#but the one deity i could not surpass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

incognit0slut · 6 months

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MASTER OF PERSUASION

Part 4 of kinktober | main masterlist

meandom!Spencer/Hotch x fem!reader; Threesome, creampie, dumbification, degradation, brat taming, abuse of power, edging, dubcon

Your involvement in a heinous crime was questioned by the two FBI agents who were eager to do anything to get you to talk.

Words: 6802

a/n: This one is dedicated to my nasty, touch-starved btches who secretly wants to be manhandled by two older men. Enjoy this pure filth🫶

YOU WERE FAR FROM BEING A GOOD PERSON. From the surface, you seemed like a normal, typical woman, just one of the countless faces within the crowd. But when the doors shut behind you, you find yourself involved in endeavors you should never have pursued in the first place.

You knew too much. You were acutely aware of how many crimes happening in your vicinity. The number of deaths resulting from these heinous acts should be enough to terrify you, but it didn't, because unbeknownst to your peers, you were one of the reasons why they happened.

Although you never played the role of the perpetrator, you were the person these criminals came to for information. You were good with technology, you could hack into any secure system in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if you were a deity of the dark web, a mastermind whose mere presence served as a godsend to those carrying out these crimes.

It was easy money; you gave what they wanted, received what they paid you, and most importantly, you made sure to never look back. You always wiped everything out after each job was done, but somehow, after working on so many deals, your luck finally struck out.

Somebody hacked into your system—no, somebody good hacked into your system. This person knew what they were doing. They managed to hack through your firewall and retrieve a few of your data while also discovering your identity.

You honestly wanted to praise whoever was on the other side because you had never encountered someone who could match, if not surpass, your own skill. But it wasn't until you heard the loud banging on your front door, followed by people in uniformed vests rushing in and pointing their guns at you, that you finally realized who had breached your system.

It was the FBI.

So that was how you found yourself sitting inside an interrogation room hours later with two agents across from you. A very tall, intimidating man stood at the corner, his arms crossed as he watched you silently. Dr. Spencer Reid was how he introduced himself, and the way he emphasized the title in front of his name, you were certain he was the type of person who took extreme pride in his intelligence.

He seemed a little too cocky.

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, on the other hand, was hard to decipher. The older man appeared somewhat guarded as if his job had forced him to put on a facade devoid of genuine emotions. Maybe it did. He was, after all, a federal agent. Both of them were. These men were probably taught to master the art of maintaining an inscrutable poker face.

Nevertheless, they were both intimidating, and you wondered to yourself, was good cop bad cop not a thing anymore? Because as far as this was going, none of them seemed inclined to make things easy for you.

The man in front of you cleared his throat, his voice was a well-practiced blend of authority and curiosity. "You've been quite elusive, haven't you, Miss Y/L/N?"

You leaned back, studying him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the edges of the table with a cool, almost casual detachment. "Elusiveness is a matter of perspective, Agent Hotchner. I prefer to think of it as adaptability."

"Adaptability?" He leaned in closer, his sharp gaze never wavering. "You've made quite a name for yourself. You've infiltrated government agencies, stolen classified data, and even orchestrated financial heists... Impressive, I must say."

A faint smile danced upon your lips, revealing just a glimmer of amusement. "I simply explore the hidden avenues of the World Wide Web. It's not about the thrill; it's about the knowledge."

His eyes narrowed. "But your actions have consequences. You've caused quite a chaos, don't you think?"

"Consequences are a part of every action, whether in the digital realm or the physical world. As for chaos..." You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Well, sometimes chaos is necessary for evolution."

He leaned back, his expression unyielding. "Evolution or anarchy?"

"As I said, everything is a matter of perspective, even anarchy," you replied, your voice smooth as silk. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm just a catalyst. Society's flaws were there long before I came along."

The man in the corner took a step forward. His eyes bore into you with resolve as if he had grown weary of the ongoing debate. "You've had your say," he interjected with a steely tone. "You know why you're here. Our victim's files were found on your computer, we need to know who requested them."

You met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, unfazed by his direct approach. "Doctor Reid," you said, your voice laced with a hint of mock surprise. "Always chasing ghosts in the machine, aren't you?"

His expression remained composed, his intellect undeniably sharp. "We're not here to discuss my pursuits. We're here to talk about the life you've disrupted."

"Disrupted? I'd say I've merely revealed the cracks in the system. Your victim, as you call them, was a casualty of a much larger game."

"Games have rules, Miss Y/L/N. You seem to operate outside of them."

"Rules are made to be broken, Spencer," you retorted, your tone cutting like a blade through the air. "I can call you that, right? I hate having to speak with such formalities."

"It's Doctor Reid," he corrected. "Tell us who you're working for."

His unwavering determination was met with a subtle, knowing smile from you. You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with a hint of intrigue.

"I don't know, Spencer," you began, your tone slightly softer, as if you were letting him in on a secret, "The digital world is a labyrinth of information. Files come and go, they disappear and reappear... It's like trying to catch a shadow in the dark. It's useless."

He addressed you with a cold stare. "You're playing a dangerous game here."

You raised an eyebrow, your voice honeyed with allure. "Oh, I'm well aware of the game we're playing. But don't mistake my refusal to cooperate for arrogance. It's just that some secrets are meant to stay hidden."

The room seemed to contract, the air thick with unresolved tension. Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes fell back on him. "Miss Y/L/N, give us a name and we can make things easier for you. But if you don't cooperate..." His eyes traveled down along your body, the goosebumps rose on your skin in response to the heat of his gaze. "I'm afraid we have to resort to extreme measures."

A brief pause hung in the room. There was something in the way he was staring at you. He was looking at you with a profound determination that seemed very different from the way he assessed you before. Under the weight of his scrutiny, you felt your body growing hot. Your breath hitched, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck and tingled in your cheeks.

You regarded him for a moment before you finally spoke, your voice calm but tinged with a hint of defiance.

"If you think you can break me, Aaron, you're gravely mistaken. But if you're interested in the name..." you leaned back, crossing your arms. "I guess you'll have to earn it."

The tension in the room escalated as your words hung in the air. His jaw clenched, and when you thought you had won the upper hand over this battle of wits, he surprised you by waving his hand in the air, and Spencer came forward.

It was as if they had planned this. The way Aaron instructed his partner to move seemed rehearsed and calculated. Spencer walked over to you and before you could register what was happening, he grabbed onto your arm and wrenched you out of your chair with a force you didn't know he possessed.

Your voice carried a mix of anger and frustration as you protested, "What the hell are you doing?"

You suddenly felt him run his hands along your arms. "Checking for weapons."

The scoff you gave him was loud. "Oh, now you're treating me like a criminal?"

"It's a mere precaution."

And then you felt it, the way his touch lingered on your body. It was far from any normal search. His hands felt warm on your skin, even over the material of your shirt, as he continued to pat down your arms. There was a certain roughness in his movements as he slid his arms around your backside and you couldn't mistake the way he gripped your ass more than he should probably have.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath. "You won't find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that." He slightly shoved your shoulders. "Put your hands on the table."

You reluctantly did as you were told, silently gritting your teeth. His hands moved with purpose, and as much as you wanted to stop this questionable act, your body was reacting in a way that had you questioning yourself instead.

Why was your heart beating so fast as he stood behind you? Why was it getting so hard to breathe when his hands slipped around your waist? And why did it seem you were anticipating more when his palms slightly hovered over your breasts?

"Is this really necessary?" You asked quietly, trying to act as if his rough hands on you weren't affecting you. "This feels more like an attempt for intimidation."

You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he asked, "Are you intimidated, Miss Y/L/N?"

You liked to think that you weren't, but honestly, you didn't know anymore. You had tried your best to put on a mask to avoid appearing weak, but as he started to squeeze your breasts in the palm of his hands, it finally dawned on you what was happening—You were finally caught, there was a high chance of you ending up in jail, and now a federal agent was touching you inappropriately, groping you in a crude form of patting you down.

And to your dismay, you actually liked it.

But you had too much of a pride, that was why you found yourself lying through your teeth. "No."

Spencer hummed a reply as if he didn't believe you. He squeezed your breasts through your shirt again, palming at them as he slightly felt your nipples stiffen through the material, and he couldn't resist rolling them as his touch continued lower. Your breath hitched as he mapped out your curves, one of his hands delving between your thighs before he stopped right at the center of your heat.

You let out a gasp.

"I-Is this even legal?"

Your mind went blurry as you felt his fingers touching you through the thin fabric of your pants. "Are you questioning how the law enforcement works?"

You couldn't answer him. Not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to form any coherent words as he continued to palm your sex, his fingers continuing to rub you. You were suddenly so focused on the way he was touching you, your head hanging low as you felt the sensation throughout your body, that you didn't even hear Aaron calling out your name.

It wasn't until Spencer retrieved his hand from between your thighs, and yanked your hair from behind, that you were forced to meet Aaron's gaze. "He called you," Spencer mocked, tightening his grip.

Aaron leaned forward, assessing the way you were arching your back with both of your hands planted on the table. "You have two options. One, we can play nicely, you give us a name and we'll go easy on you." His voice dropped lower as he continued, "Or two, you keep with this attitude and we might have to coax the answer out of you."

You locked eyes with him, a silent challenge burning in your gaze. Despite being in this vulnerable position, there was an undeniable strength in your stare, a refusal to surrender to their intimidation. Aaron met your gaze with a profound understanding.

"The hard way it is then." You saw him lean back in his chair as he crossed his arms, the subtle movement actuating his broad chest. "You know what to do, Reid."

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way Spencer handled you after those words. He shoved you, knocking the air out of your lungs as you gasped, your body pressed against the cool surface of the table. Somehow between your struggles, he managed to slide his hands around your waist, unbuttoning your pants before pushing them down your legs.

The air hit your bare skin, and even when you felt the cool breeze, your body was seething with fire, burning through your veins. The warmth spread along your cheeks as you realized you were wearing your skimpiest underwear, a flimsy material of dark lace that barely covered your sex. He gripped your ass with the palm of his hands, fingertips digging into the plush skin as he spread you apart.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" You felt him shift behind you and you imagined him kneeling right in front of your heat. The moment his knuckles brushed along your wet patch, your hips bucked involuntarily. "She's wet, Hotch, I think she's getting a little too excited."

"I'm not surprised," the older man said. "She does seem like a slut."

Your head snapped at him. "I am not a slut."

"Oh, you are a slut." He leaned forward and reached out his hand, holding your chin in a vice grip, forcing you to look at him. "And we'll prove you how much of a whore you actually are."

Right on queue, a surprised gasp left your lips when Spencer's large palm burned your skin, giving your ass a harsh slap. The sound echoed in the room and he repeated the motion, watching in satisfaction the way your ass rippled for him. You fell into a false sense of security as he began to soothe his hand against your burning skin before pulling back to give another loud smack, and your mouth fell apart in pleasure.

"Not a fucking slut?" Aaron taunted, his thumb brushing on your lower lip. "That's the most farfetched lie you told us ever since you walked through that door."

You glared at him, but your defiance slowly shattered when you felt Spencer pulling down your panties over the curve of your ass, slipping them down your legs. The evidence of your arousal stuck onto the fabric and you felt your cheeks going warm in embarrassment. Spencer sucked in a gasp as he took in the sight of your lower half completely naked for him.

"Barely even touched you and you're soaking wet," he murmured, letting his thumb brush over your pussy, gauging your reaction. Your nose scrunched as you tried to bite back a moan that threatened to slip out. He started with gentle strokes, keeping his fingers only on the outer side, yet you could still feel his touch everywhere.

Each downstroke he made gave a light pull against your clit without giving any direct contact, and each time his fingers came back up, he slowly spread your folds open for him, briefly allowing your slickness to come in contact with the cold breeze of air.

Your mind became hazy, and just when you thought your body couldn't react more to his touch, he slipped a finger between your folds, feeling your slick against the dainty flesh. The motion caused your hips to buck erratically and your hands immediately reached up to grip onto the edge of the table.

He slipped deep inside you as your arousal coated him, circling your tight entrance as he felt the way your walls fluttered around the tip of his finger. He let out a low grunt as he felt how tight you were around him, curling at the knuckle while he began to drag his calloused pad against the soft spot inside you, making your body shake just from the mere contact.

The subtle reaction didn't go unnoticed by Aaron and he watched as your eyes glazed over. He couldn't stop himself from smirking, his features revealing a hint of amusement.

"You're enjoying this too much. I'm starting to think you're keeping your silence for the sake of this." You moved your head away from his grasp, only for him to grip your jaw harder. "Don't fucking move. Keep your eyes on me while he fucks your tight little pussy."

You never thought you'd be hearing such crude words from him, not with his stoic demeanor and polished facade, nor did you expect your body to react the way it did when those words filled your ears. You couldn't help it, your body betrayed your mind as your cunt continued to throb between your thighs. You could feel the desire building inside you, threatening to burst as you felt your body shake, and Spencer was well aware of this as he felt your walls clenching around his finger.

The laugh coming through his lips rang in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "She liked that."

Aaron raised his eyebrows at you. "You like it when I talk like this?" He taunted. "You like it when I tell you how much of a slut you are taking his fingers so deep inside you?"

Your eyelids dropped lower at his words, and right at that moment, a lewd squelch filled the room as Spencer slowly slipped another finger into your dripping cunt, stretching you out as he began to thrust them inside you at a steady pace. Your body quivered as your breath quickened, and you found yourself grinding against his touch, desperately trying to get him to press the same spot inside you.

"Look at you fucking yourself on my fingers," Spencer cooed, his free hand smacking your bare ass again, and you found yourself arching your back. "You really are filthy."

Aaron laughed. "Acting like you didn't want it a second ago." He gripped your jaw tighter, forcing a gasp out of you at the subtle pain. He took advantage of your opened mouth by slipping his thumb inside. "Suck on my finger, Sweetheart."

You didn't know which one surprised you the most, his sudden term of endearment, or the order he gave you. You hesitated, because the moment you willingly sucked on his finger, you knew you would lose. The moment you followed through to his demand, he would have the upper hand and you would simply be the pawn in this game.

Aaron, as you realized, wasn't a patient man. His other hand reached for your hair and then, with a sharp and sudden yank, he tore at your hair. "Don't make me use more force than I already am."

Your roots tingled, your scalp throbbing, and a few tears welled up in your eyes. You blinked them away, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, and leveled your gaze at him.

He pulled your hair again. "Suck."

The pain was so much for you that you found yourself wavering. You swirled your tongue around his thumb before closing your lips and sucking with an approving hum. A husky moan was pulled from deep within him, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth on him, and, especially, the sight of you. "That's it," he praised you. "Suck on it as if you're sucking my cock."

Your walls clenched again. A sound of pleasure erupted from Spencer as he felt your cunt sucking in his fingers, and without warning, he pumped them into you with so much force you couldn't stop yourself from moaning this time. He laughed, as did Aaron, and your body shook as you felt that familiar sensation tightening along your body.

The room around you seemed to blur and melt away at the pleasure coursing in your veins. It started in the pit of your stomach, a warm, liquid sensation that spread like a slow-burning fire, radiating outwards in waves. Your hushed moan was muffled by Aaron's thumb in your mouth, but the sound of your pathetic whining didn't go unnoticed by both men.

You were so fucking close you could feel every nerve in your body on high alert. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your body quivered with the intensity of the sensation. Your eyes fell shut as the lewd sound of your arousal filled the room, and just when you were about to let go, Spencer suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, wrenching away that peak of pleasure you were desperately chasing.

Your eyes shot open, dilated pupils now wide with shock and confusion. Aaron met your gaze with amusement, a sadistic smile dancing on his lips as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop. "Stupid girl, thinking we'd actually let you cum."

The abrupt contrast between the heights of your pleasure and the stark void that followed was jarring. But before you could comprehend your disappointment, you heard a shuffle behind you followed by footsteps circling you. Spencer finally came back into your line of vision and with no one standing behind you, you tried to push yourself from the table, only to be shoved back down by Aaron.

"Fucking stay where you are," he commanded, his sharp voice piercing right through you. Your eyes were fixed on him, gaze unwavering as he slowly rose from his seat. And then suddenly he was the one behind you, and now Spencer stood right in front of you, looking down at you with amusement.

"You know," he started, his fingers trailing the side of your face. You moved your head away from his touch, but unlike Aaron, he didn't force you to look at him. He merely chuckled as he continued, "You wouldn't be in this position if you had given us the name."

Hearing this, you finally glanced up at him. The self-confidence he carried was starting to annoy you and you couldn't stop yourself from spitting venom, especially when he had ripped away the pleasure thrumming in your body. "I told you to fucking earn it."

The remaining air was knocked from your lungs when the palm of his hand collided with your cheek, your head jolting to the right from the force of the impact. Bright white stars danced behind your closed eyelids, and for a second you thought that you were dizzy from the shock. But then you felt it, the pressure that had been building in your core giving way, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

"Dirty girl," he taunted. "Here I was trying to shut you up and you actually liked that? You like being slapped around?"

You remained quiet, looking away from him.

"And don't worry, you will tell us by the end of this." You faintly hear the sound of metal ringing in your ears. Your eyes fell back on him and your heart sank when his hands moved down to his belt, unbuckling it as he let it hang around his hips.

His fingers moved to unbutton his pants before tugging down the fly. The sight of his hard cock tenting beneath his briefs had your cunt clenching in anticipation, as much as you hated to admit it. Then his thumbs dipped into the hem of his boxers, tugging the fabric down, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He was bigger than you'd expected. He was thick and solid, veins danced along his length and the droplet of wetness on his tip was too mesmerizing you couldn't look away.

He wrapped a fist around his length, hissing in relief as he made his way towards you. "Now let's put that filthy mouth of yours to good use." He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you as he leaned forward. "Open."

The musky scent of him overwhelmed you as you breathed in and you involuntarily opened your mouth wide to accommodate his girth. The flat of your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he gave soft, shallow thrusts inside your warm mouth. His fingers held onto your face as he watched his length disappear inside you.

"God, look at you—" Spencer rasped, his voice sounding strained. "Good fucking girl."

Each roll of his hips has more of his thick cock slipping inside your mouth. His palm moved to the back of your head, holding you steady as he forced his length further down your throat, watching as your cheeks darkened and your eyes watered. Your hands moved up to push at his thighs as you struggled against his grip, the desire to breathe overwhelming as you tried to push him away.

You suddenly felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and you began to cough and splutter around him, your throat constricting as the sensation flowed directly through his cock. The sensation made him groan out in pleasure as he finally eased his grip on your head and leaned back, allowing you to breathe as you continued to splutter, drool dripping down your chin as you gulped for much-needed air.

Your head felt delirious. You were too focused on catching your breath when you unexpectedly felt something thick pushing into your cunt in one swift motion, knocking you over as you let out a scream.

"Hotch," Spencer laughed, tightening his grip on your hair while he positioned his cock back onto your lips again. "You shocked her."

Aaron merely grunted a reply as he held onto your hips and started to thrust his cock into you. His thickness sent a ripple of pain between your legs. He was definitely bigger than anyone you'd been with before, your breath coming out in soft, shallow pants as he drove more of himself inside your tightness. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip as a dull ache filled your body, trying to ignore the pain as he continued to stretch your tight heat.

There were no words after that, the room was hazy with desire as the heat built within the small space. The two men focused their attention on your body as you took them at the same time. It was filthy, depraved, and something you'd never done before. You never thought you would be in this position, nor did you think you'd actually enjoy being used like this.

Because you did, you really fucking did. Your entire body felt hot, a scorching fire flowing through your veins as you embraced the sensation, an indescribable pleasure taking over as Aaron's cock curved towards that delicious spot inside you with precision.

Your body was pressed against the table, sweaty and exhausted. It was torture, the way he was slamming his cock inside of you at the pace that left you breathless, it hurt and burned with pleasure at the same time. Each thrust had you hanging on the edge of release, unable to think straight as your mouth continued to mindlessly babble around Spencer's cock.

Every so often he'd hold the back of your head securely so you couldn't move away as he continued to bury himself in your throat. A pleased sound escaped his lips as you started to choke around his girth. It felt like you were starting to drown yourself as he shoved into you ruthlessly. Your lungs cried out for air as you began to feel woozy from the lack of oxygen, desperately trying to breathe through your nose.

"Fuck," he hissed, finally easing his hips back to give you relief. You spluttered as you gasped for air, a mixture of his arousal and your spit dribbled down your chin. "So fucking messy."

You tried to calm your breathing, but it didn't take long for your brain to turn into mush again because Aaron snapped his hips, pulling a moan from your lips as he started a harsh pace. Fingertips dug into your hips as he buried more of himself inside your tightness, your inner walls pulsing around him.

His thrusts were hard and you were certain you'd have marks on your skin from the way he was rutting against you, a dull ache panging inside your lower half. Your mouth fell open in a constant moan as you tried to hold your body up against the table. A throb coursed through you as you tried to hold onto the edge, your breath coming out in harsh pants. You were so desperate for your release, your body so close to coming undone.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, are you going to cum?"

You mumbled out a garbled reply as he continued thrusting into you relentlessly, your fingertips digging into the table as you felt his cock dragging against your inner walls. Aaron grunted at the sensation of you clenching around him. His eyes drifted down to where your bodies were connected and watched the way his cock slid in and out of your tight cunt.

He was on the edge of his release, you could tell by the way he thrust into you desperately. You prepared yourself for your own pleasure, your hips moving involuntarily, meeting his erratic movement, as you seek more friction from him. You whimpered, feeling his fingertips dig into your skin almost painfully and you felt the familiar sensation traveling along your body. Fuck. Fuck yes. You were finally going to—

A drawn-out whine left your lips when he pulled his cock out from your tight heat. The sudden emptiness had your body shaking violently. It wasn't until you felt a streak of wetness spluttering on your back that you realized he had reached his own high without letting you reach your own.

"Shit," he gasped, slapping your ass as he watched his own liquid seeping down the curve of your back. "That was incredible."

You groaned. Fucking selfish man.

"What was that?"

It then dawned on you that you actually mumbled those words out loud. You shook your head and he groaned at your lack of words. "That didn't sound like nothing."

And suddenly, as if you weighed nothing, he grabbed onto your body and turned you over, pushing you onto your back. You were too weak to even fight him as he shoved your pants off your feet before spreading your legs apart. You watched as he leaned down and a long string of clear liquid fell from his lips toward your cunt, letting it trickle down between your folds.

"Knew you were a slut," he hissed, before straightening himself and tucking his cock back in his pants. Your eyes drifted toward him. He was big, just as big as you felt him inside you. But it wasn't his sheer size that surprised you, it was Spencer standing by your feet that had your heart peaking up its pace. Aaron smirked as he stepped back and Spencer quickly took his place between your legs.

"Look at you still holding back," Aaron taunted, genuine curiosity lacing in his voice as he paced around the room. "You're worn out. You're filthy. Aren't you tired of playing this game?"

You looked over at him tiredly. Amidst the pulsing waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, you fought to maintain your focus. "Y- You haven't done anything m-much to earn—"

His laughter sent a chill through the room. "Oh, Sweetheart, you think you're winning, but you're not." He then locked his gaze on you. "Trust me, we already have you in the palm of our hands."

You tried retorting back but the once-sharp edges of your concentration began to blur when you felt Spencer's throbbing cock right between your pussy. Each pulse of pleasure sent tremors through your resolve as he eased his hips back to drag the thick, swollen head through your outer lips. His eyes focused on the way you spread for him as though inviting him inside.

"You're already fucked out," Spencer murmured, dragging the tip of his cock through your wetness, feeling it catch against your tight entrance. "Yet look at you swallowing me."

He let the underside of his cock split your folds open, resting it between them snugly as he let out a low groan at the heat radiating from your core. The sinful noise that left your lips had his cock throbbing painfully, the thick veins protruding from his length. He angled your body against him, pushing more of his thick girth inside your trembling body, feeling the way you squeezed around him as he stretched you out.

Spencer pressed his fingers into the curve of your hips as his gaze flickered between your face and his cock splitting you apart. You gasped, your breaths growing more erratic as he managed to push all of his length inside you. He ran his hand over your abdomen as he tried to feel his cock inside you, pressing against your pelvis as he pulsed at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, "Taking me so well."

And then he slowly dragged his cock away from you, keeping just the tip in your entrance before plunging back inside in a harsh, jarring movement, jolting you in surprise. You arched your back and tipped your head back in pleasure, just to find Aaron towering above you, looking down at you with an eerie smile.

His fingers trailed down your shoulder blades before they hovered at the buttons on your shirt, slowly unbuttoning them. "I think it's time that you give us a name."

Your body writhed in response to the waves of sensation as you tried to ground yourself. But it was hard to keep thinking straight when he grabbed onto the underlayer of your bra and lifted it over your chest. The way your perky breasts spilled out from beneath the fabric made both men hum in satisfaction.

Calloused palms grabbed onto your breasts and your eyes rolled at the back of your head at the sensation. His thumb brushed against your soft nipple, watching as it began to rise to a stiff peak as he mimicked the action on your other breast, all the while as Spencer began thrusting into your cunt at a painfully slow pace.

"Come on, Sweetheart, don't you want to cum on his cock?"

"Fuck," Spencer grunted, feeling you clench around him. "Keep talking to her."

Aaron chuckled as he continued playing with your breasts. "It's torture, isn't it?" He closed his index finger and thumb around your nipples, pinching ever so gently. You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes as arousal flushed through you. "Give us a name and we'll give you what you want."

And then you felt Spencer rocking his hips at a steady rhythm, burying himself deeper and deeper before he slowly began increasing his speed. Your body jerked wildly each time he pushed deep into you. Noticing this, his thumb moved to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. It felt too good, so good that you could no longer hold back from moaning out loud.

Your cries of pleasure snapped him into action and his hands moved down to your ass, holding you up to him as he started pounding harder into you. Your head fell back, chest heaving up and down, and that was when you felt Aaron closing his lips around one of your nipples. You writhed, your body thrashing underneath both men. Your senses reeling, the warmth of multiple hands on your skin sent jolts of electricity down your spine, igniting a wildfire of pleasure within you.

Aaron pulled away from you and your eyes flickered open at the loss, only to be met with Spencer hovering above you. Your eyes swept over him, and you looked down where you were joined, watching how his hips moved in constant thrusts. He was enjoying this, you could tell by the way his fingers burned your skin and the occasional grunt escaping his lips.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up at his face, glistening with a sheen of sweat while his messy hair tousling over it. The moment your gazes met each other, something inside you snapped. The muscles in your core began to coil, tightening and constricting around him right as your climax slowly pushed through the fog inside your head. Spencer felt it too, and he suddenly slowed his pace, throwing you a cunning smile.

You felt your resistance starting to crumble. The intensity of your pleasure grew almost unbearable, and you could no longer deny it. Your eyes welled with tears at the overwhelming sensation, and the thought of having your orgasm ripped again from you seemed like another torture you didn't want to endure.

You were going to regret this. You definitely would. But you couldn't dwell on the consequences of your actions when desperation coursed through you like a fever, an all-consuming hunger that you couldn't deny. Your body ached for release and craved it with an intensity that was maddening.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and then your eyes, wide and filled with desperation, pleaded with him silently as you found yourself finally giving in, muttering a name you had tried to keep to yourself. A name involved in the crime these men had been pestering you for. A name that had Aaron smirking devilishly as he leaned over to you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek in a caress that was so foreign.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his voice lacing with satisfaction at the way you finally crumbled. He was right, you were already in the palms of their hands, it was simply a matter of time until you caved in. "Good fucking girl."

Once you surrendered, you couldn't stop the whine falling through your lips. Your desperate moan rang deeply in the room, snapping something primal inside Spencer, and he trusted his hips into you roughly. A gasp escaped your lips, legs falling open wider as he split you wider than you already were.

Your mind went absolutely numb with pleasure as he kept rutting up inside you, your body becoming nothing more than a mess, overtaken by a wave of sweat and erotic bliss. You felt yourself trembling, your breathing becoming more ragged as his thrusts became sloppier.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, noticing the way your mouth fell open as pleasure engulfed you. "That's it, baby, let me fuck you dumb."

You cried out, babbling incoherent sentences as he thrust harder, grabbing your hips and tilting into you slightly, making him go even deeper as he moved with you.

"Go on, cum on my cock," he growled breathlessly through his rapid pounding. "Let me feel you."

“Fuck—” You cried out for him, your overstimulated body shaking beneath him. Wave after wave of pleasure came rushing through your body, erupting in the most intense way. He watched the way you convulsed beneath him in your release, watching the way a white, sticky liquid circled his cock every time his skin brushed your inner walls. His thumb was unrelenting against your clit and you tried to angle your body away from his touch, the pleasure too intense as your lower half throbbed around him.

You continued to clench around him between your bliss, your legs trembling from the position as he arched his back, focusing the power of his thrusts straight into your tightness. A shiver burst through you at the sensation. And with one final thrust, his whole body tensed. He pushed forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, spreading his warmth in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips.

You were breathing hard, trying to regain your composure, and a moan left your lips when he finally pulled out. Cringing at the fluid slowly leaking out of you, you tried to close your legs only to be stopped as he gripped the back of your thighs, spreading your legs apart to expose your body. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release.

“Look at the mess you made." Piercing eyes watched you as white liquid trickled down your ass. A feeble mewl left your lips as his thick fingers moved down to catch it, deliberately pressing against your folds as you wriggled in his grasp. A laugh left his lips as he dragged the string of wetness along your sex, pushing it back inside you.

"I think I ruined her."

Aaron's laughter filled the room, and just as you were about to push yourself off the table, you felt him grasping both of your hands, pushing them above your head. Your eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Then you felt it, the cool metal wrapped around your wrist, sinking into the flesh of your skin as you tried to move from his grip. An unexpected panic surged within you. "Sweetheart, we know you're involved in more than one crime." The soft click of the metal lock was loud in your ears. "You need to give us more names."

Your body, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, now felt more exposed than ever. You looked up to find both men staring down at you, and at very moment, you realized, as you felt the handcuffs digging into your wrist, that you were going to be here for a very long time.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x reader smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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bones4thecats · 5 months

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Hey, I was wondering if you could use your writing skills on a scenario with Apollo, Hades, and Buddha, where they meet the reader (a goddess of the cosmos), who hasn't interacted with other deities(and humans)?I hope you will consider it.

A/N: Hello there, Anon!! I always consider the requests that are sent into my inbox! I really did like your request, as the Goddess of Cosmos thing is really cute. Uranus is used as the Reader's father here! I do hope you enjoy this!!

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

☀️ He had heard about you from both his nymphs and fellow Gods

☀️ You were known as the Greek Goddess of the Cosmos, and the daughter of Uranus, the previous God of Cosmos

☀️ Unlike many Greek Gods, you were very introverted, straying far away from Gods, only seen speaking to the sky, supposedly to your father, who personified the sky

☀️ All Gods were pretty much required to go to Gods’ Council meetings, but nobody had ever seen you join the meetings, with the excuse from Hades that you were resting in one of your father’s temples

☀️ And it surprised everyone when stars started falling from the ceiling and you popped up, sitting on a cloud, bundled up by a cute comet blanket

☀️ He stared at you with hearts in his eyes, you were the most beautiful Goddess he had ever seen before, and in his opinion, you surpassed Aphrodite

☀️ Your eyes shimmered with stars and your cheeks were littered with small sparkles

“ Ah, Y/N! It’s a pleasure to see you decided to join us for once! “

☀️ Apollo ignored Zeus’ comment and watched as you waved lightly to other Gods before Aphrodite sat beside you and began to caress your hair, with permission of course!

☀️ The God of the Sun then decided, you were going to be the one he would marry and have children with, after all, opposites attract, he just hopes maybe you’d return the feelings

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

💀 Hades knew of you because he had seen you around as he grew up

💀 As the God of the Dead, he knew of your history, as your mother was mortal and your father was the original God of the Cosmos, how that worked? No clue

💀 You were known around the Greek Pantheon as a kind and quiet individual, never really showing up to meet anyone, including Zeus when he beat Cronos and took over the head

💀 The only person you had ever really spoken to that he knew of was Aphrodite, and that was because she had come across you inside of one of Uranus’ temples one night while she walked around

💀 Hades was just taking a stroll throughout Helheim when he heard a small voice singing by the river STYX

💀 He cocked an eyebrow and immediately turned and walked towards the noise, expecting to find a possible nymph of a visiting God or Goddess, but, he found you

💀 You had a blackhole-themed outfit on, it fanning out by your feet as the cloud of stars underneath you slowly were sucked in and exported out of the middle of it over and over again

💀 He froze in place and caught your attention with how he stood by you after finally gaining the confidence to move towards you

💀 After speaking for a while, you both realized you liked one another, and you swore to visit him more often. And during one of those visits, he discovered his feelings, now, all he hopes is that you like him back

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

🍭 Buddha knew of you, but he didn’t actually know you

🍭 He had heard about you mainly through Gods’ Council meetings, as some Gods would complain about having to be there while you weren’t obligated like them

🍭 He had decided to head out for a walk before the 4th round of Ragnarok ensued, and that was when he had met you

🍭 You were sitting on a star-formed cloud that was letting stars fall into the ground, leaving slight burn marks, then flowers grew

🍭 To say he was curious was an understatement, he was getting nosy

🍭 Buddha looked at you from behind and tapped your shoulder before swiftly moving to the front saying ‘boo’

🍭 The way you jumped and looked behind you in surprise amused him, and seeing you then turn around once again in shock before getting flustered and backing away

🍭 The way your cheeks flushed and the sparkles that littered your cheeks began to brighten made him chuckle

🍭 Ever since that day, he had a habit of meeting up to speak with you, and you seemed to enjoy his presence

🍭 He loved to mess with your hair which was littered with many different kinds of things, from clips symbolizing planets to small stars

🍭 During his match of Ragnarok, he smirked, looked at you and laughed as stars enveloped Zerofuku’s head as you leapt in front of him, declaring your alliance with Humanity, and ever since then, you guys have been inseparable

🍭 It was that form of honor and determination that made him realize his feelings for you ran deeper than friendship, so, now, he plans to ask, if you felt the same. Oh how he hopes you do!

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artemx746 · 2 days

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Imagine you work at a casino, it’s not a typical one, you can only play poker and the rules have become so mangled it’s basically an entirely new game but people visit regardless. One day, while you’re still working your shift, a man comes in wearing a suit, it’s purple on the outside and decorated with images of galaxies on the inside, one his left a small sheep with black wool dyed to look like it has sprinkles and on his right is a person who declares themself Anonymous Jolteon (you don’t know what a Jolteon is, it must be some sort of forgotten deity based on how they're dressed) the crowd of what must’ve been over one thousand people declare them a prophet.

You start playing and… he knows everything. The prophet whispers in his ear and everything happens just as they say. The crowd calls it dark magic as a joke but you're inclined to believe it. Eventually the prophet stops whispering to him after another pack of tarot cards are bought (I told you this casino was odd) and goes to stand in the crowd. You breathe a sigh of relief, the less that prophet speaks the better, oh how you would be punished for your foolishness. The game continues and He. Keeps. Flushing. Every single hand he plays is a flush of spades and the chips keep rising. 100,000 is cleared with ease. 200,000 is where it would've been over but he demands to keep going. 300,000. You keep trying to set him challenges that should've at least posed some difficulty but he clears them with no issue. 400,000. 600,000. e16. You stare in horror at the man as he surpasses e29 and he barely celebrates it. The prophet speaks again to give one small piece of advice and goes silent again. The man reaches e38 and still demands to go further. He starts chanting, something about turning left cards into right cards, but you aren't listening, you're staring, at the crowd, at the man, at the prophet. You begin to wonder if you've been trapped in some sort of purgatory, being punished for whatever crimes you may have committed in life. The prophet tells him to turn paper into glass, just to see how high they could reach. Again, he starts converting left cards into right cards. Converting left cards into right cards. Converting left cards into right cards. Converting left cards into right cards. Converting left cards into right cards until his entire deck is glass. A tarot card gives him a polychrome card and the prophet exclaims that not even they could do that and that the man has received all the help from them they could give. The crowd jokes that the gods would tremble before him. You would believe it. e49. He didn't even play the polychrome yet. If a glass breaks he simply makes a new one without a care in the world. He plays a full polychrome glass deck and... e58. More than the amount of atoms on earth. He gets offered a card and the prophet speaks up one last time to announce that, should he take it, the man has a definite chance of losing at some point. That was the greatest new you ever heard in your life. The man takes it and the next hand is e73. Then e74. Then e87 and the crowd cheers, that is more than the atoms in the observable universe.

He keeps going.

e88. e89. The man understands that the end is in sight and you feel like you can see a light at the end if the tunnel. e95. You're so close. You set it to e98 and the man smiles knowingly at you and just for a second he feels a little more human. He accepts that his next hand is his last and plays his cards. e96. You're free. You laugh. In spite of everything you laugh. With tears in your eyes you laugh! The crowd, the prophet, the man and the sheep all leave.

You vow to never return.

#long post #rtgame #I wonder what my mutuals are thinking when they read this and see it tagged with the irish streamer i talk about sometimes #hi mutuals! how are you?#something about this video inspired me creatively #writers on tumblr

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gtsdreamer2 · 6 months

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The church of Dommon was always looking for new followers. No one knew how or when the demoness was summoned, only that when she manifested on the mortal plane, a religion was formed around her. Her worshippers granted her power, and, in return, she shared a portion of her power with each follower. Those she liked more, received special blessings. Her congregation met on Saturdays, and this was the chance for her followers to bask in the presence of their god, and to hopefully receive her favor.

"My children," The demonness started, "It has been many years since I have come to this realm. As you can see, all of your love, and devotion, and worship has made me grow into this deity of a demon." She gestured to her hulking form. The demon was about twenty-five feet in height and thick from constant feasts and her lazy status. Her dark red skin shined without a blemish and her huge pendulous breasts leaked constant milk. This sweet nectar was what her followers sought after. As she grew from the worship of her flock, so did the amount of milk that she could produce. and this milk caused the drinker to in turn grow, much like the demon herself. Those who partook of the creamy gift grew stronger and more demonlike. They were looked apon faborably in this new society as well, The bigger the better.

Aimee was by far Dommon's most devout follower. She had never missed a sermon and always recieved the "Devil's blessing". Today was no different. She sat up front, blocking the view of the three seats behind her with her height and width. As of this moment in time, she was now eighteen feet in height. She had small protrusions on her back, the beginning of wings, matching the nubs on her head that would soon be horns. Her skin had begun to shine and redden, mimicking the demoness from whom she fed.

"I don't know what it is that I have done to deserve all of this worship from you all, but as I have always stated, I am humbled by my followers and it is my duty as your deity to give back what I can. Come and feed from me! I feel exceptionally bountiful this evening!" First in line, as always, was Aimee. She approached Dommon and did the ceremonial bow. Dommon in turn presented her full chest. Diving right in, Aimee latched on and began to suckle, noticing right away that the supply she was receiving was far greater than it had been the week before. 'She must have gotten some new followers.' She thought to herself between the great gulps she was taking. 'I'm going to suck this demon dry again.' Meanwhile Dommon was lost in the pleasure of being suckled by her favorite follower, far too distracted to notice how much milk Aimee was taking in and what it was doing to her.

Aimee could feel her blood pumping as her muscles pulsed larger. 'Something is happening to me.' She thought, gaining two feet of height in the span of as many minutes. Dommon's followers watched with jealousy, not daring to interrupt the ritual. She began to suck harder, trying to get as much milk as she could before suddenly switching to the other engorged tit, eliciting a forced moan from the demoness.

"Mmmph, yes my child, feed till you're full. This is my gift to you." She said, more aroused at this point than thinking about the consequences of what was happening. With a fresh supply rushing down her throat, Aimee could feel the surge resurging and accelerating as she let out her own moan. Her skin darkened another couple shades as her top ripped off of her. At the same time her pants split. Twenty-one, Twenty-two, Twenty-four, Twenty-six. Her height kept increasing. The demon was still lost in pleasure as she was suddenly smaller than her follower. As soon as Aimee surpassed Dommon in height, there was a shift in the room.

"The little winglets protruding from Aimee's back suddenly sprouted. they flapped back and forth as Aimee flexed her back. Her horns grew from nubs to great pointed antlers, proudly on display. She let out another moan as she could feel all the eyes of Dommon's followers on her. No...That wasn't right. They weren't Dommon's followers. Not anymore. She could FEEL it. Their devotion. It was pouring into her like a great waterfall.

Only now did Dommon snap out of her ritualistic trance. She could feel the power fading from her. It was surrendering itself to her previous worshipper. Dommon suddenly shrunk five feet. "What's happening to me!?" She shouted, her breasts shrinking with her and no longer producing the blessing. Aimee unlatched now and let out a powerful laugh.

"You've been usurped, that's what!" Aimee had been twenty-seven feet just from her previous god's favor, but now, all the love and devotion and worship from her new congregation was fueling her further. She grew and grew and grew while Dommon shrunk. At forty feet, the twelve foot demoness looked positively puny beneath her. "Worship me!" Aimee roared, forcing Dommon between her legs to sevice her. The weakened demoness had no choice but to obey, licking and sucking and suffocating against the massive womanhood before her. Aimee grinded herself against Dommon's face until she finished with a loud crescendo and another growth spurt, gushing all over the humiliated ex-god's face, and putting her at forty-five feet, nearly breaking out of the church. Her massive breasts now leaking the same blessing that she had previously used to ascend to goddesshood.

"Go." She commanded. "Take your seat in the pews with the rest of my followers. I need to rest." Aimee closed her eyes and dreamed about outgrowing the church...And everything else.

#gts #giantess #size kink #sizetumblr #size difference #growth #gts writing #writing prompt

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quiteliterallyilliterate · 2 months

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Hellooooo? Is anyone alive? Is ok if you do... A part two of the yandere fierce deity? Please?

Order up!

Ngl this was actually really difficult to write! Y’all seemed to like Part one, so here’s the continuation!

Tw: Described murder and violence, obsession

Hope you enjoy~

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The sigil had since faded from the back wall of your home. It had taken many moons and many storms before the blood had truly faded. But it wasn’t gone. You picked up on the marking more and more, the swooping V shape with two lines intercepting. You saw it carved into the trees you tapped for sap, in the bones of the elks still left at your door and —perhaps most concerning— scratched into your skin. You awoke to it after awaking from a nap, and it came with a sense of all-consuming numbness. You bled, despite no knife piercing your skin and felt a hollow pain looking at the wound… but the gash itself was not painful. The scab on your palm itched as you walked through the markets, and despite switching the hand that held the basket, it only seemed to worsen. An itch is not bad so much as it is annoying. An instinctive feeling to pick and prod until a disturbance is removed. But the sensation has festered into thorns digging into your nerve with every graze of another’s hand.

“That’ll be… 300 total” The farmer handed over the produce youd carefully picked out, a frown of dismay pulling at your lips.

“That’s double last time” His smile faltered and his eyes darted far behind you, glassing over for a moment. He breathed out until his lungs had no more to give and his lips fell shut. It was only when you were about to turn around to see what had enraptured him that his tongue farted over his lips and he picked back up where he’d left off

“Sorry you must understand, it’s-“ His voice faded into the chatter of the crowd, a low hum fading into the back of your mind with a throbbing pain. So much for living here all your life, there was no reason for produce to cost half your wages. It’s not like anyone in this hamlet made much, nor was there any reason for one to struggle. The is community held up on its ties, it's only as useful as its people make it.

“Keep- Just keep it.” You would’ve felt bad at the way he sunk in on his feet with upset, but it was beyond your responsibility to help. Not without proper food in your stomach. You’d need to forage if you had near any hopes of not starving through the week. And so, basket in hand, you returned to the eerie empty of the wood.

The thicket was empty. The berry bushels had since been picked clean by the birds and the wild sprouts trampled or rotted in the soil. It was foolish of you to hope that perhaps whoever kept leaving you meat —your only source of sustenance— could provide you with something that could possibly go with it. Your spice cupboard is beginning to run dry and you had nothing aside from the carcass left behind to prepare.

“If only I had some potatoes… carrots… something- anything!” You threw your wicker basket to the ground, the thin fibres crackling. Anger burned within the humid draws of your breath, seeping into your lungs and through your blood and settling among your being. Thunder rolled in the far distance, but the wind had already made its way to you. The whispery gusts combed through the long grasses and shook the old trees, the wood croaking and groaning. The path back home was no different than it had been recently. No humdrum that followed life, only the cawing of crows. But, rather disappointingly, even they had disappeared as of late. The shadowing of the storm mounted atop your already heavy-hung gloom. It seemed as if every living thing, even those that surpassed mortality had vacated the forest. And as you pushed inward to the unkempt of the wild, you could only feel like you were leaving yourself to the execution block. Your legs faltered and trampled, your limbs felt stiff. And like a corpse of those slaughtered, you fell.

The deity knew that mortals were cruel. He didn’t need much knowledge about the world to know that fact. With such a gift of consciousness, Hylia’s creations were tainted with such bitter malice. That is what made them mortal. Their innate ability to surpass their better moral to kill and to hurt. He saw it every time someone used the likeness of his face. He saw the blood. He felt their drive— to stick cool, unforgiving metal within another. To crack and break and destroy the fragility of the world. The fragility of other people. Hunt or be hunted as it was. There was no matter for if they were above animalistic intent, for they were every bit predator and prey as the wolves and the rabbits. That is why he is so keen on protecting you. Only you have been so kind and pure —A divine among mortals, he’s certain— and such purity can only be tainted within a world so vile. The mortals even admit to it. Making their societies guard such fragility from the maw of itself. It was only himself he could trust to be your guard. Only he could be trusted to deliver you from such a system. He knew the cruelty of mortals upon one another. But for you to be denied sustenance? That was sacrilegious. Did they not understand that they were blessed to have been with you? If that was such a case then perhaps they weren’t worth the salvation you offered. The wretched mortals should bow at your feet, stumble over eachother and themselves to leave you offerings. For one to deny themselves such a right is to deny one’s god. And so, as the twists of his blade delicately carved out the heart of the worthless farm boy, he hoped this would serve a sufficient offering. He could afford to spend more time with you tonight with the storm’s onset. The rain would do most of the work cleaning the blood. The body would mingle from the earth from whence it came and be no more. Maybe if the damned was lucky, his blood could nurture the soil to make plants that you could eat from. Maybe then he’d have paid penance for his sins. Heart and produce in hand, he displayed them all lovingly in your discarded wicker basket and left it looped around the elk horn. He held his offering in one arm and your limp body in the other, carrying you the way to your little temple. The basket was hastily discarded upon the porch —though he doubted you cared much about the presentation— and he tucked you into bed. On his exit he wrangled the body so it would be easier for your untrained limbs to carry indoors. Offerings should be prepared to the highest degree— and you only deserved the best. He’d deliver the world to you exactly as you’d expected of him. Although the procurement of spices would certainly take a while longer, he’d meet your demands in full. Such is what’s expected of him as he’s courting you. Such is the way of devotion.

#yandere link x reader #link x reader #fierce deity x reader #yandere fierce deity link x reader #fierce deity x you #yan!link x reader

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jqnehr · 7 months

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the strongest | gojo satoru

the strongest was meant to live.

pairing : gojo x reader warnings : hurt/no comfort, angst, graphic descriptions of character death word count : 1.35k note : been spamming posts about gojo lately; this is genuinely the only way im able to cope with chapter 236 rn. it’s all too much. how am i supposed to continue jjk when the very character i started watching it for is now dead? so yeah, this is gonna hurt real bad and I cried writing this. you’ve been warned.

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

masterlist

...

The Strongest, Satoru Gojo, was not supposed to die.

Of course, death is inevitable. Satoru was arrogant, conceited and almost too sure of himself, but he was not so immature as to disregard that fact.

It had gotten to the point where he had won so many times, you yourself had foolishly begun to believe that he was invincible. That he surpassed the title of ‘the strongest’. It was like his power rivalled that of the divine.

However, that was soon proven false.

You instantly leapt from your position upon a mostly-untouched building, landing for the ground that was laden with rubble. Dust flew up at the impact of your feet hitting the pavement, Itadori’s desperate calls for you to come back and stay away echoing behind you and falling on stubborn, deaf ears. You knew it was much too dangerous. Sukuna could kill you—he was right there, and seemed to be speaking to Satoru…whose top half lay sprawled on the ground, his lower torso still standing upright.

Blood was gushing from both points where he was severed. How can this happen? Your breaths came out in short little puffs of panic and desperation, tears running glistening tracks through the dust and grime vitiating your features. You didn’t even see Sukuna’s attack that resulted in Gojo literally being split in half.

Your steps were unsteady and your footing faulty, the debris hard to manoeuvre through. You subconsciously took care to not twist your ankle, but you knew that even such an injury wouldn’t stop you from getting to your boyfriend.

Please, you were muttering and whispering prayers to all known deities revered throughout the world, begging them to help you. Please, don’t let me be too late.

You were close enough now to hear Sukuna’s words.

“…Once a technique is adapted to, the analysis doesn’t stop there. It continues to adapt furth—”

You had no idea what he was talking about—only one sole objective was on your mind. Get to Satoru, now.

You had interrupted Sukuna’s monologue by sliding to a halt down at Satoru’s side, your bare knees sliced open and bleeding from landing so roughly upon the wreckage littering the ground. You reached for his remaining arm, breathless and nauseous with panic. “Satoru!”

Although all that was on your mind was Satoru, the lingering sense of danger emanating from Sukuna didn’t vacate your subconscious. He was silent, coldly observing your distressed expression as you clung to Gojo’s remaining hand urgently. At any other moment, he wouldn’t have hesitated to decapitate any other foolish individual that dared to get in the way of him and his prey, but a sick mixture of respect for Satoru and pity for you left him still.

Streams of blood cascaded from Satoru’s mouth, those bright azure hues of his staring blankly at the cloudless sky. Bolts of panic pierced you with every second that passed by; every second where his lively eyes grew dimmer and dimmer.

“Love, look at me, please.” You tenderly gripped his right cheek, trying with all your might to hold your sobs in. Tears dropped heavily, miserably, from your eyes, splashing gently against his bloody face. Slowly, he blinked, sluggishly turning his sapphire gaze to yours, his stare wooden, life draining steadily from them with every second that ticked by.

Thank god, he’s still conscious. Your relief, however, was short-lived. You’d seen this particular shine in a person’s eyes before—and it was never a good sign. He’s on death’s door. Forcing what you hoped was a comforting smile to your lips, you stroked his rough cheek—usually so soft and flushed with health, now rendered a sickly pale from the loss of blood—with every ounce of hope and love you had. Your other hand gripped his own weak one blisteringly. “You’re gonna be fine.” You promised not to leave. “Everything’s going to be okay, alright? I’m here. I’m staying.”

You knew that he was too weak to reply, but he managed to lift one corner of his mouth up into a half-smile, the attempt feeble. However, it was enough to tell you what he meant. You could see he was clinging onto the last remnants of consciousness he had left, for his gaze suddenly intensified and remained locked firmly on yours.

You knew Satoru well enough to see what he was saying. Stay strong for me. Were your eyes fooling you—considering how blurred your sight was from the tears—or was that moisture glistening on his lash line?

The sight just pierced you even more. Unable to hold back any longer, the sobs finally broke out, wracking and shaking your body with deep, broken heaves.

“No, no, no, no…!” you pounded one fist against his now-still chest, his striking ocean-blue eyes gazed lifelessly up at the sky, nothing but peace within them. “Satoru…Satoru…”

You were the only one brave enough to go down there, in the middle of the battlefield, right in the palm of Sukuna’s hand, mourning the death of the greatest, strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer of this age.

Kashimo wasted no time in leaping into the fray. You knew you had to get out of the way soon, but it would be only death who could tear you away from the still body of Gojo Satoru.

How? You whispered futile pleas to his unhearing ears, begging him to take in a breath and show he’s alive. Why didn’t you wait until Shoko or Yuta got here? Why didn’t you try your Reversed Cursed Technique in time? Why did you leave me?

You glanced up and saw a single, faint trail of a tear ease down from the corner of his eye, those cerulean hues glassy. Once so bright, so full of life, brimming with arrogance and good-natured teasing, now reduced to two opaque beads of lifelessness.

You no longer felt that steady thump, thump, thump in his chest. And you would no longer see that gorgeous, dazzling grin. No longer feel his large, warm hands clutch yours tightly as you stroll through the bustling streets of Tokyo, bellies full of sushi and steak, laughing without a care in the world.

The Strongest wasn’t supposed to die.

The Strongest was supposed to stay with you forever.

...

gege when I catch you gege

im crying too, dw.

#gojo death #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk 236 #jjk #jjk236 #jujutsu sukuna #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #when i catch you gege #gege akutami #gege when i catch you gege #gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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radioactivepeasant · 5 months

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Oops the Free Day Thursday got Long, so you get multiple parts

Part 1

Part Two Here

(Warnings for Angst and brief description of injuries)

To be the king of Spargus was to all but ensure a violent death eventually. Whether by the hands of a challenger, a metalhead, or simply the desert herself turning her back on one who previously had her favor, all kings met their end one way or another. Most took a blasé approach to their own mortality, so long as they could ensure they died in battle like any Spargan worth remembering.

Damas son of Arez was no different.

All things considered, there were far worse deaths -- not that this one was very pleasant. He'd successfully defended his city against corrupted minor deities, and he'd taken out so many in the rescue of the boys that the Dark Makers had resorted to a missile to ultimately kill him. That was the kind of thing that made it into songs and legends. Especially when the most important reason to fight walked away from the crash unharmed.

Having followed his gut, and subsequently having had the opportunity to watch Jak blossom into one of the most formidable Wastelanders the continent had ever seen, Damas felt he could die with fewer regrets than most.

What father worth his water wouldn't be at peace knowing he got to see his son surpass him before he died?

Even if they'd never acknowledged it aloud.

Jak knew, in his heart. He knew what the armor meant, and he'd accepted it without reservation. Damas had seen in his eyes that Jak understood, he understood what he'd left unsaid, but he feared saying it out loud lest it all vanish like a broken spell. And to think the boy had worried about not having a gift for him! As if it was not gift enough that he accepted the bond between them!

Damas heard Jak shout his name, even as he knew his time was growing short. But here, in the razor-sharp margin between life and death, something had changed. Perhaps it was their proximity to the catacombs. Or perhaps it was because he carried the blood of Mar. Perhaps there was no reason at all, mere happenstance. But as he lay crushed beneath the Slam Dozer, Damas felt eco tug at his body with a strength he had never experienced before. Ironic that he should find the power his ancestors wielded at the moment of death.

Light swirled through the earth beneath him, far below the blighted soil. Pure time, stretched into thread and unspooled into the wells of the earth to bring life and healing to whatever it touched.

"I'm...very proud to have been by your side, in the end. Proud of you." Damas pushed the words out of lungs that could barely expand. He took his previous assessment back: this was one of the most irritating ways to go he could think of.

Jak started to get up, promising help -- he was panicking. Damas had never seen Jak panic before. But he didn't blame him. Instead, he caught Jak's hand and pulled him back down. Jak hissed in pain, and Damas realized the boy wasn't as unscathed as he'd thought. He was favoring his left arm and his ribs, and blood ran down his face.

The eco of the planet hummed in Damas’s ears, deafeningly loud. Waiting, just within reach.

The choice was almost too easy to make.

"Promise me one thing, please," he said, tightening his grip on Jak’s hand even as his trapped fingers dug deep into the soil. "Promise me you'll find your brother."

He ignored Jak's sharp intake of breath. "Find my son, Mar. You'll know him when you s- see this-"

For just one moment, Damas released his adopted son's hand to retrieve his old amulet from his belt, doing his best to push through the sharp agony that shot through his chest and torso at even that much movement. He placed the amulet in Jak’s hand, but did not let go.

Just five seconds. That's all I need.

"He's wearing an amulet just like this. A symbol of our family: the House of Mar."

Through the gray stealing across the corners of his vision, Damas saw Jak's face twist, first in confusion, then recognition. He recognized the amulet! But Damas never wore it publicly. Then-

Hope spread through the wreck of Damas’s body, shuttling the pain away to a distant corner of his mind. He knows something! He's seen Mar!

In that moment of elation, the light eco at last responded to his call. In a flood, it poured from the earth and into his body. It could have healed him, it would have been simple. But Damas’s focus was elsewhere. He poured the pocket of life through the amulet and into Jak. It burned through their veins like fever, but once it passed there was vacuum. Void. And Damas could feel it tugging greedily at his mind.

"Stop! You- you don't have a focus ring, it's too much!" Jak gripped his hand, skin steadily darkening to match the sky as he tried to diffuse the eco.

Around them, tiny blades of grass began to push up through the polluted dirt as the damage to the soil began to rewind. Daxter let out a panicked yell that sounded a little deeper than normal.

"What are you doing?!"

"When you find your little brother, tell him we never gave up looking for him."

Damas’s voice buzzed oddly as the raw energy seeped into his throat.

He smiled softly.

"He's...going to love you. And Daxter."

Even that many words were a struggle. He could barely make out anything around him. He couldn't feel his body. He couldn't see. He barely made out one word before the world splintered into starlight.

"Father!"

_____________<><><><><><>______________

Being dead, Damas decided, was very disorienting. If he was dead. He didn't see any ancestors yelling at him for losing Haven city, or Precursors, anyway. He followed the twisting, glittering lights -- not through any will of his own, but drawn along in their wake. Time, if it existed in this plane, was fully out of joint. He saw islands floating in a sickly green sky, just beyond the flickering vortex he seemed to be inside. He would have shuddered if he'd had a body.

Now and then he heard voices -- mostly unintelligible, and none he recognized. But he drifted towards them nonetheless. The light eco seemed to have set him on a predetermined path like a cart on a rail, and his consciousness would not settle into place until it had stopped rewinding...whatever was left to undo when he was no more than a disembodied spirit.

"Damas? Come on, speak to me! Damas!"

Hm. That wasn't Jak. In fact, it almost sounded like-

"Don't you do this to me, boss. I'm not losing both of you in the same month! Snap out of it!"

The ghost of a sensation -- Daxter would have appreciated the pun that crossed his mind -- brushed against where Damas’s shoulders ought to have been. As the light drew him inexorably further down the vortex, the voice grew clearer, and the pressure on his spirit more tangible.

"Seem, get over here! He just- he just flatlined! Don't you dare, Damas, don't you dare die on me-!"

"But I'm already dead?" Damas murmured in confusion. Somehow, this one-sided conversation seemed familiar. A memory, something he'd been half conscious for.

Something struck him in the chest.

He had a chest now?

Damas coughed, and stars burst into his eyes, blinding him again.

The world rushed back like a whirlwind, ripping away the vortex without pity or pause. He was cold, and in pain -- not as much as when the Dozer landed on him, at least -- and one of his shoulders felt wrong.

He coughed again and felt his lungs expand for the first time in -- in what? Minutes? Days? Eons?

Damas opened his eyes and regretted it. Light stabbed into them as he gasped for air, greedily sucking in lungful after lungful. He heard beeping, and smelled antiseptic. A hospital ward?

"My lord!" Seem breathed, obviously relieved, "We feared the concentrated eco would be too strong for your body to handle. Thank the Precursors you live!"

Reaching up slowly to clutch his head, Damas was confused to feel bandages. He'd had his torso crushed, not his head! Slowly, he turned his head to squint up at Sig.

"Ja- Jak," he rasped, "Where's...Jak?"

He knew the answer before Sig opened his mouth. Shock doused him like ice water as he took in the medicated eco patch plastered over Sig’s right eye socket. It had only just been changed, and the smell of antibiotic lingered. The scars on his brow weren't scars, they were raw, red, furrows. Not reopened wounds, wounds that had not yet been given enough time to heal.

Sig tried to raise his brows, then cursed hotly as the movement sent him curling inward with pain.

"Uh...who's Jak?"

It was the Summer of the Long Fog.

Mar had just been kidnapped. Damas had given chase, and nearly been killed for his efforts. Sig had lost an eye, Korah an arm. Several more lost their lives.

That had happened three years ago.

This was impossible! Surely light eco couldn't-

And what do you know of light eco? You've seen it transform Jak into a kind of Precursor himself! Who's to say it cannot transport the mind through time?

But if he was simply reliving this memory, wouldn't Sig have ignored his query? And why would he feel, and breathe, if this was merely an echo?

"What...what day is it?" he wheezed.

Concerned, Sig frowned, stretching his facial muscles as little as possible.

"Sol eleventh, Se'enday," he answered.

Sol eleventh. A week and a half after the kidnapping.

And six days before -- if Daxter's math was correct -- Jak was kidnapped by Praxis.

One of his sons was either on his way to, or already within Haven's forbidding walls, and the other would arrive in mere days to a nightmare he could not escape. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

It wasn't set in stone. Not if he could help it.

Slowly, painfully, Damas pushed himself into a sitting position. The heart monitor shrieked scoldingly at him, and he conceded as he rested against the headboard, dizzy.

"We have to get to Haven," he said between pauses for breath. "L- low profile. If anyone has information..." He let it hang in the air.

"...it's Krew," Sig finished slowly.

He sighed and hung his head.

"I hate that you're right. Who you gonna send? Kleiver isn't exactly "low profile"."

Damas barely twitched his head to the side. "Not Kleiver. Someone Mar would recognize and feel safe with."

Sig leaned forward. "Then send me."

Damas remembered this. Hearing the desperation in Sig’s voice a second time still hurt. It hadn't been Sig’s fault, he understood that better now. It was no one's fault but the soothsayer who betrayed them. Sig did not need to "redeem himself" as he seemed to believe. Damas just needed him to be his eyes and ears.

"No risks," he said. "I'm not losing you too."

Anguish filled Sig’s remaining eye. He reached out to grip Damas’s hand.

"Please! I can do this, Damas. I won't fail you again!"

He reminded Damas of Jak, blaming himself for someone else's betrayal. Damas tightened his fingers around Sig’s and barely shook his head again.

"Fail me? You survived a shot to the eye, Sig. How is that failure?"

"But I-"

"Sig, I trust you." Damas caught his breath. Being temporarily dead had done his lung capacity no favors. "Just- heal first. Mar is alive, and he's- he's so smart-"

Don't break down, keep it together!

"Time is of the essence, I know. But until you've been fitted with the new eye, you're not to take any risks. Just insinuate yourself into Krew's circle. The old shark makes enough enemies to be in the market for a bodyguard. I'll go with you-"

Sig jolted upright. "Hey! No!" He pointed at the king sternly. "You almost died, man! What happens to Spargus if we lose you? You want Kleiver in charge?"

Seem blanched beneath their face paint. "Don't do that to us, sire," they begged, "We can't have committed a sin bad enough to warrant that!"

And Damas laughed. He couldn't help it, it sounded like something Daxter would've said.

Will I find Daxter too? He said they were separated when they landed...

"I told you, we're not taking any risks," he lied, "I'm pursuing a lead, that's all."

Seem frowned. "A lead on Mar? What information can you have gleaned from an eco coma, sire?"

Oh you would be surprised, young one, Damas thought, but kept it to himself. The jury was still out on whether any of this was real, after all. But if it was all some hallucination of a wandering spirit, what could be the harm?

"Not Mar." Damas leaned back and closed his eyes. "Something Praxis is working on. He's laid a trap for-" he paused. "...for someone else. Perhaps a rival gambit to whoever took my son."

He knew it was obvious that he knew more than he was saying. But no matter. This time, he would hobble Praxis's Dark Warrior Program before it ever had its first success. This time, Jak would never know the night terrors that so often drove him to avoid sleep. And if he found Mar while he was sabotaging the machinations of Precursors and Seers, so much the better.

"We foil this trap, snatch the intended victim from the jaws of the Krimzon Guard, and Praxis will flounder. We have five days to foil his ambush."

Damas opened his eyes.

"Prepare accordingly. If you are not ready in five days, I leave without you and you will meet me in Haven's forest. Understood?"

The monk and the warrior stared at him as if he was speaking complete gibberish.

"You're needed in Spargus-!" Seem began to protest, but Sig just groaned.

"Oh no. He's doing The Face. I don't think we can stop him, kid."

"But-! But if Praxis learns that the Heir of Mar is in the city-!"

"Then it would mean Onin betrayed me again and won't live to do so a third time," Damas answered smoothly.

"She was chosen by the Precursors!" the young monk cried, appalled.

"So was I. Yet I have consigned no children to unconscionable suffering for the "greater good". Even prophets can fall."

Damas felt strength beginning to return to his limbs. His body was finally processing the massive dose of eco properly. If this was a dream, it was a satisfyingly vivid one.

"Go. I have much to prepare."

Soon, Jak. You're coming home soon. I'll be waiting.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #jnd Wednesday?#dark jak wednesday #except that its Avoiding Dark Jak so that Jak Can Unlock Him On His Own Time #Damas is on the loose #this au doesn't have a name yet lol #part one #part two tomorrow #typical radio: plans crack and gets angst instead #shenanigans in part 2 i promise #fragile things au

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ayotamacorner · 4 months

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god of ambition gale is soooo interesting.

first of all,,,, im sorry i am a believer that there is no way he could possibly love you the same way he did as a mortal after he becomes a god. to be human is to feel so strongly, so deeply, that your very being runs on it. emotion drives one forward as surely as a pulse. and these things are so intricately woven with a person's soul that it is so uniquely and exclusively mortal. everything comes back to the finite nature of living with an end, with risks, with danger. gale, who was so ready to lay down his life for the chance of forgiveness, who could only step back from the ledge because of his love for you? gale, who laments about being unable to get a letter to his mother, who speaks so highly of his tressym, who cherishes the simplicity of curling up by the fire with a book?

to be divine is to surpass the bindings of humanity, both good and bad. sure, he is something more powerful now. the god of ambition, because deep down he has always fed off of the need to be better and of course that will follow him into godhood. but to accept that power is to give up everything that made him want it in the first place. he doesn't help mortals as he claimed he wanted to–he inspires them and leaves them to fend for themselves, just like the deities he so passionately criticized before. he speaks to you condescendingly–a mortal couldn't possibly comprehend how he came to be, how he exists now–just as mystra once did to him. sure, he'll ascend you to godhood beside him, but the man you've devoted yourself to is as good as gone. he's doomed himself to an eternity of striving to be better. endless ambition. first he'll surpass mystra, then the greater gods. the cycle won't end. how long until you aren't enough?

devotion is so inherently human. prayers and love and passion–there is no room for it between gods. as much as he wants to pretend there is.

idkkkk man. just thinking. this is a baddd ending for my man 😔

#ITS A CYCLE GUYS RAHHHHHHH #everything always comes back to cycles cycles cycles #it never ends just takes another shape #you think the god of ambition could be satisfied????? bro thats the OPPOSITE!!!!! hes gonna get bored!!! especially if tav didnt take him up #on godhood!!! man is gone so fast!#i just think that the passion and devotion that makes gale Gale couldnt exist in a god #not in the way you would want it to #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios

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arrow90-art · 8 months

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Larksharius (their soul) wandering along the River of Souls.

Fullsize on my Toyhouse

@dujour13 Thank you so much for the inspiration!!! ^^ I wrote a short fic below.

tw: brief mention attempt to give in to death (a brief bad brain moment)

My ocs: Larksharius (archlich, They/Them), Rimerock (silver dragon, He/Him)

Dark, silent, stiffness and heavy drowsiness suffocated them like hinges of a death sentence, until a familiar biting coldness pricked their palm, Larksharius opened their eyes. The perilous journey into the Abyss had drained them, it might not be wise to venture into Yhidothrus' domain like that, but at least they earned a souvenir—a dagger with the ability to connect any two planes.

Another wave of piercing chill struck them, the archlich realized they were walking unconsciously. Lark stopped and held the cold silver dragon scale tightly, pressing it into their palm—if they were not merely a soul, its rigid edge would have scratched their skin. The silver scale nestled in their hand like a small, delicate star, its pale shimmer illuminated the surroundings—wet sand under their bare feet, the River of Souls was only a few steps away. If they stepped into the water, their soul would be gone. They were so close to a true death.

Odd, similar situations had happened before, the scale always woke them up much earlier, far away from the river, but recently they slept longer and longer. Maybe their luck finally ran out, and that would be all right.

Lark let their thoughts drift while wandering down the river bank, wet sand clinging to their feet, but as a soul, they could not feel it, nor did they mind the discomfort. Over eight hundred years, they had persisted in this undying way. The number of planes they visited and the strange knowledge they collected might surpass any living being, but all journeys had to end. Maybe next time, it can be mine.

Lark sighed, fingers brushing through the surface of the dragon scale gently. The scale had saved them many times, rousing them from their slumber with a vigilant chill. It might be a relief for both of them if they stopped struggling and gave up their eternal life—and it only took a few more steps. As for what deity would be born from their unlucky "blessed soul" was never their concern. I am tired, and I need to rest.

Without a warning, the light in Lark's palm flickered and went out, leaving only the faint glimmers from those waves of the river. This was unusual, the archlich frowned, it proved that they were wrong all the time: it was not their soul's sickness that caused them to wake up late, it was the owner of the scale—that silver dragon must be in trouble, he was dying.

Lark remembered him—it was the only memory they still kept and cherished from their previous life as a human, and in that memory, he saved them. The elegant young adult had crown shaped horns and glacier eyes, his enormous wings shimmered iridescent under sunlight—he was the most beautiful creature they had ever seen.

The scale shuddered as if it knew their thoughts, and like a miracle, it lit up again. So stubborn, it refused to die. Its faint glow focused in one direction, like a compass, eager to guide them back to safety.

I should check on him, maybe I can help.

Lark took one last glimpse at the river before they walked away. They had to get back to their body, the clock was ticking, and they hope they were not too late.

手心又是一阵刺骨的寒意，大巫妖这才发现他正不自觉的向前走，他赶紧停下，用力握住银龙坚硬的鳞片，若不是他现在只是一个灵魂，它锯齿状的边缘早已划伤他的掌心。闪耀的龙鳞像一枚小小的月亮，它发出的微光照亮了昏暗的环境——脚下是湿润的沙地，再往前几步远就是灵魂之河，一旦踏入河流拉克夏不死者的灵魂就会被强行带走，这次他离彻底的死亡如此接近。

这很奇怪，以前发生类似的状况时龙鳞总能在距离河流很遥远的地方就叫醒他，但最近他醒来的越来越晚了，也许很快他的好运就会用完。不过或许这样也好，拉克夏想着，他沿着河岸顺流而下，潮湿的沙土粘在他赤裸的脚上。他已经这样坚持了好几百年，到访过的位面和收集的知识或许已经比任何活物都多，如果就这样放弃永生也不是什么坏事，他倒霉的特殊灵魂在被审判后会转化成什么样的新神也跟他毫无关系，他有点累了，他想要休息。

手中的辉光突然闪了闪，然后熄灭了，四周重回黑暗，只剩下河流波浪泛起的微弱银光。这很奇怪，拉克夏皱眉，他一直以为是他的灵魂出了问题才导致他醒来的时间变晚，现在看来或许是鳞片的主人出了问题。他想起了小时候见过的那条银龙，那优雅的身形和绚丽的鳞片依旧栩栩如生的印刻在记忆中，那条银龙依旧是他见过最美丽的生物。鳞片好像颤抖了一下，又亮起了微弱的银光，它不想死去，倔强的为他指引方向。

我应该去看看他，或许我能帮他。拉克夏最后看了一眼奔流的灵魂之河，然后转身离去。他得尽快回到他的身体里去，希望一切为时不晚。

Thank you all for reading!! I'd love to have beta readers or any kind of writing help! if I made mistakes I'd love to know! ^^

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sxii-mafu · 7 months

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Hi, can I request for Nilou x fem reader?

In the heart of Liyue, the bustling city of contracts and secrets, Y/N was known as a high-ranking member of the Fatui, holding the prestigious rank of No. 5. Her anemo vision gave her an edge in combat, but she seldom revealed the true extent of her power. A secret weighed heavily upon her, a forbidden knowledge she carried within her heart.

Contrary to her seemingly unassuming existence, Y/N was aware that she possessed a hidden strength far surpassing even the No. 1 Harbinger. This knowledge stemmed from an ancient pact she had made with none other than Zhongli, formerly known as Rex Lapis. Y/N's true purpose was to safeguard this secret, protecting the divine contract she had forged with Liyue's guardian deity and the heavenly principles.

Nilou, a Hydro vision holder from Sumeru, had arrived in Liyue with a purpose of her own, unaware of the tangled web of intrigue she was about to step into. She was a mysterious figure, her origins shrouded in mystery, and she had no inkling that she had crossed paths with a member of the enigmatic Fatui.

The other Harbingers were oblivious to Y/N's hidden strength until one fateful day. During a clandestine meeting at the Fatui headquarters, a palpable tension hung in the air as they gathered around the polished mahogany table. Tartaglia, Sandrone, Columbina, Arlecchino, Pierro, Pantalone, Il Dottore, Il Capitano, Sandrone, and Pulcinelle were all present. Their expressions were a mixture of intrigue and suspicion as they glanced at Y/N.

Her eyes, once vibrant and full of life, had transformed into pools of darkness, as if the very light within her had been extinguished. The Harbingers exchanged uneasy glances, feeling an unsettling presence in the room. Chains, invisible to the naked eye, bound Y/N as if she were trapped in a contract of her own making.

Tartaglia, the cunning and observant Harbinger, was the first to speak. "Something feels amiss here. Y/N, care to explain why you seem so… bound?"

Y/N's gaze remained distant, her lips forming a subtle, enigmatic smile. "Oh, Tartaglia, it's all a matter of perspective, isn't it? We all have our secrets, our contracts, and our bonds. Some are simply more visible than others."

The atmosphere grew heavier as the Harbingers exchanged knowing glances, realizing that they had just scratched the surface of Y/N's hidden truths. Unbeknownst to them, the threads of fate were weaving a complex tapestry, one that would challenge their allegiances, test their loyalties, and ultimately, bind their destinies together in a way none of them could have ever imagined.

As days turned into weeks, the tension within the Fatui ranks continued to mount. Y/N's presence had become a source of intrigue and unease among the Harbingers. Her interactions with Nilou, the unsuspecting Hydro vision holder from Sumeru, only deepened the mystery surrounding her.

Nilou had no inkling that Y/N was a member of the Fatui, nor did she suspect the enigmatic woman's connection to forbidden knowledge and the ancient pact with Zhongli. Their paths crossed in the most unexpected of places—a quaint teahouse tucked away in the winding streets of Liyue Harbor.

As Nilou sipped her tea, her gaze wandered, finally settling on Y/N, who sat across from her, her eyes veiled by an inscrutable mask. "You're not like anyone I've ever met in Liyue," Nilou remarked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Y/N chuckled softly, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "And you, Nilou, are a puzzle waiting to be unraveled."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Columbina, one of the Harbingers, who had been shadowing Y/N discreetly. "You two seem rather chummy, don't you?" Columbina's tone was laced with suspicion.

Y/N's smile remained unchanged, but her gaze turned sharp as she regarded the intruding Harbinger. "Columbina, always the vigilant one, aren't you? But some bonds transcend the boundaries of factions and allegiances."

The tension in the teahouse was palpable, and Nilou could sense the undercurrents of power and secrets that surrounded Y/N. She may not have known the full extent of Y/N's hidden strength or her ties to the Fatui, but she was drawn to her in a way she couldn't explain.

Little did Nilou know that their encounter marked the beginning of a journey that would lead them both down a treacherous path, one filled with deception, intrigue, and the unearthing of long-buried secrets. The web of fate was tightening, and as Y/N and Nilou navigated its intricacies, they would come to realize that their destinies were inexorably intertwined, bound by a bond that defied the conventions of their world.

#gxg #wlw #genshin impact #genshin x reader #liyue #sumeru #fatui harbingers #nilou x reader

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tinirainboom · 26 days

Text

Preview of chapter 2 of ~I'm not who you think I am~

⋆｡˚ੈ ~☪~⋆✩~☪~⋆✩~☪~⋆✩~☪~ ੈ⋆｡˚

Brunhilde:- I understand… I can say that you are not a threat to the plan to save humanity and that you have nothing against me, although you must understand that I cannot grant you my trust so easily since I do not have anything against you either, it is simply because caution. -she tells me in a calm and thoughtful way, then she says with a tone trying to sound kind- I know that you were chosen by our excellence, but I don't know the reason why she did all this and the Ragnarok contingency plan, that made me take thebaton, making me responsible for it when the time came to present it at the meeting of the gods to decide thefate of humanity.

What?! Isn't the plan to make Ragnarok so that humanity has another chance to live Brunhilde's? It can't be… all this is a contingency plan for that woman called "Lady avatar", if only she were a canon character I could know something about her intentions and a little about her person, but it is completely useless since about that topic I'm in the dark.

This makes no sense in the manga and anime itself, they presented Brunhilde as the mastermind of generating Ragnarok and the leader of humanity's side, manipulating all kinds of resources to defeat the gods… All the attention was on Brunhilde , but they never mention this avatar of Lady in the story of this story and the only time they mention a situation before Ragnarok is when the protagonist goes to Buddha to teach him about Ichiren Takushou or Samavadhana and it's just a small panel in the manga or a small scene about inside the anime. But that was a week before Ragnarok happened!

So, does that mean that the Valkyries who belong to the Norse pantheon follow the orders of this Lady Avatar? It would make some sense, since at the beginning of the manga there is talk of a hidden potential of the Valkyries, an important role that is related to humans and that they were not under the orders of another type of deity… Also, what Göll told me about this woman is interesting because she briefly told me about her role and it was that since the beginning of time she must always maintain all kinds of balance from the karmic to the dharmic level, technically with that information she would surpass that of the Buddha role of being an enlightened one and guiding all beings. Lady avatar is a main deity who comprehensively maintains balance in all forms of her, but the million dollar question would be why does she need my common soul like mine to replace her if she is so powerful? It doesn't make sense, there are too many pieces of the puzzle that I don't know and I can't jump to conclusions since I'm not sure that Brunhilde with her manipulative and calculating mind is telling me the truth and I also can't theorize so many things about this woman because I barely know her his existence.

Anyway… the only thing I have left is to trust Brunhilde's word that she is going to try to help me in this matter and that she will keep her word, while I try to help her in the Ragnarok plan.

⋆｡˚ੈ ~☪~⋆✩~☪~⋆✩~☪~⋆✩~☪~ ੈ⋆｡˚

hello everyone! After a long time hehe sorry, I publish part of chapter 2 of this fanfic, finally! Well, I'm catching up on the manga of this series and I had the inspiration I needed to write it since I had several ideas about how to write it but I couldn't decide until I could find a way. Anyway, now there won't be so much time until I can publish chapter 2 in its entirety. Have a nice day, afternoon or night!

~Reiko Yukimura~

#buddha x you #buddha x reader #record of ragnarok #ror buddha #shumatsu no valkyrie #snv buddha #snv x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #~I'm not who you think I am~ fanfic #hope you like it #buddha record of ragnarok

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flymmsy · 2 months

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Hi! It's been a few days since I've found your blog but I wanted to thank you for your headcannons, writing and your mods (your blog in general has been a treasure trove for Durge, Orin and Gortash content)

Based on some of your Orin and Durge fraternal twins post, do you have any headcannons or thoughts on Durge not as a direct creation of Bhaals made from his own flesh but rather a Bhaalspawn more akin to Orin with their own family?

Awww thanks, Anon! I just like having somewhere to put all my thoughts and I’m glad that others can get enjoyment out of it too. ❤️

I like your question! I don’t have any pre-existing thoughts on a non-Bhaal-flesh Durge because I typically try to operate within the parameters of the game (I like restrictions and find that they can really prompt creativity) but if we suspend those parameters for a moment, here are some thoughts.

I think what is most important narratively is that if you make Durge not of Bhaal’s own flesh, you need to replace that with something. Either some outside force that otherwise marks them as “special” or some extraordinary quality they possess - something that makes sense for them to have been given The Urge.

Some possibilities:

Their parents were the most dedicated Bhaalists ever (could be cool if the two dead bodies you find in the temple from the wedding were Durge’s parents.)

Their parents were notably extreme anti-Bhaalists (similar to Shadowheart’s origin.) This is fun because you could really play with deities here and makes for a nice set up of a Durge growing up under a different religion. Some people do this with Durge anyway because of the adopted family and I love to see that. I also love the idea of having to hide this terrible thing within them from their family.

They were caught in a bhaalist ritual as a baby. Meant as a sacrifice, but then “possessed” by Bhaal himself and marked as His Chosen ever since.

They were extremely, extremely devout. A “regular” Bhaalspawn who just reached heights of worship that were unseen (which is a HIGH bar to surpass - and I don’t have the answer to what that would have to be, but I know someone could come up with it.)

And for my last idea - they murdered the original Durge before The Urge manifested. The Urge then transferred to them when it was meant to manifest in OG Durge.

What I like about all these possibilities is, like the original concept, they all allow for Durge to either accept The Urge or to undergo redemption and/or rejection of The Urge.

One thing that I really like to see for Durges who undergo redemption - and I think would carry over into these concepts - give them somewhere in their life they learned kindness. Even if it was small in comparison to whatever darkness they went through.

I hope that’s sort of what you had in mind, Anon! Thanks again for listening in ❤️

#Flymmsy asks #bg3 #durge #the dark urge #flymmsy bg3 thoughts

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aziraphales-library · 1 year

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hello lovely mods!! this blog is amazing, i really appreciate how hard you work. do you know any fics where crowley is just really possessive/protective over aziraphale?

Hi! We have looooads of fics already recommended on our #protective crowley tag so make sure to check those out. Here are some where Crowley is more possessive...

Oh, not again by HolyCatsAndRabbits (G)

"Now, why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly do something about the fact that there is a man hitting on my husband?"

Know Your Worth by MyFirstAndLastVow09 (NR)

Crowley spends his days with his angel, helping him (or mostly lounging) Aziraphale in the bookstore, having lunches, dinners, etc., with him. In general, life after the Notpocalypse was going, in Aziraphale’s words, tickety-boo.

Until, a certain archangel decided to make a appearance.

In Crowley’s opinion, fuck that guy.

Long Live the King by StarlightPhoenix (M)

During the stand-off against Satan, Adam had done something. Satan never returned, and Hell had no King.

Beelzebub had no choice but to go to Crowley, Serpent of Eden, and offer him the Throne.

Crowley had no choice but to accept, knowing it would keep him and Aziraphale safe.

All hail the Serpent of Eden.

Surpassing All the Stars by KannaOphelia (M)

There was a faint tracing of scales along the woman's cheekbones, tracing down her thin arms and lean thighs. The nipples on her pale, almost flat breasts were dark as night. Fiery red curls fell over dagger-sharp shoulders sprayed gently with more black scales, and the golden eyes were wide and snake-like. The woman was beautiful, but hardly human.

"Crawly," the woman said with disgust. "Was that the best you could do, angel?"

"I said I didn't have much imagination." Aziraphale's lips were heavy, and she was almost sure she wasn't forming the words properly. There was some kind of spell over her, holding her almost immobile. The venom must have been paralytic. If she had been human, she supposed she would have been dead. Her corporation didn't like it much either. "What name would you prefer I use for you?"

The stranger tipped her head on one side, considering. "Crowley?"

Aziraphale almost laughed. The whole situation was simply too irritating. If she was to die now, at the hands of some local deity, the paperwork hardly bore thinking about. And her precious work on Sappho's poetry, gone.

"Crowley, then. You're a nymph of some kind, I take it?"

Dark Water I: Dark Story by UnproblematicMe (M)

Anthony J. Crowley lives the careless life of a rich man’s son. A jack of all trades, he has tried his hand in many jobs, but nothing could hold his interest for a long time. So it’s not unusual for him to take a new job because of a cute blonde guy who needs his help.

Aziraphale Fell runs a Youtube Channel with his friends Anathema and Newt. When they need a new camera man, he accepts the offer of a handsome skeptic he meets at a party. Specialised in ghost hunting, Aziraphale has seen his fair share of strangeness. But things are about to get much stranger.

Waking Up Married by Caedmon (E)

"So you’re telling me that my options are either to convince this man I just met and drunkenly married to stay married to me for six months or lose two thirds of a billion pounds?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Fergus said.

“Fucking shit,” Crowley spat.

He hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before rubbing his eyes with his fists. Now his job would be twice as hard. He needed to talk Aziraphale into staying married for six months. Should he try begging or bribing? This was a huge ask, and Aziraphale would be well within his rights to tell Crowley to fuck off. But Crowley was prepared to offer him pretty much anything, up to half of the trust, if that’s what it took. He didn’t care.

But that was only part of his concern. Even if he got insanely lucky and Aziraphale agreed to stay legally married to him for the next six months, how the hell was he going to talk Aziraphale into dating him during that time? And was it foolish to even try?

One thing at a time, he decided. First, he needed to convince Aziraphale to stay legally married to him. Then he could set about wooing his husband. He hoped.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #possessive crowley #mod d

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witchofthesouls · 1 year

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I find myself in the dire need of more "other!kids + other!June" hc, in both forms. Creepy, otherworldly and fiercely protective June is the best June ever; also, any hc on the kids but as adults? Do you think they would remain "human" or they will start to show more otherness as they grow up?

In the canon-related ending of this TFP AU, the artifact was never decoded. So it never reached the Autobot base, all the kids would have remained quite human, but the potential to be more will forever dog them, even if none of them ever came across Team Prime.

Miko’s mother hailed from a fishing village and they keep to themselves and their traditions. When Miko was born, her aunts sighed that she held signs as they painted her brow and flailing limbs in their family’s traditional script. No matter where she goes and how far she travels, she will return to visit the village and will make a home on the coast. If she keeps the Apex Armor, then one day she will venture into deep, dark waters where no sun can reach that far down below...

Raf descends from dragons and adventurers. He has a great chance to become a Dragon himself should he ever take that leap of faith, conviction, and sacrifice. Team Prime was his Adventure. He found his calling in the stars. (Eventually, he will figure out what Pilar truly was and will be.)

Jack would be the hardest to place. He could go back to his old life Before; return to the steady, easy rhythm of school and work and feeding birds. While conversation had never been his strongest suit, finding a beat or a pattern is an old game to him. A mortal life with mortal dangers is not a bad thing to slip into. Or perhaps his curiosity will get the better of him; an itch that grows deeper and deeper in his bones gets too much to ignore; the gentle warnings by the faithful blackbirds; the strange murmurings under the rain... Jack is very much his mother’s son, who’s to say he won’t follow in her steps?

It’s hard to truly place the Darby family’s ages. Even Jack is possibly far, far older than he appears. Perhaps. Time runs so very queerly Elsewhere. There are places that time can’t truly touch.

Jack’s memories of his childhood prior to Nevada are foggy. The place they once lived was surrounded by impenetrable fog and the constant drizzle of rainfall.

He remembers moving a lot. He misses the greenery of the forests and fields. The decaying matter beneath his feet, the sighs of the trees, and the rustling of animals. But there’s something freeing about the desert. The coldness never bothered him as he wandered into the endless expanse of sand, dirt, and shrubbery under the clear night sky full of constellations. No matter where he travels, he finds himself waking up back inside his home.

June loves the children. Fiercely. Viciously. Devotedly. Her love is the water’s. Nurturing and steady and everywhere. No matter where her loved ones go, she will always find them. But no one can deny its destructive capabilities: the wrath of the ocean; the roar of typhoons; the damage of hail; the deadly crawl of frost; the inevitable roll of a tsunami; the thundering crash of an avalanche; even in deserts, a flash flood can rise so sudden and without warning and wash away everything in its path.

Whenever something hungry, oh so very hungry, prowls near the base, so willing to risk the wrath of the mortal shell of a deity for the taste of little fragments of power… June is waiting in the shadows and never so far as long there’s a puddle.

Nothing can truly escape her. Sooner or later she will succeed. Sooner or later her maw will sink into her chosen prey.

While it’s easy and/or simple to guess the sparklings’ frame-types, June is an enigma. No wheels. No wingspan. No treads. Ratchet has found an active T-cog, many subtle seams all over her frame, and highly aggressive nanite cultures in her Energon that greatly surpass the capabilities of the Autobot War-Forged.

She’s amused by their confusion, by the thought that she’s defenseless and “easy pickings.” It was quite a day for everyone at Jasper Hospital, both the Autobots and the personnel are very confused by what was going on.

Miko is a sea-blooded being. No matter whether her form is flesh or metal, bloodthirst sings to her and she eats the pieces June provides. < Grow well, little fish. > So does Jack -he’s full of shadows and secrets and < dark wings, dark words >; he holds the blackbirds’ love and such birds are carrion and predatory. Much like crows, he has a fondness for eyes.

June wouldn’t leave Raf out, but he’s very small. She grinds the bones and shells to mix them into bentonite clay: volcanic ash and sea-salted.

There will be cultural clashes and misunderstandings, and despite their transformations, the "humans" are still Wild things, are still natives of Earth. From what June could piece together, Cybertronians, at least from the urban states, are well-acquainted with "recycling" parts. Waste not, want not.

June keeps quiet about the things that attempt to stalk or hunt near the base. The Autobots are already queasy about the War-Forged tendencies towards "trophies." How those mecha would collect their conquests frames to fix or upgrade their own, even upon the battlefronts. Their own unique biology would counter and suppress rejection.

She listens to the campfire stories by Smokescreen, of the roving band of Empties beneath the underlayers of city-states and the gutted streets, of sparkeaters lurking in untouched crypts and haunting the aftermath of experimental weaponry gone awry.

June remembers their confusion over human consumption, of organics eating other organics. (But what did the Predacons eat? What did Cybertron's predatory fauna subsist by? Did their planet not have biodiversity as well? Did their entire planet only drink Energon and ate minerals?) There's no need to have them worry over things that are well in hand. After all, waste not, want not.

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cafeinthemoon · 2 years

Text

Ruins - Chapter I

Chapter 1/?

Wordcount 2,8k

Title Part I

Fandom Shuumatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Pairing Hades X reader

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 💛

Warning (s): none

Tagging @darling-imobsessed (if you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just send an ask or a message 😉)

N. A.: So... I posted it lmao This chapter has already been posted on my ao3 and Quotev, and the next one will be out soon ;) I've just read snv's manga (haven't watched the anime yet) and enjoyed so much that it couldn't pass without a short story from me at least, so here we have a little romance with the King of Hellheim himself. hope you enjoy it 💜

"Indeed, it's wrong to keep you near me One could call me cruel and deceiving But in your sacred air I am full of light Your loving arms are the true delight To which I'm lost"

(Tamino, Persephone)

Instead of saying that you accepted to be there to pursuit a goal, you’d rather say you were after answers.

The tradition was well known by you: every year, a different region of your world was selected by Valhalla’s divine council for the task of sending a group of young, healthy women from every class, tribe and family available to the gods’ temporary residences where they would learn and serve, having their natural talents sharped to their limit, according their masters’ will. That time, your land was the chosen one, and your family selected you among your sisters.

It wasn’t the case that you longed for it. However, a girl couldn’t just oppose to the divine beings’ decision, and you knew you had no chance to find what you were seeking for in your own land, a small town by the sea where the commoner’s perspectives wouldn’t surpass the art of fishing in the case of the men and the ability of fixing nets in the case of the women, so that the best you could do was to bow your head and go with the others.

***

As far as you could see, there was nothing to complain about in Valhalla: you were all welcomed by Hermes, Zeus’ representative, who guided you to your lodgings and gave you instructions regarding your routine, the houses’ rules and your duties with all the competence and politeness expected from the Olympian spokesman; the rooms were comfortable; the food was excellent; some of the girls were good people, with whom you sensed you could be friends with. And, of course, the beauty of the lands surrounding the residence was beyond description.

Thanks to all those reasons, besides the fact that there was always interesting work to do, even you, instead of being easily swallowed by boredom, found yourself enthralled by your new life.

***

Before you had your first encounter with your possible future masters, you were told that each god and goddess there had their necessities and preferences according to their own personality, domain and history, and they would choose their disciples and servants guided by these parameters. The first weeks of interactions between the girls and the gods had the single purpose of exposing the first group to the examination of the latter, after which every girl would stay under the supervision of the deity who took interest in their qualities.

Some of these assimilations happened right in the first days, almost always involving the girls with obvious, specific talents, such as singing, crafting, dancing, fighting and similar things. Others would take longer to find their place, but eventually would fit in less famous gods’ guardianship. There were others, however, who would accept obscure positions as properties or concubines just to avoid what they saw as the humiliation of not being adopted as apprentices. You, on your side, had the misfortune of not being among the first ones to be chosen, belonging to the minority without guidance, but you already decided you would not submit yourself to dishonorable roles, not even for the gods: you haven’t left your house to end up like this. Besides, your parents warned you that one should take twice the prudence when it comes to divine matters.

***

Unlike your seeking for a divine tutor, finding a favorite place to be during the free hours of your day didn’t take much of your time – soon during your stay, you were lured and trapped by the enormous Library of Valhalla.

Since the intellectual development of the apprentices was among the criteria, all of you were granted access to the vast corridors and the colossal shelves crowded of books, parchments and brochures of every conceivable knowledge area, so that you would stay there and enjoy your right as long as you could. Sometimes, you wondered if there was something wrong in it, for you wouldn’t see more than half a dozen girls there at a time, and they would never stay as long as yourself. Or was it you that were spending too much time among the books instead? There was no way to know.

And if you were being honest, you might have had more to do inside a library than them, since your reasons would go beyond the love for learning.

Months ago, long before you were selected, a dream began to haunt you. A dream of ruins and desolation; of solitude and despair; a dream of a landscape where you were the only living being, and through which you would walk, seeking for something you didn’t even understand. The more you would search for this thing, the farther you felt it from you. Your deepest agony was that, whenever you sensed the slightest chance to find what you wanted, you would wake up and be forced to leave the nightly visions aside until the next time the dream came to you.

You weren’t cheering for being sent to Valhalla, that’s true, but when you discovered the existence of that library, the first thing you did was to start a long, detailed research in the dreams / psyche section to find clues. All the work you would do by yourself, though sometimes you wished you had someone to help you, until you thought twice and decided it was better not to involve anyone in this: that mission was yours, and yours alone.

***

That day you had the chance to start your research earlier, for you didn’t have much work to do, and the little you had was not difficult. You organized your things in the room and, once you had an opportunity, you left the company of the girls and headed to the library, to the already familiar section.

There was a specific book there that you found more interesting than the previous ones, the reasons including its updated grammar and glossary, the quantity of information and the fluid language, sparing your mind of the distractions caused by the far-fetched discourse so common in old works. It was a thick volume, with at least a thousand pages and a hard cover, making it so heavy that you were forced to slow your steps while carrying it from the shelf to the nearest table, but you weren’t bothered by this more than by the difficulties of your research itself.

The book was organized by themes, and each theme was divided in entries like a dictionary, thanks to which you advanced a third of the pages in just a few days. You were now reading an entry about isolation and comparing it to the notes you took about dreams with wilderness and ruins from another book. You hated to admit, but you weren’t seeing results in this study, since the conclusions given by the texts couldn’t be applied to your current situation in life or anything in your perspective. But you knew your dream had a meaning. It had to be that way. Otherwise, why would it keep coming back to disturb you?

You raised your eyes from the page and sighed. Maybe you should give yourself a break. There were large windows near your table that granted the readers a splendid view of the gardens. You stood up and flexed your arms, decided to go there and rest your eyes a bit…

– It’s been a long time since this library saw such a dedicated researcher.

You let out a brief scream and turned immediately to the voice’s direction: you were so concentrated in your activities that you haven’t heard or sensed its owner’s arrival. But once you laid your eyes on him, you had to lean on the table to keep your posture, for the individual you had before you was not one you would take lightly.

There you saw a tall man in light, elegant clothing and circumspect manners walking down the stairs that connected the first floor, where you were, to the second one, which corridors and study tables were invisible from your spot, something you thought to be the reason why you haven’t seen him until now. But, still...

Being able to mask his presence that way, to the point I haven’t heard a single book’s page being turned… It’s equally admirable and disturbing.

The man approached with a calm curiosity in his look, that would go from you to the papers on your table, then back to the little human who stared at him as if caught in the middle of a crime or a child’s game, or so you thought while looking at the slight curve on the corner of his lips. When he stopped in front of you, your first instinct was to step back, but the table was in your way, so you were forced to stay in your place – a normal distance for two humans, but too short when a god was involved. Because his divine nature was clear even to your untrained eyes.

No mortal could be this beautiful.

Defying the passage of time, he had the face of a young man, no marks or lines to maculate the freshness of his skin as far as you could see, though his eyes would not let you be deceived: those were old eyes, heavy with the things they’ve seen through countless ages, and sharp by the same reasons, eyes that you guessed that only a few could stand; above the left one, there was a delicate tattoo of a vine that contoured his forehead until it disappeared under the waves of his gray hair, a conspicuous yet decent attire that would soften the solemnity of his general appearance. His right ear, pointing out among his hair, was pierced by an impressive amount of earrings.

In an unforeseen yet calm move, he stretched his right hand. You startled... until you looked aside and understood that he just wanted to reach the open book on the table. He passed an elegant finger over the lines on the upper side of the page as his eyes read the sentence in a quick look, turning back to you right after.

You were distracted looking at his nails, painted with a dark shade, and needed a moment to process what he said next.

– Dreams and the mysteries of the subconscious – he started, a note of moderate interest in his tone – Many of your people experience attraction to these subjects, but only a few are willing to study them with the seriousness they deserve. But you’ve been visiting this section everyday, taking notes and making comparisons with the same passion of an old scholar. It’s a beautiful thing to see in a young person, I have to admit.

So… he has been there all this time, observing your comings and goings?

He took a step aside in order to examine your papers, and you couldn’t do anything but to look as he took your notes and lists and read them with respectful attention, then compared their content with the books, talking to himself during the inspection.

– So descriptive and organized... An excellent calligraphy… Detailed yet selective… Professional yet passionate…

The man put everything back on their place and turned to you, his inquisitive gaze making you adjust your posture.

He asked your name. You gave him the first and the second one, to which he discussed your origins.

– This is a common name by the sea lands from the … region. Are you from there?

– Yes… My Lord – he haven’t said his name yet, but you wouldn’t leave him without any treatment – My family have been living there for at least four generations. This is my mother’s name too.

He turned back to the table for a brief second.

– By the style used in your notes, I suppose you’ve been doing all of this for personal reasons – and with a soft smile, – It seems you’re trying to figure out the meaning of a dream of yours. Would you mind telling me about it?

You didn’t give him an immediate reply, though you weren’t willing to refuse the request: on one hand, you’ve never talked about this dream with any human, including the people you trusted the most, so that entertaining the idea of revealing it to a god was an even more distant possibility until this day; on the other hand, you were a young mortal from the coast, isolated in their lands now: you were aware of how silly it would be to ignore your disadvantage and say no to one of them. The thing is that you’ve been successful in avoiding this problem by keeping a safe distance from the gods you saw as the most demanding and dangerous… But what should you do when one of them suddenly appears before you and start making questions in a direct yet polite manner, in a way that you wouldn’t even call intrusive?

Perhaps all of this was written in your face, for he ended up giggling after observing you for a while.

– It doesn’t feel right sharing it with a stranger, does it? – and since you stayed quiet, – But let me tell you that it isn’t for nothing that I took interest in it. I myself have been haunted by a dream for months before deciding to come to Valhalla after answers. And, judging by the predominant symbols of your notes, such as ruins and old buildings, our dreams might have similarities. I want to find out how deep they are. And this is so important to me that I don’t mind asking for a stranger’s help to get this.

He finished that sentence with the same soft, discreet smile you caught yourself getting familiar with. Maybe he’s got a point there. And since you yourself weren’t going too far doing all the work alone, counting on someone more experienced than you, and one with a similar case to solve, couldn’t be so bad.

You sighed and turned to the table, to your papers, finally accepting to talk.

– Just like in your case, my Lord, during the months that preceded my stay in Valhalla, this dream would come to me at least one night a week. I would find myself alone, surrounded by what it seemed to a be a desert, or an abandoned land, with ruins as far as the eye can see. I would walk to see what I could find among them, but there was nothing for me there. Still, I wouldn’t try and find a way to leave that place. I wanted to stay, to touch the ruins, to move them, to build something out of them, but some strange force grips my hands, as if telling me not to be arrogant and leave them there, and this is when my hope dies and I wake up with no choice but to wait until it started again.

The man spent a moment in silence, looking at the papers, measuring your words, and during that time your breaths were the only detectable sound between those walls.

He was the first to talk after that.

– Tell me… The last night you had this dream was the one before you came to Valhalla, wasn’t it? And this was probably the time when the dream came more vividly, right?

Your eyes widened.

– How do you know, my Lord?!

Your surprise didn’t affect him.

– Because the same thing happened to me. Now, can you give this place of your dreams a more detailed description?

You nodded and went to depict the aspect of the ruins, the color of the sky, the texture of the soil, the temperature of the surroundings and everything you were able to remember. At some moments, you had to make pauses, as if the memories were as heavy as the dream itself, so that dealing with the emotions evoked by it while awake was as difficult as when you experienced them in your sleep.

There was a sensation of peace, or conciliation, in the air when you finished, which convinced you that another part of your mission was fulfilled – the initial one being the start of your research.

However, your journey for answers was just beginning, and the beginning itself was a pit deeper and darker than your young mind could conceive.

The man, as composed as he has been since the start of the conversation, turned his eyes to you, and you would swear you saw a trace of relief – even satisfaction – in them.

– It’s just as I imagined. This place… is the same of my own dreams. And I know where it is.

You gasped.

– Do you?!

– Yes. This place exists in reality. And it is part of Hellheim.

#shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok #snv hades #snv hades x reader #snv x reader #ror hades #ror hades x reader #ror x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie hades #record of ragnarok hades

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