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undercoverpena · 9 months

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you should be my only girl

joel miller x f!reader

gif credit to @perotovar

summary: in many ways, Joel is aware that you’re too good, too lovely. it has become the reason why he wants to give you nothing but pleasure, in the hope it’ll be enough to smother the pain he knows he must inflict.

word count: 1.6k warnings: smut in the back of a car from joel - cunnilingus, fingering. dedication: happy birthday to the wonderful @thetriumphantpanda - i hope joel remembering makes you smile. an: huge thank you to @swiftispunk for giving me the boost to post and to @perotovar for letting me use their beautiful gif, thank you so much!

You’re like a drug.

More addicting than the little out-of-date off-white pills that douse pain, memories and more. Woven deep within him; infused inside his muscles and bones.

One day, never there, and the next, you’re hacking away, cutting through him, digging out a space and sitting yourself inside it. Waiting, tapping—whispering like a siren until his resolve cracks and his palms are on either side of your face, kissing you gently. Far more gently than he assumes this new world allows, but he does so all the same.

Because you’re treasure, a spot marked X that he found without a map. He had tried to fight falling for you, but here he is all the same—having jumped and found he hadn’t met an untimely end.

In many ways, Joel is aware that you’re too good, too lovely. You’re a heart of gold and a fist of fury; you’re dirt-covered, scarlet-soaked, yet you’re also the brightest, shiniest thing he’s had in a long time.

Your tongue may be laced with poison, your exterior hardened with the current times, but he sees the embers of the person that once was. The one that appears when the sun sets and rain peppers against the glass of his place.

You see him, and he sees you.

The loss you both carry suddenly lightened, one of them lifting it for the other on the more challenging days. No questions asked, just a nod, an understanding.

Most mornings, when he wakes and your arm is around his waist, Joel has to pinch himself. His hand sliding over yours, fingers tracing your knuckles—doing an array of shapes until he hears your breathing change. It’s only ever then that he turns to face you, to watch in wonder as your lashes flutter and bask him in sunlight and care.

Today, Joel finds he has to pinch himself differently when he has you like this. The truck door yanked open, you placing yourself on the backseat of it. The vehicle itself is all covered in wilted vines and decades of dust, not that either of you care. You’re atop cracked leather, engulfed in fusty air that’s desperate to escape and be renewed, but you just look at him dutifully.

Having followed his instruction, his whisper as the two of you admired your handiworks.

In general, you make him soft, but you also make him hard. The latter more present currently as his hands spread your thighs, hooking around them to pull you to the edge of the seat—perched, waiting, core glistening with want as your jeans remain abandoned at his feet. His finger brushes over the little thin fabric stretched beyond belief at your ankles—the sun's glow piercing through the dirt-covered sunroom, casting you in enough of a sheen to highlight the muck and sweat on your collarbone and forehead.

But you’re still a vision.

It’s why he likes having you like this, lay out for him—all prettiness in a sea of ruin.

Words that are so similar fall easily from his mouth before he licks a stripe.

Usually, he’d take his time and earn himself a couple of O’s before he cashes in on his own. Today, he’s more satisfied with this, giving you your reward, giving you all he has in him as his muscles groan from fighting.

You seem to appreciate it. Purposefully arching your hips into his mouth, his tongue sliding deeper. Joel feels your walls tighten as he tries to go deeper—as he tries to bury himself inside of you, in the same way you have him.

Then, it’s his turn to moan. Your fingers knotting in his hair, a feeling he relishes, yearns for as your nails scrape against his scalp.

It wasn’t always like this with you. The two of you barely let the other in on anything outside the four walls the two of you had made liveable. It took time, weeks, months, half a year before things moved from being the right person at the right time, to just needing the other

Now, he knows you’re his, and he is yours. It’s about as committed as things go when structure and normalcy have withered to dust.

All he knows is he cares. It thrums, hammers against his bones when his voice couldn’t shout in time—watching in pained horror as your body was speared to the floor. His own fight began, unable to get to you, the back of his mind screaming, drumming its fists against his skull as a jaw cracked, and the butt of his gun met an oesophagus.

His breathing laboured, difficult—strained. Catching a glimpse between his brawl to see you get the upper hand on the raider twice your size. Your body thrown behind your fist, the sound reverbing through the air as Joel smirked to himself.

It grew larger when he heard the knife sink into the person’s spluttered hisses, coating your thighs in ichor, staining them cherry-red.

He’d thought of nothing more than the mattress at the QZ—of his hand softly sliding your trousers from your skin. How he likes to kiss the pulse of your neck and feel your hands grasp his side. He imagined sinking his cock into you, inch by inch—the thought of your legs around him, breasts spilling out as he sliced you free from all the constraints that hid you from him.

It’s those thoughts as to why he hadn’t been able to wait. A need to remind himself of how alive you are, to hear it, see it, taste it.

It’s why he had you moaning—a sinful sound that almost reminds him of music. Your fingers splayed over the back of the seat, swiping dust away with your hopelessness as he continues to lap at your folds, keeping your legs parted with his hands as his thumb (he suspects and rather hopes) bruises your skin, leaving reminders.

Joel likes the evidence that he touched heaven and left a mark that couldn’t be so easily wiped. That it proves you’ve chosen him, because he knows he’s done things, horrid things.

Grief had spread its tendrils through him the same way the rot had ripped through cities. You hadn’t cared, not when you met or after. You never asked a thing—never wanted more than he could give.

It’s why he liked you, why he felt seen.

Boring your eyes into him, making him feel seen. Making him feel protective—awakening a dormant creature that’s now becoming a feral monster.

It became the reason why he wanted to give you nothing but pleasure, in the hope it’ll be enough to smother the pain he knows he must inflict. Because he cares, but not in the way you deserve. He won’t find a flower on the walk through a once-thriving city and pluck it for you; he won’t dance with you if music ever reaches their ears.

But you deserve that. A different life robbed from you, a happy ever after ripped from grip, even more so the moment you chose him.

It’s why he digs his hands into the back of your thighs, pulling you closer as he flattens his tongue against your core. Giving you something he can provide with ease, pleasure, care, comfort.

You moan at it. All punchy, full of hoarseness as his name joins it. A particularly needier yank of his hair accompanies it as he swirls the tip of his tongue over your swollen nub, before he latches his mouth back over you. Not wanting to leave you on the edge, because Joel never does. His fingers slide into your fluttering hole, feeling your hips buck, watching your eyes clench shut.

Because giving is practically all he has to offer.

He knows how your body hums before your throat sings—the next moan spreading up from someplace deeper, born from depth, as it rips out of you and sprays itself around the truck as he smirks.

He can’t help it.

You’re everything: a goddess, a work of art, his.

You’re his.

It surges him on, devouring you, lapping up everything you’ll give him as his cheeks flush with warmth and his zipper cuts into his hardened cock.

Because you’re so close. He can feel it, hear it, taste it.

It rushes through you, snapping and crashing—all Joel, fuck and a sea of other noises he craves.

He doesn’t stop, not immediately.

Whispering muted words against you as he makes his movements more gentle, easing you back to the present, your hips finding purchase back on the leather of the abandoned truck. His tongue moves from you before his fingers, mouth wrapping around his digits as you watch, hunger still simmering in the ocean of your eyes—chest rising and falling, beads of sweat falling down the swell of your jaw and neck.

Joel doesn’t move from his position, not even as your breathing returns. The two of you eyeing up the other, him all the more tempted to tell you to move up so he can get in the back, too.

”Do I ask what that was for?”

His lips slide into a smile, a foreign one—one that makes his cheeks crack from how long it’s been since he’s let it show—as his hand moves to his jeans, readjusting for comfort.

“Happy birthday.”

You blink, an array of emotions swirling in your deceptively deep eyes, before whispering: you remembered?

His hands help guide your underwear back up your legs, reaching down to get your jeans, shaking the ground from them.

Only then does Joel realise something else is like a drug, too. That look. The one full of surprise, shock, and amazement, still present on your face. Placed there by him, a remembrance from him you never asked for, never demanded. Because of that, he craves putting that look on your face again. And again.

Some part of him realising, before the rest of him, that’s how moving on begins, what really falling for someone looks like.

But as he helps you out of the vehicle, holding the jeans for you to take—deciding he’ll deal with all of that another day.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic #joel miller smut

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sinkovia · 5 months

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The idea of losing you

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Angst, Mentions of suicide, Violence, Blood.

The mission had been intense, with bullets whizzing past and adrenaline pumping through your veins. You and Ghost were working together, taking down enemy operators one by one. Amid the chaos, you called out for Luna, your loyal German Shepherd, who had just finished killing an enemy operator attempting to flank your position.

With a simple command, you beckoned her over, and she trotted to your side, her ears perked up and her gaze locked onto you, awaiting your next orders. Ghost was at your side, urgently calling for reinforcements as you watched from a distance. The tension in the air was thick as you both knew that this mission was far from over.

The faint sound of approaching aircraft grew louder, and you looked up to see an ominous sight—a squadron of fighter jets streaking across the sky. Then, it happened in a heartbeat. The building where your brother was located, the very same building you had just passed moments ago, was engulfed in a fiery explosion.

Time seemed to slow as you watched in horror, the world around you muted by the deafening roar of the explosion.

Your heart shattered as the realization hit you like a tidal wave. Your brother, who had always been there for you, your rock in the tumultuous sea of your life, was now gone. The airstrike had claimed him, ending his life instantly. Beside you, Luna whined, as if echoing your grief. She felt it too; she sensed his presence vanish, and in her own way, she mourned the loss.

For a brief, agonizing moment, the mission, the gunfire, the chaos around you all faded into the background.

Ghost's firm grip on your shoulder pulls you back from the brink. He turns you to face him, and his eyes convey a stern determination. He knows you're hurting, but he also knows that there's a mission to complete. In that silent exchange, Ghost encourages you to hold on, to push through the pain. The mission is still in motion, and you can't afford to lose yourself to grief, not now, not here. With a deep breath, you muster the strength to nod, acknowledging Ghost's unspoken command.

In the days that followed your brother's funeral, your life had taken a downward spiral. Grief had consumed you, making it difficult to eat or sleep. You had distanced yourself from the team, retreating into solitude as you grappled with the loss that weighed heavily on your heart. Your teammates understood, giving you the space and time you needed to process your pain.

Through those dark days, Luna never left your side, her presence was the only thing that seemed to tether you to reality. She stayed by your side, a silent companion that understood your pain better than anyone else. On one sleepless night, you took Luna for a walk. The night air was cool against your cheeks, carrying a faint scent of pine and earth. Luna trotted beside you, her warm presence a comforting reminder of the life that still existed, despite the overwhelming grief that clouded your heart.

As you wandered deeper into the quiet night, you stumbled upon Ghost. He sat on a bench with a cigarette in hand. His gaze was fixed on the mountains in the distance. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, the soft ember glowing in the dark. You approached him, Luna at your side.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, your voice a fragile whisper in the stillness of the night.

He glanced over at you, his eyes reflecting the dim moonlight. "Be my guest," he replied, his tone a mix of weariness and understanding. You took a seat beside him, the night air cool against your skin, and for a moment, you both sat in silence, staring at the mountains in the distance.

The weight of the world seemed to press down on your shoulders, but here, with Ghost beside you and Luna at your feet, you found a moment of respite from the relentless storm that had become your life. Finally, Ghost broke the silence, his voice tinged with concern that he couldn't conceal.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes shifting to study your face in the faint moonlight.

Ghost wasn't one to readily express his feelings, but his worry had been gnawing at him ever since you started pulling away from the team. He would never admit it to you, but your absence had left a void, and he missed the sound of your voice, the liveliness you brought to the group. Your presence had, in its own way, always been a comfort to him, a reminder of life beyond the shadows of his past.

You grounded him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

You took a deep breath, you decided to be honest with him. "To tell you the truth, I thought about ending it. Several times actually, with one quick bullet to the head. But I realised I couldnt give up, Luna needs me." You softly patted the top of her head and smile as she looks up to you. Ghosts eyes never left you, his gaze scanning over your features, lingering when he noticed the deep bags under your eyes.

"My brother gave her to me after our parents died. She’s all I have left of him. She was just a puppy when she was thrown into this hellish world of war. I can’t leave her behind. Im trying to pull myself together for her sake. Shes the only reason I havent given up."

Ghost listened, his gaze never wavering from you. He saw the pain in your eyes, the weight you carried, and he didn't know what to say. But when you looked at him, he met your gaze with sincerity. Breaking the silence, he spoke gently, his voice a calming presence in the still night.

"You're not alone in this, Y/n. The team, we're all worried about you. We care about you, and we're here for you whenever you need it."

Ghost's gaze remained on yours, his eyes reflecting the concern and genuine care he felt. "Don't push us away, we care about you more than you might realize."

Don’t push me away… I care about you more than you realize…

Words he would never dare speak to you.

"Thank you, Ghost" Your smile, though faint, warmed his heart.

The horizon began to shift, the first soft rays of the rising sun peeking over the distant mountains. Together, you and Ghost sat in the comfortable silence of the early morning, Luna at your feet, as you watched the sun rise.

A couple days after your talk with Ghost you were thrown into another mission. You were meant to infiltrate a building, and the team had split up to cover more ground. Luna was at your side as you cautiously opened a door, not anticipating the nightmare that awaited on the other side. In a fraction of a second, the situation went from under control to utter chaos. Luna leaped into action, her training taking over as she swiftly neutralized the enemy in front of you. But you failed to realize that it wasn't just one target; there was a group of them inside.

Two of them emerged from behind the door, pinning you to the floor before you could react. You struggled against their weight, your heart pounding in your chest as the situation escalated. Panic surged through you as you saw one of them raise their weapon, aiming it at Luna. The deafening gunshot pierced the air, and you watched in horror as Luna was struck, the bullet tearing through her leg. She cried out in pain, collapsing to the floor beside you, her once vibrant eyes now filled with agony. You screamed out as two men began kicking her.

"Please stop. Please dont do this!"

You were mere inches away, your arm slipped from the mens hold on you. You outstretched your hand, fingers trembling as you desperately tried to reach her, to offer any comfort you could. But they were quick to grab your arm, pinning your hands behind your back. All you could do was watch helplessly as she lay there, her gaze locked with yours, a silent plea in her eyes. The pain and guilt gnawed at your insides, the anguish of being so close yet utterly powerless to save her.

"Luna please get up."

You watched as one of the men took the pistol from his holster aiming it at her head.

"Im begging you shes all I have left please dont do this. Please just let her go."

Luna who had been looking at you the entire time lets out a low whine. All you can do is look at her.

"I'm so sorry" was all you can say before the deafening gunshot pierced the air.

The rest of your team burst into the room, and in a flurry of gunfire, they took down the enemy operatives. Ghost hurried to your side, but the tears continued to fall silently as you stared at Luna's lifeless body. Ghost positioned himself in front of you to shield you from the lifeless form her. Gently, he lifted you, cradling you in his arms, and carried you away from the room, heading towards the medevac.

Ghost had been there for you every day, his presence unwavering after the loss of your brother and your Luna. He remembered the words that had echoed in his mind, how Luna had been the last thing keeping you from ending your own life, and that thought scared him to the core. He couldn't bear the idea of losing you.

So, he checked on you constantly.

He would bring you tea at random times of the day, ask you to training sessions , and do anything he could to prevent you from being alone for extended periods. You looked okay, you had accepted every cup he brought thanking him with a small smile, joined him for training sessions, watched movies with him and the team in the rec room. He knew you were faking it, putting on a facade to shield him and the team from your pain.

Then, one day, you finally told him that you were okay.

"I'm okay, Ghost. I'm trying my best to pull myself together. It's just... a lot, you know?"

Ghost nodded, "I know," he replied, his voice gentle. "And I'm here for you, always. Dont forget that."

Ghost, ever the soldier, wanted to believe you. He wanted to believe that you were strong enough to overcome the grief and trauma that had engulfed you. But deep down, he had a nagging feeling that you were still hurting, that you weren't as okay as you claimed to be. He knew that healing from such profound loss took time, and he wished he could do more to help you through it.

You guys had just finished watching a movie in the rec room, the two of you were walking back to your rooms. His room was right next to yours, he stopped in front of his door. The nagging feeling in his heart was screaming out to him to not leave you alone. His mind flashed back to you laughing at the movie with Soap. You had made a joke that Soap thought was hilarious.

He thought that maybe you were trying your best to be okay. So he turned saying goodnight to you before stepping into his room and closing the door. He couldnt fall asleep, he had been tossing and turning for an hour. His mind wouldnt let him rest, he was worried about you. Something had kept screaming out at him to knock on your door and check on you and so he threw the covers off himself.

He opened his door and walked over to yours, he raised his fist to knock on your door when he flinched.

The sound of a gunshot made him flinch.

"Y/n?!" he tried opening the door but of course it was locked. He started to ram his shoulder against it until he finally broke through. He saw you laying on your bed, your eyes were open.

They were far away.

In your hand was a gun.

And you lay in a growing pool of your blood.

Ghosts breathing was labored as he looked at your eyes, you had been crying in your last moments. If only he had come sooner, if only he had listened to the gut feeling that screamed out at him the second he left your side. His eyes went to the small piece of paper in your hand, he carefully grabbed it, slowly opening it. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes read over the letters.

Im sorry Simon.

You noticed how hard he had been trying. Your conversations with him were always one sided before your brother and Luna's death. He was always the one listening, he never bothered to start conversations, never bothered to make plans, never offered you tea, never went to the movie nights.

He had tried his damn hardest to make sure you would be okay but it still wasnt enough.

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moronkombat · 8 months

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Im in love with your writing for MK ❤️ and I’m in love with Syzoth 💚 . So may I request Syzoth having a heavy breeding kink and desperate filling his human s/o to the brim with his seed also having a size kink .

tw: afab pronouns and anatomy used

Syzoth could truly not himself. He a sick man, one so depraved and foul. There no stopping it, however, he a slave to these compulsions that strangle him savagely. Guided by that which is written in his nature, the primal need he simply cannot deny, Syzoth is exceptionally wicked.

Blurred eyes of emerald stare at the figure so pinned beneath him. Her legs so far pushed and moved into the air as he has made her bend and stretch so that he may drive himself so deeply into her. He knows she is moaning yet the world so corroded with the sensation of her tight and sticky walls suctioning onto his long and thick length.

Never has sex felt so good since he discovered human intercourse. Such a warm place to sheath himself into. Oh so wet and sloppy it feels coiled around him. So warm...so warm...Syzoth loves her pussy wrapped around his cock. He could live within it forever and ever. What a heaven that would be to be blessed with breeding her pussy endlessly.

There's a deep growl bellowing around his throat as his cock continues its attack on her wet and sticky core. Syzoth is panting, trying to push more and more of himself into her but his length struggles. It thick and wide, how could she hope to fit it all?

"C-Come on..." Syzoth whispers into the air, hips burning and burning. "Take more...come on...!"

Moans burst to life from the depths of her lungs and he presses forward in his siege. Her defenses simply cannot manage, beginning to crumble apart into agonizing rapture. More and more she spreads for him, the seas of her parting for its master.

Such pathetic pants come from him, like an eager and overly excited puppy. Moans find themselves dancing together, tangled and unclear of which belongs to who. The sea is open to him, exposed completely and finally all of his length is surrounded in embers.

Green eyes cannot help but look at that outline etched into her pretty little stomach. Soon it will full of much more, so much more. He's leans over her, so close, so desperate. He wants to finish, he wants to finish inside her. Inside his seed will gather and mingle with her precious nurturing home. Through this wonderful gestation will be his brood, his kin.

His spine his curling and shaking with just the thought of filling her up with his offspring. How beautiful she will look so rounded with his child. Her breasts already so plush will swell and swell to provide for his child and for him. Syzoth must get her pregnant. He must...he must!

The grip on her morphs into power, fingers leaving bruises in her skin. Yes, that's it...she throbs around him so wildly, already trying to milk him dry. He'll provide, he'll give it all to her. Syzoth cannot stop himself, thrusts so brutally feverish; guided by that primal need to breed.

"Get pregnant..." he growls so close to her neck. "Get pregnant, get pregnant, get pregnant, getpregnantgetpregnant-"

Words bends and slur together until they become lost in the fog of groans and moans. From that fog a birth a pleasure is sprung upon them. So much...so warm and gushing as he delivers himself into her.

"Have my babies..." words are whispers on a voice most sore. "you'll look so pretty..."

Syzoth cannot be sure if he even speaking aloud or if these mere thoughts but it didn't matter. He stays so nestled within her burning nether. Such pretty pearls are poured into a womb most inviting and Syzoth's long and forked tongue curls around her neck so sweetly.

Both of them are panting now. So tired, so worn and yet Syzoth begins to move his hips again. Her moans are a wanton cry, still so sensitive but he cannot stop yet. Not until each precious drop of his seed finds a home inside her womb.

im such a nasty fucker for lewding syzoth like this omfg

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat fanworks #mortal kombat headcanons #mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut #syzoth x you #syzoth x reader #syzoth #syzoth smut

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scuttlingcrab · 3 months

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Raphael going to a noble party of some kind, disguised as a human, in order to find and schmooze with current and potential clients. While engaging with one such individual who seems particularly taken with him, from across the room he spots Tav, for once not dressed in adventurer's gear but decorated with finery. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is so radiant that, at a glance, one could be forgiven for mistaking the mortal as an angel in disguise. However, like the cambion, Tav also has noble-born partygoers vying for their attention, asking (and more often than not being granted) a dance with the hero, and perhaps gossip of nobles approaching the hero with dowry proposals and attempts at wooing this illustrious guest begin to reach the fiend's ears.

You're the best, thank you so much for sending me this prompt! x

Summary: Raphael attends the annual Baldur's Gate Masquerade Ball and accidentally runs into his little mouse.

Dance with the Devil

(Image via venenum-cadaverinus)

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women and devils merely players.

It was a warm summer’s evening. A gentle breeze came from the sea, as frequent as the lapping waves, temporarily relieving the heavy layer of humidity that hovered in the air. The full moon blazed, illuminating all below it like a spotlight.

The annual masquerade ball had begun, attracting not only the richest, noblest citizens within Baldur’s Gate, but of the entire Sword Coast. They all flocked to Wyrm's Rock Fortress, togged up clad in glittering gowns, spectacular silk suits, and meticulous masks that expertly hid the true identity of every guest.

Per annum, the masquerade highlighted the achievements of Baldur’s Gate, from elections won to cities conquered, and what a year it had been for all mankind. With the narrow defeat of the Elder Brain the city undoubtedly had something magnificent to celebrate. Despite more than half of the city still in ruin, Wyrm's Rock itself littered with holes, and the political climate in bedlam; there was hope. And with hope, lies potential.

Raphael arrived at the ball not in his usual show of sparks and embers, but by modest carriage. He smiled to himself, finding amusement in this mortal way of traversing the planes. These simple minded creatures always had such an imaginative way of thinking. He exited the coach and took a deep breath, absorbing the salty sea air and the multifarious scents of the mortals swimming past him. He had come concealed as a human, but his clothing was nothing but lavish. He couldn’t resort to anything less than that.

He wore a red velvet three-piece tuxedo with a form fitting tailcoat. The colour was bold, yet the details simplistic, he wouldn’t dare distract from the show-stopping piece of his costume: the mask.

Raphael was hidden behind a horned gold leaf mask, the horns replicating the very ones from the Crown of Karsus. He made the mask himself, the artistry immaculate, showcasing Raphael’s pristine attention to detail. The intricate floral designs carved into the mask not only added panache but amplified the aesthetic beauty of the disguise.

A gaggle of women stopped to take in Raphael’s outfit, nodding to him in admiration. He returned their stares with a polite bow, before they moved along, giggling. Raphael’s body increased in warmth, his cheeks flushed with pride.

This was a night of celebration not only for Baldur’s Gate, but for Raphael. Since acquiring the Crown of Karsus, he barely had a moment to himself. There had been no celebrations awaiting him in the House of Hope, no companions to congratulate him on his arduous labour. The very nature of his ambitions subjected Raphael to secrecy and solitude, he was forced only to rely on himself. Naturally, as soon as his hands cradled the Crown, he went straight to work, preparing for the next course of action in his ongoing plans to conquer the Hells. The Crown was just the beginning.

Symphonious music, exuberant laughter, and the electrifying hum of excitement could be heard even from the outskirts of the Fortress. The entire fortification was vibrating, brought to life by the very nature of the ball.

As Raphael showed his invitation to the guards, and passed successfully through the security checks, he bit his tongue to stop himself from prematurely combusting into flames. His chest rattled, as if it might burst open at any second from the thrill of the evening to come.

Raphael made his way through the interior of the fortress, completely anonymous, blending smoothly into the crowd. No room was off limits, he was free to roam where he pleased; to indulge in the festivities, and even prey on guests without suspicion if he felt so inclined.

He soon found himself on the upper floors, walking into the Audience Hall. It had been turned into a ballroom, the hive of the masquerade. A band was comfortably sitting where the throne would’ve been. The walls behind them had yet to be repaired from the blasts that sieged the fortress when the Elder Brain attacked. It quite suited the occasion, bringing in the cool evening air and offering a dramatic view of the oceanfront.

Raphael leaned against a stone wall towards the edge of the room, observing the mortals mingling and twirling. Everyone’s movements were synchronised effortlessly, there wasn’t one person who didn’t belong. He must throw a ball like this in Avernus once Zariel is defeated. Yes, it would be most joyous indeed.

His toes tingled as he watched the gowns swirling, his body attracted to the movements like a moth to a light. As he took a step forward, he was suddenly blocked by a mysterious woman. She wore a tall lace headdress that made it appear as if she was looming over Raphael. Her blue gown hugged her bosom, revealing a little too much to those who happened to sneak a peek or two. Her face was completely obscured by a white porcelain mask, the lips painted red. She bowed to Raphael and he returned the motion.

“I was quite taken by your ensemble.” The woman began, her voice deep and rusty.

“I am most honoured, my lady. “

“It smells of money.” The woman’s eye’s twinkled behind her mask.

Raphael raised an eyebrow, amused at the bluntness of this woman. He couldn’t help but respect the efforts, despite her obstructing his path to the dance floor.

“My accounts are indeed… healthy.” Raphael responded.

“Mmm. And what of your relationship status?

“I am unfortunately married to my work.”

“As they all say...”

The woman began to say something else, but her voice faded as Raphael caught wind of something stirring at the far end of the hall. His ears twitched as the murmurs rose, the distant rumbling growing like a massive wave, enveloping the entire ballroom.

Raphael turned to find the source of the commotion, his eyes immediately falling on heaven incarnate. His mouth fell open as he took in this new creature. He delicately placed his hand on his heart, to make sure it was still beating.

She was stunning, the most beautiful thing he had laid eyes on in this mortal plane; every movement she made was graceful, dignified, and had purpose. Her black strapless gown glittered under the candlelight, showcasing her broad shoulders and pale skin. The train on her gown seemed to levitate as she moved across the room. The mask she donned was made of silver feathers that fanned out towards her forehead. Truly, a celestial in disguise.

“If you will excuse me. It has been most illuminating. May your future be… opulent.”

Raphael dismissed himself with a bow. He was certain he heard the woman tut in disapproval, but he was already in pursuit; halfway across the hall to his new target.

A crowd was forming around the mysterious creature, growing with more eager souls as every second passed. Raphael lingered around the throng, trying to find an opportunity to strike. He edged his way in, closer and closer, his chest expanding, eyes glowing, as he focused his listening. Raphael needed to hear the creature’s voice, which was no doubt as angelic as her appearance.

As he approached the centre, he was bombarded by mundane talk from the vultures circling the creature; dowry proposals and failed attempts at wooing her with what sounded like children’s rhymes. Cheap tricks!

Raphael instead titled his head towards the creature in another attempt to identify her. His nose picked up the delicate scent of cloves and roses. Cloves and roses… he gasped. He searched the creature’s face again and instantly recognised the pale scar on her chin. It was minuscule, but Raphael never missed a detail. Could it be… Tav? The little mouse?

It felt like a lifetime ago since their last encounter when she so valiantly delivered the Crown of Karsus to him. Raphael’s pride and glory, his ascension. Their exchange had been brief, but Raphael would always be eternally grateful.

He often had Tav in his thoughts long after they parted, wondering how she coped; but she soon occupied less of his mind the more fires he had to put out, the more he had to focus on preparations against Zariel’s forces. This evening he would rectify his error.

Raphael beamed as he watched Tav deny one vulture after another. Such confidence, my how she’s grown. His little mouse, so furious, so brave.

Without hesitation, Raphael swept in, lightly tapping Tav on the back. Her skin felt cool against his touch, and he fought against his temptations to leave his hand resting on her shoulder.

“May I have this dance?” Raphael asked.

Tav froze at Raphael's touch, stopping her dialogue with the random mortal. She bowed in an apology to them before turning around to face Raphael. Tav’s nose twitched as she took him in, her eyes slowly lighting up in recognition. Raphael gave Tav a cheeky smile, extending a hand towards her.

There was a pause before Tav nodded, placing her hand upon his. The whispers hushed and silence filled the hall as Raphael guided her to the centre of the ballroom just in time for a new song.

Raphael whirled Tav into his arms as soon as the music began. She fit perfectly against him, like a missing puzzle piece. Tav squeezed his hand as Raphael led and she followed, never missing a beat.

“I almost didn’t recognise you without those tattered blood stained clothes, little mouse. You clean up well.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone called me that, ” Tav said, smiling fondly. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Thank you for rescuing me from those creeps.”

Raphael chuckled.

“And you are a most welcoming sight indeed. Positively ravishing. I never thought I’d see you attending an event such as this.”

“I could say the same of you. Don’t you have more important things to be doing than playing dress up?”

“Ever so perceptive. This evening I am merely here for entertainment, taking note of my stock. It pleases me to see some of my most prestigious, favoured clients doing so well for themselves.”

“Our deal is done.”

“Yes, in truth, but you are an alumni, so to speak. It’s only natural for me to check-in from time to time.”

The dance grew more intimate as they continued. The world around Raphael vanished as he stared into Tav’s eyes. It was just the two of them, how it was always meant to be. Raphael was connected to Tav, their movements fluid as they circled the dance floor. He could feel Tav’s breath on his neck, her breasts pushing against his chest, as he let the rhythms direct their next steps.

“You are a natural.” Raphael said, breaking the stillness.

“Don’t act so surprised.”

“Here I was thinking I knew everything about my favourite client.”

“Surely I won’t be your favourite forever?"

“Some have come close since we last spoke, but you still have top billing.”

Tav's cheeks unexpectedly blushed as she stared at Raphael through the mask, her eyes softening. Raphael stared back at the creature, bemused. He attempted to open his mouth in response, but found he was at a loss for words.

Instead his stomach fluttered, his own skin burned hotter than Avernus, nearly causing him to miss a step. He had to focus, now was not the time to get lost in these emotions, to think about romancing a mortal. It was a sign of weakness.

The music ended and the ballroom erupted into applause. Raphael bowed deeply and upon looking up at Tav, noticed tears in her eyes. Without warning, Tav hugged Raphael, pulling him in close.

“Now, now... this evening is not for tears but for celebration,” Raphael whispered into her ear.

She laughed before releasing Raphael from her embrace. Raphael quickly snapped his fingers, a fresh rose appearing in his hands. He bowed a final time, presenting it to Tav.

“To the hero of Baldur’s Gate!” Raphael roared.

The applause continued, getting louder and louder.

“And to the bearer of my future.” Raphael continued, in another whisper. “I must bid you adieu. Please don’t let me keep you any longer.”

“Thank you again, Raphael. I’ll make sure to pay you a visit.”

“And I’ll always be waiting, little mouse.”

Raphael promptly took his leave, vanishing into the crowd. He paused before exiting the Audience Hall, watching Tav from the shadows. She continued to hold herself high as she welcomed another dance.

Perhaps he would invite her to dinner. After all, it was long overdue.

#writing #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 raphael #fanfic #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #raphael x reader #raphael x tav #tav x raphael #raphael bg3 x reader #raphael #raphael baldurs gate 3 #fiction prompts #asks #my dream

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kristisbookland · 4 months

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ACOFAS

Ch7

“Send Lucien, then. As our human emissary.”

I studied the tenseness in Azriel’s shoulders, the shadows veiling half of him from the sunlight. “Lucien is away right now.”

Az’s brows rose. “Where?”

I winked at him. “You’re my spymaster. Shouldn’t you know?”

Az crossed his arms, face as elegant and cold as the legendary dagger at his side. “I don’t make a point of looking after his movements.”

“Why?”

Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited.

“It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

To know when and if Lucien sought her out. What they did together.

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly.

Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

Ch12

Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants.

I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.”

Az said nothing.

No, he just moved toward her.

Mor tensed beside me.

But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

Elain’s hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them. With a blink, she lowered them, and noticed her apron. “I—I’ll be right back,”

...

“Wait,” Azriel said, nothing but command in his voice.

...

and Azriel … It was pity on his beautiful face. Pity and sorrow as he watched my sister.

...

But something in me eased at that laughter, at the light that returned to Elain’s eyes.

A light I wouldn’t see dimmed further.

Ch16

Azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below. “I’ve never stayed in this room.” His midnight voice filled the space.

...

“No,” Azriel said, not turning from the window.

...

Azriel remained at the window

...

Azriel said, turning from the garden window at last.

Ch19

I found Elain studying it, beautiful in her amethyst-colored gown. I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it.

The shadowsinger was clad in a black jacket and pants similar to Rhysand’s—the fabric immaculately tailored and built to fit his wings. He still wore his Siphons atop either hand, and shadows trailed his footsteps, curling like swirled embers, but there was little sign of the warrior otherwise. Especially as he gently said to my sister, “Happy Solstice.”

Elain turned from the snow falling in the darkness beyond and smiled slightly. “I’ve never participated in one of these.”

Ch20

Elain turned from where she’d been speaking to Nesta. “Oh, that’s from me.”

Azriel’s face didn’t so much as shift at the words. Not even a smile as he opened the present and revealed—

“I had Madja make it for me,” Elain explained. Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention of the family’s preferred healer. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.”

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys joined him, the former grabbing the glass bottle from Azriel’s hand and examining it. “Brilliant".

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.”

#elriel #pro elriel #elriel supremacy #pro elain #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel

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nitewrighter · 2 years

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The Harker family being perfectly kind and polite people, perfectly respectable to their neighbors around the Hawkins estate despite them being from humbler beginnings than Mr. Hawkins, but all of them being… just a liiiittle off.

Maybe it’s the way the light hangs in their eyes as they take their twilight constitutional, little Quincey peeking out of his pram, seemingly capable of making eye contact over great distances. Maybe it’s the way both he and Mina seem to uncannily know Jonathan’s location at any time (but then again his mother always had a head for memorization—just listen to the woman talk about trains!). Maybe it’s Jonathan having… just a slightly fierce air about him underneath all the sober pleasantries of being a partner at Hawkins’ firm, a passion that has cooled into steady and pleasant devotion, but still burns deep and hot like embers. Along with frequent visits to and from the distinguished Lord Godalming, the family seems to also greatly enjoy visits to the local asylum, well—they’re just being charitable, probably? But why do they all seem to perk up like that when they hear a dog barking in the distance, or a flutter of wings? Why do they stare out over the sea with that odd focus? Why does it feel like they know something we don’t, and why are we scared to ask?

#Dracula daily #Dracula #dracula daily spoilers

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dittolicous · 2 months

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hear me out

stealth black!sanji where sanji does indeed start losing his emotions and word makes it way back to judge, so he has him kidnapped/his death faked and uses science to rush the removal of emotions along with wiping a good chunk of his memories to make him easier to control... the focus however was high-key placed on emotions such as empathy, humility, kindness, joy, etc. since judge wanted to ensure to an absolute degree that sanji's 'flaws' were wiped clean, leaving only the perfected stealth black he was always meant to be

but judge makes a mistake

in his hurry to eradicate the humanity, he didnt consider the consequences of leaving even an inkling of negative emotions within an abused, aching shell - smattering of disjointed memories, blurry faces in sporatic dreams, voices that are just outside his grasp, a longing for something but yet lacking a name...

injured, raw, bloody from unknown wounds he may be, but stupid, sanji is not

he's stealth black, espionage is his specialty, he knows how the human mind works, how words can be twisted, the ways a tide can be turned with the right leverage. all people, with the right tools, are malleable. he also knows the range of his 'father's' skills, knows how far judge would go to secure a victory, how little he fears damaging his own to get the right outcome...

sanji knows

there is a hole where his heart ahould be, deep, dark, and endless. he cannot feel love, but he knows its absence. there is no sympathy for the innocent lives ravaged in the vinsmoke name, yet its mention brings bile to his throat. he sees the sunrise across the sea with blank eyes and watches it set on the corpses of kingdoms with growing repulsion

his brothers laugh, they were taught how despite it having little meaning to them. they echo the teachings of their father.

sanji had that ripped away. he can recognize a hole when he sees it even if he doesnt know what once filled it. there are no empty laughs. no fake smiles. no uncaring boasts. he cannot, there was no reason for him to (were even the echos of joy a risk?)

instead he burns

hot loathing makes a home in his chest. contemp and fury settle in his lungs, growing with every breath he takes, fueled by the embers of despair settling in his stomach

sanji knows despair, knows how deep their roots take in humanity, that to be human is to suffer... but without the other half, the joy of human connection which makes it all worthwhile, the act of living, he cannot conceptualize the value of being alive in the face of such suffering

instead he stands back and watches. unbalanced, unchecked, and under-estimated, stealth black plans. he'll rid the world of their filth, finishing the job blackleg sanji was too weak to do

for in his hurry, judge forgot about sanji's rage, about the depths of his grief and the ferocity of his burning passion. so afraid of one little boys generosity, he brushes off the dangers of unbridled resentment, that malice cannot always be reigned in by an iron fist alone

and where once, there were certain teachings of honor and integrity, of love and belief to temper this flame, judge left nothing. he took away the soft words of a kind mother, the sharp kicks of a caring father (his real father), the unabashed voices of true nakama...

is it really all that surprising that once loving flames would turn into a blazing inferno, one which burns the world indiscriminately?

judge doesnt realize he didnt defang the wolf, no, he removed the muzzle

tl;dr - if a person is made of burning passion and you remove their kindness, wouldnt that just leaving burning? judge focuses only on getting rid of sanji's soft traits not considering that he'd never actually be able to control a sanji that rages indiscriminately, which eventually comes to bite him in the ass as stealth black sets the world on fire out of self-loathing

#one piece #blackleg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #stealth black #sanji #ditto rambles #burning rage au

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salmonight · 7 months

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Dark Sun Cult in a nutshell:

Sun God: "PLS I BEG OF YOU JUST STOP WORSHIPPING ME ALREADY!! YOU ARE LITERALLY BURNING ME ALIVE!!"

Dark sun cultists: "OUR GOD HAS ANSWERED!! PRAY HARDER!"

#deep sea embers #Dse #Deep sea embers meme #Dse meme #Like they're seriously like that #Poor guy's ass is literally on fire 🔥#God just tries to make them stop #And they take it as approval #wheezing #i feel kinda sorry for the guy but this is too hilarious

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astrolovecosmos · 10 months

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Aries vs. Libra

Red Dragon vs. Harpy

Man-Caused Fires vs. Polluted Air

Lava Flow, Fireworks, Sparklers, Burns, Red Paint, Red Stones vs. Feathers, Chimes, Cottonwood Seeds, Bubbles, Fresh Air or Naturally Fragrant Air

Taurus vs. Scorpio

Earth Giant vs. Sea Monster or Titan

Earthquake vs. Tsunami

Diamonds, Emeralds, Silks, Satin, Wine vs. Caviar, Hypnotizing Colors and Lights, Deep Sea Secrets, Graveyards, or Treasures

Gemini vs. Sagittarius

Fairy vs. Salamander

Raining of Animals or Substances, Surprises from the Wind vs. Wildfire or Fire Cyclone

Fairy Lights, Fireflies, Butterflies, Talking Birds, Swamp Lights vs. Dancing Flames, Embers, Sparks, Wax, Lanterns or Torches, All the Colors of Fire, Glow

Cancer vs. Capricorn

The Kraken vs. Gold-Hoarding Dragon

Cave-In vs. Riptide

Lost Treasure, Coral, Pearls, Seaweed, Crabs, Lobsters, Seafoam, Moonlight vs. Precious Metals, Crystals, Expensive Woods, Coins

Leo vs. Aquarius

Chimera or Manticore vs. Thunderbird

Heatwave vs. Freeze

Sunshine, Sunbursts, Glittering Sand, Mirages, Heat Refraction, Cozy Fireplace, Heated Blankets vs. Stars, Rainbows, Prisms, Glitter, Wide and Open Skies

Virgo vs. Pisces

Gnome vs. Mermaid or Siren

Famine, Infestation, or Sickness vs. Floods

Safron, Truffles, Expensive Fruits, Medicinal Plants vs. Seashells, River Stones, Gold, River Treasures, Flashy Scales, Salmon, Smell and Sound of Rain, Watery Reflections

#aethetics #for fun #zodiac #astrology #polar opposites #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scoprio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

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writingforstraykids · 19 days

Text

Amazing what lies you were capable of

Pairing: Chan x reader (referred to as she/her)

Word Count: 1485

Summary: Chan reflects on everything that happened with her and finally decides to move on.

Warnings/Tags: angst, mention of ghosting, empty promises, mention of smoking (one sentence), heartbreak

A/N: Purely self-indulgent, I already apologize for the angst.🖤

Amazing what lies you were capable of, Chan thought as he sat in his dimly lit apartment, staring at his phone. The screen was blank, no sign of any new messages or missed calls. The silence was deafening, each minute stretching into eternity. He had been here before, in this very position, heart pounding with a mix of hope and dread, only to be met with the same empty void.

The first time she had ghosted him, he had been naive enough to make excuses on her behalf. She was busy with work, overwhelmed by her personal life, or perhaps dealing with something he couldn’t quite grasp. He had convinced himself that there were reasonable explanations for her silence. But as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the pattern became unmistakable. She would reappear with apologies that seemed genuine, stories of chaos that he wanted so desperately to believe. And each time, he welcomed her back with open arms, the embers of their connection rekindling his hope.

Now, as he sat there in the dark, he couldn’t help but reflect on the many moments they had shared and the many more they had missed. She had been a whirlwind in his life, a bright and captivating force that had drawn him in from the moment they met. Her laughter, infectious and bright, had been a beacon in the often gray landscape of his days. Her touch, warm and reassuring, had been his anchor in the stormy seas of uncertainty.

But those moments of joy were always fleeting, interrupted by the harsh reality of her absence. She would vanish without a trace, leaving behind only the faint echoes of her promises. Promises that now seemed as insubstantial as the smoke from his cigarette, curling and dissolving into the night air.

Chan rose from the couch and walked to the window, looking out at the city that stretched out before him. The lights flickered like distant stars, each one a reminder of the lives bustling around him lives that seemed so much more certain and grounded than his own. He wondered how many others in this sprawling metropolis were staring at their own silent phones, waiting for a message that might never come.

He remembered the last time he had seen her, just over a month ago. They had met at their favorite café, a cozy little place tucked away from the main streets. She had been radiant, her eyes sparkling with a light that had always captivated him. They had talked for hours, losing themselves in conversation, sharing dreams and fears. She had told him about her new job, the excitement in her voice intoxicating. He had felt a surge of pride and happiness for her, believing that this time, things would be different.

But then, as always, she had started to pull away. Her messages became sporadic, her replies curt and distant. He could sense her slipping through his fingers, like sand in an hourglass, each grain a moment lost to the void. He had tried to reach out, to understand what was happening, but his efforts were met with silence.

Amazing what lies you were capable of, he repeated to himself, the words a bitter mantra. He had believed her when she said she loved him when she promised that they would make it through whatever challenges lay ahead. He had believed her when she said that her disappearances were never about him, that she was dealing with her own demons. But now, those words felt like daggers, cutting deep into the fabric of his stupidly blind trust.

He turned away from the window and walked back to the couch, sinking into its familiar embrace. His mind drifted to the countless nights he had spent waiting for her, each one a torment of doubt and longing. He thought about the times he had seen her online, her status mocking him with its glaring green dot and the agony of watching as his messages went unread.

Chan picked up his phone again, scrolling through their old conversations. Each message was a relic of a time when hope had still burned bright within him. He lingered on the ones that had meant the most to him, the ones where she had poured her heart out to him, where she had shared her deepest fears and wildest dreams. He had held onto those words like a lifeline, believing that they were a testament to the depth of their connection.

But now, he saw them for what they were: illusions. Beautiful, comforting illusions that had kept him trapped in a cycle of hope and despair. He wondered how much of what she had said had been true and how much had been crafted to keep him hanging on. He wondered if she had ever truly loved him or if he had simply been a convenient escape from her own reality.

The thought of moving on had crossed his mind many times, but each time he had pushed it away. The idea of a life without her, even with all the pain she brought, was too unbearable to contemplate. He had built his world around her, his identity intertwined with hers in ways he couldn’t easily unravel. She was the sun around which his life orbited, and without her, he was lost in the darkness.

But now, as he sat in the quiet of his apartment, he felt a shift within him. The pain was still there, a dull ache that throbbed in his chest, but it was accompanied by a new sense of clarity. He realized that he couldn’t keep living like this, trapped in a cycle of hope and heartache. He couldn’t keep waiting for someone who might never come back, for promises that might never be fulfilled.

He thought about the lies she had told, the ones that had kept him tethered to her even as she drifted away. He thought about the moments of joy they had shared, moments that had felt so real but now seemed like mere fantasies. And he realized that he needed to let go of those illusions, to accept that they were never meant to be.

Chan took a deep breath and set his phone down, the decision solidifying in his mind. He needed to move on, to find a way to rebuild his life without her. It wouldn’t be easy, and the pain wouldn’t disappear overnight, but he knew it was the only way forward. He couldn’t keep living in the shadows of her absence, waiting for a light that might never return.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen, the weight of his decision heavy but liberating. He poured himself a glass of water, the cool liquid soothing his sore throat. As he drank, he thought about the future, about the possibilities that lay ahead. He thought about the things he had put on hold for her, the dreams he had pushed back in the hope of a shared future that now seemed so unlikely.

He realized that it was time to start living for himself, to reclaim the parts of his life that he had sacrificed for a love that had never truly been his. It was time to let go of the past and embrace the unknown, to find joy in the small moments and the simple pleasures that life had to offer.

As he stood there in the quiet of his apartment, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but for the first time in a long while, he felt ready to face it. He was ready to let go of the lies, to free himself from the chains of a love that had only ever brought him pain.

Amazing what lies you were capable of, he thought one last time, but now the words were not filled with bitterness. Instead, they were a reminder of the strength he had found within himself, the resilience that had kept him going even in the darkest of times. He knew that he would carry the scars of this love with him, but he also knew that they would make him stronger, a testament to the battles he had fought and the victories he had won.

Chan took one last look at his phone, the screen still blank, and then turned it off. He didn’t need it anymore, didn’t need the constant reminder of a love that had never truly been his. He was ready to move on, to find his own path, and to embrace the future with an open heart and a hopeful spirit. And as he took his first steps into the unknown, he knew that he would be okay, that he would find his way, and that he would never again let himself be defined by the lies of the past.

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