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solxamber · 2 months ago

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Helloo 👋👋

May I request vil with s/o who actually finds neige creepy??

Reference to me LOLL I can't with his eyes man, it's so creepy (for me) to look at.

Anytime Neige tries to be friendly s/o just gulps and hides behind vil, tremblingg 🤣🤣

Vil x Reader who finds Neige creepy

i actually like neige but he's so sweet and it scares me sometimes. sorry for the wait, i hope you like it <3

You and Vil were on what should have been a peaceful, elegant stroll through the gardens—Vil’s idea, naturally. Everything was perfectly curated: the flowers, the way the sun hit his face just right, the leisurely pace of his stride, as if he were gliding across the earth and not, you know, walking like a normal person. You were just enjoying the moment, admiring how ridiculously perfect your boyfriend looked when—

“Vil! Vil, look! It’s me, Neige!” A voice, too cheerful for its own good, cut through the tranquility like a chainsaw through butter.

Your entire body stiffened. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You knew that voice. You feared that voice.

“Oh no, not him,” you muttered under your breath, eyes wide as saucers.

Vil, naturally, sighed. “Oh, great,” he drawled, clearly in no mood for his perennial rival’s sunshine and daisies energy. “I suppose it would be too much to hope he hasn’t seen us.”

“Vil!” Neige’s voice was even closer now, bright and bubbly, like he was sprinting over at top speed.

You panicked.

Without thinking, you dove behind Vil, grabbing onto the back of his coat and peeking out like a terrified woodland creature. There was a moment of silence. Vil glanced back at you over his shoulder, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised.

“Are you hiding?” he asked flatly, as if you were a toddler clinging to their parent’s leg.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaking with pure dread. “He’s coming. He’s here.”

Vil’s expression shifted, fighting back an amused smirk. “You realize he’s just a person, right? Not a… a deranged stalker or a ghost.”

You shook your head violently. “No. He’s too nice, Vil. No one’s that nice. He’s hiding something. I don’t trust him.”

Vil sighed again, but before he could respond, Neige burst into view. He looked like a walking, talking Pinterest board—flowers in his hair, that cherubic smile plastered across his face, like he was auditioning for the role of "most wholesome person alive."

“Hi! What a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Neige beamed, completely oblivious to the fact that you were half-hidden behind Vil like he was your human shield.

You froze. You weren’t ready. Why does he always look like he’s going to ask me to join his cult?

Vil gave you a sideways glance, then cleared his throat, stepping forward just enough to completely block you from Neige’s view. “It was, until about ten seconds ago,” he replied smoothly, the venom in his voice wrapped in the velvet of politeness.

Neige, as usual, didn’t catch the tone. “Oh, I’m so glad I ran into you two! We should all hang out sometime! I’ve got the cutest picnic idea planned—it’ll be just like a fairytale!”

You, still hiding behind Vil, whispered, “Picnic? With him? What is he going to bring, cupcakes made of sunshine and the tears of unicorns?”

Vil didn’t even blink. “We’re very busy,” he said, with the same grace and poise as always, as though batting away Neige’s relentless niceness was a skill he’d honed to perfection.

Neige leaned over a little, trying to peek around Vil. “Are you okay? Why are you hiding?”

You stiffened again. He saw you. He saw you. Slowly, you peered out from behind Vil, meeting Neige’s wide, innocent eyes.

“Uh…” You tried to think of something, anything that wouldn’t sound like, “You terrify me with your eternal optimism, and I’m convinced you’re secretly plotting world domination.”

“I’m… just stretching!” you blurted out, bending one leg awkwardly behind Vil’s back, still clinging to his coat.

Vil gave you a look that screamed, Really? Stretching?

“Oh, okay! That’s great! Flexibility is important!” Neige nodded vigorously, his smile somehow growing wider. How was that even possible?

You felt a shiver run down your spine. “Y-yeah. Super important.”

Vil cleared his throat again, stepping subtly to the side so you were no longer hidden. You shot him a betrayed look, but he ignored it, instead giving Neige a tight-lipped smile that barely masked his impatience.

“We really should be going, Neige,” Vil said, his voice dripping with the kind of regal authority that made you feel like he was seconds away from telling Neige to bow down and beg for mercy.

Neige’s face fell slightly, but his eternal optimism quickly reasserted itself. “Oh, of course! We’ll hang out soon though, right? I’ll bring cookies next time!” He waved enthusiastically, his fingers wiggling like they were casting a spell.

You instinctively ducked behind Vil again, like his wave was a direct attack on your personal space. Vil, to his credit, didn’t laugh at you—yet.

“Sure,” Vil said, his voice smooth and absolutely lying. “We’ll let you know.”

“Great! Bye Guys! Have a magical day!” Neige practically skipped off, probably to go pet a deer or sing to squirrels or whatever it was he did in his spare time.

Once he was out of sight, you let out a deep breath, stepping out from behind Vil, your hands still gripping the back of his coat. “That was close,” you muttered, as if you’d just barely survived an encounter with a deadly predator.

Vil turned to face you fully, crossing his arms, an eyebrow raised. “You cannot be serious.”

You gave him a wild-eyed look. “Are you kidding me? That guy’s a menace! No one is that wholesome without having a dark secret. I bet he goes home and keeps a doll collection made of human hair.”

Vil’s lips twitched, fighting back a laugh. “A menace? Neige?” His voice was full of disbelief, like you’d just suggested that the sun was secretly a giant disco ball.

You nodded furiously. “Yes! He’s too cheerful. Too sweet. It’s unnatural!”

Vil finally let out a small chuckle, reaching out to adjust the collar of your shirt with a practiced hand. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, glancing nervously in the direction Neige had disappeared. “He’s probably plotting right now, writing your name in some kind of weird glittery revenge diary.”

Vil shook his head, amused. “I assure you, the only thing Neige is plotting is how to bake you cookies shaped like bunnies.”

“That’s what he wants you to think,” you muttered darkly, still eyeing the path warily. “Next thing you know, we’re going to wake up covered in glitter, surrounded by singing woodland creatures, and he’ll be standing over us with that creepy smile.”

Vil sighed dramatically, slipping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “Honestly, I have no idea why I date you.”

You gave him a cheeky grin, finally starting to relax now that Neige was gone. “Because I make life interesting.”

He glanced down at you, his violet eyes glittering with amusement. “Interesting is certainly one word for it.” Then, with a smirk, he added, “Perhaps next time I’ll let Neige catch you. See how long you last under his unrelenting cheerfulness.”

You gasped, grabbing his arm in mock horror. “You wouldn’t!”

Vil smiled wickedly, his arm tightening around your shoulders. “Try me.”

“Fine!” you huffed. “But don’t come crying to me when he tries to recruit you into his sparkle cult.”

Vil laughed then, the sound rich and surprisingly fond, echoing through the garden. And for a moment, as you leaned against him, you almost forgot about the lurking threat of Neige—almost.

But not entirely.

Because you knew. You knew Neige was out there, waiting for his next opportunity.

And the next time, you’d be ready.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #twst vil x reader #vil #twst vil #neige leblanche

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hellfirenacht · 3 months ago

Text

Anomaly Part 2

Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who's not named Eddie Munson.

Tags: Anxious-ish!Reader but not shy, one sided pining, no use of y/n, fem!reader, one sided enemies to lovers, fem!reader

2.1k Words

Part 1

School assemblies were fun in their own way. You weren’t exactly brimming with school spirit but you could fake it for a half-hour when it got you out of your History class. Everyone was ushered into the gym at the end of the day to celebrate the sport season. You had no idea if the Hawkin’s Tigers were good or not, you could really only name two and a half people on the basketball team: Jason Carver, who you unfortunately had shared a free period with once, Lucas Sinclair, who you had seen talking to Eddie once in a blue moon, and Steve Harrington who had graduated, so he didn’t really count. You vaguely remembered working with him on some school project for two days and thinking that you just wanted to squish his hair down to see if it would spring back up.

Stacy bounded over to you in the bleachers, decked out in more Tiger’s Green than a leprechaun. She shook the scrunchy out of her hair and slipped it onto your wrist. You sometimes wondered how she never became a cheerleader with how perky she was.

“There, now you look like you tried.” she giggled, nudging you.

“I was gonna scribble on my face with a green dry erase marker, but Mr. Thompson’s had run dry.” You said.

“He was probably lying so you wouldn’t steal one and huff it in the bathroom.”

“Hey, that was one time and 4th grade math was hard.” you cackled.

“Speaking of hard drugs, look who decided to actually show up.” Stacy smirked and your stomach instantly dropped as you followed her gaze.

“What the fuck is Eddie doing here?” you whispered to Stacy. “He doesn’t do pep rallies!”

“Guess he does now.” she shrugged.

Eddie was a few rows lower than you, leaning against the end railing of the bleachers. You vaguely wondered if he was burning up in that leather jacket, it wasn’t exactly cool in the gym with so many bodies all squished together.

He was alone, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. You didn’t blame him, this clearly wasn’t a place where he fit in. You looked down the bleachers in the opposite direction, unable to pick out any of his friends. During pep rallies, the bleachers were divided by grade, with Seniors on your end of the bleachers, and freshmen on the opposite end. Maybe Eddie was pressing himself against the railing to create his own section of Super Seniors.

If he was anyone else, you’d join him in that section, but you kept that knowledge to yourself.

“He looks lonely, go talk to him before they start.” Stacy encouraged.

“Please, I doubt he’d want to talk to me at any other time. You think he wants to talk to me now?” you asked incredulously.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could convince me to join a cult and then sacrifice me to the dark forces.” you said, looking over at him. Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Eddie’s head snapped up and he whirled around. Out of everyone around, his eyes immediately locked onto yours.

Oh shit.

He heard that.

His round brown eyes sized you up, and you cringed out of embarrassment for your stupid joke. You felt like a deer in the headlights. Eddie was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time and you were about two seconds away from jumping off the back of the bleachers and tunneling your way out of the school.

Next to you, you could practically feel Stacy shaking as she tried to hold in her laughter, which unfortunately, triggered your own set of nervous giggling because this whole thing was so stupid and Eddie was still looking at you.

He looked unimpressed, and flipped you off before turning back around to sulk against the railing again as the band suddenly started up, and everyone started cheering for the team.

“Gotta say, I am nailing this, Stacy.” You laughed, leaning against her shoulder. “Practically had the boy swooning.”

“Yeah, he’ll be asking you out any day now.” She rubbed your back sympathetically.

“I can’t believe he heard me. He totally thought I was being serious.” Your giggles finally subsided and you looked up at her.

“It would be very easy to clear this up, if you’d just talk to him.” She said.

“I don’t like it when you’re rational, you know.” you replied and glanced at him again. Eddie was no longer looking at you and was just fiddling with his rings as he watched boredly as Principal Higgens was giving announcements.

You had to apologize. The last thing you wanted was for Eddie to think that you were really like that. You didn’t buy into the bullshit that some dice and graph paper could damn your soul to hell.

“Fuck it, I’m going in.” you said, and turned to head towards Eddie.

“Go get ‘em, Tiger!”

You made your way to the edge of the bleachers, and three things happened in quick succession. First, Miles Cooper got overly enthusiastic as you passed by him, and his elbow made a quick and sharp connection to your stomach, knocking the wind out of you. The second thing that happened was a stray backpack got kicked right in front of you as you staggered from the shock of being elbowed. The third and final thing was you falling down the two benches of bleachers that separated you and Eddie.

“You can either go to the pep rally and act like you are a part of this school, or you can have detention, Mr. Munson. The choice is yours.”

Normally, no one gave a shit if Eddie skipped out on something like a pep rally. That time was better spent either reading in an empty classroom or as a smoke break in the parking lot. He had just made it out to the parking lot before he was spotted and given the option. Eddie had been good about not skipping class this year, but he really didn’t want to give Higgins another reason to threaten to withhold his diploma.

So there he was, leaning against the railing of the furthest bleachers so that the second the pep rally ended, he could just book it back to the van and leave to.. Somewhere. Uncle Wayne had work, and Eddie didn’t have a shift at the Hideout. There was no Hellfire today.

Eddie was feeling restless as he fidgeted with his rings. Today had already been annoying and he really just wanted to sneak out to his van and have a smoke. It’s not like anyone here would miss him, they’d probably celebrate his departure more than the entrance to the basketball team.

He looked down at his hands, taking his rings off and rearranging them on his fingers. He tapped them on the railing, listening to the sounds they made as he counted the seconds for this whole thing to be over.

As his mind started to wander off, a voice snapped him back to the hell he was currently in. “-join a cult and sacrifice me to the dark forces.”

It was always obvious when someone was talking about Eddie. Normally he’d let it go and ignore whoever it was, but he wasn’t exactly in the best of moods today. His head whipped around, looking for whoever was talking about him.

There you were with Stacy, again. Eddie wished he could be surprised, but he wasn’t. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over. You weren’t dressed in anything that screamed “school spirit” except for a scrunchie around your wrist.

He saw how you cringed at the sight of him, which only pissed him off more. What was your fucking problem? You were friends with Stacy, who had been on the cheer squad before her ankle gave out, the skaters liked, you liked everyone. Everyone who wasn’t Eddie Munson.

Eddie had wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, that maybe the two of you just hadn’t crossed paths enough. Maybe it wasn’t personal. But now, after hearing you say that you also thought he was some sort of demon worshiping freak he was fine to write you off as just another Hawkins student. Maybe then he could finally move past this weird feeling he had whenever you gave him the stink eye.

Stacy started giggling next to you, and Eddie just rolled his eyes and turned away. It wasn’t worth it to start anything now at the pep rally. He was already on thin ice after being caught trying to skip. The sooner this was over the better.

His attention drifted as Higgins droned on and on about school spirit and upcoming fundraisers and games. It was all background noise. In his mind, Eddie was working out the next dungeon that Hellfire was going to take on. His party was getting too used to his usual tricks, so he’d have to pull out something new to really throw them off-

There was a choked off gasp.

Then a curse.

Then a horrible cracking sound as something fell next to him.

“Jesus-!” Eddie jumped nearly a foot in the air as you hit the bleacher next to him. His eye nearly bugged out as he saw you sprawled next to him, clutching your stomach and gasping for air like a fish.

Everyone in the section was still as they all stared at you, before a few started to snicker. Stacy was quick to jump down with far more grace and land by your side. Eddie was completely frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard Miles Cooper say-

“It was Munson! He did it!”

Eddie’s head snapped to Miles, about to say something before a teacher sharply demanded the Eddie get off the bleachers and come down for what was sure to be a one-sided lecture and detention for something he didn’t do.

He didn’t fight it, he was about to argue and cause a scene right now in the bleachers. Not when that teacher had a fire in her eyes that said she was just itching for trouble. Fine, he wanted to be as far away from this as possible.

Eddie walked down the bleachers and followed the teacher out into the hallway. He was already tuning out the lecture about watching your body and not hitting girls. This was such bullshit, and he knew he couldn’t even fight back and defend himself.

“Look, I didn’t touch her!” Eddie couldn’t stop the frustration in his voice. “She was behind me when she fell!”

“Witnesses say otherwise.” The teacher crossed her arms.

“Look, just because that dumbass said it was true-”

There was a loud CLANK as the heavy doors to the gym burst open and to Eddie’s surprise, you were rushing through the door, holding onto your arm.

You made a beeline for him and the teacher and Eddie could already see it now. Your fake tears as you cried about how the freak shoved you down for no reason-

“Didn’t... do it.” you were shaking your head and panting hard. With your free hand you were pointing at Eddie. “He didn’t... he didn’t do anything... Miles elbowed me. Then I tripped. Eddie never.... Touched me.”

Stacy was behind you and grabbed your shoulders, trying to hold you in place. “Eddie didn’t do anything, Mrs. Jane.” she explained. “She was just trying to go get some water and ate shit. Eddie had nothing to do with it.”

You nodded, still panting hard as if trying to catch your breath. Stacy was rubbing your back, and you looked like you were on the verge of tears.

Eddie felt like he had just stepped into an alternate timeline. You were actually defending him? You were in that much pain but had still come running to claim his innocence?

Mrs. Jane looked at you with concern. “Eddie, you may go back to the pep rally.” She dismissed him without so much as an apology for chewing him out.

Fuck this. Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. He made his way back towards the gym, but slipped into a side hall. The pep rally was going to be over soon anyway, he might as well beat traffic.

He paused just as he was out of sight. Fine, he was a little nosey and mildly concerned as you had just come to his rescue.

“I... I think I hurt my arm.” you said, and he could hear the real pain in your voice.

“I’ll take her to the nurse.” Stacy said.

Eddie heard the sound of footsteps, and quickly slipped out of the school before Mrs. Jane caught him escaping.

Yeah, he was going to need something stronger than a cigarette after this.

I really didn't think the original blurb would get much attention lol

Tag List: @eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @cyanfairywren @crocworkships @tomtomslongdong @aphrogeneias

@ghcstpyre @totheforestandtheocean @stevekeeryswife @dreamyyy222222 @ajnerdess

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@veemoon @mrsrdlw @eddieheart

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

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benkeibear · 5 months ago

Text

『 Your Blessing 』

☼ synopsis: You're Douma's favorite and it's about time that his followers start worshiping you - and what's better than making them watch how you ride their leader?

☼ character: Douma

☼ wc: 1.6k

☼ cw: female!reader, afab!reader, cult leader Douma, penetrative sex, squirting, voyeurism, fingering, one clit slap, unprotected sex

☼ notes: The rot for Douma is bad so I have to bring this back

You were always Douma’s favorite as long as you can remember. The day you joined his cult, he made a vow to never eat you, that you're meant for something much greater - and while he does occasionally drink your blood, it's always as an offer from you, worshiping the very ground he walks on. You deserved the same devotion as he did in his eyes, needing his followers to praise you the way they praise him, crave your very presence and worship the ground you walk on, gracing everyone with your fragile humanity.

It was no surprise when he made you sit on his lap whenever he sat on his little throne, making sure his followers see the beauty that he calls his own, the one he would destroy the world for. The one not even he dares to disgrace.

“Look how they bow down to you, begging for you to bless them,” he hummed into your ear, the grip on your hips tightening when he saw the slightly uncomfortable look on your face. You always preferred not to be in the spotlight, to stand behind the man this was all about was almost more than you could handle, but he wanted you to be the main attraction, wanting to go one step further and make them see the way only he gets to see you, to grace their eyes once before they become his next meal. Your body was holy to Douma so he gently pulled you closer against his chest. “Wear your most beautiful dress tomorrow. I will show them my personal heaven,” he whispered, gently kissing your neck before dismissing his followers to plan tomorrow's session without your knowledge, despite the proximity your bodies held.

When everyone had gathered in front of Douma’s throne, you entered the room slowly, unsure what would happen, but Douma took your hand and guided you to sit down onto his lap once again. “You look ethereal my love,” he announced proudly and held your hips tightly before pushing your legs over his, making you sit there with spread legs as the heat creeped up your cheeks “What are you doing... this isn't decent,” you protested shyly and tried to close your legs again but he wouldn't let you. “Do not worry, my flower. I promised they will receive a blessing from you, you wouldn't want to disappoint our followers, would you?” He asked with a grin on his face and you knew that any further protest was futile - he made up his mind and nothing would change it. With a long sigh you tried to relax into his chest, knowing very well that the men and women blessed by you in any way are chosen to become his next meal if you liked it or not. You loved the man and were able to look past his ways, past him being a demon.

Douma's smirk grew when you relaxed against him, the tension in your thighs disappearing and he kissed your neck loving “That's right, my goddess. Just relax and let me handle this,” he hummed, tearing your dress in a way that exposed your perfect tits to his followers, soft gasps filling the room as you saw some of them blush or avert their eyes, displeasing their leader. “Eyes on her!” He spoke demanding and his words were final. All eyes were burning on your skin now, waiting for the leader's next move as he started kneading the flesh of your chest, gently tugging and twisting your nipples in ways that made you whimper and lean into his hands even more. You were addicted to his touch just like he was addicted to touching you, closing your eyes to drown out all the people watching the both of you, but Douma pinched your nipples harder “Tsk. Open your eyes. Bless them. Let them watch, look at their eyes, at their devotion to their goddess,” he said sternly and ripped your dress further until it was nothing but a broken piece of fabric to be tossed away. It felt humiliating to be completely naked in a room full of people who await your pleasure, who see every inch of your skin, wishing to touch you the way their leader did but they had full faith in him, knowing he will take great care of their goddess.

His slender hands traveled down your body, sharp nails leaving small streaks in their wake but not enough to cut your skin or to hurt you and you felt yourself squirm in anticipation, seeing all these awaiting faces of your followers. There was no reason to be ashamed in front of them, knowing they would never have an ill thought about their goddess, feeling like they're a witness to the most holy of all ceremonies - getting to see their leader please their goddess. The feeling of his fingers parting your folds ripped you out of your thoughts, your hands holding onto the thighs you were seated on and he smirked at the way everyone's eyes were now glued to your beautiful core, spread for their viewing pleasure. “My my, would you look at how wet you are… Are you pleased by their presence?” Douma teased before biting your earlobe ever so gently. “We should give them what they want, don't you think?” He added and watched your eyebrows knit up in pleasure the moment a single finger slid through your folds to gather your slick so he could flick your puffy clit just enough to make you whimper and clutch onto his thighs.

“That's my flower… don't hold these pretty noises back,” he encouraged you to let go, massaging your bundle of nerves in small circles until your neglected entrance started to clench around nothing.

Douma knew better than to finger you, his nails far too long and the noises you made when he splits you open on his cock without preparing your weeping cunt first are far too heavenly to miss out on. Just to tease you he ran one of his fingers over your entrance and dipped in ever so slightly, a small string of sour arousal connected to his finger the moment he pulled back to lick his digit clean.

“Always so sweet for me,” he hummed and lifted you gently, the tip of his impressive cock nudging against your dripping entrance which made you whine, knowing all too well that he will push himself in with just a single thrust to make you moan his name. He didn't disappoint you, his entire length disappearing inside of your core the moment his tip was entirely past your folds - this time much slower than usual, making sure he can feel every little ridge in your velvet walls and drawing your moan of his name out. “Douuuumaaa” you whined loudly, hating and loving the intense feeling of getting impaled on his huge length.

Douma gave you only a short moment to adjust, your walls already fluttering wildly and sucking him even further inside. “You're my little vixen… so sweet and innocent but the moment you have my cock inside of you, you make the lewdest little noises… don't you?” He mused, thrusting his hips sharply to make you squeal out a moan to prove his point. You wanted nothing more than to close your eyes, to enjoy the feeling fully, hoping he wouldn't notice but Douma had his eyes everywhere. The little slap to your sensitive clit made you open them just a split second after closing them, whining loudly

“Don't be so disrespectful… they need their goddess to bless them,” he almost scolded you and began moving your hips up and down his length, indicating for you to start riding him. It humiliated you, helplessly moaning on your lovers cock as your followers watched with this intense hunger for you, to touch you, to help you receive pleasure but they knew better than to ever lay a single finger onto your sacred body.

Your walls started to clench around Douma and moving became harder and harder until he held onto your thighs to fuck into you like there's no tomorrow - and for some chosen ones there would be none. Your moans started to sound like a lewd prayer, chanting his name over and over as it echoed off the walls until the only noise to be heard was heavy breathing and the squelching noise of your obscenely wet cunt, helplessly squirting in the intensity of the orgasm Douma brought to you. “That's it, flower. Bless these lost people with your love, cleanse their souls,” he called out proud and continued to fuck you through your release just to keep going, rubbing circles onto your overly sensitive bundle of nerves as your followers came closer and closer, wanting to receive their blessing from you which made Douma chuckle “See this, petal? It looks like you need to release a few more times for your greedy people,” he mused, feeling your walls flutter in affirmation, knowing you wouldn't mind falling apart on his length until you're begging for him to stop - you always wanted more and more the more you came for him. It filled him with pride to watch you come undone once more, your juices spraying out of you and onto the floor, some drops landing on your followers and he knew that those are the ones he will devour first - but none would leave this room alive, having witnessed his private heaven.

Networks: @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

#-ˋˏ ༻luma's musings #kny x reader #kny smut #douma x reader #douma smut #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer smut #douma #kny douma #kimetsu no yaiba #💫hotter than the sun💫

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crazerk · 6 months ago

Text

When you find yourself among the few women chosen to become a concubine in the Imperial harem, you have a chance to carve your place in court.

The life of a concubine might seem luxurious and idyllic, but behind the silken curtains of the harem, dangerous games are played. Games where the wrong words will cost your life, betrayal, lies and secrets are commonplace and gaining the shah’s attention is paramount to your survival.

Start out as a princess, disgraced noble or captive.

Intrigue, intrigue and more intrigue.

Dramatic events on par with a soap opera

Revenge, backstabbing, forbidden love, plots and more.

Rise the ranks by outsmarting or eliminating your rivals.

Produce and raise heirs to secure your place.

Influence politics through the emperor or seize power for yourself.

Learn fire magic or join a cult of chaos.

Live a life of leisure and the pursuit of higher education or a life of hedonism.

Inspired by the Sassanid dynasty and Persian mythology.

Shah Khazunef

He is calm, perspective and far less ruthless than his father before him but they share the same cunning nature and intimidating aura. Khazunef has deep brown skin, dark hazel eyes and silky mid length black hair that frames his face perfectly.

Fang

A former slave whose fighting prowess earned him freedom. He has since become a close friend of Khazunef and they regard each other as brothers. He serves as an informal advisor and spy to the shah but shirks any formal duties. Fang is charismatic and extroverted with copper red hair, rose skin and blue eyes.

Persa

Her name means dove and fits her gentle demeanor. She was raised a princess in a land of mountains and snow that was conquered by Shah Arzad. Upon the fall of her city and murder of her family, she was brought to the capital to serve in the palace. She has honey blonde hair, dark brown eyes and alabaster skin.

Ignasia

Ignasia is a fire priestess and staunch follower of the faith. Although born a noble, she gave up all claims and titles to serve in the fire temples as a guardian of the eternal flame. Ignasia has dark hair, darker eyes and a regal, reserved bearing.

Valide Zarayan

She is the ruthless and ambitious mother of Khazunef, originally a distrusted foreigner who rose to great power in the court of Shah Arzad. She rules over the harem like her own little kingdom and holds influence over her son.

Shahbanu Yaris

The wife of Khazunef and shahbanu of the realm. Yaris wed the emperor when he was 17 and she 26 in an alliance that strengthened the empire and influences it to this day.

Vizier Rubien

The grand vizier and advisor to the Emperor who Khazunef considers a father figure. Rubien is fiercely intelligent, loyal and wise. He remains dedicated to his work and helping the Emperor rule justly.

Averus

Averus is a high priest and soothsayer of the court. His advice is sought by all and a bad word about you from his lips can sully your reputation and relationships beyond repair.

Consort Iltani

Former consort and favorite of Shah Arzad. Her name is whispered like a curse, and her influence spreads far wide even though the valide has her currently imprisoned within the palace.

This story is for mature audiences, please proceed with discretion! Story will contain violence, drugs, alcohol, death, suicide, infanticide, harm to animals, miscarriages, abuse and sexual themes.

Demo

#interactive fiction #if wip #cyoa #concubine #choice of games #hosted games #new wip #Cotgr #imperial harem #court of the gilded roses #genderlocked female #romance #intro post

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phyrestartr · 6 months ago

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Their Burning Bodies Keep Us Warm (1/2) | Sukuna x M!Reader

W/C: 3.4k #NSFW, top!Sukuna, bottom!Reader, ABO dynamics, cannibalism, mentions of sex trafficking, mentions of cults, questionable relationship, suggested Stockholm syndrome, post-apocalypse, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, drama, gore, typical zombie shite, not rlly edited kekw SORRY

tags: @flowersatwork @tr4nniez @kamote-kuneho @prettorett @better-imagination-9

You ran. Even when your lungs tore apart, your legs burned to ash, your mind split and ruptured, you ran.

The destination was simple: anywhere. Anywhere away from the hell hole you'd been swept up into–a camp full of soldiers getting hopeful little bugs stuck in a honeypot with promises of safety and a life well-lived despite the end of the world. A colony. A chance to stop hoping to simply survive.

But that wasn't what happened. You and so many others were victims of a breeding ring–a puppy mill, so to speak. One where those able to bear young were forced to. One where a hivemind fooled the naive into thinking this was all for the ultimate goal of repopulation, for a chance to reclaim the world should the infected finally fall.

Yet humans, as smart and powerful as the hive claimed, had already lost once, and now twice as they lit their humanity ablaze for the greater evil of satisfying twisted desires under the guise of necessity. You couldn't take it anymore.

So, you ran.

Then, you saw a light. Just faintly. It whispered promises of warmth in the cold deadness of Winter's night; you couldn't help but be drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

But that meant someone was inside, too, which could be a blessing or a curse–if they found you, sidling up to the house, listening for signs of life or unlife, they could turn you in to the men chasing you; on the other hand, you might find a friend. A companion. A safe person to sleep by at night. To eat with. To talk to. That'd be nice.

Your daydreams shattered when the voices of those soldiers echoed in the empty streets of the town you'd found yourself in. You peeked from your perch by the front door of the house, and ducked out of view when you saw two bobbing lights flicking and scanning over the snow.

Shit, shit, shit. You swallowed thickly, trying to thick through the frost biting you and the snow melting on your bare arms. What were the odds they'd be able to follow your scent? All the way down to the spot where you hid beneath the front steps? It was hard to track another when it was raining, so snow had to be the same, right? So why were they coming closer and closer, why were their voices becoming hushed and their words rushed, why were they–

The door above you slammed open with the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. You covered your mouth with a shaky hand, hoping the boom coupled with your stalker's shocked, angry barking (just one voice?) stifled whatever pathetic squawk you garbled out.

It must've. Because the person--the man--standing on the weather-worn deck above you laughed, and stepped down the creaky stairs with heavy, lazy steps before following that soldier's voice.

Go, go, go. You forced yourself to move, pushing yourself up the steps under the cover of barked threats and the outbreak of a fight. You thought men like that stuck together. That they'd help each other out with delivering omegas back to one another. That they'd invite him to join their diabolic cult–especially when the thick scent of alpha filled your lungs.

You swallowed thickly, your inner omega going wild with curiosity and wonder and a need to curl up in the musk and laze in it all day, but your petrified self picked up the slack and kept you in motion, kept you scrambling for a place to hide. Staying the night was the plan–you wouldn't be able to survive outside, not like this. Not with a t-shirt, worn joggers and runners being your only defense against the cold.

What happens in the morning? He'd no doubt catch your scent. He'd no doubt realize he had an unwelcome guest. What would he do with you? What would he do to you?

“I don't care,” You breathed as you jammed yourself into the darkness of a bedroom closet and burrowed into whatever lay on the floor. “I don't care.”

And that was true; being a slave to one was better than being a slave to many.

–

His eyes shone red.

You weren't sure if you woke in the night to find the demon. You didn't know if your dreamscape simply enjoyed tormenting you. But the burns left by that searing, glowing gaze were real.

He stood there. Features melded with shadow. Body engulfing the snowy light of night. Staring down at you. Quiet. Still. Inhuman.

Only your shaky breathing filled the thick, damp void of silence his presence brought. What were you supposed to do? What were you supposed to–

He closed the closet doors, and his lumbering footsteps sauntered away.

–

When morning came, the stranger was not so willing to leave you alone.

You thought you were being quite crafty, quite sneaky with how you planned on escaping; you waited for sounds of his to stop in a far-off room, then you donned yourself in whatever gear and warm clothes you could find in the closet, and then you carefully, so so so carefully, opened the closet doors and–

“Leaving already, little omega?” A deep, playful voice taunted from the doorway of the room, just out of sight; if you pushed the doors all the way open, you'd see the man standing in the doorway to the left.

But your hands fumbled alongside your heart. Your voice died in your throat.

You were caught.

A large hand gripped the side of the closet door and pulled it open. You stumbled backwards, heart shattering from its frosted paralysis to jump into overdrive.

Because the man, the alpha standing before you, was unlike anything you'd seen before.

He was tall. His shoulders stretched wide and, judging from the strain of his shirt, his build was formidable and downright predatory. Muscle shifted and adjusted under an expanse of gilded skin everytime the beast moved, changing from looming over you to leaning against the doorframe. Maybe in an attempt to make himself smaller. More likely because of his cocky laziness.

The smirk plastered on his face bore the same arrogance, too. As did the care in brushing back his hair and actually looking presentable in the guts of a fucking apocalypse. But maybe he relished in the anarchy. You could only assume so much from tattoos marking his skin and the mirth gleaming in hellborne eyes.

“Go on,” the man drawled, hooking a thumb into his belt, bringing your attention to the thick knife strapped to his side, “Let's hear your pretty voice.”

“I wasn't gonna stay,” you choked out, and the demon in front of you smiled wider. “I just–I saw your light, and–”

“And you walked on in without even knocking.” He sighed and shook his head. “Kids these days.”

“M'not a fucking kid,” You bit out, surprising the both of you with your venom. You thought you'd lost it long ago, but maybe not.

The man laughed, showing off his brutal, jagged canines. You swore you saw red staining them.

“You've got some bite, huh? Like that in a bitch.” He stepped closer, and you tried to meld into the wall of clothes behind you, but failed to escape the calloused hand that grabbed you by the jaw and forced your head up, down and around as he inspected you like a piece of meat.

You tried to pull away, tried to turn your head to break free from his grasp. “Don't fucking touch me–”

“Hah. This how you tried to get those alphas off of you?” He taunted, grinning at your sudden wide-eyed stare. “No wonder they used you up like a–”

You headbutted him and kneed him in the dick before pushing past him and running. Your head pounded thanks to your stupid opener, but at least it worked. Now, you just had to get out of the damn house and–

“OMEGA.”

–and escape from the devil chasing you.

His growling voice ripped through your skull like a chainsaw revving to life as you threw yourself down the stairs and out the front door. You slipped and slid, nearly falling and breaking your fucking neck on the porch, but you caught yourself and made a break for the street as the thundering of footsteps clamoured after you.

Churned snow painted in sour shades of rusted red greeted you. You could almost envision the struggle, the stabbing, the warmth bleeding from their bodies as they died for their selfish desires. It chilled you, gave you pause–and that's where you fucked up.

The horizon reeled and spun when a heavy body crashed into you and pinned you to the ground. You gasped, straining to catch the breath that'd been punched from your lungs, failing to stop the burning in your chest as your face froze against the pavement.

“Wily little cunt, huh?” The stranger breathed, rage and amusement fighting through his words. “You bring that much fight to the sack, omega? Hey?”

You tried to rip free or push him off or something as he taunted you, but you couldn't. You were trapped. Again. Again.

“Fuck you,” you spat. “I'd rather fucking die than–”

You froze. The slow, stuttering shamble of footsteps pricked your ears before low, ungodly moaning and wheezing rattled through the streets. The noise was quiet, but so loud to a frightened deer.

“Lookit that,” your captor whispered, leaning down to your ear, “Guess God heard your prayer.”

Your heart hammered. “Get off, get off.” Your voice quaked and broke as you thrashed beneath him. “Please.”

“Thought you said you'd rather die.” His knee ground into your back and you bit back a yelp.

“Please.” The diabolic gasping came closer, became more frantic as the thing saw you. You couldn't see it, but they always got so fucking excited and loud when they saw fresh, living meat. You knew it was coming.

“Ah-ah, can't let you go. Your buddy won't be able to catch up and end things for ya.” The stranger cackled something hideous and unnerving. “That'd be a right fucking shame.”

“Let me up,” You begged.

“Not yet.”

It got closer.

“Please!”

“No.”

Just a metre away, now.

“I'll stay.”

The scent of alphan approval washed over you.

“Good pet.”

You were pulled up and off the snowy ground with ease as soon as you submitted. You even vaguely saw the man kick the undead back with ease, sending it toppling over into the snow and stuck on its back like a helpless turtle. Its motor functions were shot in this weather. It probably wouldn't be getting up for a while.

You wondered if you were going to suffer the same fate: stuck on your back, unable to move, at the mercy of a sick freak you accidentally met while running away from other lunatics. You were doomed. But at least you were alive. At least you'd be warm.

The pink-haired menace locked up the door before throwing you down onto the couch with little grace. You would have been more mad if the purring roil of the fireplace didn't breathe warm gusts of comfort over you. And, well, you weren't being dragged into a bedroom and tied down. Not yet, at least.

The make matters worse, the man didn't really say much. Just closed the blinds and ensured the entrances and windows were secured while you sat still and quiet, patient lest you suffer a worse fate.

He glanced at you over his shoulder before returning to the task at hand. “If I wanted to kill your sorry ass, I woulda done it last night,” he said into the quiet of the room.

You remembered those eyes staring down at you. How inhuman and evil they were. How much fear they bred in you. And now, you had to accept how real that was.

He sat down on the coffee table in front of you and leaned towards you, resting his elbows on his knees, holding your gaze with his own.

“Here's what's gonna happen,” he said, low and dangerous. “I'm gonna let you stay. Real nice of me, yeah? I'll give you food, water. Keep you warm, keep you safe from all the bullshit going on outside. Sounds good, doesn't it?”

You looked over his face, brows furrowed, heart pounding so loud you almost couldn't hear him. But you nodded for fear of what he'd do otherwise.

He smiled, satisfied. “Good. And in return,” he started, letting a hand slip up to your knee, “You'll make like a good little whore and keep my bed warm. Fair deal, don't you think?”

You nodded. It wasn’t like you had a choice, anyway.

–

Sex with the man–Sukuna, as you’d come to learn–wasn’t the worst thing imaginable; for one, he had some level of patience and tact when it came to stretching and lubing you up for your occasional “duties,” which put him in your “good book” right away (Christ, your standards had fallen so low).

Secondly, he didn’t make you participate. He’d command you in the same way each time (“face down, ass up, don't bite”), and he'd have his way with you. He never made you kiss him. Never demanded you speak. Never bullied you. He seemed like he just wanted to stuff his cock somewhere warm and forget about the world for a bit.

And you didn't really mind it. Sometimes. you almost looked forward to it. Sometimes, you let little noises escape when he railed you into the bed with reckless abandon. Sometimes, you wanted his hands on you just a little longer.

Because when he wasn't fucking you, he might disappear out of the blue and leave you all alone, only to return a week later with supplies and clothes, unperishable goods and other random odds and ends he found along the way. Once, he even found a retro game store and scooped up an endless supply of gameboy advance and colour games and consoles. Another time, he carried home a bag full of weather-worn books.

What'll it be today? You wondered when you caught sight of the man wandering back up the steps. He cursed under his breath as he messed with the lock for an eternity, and you took the opportunity to scurry away from the living room to put some distance between the two of you just in case; at this point, you didn't expect him to hurt you, but wild animals were unpredictable, even when seemingly domesticated.

“Fuckin' shit-ass door,” Sukuna grumbled as he nudged it open before kicking it closed and locking up. “Need to fix that shit.”

You peered down at him from your perch halfway up the stairs and watched him saunter around, heavy boots clunking on the floors you just washed as he looked around. You had to wonder who the hell had taught him shoes inside was okay.

“Where the fuck is that little bitch,” he mumbled, walking out of your line of sight. He traipsed through the bottom floor thoroughly before walking past the stairs again, pausing, rewinding, and meeting your patient statre. “The fuck are you doing?”

I don't want you to bite me; I don't know if you'll randomly kill me if you're in a bad mood; I don't trust you like that, all ran through your head, but none felt like a good option to admit to. So, you shrugged.

Sukuna sighed, loud and laced with an aggravated growl. “Downstairs. Now. Need you to do something.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. Normally, you weren't asked to do much. The sudden command had your skin itching.

“Now.”

“Coming.” You tried to control the quivering of your legs on your descent to him, and just prayed he didn't notice.

He stared down at you with narrowed eyes and a bit of a sneer before he leaned over, sniffing for your scent, circling around you a few times, and finally rubbing his wrist against your neck to half-heartedly re-mark you.

You cleared your throat. “Is that it?”

Sukuna scoffed and turned away, grabbing the medical bag from the kitchen cabinet and dumping it on the counter. “You know how to sew, yeah?”

“Well, yeah. I can sew.” You approached warily as he gestured you closer.

“Hah. Good to know you're not completely fucking useless.” He sat down heavily onto a bar stool and shrugged off his jacket and shirt before turning his back to you; a long, jagged gash marred his skin with trails of dark, gooey ichor and scarlett smears. Whatever had happened was serious.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, scrambling to look through the medical bag to find something, anything, that seemed like it'd help. You found some essentials: gauze, tape, bandages, antibiotic cream, disinfectant wipes. But you'd definitely need more than a few dinky wipes to deal with his back.

You felt his eyes on you as you puttered around the kitchen, grabbing this and that and some other things before returning to his side with salt, bottled water, and booze in-hand.

Sukuna quirked a brow. “The fuck is all that for?”

You jumped a bit when his voice interrupted your whirling thoughts. “I–gonna, um, try to make some kinda…saline. To clean it.” You cleared your throat again and set the mostly-empty bottle of sake by him. “That's for…y'know.”

“Loud and clear,” Sukuna sighed, dreading what was to come, and took a long, long drink from the bottle.

You pursed your lips and nodded to yourself before starting to mix the salt and water together in the bottle. You weren't sure what the ratio should be, but you figured there wasn't necessarily a limit, not when you were lacking isopropyl alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. You'd be sure to mention it to him next time he went out.

“So. This'll…suck,” you warned, voice nervous and weak.

Sukuna sighed again. Took a swig again. Then ripped his belt from his waist, folded it a few times, and bit down.

He gave you an unenthused thumbs-up, and you found the nerve to jab a hole in the plastic bottle cap before spraying your makeshift saline solution against the wound.

You nearly shit yourself as Sukuna growled with the force of a jet turbine. Faintly, you heard the creaking groan of leather crackle from his mouth as his teeth sank in deep. His canines probably already pierced through the material.

“I know,” you whispered, actually feeling badly for the animal keeping you prisoner. “I know.”

You took your time cleaning the wound out, being sure to remove any sort of gravel or shrapnel embedded into his flesh. Luckily, the gash looked worse than it actually ended up being. It bled a lot, but it didn't cut all the way through to his ribs or beyond. Talk about lucky.

When a majority of his trembling and snarling ebbed, you hazarded the question: “So…how’d this happen?”

Sukuna groaned, and you almost smiled. “Fell off a fucking roof. Hit a sign on the way down.”

You cringed at the thought. “Well. It's…not that bad.” You drenched the wound with another round of salt water before patting it dry.

“Yeah? Then no stitches,” he half-declared, half-asked.

You gave his back a pitying look before reaching for the needle. Sukuna scoffed and muttered colourful obscenities when he saw your fingers snatch up the tool before disappearing behind him again.

“Fuck me.”

“Sorry,” you offered softly, trying not to laugh.

You saw his knee bounce in trepidation as you wiped his skin and the needle down with those cute little towelettes. You kinda felt bad for him. Healthcare in the apocalypse was a bit lacklustre.

As carefully as you could, you pushed the needle through his skin, and tried not to gag at the obscene feeling. The sound of his fist hitting the countertop helped ground you, though, and helped keep you on task stitch, after stitch, after stitch, after–

You set aside the tools and cleaned off your trembling, crimson-stained hands as best as you could before applying whatever ointment you could under gauze, and finally bandaging his torso up. Sukuna's eyes followed you, but you couldn't bear to look at him, quietly afraid of what he might do if your unsteady gaze met his; but that wasn't acceptable, judging by how he grabbed your arm and stopped you from turning away to clean up the mess.

You looked at him, then, eyes laser-focused. Every shift pumped your veins with ice. Every flick of his attention sent electricity down your spine. Every silent word his lips failed to commit to filled you with dread.

“Thanks,” he said. And he let go.

#male reader insert #sukuna x you #sukuna x m!reader #jjk #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #reader insert #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk smut #jjk x male reader #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #itadori sukuna x reader

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casually-eat-my-soul · 6 months ago

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Sterek fantasy au?

Stiles is a spark in training, but is expected to be the strongest spark in over a millennia

That is until he’s kidnapped by a moon worshipping cult. They plan to use him and his death/blood to summon one of their deities. They dress him in white and drag him out on the night of a full moon, leaving him at the altar that is carved like a wolf. Stiles tries to disrupt the ritual, including trying to rip out the throat of an attendee with his teeth when they got close. Stiles knows that the minute the cult finishes chanting they will offer him up as a virgin sacrifice. He can feel the presence of something far more darker and dangerous being summoned.

The priest in charge goes to speak but stiles beats him to it. In an act of desperation, he calls out to what ever being is there, if he is going to be the sacrificial bride, he might as well get the benefits.

“Husband, I offer you these sacrifices”

Stiles can feel the air change as a mocking laugh sounds though the glade. Everything freezes before the screaming starts. Stiles can’t see anything but a blur ripping apart the cult. Some of the members try to reach him and with his spark bound he has to fight them. He is able to disarm one and use the sword to kill the other two, when a voice calls out to him.

“What a pretty fierce wife I have”

Derek was bored and annoyed when he could feel the worship and his name being invoked. It was always the same cult who tried to get him to bless them with his might and offered him virgin brides in a place of his mate. He didn’t even know how that rumour got started, he didn’t have any use for any of the brides. Most of the weak ones died in his presence and the one or two strong ones he offered a place among the wolves but never by his side.

— (I’m picturing Erica being a sacrifice, and Derek just pops up and is like “hey do you want the power to rip these guys apart” and she ascended to deity level and is now known as one of the best shield maidens) —

Derek almost didn’t let himself be summoned, but he could feel the presence of a power that had never been apart of the rituals before. So he fades into the call, and as he steps into the mortal realm, he sees the most beautiful creature laying in his altar. He bares his teeth, blood dripping down his lips, and something just ignites in Derek. So when this fae calls out to him, naming Derek his husband, and calling for the deaths of the cult members, derek is powerless to obey.

Stiles watches as the wolf’s form ripples and in its place stands a man, the most handsome man he has ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on — hands dripping with blood.

Stiles notices that every surface is covered in the bits and pieces that use to make up the cult members, but he remains untouched from the carnage. Well besides the three dead members who he drops at the feet of this god. So he turns back to look this deity, thanks him for the save and tells him that he must be on his way.

Derek laughs at this humans audacity, to name Derek his husband, offer him a hunt, to join in on killing, leaving his offering at Derek’s feet and then to turn his back on him?? Derek grabs the human and bring him into a kiss.

Stiles has never been kissed in the way that this deity is kissing him. Like ships laying siege to a battle ground, full of possessiveness like the god is trying to claim stiles. When they break away, the god whispers in his ear, with an amused tone

“My wife trying to run before I even get his name. Know little fae, that there is nowhere on this earth you can hide from me, where I can not hunt you down.”

Anyway they give each other their names, Derek fucks him on the altar and brings stiles back with him as his mate. (Maybe stiles demands that Derek courts him, but Derek raises and eyebrow and says that stiles was the one to offer courtship first)

Derek is head over heels love with stiles, especially after he sees stiles take revenge in his name. When the agent came to burn down his temple and stiles hunted them down and gave Derek their hearts. He had looked devastatingly gorgeous using his spark to rain fire down upon them. The bride offering also stop real quick after this one.

Stiles return regularly to the mortal realm. He tries to continue to learn how to deal with this spark but his teachers have no idea how to teach the divine. (He names Lydia as his priestess, as a way to help her with her banshee powers and give give her status in the mortal realm)

Anyway just deity Derek being obsessed with stiles, his number one worshiper

#sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #derek hale is obsessed with him #freak4freak #they both love each other to insanity #they also match each other freak #Derek saw stiles with blood on his teeth and immediately saw sold

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inklore · 1 year ago

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crucified

premise: when his fingers slip between your open thighs you know there’s no other god you’d give yourself over to. no other god who can feed you, starve you, with such a loving hand.

pairing: lestat de lioncourt x human!reader

word count: 852

contents: blood and blood drinking, cult au, scars, inflicted wounds and cuts mentioned, foreplay, ownership kink, religious undertones.

note: if there's a sign up sheet i'm at the top of it hehe.

haunted hoedown day seven.

The cuts no longer hurt.

No longer give your flesh that rippling sting through your nervous system for longer than seconds before the euphoria hits.

Before the reminder of why you’re cutting yourself open with a blade to begin with. Why your fingers and wrists stain with the smell of copper for days after because you’ve bled so much for him.

Always for him.

The scars on your flesh only grow the longer you stay here. Stay with him. Worship him the way a man like him thinks he should be worshiped.

Except he’s not a man.

Inhuman.

Monster.

God.

The titles mean less to you than the beauty of the magic that is him.

Lestat.

You have a backstory. Something sad and traumatic that explains how you got to be here. How you’re on your knees in front of him, blood spilling down your arm—a new scar for him to lick clean. To heal with his tongue as he drinks from the bounty you’ve presented for him.

A symbol of your devotion.

A symbol of your love.

But you can’t remember anything but Lestat. Can’t think of a thought that doesn’t have him wrapped up in it. That isn’t a chant screaming out his name or making your insides swell until you have no choice but to relieve the burning.

Sometimes with your own hand.

Sometimes, when you’ve proven yourself, he'll help you.

Rid you of an ache that he’s caused. Take pity and use your body for selfish needs that stick with someone even after they’re no longer human.

“It’s what you were made for.” He’ll whisper in your ear as his hips roll slowly between your thighs.

And you’ll eat it up. Cling to him like something small and fragile who doesn’t want to be weened off the poison that gives them their only comfort.

It’s why you showed up here tonight. Why you’re in his room, at his alter, knees digging into the hard floor, blood dripping, hooded eyes looking up at his smiling face.

His legs spread, back against the velvet covering of the chair he’s in.

A throne for a god.

A monster.

There’s a plead on your dry lips, falling down to his feet, licking his ego. It makes his hips shift, makes something in his eyes turn from hunger to starvation—something worse than thirst, than want, than need.

He loves his pets, but he loves them even more when they're bleeding for him.

When they need him.

Elation makes a weak smile pull up the corners of your mouth as you watch him move to his knees in front of you. Joining you on the floor, showing you that yes, he’s going to give you what you want, what you need, even if that means stooping down to your level of frailty, to show his mercy. To show the kindness of a good god. A god who loves his people just as long as they’re offering up their lives in his hands.

Their blood on a perfectly scarred wrist that he’s wrapping his lips around and sucking from.

Gasps and whimpers, head pointed towards the sky, eyes fluttering, insides burning, as he feeds from you. As he takes your offering, your gift, what he’s owed, what you’ll always give him—what you’re made for.

His lips parting from your flesh to run the tip of his tongue over the cut, wet mouth pressing against the rough skin of past cuts he’s had his mouth against—tongue inside, fingers scooping up your devotion and pressing to your lips so you can taste the sweetness for yourself.

“Do you like it when I bleed for you?” Your vision no longer blurry as you murmur the words. As his mouth hangs open centimeters away from yours, blood drips from his bottom lip and onto your white nightgown.

His hand coming to hold the side of your neck, nails skating across your sensitive skin, making your jaw twitch on a silent moan. “Yes, ma petite.” He whispers before pressing his mouth against yours.

Yes, little one.

Yes, darling.

Yes, meal.

“When you taste this sweet, how could I not?” His tongue licks into your mouth, coats your tastebuds in the coppery flavor of your own devotion. Of your own demise. “Swallow it. Swallow and see why I keep you around.” His palm presses against your throat, waiting, wanting, daring you to swallow against it.

Waiting to feel your throat bob as you do what he says and take back what you’ve offered him. Replenishing your senses with the blood that already beats within your veins to keep you alive—that you’ve relinquished to the monster who only keeps you alive when you’re spilling yourself of that life.

But when his fingers slip between your open thighs—the skillful press and pull of them—you know there’s no other god you’d give yourself over to. No other god who can feed you, starve you, with such a loving hand as Lestat can.

When you come on his fingers, you know that this is truly what you were made for.

You were made for him.

#lestat x you #lestat x reader #lestat de lioncourt #lestat de lioncourt x reader #lestat smut #iwtv fanfiction #lestat de lioncourt smut #lestat imagine #lestat de lioncourt x you #iwtv fic #haunted hoedown #tw blood

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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 years ago

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Eddie hated this and he'd just started.

See, he was so proud when he made it, when he got his first office job. He saw what decades of physical labor did to Wayne's back, his hands, and he wanted to make his uncle proud. So he kept applying and applying and getting ignored and rejected and finally, finally he got a job in a pretty large corporate. Not exactly something prestigious, but hey, it had potential. The experience counted and all that.

He thought maybe workplaces would be different, that the good ol' high school dynamic would fuck off, but no. He was sitting at his desk, trying to fill in paperwork after a taxing phone call, but all he could focus on was whispering from the neighboring cubicle that was ostentatiously loud. He didn't know who sat there yet, the guy had been on vacation for the two weeks Eddie was in the company. From the stuff he was hearing, he was getting introduced anyway and not exactly the way he'd have liked to be.

"Can you believe they actually let him work here?" It was Carol, of course it was, the office gossip and mean girl knockoff. "I mean, he doesn't even look decent! Did you see that hair?" Okay, that hurt. He actually pulled his hair into a neat bun every morning, but you can't please some people. "And he has tattoos, what would our customers think if they actually met him, plus you should have heard the rumors about his past-!"

But just as he was about to slam down the pile of paperwork and either take an extended smoke break or gently ask Carol to go fuck a polar bear, he heard another voice. Bored and wonderfully bitchy.

"That's absolutely fascinating, Carol. Please tell me more, what could this guy possibly have done? It must be something juicy. Did he perhaps fuck his boss during the Christmas party and then lie about it to his boyfriend of five years? Oh wait no. That was you. Silly me."

Eddie had to bite his pencil to stay quiet, but his whole chest hurt by trying to keep the snickering in. And then the offended gasp. "I- you promised you wouldn't-!"

"I didn't promise shit, Carol. You just came to me, cried your eyes out - bad move by the way, invest in some waterproof mascara for god's sake, mascara in wrinkles doesn't good on anyone, and yes, you do have wrinkles - and tried to play the victim. Except I heard your small proposition to the guy before so it didn't really work out. But it's fine, you know," and oooh, the tone was smug, so bored, Eddie loved this guy already, "Tommy saw you as well and had a good time with Nicole to get even. So there's nothing to worry about. Now tell me, what did this horrible Eddie Munson do to summon wrath of such a righteous woman such as yourself?"

Eddie heard a sharp sound as Carol got up from the desk. "Fuck you, Steve Harrington," she spat out and sped past Eddie's seat. He just gave her a small salute.

When the sound of high heels faded, Eddie leaned over the cubicle wall and knocked to draw the guy's attention. And yeah, maybe he was a little bit biased because he'd just obliterated a textbook definition of a shrew, but this Steve was fucking gorgeous, light brown eyes looking at him, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

"Oh hi," said Steve and offered his hand, shaking Eddie's. "Sorry for that. I'm Steve Harrington and whatever deepest, darkest secrets you're hiding, I don't care, I'm pretty sure I've heard them all. What did you do? Shave your head in school? Join a cult? Cut dolls apart and chant hail Satan?"

That had Eddie laughing again, but he still had an introduction to make. A proper one. "Nice to meet you, Steve. Eddie Munson, and I'm worse than your darkest nightmares. I sometimes wear socks in sandals."

Steve's eyebrow twitched. "Oh, Carol was right, you are a monster!" he muttered. "Speaking of monsters..." His head leaned to the side, towards Carol who was angrily carrying her coffee mug, her mascara running again.

Before he could catch himself, Eddie leaned over the wall and whispered as loudly as he could muster. "Can you believe some people wear dotted dresses with stripes on their stockings? We can't all be born with taste, I guess...tragic."

And again, maybe Eddie was just biased, but Steve's laughter was so pretty that it actually made dealing with Carol's bullshit worth it.

#steddie #steddie au #steddie drabble #corporate au #coworkers au #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things drabble #yeah so I'm crazy busy and kind of not doing too well #so this is not proofread #but I wanted to put something small together so here you go

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nausicaaandhermouth · 1 month ago

Text

The Healer

masterlist

viktor x anhedonic!reader [1.4k][AO3]

cw: implied/referenced depression, suicide, suicidal ideation, self harm

summary: Anhedonia set in and the idea of exiting life's stage became all the more appealing. But you've heard about The Healer and perhaps he can save you.

tags: gn reader, S2 Viktor, post-Act 1, anhedonia, angst, depression, suicide, SI, SH, viktor gardening?, reader's just admiring him atp, not betad, not encouraging anybody to join any cult

a/n: idk if vik's abilities extends to making plants appear but for this pretend it does

if you're unfamiliar with what anhedonia is, it's a symptom of a larger condition (can be depression, bipolar, schizophrenia, more), characterised by the inability to experience physical and/or social pleasure. makes existing difficult, like you're dragging so much pointless weight and everything feels high effort, so what's the point.

just a brief description (based on what i've learnt from it in research and experience), so i encourage learning more to get it more in depth if it interests you or sounds too familiar.

You prayed for an easy coax out of the darkness.

The little home of scrap fabric and heartbroken brick you built throughout the years was becoming more and more dilapidated, though its original state had never been of full health to begin with. And like it, your body’s ridges became prominent, visited by unexplained bruises, warmed by the thickened hair on your skin, and yet living on had always been the only option you saw—no, the only option you allowed.

You’d breathed long enough to outlive many of those around you. Whether it was becoming grey-lunged corpses, enforcer punching bags, or a Promenade diver, everybody knew somebody who, sooner rather than later, knelt to kiss Death’s feet. Surrendered. Be it by their own or another’s will.

Then it fell upon you: the swole blanket of indifference, of apathy. It cloaked your mind, buried your defences that was defiance, which had been the only source of survival you’d had left. But snuffed out now.

And how easy it is to think of self-inflicted inexistence when it seems nothing else matters.

Oblivion would whisper in the corner, a demented, deformed dog snarling yet begging your hand’s comfort. Come to me. And you can’t find good reason as to why you shouldn’t.

This… healer—a man whose touch could gild any man’s sick and bestow him a new life, a new body, a new mind—you’re not sure when he arrived. But the whispers morphed to murmurs which morphed to rumours and unfolded itself into your side of the city’s underbelly.

Was he the answer to your prayer?

You made journey to the place you’d heard he’d made camp, and it unfurled before you and stole all expectation and put them to rest. Because for once, the Sumps had colour, had life.

At the centre stood a strange, globular… building? Just like stained glass, its surface was of mute Spring colours, translucent, swirling lattice-work reminiscent of butterfly wing patterns.

He’s a tall thing. A beautiful thing. His metal body cloaked, careful, and coded with grace. Each movement was deliberate, no gaze shared unintentional. How had he come to exist? How had this world birthed your people’s suffering but, as well, him?

You want to laugh at the sick irony. Whoever’s dealing the cards need their hands cut off.

“What ails you?” he asks, giving you such soft regarding you can’t help but be rendered speechless.

In truth, you’re not sure. Physically, you know you’re lacking, but so was everyone so why are you different? In your head there sits a temptress, attempting to lure you to the edge of buildings or blades, but she had no name. No one speaks of her.

The healer tilts his head, seeming to take a better look at you. He looks so kind. Such eyes, opalescent, have seen suffering, and you know it.

“Life,” you give a one-shouldered shrug, smiling. “I… I’m not actually… uh, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” you take a step back.

What had been the point of this? Attempt what? Healing? What’s this man to do?

“No,” he steps closer, his voice swathed in a strange mechanical whir. “Stay,”

You’re sure that by the furrowed desperation on you, it convinces something inside him, as he turns and beckons you with a nudge of his head. So you follow.

Each step he makes creates a heavy thunk beneath him, and though you don’t feel its impact, merely by sound you feel the weight of him. How had he acquired such a body? Modded fingers, let alone limbs, cost years of your wages—you can’t imagine how much his entire body might have cost.

“I can feel something plaguing you,” he begins, shifting slightly to catch a look of you.

You scoff but it doesn’t quite match your face.

“Then what brought you to me?” he shrugs and looks away, leading you to the side of the Sumps where a clear plain rolled out.

You watch as he kneels and reaches for the soil, taking it between metal fingers.

“I’m not sure,” you kneel beside him, shoulders bunching up. “What are you doing?”

He hums, smoothing the ground and creating indents, “I’m assessing,”

You lean forward, folding your arms and hanging your head to look at him.

The metal frames his face, just barely hidden by chestnut waves, curling beneath the jaw and around the ear.

He’s got a rather angular beauty to him, something belonging to scrutiny and studiosity. Even his strong brows follow theme, arched forward in a focused furrow, over narrowed eyes homing iridescent irises. You’re not sure if he’s from this world. Or if the world was gifted him.

Your attention trails back to his hand, and he digs his fingers beneath the soil. Then, hand glowing beneath the metallic muscles, the ground is imbued with a light, where then verdant stems spring alive.

You choke back a gasp, glancing about as the spindly bodies uncurl and reveal yellow petals. Roses?

Whipping back to him, you take note of the glow leaving his eyes, shock threading through your system.

When you glance back at the flowers, now surrounding the both of you, you can’t help but think: logically, how you might have reacted would be with pleasant surprise, glee, even.

Such occurrences, the arcane or a mere flower field, was a coveted sight, and without a doubt you would have felt the surge of optimism. But instead nothing happens. Instead it’s unmet anticipation and expectation sitting at your belly, pooling into grey disappointment.

It’s when you look back to the healer that you realise this disappointment must have shown on your face. He inclines his head so slightly, blinks, as if saying I understand. And he smiles. He smiles and it’s the gentlest thing ever given to you to hold and witness.

You want to crumple, to lay graves for your limbs and disassemble each part that ever dared to exist only to suffer. There used to be anger, and at the very least there was indignation. At topside for their neglect, your parents or finding each other, for finding something beyond the misery and creating you. Where had all such righteous resentment gone?

“Viktor,”

You look up to see the healer’s hand stretched out, asking for yours in return. And you oblige, shaking it gently, before pulling away only to be held with soft restraint.

“You are welcome to stay,” his voice becomes tender, becomes more human almost, aimed purely for your audience. “Even if what torments is not outright seen. I welcome all,”

Your breath comes out long, carrying with it the tired days in the dark. The healer… Viktor makes no acknowledgement of this but just another observant blink, the corners of his mouth slightly tightening.

“Wasn’t gonna die or anything,” you joke, flattening your lips and hoping it registers as a smile, however trying it may appear.

“Eh,” Viktor shrugs, turning his attention to your hand and turning it about as if trying to see new angles. “A slow death is still a death,”

This makes you frown. Why has he assumed? But why is he right?

“The slower it is, the more painful, I think,” he remarks, but he seems almost far away. “As you watch what is left of you wither, and all you can do is… hm, watch,”

Then you understand. Something in your chest tightens as you take in once again all this stranger is. “You’re well-acquainted,” you note, coming out barely as breath and observation, spoken clearer by the narrowing of your eyes than your own voice.

He looks at you again, and something’s changed. His eyes? It seems. There’s something more amber about them, more grounded in this singular hue. “My longest companion,”

You hum, nodding.

There’s a safety in knowing you’re understood, even if they’re not able to fix you. It cloaks you warmer than summer, than any consolation offered in pity—he understands. And perhaps not the very same that brandishes you, but in some aspect he knows.

Which is what makes you ask, “Can you fix me?”

His eyes resume that pearl sheen once again and you’re mesmerised, gaze flitting between each eye in deep investigation—tell me who you are, how you are; tell me how you’ll fix me. Like the field around, the sweet sunshine hues of the roses, to make your land more than just barren.

And he does. He raises his other hand, uncurling, coming to hover by your face. “May I?”

You breath sweeps back in and you nod, leaning forward and connecting his cold fingers to your cheek.

He notes you for a moment, saying nothing, doing nothing. It’s his gaze that makes you feel naked, removed of any pretence crafted carefully. But he shifts his attention and his fingers connected with your forehead, eyes overtaken by a white glow.

Your vision drowns in the white.

a/n anhedonia's been hitting me and this is the only thing i could muster to make so here we gooo. not my favourite, feel like i could've done it better but oh well, least i made something wahooyaaa writing is coping after all 🫵🏼😃🗣️

requests + taglist open!

[this is a reupload, i have no idea why the original post disappeared :''')]

#arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane viktor #arcane fanfic #arcane viktor fanfic #vitya arcane #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x reader #viktor x you #gn!reader #nausicaas fics

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battymommastuff · 10 months ago

Text

The Other Side

Batmom x Batman, Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: While digging through the attic, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd uncover a secret about their adoptive mother. A secret that reveals the true, and dark story of the most loved couple in Gotham City

!!TW!! - MENTIONS OF SA AND OTHER DARK THEMES

Part 1 Part 2 Masterlist

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

You didn't get a chance to address the deep voice before a cloth was covering your face and the world went dark. A throbbing pain came next when you awoke. You were laying on a very luxurious bed. Looking down, you saw that you were still in your same clothing. Just a silk robe that covered your underwear. Your heart was racing as you looked around the room. Whoever lived here, lived in style. Everything looked as if it would cost you bodily organs to own.

Before the shock could wear off, the two massive double doors opened, and a man walked into the room. A mask covering his face, and his eyes watched you carefully. Your body visibly shrunk as you stared at the intimidating man across the room from you, "Ms. (L/N), I do want to apologize for the rather harsh retrieval of you. We have to take precautionary measures these days." The man said while stepping closer to you. He stepped into the moonlight, and you finally saw every detail of his mask. A golden bird mask...no owl mask. What the hell is going on?

"W-What do you want with me?" You asked, moving off of the bed once he got too close to you. The bed now served as a barrier between you and your kidnapper, but it didn't provide any comfort for you. All you could think of was being raped, and sold on the black market. Gotham City wasn't the safest city, but you never thought this would happen to you. How did this happen? There was always security watching over the bunk area every night to make sure this never happened. How did these men get in to kidnap you? Whatever the reason, you didn't feel safe with the circus anymore.

"To give you a chance...a chance to be apart of something great. My organization works from the shadows to ensure the safety of our beautiful city..." Beautiful isn't a word you would use, but sure, "You possess a talent that could be beneficial to our cause." The man picked up a remote and turned the tv on. What played was several of your acts and some of your rehearsals. All taken from vantage points, and places that you wouldn't have noticed someone watching you, "We've come to realize that our organization is seen as a myth, a boogeyman. Many criminals fear us, and with your talents...we could harness that fear." He stepped around the bed and started making his way towards you once again. The fear you felt kept your legs from moving, so this time he got uncomfortably close to you, "Join us (Y/N). Join us and help us purge Gotham of everything that taints it."

The Court of Owls. One of Gotham's scariest myths. You've heard whispers of them while spending days in the city. Some of your fellow performers even mentioned them once or twice. Everything you've ever heard was never good. This cult believes they are doing the right thing, but are harming so many in the process. You couldn't join them...you couldn't live your life in the shadows. What could ever be so wonderful about someone so full of darkness? It seemed that the man saw what you were thinking, and he backed away, "Such a shame...you would have been such a valuable asset. I'm afraid if you won't join us, then we have to do away with you. You will pose a risk to all of us." The man turned his back towards you, and you knew now was your chance. Grabbing the closest thing to you; a lamp, you hit him over the bed. The man dropped to the ground, and you ran to the window. Luckily you weren't too high from the ground, so you pushed the window open and climbed out.

You could hear voices and yelling as you dashed into the dark, raining city. You hadn't a clue where you were going, but anywhere would be better than this. The circus would be the first place they would look, so you had to find somewhere new. You could hear footsteps behind you as well as some above you. They were after you, and they were fast. Thankfully, your breathing training worked wonders. Still you were no match for these skilled men. They managed to corner you into a dead end alley. This is it. The place where your dead body would be found. It all ended here. The vile smell of puke, piss, and garbage filled your nose as you looked around at the court members closing in on you, "P-Please...I promise I won't tell anyone. Just let me go." You pleaded, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. From behind you were pushed to your knees, and you could see your reflection in the blade meant for your death.

The member lifted the blade up, but before it could meet your skin...a rope wrapped around their wrist. With a scream, they were pulled into the darkness. It felt as if all sound in the city stopped...everything went quiet. You felt fear before, but this was a new level of fear. A fear that you never would forget. A black shadow flew by, grabbing another member. This caused the rest of them to ignore you, and turned their attention to their surroundings. Now would have been the perfect time to run, but your legs were screaming. The adrenaline was wearing off, and it felt like you couldn't move an inch. A bolt of lightning flashed through the sky, right as a shadow covered the alley...a shadow of a bat. The mysterious savior dropped down on one of the members, and a fight broke out. You could only watch in awe as your savior took down every single member without much struggle. Once it was over, the figure turned towards you. Again the lighting allowed you a glimpse of him. The bat symbol of his chest matched the one in the night sky.

"Batman..." You whispered, with relief before your eyes rolled back and you slumped to the ground. Batman walked towards you, and gently picked you up from the ground. He didn't see any visible injuries besides little scrapes on your knees from being pushed to the ground. Even now you were just as beautiful as you were while performing. He held you close and summoned the Batmobile. No hospital in Gotham would be safe enough for you. He needed to take you to the batcave. There you would be safe, and he could question you.

"Alfred, get the med-bay ready. We have a guest." Batman said into his comms, after sitting you in the passenger seat. Your head leaned on the window, but your lips were starting to turn blue. Judging from your attire, you must have been getting ready for bed. With one final look over to make sure you were secure, he raced off into the streets of Gotham to the batcave.

TAGLIST

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @tayswhp @rainycloud858 @luna-zendra-star @starlets-things @simpfourmarvel @kawaistrawberry21 @js-favnanadoongi @kodzukenmaaa @xxrougefangxx @pixviee @discocactus-world @b4tm4nn @minimoxha @crutoyu @nightw-izhu @legendarylearner18 @mangegeek17 @pixiedust0604 @that-one-fangirl69

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