vigorously, trying to erase every trace of that night.

You returned to bed with difficulty, massaging your aching ankle. Every step felt like divine punishment for what you had done, as if to remind you it was wrong, and you kept making mistakes. You leaned against the pillow, your gaze lost in the emptiness, until your eyes fell on the small Nexu, peacefully sleeping next to your bed. That cub, unaware of your dogmas, had become your only anchor. You reached out to him, your fingers threading through his rough fur, finding comfort in a place you could no longer find within yourself. "Shit" you hissed through clenched teeth, the frustration suffocating you. You stroked the cub, trying to find peace in that gesture, but your mind was in turmoil. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Qimir again. You couldn’t shake him off, no matter how hard you tried.

But maybe, deep down, a part of you didn’t want to forget anything about that night.

You only fell asleep after hours of fighting your own thoughts, your hand still resting on the cub. The sleep was shallow, disturbed by images and sensations you couldn’t push away. When you woke, Qimir was there. You felt him approaching, his gaze burning on your skin as you kept your eyes closed a little longer. He watched you in silence, almost affectionately, as if he were trying to understand every single detail of your face. He leaned slightly over you, moving a rebellious strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment on your still-warm skin. There was something different about your face, something he couldn’t fully decipher but that intrigued him.

As soon as you opened your eyes, you sensed his presence retreat. Qimir stepped back, turning his back to you as he grabbed something from a natural shelf in the cave, his movement slow and calculated. His tone was light, almost distracted, when he spoke.

"Rough night?" he asked with a casual air. Panic hit you like a punch to the chest. You sat up quickly, clutching the blanket around you, swallowing as you tried to find an answer that wouldn’t betray the turmoil inside you after a night spent touching yourself, thinking of him.

"Not at all." you replied too quickly, your voice louder than normal, and you realized it only after you had spoken. Qimir turned to look at you, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. He raised an eyebrow, staring at you with a gaze that seemed to see through every barrier, every excuse.

His eyes immediately settled on your disheveled hair, then on your wrinkled and slightly twisted tunic, before trailing down to the pants lying on the cave floor. His lips curled into a barely restrained smirk as he leaned casually against the rocky wall, arms crossed over his chest in a way that made it clear he was amused, as if he knew exactly what you'd done that night.

"It's not what you think" you stammered nervously, your voice a little too high-pitched as the blush spread across your cheeks. The instinct to defend yourself against any accusation clashed with the awareness that you were in an indefensible position, no matter how obvious it seemed.

Qimir tilted his head slightly, his smile widening, mischievous, as if savoring every second of your clumsy attempt at dissimulation.

"And what do you think I'm thinking?" he replied, his voice low, a velvet whisper, his eyes narrowing in amusement but also in a dangerously inquisitive way. Your heart pounded faster as you desperately tried to find a response that wouldn’t make things even more awkward.

"There's nothing to think about," you finally answered, trying to regain control of the situation, even though you felt the tension rise with every passing second. Qimir chuckled softly, a laugh that sounded almost affectionate, as he ran a hand through his hair with that relaxed manner of his, as if the situation didn’t bother him in the least.

"There’s nothing wrong if-"

"Qimir!" You cut him off, grabbing the pillow and throwing it at him, overwhelmed by the embarrassment washing over you like a violent wave. The very concept of sexuality was something you had always ignored. And now, to find yourself discussing it with him made everything unbearably real.

"Alright, alright…" he began, laughing as he handed you the pillow back. "I just hope that whoever put these ideas in your head at least… satisfied you. In your imagination, I mean" He dropped that line with a calm and malice that sent a shiver down your spine, offering you the pillow as if he hadn't just implied the most audacious thing you’d ever heard.

"Shut up" you muttered, snatching the pillow and looking away from him, burning with embarrassment. The silence that followed was thick with tension as you tried to ignore him, pretending that conversation had never happened.

Qimir, however, didn’t seem ready to let it go. He cleared his throat lightly, coughing in that deliberate way that always seemed to signal he was about to stir trouble.

"Oh…" he murmured softly, as if a piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place, realization dawning on him. Your body tensed instantly, your heartbeat thudding in your ears as you felt his eyes studying you with a renewed interest. "You were thinking…" he started, but didn’t finish, because your sharp glare immediately silenced him.

"No." You responded curtly, hoping the firmness of your tone would be enough to end the matter.

He turned away, but not before shooting you a look of pure understanding, paired with a smirk that made you feel utterly exposed and vulnerable in front of him.

"I wouldn’t take offense, you know, if I happened to be the object of your desire" he said with unsettling ease, moving towards the corner of the cave where he had stored some fruit a few days earlier.

"I wasn’t thinking about you." Your voice was icy, tinged with nervousness—a desperate attempt to salvage whatever dignity you had left, though you knew your reactions betrayed every word you spoke.

"If you say so, my lady" he replied, emphasizing that "my lady" with a soft and delicate tone, almost reverent, sending another wave of shivers down your spine.

"But, you know, autoerotism isn’t exactly something the Jedi Masters teach their Padawans, if I remember well. So, it would be quite a honor to be the cause of your… desire." His words dripped with teasing affection, a taunting edge to them, but beneath it all, you could feel an underlying sincerity that only made your predicament more infuriating.

The word "autoerotism" hit you like a cold blade. You had never heard it used in that context, and as much as you tried to maintain an impenetrable façade, your mind was in turmoil. You were trained not to think about certain things, to never let yourself get distracted, but now it felt as if Qimir had opened a secret door that you had always ignored. Sure, once you left the Order, you could have explored all those emotions that had been forbidden to you, but retreating into solitude meant you had renounced that curiosity toward worldly pleasures of a carnal kind.

Your face flushed even more as you bit the inside of your cheek, holding back words that you knew would be either too aggressive or too… desperate.

Qimir was watching you carefully, his gaze suddenly growing more serious, almost surprised, as he noticed your reaction.

"Wait…" he said, as if he had just understood what he had deliberately ignored all this time. "You've never… touched yourself?" His voice was low, almost incredulous, as if he were realizing just how distant you were from that world.

His question struck you like lightning. You couldn’t respond. You suddenly felt trapped, as if there was no way out of that situation without addressing the topic.

"A Jedi doesn’t experience… certain types of-" you started, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but your voice cracked under the weight of the emotions as you searched for the right word.

"Desires? Cravings? Needs?" His voice was a warm whisper, finishing your sentence with a curiosity that seemed to dig deep into your being. His eyes were fixed on you, studying you with an intensity that made you feel exposed.

"Emotions." you quickly corrected him, taking a deep breath to regain your composure. But his proximity, that penetrating gaze, made it hard to focus.

Qimir paused briefly, his face relaxed, though his eyes were full of malice and curiosity that he couldn’t hide.

"For quite some time now, you haven’t been a Jedi," he said in that velvety voice of his, laden with a gravity that didn’t expect any rebuttal. "Do you really want to tell me that you’ve never been curious to… explore yourself intimately?"

You lowered your gaze, seeking refuge in the sight of the Nexu, which was slowly stirring awake. His words, however, lingered in the air, pinning you to his question.

"This is not a conversation that should interest you" you replied through gritted teeth, trying to steer the discussion elsewhere. But your answer betrayed your firmness, and he knew it. Your nervousness grew as Qimir watched you closely, his smile barely noticeable. He seemed to savor every shade of your reaction, as if he were playing with something delicate and dangerous.

He approached with slow, confident movements, offering you the fruit.

"You’re terribly beautiful when you’re embarrassed and nervous, you know?" His voice grew warmer, sweeter, almost a caress on your moral wounds. He sat on the edge of the bed, his closeness somehow reassuring you.

"Stop it" you ordered, trying to maintain distance, but your voice lacked true conviction. It wasn’t a command; it was a plea. Overwhelmed by growing embarrassment, you grabbed the Nexu cub in your arms, seeking a physical barrier between you and him. Qimir chuckled softly, but with no hint of mockery. He seemed to understand how you were struggling between what you believed was right and what you felt.

"You don’t have to fight everything" he whispered, his tone low, intimate. "Not with me." His hand lightly brushed the back of yours, almost reverently, as if even that minimal contact were sacred.

Your gaze fell on his hand touching yours lightly, and you swallowed slightly as you reluctantly took the fruit.

"I already told you I’m not your sister," you whispered, trying to establish a distance that was nonetheless growing thinner. Seeing his jaw tighten as he seemed to press the tip of his tongue against his sealed lips, and his expression darken, made you realize that your words had affected him.

"You definitely not" he replied, his voice hoarse, almost a lament hiding a mix of desire and frustration. Slowly, almost cautiously, Qimir moved closer to you, as if testing your boundaries.

You allowed him into your personal space.

"Then you know that…" you tried to explain, but he interrupted you, his tone so similar to yours that it made you smile internally for a moment.

"I already told you" he whispered, his voice full of a sweetness he reserved only for you. "I’m here for you." He murmured with a devoted tone. You bit your lip, lowering your gaze and letting it wander over him, his imposing figure filling the space between you.

"Yesterday, I said many things while we… you know." You began, your voice uncertain and almost trembling, trying to rationalize the whirlwind of emotions. "A part of me is still connected to the Jedi Order."

"Despite everything they did to you?" His question was a direct hit, full of disbelief and pain. It was as if he couldn’t understand how you could still hold loyalty toward those who had betrayed you. Hurt you.

"Despite what they did to me…" you repeated in a low, bitter voice. You felt torn, broken in two. "I don’t want to believe that Mae… that Sol" The sentence stuck in your throat, too painful to complete. It was as if every word was tearing you apart inside.

"You want to go back to him…" he murmured, and in his voice was a shadow of sadness that hurt you more than you wanted to admit. He wanted to let you go, yet couldn’t. It was as if his soul were anchored to the hope that you might stay with him, choose him.

But he knew that moment had not yet come, and maybe it never would. His eyes, however, still held a glimmer of hope, as if he hoped you wouldn’t actually want to return to your Jedi master.

"I need answers…" you whispered, with a tight throat, each word a searing cut on his heart. You knew it, you felt it. Yet you couldn’t avoid that truth. The answers you sought could not come from him.

Qimir lowered his eyes, the tension in his face evident, as if those words were poison to him. With a gentle gesture, you placed your hand on his cheek, feeling his warm skin under your fingers.

"I can’t give you what you’re looking for now, Qimir… I’m not Mae." It was a difficult truth to say, a truth that seemed to crack everything you had slowly and silently built together.

Qimir leaned into your caress for a moment, closing his eyes as if he wanted to savor that moment before it faded. His skin seemed to melt under your hand, as if every second was too precious to waste.

But then, with a slow and painful decision, he pulled away.

"I understand." He said in a tone that didn’t reflect at all the depth of his disappointment. He took a step back, breaking that contact which for a moment had given both of you a semblance of illusion.

You opened your mouth, desperately trying to find something to say, anything that could ease that painful moment, that could slow down the time that seemed to be slipping away too quickly. But no sound came out. You felt empty, devoid of the right words and voice, yet your heart screamed the truth you were ignoring with such insistence. You wanted to give him a chance. You wanted to give yourselves a chance, but it couldn't be.

"We leave in a few hours." His voice was flat, distant, and the lack of warmth in those words struck you like a thunderbolt out of the blue sky.

Qimir didn’t look at you; his eyes were turned elsewhere, perhaps to hide the bitterness written on his face. Perhaps to avoid showing vulnerability in a moment that was suffocating both of you.

You felt a sharp, dull pain in your chest, as if your heart had been ripped away with a harsh gesture. You hadn't expected to have to leave him so soon, not now, not like this. The idea of leaving that refuge of stone and silence, of abandoning the fragile bond that had formed between you, made you feel as though you were losing something invaluable.

"Qimir…" you finally managed to whisper, your voice barely a breath.

The hours seemed to pass in an oppressive silence, heavy with all that neither of you dared to say. Qimir, in his silent way, had once again used the Force to tend to your ankle. His hands were precise and sure, but lacking the warm touch you had come to recognize in him. After finishing the task, he had avoided you. Not a single glance, not a word. Just… distance.

You gathered the few belongings you had, each small action done in silence, as if even the faintest noise could shatter the fragile truce that had been established between you. When you finally found yourselves in his spacecraft, the tension was still palpable. The Nexu roamed around the metallic room with curiosity. Its carefree behavior made you smile for a brief moment, but the weight of the situation quickly returned to your shoulders.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the courage to confront Qimir. His gaze was fixed on the control panel, his fingers pressing the buttons with almost mechanical precision.

"Are you angry with me?" you finally asked, your voice a thread of sound, fragile and unsure. You didn't expect an immediate answer, fearing the weight of his words.

Qimir paused for a moment, his hands hovering above the controls. He took a deep, almost imperceptible breath, as if he was trying to gather his emotions before speaking.

"I could never be." His voice was dry, distant, lacking the warmth you had longed to hear again. It was as if he had built a wall, a barrier that prevented you from getting closer to him and hurting him further.

The spacecraft began to take off, the sound of the engines filling the surrounding space as the ground beneath you receded further away. You looked out the viewport, the idyllic landscape slowly fading away, giving way to the emptiness of space.

"It doesn’t seem" you murmured, your gaze shifting back to him. Qimir didn’t respond immediately. His eyes remained fixed ahead, as if he didn’t want to confront the conversation. You felt a pang of disappointment and pain, but you held it back.

"It’s not your fault" he finally said, his voice lower, almost choked by the emotions he was trying to suppress. "It’s me who shouldn’t… feel what I feel."

You felt guilty for not being able to allow yourself to freely experience what you so desperately wanted. The emotions you had tried to suppress now overwhelmed you like a raging wave.

"What you said yesterday… did you really mean it? Do you truly want to be mine?" you asked with a delicate, uncertain tone, your voice a whisper barely audible over the noise of the spacecraft.

"What do you think?" Qimir replied, his voice a mix of hope and resignation. His tone seemed to have softened slightly, just as your gaze had.

"You’re a Sith, Qimir… How could you ever want to belong to me?" Your voice broke as you moved closer to him, the pain and confusion clearly visible in your eyes, which he couldn't see.

He hesitated, a shadow of sadness crossing his face as he contemplated the question. Time seemed to slow as he searched for the right words to express the whirlwind of emotions inside him.

"Why do you think I don’t really want it? You’re no longer a Jedi, and I see who you really are." His statement was filled with a sincerity that struck you deeply.

He set the autopilot, allowing the spacecraft to continue on its course without his direct control, and turned toward you. His posture was more relaxed now, as if your question had released a tension he had been holding for a long time.

"The fact that I am or am not a Jedi doesn’t matter… You follow a path I cannot follow" you said, gently cradling his face in your hands. The contact was light, but your heart pounded strongly, almost in sync with his.

"Can’t you… or don’t you want to?" Qimir’s question was sharp but tinged with desperate curiosity. It unsettled you for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Your hands trembled slightly as you caressed his cheeks, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His deep, dark eyes scrutinized you with such intensity that it made you waver once again. The question he had posed hung in the air, laden with a truth you were trying to ignore.

"I can’t…" you finally whispered, your voice almost a breath. It was the most certain answer you could give, but deep down, you knew the truth was quite different. It wasn’t just a matter of possibility, but of desire. A desire that grew every time his eyes fell on you, every time his body drew near yours. Every time you abandoned your ideals for a dangerous freedom.

"I’m not asking you to change your path" he said, his words carrying a hint of tenderness and determination as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his face against your abdomen. "I’m just asking if you can see beyond my choices. If you can accept who I am, just as I accept who you are."

"I don’t know who I am anymore…" you whispered, your voice faint. Your arms gently cradled his head, feeling a bitter taste in your mouth after that statement. You felt a warm tear slide down your cheek, a sign of how disconnected your heart was from your mind.

Being with him, beginning to feel deep and genuine emotions, experiencing that dark freedom, had stripped you of everything you had always believed in. Your identity, built with years of discipline and sacrifice, seemed to have vanished with him. You were a Jedi, you defined yourself as such even after leaving the Order; their rules, their beliefs, had formed the foundation of your existence even after your departure.

But now, after defying every principle you had followed for your entire life, what remained but a name and an identity that no longer belonged to you?

You were no longer a Jedi, that was evident, but neither were you a Sith. Following a dark path would inevitably lead you to a fate similar to that of your sister, and you knew you couldn’t allow that to happen.

You couldn’t become the person you feared becoming, the kind of person you had sworn to destroy for the greater good. But at the same time, you had no right to decide for Qimir, to force him to change to satisfy your whims. You might think you were "saving" him, but what was salvation to you if not a prison for the man who was offering himself to you with such pure devotion?

Qimir lifted his face, noticing the tear on your cheek, and gently wiped it away with a caress. "Y/n…" he whispered, as if to bring you back from your own thoughts.

"I… can’t" you whispered, your voice breaking. You avoided his gaze, feeling as though you were relinquishing a fundamental part of yourself that you had given to him over the past month.

"Lying doesn’t suit you, sweetheart" he said softly, trying to capture your gaze with his pleading eyes. His tenderness, his devotion, made you sensitive.

"Please…" your plea was a desperate whisper, a supplication that cut like a knife.

"Y/n. Deny my path, reject who I am, forget what I have done, or if you don’t want to, tell me that you want me, and I will no longer be a Sith. Only what I am is your enemy, I am I, and you are you," Qimir said, his gaze filled with fervent hope and undeniable sadness. His plea was a mixture of desire and acceptance, an offer that seemed to challenge every rule you had ever known.

You leaned in and pressed your lips against his. You didn’t know exactly why you were doing it. All you knew was that at that moment, as you looked into his exhausting eyes, you wanted to feel his taste once more. At least for one last time, and you would be damned if you didn’t get what you wanted.

"If I accepted, I would deprive you of your freedom" you whispered, the words a warm murmur between the cracks of your kisses.

"Then be free with me" he replied, holding the edges of your dress. The kiss grew more intense, your lips consuming each other with a rising and persistent passion. Your breaths mixed in a frantic rhythm, seeking relief, as a warm and steady wave clashed against your tongues.

Qimir lifted you slightly, seating you on him, his hands sliding over your hips, holding you with a gentle strength that made you shiver with pleasure. The warmth of his body was enveloping, and his touches were like a flame igniting every fiber of your being.

"If I did…" The words mixed with your kisses, your voice trembling as you wove your fingers through his hair, holding him close. The sensation of his hair between your fingers was enveloping, and his scent was a mix of distant lands and a fragrance that had become too familiar. "I would become like you…" you finished with difficulty, as you shivered at his touch on your back now.

"For once, choose yourself… Not the Jedi, not me. But you. Be free" he whispered, pulling away from your lips, placing two fingers under your chin. "Be yourself."

Your eyes lingered on his. Your breath was short, your lips reddened from the voracious kiss, and his delicate touch on your body, while he implored you to choose yourself.

"If I choose myself, I would betray everything I believed in" you whispered, your tone faint. Your forehead rested against his, closing your eyes to seek some comfort and reflection. His hands slid gently over your hips, the warm and reassuring contact as he tried to offer you all the support you needed.

"But if I choose the path I have always followed, I would betray myself. I would betray the peace I found with you…" you admitted through clenched teeth, the words almost choked by emotion and inner conflict.

The realization that you had to make an impossible choice tormented you, and the pain of parting from him made you feel as though you were breaking something precious inside you.

"Choose yourself…" Qimir whispered, his lips touching yours with a tenderness laden with passion. He moved to your jaw, leaving more wet kisses on that spot. "Choose freedom," his voice was a warm and pleading whisper, as his lips glided over your exposed neck, causing a deep shiver and making you gasp. His tongue traced fiery paths on your skin, making you gasp as the warmth of his body grew more intense.

"Choose me." The warmth of his breath on your neck, the way his hands moved along your back, everything was a dance of passion and intensity that left you clear on one decision.

"I… have to kill Sol." you stated, your voice trembling but determination palpable. Qimir slowly pulled away from your neck, his astonished and penetrating gaze meeting yours, trying to decipher the turmoil in your words.

"If he killed Mae… I have to do it. I have to do it for her, I have to do it for me" you explained, your heart heavy and your mind crowded with too precise thoughts.

Your declaration was followed by a silence heavy with tension. You moved closer to him again, seeking comfort in his lips, with an urgency and need that seemed deeper than any words you could express. Your lips brushed his with a trembling sweetness.

"After that, I’ll be free" you murmured between kisses, your voice a burning whisper on his lips.

The kiss became voracious and insatiable, an explosion of desire that overwhelmed both of you. Your breaths mingled in a harmony of shivers and overwhelming sensations. Qimir’s lips were warm and expressive against yours, and every touch seemed to intensify the connection you had, transforming the moment into a storm of passion and desire.

His mouth, experienced and hungry, explored every corner of your mouth with an intensity that seemed to consume you both. Your tongues intertwined with his, dancing in a passionate and intense rhythm that spoke of all the emotions you felt, from despair to desire.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

TAGLIST: @neteyamtanhi @blossomedfloweroflove @muffledgorillaviolence @princessakirika

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Notes :

Okay, it took me a while to write this one, and it’s a bridge chapter for the next one. I hope you liked it anyway. Y/n who finally melts with this man desperate for her, I scream.

Tell me what you think

-Mel

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

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remembrancer-of-heresy · 4 months ago

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The Eternal Night (Part 1)

Summary: You ask for protection from the Night Lord in the hope of being saved from other space marines. Not realizing that you yourself walked into a mousetrap.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, power imbalance, violence, body horror, torture, predator/prey

Word count: 2560

Song: She Wants Revenge - Out Of Control

But then she noticed me glance at her I had no choice but to dance with her

The funny thing is that mothiir just recently released headcanons about the first captain. Today is Sevatar's day.

The very thought of serving on a Night Lords ship was terrifying. Many remembrancers chose Fulgrim or Horus Lupercal. Some ventured to the Conqueror. But as your lady noted, only the bravest and courageous are ready to board the Nightfall.

Stupid and naive, you wanted to tell her. But your mistress was too self-confident, too spoiled to listen to anyone. She justified her reckless action by arguing that the Night Lords were still Astartes, the Space Marines of the Imperium. And you…

What are you? You were her personal maid. You weren't supposed to have an opinion. You kind of missed freedom. But is it better to be a healthy serf than a hungry child? You are already lucky that her kind family took you into their home.

But while cleaning the mistress’s room on Nightfall, you want to return to the depths of poverty. It was dark here. Cold. And scary. No matter how much you smelled the chlorine or your lady's perfume, you couldn't get rid of the smell of blood. It seemed to be absorbed into the ship.

You behaved as quiet as a mouse. Didn’t interfere, didn’t talk too much. Made friends with a couple of serfs without distracting them from their work. Tried not to tremble in the presence of the Astartes passing by. The main thing is to continue to remain invisible. Hide in the darkness and it doesn’t matter what these lords rule the night.

The lady was an easy prey. She just asked to be gutted. You shouldn't think that way, but it was true. The way her knees shook and she sweated out of fear. Although it was difficult not to do so when even in the quietest corners of the ship distant cries of pain could be heard.

“I'm so scared. They look like that, as if a little longer and they will twist my head.” - the lady once complained to you before going to bed.

“You shouldn’t be afraid. This won't happen." - you calmly notice. The girl’s calm face, full of hope, changes to horror and disgust as soon as you continue your thought. - “First they will skin you alive.”

Compared to her, you seemed so gloomy and strange. Weird. The other servants jokingly called you lady crow. Although you didn't understand the humor. Nightfall looked more like a burial ground. How could you want to stay here for even one minute if you are not a scavenger? Besides, you are not a bird, you are a human.

And despite this, your mistress tried to gain respect among mortals who had seen the real horrors of war. And her desperate attempts to personally meet Konrad Curze are akin to a desire to quickly depart to the afterworld.

And she achieved her goal. Even more. The primarch himself decided to visit the chambers of the restless scribe. Either out of idle curiosity or out of a desire to calm down the annoying woman. Just the knock on the door sent a shiver down your spine, and his massive black figure in the doorway sent a terrible feeling of foreboding.

Konrad Curze, in his grim elegance, entered the chamber and greeted the woman. And then he looked at you. Long and drawn out, cold and concentrated. His black eyes probed every piece of your flesh and soul. And then he smiled.

The lips stretched to the ears, revealing clawed teeth. But the worst thing was when he laughed a nasty laugh. The kind that makes your bones crack. He continued to look at you and laugh, putting the lady in a stupor. And scaring you terribly. A gloomy foreboding clouded the little mortal heart, and the words only nailed you more firmly to the floor.

“How interesting~” - the primarch grinned carnivorously while saliva collected in the corners of his mouth. - “The little mouse will offer itself to the crow. And he will only be glad. What's worse? To be eaten by scoundrels or to be protected by a monster?”

He bursts out laughing again, this time quiet. He sighs, disgustingly satisfied. Until he finally pays attention to your mistress. And something in his face changes. You can’t explain it, but it’s as if doom and anticipatory bloodthirstiness have merged into one. As if Konrad Curze saw something terrible. And he liked it.

“Perhaps we should discuss everything in private,” his voice softly envelops you like night. It is impossible to explain how a man turned from madman to primarch. Although no one knows whether the Emperor's son can go mad.

Your mistress nods and with a wave of her hand kicks you out of the chambers. You quickly leave the room, closing the door behind you. The primal desire to hide increased a hundredfold. You rush to one of your secluded places, which you discovered by accident. For the first time in your life, not watching the road and not hiding too much from prying eyes.

You should never give in to fear. You must always be on your guard. A momentary weakness can and does lighten the soul. But you will definitely have to pay later. And you understand this as soon as you hit your forehead on something iron at a turn.

A characteristic sound is heard and you whine and grab your forehead. There will be a bump and most likely a huge one. But the pain just vanishes when you understand where it came from. And especially when you hear an unpleasant chuckle.

He looked intimidating. Outstretched wings of a gargoyle and a skull on a huge armor not intended for an ordinary mortal. The characteristic appearance of the Nostraman did not frighten you. As well as the scars on the eyebrow and lip.

But his smile was scary. How his black eyes filled with sparkle, and the corners of his lips twitched strangely. It’s as if someone is touching the threads sewn into the skin of a corpse, imitating human living emotions. All the sons of Curze were terrifying, their “smiles” were more like the grin of animals. But this one was different.

“Careful, little one. If you had met one of my brothers, you would already be hanging on a hook” - his eyes sparkled with mischief, but nothing more. - “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

You swallowed. Didn’t want to answer, but silence could only provoke.

“My lady is speaking with Konrad Curze.” - the unpleasant meeting still echoed in your brain. It became more uncomfortable. - “I was told not to interfere.”

“Oh, that annoying scribe still managed to snag a meeting with the primarch. Your mistress talks too much and goes where she shouldn't. These usually end up with their guts out.” The man smirked and looked at you. Attentively. Like a carcass ready for slaughter. - “And where are you going?”

That's why you didn't want to get caught by the Night Lords. They played with mortals as if they were food. Important people for the Legion were still protected, but the serfs were meat. One is gone, it’s easy to replace it with a second one. The only thing that saved you was to be the remembrancer’s serf, her personal maid. Although judging by the attitude of the Space Marines towards her, this could only egg them on.

“To the compartment” - you don’t want to say where you’re going, but there’s no choice. In addition, it is unlikely that the Astartes will specify the exact location of your secret home. - “Into the trash compartment.”

A strange range of surprise spreads across the man’s face. Not disgust, but misunderstanding.

“Why the hell did you decide to go there?”

“There are a lot of rats there. They are my friends” - you almost calmed down as soon as you remembered the familiar sounds coming from under the garbage. You almost whisper a confession. - “They calm me down with their rustling.”

It was true. They listened to your stories, entertained you with fights between each other. They were soft and fluffy, although dirty. They were not evil from birth, they simply survived as best they could in such a place. And alas, the rats were much better than some of the people here.

The man just chuckled at these words. Did it seem to you or did a strange understanding flash in his eyes? And curiosity.

“Well then go.”

Not believing your luck, you open your mouth in amazement and blink your eyes. But you obey. While he gives you a head start, you need to run. There is no need to waste your luck. Especially when the one who could easily break you and not notice, lets you go while the going's good.

“And since they calm you down, mouse,” you turn around sharply and notice the same terrifying smile. But this time it's not scared. Something in a man changes when he calls out to you. - “It’s worth thanking them. Bring them meat... and fresh is best.”

Good advice. Maybe you're already used to Nightfall or this Night Lord seems less terrible. Or maybe you should really bring your little friends a well-deserved reward. You'll try to find something fresh and something... not made from human flesh.

You nod and quickly, trying not to attract attention, walk further down the corridor. You wish you could say that you didn’t feel the Space Marine’s gaze on you. But you felt it even when your figure disappeared from his gaze. Dead, mischievous, carnivorous. It was as if he had just found an interesting prey, but decided to let it go.

For a while.

***

You started to notice him. Previously all Space Marines looked alike. You just didn't look closely. Why the hell do you need this if they will torture you almost equally. But he wasn't like that. Or rather, a little more... humane? Kind? No, those are suitable. Wrong. Yes, that's much better.

First captain. Jago Sevatarion. You learned the name and title from one of the local serfs. You immediately became friends with him when you saw him. He was old. That's why you called him grandpa. He lasted a long time. Good sign.

Grandpa said that you were very lucky that the captain didn’t touch you. He did not participate in the local amusements so often, talking more with the primarch. Or keeping an eye on other Space Marines and a Atramentar. But still he was just as sadistic as the others. He killed, dismembered, skinned with grim pleasure. You couldn’t help but notice that he was the most feared of all. Unpleasant vibrations emanated from him.

It seemed like you were scared too. But it seems not. Alas, just as you were strange in childhood, you remains so. Although the local inhabitants even liked it. As if you almost one of them, unlike the other servants of the scribe. But you really couldn’t understand why no one noticed.

His weirdness. How he communicates with a couple of mortals. The same ones. You were sure he was keeping an eye on them. He made sure nothing bad happened to them. And he didn't touch you either. It is unlikely that your “status” would in any way prevent Sevatarion from quenching his thirst for murder. And he didn't laugh at your friendship with rats. Didn't find it disgusting or weird. It was nice gesture.

He also began to notice you. On distance. Didn't come up to you, didn't call you. No need. It’s just that now he knew what kind of new person was running around here. The Astartes began to notice you in the shadows, as you headed towards the rats or the local serfs. You didn’t see, but you were almost sure that at such moments he smiled unpleasantly.

Although probably all the Space Marines smiled when Curze called your mistress a traitor. He said that she decided to steal something and violated the Imperial Truth. You still couldn’t understand the words of the old serf who caught you in the corridor.

Rave. Your mistress was spoiled and annoying, but she would never betray the Imperium. She wouldn't even have such a thought. Is this a mistake or some kind of joke? The primarch could not blame her for something she had not done. Did he really decide to come up with justice just to send her to her death? She was kind. She didn't deserve it.

But a judgment is a judgment. Grandpa wasn't making fun of you. Now you and the other servants belonged to the Legion. But given the way this happened, you are unlikely to stay here for long. Alive.

With a feeling of guilt and tears in your eyes, you look at her mutilated corpse, nailed to one of the gates. They removed the skin from her, and then they squeezed out the body so that all the bones were broken, and most of the blood flowed away. Now her eyeless body, folded like a rag, looked at you accusingly.

Once you said that they would skin her, don't you?

Footsteps are heard behind you. Not lurking, but quiet. If you can say so, taking into account the armor of the Space Marines. You turn around and see Jago Sevatarion behind. The captain looks...tired. It was like he hadn't slept for days or weeks. A little bored. But quite happy with his work.

Apparently he also took part in the verdict.

“Your screaming scribe got into trouble herself, little mouse. You shouldn't mourn her when your life hangs by a thread. You will serve the Legion well and we will not touch you. Maybe." - the man falls silent and looks at you carefully. - “Or are you so used to being a personal servant?”

Maybe. If this world were a little kinder, you would even call your mistress a friend. But the Galaxy is full of horrors, and your patroness has turned into a leather rag. And you will be the same if you get caught. Or if you are not protected...

Grandpa said he was lucky. He had a tattoo. The ink mixed with the blood of the Space Marine he served. And no one touched him. Nobody offended him. Because he was not a “free” serf. He was no one's toy on the road. He had his own tormentor. But it's better than the unknown. Isn't it?

The First Captain raised an eyebrow. Apparently a little hope slipped across your sad face. It’s alarming to ask, scary to beg. But what choice do you have? Sooner or later you will be found and gutted. So you have to take risks.

“Take me to you,” you almost devour the man with your eyes, trying not to cower in fear. - “I will serve you. I'll be obedient. Will not interfere. I'm very quiet. Please."

You didn’t know why you mentioned that you are quiet. It came out on its own. The Night Lords rather like screaming, begging, and crying. The louder the better. But before your eyes was the tired appearance of the first captain. Even now he didn't look his best. Although something lights up in his eyes. For a moment, the walking corpse looks almost alive. A terrible sight.

“Call me Sevatar.” - the voice is surprisingly soft and relaxed. You look at him in disbelief. The man just grins at your funny look.

"This means?"

"Yes."

#warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #yandere space marine #night lord x reader #jago sevatarion x reader #sevatar x reader #tw: yandere #tw: violence #tw: body horror #tw torture

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forsworned · 3 months ago

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a thought i couldn't get out of my head about kyle because of this image

cw: religious themes, sexual themes, sacrilege, religious guilt, temptation, power dynamics, Kyle being a delicious temptation.

Penitent!Kyle is beaten, battered, and bruised seeking salvation when he has a terrible run-in with God’s Judgement. He’s the biggest talk around your small, docile, God-fearing town, caught stealing apples with pockets full with of hardtacks. He begs the Minister to let him go, he was running from his “demons”, he says. And that single-handedly saves him from losing his head. Poor, wretched soul, tortured by the voices in his head.

You spot him in the dim sanctuary, a lone figure at the witching hour, talking to the altar, begging for forgiveness in the form of penance. To be gentle, graceful, and the utmost serene. And you, the town beauty, who has been spying on him for the past half hour or so, step out. There’s a creak in the wooden floorboards that captures his attention. And then he sees you, face illuminated by the candle you carry with both hands. It casts a warm, angelic glow over your dulcet features, and his amber, dewy eyes team at the sight. An angel.

He curses himself for the lack of restraint his cock is practicing, but he holds himself still as you approach him. Hands interwoven on the prayer rail, kneeling before God, tears cascading down his smooth golden brown face—looking like an angel himself.

“You’re seeking salvation,” you take him in once more, heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings in your rib cage. “I see your struggle, I can help guide you,” you murmur, each word a tender caress, “help you find the forgiveness you seek.”

God has heard him. The pathetic sinner he is, He has heard him.

“You’d do that for me?” His whisper is faint, but you hear him clearly in the still night.

You don’t even skip a beat, “Yes.”

And his honey eyes analyze your every move, from the beat you gentle place your pricket candleholder atop of the prayer bench to the way you gracefully glide to the ewer, pouring out holy water into the a bowl. His heart beats louder with every stride you take toward him and you stand tall, poised and maternally before him. Like Mother Mary in the flesh, the light cascades a heavenly glow upon your skin. It’s as if the voices in his head grow silent with every word you utter.

Your voice echoes along the church walls as you begin the ritual, he’s hardly paying attention to the declarations that fall from your mouth. Only imagining how your lips would look puckered around his twitching, rock hard length, “…and renew your soul, granting you the redemption you seek.”

The candlelight dances, outlining your visage, and his Adam’s apple bobs. He’s no longer obstinate in the path God creates for him. He is more than willing to embrace humility, show remorse, and let go of his pride. His eyes quiver, body spasming from the long hours he's spent in these four walls to subdue his demons, to strive for the quiet, serene life of man and wife, and to give up his incubus-like ways. The route to redemption lies right there in front of him, right between your bosom. So soft, so sweet, so willing to bring him to the light, coax him through your expressions of adoration toward the Lord.

“I accept.” He bows his head in acknowledgement, before you tip the bowl to have his sweet, supple lips touch the rim. His knees touch the wooden floor and he looks so sweet, so submissive and willing to give anything to have his sins wiped clean.

Your core throbs with heat, envisioning him hiking up your wool skirt to lap you up. But you allow him to drink, holding the bowl steady as he takes his first tentative sip, water dribbles down his chin and wets his breeches as he sups it up with a haste that makes the desire coil tight within your belly. It’s hard to ignore the large bulging between his thighs, the clamminess in his hands as he puts them over yours. He hears the sudden shudder in your breath, stumbling over as you lose your composure, water spilling into his lap, and apologizing profusely for your clumsiness.

His hardened length presses against his breeches and your innocent eyes broaden at the profane and luscious sight. You’re quick to pull on the discarded surplice that lies on the prie-dieu to blanket his sodden form. Temptation still lies heavy in the air, but you swiftly turn your back to him, rushing out of the chapel. Heart on your sleeve for the man that showed up on your town's doorstep for deliverance as you rush back to your home. You creep back through your window you leave ajar, un-wedging the fork and softly placing it on your nightstand as you catch your breath.

Fingers trembling at your sides with desire and adrenaline, and the memory of his hardened length outlined through the thin fabric of his breeches, tear stained bronzed cheeks, plump lips, woolen hair and taut chest that peeked through the loosened placket of his cotton shirt. And how can you forget his eyes? Eyes the color of golden, everlasting hearth, of polished amber in the first rays of dawn.

With clammy fingers, interlaced at the edge of your bed, you pray to God to let your provocations dissipate into the zephyr of the cool Autumn wind. Part of you doesn’t even want the enticement to leave you, to give into human nature. After all, man was weak.

This deserves a part two, yess???😇

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popjunkie42 · 12 days ago

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Hungry Thirsty Roots - Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Chapter Two:

“We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?”

Christina Rosetti Goblin Market

Feyre faces the consequences of her poorly-worded wish as she returns to a mate enchanted to give her all of her desires.

Tags: just so much smut, mild magical dubcon, UTM stuff, light bondage

Thank you to my loves @climbthemountain2020 and @witch-and-her-witcher for the beta read!

I don't know, I just wrote you so many words of smut. I also don't want to let go of October. Don't look too closely at the plot or anything here. Please enjoy!

Read on AO3 and a snippet under the cut:

Feyre’s bare feet knocked uselessly against the wall, her hands pinned above her, firm pressure on her neck robbing her lungs of air.

In the darkness, all she could see was the flash of violet eyes, the bright glint of teeth.

Just as quickly as it came, the magic grip released around her neck and she coughed, still dangled off the wall, the tang of magic in the air.

“Rhys - what -”

“I believe I asked you a question, human.”

The High Lord hovered in the sharp silver light of the moon. His eyes - his eyes were swallowed up with deep swirling violet, not stars but whole galaxies rippling in them, undulating like waves on the sea. Not a black pupil in sight.

Feyre froze.

She could still feel the path the peach pit took down her throat, thick and rugged.

I wish for one night with my mate where things are back as they were, in the beginning between us.

Breaths came out of her in heavy pants. In the beginning between us. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Before she could sift through the enchantment at work on her mate, the cool tickle of smoky midnight tendrils caressed her bruised throat again. A reminder, laced with threat.

Sometimes she forgot what he had been like Under the Mountain. Something sickly churned in her stomach and she wondered if the enchantment would end if she threw the whole pit up.

“It isn’t wise to keep a High Lord waiting, darling. Or do you simply have no good explanation, and are attempting to save a shred of your dignity?”

Feyre blinked, the oxygen finally flooding back into her brain.

She had forgotten this too - how he could be such an insufferable ass.

Dressed as casually as he was, with a fine embroidered dressing robe over his bare chest and soft sleep pants, one might think he would be slightly less menacing. But even as his bare feet sunk into the carpet of their bedroom, Feyre couldn’t help the chills that erupted over her flesh. He cocked his head, all observant predator, and desire started to grow unbidden, a heat deep in her gut.

Surprising, and annoying, that he could always affect her so. Even this vulnerable to him - her body exposed for the taking.

Or perhaps because of it?

He clicked his tongue, disappointed. “So, I’ve caught the stubborn, vicious human girl sticking her pretty nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. The guards once told you I’d pull your skin from your body, strip by strip. A little messy for me, truth be told. Tell me Feyre, how would you like to be punished for invading a High Lord’s room without an invitation?”

The chill of fear turned into the crackling fire of anger - sparks that started to catch in her chest.

The joints of her shoulders burned, blood rushed from her fingertips, but she readjusted to straighten her body, lifted her chin.

First she was going to deal with her mate, and then she was going to hunt Mother Enfys down and repay her hospitality in kind.

His mind was trapped in an earlier time - her mate and his mask Under the Mountain. But it was fine. She knew him there, as well.

“I’m not afraid of you, Rhysand.”

He stopped his pacing, facing her fully. Dark features highlighted in the moonlight, haughty and beautiful.

“Stubborn, vicious…and foolish too.”

Feyre bared her teeth. Leave it to her mate to make her want to slap him and eat him whole.

And he stood so far away she couldn’t even feel the heat of his body, could barely catch his scent.

Unacceptable.

“Is part of my punishment being tied up and forced to listen to you talk to yourself?” Feyre asked.

The High Lord quirked an impatient eyebrow, flicked a piece of lint off of his shoulder.

She wanted him so much, annoyed as she was, it made her feel light headed again. The lack of his touch - his careful distance - was primed to drive her mad. Combined with the insistent thrum of the mating bond in her chest, to protect, protect - any distance from him was somewhat unbearable. And any panic and fear were eaten up into something else, stoked inside her belly - a thrill, a need, to break through his walls.

What do you dream of? Mother Enfys had asked.

“You haven’t answered my question yet, of what you’re doing here. And dressed so deliciously.”

A little scoff escaped her mouth. He might be enchanted, but he was still her mate.

Her eyes roamed over his form as he regarded her, haughty and bored. Besides the enchantment in his eyes, he seemed…fine. Body whole and unharmed, at least. Personality matched to his dark mask.

But would he remember this in the morning? Would he be angry with her? If the roles were reversed, would he have locked her in a closet, kept safe and alone until morning broke the enchantment cast over them both?

Guilt welled up under her racing mind, under her desire. This was her fault, her foolish bargain.

Feyre took a breath, trying to calm her thoughts.

Whatever might happen, he was hers and she was his. He could trust her, always. She wouldn’t let any harm befall him.

And maybe, just maybe, he could be convinced to let something like this go, in light of his past transgressions.

He stared at her, still waiting for an answer, his annoyed menace filling the room like smoke.

“What if I’m here for you?” Feyre spoke aloud into the cold.

Rhysand smiled, incisors flashed. “Now you want me to believe you enjoy my company? Tell the truth now. I can read your mind, you know.”

She licked her lips, plotting, weighing what she knew of her mate - “You’ll laugh.”

“The alternative is you’re punished for lying.”

“Oh.”

Feyre wondered if he had noticed her scent changing, the way she watched his powerful thighs as he paced. The way her mouth was parted, tasting the air for his scent.

Speak your desire, and it will be fulfilled.

She breathed deeply, wet her lips. Spoke, voice a quiet whisper:

“How would you punish me?”

Rhysand went still.

The air between them charged, like crackling lightning. She shivered, muscles taut.

Ribbons of darkness slowly unfurled against her skin as she was released, and she dropped her arms with a sigh, blood rushing back to her fingertips.

Frowning, the High Lord strode towards her. A voice in her whispered: finally.

He towered over her, standing above her like a looming shadow.

Feyre let herself feel the thrill of fear again. If this was her role, then she would play it, and well - the human plaything of the dark High Lord.

“What are you scheming, Feyre?” he asked, his voice low between them. “You know how dangerous it is when you get silly ideas in your head.”

Prick prick prick. “I think they’ve gotten me this far.”

He snorted, very un-High Lord-like. “Not without ample amounts of my assistance, if you’ll recall.”

Oh, he was infuriating, and oh, how she loved him. Warmth spread in her chest as she remembered his assistance. The knife’s edge they walked underground. The way he loved her, even now…how even now he was protecting her. Even from himself.

Feyre didn’t know how much he remembered, perceived about their changed circumstances under the enchantment. Perhaps she was glamoured in his eyes - rounded ears, shorter limbs, that hungry, fierce human look. But she would play her part - and she thought she could lead him to what they both wanted.

“Why did you come to my room, Feyre?”

She was silent a moment, and she pressed her wrists together in front of her, as if she longed to be bound again. “I got lost looking for the kitchens,” she lied.

He stepped closer, his breath brushing her hair. “Stop playing games. You’re terrible at them.”

In her mind, Feyre carved out a small room, right at the surface, for him. Filled it with her feelings, her desires, her needs. Shielding over all the memories, her amusement, her plots barreling towards seduction.

“I’m not playing games.” Wasn’t she? What might one call a drunken bargain in a magic market, a fumbling and inelegant wish spoken into the air? If not a game then a foolish mistake - but one she had to see through to the end now.

She had to be bold - be brave. “I wanted -” the faltering of her voice was not an act. “Just one night. Just for one night, I want you to help me feel something different. Something…” she stuttered, grown shy again, missing the words to what she wanted. Rhys’s jaw was clenched tight in front of her. She tried to capture her feelings, send them down the bond.

Something to banish away the memories of Under the Mountain, of her bleeding to death in a bed. But also something controlled, something that might be frightening but where her life wouldn’t be at risk…flesh she would trust under his hands.

Rhysand’s eyes flickered back and forth across her face, unsettling under the enchantment. “You believe you can trust me enough for that?”

“Can I?”

His eyes shuttered. Then closed.

“You’re a fool to trust anyone down here, any of us at all,” he said, his voice quiet, opening his eyes again to see her face.

“No, I’m not. Not with you.”

He was so close to her now, his scent in her nose. The darkness poured from him like water.

Feyre leaned up on her toes to kiss him, but he twisted his face away from her. Still uncertain.

“Please,” she whispered against his cheek. That hammering need inside of her roared to life, overcome with wanting him - his skin, his heat, his body - as much as air, as water.

He growled, and for a moment she was afraid he was angry. He swooped down so his teeth were next to her neck, her pulse thrumming in her veins.

His breath was warm and wet on her skin, and she shivered.

“I like it when you beg.”

Feyre couldn’t help her grin.

“I know.”

Halting, testing, Rhys placed a gentle kiss on her hammering pulse, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin, and she whimpered.

She could feel his smile against the skin of her neck, the pleased hum from his chest.

“Now darling, how do you think a High Lord should punish you for lying?”

#feysand #feysand smut #acotar fanfiction #feyre x rhysand #under the mountain #spooky season #bargains and mates #feysand fanfiction

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liesmyth · 5 months ago

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Alright, I've got another fic question for you! What are your favorite tlt gen fics?

you say “what ARE” I took this as permission to rec Many

A Mild Sort of Resurrection by sigaloenta [Bari Star AU]

In all the extensive special briefings and all-hands bulletins and strict sets of orders preparatory to the Emperor Divine's inspection tour of the Avernus, no one had considered that God might desire to fetch Himself a coffee.

An Impromptu Christening by orphan_account

The Ninth house finds a body and a baby. Nobody who matters is really thrilled about this turn of events.

believing in everything (and knowing nothing at all) by LesbianJesusLovesYou

A series of childhood memories from the Ninth.

“Fuck it, I'm adopting her," said John Gaius, not knowing the paperwork wasn't necessary by @naamah-beherit

Gideon, a highly distinguished Cohort lieutenant, saves the day—and the girl—and then gets stuck in the lift of The Erebos with a man feeding her peanuts as if they have all the time in the world. They don't, but if he doesn't mind, then why should she?

High But Very Drear by @honorarycassowary. (written pre-NtN)

Aiglamene and Crux receive the five hundred ancient dead gifted by the Emperor for the renewal of the Ninth, and also do something that could be construed as mourning.

John 25:12 by @halfeatenmoon

John and his friends escape the cow fortress to spend Christmas Day at the beach. With beer, salads, pavlova, and the corpses of a million fish killed by nuclear weapons testing.

Mortification of the Flesh by @theriverbeyond

In the myriadic year of our Lord—the ten thousandth year of the King Undying, the Lord of the Sharpest Edge!—Harrow Nova challenged the cavalier of the Ninth for his title.

Purgatory Is Mandatory by @urban-sith (written pre-NtN)

Ianthe figures out the true secrets of Lyctorhood while stuck in a time loop at Canaan House.

recognize them by their fruits by @ceruleanvulpine (written pre-NtN)

John and Ianthe deal with the fact that his only remaining Lyctor is the one he never liked much. Maybe they can bond over the fact that they're both egotistical manipulators who lie like breathing? No?

so I open the window to hear sounds of people by @sunderedstar [but really that whole series!]

John misses the beach. The real beach. The current one is mostly soil with a lacy veneer of nuclear ash, clammy and streaky and hilariously radioactive, which is a real bummer when he thinks about it too hard. But the twenty-five meter sea level rise that came when all the freshwater ice finished melting around the mid-century mark ate away at the shoreline, rolled in between the skyscrapers on a new tide, swallowed up all the people who couldn't afford to move anywhere else. Have you seen the rent rates lately?

some part of me must have died by @theriverbeyond

What if Wake survived long enough to bring her newborn baby to Tomb, and killed her. and then the baby didn't die.

the kingdom of heaven by bittybelle

John puts that first-draft dream of his to bed.

Two Things by Isis

There were two things Jeannemary Chatur wanted: to fight for the Emperor Undying by the side of her necromancer, and for the stupid pimple on her chin to go away already.

when I call, will you come to me? by LesbianJesusLovesYou

“My Lady,” Ortus wheezed, shifting uncomfortably. “I only thought you should know… Gideon Nav was flogged before the congregation.”

#Anonymous #ask #tlt fic #fic recs #tlt

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aegonification · 2 years ago

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His Property

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Drug Boss!Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Aemond is your drug lord boyfriend with tattoos and he wants to show you off at his bar.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ au, explicit language, mature content, teasing, dirty talk, semi public play, exhibitionism

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.8k

𝐀𝐍: been a while since I wrote something and this idea really came out of nowhere lol I was inspired by this gifset [x] and kept picturing Aemond with tattoos and being very dominant and possessive so I wrote this. it was meant to be a short drabble but I can’t shorten shit to save my life - hope you guys enjoy, as always feedback is welcomed and appreciated! ♡︎

“Yes, what?”

His deep, gravelly voice boomed into your eardrum even over the heavy rock music blaring from speakers throughout the bar, stirring the growing ache in your gut.

Aemond chuckled sinisterly in his throat, the heavy hand that once rested on your thigh snatched you by the jaw, tilting your head back. He stared down at you with his icy violet eye and the scarred, sapphire one, grinning devilishly and boy, if it didn’t make your heart flutter.

“Yes, sir.”

Your hips twisted slightly, skin rubbing the leather bench through your fishnets and a whimper escaped you, the slight pain from his fingers piercing into your jaw with a vice made you pathetically wet, more than expected.

He snickered, watching the pleasure unfold on your face and he’s quickly reminded that you’ll do anything he asks of you because you’re his.

“That’s my good girl.” He purred, gently running his thumb across your chin as he released your face from his grip. “C’mere.”

You leaned forward and lifted your leg over him, his arms guiding you into his lap. He sat back, watching you turn and straddle him, settling your ass against his black jeans.

“You know what I want, and you want to make me happy, right?” He teased, his hands sliding up and down your thighs, squeezing your flesh and dusting his fingertips under the hem of your skirt.

You nodded furiously, gazing at the ends of his platinum hair hanging down his chest, admiring how they glowed around his porcelain face. His perfectly chiseled jaw clenched, accentuating his soft pink lips but you bite your lower lip, taking a deep breath.

If you did what you desired first and kissed him on the lips, he would be very displeased and you took immense pleasure in pleasing him, in serving him. Aemond wanted you to tease him, kiss all over him, make him hard.

Swiftly dipping your face into the curve of his neck, you kiss along the large, eccentric tattoo on his throat, hungrily licking and sucking on his smooth skin, peppering kisses in between.

“Hmm…” His guttural hums vibrated into you, splaying your hands across his muscular chest and tucking them beneath his leather jacket. “Say it, baby.”

The warm air swelters around you, mixing in the heavy bass of the music and sweaty bodies dancing and drinking nearby, and two of Aemond’s bodyguards stood on either side of the vip section you two sat at, so it was safe to say there wasn’t privacy.

Eyes are everywhere, but they are especially glued on the owner of the bar and his girl.

Now that you were on top of him, you suspected more people were looking, but Aemond never cared, he enjoyed showing you off in public and he knew you delighted in it too, even if you were shy about it.

He craned his head to the side, giving you better access to his neck and jawline, moaning hoarsely as you take his ear between your lips, sucking on the sensitive skin. Listening to him vocally melt under your touch left you with a sense of pride.

Aemond’s bruising clutch roamed behind you, fisting your ass roughly and boldly beneath your flowing, short black skirt. Whoever was watching him grope you had a free show of your ass covered by only black fishnets. No panties on—Aemond hated those.

“Mmm, say it.” He growled, uttering the demand once again.

Whimpering, you let out a frustrated groan, twisting your fingers into his cotton black shirt and Aemond relished in how you squirmed; impulsively, his palms spanked you repeatedly and your sharp cries echoing into his ear only encouraged him to hit harder. You could picture the bruises that’d appear tomorrow as the stinging sensation radiated through you.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, “only yours.”

“You certainly are, and don’t you dare forget it.” He groaned, his hands making their way under your skirt and resting at your waist.

It was his full intention to get you riled up, practically salivating at the thought of him being inside you, owning your body, and if he wished to fuck you in front of all these people, you wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Nothing got Aemond excited like flaunting you around and making others jealous; envious that they didn’t get to touch you the way he did, that they didn’t have a passionate lust like you two shared for one another. You and Aemond fit together, and that’s why...

“You’re my property. You belong to me.” He growled, putting pressure on your hips and subtly pushing them down, as he turned his head and latched his mouth to yours, kissing you sloppily.

His hot mouth moved lithely against yours, sucking and nipping your lips, devouring you as he massaged your tongues together. You moaned into him, whining and unconsciously rutting your hips back and forth.

The wetness that leaked from your core spread between your folds, dampening the front of his pants as you continued dry riding him, and soon enough his cock grew harder under the denim, poking your cunt at the perfect angle for you to thrust against.

“Fuck…” He cursed against your lips, curling his large hand around your throat, choking you lightly and pushing you back to break the kiss.

“Aemond, please.” You begged through gritted teeth, clawing at his arm frantically.

You desired more of him, craved more. It was difficult to describe his control over you, it had no bounds, and you had an absolute devotion to him that terrified you. The mocking chuckle that erupts from his chest has your cheeks blushing warm with embarrassment, heart racing as your eyes lingered on his dimples.

“God, I love when you beg.” Digging his fingers into your skin, he leaned forward, inhaling the honey vanilla scent along your throat and playfully nipping your jaw with his teeth. “My needy girl, how bad do you want it?”

His raspy, teasing tone raised the hair on the back of your neck and you swallowed hard, swiveling your hips in a steady motion. It’s barely audible but Aemond growls like an animal and your gut clenched from the vibrations.

“Do you want me to fuck you right here, (y/n)?” Gripping the side of your neck, he pulls your face lower to his, his breath softly blowing over your ear. “Hmm…you want me to bend you over in front of all these people and shove my cock inside you?”

His vulgar words raised goosebumps all over you, feeling as if your body was on the verge of exploding from the sexual tension. Aemond could tell by the choked moans spilling from you meant you were on edge and very willing to let him follow through on what he wanted to do to you.

“I could tear these strings apart so easily. Is that what you need, babe?” His hand instantly dropped from your face and slapped your ass, releasing a sharp gasp from your mouth as he gripped tightly and tugged at the strings with his fingers. “Do you need me to rip these to shreds and fuck your tight cunt for everyone to see?”

Your hips continued grinding against him, rubbing your semi-covered clit but there wasn’t enough friction to get yourself off. It was clear you were becoming insanely desperate for him to grant you the relief you were seeking.

“I don’t care anymore. I need you. Please Aemond…” Your pleading whines turned to muffled cries as you stuff your face in the crease of his neck, your hand finding his head and tangling your fingers in his silky locks. “Do what you want to me, daddy.”

That singular word and your voice singing it into his ear turned Aemond on like a light switch. An intense snarl ripped from his chest as he aggressively pulled at the strings covering your ass, tearing a few of the tiny holes wider, exposing more of your plump flesh.

He quickly reached between your bodies and unbuckled his belt, letting a hand wander under you to find your bare pussy dripping onto him, his calloused fingers gently brushing the wet bundle of nerves, your mind becoming dizzy.

“Hey, boss!” A tall man shouted as he approached you and Aemond from the bar.

You moaned in Aemond’s ear, still moving your hips and sliding his fingers between your slit, working to create that stimulation you needed. Aemond, unfortunately, wasn’t moving his hand anymore and his attention was taken by his bodyguard.

He removed his hand from your cunt and grabbed your hips hard to stop your movements. The man leaned down in Aemond’s ear and whispered about business—something about a man here to see him, but the man came empty handed. You raised your head to see Aemond roll his eye in disgust then nod and wave away his guard.

“Babe…I’m going to have Antonio take you home. I have to handle some things.” He murmured, sitting up and softly pushing you off of him.

“What? Aemond, wait—don’t tease me then leave me like this. I-”

Panic seeping from your voice, eyes darting around as your brain scrambled for an excuse to get him to say. Aemond chuckled at your babbling, trying to pry you off of him but you weren’t budging.

“Fuck me. Please, Aemond. Fuck me on this table, in front of all these people. Let them hear me scream your name, daddy.” You pouted, staring at him with wistful eyes.

Grabbing his hand, you lifted his knuckles to your lips and kissed them, glorifying each metal ring with your mouth, continuing to kiss up his pale, vascular skin.

The combination of praise and hearing you beg him to make you cum, even at the expense of other people witnessing the degrading act, nearly convinced Aemond. You were about two seconds away from bending over the table behind you, revealing your entire ass and cunt to him and the two guards nearby.

It was worth it to have him defile you in public and release you from this fierce titillation.

He shook his head, hoisting you down to his side on the bench and standing tall, towering over you.

“You are so cute when you beg like that, but waiting is exactly what you’ll do for me.” He insisted, taking your hand in his to help you stand up beside him. “Tony will take you home and I’ll make it up to you when I get there.”

His arm scooped around you and pulled you against his chest.

“You’re going to behave and listen to me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll do all those things I talked about and more.” He cooed, leaning down into your ear. “My only request is that you not touch yourself. I want you to be yearning for me like this when I get home, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You pressed your thighs together, fire tingling in your belly, reminding you of the throbbing ache in your cunt that you had to ignore for now.

“Good girl.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #modern aemond #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd fluff #hotd au #aegonification*#aemond smut

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 9 months ago

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hi i came across your post asking people to talk to you about karl heisenberg so i decided to send in an ask because i absolutely cannot be normal about that man in any way shape or form at all he rotates in my brain 24/7 and refuses to get out

plplsplspls list down some of your hcs for him :33

You and me both, you and me both, don't worry 🤝🏻 I have him living rent free up there since I put my eyes on him and now he won't leave, instead he's wreaking havoc where perfectly normal and content thoughts should be 😭

Thank you so much for sending the ask! 🫶🏻

Karl Heisenberg HCs under the cut since their NSFW 🔞 (gender neutral)

I'll write a SFW Head Canon post later!

🛠 So, what's the first thing that comes to mind when looking at Kar Heisenberg, hm? Yes, exactly: "Damn, Daddy!" but as mighty fine as this is, how about we flip that table upside down and consider Karl with a mommy kink? There is something about the thought of consensually slapping that mountain of a man around and calling him a bad and naughty boy that makes my brain rot so fast 🥴 Depending on how complex of a topic this wants to be fleshed out as, one can always sprinkle some trauma into the mix because both mommy and daddy issues can very much stem from painfully real places and I imagine that Karl as quite a lot of that.

🛠 I like to believe that Karl has a surreal amount of patience, nerves of steel, but only when it comes to a few things in particular. One of them being you propped up in his lap with his cock buried inside you up to the shaft, neither of you making any hectic movements as you cock-warm him while he welds together scraps of metal in his workshop. He can do that for hours if he feels like it, enjoying the engulfing warmth of your body whilst sparks fly through the somewhat damp air of the factory, strangely enough helps him concentrate and be precise for neither sparks nor hot metal to get anywhere close to you.

🛠 Dad-Bod. That's it. Send Tweet. No, but really, I'm drop dead serious about it and will die with my face pressed to that squishy soft belly pooch and my hands clasping at his glorious man-tits. You know what Dad-Bod Karl Heisenberg gets you? So much cuddle-material 😌 And in instances during which you don't peacefully fall asleep wrapped in his arms, he muffles your moans and whines with his chest, just shoving your face into the soft and warm skin.

🛠 In my brain, Karl is a giver. Sure, he might take you whenever the mood strikes, that simply cones with the package, but never without giving equal quantities of affection back. If he'd be out for one-sided sex, he could just as well shove his cock into one of his brainless creations. Karl would make you feel wanted and desired with every opportunity he'd get because he knows how it feels to be left behind, an outcast, and he'd never want you to feel this way especially not around him, ever.

🛠 Intoxication kink, my friends 🙏🏻 Okay, listen, as aforementioned, Kar is a giver and somewhere deep deep down he carries the need to care and nurture. Sometimes it's get so overwhelmingly much that he just has to take matters into his own hands, okay? Fucking you up nicely under his supervision so that you don't go off the rails too hard.

🛠 I believe Karl to be somewhat possessive and very physical about you. Hos fingers are always lingering, sometimes at your waist, sometimes ghosting over the round of your ass and other times lovingly clasping around your throat. Same goes for his lips and teeth. One could say that Lord Heisenberg has a hefty oral fixation that can't be soothed by cigars alone. He'd suck and nibble at your fingers and nipples without hesitation.

🛠 Last but not least, you know how it goes: Save a horse... 🤠

#tam rambles #asks are appreciated #asks are always open #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenberg x reader #Karl Heisenberg x you #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil fanfiction

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 1 month ago

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The Pharisees and Sadducees Demand Signs

1 The Pharisees also with the Sadducees came, and tempting desired him that he would shew them a sign from heaven.

2 He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather: for the sky is red.

3 And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?

4 A wicked and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given unto it, but the sign of the prophet Jonas. And he left them, and departed.

5 And when his disciples were come to the other side, they had forgotten to take bread.

6 Then Jesus said unto them, Take heed and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees.

7 And they reasoned among themselves, saying, It is because we have taken no bread.

8 Which when Jesus perceived, he said unto them, O ye of little faith, why reason ye among yourselves, because ye have brought no bread?

9 Do ye not yet understand, neither remember the five loaves of the five thousand, and how many baskets ye took up?

10 Neither the seven loaves of the four thousand, and how many baskets ye took up?

11 How is it that ye do not understand that I spake it not to you concerning bread, that ye should beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees?

12 Then understood they how that he bade them not beware of the leaven of bread, but of the doctrine of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees.

13 When Jesus came into the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?

14 And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.

15 He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?

16 And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.

17 And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.

18 And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

19 And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.

20 Then charged he his disciples that they should tell no man that he was Jesus the Christ.

21 From that time forth began Jesus to shew unto his disciples, how that he must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day.

22 Then Peter took him, and began to rebuke him, saying, Be it far from thee, Lord: this shall not be unto thee.

23 But he turned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men.

24 Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.

25 For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.

26 For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?

27 For the Son of man shall come in the glory of his Father with his angels; and then he shall reward every man according to his works.

28 Verily I say unto you, There be some standing here, which shall not taste of death, till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom. — Matthew 16 | King James Version (KJV) The King James Version Bible is in the public domain Cross References: Job 34:11; Psalm 42:2; Psalm 49:8; Psalm 129:2; Proverbs 26:5; isaiah 22:22; Isaiah 57:3; Jeremiah 1:1; Matthew 1:16; Matthew 3:7; Matthew 4:10; Matthew 5:20; Matthew 6:30; Matthew 8:20; Matthew 10:38-39; Matthew 12:40; Matthew 14:17; Matthew 14:20; Matthew 21:25; Mark 8:15; Luke 9:18; Luke 12:54; Luke 12:56; John 1:42; John 12;25; Revelation 3:7

Some Standing Here Will Not Taste Death

Key Events in Matthew 16

1. The Pharisees require a sign. 5. Jesus warns his disciples of the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees. 13. The people's opinion of Jesus, 16. and Peter's confession of him. 21. Jesus foretells his death; 23. reproves Peter for dissuading him from it; 24. and admonishes those who will follow him, to bear the cross.

#the Pharisees demand a sign #Jesus warns his disciples #the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees #Peter identifies Christ #Jesus predicts his death #Jesus admonishes his followers #take up the cross #following Jesus #Matthew 16 #Gospel of Matthew #KJV #King James Version Bible

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dvchvnde · 4 months ago

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excerpt. Father John Price x the hapless anti-Catholic he plans on wife-ing in the name of the lord.

bad touch with a rosary. distorting bible passages to snag himself a wife. blood of the sacrament. warrior of god John Price. Bastardized religious imagery. catholic corruption. catholic: guilt trauma horror despair

“You're wrong,” you're saying, but it's behind glass. Stuck inside of a snow globe. There's cotton in your ears. Your conviction is shaky. “You can't just do this—”

He seems to consider the weight of your words, pressing them flat between his teeth. Testing their hardiness. Their resilience.

Then: Price bites down. They crack. Shatter.

“I can,” is his decisive reply, entrenched so deeply in his own hubris it sounds like a full sermon in two syllables. “Because this is the will of God—”

He trails the beads of the rosary up your thigh. His knuckles are blanched white. Palm clenched so tightly around the metal cross that it digs into his skin, making him bleed.

Something wet, molten, falls on your skin. You try not to shiver. The beads drag his blood along your flesh. A stain. A smear.

He sees it and hums. “the Spirit, the water, and the blood; and the three agree as one.”

You scoff to hide the tremor under your skin, and rake your nails across the thin membrane of your memories, your loose knowledge of the bible and its apocryphal stories until they are torn, shredded. It's there, in the harsh press of your desperation, the words he once rasped in the quiet of an endlessly black night, broken and shattered beyond repair, brim.

Vindictively, you grab at them with broken fingers.

“But God said to me, 'You shall not build a house for my name, because you are a man of war, and have shed blood.”

Price doesn't still in the way most might when having their own, broken vulnerability thrown into their face. Hot oil to fragile flesh.

He has too much pyretic energy inside of him for that.

But he does slow.

The hand crawling up your thigh becomes rigid. Glacial. The same frigid bergschrund in his stormy eyes. For a moment, brief and fleeting but so terrifyingly tangible, you think he might just strangle you. His hands twitch. The Rosary beads clang together.

He doesn't. Price's eyes flutter shut. He takes a deep, shuddering breath through his nose, nostrils flaring.

And then—

Peace. Calmness. Docile waters.

When he opens them again, you see the eerie glow of a predator lurking below the surface.

When he speaks, you know it's over.

“Praise be to the lord, my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.” And if only for your benefit, he leans in close, lips brushing your cheek, and growls: “Blessed is your discretion, and blessed are you, that have kept me this day from bloodguiltiness, and from avenging myself with my own hand.”

It's a promise. A warning. A threat.

The perfect panoply of this strange egotheism that gives him the right to shepherd you into a disciple. His saviour-god complex when he looks at you bleeds through. Unquenchable, and burning with the fever of obsession.

He will save you. This is absolute.

But his version of salvation is having you beneath him, worshipping the human flesh he proffers like a gift for you to kiss.

Consumption, you think, suddenly. Ravenous desire. He wants to feast on your sins until they fill his barren stomach, turning the weight of their perceived evil into permanent scripture, holy and good, on his flesh. Until you're devoured whole, and regurgitated into his most devoted idolater.

You fight a shiver when the beads drop into the valley of your legs, squeezing them tight when they pool in the basin where your thigh meets cloth-covered mons.

Above you, he rumbles. “There’s a simplicity to war. Attacking is the only secret. Dare—and the world yields. How quickly they forget that all it takes to change the course of history is the will of a single man. I fought hard to make a difference and realised one thing: the only truth I found is that the world we live in is a giant tinderbox. All it takes is someone to light the match.”

You’re not sure where he’s going with this, but considering the nature of his bastardised soliloquy, you can only guess. That night, when he revealed the nature of his sudden piousness following a life chasing wars in countries unknown to you. Places buried in smoke.

Found god in those trenches, he said.

And you wondered what sort of god would set foot in a place like that.

“Spent a long time in war. A lifetime.”

His hand drops, bloodied fingers pressing against the seam where his Rosary beads rest.

When he looks at you, you find madness coloured blue.

“But dove?” He rasps, swallows down a groan when your thighs tremble under his heavy hand. He looks at you with a renewed vigour. A purpose. “My war ends with you.”

#priest price x reader #fic wips

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years ago

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Need more of THIS please. I. Am b e g g i n g.

[Orion (Demon lord) and Priest Reader for context]

"Priest...."

A crimson pendant hangs before your eyes; chain puppeteer by pale flesh which coos to you so sweetly from the shadows. Mutted wails flicker along its cracks; a cry etched so deeply into memory you could hear them as clear as day. Forgiveness your most sacred virtue; you held no anger nor joy at the fruits of your comrades blasphemy. A fool who sought for might greater than your all power lord's, only to be crushed beneath its heels.

To add more fuel to the fire they've started, the devil would not leave after taking their soul. Just like mankind, he had succumbed to greed and longed to corrupt at least one more of god's soldiers before he returned. A delectable feast despite its ease. One could only imagine his delight when you all up ignored him on your first meeting. His promises of riches and fame did little for you, but your passiveness of his presence did wonders for him.

Stalking you to learn your life desires lead to poor success, but something about your devotion was...charming. He soon wondered what it would be like the subject of your prayers. The one who's glory was your own. To have his name rolled off your tongue as easily and life bearing as a second breath. In an urge to satisfy these thoughts, he offered not to take your soul, but instead a prayer for a single wish of your choice. How deliciously cruel was the smile you gave him that day.

"Know they're still alive. You can saved this damned soul and lead them back to God's house if you give me us one thing."

"Hmm.." You light another candle with the wax held in hand, preparing for service as always. "I know that it is in your nature, but please do not lie to me, demon. Even if they were still living, they've choose their path and I aim unable to provide them anything but a mention in prayer."

Orion scoffs at your words. "It may be a common tactic, but I have never lied to you, Priest. My precious diamond. Their body lies in the hospital, correct? Wasting away after that awful fire, but still breathing. Just say the word and they're free to go."

"May we continue this at a later date? I have to open the doors soon."

The embers of the candles die with a gush of wind. Peeling from the cover of shadows, Orion stalks over to you and advances until your back hits the alter. It is part of what drew him in, but how he tires of this little game you play. Stop worshiping a dead idol and give your love him already. In the face of a force overpowering you in both stature and strength, you merely smile as if greeting an old friend. He pins you in place by slamming his fists into the table, sweeping its contents onto the floor as you fall back against it. More hands appeared from the crater in his spine, locking around your legs and waist.

"Don't think you can ignore me, Priest." He hisses. "I will have what I want. Your mind, your flesh, your affection - all will belong to me. Your Creator is dead. Gone. I am all that will ever remain of their former glory so you. are. mine."

A laugh breaks through the quiet halls of the church. A haunting melody, which rings to the heavens and through the devil's skull. He is unsure whether to kiss you, or shut you up and drag you back to hell. In a complete change of direction, you reach for his hand. Yours doesn't even fit round his wrist, yet he follows your command as you bring it to your lips.

"If that is the case, why are you the one who comes to me? Obsessing over the attention of someone with not even a fraction of your lifespan or power. It's as clear as day that you need me. Not the other way around. You worship me, even if you are unaware. Before anything can truly be accomplished you must accept one thing."

His hand siffens as your lips connect with it, smile played against his skin.

"I am your God."

#Kinda popped off here imo #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere drabble #yandere demon x reader #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #Orion my oc

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izzieheart · 1 month ago

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BIBLE STUDY: #1

─ ✩ “In the following study, we will reflect on seeking God's wisdom, protection, peace, and justice. Most importantly, we will learn to trust in God's hands, knowing that He always knows what is best for us. In the end, His plans are greater than ours!”

Books used on the following study: Psalms

STRENGTH AND OBEDIENCE

Psalm 19:11 "Therefore, by them, Your servant is warned; In keeping them there is great reward." By following God's commands, we are warned, and there is great reward in obeying Him.

Psalm 19:13 "Moreover, keep Your servant from willful sins; do not let them rule over me. Then I will be innocent and cleansed from blatant rebellion." This verse highlights the importance of humility and obedience to God’s commandments and warns against the arrogance and self-righteousness that can lead to sin.

1. Why is self-righteousness wrong? The concept of self-righteousness implies a belief that one's salvation is based on their own actions or works, rather than the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross for our sins. We don't deserve Heaven on our own merits, but it's only through the love and grace of God, through our faith and acceptance of Jesus' sacrifice, that we can be made righteous.

2. In modern times, how can we replace the offerings made back then? While modern times may not include traditional burnt offerings like in the Old Testament, we can still offer our sacrifices to God through our actions and our daily lives. This could mean giving up harmful habits and behaviors, volunteering our time and resources to help others, or even simply doing our best to obey God's commandments in everyday situations. Let us also make time daily to strengthen our relationship with God.

TRUST AND LOVE

Psalm 21:2 "You have given him his heart's desire and have not denied the request of his lips." This verse speaks about trust and gratitude to God, expressing the speaker's faith in God's love and sovereignty.

Psalm 21:7 "For the King relies on the Lord; through the faithful love of the Most High he is not shaken." The king encounters difficulties and threats, the love and support of God will ensure that he remains strong and protected, and he will never be broken or overcome by misfortune.

Psalm 46:4-5 "There is a river its steams delight the day of God, the holy dwelling the place of the *Most High. God is within her; she will not be toppled. God will help her when the morning dawns." These verses convey the assurance of God's presence, protection, and timely help for His people, offering hope and security amidst any adversity.

Psalm 57:3 "He reaches down from heaven and saves me, challenging the one who tramples me. God sends His faithful love and truth." This phrase portrays a vivid image of God actively intervening in our life. It emphasizes God’s willingness to descend from His heavenly throne to rescue those in distress.

Psalm 118:18 "The Lord disciplined me severely, but He did not hand me over to death." God discipline us not to ultimately punish us but to shape us into better people. We must recognized that the severity of the discipline is a reflection of God's concern for our growth and righteousness. Despite the severity of the discipline, we are thankful that God has not allowed us to face ultimate destruction or death.

GOD'S PROTECTION

Psalm 23:4 "Even if I go to the darkest valley, I fear no danger, For you are with me; You anoint on my head with oil; my cup overflows." This is a declaration of trust and faith in God, emphasizing that even in darkness, we are comforted by the presence of God, who promises to protect and guide us.

Psalm 34:7 "The Angel of the Lord encamps around those who *fear Him, and rescues them." This verse highlights the protective presence of God and His angels, specifically for those who fear and worship Him.

Psalm 27:2"When evildoers came against me to devour my flesh, my foes and enemies stumbled and fell." The expression “to devour my flesh” uses vivid imagery to describe the intensity of our enemie's intentions—it's as if they are determined to utterly destroy us. But in the end, God caused our enemies to falter and be defeated.

THE WICKED AND JUSTICE

Psalm 73:6 "Therefore, pride is their necklace and violence covers them like a garment." This phrase implies that the wicked wear their pride openly and with arrogance as if it were an accessory like a necklace. Just as clothing envelops a person, violence is said to cover the wicked. This means that their lives are characterized by cruelty and aggression. Violence defines their actions, and they engage in harmful and unjust lifestyles.

Psalm 73:7 "Their eyes bulge out from fatness; the imaginations of their hearts run wild." Fatness in the Bible often symbolizes wealth and abundance. The imagery of eyes bulging out suggests that the wicked are so well-fed and prosperous that their wealth is excessive. And untimely the desires and thoughts of their hearts are uncontrolled, ambitious, and often wicked.

Psalm 73:8 "They mock, and they speak maliciously; they arrogantly threaten oppression." They are known for their mockery and malicious speech, meaning they ridicule others and speak in harmful or spiteful ways. The wicked not only speak maliciously, but they also use their power or influence to threaten and oppress others.

Psalm 73:16 "When I tried to understand all this, it seemed hopeless until I entered God’s sanctuary. Then I understood their destiny." The psalmist on this, Asaph, is struggling to make sense of why the wicked seem to prosper endlessly while the righteous suffer. He observed the arrogance and success of the wicked, and it deeply troubled him, making him confused and frustrated. But when Asaph enters the sanctuary, he gains a spiritual perspective, a new perspective. Asaph gains clarity about the ultimate fate of the wicked. While they may seem to prosper, their success will come to an end. Their end will be one of judgment and destruction.

─ ✩ “This is all for today! Thanks for joining me in this Bible study, remember to ask for guidance to the Lord before reading. And reflect his word in our daily lives. Remember God love us, we aren’t too far from him. See you all next study!”

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lya-dustin · 1 year ago

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Potiphar's Wife

Osferth x older woman!reader

Cw: technically incest as reader is his dead uncle's widow

Prequel: Temptation(Aethelred I x reader)

You are Potiphar’s Wife and he is Joseph the Dreamer.

He prays daily for God to afflict him with an illness of sorts to take his lust away.

He has already tried to sate it with a serving girl in the stables and yet he could not stop thinking about you.

You were old enough to be his mother, not only that, you were King Aethelred’s widow and therefore his aunt by marriage.

It would be sin to bed you.

But he wants you, desires you in a way that makes him feel ashamed of the cross he bears around his neck and on his chest plate.

“Go on, I do not bite.” You say as you beckon him to approach you as you sit naked in your bath.

You are temptation in the flesh, they say you had to be shut in here because his late father was afflicted with that same lust he has now.

You were beautiful, so beautiful that Aethelred of Wessex sent for you the moment his first wife died and made you his queen. So beautiful the Witan feared you would manipulate Alfred into setting aside Ælswith for you so they had you wed to some ealdorman far away. An ealdorman who died mysteriously without any heirs save for the child you had with the dead king.

Uhtred had recommended him to take up this job of guarding you after a raid into your lands. Damn Lord Uhtred for sending him here.

You are Potiphar’s Wife and he is Joseph the Dreamer.

She tempts you with sin each passing day, but unlike Joseph he doesn’t flee from you. No, Osferth goes to you like a moth to the flame.

“It is not proper to intrude on a lady when she is in a bath.” He said keeping his eyes on yours to avoid his weak defenses from breaking down further.

“Perhaps I don’t want us to be proper, Osferth.” You say with a smile that has him stuttering like a fool. “Perhaps I want you to be a man and take what you want from me.”

“It would be sin, my lady.” Osferth clutched his crucifix for strength.

“If we do not sin, how can God save us?” you question his resolve and with that it begins to crumble.

“I will stop tempting you if you wish for me to do so, Osferth. If your faith in God forbids you from bedding me, then tell me so mow and I will stop.” You continue and he finds it difficult to agree and reject you.

“And if I said I don’t want you to stop?” He manages to regain his tongue and he asks this. He is a man grown, bloodied in battle and versed in the ways of carnal sin.

If you want him, and he wants you, what difference would it make when he’s defiled plenty of women both virgin and wed alike.?

“Then I’d ask you to remove your clothes as they’d ruin my bath.” You answer sweetly and he begins to remove his robe and chest plate.

“I only have one request, Osferth.” You speak and he paused as he reached to remove the cross from his neck.

“Anything you ask, I shall give to you, my lady.” He says boldly wondering what sort of request you’ll make.

“The Crucifix stays on.”

#osferth x reader #osferth the last kingdom #osferth x milf!reader #osferth x fem!reader #ewan mitchell #the last kingdom fanfic

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themadlu · 8 months ago

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A Simple Thing – Pt. 1

Astarion x Zélie

It's done. Cazador is well and truly gone, Astarion is finally a free elf and his first desire is to give all that's left of his body and soul to the one who saved him from his master and from himself.

Not out of need, but of want. He wants his Zélie so bloody (pun intended) much that he takes her to his grave, and on top of it too.

So when she leaves him behind, when she realises Cazador is only one of the endless troubles plaguing him and her human life is too short to fix even a fraction of those, he breaks. Like the pathetic child he's always been.

TW: Nothing much, mentions of Astarion's past, self-worth issues, very unreliable narrator (he's still working on himself, it'll take time). Some light smut, emotional hurt/comfort.

WC: ~2,5K

Not really proofread, and written with little time, so sorry if it sucks.

Part 2 should come out sometime next week (but it's Easter, so don't quote me on that).

Taglist: @spacebarbarianweird (thank you for the idea as always!), @amywritesthings

The room is stifling, heavy, with red brocades and somewhat pretentious ornaments covering wooden walls and glass windows with a funereal flair. Dim light from the moon and the outside streets filters through thick curtains in skeletal rays, outreached towards ghostly pale fingers hanging off the side of a bed. Astarion’s dark eyes stare, unblinking, chest still in the stale air and skin so pallid he looks more dead than usual. A pretty corpse sprawled on an unmade bed, ready for burying or taking.

He hates this; despises how the first civil accommodation they could find in weeks was so reminiscent of his own coffin, of the last two-hundred years of torment. Phantom pain grips him as unwelcome memories of bloody fingernails and mossy grave dirt invade his mind. He opens and clenches his fist to dispel the rising panic, the only sign of life coming from his prone form, and holds what’s been the one meagre comfort during the last centuries to his chest. The elf curls into a ball around what is left of his burial shroud, a once refined cotton cloth now reduced to tattered rags.

Dirty and disgusting, but his.

Where the hells is she?!

Cazador was waiting for his new spawn in the cemetery that night, but Astarion relishes in knowing that the vampire lord will not claim him again anytime soon. Never again, actually, as unbelievable as that was. His little hero made sure of that, a couple days before; thorough and proper as always, even in front of a hell-sent ritual, merciless as he’d never seen her before. Only for him. She cut with his dagger through the flesh and bones of her (his, theirs) enemies using techniques he taught her, marching through the horde to free him from his prison. She momentarily let her “oh-so-holy” ideals loosen enough to keep him safe and the thought stirs something wild and warm in the pit of his stomach and his chest.

Hunger for blood is familiar enough, but hunger for another, that restless longing is still foreign to the elf. Being with others meant manipulation, sweat, sex, pain, a performed debauchery, but not with Zélie.

(Even though he’s been a whore longer than he’s been anything else.)

Living with her is…simple. Scarily so. Natural, even when his (perfectly sensible) selfishness clashes with her (absolutely infuriating) courageous generosity. They disagreed and fought so intensely at first, in the wilds (well, he fought her while she stayed next to him in silence, cutting him a look that could make an Aasimar fall.)

Astarion picks up a discarded book from the bed, trying to resume his reading. It’s a childish collection of Faerunian fables, yet he finds himself drawn to it whenever his fears resurface.

If he were capable of honesty, he would admit that he reaches for that dusty volume whenever Zélie is not with him, because she gifted it to him at the grove as she turned down the offer of an unforgettable fuck back at that pitiful excuse for a party. The elf can still remember the onslaught of contrasting emotions all at once: relief, annoyance (because, really, when otherwise would someone looking like her ever manage to bed someone like him?), thankfulness and fear.

If sex was not on the table, what else could he give her?

What would it take for her not to discard him when his limited usefulness runs out?

And what now, that his tormentor is nothing but a pitiful heap of ashes and the pale elf is doomed to remain a useless spawn forever more?

That same fear slithers through Astarion again, wounding around his chest so tightly he almost snaps the book in two. Justice was served. The evil vampire lord was killed and the pathetic spawns were freed. He is free, and yet he is confined in a stuffy room that makes his skin crawl with past nightmares. Astarion groans and tries to concentrate on the words on the page again, even though he’s already finished the book twice, with little success. Barely two nights have passed since he took Zélie to the cemetery and claimed his rebirth by laying with her on top of his grave. Warmth fills him at the image of his stern, solemn hero paying respects to the patch of dirt he crawled out and to the long-forgotten elf who did not survive the centuries of horror. That night, Zélie knelt and bowed so deeply her forehead touched the cold ground, murmuring something he couldn’t understand. His ruined soul trembled so strongly at that act of reverence he cupped her cheeks to lift her face away from his burial, noses bumping together. Grave dirt stuck to her forehead and he gently wiped it off with his thumb while tutting in mocking disapproval. “Honestly, darling, no need for the theatrics,” his usual smirk faltered a little as a sudden wave of affection surged through him at her misplaced respect. She, holier than any of them, was whispering prayers to some useless deity on his behalf. He felt anger and shame lodge in his throat.

You’re the only creature deserving of worship, my love.

“Not to seem ungrateful, but prayers never did me any good. Do not waste precious time,” her chapped lips were raging fire against as took them between his own. “Not when death could find us tomorrow.” His passionate kiss morphed into a loving peck when Zélie raised a finger between their faces, solemn as ever. “I am praying for the Astarion Ancunin,” she brushed her fingers on the tombstone and the undead shivered as if he could feel her touch in his very bones, “who was left behind. May he find peace in seeing his resilience finally rewarded.”

She then trained her gaze on him in that way that made him squirm. He used to hate her for it, back when he lived in terror of what she’d do to him after all his masochistic pushing and prodding; now, he craves it evermore. Her palm splayed on his chest and he cursed whatever entity kept her away from him for so long. “And I pray to my god for the strength to guide this Astarion,” she tapped her index finger against his dead heart, “to see his worth in this world. To me and to others.” Astarion barely noticed his mouth parting in stupor at his lover’s words.

Infuriating, precious woman.

Astarion fully abandons his book, letting it fall on the bed, as the weight of her sentiment nestles inside him with disturbing ease. As if he were made for it. Her stalwart presence has the downright annoying capability of robbing him of his masks and his snark and his spite—the foundation of his entire being. He is left entirely exposed to her assessing eyes, yet he has never felt safer, more alive. He never wants to be out of her sight again, he decides. Never wants her to lose herself as he once did. Zelie’s spirit is near unbreakable and stupidly just (She would never agree with him on this, but he witnessed it first hand, after weeks of failed temptations and rancorous conversations), and Astarion will happily murder and steal and torture their path through the world if it means she can hold onto her ideals a little longer. He already did, when she was but a weird stranger to charm, as he finished off the enemies she so generously spared.

Astarion lets out a strained chuckle, because he cannot believe he fell so irreparably for such an idiotic creature, let alone an honourable one. And now—now that she has saved him in any way a person can be saved, she leaves him in a stale tavern room. The elf covers his eyes with his pale hands in frustration. The voices in his head—Cazador’s taunting timber—tease him that his Zélie has finally come to her senses and seen him for the wretch he is. He will never be more than a lowly spawn, and leaving him in camp is her polite and proper way to ensure he doesn’t hinder their world-saving mission with his selfish ideas and his weaknesses.

The world can rot.

Astarion has already decided. the moment things go awry he’s dragging Zélie away from Toril itself if he must. She can glare and hate him all she wants, but he will not let the only one who ever mattered to him to protect a bunch of ungrateful, unknown bastards (The same bastards who took any part of him for themselves.) Gods, he sounds—is—so disgustingly desperate.

He claws at his biceps with his hands, and tryings to distract himself from his worries again. It’s almost evening and Zélie hasn’t returned from the city. So haven’t Gale, Lae’zel and Jaheira, but Astarion is not a selfless being, and he only wants his precious hero to come back to him. He focuses on the night at the cemetery, on how he all but pounced on the woman who just destroyed his last defences with few thoughtful, honest words. He crawled on top of her like the monstrous thing he was, and she held his face so gently, caressed his ears and hair so devotedly he couldn’t contain a laughing sob.

He gets hard at the memory of her letting him take the lead—trusting him, a vampire enamoured with her blood, so completely that he flipped them over and almost begged her to take him in any way she wanted. In her mouth with his back against his tombstone, clutching the stone as he moaned in the moonlight, in her core on top of his grave, where his coffin was laid, trying not to shout his name too loudly. Astarion, the one in the Elfsong, shuts his eyes as he feels himself and discovers a growing wet patch seeping through his trousers.

He groans, tender and ready.

But Zélie is not with him this time, so the familiar disgust at his defiled body and soul grips him again and makes him gag with the certainty that night was a one off, a way to celebrate a successful rescue and nothing more. It’s not like they can reach those peaks of pleasure at will anyway—Astarion is still too broken for that, too pathetic to offer his only saviour the one reward he can give her. He can hear Cazador’s laugher echo in his mind.

No! She would never—she loves me! She doesn’t lie, it was real, what we have is real!

The laughter doesn’t stop, forcing Astarion to curl on his side and press his hands against his ears. Zélie loves him—he knows this, because she told him twice, even though she’d rather throw herself off a cliff than deliver declarations of affection so openly.

“Shut up, shut up, just shut up!”

“Astarion? Are you talking to that awful book again?” His little human’s voice cuts through the nightmarish laughter and the pale elf clings to it.

He schools his relieved expression into a more neutral mask and sprints off the bed towards Zélie, his Zélie, safe and whole and… stepping backwards to put some distance between them. Astarion cannot stop his dark eyes from going impossibly wide at her behaviour. He panics for a moment, fearing Orin used her skills to take his leader from camp, but the vampire would not be fooled by a cheap imitation—he would recognise his love anywhere, her minute idiosyncrasies and the smell of her and her blood engraved into his memory evermore. This is definitely Zélie, keeping her distance and studying him as if he were a ghoul (He is.)

Then, her gaze shifts downwards and her brows arch.

Shit.

The cooling wet patch on his crotch stares back at him in mocking. “Ah, darling, I…”

Fuck.

Astarion has been thoroughly trained on keeping up a flawless, polite, desirable front over the centuries, but he cannot think of how to best express his utter mortification at this moment. Pathetic, a consummate lover—a prostitute—like him wetting himself at the mere thought of–

“Astarion, are you—well, are you—well, uh, are you...well?” It would have been extremely satisfying to witness the rare sight of a discombobulated Zélie—something he seemed to be the cause of most times, a point of pride for him—if only he did not find himself in the same predicament.

Say something, you wretched imbecile!

“I…I was…thinking of my brave, perfect hero,” he inched closer to her, seductive act shackling his creeping terror in the dark corner of his mind he hasn’t escaped to since the woman in front of him accepted him into her life. “And I just could not stop myself from remembering your delicious cries from the other night…and how you took me so well—”

He should know by now that his Zélie can see him better than he’ll ever see himself. “That’s very, uhm, flattering, Astarion, but it does not answer my question. Are you well?” She is focusing on his face, keeping her gaze averted from his crotch with that impossible, utterly incomprehensible respect (They have already slept together and he all but threw himself at her in earnest.) and how could she just not understand?!

“Am I well? Oh, why darling, I’m simply marvellous! I’ve had the pleasure of lounging in this fine establishment the whole day, laying on a heavenly soft bed and staring at this tasteful walls,” Astarion’s frustration and insecurities bubble up his throat and he cannot stop himself. He is lashing at the one person he reveres, again. Proving he does not deserve her (He never will, but he is a selfish monster of the night after all.). “And all this while you were out on your merry way, gods know where, with a senile druid, a joke of a wizard and a murder-happy Githianky!”

“You are ‘murder-happy’ too, Astarion. And more senile than Jaheira, if we’re talking about years and not physical ageing—”

But they’re not me!

“That’s not the point! You swore you’d be guiding me or what meaningless, shallow promises you made, then I let you fuck me on my grave, then—”

Then you left me behind. As I knew it would happen.

“Are you quite done, my love?” Astarion stills, then sniffles in indignation. His—Zélie has only called him “love” twice so far and both times she did so to call him back from whatever spiralling thoughts sent him cowering in the furthest corners of his mind. But she clearly has no interest in having him at her side now, so hearing that so-rarely-used term of endearment makes a pained rattle come from his still chest. She is going to end whatever fever dream was between them. The certainty is so encompassing his hands shake from it, and he promptly hides them behind his back.

#astarion x oc #astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 #oc: zélie #astarion x zélie #astarion fanfiction #astarion angst #astarion ancunin #this one was written with very scarce inspiration

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