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feral4daryl · 1 year ago

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need a part 2 of sweet scent with pervy daryl trying to explain it to you but you couldn't get it cuz you'd never done anything like it so he says he's gonna show you how good it feels and has to muffle your screams so no one in the house hears you as his cock practically splits your tiny cunt in half and he uses his thumb to rub ur clit to try and make u relax.........

I'm crazy but I'm free

masterlist and other infos || MDNI

sweet scent pt2.

perv!daryl x innocent!fem!reader

summary: after getting caught sniffing your panties by you, daryl persuades you into giving your precious virginity away to him while your dad's just in the next room.

warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl's is in late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18 [or older, it's up to you]), 18+ smut, praising, dubcon? (reader lacks enthusiastic consent at first and daryl has to do some convincing), panty gagging, p-in-v, blowjobs, cunnilingus, masturbation, manipulation, petnames, daddy kink, orgasm denial, mentions of dumbification, mentions of degradation.

word count: 6.2k

a/n: the following content contains some extreme fetishes and kinks that some readers might find disturbing, so if you're not comfortable with any of those, please do not proceed. click here to read part 1.

[...] His movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. He sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. He opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.

Then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...

You. Standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.

"U-uncle Daryl?"

---

Shit.

You definitely weren't what Daryl expected to see when he opened his eyes, the remains of his freshly busted nut all over his hand and his cock out, fully on display. For a good 5 seconds, he just freezed, completely unsure of what to do. But then, it hit him. He freaked out.

His eyes got as big as they possibly could and he immediately pulled his cock in his pants back again, clumsily trying to regain his composure, taking a little longer than usual due to his nervousness. Meanwhile, you just stood there with an unreadable expression. You didn't look exactly shocked, or angry, or anything like it. You looked strangely curious, with your head slightly tilted to the side.

Daryl shook his hand to get rid of some of his essence that was still sticking to it and then rubbed it on the side of his pants, on the hip area. Still not capable of looking you in the eyes, he quickly glanced at your frame and finally broke the awkward silence.

“Y/N? W-What'r'ya doin' here?” Stuttering was very unusual for Daryl, considering that although he was a man of very few words, he was always very direct and precise with them. Maybe playing it cool as if you hadn't just caught him in the act was the way out of that unpleasant situation.

“Well...” You let out a small chuckle and took a step closer to him. “This is my room.” His awkward smile immediately faded away.

“Oh, uh... I was jus’...” He looked around the room, searching for anything to use as an excuse for being there. But before he could start, you interrupted him.

“I didn't leave with the others, daddy told me to stay here to take care of you. He's in his room.” Your sweet girly voice had a way of calming Daryl, making him a bit more relaxed despite the current scenario and the shame he was feeling. But at the same time, just hearing you enunciate that one little word 'daddy' had him taking a deep breath to control his urges and not have another erection right there and then. You said that so innocently, because, well, it was in fact innocent since you referred to your actual father Hershel, but still, Daryl's twisted mind made it sound suggestive in his head.

“Take care'a me?” He pondered. Daryl wondered why your reaction was so calm considering what you had just witnessed. Maybe you didn't see much.

“You know, somebody's gotta change your bandage.” You smiled and pointed to his head that still had the bandage around it. “Actually, can you step to the side a bit? So I can...” You gestured to the dressing table behind him. He didn't say anything and just did as you said, moving to the side a little so you could approach the piece of furniture. In that moment, Daryl was the definition of what they call a standoffish.

“I was expecting to find you in your bed, resting. As you should, uncle Daryl.” Your voice carried a hint of playfulness along with a sincere worry. But the way you called him uncle for the second time that day gave him mixed sensations. He wasn't sure if he was aroused or weirded out by it. Or both.

You extended your hand, meaning to pull the drawer open to collect the items needed to change his bandage, which included the gauze, antiseptic wipes, medical tapes, sterile dressing and other kinds of medical stuff your dad had taught you how to handle, but you had to stop your hand midway when you noticed a white slimy thing dripping down the furnishing.

He followed your eyes, noticing how stared at the liquid. The farmer's sweet young daughter had just noticed the results of Daryl's arousal while it coated the dressing table. His mind started rushing with apprehension, you could tell your dad and everyone else how much of a perverted old man Daryl actually was, and he could be kicked out of the group, being left alone in the woods to fend for himself. It's not that he wasn't capable to make it on his own, but his family was important to him, he didn't wanna lose them over that type of thing that could change the way they looked at him forever.

“What's this?” You bended your knees a little, leaning forward and squinting your eyes to take a better look at the unknown substance. Now, you had completely forgotten the reason why you came into that room that was changing his bandage. Daryl lifted one of his eyebrows out of confusion. Did you really not know what that was? If that was the case, it kind of made sense.

Of course. Living on a farm far from the city, you had a close-knit relationship with your family in a way that they were pretty much all the people you would interact with. You had never had boyfriends, or kissed, or anything remotely romantic like that due to your dad's overprotectiveness, after all, you were his youngest daughter. All you knew about the existence of sexual stuff had been taught by him, when he mainly warned you about the terrible consequences of that type of action and that you had to stay innocent.

You didn't really know what he meant by all that, since he was very vague in his descriptions about sex. Hershel just used to say that there were certain areas on your body that you should never let a boy get near and you knew better than to disobey your father's orders, being aware that he always knew what was best for you. Not even your own hands had ever darted down your body to meet those spots more than once or twice before quickly pulling away. You wanted to remain innocent, whatever that meant.

But Daryl was the observant type, and he quickly caught up that you knew nothing about that type of thing. He knew you had always lived in that farm, away from the perverted hands of boys your age (or older like him) so connecting the dots wasn't tricky at all.

Oh, the things he could show you. That thought alone brought a somewhat creepy smirk to Daryl's face as he stared into the wall, contemplating the opportunity he had in hands to finally have his way with you. He knew he still had to be careful though.

“Daryl?” Your voice snapped him out of his trance. You turned your head to look at him before turning your entire body to face him. Your gaze was curious.

“This?” He motioned with his chin towards the dripping substance on the piece of furniture, looking out of place. “Ya don'... know wha' it is?” He double checked, wanting to make sure you were actually unfamiliar erotic nature of what you saw him doing.

“Well, I saw where it came from.” You revealed, not sounding accusing at all, just simply stating a fact.

“...How long 've ya been watchin' me?” He asked with an almost audible gulp. Though he was considerably excited about teaching you all that new stuff, he was still unsure if he should or not. It'd been so long since his last sexual interaction with someone else that he could barely remember it. And doing it with the daughter of the man that gave him a roof to put over his head in times like these? That was risky.

“A while.” You stated. Now, Daryl could notice how you started staring at his crotch area with a renewed sense of interest. That meant you had definitely seen his dick despite his efforts to hide it when he first got caught just moments ago. He wondered if you knew what it was or its purpose.

You stepped even closer to him and he couldn't help but step back slightly. “I've never seen somebody pee like that. Are you... Sick?” You raise an eyebrow. “The bathroom's just in the next room, you know...” Your worried tone was awfully adorable to Daryl. And well, he was indeed sick, but not in the way you meant it. Nonetheless, the amusing way you mistook his semen for urine made him share a light chuckle.

“Nah, tha's... Tha's not piss.” He bluntly let out. You walked across your room and over to your bed, sitting on its edge. Daryl followed you until he was standing in front of you. He crossed his arms.

“How so?” You tilted your head to the side with a sincere curiosity displayed on your face. You had seen the way he rubbed that one thing of his that you weren't sure how it worked until that slimy liquid started oozing out of it, deeply stimulating your curiosity.

“Ya sure ya wanna know?” His tone sounded more dark and his voice turned hoarser, however, that didn't seem to faze you. You nodded frantically. “Aigh', i'll show ya.” Once again, a smirk creeped onto his face. Your eyes were all sparkly as you attentively listened to him. “Sometimes people touch themselves ta feel good, ya know?” You shrugged, not really sure of what he was talking about.

As he spoke, he took light and slow steps towards you, like a predator preparing to hunt its prey, until his knees was almost touching yours. “Ya ever touched yerself, darlin'?” Despite the raspiness in his voice, it was now rather calm, with a surge of some sweetness to it.

“Like how?” You asked.

“Like here...” He extended his hand with a gentle movement, his finger tracing a path from the valley between your breasts down to your bellybutton. The slightly ticklish sensation made you flinch a little. Then, his finger continued making its way down to your lower belly, stopping inches above your clothed pussy. “'N here...”

Your breath hissed, and you started remembering how your dad told you those parts were sacred and shouldn't be touched by anyone, no matter who. The uncertainty was obvious in your face as you discreetly pushed his hand away. “Uncle Daryl...”

“Ya can call me jus' Daryl, sweetheart. 'M yer friend, remember?” He tried his best to sound convincing.

“Yes, Daryl...” You corrected yourself with an awkward chuckle. “I... I think I shouldn't.” You avert your gaze from his.

“Why not? Dontcha wanna know wha' it's like?” He leaned in a little closer, resting his hands on your thighs. You made a motion to try to push him away again, but he insisted on his touch. “Don' be scared, doll. 'M not gunna hurt ya. Quite the opposite.” He smirked while practically whispering the last part, making sure to sound extra coaxing.

You weren't really sure what you were afraid of, exactly. You just knew that you wanted to make your father happy and proud of you, since he'd always been so caring towards you and your family. In the end, you just wanted daddy's approval.

“I'm... I'm not sure. I don't know, it doesn't feel right.” You confessed, your voice filled with worry. Daryl knew how to be intimidating when he wanted to.

“'S okay, doll.” He spoke the way one would speak to a puppy. And giving you no time to protest, he used one of his hands to tug at the hem of your white tank top and pulled it up in one go, revealing your bare tits to him. He bit his lips, noticing you weren't wearing a bra. As quick as he did so, you felt so ashamed of your sudden nudity that you lifted your arms up to try to cover yourself up from his hungry eyes. “D-Daryl...”

“Shhhh...” He shushed you against your ear, making shivers run down your spine. Although you were uncertain, the way he spoke to you made certain parts of your body warm up, an unusual sensation for you. “Ya got such pretty tits... Ya shouldn't hide 'em away from me.” As he said that, he gently grabbed one of your breasts, giving it the slightest squeeze not to startle you. You couldn't help but let out a small squeak at the unfamiliar sensation. Weirdly enough, it felt good in a way you had never felt before.

“Ya like tha'?” He whispered. “It's nice, but... Daddy wouldn't like that. I just wanna make daddy happy.” You just wanted to be a good girl. Perhaps, you could find a different way of doing that.

“Yeah?” He muttered practically to himself as he got an idea. “Well, I can be yer daddy for today. Like tha', ya could make yer daddy happy in a way. Yer jus' gotta lemme lead ya, aigh'?” He didn't feel guilty in the slightest for making you engage in one of his twisted fetishes while you were barely aware of it.

“H-huh?" You were uncertain about the reason behind his suggestion.

“Ya can pretend 'm yer daddy.” He continued playing her mind. You weren't really sure if you liked the idea to depict him as your old man, but you tried to convince yourself to play along.

“But... What will he think of me when he finds out?” You fidgeted with your fingers. Meanwhile his grip on your breast continued to intimidate you.

“He don' have ta know. C'mon, dontcha wanna make daddy happy?” He conveyed in a hush against your ear, his thumb now grazing your sensitive nipple, making you feel that one funny sensation again. You couldn't help but lean into his touch.

You closed your eyes, darting your tongue out to lick your lips. The nervousness in you due to the newness of it all made your lips dry. The way Daryl was making you feel was curious, and you just wanted more of it. He took your silence as a confirmation.

“Good girl.” He cooed before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, very gently sucking on it. The feeling made you arch your back instantly.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

You just wanted to be a good girl. And if following Daryl's lead was a way to do it, you were all in for it. Your senses awakened as a cascade of unfamiliar yet electrifying sensations coursed through you, a dance of pleasure that tingled on your skin. In that moment, a subtle warmth enveloped you, as if you had discovered a secret realm of bliss previously unknown.

You reached for his head, the feeling of your delicate fingernails scratching against his scalp and pulling him closer sent tingling sensations all over his body. Instinctively, you slightly opened your legs at the pleasure and that drew a smirk onto Daryl's face.

“Eager fer daddy, huh?” The way he referred to himself like that made a faint blush spread across your cheeks, although you couldn't wrap your head around the reason why. It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.

“I need ya to trust me, 'kay?” He said as he pulled your shorts down and then tossed them aside, revealing your white cotton panties. Once again, you felt to urge to hide, not knowing how to deal with someone else seeing you naked for the first time. But before your legs could involuntarily close, his big hands groped your thighs, keeping them spread apart. “'S okay, sunshine.” He practically manhandled you, gently but firmly pushing your body downward so you rested you back on the mattress.

The new position made you feel strangely vulnerable, but it wasn't exactly a bad feeling. Your doe eyes had a mix of unsureness and curiosity as they meet his. Sensing the mixed sensations within you, Daryl leaned in to place a small peck on your plush lips, aiming to make you more comfortable. The feeling of his rough lips against your soft ones so suddenly almost made you flinch, but they felt rather inviting. As he pulled back, a confident smirk could be seen displayed on his face.

The archer's rugged fingers traveled their way down your body once again until they found the soft fabric of your panties, making your breath hiss. He brushed his index and middle fingers against your clothed pussy lips. Just with that, the dampness was so obvious that a small wet spot could be seen on the cotton fabric right where your slit would be. He dragged his fingers across it until they reached your clit.

“This lil spot righ' here...” He kept his hand there. “...is magical." For now, he just added a small pressure, testing the waters and watching close to your reaction, but that was enough to draw a whimper from you, the unknown sensation making you grasp his forearm. It indeed felt magical. You bit your lips and though you couldn't see it, Daryl shared a satisfied smile at the way he was able to get you all hot and bothered with just a simple touch.

Your legs squirmed a bit and he took that as a good sign, so he continued. Now, he started slowly rubbing your clit in circular motions over the fabric of your panties. Your back arched again, and you accidentally let out a dangerously loud moan.

“Nuh-uh.” He brought his other index finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be quiet. “Ya gotta be quiet, ya hear me?” His tone was mostly reprimanding, which strangely excited you. You nodded, enjoying the authority he guided you with through those new sensations. You had touched yourself there before, but never like that. The sensation always felt somewhat wrong, but with Daryl, it was totally different.

You were still kind of upset at yourself for disobeying your dad, but the way Daryl worked his fingers so skillfully had you seeing stars. You never thought you'd be handing out your innocence for some old redneck you met just a while ago, but there you were, completely given to him.

In the beginning, Daryl used to always kind of avoid you, despite your attempts of trying to get to know at least a little bit about the mysterious archer. He knew that deep down, those desires towards you were always there, since the very first time he saw you. At first, he tried to brush them off, but now, all he wanted was to be the one to feel your tight virgin cunt for the first time.

In a swift motion, his big hands tugged at the hem of your underwear. “Up.” He ordered, gesturing for you to lift your hips so he could pull them down. You didn't argue at all and promptly did as he said, reveling in the control he had over you. It was like he dominated your weak mind. “Good girl.” He cooed once again. Oh, if only he knew what that did to your little inexperienced pussy.

After tossing the piece of fabric aside, he reached for you knees, gently spreading them apart. The sight of your glistening bare cunt had his mind rushing through all the things he could do to it. He wondered if he would be able to hold himself back and be gentle or if he would end up losing control. After all, he hadn't done anything like that in such a long time that his whole body was aching for it. He stared at it in an almost scary way, you'd never seen his eyes so hungry.

If his cock hadn't awaken until that moment, now it was hard as a fucking rock. He had to really fight the urges to pull it out his pants and dick you down right there and then, but he knew he had to take it easy on you at least for now and get you nice and ready for him, even though you were already visibly dripping wet.

“Is this all fer me?” His tone was almost mocking. You weren't sure what he meant by that, not fully understanding the concept of natural lubrication, but you just nodded with your eyes closed. Something about being in that position felt so right, so freeing that it had you wondering why you never did that before, and why you were so afraid of trying it in the first place.

Daryl's hands sensually traced their way down your body, exploring your every contour until they reached the back of your thighs, pushing them back until your wet cunt was all over his face. He tried his best to control himself, but his own arousal was practically taking over his mind, so he buried his face on it like a starving man. As soon as his wet tongue made contact with your sensitive little clit and he lapped at your abundant juices, you immediately gasped, gaining a look of disapproval from Daryl.

“I warned ya.” That was all he mumbled before taking your panties he had just took off you and sticking them into your mouth almost aggressively. You could taste yourself on the white fabric, and although it felt strange, it turned you on even more. Now, your little sounds were muffled by the piece of clothing as he resumed eating you out, flicking his tongue on hour clit and burying it between your folds. You never thought a feeling like that could actually exist as you experienced that overwhelming rush of pleasure, a novel sensation coursing through you sending shivers down your spine as a delightful warmth enveloped your entire being. You tried your best to hold back your sounds since your dad was home and could hear you if you slipped, but Daryl's skilled tongue and lips made it an extremely difficult task, even with your panties stuck in your mouth.

He continued working your clit with his mouth, and maybe a little sooner than it should, a tingling sensation forming in your lower belly caught your attention. Daryl noticed the obvious shift in your demeanor and took the panties out of your mouth so you could speak. “D-daddy...” You experimented the honorific he had previously suggested. “I-I feel funny.” You whimpered, squirming a bit harder than before as it started feeling as if you were gonna burst at any moment. Daryl smirked against your skin and gave your pussy a last peck before pulling away, making you whine in disapproval. It had only been seconds but you immediately missed the sensation. You craved it.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” He said. Not yet what, you wondered. But you still wanted to be good for him, so you nodded as the good girl you were. You couldn't think of anything you wouldn't do for him in that moment, considering how desperate you were to feel that pleasure again.

Your curious eyes followed his hands as they reached to unbuckled his own belt, setting it aside. He undid his pants and pulled them down just enough to reveal his boxer briefs to you. There. There was the place where you saw that sticky white thing shooting out from. Now, the excitement in you was unbearable as you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch his movements closely. Your eyes visibly lighted up and that didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.

“Yer gunna love this, lil' girl.” He bit his lips. Something was very obviously bulging in his boxers, which you found odd since it didn't seem to look so obvious when it was in his pants even though now it looked so big. Either way, you were completely drawn to it. You glued your eyes to his crotch while he pulled his underwear down.

You had heard about it, but you had never actually seen one of those before. In the aftermath of the apocalypse, his pubic hair had grown wild and untamed, a reflection of the makeshift survival and the absence of the once routine grooming practices. Not that he used to care a lot about that kind of thing before the outbreak. In a way, you thought it looked charming, suiting his rugged looks and personality.

You could feel your mouth starting to water at the sight of his cock standing tall and proud in front of you. Since the archer had touched his mouth to your cunt, you wondered if you could do the same to him in that same area on his body. As if he could smell your thoughts, he brought a hand to your head, gently pulling you closer to his crotch while he held it by the base.

“Ya wanna have a taste?” He slyly suggested and chuckled at your frantic nodding. Leaning closer to it, you felt the musky and raw scent that emanated from it, which made you even more drawn to the possibilities that ran through your mind. But at the same time, you didn't know what to do or how to handle it.

Bringing his hand to his mouth, he collected some saliva from it and rubbed the wetness on the tip of his cock to lubricate it. “Gimme yer hand.” He reached out his hand, and instantly you complied, allowing him to direct it towards his cock. He enveloped your hand around it, keeping his atop yours, slowly starting to move it up and down. It felt warm and hard against your soft fingers, and the way he threw his head back and quietly groaned made your stomach churn with butterflies. “Fuck baby, tha' feels good.” He had to whisper due to the dangerous presence of your dad in the house threatening to put your little playtime to an end.

You smiled proudly at yourself. You liked the way he sounded and you wished to draw more of those grunts from his lips. And Daryl, being just as eager as you, removed your hand from his length, holding it by the base. His other hand found its way to the back of your head, his touch almost feeling impatient as he pulled you closer to his cock. “Open yer mouth.” He didn't have to tell you twice. Therefore, he guided his swollen tip to your awaiting tongue, smearing his salty pre-cum all over it. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to hold back any compromising sounds.

Your lips instinctively closed around his tip, trying to mimic the way he sucked on your clit, aiming to make him feel as good as he previously did to you. The act not only gave him pleasure, but it also brought you a deep sense of satisfaction, making you hum against his sensitive skin. The vibrations from your vocal chords sent a chill through his body and he couldn't hold back this time, the warm sensation of your mouth being so tempting and promising that he pushed his hips forward a bit too much, causing it to hit the back of your throat and you to gag on it.

He immediately retracted his body, removing his cock from the velvety confines of your mouth. Your eyes got a little watery but you smiled either way. “Sorry, princess.” He said with a hint of awkwardness in his voice.

“It's fine, I liked it.” You confess, looking up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, sitting at the edge of the bed while he stood in front of you. Your innocent expression contrasting with the dirty nature of your encounter made him impossibly hornier, and he didn't feel like waiting any longer. “Fuck” He almost whined. Eagerness to feel you wrapping around him filled his body, so he grabbed you by the arms, not too rough so he wouldn't hurt you, and put on your feet against the pink wall of your room.

He brought a hand to your head, pressing it against the wall. You gasped a little at his roughness but soon you felt him brushing the tip of his cock on your slicky slit and clit. “'S gunna feel good, I promise.” He mumbled against your ear, making your body hair stand on end. The sensation had you biting your lips to try and not make any sounds, but your efforts were proven useless as you felt the pressure of his tip carefully going in your cunt, causing a burning sensation and you accidentally let out a loud cry.

Daryl's hand went immediately to your mouth, forcefully pressing his palm against your lips to muffle your sounds, your dad shouldn't hear Daryl using his sweet daughter in his own home after all. “Shhh, shhh.” He shushed you, resting his chin on the top of your head for a moment. You wrapped around him so tight even though he only had his tip in yet that he couldn't restrain himself from pushing his hips forward a little more, intensifying the burning sensation while he stretched your virgin cunt out.

“'S okay, ya can take it.” In that moment, you were confused at why he was making you feel so good just a moment ago, and now he's ripping your little pussy apart. But even though it hurt, it was somewhat pleasant to feel so full in such a new way, so you stuck your ass towards him, inviting him in. While still keeping his hand pressed on your mouth, he brought his other one to your hips, gripping them a little too tight.

Without warnings, he buried his entire length in you in one swift motion, filling you up to the brim and worsening the burning to a whole new level. The only thing that kept you from letting out a scream at the sudden invasion was his hand muffling your pathetic sounds and the fact that you'd be in deep trouble if your dad found out about that, but even so, Daryl couldn't help but quietly grunt at the intense sensation. He didn't know he missed fucking a warm cunt so badly until he was completely inhumed inside you. “Good girl. Yer being so good fer daddy.” He praised you. His words had an immediate effect on you, making your pussy even wetter, if that was even possible.

You didn't even care if it hurt or not anymore, so you just stood there, caught in the paradox of sensation — a mix of pain and pleasure etched across your face. The twinge felt like a sweet ache, and yet, an irresistible allure pulled her deeper into the experience, as if the discomfort held a hidden charm that she couldn't resist exploring.

Despite the pain, you found herself oddly drawn to the sensation, craving more as if the discomfort carried an inexplicable appeal that kept you coming back for another taste. So you slightly wiggled your ass against Daryl's body, moving his cock a little inside you. The feeling of being stretched out had you desperate for more.

Daryl's warm breath hit your ear as he let out a light-hearted laugh at your reaction, sending delicious goosebumps all over your body. His hips started going back and forth to meet yours in a sensual dance. He tried to be gentle at first, but your virgin cunt was just so wet and warm that he couldn't help it but succumb to his primal desires. “Jus' like tha', princess. Take this fat cock.” He whispered loud enough so only you could hear, making you weak in the knees.

His calloused hand let go of your hips to find your clit, starting to rub it with just the right pressure to make you squirm under his touch. The mixed sensations of intense pleasure and pain confusing your brain, making you melt like putty in his hands. Overwhelming waves of pleasure surged through you, leaving your head blissfully empty as if every thought had been swept away by the sheer intensity of the sensation, which was exactly what Daryl wanted, to turn you into a brainless little fucktoy for him.

If a few months ago somebody told you that you'd be letting some perverted older man take advantage of you in your own room, you would've laughed right in their face. Giving your innocence away to anybody used to feel like such a distant reality, and now there you were, pressed against the wall by Daryl's sweaty body while he mercilessly pounded your no longer virgin cunt, making you experience the most pleasurable pain you could ever feel.

As he continued bucking his hips like a desperate animal, you drooled against his hand, your brain now reduced to putty due to the overpowering sensation that dominated your every sense. “Nngh...” Your muffled moans stirred an even deeper desire within Daryl, turning him as primal as one could be. Your body language made it obvious that you were close to your orgasm, and this time, he didn't plan to deny you of it.

But you had never experienced something like that. You didn't know pleasure could get so extreme that could made you burst, so as the sensation built and grew stronger, it also made you unsure about where it was taking you, and you tried to fight the feeling. Daryl's skilled fingers working your clit only threw you even closer to the edge and you felt like your legs could fail at any moment.

Noticing the shift in your demeanor, he muttered against your ear. “Jus' let it go, baby. Trust me, don' hold it.” His tone was strangely sweet considering what you were both up to, but his encouraging words relaxed you a little, and as he intensified the rubbing on your clit, you knew you wouldn't be able to hold it in not even if you wanted to, whatever it was.

Then, it hit you. An entirely unfamiliar and intense sensation washed over you, catching you off guard. It felt like uncharted emotional and physical territory, leaving you completely stunned, wide-eyed, and grappling with the unexpected intensity of the experience, something that almost made you mad at your dad from convincing you of staying away from it for so long.

Daryl had to intensify the pressure of his hand against your lips, but even so, he wasn't able to muffle your cries completely as your body convulsed and you were sure you lost consciousness for a few seconds. “Good girl, cum for me.” You didn't know what that word meant, but considering the situation, you understood that it probably had something to do with the new type of pleasure you just experienced.

As the orgasmic sensation slowly faded away, it was replaced with an even more overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. You squirmed even harder and you swore you could cry if he continued using your cunt like that, not giving you any breaks to catch your breath. You'd been turned into a whimpering and drooling mess, a total slut for his cock. You wanted him to have his way with you and you knew that if he wanted to, you'd let him fuck you all day without arguing.

The intense clenching of your tight pussy around his length initiated his own orgasm, and now it was his turn to experience the compelling feeling of being right on the edge of pleasure. “Fuck, turn 'round." He desperately voiced, but he didn't even waited for you before decisively grasping your shoulders, swiftly turning you to face him. As he did so, he removed his cock from inside you and stroked it hard and fast for a few seconds with just enough pressure to make himself burst.

Your mesmerized eyes watched as the pleasure took over his body. And now, it all made sense as he started shooting his load aiming right on your bare pussy, just as he was doing earlier today when you first caught him in your room. The warm sticky substance coated your cunt and it was so much that it felt like it would never end, leaving you astonished. You couldn't help but smile at the sight before you.

You two stared into each other's eyes while desperately trying to catch your breaths, sharing a small chuckle and satisfied smiles. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead and now, you knew who to come up to when you feel that funny feeling in your lower belly again. You knew Daryl had what it took to take care of your needs.

Without saying anything else, he pulled his briefs and pants back up again, adjusting his clothes. Then, he reached for his pocket, pulling out those panties he had stolen earlier and putting them on you again, leaving his load smeary and sticking to your skin. “Leave it there.” He hoarsely voiced, ordering you to walk around with his cum inside your clothes while no one else knew of it except the both of you.

“And these...” He walked over to your bed and bended his knees a little so he could reach for the white cotton panties he had tossed aside right before railing you and put them in his pocket.

“...'M gunna keep these fer later.”

a/n: omg guys the first part of sweet scent got over 1.1k notes and that's like??? insane??? tysm for all ur support, that's crazy. it was so much fun to write both parts and i'm so thankful if you read it this far!! i hope y'all have a great and happy holidays xx

taglist: @imagininghim , @murdadixon , @epilepsywarrior8787 , @darklydixon

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notanotherinfjblog · 2 years ago

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I’m currently collecting interviews with fiction writers of all MBTI types, but I’m obviously restrained by the kind of authors that I’m reading myself, so I’m turning to you now! If there are any writers that you suspect to be ISTJ, ISFJ, ISTP or ISFP (where I cannot name a single one yet) or any NJ, INFP or ESFP (which are rather small in numbers on my list) and that have been interviewed on camera, please let me know!

#i'm currently reading a book by an intp and find it so fascinating how obvious it is that the understands the concept of fe #but absolutely cannot show it in the characters' interactions despite clearly conveying the bare essence of it #reminds me so much of how my intp dad is very good at comforting people that are crying but is never aware that tears are going to come #like when faced with the emotion at face value he knows what to do even if he doesn't understand the emotion itself or where it's comingfrom #and the same is visible in this intp's writing #and you can (or i can at least) always tell if a writer has fe or fi somewhere in their stack #it's a shame though that the one writer who writes exactly like my esfj mother monologues (and i mean EXACTLY) remains anonymous #strong ne in writing is also typically extremely obvious #so i thought this list might be interesting and see how the different writers discuss their writing processes #so far: SJs love pre-planned structure NPs need to fixate on an endpoint NTPs obsess over ideas NJs take their time #maybe i'll include some screenwriters as well i'm not sure yet

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brujamala-aka-gigi · 20 days ago

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tarot tea spill session ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

. ݁ hot girl mindset ⨾ 𓍢ִ໋

beauty as a reflection of self instead of the self trying to reflect “beauty”

Okay, so beauty is in the eye of the beholder and etc. And that's right, but many beholders of eyes have pretty unrealistic ideas of beauty. Beauty is subjective, yes, but this subjectivity is also heavily influenced by social discourses which are manufactured to remain unsatisfied and are meant to keep us engaging in a constant struggle to find our perfect aesthetic peak, and maintain it. Although visual communication by engaging in aesthetic expressions of self is useful, from time to time it's hard to find out what exactly is the self we want to express. In no way I think wanting to be attractive is vain or superficial, I don't think looking for beauty is some sort of vapid journey. But I do think that in the same way paintings are beautiful not only for what's perceived by the eyes but also because of the feelings, thoughts, history and overall the aura they possess, human beauty can be approached in that way too. Some art pieces and some humans are not meant to appeal to everyone, but the ones who they appeal to are profoundly captivated by the depths of their meaning and their unique ways of communicating it. These readings hopefully will give you some inspiration on where you can find the uniqueness and the true essence of what's attractive about you, but not by reducing aesthetics as just something pretty to look at, instead we are approaching this as a search for the meaning behind what could be communicated visually.

dividers by: @the-aesthetics-shop , @dollywons, @cafekitsune

pile one pile two pile three

.‧͙˚ *༓ scroll down for the readings ⋆ִ ‧͙⁺˚

masterpost ✶ pac readings ✶ ko-fi page

⋆bookings for personal readings are open ཐིཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

໒꒰ྀི 𝒑𝒊��𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ꒱ྀི১

The Fool & The Nine Of Disks

Both of these cards show stages of your journey. The fool is usually considered a beginning but I prefer to understand him as the constant creative potential that nothingness gives us; for it to be a beginning there has to be a starting point, and for many of us the starting point is a void we'd like to fill, or something that needs further exploration and understanding by providing meaning to it. This is something that could happen at any point in your journey. Yet as existential and subjective as this card is, usually leading to a more mind focussed approach to reality, the materiality of your spiritual or mental exploration manifests in a grounded sense of ambition. The nine of disks represents how the fruits of your well developed thoughts can manifest in or enhance material prosperity, but in combination with the fool it hints at a constant search for experiences that allow you to feel childlike wonder, and this seems almost like completion feels too close but never close enough. You are willing to evolve through experimentation and furthering the limits of your views and possibilities, but you are also capable of being grounded enough to be aware of what's in your best interest and what can actually be an opportunity for growth. The beauty in you shows when you are embracing these journeys of self exploration and putting value in all the stages of your own personal development. How you feel while doing stuff isn't all that relevant, you could be ingenious, creative, naive, secure, anxious, angry or ambitious about what you do, but what really matters is that you are able to remain confident in your ability to navigate the feelings and the adversities from it; there are consequences implied (positive and negative) to the actions you take in order to become more comfortable and aligned with your ideals. Therefore, the best way to communicate this experiential based establishment of identity, it’s to explore and experiment with aesthetics until you establish a way in which you can visually communicate all the complexities of your identity, without limiting yourself to aiming for a perfectly curated presence. Allow yourself to make aesthetic choices that align with what you are going through as a person, but also don’t hesitate to choose elements of high value that could function as a reward you give yourself.

໒꒰ྀི 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒘𝒐 ꒱ྀི১

The Lovers & Seven of Disks

Honestly, these are lovely cards to get on this reading, pretty wholesome. Not because the lovers mean love and romance and so on, they do sometimes, but in this case I think it would be necessary to focus on the union and alignment that comes with the energy of this card. What I get from it is that you are naturally inclined to find connections between things that other people usually look to balance out, things that are usually thought as opposite to each other. Instead of that, you are capable of working with polarity in your life because you understand that putting in the work to ensure these apparent opposites are actually mutually nurturing each other or cooperating to further evolve, is what brings you a sense of natural harmony. Your instinctive need to find order and structures that embrace innate essential expressions of being, is something quite aligned with values such as perseverance, faith, gratitude, honest labor and most importantly, solidarity. For these reasons,the seven of disks indicates to me that you are someone who is willing to put in a lot of time, effort and work to create bonds with people, places, communities and activities, where everyone is having a positive impact on each other's aspirations and achievements. Taking this into consideration, first and foremost it is clear that no matter how you choose to express your aesthetic taste, it’s likely your virtues overshine any beauty that’s easily perceived by the eye. That being said, I would also point at the fact this also means there’s no need to feel insecure or overthink too much about if everyone else likes the way you look. Your actions and your warm presence speak louder than any kind of aesthetic choice that could be liked or disliked. Take your time to think about what are the elements you enjoy wearing or the beauty habits that could be positive. Choose beauty when it feels genuinely convenient and positive to you, only to you. I don’t think being conventionally attractive or deemed as beautiful by everyone is the best way to compensate or balance out anything you considered negative, but I do think that approaching aesthetics or any kind of beauty related activities as a little tool to take time for yourself, could be quite useful. Remember, appeal to yourself, to your eyes first. "Vanity" can be relaxing and/or empowering as long as it doesn't get in the way of your genuine desires and objectives. Embrace and enhance what feels true to you, be intuitive when dealing with your personal aesthetics.

໒꒰ྀི 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 ꒱ྀི১

Ace of Wands & The Hanged Man

Okay definitely you are someone who is not afraid to go outside of people's standards or even your own when you are empowered by creativity. This combination of cards brings an outstanding and innovative approach to constructing ideas and taking action by being able to see all perspectives before crafting your own; there’s a heavy sense of complex integrity and depth to everything you do. You know when to be an observer and when to be a protagonist, you are comfortable in both and let’s be real, it's most likely that you don’t need others to give you the spotlight, as you are providing it by yourself for yourself. Attention naturally goes to you due to your passionate energy and your individuality. For better or for worse somehow it's pretty common for you to stand out, even if you don’t mean to. Many people try or have tried to single you out, or to force you out of places where your perspectives might generate discomfort. I doubt it is your intention to cause friction by existing according to ideals that many people don’t quite get or are unwilling to understand or tolerate. But I’m also pretty sure that you have the confidence and the knowledge to stand for what makes you distinct from others. These cards are conjunct in a way that shows me that you are aware of how to put a little bit of yourself and your creativity even when there’s restrictions to self expression. If you are interested in also taking an intricate, unique and maybe antithetical approach to aesthetics, make sure you find the right places and the right people to share this journey with. Sometimes eccentricity allows others to impose limits and judgments against us that are not worth the struggle, other times it is quite worth it to visually go against norms. I believe you are capable of understanding how and when to use all the tools and methods from people who inspire your creative processes, therefore I'm sure that you will truly bring necessary and valuable approaches to dissidence and defiance communicated by aesthetics, but also you will get closer to people who are drawn to you because you can look just as interesting and insightful as your thoughts are. It seems to me that aesthetics can serve you as a way to further develop your creative visions but also to find more like minded people who are not going to make you feel like an outsider.

masterpost ✶ pac readings ✶ personal readings

✶ ko-fi page ✶

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ available for personal readings ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

btw after finishing this p.a.c i realized this would be a cool reading to provide as a personal service. so, here's the essence of beauty reading and a 40% off discount to it.

much love, gigi.

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majestyeverlasting · 2 years ago

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Just Another Friday Night

This piece contains 18+ content and explores the idea of Eddie as a soft dom.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie Munson's been your best friend since fifth grade. And on a night you think is going to pass just like any other, you realize you can't keep running from the way you feel.

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: I hath returned. So excited to finally have this one out for you guys! Hopefully the person who requested this many moons ago is still somewhere in my orbit.

As soon as Eddie feels the pad of your finger meet the skin of his cheek, his lips curl into a soft smile. It brings small lines to the corners of his eyes and reveals the glint of his teeth in the dim light. Concentration sparkles in your eyes like water does beneath the moon.

Both of you are seated on his messy bed. Him with his legs falling over the edge, and you angled towards him with your legs crossed. His breaths are steady, fingers lax from no longer strumming the strings of his guitar.

When you finally manage to collect the fallen eyelash from his cheek, you hold out your pointer finger for him to see. If you’d been focussed on the song he was playing rather than studying his face, you never would’ve noticed the tiny hair to begin with.

“M’kay.” His eyes flick back up to meet yours. “Now what?”

You raise your finger closer to his lips. “You’ve got a wish to make.”

If there was anyone deserving of one, it was him. It had been almost a year since he crawled out of the Upside Down by the skin of his teeth. Half alive. You remembered all the long nights you’d spent by his hospital bed as he recovered.

An air of weightlessness washes over both of you after Eddie blows it off your finger. As if somewhere far away, the course of time and happenings shifted in his favor.

“You can finish your song now. Sorry.” Smiling shyly, you tuck your hands into your lap and wiggle to get comfortable.

He smiles wider, but makes a quick work of tampering it back down.

When he begins playing, you make sure to focus this time, letting the music soak in and flow through you. The passion is palpable, along with the underlying sense of purpose that hangs off the tail end of each resonant note.

You’d been around to listen to him since the days he played off-tune chords with unsteady hands. As he sat playing now, hair curtained around his face, you knew he could easily captivate thousands if given the chance.

As the song winds to an end, he looks at you and his fingers slow as the notes dissolve between you. The only thing left for you to do is applaud. Your approval makes him feel like there’s electricity buzzing beneath his veins.

He absentmindedly strums a few quiet notes to keep his fingers busy, eyes remaining on you. “You’re the first person to hear it all the way through.”

“Really? I loved it.” Honesty drips like honey from your words.

He looks down to the fingerboard so you don’t see the faint flush of his cheeks. “Thanks. Lotta practice.”

When he stands to hang his guitar back on the wall, you watch the way his shoulder blades shift under his t-shirt. You don’t mean to look as hard as you do. There was something captivating about the way he moved. Some days, he couldn’t sit still, but there were also nights like this one where he seemed to have embodied the very essence of ease.

“So are you gonna add it to your setlist?”

He doesn’t answer right away, making sure Sweetheart is mounted securely.

“Maybe after I’ve cleaned it up a bit,” he says. “The turnouts have been sick lately.” Gratitude glints in his eyes as they meet yours.

Playing in front of a crowd at The Hideout was incomparable to selling out a venue like The Garden. But Eddie swore the gratification felt the same. With each new show, it’d been getting harder to find you in the crowd because of how many people had finally started giving him and the boys a chance. He never thought that locating you amid a sea head-bobbing bodies would be a pleasure he ever had.

“Will I be getting a raise for spreading the word?” You tilt your head and bite back a smile.

He plays along as easily as breathing, biceps flexing as he crosses his arms. “You already eat my snacks, steal my jewelry, and make me drive you around,” he lists. “I don’t know what else there is to offer you, but it sure as hell won’t be Benjamin’s.”

You have the nerve to blink up at him like a fawn. “It’s not my fault you hardly tell me no.”

You make it easy to say yes a million times over. Again and again.

There’s nothing for him to quip back with, so he sighs and studies you for the umpteenth time that night. There’s something amused about the glimmer in his eyes, but a fondness there as well. You’re wearing soft pants and a baggy sweater, looking effortlessly beautiful in a way that only you can manage.

Guilt wastes no time prickling beneath his skin when you curl in on yourself a bit, self-conscious. You’ve never grown used to the way he makes you feel so seen. Part of you fears he can see right through to feelings you’ve been fighting to keep tucked away.

He clears his throat and runs a hand through his eternally disheveled hair.

“Maybe I should get better about that then,” he decides. “Start telling you no more often.” A lighthearted smile pulls at his lips.

You look over at his alarm clock so you don’t drown within the increasing warmth of his umber eyes. You’re not ready to fall even though that’s what it feels like you’ve been doing for so long.

He bites his lip in preparation for the weight of his next words, “I’ve been meaning to tell—“

“My folks are expecting me back by ten.” It’s the first thing you can think to say despite the fact that they hardly ever give you curfews. “I forgot to mention it sooner.”

“Oh.” He glances to his nightstand to scrutinize the red numbers glowing on the clock. Disappointment swells within him and makes him fidget. “How the hell is it almost ten already? Thing’s gotta be broken.”

He pats the top of the device as if the right time was suddenly going to appear. “You can’t say for ten more minutes?” You shake your head apologetically. “How ‘bout five?” Another head shake. “Fuck—a minute thirty?”

A laugh bubbles up your throat, making a helplessly gooey feeling melt down the walls of his chest.

All too soon, with no success in convincing you, he’s walking you out to your car.

The night’s chill nips at both of you without reprieve. You hug your arms and break into a jog to escape it faster, leaving Eddie slowly striding behind you in hopes of prolonging his last few moments with you.

He watches you hop inside your family’s old station wagon and give the engine stuttering life. The headlights are soon to follow, illuminating a cluster of jittery moths.

The feeling of his stare boring into the side of your face through the window makes you give into the urge to crank it down, handle squeaking faintly along with your movements.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He huffs out a chuckle. “Where am I supposed to look? Up?” He tips his head backwards, and his demeanor immediately shifts. “Hey, the stars are out.”

You peer through the windshield to see for yourself. Sure enough, countless of them shine like dull guardians miles and miles above lonesome Hawkins. They seem to span forever in every direction. The child in you looks for any surges of brightness or streaks that would indicate a shooting star.

“The view’s better out here.” There’s a persuasive lilt to his voice.

You don’t dare get out of the car. If you do, you wouldn’t make it home at all. It was getting too easy to be in his presence, like he was the bread and you were the butter that helplessly melted on top because you knew it’s where you belonged.

“I really gotta go, E.” You swallow the sadness that wants to color your words as you buckle your seatbelt and settle back into the seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He kicks at a cigarette butt on the ground, and nods. You were always within arms reach, yet lightyears away.

“Tomorrow,” he repeats. “Copy that.”

A silence settles between you. The only sounds that prevail are the hum of your car engine, crickets, and muffled peels of laughter carrying from a few trailers down.

Every time, it was you who pulled away at the eleventh hour before the dawn of something new.

“Good night, Eddie.”

•••

The cash register snaps closed with a resonant clamber. A beat later, you’re reaching out to take your change from the middle-aged lady thoughtfully chewing a piece of pink bubblegum behind the counter. The two of you are the only souls in the store. Humming freezers and a quiet instrumental soundtrack fill the air.

She speaks up as you turn to leave, “You alright there, sweetheart?”

“Just tired.” You sheepishly raise the bag carrying the Melatonin you’d purchased.

Even God knew you weren’t going to be able to fall asleep on your own tonight. You’d lie awake thinking of all the reasons why you should’ve stayed.

You take the time to read her name tag then: Irene.

Her frown is sympathetic. “It’s a boy, isn’t it?” Warmth rushes to your cheeks. She then leans onto the counter and you feel compelled to take a step closer. “What’s his deal?” She studies your face for any hints before asking a different question,

“What’s your deal?”

You shrug lamely, and Irene tilts her head. You don’t owe her an answer, but you can’t help but feel as though you need to hear it for yourself.

“I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared.” She blows a bubble and it pops neatly without sticking to her lips. “But it’s up to you to decide if you wanna be scared forever.”

•••

Eddie’s staring up at the ceiling when a faint series of knocks sound at the front door. Instead of moving, he blows out another cloud of smoke and watches as it dissipates into a thin haze in the air. The breeze entering through the cracked window helps filter it out. It isn’t until the knocks get louder that he’s convinced his mind isn’t playing tricks on him.

What he’s not expecting is for you to be standing at the door.

“Hi,” you say softly.

He doesn’t dare question his luck. “H-Hey.” Eddie lowers the joint from between his lips and turns away from you to quickly exhale. “Tonight, uh, doesn’t count.”

He was supposed to be taking a break from smoking, and you’d promised to help keep him on track. But now, as he stood doing just that for the first time in two months, it wasn’t the joint that captured your attention. It was the reason why, the conflicted look in his eyes that the pungent haze failed to mask.

His next words get cut off with a cough, and he doesn’t bother trying to say them again.

You're met by warmth when he motions you inside. Guilt tries to convince you that you don’t deserve another chance, fear says you’re going to blow it.

“Eddie?” He raises his eyebrows. “I’m really sorry.”

The way he nods suggests he knew your curfew was fabricated from the start. “Don’t sweat it,” he lifts his shoulder. “I’m gonna go put this out.” He holds up the joint.

You trail him back to his bedroom, where your eyes roam idly over the posters covering the walls. Different things to say rise to the tip of your tongue, but none of them spill over.

Eddie turns towards you when he’s done.

“You didn’t have to lie.” Your shoulders sink as you meet his gaze, but he easily turns to humor, “You could’ve just told me you were tired of being cramped up in a trailer. I probably would’ve agreed.”

You can feel the ghost of a smile on your face, but you still mean your next words, “I feel like the worst person in the world.”

His nose wrinkles. “Maybe the fourth or fifth, but definitely not the worst.”

In spite of everything, both of you find it within yourselves to laugh. It feels good, mending.

You regain your composure before Eddie, and upon noticing he tries even harder to quell his amusement. It takes a few extra seconds because he’s high, but he finally manages to get himself under control.

He thinks before his next words, “I wasn’t expecting you to come back. You never do.” A lump forms in your throat as you toy with the hem of your sweater. “And all I can think about every time you leave is how I let you walk away without telling you how fucking much I enjoy you being around.”

You swallow. “I know you do.”

He shakes his head. “I like hanging out with the guys too—I’ll hang out with anybody if they’re cool.” You watch him with doe eyes as he speaks. “But you, you’re a whole different story. You drive me crazy in the best fucking way ever.” Those words hang thick in the air. “When I blew that eyelash of your finger, I wished—”

“Wait,” you hold out a careful hand, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Don’t tell me.” Part of you wants him to, but not at the expense of the wish not coming true.

That keeps him quiet for a few seconds. He’s still charged from his confession, electricity having taken the place of blood within his veins.

“You came back,” Eddie states instead. “Why?”

His eyes don’t leave you, and you take in his entirety for the first time since you’ve been back. Long hair, short sleeve Metallica shirt, faded pajama pants. He doesn’t have his chest puffed out or his chin turned up in that charming way he often does when he’s working a crowd or a group of friends.

He’s leveled. No guard up, no mask on, just Eddie.

The one who’s been by your side since fifth grade. Who could make your sides ache on the days when laughing was the last thing you thought you could do. Who got on your nerves almost every time you were together, but still managed to be one of your favorite people in the world.

“You know how you always say there’s no shame in running?” you ask, shifting your weight. You’d sat in on enough of his D&D campaigns to have heard that phrase uttered.

He nods.

“Well, we both know it’s also worth something when you have the guts to stay. So this is me choosing not to run anymore.” From your feelings or from him.

The room shrinks and grows one hundred degrees hotter when Eddie moves to stand closer to you. He reaches out to grasp your hand, calluses brushing your skin. The chunky metal rings adorning his fingers glint.

Your next breath stalls as he presses your palm flat against the left side of his chest. The quickened rhythm of his heart drums against it fiercely. A mix of vulnerability and courage are married in his eyes.

“Same,” you whisper, and his lips twitch upwards. “Here I was thinking this was gonna be just another Friday night.”

You let your hand fall from his chest.

A grin breaks across his face like dawn, more tender than it’s ever been. “I’m glad it’s not.”

Time slows as he cups your face, eyes flitting over every detail as if to memorize it all over again. “You’re so fucking pretty.” He whispers it like there’s nothing to question, like he's been waiting forever.

You don’t mean to smile as wide as you do. His heart skips a beat, maybe two. He’s done holding back from what he’s been wanting to do for so long.

Not another second passes before he presses his lips to yours.

They move with careful earnesty. Despite the fact that it feels like your entire body bursts into stardust, you kiss him back with an innate sense of knowing. You can feel the puffs of air from his nose fanning over your skin, the way his thumbs brush over your cheeks. It’s intoxicating in a way that makes you weak in the knees. Even with the newness of it all, there’s an air of ease and familiarity that you lose yourself within. You don’t worry if you’re doing it right.

By the time he pushes you backwards to sit on the edge of his bed, he’s taken off your sweater and tossed it onto the floor, leaving your pale pink bra newly on display.

From your seated position, you watch him pull his own shirt over his head, further disheveling his hair. His milky skin hosts a myriad of dark tattoos and fading scars. Anticipation swirls in your core as he encourages you to lay on your back, propping himself overtop of you. He pecks the tip of your nose before slotting his lips over yours once again.

A surprised sound escapes you when his lips begin to plant a trail of kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck, head tilting to give him more access. The moment your conscience catches up to reality, you push at his chest and he immediately pulls away.

“Too much?” He studies your face. You can’t bring yourself to say no because you don’t want it to end.

“I think I just need a second. Sorry.” Embarrassment clings to your words, but you muster a shaky laugh. “I’m not used to this kinda thing.”

Eddie had experienced his share of sporadic flings, but his feelings never ran as deep as they do for you.

“You’re okay,” he soothes. “I may like pushing your buttons, but ‘m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, alright?”

In all your years of knowing him, he’d never given you reason to believe he’d ever discount your feelings. Or that he was even capable of doing so.

You raise a hand to cup his cheek. “Let’s keep going.”

“You sure?” He turns his head to kiss your palm. “Absolutely positive?” He dips down and playfully nips at your collarbone. “Cross your heart?”

You bite your lip to keep from giggling, but fail when he begins to move lower. He drinks in your laughter like it’s an elixir.

He continues a disorderly line of kisses down your stomach, and your mind is beyond hazy by the time he reaches the waistband of your jeans. You don’t utter any words of protest when he kneels to pop the button open. The subsequent sound of your zipper being pulled down might as well be thunder with how quiet the room has grown aside from it.

Your panties are the same pink as your bra, trimmed with thin lace that makes Eddie dizzy. Without waiting for him to ask, you lift your hips for him to pull down your pants. Once they’re on the floor, he runs his hands over both of your thighs, trying his best to memorize the feeling. You briefly close your eyes when his fingers ghost over the soft fabric of your underwear. Nerves bundle low in your stomach to the point where you feel like a live wire laying exposed before him.

“You’re gonna be the end of me,” he says like a scripture.

“Me?” you peer down at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, you. Who else?” He lifts the thin waistband of your panties and lets it snap back down to your skin. “I’m gonna take ‘em off.” He only makes the announcement to give you a chance to refute it.

Rather than doing so, you brace your feet so you can lift your hips for him once more.

You’ve known him for the better half of your life. If anyone, your trust can reside in him.

A string of awed expletives slip past his lips when there’s nothing left between him and your heat. To stop himself from staring, he turns his face into your thigh to suck a bruise into the plush skin. You don’t realize that’s what he’s doing until you feel the tiny pinch that stings so good.

Your silence is perceived as permission to switch to the other leg to do the same. You can hear your heart in your ears, and regard it as a reminder that you’re alive and breathing during a moment you never thought would come.

You’re marked now, his.

He runs a gentle finger from your clit to your wet folds, and your own sensitivity surprises you when your thighs snap closed and trap his hand.

“Sorry,” you breathe, slowly blooming them open again. You make the mistake of meeting his gaze, where fondness seems to radiate like imperceivable rays of light.

After pressing a kiss to the space just beneath your navel, he stands and climbs onto the bed with you. You sit up and look to him for further direction.

An easy smile spreads across his face as he settles with his back against the wall where a headboard should be.

“C’mere,” he stretches his legs out in front of himself.

You crawl to him and sit so that your back is pressed against the warmth of his bare chest. It isn’t until you shift that you feel his erection pressing into your rear.

You peek back at him with hot cheeks. “Sorry.”

Eddie drops a kiss to your shoulder. “You’ve apologized five hundred times tonight.” You shrink in on yourself because you know it’s true. “You’re not allowed to anymore, capeesh?”

You nod.

“Now prop your legs up, buttercup.” You can hear the smile in his voice that hopes you caught his rhyme.

You press your feet into his sheets and spread your knees into a V.

His pointer finger finds your clit without warning, applying just enough pressure to hitch your breath. You’ve touched yourself before, but had never taken the time to truly gain an understanding of the deeper pleasure there was to be felt.

Here Eddie was, showing you what you didn’t know about yourself.

He switches to rubbing your bundle of nerves with his thumb while his middle finger glides through the slickness of your folds, making you clench with want. You reach between your legs with the hope of helping, or perhaps egging things along, but Eddie tuts.

“Hands off or I’ll stop.” His tone is gentle and commanding all at once.

Even though you follow his instructions, he still withdraws his touch. A protest ends up dying in your throat when you feel his fingers undoing the clasp of your bra and pushing the straps down your goosebump-laden arms. It soon joins the rest of your clothes on the floor. You’ve never been so bare in front of another person.

“Jesus, look at you,” he murmurs. His large hands raise to cup your breasts, fingers experimentally pinching both of your pebbled nipples. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight.

You watch with hooded eyes and parted lips. Caught off guard when he grabs your hands and redirects them to your chest to take over for him. You tentatively pinch your nipples in the same way he’d done, sending minute shockwaves through your body.

“There you go,” he coos into your ear. A gasp falls past your lips when his hand dips back between your legs to ease the tip of his middle finger into your entrance. As he pushes it in further, your toes curl tighter.

But his touch disappears yet again, making an exasperated breath leave you as your head falls backwards onto his shoulder.

“Eddie,” it’s a whine. “Are you teasing me?”

“No. I forgot to take my rings off.” They clink as he drops them onto the nightstand. “But I think I will now since you just had to say something.” The charged promise of those words sends a chill down your spine.

You’re begging three minutes later. A melodic mix of weakened pleads, his name, and incoherent bargains that only make him smile.

He’s trapped you on the edge of a freefall. Your thighs ache from tensing, and the strong pulse of arousal between your legs consumes the entirety of your mind. His two middlemost fingers pump in and out of your entrance with no sense of urgency, curling into that spot within you that makes you want to shatter. Whenever he senses that you’re about to topple over the edge, he pauses to let a few seconds crawl by.

It’s scary how good he is at reading you. At holding the reins.

“I can’t anymore,” you breathlessly insist, pressing back into him. “Eddie, please.”

“Sure you can.” He suckles the spot beneath your ear. In your head, you scream at him in frustration but in reality you squeeze your eyes shut.

He doesn’t know who he’s teasing anymore. Listening to you whimper and feeling you squirm has him twitching and straining in his boxers.

Somewhere along the line, he remembers mercy.

As soon as the cord within you snaps, your back arches and your walls flutter helplessly around his fingers. Your orgasm crashes over you in strong heated waves, each one fizzling out in their own time, making you tremble.

When your breaths grow even again, he slowly pulls his fingers out of you as you watch, awed and silent. You place a hand on his thigh to ensure he stays close.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, basking in the warmth of each other’s body, the new air between you. It’s as if you’re waiting to be roused from a dream.

“I wanna keep making you feel good,” he eventually murmurs into your ear, smirking when you shiver. “Will you let me do that?”

The feeling of his erection pressing into your backside suddenly registers in your mind again, and you reach behind you to curiously palm the outline through his pajama pants. He feels it in his bones.

“You can do whatever you want,” you tell him.

Eddie grabs your waist and gently pushes you forward so you know to let him get up. You settle in the middle of the bed and pull your legs up to your chest in a halfhearted reclaim of modesty.

He stalks over to his dresser and scans the cluttered surface with his lower lip pulled between his teeth. You trace his back tattoos with your eyes. After pushing a few stray trinkets aside, he makes a sound of frustration.

“What's wrong?” you ask.

He continues looking. “Coulda sworn there was a condom lying around up here.”

After a beat, you crawl to the edge of his bed so you can peek into the drawer of his nightstand. There’s notebooks filled with song lyrics, old magazines, a Walkman, batteries, guitar picks. No square foils in sight.

“Can’t we still…” your words fade when he meets your gaze, but he gives you an encouraging nod. “You know. If we’re extra careful, right?” Your voice is just above a murmur by the time you stop speaking.

The innocence seeping from your gaze makes a helpless fool out of him.

The next thing you know, he’s pulling his pants and boxers down in one go, cock springing up towards his belly as you watch with owlish eyes. A dark tuft of hair curls at the base, and the head is a pretty shade of rose that’s beading pearlescent pre-cum. A prominent vein snakes along the underside.

You’re more than ready. It’s the lightning in a bottle type sureness that you can’t believe you’ve come to know so well. The second he starts moving towards the bed again, you reposition onto your back.

Though you don’t utter a single word, every unspoken thought from your mind seems to shape his smile. It’s not entirely proud, there’s a hint of softness to it. Something giddy residing just beneath the surface that takes the edge off the intensity of his gaze.

A comforting heat radiates from his body as he positions himself overtop of you.

He reaches between your legs to collect the tell tale sign of your arousal on his fingers, and your eyelashes flutter. “Nice and ready for me, huh?”

The tone of his voice makes you want to hide. You feel small and on top of the world at the same time. Eagerness is written all over your face. And in the way your chest rises with quicker breaths. How your fingers are curled into the sheets.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You’re glad he does because you’re certain all words would fail if you tried to speak.

All you can do is blink up at him, propping your legs on either side of him as he lines himself up at your entrance.

It’s overwhelming at first, incomparable to his fingers. But he takes it slow, watching your face the whole while. Before you know it, you’ve stretched to take the entirety of his length, and his eyes are glued to where you’re joined.

He bottoms out with a satisfied grunt, hair falling into his face. The fullness makes up for the dull ache. Especially as he begins to slowly pull out in preparation for another pump. A gasp escapes you the second time he eases back in, and your face scrunches with the new depth that comes with hooking your legs around the back of his thighs.

“If you wanna stop at any point just tell me, okay?” He tries his best to keep his voice steady.

“Okay,” you whisper shakily.

He finds a rhythm before long, cheeks flushed right along with his chest. He looks beautiful like this. Even his pleasured sighs and huffs rush straight to the pit of your stomach.

“Lemme hear you,” his voice comes out gruff. “Stop holding back.”

You swallow a moan. “‘M not.”

Unconvinced, Eddie rolls one of your nipples between his fingers, and your breath stutters on its way out. You don’t remember being this sensitive earlier, and a few more pinches have your mouth gaping open just as he expected.

His thrusts grow pointedly harder, forcing the fire building in your core to burn brighter.

“Oh, god—Eddie,” you finally choke out, gripping onto his biceps.

He swears he grows impossibly harder, orgasm creeping even closer from its place in the distance. You’re so soft, so warm, so wet, squeezing him in a maddening way. Your blunt fingernails move to dig into the back of his shoulders, leaving crescent indents in their wake.

“Say my name again.”

“Eddie,” you sigh, helplessly clenching around him. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” You sound dreamy. It rushes straight between his legs, and he can feel that familiar coil beginning to wear thin.

Hearing you say his name like that was going to do him in.

A sudden burst of confidence finds you. “You’re so deep—gonna make me come.”

His hips falter and something shifts in his eyes. He starts drawing circles over your clit.

“I wanna feel you fall apart around me,” he says, and you nod because you want that for him. “But not until I say, alright?”

Your stomach drops.

When you don’t answer, he slows to a torturous pace that makes your head spin. “Gotta answer me so I know we’re on the same page.”

“We always have been,” you half slur, drunk on him.

As Eddie looks down at you, he sees a large fraction of his world woven into the delicate furrow of your eyebrows, the way your eyelashes meet the very tops of your cheeks, the part of your cherry-tainted lips.

He lowers himself so that his chest is grazing yours as he continues thrusting, pubic bone dragging over your clit. The feeling of his warm breaths fanning into your ear makes you shudder, and when you arch up, you’re only met by more of his warmth, more of him. There is no escape, nowhere to run. Only accept.

“Wish I could, shit, wish I could bottle this feeling in a fucking jar and keep it forever,” he grits into your ear. “Never felt anything this good… five stars from me.” He’s fighting to hold himself together.

You miss half of those words because you’re on the verge of an ascension.

“Eddie,” you breathe, somewhat startled. “Eddie, please. Can I come? I’m so close.”

“How close?”

Your voice goes airy and high because he’s hitting just the right spot. “‘M right there.”

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel.” Whining, you claw into his skin with the intent of making it sting, but it only makes his shoulders shake with a chuckle. “I’ll shut this whole show down if you wanna play that game—”

“So good!” you whimper, giving in. “You’re making me feel so good. Just… please.” You clench around him in hopes of earning an okay.

It almost makes him fold, come right on the spot, but he still forces out a, “Not yet, angel. I gotta practice telling you no, remember?”

His constant denial was only adding fuel to the fire of pleasure burning within you and he knew it.

By his next thrust, he could tell the beginnings of an unraveling had begun sweeping you under. Even though he sees it coming from a mile away, he nearly passes out himself when you let go.

Eyes closed, your walls flutter around him in a strong, rapid succession that carries on for a while. You’re being lifted somewhere higher than you’ve ever known. The world fades around the edges, and the distant sound of Eddie’s voice washes over you as your jaw slacks open.

There you go, that’s it. Couldn’t hold back any longer, huh?

Only when aftershocks begin to spark through you do you realize how deep your breaths have grown, and the new laxity of your limbs that makes you feel like you’ve become one with his bed, trembling weakly. A wonderful ache resides between your legs.

A gentle weight soon meets your lower stomach, and your eyes flutter open just enough to see. Eddie has pulled himself from within the warmth of you, and rested his slickened tip against your warm skin. You watch dazedly as he strokes himself a few good times before jolting and releasing onto your belly.

All you get is a glimpse of his blissed expression before he leans down to tuck his face into your neck. You lift a hand to his head and gently scratch at his scalp as you feel him begin to place soft kisses to your throat. You can still feel his cock against your belly, and you work your other hand between your bodies to wrap your delicate fingers around him.

His whole body shudders, and when you lightly circle your thumb around the tip your name breathlessly falls past his lips.

He grunts and makes you stop when you start to do the same lazy motion again, and you chuckle weakly.

“Oh, is that funny?” he asks, wrestling a smile. When you bite your lip and nod sweetly, he pushes himself up so he’s propped higher above you. “You wanna know what else is funny? I don’t think I ever gave you the green light to come.”

You blink up at him innocently. “I couldn’t help it.”

He begins tracing the underside of one of your breasts and you suck in a breath, gripping onto his wrist. He pulls from your hold, and that same hand trails down your body, over your ribs and down your sides. His fingers leave a tingly buzz in their wake. You try not to squirm too much because his spend is still on your stomach.

“I’m trying to decide if I should do something about it or be nice,” he says, ghosting a finger over your oversensitive clit.

When you whimper, his fingertips move to revisit one of the marks he left on the inside of your thighs, and the ticklish sensation makes your muscles tense as you huff out a tired laugh. He playfully quirks his brows at that reaction, but you can see the warmth in his eyes.

You smile when he leans down to give your lips a sweet peck. “I’ll be nice,'' he promises. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

•••

When midnight comes, sleep has found neither of you. You’re both fighting it, trying to stay awake so you can continue sharing hushed stories, soft caresses, and smiles that warm you right along with the sheets covering your bodies.

Your eyes are the first to begin fluttering, and Eddie stops talking when he notices.

“No, keep going,” you murmur. “I’m listening.”

“We can talk more in the morning,” he says. You shake your head no, and he chuckles. “Yes. Go to sleep.”

Before you have the chance to say anything else, he reaches out to turn the bedside lamp off. You press yourself closer to his body after he settles back beside you.

Neither of you say anything for a while, so you begin to assume he’s dozed off. When he speaks up again, his words are soft and honest, “This is what I wished for. A moment just like this.”

You mean to tell him that you think you’re in love.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated.

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meowzfordayz · 11 months ago

Text

look me in the eyes; tell me you love him

Author’s Note: this is FILTHY. 😳 I’m in love. 😌 Ending is purposely ambiguous, but def not bad/sad.

look me in the eyes; tell me you love him

Geto Suguru x Reader x Gojo Satoru

Word Count: ~3,400

CW: 18+NSFW, anal, cheating, cream!pie, c!m eating, degrading language, double!p, explicit language, Fem!Reader, spit, squirting, threesome

Kinktober 2023

~faqs~

“Y’know, you could’ve waited five minutes, just in case I forgot something.”

Fuck.

—

It’s hard to respond to Suguru’s deadpan remark when Satoru refuses to relinquish your mouth, candy sweet tongue swiping greedily along your bottom lip, pointedly ignoring his best friend posted up in the living room doorway. Your ass sits perched on the couch’s armrest, shocked and anxious eyes meeting your boyfriend’s frosty stare, breasts bare while your delicate skirt flares out innocent and pretty, legs spread to make room for Satoru’s ministrations. His large, slender hand remains occupied between your thighs, nimble thumb keeping your panties aside while his index and middle fingers pet teasingly at your soft, warm folds.

“Don’t grip her so tightly,” Suguru mutters darkly, stalking toward Satoru’s other hand as he kneads roughly at the plush of your hip, “She’ll bruise.”

“Oh I know,” Satoru replies, nonchalant and smug, promptly reaching up for your cheeks, squishing your face with a grin, “Now listen.”

Against his better judgment, Suguru halts his advance, stomach twisting at the dazedness in your eyes, your gaze dropping as Satoru slips his fingers into your heat, undeniable squelch of slick and desire blurring Suguru’s vision while Satoru curls his fingers so precisely and familiarly, your body jolting at the pressure.

“What a slut,” Suguru snarls, rooted in place as your head falls backward, a strangled moan building in your chest, Satoru’s fingers moving faster and faster with more and more dexterity, the sound of your essence coating his fingers becoming louder and messier, staining your skirt as he approaches the crest of your orgasm with practiced ease, “This isn’t the first time my best friend has had his fingers knuckle deep in your cunt, is it? The way your breath catches, the way your knees jerk… how long have you been fucking?”

“Suguru,” you finally whimper, pushing limply at Satoru’s wrist, “I’m so sorry.”

A displeased growl draws your attention, Satoru frowning disappointedly even as he continues chasing your orgasm, fingers jabbing sharper, your pathetic mewls spurring him on.

“Damn right you’re sorry,” Satoru hisses, “Why the hell are you saying the name of the guy who isn’t about to make your stupid cunt cum?”

“That guy,” Suguru interjects bitterly, “Is your best friend. How about you quit blocking my view, and at least let me watch my bitch cheating on me.”

Laughing amusedly, Satoru acquiesces, unceremoniously flipping your skirt up to reveal your glistening pussy, shifting himself just enough for Suguru to see how eagerly your hole flutters around his fingers, “Your bitch? At this point, I’d say she’s our bitch. I’ve been fucking her whenever you’re gone for months.”

“Let me guess,” Suguru snorts, no longer frozen, striding closer till he can feel the air vibrating with Satoru’s domineering bite, “Something about asking for forgiveness rather than permission? Bet that was your thoughtless process.”

“Sure was,” Satoru singsongs, grabbing your face once more as you begin shaking, “That’s right bitch, fucking squirt all over your boyfriend’s nice pants. Show him how you like to cheat on him, show him what his best friend is capable of.”

Suguru’s mouth curdles with disgust and begrudging interest as you climax, your legs quivering too familiarly while Satoru slaps wetly at your cunt. Your poofy skirt paints a scene of naivety around your waist even as a visible puddle collects on the sun faded floor beneath you, the couch’s armrest suffering the same fate as your cum dribbles between your asscheeks.

“Well, you are capable,” Suguru sighs, nose crinkling when Satoru casually flicks the remnants of your orgasm onto his pants, a nasty smile accompanying the scent of your sex while you lean limply into Satoru’s side.

With a low hum, Satoru pets lightly at your head, his cock straining in his trousers with satisfaction as your cum sticks to your hair. Glancing downward, he notes Suguru’s own erection, a sizable bulge that you’d gushed about not infrequently, gears clanging when you tug plaintive at the hem of his shirt.

“Whaddya want?” he nearly coos, comfort settling in at your adoring pout and Suguru’s somehow ebbing temper, “Both of us?”

Your eyes widen at Satoru’s forbidden suggestion, Suguru’s jaw twitching. He must be so pissed you think, tears quickly brimming as realization knocks you from your high. You’d shove Satoru if you could trust yourself to balance, still reeling from your climax, beginning to tremble as Suguru fails to acknowledge you.

“As often as you ride this cock,” Satoru drawls, confidence rising, “I can’t seem to escape your yapping about his,” chin jutting toward Suguru, “Dick. So maybe you could give us both a try. We’ll figure out who you really love.”

And part of you immediately recoils, teeth gnashing at the implication of your cheating equating to loving, wondering far too late if Satoru might actually like you a little. If, perhaps, the tender, soapy showers and playful, gentle cuddles weren’t merely for his ego. If his constant availability and willingness to fuck you within an inch of consciousness—to then build and nurture you back to coy flirtation and unguarded laughter—should’ve been a redder flag. If, in fact, it was heart shaped.

But a bigger part of you surrenders, intrigued by the chance to feel your lovers together. Desperate to earn Suguru’s forgiveness. His approval. And much too aware of the precum leaking through his pants, almost licking your lips at the prospect of angry, possessive fucking.

“Suguru?” you say carefully, pussy clenching at the prompt disdain in his eyes, his expression so bored yet so ready to devour you.

“Tell me you love him,” Suguru murmurs, a succinct, seductive demand, “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you love him.”

“Wha-”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, readjusting his crotch in an exaggerated, languid movement, “I mind a lot. I fucking hate you,” the unzipping of his pants filling the room with a choked anticipation, “But what’s done is done. So you have two options,” resting a patronizing palm on your bare shoulder, smirking as your body gravitates away from Satoru, “You can tell me the truth, and my best friend and I will fuck your cunt and ass until we are sated… or you can lie to me and sit here while my best friend and I cum on your fucking whore face.”

Your ending is clear, the fragility of your position—and the wickedness of their friendship—stated point and blank. You don’t need to spare Satoru a glance to know he’s celebrating internally, his cockiness and blatant disrespect being rewarded in a roundabout manner as usual. And you don’t need to press Suguru further, his intent to punish you confirmed, a surprisingly promising future ahead should you play your cards right.

“Fuck my cunt and my ass,” you whisper, core stirring as Suguru’s pants hit the ground, his briefs soon following, Satoru’s impressed whistle—Not bad, not bad—and Suguru’s consequent scowl reminding you of how dearly you love Suguru’s cock.

“Not quite,” Suguru tsks, stroking his cock with a dreadful calmness, palm on your shoulder lowering to cup your tit, “Tell me the truth.”

“I…” you falter, feeling Satoru’s obliques stiffen against your cheek, his hand firm in your hair as Suguru’s remains on your shoulder, “I can’t…”

Suguru strokes himself faster, balls already tightening from your earlier performance, expression growing more bored and less primal.

“Ilovehim,” you gasp, Satoru’s eyes shutting at your confession, “I love him and how he’s memorized me from head to toe. How he can make me cum over and over, how he cleans and cherishes me,” gulping for air as you fixate on Suguru’s cock, so red and swollen and shining with precum, “But… but I love you. I love you and how you’ve accepted me through ups and downs, how you make me feel stars. How I feel known by you, inside and out. How I believe I know you, enough to make you happy.”

“Enough to cheat on me?” is Suguru’s tart retort, “With my best friend. You’re so-”

“Suguru.”

Satoru’s interruption startles you, his voice silken honey as he smoothes the furrow of your brow, deftly unzipping his own pants, determined to match Suguru’s pace. Eyes rolling, Suguru grabs your thigh, forcing your legs wide, mouth a thin line as Satoru’s underwear pools at his ankles.

“Complaints?” Satoru winks, grabbing your other thigh, brushing your cheek with his free fingers—your cum flaking onto your face—for a fleeting moment before nudging you upright, “Does she get any prep?”

You lick your lips properly now, the heat and allure of their hands spreading you open making your pussy tingle. Suguru’s cock waits heavy and engorged in his grasp, an unassuming yet devastatingly thick six inches with a perfectly mushroomed tip to compliment his foreboding stature. Meanwhile, Satoru’s curves slightly upward, elegantly cruel at eight inches, slim and pink as his flared tip drools precum.

“Prep? For this bitch?” Suguru punctuates his slur with a smack to your nipples, delighting in your yelp as he meets Satoru’s zealous gaze, “I’m sure she gets plenty, fucking around with multiple men.”

“Multiple?” Satoru snaps at that, mood simmering at the thought, “No, Suguru. Just me. Just me… and you.”

Suguru doesn’t have the patience to argue semantics, tugging roughly on your tit to guide you off the couch’s armrest and onto the couch itself, Satoru’s hand migrating from your thigh to your ass, whimsical skirt torn from your waist, lazy thumb prodding at your asshole as you brace yourself on all fours. A glob of spit lands on your back, and then your asscheek, Suguru pinching and twisting your nipples with unperturbed harshness as he watches Satoru’s thumb trace a heart through the spit before sinking into your hole. You hiss at the intrusion, ill prepared for the intense sensation of using spit for lube, groaning when Satoru immediately spits on your ass again. His thumb slips farther and farther into your asshole as he continues spitting, relishing in how his spit beads and then drips onto the cushions below, your pubic hair drenched and glistening.

“Does this mean you’re fucking her ass?” Suguru queries, admiring the pained scrunch of your face as Satoru switches from his thumb to both his index and middle fingers, tolerating the impromptu preparation to bask in your obvious physical discomfort.

He gifts you a chastising kiss, forgetting your tits for a second to cup and caress your cheeks, softening the pain in your expression.

“Actually,” Satoru grins behind you, something devilish and orchestrated to which only Suguru is privy, “I was thinking your monster girth would do a better job of breaking this tight fucking ass, and I know she loves when I abuse her cervix.”

Choosing to disregard Satoru’s baiting reference to his own claim to your pleasure, Suguru nods in agreement, squatting to your eye level as you whimper faintly, Satoru shoving a third finger past your gradually relaxing muscle.

“Satoru’s being so considerate,” Suguru says, saccharine and sarcastic, “The jerk’s always compensating for something,” sneering as he knocks your arms out from under you, your asshole suddenly empty as Satoru withdraws.

Suguru maneuvers you like light weight as he slinks himself beneath you, your mouth smooshed into his chest for a brief respite. And then you’re being flipped onto your ass, slippery from Satoru’s ministrations as Suguru’s cock slides hard and fat between your asscheeks. Suguru’s arms catch your legs and hook around your knees, pulling backwards till you’re bent in half, palms forcing your head downward while your tits squish into your kneecaps, your asshole and cunt presented to Satoru as you struggle to breathe.

“Marvelous,” Satoru murmurs, smiling to himself as he reaches tentatively, “Uh… Suguru, may I?”

“Yeah, yeah, touch my dick,” Suguru snorts, “How else is it gonna get into her asshole?”

“Touché,” Satoru laughs, grasping Suguru’s cock almost cheerfully, appreciating its heft as he guides your pelvis high enough to position the tip, “This thing is solid.”

Glowering, Suguru mutters, “Thanks,” hips shifting until he feels his precum smearing on the pucker of your ass.

You gasp when he thrusts upward, a fearful, eager noise, unable to even wiggle in Suguru’s ironclad grip. His tip bumps a couple times—clumsy and large—against your hole, Satoru letting out a dramatic sigh before providing greater assistance. Satoru’s long fingers curl fully around Suguru’s shaft as he persists in shallow thrusting, a guttural groan accompanying a loud exclamation—Fuck!—when he finally bullies himself into your asshole.

“Atta bitch,” Satoru chimes, enraptured by the sight of your skin stretched to its limit around Suguru’s cock, rim fluttering around the foreign feeling, your hands balled into fists at the tearing pain.

“Suguru!” you wail, gut churning as his shallow thrusts grow increasingly deeper, ass burning with every selfish rut as he ploughs through the immense friction, your hole receiving little opportunity to recover as he builds a staggering tempo, “Suguru, Suguru, Suguru!” drunk on the suffocating drag of your asshole clinging desperately to his cock, slowly but surely swallowing him whole, “FUCK!”

Head woozy and neck aching, the pain maintains pace with the pleasure as you watch Satoru grab his own cock, leaning over to spit on your sternum—you swear he mouths Mine, or maybe it was the endorphins—as he places his other palm on the underside of your thigh. Suguru pays Satoru no mind, speed barely lessening though your body remains relatively steady due to your restrained pose. You imagine taking Satoru in your pussy will be easier, it’s a more natural feeling after all, dazed on the cock in your ass, clit terribly neglected as your cunt clenches excitedly. But you’ve never been doubly penetrated before.

You’re sorely mistaken.

The initial push is as expected. You’re soaked from Satoru’s fingering, the plethora of teasing and warnings, and Suguru’s relentless fucking into your asshole, pain having reasonably subsided albeit still stinging with an unsympathetic roughness. Satoru’s pretty cockhead slips right in, his slimmer width hardly interfering with Suguru’s rhythm. You moan at the fullness, and Satoru’s poorly concealed whine makes Suguru smirk. Encouraged by your response, Satoru thrusts forward, hands resting casually on Suguru’s knees—who tries, and fails, to resist flinching—Satoru’s head pitching backward to display the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. A mewl fills the air as Satoru’s cock slides farther into your pussy, Suguru undoubtedly bruising your legs to counter your weak squirming, the stuffing of your ass and pussy coming to overwhelming fruition.

“So fucking beautiful,” Satoru gushes, fixated on how perfectly his cock disappears into your cunt, finding himself nearly winded as well from the newfound pressure of a second cock fucking into the hole beneath him.

“Pah,” Suguru grunts, hiding his dilated pupils and bitten lips in your nape, stamina far from waning as his brutal fucking continues, “Stop praising the whore and start ruining it.”

Shaking his head with wry amusement, Satoru’s meandering pace carries on, simply fascinated by the pleading glaze in your eyes, asshole sensitive to the touch as Satoru circles a playful finger around your rim, taut and clenching as Suguru’s cock flexes from the feathery stimulation.

Just when you worry Satoru’s forgotten about the hole he’s supposed to be fucking—Silly girl—he fucks himself in, balls brushing the base of Suguru’s cock as you scream, writhing hopeless and exhausted when Suguru plunges himself in to the hilt too.

“Mmm,” Satoru rasps, “You truly are a whore, huh,” tip twitching against your cervix as your cunt throbs erratic and velvety around him, “Falling in love with me while dating my best friend, letting us destroy your slutty holes to try and make it up to both of us,” spit trickling from his too sweet mouth to your puffy folds, “I can’t believe we fit in here,” tapping your clit with a handsome grin, moaning outright when you convulse, “You must really love us.”

You cum at his words, so cherry red and persuasively picked, Suguru relaxing slightly to allow you a complete orgasm. They fuck you through your climax, the sticky sound of slapping balls and viscous essence quickly edging you toward another. There’s cotton in your head, legs tiring even with Suguru’s support, trembling from exertion; what else could explain the dizzying fuzz hazing your perception? Suguru’s cock shoves ridged and ruthless into your ass, Satoru’s thrusting more lubricated but deep in your cunt, your poor cervix pulsating from every graze of his tip.

“Please,” you beg, whimpering hollowly as you cum again, walls beginning to constrict in a subconscious urge to cease their thorough fucking, “Please, please, please…” whining as Suguru’s grip tightens once more, sweat dripping from you onto Suguru abdomen, from Satoru’s brow to your bellybutton, “Cum for me.”

They exchange a look, Suguru reluctant but sated, Satoru willing and proud. You’re mumbling now, a mishmash of Suguru and Satoru and Can’t take it, pain blossoming stronger than before as their thrusts hasten, a sloppy finger rushing back and forth on your clit creating minimal relief, fierce and implacable as it coaxes a final, mangled orgasm from you. You manage a broken sob as you climax on their cocks, Suguru immediately releasing your limbs, his arms hugging sturdy and devoted around your shuddering frame, cum flooding your holes as they synch their highs. Suguru is silent when he cums, labored exhales the only indiction of his effort, teeth marking your neck with soon-to-fade divots. And Satoru is loud. Cursing and groaning while he pumps load after load into your swollen pussy, your folds a creamy mess as he fucks his cum out of you, spurred on by Suguru’s low growl when his spend inevitably leaks onto Suguru’s cock.

Satoru pulls out first, eager to watch their cum dribble from your holes, Suguru following shortly after. They unceremoniously readjust your depleted form, slumped ass off the couch, tits resting in the dampness left by Suguru’s body. Brown eyes glinting, Suguru uses his foot to nudge your legs apart, snickering as cum promptly oozes from your cunt and ass to the floor. Satisfying strings stick to your inner thighs, air escaping your pussy with a quiet queefing sound, a wet farting noise making Satoru giggle as your asshole gapes, bubbling with cum.

“So where does this leave us?” Satoru piques, kneeling to jab greedily at your cunt, pushing his cum back into your hole with a lewd schlick, chuckling when you clench weakly, struggling to keep it in, “She’s a loose bitch now.”

“Dunno,” Suguru glances away, arms crossing, “We should get dressed.”

“One moment,” Satoru grins, knees hitting the ground with a soft thud as he spreads your asscheeks with his palms, licking nastily at his lips, “I want a taste.”

Suguru scoffs, watching with morbid curiosity as Satoru flicks the tip of his tongue across your cunt, your protesting whimper lost beneath his giddy moan, cum coating his mouth. Locating his briefs, Suguru slowly clothes himself as Satoru dutifully cleans your pussy, licking himself from your quivering folds and bud, sticking his tongue hungrily into your hole as cum drools down his chin, smirking to himself as a nearly imperceivable orgasm shivers through your body. As Suguru zips his pants, Satoru traverses to your gaping asshole, Suguru’s cock feebly attempting to harden again when Satoru locks eyes with him, mouth covering your hole before he pointedly sucks.

“You’re fucking nasty,” Suguru grumbles, tossing Satoru his underwear.

Satoru hums pleasantly, the vibrations causing you to involuntarily buck your hips into the couch, cum trailing from your ass to the backs of your knees.

“And that’s why she needs both of us,” Satoru quips, nuzzling your asscheek with a smug smile, your head raising slightly at his affection, “That’s why she loves both of us.”

—

“There were easier ways to arrange a threesome than falling in love with Satoru,” Suguru mutters, eyeing your post shower glow with resigned endearment.

“But would they have been as fun?” you ask, pressing a fond kiss to his forehead.

“Nah, definitely not!” Satoru declares, arms slinging over Suguru’s shoulder and around your waist, “And by the way, I’m flattered.”

I love you Suguru murmurs into your hair, flicking Satoru’s ear beyond the edge of your vision. And I love you you trace into his hand, fingers intertwined against Satoru’s lower back.

#one shot #modern au #kinktober 2023 #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #suguru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #suguru x reader x satoru #satoru x reader x suguru #geto x reader x gojo #gojo x reader x geto #satosugu x reader

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sunboki · 1 year ago

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⎯ PAPER PLANES a Kim Seungmin fiction

🛩️ : Kim Seungmin x gn. reader

TROPE. friends to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff fluff fluff galore

WORD COUNT. 1.5k!!

WARNINGS. cursing

AUG'S NOTES. still crazy about this concept💀 … i wrote this in 30 minutes in complete silence.. the demons have possessed me…

SYNOPSIS. Life in the city has never been as interesting as this. More specifically starting the moment your newest neighborhood, Kim Seungmin, moved in next door.

or alternatively :

It was only a matter of time before those paper airplanes turned into something more.

City nights are your greatest escapade and your worst nightmare. When insomnia plagues you awake, it’s easy to turn off all your fans and just listen.

New York isn’t called the city that never sleeps for no reason.

Whether it’s the faint honking of a car or the nearest nightclubs obnoxiously loud stereo, 24 hours a day almost every day of the year this city’s eyes remain open, and in essence, it makes you feel a tad bit better about those sleepless nights.

There’s the buzz of your surroundings, but as for your apartment complex, things are pretty quiet.

Well, you did intentionally choose a very much elderly-occupied residency after all.

Until somebody else showed up, somebody who didn’t explain to you on a morning basis of how they’re deciding on their casket.

And he sings.

Headed back from work up the elevator was when you ran into him for the first time. A smidge taller than yourself, puffy hair hanging over his forehead.

Neither of you talked apart from the courtesy “Which floor are you going to?” followed by an equally courteous “Five”, and you realizing you were both headed to the same place.

Elevators are a dangerous place. Anything could go wrong, technical issues, you end up trapped, weird strangers, and a myriad of unfortunate events waiting to happen. What’s worse? The conversations.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned from the decades worth of elevators you’ve been on is that they’re either a place to never stop talking or never talk.

As for this discovered neighbor of yours, you spend a solid thirty seconds deciding the right course of action.

“So where’d you move from?” You pique, watching the numbers atop the door slowly increase.

“South Korea,” He responds, and out of the corner of your eye you notice him glancing at you, hands stuffed in his puffer coat’s pockets.

Mouth opening to speak, you immediately close it, evidently surprised. To think how hellish the flight must’ve been humbled you instantly, not to mention how he carried no accent when conversing.

But before you could ask any more questions the doors open and he wordlessly slips past you, leaving you to silently follow.

“Wait!” Calling out prior to him walking through the door, he stops, turning to you with a confused expression adorning delicate features.

“What’s your name?” You voice another inquiry, hand also fastened onto the doorknob.

He blinks, the action scarily resembling a puppy dog.

“Seungmin. Kim Seungmin.”

Seungmin.

Cute.

“Y/n, nice to meet you.” Nodding politely his way, he returns the gesture, a sudden unwelcoming awkwardness creeping further into your skin the longer you both stand there, staring at each other.

And of course your genius of a mind decides to open its big fat mouth.

“..I guess we’re neighbors, huh.”

No shit sherlock, You internally reprimand, wishing oh so badly to leap out of the nearest window.

Sucking his teeth, Seungmin hums agreeably, and you feel like the stupidest person in the world.

“Yeah well, bye!” Panickedly twisted the knob and racing inside to slam the door behind you, you sink to the ground, clutching your head pathetically.

“Y/n…” You whine, addressing yourself like a lunatic. There’s a heavy sigh, a leaning your head back, thumping against the wooden frame.

“…What the fuck is wrong with you.”

Nonetheless, the night you first heard his voice pitch through gleaming neon signs was one to remember.

Typing manically on your keyboard while a half-empty glass of watered down coffee occupied the space beside you, you squint, scrutinizing that same sentence at least a dozen times before ripping the headphones off your ears and raising up frustratedly.

This essay is definitely earning a rightful spot on your thirteen reasons why list, a close second to your first impression on Seungmin last week.

Stretching your arms above your head, you hear it. An entrancing, melodic tone sifting beneath your cracked window, decorating your bedroom in a decadent assortment of color.

Carefully tiptoeing to pry open the window fully, you crane, cheek pressed against cold glass.

It’s Seungmin. Face tipped to the side, lips halfway parted. You don’t know if he’s focused on something or what, but you know he’s the only thing that matters in this moment.

His vibrato, the way he perfectly slices notes into harmonious rhythm pulls you in like a hummingbird to nectar.

You find yourself aimlessly standing there, rocking back and forth of your heels, savoring the effortlessly sweet relief he fills your exhausted soul with.

Day after day he’d sing, voice never ceasing to calm your senses, as if supernatural, into a lulling drone. No thoughts, just him.

Occasionally it’d be a new tune, one familiar, one not. Over and over and over again you’d routinely wait for him, like a child rushing to see their favorite cartoon.

And as a result, Seungmin became one of your biggest sources of comfort without either of you knowing it.

Today is the day.

Reaching over as far as you can muster with the makeshift paper airplane held tightly, you attempt at reading the wind, trying to decipher the best time to launch this secret weapon of yours.

Well, not really secret (somewhat), and also not a weapon, but you get the picture.

This morning you’d taken tedious measures to ensure your innovative paper airplane note would successfully fly, especially since the note inside was just as innovative.

𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐. Was what it read, and you thought the compliment was pretty appropriate considering how often you’d admire his mellowed tunes in the eve.

Except, the first one was a fail, then the second one, and a third, and by the forth airplane you had paper-cuts all over your hands and a temper teetering on the brink of defeat.

Hey, at least three people today (almost four) would get a “I like your singing” note today.

Whoosh! Your note flies, and just when you begin to lose hope does it switch trajectories, successfully hitting his balcony’s screen door.

To say you shouted was an understatement. Hell, the entirety of New York likely heard your chanting, yelling, and the entourage of oddly proud noises in between.

Noises of which were quickly muted upon said screen door opening, to where you frantically drop down, peering between the chair’s legs to observe his reaction.

Seungmin glances around repeatedly, curiously, prior to peeling back paper folds.

You inhale sharply.

His eyes graze over the sentence, investigating his surroundings again.

No reaction.

You initially deflate, grumbling to yourself defeatedly.

Until a tiny sliver of hope peeks through dark curtains.

Seungmin smiles.

He covers his mouth (an action you don’t understand but start to considering how dazzlingly bright it is), and laughs. A soft laugh that has his shoulders shaking, corner of his eyes wrinkling into charming crescent moons.

You swear there’s a ring of sparkling light outlining him, like something out of a K-Drama.

His smile could (and should) win an award, you’re convinced.

And just like that he disappears back into his apartment, and you chant a nonstop “Oh my god!” a good thirty-six times, unable to contain the feather-light feeling spreading from your fingertips to the very tip of your toes.

Cute. Kim Seungmin was so, so cute.

From the sheepish grins he gives you each time he’s seen you since, you have a hunch he knows it was you who sent the note, but you choose to act oblivious.

Oblivious, before you received a note of your own.

Of course, Kim Seungmin’s paper airplane is perfect, aerodynamic and probably arrived on the first throw unlike your consecutive sacrifices.

Slowly shuffling open the response, you peek through hesitant fingers, slapping a hand over your gaping mouth upon witnessing his obviously perfect handwriting.

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 :) , It reads. Something so mundane and proper there’s no reason you should be losing your mind, but you are, and the rattling of your heartbeat serves the best explanation.

You make sure to hang the note up afterward, right above your laptop.

So over the next few days, the both of you become more daring, more adventurous. Two paper airplanes turn into four, four to eight, eight to eleven. By now there’s not enough room to hang all of them up.

Meaningless conversations. Asking about dinner plans, what you’re currently doing, what your favorite hobbies are, favorite songs. But yet, they mean so much to you.

Your own, childish way of communicating even though the mature, adult reply would be to knock on his door.

Although, he seems to love it as much as you do.

𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝? Is scribbled on the airplane he’d sent a few minutes ago.

𝙽𝚘, 𝚠𝚑𝚢? You write quickly onto one, hands nimbly constructing the shape after sending so many. Routine.

Returning to stirring the pot of boiling water in front of you, a familiar tap alerts you, padding over to grasp his letter.

Strangely, a part of you grows more and more excited, plopping down into your chair to gradually take apart his craftsmanship.

Your legs move before you can even register your own feelings, scrambling outside.

Seungmin’s there, breathtaking smile as brilliant as ever despite such dim lighting.

There’s no need to admit you’ve been sending them now. Especially not from the way he gazed at you, the words inscribed on that paper airplane.

𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

He bites back an even bigger grin, cheeks dusting rosy pink from the cold air.

Yes.

Absolutely yes.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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edgeray · 5 months ago

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Peruere is a Person.

Inspired by my blurb series, "Arlecchino is a Person."

A/N - I did not write this. This was written by my wonderful friend @myfriendscallmebun. However, she didn't want to post it on her blog, so I'm posting it for her. All I did was some minor editing a little bit but almost every single word (minus like 2 or 3 words) was written by her. Every single like, comment, or reblog on this post is for her. I claim no ownership over this piece.

Arlecchino is not a person.

The Knave, Arlecchino, Father of the House of the Hearth, Fourth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers is not a person: she is a personification of lies and deceit spread amongst the populace, a conglomeration of exaggerated half-truths spread by veteran Fatui to scare the new recruits. Made of misconceptions and inferred information that paints a picture of a crazed and ruthless assassin–a wolf in sheep's clothing in essence; a bloodthirsty and manipulative patriarch whose tongue draws as much blood as the blade she so rarely uses.

She’s a woman whose title alone carries a reputation that paralyzes opponents who catch just a whisper of her name. A woman whose flames scorch at the heels of those who were frozen in place by her ice cold presence alone. Arlecchino is a name that has people moving aside to let her pass by, a name that mothers hear and pull their children back into the houses from. She’s everything they say: a boogeyman–an icy breath you feel down your neck in your last waking moments, the shadows lurking around corners when you least expect; the thin veneer of an aloof diplomat that barely conceals the true mania beneath its surface. Arlecchino is at once everything she is made out to be, and nothing at all. Because Arlecchino is not a person, nor has she ever been.

Peruere is a person. She’s a woman, about 30 years old and 5’7”, although you wouldn’t realize it because she’s always wearing heels. She’s a woman who took on a title and responsibility far too young, a woman who was thrust into adulthood and the brutal world of the Fatui too early. She’s a woman who keeps few friends, and keeps her own children at an arm's length. She’s someone who has seen those around her–friend, ally, foe, and bystanders–be scorched and burned away to ash by her own hands.

She’s someone who keeps her kids on a tight leash and strict discipline regiment, but the leash she keeps on herself is tighter. She allows her children to reprieve from the rules every now and then–turning a blind eye when they take a cookie before dinner, allowing them to keep a lizard they found as a pet for a while–but she does not afford herself the same. She’s harsh on herself, keeping every moment of her day regimented and as strict as the schedule she had growing up. Her children will live and experience far better than what she had, but she will still silently carry the burden of that time with her.

Peruere is a person who is willing to look Dottore in the eyes–a man who she has watched take away what remaining, broken and mangled siblings she had, and knew full well what would be happening to them once they left with him- she is willing to look him in the eyes and allow him to experiment with her, with the balemoon bloodfire that curses her veins, on the hope that something good may come of it, something that can help her children.

She’s a woman who loves her kids, no matter how she can’t seem to show it. She’s a woman whose affection lies in the unspoken words behind what she actually says.

“You’re home late.” (“I was worried about you.”)

“Impulsiveness leads to failure.” (“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”)

“Your defense was weak, I know I’ve taught you better.” (“I cannot bear to lose another child out in the field. Please.”)

Peruere is a woman who in some deep, dark part of her chest that she doesn’t like to acknowledge, allows herself to yearn for normality. She stares out her windows at the crowds of pedestrians and citizens making their way through the streets of Fontaine, “People-watching is a rather pleasant activity, in my opinion.” (“I would join them, if they would allow me.”)

Peruere is a person who allows others to dictate what she should be–she allows the rumors and misconceptions to run freely amongst those who dare utter her name, even adding fuel to the metaphorical fire by being sure to live up to the reputation others have created for her. She allows her image to be muddy, full of contradictions and mistruths, and more than some mixing-ins of her predecessor. “It’s beneficial,” she says. (“It’s easier to be what people expect you to be, than to be yourself.”)

Peruere is a person, even despite her best attempts to hide it.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #genshin fanfics

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mr-ys-phantasma · 1 month ago

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🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1738

Chapter 20:

You all had sat around the warm fire, sharing some of Jen's handmade on-the-spot perfume paste that took away the stench of dead leaves, sweat, and mud that existed on you.

Slowly, the mood had started to change, and with Teen back to his live self and his new scar; everyone took turns showing off their scars, briefly mentioning the cool story behind it.

That was, until Agatha joined, sitting at the empty space between you and Rio; not too close to any of you, as if herself feeling divided.

And then Rio had to tell about her scar, changing the mood as subtle messages were clearly behind her story; upsetting both you and Agatha.

You watched Agatha be the first one to leave the circle right after Rio confessed her "scar." You barely lifted your head to watch her go or cared when Rio went after her.

By now you had come to realize who this mysterious green witch was, and what she was to Agatha.

A part of you, deep down, was not surprised. You often spent a lot of time away from one another and she was not forced to remain focused to you alone; the fact that you did it for her, was merely out of your loyalty for her.

Yet somehow, it still bothered you. Seeing those looks she would often give you, now directed to her. The way Rio would try to invade her personal space and make her react, testing your patience and the fact that you did not wish to interfere.

Perhaps you should, but who were you to lay such a claim? When you had left Agatha on her own so many times? And who said Agatha wished to be claimed by you?

Those questions and thoughts had darkened your mood and it was evident on your face, something the other witches noticed.

They didn't know exactly what relationship you had with Agatha, mixed signals confusing them to the end, but they had their suspicions.

Thankfully for you, there was one kind hearted soul in the group that did not like to see you down.

"I still don't think I thanked you enough...uhm..." Teen started, keeping his usual smile but feeling slightly embarrassed since he never got your name.

Truthfully, you had not told anyone your name, and Agatha had only been calling you by your nickname; something no witch had dared to call you.

You smiled faintly and turned your attention in him. "Y/N," you introduced yourself, earning an even bigger smile from him.

"Well then, thank you," he continued. "I owe you."

"You owe me nothing. I am glad you are okay. " You offered a small weak smile.

"Though I have to ask... how did you do it?" He asked, grabbing his little book. "What kind of spell was that?"

To your help, somehow, came the oldest of the witches; Lilia. "This was no spell, kid," she explained, earning his attention. "This are the tricks and magic of a Moon Witch."

Teen was suddenly intrigued. "Moon witch? I don't think I have read a lot about you." he confessed.

You offered a sad smile. "I am afraid my kind is not that well known or welcomed. Not many witches are chosen for it, either."

"It is the type of witch dedicated to the moon and its phases. The very same entity witches pray over spells, blessed them with power," Lilia explained, once again.

Teen was very invensted. "So, you do what... Moon magic?"

"If only," Jen interrupted him. "Moon magic s the purest form of magic. It is literally the essence of blessing, purification, and protection of the highest form. Moon Witches are the OG white witches."

"Then why don't other witches take that path? Why is it not known in the books?"

"Because it is a cursed path that you do not choose but rather get chosen," Lilia said, her tone getting colder as personal experiences biased her opinion. "Unpredictable and destructive nature of magic. Spells gone wrong, too much magic unleashed... plagues coming out of nowhere, curses been thrown, kids disappearing into the night..."

Each catastrophe made you lower your gaze and your head, one hand holding tightly your triple moon pendant for some sort of comfort.

You did not argue with Lilia, because there was not something to argue for. She was right in everything and you hated to admit it, but it was all true.

At night, you would still be haunted by experimental spells you did wrong. Of too much magic, you pulled into a potion or a person and caused more destruction than anything else. You were volatile for years, and only after you learnt not to interfere did you find some peace with your magic.

Agatha was the only one that had never shunned you for your powers, never blamed you when things went astray. On the contrary, she had ways to make you see the other side of the issue; to take you realise that it wasn't always that bad... that it could be fun.

"It's a solitary path, kid," you finally said, your voice heavy as was your heart. "It is not one witches wish to be known for or have in their covens," you lifted your head slowly. "I hesitated to heal you, and if it weren't for Agatha's begging, I wouldn't have interfered. That's not my calling."

Yet despite the grim talking, despite your defeated tone; Teen was not ready to give up. He could still see light within you, still see there was good to be done, and he was determined to help you see it too.

"But you did interfere. You helped me!" He argued, joy and energy still in his dark eyes. "You saved me from death and look." he lifted his shirt again. "You barely left me a scar."

Somehow, despite your best efforts, you could not fight the contagious smile that came from him. Hearing his words, doing his best to cheer you up; it warmed your soul, and you could not remember when someone else had managed to do that.

"You must be the first to say that," you commented.

Surprisingly, Alice chose to join; having been quiet for far too long. "He is right, you know. You saved him, and I saw how you fought that curse when it touched you. Whatever magic you wield, I am glad it is on our side."

"Speaking of curses," Jen interfered. "How is it that you can push away and protect yourself from whatever curse we fought back there and not the poisons from the first trial?"

"Ah," you exclaimed. "Common misconception there. I can protect against evil and darkness but not poisons. They fall into a more... neutral category."

"Well, that must suck."

You could not help but chuckle faintly. "Oh yes. I can go head to head with dark witches, but hemlock can end me in a day."

"So, Y/N," Teen called you out, using your name. "Do you have any cool scars?"

It was then you realised everyone had talked about their scars, some from bigger adventures and some from minor ones. You have been the only one that had yet to confess a part of their past, and frankly, you were not sure how willing you were.

Yet as you stared into their eyes and you remembered how Alice and Teen were welcoming your magic, how even Jen seemed to see you differently; you could not help but feel as if you truly were part of a coven.

A feeling foreign to you but nonetheless welcomed.

"I do, a few," you confessed and loosened up your tie more. Once it was not in the way, you managed to remove your shirt halfway and turned to expose your scarred back. "Caught by a group of modern witch hunters, tried to make me confess the whereabouts of a coven close by."

You felt the stares on your scars that decorated your back and quickly chose to hide them by fixing your shirt; feeling uncomfortable with people staring at them for too long.

Unbeknown to you, Agatha had happened to approach while you were talking and got a good look of the scars you did not have the last time you two reunited.

She remained quiet, watching from the shadows with a dark expression on her face; one that the world had not seen in a very long time.

At the same time, you chose to cover yourself and sit down; looking at the group. Their gazes were mixed, some showing more concern and sympathy and others; pure fury.

"Witch hunters," Lilia scoffed, one fist holding the material of her pants tightly. "One of the worst things mankind had created."

You could not help but nod. "And somehow they made it to the modern era as well."

"They are lucky they haven't met me," she commented. "I still remember the last pair that made me flee a comfy village I had chosen to settle down."

"Thought witch hunters were a myth," Teen argued, looking at Lilia. "I mean, with movies and all those things you hate."

The older woman tried not to get offended. It was not her fault the media represented witches that badly. "Not this kind, kid. Those in the movies are nothing compared to the real deal."

Jen nodded her head. "They are cruel men, taught to recognise spells, and somehow always manage to track down where witches live," she explained, being alive longer than him and Alice; made her little more knowledgeable on the subject.

"And they go hard-core once they find one. Try to draw a confession out of her, secrets and whereabouts of covens, " you added. "In the past, they targeted innocent women who under the pressure of torture confessed to being witches; when they had no magic within them."

The boy seemed horrified at this new piece of information. "This is horrible!"

"This was a witch's life," a new voice added, making everyone spot Agatha leaning on a tree. "Humanity was never accepting of anything different and always went to the extreme to see it gone."

Murmurs of agreement echoed between Lilia, Jen, and you; the eldest in the group. They had seen the rise and almost impending fall of witchcraft, some earlier than others little later.

But they all had been prosecuted one way or another for their craft... and their choice in lovers.

Chapter 21

#agatha all along #finally some insight #on the reader's magic #connecting the lores slowly #might update a secknd chapter soon #give you more agatha x reader #agatha harkness #agatha spoilers #marvel #agatha fanfic #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #moon phases fanfic

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nyctoaerah · 7 months ago

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⋆♱⋆RETRIBUTION CH: 5

⋆♱⋆SYPNOSIS You found yourself stripped of your immortality, a punishment for daring to flout the edicts laid down by your father. Your transgressions? Two-fold. First, the grave sin of disobedience, and Secondly, the cardinal offense of falling irrevocably in love with your Lady in waiting. In your father’s eyes, the sanctity of your divinity was tarnished by a same-gender relationship, a concept that he vehemently repudiated as aberrant and abhorrent. Such unforgivable love, he pontificated, dulled your goddess-like essence. Thus he used his powers and casted you adrift into a parallel universe suffused with curses and sorcerers whose love aren't really the healthy type of love, a punishment to show you that ‘Love’ isn’t all about sunshine and rainbows

⋆♱⋆WARNINGS Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au. Pseudo Incest on Choso’s Case. Confusing Bullshit. Sexual themes, Biological Incest. Unedited.

⋆♱⋆PAIRINGS Yandere! Jjk x Isekai’d! Goddess! Reader

⋆♱⋆LOVE INTERESTS Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen

⋆♱⋆NOTE Also posted in wattpad & quotev. Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3.

⋆♱⋆PREVIOUS CHAPTER

⋆♱⋆MASTERLIST

A GUST OF WIND whispered past you, its delicate fingers tracing a chill across your [S/c] skin, and a sigh escapes your lips, dark lashes fluttering shut.

You clutched at the shredded fabric of your gown, the pads of your fingers tracing the crushed remnants of the necklace nestled in your décolletage.

Though the chains had withstood the violence that had befallen on you, the jewel at its center now lay in glittering shards pressed against your heaving bosom.

How it was still intact after you almost drowned remained a mystery, however.

The shrill serenade of crickets hidden amongst the swaying grass reverberated on your ears, along with the soft yet loud pulsing within your chest and your ragged breaths clawing their way past your lips.

You opened your eyes and you peered into the inky shadows cloaking the forest, watching as the undulating branches danced and writhed in the pale moonlight.

The moon shone like polished pewter hanging heavy in the night sky, its pale glow casting the place in shades of silver. You sat on top of a rock with your elbows placed on your bent thighs, cupping your chin in weary palms as you gazed upward, drinking in the silvery glow of the moon that spilled across the darkened earth.

Moments like this brought bittersweet memories flooding back.

You recalled stolen nights with Ataraxia—Sneaking away from the empire and going down to Shaxilu to stargaze.

You missed how her silken hair would flow over your skin as you cradled each other, chatting and chuckling while naming constellations with breathy whispers

In those past evenings, Ataraxia would lay her head in your lap, finger-painting stories in the glittering sky as you watched, transfixed not by the heavenly wonders but the terrestrial beauty that you would always see in her eyes.

She was lost staring at the stars above...while You’re lost staring at the stars that you would see in her eyes.

With a heavy sigh, you dragged your fingers through your hair, just wanting to go back to her, just wanting to feel her lips on yours, feel her touch.

But then, how could you return there, when you’re stuck here on earth?

You find yourself trapped in a realm of ambiguity.

How are you supposed to go back to nebula?

It dawns on you that you are forbidden from returning to the celestial sanctuary of the nebula, after all.

You were Exiled.

A surge of frustration erupts within you, and a groan bubbles up your throat.

Why the fuck did you have to get such a cruel father? It was so unfair, so, so, so unfair.

While others may envy your lineage—for having the creator of the universe as your father, for you, it is a harrowing nightmare from which you cannot awaken.

To them, aionarch may be a deity to worship, a deity to fear and respect, but to you, he is a tyrant to despise.

The loathing you nurture towards aionarch simmers within you.

The bitterness rages within you as you recall the pain he inflicted upon not only you but also your mother—the way he hurts her, the way he hurts you , as if you weren’t his child, as if xeranthi wasn’t his wife.

A of hatred burns hot within your chest.

Why must your paternal lineage be marred by such malevolence? Why must your father be so callous, so devoid of compassion?

Surely, a father’s love should be a beacon of compassion and guidance, not a shroud of cruelty and desolation, right?

The notion that paternal love should be unconditional feels like a distant myth, a fantasy beyond your grasp.

These thoughts churn within you, and you felt getting more, and more agitated as time passes by.

You rubbed your throbbing temples, just wanting the incessant ache to subside as you forced your mind to go back to the present dilemma—and not focus on aionarch’s bullshit.

Loathing aionarch would avail you nothing after all, and focus was imperative—as you needed to make a plan, a plan to go back to nebula and find ataraxia.

You were sure that if you even managed to go back to Nebula, Aionarch would kill you, yet, you didn’t care. Ataraxia was more important.

Focus was key—you needed to devise a plan to return to nebula, to find your beloved Ataraxia.

Ataraxia is in danger, or maybe even dead...

The thought sent a twisting ache through your guts, knotting your insides as your throat constricted painfully. Images of her harmed or worse flooded your mind unbidden, each more gruesome than the last. You cursed your own vulnerability, your lack of power in this scenario. All you could do was hope, hope with every fiber of your being, that Fate had seen fit to spare her.

Have trust in her, she’s strong and intelligent. you told yourself again.

You raked your trembling fingers through your hair as you sighed deeply, mouth twitching down into a frown as your fingers curled slightly as you suddenly remembered another obligation that was suddenly smashed down on you.

You’re a single mother now.

How the hell could you face Ataraxia? How are you supposed to tell her that you’re now a single mother and you have no explanation to offer? Doubtless, ataraxia would assume the worst—that in a moment of weakness or worse yet deceit, you had laid with another.

You didn’t want that, because infidelity isn’t your forte.

It sucks, really, because you don’t even know the father of your self proclaimed son.

A shaking hand rose unsteadily to the nape of your neck, kneading the taut muscles that was locked, yet it provided no respite from the conflicted feelings that was raging within you.

You were so lost in your thoughts, and time itself ceased to have meaning. How long you’d lingered on the frigid ground again?

You just sat there, staring at the moon.

How had it come to this, you wondered. Why were you suddenly tasked with motherhood against your consent? Choso seemed resolute in claiming your connection, in claiming that he was your son.

And somehow, you believed it. Because his nature remained unclear, he wasn’t a human, and neither were you—so there’s a possibility that he was indeed your son.

Meanwhile, Your self-proclaimed son—Choso was beside you as you contemplated on your life choices.

Choso sat silently, idly dragging a stray twig through the sandy earth. His boredom was palpable, though his gaze occasionally flickered in your direction, scrutinizing for any sign of you retaliating or running away—After all, he can’t have you running from your obligation as his mother now, can you?

There was a palpable tension in the air as the two of you perched upon the rugged rock.

The silence was suffocatingly deafening—for it wasn’t the serene quietude, but rather an uneasy stillness that seemed to seep into the very crevices of the place.

Choso’s gaze was fixed on the earth beneath him, the tip of a stick tracing aimless patterns in the dirt, etching out random letters that held no meaning.

Choso couldn’t fathom why you appeared so distraught—Why you looked so upset and agitated and a pang of guilt tugged at his heartstrings. Was it his presence that caused your distraught, leading you to sulk?

A fleeting frown crossed Choso’s lips. Is it because of him that you’re upset or something? He just wants you to let you know that you have a son, and not have you getting all depressed right here and then.

What had transpired to render you so distant, as though he were a stranger? Why do you gaze at him with a disorientated gaze—as though you don’t know him?

“Hey...” Your muted voice floated on the breeze, taking Choso’s attention as his ebony tresses swayed in the wind. Turning his head in uour direction, his gaze fell upon your crestfallen mien—your eyes downcast and avoiding his probing stare

“Yes?” he asked, watching as you finally looked at him, noting the pensive furrow of your brow and the piercing gaze that you were giving him.

“...you said that you’re my child, right?” Doubt laced your query as a thought took root—if it was true—that he was your son, then why did he stand before you fully grown? You were untouched, a maiden still, and your reason rebelled against what your eyes insisted was fact.

Maybe ataraxia got you pregnant unintentionally? No, no, that’s not possible, two women could not create new life no matter how fervent the affection is, and you haven’t done the deed yet.

Such things were fanciful impossibilities.

“Yes,” Choso said simply, though his reply did little to allay your turmoil—It was vague after all.

You frowned pensively as you took in Choso’s visage. Lines of strain etched themselves across his brow; a tightness pulled at the corners of his mouth. Shadows dusked beneath his downcast eyes. Had your words carried too much censure?

Is it your fault? Were you so harsh? Is it because that you didn’t accept him as your son? Is it because you just won’t drop the subject?

Did he felt neglected by his mother or something?

You knew not how to be a mother, so how are you supposed to fulfill that role and not make him feel neglected? You were stressed too... Because if he really is your son, then why wasn’t he a baby at all, why is he a grown ass man?

The position strained you both, truly. Your chest constricted at the sight of choso’s solemn expression. Softly, you massaged your aching temples. Through dark lashes, you peered at Choso, taking in the stiff set of broad shoulders, fingers clenched white-knuckled in his lap.

While you watched him with a pitiful gaze, Choso’s gaze remained downcast, tracing the purposeful march of dark ants amidst the dirt.

Choso was just wondering what would happen if he was born as an ant while you were busy there in your internal turmoil.

“Hey...”

A tentative breath escaped your lips as you mustered the courage to speak once more, the words delicately balanced on the tip of your tongue. “I’m sorry,”

you uttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you averted your gaze, your hand trembling slightly as it came to rest upon your lap.

“I was just... overwhelmed by everything that’s happened,” you confessed, your fingers twisting anxiously in your lap.

“That’s why I’ve been so... agitated.. there’s just so many things that happened to me.. and I guess.. i kinda let my anger out on you...”

The memory of Toji’s pungent aroma suddenly assaulted your senses, causing your nose to scrunch in a grimace as you fought to push the unpleasant recollection aside.

Out of anything, why did you have to remember that little shit?

You sighed.

“I’m so sorry for being so harsh..”

You paused, your gaze searching his face, hoping to gauge his reaction, to discern whether your apology had been accepted or if the rift between your non-existent bond remained unhealed.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, the words laced with a heavy sigh as your fingers curled into your palms, the knuckles turning white with the tension. Choso arched a single, eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and intrigue.

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked, his deep voice tinged with puzzlement. Were you feeling remorseful for some reason he couldn’t discern?

You bit your lower lip, the soft flesh catching between your teeth as you contemplated your response.

“Because of my harshness,” you murmured, your gaze dropping to the floor.

“I may have... unintentionally, of course... offended you.”

The words felt thick and heavy on your tongue, as if your very breath struggled to form them. Choso hummed, a low, contemplative sound that reverberated in his chest.

He couldn’t help but note the shift in your demeanor, the way your once-brash and snappish attitude had given way to a more gentle, solemn air. Had you finally come to terms with the fact that he had bested you in your previous arguments? Even better, did you finally accepted that he was your son? Fantastic, indeed.

Scooting closer to you, Choso reached out, his long fingers gently brushing against the back of your hand.

“You didn’t offend me,” he assured, his voice soft and soothing.

“There’s no need to apologize.”

You looked up, your eyes meeting his.

“I... I suppose that it’s okay then... But still, i’m sorry...” you said, your words hesitant and uncertain.

But then, just as quickly as the moment of peace had come, it was gone, and you were back to your old self, your brow furrowing as you fixed Choso with a pointed stare.

“But you do realize that you can’t be my son, don't you?” you asked.

Choso’s eye twitched, and he resisted the urge to let out a frustrated sigh. There you go again, trying to stir up another argument. It seemed that this was a topic you two would never see eye to eye on.

Your fingers gently intertwined with his calloused hand, and you couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in texture, not only that.. his hands seemed to have the same size of yours, yet it still fit snugly.

An involuntary frown tugged at the corners of your lips as you contemplated whether your stature had somehow diminished, for you were certain your palm would have dwarfed his own. After all, you were taller than him and his head were barely reaching your shoulder.

“I know I’ve already told you this countless times before, but...” You paused, your voice soft and measured as you prepared to broach the sensitive topic once more.

“My lover is a woman.” You paused, studying his features for any flicker of understanding

Pressing your lips into a tight, resolute line, you continued,

“And two women, as you’re aware, cannot conceive a child together.”Your gaze drifted downward, fingers tracing the weathered contours of his palm in a delicate, almost reverent caress.

“And... Ugh, how many times do i have to say this...? This is embarrassing...” you grumbled.

“I’m the embodiment of chastity.”

You mumbled, lifting your eyes to meet his, a silent plea resonated within your gaze.

“And besides, we should simply just drop this and accept the fact that you’re not my son. Ataraxia might grow upset and assume I’ve been unfaithful and that i’m cheating on her.” Your words were laced with a soft desperation.

“And i don’t want that...”

“Please?”

Choso scoffed, his brow furrowing as he pressed his palm against his temple, the other hand still enveloped in your grasp.

”Just... accept it,” he murmured, his voice tinged with exasperation.

“You still have my brother nestled within your womb.”

The very mention of that fact caused a knot of dread to coil in the pit of your stomach, His brother remained nestled safely within your womb. How could you forget the life growing within? How could you have forgotten, even for a moment, the life that now thrummed within you—the life that had been so unexpectedly, inexplicably conceived?

...

Now ataraxia had more reason to believe that you cheated because you were technically pregnant!

You released your hold on his hand, fingers trembling slightly as you raked them through your hair, the strands catching and snagging against your skin, and nails scraping across your scalp in agitation.

“How did this even happen?” you breathed, the words barely audible as you watched Choso press his palm reverently against your tummy, fingers splayed as if listening.

“Can you not hear it?” he murmured, his expression calm and collectedness.

“Hear what?”

“The heartbeat of Noranso.” You felt your eyes widen in shock, jaw dropping open as you stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Flummoxed, you gaped at him as you spoke.

“Tangina Choso... Don’t tell me that..” The words tumbled from your lips, colored with disbelief.

You felt a bubbling surge of annoyance boil within your core, because if you were to give birth to that random child that randomly popped in your tummy then you would’ve named it ‘destroyer of the land and mountains’

You grimaced, founding the name that choso had given his brother kinda weird, and you were acting as if the name that you would give it wasn’t any weirder.

But To be honest? if choso didn’t have a name, then you would’ve had named him “armpit munchies” or “squishy toe nails.”

“... you named it?”

Choso merely shrugged, stepping back from you with a nonchalant air.

“No, that’s his name,” he replied vaguely, leaving you to gape at his retreating form, a thousand questions swirling in your mind.

His explanation provided little clarity to your muddled psyche. Brow furrowed, glancing between him and your stomach curiously. Finally, words tumbled forth quietly

“It has a name.” You repeated, baffled.

“I.. i see..”

“Do you all have your names chosen even before the...” you paused, brow furrowing as you struggled to find the right words,

“the sperm race?”

Choso merely shook his head, seeming equally perplexed.

“I don’t recall joining a race.” choso murmured.

“What’s a sperm?”

Waves of discomfort washed over you as you stared at Choso with a perplexed gaze, your fingers instinctively massaging the tense muscles at the base of your neck. How could this man before you, with all the trappings of adulthood, be utterly ignorant of the most fundamental aspects of human biology? You found yourself bewildered, your brow furrowing as you struggled to comprehend the sheer depth of his naivety.

“You don’t know what a sperm is?” The words tumbled from your lips, laced with a mixture of incredulity and pity. Your eyes searched Choso's face, wondering if perhaps he was some sort of savant, what if he’s actually a baby trapped in a man’s body?

“Er, well... it’s a small creature,” you began, the words catching in your throat as you grappled with the awkwardness of the situation.

“And, you know, it’s what men... release... on the female. And then, it leads to a baby or something.” You trailed off.

“Like during reproduction,” You added.

“You have those too” The words tumbled forth, a futile attempt to bridge the chasm of understanding that separated you. Choso’s expression remained flat.

“What do you mean?” His voice, devoid of any hint of emotion, only served to heighten your sense of unease.

“You have those too. Sperm. You have those.” You shook your head, the words tinged with a resigned exasperation.

“I don’t.” Choso asserted, shaking his head in a way that made your eye twitch involuntarily.

“But you do,” you replied, unable to contain your exasperation as you facepalmed.

“Beneath those clothes, you have a dick. It’s the thing between your legs, the flesh thing. And then you have balls, they’re connected to the dick and your sperm is inside of your balls.”

Your brusque, vulgar manner of explaining the process confused choso, you cringed internally as you realized how embarrassing and blunt your words is. Leaning forward, you extended a lone digit, pressing the tip firmly against the juncture of his thighs.

“Here.” you said.

Choso’s brow arched in bewilderment, his calloused palm slowly trailing downward to tentatively graze the area you had indicated.

“Here?” he questioned, his tone laced with uncertainty.

You offered a curt nod of affirmation.

“Yes, precisely there.” A long-suffering sigh escaped your lips as you watched his exploration.

“There’s nothing here.”

“Punyeta, choso, Anong kabobohan to?”

you lamented, the palm of your hand connecting sharply with your forehead in a gesture of pure exasperation.

Did this mirror the frustration Aionarch experienced while explaining the details of reproduction and the importance of restraint to your dumb ass? Was this the same impatience he felt when you struggled to grasp basic concepts? Is this how he felt when he was teaching you what sex is and you can’t understand anything?

“I don’t know. But i don’t really know what you’re talking about.” Choso’s brow creased slightly as he tried to decipher your cryptic remarks.

“Are you truly aware that offspring gestate within the female womb, yet remain ignorant of the nature of the seed that initiates such creation?” you inquired with a hint of disbelief.

Choso emitted a dismissive snort. “Tsk.”

“Do i look like i care about that reproductive thing that you’re talking about?” Choso inquired, arching a sculpted brow with dubious sincerity.

“Your words are too flowery ma, i can’t understand it.”

Choso responded, the honorific “ma” slipping unbidden from his tongue unconsciously. In all honesty, he could not muster the slightest interest in your diatribe and the meanings therein—Your speech simply dwarfed his capacity for comprehension.

“M-ma?” You sputtered in disbelief, your viscera twisted within your torso’s confines. Why the hell does he keep perceiving you as the mother who birthed him? You had already told him so many times before, Had his cognizance reshaped itself to see you thus? Jaw clenched taut, gut wrenched with turmoil, you met his steady gaze.

“What?” he asked, purple eyes narrowed to slits as irritation claimed dominion of mien and manner.

“Are you still insisting that i have that “dick” you were talking of?”

“i don’t have those.” he reiterated adamantly.

You exhaled deeply, pressing your fingertips to your temples as sheer vexation overtook you. It seemed this Choso was intent on persisting in his fanciful notion of you as his mothe, huh?

Though you strove for patience, his constant invocations of that diminutive designation only served to stoke the flames of irritation within you.

You know that this might just fuel his delusion but you still spoke.

“If you’re really my son then you’ll have those.”

you remarked, exasperation sharpening your tongue as you pointed on his torso. Directing his gaze downwards, you noted the minute tensing of his brows as thoughtful consideration replaced that look of misguided familial bonding. Silently, he pondered your implication, tracing where your suggestive gesture indicated—his midsection bereft of the corporeal signs one might expect finding to see a true blood relation.

“Why do you keep pointing at my midriff?, there’s nothing here.”

“I know that i’m right. You should just look for yourself, see if you’re right.” he mumbled incomprehensibly.

“Okay.” You said flatly.

Your fingers grasped the fabric of his vest, the coarse material rough against your skin as you tugged him closer. With a sharp tug, you lifted the garment, revealing the taut, chiseled planes of his abdomen. His breath hitched suddenly, not expecting that.

“So?” He breathes out.

“It’s under here.” you murmured, your voice low and lilting as your hand drifted downward, tracing the line of the black, silk-like sash cinched around his hips. With deft movements, you began to untie the knot, your fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers as you tugged it.

“Here?” He asked, and choso blinked as he suddenly felt blood rushing down there.

What the hell is happening? He could feel something stiffening, but he just couldn’t pinpoint what it is...

“You look like you’re living in an another person’s body, you know?” you murmured, your eyes gravitating upwards to meet his. Choso’s gaze wandered, his mind occupied with a myriad of thoughts, his body tensing uncomfortably in response. The alien sensation of his new body still lingered, a mere twenty days into this unfamiliar vessel. A body bestowed upon him by a mysterious stranger, a doppelganger of yourself in every aspect—from the matching lips to the identical eyes, skin tone, and hair.

The resemblance between you two was uncanny, eerie in its precision.

But the personalities and the voice is different though.

Unease shadowed his features, amethyst eyes brooding, thoughts no doubt wandering to that fateful encounter only days past when first he’d been gifted with animated flesh.

Your voice broke him out of his reverie.

“I am not well-versed in the anatomy of males, But i guess I’ll just indulge you in from what I've read in my books,” you stated with a trace of bitterness, recalling the arduous task of having to study that 50 books with long ass pages for no reason at all.

“Maybe we should start with your upper physique?” you suggested with innocent curiosity, your words laced with a hint of uncertainty.

Your delicate hands slowly roamed his firm physique, lingering in certain spots as if mapping every contour with her touch alone. A visible shiver coursed through his body at the first caress upon his bare chest. “So here,” You began, pressing your soft palms fully against his pecs,

“lies your thoracic cavity.”

He gazed down intently at your hands exploring his form, too confused to fully comprehend your anatomical lesson.

“What’s a thoracic cavity?” He questioned, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s your chest. It’s a complex chamber nestled within your chest, safeguarding the vital organs necessary for sustaining life,” you explained, noting how he tilted his head slightly as he delicately removed your fingers from his cloth. With a meticulous gesture, he adjusted the fabric and lifted it up higher granting you an enhanced view of his upper body.

“You mean, the things that are essential for living?” he murmured in wonderment.

“Yeah.” you affirmed with a nod.

“Hmm... Intriguing,” he mused, mentally marking the importance of this knowledge.

His gaze then wandered towards your own chest.

“Why does your chest look like that? It’s different from mine.” he inquired, leaving you momentarily speechless.

You gawked.

“Putanginang lalake to... Choso, don’t ask questions like that! It’s uncomfortable and weird.” You sighed.

“Look me in the eyes, not my chest,” you instructed, a hint of exasperation lacing your words as he acquiesced with a nod, seemingly unaware of his lapse in etiquette.

You cleared your throat, hoping to get rid of the awkward atmosphere.

“So... Back to what i was saying.”

“There’s organs in here and they’re essential for your living. It's divided into three main parts, right pleural cavity, left pleural cavity and mediastinum. And the five organs in your thoracic cavity are your heart, lungs, esophagus, trachea and thymus.”

“There’s bones in here too, like your ribs and the sternum.”

“This one’s your sternum,” You mumble, tracing the arch of his sternum before dipping lower

“And this one’s your ribcage.”

Your fingers delicately glided across the solid ridges of his rib cage.

Sliding lower still, the tips of your fingers grazed his taut stomach.

“The abdomen...” you comtinued,

“The abdomen contains many vital organs: the stomach, the small intestine, the large intestine, the liver, the spleen, the gallbladder, the pancreas, the bladder, and many blood vessels.”

“And here, your groin” Your fingers dipped under his waistband and you were about to take it off until a distorted sound reached your ears, a warped and twisted echo that set your nerves on edge.

“Mommyyy” it crooned, and you froze, choso stiffening beside you as you both snapped your gaze toward the source.

There, emerging from the shadows, a giant, fat, purple worm with an ugly and contorted face. The same creature you had once shapeshifted into.

“Mommy Hug me”

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𝐍𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐀

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The miasmic scent of blood flooded Xeranthi’s senses as she gingerly sat upon her husband’s lap. Aionarch’s hand massaged her lacerated flesh. Stiffening against the forthcoming anguish, she steeled herself to absorb his ministrations without compromise of façade.

The woman’s ravaged flesh contracted in pain as pale slender fingers traced over her fresh lashes, reopening the barely sealed wounds.

Xeranthi’s flesh constricts as his fingers delved deeply into the crimson gash, parting the freshly torn skin with delicate precision. Her muscles and sinews writhed beneath his probing touch, the contractile tissue recoiling from the painful intrusion. Ichor fluid welled and spilled anew with each probing motion, and it dripped down his fingers like midnight liquid, painting his fingers a grim ichor.

Each brush of contact sent tendrils of white-hot agony lancing through her battered form, her stomach roiling with a fresh wave of nauseating pain—and she wanted to vomit so bad.

Aionarch methodically traced the wound’s edge, his glowing touch bringing tentative relief—That xeranthi very much didn’t appreciated. Her taut fibers slowly drew closed once more beneath his healing caress, though, the residual soreness remained.

The whip that they used kn her was excruciatingly painful, a nefarious device of torture forged from a dragon's scaly tail. Each serrated barb along its rippling length was painful, and each sharp tooth that lined the whip’s gangrenous tongue was carved from the fossilized scales of some bygone beast, and Xeranthi could feel her senses reeling as she remembered the obsidian talons buried deep within her back, rending sinews and splitting her skin.

She hissed in irritation as his head nestled intimately at her nape. His fingers drifted now across her marred back, cataloging each cruel mark left by the kiss. Over raised welts and gouges his hands roamed, tracing the ribs laid bare through her broken flesh.

Her form shivered violently at the fresh stimulus to such tender wounds, irritation and anger writting clear upon her trembling limbs. Still he persisted, tending injuries both evident and deeper still, his moist exhalations but another torment upon her skin already flayed. Slowly, gradually, underneath his ministrations the ravages began to fade.

Even in supposed gentleness her sadistic lord inflicted new torments too. Though his touch now soothed rather than seared, memories of past cruelties clung to her like parasites, burrowing their tendrils deep into her psyche.

“you’ve been quiet for quite a while now,”

Aionarch said quietly, though a hint of irritation colored his tone. This wasn’t the reaction he envisioned from Xeranthi after taking her away from that dreadful place.

Despite his efforts to mend her wounds, an undercurrent of ingratitude lingered like a bitter aftertaste.

Such an ungrateful wife she is, no wonder that their daughter is ungrateful too.

“And what would you have me say?”

Xeranthi jaw sets like stone as she let out a derisive grunt.

“Want me to thank you for your oh so called graceful mercy? Want me to thank you and act like you’re my savior when you’re the reason why i’m there in the first place?”

Aionarch grasped her chin roughly, his nails digging crescents into her flesh as he forced her gaze to meet his own.

“Ah? It seems the apple falls not far from the tree,” he murmured. “I think I know from whence our daughter’s foolishness stems,”

He breathed, the scent of wine upon his breath.

“So you’ve finally recognized your own reflection?”

Xeranthi’s lips curled into a wry smile, though no mirth touched her eyes. “So you finally admit she inherits her dull wit from you?”

Pausing, Aionarch considered her retort before throwing back his head and laughing, though the sound held no joy.

“Nay, ‘Tis from you, wife.”

Aionarch hesitated, brow furrowing, then laughed sharply. “No, she gets her foolishness from you.”

“She has your features, your genes,” Xeranthi countered.

“And she has your intellect, or lack thereof.

Aionarch’s fingers clenched tighter, his nails breaking skin, still Xeranthi would not flinch or cry out, meeting his gaze with defiance.

“You are cute Weiveiun,” He says with a chuckle.

Xeranthi narrowed her eyes as his icy gaze bored into her, pale ichor dripping slowly from vicious half-moon gouges in her skin where his nails still dug. Though her flesh stung in pain, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain.

Dark lashes fluttered shut to block out his soulless stare, though it did nothing to halt the onslaught of memories assaulting her mind.

“What did you do to my soryuleitha?”

“I know that you wouldn’t bring her up unless you did something.”

Aionarch hums as he traced a thumb along her jaw, smearing the iridescent blood across her cheek in a gruesome caress.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“I discovered that our daughter has become enamored with a woman,” the deity sighed languidly, and Xeranthi remained stock-still as her eyes grew wide with horror and dismay. No... surely Aionarch has not uncovered your secret attraction to the fairer sex? Xeranthi swallowed painfully, hoping beyond hope that you remains unscathed, for she knows all too well how cruel Aionarch can be, and how fiercely he despises any bond of intimacy that deviates from his narrow conception of propriety. And it was especially grievous, for it concerned you.

“You’ve hurt her...” Xeranthi said in icy tones and Aionarch hummed dismissively, feeling some subterranean forces suddenly surging forth from nowhere to pierce through him, but they dissipated impotently as he dispersed them with a negligent flick of his hand.

“Indeed, I did,” Aionarch replied coldly, without an ounce of remorse, not even caring about xeranthi’s pathetic attempt to hurt him.

Drawing a shuttered breath, Xeranthi stated grimly, “You should’ve just killed her.” She said coldly.

“And not hurt her.”

“You hurt her so grievously because you are consumed by envy of her lover, isn’t it?” Xeranthi murmured pensively, and for a split-second, Aionarch’s eyes widened in surprise at her perceptiveness before he threw his head back and laughed hollowly.

“Clever girl,” he purred, pressing his lips to Xeranthi’s cheek in a mockery of affection, which caused the goddess to recoil inwardly from his defiling touch.

“Since when did you know, hm?” Aionarch asks, and Xeranthi’s gaze slowly drifted downwards, her eyes avoiding his penetrating stare. How did she know? Through her stealthy observations over many years. Ever since you were a mere babe, it had seemed to Xeranthi that Aionarch was utterly obsessed with you, obsessed with sculpting you into some ideal of perfection, obsessed with isolating you from all others until you belonged only to him. None dare speak to him in such a casual, informal way without meeting a ghastly end, and yet with you he was strangely tender, affectionate even.

And that was not all—Aionarch kept a close, watchful guard over your purity as well, as if you were his private treasure. These things had whispered to Xeranthi’s intuition for longer than she could recall, leaving an uneasy sense of foreboding within her.

“Ever since she was a child,”

“I see the way you look at her.” Xeranthi murmured through clenched teeth, each word sharp enough to draw blood. Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms as barely contained rage coursed through her veins.

“The way you so readily forgive her transgressions, as if she hung the very stars in the sky.”

Aionarch merely hummed in noncommittal acknowledgement, yet the icy disdain miring his eyes belied the uncaring facade he attempted to project.

“True, I harbor no love for you,” he conceded with a frigid smile that raised hackles along Xeranthi's neck.

“But i do care for you. Do I not provide for your needs? Have I not elevated your status above all others?”

She sneered mirthlessly.

“Spare me your falsehoods and justifications. I am no fool, no matter how you may seek to paint me as such. I know well that you used me—my body, my name—for no other purpose than so you could have a child because apparently, i’m the prettiest goddess blah blah blah, bullshit like that. Like i give a damn if you elevated my status”

“Watch your insolent tongue, woman, lest you regret the consequences.”

Xeranthi barked a harsh, derisive laugh.

“The truth wounds, does it? That I see clearly what lies beneath your genteel ravings? She looks like you,” she spat venomously,

“and so you mistake your narcissism for love. You like her because she looks like you, she spits your image.”

“Your feelings for [Name] has never been platonic in the first place.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏. [Name]’s stomach is starting to digest Choso’s Brother.

𝟎𝟎𝟐. Xeranthi knows about [Name] and Ataraxia.

𝟎𝟎𝟑. [Name] is the goddess of chastity, cause she was forced to live in Chastity by her father.

𝟎𝟎𝟒. Ataraxia heard the conversation between Aionarch and Xeranthi.

𝟎𝟎𝟓. The worm thinks that [Name] is its mommy too because yk? She once transformed into the worm and the worm scent is clinging onto her—so the worm assumed that she was its mommy.

𝟎𝟎𝟔. Choso wanted to ask about Ataraxia but refrained himself from doing so.

𝟎𝟎𝟕. Xeranthi wasn’t bothered by aionarch’s incestuous love cause it’s normal for them—since they’re deities and incest is normal in deities and they see nothing wrong with it.

𝟎𝟎𝟖. The person that gave choso his body was said that they looked like Kamiseijin but it’s not really kamiseijin, neither was it aionarch.

𝟎𝟎𝟗. Aionarch didn’t killed ataraxia for a reason;)

𝟎𝟏𝟎. Aionarch only took Xeranthi away to share some information with Xeranthi cause he kinda expected that Xeranthi would recoil at the thought of [Name] liking a woman but got the opposite reaction instead cause Xeranthi supports her daughter no matter what.

𝟎𝟏𝟏. Choso once considered bashing your head.

━━━━━

𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏. “Punyeta, anong kabobohan to choso” means “What the fuck kind of stupidity is this, Choso?”

Weiveiun means

𝟎𝟎𝟐. Soryuleitha means “My sole happiness”

𝟎𝟎𝟑.Weiveiun means “My darling”

𝟎𝟎𝟒. “Putang inang lalake to” means this fucking man...

━━━━━

🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐒atoru has been thinking about you or whatever, and honestly? He’s getting a bit jealous of you because suguru has been focusing on tryna figure out what the actual fuck you are.

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟏𝟎%

—𝐒uguru saw ataraxia’s name on the necklace and now he’s assuming that your name is ataraxia<3.

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐓oji misses his worm already, please come back. He needs money.

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟒% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)

—𝐒hoko, just like suguru, assumed that your name is ataraxia and now she’s doing loads of research in tryna find you.

━━━━━

╰┈➤ 𝟐𝟒% (𝐔𝐩 𝟒%)

—𝐂hoso is getting irritated by you. BUT, he’s jealous because a fucking worm just called you mommy! Like why is the worm stealing his mother? Choso was annoyed at that + he’s also annoyed at the fact that you kept on telling him about human reproduction or something like that, he’s getting uncomfortable with the topic + what are you even saying about his body or something? Choso has never really looked at his body or something like that, nor did he paid any mind in the details.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

okokok, so i’m not writing choso as an “innocent uwu” bullshit like that. Choso is not innocent in here and he’s just really curious about how the human body works, but that doesn’t mean that he’s innocent or something. He just trusts Kamiseijin and is quite comfortable with her, that’s why. + He’s literally thinking of killing [Name].

━━━━━

Shit’s bouta go down at chapter six:) just don’t mind my obsession with anatomy lmfao. This chapter is cringe af (everything is in my pov) dawg, i sprained my ankle and now i’m itching to hurt my mc again... But i just decided to give her this moment of peace because i’m gonna take it all away soon💓.... Mwhehe i was supposed to make her meet Toru and Sugu in her human form but i decided to just make them meet her at chap 7 cause (spoilers: there’s gonna be a fight in chapter 6)

━━━━━

LOL THIS BULLSHIT BECAME A SCIENCE LESSON INSTEAD OF A JJK FUCKIN' FANFIC LMAOOO SJHSHZJAJAK... And yeah... When i said that there’s gonna be incest in here... I meant that. BUT DON’T THINK THAT I CONDONE/NORMALIZE THAT BEHAVIOR IRL OKAY? incest isn’t okay and it’s illegal<3

━━━━━

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hrefna-the-raven · 1 year ago

Text

Hope in hell

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Part 1 - Drunken minds speak sober hearts

Words: 2138

Warnings: smut (18+)

Summary: The dreaded morning after ;)

Raphael let out a groan, his head pounding like a piece of metal relentlessly being hammered into shape by the most skilled dwarven blacksmiths, the constant painful throbbing clouding his memories, making it difficult to piece together the events of last night, despising how he felt like a common mortal after a night's out. He attempted to sit up but froze as he felt something soft resting on his chest, accompanied by a comforting warmth. Taking a deep breath, he glanced down and let out a sigh, his heart suddenly feeling heavy. Haarlep must have slept with you, assumed your form and then... his eyes shot wide open and he muttered a curse under his breath as fragments of the previous night's memories flickered through his mind.

That damned incubus got him drunk and then you showed up and... His hands delicately traced the contours of your slumbering figure. It was truly you, his beloved little mouse, curled up against his chest. His heart raced, a twinge of pain accompanying the rapid beats, as he pondered how to proceed. What clever remark would he throw at you once you woke up? Would he even need one? Would you recoil and attempt to flee from the sight of the devil beneath you? He didn't get enough time to find an answer to all his questions as you slowly stirred awake, your eyes were still closed as you lazily stretched and your hips accidentally brushed against his growing arousal.

A deep growl rumbled in his chest, causing you to quickly raise your head and look at him, eyes wide with surprise. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, swirling in chaotic circles, expecting to be scolded, pushed away, or even punished. But to your astonishment, nothing happened. You still remained lying there, on top of him, silently gazing into each other's eyes, both afraid that any spoken word might shatter the peaceful and loving moment you were sharing. But the silence grew heavy and a sense of unease slowly crawled up your spine, threatening to consume both your thoughts and body. It was unusual to witness Raphael in such a state of quietude, after all that happened, it didn't sit right with you that he was so calm, devoid of any movement or speech. It almost seemed as if Haarlep had managed to shatter him completely, that one evening of unfiltered truth had stripped away every trace of his self-centered arrogance, leaving him exposed and vulnerable before you. You were the first to ever glimpse at the raw essence of Raphael's entire being and, despite your constant cat and mouse game, you felt no desire to exploit it; on the contrary, you cherished this side of him, the devil laid bare, and at this very moment, you yearned to love him more than ever.

"About last night-"

"I feel the same!", you interjected, cutting off Raphael mid-sentence, "but if you..."

Any further words you were about to utter were engulfed by a provocative moan as you sensed his growing arousal pressed firmly against your hips the moment you attempted to readjust your position. Raphael's eyes fluttered shut, his mouth hanging open, unable to withstand the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that washed over him.

"To hell with this, I want you!", the words escaped your lips almost simultaneously, filled with an urgent longing.

Raphael snapped his fingers, and in an instant, both yours and his clothes disappeared. He pulled you towards him so swiftly that you had to clutch onto his horns to prevent yourself from toppling over. As his mouth met your dripping folds, you couldn't help but whimper. It was at this moment that you realised how much of the Raphael you came to know was still present. The damned devil teased you with the anticipation of his hot tongue caressing your arousal but you simply wouldn't have it, not now. You lowered your hips, grinding gently against his face, yearning for any kind of friction. His claws dug into the tender flesh of your thighs, firmly keeping you in place.

"My little mouse", the devil chuckled, "so eager to be eaten."

With a tantalising slowness, he dragged his tongue through the delicate contours of your folds, briefly encircling your clit before sucking on it with an insatiable hunger. The air was filled with the intoxicating symphony of your sinful moans and your grip around his horns instinctively tightened. This was a desire that had consumed your thoughts for countless nights, the fantasy of being pleasured by your very own devil. And now, as it finally became a reality, you couldn't hold anything back. The intensity of your climax approached rapidly and just as you were about to reach its peak, his licks ceased. Frustration welled up within you, ready to protest, but then he pressed his tongue flat against your throbbing clit while simultaneously thrust two of his large fingers deep inside you. The rhythmic pumping intensified, driving you towards the edge once more. Within mere moments, your inner walls clenched around his fingers and you experienced a mind-shattering orgasm, screaming his name in ecstasy.

With an unexpected tenderness, he released his grip on your hips and gently cradled you in his arms, carefully laying you down on the bed beside him. His face turned towards you, his eyes filled with love as he gazed upon your blissful expression. As soon your eyes met his, he understood that there would be no turning back anymore, he was in love with this fragile mortal and he would curse himself to an eternity of anguish if he'd deny himself the bliss of your love. The hells and all its devils be damned, he would see that you'd remain at his side for as long as you'd live.

"You now know about my best kept secret", he whispered, as if afraid that any disruption would shatter the fragile balance, "and rest assured my feelings for you will not easily waver. However this is hell and I'm not just any devil but the son of Mephistopheles, I, I can't", he faltered, uncertain of how to proceed as it felt wrong, for the first time in his existence, to utter those words.

"You can't show weakness to others, you can't show your love to me", you offered, the pain your voice obvious.

You turned your eyes away, unable to bear the increasing sorrow, but his hands swiftly moved to cradle your face, redirecting your focus back to him.

"If you're willing to stay by my side despite the laws of the nine hells working against us, I will vow my love to you within my House of Hope for as often as you desire it and I promise you that beyond these walls, I will always treat you with utmost respect and defend your honour, for you will be the lady of this house", he paused briefly, attempting to discern your reaction before continuing, "if you'd be willing."

His words left you in astonishment as you blinked. Did he truly express his desire to commit to you, vowing to cherish and safeguard you? It was a proposal you should have considered longer before answering, yet your body instinctively reacted before your mind could fully comprehend the situation. You crawled towards him, pushing him down on his back as you straddled him, gently, to not hurt his wings before you leaned down, capturing his lips in a fervent embrace. Raphael moaned your name as he felt you positioning his hardening member at your entrance, sinking down on him just enough for the tip to enter. His hands found your hips, holding you in place momentarily as he broke the kiss.

"What are you doing?"

"We're not done until we both had our fair share of pleasure", you breathed as you sank down on him, swallowing a moan, "besides shouldn't the lady of the house keep her man satisfied?"

Raphael's smile widened as he guided your motions, starting off slowly and then picking up speed. Feral growls escaped his lips as he he could feel himself approaching the peak of his own pleasure fast. He had been intimate with many throughout the decades, including Haarlep, a being existing ultimately to provide pleasure, but there was something special about you. The closeness, the shared emotions, the intimacy - all of his previous encounters paled in comparison to the connection he felt with you in this very moment. But you felt just as good, riding a devil, having his cock buried deep down inside you, filling you up perfectly while hitting that sweet spot over and over again, transforming this sinful act into something heavenly. The feeling of pure bliss cursed through your whole body as you moved your hips in a perfect rhythm, the heated embrace of desire and lust unleashed as both of toppled over the edge. In this moment of tenderness and passion, it was clear that your connection went beyond physical pleasure. It was a union of souls, an experience that transcended mere satisfaction.

"Raphael", you moaned loudly as your walls clenched around his cock, feeling it twitched as his seed spilled inside you.

Both of you panted heavily, a contented smile playing at the edges of your lips as the devil sat up, his arms wrapping around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

"I love you", he whispered tenderly, chuckling as you hummed your consent, too spent to utter a word.

"Oh my, what a perfectly delicious sight", a familiar voice chuckled, drawing nearer.

Your eyes snapped open and you blinked in disbelief as you spotted Astarion standing in the boudoir, bearing a smug grin as he observed the two of you with obvious amusement.

"Astarion?!", you shrieked, scrambling off Raphael, hastily covering your exposed form with the silk blanket to hide both your nakedness and your embarrassment from your companion. The vampire merely chuckled, his gaze shifting between you and the devil.

"Guess again, little mouse", the pale elf playfully teased, giving you a sly wink, his crimson eyes glowing up for just a second, "it seems my plan worked rather well."

Before you had a chance to fully comprehend who was standing before you, Raphael, still unclothed, swiftly leapt out of bed and lunged towards the elf. His fingers clenched tightly around Haarlep's throat, exerting a dangerous pressure. You wanted to scream, to implore Raphael to stop, but Haarlep calmly transformed into his master's form, causing Raphael to immediately release his grip on the incubus' throat.

"You wretched creature!", Raphael spat, "you poisoned me! Do NOT forget your place in this house, slave!"

Instinctively, you retreated further onto the bed, clutching the blanket tightly as sudden fear surged through you. You had witnessed many facets of Raphael's personality, but this seething rage terrified you beyond measure, especially coming from the same being who had cradled you tenderly just moments before but a part of you also understood his anger.

"You misunderstood, my dear master, my intent was never to poison you. I simply intended to", the incubus gestured towards you, "enhance your chances with your favourite misadventurer, all in your best interest I assure you."

Raphael was fuming, wishing he could obliterate Haarlep into countless fragments. However, he recognised that he couldn't afford to destroy such a gift from his father, at least not yet, and deep down Raphael knew that the incubus was right, without his involvement, last night and this morning wouldn't have unfolded so magnificently. Haarlep, of course, fully grasped the advantage he currently held over his master and decided to push his luck even further, knowing that such a perfect opportunity would not present itself again in the near future.

"If you'll excuse me", he hummed while transforming back to Astarion's form, "I have to get back to my new, rather passionate, lover. It's quite nice to be in the receiving end for once."

He gave you a sly wink and blew a quick kiss your way before disappearing once again, leaving you alone with the annoyed devil.

Rising to your feet, you cautiously approached Raphael, still wrapped in the warmth of a blanket. Your fingertips lightly traced along the edges of his magnificent wings as you circled around him.

"Why not free the incubus from his duties?", you suggested, tugging at his hand and bringing it up to your lips, planting kisses along the inside of his arm, "no more Haarlep means no father watching your every move."

Raphael chuckled, pulling you close and lifting you effortlessly in one swift motion.

"Well, well, my little mouse," he whispered, planting a sweet peck on your lips, "not only are you full of delightful surprises, but it also seems that I couldn't have asked for a more perfect lady of my House of Hope."

Tags:

@dark-and-kawaii

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #raphael x you #raphael #haarlep bg3 #haarlep #drunk devil #sneaky haarlep #drunk confessions #morning after #smut #raphael smut #haarlep is astarion #astarion

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motimatcha · 7 months ago

Text

"nostromo"

PART 1. The Nostromo Killer.

parts: one | two | three | four | five

dbd Xenomorph (alien) x fem!reader. attention: not detailed murder, feeling of fear, chase. I'm a vicious child of the internet and I have nothing to be ashamed of! And so are you.

The World of the Essence is multifaceted and large, but even taking into account this knowledge, hardly anyone could imagine something like this. The knowledge of where you ended up naturally appears in your head: the Nostromo crash site is a location unknown to anyone, large and open, with a minimum number of bushes in which you could hide from the soulless eyes of the killer, but you were pleased with a large number of smooth, different-sized stones, behind which, theoretically, you can hide.

You found yourself alone. On one side there was an exit from the monster’s lair, on the other side there was a smoking and collapsing spaceship, which was ready to explode at any moment if a person stepped on board carelessly. Your gaze glances across the sky, and although you know that it is not real, you cannot help but be surprised by its beauty: a large satellite against the backdrop of billions of stars illuminates your path in the darkness.

However, there was not a second to lose if you wanted to at least escape from the Nostromo; the four of them could only hope and pray to the Entity to escape.

There is a generator behind you, two more stand out against the gray background inside the fallen ship - it is better to get rid of this triangle, first of all, without giving the killer an advantage. This was a new trend - a fashion - for the “triangle”, as other survivors called this phenomenon, and it must be said that it was very successful, since not many managed to break this vicious “circle” and escape, at least through the hatch.

Thinking about this and hoping that the new (really new?) killer won’t figure this out, you finish repairing the generator, when at the same second you hear a scream from one of your comrades. Very far away, the aura is barely visible, and you can only see a vague red dot between the opened outline of another generator and the two previous ones. A lump forms in your throat, and cold sweat runs down your temple. The thoughts in your head become chaotic: should you go to the rescue? Continue repairing generators? What if someone has already gone to help and you lose precious time?

You can't take risks in new terrain. You don't know where the windows and planks are to escape the killer, and the limited number of places to hide only makes matters worse. With heavy thoughts, your only solution is to continue repairing the generators and hope that someone will save the wounded man.

It's loud and scary on board the Nostromo. Jets of either hot or hungry steam emerge from all the cracks, sparks are heard from damaged equipment, and blood and its smell will forever remain on board. You walk around a couple of corpses of former crew members, trying not to even look at the cause of their death. Every step you take echoes through the empty corridors, but eventually you reach another generator in splendid isolation. The equipment turns out to be a little more than half wound up; Apparently, before being hung on a hook, someone was painstakingly fixing the local generator.

“Thanks for your hard work…” You close your eyes for a second to show your mental gratitude to the other survivor before getting to work. You're almost done with the generator before you make a ridiculously stupid mistake. Sparks, a loud explosion and nervously shaking hands. - “If only he didn’t come! If only he hadn’t come!” - you pray, frantically sorting through the wires in the generator, just to make up for the lost result.

Somewhere below there is a noise of muffled groans. Man, old man… apparently it's Bill! He was repairing the generator and was able to escape from the killer. A joyful thought crosses your mind, but immediately disappears when the seasoned veteran suddenly falls to the ground from the blow, an inhuman cry of victory is heard.

Heart beats faster, like a cornered animal. Thudum, thudum, thudum, thudum.

You walk away from the generator as if from a red-hot piece of iron, afraid to even look in its direction. There were seconds left before you could finish it to one hundred percent, but the fear for your own life was much stronger. Peering out of a hole in the spaceship's hull, you notice a new killer - a creature from outer space. Moving on four legs, having sharp claws as a weapon and a long tail similar to the edge of a knife, you understand that it is unlikely that anyone will be able to escape.

Bill was lucky, he was the first to suffer.

The creature, clad in a durable black shell, lifted the man in front of him to carry him to the nearest hook. Having seen a lot in his life, the old man did not resist, he himself understood that he could not escape the grip of the Entity under his ribs, and therefore did not delay the moment. With a wave passing through the earth, the Entity took the first survivor into its possession. At the same time, like a ray of hope, another generator was repaired. If you return to fixing your generator now, the three survivors will be able to escape.

That's what you thought. So you set to work with enthusiasm, and then one woman’s scream was heard, then another… and now you were left alone, on the Nostromo, next to the working generator. Going somewhere seemed risky, but you could try to save someone still hanging on the hook, while simultaneously praying that you wouldn’t get caught.

Climbing up the wall on trembling legs, you take a bold step forward. Then the second, third, and so on until you reach a fork: you can go straight to your first generator or turn left, going to the last generator from the triangle where your comrades are hanging. It was impossible to take a detour, if only because you would lose precious time and other survivors, by the time you came to the rescue, would sooner find themselves in the arms of the Entity. You had no options…

What had once been a meeting hall or a dining room was now a deplorable sight, because half of the spaceship was shamelessly destroyed and its fragments here and there were stuck deep into the ground. Having looked around the clearing under your feet and the crash site, you quickly find Claudette’s gaze and a girl unknown to you hanging a little behind.

“No! Get out of here!” Morel screams heart-rendingly before engaging in battle with the entity. “He's behind… behind you!” the last thing the girl manages to shout before the spider-like appendage of the Entity pierced her stomach and lifted her into the air. The stranger followed her.

It was scary to turn around. It seems that if you don’t look at the problem, it will disappear on its own, but in reality you feel and hear heavy footsteps behind you, the grinding of metal from the collision with the tail blade, and breathing. Hot, heavy, wet. The creature stands close behind you, with the skin of your back you can clearly feel the loaded plates and bones of the exoskeleton. Thick saliva drips onto your shoulder, viscous, like glue, and will be difficult to wash off your clothes.

“God, what are these thoughts in my head?” - a thought occurs to you before a nervous chuckle escapes your lips. This is from nerves, from the awareness of imminent death.

The creature hisses, its voice is surprisingly high and shrill, and then next to your head, almost centimeters away, there is an incomprehensible something. Everything is covered in saliva, it turns slightly at an angle, first one way, then the other, and the fangs (God, it has fangs!) seem to bite the air. Or maybe it sniffs like that?

There is no strength left to move. Not when there is a strange something dangerously close to your head, the owner of which is standing behind your back, one of whose arms can clasp your entire body and inadvertently break it. You don't want to check the latter. The creature speaks again, and then you understand – it’s time to run!

The energy accumulated over many seconds passes into the legs. You start from your place, as Meg taught you, and run straight along the stones and pieces of metal. The creature, slightly behind you, ran after you and tried to hook you with its sharp claws; slash across the back, and deep enough to leave scars. And although the latter will still disappear, they will be cured in the world of essence, the feeling of blood on the back, skin torn to the flesh and bones, is not pleasant. You turn sharply to the side, just at the moment when a huge paw whistles dangerously close behind you and rushes towards another, smaller, destroyed spaceship.

Perhaps out of fear, but you thought there was a hatch there.

Luck was on your side. Perhaps the offering in the form of a jar of Vigo worked, or maybe the entity itself decided to take pity on you, but you manage to get to the hatch. And before you fall into the fog, you sneak a second to look behind yourself.

The killer stands motionless in place. The killer is watching. And you understand

It is remembered It is developing.

this paragraph:

This work was written as part of the game dead by daylight, because, despite my familiarity with films, it is simply easier for me to write in the setting of this game. If you're not familiar with the game, but want to read how the Xenomorph does its dark work, you're welcome.

should have been at the beginning of the text. I decided to remove it, don’t ask why.

#dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #dbd xenomorph x reader #xenomorph x reader

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myusuchaa · 24 days ago

Text

desired by the queen of greed ┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡

Halloween Chaotic Night Story Event

This is a fan translation and may not be 100% accurate. I do not own anything. Cybird reserves the right of ownership for all in-game content.

After it was determined that the essence of the Queen of the Night flower was used in the food, a strange transformation happened to Lord Elbert.

His breaths were shallow, and his face occasionally showed an expression of pain.

Elbert: Could you possibly... take me to your room.. please?

Kate: Ah, of course. Hold on to me on the way there.

Supporting Elbert along the entire way, we eventually reached my room. By the time we arrived there--

--his appearance had completely changed.

His fox-like ears and fluffy tail donned the same beautiful golden color as his hair.

These features made his beauty even more ephemeral, more fantastical... incomparable to any regular human of this world.

In exchange for his new appearance, his breathing gradually became more regular.

(Thank goodness... he seems to have calmed down for now. However...)

(This look of his... while strange, it doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. In fact, it's quite a lovely sight.)

Elbert, who was sitting on my bed, slowly raised his head and caught my gaze as I moved to sit next to him.

Kate: Lord Elbert, how are you feeling? You're not experiencing any pain, are you?

I asked this softly, and he lightly shook his head no.

Elbert: ......I'm alright. I'm sorry for worrying you.

Elbert: More importantly.... what are you staring at?

Kate: O-oh... no, I'm so sorry.

Kate: Your ears and tail are so.... so cute, so beautiful..

When I told him my honest thoughts, his eyes softened with joy.

Elbert: ....And you, staring at me, are just as beautiful.

Kate: Even so..... I think it would be best if I still take you to be treated, just in case.

Elbert: No, that would be quite the opposite of the best thing.

Elbert: ......Your room is more than fine. Being here is so... calming.

Elbert: Here in this room, all of these items..... everything that you have.

Elbert: Being surrounded by the essence of you is satisfying to no end.

Elbert: Even the air floating in this space....

He took a very deep breath, and it seemed that he was filling up his lungs to the fullest capacity with the air around him, as if to savor it.

Elbert: Everything of yours in this room..... belongs to me.

Those ocean blue eyes of his were growing darker and dimmer.

It was as if I was staring into a sea so deep and endless, that no light reached the bottom.

Kate: ...um.. Lord.. Elbert?

The extraordinary presence that was his aura at that moment was so powerful, it rendered me immovable.

Elbert: This..... nightgown... is this what you wore last night?

Kate: Ah..

The dress that should have remained folded neatly next to my pillow was somehow in his hands.

He then smiled as he picked up my nightgown into his arms and dreamily rubbed his cheeks against the fabric, enchanted by the feeling.

Kate: Uhm... Elbert, th-that's... embarrassing...

His eyes slowly shifted toward me and trailed down, stopping at my lap.

Elbert: ....And that single strand of hair that just fell...

He gently reached out to the hair on my lap and picked it up as if it were a treasure.

He placed it in between his beautiful lips and, with a look of ecstasy, suckled on it, savoring the taste.

(.......nngh)

He played with my hair for a while and then let out a sigh.

Elbert: *sighing* ... I wish I could eat your hair, too.

Kate: El----- Elbert !?

(This surely must be...)

Elbert's greed was on the rise... or so I had thought.

(I never thought it could get this bad...)

Even before tonight, I had seen him yearn for anything that was mine, or related to me, countless times.

But now, his insatiable greed has overwhelmed him--.

I find myself filling with pleasure, knowing I was being desired so.

Suddenly, Elbert's eyes grew wide.

Elbert: ...Aah, but..... if I were to eat it, I could no longer admire it.

Elbert: ....A part of Kate becomes a part of me.... an act I never quite wished to happen and yet.. I can obtain it just like this..

He was staring at my hair strand with a heartbroken and conflicted look on his face.

Kate: Lord Elbert! I'm here with you, now, in the flesh... I'll always be by your side.... so don't worry.

Kate: If it's something of my own... I'll give you as much of it as I can.

(I want to share all of Elbert's suffering.)

I hugged him as tightly as I could to convey my feelings for him.

Elbert: Mm.... Kate..

He hugged me back with great strength and exhaled slowly.

Elbert: ... I'm sorry for making you worry.

Elbert: I can't stop feeling more attached to you than usual... to everything related to you.

Elbert: ......that's why..

His arms tightened around me even more as we collapsed back onto the bed.

Elbert: ...even your breath.. will be from me... [1]

Kate: --nnghh--

A kiss so deeply penetrating, it stole my breath away.

As if eating away at me with greed, he completely enclosed his lips around mine, sucking on them slowly.

He traced my lips with his tongue, licking from corner to corner.

Elbert: Here..... so this is where your beautiful smile is born from. [2]

Elbert: I... I can't stop wanting to seek out more of it.

Kate: Mmmnn.. aah..

Elbert: Your face when you're in pain.... those trembling eyelashes...

Whispering seductively, he kissed the tip of my nose, my eyelashes, and my forehead.

Elbert: What you take in..... what you create... and what spills out of you....

Elbert: ...I want to taste every bit of what is yours...

Elbert: Every little thing... is mine.

When I came to my senses, my bare skin was exposed, and I was being nipped at gently.

Kate: ...aah-

Elbert: Your sweet breath.... it mingles with my own and melts within me.

Elbert: This room is being filled with my desire.

Elbert: And you.. you are mine alone.

His words tumbled out of his mouth as if he was feverish.

(Of course... I am only yours...)

I happily threw myself into him, being absorbed by Elbert's out of control "greed"---

The tricks [3] we played on that Halloween night were much more of a treat to me than anything else.

fin

a/n: uhhmmm i love him here, the needy pleading.. his pouting baby face urkkk!! *my heart* some translation differences are noted below:

[1] In Japanese, Elbert says 「君の呼吸も...俺を通して...俺を介して. 」

通して : doing something through [blank], act of doing something for a period of time

介して : via, through the medium of

Here, Elbie uses these terms back to back to really enforce the fact that he wants her so completely and wholly, that his moves are her moves, his thoughts are her thoughts etc. So even her own breath is his, and his breath is hers... Literal translation: Your breathing is through me.. [your breath] comes from me.

[2] He uses 生まれる to explain the abstract 'birth' or generation/fruition of her smile, versus the other use 産む which is used more plainly for actually giving birth.

[3] They placed the katakana for 'trick' over 悪戯, which means a type of teasing prank or mischief. The nuance of this line is that even though these out of the norm things are happening on a spooky night, she wasn't scared, and rather enjoyed herself with Elbie hehe.

page dividers from @/adornedwithlight

also TY BESTIE @/aeyumi for helping with the banner LMAO lost without u~

#ikemen villains #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #ikevil #elbert greetia #ikemen villains elbert #ikevil elbert #yandere #longing #pining #pathetic man #halloween #ikevil story event #fan translation

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nightcolorz · 3 months ago

Note

So you seem to be the Armand expert and I have a few questions!

So what are the clear differences between like the book and movie and show Armand like what facets of the characters remain and which facets changed?

Also which aspects of each interpretation do you like? (Like what show Armand difference do you like) and which aspects of book Armand do you wish they would include in a future season? (Hope I’m making sense!)

AHH TY!!! (Being called an Armand expert is my favorite thing lmao)

I assume when in comes to book vs show vs movie u are asking me to talk about the changes of the character that r less superficially obvious (so u don’t expect me to just list height and age and ethnicity differences and be done with it lol). But either way, to start out, book Armand is Ukrainian, 5’6, ginger, cherub like, was turned into a vampire at 17. Show Armand is Indian, 6’0, lean and muscular, turned into a vampire at 27. Movie Armand is Antonio banderas, lmao.

I think the change that most significantly alters the adaptations of Armand from book Armand is the age change. In the books Armand being turned into a vampire as a teenager is essential to everything about him, backstory and personality wise. To keep Armand the same while aging him up you have to do a lot of substitutions that justify why he is like that that don’t include “he has the mind of a teenager”. What they do with show Armand is kind of like, imagine if there was an adaptation where the writers wanted Claudia to have a similar core conflict as she did in the books but she was aged up to be turned into a vampire when she was an adult. How do u keep the essence of the tragedy that way?? And the what the show does is, it justifies Armand being 27 by in some ways reducing his maturity and prolonging his trauma so that a similar affect to being mentally a child comes about anyway. Show Armand isnt physically a child like book Armand is, but bcus of his trauma he thinks like one. Instead of an adult trapped in the body and mind of a child he’s a child stumbling around in the body of an adult, which is rlly interesting. With this, I get the impression that book armand is more mature, self reliant, and well rounded than show Armand is. Which is funny considering he’s the 17 yr old lmaoo. But rlly, book Armand’s emotional problems and his stunted growth come from outside factors, it’s almost like a psychical disability in a way. Show Armand isnt psychically stunted, so to make the character conflict work he is just extra emotionally stunted. So he’s less functioning, in a weird way, then book Armand.

book Armand is also an angrier character then show Armand. Book Armand has mountains of betrayal and hurt and anger stored in his 5’6 ass body. He has that teen boy spite streak, yknow. Book Armand is very psychically violent and confrontational. The way he preforms violence is often very methodical, he’s the ripping wings of a butterfly type. Show Armand has some of these traits, but his violent tendencies are seemingly more controlled than book Armand, who is genuinely unhinged. Show Armand has a stronger reign over his behavior and acts out of anger less often. He is more so just looking to survive than to kill and maim. I think one of the most book Armand scenes in the show was definitely Armand torturing Daniel in episode 5. Violent torture coming from a strange place of childlike curiosity and betrayal is a big thing with Armand throughout the book series.

But despite the violence, book Armand is genuinely more mature then show Armand. He’s more confident, self reliant, and adult by the 80s than show Armand is in 2020. While show Armand has been living with Louis for 77 yrs and hasn’t experienced life ever when he’s not clinging to someone else, book Armand is able to rebuild himself and develop into a functioning independent person. I do think show Armand will become more and more like book Armand as the show progresses, however.

movie Armand is a different character entirely lmao. He’s basically just Armand in the first book taken out of context and played by antonio banderas. He has as much individual character as an audio book narrator lmao. His lack of backstory and older casting that alienates Armand from his core traits and motives makes it hard for me to see him as anything but a watered down extension of book Armand lol.

my favorite part of show Armand is Assad’s wet cat performance, lol. I love how they keep Armand’s book backstory broadly the same and flesh out and add parts that make it more interesting. And I love how they made Armand a person of color, that is probably my favorite change made in the show in general. I love that book Armand is a teenager, and it’s a shame that I’ll never see an adaptation exploring what that means for his character, but I’m happy with how amc is re inventing the material to be just as interesting. I hope they start to include the nuances of book Armand introduced in queen of the damned (aka: the autism). The revelation that Armand is oddly whimsical, earnestly curious, and fascinated with being a part of human society is what I think is essential to humanizing and endearing him to the audience.

ty for the ask!

#armand #tvc #the vampire chronicles #iwtv #interview with the vampire #vampire chronicles #the vampire armand #amc iwtv #armand iwtv

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kopfkino-o · 2 months ago

Text

it's been a minute since i did some theory rambling and i've got a long train ride ahead of me so let's get at it! this is more of a general elain post but there is some pro elriel thinking sprinkled in. thanks for reading!!

was Elain blessed by the Mother so she might cure the corrupted Cauldron? are there two primordial forces warring within it? does Elain have the power of Life? bear with me while i ramble about all this.

warning: the following thoughts probably aren't cohesive lol.

okay but does anyone else think that there's a small part of the Mother, the original creator, left within the Cauldron and that's what recognized and loved Elain? Like a part of me thinks that some aspect of the Mother remains locked away or maybe weakened by what the Asteri did to the Cauldron that recognized the inherent goodness in Elain and that's why she was "blessed."

What if the last lingering ember of the Mother's will recognized Elain's gentle heart, her brave soul, and gifted her with the power to break the corruption and restore the order of things?

"Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there." - ACOSF, as told from Nesta's point of view.

SARAH, GIRL I SEE YOU!!!

We know that Elain is associated with roses from the description of her drawer, her love of gardening, from Feyre telling us that Elain would trim the roses without gloves and get thorns in her hands, amongst other associations. Nesta placing a symbol associated with Elain next to this primordial goddess figurine, PERHAPS EVEN THE MOTHER HERSELF, feels just so...prophetic. It's like Nesta is almost passing the mantle of being the storyteller or the FMC on to Elain. And maybe even hinting at what's to come.

BLESSID. BELOVED. BENEVOLENT.

Okay. So back to the Cauldron, the Mother, all that. We know Nesta took something from the Cauldron (but this is a post for another day) and that Elain was given something. We know that Elain is a seer, blessed with the gift of foresight and clairvoyance, though we don't exactly know what the innerworkings of this sort of magic are.

But what if Sight wasn't the only gift Elain was given?

My theory is that Elain was given the gift of Life by the remaining aspect of the Mother to counter/compliment the power of Death Nesta stole from the corrupted aspect of the Cauldron--or the power of the Asteri, which I think might also be the power of Deanna from the Throne of Glass World (but again, that's a post for another day). And I can't help but think that, for the gentler grower of things, this theorized "Life magic" would manifest in the form of earth/soil/plant manipulation. We saw this in HOFAS with the official introduction of earth based magic and it has me thinking!!

And with that thinking, I'm wondering if the lingering essence of the Mother might have blessed Elain with these powers in the hopes that she would be able to master them, in the same way the Nesta mastered the power she claimed, and help finally banish the corruption from the force of the Cauldron. I've got a little headcanon that all three sisters will have some role in this but it needs to stew a bit more lol. And what if Elain's bond has some roll in all of this?

A THREAD TIDED TO A RIB

I don't want to speak for everyone, but to me there's something off about Lucien and Elain's bond. He is able to live far away from her with seemingly no issue. She shrinks into herself when he's around. Lucien just seems...sad whenever the bond is mentioned. Could this be the result of the same awkward/push-pull tension that we saw between Nessian and Feysand? Maybe.

But what if it's because SJM Is using them to show us what a "Cauldron-given bond" looks like? Rhys theorizes about the bonds in ACOWAR and brings up a very interesting comment:

"There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some … preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.” A smile at me—at the rareness, perhaps, of what we had. “Even so,” Rhys went on, “there will always be a … tug. For the females, it is usually easier to ignore, but the males … It can drive them mad. It is their burden to fight through, but some believe they are entitled to the female. Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often, but … Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

IM SORRY BUT IS THAT NOT SARAH SCREAMING AT US?

Sometimes the bond picks poorly! She gives us TWO examples of this with Rhys's and Tam's parents. Two bonds that I think were CAULDRON GIVEN bonds. Then, as a foil to this, she gives us Nessian and Feysand. Vivienne and Kallias. Three bonds gifted by the Mother--the primordial being, the gentle creator of things. Could this be Silba from the TOG world? Kythona from Crescent City? Is she Wyrd? And could the Mother have given both Elain and Lucien other bonds--blessed bonds--that are currently being surpressed by the corrupted bonds bestowed on them by the Cauldron?

Personally (and especially after HOFAS) I think the Cauldron's corruption needs to be addressed. And I think Elain is the one to do it. Her entire character is steeped in themes of choice, fate vs freewill, destiny vs self-actualization, and gods, the set up for an AMAZING story is right there.

TO CLOSE THIS MADNESS OUT

I can't say what SJM will do in the end. But I can theorize based on the last few books and the foreshadowing she's lain. And for me, I see the angsty, unprecedented chosen love story she's building between Elain and Azriel with a rejected mating bond incorporated into the heart of their love story. Could she change the direction of her books and abandon this? Absolutely. But I think the story would be so much worse for it. The crumbs for something amazing are there. The crumbs for something that has the potential to be genre-defying is there. And based on what Sarah commented to the Times, I can't help but she's knows this and can't help but write it.

ok bye thanks for reading!! i'd love to talk more about this to anyone else who is down to yap! dms are always open.

#elain archeron #i miss her #anyways #acotar thoughts #pro elain #elriel #acotar theory

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 3 months ago

Text

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Nine

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: Death, Angst.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.4k

Previous | Masterlist

Fiddler's Green spreads before you, an expanse of rolling hills and blooming flowers. It's a place of peace and beauty, yet all you feel is an overwhelming emptiness. The colors seem muted, the scents dulled. You find yourself perched on a low branch of an ancient oak tree, staring blankly at the horizon.

"Why did it have to end like this?" you mutter, the sound barely escaping your beak.

Fiddler's Green appears beside you, his form solidifying from the landscape itself. His presence is a comfort, though it does little to lift the heavy fog of depression that clings to you.

"Sometimes," he begins softly, "the paths we tread are not the ones we would have chosen for ourselves."

You look at him, your eyes reflecting your turmoil. "I had so much left to do. So many things I wanted to say." Your voice breaks, the words catching in your throat. To him.

He nods, understanding etched into his features. "It's never easy to accept what has happened. But you must remember that your essence remains here in the Dreaming. You still have a purpose."

"Purpose?" You scoff, flapping your wings in frustration. "What purpose could I possibly have now?"

Fiddler's Green kneels down, bringing himself to eye level with you. His gaze is steady and filled with compassion. "You were always a part of this realm, even before you became one of us. Your presence here has always been significant."

"But it's not the same," you argue, the weight of your new reality pressing down on you.

"No," he agrees softly. "It's not the same. But that doesn't mean it can't be meaningful."

You fall silent, contemplating his words. The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the vibrant fields. The tranquility of Fiddler's Green contrasts starkly with the storm raging inside you.

"I just... I don't know how to move forward from this," you admit finally. "I was looking forward to so many things with Morpheus and now— now I'm a bird."

Fiddler's Green's gaze remains unwavering. "Moving forward doesn't mean forgetting what you've lost. It means finding a new way to exist within it."

You close your eyes, breathing in the scents of the Dreaming, trying to draw some strength from the world that once brought you so much solace. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start by allowing yourself to grieve," Fiddler's Green advises gently. "Grief is not a sign of weakness but a testament to the depth of your love and your loss."

The mention of love makes your heart ache. Morpheus' face flashes in your mind—those intense eyes, the way his presence filled every corner of the room, the rare moments of vulnerability he shared with you. You wonder how he's coping with your absence, whether he misses you as much as you miss him.

"Lucienne said I should go to him," you whisper, unsure if you even have the courage to face him now.

"She's right," Fiddler's Green responds, his voice firm but kind. "Morpheus needs to know you're still here, even if not in the form he remembers. You owe it to yourself—and to him—to find out what comes next."

You shake your head, feathers rustling with the motion. "I can't face him like this," you say, voice tinged with a mix of fear and defiance. "I refuse to show him what I've become."

Fiddler's Green sighs, a sound like wind through leaves. "It's not about what you've become, but who you still are."

You hop from the branch, taking to the air with a swift flap of wings. The sky stretches wide and blue above you, but it feels like a cage. You fly aimlessly, avoiding the paths that lead to Morpheus' palace. Each flap of your wings seems to take you further from the courage you once had.

Lucienne finds you perched on a gargoyle overlooking a vast garden. She looks up at you, eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and understanding. "He's worried about you," she says, her voice carrying the weight of her words.

"I know," you respond, barely more than a whisper. "But I can't—"

"He's not as unfeeling as he seems," Lucienne interrupts gently. "You meant more to him than perhaps even he realizes."

Your heart clenches at her words, but the fear remains. "I can't stand the thought of seeing disappointment in his eyes."

"Disappointment?" Lucienne's expression softens further. "He's more likely to feel relief that you're still here in any form."

You want to believe her, but doubt gnaws at you. "What if he sees me as a failure?"

Lucienne shakes her head slowly. "You're not a failure, and he won't see you that way."

You turn your gaze away from her, staring at the distant horizon. "I just need more time."

"Time won't change what needs to be faced," she says softly but firmly. "But I understand your need for it."

You nod, grateful for her patience even if you're not ready to accept it fully.

"Take your time," Lucienne continues. "But don't let fear keep you from what might bring both of you peace."

She leaves you then, walking back toward the library with a grace that belies the heaviness of her heart.

You remain on the gargoyle, watching her retreating figure until she disappears from sight. The silence of the Dreaming surrounds you, a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

Perched high above the garden, you let out a sigh that seems to echo in the vastness around you.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into the wind, unsure if you're speaking to Morpheus or yourself.

For now, facing him feels impossible—but deep down, part of you knows that this isn't something that can be avoided forever.

But today is not that day.

You find yourself lost in thought, perched on a branch in Fiddler's Green. The beauty around you is almost painful, a stark reminder of everything you've lost. You wonder if Morpheus feels the same, if he even misses you. The weight of your new existence presses down on you like a leaden shroud.

Meanwhile, in his palace, Morpheus stands by a window, staring out into the Dreaming with vacant eyes. His normally composed face is etched with lines of sorrow and confusion.

Lucienne watches him from a distance, her heart breaking for him. She finally steps forward, unable to bear his silent suffering any longer.

"My lord," she begins softly.

He doesn't turn to face her but acknowledges her presence with a slight nod. "What is it, Lucienne?"

"Y/N is in Fiddler's Green," she says gently but firmly. You’ve been moping and punishing yourself long enough.

Morpheus' eyes narrow slightly as he processes her words. "I cannot feel their presence," he says, a touch of confusion lacing his usually steady voice. "Not in Fiddler's Green or anywhere in the Dreaming."

Lucienne steps closer, her gaze unwavering. "They are there," she insists. "If you would go and see for yourself, I am sure that your melancholy would lessen."

He shakes his head slowly. "If they are there I do not wish for them to see me like this," he admits, his voice strained.

Lucienne places a hand on his arm, a rare gesture of comfort. "You owe it to yourself—and to them—to see for yourself," she says softly. "They need you now more than ever, just as you need them."

Morpheus closes his eyes briefly, as if summoning strength from deep within. Finally, he nods. "Very well," he murmurs. "I will go."

Lucienne watches as he steps through a portal that leads directly to Fiddler's Green, her heart heavy with hope and worry. You remain on your perch, staring into the distance when you sense a shift in the air. A presence approaches—a familiar one that sends your heart racing and feathers trembling.

Morpheus materializes in Fiddler's Green, his dark silhouette stark against the vibrant backdrop. He looks around, his gaze sweeping over the landscape until it lands on you. His eyes widen slightly as they meet yours—an unreadable expression flickering across his face. You feel a rush of emotions—fear, hope, love—all tangled together in a confusing knot. For a moment, neither of you move.

Finally, Morpheus speaks, his voice soft yet commanding. "Who are you?"

The question hits you like a physical blow. For all your fears about this moment, you'd never imagined he wouldn't recognize you.

Oh gods you make an ugly raven, don't you!

Morpheus' question hangs in the air, a knife poised to strike. You feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and probing, cutting through the layers of your new form. The courage you'd tried to summon evaporates, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

“Hi Morpheus,” you manage to croak out, your voice a mere whisper carried on the wind. For a moment, disbelief flickers in his eyes, quickly replaced by an intense sorrow. He takes a step closer, and you see the pain etched into every line of his face. He’s never looked so pathetic.

"Y/N?" His voice trembles slightly, an emotion you've rarely heard from him.

"Yeah,” you confirm, your heart aching at the sight of his anguish. "I'm sorry."

He reaches out a hand as if to touch you but stops midway, uncertain. His fingers hover in the air, trembling with restraint.

"How—" he begins but chokes on the word, unable to finish the question.

You flap your wings awkwardly, feeling more exposed than ever. "I had an episode. I fell into a coma and... I guess I died while I was asleep.” Your words come out stilted, each one a fresh wound reopening. “It’s a little muddled.”

Morpheus' eyes close briefly as if trying to absorb the magnitude of your revelation. When he opens them again, they're filled with an unbearable sorrow. "I failed you," he whispers.

"No," you interject quickly. "It wasn't your fault."

He shakes his head, his expression darkening. "I should have protected you."

You want to reach out and comfort him, but your new form makes it impossible. Instead, you let out a mournful caw, hoping it conveys some semblance of your feelings.

"Being here isn't so bad," you say softly, trying to lift some of the weight from his shoulders. "I still get to be in the Dreaming."

You see the determination harden in Morpheus' eyes. It's a look you've seen before—a resolve that bends worlds to his will. A chill runs through your little bird body as he steps closer, his fingers reaching out again. What is he going to do…

"Y/N," he says softly, voice imbued with a power that sends ripples through the Dreaming. "I will change your form. I will restore you to a semblance of what you once were."

Panic surges within you. "No, Morpheus, you can't just do that on a whim!" you protest, your voice cracking with urgency. "This isn't something you can fix with a snap of your fingers."

He halts, his gaze piercing into yours. "Why not? You deserve more than this... prison of feathers and beak."

"It's not about what I deserve," you argue, wings flapping in agitation. "It's about accepting what's happened and finding a way to move forward."

Morpheus' jaw tightens. "I cannot accept this. I cannot lose you in this way." His words are laced with desperation, an emotion so raw it cuts through the air like a knife.

"But changing my form won't change the reality," you insist, trying to make him understand. "I'll still be dead in the Waking World. I'll still be... different. You can’t changing reality just because you don’t like it!”

His eyes soften, but the resolve remains. "You have always been different," he speak. "That is why I cannot bear to lose you."

Before you can protest further, his hand reaches out and touches your feathers. A warmth spreads from where he touches you, enveloping your entire being. You feel a strange sensation, like you're being pulled apart and stitched back together all at once.

"No!" You try to pull away, but his grip is firm. The world blurs around you, colors blending and shifting until you're no longer sure where you end and the Dreaming begins. The sensation intensifies, and for a moment, everything goes dark.

When the world comes back into focus, you're no longer perched on the branch but standing on solid ground. You look down at yourself and see hands—human hands—where feathers used to be. You stagger back, disoriented by the sudden change. Your heart races as you take in your new form—a reflection of your old self but tinged with a dreamlike glow.

"Morpheus," you breathe out, both breathless and horrified.

He stands before you, eyes filled with a mixture of triumph and trepidation. "You see?" he whispers softly. "You are still here, with me.”

Tears well up in your eyes as conflicting emotions flood through you—relief at feeling somewhat human again but also an overwhelming sense of loss for what was taken from you without consent. Being a bird wasn’t all bad.

"I really want to slap you," You grouse at him. He doesn't blink at your words, reveling in the sight you once again in his realm.

"If that is what you wish, you may do so without fear of repercussion," the Endless has the balls to inform you, presenting his cheek. You want to grind your teeth together in exasperation, but you can't seem to stay mad at him. A sigh escapes your lips.

“That was a very stupid thing to do,” you mutter weakly, but the conviction in your voice wavers as he reaches out and gently cups your face.

“Perhaps not,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “But I could not bear to see you suffer and I do not wish to exist without you by my side..”

The warmth of his touch makes you quiver and tremble in place, and for a moment, all the anger and confusion melts away. You’re left with a raw, aching need—a need to feel connected to him again.

"I'm still angry at you," You inform him, lifting your chin. Your face betrays your words and he can see it. A moment goes by with you staring into his eyes, wondering what would happen now, then his hand pulls your lips to his and he kisses you. Right on the mouth. In front of Fiddler's Green. You forget to care and kiss back.

Responding instinctively, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, growing more urgent as the world around you fades away. In this moment, there is only Morpheus—his warmth, his intensity, his love.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing heavily. His forehead rests against yours as he gazes into your eyes. The stars in his eyes are blazing with vibrant elation.

“I missed you,” he admits softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Tears well up in your eyes at his words and your shoulders slump in final resignation. “I missed you too,” you confess, the raw honesty of the moment breaking down any remaining walls you have tried to hold up.

Date Published: 9/4/24

Last Edit: 9/4/24

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