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barefoot-joker · 9 months ago

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Dancing with the Devil and His Wife in the Pale Moonlight

Yandere! Lucifer Morningstar X Reader X Yandere! Lilith Morningstar

Hey, guys! Welcome to another Lucifer story, this time with his wife Lilith! An Anon had asked for a longer fanfiction, so I did my best to do that ask justice. I'm thinking of making a part 2 but let me know what you think. As always enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 5612

Warnings: Kidnapping, Non-Con Kissing, Swearing, Slight gore near the end, Slight Possessive Tendencies, Slight drug use at the end

I hummed as I stretched my legs on the bar in the dance studio. Today our class was rehearsing for the ballet Three Virgins and a Devil which was going to be performing at our local theater. We had been practicing for months now but today was special. Today some of our patrons who financially support our ballet company were coming to watch us. It was quite a surprise as nobody really knew who the mysterious couple was, so gossip amongst my fellow ballerinas was high. The talk continued even as we prepared our bodies for our demonstration. “I heard that our patrons are very wealthy and looking for somebody they can throw their money to.”

“You mean they are looking for a third?”

“Possibly!”

“Well if they are looking for a third there’s no way any of you would get it,” Jessica the prima ballerina stated.

“Girls, please,” our director, Maria, clapped her hands, “let’s get to work.”

We formed our line and started to do some warm up exercises. After about ten minutes of warm up, we ran a couple of our numbers. Suddenly the door to the studio swung open to reveal a man and a woman. The man was on the shorter side and had paleish skin, blonde hair, red tinted cheeks and red eyes. The woman was tall and had long blonde hair, purple eyes and a paleish complexion. We all stopped to stare. Their skin tone and eyes really threw us off but maybe they wore contacts to intimidate people. Our director let a big grin form on her face as she ushered the couple in. “Ah, Mr and Mrs Morningstar! Welcome! Please come in.”

The couple stopped in the middle of the room and surveyed us. I bowed my head and fiddled with my shirt hem. Their gazes felt fiery and made me feel quite uncomfortable. “This is our Corps de Ballet. We were just practicing for our upcoming production when you both walked in. I’m sure you would be interested in seeing some material.”

“Absolutely! My wife and I would like to see what our money buys after all.”

“Of course, Mr Morningstar. Girls.”

We all got into our places and Maria pressed play on the CD player. We performed an ensemble piece and one with the three leads: Jessica, Savannah and Tessa. Our patrons just watched us with curious eyes and applauded when we were all done. “That was quite the show you ladies put on. I think my husband and I can agree our money is being well spent. However, we'd like to talk to you, Miss Maria, if we could.”

“Of course. We can go to my office. Girls, keep rehearsing. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

We all watched as the three of them left and as soon as the door shut gossip was at an all time high. “Oh my gosh, did you see the way they looked at Jessica? If they are looking for a third I’ll bet they’ll choose her!”

“No way! They were totally staring at me!”

“Girl, that’s not possible. If anything they were staring at your fumbled footwork at beat five.”

“Shut up! That’s not true!”

“What do you think, Y/n? Who were they staring at?”

All of the girls in my circle turned to me. I let out a huff. “I wasn’t paying attention. I was too focused on my steps.”

“At least one of us was,” Jessica stated.

We all turned to stare at her. “Like I said before, I’d be their first choice for a third.”

The smirk that played on her lips made me quite angry. Because she was the prima ballerina she always thought everyone was interested in her. While it may be true, her pride was too boastful. “Oh please. Stop lying to yourself. I saw where their gaze was during your performance. It was at the back.”

“Yeah right! All eyes are always on me.”

I rolled my eyes. God she was so annoying.

“Ladies, you heard what Maria said. We need to practice. This discussion can continue later.”

“Alright, party pooper.”

We fell into our positions and began another ensemble routine. Jessica called out counts as we danced and about twenty minutes later Maria returned. “Good job today, girls. You deserve a break for the rest of the day. Jessica, Y/n, please stay behind. I’d like to talk to both of you.”

I looked at my friends in confusion. Why was I needed?

As my fellow dancers passed to get changed, Lily grabbed my shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Y/n.”

She quickly walked off with the others. I sighed and walked to the mirrors where Maria stood. Jessica side eyed me and then focused back on our instructor. “Good job today, both of you. The Morningstars were very taken aback by your performances. In fact, they’d like to get to know you both on a more personal level.”

I felt myself stop breathing and my eyes widen. They what?

“They’d like to take you both to dinner tomorrow night. A car will come and pick up both of you so no need to worry about rides.”

“Miss Maria, are you sure Y/n was an interested party? After all she’s just an ensemble member-”

“Yes, Jessica. They were quite. Interested. They said their car should be there around 6 pm to pick up our prima ballerina and 7 pm to pick up Y/n. Please dress nice, you are representing Carmilla Carmine’s Ballet Academy after all.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“You’re both excused.”

The two of us took our leave and as soon as the door closed behind us Jessica snarled at me. “Listen here and listen well. If you were a team player you’d refuse to come to this dinner tomorrow.”

“I’m just not showing up. You heard Miss Maria! The Morningstars were interested in both of us. How do you think that’ll reflect on our Academy if I just don’t show up?”

“Just don’t embarrass me tomorrow!”

She huffed and stormed off. I sighed and went into the locker room. I sat on one of the benches and traded out my pointe shoes for my regular tennis shoes. Throwing on my hoodie, I grabbed my backpack and headed out of the studio. The rest of my day went fairly well. My friends from work texted me asking if I was alright. I told them what had happened and they blew up my phone. They couldn’t believe an opportunity like this was being given to a backup dancer. I chuckled at their antics in my text messages and responded to them throughout the night.

The next day I had gotten up fairly early and ran some errands. When I got back to my apartment later I did some cleaning. I noticed it was getting closer to the time my date was so I finished and ran into my bedroom. I chose a nice long, flowy, favorite color dress and a pair of black flats. In my bathroom I added some light makeup to my face and attached a silver necklace to my body. After I was done I looked at my phone to see it was 7 pm. Grabbing my keys and a small purse, I locked my door and took the stairs to the lobby. I walked out to the street and saw a short man getting out of a black Mercedes-Benz. “Miss L/n?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Follow me please.”

He walked to the back of the car and opened the door. “Thanks.”

I slid in and he shut the door. He returned to the driver’s side and got in. Starting the car, we headed out. I looked around as the man drove. I had never been in such a fancy car before so this was truly a new experience. The interior was all black leather and the windows were tinted. Jessica sat next to me texting on her phone. I watched as the nightlife of my city passed by in amazement. It felt like a different ride. The car suddenly came to a halt and the driver got out. He opened the door for Jessica first and then he opened my side. I stared at the restaurant and nearly collapsed. We were parked in front of Melbourne’s, a very fancy and well known place. Rumor had it that the wait list was three months before somebody could get in. “Ah, Jessica, Y/n! So glad you could make it!”

I looked over to see the Morningstars approach us, each of them giving us a kiss on the cheek. The Misses wore a long, sparkly, purple dress while the Mr wore a white outfit with red accents. “You both look lovely. Come, our table is waiting for us.”

Mr Morningstar wrapped an arm around Jessica while Mrs Morningstar wrapped an arm around me. They led us inside to a table that was hidden by a wall and some red velvet curtains in the back of the restaurant. We all sat down and I gazed over the menu. My heart nearly stopped. The prices were way out of my range. Jesus.

A waiter came over and introduced himself as Jeff before asking for the table’s drink choice. The three other occupants said some fancy wine or a fancy cocktail. When it got to me I just muttered, “Water, please.”

Jessica snorted and Mrs Morningstar looked at me. “Are you sure, Y/n? You can have anything you’d like.”

“I’m sorry I don’t drink. I honestly don't know where to begin.”

“I see. How about we start you off simple. She’ll take a brandy old fashioned.”

“All good choices. I’ll be back with those in a short bit.”

Jeff left and I felt extremely awkward. I mean I was trying my first alcoholic drink in front of practically strangers. What if I didn’t like it? I didn’t want to offend the Misses.

I picked up the menu to try and avoid small talk. Jessica and the Morningstars were discussing something and I was just trying to decide what least expensive item to get. “-ou, Y/n?”

I set the menu down and looked up. “What? Sorry.”

Mr Morningstar just smiled across the table at me. “It’s quite alright, dear. I asked what got you into ballet.”

“Oh, um, I don’t know. I guess I just find it relaxing and something to occupy my time with. I had started off as a child and just loved it ever since, Mr Morningstar.”

“Oh no need for formalities! We’re out of the studio. Please call us Luci and Lilith.”

The two smiled at us. While I felt out of place, their smiles sort of comforted me. It was almost like a parent soothing their child. “So why don’t you tell us about yourselves? We’re very interested to hear,” Lilith said.

I was about to say something when Jessica started. I just leaned back in my chair and watched other customers. There were many couples in the restaurant with a few groups scattered here and there. It was odd to see everybody dressed to the nines with their fanciest garb, but I suppose you have to live up to the dress code. “And what about you, Y/n? Anything you’d like to share,” Luci said.

The entire table turned to look at me and I could feel my skin crawling with heat. I wasn’t used to this much attention on me. Even when I was younger my siblings had always gotten the most of mom’s time. “Well, I’m uh 25 and the oldest of three. Like I said before I love ballet and I moved out here to try and make a career of it.”

“Anything else? Do you have any hobbies,” Lilith asked this time.

“I guess I like the arts in general. I participate in some art classes here and there. I read when I get the chance. Walks in the park or just around town are nice too.”

“That sounds lovely. You seem like a very creative girl.”

I gave a small smile. Just then Jeff returned with a tray and set all of our drinks down in front of each of us and asked us for our dinner choice. I just went with a simple pasta dish. I looked down at my drink and swirled it with the small black straw it came with. I was entranced by how the mushed cherry swirled with the ice in the orange drink as Jessica chatted. Lifting the rocks glass, I took a sip and hummed. It was quite good, especially for my first alcoholic drink. Setting the glass down, I observed the people at my table. Lilith was engaged in a conversation with Jessica, however Luci’s eyes were set on me. I gulped and averted my gaze to my lap. I could hear him chuckle. The table went silent for a moment, so I took the opportunity to ask something. “So do you guys have any family around here?”

“We have a daughter. Her name is Charlie. She’s a bit older than the two of you, but she’s quite the spirited girl. She doesn’t live here, more down under,” Lilith replied.

“I see. So she lives in Australia then?”

The couple glanced at each other and smiled. “You could say that.”

“She actually runs a hotel, funny enough. It’s to rehabilitate people.”

“Oh wow. That sounds like a lot to take on. You must be very proud of her.”

Luci stepped in. “Oh yes. She’s our little duckling!”

I could feel a rigidness coming from my fellow dancer. Maybe she didn’t like kids?

The rest of dinner went off without a hitch. I admit I was nervous but that dissipated the more the night went on. We all shared stories and laughs between us and the food was really good. I had offered to pay my half but the Morningstars were quick to shut the idea down. “It’s our treat. After all, we wanted to get to know you,” Luci had said.

After the bill was paid, they led us out to the car. The couple leaned in and gave me a kiss on both cheeks and did the same for Jessica. As they pulled away, Lilith spoke. “Thank you for a lovely night, ladies. We hope you have a great rest of your night.”

“Thank you for inviting us. We really appreciate it,” I replied.

The driver opened the door for us and Jessica and I got in. As he started to drive away the Morningstars waved at us until we were out of view. “I think that went well.”

“No duh. They were all over us, especially me. You think I can take more money out of them?”

“Is that the only reason you went? Their company was a nice treat. Besides, don’t you have other people wrapped around your finger you can take advantage of?”

“Of course. Those are some of the perks of being the prima ballerina. I’m surprised you even had a good time with all that attention on you. You should just stick to the back.”

I frowned. I was not about to let her ruin the night. “Whatever. I had a good time regardless of how much attention was on me.”

I turned away from her and focused on the passing cityscape. Eventually we reached my apartment and when we did the driver opened the door. I got out hastily and thanked him. I walked into the lobby and went up the stairs to the third floor. Getting out my keys, I unlocked the door and slipped my shoes off. I shut the door and went into my bathroom. I rinsed off my makeup and took my necklace off before going into my bedroom. I got out of my dress and put on my pj’s, throwing the flowy garment into the laundry hamper. I sat on my bed and went through my notifications on my phone. I grunted in annoyance when I saw my ex-lover’s name pop up. I clicked open their text and rolled my eyes. Once again it was them proclaiming they made a mistake for leaving me and they wanted me back. I didn’t reply, just backed out of it to the hub. I texted my friends from work about the night and they all congratulated me. We talked for a few minutes before I decided to log off. Putting my phone on the charger on the nightstand, I got under the covers and attempted to fall asleep.

The next day I rose at around 8 am. We had rehearsal today at 9 am so I quickly got dressed in a gray tank top and black leggings. I slipped a navy hoodie over top, slipped on my tennis shoes, grabbed my backpack and was out the door. It took me about twenty minutes to walk the several blocks to the studio, but when I made it I greeted the receptionist. “Good morning, Ricardo!”

“Good morning, Y/n! How are you today?”

“Average, I guess. And you?”

“Fabulous. I’ve got my coffee so today should go smoothly.”

I chuckled. He always liked his caffeine.

“I better head on up. I’ll see you later. Have a great day!”

“You too!”

I walked upstairs to the locker room where I placed my backpack and shoes in my locker. I slipped off my hoodie and then sat on one of the benches to put my pointe shoes on. When they were secure, I walked into the studio. I saw the girls hounding Jessica for information so I just went to my corner and stretched. As I was doing so, Maria came into the room. She looked around and when she noticed me, she came over. “Good morning, Y/n. I hope your dinner was enjoyable last night.”

“It was actually. The Morningstars are very nice people.”

“I’m glad. Was Jessica nice to you?”

“With them, yes. In the car, not so much.”

“I see. I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s no big deal. I’m used to it.”

She smiled and patted me on the shoulder. “Well I’d better get to teaching. Shall we?”

“We shall.”

Maria clapped her hands and we fell into our rows. We did a few warm up exercises and as we were doing this, Ricardo came into the room holding a bouquet twice the size of my head and the phone. We stopped to ooh and ah. “Yes?”

“These just came for Y/n.”

“What,” I muttered.

Ricardo came over and handed me the plastic wrapped flowers. Upon closer inspection I saw my favorite flower mixed with roses. I could feel heat rising to my cheeks as I found a card amongst the petals. Pulling it out, the heat burned brighter. “What does it say, Y/n?”

“To our dearest Y/n, thank you for a wonderful night. Call us anytime. From the Morningstars. And then there’s a phone number.”

All my friends squealed in delight and Jessica stepped forward rudely. “Was there anything for me, Ricardo?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ll keep checking. Oh also there’s someone on hold for you, Y/n.”

He handed me the phone and I looked at Maria. She gestured for me to answer it. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Y/n!”

“Who is this?”

“Ah, how rude of me! It’s Luci.”

“Mr Morningstar?”

At the mention of the name, Jessica glared at me. I gulped.

“What have I told you about formalities, darling?”

“Sorry, bad habit. What can I do for you?”

“The wife and I were wondering if you’d like to go dancing tonight.”

“T-tonight? But we just saw each other-” “Lilith and I have taken quite a liking to you, my dear. You’re such a sweetheart and we’d like to be with you again. You just radiate a beautiful energy. What do you say?”

“Oh, um, uh…I guess. Sure.”

“Great! We’ll pick you up at 7 o clock! See you then, dear!”

“See you then.”

I pulled the phone away and ended the call. Lily spoke first. “Well?”

“I guess I have another date tonight with the Morningstars.”

The girls erupted into screams of joy and surrounded me in a hug except for the prima ballerina. She gave me a heated glare, stomped her foot and stormed off. I gave the bouquet and phone back to Ricardo. “Could you put them in my locker please?”

“Of course!”

“Thanks, Ricardo.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He left the room and Maria tried to calm everybody down. “Girls. Girls! GIRLS!”

They stopped and stared at our instructor. “Let’s get to work. We don’t have much time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” we all responded.

The rest of the morning and afternoon was spent practicing. Around 3 pm, Maria let us go. When I went into the locker room, I stopped abruptly. All over the floor near my locker were flower petals and the destroyed bouquet. My hoodie lay on the bench as well as my backpack. I went over and picked both up only for my things to fall from the bag and my sweatshirt to have tears in the material. I looked at the bottom of my bag to see a large hole had been cut. Both were beyond repair. I sighed and threw both items in the trash. I had a feeling it was Jessica. I just couldn’t believe she was that angry at me when it wasn’t my fault the Morningstars called on me. Grabbing my stuff, I put it on a bench and then went to grab the broom and dustpan. Retrieving both from the supply closet, I returned to the locker room and cleaned up the flower petals and tore up card from the carpeted floor. I threw that and the plastic wrapped stems in the trash before returning the cleaning supplies to the closet. I walked back to the locker room, grabbed my stuff and made my way home.

When I got home I had taken a small nap and then got ready for the night. I chose a dark blue floral blouse, black pants, black boots and a denim jacket. Grabbing my keys, phone and purse, I headed down to the main street. The same Mercedes-Benz sat in front of my building and out stepped Luci from the car. “Over here, Y/n!”

I walked over and slid in, only to realize when he got in that I squished between the husband and wife. Oh boy.

“Derek, you may go.”

The car drove off. It was silent for a minute and I bit my lip when both Luci and Lilth’s hands came to rest on either one of my legs. “So my darling, did you enjoy our flowers? Lilith and I combined our efforts to come up with it.”

“Uh, I did. Before they got destroyed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had them put in my locker and when I got back from practice my hoodie, backpack and flowers were lying on the ground ruined.”

My eyes widened when I thought I saw horns come out of Luci’s head and his eyes go from red to white. I blinked and they were back to normal. “And who do you think did it?”

“Well…I can’t say.”

Lilith put a finger under my chin and made me face her. She brought her head so close our lips almost touched. “Love, you can tell us anything. We’re here for you. Was it that pesky Jessica? I knew we should have sent flowers so she didn’t feel left out but Luci was very determined not to.”

“She was soooo boring! All she did was talk about herself. At least our little apple was nice and polite.”

I felt him trace a pattern on my thigh but I couldn’t see as I was stuck staring at Lilith. “Luci…”

“It’s true! You can’t deny that, honey.”

“Alright, yes. She was a bore. But maybe our lovely’s bouquet would still be intact.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

“Anyway, was it Jessica?”

I could feel their eyes bore into me and I felt compelled to nod. They glanced at each other and then back to me. “Don’t worry love, we’ll get you as many flowers as you’d like.”

“Yes, but let’s focus on tonight. We’re going to dance the night away!”

My body tensed slightly when Luci put his head on my shoulder and I could feel his breath on my neck. “I-is hot in here or is it just me?”

They both chuckled rather loudly. “Oh dear. I think our little apple is heating up, Lilith.”

“Yes I think so, Luci. Perhaps we should aid her?”

“Yes. Yes we should.”

I gasped when I felt Mr Morningstar start to suck on my neck. I tried to pull away but Mrs Morningstar brought me into a kiss. My eyes widened and I attempted to hit either of them, but each of them had grabbed one hand and held it. I squirmed as they took their sweet time kissing me and just as I brought my legs up to kick them the car stopped. They pulled away with giant grins on their faces. The door opened and I clawed my way over top of Luci to get out. I figured he left a hickey so I did my best to raise my jacket collar to hide it. Just as I finished, I felt an arm wrap around my waist and the other around my shoulders. “Shall we go in, my love?”

I nodded and the two scooted me inside the club. It was very loud when we entered, the music making the walls and floor shake. The three of us sat in a private booth and Lilith went to go get us some drinks. I tried to put past how they had both kissed me, but I just couldn’t for the life of me. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to like it or not. Sure they were nice people but something about them unsettled me. “Whatcha thinking about, my dear?”

I looked up at Luci, his brow furrowed. “Huh? Oh nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing. You’re very quiet.”

“I guess…nevermind.”

“Come on, you can tell me. You can tell us anything.”

His hand reached across the table and it laid on my knee. It reminded me too much of their kiss so I slid it off. He seemed very surprised by my retaliation. I looked at the hardwood floor as I spoke. “I guess I wasn’t expecting you guys to kiss me. I thought we weren’t quite there yet.”

“Oh, is that what’s got you bothered? I’m sorry. My wife and I are very forward when it comes to love.”

“Love?”

“Yes, you heard me.”

“What are you two talking about?”

Lilith had returned with three drinks. She set them on the table and sat by her husband. “Y/n doesn’t think we love her.”

“It’s not that, I just think it’s too early. I mean we met yesterday for crying out loud.”

“Aw, but you’re so fascinating, my love! How could we not fall in love with you!”

“Look, I’m not ready to take it to the next step-”

“You will in due time, little apple. It’ll just take some getting used to.”

I felt like I wasn’t being heard and I just needed a minute to breathe. “I, I need to go to the bathroom.”

I abruptly stood and speed walked to the nearest restroom. Just as I was about to enter, I bumped into somebody. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“No please, it was me-Y/n?”

I looked up and felt my heart stop. Oh great, my ex. Just what I needed. “Hey.”

“Hey…how have you been?”

“Um, good I guess. Look, I was just heading to the bathroom-”

“Well now that I got you here we might as well talk.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Y/n, I know we got off on the wrong foot-”

“You left because you found someone else. That’s that. Now if you’ll excuse me-”

They grabbed me by the shoulders and I stiffened. “You always do this when I try to talk to you. You shut me down. I just want you to fucking listen.”

Their grip tightened and I wished I was more at the table with the Morningstars then here. “Let go!”

I shoved my ex away and ran out the front door. I took a sharp turn and leaned against the alley wall. I leaned my head against the brick and let out a sigh. I heard rushing footsteps and I internally groaned when I saw Ex-Partner’s Name round the corner. “There you are! What part of I want to talk to you do you not fucking understand?!”

“The message is clear, but I just don’t want to talk. When you left me, that finished the matter.”

“But I want you back! I made a mistake alright, but I realize that now! Come on, what do you say?”

“I’ve said no and I’ll say it again. NO!”

They growled and I saw a glint in the moonlight. My eyes widened when I realized it was a switchblade. They rushed at me and I quickly closed my eyes and curled inwards, waiting for pain. It never came. I opened my eyes to see Luci with completely red eyes and long red horns sticking out of his forehead. A floating apple and a golden snake wrapped around the top of his horns and a fireball hovered above his head. Lilith was beside him, her eyes completely white and reddish purple curled horns stuck out of her head. He grabbed my ex by the wrist, twisting the knife out of their hand. They screamed in pain and I gasped seeing the bone stick out. Oh my God…

I stepped back as Luci twisted harder and more bone came poking out of the skin. “Don’t even think about going near her! YOU UNDERSTAND ME, YOU LITTLE BITCH!”

I watched in horror as the knife levitated towards Lilith and she stabbed my ex in the shoulder. They howled and she brought the knife up and stabbed again. Their nails grew into claws and they started to dig into my assailant’s skin, blood rushing down from their wounds. I backed away and then sprinted out of there. My ex’s screams rang in my head as I continued to run. What the fuck? What the fuck?!

I suddenly slammed into a chest and shrieked when arms wrapped around me. I realized it was Luci, his eyes now white with a red background. Six red and white wings stuck out of his back and they slightly curled around us as I beat on his chest. “Let me go! LET ME GO!”

He nuzzled into my hair and I kept flailing around. Lilith magically appeared beside him, my ex’s body dragging on the ground behind her. “Shh. You’re safe now, little apple. We’ve got you.”

“Get the fuck away from me! Get! Away!”

“Lucifer, don’t hold her too tight now. We don’t want bruises on her precious skin.”

In my struggle I slowed. Lucifer Morningstar. Lilith Morningstar. Horns. Wings. Wait a minute…

“Are you the Devil and his wife,” I asked timidly.

The two looked at each and sighed. “I guess the duck is out of the bag, Lilith.”

They turned to look at me and I shrunk in his tight hold. “Yes, we’re the Devil and his wife.”

It all made sense now. The red and purple eyes. The pale complexion. The reason they were such mysterious patrons. Their daughter being down under.

I shoved Lucifer and he let go for a second before his bloody claws grasped hard on my arms. His talons dug into my skin as I struggled. “Let me go, please! I, I won’t tell anyone what happened here! We can just go about our lives! Just, just let me go!”

By now tears had started escaping my eyes and I quickly kicked Lucifer in the balls. His claws slid down and caused four gashes to appear on my forearm. He let out a groan and I turned to flee, only for him to fly in front of me. “Y/n! Stop!”

They cornered me to the wall and the brick dug harshly at my back. “Everything’s alright, my love. You’re alright.”

Lilith brought her hand up and I slapped it away. My chest was heaving to try and gain air into the lungs, but I couldn’t get any in. I mean how are you supposed to react when you find out that the patrons of your ballet academy who are in love with you are the Devil and his wife?

“Y/n, dear, breathe. Breathe.”

“I, I can’t! I c-can’t!”

I just broke down. I slid down the brick and wrapped my arms around my knees. I began to hyperventilate as tears rushed down my cheeks. I heard Lucifer and Lilith say something to each other but I couldn’t make it out. As I cried I felt something gently hit my head and arms. I looked up to see golden dust raining down upon me. I looked up even further to see it coming from Luci’s fingertips, a gentle smile on both his and Lilith’s faces. Suddenly I felt very tired and calm, too calm. I could feel my muscles go slack and my body limp as Lucifer picked me up bridal style. “Just close your eyes, lovely. We’ll be home before you know it.”

“H-home? W-whose home?”

They both looked at me and smiled brightly. My eyes closed and my breathing steadied.

“Ours.”

963 notes · View notes

femmeslash · 11 months ago

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the sinners visit a 24-hour convenience store

rodya was trying to unionize everyone in the pursuit of snacks and got pretty close (outis will NEVER acquiesce to such tomfoolery)

charon just pulls over anyway

she wants a slushie

verg isn't going to say no to charon

they're getting slushies.

fifteen people enter this convenience store all at once with the kind of dazed look you can only get upon seeing rows and rows of bright fluorescent lights and Products after being in a moving vehicle for 48 hours straight

faust just starts talking to the cashier, who is wholly unprepared to deal with [Insufferable, Chronic Lassitude]. she's just telling them information.

don quixote has never heard of an inside voice and she's not going to start now

BEHOLD, MINE COMRADES! I SHALL TAKE UPON THE CHALLENGE OF SAMPLING EACH FLAVOR OF SLUSH, AND REPORT MY FINDINGS!

she immediately gets brain freeze and is loud about that too

yi sang and hong lu are examining packaged snacks together

hong lu is reading off the ingredient labels and saying things like "oh, grandmother never allowed me to eat things that had artificial dyes in them!"

yi sang is just kinda there, concerned about hong lu's statements but too overwhelmed by the lights and colors to say anything of substance

ryoushuu is openly shoplifting

rodya gets her pile of snacks and then decides to bother gregor because she's bored again now

gregor is trying to buy cigarettes

greg babe look they got that delta 8 stuff! you wanna give it a try?

gregor is fully pretending he does not know her

he mouths "i'm sorry" to the cashier

outis is watching dante like a hawk

executive manager we must remain vigilant against threats to your person at all times, especially when the chance of an ambush against us seems low

dante has never been in a convenience store that they can remember...? but they're pretty sure outis is taking this a little too seriously

heathcliff is sizing up the hot food display

dunno what kind of madman would be too keen on eating these sad oily chips but scran's scran

he offers some to hong lu who has since wandered over

hong lu has never had chips/fries before and has no idea that you eat them with your hands

mistake.

it's a mess.

sinclair is waiting anxiously for his turn with the slushie machine as meursault methodically fills a huge cup with every single flavor they have

ishmael quickly got her preferred snacks and now is waiting passive-aggressively for everyone else to be done

the poor cashier has to come face to face with a fucking color fixer while this rodeo is occurring, because it's technically a company expense

vergilius saunters up to the counter to pay for all this crap, looking miserable and homicidal

charon got a cherry slush. red. same as verg. happy.

so it's not all bad.

it isn't until they've gotten back onto the bus and started driving that dante says <wait>

<where's yi sang?>

they find yi sang sitting in the parking lot, placidly eating a slushie of his own

the artificial watermelon flavor, cold and crisp underneath the moonlight... it has a certain charm.

ok grandpa let's get you to bed.

ryoushuu's haul includes three lighters, beef jerky, extra-strength headache medicine, root beer candy, and a large spider that was in the parking lot, which she is planning to release into faust's vicinity next time faust pisses her off

hong lu promptly gets sick from eating the disgusting fries.

#limbus company

639 notes · View notes

minkieater · 2 months ago

Text

tide | khj

pairing. rich!hj x f!reader genre. non idol au, toxic relationship, soulmates warnings. substances, consumption, mental health, sexual content minors dni PLS wc. 5.5k

♫ — the broken one, qm ft. jiung “when you said that you wish the two of us could die together, i just pat your head and say i know.”

the best way you’d ever described your relationship is adjacent to a children’s movie, and for that comparison you feel wrong, but nothing else comes close. when alice fell down that hole and her entire world flipped upside down, changing everything she once thought she knew, it was the epitome of years of your life spent with him. you being alice, hongjoong being… everyone else. the mad hatter, cheshire cat, the red queen, white queen, the jabberwocky, the rabbit, he was everyone, all the time, all at once. your life, the riddles, everything but nothing making sense at the same time. there was nothing else you could possibly compare it to, two emotionally adolescent humans in adult bodies.

neither of you had ever been angry people by nature. in fact, you had always been deemed quite the opposite. hongjoong, older and successful, a man consumed by his work but always made time for the people around him — he shows up for birthdays, impromptu get togethers, graduations, backyard parties… despite his ever growing workload, he always put in the effort to be there. and not just be present, either. he’s always been observant, even in the beginning, showing up when you least expected it. after the longest, hardest day, with flowers and your favorite food in tow, he’s always been a true partner.

you’re not much different. the parties hongjoong always shows up to typically had you behind the curtain. planning, decorating, even picking up the tab… you’re the epitome of loyalty. devotion, creativity, passion. you’d bettered him as a person, in his work, in his relationships, in his productivity. you love to help and you love to love, you surround yourself with people who give that back to you tenfold in a heartbeat.

in the beginning, you thrived. you worked together harmoniously, you were patient with each other, compassionate, so stupidly in love…

“would you marry me?” a starless night, on the rooftop of his ever luxurious loft. his hair is black, a cigarette between his lips, his sweet chocolate eyes the brightest light amongst the dark, empty air.

you knew you had never answered any question with such a quickness as you did that one. you don’t think you’d even muttered the word no to him in the six months you’ve been together.

he handed you the cigarette he knew you were craving, a habit you picked up from him and him alone. one habit you didn’t share before you’d met. his stare is intense, the gleam in his eyes is bold, it’s saying a million words yet not one leaves his rose colored lips. words you know, words you’ve said, words he hasn’t returned. but he does, he will, eventually.

“we’re forever then,” it could be a question but it feels more like a statement, an announcement of sorts, a promise that you could never break. you had no choice in the matter, not that you needed one, not that you could imagine a life without him after so little time of knowing him.

it made you smile through the burn in the back of your throat, a long exhale leaving your lips, gray smoke following suit. in went your solitude, out came the pact you made with him under the moonlight. like the smoke, it faded into thin air, never to be taken back.

“we became forever six months ago,” you handed the cigarette back to him, your fingers touching for a just a moment in passing. his smile reached his eyes, creases in his skin that you would run your fingers over in the dim light of his bedroom. every inch of him, burned to memory.

“we became forever the day you were born, doll. just took until six months ago to find me,” the tobacco was between his lips again, wrapped around the circular stick, always glossy. never chapped, never dry, always swollen and sultry. edible.

time went on, days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. you initially thought hongjoong didn’t have a bad side, eternally a happy and exemplary lover. to be fair, you didn’t think you had one either. there’s a saying for that, right? you bring out the worst in each other? but they’re traits that are embedded in you. when the stars aligned the day you were born, you were gifted them, wrapped in sparkling wine colored paper and you just didn’t get around to opening them until someone fought fire with fire.

you’d never yelled at a friend, let alone a lover, in your life. he’d never once been angry enough to remove himself from an entire room, have to excuse himself from the woman across from him because her voice took up too much space, smothered him in his own home. the one thing that kept you two linked, from the bedroom with the door locked to the couch all the way out in the living room, was how fucking obsessed with the other you were.

it was sick, the heaviest sensation the two of you shared. lust, love, adoration, codependency, everything came right under obsession if you could even rank your feelings. most days, everything just blended together, anyways. from the moment your eyes met, really met for the first time, it was cataclysmic, the soul you knew just by his gaze that you shared. the click that linked the two of you for life.

the air of the club was humid, wet and murky, too many people in too small of a space. you were at a sponsored event for work, dressed too classy for the place you were at, all the bodies around you covered in way less fabric. you were one track minded when it came to work — always looking upward, fighting to climb endless ranks, you could never rest. never break concentration.

until the biggest distraction stared at you three people down, stood around the curve of the bar while you waited on your cocktail. he moved with a fluidity similar to water, a wave, an ocean as he waltzed into your space. behind you, he slipped his card down over your shoulder onto your tab before you could even reach for the cash in your purse.

“nice play,” you glanced over your shoulder, greeted with teeth as white as snow, glistening hues of pink and blue from the dance floor cascading over the impressive structure of his face, “thank you.”

“a pretty drink for a pretty girl,” you glance down at the red cherries sitting in your cocktail, a mixture of yellow and orange sitting in your glass, mimicking a sunrise swirling around the cubes of ice.

a laugh escaped you, “i’d rate that pick up line a 7, i suppose.”

he answers with a shrug, “anything above a 5 is a win for me. hongjoong,” his hand reaches out to shake yours and you’re taken aback, almost shocked at the gesture of a simple handshake around the bar at a more than busy nightclub. it told you more than it should, coming up on years of business under your belt, it seemed more like a proposition than an introduction.

in that moment you saw him, you saw through him, you saw deep down inside and you couldn’t crawl your way out if you scratched and clawed your nails down to stubs. he was like you, apart of your world, higher up, even. he came from class, he came from money, he came from importance. he’s handsome, he’s gorgeous, and jesus christ he’s going to ruin your fucking life if you let him. you’d let him do anything.

your work event was long forgotten the second the two of you made eye contact, your attendance was the only thing mandatory, anyhow. a night of freedom, letting go of subjugation from your company as you spent ages with your back pressed to his front, bodies moving as one to the beat of whatever song played through the speakers. one melody after another, you don’t know how many songs have passed before you've faced him, hands around his neck, one of his legs between yours.

“you’re beautiful,” he says, noses nearly touching, wanting to curse the millimeter standing between himself and the rest of his life. a moment of pressure from you stood over his knee and he decided he’d never needed something so bad, his stomach growling with a hunger he was saving for a single taste of you.

“yeah?” your smile turned mischievous, a dangerous game you were playing, he’d strip you down in front of the entire club, fuck you in front of every man in the building. that’s if he could live with himself letting anyone besides him see you like that, which he couldn’t, of course. your outfit left too much to the imagination, tight dress pants and a white top that clung to every inch of you. he needed to know what was underneath. he could imagine, picture you beneath the cotton, he could almost feel the soft plush of your thighs on his fingertips.

“prove it,” was all you said and it sold him of the only thing he had left. his pride, the thing he savored, he’d usually let anyone else take the reins with him, want him first, so he could drop them without a second thought. you wanted me, i never wanted you. always the predator, never the prey, even under the gaze of his evermore.

anyone that came before you, the several exes, plethora of playthings, he’d easily forget them, leave them all behind for a night with you. he wouldn’t settle for just a night with you, he won’t take anything less than eternity. your thin, tiny square lenses sitting low on your nose, your hair messily wrapped up on top of your head, lipstick still perfectly applied on your lips, the way you were so meticulously put together… it was a primal urge, the need to ruin it, ruin you, keep you forever, just for himself.

you weren’t doing far off, core aching for a kiss, a touch, anything to take the edge off. something about sharing a soul meant you could see his and it stood tall and red and rippled in the wind and screamed at you to let him make the first move. he needed to lay his cards on the table, make his blood stained soul turn white, let him give himself to you before you gave yourself to him. you listened, as much as it wounded you, his glossy lips begging you to close the distance, to taste him, to hurry up and move on with eternity because time waits for no one.

you could see his internal battle, there were several going on in the mere moment that lasted for hours. the battle of your beings, still separated not yet merged, yet still transparent for the other to see. the battle of him with himself, his pride, his masculinity, this routine he’s been performing for the past six years. your battle with him, begging him to give into you, to show you what he’s made of, to show you what color he bleeds. your battle with yourself, your self control to listen to whatever is telling you to let him give in first. you knew he would, he knew he would, it was a waiting game.

once he said fuck it and he raised his white flag, his soul changed color as his lips tasted yours. one kiss in the middle of a crowded dance floor, overflowed enough that other people’s sweat was mixing with your own, music pumping through your veins, the world had shifted. tectonic plates couldn’t compare, couldn’t move you the way hongjoong did in that very moment.

this combining, this merging, this tasting of his soul, the atoms that make up his very being, you consumed it all entirely. the good, the bad, the complicated, the opulent, the rough, the agonizing, you could feel all of it in him. you needed more.

it wasn’t always like that, wasn’t always intoxicating, blinding, all consuming. the obsession was beautiful, addicting, similar to the box of tobacco you now kept in your back pocket. it translated to tenderness, intimacy, warmth, it was one of a kind. one that sparked jealousy from others, one that closed its doors on anyone who dared to peer inside. it was personal, only to be enjoyed by the two of you, never shared. no one on this fucking earth could understand you the way hongjoong could, no one could read your mind, fix what needed to be fixed before it was even broken in the first place. he was a lifeline, a savior, a backbone for you. and you were all the same to him.

he’d never thought he could love anything the way he loves you. his music, his art, his life, he’d throw everything away if that meant one more second spent with you. you were water to him the way he was air to you, the sun to him the way he was the moon to you. in every single lifetime you know hongjoong has been your missing link, two fucked up pieces that finally finished the puzzle. when put together, everything made sense. you were complete.

“mm, maybe a half an hour longer?” his smile is sheepish, almost embarrassed to say the same answer he’d given you thirty minutes prior.

a knowing smile grows on your face, how could you be mad at him? your hard working boyfriend, forever sitting behind a screen, making deadlines meet. when he said half an hour, he meant two hours. when he said twenty minutes, he meant an hour. his language is exclusive to only him, it takes someone who really knows him, really understands him for his dialect to be construed.

you went to bed, surrounded by white walls with monochromatic paintings that didn’t have any real meaning. the room was big, too big to be comforting. too empty to be lived in, especially without him beside you. it’s how the whole loft felt: picturesque, a movie set, a bed, bathroom and kitchen without being a home. you could have a photoshoot here anytime with the natural light pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, but could you raise a family? could you settle here, in this city?

you kept your eyes closed, searching for sleep that didn’t want to be found. pulling the comforter over you, you nuzzled in, cocooned yourself into the mongolian cashmere that threatened you with its heat.

“going to sleep this early? that’s no fun,” you heard his voice before the patter of his familiar footsteps, a rhythm you’d memorized months ago. he climbs into the california king, searching for you, finding you, kissing you. “what’s got you wrapped up like this? missed me?”

you nodded, bottom lip jutting out, feeling so small even with him here, this huge bed engulfing you. you needed his heat, his touch, his skin on yours, you wanted comfort.

“my girl,” he cooed, fingers running through your hair, messily sprawled across the silk pillowcase, “i missed you too.”

kisses that were peppered along your jaw turned heated before you could notice his mood had changed. as his tongue licked up the base of your neck you whined, pressing yourself into him, mindlessly begging for more.

“needy girl,” he teased as he pulled the blankets off of you, mongolian cashmere be damned. you wore one of his shirts, oversized enough to be a dress. he pushed it up past your stomach, pleasantly surprised with the lack of anything underneath.

“ah, my needy girl is clever, hm? planned this, did you?” his smirk stretched across his face, eyes deepening to the richest, darkest brown, reflecting the ecuadorian chocolates he bought you months ago, a gift on a random thursday.

“and what if i did?” you’d been pleading for him to come to bed for ages, begging him to fill more space in this empty room. you’d been prepared to try anything, stopped only by his mask of concentration.

“then you’re in luck,” before you knew it he’d already slipped inside you, your back arching against the texture of the percale sheets beneath you. he’d wrecked you, as he did every time, swapping spit and cum and secrets, exposing skin and feelings and truths.

every time the sex was this sweet, this melodious, he’d tell you exactly how he felt about you. he’d make you feel it.

“fuck, i fucking love you,” he was buried to the hilt, holding your face between two cold hands, “could die right here inside you a happy man.”

you couldn’t do anything but moan, clenching around him, your coming answer enough.

“want me to fill you up?” he’d asked, thrusts turning rougher, more sporadic, the finish line nearing, “yeah? give you my kids? make you a mommy?”

you locked your ankles behind his back, this wasn’t the first time you’d done this. an iud sat inside you, still working perfectly fine, his proposal wouldn’t come to fruition with you like this. you still nod, whimpers leaving your throat, low babbles of begs for him to fill you.

he always did, always carried you to the bath after, always washed your hair, your body, maybe filled you up once more if you felt like it.

“do you want to stay here? in this city?” the bath had run lukewarm at this point, but you didn’t want to separate, didn’t want to spend a moment not pressed against one another.

“for now, i think so, why?” his hand was traveling up and down your arm that hung outside the tub, your head laid against his chest.

“when we have kids… i don’t know about raising them here,” your voice was small, unsure of where his mind would go with your sudden revelation.

“we have a long way to go before then,” he chuckled, kissing the top of your head. you stayed quiet, fingertips inaudibly tapping the side of the tub.

“this been bothering you?” his other hand moves to grip your jaw, a light touch to twist your head, making you look up at him.

“i wouldn’t say it’s bothering me, but anything can happen, i was just thinking about it,” even the bathroom is too big, too lifeless to be a home. marble tile, his and hers vanities, a detached, massive shower, a bidet on the toilet. you couldn’t picture smaller you’s running around in here.

“we’re already playing with fire, i guess,” he leans his head back on the tub, “where do you dream of going? if i could build a house from the ground up for you, where? what would it look like?”

like a scene from the notebook, your heart twisted, bursting at the seams with the unbelievable amount of what you felt for him. so you told him, a rancher, a farm, somewhere quiet and peaceful. a house that felt lived in, one appropriate to raise a family, one that wasn’t perfectly dusted and organized all the time. picture frames littering shelves, toys randomly left across the house, clothes on the floor of the bedroom. you wanted normalcy, you wanted warmth, you wanted a family.

he wanted nothing more than to give you that. within two weeks he’d been in contact with several realtors, purchasing land on the countryside, finding the perfect plot for you two to raise your little family. he’d pictured you in a pair of boots, a tee shirt, an old, big pair of overalls. your stomach swollen, hair messily wrapped up, walking in the barn, feeding the chickens. his heart warmed, and his dick so quickly rose again, twitching behind your back.

how a love so beautiful, so unique could get so fucked up, you couldn’t understand, not even three years later. you didn’t want to understand, though, and neither did he. you don’t care, neither of you do, because the only thing that matters is that he is still near you. close to you. breathing your air, touching your skin, whispering the most vile shit into your ear, he is here. you needed him closer, needed him so close that you merged into one. it’s never enough, it’ll never be enough, more of him, always more of him, always more of you.

he felt the same way. your breath on his skin, your saliva drying on his neck, he wanted more. he wanted it messier, he wanted it sloppier. he wanted it to never end. but the two of you will never end because you’re meant for each other, right? there’s no one else on this planet for him, billions of people and he’s found his other half already. she’s under him, she’s breathing, she’s screaming, she’s beautiful. he’s so lucky.

which is why it makes sense to no one that they don’t see either of you anymore. usually one of you, here and there, never together. never holding hands, never smiling at each other, never touching the other one’s hair, never fixing the other one a plate. never together, but yet rarely apart. as far as everyone knows, you’re still together, they think? you are, you tell them that you are, hongjoong tells them that you are, but poor yeosang can’t understand why he doesn’t see his friends anymore. he misses their smiles, their laughs, their humor, their parties, their love. you miss it too, sometimes.

the truth is, your shared codependency turned into some warped fucking version of destruction where neither of you can stand to see other next to someone else. at clubs, at bars, at those backyard parties with your friends, god forbid you get too close to san. you swear to that same god if hongjoong spoke three more words to mina he’d be sleeping on the couch for weeks. everyone noticed, everyone could pick up on it easily. the side eye, outright glares across the room, hongjoong’s hand around your wrist like a pair of handcuffs. you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed at your friend’s glances, their eyebrows furrowing in confusion, their questions that sat heavy in thin air without ever being spoken. you were too worried about what hongjoong was thinking. how angry he’d be, what it’d be like when you got home, if he’d even say a word to you the rest of the night. hongjoong was already cooking up his testimony, ready to tell you to stop being fucking insane and our friends are just friends, yet the double standard was always there. you’d use the same arguments against each other, have the same rebuttals. it got you nowhere, there was no resolution, there was just his california king and percale sheets. the cashmere blanket that laid over every argument, tucking it away tightly until the next time you unveiled it.

as much as your love fucked you up, made your brain not fucking work correctly, you couldn’t bear to think of a day where you’d be apart. couldn’t imagine your future not spent in that rancher on the countryside, children and chickens running amok.

when he told you his job was relocating him to the states, yet another huge city, you couldn’t breathe. for a full minute you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t answer him, you couldn’t function. your lifeline, your savior, your water, your moon, leaving you.

“i’ll start looking for a place for us,” he said so casually, too casually, scrolling on his phone, not even looking at you. the breath was sucked from your lungs, you wouldn’t be surprised if your face was blue.

“no, i won’t go,” you murmured out, clearly, unlike the stumbling of words in your mind, hot tears in your eyes and strain on your voice. you sat up in the california king, goosebumps raising on your bare body in the too cold bedroom.

“huh?” he finally tore his eyes from the screen, “what do you mean no?”

“i won’t fucking go, joong! you’re asking me to pick up my life and move to another country for your stupid job?” anger flushed through your veins, your voice raised, fire in your eyes. you turned to him in the bed, not even bothering to cover yourself with the sheets.

“my stupid job? my stupid job that pays for this place? pays the bills?” he sat up too quickly, his eyes were wide and oh boy was he angry, you hit a nerve there.

“i can pay the bills just as easily as you and you know that, hongjoong,” you bark back, tears close to boiling as they stream down your face, “i can’t leave my life. my career, my stability, my future, what the fuck did you think i was going to say? huh? yeah sure! let’s move out of the country! are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“your future? what the fuck am i then? just a placeholder for now?” he’s laughing with wide eyes and oh fuck it’s maniacal, ring covered fingers tugging at his white blonde roots. “i fucking knew it. you never planned a real future with me then, did you? all that talk about getting married, having kids, all of it just a fucking lie? a sick little joke to keep me with you, paying the rent? funding your little shopping sprees?”

“fuck you, hongjoong, you fucking know that’s not true,” you’re sobbing now, his words hitting their mark. you stood up and walked out to the living room, pulling the white, soft blanket with you.

your dream, your future, your life, crumbling around you. hongjoong was air to you, your moon, controlling the tide that pushed and pulled you closer or farther away from one another.

you’d never been dependent on anyone before him, never needed a moon to your sun, you shone brightly all by yourself at all times. even now, with him, you could easily survive without him. financially, at least. even in this big, lifeless loft you could support yourself, you were just as successful as he was, after all. but emotionally? actually living a life that he wasn’t involved in? you don’t think you’d survive it.

you could leave here, move with him, restart your life somewhere else. you wanted to do that, but in the countryside, this situation is completely different. this isn’t a choice. this is someone else making a decision and everyone expecting you to follow suit. what about what you needed? what about your job, that you adore? spent years climbing to where you are, you now have an entire team working under you. what about that team? your coworkers? your family, living close by? your friends, oh god your friends, ones you haven’t seen in an embarrassing amount of time… only months past twenty six, you could technically restart if you needed to. you just don’t want to. you needed hongjoong to not want to, either.

a moment barely passed before he’s beside you on the couch, tears pouring down your cheeks, face buried in the crook of his neck. he’s rubbing your back, kissing your head, whispering sweet nothings that’d always calm you when you broke down like this. he knows how to fix you, always stitching back together what he tore apart.

two months later, and you didn’t end up on that plane beside him. he had you really convinced, though, in the same way you convinced yourself: you’d leave your job, find one similar to yours in LA, climb the ranks, and be as successful as you are here, but there. you’d be just as devoted, passionate, happy.

ultimately, he thought he knew best, like he always does. he thinks he knows you better than you know yourself, sometimes. he knows you love your job, love your team, your coworkers, you love your position. you spent ages crawling your way up there. you love your friends, your family, you couldn’t leave them behind and still be happy. you’re a loyal woman in every aspect of your life, with your lover, your friends, your career. every small string is attached to what makes you, you. he knows you’d never be as happy as you are in this city, but he also knows you’d never let him go without you. so he left without a goodbye, without a parting gift, a farewell kiss, a last departing whisper of an i love you.

he left you alone, broken, empty.

a shell of who you once were.

what he didn’t take into consideration is that you love him more than anything, anyone. you were inconsolable. your friends didn’t know what to do with you. they wondered why you weren’t at hongjoong’s going away party, why they haven’t heard from you, they didn’t know everything he did was in secret. how word didn’t get passed around to you, you didn’t know, you were still furious about it. they didn’t know how to help you, they couldn’t even start to make sense of why your boyfriend of years would leave you without a second word. neither could you. they couldn’t wrap their minds around how you didn’t know he was leaving. neither could you.

that one long day you spent at work, coming home to a cold, massive, empty fucking apartment. not a trace of him, not one small sign that he ever lived there in the first place. he took all his clothes with him, all of his equipment for work, even his little trinkets… all gone. disappeared into thin air. how could you not fucking know?

you took almost a week off from work. something you rarely did, you felt like you couldn’t catch up, couldn’t manage your insanely busy schedule if you did take some personal time. but this was different. it wasn’t a week spent relaxing somewhere warm, it wasn’t a vacation, it wasn’t happy at all. you thought you felt your world crumble around you when he first broke the news, this was the real thing. this was the past three years of your life that had been devoted to one singe person, the person that mattered most, the person that you’d cross oceans and go to war for and he plucked himself directly from your life.

mina, yuna, yeosang, mingi… they were at your apartment around the fucking clock. they didn’t leave you alone, it was suffocating. you hadn’t left your bed for days, you weren’t eating, you weren’t drinking, you were too busy staring at the space above your dresser where a picture of the two of you once lived.

he didn’t call. in the year you spent apart, while you built yourself again piece by piece, rewiring your very brain chemistry, he didn’t call you. he blocked your number, blocked your social medias, blocked your family. you went through every outlet at first, every friend you shared, trying again and again, begging for just a conversation with him. never once did you get through, never once did you hear how he was, how the states are different from here, how he’s been eating, who he’s been with… god, who has he been with? he’s yours, no one else’s.

you lost weight, you lost sleep, you lost your drive, you lost yourself, fifty percent of you. your soul was somewhere so far you couldn’t feel it, couldn’t access it, in an entirely different fucking country, tens of thousands of miles away from you. bottles of liquor now sat in your pantry, cartons of cigarettes sprawled across the kitchen table, every hour of your free time spent in solitude, months upon months of you driving yourself mad.

you thought your bedroom felt empty before, unwelcoming, frigid, dispiriting, you couldn’t imagine being there without him, yet now you couldn’t bring yourself to go elsewhere. you took it for granted, having him here, you felt guilty for even thinking that you’d be happier somewhere else when you had the only thing you’ve ever needed in your possession.

but a year later, he stood on your doorstep, a doorstep you once shared. a doorstep that has seen you pressed up against the frame with his hand inside your skirt, a doorstep that’s listened to your meaningless arguments on your way home from an event, a doorstep that’s watched as you bid visitors goodbye. he’s there, he’s breathing, he’s living, he’s close to you. not close enough.

the earth had turned gray, the sunniest of days couldn’t make the city look saturated in the year you spent apart. all the usual too loud noise had turned to whispers, all the business couldn’t inflict an ounce of motivation in you. within seconds of seeing his face everything was colorful, the city had sound again, it was if someone flicked a switch sewn into your back.

“you’re a real piece of shit,” you bark out, opting to shut the door in his face. his foot slides between the door and the frame, his hand lurching forward to hold it open.

“i’m here,” is all he says, and you pause, looking up to him. he is here, and he’s real, and you can’t stop the tears from forming.

hi friends! first post of my work on here <3 i have not posted any of my writing since i was probably 16... pls be nice to me

massive shoutout to @chimivx, thank you for getting me back into it and giving me the courage to post :,) love u forever

anyways i love hongjoong hope u enjoyed xoxo

love, t ｡ ★ • *

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 1 year ago

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Patience is the Virtue of a Lady

Summary: As Daemon's wife, you are left humiliated by your errant husband. As the product of an annulled marriage, you are seen as barren and tainted, left to befriend Queen Alicent, gaining the reputation of an unsalvageable woman over the years.

But, the heart wants what it wants, and you have had your eyes on unattainable Ser Criston for years.

Notes: anon’s mind is imploding with the amount of genius in it. thank you for requesting, i was on my knees for this idea

Warnings: smut, religious undertones, afab!reader, daemon is an ass, criston is an ass, reader is genuinely not having a great time (at first ahaha), religious/vow-related guilt, slight size kink?

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @a-beaverhausen @ilikeitbetterangsty @levithestripper (adding you tentatively, jack, hmu to be added to any!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN! (and i'm back to writing!!)

Daemon never cared to hide his straying looks, and you knew of his habits. Whoring, drinking, murdering – and yet, you were lucky for having married a Targaryen Prince. You kept your mouth shut, knowing that you would, otherwise, end like your predecessor, Rhea Royce.

Why Viserys had insisted Daemon marry against his will again, you’d never understand.

You kept your mouth shut, through whores, paramours and treason. You played your part, as everyone did in the court. And when your eyes strayed, they did so secretly and carefully. You chose to stare at someone you could not attain anyway.

A kingsguard was your safest bet at something that would never happen anyway. You seethed against the humiliation of your husband and sought your own distraction. Even when Daemon stared hungrily at Rhaenyra, a girl, you said naught.

Targaryen tradition – you did not know if you could argue with that. But Rhaenyra was barely fifteen. She was beautiful, yes, but even now, the fact that your husband would prefer a girl over you stung.

In the early days of your marriage, you had gone to the sept every day, beseeching the Mother to give you a child, even if your husband refused to touch you beyond a drunken wedding night, in which he had failed to even come close to producing a child. Now, you were glad for your childless state, even if the court whispered that you were barren.

So when Daemon left your shared chambers, which were an order of the king, you bade him goodnight and turned back to your reading. Still, you stared from your balcony out at the small spot outside the Red Keep he always appeared in after a while.

A secret entrance only Daemon knew how to use. You held your breath when a small figure appeared first, silver hair glinting in the moonlight.

Rhaenyra.

A few moments later, Daemon appeared, and they disappeared into the city.

The rumors in the days to come were enough for you to draw your own conclusions, but to your surprise, Ser Criston was soon included in them, which stung more than anything. You’d deemed him safe to keep as your own in secret, and yet, Rhaenyra had not only taken your husband from you, but also him.

It hurt more than the annulment of your marriage that Daemon brought forth. You only nodded through the process, letting the Septon say what he wanted, and Daemon tell as many lies as he needed.

And so, your name was yours again and all you were in court was the former wife of Prince Daemon. Your family seethed, ready to remove you from court until Queen Alicent asked you to become her lady-in-waiting, and you were once again stuck in a court of lies.

Ser Criston grew bitter over Rhaenyra, but instead of becoming your friend, he began to worship Queen Alicent. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t love, but something queer in between.

In his own twisted way, he once again wanted anyone but you, and it stung when it shouldn’t have. Weren’t you supposed to be past this?

And yet, you tortured yourself, watching as he raised Alicent’s children as his own and continued to barely spare you a glance. The court grew disinterested in you, and you continued to lead a life as quiet as before, turning into a lonely spinster with the years.

Only now, you turned to the Father in the Sept, begging for purpose. For anything to happen in your life that might make it worth something.

And then, Lady Laena died. Beautiful, magical, mysterious Lady Laena, who you’d never known and yet loved for ridding you of your husband was dead.

You attended the funeral, even prayed for her, hoping that she would find peace – a thing you thought highly unlikely for a wife of Daemon. You watched as Daemon once again practically drooled over Rhaenyra, and watched as she did the same. Alicent saw it, too.

“It appears as if some things do not change.” Alicent commented dryly. It was treason, what she said, but her nerves had been frayed for the past few weeks, and she knew you would not speak ill of her to the king. You wouldn’t have made a difference to frail King Viserys anyway.

“No, my queen.” You sighed. “But it is not me he is humiliating this time.”

“That did not make you deserve it.” Alicent replied, ever gracious. She slipped her arm into yours, as if you were still the young, disappointed women you had once been and led you away from the balcony. Ser Criston followed dutifully, and for some reason, it felt as if his eyes were burning into your back.

Rhaenyra and Daemon disappeared together, and everyone in their presence trained their eyes to the ground, pretending not to see. Your hand curled into a fist instinctually, feeling old anger and disappointment bubble back up in you.

Perhaps, if you had been bolder, you could have reigned Daemon in. You could have been queen consort, and saved Alicent all her pain. They were silly thoughts, and yet, they made you leave the room, and make for your chambers.

You almost screamed when you saw a dark figure sitting in them, back turned to you, until you recognized dark curls and white armour.

“I almost thought Daemon had finally sent someone after me.” You mumbled, half to yourself. Criston turned, looking right through you.

“Ser Criston?” You asked carefully. He’d grown older, as all of you had, but his beauty remained to him. Criston stayed silent, still staring.

“Criston?” You tried again, calling him by his first name this time, and slowly, he seemed to see you standing across from him.

“She could have had me, and freedom. She chose this prison, you know?” Criston told you. For a moment, your felt confused, before you realised that he was speaking of Rhaenyra, still heartbroken. Of course.

“What are you doing in my chambers, ser?” You asked. Ser Criston laughed dryly.

“You never deserved what he did to you. Prince Daemon dishonored you.” Ser Criston continued, not answering your question. “A lady so beautiful any a man would have been grateful to have you as their wife, and yet, he threw you away for nothing at all.”

Nothing. He had called beautiful Laena, wild Rhaenyra nothing at all. What treason, and how your heart loved to hear it.

You swallowed down your bitterness, ignoring the fluttering feeling in your stomach as Ser Criston called you beautiful. Yet, you kept your guard up. This place was only an extension of King’s Landing, reeking of corruption just as much. For a moment, you considered whether, mayhaps, this was some kind of ploy.

Ser Criston stood so suddenly you took a step back instinctively. He passed you, and you thought that he was going to leave, tired of your company. Instead, he closed the door in front of him. The lock clicked into place, a cacophony of sound in the silence that hung over the room. You held your breath, praying to the gods that nothing would happen to you.

He began to close the distance between you, and you began to back up, until your knees hit the bed, and you fell backwards. Criston was still walking, still closing in on you like prey, and you felt yourself scramble backwards. The headboard stopped your attempt to flee, forcing you to look at Ser Criston.

He stood at the end of the bed, his hand on his sword. Could you make a run for it? Where was there to run?

His swordbelt unravelled, and the weapon hit the ground with a quiet thud. Criston only waited, staring at you expectantly. What did he want?

Slowly, you felt yourself freeze out of place, dragging yourself across the bed towards the end of it, where he stood solemnly. Carefully, you reached up, putting a hand on his shoulder. You heard him inhale shakily.

“Ser Criston, are you alright?” You asked. A pause, then, a shaky breath and a shrug that turned into a shake of his head. “Ser?”

“I’m sorry.” Criston said finally. Carefully, his hand took yours. You stared down, looking at the dark grey glove that covered his hand, starkly contrasting the white of the rest of his uniform. The leather felt soft against your hand, and it was that you tried to focus on, not the fact that you were holding the man’s hand in yours.

“What for?” You asked, smiling up at him nervously. You hated the position you were in, the vulnerability of it. Your neck was craned to look up at him, and you were practically kneeling on the bed. If anyone found you like this, they would accuse you of unthinkable things… Alicent would never forgive you.

“For not defending you. For what I am to do.” Criston said. “Both tarnish my knighthood, my white cloak… tarnishing you.”

You opened your mouth to speak. “What you are about to…”

As Ser Criston pulled off his gloves, cupping your face with his left hand, you trailed off. You could hear your heart beating in your chest. You wanted to pinch yourself. Surely, you were dreaming. This was not real.

Yet, even if it was, you did not care to move away from him. Instead, his lips found yours, soft and gentle in their own way. You felt yourself reciprocate, though you knew that you should not. You should not be doing this, betraying Alicent in this way and yet…

He sighed into the kiss, and the thought disappeared in the fuzz of your mind. You were unable to think, almost unable to breathe. Gods, how long you had waited for this moment. Weeks, months, years.

“Do not give in.” Criston begged. You paused, breaking the kiss to look at him, but no words left your mouth. He repeated his own once, before something shifted in his eyes. This time, he kissed you less softly, and more so like in the bawdy tales your sister had told you. And you found yourself reeling, your hands against his chestplate to steady yourself.

Even as his hands slip under your dress and travel up your thighs, he begged. “Please, stop me.” He whispered. You shook your head in saccharine betrayal and Criston rested his on your shoulder for a moment. His hands left your thighs, leaving the skin hot and burning, and snaked up your neck, cradling your head. They were big, encompassing your skull and somehow, that made your breath hitch.

Hands that were made to kill, and yet, he was holding you so gently, as if you were fragile. A sudden boldness made you speak.

“Do you want me?” you asked. He lifted his head, nodded almost frantically and you made your choice.

Had the distance between you two really been that dramatically large? It felt as if there was no world around you, only your lips on his, his hands touching, holding as your husband should have held you. As you should have held your children.

Oh how you had longed for years, had none of it, and watched as others had been destroyed, by husbands, by children… yet it still felt so deeply unfair that you could not bring yourself to feel guilty for this little thing. Just this once.

You let Criston kiss you, worship you with his hands as he took his time, carefully unlacing your dress, letting the fabric pool around you. Still, you sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. He loomed in his armor, dwarfed you from this perspective.

When you were finally in your shift, you could not help shivering. Criston looked at you with worry in his eyes, before he slipped away, stoking the fire in the furnace. The heat did not match the feeling his hands left on your skin.

He stood before the fireplace, his silhouette illuminated as he took off his armor. The chestplate, the padding, all those parts that shielded him when he did his duties were discarded carelessly on the floor, a stark contrast to his eyes, trained to the ground.

The shadows that flickered through the room, created by candles and fire illuminate the muscles of his back as his dressshirt joined his armor on the ground. You could feel yourself biting your lips to keep yourself from making unladylike sounds.

When Criston returned to the bed, you expected him to push you into the bed, to climb atop you and do what Daemon could not. Instead, he fell to his knees before you at the end of the bed. Confused, you stared down at him.

“What are you doing?” you asked him. He did not answer, his eyes dark as he stared up at you, filled with things you would never tell your septon about. His hands pushed up the seams of your shift until it bunched at your hips.

Suddenly, you felt exposed, and your legs crossed automatically. You sat up straight, as you had been taught, until Criston’s hand returned to your knee, patient, waiting. You understood. Slowly, you uncrossed your legs again.

You still felt exposed as Criston began to place kisses on your knee, even more so when his mouth wandered upwards, towards your thighs. He had kissed your mouth, had barely kissed your neck and now he looked like he wanted to devour your thighs.

Criston took his time sucking marks into the flesh of your thighs, marking it as his, you suddenly realized. And how you loved to be loved.

His mouth moved upwards with a pace that was so slow it almost became painful. You felt a moan escape you, covering your mouth immediately. Criston, looking up again, shook his head. You felt confused – wanton sounds, those were condemned by the church. They could not possibly be what he, such a devout man, would want to hear?

Only, Criston wasn’t that devout after all, was he?

And when his lips touched your cunt in devout prayer, you answered in such currency. Eagerly, his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, flicking the nub at the top with impatient insistence until you felt your back weaken. You let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress with a girlish ease you had not felt in years, but suddenly it was there, and you were floating…

How had the septons dared to tell you all this was sin? How could that be true? How could it be when-

Criston never ceased his movements when you grew louder, trying to contain your sounds to the confines of your chambers. A knot was beginning to tie itself in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter until you were begging Criston for something – you didn’t know what it was, except that he knew, that he would give it to you.

And then, suddenly, the knot was gone, and something else took its place. You weren’t sure if this was something you had ever felt before because it was all-consuming, washing over you like a golden wave and pulling you under. The tension, the pressure, all of it was gone, replaced by white-hot pleasure and your eyes rolled backwards, your back arching off the bed towards Criston.

Coming down from you high, you felt Criston slowly removing your shift, continuing his worship on your stomach and your chest, sucking and biting skin until he felt you squirm beneath him. It was then that he looked at you, smirking, but you could see that his eyes were full of something no one had ever looked at you with.

Not desire, nor lust, for you had seen those in men who eyed you greedily during banquets. It was not the empty, sad stare King Viserys gave Alicent. No, it was the glances Ser Harwin had thrown at Rhaenyra before her death. The look of adoration Queen Aemma had held for King Viserys all those years ago…

You had no need to say the word, for you knew, and it made your head spin. Could it be?

His hands pulled your shift over your head, until you were bare for him. He was still wearing breeches, but you could see the strain beneath them. Filled with sudden confidence, you pulled him towards you, kissing Ser Criston and wrapping your legs around his waist in a desperation to have him close to you.

Your hands fumbled at the laces of his breeches clumsily, until he gently removed them, doing the work himself. You could see Criston’s cock, half-concealed by the shadows between you and the dark, and yet, you knew it was bigger than Daemon’s. The thought of it made you afraid and your face heat up at the same time.

His hand moved languidly while he leaned down to kiss you. When his hips bucked into his hand, you heard yourself beg him for it, and that seemed to change something in him. Suddenly, Criston seemed hungry.

You could feel him between your legs, and then, you weren’t all that confident anymore. But Ser Criston held you close, whispering reassurances and praise until you could feel him enter you. There was a small stretch, a small feeling of discomfort, and Ser Criston halted his movements for a bit.

When you nodded, he began to move, his body rocking into you. He seemed to know what he was doing when he rolled his hips, stimulating that spot inside of you you had no idea existed in the first place.

The first time he hit it, you felt the air knocked out of you from pleasure. And then, the feeling became a rapid addiction. Your hands dragged his chest to yours, your legs wrapping around his waist again in an attempt to urge him to move faster, harder, to make you feel good.

Ser Criston, the perfect white knight, obliged. He snapped his hips against yours, angling them upwards and giving you something that you had not thought would work that way, feel that way.

“Please, Criston.” You gasped.

“Please what? What do you need, my lady?” Criston replied, his words coming in short intervals. He was just as gone as you, you realized, and that only added to your own high.

“Oh Gods,” you began. “Criston, I don’t know, I- please, please,…”

He rested his head in the crook of your neck again, but this time, his teeth found your shoulder, biting down gently at first. The pain was good. It added an edge you had no idea you needed, brought you back down into a realm where you could form some coherent thought.

The knot you had felt before, the tension that had turned into a coil in your stomach returned with a sudden fervency. This time, the feeling was there more quickly, more intense and it was almost too much. At the same time, you felt as if you would die if it stopped.

Criston seemed to feel it, and only later would you realise that your cunt was clenching around him so tightly that he was having difficulty not to moan as loudly as you. But Criston continued, and he pushed you over the edge, leaving you reeling in pleasure as his hand clapped over your mouth to muffle a scream.

He followed soon after, only that he refused to spend his seed inside you, instead painting your stomach with it. You know why he did it, and yet, it somehow still hurt. Before you could ponder too much on the matter, Criston disappeared, returning with his breeches on and a rag in hand. He cleaned you while you lied on the bed, the soreness beginning to sneak in after your high.

Afterwards, Criston lied down next to you. He did not speak, but he did not pray either, and for that, you were glad. And still, he was the one who pulled you closer. You held onto him, basked in his warmth.

Finally, your patience and virtue had been rewarded. You did not waste a single thought on what would come in the future, only that this was right, and no septon nor Alicent would be able to convince you otherwise (not that you would tell them about this to begin with).

You could feel yourself dozing off in your white knight’s arms, until the alarm bells of High Tide suddenly began to rang. As the castle came alive under the signal, Criston shot up, and so did you. Shouts passed your door, and he scrambled to put on his armor.

Never a moment’s peace in this world.

#criston #criston x reader #ser criston #ser criston x reader #ser criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole #criston cole x reader #smut #criston cole smut #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd smut #criston cole imagine #minor #rhaenyra targaryen x daemon targaryen #request #criston cole angst

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cambion-companion · 9 months ago

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Dinner Date

Sorry I haven't written in a while! I have several anon asks requesting something small for a dinner date with Raphael, inspired no doubt by the lovely Mr. Wincott's contribution in the livestream!

With a little twist because I haven't explored what it would be like delivering the crown to the cambion.

"What could be more exquisite than watching the hero of Baldur's Gate walk to me, fresh in the moonlight." Raphael leaned forward in his seat, the cool night air and cricket song belaying the tension in his taught frame.

He smiled as you approached and sat at the wooden table, the warm brown eyes of his human guise sparkling in the candlelight. "You've proven to be quite the asset, my dear. A fortuitous investment, indeed."

"Raphael." You greeted, your stomach doing obnoxious flips as it always did in his presence. "I brought you a little souvenir, as I'm sure you already know."

"Indeed I am." Raphael purred, his eyes scanning you person with keen intent. "I had front row seats, as it were. Your victory was marvelous. You played your part well."

You grunted, not flattered by the way he treated it all like an elaborate theater production. You hefted the wrought iron crown out of your bag of holding and placed it, glittering, upon the table.

The weight of such an artifact drew both your gazes, and all that could be heard for several moments was a soft zephyr stirring the trees and the sound of frogs and crickets harmonizing to the summer night.

The candle sputtered in the breeze and you looked to Raphael only to find his eyes already locked on your face.

He spoke with an intensity you'd not yet become familiar with. "Well done." He swirled deep red wine in his crystal chalice. "I wish you'd reconsider becoming business partners."

"You say it like we'd be equals." You scoffed, knowing full well he'd love nothing more than to gain your soul for his collection. You shook your head and took a sip of your own drink. "I think not, Raphael. As much as I like you, I'm not that stupid."

"I'd be disappointed if you gave in easily." Raphael raised a hand and the crown vanished in a swirl of golden embers, their brief light reflected in your widened eyes. "I do so enjoy the chase, and you are such a lush prize."

You have the cambion a wry smile, a touch of fondness to the curl of your lips. "I'll admit, it would be disappointing if after this we never saw each other again."

Raphael nodded and beckoned a waiter, never removing his gaze from your face. He looked for all the world like the cat who got the cream. "What is the phrase you mortals are so fond of? Ah, yes." He gestured grandly as he spoke, illustrating his words with his hands. "I fully intend on having my cake, and I will eat it too."

Later that same night, Raphael had whisked you away back to his House of Hope. You'd expressed mild displeasure at being taken back to Avernus but he'd quelled your complaints with a look.

Raphael reclined in a grand chair, almost a throne in appearance, his leg crossed over the other. His human skin had been shed in favor of his larger, sharper devil form. He raised two fingers, snapped them, and conjured the crown of Karsus to float between where you stood and he sat.

"Now we are somewhere more appropriate, I require you to complete our contract."

You pursed your lips together, knowing the answer before you spoke the question. "How, exactly?"

Raphael paused for dramatic effect. When he spoke next it was a command, not a request. "Crown me."

The crown felt cold and heavy in your hands when you took it, the weight extending to your very soul as you approached where Raphael sat.

You slowly lifted it and placed the intricate metal piece gently onto his heady, being careful to accommodate for the thorny spiral of his horns. It slid perfectly atop his dark hair, you couldn't help but admire the way it looked. "As though it was made for you." You said aloud, not noticing the words come out of your mouth.

A large, clawed hand cupped the back of your neck, hellfire eyes burning into you. "As surely as your very soul was for me." Raphael purred and dragged you down for a searing kiss.

#raphael x reader #raphael #bg3 #drabble #fanfic #raphael x tav #raphael the cambion #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael fanfic #raphael bg3

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taranthese · 2 years ago

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SWEET LITTLE WIFE !

husband!aemond x innocent!reader

★ warning , suggestive slight smut

his eye sharp as his jaw clenched staring at you dancing with the lannister man. you were smiling, a smile that was only reserved for him ━ your lord husband. his grip on the chalice tightened as the lannister man spun you around, your blue dress that matched his sapphire eye twirled in the moonlight, the hand that was previously on your waist was slowly going lower, making aemond’s eye twitch in anger. the prince could feel a burn coming from his sapphire eye, not knowing if it was truly pain or the product of his anger.

aemond watched as the golden haired lannister whispered something in your ear, in which you nodded and took his hand which in stead, let you out of the ballroom with the man. fearful and steaming, aemond stood up, placing his chalice down with force, shaking the table, pausing everyone’s activities to look at him.

aemond stepped outside only to see the lannister man leading you to his quarters, making aemond seethe in anger. how dare a feeble and lowlife lord take advantage of his innocent sweet darling wife? you’re his, his to love, his to cherish, his to touch, every part of you belongs to aemond and what was this lannister doing? taking his belongings away.

“lord lannister, i don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” aemond greeted with malice behind his subtle kind acknowledgement of the lord who suddenly jumped of fear and surprise.

“lord husband!” you smiled and skipped towards him, holding onto his cold hand against your warm ones. “lord lannister had just invited me for a wine tasting in his chambers, how delectable!”

the lannister man’s eyes widened in fear as he took a step back, in a speedy second, aemond spun the man, his back hitting the wall as his engraved dagger dug into the skin of the lord lannister’s throat.

“you touch my darling wife again, i will personally cut your cock off and feed it to vhagar.” aemond said calmly as you stood beside him, in fear, yet you felt a tingling between your thighs ━ seeing your husband become extremely protective of you was a real treat indeed, even though you couldn’t fully comprehend why you needed protection from lord lannister. “understood?” he dug the dagger harder into the skin, drawing dark red blood from the poor man.

“yes, my prince.” the man choked out as aemond released his grip and took the hand of his wide eyed wife, rushing her to their shared quarters.

as soon as they arrived, aemond pushed his little wife against the wall, his face inches away from yours as he stared at your brightly coloured eyes. “tell me wife… what were you doing with the lannister?” he whispered as his hands moved from the small of your back to groping at your thighs.

“h-he said we were just going to have wine.” you shakily stuttered as you shut your eyes tight, he moved his grip towards your waist, gripping it like it were the end of his life. “i d-didn’t know -”

“oh yes! my darling little wife, ever so innocent.” aemond’s right hand moved from it’s previous position on your waist to your face, his knuckles softly caressing your cheeks. you shed a tear, which aemond quickly wiped with the back of his hand. “what am i going to do with you?”

aemond then forcefully dragged you over to the cushions where he sat down, legs wide. “bend over.” his voice stern as you shakily moved to bend over his thigh, your chemise damp with your wetness. “this is your punishment, ñuha dōna.” aemond cooed as you start softly sobbing.

“h-husband, please…” you beg as he lifted up your skirts, revealing your wet chemise.

“my, my” he snickered as he teased you, making your sobs louder. “my sweet wife was wet the entire time, tell me, who made you like this?” he asked as his long slender hands rubbed your bundle of nerves through the chemise. "was it the lannister lord?"

“n-no! all for you. you! husband! all for you!” you exclaimed as he smirked and hummed, lifting up your chemise to reveal your bare bum. “aemond, please…”

“patience, little wife.” he hummed as he caressed your soft milky cheeks, your juices leaking towards his thigh, covering his leather garments in your wetness. “before you have your pleasure, your punishment comes first.” his hand struck your bare cheek, making you whimper and sob.

the entirety of the red keep could barely anything other than you and aemond that night, as your sobs of pain and pleasure had swallowed any sounds left.

my first piece of writing on tumblr ever ! so sorry if there were any mistakes as this was a bit of a rush piece ♡

#ivy's works #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond smut #hotd imagine #houseofthedragon imagine

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hellsburners · 1 year ago

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time's wasting, tick-tocking, lip locking

summary: spider-man meets an unlikely friend(or foe) to help him retrieve an important package. pairing: tasm!peter parker x male reader word count: 1.8k warnings: fluff, suggestive stuff, black cat reader, light smut, they're not friends sorta enemies if you think about it. a/n: a request from an anon! btw you could end it to a certain part if you just want the banter and the fluff but yall this is a hellsburners production we're serving smut here

masterlist | more peter parker

The air was quite chilly atop this building, the spandex not warming his body. Spider-man rubbed his gloved hands together for some heat, his legs bent over the ledge of the building, his eyes scanning the dock below. Twenty-four men loading wooden crates into shipping containers with the words Roxxon Energy Corp.

He swung down behind a shipping crate, crawling to the top unbeknownst to the men. His webs thwip across the snowy dock, disarming three men. Their bodies bonded together, and their mouths shut. He swings again, landing next to four other men, their rifles pointing at him.

Peter webs for two opposite poles and slingshots himself to the men, kicking one over while disarming the others; more men come rushing with baseball bats and crowbars. They try to hit Peter, his senses blazing from each attack; he ducks and avoids each blow, pulling on a few webs to tie them up.

Five more men come from inside the shipping container, loaded with pistols and rifles, but before they can come out, a small silver ball rolls from the top of the container, falling down and releasing white smoke.

Peter could hear the men choke and cough as a figure came down and took them individually. He did the same, taking the moment when the men were disarmed to land a few kicks and punches, leaving them unconscious.

He runs to the shipping container as the smoke wears off. The crates were ripped open with bear-like claw marks, the contents of the boxes now gone. He hears footsteps from his far left, the shadowy figure creeping against the moonlight. Peter webs his way to run after it. The cold slowed him down, his feet much heavier and his hands numb.

He shoots a web that lands on the figure's back. He turns to a man wearing a black coat with white fur on the hood and its sleeves. He sees your face, black-masked, dark hair with streaks of silver, a black satchel wrapped around your shoulder. The Black Cat.

You gave him a wink before falling back on the ledge of the building. Peter jumps, finding you at the bottom, waiting for him. He webs down slowly, landing on his feet. Your back against a wall, your clawed fingers wrapped around the clear vial with silvery-purple liquid.

"Need this?" you said, vapor appearing from your lips. "Nice to see you again, Spider."

"I would say the same, but I don't share the sentiment," he said, walking towards you. "Can we skip the small talk and give me that vial?"

"Ooh, you know it's not that easy," you said, putting the vial back in your bag. "Besides, don't you miss me?" you pout.

"I—no!" Peter said, his voice erratic. "Shame," you smirked, dropping another smoke bomb before disappearing from his sight.

"Hey!" he screamed. You were ahead a few blocks. He swung across a few other buildings and tried to chase you down. You grappled down a busy street, your coat blending in with civilians in their winter clothes. "Fuck," he sighed. "Lucky me, I've been trying to test these out," he said, taking his phone out to see the red dot on the city map, a tracker placed on your back when he ran after you.

He traced you down, riding a black car heading out of the city. Peter reloaded his web-shooters and braced for the trip. He swung from building to building until he landed on a truck heading in the same direction. His joints started to stiffen, his nape cold and aching.

You entered a safe house on the city's outskirts, a brutalist bare building with a white car parked outside. Peter found you dealing with—Richard Fisk, the Kingpin's son, calls himself The Rose. You hand him the bag of vials. You await payment before his men point their guns at you. Peter knows you. This isn't something you could run away from easily. Fisk turns away and leaves in his white car, leaving you with six men with loaded guns.

Peter jumps down to your aid, unarming two men before landing a solid blow on the others. You take this moment to kick the other man right across his face. He saw you move with grace and agility, your gymnast background aiding your fight.

The men all ended up unconscious on the pavement. Blood drips down your lips, and no one gets away with scamming you. "So, was it worth it?" Spider-man said.

"Don't piss me off," you said, rubbing the back of your hand against your bloodied lip. "This never happens."

"Well, it just did," he said. "That vial could've helped me to take them down, but now they have it!"

"I'm not a hero, Spider," you snickered. "I don't do this for good. I do this so I can live," you walked towards the door, the metal ice cold. You try to slide the entrance to the side, but the gate does not budge. You snarled, trying to pull it back. "Shit, I think it's stuck."

"What?" Peter said. "Let me see," he tried to do the same, but the door still didn't budge despite his strength. "Fuck, they must've closed us off—the snow isn't helping either." Peter punched the door in anger, leaving a giant dent.

"There must be another exit—or a window," you said. The room slowly turned colder. You tried to wrap your fur coat around your body, your breath leaving hot vapor. Loud bangs from Peter's fists filled the room, but the door never moved.

"I checked before coming in. There isn't one," Peter took off his mark, panting while vapor left his lips. You looked at him. He was older since you last met, the circles under his eyes darker, his face riddled with stubble, his hair longer and messier. The cold fogged your goggles up, so you took them off and left them on a table nearby.

The two of you rummaged all over the safe house, looking for materials to use or food and other things. Peter found an old lab coat to wrap himself with, and you found a box of canned tuna, some old crackers—and one sleeping bag.

Peter tried his cell, but there was no signal. "We're going to be here for a while," you said. "Shouldn't we bundle up and stay warm, like old times."

"Not happening," Peter said, shivering under his breath.

"Your loss," you ripped a claw on the box of biscuits and took a bite. "Ugh, it's stale."

Hours passed with Peter running around the safe house, looking for an exit. On the other hand, you lay on the sleeping bag with your hands behind your head. You took a file from your pocket and filed your claws into peak sharpness. Peter sighed under his breath every time he passed by you. "You're a pain in the ass, Cat."

"From what I remember, you gave me a pain in the ass, Spider," you chuckled. "Kidding, it wasn't all pain."

"I'm fucking freezing," Peter said, rubbing his body to make some heat.

"I told you we should bundle up," you said. "Plus, it's getting late, and I'm sleepy."

Peter rolled his eyes and joined you in the sleeping bag. The two of you were wrapped like a burrito, his face too close to yours. His brown eyes stared intently, his long lashes batting at you. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. His eyes widened, and a soft moan left his lips. "Wrap your arms around me, too," you said. His large arms snaked around you, creating heat.

"Wood sage and Sea salt?" you whispered, smelling his neck. He chuckled and nodded. "I missed you, Spider. Honestly,"

"I missed you too," he said, his voice stern. "Where did you go, Cat?"

"Tried to live a normal life, it didn't end well for me," your gaze trailed away from his eyes, your hand finding his soft brown hair. "I guess this is me forever, running and stealing."

"It doesn't have to be like that. You could work with me, and we could be good," Peter said, his palms rubbing your lower back. "Live with me."

"I'll think about it," you said, your hands falling to his cheeks. It was warm against his cold skin. You inched closer, pressing your lips to his. You closed your eyes and delved deeper into the kiss. His hand snaked underneath your clothes, cold fingertips against your bare skin. You wrapped your thigh around his, his knee hitting your center. The two of you moaned from the kiss, hands searching each other's bodies.

You straddled Peter's waist rubbing your ass on his growing erection. His hands wrapped around your ass, pulling you closer. He whimpers on your lips, shaking from the pleasure and the cold. "Cat—" he moaned. You pepper his neck with kisses, licking and sucking, leaving red marks.

He pulls you back to the kiss, his arms hugging you tighter as his sex rubs on your ass. He rubs against you, moaning and whimpering while you moan from his tight embrace. He grips your waist, fingers digging into your skin. "Fuck—Spider, you good?" you gasped.

"I missed you, and I need you," he said. "Please be with me. I'll take care of you, protect you," his eyes stared at yours. "You won't run ever again."

"I'll think about it," you said again, an ache forming in your chest. Knowing it will never be normal with him.

"Fuck–I'm close," he moaned.

You pulled him in for a last kiss for a long while. Peter finishes under his suit, his face red and his hair drenched in sweat. You later passed out on the sleeping bag, your arms draped around each other, Peter's lips pressing on your forehead as you succumbed to the night.

Peter woke up to a banging on the door. "We know you're in there, Cat! Give us the real vial, or we'll kill you!" a bunch of men surrounded the lot, hands on their guns. He saw that you were gone, a hole formed on the ceiling, sunlight peering in, a black satchel on the spot where you slept. Inside were the vials and a note.

Sorry, I couldn't stay for breakfast. I had to go real quick. I left the vials for you. Do whatever is right. You always do the right thing. And you'll probably not see me again but don't miss me too much. I know I will.

Xoxo, Cat.

#peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x male reader smut #the amazing spiderman #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x male reader #tasm!peter parker x male reader smut

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notapradagurl · 4 months ago

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In Your Dreams.

Pairing: Incubus! Tyler, The Creator x Black Fem Reader.

Summary: You were a royal queen in a passionless marriage, it seemed like these vivid wet dreams fueled your desire. until one night you had one of those vivid wet dreams of an incubus, little did you know that he was real and so was your dream.

Taglist: @henneseyhoe @soft-persephone @sageispunk @planetblaque @justhornyyme @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @blackerthings @roeroe-world @playgurlxoxo @vile-harlot @siqueth @harmshake @westside-rot @megamindsecretlair

Warnings: profanity, piv, wet dream, cheating, biting, overstimulation, breeding.

——————

You were sitting across the table from your husband in the spacious dining room as the chandelier hovered over the two of you with your fork still absentmindedly poking at your chicken parmesan and spiced mashed potatoes, half of your plate was already gone as you stole a glance from your husband Marcel. The moonlight spilled through the large window, casting a soft glow on your brown skin.

All he did was attend to his duties as a king and peck your forehead absentmindedly as if it mended your relationship with him. It didn't help that the two of you barely had sex lately, this marriage was to only save your family from ruin, Marcel’s family was very wealthy from oil fields, He had earned riches through his profitable business endeavors, growing and selling agricultural products from his greenhouse throughout the country.

“Are you enjoying your meal honey?” he asked in a dull tone, his gaze shifted to you then back to his plate.

It all began with occasional wet dreams about an incubus with dark cocoa skin, full lips, and captivating red eyes that would return to their usual deep brown hue. His deep voice had a chilling effect on anyone who heard it. Mirroring your memory of him, he too remembered your name, and you discovered that his name was Tyler.

“Yeah, it's good.” you replied lowly, nodding your head. It was almost nine-thirty which meant it was your bedtime and you could dream of Tyler again.

As you and Marcel rose from your seats at the dining table, you handed your empty plates to the butler, Sebastian, expressing your gratitude in unison. As you and Marcel made your way around the table, you shared a brief but tender kiss, a gesture that had been absent between you two for quite some time.

Marcel's thumb swiped over your cheek, “Goodnight my love..” he said in a soothing tone, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. In that fleeting moment, your eyes met his, creating an unspoken connection.

“Goodnight, my love..” you replied in the same soothing tone, smiling briefly.

Marcel and you parted ways in the dining room. You and Marcel slept in different rooms; he had a room specifically for studying and working, while you had your own room solely for sleeping.

As it turns out, you discovered that you actually prefer sleeping alone in silence rather than hearing Marcel work throughout the night. You made your way through the hallway and turned right into your master bedroom.

As you turned the doorknob and stepped inside, you were greeted by the spaciousness of the room and the smell of warm vanilla, adorned with walls draped in red floral wallpaper. "Room, sweet room.." you sang playfully, smirking mischievously.

You were eager to escape in your dream and approached the dresser, switching on the lights to illuminate the bedroom. As you pulled the handle, the dresser moved closer to you, prompting you to remove your evening red gown and toss it into the hamper.

In the moonlight, your black box braids was tied up in a bun as you wore a cream silk nightgown with a hue resembling macaroons, which hugged you figure.

The queen-sized bed was adorned with light green blankets that matched the bedsheets, creating an inviting and comforting space.

You settled down at the edge of the bed, gradually inching towards the pillow. As you reached for the blanket, you wrapped it around yourself, creating a cozy cocoon. Finally, you reclined on the plush mattress, your back supported by its softness. Your eyelids gradually closed with a sense of anticipation, knowing that once you drift off to sleep, you will be transported to a realm of passion and desire.

As sleep began to wash over you, your mind started to drift to thoughts of Tyler, the incubus who had been haunting your dreams lately. His touch, his voice, and the way he made you feel ignited a fire within you that had been long extinguished in your marriage.

And just as your consciousness slipped away, you found yourself standing in front of a grand oak door, the very same door that always led you into the world of your dreams. Taking a deep breath, you turned the doorknob and stepped inside, your heart pounding with anticipation.

The room was bathed in a seductive red glow, the walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of passion and pleasure. And there, in the center of the spacious room, stood Tyler, his presence commanding and intoxicating.

He looked at you with those captivating red glowing eyes, smirking as he approached you slowly. "Well, well, well, look who decided to pay me another visit," he drawled, his voice laced with desire.

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt his warm breath ghost over your skin. "Tyler," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "I can't believe you're real."

He chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "I'm as real as the desires that burn within you," he said, his voice dripping with seduction. "And I'm here to fulfill every single one of them."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through your body, igniting a fire deep within your core. You couldn't resist the temptation any longer. With a boldness you never knew you possessed, you pulled him closer, crashing your lips against his in a desperate kiss.

"i missed you so much..." he mumbled in the kiss, pecking your lips again.

The room seemed to spin and the walls changed back to the same red floral wallpaper in the bedroom. your bodies plopped onto your bed with the slight creak filling the room, the soft smack of your lips colliding with his urged you on. Tyler's hands roamed your body, He assisted in removing your nightgown, tossing it to the side as it dropped to the ground.

Additionally, he unhooked your black lace bra and lowered your panties to your ankles, throwing them alongside your bra and nightgown on the floor.

"Can I touch you baby?" he asked, his voice raised an octave. His eyes fixed on you.

"Yes please.." you whispered softly, your hands cradled his face.

He gently parted your legs, his desire evident in his eyes as he passionately kissed you. Tyler, known for his directness, wasted no time once he rolled

his tip around your clit, The pleasure overwhelmed you, causing your moans to be muffled by the intensity of the kiss. “So beautiful..” he spoke softly, He licked your neck and roughly suckled around it.

The sensation was so intense that you couldn't help but gasp, noticing the glistening precum that left a wet trail between your folds. Dazed with desire, you couldn't help but plead, "Tyler, please..." As his tip continued to tease your folds, a soft, squelching sound filled the air.

Tyler pushed his manhood between your moist folds, rolling his hips in a mix of roughness and speed. His low, husky moans filled the air while your head fell back onto the pillow. "This pussy is mine?" he asked softly, he rutted into you, his thick manhood filled up completely, Your nails sunk against the bedsheets, “Yes! It's all yours!” you chanted with no shame, you didn't want this to end if it happened to be a dream. Tyler shared the same sentiment, desiring the encounter to continue indefinitely.

Tyler adored every inch of your body, cherishing it with a tender touch. His hands caressed your curves, gently teasing and caressing your breasts. The room filled with passionate moans, resonating through the air. "I don't want this to end," he spoke softly, sinking his teeth into your neck. you glanced out the window, you watched the radiant sun gradually dimmed to the luminous white moon, accompanied by a tapestry of sparkling stars against the ink-black night sky.

You wondered if Tyler would join you in this reality. His fingers traced a path between your breasts, guiding your gaze to meet his own. The fiery red in his eyes gradually swirled into his usual deep brown, reflecting his return to the real world. "Please, don't ever leave me," he pleaded, showering your brown skin with tender kisses. After each rough thrust, he delved deeper, his love for you evident in every touch, his thick dick filled you up, each movement filled with unwavering tenderness.

As your husband Marcel's voice echoed through the air, was that really him? Your fingertips gently grazed against his warm, cocoa skin, his face hovering intimately close to yours.

Deeply captivated, he observed the sheer delight etched across your face, his heartache palpable in his tender words, "I dream to claim you as mine, why can't I be the one to hold you?" His voice quivered with emotion, on the brink of lovesickness as he witnessed the affection shared between you and your husband.

The fleeting kiss between you and Marcel threatened to shatter him completely.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine an incubus having such profound emotions for a mere mortal? Tyler occupied your thoughts far more than Marcel ever did. "Oh, fuck! fuck!" you wailed, feeling Tyler's relentless persistence as he envisioned Marcel tenderly kissing your forehead.

Rivulets of tears carved trails on your cheeks, while your voice grew hoarse, without any association to smoking or the like – it was simply naturally raspy. “Fuck me good..” you mumbled, Tyler cherished the subtle rasp that laced your voice, reveling in the ecstasy of hearing you passionately call out his name.

The bedroom morphed into yours around you and Tyler as the door swung open revealing Marcel standing there, his eyes wide with shock and anger. "What the hell is going on here?!" he shouted, his voice filled with betrayal.

In the heat of passion, “fucking your wife..”he let out a low, guttural sound through clenched teeth. His gaze shifted back towards you, and with a sudden burst of intensity, he threw his head back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as your essence enveloped him.

Tyler paid no attention to your husband, losing himself completely. His warm cum spilled into you, causing your scream to resemble a mix of pleasure and pain. “Tyler!!” Your body trembled uncontrollably beneath him, both of you lost in the depths of an intense connection.

Tyler withdrew from you slowly, his fingers snapping with a practiced grace. In an instant, thick tendrils of red energy swirled around him, transforming him back into his fully dressed self.

Before leaving, he leaned in and pecked your lips, a sly smirk playing on his face as he directed his gaze toward Marcel. With two sharp claps of his hands, the room reverted to its normal state and Tyler vanished.

Marcel blinked twice, rubbing his eyes in confusion before closing the door behind him. "Thank God it wasn't real," he muttered under his breath.

Your body curled up in a ball as you were in your nightgown, wrapped in the blankets, your gentle snores filling the room.

You found yourself no longer trapped in the dream, but still connected to reality through Tyler. Strangely, you could still feel him buried inside you, as if his essence filled you up. A faint bite mark on your neck served as a reminder of his claim on you. It was an unfamiliar sensation, yet you yearned for Tyler's presence by your side.

——————

#black!reader #tyler the creator #black fanfiction #tyler the creator fic #golf wang #black writer #tyler the creator x reader #black!fem!reader

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benzedrine-calmstheitch · 1 year ago

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Good Omens season 2 referencing Powell & Pressburger films

Crowley's angel hair is modeled after Kim Hunter's hair as June in A Matter of Life and Death (1946).

Maggie's shop is called The Small Back Room in reference to 1949's The Small Back Room.

The red ballet shoes on the door of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death are a nod to The Red Shoes (1948). (Note : the klaxons sounding in Heaven at the end of episode 1 are said to be a nod to the alarm bells in The Other World in A Matter of Life and Death. Personally, I don't think they sound at all alike; they are only similar in both being alarms. Plus, it's an audio reference, which I don't have the skill or patience to include here. But it's there!)

In The Small Back Room, Maggie has a poster for the film Stairway to Heaven displayed. A Matter of Life and Death was released under this title in the US.

The tartan hills welcoming Aziraphale to Scotland are a reference to the tartan hills welcoming Joan to Scotland in I Know Where I'm Going! (1945). And of course, the third episode is itself titled "I Know Where I'm Going."

Jim drops the book My Best Games of Chess, 1924-1937, by Alexander Alekhine, onto a table in the bookshop repeatedly as he is discovering how gravity works. This book is featured prominently in A Matter of Life and Death.

When Aziraphale enters The Resurrectionist pub in Edinburgh, I Know Where I'm Going! is playing on both televisions (I'm pretty sure I found the right scene to match this screenshot). You can also make out the name 'Pressburger' on one of the posters in this screenshot, but we'll get to that later. . .

The family name on the mausoleum where Aziraphale and Crowley hide out with Elspeth and Wee Morag is Archers. It's never clearly seen in the show, but it can be seen in this BTS photo of the model used for Crowley's embiggening. The Archers was the name of Powell and Pressburger's production company. The interior of the tomb and the urns outside the full-size set also reference the Archers, and Powell & Pressburger individually.

In Mr. Arnold's record shop, one of the posters on the wall is for a UK music tour; either the band or the tour is titled Met By Moonlight. This is referencing Ill Met By Moonlight (1957), the final film Powell & Pressburger made together. (I personally think this one is a reach, as the title of the film is a line from A Midsummer Night's Dream and thus not really clockable to the outside viewer as a direct Archers reference, but apparently the intent was there so we're counting it!)

The Pressburger posters are more clearly visible during the Gabriel and Beelzebub rendezvous scene in The Resurrectionists pub. We can see they advertise 'Pressburger Scottish Lager,' which is of course a nod to Emeric Pressburger himself. (Unclear if Michael Powell has his own label that we just don't get a clear view of. . .)

-- -- -- -- --

I clocked a couple of these myself, but they are all referenced in the X-Ray trivia on the Prime Video player. Would love to know if anyone has clocked anymore that aren't divulged. . .

#as a side note : please watch a matter of life and death #it is exquisite as a film and also very relevant to gomens interests #it's on youtube!#good omens #powell and pressburger #the archers #a matter of life and death #the small back room #the red shoes #i know where i'm going #ill met by moonlight

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trashcanlore · 6 months ago

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My Chemical Marriage

The chemical wedding is an allegory used in alchemical writings to refer to the union of opposites, particularly a union that produces a new and improved product, the Rebis.

One popular version of the allegorical wedding takes place between the Red King, the active principle (sulfur) that shapes the material and passive principle of the White Queen (mercury). However, this allegory can refer to the union of sun and moon, silver and gold, or even body and spirit.

The Rebis refers to the end product of the magnum opus, and is typically depicted as a hermaphrodite.

The child of the chemical marriage is sometimes called the philosopher’s child and fun fact, is associated with the myth of Orion and his three fathers (Jupiter, Mercury, and Neptune). The myth is very different but I can’t help but think of the Simurgh.

Though the chemical marriage allegory is very much referring to marriage and procreation, etc, in the context of Genshin, it’s used more to refer to a union of opposites, or a collaboration between two types of being, which will be elaborated on later. Of the four examples I will be going through, only two of these relationships have any kind of (canon) romantic associations attached to them. Basically what i’m trying to say is that this is definitely not about ships please don’t eat me.

It’s a well established trend in the history of Teyvat that there have been many god-king-like beings associated with gold or the sun, who had some kind of relationship with a knowledgeable and moon-associated woman, who then dies tragically during the god-king’s quest to Change The World.

And now, in thematic order, I present the doomed pairings:

Imunlaukr and the princess of Sal Vindagnyr

Imunlaukr is an outlander, destined to wield the Snow Tombed Starsilver sword to “shatter ice and snow.” The wiki cites a stanza where this name is used as a kenning for a sword. Imunlaukr tried to save Sal Vind from the catastrophic ice and snow caused by the Skyfrost Nail hitting an Irminsul tree, but he failed. Sal Vind had a princess who was also the daughter of the priestess of Vindagnyr, and was “born beneath this white tree” (Frostbearer). She is described as being “bright as the moonlight,” and had the gift of prophecy, painting her visions as frescos on the walls of the city - you can see them in the room where you find the Starsilver sword.

Guizhong and Zhongli

According to the Stone Tablet Compilations: Vol. I, Rex Lapis descended to Liyue. This isn’t the same descending as Descenders, and it has been argued that a better translation would be ‘demoted,’ but this has similarities to the way Deshret and Remus are described as founding their kingdoms. Rex Lapis is also called Deus Auri, the Golden God, and in the Dialogue of the Desert Sages description, it says that “transformation into gold and Mora is the sole province of Deus Auri.” Guizhong’s moon connection is on the weaker end, but she is strongly associated with glaze lilies, a flower that only blooms at night, like the Nilotpala, or Lunar, lotuses. She gave Zhongli a stone dumbbell, the Memory of Dust, which contains her “wisdom.” Zhongli is still unable to unlock it, and before Guizhong’s death, she told him to forget about its contents. On a more superficial note, Zhongli and Guizhong have a color scheme that will also be part of the pattern discussed here- black and gold and blue and white.

Remus and Sybilla

Sybilla was the former “envoy that protected the silver tree,” but she had lost her “mind and form.” However, she still retained her gift of prophecy, and told Remus about his destiny to found Remuria (and its inevitable downfall). Sybila’s loss of her physical form and mind is reminiscent of the Aranara stories about how Seelies were cursed to lose their body and intelligence if they fell in love with a human.

After making an arrangement with Remus, the silver tree that Sybilla was protecting transformed into a golden ship, which according to The History of the Decline and Fall of Remuria , was called Fortuna, and with it, Remus “descended” onto Meropis. Together with Sybilla, Remus created Phobos, the Great/Golden Symphony. Phobos is the name of one of the moons of Mars, the red planet. Combined with the Primordial Sea-derived ichor, it would allow his people to shed their physical forms and transcend their prophesied doom. Sybilla even sacrificed her life to make the symphony possible, but she wasn’t completely dead in the end, and her lack of “persona” led to the Symphony going awry.

And MOST IMPORTANTLY, the Golden Troupe of Remuria used a magical technique Rene called the ��seal of chymical marriage,” and which I think was used to seal the Primordial Sea. Rene would later attempt to reverse its power to Evangelion-ify the people of Fontaine.

We don’t know what Remus or Sybilla actually looked like, but the color scheme of both the Remuria based artifact sets are white/blue/gold and black/blue/gold.

Decarabian and Amos

Decarabian was the god-king and founder of Mondstadt approximately 2600 years ago. He created a wind barrier to protect his people from the storms outside (and from Andrius), and in an effort to keep his people safe, micromanaged their lives, even banning certain kinds of music that could incite rebellion (Song of Broken Pines). Interestingly, his goal to protect his people is described as a ‘dream’ multiple times in item descriptions. The Scattered Piece of Decarabian's Dream: He tried so hard to make his dream come true, and so the fragments of that dream are still mighty.

Fragment of Decarabian’s Epic: If it were not for the song of freedom that shattered the city in an instant, Decarabian's dream would have gone on forever. I wonder if this is meant to be another incidence of the literal power of music, like Remus’s symphony, or the Source Song. |Decarabian had a human lover named Amos, although from her perspective, he did not understand her or her mortal love, or even the (lack of) devotion of his people. This reminds me of Scylla telling Remus that as a Usurper, he is cursed to love humanity. But maybe not understand them, which would be both of these god-kings’ downfalls. Though Amos was human, she also seems to have had prophetic dreams: "I dreamt of ocean waves and sand, of lush forests and land." "I dreamt of boars playing in berry bushes, of a towering spire." These words she spoke to the God King in a soft tone, but they were left unheard. (Amos’ Bow) Eventually, she would join the rebellion against him, and attempt to assassinate him. Amos also fits into the blue and white color scheme, and has a feather ornament similar to Lumine in her hair:

And we come to the piece de resistance. The ultimate example. One of the weirdest things in genshin lore (in a good way). I present:

Whatever TF is Going on With Deshret and the Goddess of Flowers

In The Lay of Al-Ahmar, Deshret is described as a “son of the sky,” with abilities that earned him the reverence of the tribes in the desert. One of his titles, Al-Ahmar, is Arabic for “the red one.” Deshret dreamed of creating a utopia for humans, and the final manifestation of that dream was the (failed) Golden Slumber, where like Remus, he attempted to separate his mind from his body. God-kings and their hiveminds…. Deshret received assistance in the form of access to forbidden knowledge from the Goddess of Flowers, also known as Nabu Malikata. The title Nabu refers to the Babylonian god of wisdom, who is associated with the planet Mercury in Babylonian astronomy. The title ‘Nabu’ has the same linguistic root as the Arabic ‘nabiyy’ (نبي) and Hebrew ‘navi’ (נביא), meaning prophet. According to Arama, the Goddess of Flowers was a survivor of the Seelie race. After her exile, she wandered the desert, where her blood turned into streams of water that allowed gardens of water lilies to grow, which in turn birthed the Jinn. Additionally, wherever she stepped, purple flowers called Padisarahs, described as “bearing semblance to the moon,” bloomed (Flower of Paradise Lost). Together with Deshret, she founded Ay-Khanoum, meaning "[City of the] Moon Maiden.” In addition to being known as “the red one,” Deshret is also known as the “Lord of Sand.” Combined with the Goddess of Flowers association with both water and mercury, I consider their respective titles to be a reference to Ibn Umayl’s Silvery Water and Starry Earth, a 10th century alchemical text. The ‘silvery water’ refers to mercury, or quicksilver, and the ‘starry earth’ is sulfur. This text is also referenced in the refinement materials for Dialogue of the Desert Sages, where this time the mercury-looking material is called “exalted earth.” The mercury-sulfur theory of metals was popular in medieval Islamic alchemy, and it refers to the idea that all metals are formed in the earth out of a combination of these two elements. Like Sybilla, it’s implied the Goddess of Flowers sacrificed her life to help Deshret fulfill his goals. Secret Keeper’s Magic Bottle: "I shall fashion you a bridge to allow you to slake your deepest wants. But you must fear not the crystalline sapphire nail..." "I will deliver you unto higher knowledge. But as I have warned, you are fated to lose much in this exchange..." "Nevertheless, hide my lesson in your heart. Remember the punishment that once was inflicted on the fallen envoys of heaven." "Know this: if there is to be hope in this world, it will be found kindling within mortals most ordinary." Wreathed in darkness, she guided her dearest friend toward the path to understanding all there was to know about the skies and the abyss. Using her body as a conduit and offering the oasis in trade, she let the dazzling radiance consume her to see his deepest desires be made manifest… It’s not clear exactly when she died, as other sources of in-game info attribute her death to the “malice of the burning sun and yellow sand,” as well as imply her death was part of a larger plan she had (Oasis Garden weapon mats). That being said, the Flower of Paradise Lost description states that after she performed this exchange, she was never seen again. As for the color scheme mentioned earlier, we don’t know what Deshret or the Goddess of Flowers looked like. Our only hints as to their human forms are the Gilded Dreams TCG card/artifact design, and a throwaway line in the Sumeru Archon Quest where Nilou says her stage costume is inspired by legends about how the Goddess of Flowers dressed.

As of 4.7, we also have the Flower of Paradise Lost TCG card, which may depicted the Goddess of Flowers. The color scheme is purple and white, but the woman in the art is wearing a dress that looks similar to Guizhongs (delulu). The crown on this card has little wings, which are reminiscent of the winged helmet Mercury is sometimes depicted as wearing.

The defining feature of the chemical marriage is that the metaphorical union produces something greater than the sum of its parts. Sybilla and the Goddess of Flower’s sacrifices allowed the fulfillment of plans that were intended to create new worlds, something I would consider greater than the combination of god and Seelie minds. Another common thread in these transactions is wisdom, or lack thereof, with both Goddess of Flowers and Guizhong offering wisdom, and Sybilla saying that she no longer has hers - although that didn’t stop her from becoming part of Phobos. This theme of wisdom also has alchemical significance, since the philosopher’s stone is the lapis philosophorum; the 'stone of wisdom'. I’ve written a theory about the philosopher’s stone and Descenders and alchemy, including the chemical wedding motif, in the Narzissekreuz Ordo questions: you can check it out here. Two points that I want to carry over to this theory is that a) there is evidence to suggest that the philosopher’s stone and a Descender are the same in Teyvat and b) the ability to successfully change Fortuna (fate) is directly linked with Descender status. I’m not saying that Deshret and Remus were trying to become Descenders, but there are clear thematic parallels with their goals, and Rene’s goals. Additionally, these four examples are not the only time a union resulted in world changing consequences. Records of Jueyun recounts the story of the traveler from afar and the seelie: At a far-flung moment in the distant past, the ancestor of the seelie met a traveler from afar, with whom they swore an oath of union witnessed by the three sisters of the Lunar Palace. Just thirty days later, a sudden disaster struck. The seelie and their lover fled into exile as the world collapsed around them, fleeing until the terrible calamity caught up with and seized them. Their cruel punishment was to be separated from each other for eternity and to have their memories wiped without a trace. The book goes on to directly connect this union with the curse of the Seelies that Arama mentions: The graceful but heartbroken seelie and the sisters grew more sullen and withdrawn with each passing day, to the point where their wondrous forms withered away, leaving fragments of their former selves scattered in the mountains and ruins, where they turned into tiny little life forms. They had forgotten so much, lost so much, and been stripped of their voices and wisdom, yet they continued to sing the same songs of grief. Because of this, still harboring a shred of the deep love they once had for their long-lost lover, they will act as guides to travelers who stop in the mountain mist, seeking to retrace their memories of an ancient story in long-abandoned ruins, disused makeup cabinets, and now-undecipherable poetry. Moonlight Bamboo forest has another version of the story, where the three moon sisters loved the “stars of daybreak,” and after some kind of cataclysmic event, only one (dead) moon remained in the sky. Mitternacht’s Waltz also described a sword shattering one of the moons: Two of the three bright moons that caused the perfumed sea of the primordial universe to shine and stirred up the beasts of the Arianrhod Realm were shredded by a sword that tore the horizon asunder, left in smithereens too small even for the mystical sight of the Prinzessin. Ever since the Narzissenkreuz quests, I am very suspicious of all swords mentioned in lore. If we put all these themes and narratives together, another possible metaphorical union emerges:

Since the dawn of Genshin lore, there have been various theories regarding the duality in the designs of the twins, with some also suggesting that they are two separate halves of one being. However, I’d like to propose the opposite: if the twins follow the path of their fellow black/gold and blue/white predecessors, then it seems likely a fusion that is also a sacrifice is in the future for our protagonist. There are other similarities between the twins and the god-king/seelie pairs. The twins have sun and moon symbolism on their clothes, constellations, and swords: Aether’s has a star (sun) shaped hilt and Lumine’s a moon. The Traveler is frequently described as being ‘golden’ (ex. Golden Nara), and Liloupar says that they remind her of Deshret. The Traveler is already a Descender, but they definitely don’t seem to have the strength or knowledge to exercise their world-equivalent Will yet - and maybe their sibling who has been spending time in the Abyss and has learned the “truth of this world” can help. In that case, the knowledge of the Abyss-aligned twin would fulfill the role of the Seelie knowledge in this pair, helping the Traveler complete their power-up. But what about Paimon, the emergency food? She's the dove, representing the spirit and- [is dragged offstage].

P.S. I didn’t know where to fit this in, but I think Before Sun and Moon is also referring to a chemical wedding. Sun -> sulfur and gold, Moon -> mercury and silver. The title could be an incomplete phrase, and actually be something like “Before Sun and Moon joined.”

#genshin lore #genshin #lumine #aether #alchemy #the category is: genshin lore theories that sound insane when you explain them

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whump-in-the-closet · 4 months ago

Note

yo you're sick you absolutely deserve those followers hell yeah -- for the prompt, something about a stoic whumpee and hurt/comfort, if you will?

thanks anon <2 literally too kind

now this is my type shit >:)

cw: savage beatdown, creepy whumper, hurt/comfort, stoic whumpee, gang beating up whumpee essentially

The moonlight cast watery, wobbling reflections on the shining concrete sidewalk until it looked like newly healed skin.

Caretaker tapped their steering wheel with an impatient tempo, scanning the road. The stolen car smelled of spilled alcohol and cleaning products and it did nothing to help their nausea.

In fact, they gagged.

They were in a near-abandoned part of town and the jagged edges of the buildings bit into the night sky, hemming them in. The telephone wires hung loosely, like dense vines, trapping anyone who dared to enter.

Caretaker cursed into the empty car. "Where are you?"

The light turned green.

Caretaker slowly drove forward, still scanning the road. Halfway across the intersection, they found him.

Rather, they saw a limp form and several shapes standing over it.

Caretaker pulled over to the side, slamming on the brakes. Bright eyes glanced up and reflected the shine of their headlights.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck-- Not fucking again."

***

Was red a feeling?

Because it was all Whumpee could feel. Red. Throbbing in every single part of his body. Twisting and choking around his throat. Boiling up and purging until he vomited, on his hands and knees.

And still, they hit him. Someone kicked him in his stomach and he was back on the pavement-- face scorched. Here at least, the concrete was cool to the touch.

There had been too many to fight off.

He had tried at first. To fight back. To try and protect his face.

Their laughter was still ringing in his ears. They had ripped his hands away--

"Easy, killer,"

"Not so tough now, are you?"

Whumpee could barely register what they were saying to him.

Red. All red.

Slithering and tightening and choking on the concrete sticky with his own blood, warm against his clothes and skin.

He wanted to slip into it, let go, fall into it, and never return. Never, ever come back.

But even that was denied to him. They pulled him back to his feet, yanking his jacket off with rough hands. Hands that quickly turned into fists and steel-capped boots.

One grabbed him by his hair and shoved him against the wall. Leaning in close enough for Whumpee to feel their hot breath on his face, "Whumper sends his regards."

No.

God no.

"Says he misses you, pretty boy."

The silence built into a muffled scream tinged with a new horror. Whumpee didn't beg-- had never begged-- but he panicked then.

His antagonist slammed a hand against his mouth with casual irritation, "Oh, shut it."

In the distance, a car screeched.

The hand relented and Whumpee collapsed against the sidewalk, breathing raggedly, vocal cords ripped to shreds.

A new voice echoed like it was at the end of a long, long tunnel.

They scattered, abandoning Whumpee to the newcomer.

Whumpee didn't care.

Let the silence crush him.

Please.

"Whumpee!" The voice was distorted and Whumpee couldn't quite place it.

Someone crouched down beside him.

A hand reached down– hovering over him– not again, please, not again. He forced himself up on his shaky hands and knees.

"Whumpee! What is this?" they persisted.

"Thank-- thank you, I'm... I'm well." He hacked up blood and it spotted the concrete, dripping and crimson.

"Oh, Whumpee."

Why did they sound so disappointed?

"Whumpee, it's me, Caretaker." Their voice was low and calm. One hand slipped around his shoulders, already helping him to his feet.

Whumpee stopped moving. This was the harshest blow of them all. That Caretaker, with their ocean-green eyes and light smile, was here to see this.

Whumpee shoved them off. He couldn't look them in the eyes. "Please," he said, "Please leave me alone." His voice cracked.

Underneath the streetlight, Caretaker only sighed. They took off their jacket and threw it over Whumpee's shoulders. Still talking in that gentle voice, they said they were going to get him home and that it was going to be alright.

Whumpee clutched the jacket with a white-knuckled grip-- like it was a lifeline-- like it was the only thing keeping him together.

But when Caretaker stroked the top of his head– gently– the kindness broke Whumpee. He hated it. He fell apart for the second time that day. He cried silently, the electric colors burning behind his eyes.

He didn’t resist when Caretaker wrapped him in a hug. Caretaker smelled of soft grass and their eyes were blurry with tears of their own.

Whumpee didn't know how long Caretaker held him, but when they asked, "Should we go home now?", he said yes.

He opened the car door by himself and spilled into the backseat, still clutching Caretaker's jacket.

"You good?" asked Caretaker softly, glancing back at him in the rearview mirror.

"I got blood on your jacket."

"That's.. that's the least of my worries." Caretaker started the car. "Anything else?"

"I can do the stitches by myself," muttered Whumpee. "But it's not that bad."

"It's okay if it is bad. I can help," said Caretaker softly and with a gentleness that hurt.

Whumpee didn't answer-- couldn't answer-- and the car ride was long and silent. Blood dripped from the leather and onto the carpeted interior.

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #whump scenario #answered asks #troy talks #many thanks for this ask i fuckin love stoic whumpees #whump drabble #stoic whumpee #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #cw blood #hurt/comfort #hurt/angst #hurt/aftermath #no edits we die like men #anyway enjoy #cw alchohol mention

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er-osion · 8 months ago

Text

Late Night Library Meetings

pairing: Legolas x gn!Reader

summary: Legolas stumbles upon reader late at night in Rivendell’s library. Although the two of you have never met before, something keeps you and the prince trying to find ways to continue spending time together. [Reader is an advisor to Lord Elrond, ‘Y/n’ is used, set before events of LOTR]

word count: 1.4k

warnings: none, fluff

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It was supposed to be a relatively easy trip for Legolas. He had journeyed from Greenwood with a company of guards to share relations with Lord Elrond, as is custom. Of course, the visit was not just for propriety’s sake, there would be an exchange of information on the state of Middle Earth. The Woodland Prince had figured the trip, while productive, would be boring. That is, until he met you.

You were a highly trusted advisor to Lord Elrond, but had been absent from the first meeting of Legolas’s time in Rivendell. Your initial meeting with the prince was unofficial, a surprise. Legolas was wandering around the grounds and came upon the fabled library of Imladris, intrigued, he entered and inferred there’d be no one else around—considering the late hour. He was wrong, but upon reflection, he couldn’t be happier. The library was quiet and still, the air was cool and cloaked the ellon in tranquility. He stalked slowly around the grand room that was filled with an uncountable number of books housed in intricate shelves. Legolas had grown up in the gorgeous Woodland realm, he’d visited the other elven realms of Lothlórien and Imladris, Legolas thought he knew beauty. Legolas thought he knew beauty, until he saw you. You sat by a tall window at a circular wood table with books and scrolls skewed across the desk. Your face was taught with concentration and content, unaware of the now ogling prince. Your figure was etched in moonlight, giving you an effervescent halo. Legolas watched you read in a total trance. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t barely think. The only thing he could focus on was you. Who are you? What’s your name? How has he never seen you before? How is he going to talk to you? How soon can he get to know you? The ellon doesn’t know how long he stood there staring at your angelic form, but eventually he was caught red-handed.

You looked up to give your eyes a break from reading and you spotted him. You jumped a little in your chair in surprise. But you were quick to recover and realize who it was that had been staring at you. “Your highness, is there something I can do to help you?” You asked politely while marking your place in your book and closing it. Legolas nearly swooned at the sound of your voice. He’d never heard a melody so sweet. He didn’t actually need any help, but he did need to hear you speak again to avoid deprivation.

“I was simply curious to see why the library of Rivendell is so renowned.” Legolas responded coolly, taking a couple small steps closer. He just wanted to be near you, this elf he’d never met before but he now knew he needed in his life. Please ask me another question. Please don’t get up and leave just yet.

“Are you an avid reader, your highness?” You questioned with genuine curiosity but also a little tease. Legolas’s lips quirked up a bit at the hint of playfulness.

“I could be, if I get good recommendations.”

You thought for a moment. Something about this prince pulled you to him. You desired to be closer to him, his voice was soothing and you had a strange longing to be better acquainted with him. His face was fair and handsome, your fingertips itched to run along his smooth skin. You wanted him to continue looking at you with those gorgeous eyes. “Well then, If you’d allow me, I’d be more than happy to show off our collection. Hopefully my efforts will be able to satisfy your curiosity about our library.”

“I would be most delighted, please lead the way…” He paused with a smile.

“Y/n.” You provided, while getting up from your table.

“Y/n.” He repeated slowly, his smile growing as he learned the feel of your name on his tongue. “And please give me as many recommendations as you wish, I will happily and diligently read anything you provide from your beautiful library.”

“As you wish, your highness. But I’m not sure you understand the severity of your statement, you may very well be leaving here tonight with more books than you can carry.”

Legolas laughed at your small joke, a laugh that rang clear like a bell and echoed in your head in a way that made you dizzy. The blonde haired prince followed you with a pep in his step. The two of you wandered between the tall shelves of the library in the pale moonlight. You carefully picked out books that you liked in particular, giving Legolas a quick summary of each. Legolas paid close attention to each word you uttered, doing his best to cement everything into memory. He wanted to remember what you liked about these books so he could talk about them later, he wanted to remember the way you glowed in the light of the moon, he wanted to remember the various smiles you displayed while talking and walking through the library, he wanted to remember the sound of your voice so he could find and talk to you later. He wanted to remember this meeting, so he’d have something to encourage his participation in future ventures to Rivendell. Never before had an introduction to someone been so joyous for Legolas.

You could feel Legolas’s stare as you meandered through the library. His gaze was searing into you but in your heart you didn’t want him to look away. You set a slow pace in hopes of extending your time together. You kept hoping this moment would freeze in time, and you could spend years in this library with the Woodland prince. Hours must’ve gone by once you had completed a prolonged tour of the library and given Legolas an armful of books to read. Then you two found yourselves standing face to face, trying to find something to say so you wouldn’t have to part ways. Legolas decided to be bold.

“Apart from the library during twilight hours, where might I find you?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, but you leapt at the chance to establish another meeting with Legolas. “Anywhere you might find Lord Elrond. I’m one of his top advisors so I spend most of my time in meetings, my office, or his office—helping my Lord keep stability in Rivendell.”

Legolas took a moment to process your words. You’re an advisor to Lord Elrond! That means you should be at all the meetings Legolas will be attending! Oh, how the ellon’s heart skipped at this new information. This will not be a one off encounter, he’s bound to see you again! The prince couldn’t help the grin that broke out across his fair face.

“Well then, unfortunately for you, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me for the next couple of weeks, Y/n.”

Your heart stammered at his sly response. “How unfortunate indeed, here I thought I was about to be free from your presence.”

“Not in the slightest, and I hate to inform you, but this means you will be subject to many tiring conversations about some books a certain elf has just thrust into my arms.”

“Well at least the conversations on these books should be more entertaining than the meetings, especially since whatever elf suggested to you these novels seems to have impeccable taste.”

“I guess the quality of our discussions will be the judge of that.”

“I guess so.” Your smile matched Leglas’s as your quips came to a natural end. You felt light in the head over the ease of your conversation with him. You had never before felt so comfortable talking to someone, let alone a stranger. You were already dreaming of your next topics of discussion. Legolas felt light in the chest, he felt like he could run through the treetops across Middle Earth without tiring. He didn’t understand how it was possible for him to be so content and happy with someone he’d just met. Legolas was certain, without a doubt, he needed to get to know you more. If you made him this happy in the couple of hours he knew you, how happy could you make him after years of getting to know each other? There’s only one way to find out.

“Well, the hour is late and we both have long days tomorrow so I will have to bid you goodnight, your highness.”

“Please, forgo the titles and just call me Legolas.”

“…Alright then. Goodnight, Legolas.”

“Goodnight, Y/n..” Legolas’s grin seemed to grow as you uttered his name, but still, the two of you left the sanctuary of the library and parted ways to return to your respective rooms. You fell asleep that night dreaming of a certain Woodland prince, with a smile on your face. Legolas fell asleep hours later, after starting your favorite book from the pile of recommendations. Neither of you could wait for the next day, when work would provide you the perfect reason to strike up another meeting.

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let me know what you guys think! thanks for reading :)

#legolas x reader #lotr #legolas #lord of the rings #legolas x you #x reader #rivendell #legolas thranduilion #fluff #lotr fanfic #lotr fluff #tolkien #legolas imagine

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

Text

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐚 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 4.8k

chapter summary: Due to a power outage in your home, you have to stay with Joel and Sarah for a couple days until it gets fixed.

warnings: female masturbation, accidental eavesdropping, pillow humping/fucking (joel)

Chapter Five || Chapter Seven

You only see butterflies.

You see them fluttering at the window, in your kitchen, in your bedroom. You see them sitting on top the mirror in the bathroom, you see them in the cupboards. They’re everywhere. They consume you. In every shape and color, you see them. You see stars on top of their wings, circles, hearts. Some are white, some are pink. But most of them are blue.

They remind you of him. Of Joel. And you draw—you paint.

You sketch wings on paper. Paint colors that become them. It’s him. It’s Sarah. It’s Tommy. It’s Olivia. Your brother. Your grandfather. It’s everyone that lingers in your heart, in your mind. You see them in the shapes that you draw. All of them distinctly different.

Joel is a dark red, a dark purple with splattered white. The wings are sharper, longer, the largest butterflies. The ends of his wings have long extensions like antennas. It is beautiful, ethereal, strong.

Tommy’s butterflies are similar to Joel’s, only softer around the ages and smaller. Blue, golden, a light shade of red. His wings glimmer under both sunlight and moonlight. Sarah’s are the smallest, pink and blue with a lighter shade of purple. Her design is the most elegant, her wings curl at the end, more fairy-like.

Olivia’s are green, her wings long and slender. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t drawn inspiration from Tinker Bell—green, yellow with light blue specs.

It’s the early hours of the morning, soft sunlight only just starting to spill from the windows. Despite your sweatshirt and the blanket you had haphazardly thrown over your shoulders, the early chill settles in your bones. You narrow your eyes, tilting the sketchbook, you hold it towards the overhead light. It’s hard to see and your eyes sting when you blink. But you don’t stop, you can’t stop. They’re everywhere and you need to draw them, you need to put them on paper before they disappear. It’s been months since you’ve painted anything. Now that the colors were splashing over white you don’t want to stop. It’s a breath of fresh air.

Finally, you’re breathing again after being submerged for so long.

The realization that you had feelings for Joel, and Tommy for you, make this unrestrained desire to create even stronger. You’re breathing because of Joel—because he had told you to draw butterflies. You want to show him what you’ve made, you want to show Tommy as well. It should make you afraid. The things that you feel. He has someone after all, no matter how serious their relationship might or might not be, however, isn’t this the perfect motivator for any kind of artist? You feel pain. A different kind of pain that you can actually use instead of the grief that aches in your bones.

Pain is one of the fundamentals of art. The beauty of art comes from within, and so does pain, it’s the process of creating it not the end product. It’s the journey. Some of your favorite artworks are derived from pain; Dorotea Tanning’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, Dali’s Elephants, and The Broken Column by Frida Kahlo.

Despite being transfixed by Dali’s work (his work with butterflies has been a strong inspiration in what you make), you feel most drawn to Tanning’s style of showcasing pain. You always saw yourself as the girl within the Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, walking down the blood-colored carpet, a giant sunflower in front of her, tattered and ruined. You were always curious about the cracked open door ahead, wondered what might be laying within the only room with an open door.

Your thoughts seep through the pencil, become shapes and lines on paper. You admire the texture of the clean sheets, the lead against it music to your ears. You draw and draw, some making less sense than others. Page after page your butterflies become something else, they become more gruesome with split heads and sharp, glass-like wings. You swallow. The sweat clinging to your skin is cold, your fingers numb.

And just like that you’re buried in muted darkness.

“Shit.” you hiss, looking up accusingly to the light. “What the fuck?”

You get up and head to the window, your fingers curling around the edge of the curtains. It’s early but it seems like some of your neighbors are already awake—and has light.

“Fuck,” you say again.

The sun warms your back. You’re staring at the blank screen of the TV. You hear the faint murmurs coming from the Miller’s kitchen, Joel paces back and forth, his socked feet silent. Anxiety clawing at your chest, you shove your hands between your thighs and keep them there. Joel appears. You look up at him as he leans down, placing the phone on the coffee table.

“So it looks like the power outage is gonna take them a couple of days to fix, maybe even a week,” your heart sinks at his words. He notices and a soft smile tugs at his lips. “Don’t look so worried. You can stay here, we have a spare room. I’ll check on them to see they're doing everythin’ right.”

“Oh,” you say, a hint of worry etched into your voice. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you with all that. I was just thinking of just calling up my brother, or I can stay at Olivia’s.”

He waves you off in dismissal. “You ain’t troubling anyone. Besides, it’ll be easier to just bring what you need here. Or if you forget somethin’ you can just go and get it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, darlin’,” he answers, voice dropping a beat. “Stay.”

A shudder settles at the base of your spine. You nod. You feel a thick knock in your throat as you swallow. You can still see the lines of sleep mapping across his cheeks, his bed hair a sight to behold. Looking down at the coffee table, you try not to think about how good he looks with his gray sweatpants hugging his thighs—you especially try not to think about the night you drew shapes across his hand and forearm with nothing but your fingers.

You dream of painting him. Putting him on a blank canvas and hanging it on your wall. He’s a beautiful man. Strong body, a pronounced nose, warm eyes.

Sarah's sudden jump off the last step startles you and interrupts your thoughts. When she sees your expression, she looks puzzled herself.

“Mornin’,” she greets you, ready for school. “Did something happen?”

“Power outage,” Joel answers on your behalf, Sarah turns to him. “She’s goin’ to be stayin’ with us for a while.”

Your heart melts at how wide Sarah smiles, you can see the glimmer in her eyes. “That’s great!” she sits next to you. “Well, not great great, but we can have a sleepover! It’ll be fun, you can teach me how to draw.”

“Sarah…” Joel warns.

You cut him off before he can say anything else.

“That sounds great,” you smile. “I actually have a couple of drawings I’ve been meaning to show you guys.”

“Really?” Joel asks.

“Yeah, really.” you answer, grinning at his surprise. You pull out the sketchbook from your bag and place it on your lap. Heat grows between your legs as Joel sits next to you, the meat of his thigh pressed snug against your own.

Both Miller’s lean in closer, staring at your drawings—themselves, in a way. You don’t think they’ll notice, especially not Joel, but you realize that maybe Sarah does. Her fingers delicately move over the drawing that you did thinking of her.

Sarah grabs your arm and diverts your attention back to her, “Butterflies.” she murmurs.

“How do you like your coffee?”

“With milk,” you answer. “A lot of it, preferably.”

“So milk with a dash of coffee,” he grins, amused. “Got it.”

It’s been a couple of days since you moved in with Joel and Sarah. It was much easier to live with the father-daughter due than you initially had thought. Tommy came over in the mornings, dropping you off to work and Sarah to school, and the brothers went to do their own thing after that.

With Joel’s back turned to you, you look down at your sketchbook and add another line to what is supposed to be his unruly hair. He really needs a haircut.

Surprisingly living with him isn’t weird at all. He made you feel welcome. No awkward glances, no awkward touching. Just neighbors helping each other out. He places the steaming mug next to you and leans on his elbows. He looks at what you’re drawing and raises an eyebrow.

Joel brings the mug to his lips.

“You’re paintin’ me?”

“I’m sketching you,” you answer. “You’re a lovely specimen.”

“Is that so.”

The scent of coffee fills your lungs. Lifting your gaze, you observe his facial structures. You see the imperfections, take in the sight of his eyes, his bushy eyebrows, and the bald patches in his beard. You want to touch the small beauty park right in the corner of his eye that’s impossible to see unless you’re an inch further away.

If he knew how you saw him—if he knew how big he was in your mind— Joel would be terrified.

“Do you like art?” you ask, taking him by surprise. He takes a sip of his coffee and your gaze drops back to your sketch.

He hums, fingers thrumming the kitchen counter. “I like your art.”

“I should take you guys to an art gallery or something,” you say, smiling. “If you like mine, you’re going to go nuts over the things that are out there.”

Joel pouts and you roll your eyes. “What are you looking at me like that for?” you ask.

“I like your drawings. They’re—They feel close. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

It’s because it’s you who I think of when I create them.

“Do you know Salvador Dali?” you ask, then quickly add. “Or Dorothea Tanning?”

“Sweetheart, the only artist I know is Da Vinci and I’m not even a hundred percent sure he is one.”

“He is,” you affirm him excitedly, looking back up. “I love surrealism. It’s when everything gets really weird basically. So—wait let me show you. I think I have a couple of pictures between the pages.”

You miss the way Joel’s lips slowly curl up, adoration and fondness adorning his face, softening the edges. He comes closer. Your pulse quickens as your fingers rush to find the images, and when they do you basically rip them out from between the pages

“Look.”

All of them are images from Dali’s artwork. Mainly butterflies. Joel observes them carefully, touching them as if fearing he might stain them. You urge him to take a closer look by placing one between his thick fingers. It’s The Butterfly Rose.

“Never thought you would do homework for a hobby.”

“It’s not—” You let out an exasperated sigh, cutting yourself off mid-sentence. “Do you think I want to work at the coffee house forever? It’s not just a hobby. And of course, as an artist, I look at other art to be inspired. They make me feel things.” Seeing the startled expression on his face, you add, “Don’t you get like…shivers or something when you see a very nice wooden table?”

Oh, you made him uncomfortable. You sense that in an instant. His fingers trace the image of the painting, looking down, you notice the crease between his brows deepening with concentration. Was he concentrating on the image? In your words? You have no idea—the only thing you know is that this man concentrating on art is making your insides clench with a need.

“Sorry,” he grumbles. “I didn’t mean it like that. I do think you’re a serious artist. It’s just…fuck that came out wrong. I just didn’t think you would put in this much effort to somethin’ I said,” he shakes his head. “Shit, I’m bad at this.”

That undeniable need to touch him comes rushing back. You bite the inside of your bottom lip instead. “ I think I might’ve overreacted after hearing the same thing from my brother all the time. It’s all good. You might be the only one that takes me seriously so it was unfair for me to jump to conclusions like that.”

“He don’t support you?”

“He does…” you trail off. “In his own way, I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound like support,” he answers, clicking his tongue. “And just FYI I like your butterflies better, sweet tea.”

“Sweet tea?” you ask, lips curling with amusement and eyes widening with shock.

He shrugs. “You said you liked Dorothea…somethin’---”

“Tanning.” you quickly say. “So Sweet Tea as in…the last syllable of her name?”

“Would you rather I call you Tea?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope!” you grin, your heart elevated. “Sweet Tea is perfect.”

With a soft smile, Joel places the picture in front of you and gently taps on it.

“Well then, Sweet Tea,” he says. “Tell me more about this surrealism thing.”

You and Tommy are waiting by the truck for Joel and Sarah to buy snacks from 7-Eleven. You remember the funny looks the Millers gave you when you suggested buying snacks at the cinema instead. Joel had just shaken his head and steered you towards the truck, his hand on your waist. The touch burned you.

Then he proceeded to explain the thrill of sneaking something through the cinema doors, and how they deserved it due to their overpriced snacks. The latter you couldn’t really object against. However, you had no idea that the Millers were such kleptomaniacs.

Tommy had a cigarette between his lips, he pulls it out and exhales a puff of smoke. You watch it mixing into the dark blue night.

“How’s it like staying with my brother and niece?” he asks. “Hopefully Joel ain’t given’ you too much trouble.”

“Oh. Not at all,” you smile, waving your hand. “He’s been nothing but kind. You have nothing to worry about.”

Tommy nods, and he flicks the cigarette to the pavement, stepping on it, he comes closer. “Good good.” you feel his heat, his breath. You shudder. “I miss spendin’ time with you…I mean without anyone else.”

His voice is a low hum in your ear. You had missed hanging out with him too, but now it's clear that your feelings don't quite match his. Your gaze drifts to the windows of the 7-Eleven, where Joel and Sarah are at the register, scanning the items and chatting. A burst of laughter from Joel warms your heart.

Tommy touches your chin, pulling your gaze back to him. Your pulse quickens under his touch. You swallow.

“You’ve been distant lately,” he states. “Did I do somethin’?”

“What?” you gasp, then furiously shake your head. “No. No, of course, you didn’t. I’m…It’s just been hectic with trying to get the power back and the drawings—It doesn’t mean anything, I promise.”

“If you say so, sweetheart.” he smiles and you fight the urge to let out a breath of relief. “Don’t think about it so much. Joel said the electricity will be back in no time, he might’ve…” he clears his throat. “He might’ve threatened them a bit but it was all light-hearted.”

You snort. “How can a threat be light-hearted?”

“You know,” he grins. “When you place a hand on a guy’s shoulder and just squeeze it a bit while smilin’. It’s unnervin’ really. He does that a lot, gives me the creeps sometimes. But then again, a man gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” you gently kick the pavement with the tip of your shoe. “But no threats necessary. I’m sure they’re going as fast as they can.”

“We got the goods!”

Sarah comes running, a wide smile stretched across her face as she hugs her jacket tight around her. Joel follows, a lopsided smile on his lips.

When Sarah reaches you and Tommy, she looks around then back to you, she opens the front of her jacket. “See,” she smirks, showing you the various snacks hidden underneath the thick layer.

Tommy whistles. “That’s quite a haul, baby girl. How long is this movie? Five hours?”

“I wish,” Sarah snorts. “I’ve been waiting for this a loooong time uncle Tommy. Let me enjoy it.”

Joel appears next to you, his own jacket also looking a bit tighter. You look up, smiling, and he parts his jacket, showing you, as Sarah had dubbed, “the goods”.

“I just want to say for the record,” you exclaim, opening the back door. “If you two get sick I’m not cleaning up after you.”

“You break my heart, Sweet Tea.” Joel answers, hand on his chest as if he’s been shot. “And here I thought you had my back.”

“I do but not for self-inflicted stomach aches.”

Sarah slides in after you and Joel takes his place at the passenger seat. Tommy looks at you through the review mirror as he buckles his belt.

“Sweet Tea?” he asks.

“Long story,” you answer, “I’ll tell you later.”

The cinema. A place where every art form, visual or otherwise, shakes hands and comes together to create the most amazing of worlds.

Ever since you were a kid you had this connection to the atmosphere. The scent of popcorn, the dim lights, the other movie enthusiasts excited to witness the magic of it all. You don’t know what it is that draws you to it. From memory, you remember instances where it would only be you and your brother at the movies, the two of you practically owning the dark room for about two hours. It was fun, it was almost magical. Just you and him. That’s it. It was a small town so it wasn’t a hard thing to come by.

Now it’s the opposite. The screening room is filled to the brim, not one seat empty. Joel is on your left side and Sarah on your right, next to her sits Tommy. You notice she keeps patting her jacket. A small smile tugs at your lips, it almost looks like she’s afraid that the snacks would disappear.

Despite the past and the present being drastically different, the feeling is the same. It’s a similar feeling to returning home after a long time. You’re excited, giddy almost. And it’s not because of the movie you’re about to watch—Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, one of Sarah’s favorite franchises— it’s from the memories of it.

The lights turn off completely, the commercials start to play.

Joel leans in, his shoulder brushing against yours. His lips touch your ear and your stomach tightens. You’re happy he can’t see your face. It would’ve been a dead giveaway if he did.

“Pass these to Tommy,” he whispers, handing you a box of milk duds. You do as you’re told, Joel then pulls out a pack of Reese’s Pieces. “I do prefer the cups,” he mutters into your ear, you’re not listening, you just focus on the warmth of his breath and the way he turns your hand over. “But these will do for now.”

You feel the small bite-sized peanut butter and chocolatey goodness falling into your sweaty palm. Throwing back your head, you plop them all into your mouth. You feel his gaze but purposefully keep your eyes glued to the screen. He’s too close. His presence bearing onto you like a heavy blanket.

The movie finally starts and you do everything to keep your non-existent attention span on the large screen.

An hour in, goosebumps begin to rise over your skin. It’s cold. The chill is something you always forget about the cinema. You didn’t really have a need to bring your jacket with you when you went out, the night air being warm. But of course, you’d forgotten that you always got chilly in the cinema, no matter how hot it was outside.

Joel must’ve felt your shivering because soon enough you feel his fingers curling around your wrist. He shuffles closer.

“Are you cold?” he murmurs and you nod. His fingers don’t desert you as he moves over Sarah to grab his jacket. He throws it over you, warmth immediately coiling around your body. “Better?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks.”

You’re hyper-aware that his hand remains on your wrist, some portion of his jacket covering your tangled limbs. His fingers tighten, thumb smoothing over your heated skin. Your skin prickles under his touch and soon he starts to skim your forearm up and down with the tips of his fingers. You cheat a glance at him but his sole focus is on the screen. His lips are pressed tight, brows pinched together. When a specifically bright scene appears on screen, you can see the vein meandering down his neck.

You want to stare at him forever but you know you can’t. Your eyes flitting back to the screen, you ignore the way his fingers continue to move. His touch is much rougher compared to your own. More textured. His blunt nails scrape against your skin, the pads of his fingers travel to your knuckles then move back up again.

It almost feels like he’s returning the gesture from before. The thought strikes fear. Is this his way of telling you that he knows? That he’d sensed your emotions through your fingertips and telling you; I see you.

You want to snatch your hand away and your fingers twitch with the need for it. You haven’t heard Asha’s name for a while— But it’s not like Joel talked much about his personal life, and when your alone times with Tommy became limited you heard very little from the ongoing relationship.

In the end, you don’t pull your hand back and he doesn’t stop touching you. The darkness hides the want, the need, the attraction. Because that is what this is right? Attraction. You’re not alone in your feelings. You can’t be. This was a silent message. A plea for you to say, I see you, back.

And you do see him. You always have.

The feeling of his fingers long lingers even after the intermission has come and passed. It stays with you as you exit the movies, as you listen to Sarah excitedly talk about her favorite parts, as Tommy bids you three farewell and drives on home.

It lingers still.

You don’t know what time it is. The only thing you do know is that it’s late. Very late. But no matter how much you toss and turn you can’t sleep. Your mind is wide awake with thoughts of Joel and nothing else. Him and his fingers, his lips, his neck.

It shouldn’t surprise you that you end up sneaking a hand under your shirt, feeling yourself and imagining it was him instead.

The sensation of your fingertips brushing over your sensitive skin is electrifying. You close your eyes and imagine it's Joel's hands exploring your body, his fingers tracing circles around your nipples and teasing them until they become tight and hard. His lips trailing down your neck, leaving a burning trail behind.

You bite back your moans as your hand moves further down, slipping between your thighs. Your fingers tease and stroke, exploring every inch of your wetness. You press down harder, your body aching and begging for more, as you think of Joel's hands exploring you. His fingers slipping in and out of your folds, tantalizing and teasing you until you can't take it anymore.

“Joel,” you whisper into the darkness, a prayer. “Joel, please.”

Your breathing becomes shallow as your orgasm builds, and you moan out his name as you let go. The sensation washes over you, and you can almost feel Joel's hands on your body, his lips on your skin. When you pull out your fingers, you feel like a ragdoll, your limbs buzzing with your fading orgasm. You let out a breath.

The phone rings.

Your eyes narrow when you see Tommy’s name flashing on the small screen. Confusion and worry clouding your post-coitus haze, you pick up the phone.

“Tommy,” you answer. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” he lets out a breath, his voice sounds frenzied. “I…I saw a—” whatever he was about to say he must’ve decided against saying it because the rest never comes. “I want to ask you somethin’”.

“You can ask me anything.”

You say it but in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have. Your heart is restless, your stomach clenching and unclenching in the span of seconds. You hear him breathing heavily from the other line.

“Would you like to go out with me?” he asks in one exhale. “Like…on a date.”

Joel doesn’t want the day to start. It’s unbearably warm, and unknowing to him, he had cast his shirt to the floor sometime during the late night. The morning chill settles over his back. His eyes are closed, his cock hard. He presses temptingly into the pillow between his legs. He has no idea how it ended up there, but he’s grateful for the added pressure. Joel doesn’t think he could ever forget what happened last night.

The way he touched your burning skin under his jacket, the way you kept stealing glances from him—it was all still too vivid in his head. But then…then you went to bed, and so did he.

When he woke up in the middle of the night to get water, he didn’t expect to hear his name coming from your room. He waited and listened, you whispered it again. It was such a faint sound that if it wasn’t the dead of night there was no way he could’ve heard it. His cheeks heat up at the memory. He just stayed there, like a deer in headlights, and fucking listened to you get off with his name tenderly falling from your lips.

Joel had turned and rushed back to his room, his parched mouth now filled with saliva, water forgotten.

And now, with those thoughts swirling in his head, he grinds himself into the soft pillow. A low groan echoes from the back of his throat. He squeezes his eyes tighter. What were you thinking about? Was it images of him tasting your cunt? Him fucking his cock deep into your sopping heat? Which one was it? What was it that forced those sounds out of your lips?

Frustrated by the lack of friction, his eyes snap open with something resembling anger. Joel kicks off his sweatpants, brings the pillow underneath him, and squeezes the ends together, forming a crease. He shoves his aching cock between them, wishing it was you instead.

He leans back, letting the warmth of the pillow engulf him, and takes a deep breath. His body is trembling as he moves his hips slowly. He lets out a low moan as his hips grind against the pillow, the sensation of it rubbing against his hard cock setting off sparks of pleasure throughout his body. The morning sun pours from between the curtains, kissing his skin. His hands grip the pillow tight as he moves his body faster and faster, letting out a series of moans and gasps.

He imagines it's your body he's thrusting against, your soft curves, your tight embrace. His breathing becomes laboured, his balls draw tight, his stomach clenches. He sees a dark patch growing across the fabric. Joel collapses, his face pressing into the sheets as he rocks his hip forward like a dog in heat. His skin feels raw and over-sensitive. Every time the fabric rubs against his skin, he hisses.

With one final thrust, he lets out a long, drawn-out moan as he comes hard, his mind filled with thoughts of you.

He falls onto the pillow, panting heavily. The aftershocks of his orgasm ripple through his body. His cock is still pulsing with pleasure as it slowly softens. His hands run over the pillow, feeling the warmth and wetness left behind from his release. He can still feel the tightness of his orgasm, the pressure inside him slowly fading away. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting out a satisfied sigh. Joel wants to feel you against him, to cage you in between him and the bed.

His cock twitches.

Joel turns onto his side, his body feeling heavy. The guilt gnaws at his insides. What the hell is wrong with him? First, he touches you during the movies like a man possessed, then he listens to you through the door, and now he’s fucking his pillow with thoughts of you. He groans and flips over to his back. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, another groan leaving him.

He has a fucking girlfriend, and no matter how lax the relationship was, he couldn’t continue on doing this. He needs to break up with Asha, then he needs to talk to you, get things sorted.

When he allows his arms to fall to his sides, Joel entertains the thought that maybe—just maybe—everything might work out.

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