#my god this has been waiting in the wings for an ETERNITY

[cuubism]

the better to see you with, my dear | spy hob/king dream au

canon-adjacent, spy!hob, post-character death, blood & violence, king & loyal knight dynamic, slow burn, developing relationship, loyalty devotion and sacrifice, power dynamics, hob gadling - royal spy of the dreaming

Hob escapes from Death and finds himself in the Dreaming. Instead of sending him back, the King of Dreams makes him an offer: will you be my spy?

[cover image from Arthur Rackham's illustration for Little Red Riding Hood]

--

The... person? creature? that dragged Hob from his hiding place in the forest had six arms, and three sets of eyes.

Though that seemed to be on the more normal end of things that went on around here, so Hob wasn’t too fazed.

It caught him by luck, followed him when Hob had made the—foolish in retrospect—decision to sneak into the nearby town to try to learn something about this strange realm he’d found himself in. Curiosity had done him in. His mum had always said it would, when he’d fallen in streams chasing minnows and gotten sick from eating berries picked in the woods. Touch with your eyes, Hob, not with your hands. Hob had never been very good at that.

Up ’til then, Hob had sequestered himself in the forest, keeping to himself and scavenging for plants to eat. He hadn’t seemed to need much food, didn’t get hungry often or lose weight when he didn’t eat, which he supposed made sense considering— well. Considering. But it kept him occupied. Kept him from thinking about it too much.

And he explored the fantastical forest. Its trees broader than he could wrap his arms around, reaching up into the sky higher than he could see. Its grassy dells, with wildflowers in detail and variety he’d never seen, its bird and insect life, its towering waterfalls and quiet brooks. Hob loved the forest. There was something truly ancient about it, something wilder than he could comprehend.

It was almost enough to distract him from why he was there.

But he got too curious. He wanted to know more, he wanted to understand the rest of this world, what realm he was in— so he’d gone searching for people.

And drawn something back with him.

Inevitable, really. Hob couldn’t hide in some place he didn’t belong forever.

The six-legged thing that had caught him was now dragging him across a wide, grassy field, traveling faster than Hob would have thought possible. Its claws dug into his arm, nearly drawing blood. Hob didn’t bother fighting back. He’d tried, once along the way, and gotten what felt like a sack of bricks to the face from the creature’s fist. No use trying to take it in a fight; better to keep his wits about him and look for a chance to escape. Nor did he bother asking it any questions. He’d tried that, too, and gotten only stony silence.

In any case, he was too preoccupied with taking in the scene around him.

Hob had been aware that this place, this… realm, he supposed, had a castle. He had seen the strange silhouette of it in the distance whenever he was at the forest’s edge, had heard occasional gossip by eavesdropping on actual denizens of the realm. But despite his curiosity, he’d steered far clear; the last thing he’d needed was to attract powerful attention.

Now, they were approaching said castle, and Hob let his curiosity run free, gaping up at the towering marble spires. The seemingly endless wings, the intricate carvings, hell, the elevated bridge that crossed the river to the front gates… he had never seen nor even heard of anything approaching its like back in his world. It was like something out of a children’s story, a fairy tale.

Was that where he was? The land of faerie? That couldn’t possibly be good.

Better than death, though, had to be. Hell, Hob would join ranks with the bloody fey if it kept him alive, what did he care where his loyalty lay? 

The palace gates creaked open at their approach, and the creature pulled Hob through into the chill, shadowed rooms within. They stepped into a hall so massive Hob couldn’t see the ceiling or the end of it, but he had barely a moment to take any of it in before his captor was flinging him down onto the marble floor. 

Hob just barely managed to catch himself on his bound hands. He panted, trying to catch his breath from the forced uphill march to get there, hair hanging in his eyes.

"There is no need for the dramatics," said a voice. A voice that seemed to come from the sky above and the shadows beneath his body and from within his own chest, resounding like the perpetual hum of the heavens turning. “Leave him to me.”

In his peripheral vision, the creature bowed jerkily and scurried off, leaving Hob alone with the owner of that voice.

He wrenched his tired head up. He was in an immense throne room, grander than anything he could have imagined, pillars reaching up to a ceiling that faded away into starlight, massive stained-glass windows that cast triangles of red light down on Hob’s face. How there could be sunlight and a night sky up above at once, Hob didn't know, but then, he still didn’t know what this place was. What kingdom he had found himself in. He had been too preoccupied with not getting caught to risk asking.

The owner of that voice was seated at the top of a long, winding staircase, the windows at his back, sprawled on one of the top steps rather than on the throne that was presumably there for that purpose. From a distance, Hob could only really make out the shape of him – the sweeping black lines of his cloak, the sharp angles of his limbs, his dark hair, his unnaturally bright eyes. 

He didn't look like a king as Hob was used to seeing them depicted, with all their gold and finery. But he felt like one, in the way Hob stood at the altar of a church and felt the presence of the Lord.

The King stood, a slow, fluid motion like the rising of the moon. He strode down the steps toward Hob, cloak dragging at his ankles.

Hob could have run for it. There was nobody else in the room, nobody holding him captive, no guards, no retinue. 

It was precisely because of that that he did not. No guards meant the King was absolutely confident in his ability to restrain Hob himself if need be, and more besides.

What the hell kind of kingdom was this?

“Robert Gadling.” The King stopped before Hob, close enough that Hob had to tilt his head up to look at him from where he was still kneeling on the floor. He had a beautiful face, a regal face, imperious tilt to it and all. Eyes like moonlight on winter’s first snowfall.

“Hob, if you please,” said Hob, because he had never known when to shut the fuck up. 

The King’s lips twitched, and Hob had no way of knowing but he would have sworn it was amusement. “Hob, then.” Despite the stone walls, the empty space, his voice did not echo. It was simply there. Hob felt it inside his head, inside his heart. “Would you care to explain to me what you are doing in the Dreaming?”

“The Dreaming?” Hob asked.

The King raised an eyebrow. “You stand in the Kingdom of Dreams, my kingdom. You do not know this?”

“Uh.” Hob ducked his head, abashed. “No? I kind of just... found myself here,” he hedged.

Then there was a hand in his hair, tugging his head back. His grip was strong, and Hob winced. He met the King of Dreams’s eyes again and found the impression of very sharp teeth deep within them. The moment Hob presented as even somewhat of a real threat, he would find those teeth in his throat, he was sure.

He supposed he’d have to try not to be a real threat.

“Only living souls find themselves in the Dreaming,” said the King of Dreams, voice the rumbling growl of shifting ice. “Perhaps you would like to try for a different answer.”

“Alright, alright!” Hob relented, and the King's grip on his hair eased, just a smidge. “Alright. I escaped from Death.”

“Escaped,” repeated the King of Dreams. “From Death.”

“I swear,” said Hob. He would have raised his arms in surrender if they weren’t bound. “That’s the truth.”

“One cannot escape from Death’s grasp.”

"Guess I’m just really determined?”

The King's jaw clenched. “Very well. I will call her, then, and we shall see.”

Dread pitted Hob's stomach, but then the King of Dreams paused in thought, head tilting. He looked Hob up and down, calculating, cleverness spinning in those eyes.

“It takes quite a bit of skill to hide from me in my own realm,” he observed. 

Hob didn't know what answer to this would prevent him getting chucked into the void, and for once in his life, wisely remained silent. 

The King released him, and Hob swayed forward in the wake of his grip, nearly falling. “Walk with me,” he said, and turned and strode away across the throne room, leaving Hob scrambling to catch up. 

He followed at the King’s side, just a step behind, as they turned into a side hall that seemed to unfold from nowhere as they walked. Hob looked at the man—being?—beside him. He was smaller than he seemed, slighter than Hob and almost delicate, but still Hob didn't fancy his chances in a fight. Not here, at the seat of his power. He'd be better off trying to wrestle the sun.

He just kept following.

“I have read the book of your life, Hob Gadling,” said the King of Dreams. It was said casually, like this was a usual occurrence, but a shiver ran up Hob’s spine nonetheless. Unnerving, to think his story was just accessible like that, and so easily summarized. “I did so as soon as my subject caught you to bring you before me. Your life was cut short by violence, but before that, it involved a rather interesting occupation.”

“I… suppose you could say so, my lord,” Hob agreed. The hall they strode down was infinitely long, lined by columns that let in streams of moonlight. Again, with the time of day shifting from room to room. Maybe this really was the land of dreams.

The King hummed. “Relations between the Dreaming and several other realms have been tense, of late,” he told Hob. “I would prefer to avoid war, but to do so requires inside knowledge that I am currently lacking.” He looked at Hob out of the corner of his eye. “For any man who could get me that information, perhaps making use of certain hidden talents—I could be persuaded to make an exception to my usual rule of sending stowaway souls back where they belong.”

Wait.

So Hob wasn’t going to be killed?

“You don’t—” his head was reeling— “you don’t already... have spies?”

The King sighed. “Dreams cannot leave the Dreaming. My ravens can, but they are known across the realms as my messengers, and I would not put them at such risk, besides.”

He did not have to say, I would easily put you at such risk, for it to be heard.

“I did, you know…” Hob said, though he wasn’t sure why he was arguing with salvation, “die in my role, you’re aware. I’m not sure you want a failed spy working for you.”

The King made a dismissive noise. “Your skills were solid. Your commanders were reckless and wasteful. Sending you scurrying back and forth like a courier and wasting your better expertise. The Kingdom of Dreams is not like the kingdoms of men. I do not wage war on petty whims, and I do not waste my resources.”

Something in Hob coiled tight at the thought of being a resource, a tool of this man. Or entity. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves, or anticipation. 

“Before you answer,” continued the King, “it is only fair that you know the risks. The realms that span this universe are myriad, with a variety of dangers. While you would not die, you could be hurt, captured, tortured, imprisoned. Especially if your purpose were to be found out.

“Should you be caught—” the King studied Hob’s face, “you would be utterly disavowed. You are not one of my creations, and I would risk nothing for you, nor claim you; I would deny any association between you and the Dreaming. You may find yourself trapped eternally in Hell. Or somewhere worse.” 

There was somewhere worse? Hob thought.

Still, perhaps it was the reckless brigand in him, but he hadn’t yet heard anything that made him want to pick death instead. If anything, it was all sounding like a rather grand adventure.

“What say you, Hob Gadling?” asked the King of Dreams, with a tiny smirk. He clearly didn’t think Hob was going to say yes. “How far will you go to avoid death? Would you be my spy? My agent in the dark?”

Hob thought it might be worth being trapped eternally in Hell just to see the surprise on the King’s face when he said, “Oh, hell yes.”

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

[lina-lovebug]

I'd Fight The Devil

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Background: (Y/N) Morningstar with her partner, Alastor, has decided to put some of the Overlords in their place.

Warning: Alastor being Alastor, mentions of pregnancy but no one's pregnant, and Alastor might have a breeding kink

_ _ _

"(Y/N)! What a surpri-!"

"I believe that's Princess (Y/N) Morningstar, Heir to the throne of Hell, and Duchess of Chaos - to you," Alastor loved doing this. He adored how (Y/N) had decided to start using her true power, and to bring respect back to her name.

The family name, to be exact.

Valentino chuckled nervously as (Y/N) scoped out the place, her horns ever presenting and tail flicking with annoyance.

"What a pleasure to be hosting you, Princess. What would be the reason for this visit?" Valentino asked, offering her a drink.

"I'm fine, thank you," She dismissed it, already smelling the poison inside the cocktail.

"I'm here to discuss Angel Dust, and your contract with him."

"If he's too much trouble for the hotel, I'll happily-"

"You're the one causing the trouble," Alastor cut him off.

Valentino sputtered, "me?!"

"You can feign innocence all you wish, Val, but I've heard that you've called my sister a bimbo, along with many other colorful names," (Y/N) slowly stood up, leaning over his desk as the lights started to go out - one by one.

"Charlie is nice. She's always been the kinder of us Morningstars, but apparently this makes you think that you can go and soil our name. My father could have strung every sinner on a hook for eternity, torturing you all second by second as your screams sung into our great halls," no one had been unfortunate enough to see the form of (Y/N) Morningstar, and Val was one of them.

Her height expanded to nine feet tall, her pretty black nails forming into claws and her eyes ablaze with scarlet serpent pupils.

And wings - oh great black wings that could make even Adam rethink his attack.

When he was still alive, of course.

"And you sully his gift by mocking us."

"Look, Vox did it first! Okay?! He said you'd never-!" Val tripped on a tentacle that came from her beloved Alastor, who dropped a TV by his feet.

But not just any TV.

"Oh God," Val gasped, "Vox. . .?"

"I took care of him earlier," Alastor grinned, still reminiscent on his screams.

"I couldn't have my dear (Y/N) sully her hands with his filth. But whatever the Princess wants, she gets."

Oh to see her come into her power was as chilling as death itself.

"You're so romantic, Alastor," (Y/N) smiled.

That's when Valentino spotted it. On the left hand of (Y/N) Morningstar was a ruby wedding ring, the band pure gold.

Alastor finally did it.

He climbed up the latter, but not through power.

Well yes, through power, but he certified that it would always be his.

By marrying Lucifers daughter.

"We're matching, isn't it adorable?" Alastor showed off his own wedding band, ruby's encrusted inside of it.

"Now, where were we?" She grinned, and as an engagement gift, the screams of Vox and Valentino were broadcasted throughout all of Hell.

And they say chivalry is dead.

_ ☆ _

"They're fucking crazy."

"They're made for each other."

On that, Angel Dust and Husker could agree.

The lovely couple had become the center of Hells attention after their engagement was announced, and even though Alastor thought it would be hilarious for Lucifer to find out through the papers, she told him first.

And he cried.

"Oh my baby is all grown up!" Lucifer sobbed loudly, clinging onto her legs, "look at you! You-you used to be this small!" Lucifer grabbed a duck, "and you were so tiny and so cute!"

"Am I invited?" Lucifer squeaked, staring up into her eyes.

"Yes, dad," She smiled, bringing him up to his feet, "but we want to wait a bit before we plan anything."

"You know she used to bite my finger?!" Lucifer grabbed the baby pictures of little (Y/N), "look at how small she was! Oh, and this one is my favorite!"

Alastor truly didn't mind how touchy Lucifer had become with him, but thankfully, Lucifer also knew when to stop.

"Wait, is that why you're getting married?! Did you impregnate my daughter?!" Lucifer gasped, shoving his hand on her stomach.

"Dad! Dad, no! I'm not pregnant!" She quickly cleared up.

"Unfortunately," Alastor muttered to himself. Oh to see her belly swell with his children - his own spawn, it made his cock twitch at the thought.

He was fond of children but his own? Oh he'd spoil his little prince or princess with all the blood sacrifices the world had to offer.

"Yeah but you know what marriage entails, kiddo!" He pointed at them both with finger guns, "first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby-oh my GOD I'll be a grandpa!"

He started crying again.

She sighed, "at least we know our hypothetical child will be taken care of."

Alastor nodded, "I could not have picked a better father-in-law."

At this point, Lucifer was ugly crying.

Alastor looked at his beloved with a soft gaze as she tried calming her father down. To be honest, Alastor never thought he would ever find solace in Hell. He anticipated every day being a fight for his life, always looking over his shoulder and always striving for more power. And as cheesy as it sounded, he saw (Y/N) as his shining light. She brought out his sad heart, and for the first time in his life, he wished his mother was with him.

To see just what a wonderful woman he managed to catch.

[cower-before-power]

Holy, Holy, Lover Divine

Pairing: Gale x Fem Reader

Summary: You've never felt worthy of praise, until it's Gale kneeling at your feet.

Warnings: Implied sexual content, religious imagery, Gale may get a bit blasphemous ha

Word Count: approx 1300

A/N: Just another little Gale ficlet because I love him so much and this idea has been in my head for ages. Thanks for reading!

In this moment, you feel divine.

The term has followed you around, exaltations such as “saviour”, or “goddess” leaving the lips of those you’d saved. But it had never felt right, never felt like such praise should be heaped upon a mere mortal. Right place, right time, is what you always assumed should be your words. A simple soul who simply had the means to do what needed to be done. Hardly god-like, hardly worthy of the celestial.

But here, in the privacy of your bedchamber, under the gaze of your beloved, you finally understand that you are holy.

“You are beautiful,” Gale breathes, dark eyes roving over your face, your body, “I swear, there is no more magnificent creature on this plane or any other.” You feel your skin heat beneath your new nightgown, a flimsy scrap of gossamer lace you’d chosen with him in mind. It seems to be well appreciated.

“Don’t let the gods hear such blasphemy,” you murmur, wanting to both further expose yourself to him as well as shyly hide away, “a few of them might disagree.”

Gale shrugs, and you watch the motion of his broad shoulders greedily. “Let them hear me. I no longer care what she….what any of them think of me, of who and what I devote myself to. That right was lost long ago.”

Your eyebrows raise, but you are not surprised. Magic may still be bound to a goddess, but your lover has long stopped bending a knee. Prayers are offered not out of love, but duty, necessity. He gives thanks for the Weave, for spells and knowledge. But he hungers for her treasures no more.

She has long lost his piety, and you do not complain.

“Oh?”, you say coyly, shifting so your gown slides further up your thighs. You do not miss Gale’s eyes following the movement intently, and your skin burns with want. “And what are you devoted to now, Gale of Waterdeep? Where does your worship lie?”

Gale strides towards you, slow and measured, like a cat waiting to pounce. You know what he will say, but you want to hear it all the same. You want to bathe in it, this new feeling of righteousness, of being the idol of such great love and passion. This man makes you feel as if you have wings on your back and a halo over your head.

You vow you will not squander it.

“I am in service of a new goddess now,” he says, and mirth twinkles in his lust-glazed eyes. Your lips quirk upward-your wizard of words is about display his prowess.

“This,” he gestures to the room you share, to the bed you’ve come together in more times than you can count, “this is my temple. The sacred place I give my humble sacrifices, make my loving prayers, pledge my undying service.”

He’s close enough to touch now, bare chest within reach of your gluttonous fingers. Before you can grasp what you crave, his catches your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press small kisses to your fingertips.

“These are my offerings,” he guides your hand to touch his temple, down to his chest, and further, further, until your finger brush over his desire. You whimper eagerly. “My mind, my heart and my body, all given freely and eagerly to please the one who has saved me time and time again from my own folly.”

He drops your hand and nudges your legs apart, sinking to his knees as he slots himself between them. You think you might combust with how hot the flame of passion is burning within you. Gale never fails to set you on fire from the inside out, but it seems tonight he aims to upstage himself.

“This is my altar,” his voice grows more sinful, his eyes even darker, “the place I will kneel in reverence eternal. Day after day, night after night, I will worship here, a thrall in my Lady’s service. For as long as she will have me.”

He leans forward, lips pressing against your inner thigh. You mewl softly, threading your fingers through his silky hair. Encouraged by your ragged breaths, he roams the giving flesh freely, littering your thighs with warm, bruising kisses.

“These are my hymns, my canticles of homage. I will bestow them upon every inch of this heavenly flesh. As many and as often as my Lady allows."

A gentle, teasing kiss is placed over your smallcothes. You gasp and tug him closer, a spark of white hot pleasure shooting up your spine.

“Gale,” you beg, thinking you may just go mad from his teasing, his honeyed words. “Gale, please-“

But instead of continuing, Gale pulls back and surges upwards, capturing your mouth in a heady kiss. You delightedly take what you are given, groaning as his taste explodes on your tongue. You will never get enough of kissing him, you decide. Gale always kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you. Like he's trying to merge not only your bodies, but your very souls as well.

It never fails to set you on fire.

“This is my baptism,” he pants as he breaks your kiss, fingers flexing on your thighs, barely concealed restraint pulled taught like a bowstring. “I am cleansed of my sins, my foolish ideals, my bitter and lonely existence. To feel my Lady's love and desire in every kiss, every touch, every time I am inside of her- it is to be born anew."

Gale does not stay parted from you for long; his lips soon find their way to your neck, his fingers brushing your sensitive skin reverently.

And you are drowning. You whine and whimper and mumble intelligible pleas as your lover ravishes you with lovebites and praises. You fingers tangle in his hair and you pull-the groan that rumbles from his throat nearly makes your eyes kiss the back of your skull.

“Let me worship you,” Gale moans into your skin, pushing the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. His mouth ghosts over the tops of your breasts. Gooseflesh rises in it wake. "Let me show you my supplication."

"As if you aren't already," you giggle breathlessly, falling back on the bed as Gale crawls over you. You welcome the heat of his body as it hovers above yours, close but not nearly close enough.

"Oh, you know I can do so much more," he grins wolfishly, eager hands helping you to slip off your nightgown. When you are spread nude before him, he slides out of his own trousers, laughing as your eager hands grope at every inch of bare skin they can reach.

"Shall I love you now, my Lady?" he asks, settling between your legs. A gentle hand cups your cheek, and you melt into the tender touch. "It is all I desire."

You brush a stray lock of hair away from his beautiful brown eyes. Happiness bleeds through the air around you, encasing the two of you in a world all your own. A sanctum most sacred and blessed.

"Love me then,” you sigh dreamily, “love me, and know how much I love you in return, you darling, wonderful, worthy man.”

And oh, how you are adored! How your lover makes your body and soul sing, more radiant and joyous than a choir of angels. How he plays your desire over and over, bliss unending, until you are left boneless and spent, a puddle of happiness in his arms.

And as you lay cradled carefully against Gale, enveloped in his ardor, you feel as if you are weightless. There is no more stain upon your soul, no mortal tarnish on your skin. No fear, no insecurity, no wondering. You are eternal. You are blessed.

You are divine.

[danikamariewrites]

Hi could I request a Xaden x reader where reader is super nice and kind of shy and is a marked one like Xaden. Possibly set during conscription day where Violet and Reader are in the same year and reader has to cross the parapet. Reader and Xaden are already in a pre-established relationship because they were in the same foster home.

Parapet

Xaden x reader

A/n: This is so cute anon omg 🥹

Warnings: slight anxiety, some angst, and fluff

Your heart was pounding as the end of Parapet grew closer and closer. The wind and rain making you wobbly on the narrow stone walkway. You would have lost your very small breakfast had it not been for the two kind girls in front of you. They gave you hope that the Riders Quadrant might not be terrible.

A few more steps. You can do it y/n, you're almost there and he'll be waiting for you, you thouught to yourself.

Two more steps, then you'll be on solid ground.

Violet jumped down. Immediately shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her body. You weren't ready for that and the nausea that would over come you. But you couldn't stay up here forever.

Without looking up from the ground you could feel Xaden's gaze on you. Leaping down onto the gravel you let out a deep breath. "Name?" A deep, familiar voice asks. Looking up at the man you love and have been separated from for two years your eyes sparkled. Tears threatened to spill out. You had to hold it together or you'd be targeted by whoever hates Xaden.

You could see it in his eyes that he wanted nothing more than to pll you into a tight embrace. Xaden bit back that boyish grin you knew all too well.

"Y/n y/l/n." He wrote it down, telling you to wait in the courtyard with the other cadets. You set out to find Rhiannon and Violet, wanting to make sure they were doing ok after one of the most stress inducing tasks you had ever faced.

After being put into your squads you started heading off to the dorms. Along with Violet and Rhi, you had been put in Fourth Wing, which to your relief, Xaden is Wing Leader.

Xaden grabbed your arm pulling you aside in the rotunda. You looked up at him as he tilted his head toward one of the massive pillars away from prying eyes. You followed until the two of you were covered by shadows. Once Xaden made sure you couldn't be seen he scooped you into his arms kissing you fiercely. Pouring all his emotions and love that he had bottled up for over two years.

Breaking apart an eternity later you rest your hands flat against his strong chest. Good gods! How much muscle had he gained since getting to Basgiath. You knew he was trained from his teenage years by your foster family, but still.

Xaden cradled your face in his large hands. You felt the callouses he had earned from training over the years. Gods you want those rough hands all over your body. To get reaquanted with every curve and crevice he left behind.

Your boyfriend stared deeply into your eyes. Like he was making sure his memories of you were correct. His thumb ran across three little freckles on your top lip that had shown up just after he left. Xaden let out a breathy laugh. "Those are new. So cute, so you." He breathed out. You smiled again. Letting the tears pricking your eyes flow now that you were alone.

"I missed you so much Xaden." You say softly just for him. He let his tears go at the sound of his name on your lips. "I read all of your letters over and over again." Xaden pulled you flush against his chest again, resting his head on yours.

"I missed you too my love." You gripped his tunic so hard your fingers started to cramp. You just couldn't imagine letting him go now that he was infront of you again.

Reluctantly pulling away Xaden held you by your shoulders to see all of you. "Are you ok? Did anyone give you trouble?" You lightly shook your head. "No, but I think I made friends. The two girls I stood with in formation." Xaden nodded slowly. He looked as if he was debating telling you a big secret that was killing him.

"Stick with them. I'm glad you're in my wing, that way I can protect you." You nodded, giving him another smile. Gods you were too kind and delicate for the Riders Quadrant. He should've fought harder to have you put in with the healers. Unfortunately General Sorrengail wouldn't budge on her decision.

Xaden lightly traces your relic on the side of your neck. A shiver runs through your body making you giggle. Xaden melted. He missed that sound. He missed you.

"Just keep your head down, stick to who you can trust - especially Liam - he'll watch you. We'll get through this ok." You nod again. It felt like that was all you could do. You still didn't trust your voice. If you tried to speak you'd probably burst into hysterics.

Xaden started walking you to the dorms. He drops your hand putting his arms behind his back. "When you get your own room I can come and see you. For now we'll just have to the day time."

"I'll take what I can get with you." You sigh. Xaden stops halfway down the hall. "I have to go, but I'll see you at dinner." "See you at dinner." Xaden gave you one last longing smile before turning on his heel, heading back down the hall.

Taking another deep breath you push the door to the dorms open. It was loud. People talking, making friends, and fighting over who's bunk is who's. You immediately spot Rhiannon and Violet. They were fierociously guarding three beds. Violet makes eye contact with you, a smile gracing her lips as she waved you over.

You rush over to the girls, throwing your pack on the bed they saved for you. "Thank you." "We didn't want you to miss out." You smiled at the two girls as you all started to set up your beds.

Something told you this wouldn't be so bad. And that this squad is where you're supposed to be.

[mo0nfairy]

Any chance of some nsfw with guard puppy leon pls? 👉👈 I love the way u write him sm😩😳

tw :: nsfw themes (mdni!!), re4 spoilers, obsessive!leon, yandere!leon, sub!leon, masochism, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, invasion of privacy, leon being infected for like 2 seconds, (also no specification of reader's gender/genitalia).

⸺ ya'll.................. you can't drop shit like this in my inbox and not expect me to go feral. (i am also legally obligated to use this gif cause how can i resist).

let's say it's right after the events of re4. you and leon had spent an eternity dodging every kind of abomination known to mankind before you finally made it to safety. the government then took you in to study the effects the plaga parasite had on humans. however, leon was infected while you weren't, meaning the two of you would have to be temporarily separated. and fuck, being away from you kills leon with need. he just has to get his hands on you. and when his head gets fogged up with all sorts of disastrous scenarios (all involving you hurting in some shape or form), leon busts open the lock to his room and sets out on finding you. practically tearing the place asunder in his efforts, he finally locates you in a completely separate wing.

how fucking dare they take you so far from him? what if something happened? what if he can't be there to protect you-!?

his train of thought is abruptly cut off when he enters the room and finds you, entirely naked. there are several doctors around you, poking and prodding at you like a lab rat. leon literally just !!!!!!!!! at the sight, but is also >:( because of all these people putting their filthy hands on you. he is enraged at the people for touching you, but he also can't tame his heart after seeing your bare skin. he leaves to his room with his tail between his legs and his face adorned in red blotches. and poor leon hasn't been granted a single second alone to relieve himself, not with all these scientists and security guards surrounding him 24/7. (he got a little aggressive with staff when he had to seperate from you).

and being unable to relieve himself before he can see you and drown you in his obsession is destroying him. especially when he learns you've been moved to a safehouse all the way across the country, all while he has to stay in this hospital without you. he isn’t sleeping, he lost his appetite, and his body temperature has increased to a worrisome degree. the doctors even put down ‘hypersexual’ as one of his symptoms. and just a week later, leon is still distraught, but is all healed up. his mood brightens, however, when he learns he is being sent to the same undisclosed location. finally, he gets to be alone with you. and god, he is desperate.

practically tearing the front door off its hinges, leon searches for you through the house like a goddamn serial killer. and when he finds you, he goes feral. you don't have a second to even acknowledge the second presence in the house before he is all over you. one second you're minding your business and the next you're practically being smothered to death. on the counter, on the bed, hell, on the floor, leon doesn't give a shit where. as long as he’s able to ensure no inch on your body goes untouched.

leon tears your clothes off like a predator tearing apart the flesh of its prey. his calloused hands touch everywhere he can with almost religious fervor. good god, has leon ached for this. he's constantly losing air from latching his mouth all over you. he'll pull back a good centimeter, wait maybe a picosecond to catch his breath, before indulging in you again. and sidenote, he's a virgin (fight me abt it). sweet, innocent leon is so inexperienced but tries so. fucking. hard. all you have to do is sit back and guide him. every syllable out of your mouth is gospel to him, after all.

while his tongue is practically shoved down your throat, you bite down on the squirming muscle and it's just....…. instant subspace. his eyebrows scrunch upwards and he's moaning like a bitch into your mouth. his entire life, leon has endured so much pain, (especially right after the events of re4). but to hurt at your hand, knowing he is still safe with you? it is like heaven and hell in the same breath. so please, hurt him, bite him, rip out his fucking throat with your teeth if you want- just fucking do anything to him!

and leon is so distracted by you, he doesn't even realize how devastating he looks. his cheeks are as red as two ripe cherries; his eyes are wet with infatuation, brimming with tears. and downstairs, the vulgar sight displays a good 8 inches erect, on the skinny side with veins protruding the straight, pink shaft. his tip flushes an angry red and is overwhelmed with precum. you gently take it into your hand and caress the white-pearl with your thumb. and leon's voice literally raises several octaves in such an obscene manner, you wonder how he'll react when he's finally inside of you. but for now, your mere hands on him has turned him into a completely different person.

you guide his bloated head to your entrance and rub it into the surrounding skin, now slick with your spit and his precum. leon's entire body is shaking; his chest is flat from holding his breath in anticipation. 'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-' his chants huff against your face while his gaze is casted downwards, trembling from the sight alone. you could keep him here if you wanted, torture him even more. mock his whining while his swollen head is practically begging you to let him in and end this agony. but, he's just too damn cute. so, you give your poor puppy what he so desperately wants and push him into your soaked hole with ease. and the cry leon lets out is nothing short of pornographic.

"y-y/n/n-! oh, jesus, sh-shit-... uhn-!" his forehead is pressed against yours as he moans out for you.

when leon finally bottoms out inside, you let your spongy, sopping walls adjust to the length of his dick and try to calm him down (to no avail, unfortunately). he's too caught up in tripping over his words, attempting to verbalize the adrenaline coursing through him from just how amazing you feel and how soul-crushingly good it will be when he finishes. leon hasn't even started moving yet and he's already overwhelmingly drunk on pleasure.

you then push down on his lower back, giving him permission to begin moving. and the man leon becomes is that of a creature possessed. there is not a single moment spent being gentle, he is rutting into your thick heat like his life depends on it. he buries his face into your neck and everything just becomes so messy. your hot, hyperventilating breaths paint the air and your bodies are sheen with sweat as they stick together. his hands are locked around you like a lifeline, clinging so tightly to you as if he were hanging from a cliffside and you were his saving grace. (this is him basically). with his eyes rolling into the back of his skull, his hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, his jaw hung low with uncontrollable moans — god, you make him so fucking stupid.

'hmy- my fuckin’ god- y/n/n, i-... 'm-your- your stupid mutt, your dumb puppy... fuck, s’fuckin’ good, s’fuckin' perfect." you're not even exactly sure what leon is saying, with his voice muffled against your neck. but, when his voice is so whiny and slurred like that, you can only imagine how adorably pathetic the words that follow are.

drool seeps down his chin and pools in the nape of your shoulder. his mouth is all over your neck like a vampire, lazily kissing and marking your skin. with how overwhelmingly intense the euphoria is, he knows that one glance at your godly face and body will send him over the edge. so, he keeps his face nestled away. fortunately for him, however, you're not far behind from finishing. every vigorous thrust of his plunges deep into you, causing your body to jolt forward from the sheer force.

you grasp hold of leon's hand, causing his heart to practically explode in his chest, before guiding him on how to stimulate you. his hands rub against your sex with fervent, clumsy haste. and before you can even blink, your orgasm hits you like a wave. it is unexpected and unbelievably intense. every sound from your mouth causes leon’s dick to twitch inside of you, pushing him closer and closer to that earth-shattering finish. he is now full-on crying, his lewd sobs and pleads reverberating from the grip your body has on him. in the cusp of your high, you grab a fistful of leon's blonde hair and pull his head back.

you growl in his ear, "you're my bitch in heat."

and with that, leon gushes inside of you. a deafening wail permeates the room as he sporadically thrusts his hips against yours with bruising force. he practically bleats like a sheep as he cums and anyone lurking outside would probably think you were murdering him. leon fills you to the brim with his seed, the excess escaping past your entrance and staining the surface beneath. his vision goes white, his body shivers with rapture, and his mind is devoid of any thoughts beside you, you, you. the act of intimacy, to revel in your pleasure — oh, it is heaven. leon knew it was gonna be good, but never this fucking good.

every muscle in his body then goes limp against you. quiet whimpers pervade the air as he presses sloppy, soft kisses against your lips. chants of 'i love you, i love you so fucking much' escape his breathless mouth. and the look in his honeyed gaze... he is just so fucking happy to be back with the only person he could ever love, the only person he could ever need. it's clear as day, leon couldn't be more in love with you. but, when you try and push him away for some room to breathe, his hold on you turns tenacious and you can feel how he is still rock-hard inside of you.

you realize that not only are you in for a long night, but you are in for a long, long life beside leon.

okay..... this is my first time writing smut. like ever. if it's shit, pls don't be afraid to send some critique my way!! thank u !

[aphroditelovesu]

Could you please write a horus love letter for his darling ( who is the daughter of the Pharaoh and they aren't together yet)?

My Dearest (Y/N),

As the sun rises over the Nile, casting its golden glow upon the ancient sands, my thoughts are consumed by you, my beloved. Though we walk separate paths in this life, my heart remains bound to yours, entwined in the tapestry of destiny. Every moment without you is like an eternity of loneliness on the desert sands. Your charm and beauty rival the purest sunlight, illuminating my being with the promise of eternal love.

On the wings of the wind, my message flies to you, my sweet princess, daughter of the ruler of this land. In every star in the night sky, I see the sparkle of your eyes, reflecting the eternal light of our connection. With each passing day, I am reminded of your grace and beauty, which rival even the most radiant stars in the heavens above. Your laughter echoes in the chambers of my soul, bringing light to the darkest corners of my existence.

Although life's obstacles keep us apart, know that my heart belongs to you, like a precious jewel kept in the halls of time. In every temple erected in my honor, I find the echo of your voice, soft as a song of the gods.

I dream of the day when our destinies will intertwine, when I will be able to swear my eternal love before gods and men. Until then, I will keep your name in my heart like a sacred treasure, patiently waiting for the moment when our hands can touch and our eyes meet in endless love.

Since ancient times, my soul has been linked to yours like the pyramids to the desert, immutable and eternal. My love for you transcends the limits of time and reason, consuming me like a fire that burns incessantly.

Until then, I will keep your memory as a precious treasure, kept safe in my heart. May the other gods protect and guide your steps, my princess, until finally our paths cross and we can experience the love that burns in our souls.

With all my love,

Horus.

[weirdsht]

Heya!! Can I request a tcf x reader fic from where the reader is teenager and got teleported there? Somehow they can see the dreams of the future and knew about tcf novel while also being a full on simp for the main characters?(But also the thing that the young reader was someone who has been to various worlds and was in a loop, repeating things but without the memory of them doing so each time. They get glimpses ofcourse but it was just their past self trying to give out signals to not repeat any mistakes)

Definitions - Cale & Teen! Reader

notes: sorry anon i couldn't reflect all of your ideas because i found some of them hard to combine when i started writing. also this plot is better suited for a long fic/series but i don't have that time and energy huhu

tags: gender-neutral reader, mentions of death and dying (can be a little graphic but nothing too bad), teenager reader, nightmares

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome (for a limited time)

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist

“You should be more careful, this is uncharted territory.”

The look-a-like caressed your face softly as they spoke. Eyes filled with concern and uncertainty bore into you.

You may look alike but there’s something different about them.

Maybe it’s their mature aura. Perhaps it could be the tired look in their eyes. As though they have been suffering for eternity and want everything to end.

Whether they long for peace or eternal rest even you do not know.

“Still… this is a good opportunity and something we haven’t tried yet. Maybe you’ll be safer under his watch.”

“What do you mean by that? Who are you?”

You spoke for the first time since being transported in this weird abyss.

Being transmigrated into a novel like a lousy isekai protagonist was already confusing, but now you have to add weird dreams on top of that.

However, it beats trying to survive in that place you used to call home.

Between being endlessly confused and going back there… you’d choose the former any time of the day.

“I am you, well a part of you at least. As for what I mean… let’s just say this is for your own good.”

The supposed “you” paused briefly as they rested their hand on their chin. Probably thinking about how much they can disclose. Once they made up their mind their fingers caressed your head.

You may not know what’s happening, but you can tell they’re trying to provide comfort.

And it’s probably for the arduous path waiting beyond this dream.

“We’ve been through this many times, and each time you forget… I do not know if god has forsaken us or is playing a cruel joke…”

The look-a-like sighed before hugging you tightly. You meant to reciprocate, however, before you could raise your arms a sharp pain went through your neck.

“AGH! IT HURTS!”

It really does. It feels as though someone’s digging a knife through your neck, Trying to separate your head from your body.

When you manage to come back to your senses the other you are gone. The only thing left in the abyss is your and your throbbing neck.

…And wouldn’t you know, the moment you looked at your hands that were previously clutching your neck… all you could see was blood.

“-[me]”

“-[me]!”

“[Name]!”

“[Name] wake up!”

You jolt up as the familiar voice wakes you up from your dream. That’s right, you are currently under Cale Henituse’s wing after being transmigrated inside the novel you were reading. You have momentarily forgotten such a fact.

Clutching your throbbing neck, you tried to look at the redhead through your tears. Not that you are succeeding at the moment. However, you think you could see a slightly startled look on the young master’s usually calm face.

“Young master..?”

You asked, unsure of everything as your mind is still hazy. Still trying to get out of dreamland.

“You were screaming and crying in your sleep.”

Cale stated calmly as if he wasn’t panicking a minute ago. Still, his eyes roamed around you several times to double-check if there was anything wrong.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The redhead asks as he gently wipes your tears and pry your hands away from your neck.

“I’m sorry young master. I don’t think I can for I don’t remember the contents of my dream… All I could remember was that there was a searing pain in my neck. It-it felt so real. As though I was in the middle of the battlefield and someone was sawing their sword back-and-forth on my neck…”

You tried to explain to the best of your abilities. You didn’t want to lie to the man that you considered your saviour.

Both when you were reading the novel and when you transmigrated.

In every form, fictional character or not, Cale Henituse has always been your saviour in one way or another. And thus you hold deep respect for the man.

“Don’t push yourself. Sometimes forgetting and never remembering is better than being reminded constantly.”

Ah, he must be referring to his record ability. A blessing and a curse indeed…

“Still, if you feel unwell or anything come to me. I took a kid like you in so I must take responsibility for you till the very end.”

Cale Henituse probably doesn’t know the impact of his words. Just how much you have longed to hear such things.

No, perhaps he does. Perhaps more than anyone, Kim Rok Soo has been the one longing to hear those words since he was a child.

“I’ll keep that in mind…”

With that, Cale stepped out for a moment to ask a servant to fetch a glass of warm milk. After doing so he returned to your side, sitting on the side of your bed. He looks unwilling to leave you, despite having three younger children waiting for him in his bedroom.

“Don’t hold back, have you seen me holding back from doing and saying whatever I want? You don’t have to push yourself to act like a grownup around me. I’m the adult, those things are for me to bear.”

Cale’s words suddenly found their way to your memory when you were about to urge him to go back to On, Hong, and Raon. That combined with the redhead’s determined gaze to not leave your side has you clamping your mouth shut.

Soon enough a maid delivered the glass of milk to your room and you drank it to your heart’s content. Then the morning after that you could feel the children averaging 7 years old sleeping beside you.

The weeks following that are peaceful. Well as peaceful as Cale’s life could get at least. Not that it says much since he has the tendency to meddle in things that will only jeopardize his slacker life.

Despite that, your days are looking better. After that night you didn’t seem to experience excruciating nightmares anymore. You also seemed to have opened up to the rest of the crew.

Perhaps that’s why Cale became complacent, causing him to lower his guard.

And perhaps that’s also why his face hardens 10x more than it would have weeks ago. His anger soars through the sky, reaching the gods even, as he hears the heartbroken sobs you utter on your lips after waking up from a nightmare.

“Am I such a bad child for the gods to do this to me? Have they forsaken me? What did I do that was so wrong that warrants this kind of suffering?”

You sobbed on the young’s master chest. You look so out of it. Eyes glazed over as if you’re not with Cale despite being in his embrace. You continued to wail, continued to curse the world for putting you in a type of pain that not even Cale can comprehend.

“I’m tired, I’m so tired. How many times has it been? I’ve tried my best… I always did, but I don’t know what the gods want.”

As you looked up at the ceiling, perhaps trying to directly ask the gods, Cale could finally clearly see your eyes.

They were filled with pain and suffering. Such young eyes carry the weight of the world.

It did not belong to the teen who was laughing and playing around with the kids and Choi Han.

It was still you, but it wasn’t the you that Cale is currently raising.

The meddlesome transmigrator couldn’t understand it himself, but he was sure of this feeling that he had about you.

Hence why when you finally passed out he immediately ordered someone to summon Cage and Saint Jack.

Cale Henituse might be a piece of trash but he always sees through his promises.

Even if he has to fight every god out there to fulfil it.

Because for Cale Henituse, that’s what it means to be a guardian.

[courtingchaos]

Blackberry + Smash

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Summary: Oh my god, it's your little day date! I wonder if he'll like your choice of nails?

Word Count:6.3k

A/N: Part 2 to Blackberry, still for @newlips milestone of love! I broke these up because I was having a hard time reading it all together and this part got, well, too long honestly. However it's fun and dirty just how we all like it. (18+ NSFW you know the drill)

The mirror in his bathroom isn’t lying to him, he sure is 32 and still has no idea how to dress himself. He’s gone through at least 6 versions of the same black outfit, only now realizing he owns nothing for a date. He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. 

Casual. It’s lunch, this ain’t rocket science and you’ve seen him covered in a multitude of stains and you still kissed him 9 days ago. 

Yes he’s counting, has counted every day. Every boba tea he’s left since, every carton of cookies has a little heart drawn on it with an ‘E’ in the middle. 

He wasn’t even this lovesick as a kid. 

Eddie gives himself a disgusted scoff before ripping off his faded Megadeath tee. He lets himself have a little tantrum, stomping his feet around and whining. Rolling his head back and forth. Couldn’t you two just slide under his sheets and roll around for the rest of eternity? Then he wouldn’t have to worry about fuckin’ clothes! There’s a yell building in his chest but Jeff is sleeping and he won’t wake him, not with a full Friday night ahead of him. Instead he stalks off to his room to root around some more, looking for something less faded when his phone pings. A message from you: ‘holy shit, am I actually ready on time? 🖤’, and a picture that he immediately taps on. 

It’s a mirror picture of your outfit. Black sweater, black pants, black shoes. 

Oh what a fucking pair you’ll make. Dour food service workers in their mourning best. 

He’s never been happier. 

This also sets his nerves at ease. He can look normal. On top of his pile of clean laundry he finds his Hideout shirt and his good Metallica hoodie. Has one last moment of asking himself if he’s still actually 16 before going back to the bathroom. 

Rings on, his pick and his Cuban link chain lay against his collar bones. Finds the matching bracelet and decides to wear the silver nose hoop and in the final glance he rolls his eyes. 

It’ll do.

He shoves the shirt and hoodie on, glances at the clock and sees 9:30 glowing up at him. He finds his jacket, grabs his keys and wallet and has enough time to pick up coffee for the two of you. 

You got nervous and decided to wait outside for him, the sun helping to edge off the chill of the morning. You’re scrolling through Instagram when the familiar sound of his truck pulls through the gate of your complex. Immediately it feels like your stomach is up in your ribs. You’d spent four fucking hours this morning getting ready, redoing your makeup three times before just settling on big wings and red lips. Classic, easy, and you were running low on makeup wipes really. You’d switched out jewelry enough you’d irritated the piercings, yet again settling on leaving in your medusa and just going with silver everything. In an attempt to calm yourself you’d sent the picture to Eddie, not really expecting him to reply. He did heart react to it though and that had sent you horizontal on the couch for a few minutes, kicking your socked feet around. 

He pulls up in front of you and before you can get a hand on the door he’s leaned over to push it open. You’re staring very obviously for a moment, eyes fixed on the ripped knees of his jeans where you can see a smattering of tattoos. You hadn’t given much thought to that. You knew about his arms obviously, had seen pictures of his chest and back pieces but no one had mentioned his legs. Eddie clears his throat and you immediately flush. He gives you a look and you prop a foot in to help push you up. Then you notice the two Dunkin coffees. 

“Did you get me iced coffee?” Surprise pitches your voice high, a little ‘oh!’ following when he holds up a small paper bag. 

“And a donut.”

“Eddie!” You reach over to grab the bag and also slap at his elbow. He just chuckles and watches you tear it in two, holding one side out to him. He can see the pink still tinging your cheeks. 

“I already had two.”

“Oh I see how it is.” A raise of your eyebrows and he tells you to put your seatbelt on. Asks for the address of your nail salon. 

“It’s gonna take a little while, I’m getting acrylics so. I don’t know if you want to hang around or not.” You say around a mouthful of donut. 

“Am I gonna be in the way?”

“I don’t think so, just depends on how busy they are.”

It’s busy as shit. Thankfully you have your appointment, so it’s just a waiting game for a station to open up. 

“There’s like, so many people in here.” He looks like a big worried puppy. “Do you mind if I wander over to the bookstore on the other side?” Eddie flicks his head at the front door. Across the parking lot is a Barnes and Nobel that you saw him eye when you parked. 

“Not at all.” A hand on his forearm with a gentle squeeze and he smiles down at you. What had Cate said? 

“You’re a simple for dimples.” Christ. 

“Text me when you’re almost done, okay?”

You nod, shooing him off towards the door. He’s slow going, waiting for you to turn around the corner to go look at polish colors. When he sees you disappear he rushes the front desk, the receptionist startling at his figure popping up. 

“Hey, your 11 o’clock with-“ he gestures over to you, mouthing your name to try to keep it quiet. “How much is her bill?”

“Well, she’s set up for a regular acrylic set and-“

He’s keeping an eye on you but wants to get out of here before you turn around again to find a seat. 

“Look, whatever the like, top tier thing is, I don’t know nails. Can I just pay ahead of time for that for her?”

“For the nails and the pedicure?”

“Yeah yeah, whatever it is. I’ve got the tip too.”

She hands him a small receipt and he only balks at the price because why is this shit so expensive? He made it a point to not have a band of cash on him today, trying to be a modicum of classy, so he pulls out three hundreds from his wallet and tells the receptionist to figure out the tip. Smiles and tells her to have a nice day. He darts out before you get a chance to sit.  

“Eddie.” The sound of your voice makes him pick his head up from his phone. You’re standing in front of the door to the salon, arms crossed and a pinched expression on your face. 

“Yeah?” He’s playing stupid. Only for you. 

“You really didn’t need to do that.”

A small smile pulls at his lips and he halfheartedly shrugs. 

“I’m serious! That was expensive.” Your laugh is exasperated but your not really mad. Just taken aback. First dates don’t pay for nails. 

“I know, that’s why I did it. You’ve been talking about these fuckin’ things for a week now. Figured I’d surprise you.” He puts his phone away to stare up at you from his seat on the bench. 

“Let’s see ‘em.” Eddie leans forward and holds out his hand expectantly. You twist away and playfully squint down at him, holding your hands clenched under your chin. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“Oh come on, let’s see what my hard earned American dollars got you.” Laughing and reaching again but this time his hand drifts south, fingertips grazing the back of your thigh, gently pulling you back towards him. 

The little hitch in your breathing goes unnoticed but the blush flooding your cheeks doesn’t. His smile widens and he pulls you again, knocking your knee gently into the bench between his own. 

“Please?” Holds his other hand out, big palm facing up and you lower your own down to wiggle your fingers at him. Eddie let’s out a low whistle while he turns your hand around to look at the little gold stars dotting the matte black claws; turns it over to see the glittery red underneath. 

“Oh I’d say that’s worth it.”

“You like?” 

“Mhm. You get you’re toes done too?”

That makes you blush harder for some reason but you nod. He’s still holding your hand gently, like he’d lean in for a kiss to the back of it. 

“Yeah, same red color.” His other hand is resting fully against your leg now, thumb moving slowly back and forth over your knee. He glances down at your feet briefly, toes hidden in your shiny black loafers. 

“I bet that’s real pretty.” When he looks back up at your face, dark eyes framed by dark lashes and that damn smile pulling those dimples out, you look away quick. If anymore blood rushes to your face you’re bound to pass out. 

“Did uh, did you wanna like, grab lunch or something?” He’s got you stuttering while you look around the parking lot for a distraction. Anything to get your mind off of his hand still gripping the side of your thigh. 

Jesus suffering fuck. 

“Sure. There’s a ramen place up the road that’s pretty good.”

It’s a small restaurant, ten tables and a bar. It’s just the two of you for a while in the booth that Eddie asked for. He’s been tapping his foot against yours since you sat. 

“Are you playing footsie with me?”

“Maybe.” His grin is infectious. You jostle him back and it devolves for a few minutes until the waitress shows back up with your drinks and a knowing look on her face. 

Eddie notes how easy you blush. It’s been at least four times today and he’s only been around you for maybe three hours. He’s trying to recall any other time he might have seen it, but he doesn’t think you’d let that kind of thing slide at work. It’d be seen as a weakness or some shit you and Cate make up. 

He briefly wonders how far down your neck it goes. 

“So do you actually like cooking?” You ask as your food arrives, unwrapping your chopsticks and dumping and ungodly amount of togarashi into your ramen. 

“Yeah actually. My uncle taught me how to cook, he made it fun. It just kind of stuck around I guess.” He looks bashful, swirling his chopsticks around the bowl. You realize this is a whole side of Eddie you don’t know about. 

“What’s your favorite thing to cook?”

“Honestly? I really like smoking ribs. Wayne had this contraption he built himself out back of his trailer, and he’d make some real creations out there.” He sounds wistful when he talks about his uncle. He’s brought him up a few times but never really explained why he spent so much time with him. You don’t want to pry, but your interested in this home brew smoker now. 

“Please tell me it was like some 50 gallon drum deal.”

“Oh of course! He used to be a welder in the Army so he had all kinds of shit he made. Still has that grill too.” 

Eddie rambles for most of lunch, constantly trying to deflect back to you but you’re invested in this uncle of his. Wayne sounds like quite the guy. 

“So you lived with him till what, you were 23?”

“Yeah. I just wanted my own space and he also needed his own space. I have dinner with him once a week though. At least.” Eddie’s been rubbing his hand on the back of his neck for a few minutes and you’re starting to get the signal to stop mining for now. 

“I’d love to meet him.”

“Oh he’d love you.” That rolls off his tongue fast and you both laugh. “Maybe I’ll drag you to dinner next week. You can tell him all about your drive thru crazies.”

“Oh I’m sure we’d both love that.”

The check has been sitting on the table for 20 or so minutes and when he tucks his card in, after swatting your hand away, the waitress descends and disappears with the check.  He’s nervous again, twirling his rings around his fingers, leg bouncing. You’ve taken a minute to check your messages but under the table you slide a hand onto his bouncing knee. It stills immediately, the flash of a smile you shoot at him quelling any knots under his ribs. It’s such a small gesture, your hand warm on his knee. He’s already decided he’s kissing you again outside.

 

“This was fun, thank you again for my nails. Seriously.” 

He reaches out for your hand, tucks his fingers up under your knuckles to stare at the gold stars. He doesn’t let go, instead pulling you along behind him towards his truck. 

“Unless you’ve got other plans, we can find something else to do. I’ve got all day.” 

“Okay.” You say it so quick, looking for any excuse to stay around him. It’s only taken you this long for a single date, you might as well make it last. “Wanna see a movie?” 

When he stops at his truck he doesn’t unlock it, just leans back against the door and pulls your hand in against his chest. 

“Anything good playing?” He asks quietly, laying his hand over yours to lay flat against him. You fit right between his feet, boots bracketing your loafers. 

“I don’t uh…” Your stuttering, caught watching his eyes flit between yours. “I’m not sure.” You finish lamely. 

“Well, I’ve got all means of streaming at my place. If you want.”

A year ago with anyone else this would have made you scoff and push back, spell being firmly broken by even the implication of some form of Netflix and chill. 

Eddie though? Eddie makes it sound like the sweetest thing in the world. And who are you, presuming he’s even gonna try and put a move on you?

(You’ll be absolutely devastated if he doesn’t.)

The warmth of him is enveloping you, the spice of his cologne and the last cigarette he had drawing you further in just before his hands do the same. Big palms cradle the sides of your neck, thumbs resting on your cheeks and he leans in. 

His lips are plush and warm and you tuck up close to him, arms squished between the two of you. His fingers inch up into your hair, holding your head, keeping your lips to his and honestly? Honestly. 

How dare he be so good at this and keep it from you for so long. You thought he liked you and he’s been depriving you of his lips parting and running his tongue over your own and-

“Ed.” You break the kiss, breathless and face hot but you’ve only got eyes for him. His pupils blown wide in the bright daylight, you can see a frown starting between his brows. “No, hey I’m not-this is great. Can we get in the truck?” It’s almost one long word of a sentence but he understands. You’re around to the passenger side before he’s even closing his door, your hand over the center console to grab his bicep and pull him over to you.

In the confines of the cab, kneeling on the seat so you can grab his hoodie and it’s your turn to pull him in. The little sound he lets out almost sounds like a whimper and it just makes you all the more confident. It’s your tongue running along the seam of his lips, the curve of a smile before he opens and lets you in. He taste like the mango mochi you two shared and your hands run up into his hair to keep him close. 

This is all you’ve been thinking about since he kissed you last week, waiting for another moment to lay your lips on him. It’s a few minutes of heavy kissing and his hands just under the edge of your sweater; you still haven’t let his hair go yet. Eddie is the first to pull away though, eyes squeezed shut when he rests his forehead against yours. 

“We can go back to mine, uh if you want? We don’t have to I know I said that earlier but we can go out and see a movie-“ You press two fingers against his lips to silence him. 

“I want to.”

The ride to his apartment is quiet. He drops his hand on its new home in the middle of your thigh, fingers digging in a little bit every time he turns a corner. 

That blackberry has been picked and washed and fully eaten in earnest. 

His apartment isn’t what you expected honestly. It’s two men living together, so the neatness throws you off. Everything has a home it seems, unlike your own place that’s like a cozy disaster zone. 

“I like your place.” You say over your shoulder standing in the open living room. He’d busied himself with putting your jackets away and dropping his stuff into a tray on the counter. Now he’s just standing in the kitchen watching you inspect the bookcase by the TV. 

“Do you like bourbon?” 

You glance at your phone to see 4:30pm. 

“A little early for dark liquor.”

Eddie shrugs and pulls out two rocks glasses and a round bottle, little jockey stopper on top. 

“We hit some kind of goal or something and Stacy and her husband bought everyone in the kitchen really nice bourbon.” He pulls the seal. “Thought I’d hang on to it for a special occasion.”

“Is this a special occasion then?”

“Yes.” His smile is warm. Looks at the little topper for a moment before sniffing the bottle. 

“That kind of smells like Christmas.”

He pours less than a finger in each glass and slides one over to you. He’s not wrong, and after he fishes out an ice cube for you, it goes down smooth. 

Hip cocked into the counter top and nursing your tiny glass of stupid expensive bourbon, you listen to Eddie go in on all the deserts he could use this in. You had no idea he could bake too and you feel a little cheated after all those bakery bought cookies he’s brought you. 

“Oh you know what else,” he ducks into his fridge and pulls out a mason jar of dark syrup, “this might be blasphemy but I don’t care. Let me see your glass.” You hold it out and he uses a spoon to drizzle some of it in the dregs of your drink. “Thats a blackberry and rosemary syrup I made and- what?” Your laugh cuts through his words and the way his face lights up makes laugh more. A clearer sign from the universe, you’ve never had. 

“I just really like blackberries.” 

He does put something on tv eventually but neither of you pay attention. It murmurs in the background while you two talk and when the sun starts to stretch across the wall of his living room you climb over the cushion separating you and try valiantly to invade his chest. He’s cozy and warm and he tastes like that syrup he made. He says something about whiskey tasting good on you too and any inkling you may have had about leaving his place tonight goes firmly out the window. 

The couch is comfortable and him nosing at your neck, dropping lazy kisses up and down the length of it makes you melt. His hands are heavy in your hair and where they slide down to meet his lips along your neck. You’d finally gotten a hand under his shirt, skin hot and soft. You can feel the muscles flex under your touch and you find out on accident he’s ticklish when you’re skating your new nails back and forth over his happy trail and the weirdest giggle escapes him.

“Sorry.” He smiles shyly. 

You want to hear that sound again but he has other plans. Untangles your legs and stands up, holds out his hand to you again. 

Just over the threshold of his room he looks at you, fully sincere. 

“Is this okay?”

Yes yes yes yes yes yes

You nod and gently kick the door closed behind yourself. 

With that barrier to the outside closed Eddie descends on you. Backs you right up against the door and kisses the breath right out of your lungs. You hang onto his shoulders while he pulls your sweater off. It hits the floor and his hands are right back on you sliding up your sides to cup your tits through your lace bra. You’d worn the set in the hopes that this exact thing would happen. 

“How’d you know blue’s my favorite color?” He whispers against your mouth before diving right down to the swell of your breast and nips lightly. You suck in a gasp and he does it again to the other one, runs his thumbs over your nipples. Your trying your hardest to get your fingers to cooperate and pull at the hem of his shirt. 

“Worry about me later.”

“Eddie, please.”

“Wanna see you first, gorgeous.”

When his hands fall to your jeans you let out a whine that makes him look up at you. 

“You okay?”

“Yes just. Please don’t stop.”

He hurries then, pushes your jeans down and turns you both to walk to bed. When the edge hits your legs you lift one to crawl backwards, a finger hooked in his belt loop in an attempt to pull him with you. He rips his shirt off instead and it’s truly it’s insane how he just keeps getting hotter. The dark lines of his tattoos against his pale skin makes you pant. 

“Oh what the fuck.” 

“I was just about to say the same thing.” He sounds breathless. Eyes roaming to take in the matching underwear that clings to your body. The tattoo on your sternum that he had no idea about and the other two just under your collar. There’s dark lines wrapping around your hip that he’s going to dig his teeth into soon. He reaches and lightly runs a finger over your sternum before trailing it down your stomach and stopping at the elastic of your underwear. 

“You wear this for me?”

You nod. 

“Oh good.” 

You don’t think you’ve heard him this quiet ever. He’s all whispers and heavy stares, that finger tip that’s inching into your underwear making your heart rocket into your throat. You wrap your hand around his and pull him so he has to kneel on the bed too, inch his finger down further. 

“Eddie?”

“Hm?” It rumbles in his chest. You snake both arms up to wrap around his neck and bring him in to ghost your lips over his. 

“Touch me. Please.”

Of course he has silk pillowcases, you think to yourself when the side of your face is pressed into them. The cool material is slick against your hot cheek, Eddie’s big hand laying between your shoulder blades. He isn’t pushing you down into the mattress but the suggestion is there. 

Stay. 

You’ve ended up in the middle of his bed bent in half with him kneeling behind you, gentle hand pulling your knees apart. You’re blushing for a thousand and one reasons, mainly because you’ve never played this little game before. At first you’d tried to hide your face and he’d tutted at you, gently prying your forearm away. Now you’re just trying not to grip the pillow too hard, only partially conscious of your new nails. 

“Eddie.” Your muffled whine gets his attention and he leans forward, puts a little pressure on your back. Your eyes roll.  

“You okay?” His voice is dark next you, quiet and gravely and you clench around nothing, he hasn’t even touched your pussy yet. A garbled ‘uh huh’ gets past your lips and you can hear him grin, the bastard. 

He slides your underwear over your ass and down, tossing them into some corner of the room, swings his knee over your calf and knocks your leg out to side some more. Your hips drop and he sighs, his right hand coming to slide up the back of your thigh, gripping at the soft skin and over the swell of your ass. 

“I’ve been waiting months for this.” A low laugh, how can he laugh at a time like this. You try to sit up a bit, to give him an incredulous look but he holds you down. You don’t mean to let out the moan you’ve been holding in, but he knocks it out of you. Laughs. Again. 

“You didn’t have to wait months.” Muffled again by the pillow. 

“We were having fun. You’re a good chase.” He gives your ass a light tap and then grabs the flesh hard. You arch your back into his touch and he immediately lets go to graze his fingertips over your slit, dipping in between your folds. 

“Jesus your so wet,” he huffs through his nose, “this for me too?”

Of course it is. You’ve been wet for him since he picked you up in his stupid truck, looking too good in his stupid jeans and big hoodie. Since he grabbed your thigh and asked about your god damn toes.Since the couch and his weird giggle. 

You’d like to be a smart ass and list off all the ways he’s driven you crazy just that day, but instead you just whimper. 

“Hmm?” He dips a finger down to circle your clit agonizingly slow. It sends a burning jolt through you and you cant your hips back to chase his touch. 

“Yes, oh my god!” It comes from deep in your chest, voice low and full of want. Every time he’s come in to visit you, hanging over the partition to joke and flirt at you. His little touches at the bar, a hand always lingering on your lower back or fingertips dragging over a knee. That drunk kiss in the parking lot of the bar a week ago. 

All you’ve done is want for months now. You’re about to bully your way into sitting up when he leans down and places a wet kiss on your shoulder. Drags the hand there down to your lower back, still splayed wide and warm. It makes you pause and he uses that minor distraction to easily slide two fingers deep in your cunt. 

It punches the air out of any argument you were trying to start, hands searching for something to grip. One finds his thigh and he still has his god damn jeans on? 

The slow drag of his fingertips inside you makes your mouth hang open. They’re big and you’ve been worked up since you woke up this morning so it just feels too good. 

Actually that’s a lie, you’ve been worked up since that first day he walked into the cafe with Jeff, all jokes and pretty eyes and no idea if he even liked coffee. Some dumb espresso joke later and you’d been stupid for him. 

Kind of like now, with one of his hands holding your back in an arch while his other moves at a torturous pace in and out, the wet sound of you sinful in the space of his room. 

“Do you know many times I thought about inviting you back here after the bar?” You roll your head back and forth, hiding your face under your hair. 

“Every time I gave you a ride I thought about it.” He enunciates his line with a particularly deep prod of his fingers, bringing his thumb to circle your clit again. “Coulda just bent you over my lap and shoved my fingers in, huh?” You clench down, files that little thought away for later. He gets his free arm up under your chest so he can hold you to him. Lays his weight against your back when he picks up the pace of his fingers and the strangled cry coming from you makes him even harder in his jeans. He peppers kisses along your shoulders, noses your hair out of the way so he can nip at the back of your neck. When he licks a stripe up to your ear he feels your strings cut, the chanting of his name sounding like music. 

“I gotcha baby. You gonna come for me?”

You’re nodding, whining his name, breath hitching in your chest. Between his thumb tracing hard and his fingers dragging against that sweet spot inside your eyes water and you grab at the back of his head, nails digging into his curls. The feeling building low is white hot where it creeps down and makes your legs shake. Pinned down under him you try to chase his hand with your hips, looking for that edge of relief and it’s just out of reach until it’s not. 

His chin is hooked over your shoulder so he can mouth at the side of your face while you go rigid under him. He’s still moving his fingers while you spasm around him and jesus christ he can’t wait to fuck you, plain and simple. 

“Breath baby, come on.” He whispers into your ear when he realizes you’ve been holding your breath. You let out a low groan that turns stuttering when he doesn’t relent with his thumb on your clit. 

“Eddie I can’t- too much!”

He ‘aww’s’ at you playfully but slows down his hand, only pulling out when you’ve regained some kind of normal breathing. Cuddled up behind you, face still close to yours where your breath fans over his cheek he leaves a wet kiss on yours and the toothy smile he sees in the waning light makes him feel warm. 

“Knew you’d be worth the wait.”

You slap his arm as he rolls off the bed to stand. The clink of his belt buckle makes you turn your head against the pillow to stare at him. His eyes don’t leave yours while he undoes the button and fly to push them down off his hips. He leaves his boxers on and before he can climb back on the bed you sit up in front of him, hug his thighs with your knees. From here you can look up at him and map the tattoos across his chest and over his shoulders down to his fingers. It’s past sunset now and the purple fading light does nothing but make his pale skin glow under all that dark ink. You pull his own move on him from earlier, tracing the tip of your nail up the back of his thigh. He shivers, leg jumping and when you firmly run both of your palms under the edge of his boxers he smiles down at you. 

“Tryin’ t’get fresh?”

“Maybe.” Sucking in your bottom lip to bite at it, you bring one hand around and run it down the flat plane of his stomach to the band of his underwear. 

“Can I?” A whisper and his eyes go half lidded, pupils dark and wide under his lashes. An almost too quiet ‘yeah’ and you tug the fabric down to free him. 

You must be making a face because he chuckles and runs a finger down your jaw. When you look back up at his face you grip the base of his dick and he hisses low, run your hand up the length of him to watch his head loll back. He’s big, thick and flushed red, the fat head of his cock hot against your palm. Damn near salivating you run the flat of your tongue up the underside of him, to the tip before fully wrapping your lips around him and hollowing your cheeks. Eddie is making a lot of noises you’ve never heard before, one’s that you want him to keep making but only after a few bobs of your head and hand he’s gently pulling your head back where’s he’s laced his fingers in your hair. 

“If you don’t want this to be over in five seconds, I’d suggest we stop that.”

“You get too excited?” Frowning at him you make a move to grab him again he crowds you instead, makes you crawl back towards the middle of the bed. He shuffles across to settle between your propped up knees and tosses a wrapper on your stomach. 

“How romantic Munson.”

“You wanna touch my cock so bad, you put it on.” His forwardness shuts you up. You tear the wrapper open in a rush, grab him again and give his dick a few tugs before rolling the condom down. His thumbs rub little soothing circles on your knees until you pull your hand away and he’s hauling your legs up to wrap around his waist. Pulls you to him with hands in the crook of your knees and he’s cradled in your hips, rocking his own forward to rub the tip of his cock along your folds. Catches it on your sensitive clit and you yelp. His frown is mocking yours from a moment ago, tilts his hips and does it again.

“Aw, honey is that too much?”

“Eddie I swear to god I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” He pulls back enough to line up, gives you one last chance to say something before he eases in. Slow drag until he’s fully seated against you and you both moan in unison. “That’s what I thought.” Your warm around him everywhere; thighs hugging his hips, hands running up his chest. 

“Jesus Christ you feel amazing.” 

The fluttering of your walls around his cock is doing nothing for his stamina, coming to terms with himself that this might not last long. 

That’s fine, you weren’t leaving tonight. 

The look on your face, eyes rolled back and mouth hanging open, makes him roll his hips to watch you squirm. He starts a slow rhythm, grabbing the cups of your bra and pulling down to let your tits free. When he pinches one between his knuckles you keen and arch your back. He does it again to hear that high sound and he picks up his pace, drilling deeper and making you chant his name again. 

“I can’t believe I waited this long for you baby, you feel so fucking good for me.” He pulls your legs from around him to push them up towards your chest, canting your hips with them to get at you deeper.  

“Eddie Eddie Eddie.” It’s high pitched and whiney and music to his ears. He can feel you pulsing around him like you were earlier. Props one of your legs on his shoulder to get his hand between the two of you to rub fast circles over your swollen clit.  

“You gonna come again?”

“Yes fuck, please don’t stop Eddie!” 

His hips snap against your ass and with every push your letting out a stuttering moan. Watching your lips form around his name, panting and pawing at your own chest, your hand around the back of his neck and long nails scratching against the sensitive skin brings everything to a pinpoint. His hips begin to stutter when you clench around him, your no slick coating your thighs and his fingers and his cock and it’s all it takes for him to bury himself deep. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He’s muttering, slowing his movement and rocking the two of you through the aftershocks, running a soothing hand up your leg still on his shoulder. 

“Come here.” Hands splayed to beckon him, cheeks pink and flushed, hair stuck to your sweaty forehead he thinks he might be falling in love after all these months. He’ll keep that to himself for now. Instead he pulls out and discards the condom over the side of the bed. Drops his weight on you, a huff from you and a smile pushed against your chest from him. The light touches from the tips of your nails make goosebumps pop up along his back where you gently rake your nails. 

It’s a while before either of you move and it’s only to get under the covers when the cooling sweat makes you cold. Eddie holds the corner up to help you get situated but holds out a hand when you try to tuck your feet in. 

“Hold on, hold on.” He snatches one of your feet to bring up closer to his face, making you bend weird and squeal. It tickles but he won’t let go, looking at your toes the way he did your nails earlier. 

“Eddie, seriously!”

“I knew they were pretty.” He places a light kiss on the outside arch of your foot and you wrinkle your nose. It tickles and it’s cute and his hand is warm on your cold foot. He only lets go to run a hand up the back of your calf to pull you under the covers where he drapes himself over you, hair curtaining and smothering you in him. 

In the middle of the night, after Jeff comes home and deftly ignores the scene left in the living room and you’ve gotten up to use the bathroom and rinse your mouth out you cuddle back up to Eddie’s side and wait for him to turn his head and look at you. 

“Hey, you wanna call in sick Sunday?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you can be my plus one for the wedding.”

“Cutting it a little close, no?”

“It’s my aunt, she won’t care.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

“Then we can get you one tomorrow.”

“It’s a date.”

[yandere-fics]

♡ Sister Nora Blood Kink ♡

(A bit out of character but Nora is very huffy because you almost escaped her.)

You hadn't always hated Nora, there was a time when you did share her feelings actually, you swooned when she would get rid of the people who tried in invade your home, she was your protector, your lover, you trusted her more than anyone else, but she'd broken that trust and you'd never be able to see her as your safe haven ever again, she'd sold away her life to a monster, trapped you with her for all eternity, it was selfish, you thought of her as someone kind who would never do anything that would bring harm to you, who just wanted you happy and by her side but now you could see the happy part was less important than the by her side part, you really had no options though but to bide your time and wait for the opportunity to escape, Nora was a trained killer, one who could easily hurt you when she found out you were trying to leave her, one day however you saw your opportunity, a group of supernaturals who were trying to leave the city without permission, they owed a heavy debt or something, you didn't really care, all that mattered was it would get you out of the city and out of Nora's, who was tied to the city permanently, sight so though it was risky, you joined them at the edge of the border while they prepared to cross the forest, a few humans who had been chosen as soulmates were also trying to leave with the rest of you. But alas, Nora knew everything about you, including where you were at all times and she just so happened to have been sent to recapture these supernaturals.

"Originally I was supposed to recapture the rest of, however you've been trying to sneak out other peoples mates, and MY reason for living so I'll have to kill you. Y/N, look away." Your sister was furious as she looked at you before hiding it and returning to her normal sweet smile as she started to hack apart anyone who wasn't a human in the area, the other humans running back towards the city knowing they wouldn't be able to escape now, though you were frozen in place as you watched her kill for you. You thought of her as just cold blooded but as you watched her rip off a demon who has talked to you's wings, you realized she really did love you and god she was so hot soaked in the blood of those who had tried to take you from her. You almost wished she had come home from her work soaked in blood, seeing as you were stuck with her, you'd have to ask her to do that later. You wouldn't be able to discuss that at the moment though with how mad she was at you, stomping over to you and tossing you over her shoulder, reeking of blood.

"Noraaa~" She let out a soft grumble, not really in the mood to talk to you at the moment, though you were sure she'd be more in the mood with what you were going to say next. "I wanna do it right here, where the bodies are." She stood still for a moment before continuing her walk towards her car to bring you home.

"No, we're going home so I can tie you up, I won't let my reason for living escape." She didn't sound like she was really talking to you, more to herself than anything.

"Alrightttt, but can you keep the blood on you?~" She nodded a bit, looking away from you as she drove though you could tell she was blushing a bit, your sister was so soft for you.

[greetingfromthedead]

Shepherd Story 2 (God!Knives x F!Reader)

Plot: In a world where fallen gods live among you, there is the god of winter and death who is also eternally bound to you with body and soul. The time has come for him to visit you again.

Series: Shepherd. Check out Story 1 and Story 3!

Pairing: God!Knives x F!Reader

Raiting: NSFW!! 18+!! R!! Explicit!! Minors DNI

Tags: fantasy!AU, god!AU, no use of "y/n", smut (I just got carried away in the beginning), established relationship, gods, feathery plant, fated love, romance, legends, nature magic, reunion, intimacy, possessive behavior, tenderness, some fluff, body worship, light bondage, vaginal fingering, oral f receiving, hand job, p in v sex

Word count: 4k

Author's Note: This is a continuation of Shepherd. This story is inspired by @triplesilverstar's god!AU. There isn't much lore here, but I already have ideas for a 3rd installment. This AU will rot my brain out.

The cycle is nearly complete again. The summer heat caressed your cheeks, and the trees took on a yellow hue. This body had not felt the heat of midsummer or seen the different colors of nature. Despite living in the south, the creeping winter lasting 50 years still left its mark. But you remember from all your past lives the changing seasons that seemed to last forever. You don't miss the sunny days or the shades of spring. You welcome the falling leaves and the chilly northern winds, for they are brought on by something more precious.

The song of your heart has gotten louder and louder as the weeks have passed, and the familiar restlessness of your ancient soul has been tugging you towards the dark forests surrounding your home. But you know there is no need to go; you are found, and the melody echoing from your chest will always guide him back to you without fault.

You look up from your workbench as the silent whine of ice forming touches your ears. He is here. The god of winter and death has arrived, greeting you with breathtaking bouquets of frosted flowers covering your windows. They glimmer in the last rays of daylight as you set aside your book and rise to meet him.

You open your front door into the frigid evening air. It is snowing again, just like last time, and once again, you see him approaching from the edge of the forest. This time he isn't frozen over, his beautiful feathery wings trailing behind him with soft rustling. His ice cold eyes are on you, but tonight they don't nail you to your spot with terror. In them, you recognize the hundreds of lifetimes you've lived, your love reaching back to times so old that even the stories from it have died.

"I've been waiting for you, Beloved," you say as you step off your doorstep onto the freezing pathway. The frost brought on by his presence melts under your bare feet, and it gets colder with every step you take towards him.

"I've been yearning for you, my love," he replies, his steely gaze looking through this mortal body of yours and only seeing the soul he fell in love with millennia ago. "I patiently waited for the day to lay my eyes on you once again."

"Come now; I have something of yours." You reach out your hand with a smile to invite him to take it. He closes the distance and traces his digits along the lines of your open palm. His cold touch chills the blood in your veins, but just for a moment. His fingers find the spaces between yours, intertwining effortlessly as if they were always meant to be there. With that, the markings covering his body light up with a dim blue light. The sight only lasts for a few seconds before the patterns disappear again.

"As always, I thank you, sweet Shepherd, for keeping it safe." His voice is quiet and soothing, painting images of snow covered meadows and peaceful forests in your mind. He presses your hand to the middle of his chest, where you feel his heart awakening. The beat hastens as he holds your gaze. "You consume me. I dream of you every hour of every day."

His fingers let go of yours to trace along your bare forearms. You don't even notice the cold anymore as his touch leaves burning trails in its wake. You lean in closer, unable to resist the pull of his soul.

"For tonight, I am not a mere dream. I am yours to hold, and we have a lot of time to make up for, darling." You reach out your free hand to touch his sharp jaw line and feel the warmth emanating from his skin. The god bows his head to you as his lips find yours. It fills you with euphoria, reaching into the farthest corners of your being. Your heart beats like a wardrum, echoing the sounds of times past. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him as he leans you back. His kiss acting as a wordless prayer.

The snowflakes gently falling from the heavens land on your face like delicate touches, and the feeling of them melting on your skin lingers for long after they are gone. His stiff hands clutch tightly at your waist and lift you up from the ground. Your palms find balance on his broad shoulders. His sharp gaze looks up into your dumbfounded face as he carries you back to your cottage. A familiar feathery tendril slinks out from between his mass of wings and gently brushes against your cheek, drying up the wetness left there by the thawing snow. You lift one arm from his body to touch the tendril and let it slip through your fingers.

He sets you down as he reaches the doorway and lets you guide him inside, where his presence fills the small room with shadows. The door can barely shut behind him as you feel more soft touches trail along your skin. You recognize them as the slim helping limbs, and you feel two of them trying to slink their way under your blouse. His large hands land on your hips as you feel him press against your back. He leans down and whispers in your ear, "You fill me with desire and make me lose my mind. I am nothing more than a pathetic and weak man in your presence. My thoughts focused on every way to please you. I crave your touch and long for the warmth of your body."

His hands travel around you, pushing the thin fabric of your top with them, baring your skin around your waist. You feel the contour of his muscles against you and the warmth of his cheek pressing into yours. His fingers start to undo the buttons as a hand slithers underneath to dance along your bare skin.

"I come like a rabid dog to your doorstep, a starved animal desperate for the smallest particle of your affection. I come with my teeth bared and my chest full of longing. You have me crawling in desperate devotion for you." His voice cuts like a knife into your hazing thoughts.

"You're a god," you remind him as he opens the front of your blouse.

"And I am powerless in your glory." His hot breath touches your skin at the base of your neck, and his lips trail down your shoulder.

Both of his hands travel along your figure, exploring every curve and crevice with hunger. A few of his tendrils sneak under your skirts, caressing along your legs up to your thighs. Your hands cover his as his long fingers press into the supple flesh of your breasts. The creeping feathers lick over the hot core between your legs. Your breathing gets heavier as his hands get rougher, and his kisses are replaced by sharp teeth trailing over your skin. A shiver runs along your spine as he makes his way up your neck.

He whispers into your ear as the tip of his nose digs into your helix. "Will you allow me to be reminded of your sweetness? So it can turn to bitter longing when we are apart?"

You swallow hard, and he doesn't wait for your response. He turns you around, and his lips find yours in a searing kiss. His hands push off the garment, still trapping your arms, and the tendrils pull down your underwear. He guides you backwards, and you can only take a few strides across the little room until the edge of your workbench digs into the back of your thighs. He effortlessly lifts you onto the edge and settles between your legs. His fingers frame your face as he kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth. Your hands travel along his body to undo the clasp of his robe on his shoulder and let it fall between your bodies. Your fingers trail down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. As he leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck, you feel a shiver run down your spine. The anticipation builds as he whispers his desires in your ear, sending a hot wave into our belly.

Your arms reach around him, and your digits find where the wings meet his back. Your fingers are grabbing onto the mighty and soft bases as his kisses move along your neck, leaving you softly moaning as his hands caress you. Some of his tendrils have moved on to peel back the layers of your skirts, carefully bunching them up onto your lap and holding them there. The god's tender hand runs along your thigh, and two more tendrils appear to weave around your ankles and calves. His touch moves closer to the heat emanating from your longing sex.

The little helping limbs pull your legs apart for him to run his thumb along your wet slit. His fingers expertly tease your folds. With each gentle stroke, you feel yourself surrendering to the pleasure he effortlessly evokes. More tendrils appear that wrap themselves tenderly around your form. They hold you securely in place as the god's touch becomes more intense, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can't help but arch your back and moan softly as he continues. His lips move down from your collarbone and skip over the tendril making its way to your neck. He focuses on the space between your breasts before picking one and lapping at the hardening bud in the center. The feathers tickle you gently and help to keep you up as his looming form forces you backward. A finger presses its way through your entrance, and the juices gush onto his hand. The god groans against your skin, and you can feel the vibration all throughout your body. His digit is quickly followed by a second one as they start to stretch and explore your inner walls, seeking out every sensitive spot within you. The sensation of his fingers moving inside you, combined with the soft feathers caressing your skin, sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, leaving you breathless and wanting more. His kisses move down along your sternum, and two tendrils make you release the wings on his back that you had held on to with all your might. Finally free from your grip, he can lower himself to the floor. He looks up at you from between your legs before turning to brush his lips along your inner thigh.

His mouth finds its way to your throbbing clit, his tongue flicking and circling with precision. The sensation is overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The tendrils tighten their grip further as your body jerks, and your belly contracts in anticipation. His tongue buries into your folds as he laps up your desire for him. Strangled cries and whimpers escape your throat as he keeps you teetering on the edge of climax, prolonging the exquisite torture. The little feathery limbs around your wrists let go to allow you to lace your fingers into his pale blonde hair and pull on it. The fingers of his free hand dig into your hip with enough fierceness to leave marks. The other hand pumps into you with curled digits. With a final flick of his tongue, you shatter into a million pieces, your body convulsing with pleasure as you ride the waves of climax.

He doesn't stop yet, his tongue replacing the fingers he pulled from you, drinking up every spilled drop like a dying man presented with the fountain of immortality. Both his hands hold on to your hips, pulling you closer as you slowly come down from the initial high, but his actions still cloud your mind with pleasure.

His face pulls away from you, and you get to see his adoring eyes look up at you. This gaze is yours alone; no other soul is privy to it. His one. His only. Despite the soft nature of his expression, his lips aren't graced with a smile; an iciness fit for the god of winter lingers there. You know this face too well; it's nothing more than a mask, trying to hide his inpatient intentions. As he rises up to stand before you, the distance grows enough for you to bask in the glory of his form. You see the sparse little feathers growing by the collarbones, his wide and muscular chest, now bare for you since his flowy white robe hangs from his hips. Yet the layers of fabric are not able to hide his desire for you.

As he steps closer, he relieves his body from the garment and lifts you up from the wooden surface with the tendrils to remove your skirts leaving you as naked as the day you were born. He presses himself between your legs as he lowers you down again and you wrap yourself around him, your feet locking together on his ass. His cheek presses against yours, his warm breath tickling your neck as his hands stroke your sides. You enjoy his closeness, and the slight tickling makes you look down. You feel his hard length press against you, but as you look, you see the tip poke out between your bellies. It leaves a wet spot on your skin. You scoot your ass back enough to fit your hand between your bodies.

You touch your own dripping sex first, collecting some of the slick on your digits before capturing his shaft and starting to run your palm along the length of it before wrapping your fingers around it. You continue to stroke him firmly, feeling him twitch in your hand. With every pass, your thumb strokes over the tip, and his heavy breath caresses your ear as silent moans threaten to escape him. Your other hand holds on to his hair as you continue your steady pace. He arches his back and lets out a low groan of pleasure as you twist your hand around him, and the sound turns into a growl as he nips at your ear. You know he is at his wit's end, unable to control himself any longer. You release the vice like grip of your legs, and he knows to lean back. You run his sensitive tip through your folds before lining him up at your entrance. You are dripping in anticipation, and he can slowly sink into your heat as the walls clamp down around him. You let out a soft moan as he fills you completely.

His hips start to move in shallow thrusts as your fingers grip his hair and feathers. His panting lips move to your throat, forcing your head back, but the pleasure is too much to keep your eyes open anyway. You let yourself enjoy the overwhelming sensation. He grinds himself to the bottom of your well, hitting that spot inside you that makes you tighten your legs around him. You feel the tendrils around you come to life again with new vigor as they strangle your torso and opening your legs wider for him. You are too bound by him to do much of anything except moan with overwhelming pleasure towards the heavens. You are completely lost in the moment, surrendering yourself to his every touch. Your mind is consumed with desire, and your body aches for more.

As if sensing your despair, he increases the intensity of his movements—no longer shallow thrusts but deep, powerful strokes that send waves of delight through every fiber of your being. His teeth graze your skin as his lips move hungrily against the skin of your neck. He relishes the vibrations escaping your throat, his hands grabbing you tight and pulling you closer to him.

You quiver around him as your body tightens in pleasure, every nerve ending on fire with lust. His pace has turned into a frantic pounding as he drives deep into you. The small room is filled with a symphony of your voices, moaning in unison to the building crescendo of ecstasy.

The coil that has been tightening with every thrust of your lover finally releases, sending you over the edge into a state of pure bliss. You call out his name as your body convulses around him, tripping him too over the verge of climax. He fills you with warmth as your pulsing milks him. You feel yourself spilling over as your hands release their tight grip on him. You go boneless as the last of the intense pleasure washes over and retreats. You are kept up by his strong arms and tendrils wrapped around you. His lips move down to your chest, where he leaves more of his burning kisses as you still feel him panting against your skin. You are so entangled in him, you aren't sure where he ends and you start.

The tendril that has been around your neck like a necklace slithers away and is replaced by the god of death's long fingers. He squeezes just enough to slightly restrict your airway, making your heavy breath hitch in your throat. He kisses the edge of your jaw, and you turn your burning gaze on him. What you wouldn't give to crawl out of this mortal body and return to the time where you had no need for it. You curse the gods who turned you this way, forcing the two of you to hold back every step of the way. Your love transcends the limitations set by this meek form. You don't want him to be vigilant about your weak body; you want the love you make to thunder across the land with the strength of a thousand storms. You want him to stay. Yet he will bring death even to you if he lingers too long. You grab hold of his chin and move his lips to yours so your tongue can taste the sweetness of his mouth. A groan escapes him as his other hand pulls on your lower back, pressing you even closer to him. You are left gasping and desperate for more.

His fingers release you again, and he grabs hold of your hips. There is no chance of you sliding away from his grasp, as he holds you both with his strong arms and the tendrils woven around you. He picks you up from the workbench and heads to where he knows your bed to be. You can still feel him inside you, as he never pulled away far enough from your body to break that bond. As he steps into the shimmering moonlight, he stops. Long shadows are painted on his skin, and his pale blue eyes glimmer, reminding you of ice crystals, making him appear otherworldly.

"My gorgeous nymph, beautiful as the day I first saw you," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You know his calm demeanor hides a raging fire just beneath the surface. You know you are the moth to his flame, and you cannot resist being drawn closer to him, even though you know it will eventually consume you.

"My Beloved." You whisper back, your hands cradling his face.

He doesn't linger by the window any longer but continues onward to your bed. He turns and stretches out his enormous wings before sitting down and situating you on his lap, your legs kneeling to either side of his thighs as you are spread out for him again.

He looks up at your face, the ancient fire you share burning in both of your gazes. The storming of your soul against the confines of your human body is a tempest, spilling over into his soul.

"I want to lay waist to their domain, to set fire to their realm, where they look down upon us, until their marble stairs melt away. I want to make them grovel and beg for forgiveness at your feet for the shackles they have placed upon you. Let me seek justice the only way I know how. Tell me to go to war, Shepherd!"

"You will lose without your heart, and I refuse to give it back," you say with a tone that won't allow him to argue. Instead, you put your hands on his shoulders and grind your hips into his lap.

You feel his breath shudder for a moment before his hands run up your body, cupping your breasts as you lean back. The need grows again, fed by the flames of your love, as you roll your hips against his, feeling the heat between you intensify. His lips find yours, and you lose yourself in the passion of the moment. You feel him hardening inside you again, aching for more. His fingers dance over your sensitive skin as the tendrils retreat, and he gives you full control over your body again. Your movements grow bolder as he swells inside you. Soon enough, you find yourself feverishly riding him, unable to hold back any longer. He uses the tendrils to move the both of you further onto the bed without disturbing your bouncing. You force him onto his back as you continue to rock your hips against his with a passion that consumes you both. Any attempt to prolong the moment is futile, as the sight of him relishing in your beauty is intoxicating. His fingers dig into your thighs as he starts to buck up into you with an urgency that matches your own. A tendril pushes against the tender bundle of nerves to brush against it. There is time for tenderness later. For now, you are a wildebeest in heat, desperate for his touch and his seed. You are lost in the moment, consumed by the age-old desire between you.

As your bodies move in perfect synchronization, the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in a whirlwind of passion. The intensity builds until it reaches its peak, leaving you breathless and completely enraptured by him. As you collide into him, he pulls you in for a breathless and passionate kiss that leaves you wanting more. He wraps you in his wings as he turns and pins you underneath him. The god still looks ravenous as he pulls away from you and continues to grind his hips against yours. He kisses the deepest part of you, and it makes you whine out his name until you're begging for him to never stop.

Chasing one release after the other, you are soon spent, your body exhausted and limp, yet your soul begs him to keep going. The night goes by with him mapping your body with his blazing lips and exploring every inch of your skin with his fingertips, leaving you breathless and thinking you might die in the arms of the god of winter and death.

As the sun begins to kiss the tops of the trees, you find yourself tangled in his embrace, feeling a sense of completeness and contentment. You know the time has come again for him to leave your side, but for a little bit, the yearning in the pit of your stomach has found its fill. You know you will see him again as another cycle of nature reaches its end, and until then, you have a job to do.

The bittersweet goodbye stings your heart as his lips linger on yours for longer than they need, his fingers gripping your waist tightly, a rigidity in his body betraying the calm facade he's trying to maintain. As he pulls away, your loving gaze meets his stern eyes. Your thumb trails over the beauty mark on his cheek, a moment of silent understanding passing between you. You know he has no desire to leave, yet he must rip himself from the beautiful dream that is your embrace.

"I will wait for you, my darling," you whisper into his ear before placing a last kiss on his cheek.

"And I will return to you, forever and always," he promises before turning away from you with sorrow in his eyes. "Keep it safe for me, sweetling."

Check out Story 1 and Story 3!

"Foolish man, that's why I don't give it back." You chuckle lightly and watch him silently walk across the frosted yard to disappear before daylight floods his path.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

[jantostolemyheart]

Fic #1

Title: Please Don't Go

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, Metatron, god

Pairings: Crowley/Aziraphale

Status: complete

Crowley followed Aziraphale as the angel left his book shop. The demon's eyes were wet, and they noticed their angel's eyes were glistening with unshed tears as well. A strange thing they noticed - Aziraphale was tracing a finger over his lips. Was he trying to feel the fading sensation of when Crowley's lips were pressed to his?

They followed Aziraphale as he got closer to the elevator that would take him back to Heaven. Just as he reached for the button...

"Angel, wait! Please-!" An anguished voice rang out. Suddenly, the angel felt himself wrapped tightly in familiar arms from behind, a face with features he knew so well pressed into his shoulders.

"'Ziraphale, don't leave me-" Crowley whispered. "Please. I need you-"

Metatron glared from next to the elevator. "Aziraphale, we haven't got all day," he said in a falsely polite and saccharine voice. "God is going to be waiting for you."

The longer Crowley held tightly to Aziraphale, and the longer Aziraphale stayed quiet, the more irate Metatron got. They had been standing like that for nearly fifteen minutes. Metatron was impatient and getting violent. It started to do things to separate the two. Crowley let out a scream of rage and pain as the first projectile narrowly missed hitting Aziraphale. They spread their wings, wrapping it completely around their Angel.

The projectiles and various other destructive items flew past them both, some hitting Crowley. They gritted their teeth and did not make even one sound to indicate the amount of pain they were in. There were some burn marks and parts where their skin was steaming with a small bit missing from salt and holy water hitting them with the projectiles.

A figure no one had seen before appeared. No one but Metatron, that is. "Shame on you, Metatron! This is not what I told you to do! I did not create Aziraphale for the purpose of abandoning who he loves, or for being head archangel. You are now sentenced to the seventh circle of hell for the rest of eternity with no chance to get out," she fumed. Her voice was a normal volume, but so powerful it seemed to resonate everywhere. May whoever crossed her be pitied, for no one went against the will of God herself when it came to her Angel and Demon.

The moment God appeared, the attack stopped. And as soon as she finished berating and punishing Metatron which happened faster than the pair could comprehend, Crowley felt a hand on their shoulder. They jumped.

"It's alright, Crowley. I'm not here to hurt you," she reassured them. "Let me heal you? Metatron did quite a lot of damage..."

As soon as Aziraphale heard that, he got really worried. "Oh, Crowley-" He brushed his thumb over a salt burn, causing the demon to hiss in pain. "I'm so sorry, my dear, I never wanted you to get hurt..."

"Angel, I'd protect you no matter what. No matter the cost to my life, or my heart."

Aziraphale's face reddened in shame. That last comment stung, but he knew Crowley was right - the demon always had protected him, no matter the cost to themself, and now they were paying a hefty price. And not just physically. There was only one thing to do - he had to repair the damage he had caused and hope that Crowley would at least forgive him, even if they couldn't be together anymore.

"Crowley, I-"

"Angel-" Crowley cupped Aziraphale's cheek as God continued to heal the broken demon. "You don't have to apologize. I understand. The call of Heaven is too strong and I'm not enough to keep you here. It's okay, I understand." They dropped their hand from Aziraphale's face.

The angel caught Crowley's hand in his own. "No, Crowley. You deserve an explanation. Perhaps you could forgive me after I explain, but if not, I will live with that and accept it."

He took a calming breath and squeezed Crowley's hand gently, and when Crowley held tight, he took it as a good sign. "What happened was-"

*flashback to the conversation between Metatron and Aziraphale*

Metatron stared at Aziraphale. "So, Mr. Fell, here is what is going to happen. You are going to come back to Heaven with me, and serve as a proper angel."

Aziraphale stared back. "But my shop- I can't leave it! And Crowley - what about them? I can't just up and leave Crowley, they'd never come to Heaven with me! Besides, why would I leave them, when they're the most important person I know, and they are what's most precious to me!" Aziraphale's words hung in the air for a few moments before Metatron spoke again.

"Aziraphale, Aziraphale, always the fool with the biggest heart. See, that's going to be your downfall. In fact, I'd already say that you began your own downfall by telling me what you value most. Which means I have leverage over you. So. You can either come back to Heaven with me and serve as a proper angel, or I will erase both you and your "precious" demon from the Book of Life. Which means that neither of you would have existed. Could you do that to them? To your "precious" Crowley? Could you hurt them like that? Would you throw away six thousand years together to have never existed just to avoid going back to Heaven?"

Aziraphale was shocked and contemplated Metatron's words. "Fine, I'll do it. I'll come back to Heaven. But you better not harm Crowley, or nowhere in Heaven, Hell, or Earth will be safe from my wrath. I guarded the East gate to Eden. And I am knows as her strongest soldier, not for nothing."

*return to present*

Crowley was silent. God had retreated now that Crowley was healed.

They looked at their angel, and then pulled Aziraphale as close as possible, wrapping their arms and wings around him.

Aziraphale was not expecting this reaction from the demon, but he held tight to them. It was then that he let his tears fall.

"I'm so sorry, Crowley-"

"Shh, Angel, it's okay. You were forced to make a choice that you never should have." The pressed a soft kiss to his hair, running a soothing hand up and down Aziraphale's back. "It's okay, Angel."

Crowley continued to hold Aziraphale like that, until his tears stopped, and the angel stood up straight again.

"Crowley?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"You were always enough for me." Before Crowley could speak, Aziraphale kissed them softly. He kissed them long enough that they could pull away, or kiss back and feel the emotions he was putting into the kiss.

"Ngk-" said Crowley. They were taken by surprise. But as soon as their brain caught up, they cupped Aziraphale's cheek once more, and returned the kiss.

Aziraphale pulled back for a moment, and whispered against Crowley's lips. "I love you."

"I love you, Angel," they whispered back, kissing him deeply this time.

[monstaxdirtywonk]

Heaven is a place in hell with you.

Member: San as Hades x Reader Persephone

Plot: It's not the typical myth although it does share some similarities I've made some changes too to fit what I had in mind.

Genre: Angst, Fluff and eventual smut (not in this chapter)

Endless darkness. That's all his eyes have been seeing for the eternity of time. If only someone could imagine the depth of time combined with the depth of the darkness, they'd lose their sanity. Being a God grants you great power but being the God of the dead might not be seen as attractive as other God's kingdoms. Poseidon, ruling the vast sea or Zeus, ruling the mortal world. But death is the most powerful of all, Hades thinks, for it holds the power to diminish everything else. Whether someone was rich, privileged or one of a kind, after their passing, they are just part of the soul parade, a group of shadows with no purpose, just lurking around till the dawn of time. Maybe even after that. Hades has a bit of a reputation if you will, hated by most, if not all the living. The God's aren't fond of him either. He is too monotonous for their liking, keeps mostly to himself, he is on his own, just like what he rules, a lonely experience by default. His body is as immortal as it can be, a vast contrast between his surroundings. He stood tall and proud, well shaped and proportionate. His face chiseled and enigmatic, his prominent bone structure and intense gaze making him intimidating in a striking way. Appearance wise he looked no older than 25, but his soul felt awfully old. Maybe others were right to despise him. He can't stand himself either at times. A gloomy haze was his life, that seemed to have no end.

"A girl is playing around the lake, Lord" Thanatos, his trusted winged friend mentioned.

"She comes here often. She doesn't look human, but not godly either. More like a mixture of them too, not ordinary enough for a mortal, not divine enough for a goddess".

Hades decided to take a closer look after Thanatos' description. He is someone that likes to keep his thoughts and opinions independent, but he couldn't agree more. Her beauty was like something he'd witness before and something entirely different, all at the same time. She appeared delicate and gentle, her hands brushing through the bush, as the wind blew against her face. She seemed beautiful, but in a very different way than Aphrodite is. He didn't feel an ounce of lust for her, her vibes innocent and pure, almost angelic. The type of person you want to protect with your life, if he even had such a thing.

"Maybe she is a nymph? But she is someone I've never seen before and I keep up with them to say the least" Thanatos laughed, confirming his womanizer nature.

Hades laughed as well. His friend had a charm that drew others to him. Maybe they liked getting a taste of death while still alive, literally.

"That's true, you'd know her by now. I'm sure Artemis despise you, my friend. You are ruining chaste virgins left and right."

"Well what can I say? I'm popular with the ladies. I guess they might have a thing for my wings? I mean there aren't that many of us, even in the immortal world. But speaking of getting down and dirty, you haven't been laid in such a long time, Hades!"

The latter's eyes grew at the realization. He had some needs but they never bothered him to that extent. Keeping busy did the trick so far and he was more of an old fashioned man to say the least. His mistress was the night but he grew sick of her. They were too similar, he thought. He wanted some light to enter his world, a blinding brightness to shake him up and warm his icy heart. Or at least that was his persona, his mask. He knew, better than anyone, how much he felt and loved and longed for it. But he could wait for that, he had time, that's for sure.

"Mind your business boy" he said in a teasing tone but failed at intimidating his friend. Hades looked dark, dangerous even, until he became familiar to you. Once you made a place for yourself in his heart, he couldn't be further from that.

"Okay okay, I was just saying that it's a pity for you to go like that. But whatever makes you happy." He answered and raised both of his arms in a defeating manner. Thanatos knew that he was basically a brother to Hades, but he still wanted to keep their relations good, because he had the tendency to say more than he should.

"It's all good, I'm just teasing you!" Hades smiled his way and showed his dimples, the sweetest sight his kingdom had to offer.

Thanatos smiled back and took a look at the lake again, which they were able to see from the inside, as it was the main portal for the underworld. His smile quickly turned sour, and worry played over his handsome features.

"What is it?" Hades asked.

"The girl...seems to be in danger". Thanatos pointed out and Hades took a closer look. A wolf was some meters away from her, moving eerily elegantly for such a creature. Given the area the lake was, it seemed unlikely for an actual wolf to be there. It's size was extraordinary large too, all this made him believe it was one of Zeus' tricks again. A sudden surge of protective energy took over him and he wanted to save this poor girl from Zeus. She didn't deserve Hera's wrath either. None of them did. Hades took a hold of his scepter and pushed it on the ground. The lake started waving and it turned dark as if it was raining during a perfectly sunny day. The girl gasped at the sight in front of her and took a step back since she was almost right next to the lake by now. The waters were divided and a set of stairs showed up. When Zeus realized that the girl was about to escape, he started running towards her and she felt such an overwhelming fear that made her run without even realizing that this was probably a bad idea. She followed the stairs which turned to water again after each of her steps. As soon as she touched the ground, she broke down in tears and hid her face inside her hands, too scared to open them and face her destiny. But sometimes our destiny isn't as scary as we think it is, because there, in this dark and seemingly unwelcome world, she'd find a man with no soul, but more capacity to love than anyone else with a soul ever could.

Next chapter:

[wellthebardsdead]

Solairen: *laying on his side, one wing definitely broken from cushioning his fall but alive* morning lords grace- M-my love? *rolls over and gasps, not at the decapitated head of Mephistopheles glaring at him with milky white eyes, but at the vision beside him* my love…

Raphael: *unconscious with a concussion cocktail of incubus spittle and blunt force trauma from riding his fathers head to the ground after severing it with solairens sword. The wedding gown he’d been forced into and paraded around the court of mephistar in as a final humiliation now torn to ribbons hanging off his naked red body, a final act of humiliation before his wedding to a hoard of pit fiends and lemurs that is* mmnn… *opens his eyes to see Solairen, the Paladin he’d fallen in love with as a drow, now a celestial solar ascended by lathander, glowing like a beacon of hope in the hell he thought would be his eternal tomb* m-my love… are you, o-okay?…

Solairen: *smiles and strokes his cheek* I am, I am my love.

Raphael: *leans into his touch without a fuss* h-Haarlep drugged me… brought me here so father could lure you and Astarion, he wanted to kill you in front of me, he wanted to remind me of my place… I didn’t think, you’d come for me…

Solairen: *blinks and laughs through tears* I married you. Astarion married you. He’s worried sick waiting for me to bring you home! I’d go to the end of the astral if it meant saving you… but you saved me instead. *smiles*

Raphael: *closes his eyes and grins playfully as the leathery membrane of his wings begins to flake away like burning paper* a saviour, that… is for certain. My love… *passes out again as large white feathers sprout from his back and many of his cambion characteristics are replaced with that of a solar celestial, his horns lined with gold framing a halo resembling a burning sun, and the jagged arrow point of his tail smoothing to a gentle heart, before returning to a handsome human man, with a heavenly warm golden glow surrounding him*

Solairen: *looks up to the heavens hearing lathanders words in his mind*

“He has proven himself worthy… and you have proven me wrong yet again… you did see good within him”

Solairen: *smiles and closes his eyes* I saw him… only him. *lifts his husband into his arms, giving him a loving, chaste kiss knowing Mephistopheles is still alive in hus corpse. Glaring at him from seemingly lifeless eyes* … *strokes Raphael’s face* you were always, more than enough… let’s go home my fire… *carries him through the portal back to the devils fee*

Astarion: *pacing back and forth frantically, haarleps blood still coating every part of his magistrate robes* they’re not back yet! Somethings wrong.

Wyll: it’ll be alright.

Calliope: *bursts in through a portal followed by Gale* WHAT DO YOU MEAN RAPHAELS BEEN KIDNAPPED?!

Astarion: I mean I had a bad feeling as I went to kiss him and I stopped in time to realise that fucker! *points at haarleps body* Smells nothing like my husband!! Solairens gone after him and neither of them have returned!

Gale: I’m sure they’ll be fine.

Astarion: HOW CAN YOU BE SO BLASÉ ABOUT THIS?! BOTH OF MY HUSBANDS ARE IN HELL-

Solairen: *steps through the portal holding Raphael, shielding his body with his wing* I’ve got him.

Gale: told you.

Astarion: I- you’re hurt! Gods you’re both hurt!! *hurries over and embraces them both* he’s?… glowing? These markings they look like yours is- what happened?

Solairen: now you have two celestial husbands, my little star.

Astarion: I- you- *sobs* d-don’t be cute I’m very upset! Let’s get him home I need to clean both of you up! You reek of the hells!

*the next morning*

Raphael: *growling as he tries to get rid of the glow on his skin and the halo following him* ARGHH! *grabs it and throws it only for it to reappear* I DIDNT ASK FOR THIS! *hurries to the balcony and looks up at the sun* FUCK YOU LATHANDER!!!

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Denial is Strange (Issue 36)

Moon Knight, Issue # 36: Ghosts

Written by  Alan Zelenetz and drawn by Bo Hampton 

Now, I’m a long time fan of Dr. Strange. In fact, he’s number three on my list of favorite comics! (Number two being Scarlet Witch and number one being MK if I even need to mention that). So a Moon Knight with early Dr. Strange cross-over? Yeah, I’ll dip into that no problem! 

The first page is a note from the editor, Denny O'Neil. You see, in previous issues, they had asked where fans wanted to see Moon Knight go. They were running low on ideas and didn't know how they wanted to further develop the character, as it looked like he was going to stick around for a while. 

Since Moon Knight started in a supernatural horror book (Werewolf by Night), it only seemed fitting that Moon Knight continue to carryon his career as leaning heavily on the supernatural side of things. A fist of the moon and Spector of vengeance, they have decided to let Moon Knight continue on his path of walking the line of what lurks on the other side of the shadows. 

"Lots of heroes catch crooks. Moon Knight will be going after a different quarry. We hope you'll go with him." 

Also it's interesting to note that they introduce Zelenetz and Bo Hampton as the new MK team, when they only did three issues before the 1980s series ended and things had to get a re-vamp as MK again went in a new direction. Hmm. (He does come back periodically in later runs, but doesn’t stick around.) 

For those unfamiliar with Dr. Strange, ....things get strange. An original Marvel character from back in the day, created in 1963 by Steve Ditko himself, he embraced the psychedelic comic art style of that time. Let me put it this way, if Dr. Strange gets involved, you know things are about to get colorful, confusing to look at, and WEIRD. 

That out of the way, we open in Nubia, in Ancient Egypt during the twentieth century B.C. 

We see a classic Egyptian styled man about to sacrifice a cat for 'the demons of the dark'. He declares himself Amutef, first among necromancers and worthy to be a pharaoh. 

Okay. That's a start. 

Suddenly a bunch of men run into the room. "Seize him, priests of Khonshu!" 

Yeah, it's illegal to slay 'the holy cat in mockery of the gods.' 

Amutef declares revenge (Mummy style). "On a moonlit night, ages hence when we meet once again." 

Once the mummification of Amutef is done, the head priest prays to Khonshu that 'this enchanted pendant will keep the base Amutef's soul bound within these linen grave clothes for all eternity." 

Amutef's spirit enters into the necklace, waiting for his curse to come to light. 

And right on cue, we head to the present where we see a beautiful blond woman wearing the necklace. 

"I may have been an archeologist's daughter, but these cat mummies can still give me the creeps." 

Aw jeeze. It's Marlene. 

And we see her there with Steven at the grand opening to an Egyptian wing of a museum as a memorial to her father. 

Marlene, why are you wearing an antique Egyptian necklace? 

"It will go to the museum one day, Mr. Director. I'm wearing it tonight for the first time since my father found it in one of the tombs of the Seti Kings." 

Yeah no. 

Their social session is interrupted by a security guard trying to kick out a party crasher. 

"Listen, we get all kinds of crackpots crying CURSE every time we open an Egyptian exhibit--" 

"But I am Stephen Strange, and my conjurations have led me here. I fear that evil will be born this night--" 

(I’ll start by saying the art style reminds me of the comic art from around late 1960s, but I’m also not a fan of how Marlene is portrayed here. She’s too soft and arm candy-esque. I miss the Marlene from Bill’s days where she was capable and intelligent.) 

Also, Steven clearly has NOT heard of Strange fully if he dismisses him after that display. You’d think by now that Steven would be like ‘oh. Right. I’ve fought zombies. This isn’t that odd for me.’

A cat (belonging to the security guard?) breaks loose and instantly goes to attack Marlene. Steven backhands it easily before it can sink it's fangs into Marlene. 

"In the name of the Vishanti! Don't you see? The animal senses evil." 

"Look. How are you at sensing harassment suits, Mister Magic?" 

"Dr. Strange, this is a museum, not a circus show." 

I love how no one ever takes Dr. Strange seriously when they first meet him. Even in today's age, they just write him off as a cheap palm reader. 

Marlene notes she feels terrible and wants to go home. Steven and Marlene head home and Stephen follows above. 

Stephen…This is why no one takes you seriously. I hate to hear how he talked BEFORE he became a sorcerer. Can you imagine him in the ER? “By Gray’s Almighty Anatomy, someone hand me the mighty retractor of Senn!” 

(Stephen what is that pose? Steven…What is that lurking image of you?) 

He scans Marlene while doing what I like to think of as his Vampire flight pose. 

"Yes--But wait, there is a mystic aura about this man, Grant, as well. Then there are occult forces at work here that appear to defy even earth's sorcerer supreme, thus--" 

He lays a protection spell on Marlene that will keep the possession at bay for the next 24 hours then flies home to do research. 

Back in the mansion, Marlene gets into her usual skimpy night gown STILL WEARING THE NECKLACE. 

Look, if I ever go to bed still in a necklace that gaudy, please consider me cursed. 

Marlene is worried about the curse. She feels terrible and she's a little spooked. 

Steven Grant feels differently. 

"That black cat at the museum has got you all strung out. You'll sleep it off. As for curses... You should know better than anyone, Marlene, that these days--for sanity's sake, I like to keep a cool distance between myself and thoughts of the supernatural." 

Steven no… 

Jokes aside, we must remember that DID is a form of self preservation, protection, processing, and denial. When it comes to their DID, Stephen has ALWAYS been the first one to go "Nawh. I'm fine." and then try to strong arm his way through every situation. Marc is the first to go "May as well die" and throw himself head first into a dangerous situation, and Jake is the first to go "It ain't my problem. I'mma chill here with my buds." 

Here is classic Stephen Grant, fresh off his most recent run of self doubt and slow crawl into a mental break (for the third or fourth time) and he's living in denial land and choosing a path that he feels is the most conducive to compartmentalize and keep his distance from their trauma. 

"I try to forget that the ruthless mercenary I once was--Marc Spector-- apparently died and was reborn in a desert tomb years ago... 

Under the gaze of a cold white statue of Khonshu, God of the moon... Whose spirit I use to believe reanimated me." 

And yet you won't shut up about it. (I kid, but seriously, Steven.) 

"Believed only too well. I relied on that superstition until I'd almost lost my mind --Forgot just where Khonshu ended and Spector or Grant began." 

Why does he always forget about Jake? 

"But you helped me see that I derived my strength and abilities from my own will and commitments, not from some long-dead mythology. You redeemed my soul and my sanity, Marlene...

And I'm not about to lose either of them again. So no more talk of witchcraft, okay? Just sleep tight while Moon Knight makes the rounds." 

Steven sure is in a mood. I don't blame him. 

(I also love how depending on who tells it or remembers it, we either see bloody beaten up Marc at the foot of the statue or we see a gently and sexily sprawled out Steven rendition with a gently weeping Marlene memory. I’d love to see how Jake remembers it.) 

Moon Knight takes off and a clearly possessed Marlene mutters a classic line about “After thousands of years we have met once more, fool Thosbi. Now Amutef’s spirit, given voice by inhabiting the mortal frame, shall utter incantations of revenge.” 

Classic. 

Meanwhile, Stephen Strange is doing his own thing. 

Stephen is...wordy. I'm going to summarize the WALL OF TEXT that is his ramblings and chantings. 

Marlene is possessed by an ancient sorcerer. Steven Grant has been mystically endowed with the spirit of an ancient priest of Khonshu. 

Meeting up on this moonlit night spells trouble with a capital T and now the curse is real. 

He must get Steven Grant to cooperate with him or it will spell doom for them both. 

And then we cut to Moon Knight, still angry about the implication of something supernatural happening to him. 

"Steel and glass and concrete. There's reality for you. No room in a city like this for superstitions." 

He spots some thugs assaulting a couple and he decides to glide down to intercept. 

Yeah that…that seems about right. 

He barely manages to dodge a gun shot, his crescent dart whacks a guy right in the face and cuts him, and he barely manages to catch up with the other two fleeing villains. 

And of Course Detective Flint arrives to drive in the nail. 

"Say, everything okay? Not like you to lose your wind over a trio of amatures." 

"Just an accident, Detective--Cape got caught, you go on and treat the punks to a night in the slammer. Put it on my tab." 

And to make his night even better, Stephen Strange shows up. 

"It was no accident, Steven Grant." 

"YOU again!? Am I supposed to admire your persistence or--Wait, you called me Grant?"

"Yes, it was Steven Grant I sought, and I'm afraid your costume does little to disguise HIS psychic aura. But, that is inconsequential--It is your life, not your identity, that is in jeopardy." 

I...Could have SO much to say about breaking down that statement and we'd be here all night as I talked about the psychic aura of Steven vs. the others, his life vs. his identity, and all that fun stuff... But I have a feeling the writer wasn't aiming for that line...sadly... SO I'll leave it alone....this time. 

He tells Steven that he's in danger and Steven demands to be shown the demons after him. 

Stephen tells him that they were the ones that grabbed his cape, but he banished them before they could destroy him. 

Moon Knight still isn't buying it. 

I swear, half the Dr. Strange cross-over comics are spent with Stephen trying to convince everyone that magic is real and that he isn't full of it. 

"I have learned that you are endowed with the spirit of a priest of Khonshu whose mystic powers are needed to save Ms. Alraune from the evil spirit which possesses her." 

Honestly, while this isn't the first instance of the OG comic showing the cult of Khonshu and the priests, this is the first time someone has considered Moon Knight to be imbued with the spirit of a priest of Khonshu. 

As many of you may be aware, the current run with MacKay pushes heavily into the Priest of Khonshu plot line, which has often been dropped and lost by subsequent writers after this one. 

However, Strange is insisting that the priest himself is inside Moon Knight, while it's long been determined that Khonshu himself has imbued Marc and the others with his own power to make Moon Knight his own sort of priest. 

Let's see how this issue plays it out. 

"I would have mesmerized you without asking in order to summon the Ancient Priest within your being... But even your unconscious will is incredibly strong and I could not break through it." 

I'm cackling about this. Imagine Strange trying to get in there and just being met by a really pissed off Jake Lockley. 

"Bet on it, Mister." Steven is thinking the same thing. You know it. "My will's like granite, because that's what holds the real world out there together for me. It's my sanity." 

Oh Steven... 

Moon Knight calls Khonshu a myth and make-believe. "Do you think I'd ever embrace that madness again?" 

He calls for Frenchie. He's done with this. 

"If the spirit is not exorcised from Ms. Alraune by tomorrow night, she will be the one who knows true madness. Without the mystic aid of KHonshu, my spells can protect her no longer than that." Stephen Strange calls after him. 

Moon Knight calls him a "blasted Looney" and takes off. 

The next evening at Grant Mansion, the doctor informs Steven that he can't figure out what's wrong with Marlene. 

Steven tells her that he'll cut the Moon Knight patrol short and be back before midnight. 

(She's still wearing the necklace). 

As Moon Knight leaves, Marlene sits up, possessed again, and sending the evil spirits out after the Khonshu priest Thosbi. 

This time they attack the chopper. 

Oh no. Not the chopper! 

While the possessed Marlene chants of vengeance from the balcony, cats start to gather in the nearby tree. 

Dr. Strange arrives to the chipper and starts to fight off the invisible demons that only he can see. 

Frenchie tells Moon Knight to glide to safety. The chopper is going down. (My dear Frenchie always looking out for his friend.) 

Moon Knight refuses to jump and the chopper starts to function again. 

A particularly nasty demon shows up to fight Strange. 

"Begone, Mage, for my chaotic powers are summoned by a spell more ancient than any your mortal lips can utter." It taunts him. 

While Strange battles the demons, Frenchie manages to land the chopper. 

Side note, I do love the way they draw Moon Knight’s costume. This is the start of the era where his shorts start to actually look like shorts and not underwear outside his outfit. You also see more black mixed in with his top and leggings. While you see the muscles, he isn’t drawn HUGE and ridiculous. It’s believable. 

Also behold Strange before the goatee! It looks wrong… 

Anyways, Moon Knight is not pleased to see Strange again. 

They argue and give me my most favorite image of Frenchie EVER. 

This man. I love this man. 

Look at it. The moon hat. The lighting on his face. The relaxed sit. The smoke rings. Not one not two but THREE pens in his pocket. The gloves. The match book in his other hand. This is just another day for him. 

The copter nearly crashed for unknown demonic reasons and his BFF super hero buddy is outside arguing with a wizard about being possessed by an ancient Egyptian priest. 

Jean-Paul Duchamp I love you. 

Strange tells him that if they don't contact the priest of Khonshu within the hour, Marlene is going to be lost to them. 

Moon Knight concedes. He jumps in the chopper and they follow Strange back to the mansion. ....Why he doesn't let Strange fly in his chopper but makes him fly...You got me? 

They arrive to find the mansion crawling with cats and Marlene in a trance staring contest with one of them. 

Moon Knight decides to take a short cut to get to Marlene as fast as he ....OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. THERE ARE SO MANY Other WAYS TO ENTER YOUR MANSION! YOU BUILT IT! 

(Adds another hash tag to the list) 

Moon Knight crashing through his own window with his nunchucks out in a room full of cats. I just... He is the ultimate catboy. 

They send away the cats, who were apparently there to attack the evil. 

Stephen sets the room up for the ritual and Steven carries Marlene to a chair. "Save her, Strange... Even if it costs me my mind." 

We get some interesting art here... They made Steven look like a bad anime magical girl transformation reaction or something. I can't even begin to describe this. I apologize for what I’m about to show you. 

Flew too close to the sun with Frenchie. Now we must all pay the price with anime boy Steven Grant. 

So Strange does his thing and forces the demons to show themselves. 

"Do you think to conquer Amutef with glibness of tongue, mage?! I who was first among necromancers, who dared blaspheme the names of Khonshu and Osiris.." He summons his own demons to battle Strange. 

He summons the priest of Khonshu through Moon Knight and we get some CLASSIC Dr. Strange art. We got the symbols, we got the squiggle lines, we got the colors, we got the eyes, we got the floating heads and we even got the floating hour glass. 

As much as I love Dr. Strange, it takes me a while to read his old comics. My processing skills can't handle the barrage of EVERYTHING on every page. I’m glad it’s just a little in this comic. 

We watch the two men do battle through time and space and in King Arthur's backyard for some reason... We see the great pyramids and some temples that my geographically challenged mind does not recognize... 

Just as the battle is picking up...

"What?! I sense emotions of abnormal pitch. No! They flow from the mind of Grant. The strain on his will is too great! But he can't succumb now---!" 

We see chanting and...wait... those words... They sound familiar...

"Khonshu, Nehem kua her entet ari-na maat! Amutef, thosbi! Affirms thee no longer to be!" 

Parts of that sound suspiciously like something Harrow chanted from the MCU show. HMMMMMM....

Yeah, the battle is over and Marlene and Steven come out of their trances. 

"You've survived, Steven Grant, and your mind is whole, stronger than before. You have experienced life AND death, the natural and supernatural. You have mastered your will and become a complete man." 

Then Strange essentially does the "I must go now" thing and zips away to fight the occult forces of evil elsewhere. 

We are left with Steven thinking things over. 

"Occult forces. Like Marc Spector's dying and being reborn through the ghost of an ancient priest. You know, Marlene? I believe him. I don't for one minute like the idea...But I believe him." 

The End! 

Okay you guys… This was a wild one. It was a disaster start to finish but it did what comics are meant to do and it made me laugh and it was fun. 

The art was…all over the place. It worked for an issue with Dr. Strange, but they made everyone FAR too baby faced and pretty. What’s weird is that the next issue is the same artist but he gets his shit together and it’s back to Moon Knight nitty gritty. What the hell happened? Let’s blame Dr. Strange on this one. 

But….

Can you imagine THIS being the face of Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and slap a mustache on that and you got Jake Lockley!? THIS?! 

He’s so judgy! 

I’m dying out here you guys. Someone draw a mustache on that and I’ll love you forever. I think this broke me. 

So… Aside from the… What ever all this was… It reminds me of the issue recently with Mackay. Where we got to go into Moon Knight’s mind-scape and we got to see Marc, Steven, and Jake all work together to defeat outside forces. They worked as a team and it was their special weapon. Going after Marc? No you aren’t. You’re gonna get punched in the face by Jake and Steven (steven gonna look at you like a highly disapproving father). In this early run, we don’t have the wonderful understanding and research into DID to fully comprehend or experience this, but looking back, I like to imagine it’s there under the surface. 

I also look at the priest as not being the one that revived them. Again, I cite Khonshu himself. The priest issue can be folded into current and then building lore of the Priesthood of Khonshu. This was an early and powerful priest that happened to have a grudge against this particular bad guy. Perhaps this is where Mackay starts taking his ideas and lore from. We’re already seen other ideas from the OG run that he’s explored. If this is the case, it’s nice to see him doing his research and getting back to basics. 

So what did you guys thing? Did it make you laugh too? Are we all cursed by the Magical Anime Steven image? 

Next time I’m dipping back into the past to cover some of the issues I skipped. We’re getting to the home stretch you guys. 

[rukafais]

Like oh my god. Ohh my god. Oh my fucking god. Why did ANYONE think this was a good idea

[image descriptions for first two pages since there's a ton of text:]

Wild laughter burst from the Lady Penitent’s lips. “We’re all dead!” she howled. She whirled to shake a fist at the mist. “Do you hear that, Cavatina? Your goddess is dead. I tried to redeem myself, but too late!” The Lady Penitent sank to her knees in the swirling mist, sobbing like a broken slave. A shiver of fear lodged in T’lar’s soul. She rose and backed slowly away, but the weeping figure lashed out with a hand, catching her wrist. “Your goddess is dead!” she screamed. “The Lady Penitent is dead!” T’lar tore free of the Lady Penitent’s grip. What madness was this? A strand of silk drifted down from the sky to brush T’lar’s shoulder. She looked up, and saw a spider-headed female staring down at her. Lolth! Behind the goddess stood a balor demon, his bat wings wreathed in flame. Lolth’s true champion. T’lar understood that, now. Come, the goddess said. The web waits. T’lar grasped the thread of silk. Power surged through it, into her hand. The mist-filled landscape faded. Tugged by the thread, she rose into Lolth’s blackness. It surrounded her like a comforting black velvet shroud. At last she reached the eternal web that was the Demonweb Pits, leaving the piteous, false champion behind. Cavatina stood on a featureless plain, surrounded by gray mist. Somewhere in the distance, a female voice raged. She recognized it as Halisstra’s, but that didn’t matter. Not any more. She lifted her severed head to her shoulders, and felt the substance of her soul knit together again. She turned to the messengers who had come to convey her from the Fugue Plain. The two looked identical: elves, though she could not say what type. Beautiful, though she could not tell their gender. Each stood a little taller than she, and was clad in a shimŹmering white robe. Their names sprang, unbidden, into her mind: Lashrael and Felarathael. “Daughter!” Lashrael cried in a voice bubbling with laughter. “Your life’s journey has ended at last. Welcome home!” He clasped her arms and smiled. “The Protector sends his greetings,” Felarathael said in a slow, measured voice. The spirit half-turned, and gestured for her to follow. “Come.” “But…” Cavatina looked around. There should have been a beam of moonlight, piercing the mist. A song for her to follow. Or perhaps a pool of silent shadow for her to slip into. She pulled out of Lashrael’s embrace. “But I am Eilistraee’s.” “Alas!” Lashrael cried, his cheeks awash with tears. “Eilistraee is no more. She was slain— - cut down, together with the high priestess, by the treacherous Lady Penitent.” Cavatina’s soul trembled. “No!” she gasped. “All part of the plan,” Felarathael said calmly. “There is no further need for Eilistraee. The willing were saved, the unwilling cast down. It is time for the dark elves to return to Arvandor.” “So many!” Lashrael cried, arms thrown open wide. “So many souls to gather! Where will we ever begin?” “With this one, Lashrael,” Felarathael said in a patient voice. “And then, on to the realm where the remainder of Eilistraee’s faithful dance.” Cavatina’s mind spun. Dark elves? As if in answer, a mirror of silver moonlight framed in a circle of shadow materialized between Felarathael’s hands. He held it up for her to see. She beheld herself as she might have been, had she survived. Brown skin, black hair, dark brown eyes. The mirror disappeared.

“Hundreds of you, across the length and breadth of Faerűn, were transformed,” Felarathael explained. “Hundreds more, below ground. Even now, the mortals who serve our master are braving the Underdark, to guide their dark elf brethren back into the light.” “But what of Qilué?” she breathed. “Gone!” Lashrael cried. The spirit sank to a kneel, his hands thrust high. “Dead! Forever dead!” “Her soul was destroyed,” Felarathael said solemnly. “But before she died, she saved many. She cleansed the taint from hundreds of drow who might otherwise have been condemned.” “But the rest!” Lashrael wailed. “Thousands! Hundreds of thousands! No hope of redemption for them, with Eilistraee gone. Condemned to darkness and despair, forevermore!” “Another necessary sacrifice,” Felarathael said without a trace of emotion. “Else the game would have been lost.” Lashrael rose and wiped away his tears. A smile replaced them—a smile as wide as the moon. “Now come, daughter. Felarathael and I have dallied here long enough. We’ve much work ahead, once we get you safely home.” “Home?” Cavatina asked. Felarathael waved a hand. The mist parted, revealing a lush forest. A crescent moon hung above the oak trees, next to a golden sun. In the foreground, butterflies danced in a glade festooned with wildflowers. A warm breeze carried the scent of grass, blossoms, and clear-flowing streams. “Arvandor,” Felarathael announced. “Arvandor,” Cavatina breathed. Each of the spirits held out a hand. She took them. Together they led her soul into the realm of the Seldarine.