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lidiasloca · 7 days ago

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hello!! I was wondering if you could write an azriel x reader fic where they've been best friends for centuries and one day the bond snapped for her. And she starts to avoid him because she thinks he doesn't love her so she doesn't show up to things they usually do together and whatnot (or however you want to put it!) but meanwhile Azriel is going crazy because he misses her and has been in love with her for years and then he confronts her and the bond snaps for him as well!! sorry if it's too long hahah but thanks

is it chill that you are in my head?

azriel x reader

friends to lovers

It was curious to think that no matter the strength you applied, no hit you made would ever hurt Azriel.

Yet, the Illyrian seemed intensely determined not to let you get to even touch him.

“Where’s your mind?” he asked as he dodged yet another hit. You took, at least, a bit of pride in his breathless voice.

You also took pride in how much you had made him sweat already, but you didn’t let your thoughts linger there too much—your eyes, neither.

“In trying to hit you.”

“Well, isn’t it frustrating you won’t satisfy your mind?”

“You get cocky—I’ll hit you down there,” you threatened, taking in his amused grin.

“There you can get?” he questioned as he circled you.

You held your fists up, following his eyes as he eyed you like a vulture. “You don’t want to find out.”

“I don’t,” he replied, just as you went to hit him.

He dodged it effortlessly.

And even had time, as you retracted your arm, to take it and pull you toward him, unbalancing you until you fell onto his torso.

As he prevented you from the fall he himself had caused, you found yourself close enough to his body to make out the intention written on his face.

A threat for a threat, you realized as you stared at those deep hazel eyes.

His face lacked any sympathy as he spoke, his voice death and sensuality all in the same honeyed spoon. “Don’t make threats you cannot back up, love.”

Your breath caught at the darkness that surrounded you. The darkness that you faced when you had his lips so close to yours, his eyes so focused on you.

Azriel was that: darkness. Both the dark that scared you as a child and the dark that now let you dream of him without guilt in the depths of the night.

“You’re right. No more threats,” you breathed as you drove your knee upward—

His hand was steel against the futile force of your movement. And a mocking grin on his lips was all you could think about due to the roaring in your ears.

Bastard.

The knee you were going to use to teach him a lesson was held in place with his right hand, which now moved down, and down until it found a place on the back of your thigh. He urged you nearer him.

Close enough. Until your surroundings vanished and you could only see his face, his never-faltering smirk when you made it so easy for him to mock you.

This was the Azriel you had only for yourself.

Not polite shyness, or quiet kindness.

But darkness.

All of it—all of him. Darkness.

Everything, but his eyes.

While you liked to have this flirtatious, dangerous Azriel—which you both called friendship—you still found yourself fantasizing about the light in his eyes and how soft they were, how romantic and intimate, and everything that he shouldn’t feel like.

Where all of him was dark, his eyes were golden.

Lightness.

Like a thread that led you through deeper parts of him, of his soul.

Too intimate.

You let out a long exhale. “I’m not in the mood,” you mumbled.

And it broke your heart the way he immediately released you. How gently he let go of you as a flash of… pain painted his eyes.

Then it was gone in a blink. And that smirk found its way to his face again. “I make you exhausted quite fast.”

“Mhmm,” was all you could mutter as you watched him—those eyes.

That thread.

What was that?

He held your stare with a bit of confused amusement. “What do you find so interesting?” he smiled.

You took all your bravery… and a step, and another, until you were back where you started: looking deep into his eyes, close enough to feel his breath on your face.

He didn’t dodge this time. And neither did he smirk as you placed both of your hands on his face to make him meet your eyes.

Those golden eyes.

There was something in them.

That lightness that guided you through the darkness—his darkness.

As a thread.

A gasp broke through you at the realization, at the feeling in your heart—your soul.

You took a step back, your hands sliding away from his face as gently as a wind’s whisper.

He eyed you worriedly, taking a step toward you as you kept walking away.

“What?” he asked, finally that mask off his face.

But you couldn’t bear the sight of his eyes again. The feel of that thread.

M-

“What is it?” he asked, desperation lacing his words.

Ma…

“Y/N?” he pleaded.

Mate.

You winnowed away before he could pronounce another word.

…

You knew hiding was not the solution. You knew you would have to face him eventually—he was one of your closest friends after all, yet…

“I cannot do it. I cannot see him.”

Another of your closest friends was there to make you think logically.

“Y/N,” Nesta said, taking a seat on the couch in your bedroom. “You’ve been hiding here for almost a month. You can’t hide from him forever. He’s your—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, despite how stupidly childish it made you sound.

Nesta exhaled as if indeed, you were acting stupidly childish. “Mate? You cannot hear the word mate?”

There was a tinge of mocking in her tone that made you meet her eyes with fury in yours. “It’s very easy to look at me and judge me when you don’t know what this feels like.”

“What? Having an Illyrian as my mate?” she asked with a soft smile on her lips, and you knew your friend well—you knew it wasn’t mocking anymore.

Nesta, as if to prove you right, walked toward where you sat on the bed and made herself a place next to you, moving her hand to caress yours like a mother would.

She didn’t say anything, though, so you replied, emotion running your words slowly—unsteady. “You don’t know what it’s like to know your mate… doesn’t want you back.”

“You don’t know if Azriel doesn’t want you back.”

“Yes, I do. I know Azriel.”

“Well, I know him as well. And I know—actually—all the house, and probably all Velaris, knows he likes you. A lot.”

You shook your head.

Nesta went on, “He flirts with you all the time, Y/N. In all honesty, it was about damned time that bond snapped for one of you. It was clear you had something.”

“Exactly: something,” you rectified. “That something, Nesta, is flirting. Flir-ting. Nothing more, nothing else. That’s all he wants from me. Taunting and touching and provoking and friendship. But not love. And most certainly, not a damn mating bond.” You took a staggered breath, not able to meet her eyes anymore. “Not with me.”

Nesta watched you silently, then said, “You don’t know that.”

You shook your head, wiping a tear that slid down your face. “You don’t know either.”

“That’s true,” she replied, handing you a tissue with her free hand as the other drew circles on your wrist. “We won’t know until you ask him.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “So, I just ask him if he wants the mating bond with me? That simple? Thanks, Nesta.”

Her eyes narrowed at you in warning to watch your tone, yet her faint smirk provoked one to bloom on your face. “Yes. It’s that simple.”

“And when he says no?”

She shook her head. “What if he says no,” she corrected you.

Your smile grew just a bit. “What if he says no?” you echoed.

“Then I’ll beat his ass on the training ground. And have Cassian beat him afterward.”

You chuckled lightly, imagining the scene.

But the question appeared in your mind, and you took the courage to ask her.

“And what if he says yes?”

By the warm look in her eyes, you knew she had understood. “It’s a long way to go. But one finally learns to let herself be loved, Y/N.”

And by one, you knew who she meant.

You were grateful that afterward, Nesta and you had a more lighthearted conversation. And when it turned dark outside, Nesta gave you a hug and left your bedroom.

You knew you had to also leave your bedroom at some point and face what awaited outside that comfort.

But love seemed to find you just where you thought you were safe.

“Can I come in?”

It certainly wasn’t Nesta’s voice.

Your hand trembled as you went for the knob and opened the door.

“Can I come in?” Azriel repeated, and you realized long seconds had passed of just you staring, unmoving.

“Yes,” you whispered, letting him through and closing the door.

You had prayed he stayed like that—backward to you, staring outside your window. Anything but have his eyes meet yours.

But he turned to you.

He was even more beautiful than ever, even if you couldn’t help but notice the dark circles around his eyes, his pale lips, or his eyes… almost lifeless.

Like the light had deserted him.

Like the bond had abandoned him… because he didn’t want it.

“It’s been weeks,” he eventually said, and his voice carried enough emotion you had to lean on the door, afraid to crumble to the ground. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“I’ve been busy.”

He took a step closer to you, making you meet his eyes again. “With what?” he demanded.

You weren’t fast enough to make up a lie before he said, “You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t quite a question. “You are mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he muttered, taking another step.

“I’m not, Azriel.”

He stopped his following step at the sound of his name. He looked like he had been slapped, and his face morphed into something unreadable.

“I’m sorry," he murmured.

“What?” you asked, walking towards him when he looked down.

You had to see his face, you had to understand him.

“Whatever I have done. I’m sorry. Forgive me and… be my friend again.”

You stopped in your tracks, not having quite reached him. Friends.

His words both broke and healed your heart. The desperation in them, the vulnerability.

You stared at the selfless male who cherished your friendship in front of you. Maybe you could take that and give up dreaming. Maybe you could convince yourself that friendship was better than nothing, even if it killed you.

“I miss you,” he said, and you decided that was the final blow.

A sob broke through you, raw and desperate, and his expression shifted instantly. He closed the distanced and his hands found your face, those scarred palms trembling as they cupped your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Don’t cry, please. I’m sorry.”

Friends.

Mates.

“What are you even sorry for?” you mumbled, shaking your head faintly.

“The last time I saw you - when you got… mad at me, we were doing what we always do. Well, what I always do. That stupid flirting, that… you know. And I know that bothered you. And I’m sorry. I never knew it made you uncomfortable before and… I’m sorry,” he said again.

You quietly stared at him, at the sadness and guilt in his eyes. “It’s not that it bothers me...” you said because it never had, but maybe now—maybe now it hurt your feelings - but that was because of you. It was not his fault.

Yet you couldn’t speak your thoughts before he went on. “It does. I saw it in your eyes… like you were disgusted.” His voice cracked. “And it broke my heart, because… I don’t want it either.”

There it was.

The truth you’d been bracing yourself for.

Friends.

That’s all he wanted you to be—a friend.

He took a deep breath, his hands falling away from your face as he stepped back, as if retreating from his own vulnerability. “It’s all a lie, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched.

“I thought that’s what you wanted—the only thing you wanted from me—and I tried to convince myself that I could settle with that. That it would be enough. But…” His gaze locked on yours, piercing and raw. “I can’t.”

“What?” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The world stopped turning.

“I love you,” he repeated. “And I don’t want to keep pretending I’m okay with only being your friend. I don’t want to keep pretending. I just… I just want you to know that I’ve loved you for so long, I can’t remember what life was before you.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

Mate.

“You love me?” you whispered.

He nodded as a tear ran down his face.

Another sob tore from you and his hands were on your face again in an instant, pulling you close. “I love you, too,” you murmured, the words spilling out.

And at last, the color returned to his eyes again, hazel-golden shining in the dark room.

And that was it; the light that you needed, the strength that guided you—that encouraged you to tell him.

“I am… I am your mate.”

A beat later you realized you weren’t the one who had spoken.

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

a/n: thanks for requesting, i hope the fic is of your liking, though i took some liberties in the writing. thanks for your request, love!!

#azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #acotar fic #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #az imagine #azriel imagine #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster

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lemon-russ · 4 months ago

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-proudly holds up half baked, self-indulgent vulture marines like simba-

You gotta make your own chapter, it's so fun, even if no one but you and like 2 people care about them! You got lil guys! You can build their lil world! If you have time and money you can make a working tabletop army for them! Then force other people to see them when you fight them!

Am I delulu for making my own 40k faction? Like they're their own xeno race, have their own cultures, have their own ethic groups, have their own religion and their own overcomplicated lore. I genuinely feel so embarrassed for creating a literal faction in my own head 😭 idk

my dude GW created blank spots in the lore FOR homebrew factions/chapters. The 2 missing primarchs? So people can make homebrew space marines either chaos or loyal. The Astartes short is a made up IF successor chapter.

There's plenty of other examples I'm sure those are just the two I remember. But GW has purposely keep things vague because half the market for buying their minis is people who want to make their own OCs and factions. So don't feel embarrassed lol, you're doing exactly what you should be

#vultures homebrew chapter #it heals the soul #mine are ugly balding men :DD #they love bones and dirt!#and no one can be mean about them because theyre my lil babygirl nightmares ✨️#beloved mutuals

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buldakcorn · 3 months ago

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Money Talks

LOONA/ARTMS Heejin x Male Characters

Genre : (TW) Non-con, Humiliation, Prostitution, Ass-slapping, Fingering, Spitroasting, Forced Creampie

4041 words

Heejin's heart raced as she stepped out of the car, the sound of her heels echoing through the dimly lit alley. Her manager had assured her this was necessary, that it would secure their group's future. She took a deep breath and climbed the narrow staircase to the secret location, the cold metal railing feeling like a prison bars leading to an unknown fate. The door at the top of the stairs opened to reveal a stark contrast: a luxurious hallway adorned with gold and velvet. She followed the muffled sounds of hushed voices and clinking glasses until she reached a heavy wooden door marked "Suite 103." With a trembling hand, she pushed it open, revealing an opulent bedroom where two men in sharp suits awaited her, their eyes gleaming with a hunger she couldn't ignore.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Heejin said with a forced smile, her voice a tinkling bell of sweetness she reserved for her public persona. She stepped into the suite, the weight of the situation pressing down on her like an invisible hand. "I'm Heejin from ARTMS. I've been told you're interested in helping support our group?" The two men looked her over, one stroking his chin as if sizing up a piece of art at an auction, the other's gaze lingering on her legs. She tried to ignore the discomfort, focusing instead on the hope that this sacrifice would be worth it. They offered her a seat on a plush velvet sofa, and she perched on the edge, her posture a careful balance between poise and vulnerability. The room was thick with unspoken expectations, the air heavy with the scent of expensive cologne and the faint hint of something darker, something she didn't want to acknowledge. As they began discussing terms, Heejin's mind raced with thoughts of her bandmates, the music they'd make, the fans they'd touch with their performances. This was for them, she told herself, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. For their dreams. And so, she sat, and she listened, and she pretended that the price of success didn't feel like it was tearing her soul apart.

The men's gazes grew more predatory as they instructed Heejin to stand. They began to circle her like vultures, their eyes devouring every inch of her body. The one with the greedy smile reached out and groped her firmly on the ass, his fingertips digging into her flesh as he murmured his approval. She flinched, fighting the urge to slap his hand away. Instead, she forced a smile and nodded, silently enduring his vulgar praise. The other investor stepped closer, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered into her ear, his words a sly mix of compliment and threat. "You're just what we've been looking for," he said, his hand brushing the side of her breast. "A true investment." Heejin felt a shiver run down her spine, but she remained still, her eyes fixed on a spot over their heads, focusing on the chandelier that twinkled mockingly above. The conversation grew more heated, the terms of their deal more explicit, as the men discussed her as if she were nothing more than a commodity to be bought and sold. Yet she knew that the power lay in her hands, twisted as the situation may be. She would do what she had to, for her group, for their music, for their dreams. But as the reality of her predicament sank in, she couldn't help but wonder if the cost of fame was a price she was willing to pay forever.

The two investors leaned back in their chairs, their smiles widening as Heejin began to slowly remove her dress, her movements mechanical and devoid of any seductive flair. The fabric fell to the floor in a pool of black, revealing her trembling body. She tried to keep her composure, her hands reflexively moving to cover her breasts and the vulnerable expanse of her clean-shaved pussy. The men's eyes grew darker, their pupils dilating as they took in the sight of her bare flesh. Despite her efforts to hide, she felt their gazes like hot brands searing into her skin, stripping away any last vestige of dignity she had managed to cling to. She stood there, a sculpture of vulnerability in the center of the plush suite, the chill of the room's air making her nipples tighten painfully. The silence was deafening, filled only with the sound of their ravenous stares and her own ragged breaths. Her heart hammered against her ribcage like a caged bird desperately seeking escape, but she knew there was no way out of this gilded cage except to play along with their twisted game.

Heejin's arms, toned from countless hours at the gym, were bared to the men's greedy eyes, the muscles flexing slightly as she maintained her poise. Her abs, a testament to her dedication and discipline, rippled with each shaky inhale and exhale. The investors couldn't help but trace the contours of her body with their eyes, appreciating the fruit of her labor. The man with the greedy smile was the first to act, his pudgy hand reaching out to grasp her bicep, giving it a squeeze as if testing the firmness of a melon. "Impressive," he leered, his voice thick with lust. His partner's gaze lingered on her muscular thighs, the kind of strength that could only come from years of dance training and relentless exercise. He couldn't resist running his fingers along the defined muscles, feeling the power beneath the smooth, warm skin. Heejin's jaw clenched, but she didn't pull away, enduring their touch with the stoicism of a statue. The men's eyes gleamed with excitement as they took turns exploring her body, their hands growing bolder with each passing second. They caressed her abs, her thighs, and the firm globes of her ass, their touches feeling like a violation of the very essence of who she was. Yet, she remained still, her mind detached from the scene playing out before her, focusing instead on the future her group could have.

The men's hands grew bolder, each taking one of Heejin's arms and pulling them away from her chest, exposing her small but perky breasts to their leering gazes. The man with the greedy smile was the first to pounce, his fat fingers digging into the soft flesh as he squeezed her roughly, his eyes never leaving hers as he bent down to capture a nipple in his mouth. He sucked hard, flicking his tongue over the sensitive peak, eliciting a gasp from the girl. The other investor followed suit, his teeth grazing the other nipple before taking it between his lips to give it a similar treatment. Heejin's cheeks flushed, her eyes squeezed shut, as she felt the men's hot breath against her skin, their greedy mouths worshipping her body in a way that made her feel both used and powerful. Their rough hands continued to knead and maul her breasts, sending waves of unwanted arousal through her. Despite her discomfort, her nipples hardened under their attention, betraying the mix of fear and revulsion she felt deep within. She bit her lower lip, silently begging for the ordeal to end, even as she knew she had to give them what they wanted.

Heejin's body stiffened as one of the men's hands trailed down her stomach and slipped between her legs, his thick fingers probing her sensitive folds. Despite herself, she couldn't suppress the involuntary gasp that escaped her as he began to rub her clit with a cruel expertise, his eyes locked on hers to savor her reaction. The other investor chuckled darkly, reaching over to cup her face and turn it towards him. "Look at you," he sneered, his voice a mix of disgust and excitement. "Already acting like the little whore we know you are." His companion joined in the taunts, their words a toxic blend of praise and degradation that filled her ears like a cacophony of hate. "We're going to pay you so much money," the second man said, his eyes shining with a greed that made her skin crawl. "Just like the slut you are." Heejin's eyes searched the room desperately, trying to find something, anything, to anchor herself to the reality that she wasn't this object of their twisted desires. But the opulent suite with its velvet and gold offered no escape, only a reflection of the cold, hard truth that this was the path she had chosen to walk. With a resigned sigh, she closed her eyes and focused on the sound of her own ragged breathing, the only thing she had left that was truly hers.

"Kneel down and pull down our pants," Swallowing hard, Heejin obeyed the order, her knees hitting the plush carpet with a muffled thud. She took a moment to compose herself before reaching for the waistbands of the men's pants. Her hands trembled as she unhooked the buttons and zipped down their flys, revealing the hardened lengths of their erections. She could feel their anticipation, the heat of their lust as it washed over her. The men leaned back, watching her with hungry eyes as she took hold of their cocks, feeling the weight of their expectations in the palms of her hands. She tried to think of the money, the opportunities, the future of her group, but all she could focus on was the revulsion that roiled in her stomach. With a deep breath, she forced herself to begin, her lips parting to take the first one in her mouth, the salty taste of his skin almost making her gag. The men's groans of pleasure filled the air, a symphony of degradation that drowned out the silent screams in her mind. She knew she had to play her part, to satisfy them in every way possible, if she wanted the funds to flow. And so, she knelt, a reluctant servant to their desires, her mouth and hands working in tandem to bring them to the brink of ecstasy. Each stroke, each suckle, brought her closer to the end of this nightmare, but also deeper into the dark world she had unwillingly embraced. The room spun around her, a blur of velvet and gold, as she prayed for the strength to endure this transaction, and the hope that her sacrifice would not be in vain.

Their grip on her head grew firm, as the two investors took turns thrusting their cocks into her mouth, their hips bucking with each rough facefuck. Heejin's eyes watered and she gagged on the salty intrusion, her cheeks hollowing with each forced inhalation around the thick lengths. She could feel their hands tightening in her hair, guiding her movements, using her as nothing more than a vessel for their pleasure. The men's grunts and moans grew louder, their breathing ragged as they approached climax. Despite her distress, Heejin's own arousal grew, a confusing and unwelcome sensation that she desperately tried to ignore. Her tongue worked overtime, trying to keep up with their relentless pace, as drool spilled down her chin and her jaw began to ache from the constant abuse. The sound of their zippers filled the air as they released her head, their cocks glistening with her saliva. They smirked down at her, panting and disheveled, the power dynamic in the room starker than ever. Heejin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze never leaving the floor, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear, anger, and a strange, detached curiosity about what would happen next in this twisted masquerade of survival.

Heejin felt the firm grip of the men's hands on her arms, hauling her to her feet. They positioned her at the edge of the sumptuous bed, her knees bending slightly to keep her balance. The coolness of the satin sheets brushed against her heated skin as she was bent over, her face buried in the soft fabric. The sound of belts unbuckling echoed in the room, a sinister symphony that made her stomach twist in knots. The first slap of leather against her ass took her by surprise, a sharp sting that made her yelp. The second investor stepped up, his belt in hand, and delivered his own blow, the force sending a shockwave through her body. They alternated, one slapping her firmly on the left cheek, the other on the right, creating a rhythm of pain that she tried to anticipate. Yet, with each stinging impact, she felt their hands come to soothe, rubbing her reddening flesh with surprising gentleness, the contrast making her skin tingle with a confusing mix of agony and relief. The men took their time, enjoying the sight of her writhing body, their smirks deepening with every muffled cry she emitted into the bed. She bit the pillow, muffling her cries as the belts fell in a steady rhythm, painting her ass a deep shade of red that mirrored the fury in her heart. Yet she remained in place, her eyes squeezed shut, enduring the assault for the sake of her group's future.

With a rough tug, the men spun her around on the bed, her legs splayed wide in an undignified display. The suddenness of their actions made Heejin's breath hitch, her eyes flying open in shock. They leaned over her, their faces twisted with lust as they licked their fingers with an obscene enthusiasm. Before she could react, they plunged their wet digits into her pussy, invading her most intimate space without warning. Heejin's eyes rolled back into her head, a mix of surprise and unwanted pleasure coursing through her veins. The sensation was foreign, almost painful, but she felt the beginnings of a wetness that she had not expected, not wanted. Her body was responding to their touch despite her mind's fierce rejection, the slickness coating their fingers as they pumped in and out of her. She could feel her muscles clenching around them, betraying the turmoil within her. The men's chuckles were a symphony of triumph as they watched her body react, their eyes gleaming with victory. They worked her in unison, their fingers curling and stroking with a practiced skill that had her back arching off the bed. Heejin bit her lip hard, tasting the metallic tang of blood as she struggled not to give in to the rising tide of pleasure. This wasn't supposed to happen, she wasn't supposed to enjoy this, but her body was a traitor to her resolve. The room swam around her, the opulent suite a prison of velvet and gold that she had willingly entered for the sake of her dreams. And now, as the men's fingers worked their magic, she wondered if the price of success was one she could ever truly pay in full.

"Please, slow down!" Heejin gasped out, her voice filled by urgency. Her body was a taut bowstring, ready to snap under the tension of their relentless ministrations. Despite her mental turmoil, the sensations building within her were undeniable, a crescendo of pleasure that she hadn't anticipated. The investors took her words as encouragement, their fingers moving with renewed vigor as they brought her closer to the edge. She could feel the heat pooling in her core, the coil of desire tightening with each intrusive stroke. Her hips began to buck, her body moving of its own accord, seeking the release that hovered just out of reach. "I'm going to cum!" she choked out, the confession torn from her in a desperate whisper. The men's eyes lit up like predatory animals that had spotted their prey, and they quickened their pace, eager to claim their prize. Heejin's eyes squeezed shut even tighter as she fought the wave that threatened to overtake her, the sound of their grunts and the slick sounds of her own arousal a cacophony in her ears. With a final, brutal thrust, she shattered, her body convulsing on the bed as an orgasm ripped through her.

"Taste yourself," Heejin felt the slick, wet fingers at her mouth and knew what was expected of her. With a sense of defeat that weighed heavier than the gold that adorned the suite, she parted her lips and took the proffered digits, tasting the blend of her own arousal and the faint tang of her fear. The man's eyes bore into hers as she sucked, his smile a twisted mirror of triumph that made her stomach lurch. She knew this was the final act of submission before the main event, the ultimate proof of her willingness to play their twisted game.

With a sense of inevitability, Heejin felt her body being repositioned with her head at the edge of the bed, her legs spread wide by one of the investors as the other man stands near the foot of the bed, his erection bobbing in anticipation. The coldness of the man's cock pressed against her lips, the taste of her own arousal still lingering in her mouth from their previous act. She took a deep breath, trying to focus on anything but the impending violation. The man at her pussy took hold of his shaft and began to rub the tip against her slick opening, her body taut with fear and a reluctant excitement that she couldn't entirely suppress. His grip was firm, his intent clear as he began to push into her, stretching her open with a slow, deliberate pressure that sent a shiver down her spine. Heejin's eyes watered as she felt herself being filled, the discomfort of his entry stark against the backdrop of her recent orgasm. Meanwhile, the second man leaned in, his cock nudging her cheek as he urged her to take him into her mouth once more. She complied, her eyes never leaving the first man's as she felt herself being claimed, the reality of her situation crashing down upon her like a dark, heavy wave. She swallowed around his girth, her throat tightening with each thrust, as the man at her pussy began to pump in and out with increasing fervor. The room was a blur of gold and velvet, the scents of cologne and sex mingling in the air as the men used her body for their own twisted satisfaction.

As Heejin felt the man's cock hit a particularly sensitive spot, her mouth couldn't help but pull away from the second investor's erection, her moan muffled by the thickness of his shaft. "P-Please, take it s-slow. It's too big," she whimpered, her voice barely audible around the girth in her mouth. Her eyes pleaded with the man at her pussy, her makeup-smeared face a portrait of desperation. He chuckled darkly, the sound a grating contrast to the gentle stroking of her cheek that accompanied his thrusts. "You'll take it," he said, his voice a promise wrapped in a threat. His eyes bore into hers as he pushed deeper, her body stretching to accommodate his size. Heejin's eyes watered again, her throat constricting around the cock filling her mouth as she tried to stifle the sounds of her distress. She could feel her pussy clench around the intrusion, the pressure building with each thrust. Despite her pleas, the men's rhythm didn't falter, their lust driving them forward as they used her body without mercy. She felt so small, so powerless beneath them, their weight pressing down on her as if she were nothing more than a doll to be played with and discarded.

The man at Heejin's mouth grew more demanding, his grip on her neck tightening as he neared his climax. She could feel the pulsing of his cock as he held her in a vice-like grip, his eyes never leaving hers as he fucked her mouth with an intensity that left her gasping for air. The second investor took the cue, his own strokes growing more frantic as he watched the scene unfold before him. Heejin's eyes watered uncontrollably, her throat constricting around the intrusion. The man's cock grew thicker, his grip tightening even further, his hips pumping faster. Heejin's hands slapped against his thighs in a desperate attempt to get him to stop, her muffled cries for air muffled by his girth. But the man was lost in his own pleasure, oblivious to her plight.

"Fuck, take all of my cum, bitch!" his hand tightened, his movements grew erratic, and with a final, brutal thrust, he came, his hot seed filling her mouth and spilling down her chin. She gagged, her eyes watering uncontrollably, as she struggled to swallow his release, the taste of him coating her tongue.

Heejin wasn't given the time to recover as the second investor wrecks her tight pussy with a pace that quickens each second. "Ahhhhh, please, it's t-too much!" the man's grip on Heejin's hips grew even more punishing as he ignored her pleas, his thrusts growing more erratic as he approached his own climax. "You're going to take it all, slut," he grunted, his eyes narrowed with determination. "I'm going to fill your tight little cunt with my cum." Heejin's eyes widened in panic, her voice strained as she begged, "P-please, not inside me! Pull out, please, I don't want to get pregnant!" The investor's only response was a cruel chuckle as he dug his nails into her skin, holding her in place as his hips pistoned between her legs. Heejin's body tensed, her heart racing as she felt his cock swell within her. She knew she had no power here, no control over her own body as it was used for their depraved amusement. But as his movements grew more frantic, she clung to the hope that her voice, her humanity, could somehow break through the fog of their lust. "Pull out, pull out, pull out!" she begged again, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Please, don't cum inside me." The man's only response was a grunt of pleasure, his pace never wavering as he neared the edge of his own release. Her body was a battleground, torn between the need to satisfy these monsters and the primal urge to protect herself. But as the pressure built within her, she knew there was no escape from the fate they had chosen for her, the price she had agreed to pay for the elusive promise of stardom. With a final, savage thrust, the investor's cock erupted, flooding her with his hot, sticky cum. Heejin's eyes squeezed shut as she felt the warmth fill her, the reality of her situation crashing down upon her like a ton of bricks.

Heejin lay there, her body limp and used, cum trickling out of her ravaged pussy and onto the bed beneath her. Her eyes were unfocused, glazed over with a mix of shock and pain. The men, now sated, stepped back, their gazes lingering on her form as if they were contemplating their next move. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath she took, her heart racing as the gravity of what she had just endured settled heavily upon her. The suite's opulence now felt like a mockery of the depraved act that had just occurred within its walls. The men wiped themselves off with a carelessness that was almost as painful as their touch, their business-like demeanor a stark contrast to the raw, exposed state of her soul. They exchanged knowing smirks, their suits immaculate despite the scene they had just indulged in. Heejin felt a tear slip down her cheek, the salty taste of her own pain mixing with the bitter residue of their pleasure in her mouth. This wasn't how she had envisioned her path to stardom, but she had made her choice and now she had to live with the consequences, no matter how much it felt like her soul was being torn apart. Her mind drifted to her bandmates, the music they shared, and the hope that this dark transaction would be the key to unlocking their collective dreams. As she gathered her strength to rise, she vowed that she would never let them know the price she had paid, burying the memory deep within the recesses of her being, a secret she'd carry like a heavy burden for the rest of her days.

---

Happy Heejin Day!

#artms smut #loona smut #heejin smut #kpop smut

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comfortless · 1 year ago

Note

hades! konig and persephone! reader

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. abduction, voyeurism, dubcon, not very explicit smut.

notes: this has been on my mind for an eternity actually thank you sweet anon for finally encouraging me to write it out! if you celebrate, merry christmas! and if not consider this just a lil gift for absolutely no reason apart from for being my first Kö request. 💕

A hollow grows within him the moment his gaze meets hers. A chance crossing whilst collecting a rare offering of fruit laid out just for him. Most mortals wouldn’t beckon his attention, and the gods often left him just as well. He knows better than to take insult and become reckless, though… recklessness comes as easily as breathing when his stare settles on her across the glade. She twirls in silent dance, pirouetting carefully as if to avoid crushing the nature that springs up, brushing against her soles. Her voice picks up in a song when she notes the figure watching her from a distance, her cadence no less beautiful than any choir despite the flighty waver in her tone.

When the nymphs rise up from the stream to listen, he stands transfixed for a moment as they pull her in with them for a more elaborate dance, voices all melding until they break into a chorus of giggles and stories.

It should have been left at that.

She walks an earth made for her; flowers blossoming beneath her bare soles, each root extending for just a chance to brush against tender flesh, a breeze that flits gently against her hair. The daughter of Demeter, something unattainable, too precious to be dirtied by the howling abyss below her feet.

He is tethered to darkness and unknowns, an enigma with dried blood beneath his fingernails; the only songs he hears are screams. He’s since stolen flowers from the meadows she dances in. Beautiful peonies and soft green things that smell sweet. Flowers don’t bloom in the dark, they wither and dry.

Days are spent in melancholic longing, nights his roaring grief melds with the wailing of lost souls. Ugly and tainted noises that he dreams will reach her ears, that she will come to him with her lashes wet with tears, wrap him in her arms and quiet all but her own voice as she tells him that he’s more beautiful than her rivers and her blooms.

Yet, she never does.

König takes it upon himself to walk the land of mortals, teemed with life and pleasures more often now. He pulls himself from below with unnatural fire behind his eyes, a horrible, yearning abyss in place of the feathery, clumsy love that he’s watched so many others allow for themselves.

She notices him while he watches her bathe amongst the nymphs, stood upright and imposing beneath the shade of a tree. Each time, while the nymphs shy away with giggles and hands curled over their breasts, she merely keeps her eyes on him; lips-parted and pulse raging. He knows, would swear by it, that his obsession is not entirely one-sided.

Once, she chooses to wave at him, a demure flick of her wrist while his stare remains fixed upon her. The droplets of water from the curve of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples there— down, further into the water that envelopes her and sends his mind to flicker, a roaring flame building from his chest to his groin.

All of his frustrations pale and cower at the fantasy that he just may be able to grant himself the liberty of sinking into something writhing and warm from just one, simple gesture.

He knows he’s fucked, because his first thought after the lullaby of attraction subsides is to poke her just a little; prod her and see what makes her cry the hardest, blanket her in the shadow of himself and pick her apart like a vulture to a cadaver, do things to her that no man ever has or should. It’s not right, and he has to force himself to turn away, the fabric of the veil obscuring his face as he slinks back into the dark where he belongs. Away from the untouchable maiden who seems to haunt him endlessly with her teasing.

The giggles and splashes of the nymphs whisper through the air like the chirping of birds. Though, one voice stands out above the rest of the noise, causes him to halt in his tracks.

“Why does he never speak to us?”

Her voice, so sweet, asking about him when she should be speaking of nothing but the beauty surrounding her, the warmth of the sun and never the cold darkness of the moon.

It’s eating away at him, he realizes, when he can no longer satisfy himself. Nights lain in a haze, staring up at blackened walls with his length in hand. All it takes is the memory of wet lashes and a soft smile, usually. Her beauty is enough to bring even him to his knees, yet, he finds himself instead on the brink of hysteria the first night he finds a vision of her is not sufficient enough to reach the brilliant white haze of a climax.

The thought of stealing her away from her world of beauty to drag her down into the dark with him fills him with both elation and a terrible guilt. Zeus himself is no different; the thought shouldn’t warrant a seeping coldness in his veins, nor should it have caused him to spill his seed into his hand with only a mere flick of the pad of his thumb over his tip, yet it accomplishes both. A waste, when it should be buried deep inside of his beloved.

It takes only two nights for him to plot, to have Gaia choose to favor him, and on the third day the Narcissus flower blooms, pretty and golden. It echoes false promises, softness and beauty beyond even the daughter of Demeter’s imaginations. She will hate him, she will. Her very soul will sour the moment she lays her eyes on him next, but eventually… she will come to understand, return his love with a whisper of her own. Lightly, at best, but it would still be more than he had ever known.

He watches the roots of the plant from below, a pinprick of warm light shining down. The thumps of footsteps overhead, shaking down loose soil like raindrops, giggles like crackling thunder. She’s roaming about with her nymphs again, gentle with her and all of her beauty. After watching her for so very long, he’s more than certain they will be braiding the flowers and falling asleep after fits of laughter with the taste of fruit on their tongues. Only, she’s condemned herself by being so predictable. She will fall, not into soft grasses with a woman’s arms thrown over her, but directly into his own. She won’t eat the fruit of the earth, but drink his wine and allow him to lose himself in her flesh, bedded down against the pelts of beasts and blackened out by shadows.

The wait isn’t long. Her voice breaks through the quiet of the earth below her feet, seems to light up even the space between the two of them as her footfalls halt only several paces away.

“Look at this one!,” she calls out.

Several steps follow after her as one of the ladies of the river comes to join her. He imagines the smile on his beloved’s face, the way her body curves as she kneels down to his trap and his fingers twitch in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Maybe not that one, sweet,” the nymph warns. “There are prettier ones by the bank.”

König can feel his jaw tighten, eyelids pausing to narrow up at the small light as he tries, forces himself to believe that this was fated. She wouldn’t turn away— she couldn’t.

“No... just look at it. We’ve not seen one so lovely since last spring.”

“What if someone else planted it for themselves?”

“But… I want it.”

She sounds so pitiful, so gentle, and he can feel that swell of heat curling inside of him again. The urge to simply love her feels all-consuming with each word that passes from her mouth.

The two above giggle to themselves at her mischief, before finally, the roots begin to move from a gentle tug above. In a matter of seconds, the entire plant has been uprooted. For a daughter of nature to not long for its beauty would be unrealistic, yet he still exhales his relief. The earth riots beneath the women’s feet, splintering cracks and loud discordance echo through the valley. The nymph’s shrieks join the disarray as her featherlight footfalls lead her far, far away from what belongs to him: the dark, the rot, and now her.

With so little time to react, she falls headfirst into the abyss, clutching the narcissus tightly between her soft breasts. Waiting arms are raised to the glimpse of sun and beauty to catch her as he pulls her tightly against his chest, tucks her head against a broad shoulder and grasps at her waist. Whatever he had imagined her flesh to feel like paled in comparison to her warmth, the softness that gives with each press of a digit that makes her tense beneath his touch.

She’s crying, shaking, terrified as she weakly raises her head and offers him a smile. It’s the kind of smile that screams savior, and he can’t bring himself to correct her. No one has ever looked at him with such tenderness.

Everything quiets the moment she looks up to him like that, after condemning herself to him as though she knows nothing of men and gods. She looks at him like he’s an angel, in turn he bites his tongue so hard he can feel the pinpricks of blood and soreness blossom from the wound. He knows he isn’t good, but the heavens have got their filth, too.

“Thank you.” She speaks in a whisper as the world above falls back into place, blanketing them both in shadow and the scent of soil and brimstone. Politeness seems unnecessary, now, though he places her gently onto her feet.

He’s far too mesmerized to stop himself from dropping to his knees in front of her and trailing a hand from her knee to her thigh, squeezing flesh so warm that the very feeling lingers pleasantly against his palm.

If a god couldn’t pluck him from this emptiness and set him on a right path, perhaps a goddess could, as he has always imagined. It’s only confirmed the instant he realizes she isn’t flinching away from his touch.

“I didn’t save you,” he explains calmly.

He’s struck down titans, claimed rulership over the underworld, and yet nothing has made him feel smaller than the fretful look in her eyes as she looks down to him kneeling before her like little more than a common man. As if to provide comfort, selfishly to himself, his massive hands drift higher to rest on her hips still wet with river water and blades of grass clinging to her just as he has longed to do. For what’s felt like an eternity of waiting, of pining, only to have it end with something as simple as a flower.

“I brought you here.”

She’s still beautiful when she cries; a palm is clasped over her mouth, eyes swimming as she trembles in his grip. Of course, she knows what this is about without ever having to ask, yet she still does as if to plead him to tell her that her thoughts are all wrong— that she’s safe and will return to her lovely friends, to her mother that would assuredly be worried sick and furious.

The rise to his feet feels like a mile long stretch, whilst he keeps her caged between the dirty wall and the vast expanse of chest. He shushes her with a gentle tone, wipes her tears away with the ghosting of fingertips before pushing up the veil covering his face to lie claim to her mouth as though his very life depended upon it. Perhaps it did. Though he did not fear Demeter, nor his brothers should she call upon them, he feared not having this ethereal, gentle thing at his side. He feared the creep of loneliness that ravaged his bed each night.

She sighs against his mouth, but does not reciprocate. Everything about her is tense and stressed, a wild mare preparing to kick out for the first time. His tongue lolls out to lap against her soft lips, just twice before he forces himself to part from her.

His beloved brushes away stray tears from her cheeks with the meat of her palms, shivering just a little as she tries to force herself to straighten up, appear braver despite the way she teeters on the edge of falling apart so easily before him. The heavy gaze of obsession fixed upon his face turns further predacious when she apologizes for not being able to help herself in response.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” she explains, holding out the ruined flower to him in one, shaking hand. She protests in her own way, eternally kind, but it all falls on deaf ears as he brushes the petals from her palm and takes her up into his arms again. With an arm beneath the backs of her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her middle, he leads her deeper into the underworld.

A mere taste wouldn’t do.

Her protests are nothing more than soft sniffles when he does take her to his bed of pelts, her arm even thrown over his shoulder as her body presses tightly to him. He thinks for only a moment that he could take his time, stop this all before she truly does grow to loathe him, but the descent into the bed only fortifies his resolve; his belief that this gentle woman of the earth, who smells of magnolia and clear waters belonged entirely to him. For now and forevermore.

“You are to be my wife.”

That quiets her for a moment, her eyes finally meeting his once more as he hovers over her, a palm to either side of her head. She has a mind to shyly curl her hand against her chest then, centered between her breasts which rise and fall with each flighty breath. It’s not panic, but more— curiosity, a misleading thing that he takes to be acceptance until she graces him with a mere murmur of her voice again.

“I don’t belong here.”

König knows that she doesn’t belong in a place like this, for all her grace to be lost to the cold, the rot; his kingdom is nothing but a wasteland riddled with the dead and subjects who take up the mantle of cruelty in his stead. The thought of actually allowing her to go instills rage and melancholy so quickly, he curls his fingers into the fur below to keep himself from flinching.

“You will.”

A digit reaches to trail across her bottom lip, tentative, but the need to touch overwhelms him past the point of caring for much else. To his amazement, she still does not push him away.

“How could that be?”

He doesn’t respond.

More than bedding her, a matter more pressing pushes to the forefront of his mind. Though he knows the likelihood of anyone being aware of her disappearance is nonexistent, a mere whisper from the beaks of crows by this time, he would do well to ensure that she wasn’t leaving. Just as every other soul resigned to dwell here with him, she too would remain.

“You’re famished,” he whispers the suggestion as he splays a palm out over her bare abdomen, only backing away enough to allow her a small length of space between them.

Her concerned stare shoots from his palm to his veil in an instant before she weakly nods her head and props herself up on her elbows.

“Quite… yes.”

She allows herself to be pulled into his lap without a fuss, doesn’t make mention of the hardened cock beneath her. His mind is swimming with the fantasies that kept him tame on so many nights without her as he presses his nose against her temple. A shallow intake of breath, and her lips part readily for him as he pushes the sweet pomegranate seed into her mouth, savoring the brush of her tongue against his fingertip. She eats without thought, never knowing how she’s tethered herself to his plane.

There’s an offering of sweet wine followed by a gathering of honeysuckle for her to sip the nectar from as well before he’s convinced she’s pliant enough. Despite the desire raging within him for all of this time, he would not be cruel to her. The thought of hurting this sweet, little dream doesn’t excite him. It’s her love that he wants, not her anguish.

He lies her back with sweet whispers, gentle caresses as he listens to her murmurs in response. She speaks of the stories only small creatures would know; the way the winds change and the rivers flood, the prettiest places she’s been. No fruit has ever tasted sweeter to her than the pomegranate, and nothing has ever filled him with such emotion as the moment he penetrates her.

He speaks to her through it, tries to, whilst he’s overcome with a pleasure that assuredly no other has ever had the blessing of. She affixes herself perfectly to him, clinging to him as he takes her with gentle thrusts. Gritted teeth and barely contained grunts are met with dulcet mewls as her hands reach for his. His heart aches, truly, at the knowledge that she isn’t meant for this place; his kingdom is nothing but suffering, and she belongs beneath the sun in meadows of flowers. His last thrust is deep, reminds him of the places he dares not tread often, the domains of his brothers, pillow soft clouds and a heaven far above, lost to him.

It’s her consoling him when he fills her to bursting with his seed— delicate arms curling around his head, cradling him against her breasts as she silenced the tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed. He had damned her, yet her soul had not soured; not all flowers withered in the dark.

The endless night is easier on his beloved after the first. She visits with the other souls and comes to him for comfort when the screams and cries in the darkness become too much to bear. She’s less fragile than he had anticipated when she demands he bring her home, and those demands so often end with little else than König taking her into his arms to lead her elsewhere. The underworld can be beautiful too, when seated upon a throne being hand fed by a man that knows little more than to blanket her in as much softness as he can muster. He tells her of the titanomachy, of the white tree, of anything to keep her entertained. His tongue does not shy from telling her that he loves her, too, often met with a shy glance or a soft giggle. Not outright disdain, and for now it feels enough.

She cries often, in longing for her mother and her friends, though never over this love she had never sought herself. Her loneliness only fuels her need for comfort. Selfishly, he believes that he’s saved the night she willingly wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and falls asleep nestled against his chest.

— — —

With the reliance on mortal offerings and Demeter’s anguish having been brought to light with seasons of failed harvests, it was only a matter of time before she was forced away from him. The months without her feel dreadful and empty, but he doesn’t dare disturb her while she walks the earth at her mother’s side. The agreement was beneficial for all of the gods and goddesses, and he knew better than to tread upon it by rushing to her like little more than a pleading dog. When winter took hold, bathing the lands in its icy touch and withering the plants she cherished and freezing over the rivers her nymphs played in, she would return to him as she must.

Each time is different. His beloved is not simply a thoughtless vessel as many of his subordinates. She is the most incredible thing he’s ever had the joy of meeting.

When she returns in tears, calling to him for his comfort he does not hesitate to kiss them all away and remind her that her summers will return and everything above will be just as it was on the day that he brought her below.

Sometimes, she’s angry, jealous even. She asks him often why he doesn’t come to see her while she’s away. He is her husband, after all. Was there anyone else in which he spent his nights with? Someone fairer than even she? The satisfaction of seating her on his cock, satisfying her as she does him on their shared throne far out rivals even ruling the domain itself. He would do anything to prove to her that she was his only; the sole thing he even thought of whilst her mind was filled with new songs and tales from the nymphs she spent her time away with.

Never has she returned with a gift.

Yet, she stumbles back into his realm clutching a small satchel, dripping with the scent of a juice sweet and familiar. A pleasant smile paints her features as she seats herself next to him on the throne. The bench of marble felt far too vast and dreadful to hold someone so delicate, the sight is something he’s grown accustomed to; emptiness is replaced with familiarity seeing her interact with anything here. It may not be home to her, but something in the way she looks to him— as she always had with tenderness, makes him question if a part of her sees him as home.

“I’ve brought something back for you,” she chimes as she pats her thigh.

Each time was different, but it had never been like this before.

He pulls himself to her side before slumping down to rest his head against her, tracing his fingertips along the length of her leg as his gaze drops almost sheepishly.

“Did you?”

She hums in reply, plucking one of the seeds from the satchel before slipping her hand beneath the veil to feed him. His lips part as he takes in the flavor of the aril, the honeyed taste almost akin to the look in her eyes.

“Just like…” She trails off for a moment as she lowers her head to press a kiss to the cheek of his veiled face. The delicate laugh that follows is unlike any he’s heard from her prior, it’s unique, saved solely for him.

“The six that I fed to you?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls himself away from her to meet her eyes directly. The air around them feels thick, loosely charged with a feeling that he can’t quite place; an intensity that he’s never felt before. Any groaning or wailing off in the abyss is silent now, just quiet words spoken.

Things have always felt warmer since her descent, but he’s learned to not expect anything more than she was willing to give. Still, hope cinches his heart tighter than it ever did prior. Even in battle, slaying his father alongside his brothers, he had never felt his heart race the way it does now.

She nods her head, opening up the satchel just wide enough to reveal the other five arils.

“I don’t think that I understand.”

“You should.”

He mulls over that for a moment before the fog finally clears. Any doubt that he had is remedied by a mere two words. He stares at her dumbly, searching her eyes for any hint that this is some horrible, cruel trick; that the implication is something he’s horribly misunderstood.

She couldn’t possibly come to love him… could she?

“To tie you to me,” she says softly.

The smile remains on her face when she closes the distance to kiss him. Not over the veil, but beneath it this time.

Her descent was one of a selfish longing, and his felt as though he was plunging into a world of flowers.

#König x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #König #konig #cod fanfiction #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic

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ghoulphile · 7 months ago

Text

it's always the quiet ones | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | pre-war cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 700 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; oral (m receiving), throat fucking, choking, dirty talk, bathroom sex ➥ summary | based off this ask; We can see that Cooper tends to go for good girls (like @ghoulfuckersincorporated mentioned!), but what if he ran into a seemingly innocent - or at the very least kind - person… but they dirty talk like a sinner in the sack? ➥ notes | i humbly offer this drabble to @gingersforeverbox 🙈 masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?

At least, that’s what Cooper’s mama always said (and he wouldn’t know how right she was until he found himself shoved in a swanky club bathroom, slacks tucked under his ass as the prettiest — politest — lady choked herself with his cock).

Frankly, how he got here’s a hazy blur of bourbon and cigar smoke.

Whispered conversations and coy looks. The flash of cherry red nails, and a well timed head tilt; a pretty little thing cozied against him as nameless faces passed in and out of view.

Another pointless after party (though far smaller of an event than he used to pull) where vultures circled the room, waiting for their chance to pick at his bones. LA devotee’s ready to snap up the scraps of the once great Cooper Howard.

Dog eat dog; he couldn’t stand the petty games —the mindless indulgences.

So, he’d invited you as a buffer.

An acquaintanceship that’d gone back years, having met on set of one of his earlier productions, you were always cordial and had a kind word to say about anybody. Not a mean bone in that body… or so he’d thought.

Now, he’s not so sure he knows you half as well as he thought he did.

“Fuck!”

Air hisses through his teeth, his hands hovering over the sides of your head, unsure where to grip. Your hair looks awfully pretty (like it took a long time to force into shape), he’d hate to ruin the style. But if you keep trying to suck his soul out through his cock, he might just have to sink his fingers into those delicate curls and yank.

“S-Sweetheart, what are you — oh, ssshit.”

You peer up at him from beneath the spiky fan of your lashes and hum. His hips jump and you choke, your tongue pinned as your teeth scrape along his thick shaft.

Spit drips past your swollen lips, clings to your chin in sticky strings. The lower half of your face is a mess of smeared lipstick and pre-cum.

He pants, gazing down at you with awe. “How’re you so fucking good at this?”

He’s so big, stretching your mouth to the limit. A tender ache sets behind the hinge of your jaw, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Those half-lidded eyes, dark and hungry, make it all worth it. The slack circle of his mouth, the pained furrow of his brows as he wrestles with his self control all the payment you require.

You pop off; trace along the throbbing vein with your tongue as the heavy weight of his cock slips free with a wet suction. Your thighs clench and your toes curl in your heels at the low-throated groan punched from his chest.

“Practice makes perfect, don’t you think, Mr Howard?” you press a sloppy kiss to his leaking slit, lapping up the salty beads of fluid. Your fingers roll his balls, dragging the tips of your nails along the sensitive skin to watch him shiver. “Besides, I’ve seen how you look at me.”

His eyes flick off to the side, blowing wide once he catches your reflections in the mirror. He gulps, his knuckles white beside his hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“Please, spare me.”

You snort, roll your eyes and shoot him a catty grin. Laugh when his cock throbs at the teasing flash of your tongue.

“You’re sweet — as true a gentleman as they come — but you can’t fool me. You’ve wanted me since you met me... and I don't get my best dress dirty for just anyone.”

“...”

“Now, before you try to say otherwise, remember whose on their knees with your cock in their mouth.”

“...No. Y-You’re right but I… I shouldn’t want to.”

You wink, circle the crown of his head with a red nail. More pre-cum dribbles from the slit, sticky drops you kiss away with your tongue.

“It’s okay, Mr Howard,” you say. “I want you too. Now do us both a favor and fuck my throat until I can’t talk. Please, I want it to hurt — want you to make me cry.”

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul smut #cooper howard smut #fallout smut #cooper howard #the ghoul

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hoshifighting · 2 months ago

Text

joshua + succubus

— where joshua mistakenly casts the wrong spell when he seeks to change his sin... or the church future.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, may be triggering because of; church setting/frequenters, blasphemy, spells, putting fire in a church, death of the priest, evoking... oral [f & m rec.], overstimulation, handjob, 69, voyeur?

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

everyone in town grew up hearing about joshua hong like he was a saint. some sort of small-town legend—always knew the way around a bible verse, a songbook, and even the church basement after hours, or so they’ve been told. he had a gift, they said, a pure voice.

but...

not even a choir robe could hide the sharp look in his eyes when he stepped up to the altar, like he had too many secrets crammed into the folds. sunday morning services turned into something else entirely the second he stepped up, like the stained glass started burning in place of the candles, bending light, and casting shadows that shouldn’t exist.

sitting in the pew, you’d see him up there, dressed in his sunday best — button-down, lips pressed together in a way that was almost humble. his head would tilt forward just enough to hide the smirk that played at the corner of his mouth as the old priest—grumbling, worn down, all fire and brimstone—launched into another lecture about the evils of the world. drinking, indulgence, lust—the usual list of sins. but every time that old man leaned into his condemnation, you could see joshua’s jaw clench, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the pew in front of him. it was like he wanted to swallow the whole world in a single bite.

“there’s nothin’ good for a soul in drink,” the priest would say, spitting the words like they burned his tongue. “and lust… that’s a sickness of the mind. devil creeps in, fills a man’s heart with filthy thoughts—turns him against god, the creator.” joshua’s stare never wavered, but you could feel the tension rolling off him, like he was daring the priest to say more, waiting for the words to hit him like stones.

he caught you looking one day, your gaze sliding over to him as he sat a few pews over. his fingers, idly drumming on the wood, froze, and for a second, you swear his eyes turned crimson under the dim light filtering in from the stained glass. he tilted his head, his lips quirking up into a smirk that made your pulse stutter, like it was haunted. your throat went dry. it was almost impossible to look away.

and you weren’t the only one. everyone saw him as the golden boy, the one who could’ve been a priest himself if he’d chosen the right path, but they were blind. they didn’t see the way he held onto that anger, that fire, waiting for a spark to set him off. and one sunday, he snapped.

it was after service, and the priest, tired and cranky, muttered something as joshua passed him on the way out—something cruel, harsh.

maybe about how joshua was nothing but a disappointment.

maybe about how the devil had gotten into him after all.

you saw the moment those words registered, saw joshua stop mid-step, his whole body going rigid. he turned, slowly, his eyes dark, and you swear, it was like he’d finally embraced whatever sin had been simmering beneath the surface all this time.

“you know, father,” he said, with a smile that sent a chill through you, “maybe you should take a look at your own fucking sins first.”

the priest’s face went pale, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say. joshua didn’t wait for an answer; he turned on his heel, leaving the church in stunned silence, a chill lingering in the air long after he’d gone.

it was no surprise to see him that night, later, drinking at the town’s only bar, his tie pulled loose, the first few buttons of his shirt undone.

you’d followed him in the shadows, watching him with all the patience of a vulture perched high on a branch. he had no idea you were there, tucked behind the columns, lingering just long enough to see him slip into the priest’s presbytery, his hands loaded with strange things. you counted—bottles, little glass jars, peppers, a bundle of herbs that smelled sharp even from a distance, and the oldest book you’d ever seen in his hand. the leather was cracked, practically crumbling, pages threatening to slip out like secrets waiting to spill.

he moved silently. you’d seen him look confident before, sure and smug, but tonight he was focused, his eyes darting between the shadows like he was hoping no one would see, yet craving an audience just the same.

inside his room, he crouched on the floor, that book already spread open to an ancient drawing. his hands were steady as he sprinkled salt, placing red candles at the points of a carefully drawn chalk circle. he leaned over the candles, muttering words you could barely hear but knew familiarly, words that were older than him, than the priest, than the church itself, than the floor he was kneeling on.

joshua’s breath hitched when he looked down, afraid, but shining bright enough to catch in the candlelight.

“if you’re listening…” he murmured. “if you’re… there… i’m ready.”

you were right there, watching the way his fingers lingered over the edge of the circle, his pupils blown wide, nervous. you’d waited so long for this, so long to hear that, to feel the pull of his words like an invitation. you stepped out of the shadows, letting yourself fall into the circle he’d made, knowing full well he wasn’t expecting you.

probably a red man with a long pointy tail and red short horns.

“finally,” you breathed, your voice curling around him, echoing against the walls. his head snapped up, and you let him drink you in, every inch of you framed in the candlelight, every detail in that sinful burgundy hue. your wings stretched out, soft and dark, each feather trailing a shadow across the floor. your hips were draped in a dark cloth, barely enough to cover you, hanging low like some kind of ancient offering. his eyes lingered on your bare chest for a long second, lips parting as if he were on the verge of saying something but couldn’t find the words.

he swallowed, throat bobbing as he finally met your eyes—fear. “who… who are you?” he asked, voice trembling just enough to give him away, his fingers gripping the edge of the book like it could save him.

you smirked, letting the tension stretch, savoring the way he looked at you. “you called me, didn’t you?” your voice was somehow mean, soft as silk. “shouldn’t you know?”

he faltered, eyes darting to the floor. “i… i was just—i wasn’t really… i didn’t mean—”

“liar.” you leaned in, stepping closer, feeling the power of the circle around you and knowing it did nothing to stop you from reaching him. “you knew exactly what you were doing. drawing symbols. lighting candles. whispering to the shadows.” you traced the lines of his circle with your finger, watching him shiver as you stepped even closer.

his gaze flickered, still trying to hold onto something, even as his eyes betrayed him, wide and unclear. “i… wanted to change things,” he admitted. “to be something… more. something… not this.”

“oh, i know, joshua,” you cooed, your fingers brushing his cheek, making him flinch just slightly before he leaned into your touch, he felt his cheek burn, but nothing that would make him flinch, he drawn in despite himself. “you don’t want to be caged under choir robes and commandments, do you? you don’t want a life spent in confession for sins you haven’t even enjoyed yet.”

his breath hitched, eyes flickering between your face and the empty space behind you, like he was scared to admit just how right you were. “no… i don’t.”

you smiled, letting your wings fan out, blocking the candles light, making the room feel smaller. “then why don’t you tell me what you do want? after all, you went through all this trouble just to bring me here. be honest, and i might just give it to you.”

he hesitated, but only for a second, the words slipping from his lips as if he couldn’t hold them back. “i want… freedom,” he breathed, eyes dropping to your bare skin. “i want to be more than they say i can be.”

you scoff, the sound sharp, almost mocking, and you lean in closer, fingers gripping his jaw, forcing him to look right into your eyes. “only that?” your voice carrying a note of amused disbelief, as if his words were too small, too insignificant, for the significance of what you knew boiled underneath his skin. you study him with a predator’s patience, your eyes gleaming with something he can’t name but can feel—an energy, ancient and alive, running over him like wildfire.

he tries to look away, but you hold him steady, your gaze locking him in place. “no, joshua. i know what you really want.” your tone is cool, as if the truth were something so obvious it barely needed mentioning, yet you keep pressing, your grip tightening just enough to make his pulse race. “so tell me,” you whisper, voice velvet-soft but rigid. “say it. all of it.”

his eyes dart back to yours, wide and desperate, like he’s drowning in something he barely understands. you peer deeper, pushing past the surface, into the mess of memories buried under layers of carefully guarded guilt and regret. images rush forth, spilling over his mind in a dizzying flash—the protests, the shame, the whispering voices that treated him like an abomination, an exile in his own church, those bruises that lined his skin when they dragged him into that freezing back room, candles burning low as they tried to “drive the devil out.” you see it all, his anger, his humiliation, his bruised skin, each memory stoking a spark of rage that had been smoldering inside him for years.

as the memories pulse within him, a sharp surge of anger claws its way to the surface, and when you finally release him, he’s left panting, breath shaky, but his gaze locked on you. his eyes now, raw, broken, and beautiful.

your eyes narrow, the challenge clear. “tell me,” you say, voice soft as a lover’s but hard as steel, “what do you really want?”

“revenge.” the word leaves his lips like a curse, his voice steady, eyes blazing, as if he’d finally named the thing that had been haunting him all along.

your smile is slow, almost indulgent, and you spread your wings wide, casting shadows across the room, a gust of wind kicks up, but the candles don’t go out; the flames only leap higher, twisting and dancing, casting strange shadows across his face.

you rise, hovering just above him, looking down, every inch of you framed in crimson candlelight. “then i will give you what you seek, joshua,” you murmur, your voice echoing like a promise woven in silk and smoke. “but remember, nothing comes free. once this is done, your soul is bound to me, by your own hand.” your wings flare, feathers dark as midnight, and the gusts around him grow wilder. “take your revenge, claim your freedom… but know, when it’s over, you will belong to me.”

and before he can protest, before he can speak another word, you’re gone, the candles flickering wildly before settling, leaving him alone, the silence as heavy as your words.

[...]

the next day, he moves through it like a ghost, his mind still trapped in the events of the night before. he’s haunted, every detail replaying in his mind over and over, the way your gaze had burned through him, the way his own anger had finally tasted like liberation on his tongue. he drifts through work, the town, barely noticing the world around him, his thoughts thick with questions he doesn’t dare to speak aloud. even as the day fades to night, the feeling only grows stronger, a dark anticipation coiled in his chest.

[...]

and then, as he finally makes his way home, the darkness settling over the quiet neighborhood, a strange glow catches his eye—a fierce, unnatural brightness in the distance, stretching across the night sky. his pulse quickens, an inexplicable dread settling in his stomach.

he turns the corner, his steps slowing as he sees it—flames, consuming the church, roaring high and wide, a blazing inferno lighting up the neighborhood in a hellish glow. smoke billows up in thick, dark clouds, the spire silhouetted against the blaze, cracked and crumbling.

people are shouting, gathering around in shock and horror, but joshua stands frozen, his gaze fixed on the church, heart pounding, as the full weight of it crashes over him. the fire devours the building, the windows shattering, flames licking higher, stretching like fingers into the night. he doesn’t need to ask whose hand is behind it. he knows, deep down, who’s responsible, and that knowledge settles over him like a dark, terrible satisfaction.

the flames roar, a searing nightmare set against the quiet night, and joshua stands alone, watching it burn—a vision of destruction, liberation, and a hellish beauty he’ll carry with him forever.

the whispers ripple through the crowd like a dark prayer, people scrambling in horror, voices trembling. “the priest,” someone gasps, “he was inside— hey saw him doing some ritual.”

and there, almost tangible against the hellish glow, a shadow moves—dark wings, massive and stretching wide, the shadow of something that shouldn’t exist. he inhales sharply, the cigarette flaring as he sucks in a long drag, the smoke curling in his lungs before he exhales it with a steady calm. the scene is chaotic, unreal.

he flicks the cigarette aside, watching the ashes scatter, and turns on his heel, making his way back home with each step feeling heavier, a pull calling him to do the thing he’d barely dared to think of all day.

his room is cold when he gets there, shadows draping every corner. the books are still scattered from last night, red candle wax hardening into crimson pools against the floor. he traces the chalk lines he’d drawn on the floorboards, his fingers ghosting over the symbol, all again.

he lights each candle, the flames flickering to life as though eager to obey, casting an ominous glow around the room. he steps into the center of the circle, letting his breaths steady, closing his eyes as he speaks the incantation from memory, each syllable like a stone sinking into dark waters.

“come to me,” he murmurs. “come back to me.”

the flames stretch higher, bending, flickering wildly as if caught in an unseen wind, and a warm gust of air fills the room, carrying a scent of musk and wine, like a forbidden feast laid bare.

and then she appears—you, draped in shadows, eyes sharp and gleaming, lips curved in that knowing smile. your wings stretch behind you, rich, deep wine-colored feathers unfurling like a promise of something darkly seductive. you step into the light, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off your skin, the thin fabric wrapped around your hips swaying, your chest bare, unapologetically bare.

“couldn’t stay away?” your voice is a purr, you tilt your head, watching him, a smirk tugging at the edge of your lips. “miss me already?”

he swallows, throat tight. “yeah,” he breathes, voice barely a rasp. “guess you could say that. i just…” he stammers, but you don’t let him finish.

“you want me?” you whisper, your voice like silk wrapping around him, pulling him in. “you want to feel what it’s like to be consumed. to give yourself over completely, to let go of all that shame, all that guilt.” your hand finds his jaw, tilting his head up so he has no choice but to meet your gaze, your eyes dark and blazing, pulling him in like a spell. “wnat me to take it all off hm? say it.”

“yes,” he breathes, the words escape, feeling your energy pulling the words from the center of his belly, to the throat to leave his lips. “yes, i want you.”

your smile widens, predatory, victorious. “good boy,” you murmur, pressing closer until he can feel every curve, every inch of you. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

and with that, you close the distance, capturing his lips in a kiss that’s hot, literally, his mind shining red in alert, when your feverish lips touches his. he melts into it, his hands finding your waist, fingers curling into the soft, warm flesh.

you break away, lips a hair’s breadth from his, “you know,” you murmur, “i’ll need you to feed me…” your hand slides lower, teasing the waistband of his pants, fingers brushing skin. “…regularly.”

“feed you?” he breathes, almost dazed.

“oh, yes,” you purr, hand tracing circles against his skin, watching as his breath quickens. “you think you can handle that? keeping me satisfied, keeping me fed?” your wings stretch wide behind you, the room seeming smaller. “because once you start, there’s no going back. im asking you.”

he nods, “yes… yes, anything.”

“good,” you murmur, trailing a finger along his jaw, the faintest hint of claws grazing his skin. “then let’s begin.”

you smirked, eyes flickering over him as you let him sink back onto the sheets, his body folding into your grip, already trembling. you settle between his legs, is delicious—he’s yours, and every inch of him knows it. he’s breathless already, eyes wide, that flush creeping up his neck, his chest, as he watches you, his lips part like he’s going to say something, but no words come out; only the sharp intake of breath when you lick a slow, lazy line along his length, tasting him, testing him—he didn't even noticed when he got naked.

“fuck—” he chokes out, voice breaking a little as you close your mouth around him, pulling him deep, deeper, feeling his thighs tense as he fights to keep his cool.

you start slow, drawing him out inch by inch, taking your time , your tongue tracing along every ridge, every sensitive spot. his hands find the sheets, fingers curling into the fabric, gripping like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

“shit, you’re—hmpf!—” his head falls back, a hand flying to cover his mouth, but it only muffles the noise, that groan that you feel all the way down your spine.

you pull back slightly, your lips leaving his length with a soft pop, looking up at him through dark, hooded eyes, letting him feel every bit of your gaze. “you’re not holding back on me now, are you?” you taunt, dragging a nail along his thigh, feeling the shiver it sends up his body. “you moan like that, and then want to go quiet on me?” you arch a brow, leaning back in to kiss along his length, your mouth hot and wet against him.

“n-no,” he stammers, voice strained, raw, his hips lifting almost instinctively, chasing the heat of your mouth. “just—fuck—‘s just, good, you’re…” he trails off, words lost as he watches you, mesmerized by the way your lips slide over him, taking him deeper, the wet heat of your mouth surrounding him, making his eyes roll back, half-lidded in bliss.

and then you pull him even deeper, not stopping until he’s hitting the back of your throat, and his grip on the sheets tightens, a strangled noise escaping his throat as he’s overcome. you barely pull back, your throat working around him, swallowing, keeping that pressure right where he’s most sensitive. you let the sound of his moans fill the room, rough and needy, giving into every filthy urge he’s been fighting, every ounce of resistance leaving his body in broken gasps.

“goddamn—oh, shit—fuck,” he moans, and his hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, his breathing ragged as he struggles to keep from losing it entirely. “you’re—fuck, you’re perfect—”

you hum around him, sending vibrations up his length that make his hips buck, and it’s like he’s completely losing control, lost in the heat of you, in the way you take him so well, so completely, each moan and broken word only pushing him further over the edge. he’s watching you, lips parted, eyes darkening with every second as you pick up the pace, sucking him down with a hunger that feels almost endless.

“please, don’t stop—please don’t fucking stop,” he gasps, voice strained, so close to unraveling, to giving himself over completely. you feel the way he twitches, his body tightening, every muscle straining as he comes under you, every noise he makes only pushing you to take him deeper, to give him exactly what he wants, and then some.

as he watches you, the cloth around your hips slips as you wiggle your hips behind you, arched enough for him to see it, falling away, and his eyes widen, the sight of you bare, only fueling the heat that’s been burning in him since the second he called you here. the sight of you, perfect and sinful, is the last thing he needs—he can’t hold back any longer, his body surrendering, his moans filling the room as you take everything from him, leaving him a shaking, gasping mess, and every bit of him completely, irrevocably yours.

you straighten up, hands wrapping tight around his cock, and he’s instantly a mess. the second you touch him, he’s damn near choking on air, chest heaving, already so wrecked he can’t do a thing but let his head fall back, mouth open, that desperate look on his face as you work him over. your grip’s relentless, unforgiving, just the way he secretly craves, even if he’d never admit it. his cock's turning red, sensitive as hell, veins pulsing with every slick, rough twist of your hand.

“been watching you, you know,” you murmur. “always been mine, haven’t you? my boy.”

“shit—fuck—oh god,” he whimpers, his voice cracking as he chokes out a moan, hands gripping the sheets like it’s all too much.

you don’t stop, fingers curling tighter, dragging along his length, making sure he feels every word you’re spitting. “they didn’t deserve you,” you hiss, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut. “had to get rid of them, had to burn it all down.”

he’s reacting to your words—his back’s arching, muscles in his neck strained, veins popping, and it’s like every filthy thing you say just hits him right where he’s weakest. it goes straight to his cock, and he’s bucking up into your hand, practically crying from the overstimulation, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he gasps for breath.

“you’re—fuck, i can’t—please,” he’s barely coherent, voice high and desperate, choking out those pleas as he’s pushed to the limit, and you just grin, leaning down to watch his face, relishing every twitch, every gasp, every broken noise he makes.

“aw, poor baby,” you taunt, “thought you could handle this? thought you wanted it rough?”

you smirk, and he’s too far gone to even notice—he’s never let himself get like this, not for anyone else. but the way you’ve got him, held tight in your grip, overstimulated? yeah, he’s losing it, every single sound bouncing back at him in the room, practically echoing in his ears.

“keep it down, baby,” you whisper, running a finger along his cheek, and he nods weakly, but the second you twist your wrist, another choked moan rips out of him, even louder than before. you just shake your head, letting out a low chuckle. “can’t, huh? can’t even stay quiet for me?”

he’s a mess, squirming beneath you, eyes rolling back, face flushed, every inch of him screaming for you. it’s like he’s breaking apart under your touch, and you’ve barely even started. letting your hands leave his cock, you slide up his body, giving him just enough time to catch his breath as you settle above him, letting him take in the view. you straddle his chest, guiding his hands to your hips with a smirk that’s anything but innocent.

“ready for me?” you murmur, watching him nod, his face shifting into something else entirely, his lips parting as you lift your hips just enough to hover over his mouth. “then don’t waste a second.”

you lower yourself down, letting him feel every bit of that heat, that wetness, and he immediately loses himself, his mouth working against you like he’s starved, tongue diving in with a kind of hunger that’s absolutely wild. he’s not holding back in the slightest, he’s good—like he’s been waiting for this, like every touch, every noise he’s making, is just for you.

he’s moaning again, hands clutching at your hips, pulling you down closer, practically burying his face in you—it’s like he can’t get enough. his tongue slides up, swirling around your clit, making your breath hitch, your thighs trembling as you let out a gasp. and the taste of you? it’s got him hooked, that sweetness lingering on his tongue, almost unreal, like nothing he’s ever tasted before.

“you’re…fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbles between sucks, his voice muffled, needy. and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even hesitate—just dives back in, sucking and licking like his life depends on it, hands squeezing your hips to keep you steady as he works his tongue over you, slow and then fast, like he’s learning exactly how to push you higher.

“yeah? you like it?” you taunt, breathless, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, that delicious sound sending a pulse straight to your core. you can feel yourself getting closer, that tension building in your stomach with every pass of his tongue, every desperate pull of his lips.

he’s got his eyes closed now, completely lost, his whole world narrowed down to the taste of you, the heat of you pressed against his mouth. he’s moving almost frantically, mouth working over you like he’s drinking you down, your hips grinding against him as you ride that perfect rhythm. it’s like he’s matching your pace, following every gasp, every moan, his mouth locked onto your clit, sucking just right, and you can’t hold back, the pleasure building, coiling tight in your stomach.

you gasp, hands fisting in the sheets as you let go, your back arching, thighs clenching around his head as he keeps going, milking every last drop of pleasure out of you. you can feel him groaning beneath you, desperate, like the taste of you is driving him insane. and as you come down, catching your breath, you finally look down at him—completely wrecked, lips swollen, face flushed, and those eyes, dark and hungry, locked onto you like he’s still starving, like he’d give anything to keep you there.

“oh, we have a visitor?” you mumble, a smirk creeping onto your lips as you glance back at joshua, who’s gone pale in an instant.

joshua looks behind you, eyes wide as he spots the priest’s soul lurking in the corner of the room, a dark shadow flickering against the walls. the atmosphere shifts, heavy with tension, and you can practically feel joshua’s heart pounding in his chest.

“what the hell, no—get out of here!” joshua stammers, scrambling to cover himself, but you just chuckle.

you laugh lightly, the sound almost musical, and the priest's essence flickers violently, unable to withstand the force of your magic. the priest’s soul wavers, he starts to fade, his form growing dimmer.

with one final flick of your wrist, you send the priest’s soul spiraling into nothingness, the air around you stilling as silence falls. you turn back to joshua.

“i’m gonna be haunted for days, aren’t i?” joshua mutters, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances at the spot where the priest’s soul had been.

you can’t help but laugh. “don’t worry about it. you can be the small spoon.”

he shoots you a side-eye, clearly not convinced.

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