#not to punish. not to hurt out of spite | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suguru-getos · 5 months

Text

jjk men as the type of yanderes:

characters included: gojo, geto, yuta, megumi, sukuna

gojo satoru:

yandere tendency: manipulative, overpowered, soft.

gojo satoru is the type of yandere who will be fine with most of your antics. his little baby trying so hard to annoy him? how absolutely adorable of her. the thing is, he also knows he is too powerful for you and that subjecting you to that power is going to have consequences. he's always kind, nice, happy-go-lucky around you. he tries to take the subtle route, ask you out for dates and stuff but he lacks patience. he has so much love to offer he can't wait for you to reciprocate. he would eventually just kidnap you. however you get everything you want and need. he wouldn't even take your phone away, just don't talk to men and don't even… dare. to talk. about. leaving him. that triggers him. the only time he has been truly, unforgiving and blinding hot with his rage was when you fled away from the gojo estate. you saw him dancing around in the sky, floating with a maniacal grin as you tried to hide amongst the flooded trees in the estate where he just chanted. "no matter where you go, I will find you always, come out on your own and you won't see daddy's punishments." he meant it, and you didn't have the guts to disobey him. like a squeaky, meek rat, you came out from under one of the trees, satoru in front of you looking down with gritted jaw. "haven't I given you enough?" his hold on your jaw is firm as he picks you up, tosses you over his shoulder and walks back to the estate. his coldness is difficult to handle since he's always simping around you, but let's say you needed to re-assure him that you wouldn't leave by giving him your first kiss. he doesn't really do forcing but you'd much rather have the old satoru back. this one has trust issues and this one knows how to manipulate you. "you know one of these days you'd make me so angry I kill everyone you hold dear princess. it wouldn't be something I would want to do… but I- i- just lose control." scary, nice, and ever so kind and manipulative>

geto suguru:

yandere tendency: hot and cold, gaslighting, extremely loving.

suguru is simple and patient. as long as you are in front of his eyes he does not mind anything at all. however, there are times when his carefully twisted smile turns into a frown whenever you disobey him. suguru is good to you when you are good to him. if you do not listen to him then there are punishments for everything. maybe you wouldn't get to talk to your friends for a week. "you don’t deserve me being so kind when all you do is hurt me." suguru knows how to bend you to his will, when you get rebellious over it and ex: stop eating food, he does not have any problem forcing food down your throat by keeping one of his curses latched to your body. what else can you do? vomit it out?? out of sheer spite?? suguru geto has a solution for everything. if you do so, he's going to pretend he's surrendering, hold you in his arms and be so kind as if he's so guilty for making 'you' act up. if only he'd been good enough yeah? then you wouldn't be so rebellious. he's going to be so good, show his true devotion to you. aw? why're you crying? he's just trying to make you cum! over and over and over! hey! it’s just body worship. don't squirm away angel… at the end of it you're a sobbing, overstimulated mess and bent down to his will. suguru can make punishments sexual because he's delusional enough to think that giving you painful pleasure is not equal to hurting you. he would give you so much aftercare though, call you perfect, call you a champion for dealing with it, give you body massages, if you really don't bend to his will… he's manipulative enough to kneel down and stain your thighs with his tears as he leans his head on your thigh and mumbles how sorry he truly feels.

yuta okkutsu:

yandere tendency: too nice, forgiving, delusional.

yuta knows being couped up like this does not feel nice. he calls you his little hummingbird. because you sound so adorable begging and screaming to be freed. if only he could do that. "the world outside is really bad baby, I'm sure you don't know that and I'm so glad you don't. I will make sure you wouldn't know anything about it as well." he has you on his lap, forcing a hug and tearing up whenever you resist. his heart gets instantly broken when you resist his affections though. that… makes him extremely dramatic. why would you do that to him? hasn't he been nice? yuta would never willingly, knowingly hurt you. never… but accidents happen okay? especially when someone loves you so much, then the betrayal also brings the worst emotions there is. he would 'accidentally' break your wrist by holding you too tight when you're squirming away, would accidentally cause you dizzy spells by kissing you too hard. you're just so delectable and so easily broken how can someone like him keep steady? after the accidents happen yuta changes, he almost goes… distant. as if he does not trust himself around you. around his precious little baby… until it re-starts all over again. however, he does have a stern belief that you love him too. you're just too shy to accept. his beautiful, shy little thing.

fushiguro megumi:

yandere tendency: stern, disciplining, in-control

fushiguro is no stranger to the twisted feeling that brims within the depths of his heart whenever he sees you. but he also knows that it would be futile to expect you to feel the same. he knows he needs to earn it. but god- when you love someone else already? why did you have to do that? can't you really see you were meant for him? the logical part him tries to overpower the illogical, love-sick version and fantasy of you taking his cock and belly full with his kids but falls in vain. megumi really is sorry… when he strangles your partner to death in front of you. he really does not want you to see it, but then how else will he show you what he is capable of? what he can do if you do not listen to him? he lets you take your space after and grieve in his bedroom, which is now your shared bedroom. the first few weeks, you're too terrified of him to not listen to him. however… he doesn't even touch you. you just have a few set of rules. eat on time, sleep on time, come to him for anything and forget about everything except him. he would sit beside you and run his hands through your hair, soothing you through the breakdowns. "I will tolerate this for as long as you need, but do know… that man is dead for a reason. no person in love with you is allowed to live. except me." megumi is almost unhinged with his feelings and there would be repercussions. for example: you said you would rather die than love him? how can you say that? have you seen the future? no right? then how could you say that? nothing breaks a brat better than some spanking. the humiliation intermingled with the pain is sure to set you straight. and yes- it does. at the end of it, you're too bent to his will, seeking comfort from him as you cry out against his chest and he softly coos sweet nothings against your ear.

ryomen sukuna:

yandere tendency: sadistic, lethal, manipulative, selfish

half of the time, sukuna does not acknowledge that he has fallen for a human. you're torn with the king of curses fighting with his own self, and still keeping you close. sukuna does not show affection normally. he is the master of evil, the pure reincarnation of all the negativity. at first he would keep you with him. his true form is too big and too scary for you to retaliate either. you just need to be a puppet. he hates and loves it how you are so teeny tiny compared to him. a feeble little human, his little lamb. he often threatens you with pure violence. he would rip a finger out and heal you with reversed curse techniques since he does not like his masterpiece broken. rules are simple: you do what sukuna sama desires and what sukuna sama wants. otherwise- you suffer the punishments. there are times where he had been cruel enough to eat your past relationships in front of you, alive, the sound of gnawing at flesh as he consumes them while the high adrenaline keeping them alive is your worst nightmare. you are allowed to throw up, it is a gory sight of course. but then you must apologize for being filthy in front of your master by sitting on both his cocks. very unhinged, the scariest yandere in the jjk-verse imo.

2K notes · View notes

youryanderedaddy · 4 months

Note

yan prison guard who hates u but low-key wants to f??

YES?!

tw: female reader, hinted non-con, period cramps, physical neglect, abuse of power, hinted blood play, reader is hinted to be a criminal, starts flirty but ends dead dovey xD My Ko - fi <3

"Shit." You mumble, your back softly resting against the cold wall. You reach for the nearest utenstil on the ground - all metal now, since you broke one too many nice porcelain plates - and throw it against the bars with little consideration to the vomit inducing "food" still left inside. The yellow sauce splashes all over the floor, and you look up, not even bothering to hide your smug expression.

"I could make you lick that up, you know." Darcy states, adding little emotion to his already monotone voice - his eyes glued to the book in his lap and all the tiny little words in it, perfectly pristine fresh ink in the stuffy air. His gloved hands are digging into the paper, almost crumpling it, and you now know that his pale hands are simply incapable of holding anything gently - even the things he actually likes.

"Will you?" You tease, but the warning bells at the back of your mind go off nonetheless, seemingly in spite of your best attempts to come off as playful and not desperate. He rarely jokes around - not exactly the fun type. "I'll decide after I finish this page." Your warden chuckles humorlessly. "Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline." He starts reading aloud, licking his cold lips. "So be earnest..." You can feel his gaze on you, caging you in like a wild animal. "And repent." He finally closes the book. "Revelation 3:19." The blonde repeats quietly, turning his attention back to you - and you realise calling out was a mistake, but now it's too late. He's got you in his clutches.

"My stomach hurts. Tell me, Father Allmighty, is this devine punishment too?" You spit out sarcastically, hugging your knees in order to numb the pain a bit. "Or am I simply on my period?" It's your turn to giggle, although it hurts to do so - anything to mask the unease tugging at your vocal cords every time you're faced with that demon.

His eyes narrow in response, and his fingers circle his nose bridge as he scoffs at you, annoyance quickly spreading across his irritatingly handsome, yet equally sharp features.

"Your voice makes my head throb. Stop it." The guard barks, voice dropping low in warning. Still, you decide to push your luck due to pure and simple physical need. "But it hurts." You let yourself whine, slowly revealing your collarbone - and silently hoping that just this once the sweat will look like glitter. "I don't care." He hisses, picking his book again.

You roll your eyes.

"Alright. Sure. But you'll be the one cleaning the bloody sheets after." You mutter under your breath, crossing your hands. You're not sure what's more frustrating - the way your stomach is trying to eat itself or having to appease a narcissistic maniac with too much power and free time through it. Somewhere in the part of your brain still capable of rational thought you realize you should be provided with basic hygiene products just like all the other female prisoners. What makes you different, you guess, is the fact that you're kept under lock and key almost extensively. Solitary confinement 24 hours a day, except for Darcy.

He brings you food. He helps you bathe - if you've been good enough. He's the only one who knows if you're dead or alive. Hell, he may be the only one who even cares.

"I'm sure cleaning up your mess will be quite exciting." The blonde cracks a tiny, self evident smile only he knows the meaning of - and you would have frowned in disgust if you could still feel that lovely human emotion. "Admit it, you actually like the thought of me bleeding, you little freak." You scrunch your nose at him, then look back to the floor, the filth so thick it almost sticks to your slightly less dirty shoes. "Takes one to know one." Darcy responds nonchalantly, running his hand through his slick white locks.

At that moment the cramps return in full force, your lower abdomen on fire with sharp stabbing pain. You remember some fragmentary tips from your scrappy teen years - you close your eyes and breath in deeply, you bite the inside of your cheek - you even pray to whoever is listening, but it just won't stop. So you bargain.

"You can have it." You say with difficulty, folded in half. Hot tears prick your eyes and you try to fight them, but soon give into the agony. It's such a relief to cry after months of resilience - to break down completely and let your most vulnerable self out.

The warden takes a single steps towards the bars and motions for you to move closer. You crawl to him, your hand supporting your lower belly in the process. He takes a good look at you and slowly, almost gently caresses your face through the metal - eyes suddenly softened by the image of you dancing in the palm of his hand.

If it was anyone else he'd be simply repulsed by this clear display of weakness. If it was another prisoner, another hardened criminal, he'd have no problem following his own principles of zero tolerance - of crushing and breaking their spirit until nothing was left. But it was you and your beatiful, stipid tears that mesmerized him to no end, that haunted his dreams and turned his bloodlust into something a lot more sinister. Something harder to capture, harder to fight - and easier to give into.

"You can have it." You repeated tearfully, rubbing at your soft wet eyelids - completely still. Scared of your own flesh and its betrayal. "My mind, my body, anything. Just please give me some pills. I can't take it." You whimper pitifully, shaking under his watchful eyes. He's holding onto your cheek, but you feel like he's got you in a suffocating embrace. And then just when you're about to kneel down, he unlocks the door to your cell.

"I've been taking your brain apart for months now." Darcy whispers softly, taking off one of his gloves and letting it drop to the floor. He takes another step towards your cowering form. "Your body, on the other hand, is a white canvas." He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze - and the pain fades away instantly, replaced by raw, intense fear. "I wonder what your insides look like. Surely, they're beatiful."

You feel his lips on your neck, followed by the tip of a knife - a butterfly kiss.

#yandere #male yandere #yancore #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere warden #yandere prison guard

403 notes · View notes

vase-of-lilies · 5 months

Text

❀ Pairing: Medusa!Wanda Maximoff x Blind!Reader (F)

❀ Warnings: Reader is “sacrificed” and “saved by Wanda”, so much fluff, really quick acceptance, sexual content, Wandas snakes have their own personalities and love to mess with the reader when she is just snuggling with Wanda or when she is just chilling (lol), fingering, oral (r receiving), Wanda just flicking our bean while out on the beach, the snakes calm reader down IDK OK,

❀Disclaimer The pictures only represent aesthetic and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. Credit to who made the pictures in the banner as well.

❀ Authors Note: I have started reading the story called “Stone Blind” and it is a re-telling of the story of Medusa and telling the “true” story of how she became the “monster” she turned into. I feel like that even though Medusa was assaulted, she deserves love and I think that having a blind reader would help her feel like she was loved based off of her personality, not of fear. This story is a little lighter than the others, but it still is dark with hints of kidnapping and captivity. I will also be keeping Stheno and Euryale, Medusa’s original sisters, just for the organization of plot purposes! There are quotes in here that are loosely based on “Stone Blind”! All credit to Natalie Haynes for the style of Medusa I use!!

It’s a cooler summer day in Greece, rain feeding the dry crops with much-needed food. The drought that Zeus brought to the mainland was devastating, causing crops, veggies, and fruits to cripple before they were ripe enough to pick. This was a punishment for the greediness the people were showing, thriving a little too much to the god's liking.

It wasn’t uncommon for the god to be selfish like this. He would often flood the fields with too much water, making them die equally fast. Your village was one of the many affected by this cruel situation. You later learn that Zeus had a bad day and wanted to take it out on someone other than his poor wife in the clouds.

These games he played were difficult to navigate, as the world through your eyes was sightless. Just like tinnitus in the ear, your eyes seemed to feel the same way; clouded and blurred figures with every movement of your eyes. You were born this way, and no amount of begging could have changed what you encounter daily.

However, with this blindness, your other senses are heightened. Your hearing was better than most, and you did everything possible to protect it as it was your most powerful sense. Every chirp of a cricket, creek of a door, a voice outside your home. You could hear it all.

It was a blessing and a curse at the same time. “She won’t even know we are gone, she can’t see us. Out of sight, out of mind.” This was the last thing you heard from your parents before they abandoned you. Your heart broke when you heard those words, never feeling such betrayal from someone you loved before. It was that moment that caused you to shut off your emotions to other people.

At the age you are now, it was difficult to find really anyone who would accept your blindness, and love who you were on the inside. What never occurred to you was the fact that you needed someone who felt the same. Someone who felt an insecurity that needed to be validated by someone similar.

This was exactly how Wanda felt. She was the youngest of the Gorgon Sisters, born a mortal human but was punished by a goddess out of jealousy and spite.

The goddess Athena was spoiled by her father, getting everything and anything she wanted with a snap of her fingers. When she was betrayed, she didn’t punish Poseidon, who in fact was the person who caused this problem in the first place. She punished the poor girl who was hurt by Poseidon, all because the situation unfolded in Athena's own temple.

Why did she choose Wanda to punish? Because she was mortal and did not have to suffer through centuries of war and turmoil. The night she went to Wanda's cave, her sisters were out hunting; gathering for their mortal sister so she could eat. Athena took this opportunity of Wanda's solitude to torture her, ripping every piece of hair from her head, forcing red, writhing snakes to take their place.

She was in pain for days, her scalp burning with every movement the snakes made. Her nights were spent screaming and sobbing into the darkness of her cave, her sisters trying everything they could to soothe her. They were only met with silence until the day she finally spoke up about who hurt her. Her sisters were angry with the sea god for even looking at their loved one. They had their own way of punishing Poseidon, but of course, the god couldn't care less. He was powerful and could do whatever he wanted, just like his niece Athena.

Some could say that Athena took pity on Wanda for what her uncle did. And to keep the other gods away from her, the powerful goddess turned the girl's beautiful locks of hair into a head of writhing snakes. This was for protection from her uncle and any of the other greedy and overpowered gods that rule the world.

No matter the tale that one has heard, what is true is that Wanda is now considered a monster just like her sisters. But who determined what a monster was? Was a monster someone merely different from you? Or was it men that made everything monsters? Men seem to be afraid of powerful women, or women with sharp teeth, wings, and tusks.

Monsters are misunderstood.

The two sisters are some of the most gentle creatures to adorn the earth's surface. Sure, they hunt animals and look a little scary, but they keep a flock of sheep, learn how to cook bread, and take care of their mortal baby sister.

The first time they met Wanda, Stheno’s talon gently brushed along her cheek, wiping away a tear that had fallen when she arrived on the sand. Now that Wanda is a grown woman, her immortal sisters adapted to her needs. She spent most of her time on the beach, but now spends her time in the depths of her cave, too scared to come out of fear that Poseidon will hurt her again.

Stheno and Euryale vowed to never let anyone hurt their beloved sister ever again. They hoped that one day she would find a lover who would be willing to love her for who she was. Someone she could grow old with, and love with every fiber (and snake) of her being.

The snakes… they each have their own personality. There are thirteen (13) in all. Wanda or anyone for that matter has named them or really knows the difference. However, the two snakes at the very front of her head, close to her temples are easily told apart. On the left, there is Fang. She has a visible attitude and can hardly believe her fate was to be on top of someone's head. On the right, there is Lucky. Just like her name, Wanda could tell that she felt lucky to be a part of her host. Fang was sassy and defiant while Lucky was just happy to be there.

Though the rest of the snakes are just as present as Fang and Lucky, they each have a mind of their own and tend to make Wanda laugh despite her fate. Their hisses of protest when Stheno says that it’s getting dark and to come back into the cave, or when Euryale asks Wanda for her help with something while the snakes are sunbathing. My god, do they love the sun!

You did too. It was for a much different reason than what a seeing person might believe. You loved the sun for its two main purposes; to light up and warm the earth. Now, that may be what everyone thinks of Helios, the god of the sun. But to you, it meant so much more. With no sight and just a blurry field of vision in front of you, the sun kept the colorful blobs of people and obstacles slightly more viewable.

Selene, the moon goddess was not your favorite. Although she lights the night, most occasions it is only a sliver of light. Once a month do you really get to enjoy the darkness with some light guiding you from place to place. On the nights of the new moon, you stayed in the comfort of your home for the night. Although you could not see the phase of which Selene was in, you knew the darker the next night got, the closer it was to a new moon.

On one particular evening, you were unaware that it was a black moon. Meaning it was the second new moon in a months time. It was getting dark, but you had the thought that it would be bright enough to make it home, only to make a wrong turn when a man pushed past you.

Villagers helped you put your fallen fruit back into your basket, and a kind woman gives gently places your bamboo guiding stick back in your hand. You thank them, but you missed the opportunity to ask them the direction of your home. Physically you knew where you were, but again, it was getting dark and you were all turned around.

Hoping for the best in a difficult situation, you chose to turn right. Usually at this cross road, you would be facing North and your home was East, so you would turn right. Unfortunately, this rocky path led you right to Poseidons’ sea itself. And the god was ever so pleased to have a clueless woman enter his domain. Coming up from the oceans depths, he approaches you in your wandering state.

“Can I help you find your way, miss?” The god asks. Your head follows the voice to the right, unaware of who asked the question.

“I may be a bit lost,” You say with honesty. “I was on my way back from the market, but stumbled and lost the direction I was going.” Explaining yourself to the stranger felt like the logical explanation, but Poseidon used your confusion against you.

“No, I think you’re in the right place…” He smirks, gently putting his hand on your shoulder. Your head snaps to the sudden touch, clutching your baskets handle a little tighter. Poseidon isn’t aware of your blindness, all you are to him is a means to an end. He is in debt to his father, Kronos.

Poseidon knew the moment you stepped foot on to his cool sand, he knew you were perfect. As a god, you think he would know everything about you, but you were very wrong.

“Here, let me help you find your way back to the road.” He says, removing one of your hands from the basket handle. You allow him, but you are confused as you continue to feel sand beneath the sole of your sandals. The moon was not there, and you were helpless.

Kronos, the god of time, was betrayed by his son. Poseidon decided to ask his father for time. All the time in the world, when he got ahold of Wanda. He wanted to spend every waking minute with her, fucking her and holding her when she is begging to see her sisters again only to drag her under the oceans surface when he is bored of her. Poseidon gets bored very easily, but Wanda’s pussy was different. Although his father did not question what he was going to use this time for, automatically a debt was owed.

Poseidon decided against using this time with Wanda, as her whining and begging becoming increasingly annoying. So he sent her back to her sisters to live in peace. That is, until Athena came along of course. He was adamant that he shouldn’t have to pay his father back since he did not use the time. Kronos lended him this time willingly without question. He was determined to get it back. And Poseidon had his sacrifice right in front of him.

His hand pulled you in the direction of a large rock by the edge of the water, a place that Poseidon remembers greatly. Andromeda was supposed to be sacrificed there, but Perseus swept in and came to the rescue, stopping a large sea monster with the help of Athenas spear and Artemis’s winged sandals. It was a shame to see such a beautiful sea creature leave the world in such a damaging way.

“Here we are, back on the road again, just a little further,” Poseidon says, his other hand taking the basket from your hands.

“Hey w-wait, I need tha-” You are cut off by a calloused hand clasping over your mouth.

“Just stay still and it will all be over soon.” The god whispered in your ear. Your breaths were staggered as you heard his words, confused by what he meant. Soon his hands were untying the soft rope from around your waist holding your silk toga to your body. The fabric fell to the ground, leaving you only in your under garments. You whimpered, trying to understand what is happening.

“Please, whoever you are, let me go. H-have my fruit, t-take the gold!” You fought hard against the gods rock hard torso, fearing for your life.

“I told you to be still!” He shouted. His arms wrapped your body and he threw you over his shoulder. Damp hair rubbed against your skin as you struggled and a chiseled arm wraps their way around your legs to keep them still. A hard hit to your barely covered ass made you yelp, and you tried scratching at Poseidons back. The immortal couldn’t feel pain, so he took no thought of it.

With little to no trouble at all, he put your squirming body on the sand and held his hand over your neck to keep your back against the rock. The power he had was nothing compared to your mortal strength. So he held you still by straddling your legs, while his hands expertly tie your wrists together with the very rope keeping your toga on.

“Please sir, please I’ll do anything.” You whimper as tears fall from your grey eyes. The god ignores you and takes the chain set under the rock by Zeus himself and begins to connect your now-restrained wrists to it. You were trapped, and you could only pray to the gods, any of them, to show you any mercy.

“There. No need to cry, little one. You are a divine sacrifice for a god that has a lot of power. Don’t struggle, it makes him angry.” Poseidon said, and he tightened his already perfected knot in the rope.

He stepped back from your crying form and looked up to the sky. “I come to give the debt I owe! Isn’t she enough, father??” He shouts his arms opening. The sea is uneasy, his emotions controlling the tide.

Thunder claps and you know Zeus is present. “No, brother. Not now.” Poseidon growls, the intention of this sacrifice going to his father, not his sibling.

The rain soaks into your skin and clothes causing the thin band holding your breasts and underwear to become sheer and see-through. Poseidon took notice of your exposed body and paused his message to his father. Making his way to you, he smirks as he sees you trying to move your wrists from the sturdy, iron padlock connecting them to the chain. “It’s no use, ομορφιά μου (my beauty).”

You don’t look at him, your futile attempts at escaping only end in failure. He growls when you ignore him, not acknowledging his clear compliment at calling you “his beauty.” Approaching you, he knelt down in front of you and roughly pulled you to face him by your chin. The moment his eyes met yours, an epiphany hit.

“You’re blind?” He asks, pulling his hand away from you like you were a leper. He knew his father would never take such a broken sacrifice. “Disgusting.” He spat while he stood up. He begins to walk away, your ears barely picking up on his steps thumping in the sand.

“W-wait! Wait please let me go! I wan-want to go home!” You shout his way, but the god only ignores you walking into the sea and leaving you exposed for anything.

In a sense, you were grateful that you were no longer Poseidon's sacrifice. But you were still stuck in your current situation, so you went to your last resort. You started to call out, shout, scream, to anyone who you thought could save you. An hour had passed and your voice was nothing more than a croak.

You were starting to believe that you were going to die on a God's beach with no one in sight to help you. However, someone was watching from afar. A woman who fears to look at you without the knowledge that you are blind. But she was in the same position as you, and she wanted to help you. Yet, she hasn’t had anyone to keep for herself.

So she considered. Would she be just as evil and selfish as Poseidon for taking you? Could she make you believe that she rescued you and instead not let you leave her cave? Stheno and Euryale would most likely not approve, Wandas sisters love her and only want what is best for her. The snakes on Wanda’s head hissed in question, Lucky gently rubbing her scaly head against her cheek.

“I know, I really shouldn’t. But she was a victim of that retched god too. Maybe I can finally feel in control… when I am in control of her? I- I don’t want to turn her to stone…” Fang hissed in response, her tongue tickling her opposite cheek. “I could blind fold her, and you’re right, she needs someone to take care of her. She looks like she’s about to die right there. That bastard…” Wanda says to Fang, starting her journey from the beach's small cliffs to the rock you were restrained to.

Before she makes it to you, she gathers the fruit that fell when the god took you and sets them back into the basket. Then she reaches for your discarded dress and picks it up as well. Finally, she reaches you. Her heart breaks when she sees you. Your wrists are rubbed raw, blood soaking the brown rope surrounding them, tears are stained on your cheeks and your eyes are closed.

Wanda rips a piece of cloth from your toga and kneels down next to you. Peacefully asleep, you are still as she ties the cloth around your eyes. With the blindfold on, Wanda leans her head down to the rope encasing your injured wrists, one of her snakes near the back of her head — the one with much sharper fangs — begins to chew on the rope. The rope broke free and your arms fell loosely to your lap.

The smallest whimper left your mouth, exhaustion keeping you fast asleep. Wanda admired your stoic look, your exposed chest moving up and down slowly with each breath you took. She sighs softly, knowing how it felt to be left exposed, for anyone to come across. Her empathy grew as she looked at you, your nipples were seen through the sheer fabric of your strophic (greek bra) and the wind nipped at your skin causing goosebumps to pebble.

Shaking her head and mentally cursing the sea god, she wraps the fabric of your dress around your body; Adding a length of seaweed to keep it secured to your waist. Oh so gently, she lifted your unconscious body into her arms smiling as your head rolled against her chest. Lucky and Fang were eager to meet you, both of their heads trying to get as close to you as possible.

“Hey, you’ll get to meet her when we go back home, ok? I promise,” Wanda chuckles, and the snakes pull their bodies back to their place closer to her scalp.

The journey to her cave was not very far, just around the bend of the cliff. North of where you were destined to be sacrificed. She took care with each step taken, making sure that her prized possession was still asleep, and comfortable. Lucky and Fang looked over you as you slept, keeping their distance until Wanda let them say hi. As scary as they may look, they are all puppies at heart.

Chills crept up your spine as Wanda entered the cave with you in her arms, and goosebumps began to pebble on your skin. She takes notice, gently laying you down on her straw bed in the dim fire-lit cave. Your head lulled to the side, causing Wanda to jump slightly, forgetting that you had the blindfold on to protect you.

Stheno and Euryale were surprised to see another woman besides their little sister inhabiting the cave, and they curiously looked over your unconscious body.

“Wanda? Who is this sleeping woman?” Said Stheno, creeping quietly behind her sister.

“I don’t know her name yet, but I saved her from an untimely death. Poseidon had gotten ahold of her, hoping for a sacrifice, but was unsatisfied by her,” Wanda explains, sighing as she drags her knuckle down your lightly textured cheek. “That bastard is nothing but trouble.” She sighs, trying her hardest to not look at her sisters, understanding that even immortals can turn to stone with one gaze at her eyes.

Euryale eyed Stheno, worried that Wanda may be turning into someone she swore to never become.

“Did she come willingly?” Euryale asked, settling her wings against her feathered back.

“She hasn’t woken up yet, but I am sure that she will understand, right?” Wanda was anxious about your awakening, your acceptance of your stay was appreciated and not feared. “Should we wait outside until she wakes up?”

Wanda's older sisters nod their heads. “I don’t want to frighten her when she opens her eyes. I believe we would be some of the last monsters she would want to see.” Of course, they don’t know that you are unable to see…

“I will go tend to the sheep,” Euryale said.

“I will go set up a fire on the beach and start cooking your meal,” Stheno said, both creatures leaving to do their tasks.

“And I will go help, and wait for my sleeping beauty to awaken.” Wanda says with a smile, softly swiping her thumb over your cheek.

~~~~~~~

The same as every other day, your eyes open to a blur of shapes and colors. However, this time is different- you are met with complete darkness, the atmosphere is cold and almost damp, and the scent of salt water fills your nose. There is cloth over your eyes, something you don’t take mind to. Trying to find where you are, you feel around your surroundings to retrieve your guiding stick only to be met with sand, small rocks, and straw. These sensations were familiar but not something you would regularly wake up to.

Standing up, you struggle to navigate through the cave you concluded you were in, reaching for a wall or something to stabilize yourself with. You let out a sigh of relief as your hand reached a rocky wall. Now you were stuck, you didn’t know what way led out of the cave.

“Hello?” You call out, your voice echoing through the cave. Your head turns in the opposite direction as you hear padded footprints against the sand. Your worries heightened, unknowing of the person approaching you.

“Hello dear, I’m so glad to see that you are awake, how do you feel?” The smooth voice of a woman is heard. Gentle, yet assertive. Confusion melts across your face and you take an unintentional step back, causing a slight hissing from the woman in front of you.

“I- I feel fine, wh- where am I?” You ask, distressed and scared. Being unable to see every day was fine with you, as long as you knew where you were. That fear skyrocketed the moment you woke up in a new environment.

“No need to worry about that, sweetheart. Come with me,” The woman said, and with a soft hand, she grabbed yours. The unexpected contact started you, but you followed nonetheless.

“Who are you, a-and why am I here? I want to go back to my home, please.” Cracks in your voice made Wanda turn to face you, only to be met with tears rolling down your cheeks.

She sighs and stops just at the entrance of the cave. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry, you are safe here now. That god won’t get you here.”

“God?” You don’t remember what had happened the night before, your memory fogging up after falling at the crossroads. “What do you mean, “safe now?” I just want to get back home, the fruit was so expensive.”

Pulling away from Wanda, you grab at the cloth around your eyes. The fabric falls from your head and hits the ground faster than Wanda can stop you. Panic fills her system, and she quickly turns her head away from you, her head of red snakes following.

A soft red tendril of energy hits your temple, and you fall unconscious. Before your body hits the ground, Wanda turns and catches you just in time. Guilt takes over her as she looks at your sleeping form, Lucky and Fang are equally as concerned for you as their host.

The scaled head of Fang nudges against Wanda's cheek, a small hiss emitting from her mouth. “Yes, she’s ok. She was nervous and wanted to see where she was, I know that. Im just going to put her by the fire until she wakes up.” She responds to Fang, her little eyes rolling as she gently taps his head from getting any closer to you.

As gently as she can, Wanda lifts you into her arms and brings you out to the fire that Stheno lit. She sits down and lays your head in her lap, softly brushing a few grains of sand from your cheek. A groan emits from your closed lips and you subconsciously roll your body closer to the warm fire. It brings you a sense of safety a blanket could never do justice.

But the feeling of being so close to Wanda felt just as safe, even though you did not know where you were or who you were even with. Her presence gave you a comfort that you hadn’t felt before. Her soft toga rubbed against your cheek, and you nuzzled into it subconsciously. Wanda’s lips turned up into a smile, petting your hair with a gentle hand. The sensation begins to wake you up, pulling you from your forced slumber. Slowly your eyes open, the dull shade of yellow filling your blurred and confined field of vision.

The blindfold was still on, however, you didn’t mind this time. Whoever’s hold you are in made it clear that they do not want to be seen. Although you are unable to see, you keep your eyes glued to the fire in front of you, the light slightly dimmed by the blindfold.

“Are you awake, dear?” Wanda’s voice sounds from above you, and you nod your head that lays in her lap.

“Who are you?” You ask, your voice filled with curiosity but not fear.

“My name is Wanda, and you are here with my sisters Stheno and Euryale. You are safe, sweetheart.” Wanda responds, her knuckle softly dragging down your cheek. She smiles as you begin to sit up, allowing you to fully sit next to her.

Your next question was quick to exit, “Where are we? I was on my way home but was turned around,” You explained your situation, leaving out the part where the god almost sacrificed you to his father but left you for the dead when he decided you were not good enough. “I hear water,” You point out.

“Yes, we are on the beach a ways North from Athens. You needed help, as when I found you, you were chained to a rock,” Wanda said bluntly. “But you’re safe now,” Her snakes hissed at the thought of the woman in front of them being used as a sacrifice, but Wanda was quick to hush them. “And what is your name, sweetheart?”

The feelings of the rope around your wrists caused you to cringe in disgust, your arms wrapping around yourself.

“R-right…” You respond, trying to get the thought of death from your mind. Shaking your head, you sigh softly and lean back on one hand, answering Wanda's question, “My name is Y/n.”

“What a beautiful name, but I think I’ll stick to calling you sweetheart. Is that alright?” Wanda asks, her finger softly brushing over the exposed skin of your arm. A small smile grows on your lips and you nod.

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be,” You say, a small giggle leaving your mouth. “I- um, I do have to ask. Why am I blindfolded?” The question was burning at the back of your skull for what seemed to be hours. From the first time you woke up to now, you had been aching for an answer.

Wanda hesitates. When she was turned by Athena, she never looked at her sisters. Even though they were immortal, they could still turn to stone if they met her gaze with their own. You hear a soft sigh and her soft voice tainted with sadness answer, “There is a dangerous creature around here that has the ability to turn any entity into stone once you look into her eyes. I cover your eyes for the purpose of protection.”

“But I can’t see,” You protest, reaching for the fabric. Wanda's hand wraps around your wrist as she stops you. “No, you don’t understand, I can’t see, even with the blindfold off. I was born blind," you explain, trying to help the woman in front of you understand that you were not in danger.

“Blind?” Wanda asks, your hands falling into hers as you move to your knees. “Meaning, you are unable to see anything?”

You nod, hoping she can see you. “Yes. There are only blobs of color here and there, but other than that, I can’t see a thing.” It was always difficult to explain what you could see. There was no reason it should be this hard as you could always say: ‘I can’t see anything,’ but you always go to the ‘blob of color’ explanation first.

“I don’t want to risk it, sweetheart. Blind or not, we don’t know who is not affected by her power,” She pauses, “Ive only just begun to get to know you, I don’t want to talk to a statue of such a beautiful woman.”

You feel heat rise from your neck, to your cheeks, all the way up to your ears. Her compliment makes you smile brightly. “O-oh, thank you…” You say, shyly looking away from her. “I understand, but, I really don’t think I will be affected, honestly!” You attempt to grab the blindfold again, this time successfully ripping it from your head. The fabric falls to the ground and you blink to allow your eyes to settle back to normal. “If I can’t see the creature, I don’t think it will be a bother,” You smile.

Wanda sighs and closes her eyes, pulling her gaze away from your beautiful figure. She hums as she feels your hand against her shoulder, your thumb softly rubbing over her skin. “May I feel your face? I would love to have an idea of what you look like to others,” You ask her, not wanting to seem too forward with your request. “Only if you allow it…”

Wanda keeps her head down, her snakes moving down to your hand to move their little tongues over your skin to learn more about you.

“Oh, oh? What are these?” She hears you say. She is taken aback by the giggling she hears next. “They’re tickling me,” You say, your sweet laughter filling the air. “Is this your hair?” Your finger hovers in the air just above her shoulder and the rest of the snakes lick it as well.

Wanda’s silence is enough to answer your question.

“I wish I could see them, they all seem so gent- ow! Except this little one,” Fang, still a little nervous to be around a new face, bites down on your finger. It was not as painful as you thought it would have been. Wanda jumped at your pain and immediately tapped Fang’s head to discipline her.

“No biting! She is a friend, not an enemy!” Wanda whisper-shouts at her, and you giggle quietly to yourself. “I apologize for her behavior, she knows better.” The snake hisses in return and she sighs as she moves her gaze up just a little bit. Her eyes land on your beautiful breasts, your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your toga. Wanda knows she should not be lusting, but she can’t help it.

You tilt your head at her scolding her head of red snakes, and your hand falls. “I don’t want to intrude on your home. Thank you for saving me, Wanda, but I best be on my way,” You say, standing up. Carefully, you try to reach around for a stick of some sort, nothing close to you. All you can do is stand awkwardly, trying to keep calm as you listen to the waves crashing against the sand.

“No, you need to rest, sweetheart. You’ve had a long day, so why don’t you sit down and we can eat? Stheno has made some bread, and the chicken is just about done.” Wanda tries everything in her power to make you stay, not wanting to force you just yet. In her mind, she knows she will make you stay.

Your stomach rumbles, and Wanda chuckles. “It seems like your hunger has spoken for itself, so lets sit you down again.”

Before Wanda is able to help you sit down, or protest about anything for that matter, you reach up to feel her face, your eyes meeting hers. Although you were unable to see her beautiful green and red mixed eyes, she saw your grey ones. Your irises held no color, and a scar-like line of [your original eye color] strikes through your right eye.

You didn’t turn to stone…

“Wanda… Wanda look!” Stheno exclaims. The woman you are looking up at tilts her head, her power not working on you.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” You ask, retracting your hands from her cheeks. Instantly, she pulls them back.

“No, no you didn’t hurt me, sweetheart. I- I am just surprised… my power, it didn’t work,” She says, churning confusion inside of your head.

“Power?” You pause, putting two and two together. “The creature you mentioned… the one that can turn people to stone, you are her… aren’t you?”

Wanda nods, your hands moving with her head. “Yes, and, I was trying to protect you, but-”

Your thumb gently brushes over her lips, the rest of your fingers ghosting over her facial structure, sculpting a picture in your mind. “I’ve only heard legends of a so called “monster” in these parts. But I have yet to meet a monster… Besides that god that tried to sacrifice me of course, but you? You are no monster.”

Your words made Wanda's heart melt. She has me wrapped around her finger already… there was no way I was letting her go. Her inner thoughts were loud, and she smiled softly as your fingers grazed her lips again.

“I’m very. Much aware of my inability to see what most people can with their eyes. But…” You pause, your hand cupping her jaw. “I do see your heart, and I think you’re absolutely beautiful. You took me in when I was vulnerable and scared, and I can’t thank you enough… You are no monster, Wanda.” You whisper, smiling as you feel Wanda’s arms curl around your waist, pulling you against her body.

“We’ve only just met, sweetheart…are you already falling for me?” Wanda teases, making you giggle as you lay your hand on her shoulder and drop your head to her chest.

“I might be… or I might just be hungry,” You prod back, your stomach doing somersaults as her lips press to your forehead in a soft kiss. “I hope its the former…”

~~~~~~~

As the night went on, you, Wanda, and her sisters enjoyed the food. You were happy you got to know Wanda a bit more while you talked amongst yourselves. She told you about her troubles with Poseidon, and how she became the 'monster' everybody claims her to be. She mentioned how she is still mortal and will die a death as any other mortal would.

It saddened you that she considered herself a ‘monster’, but you comforted her every time. She was not a monster in your mind. She was a victim who was punished for someone else’s doing, as were you. Although it was Poseidon who made his father angry, he punished you by trying to sacrifice you. You found common ground with Wanda.

“I think we will head into the cave for the night,” Said Stheno, nudging Euryale. “Just be sure to put the fire out when you both are done.”

Wanda nodded at her older sisters, shooing them away as she turned back to you. “It is such a beautiful night… I wish you could experience it the way I am,” She said to you, her fingernails tickling your arm as you lay in her lap. Her heart flutters at the feeling of your body weight in her lap, it grounded her.

“I can see how beautiful it is by feeling it,” You turn your body so you are looking up at Wanda, her snakes curiously looking back down at you. “I feel a small breeze against my skin, and I can hear the waves crashing against the sand. I can smell the salt coming from the sea, and I can hear your breaths. All of these things are such a beautiful image to me.”

Wanda’s lips pull up into a smile, a real, genuine smile. It had been so long since she felt as happy as this. It had been so long since she felt so carefree. As you spoke about your experience with your other senses, Wanda softly caressed your cheek. She hums quietly as she notices goosebumps form on your arms. “I have taken my sight for granted,” She says suddenly, taking in everything you said about feeling everything surrounding you.

“To a deaf person, I have taken my hearing for granted as well, but I am grateful that I can hear your voice,” You counter her thoughts, wanting to make her not feel so guilty about her advantage of sight.

“Your thoughts are just as beautiful as you are, sweetheart,” Wanda pauses, her fingers moving from your cheek to your neck. Slowly she moves closer to the dip in your dress, your breasts now free from their undergarments, and lying loosely behind the fabric of your toga. “You have the body of a goddess, the mind of a sage, and such a sweet personality.”

Her hand gently cups your breast, nimble fingers rubbing over your hardened nipple, peaking through the white dress. Your hand goes to hers, holding it still. She freezes, “Can I see you, sweetheart? All of you?” She asks, knowing exactly how it felt being forced to submit to someone much more powerful than her.

As you sit upright, you untie the piece of seaweed holding your dress around your body, the sleeves sliding down past your shoulders finally revealing your round, perfectly shaped breasts. Wanda sucks in a soft breath, an aching in her belly starting to form. She needed you, badly.

From her crossed-legged position on the ground, Wanda moves to her knees. You can sense her shifting, and you look around to follow the noises. Wanda's smooth hands softly guide you to your back, laying you gently against the sand below you. She then slowly pulls the rest of your dress off, exposing the rest of your beautiful body. “You are even more than I imagined…” She whispers, leaning down close to your chest.

She presses a kiss to the valley of your bosom, moving her lips up your sternum and to your neck, hovering just over your jugular. You can feel her smile against your neck and you turn your head to expose more skin to her.

The goddess above you couldn’t hold herself back any longer. Looking at your perfect body from her perspective was riveting, and it drove her mad. Her breath fanned against your lips, your body frozen and waiting for her to kiss you. That dull aching in Wanda's core grew, and she leaned down to kiss you deeply. Your arms wrapped around her neck, and you giggled as some of her snakes licked your hands. But Wanda wanted something else.

Her eyes began to glow a bright red, her head of snakes wrapping around your wrists. You gasped but allowed it to happen. As she leaned down lower, her snakes held your arms to the ground, holding you open and exposed to Wanda. As she continued to kiss you, her hand crept down your belly and to the soft hairs of your mound. She rubbed your petals, smirking against your lips as she could feel how wet you already were.

“Mmm, are you all wet just for me, sweet girl?” She whispers against your lips, chuckling softly as you nod desperately. “Such a good girl,” Her fingers finally dip between your wet folds, perfectly rubbing your button of nerves. A moan leaves your mouth, your legs spreading to give her more access.

“Feels s-so good, W-wanda,” You whimper, never feeling such great pleasure before. Your back arched against the cool sand, your arms still pinned to the sides of your head. Squeezing your eyes shut, you saw starts as the tight coil in your core began to form.

“I can feel that you’re close, sweet heart,” Wanda mumbles darkly against your cheek. Your mind clouded with a lustful mist, your legs shaking as your orgasm came crashing down upon you just as the waves did the sand. A loud moan leaves your mouth, Wanda's name being cried out by the woman underneath her.

Your breaths come out in soft pants, gulping in as much air as you can as your orgasm calms down. But Wanda is far from done. Her snakes uncoil from your wrists and she moves her lips down your body, her mouth meeting your dripping folds. You let out a whimper, your clit sensitive from her previous ministrations. “Relax, sweet girl…” She whispers, “I need to taste you,”

Her lips close on your engorged clit, swirling her tongue in just the right way to make you moan her name. She spreads open your pussy with one hand, her fingers prodding at your tight hole with the other, and you jolt in surprise at the sudden intrusion. Wanda's snakes are quick to calm you down, their heads rubbing against your thighs in gentle circles.

“Such a good girl, taking my fingers so well,” Wanda says, two of her long fingers sliding into your soaking hole, a whimper leaving your mouth at the same time. “Keep making those cute little sounds, love,” She eggs you on and you give in to every command.

Your moans are music to her ears, the frequent movement of her fingers pulling each mewl from your throat. A ‘pop’ is sounded as her lips suctioned off of your clit, but returning soon after.

Her fingers move faster, and her tongue moving around your clit pushes you over the edge, causing your second orgasm to flow through you. Your juices squirt out of your quivering hole, soaking Wanda’s face along with some of her snakes.

“Oh… how beautiful, and delicious you taste, sweetheart.” Wanda smiles against your pussy, pressing her lips to the top of your mound softly and kissing up your body. Her lips wrap around one of your nipples, and your hand reaches to find her pussy.

“Wanna feel you…” You say, rubbing your hand over her belly and lower, finally reaching her pussy as you push your hand under her dress.

“By all means. You are mine and I am yours,” Wanda says, resuming the pleasure of your nipple.

You feel her clit, rubbing her in slow circles at first. Slowly, your fingers move to her hole as well, gently easing into her and smiling as you hear a moan from her mouth. The vibrations from her throat send more pleasure through your nipples, pulling more moans from your own mouth.

As you move your fingers in and out of her wet cunt, the palm of your hand rubs against her clit. You can feel her body shake, her breath quiver, and her breasts against your own body. All sensations you never thought you would love so dearly.

Wanda is close, and she leans up from your nipples to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, her hole clenching around your fingers as she cums. You swallow her moans, your free hand coming up to cup her cheek as you return the kiss.

“Wands,” You whisper, not moving away just yet. Gently, you slide your fingers from her pussy, bringing them to your mouth and seductively sucking her juices off of your digits. “Such a ravishing taste, my love,”

Hearing those last two words made Wanda's stomach do backflips. Belonging to someone was all she wanted, and she wanted you to belong only to her. “Your love?” She asks, pulling away just to see your lips move.

“My love, Wanda,” You confirm, smiling as you lean up to kiss her again.

~~~~~~~

It is long past midnight, and Wanda has you in her arms, both of your naked bodies pressed against each other. With your head on her chest, you can hear her heartbeat, the soft thumping calming and lulling you to sleep.

“Thank you for saving me, Wanda. I- I don’t know what how I can express to you how grateful I am,”

That sparks an idea in Wanda’s head. You were a kind and loving soul, most likely willing to do anything to repay someone for their own kindness. So, she makes her plan fall right into place.

“Stay with me? Live here with me and my sisters? We all can tend to you, help you navigate, and we can even go to the village just East of here. But stay, please?” Wanda asks you, her lips gently pressing against your head as you think.

“I have no one back where I am from. They all shunned me because I couldn’t see. I can’t say no to such an amazing and thoughtful proposal as this,” You sit up, maneuvering your body to straddle her lap as she leans against the rock that was settled closer to the water. You nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck, Lucky gently laying her head on yours as well, and you close your eyes. “I would love to stay with you, only you. Forever.”

#Creatures and Foreigners #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda marvel #wanda x you #Scarlet Witch x reader #Medusa!Wanda x Blind!reader #Wanda Maximoff Smut #CAF #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader

841 notes · View notes

shattersstar · 1 year

Text

bound

pairing: vampire x reader

summary: He supposed this was his true home, not the house he had kept himself locked in, but the wooden box with your picture in it. Dutifully kept under his pillow, bringing you to the land of dreams with him—if he could dream. It was a bitter punishment for the life he lived, the transgression—sin—he supposed would be held against the two of you. For how he wanted you more than anything, how he would tear whole cities to shreds at your behest and let the hunters who lurked in your town meet his fangs if you so desired. It was gluttony, to take eternal life and still want more.

warning: horror-ish elements, blood mention., religious undertones (aka general vampire themes/concepts)

a/n: i have so much to say about this lil piece of writing omg okay, i wrote this back in May i believe around the time i was reading we have always lived in the castle and it Shows. its lowkey fantasy which is not like anything i write but the horror-ish vibes r pretty consistent with my original stuff. it is heavily inspired by a lot of the vampire media ive consumed too though even if its not based on one particular character. i have been thinking about it since i wrote it and while im a bit ehhh about posting something original i quite literally have nothing else to share and as i said before y’all keeping i’d still eat the fruit in my notifs is so :)))) so this is a thank you to y’all and a Step back into writing for me hopefully. ramble aside enjoy ! feedback and comments r always appreciated

—

It had rained, no—poured, stormed, hailed, cried, screamed. It had swept in during the day, white noise to him as he slept, while it greeted you during breakfast. The clouds wept over the lands in what felt like divine punishment. It was as if nature or something higher than that was against him, accosting or trying to stop him. As he stood at the edge of the great forest, rain pelting the top of his head he assumed there was nothing greater than nature. Not even him. There was nothing higher nor more humbling. God could spite someone, but nature enacted it. It flooded your sleepy town and even sleepier forest and he was on the other side. Confined to his home until the storm cleared and the sun rose.

He would not be graced with your presence yet again and he tried to ignore the call to change you, to have his fangs pierce your skin and his blood run across your tongue. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself of the hurt it brought and he would never cause that for his love. His dearest who lived on the other side of the forest he was unable to cross. His icy glare moved along the border, not even noticing the rain drenching his billowing black cloak anymore. Somewhere in the forest a branch snapped and animals chattered.

He would live for eternity, he could wait for you. It was his resolution before heading back to his home in the woods and trying not to be angry, to let fury run through his long dead veins and restart his stilled heart. If anything—anyone—could, he knew it was you.

He followed the path compacted over the years of those travelling to stare at his home, humans daring each other to go near it, but never following through when the windows shuddered and a figure moved past one of them like a ghost. Times had changed, but people were as superstitious as ever. They saw his decayed and rotted home and prescribed evil to it. It was overrun with vines, leaves would not grow on them. Even in spring. They stayed black, and gnarled, tightening their hold in his house each season. Thorns protruding from some of the thicker vines, protecting him it seemed. You had noted that, staring at his wondrous home with bright eyes.

It was in a clearing in the forest, grey stone withered away and swallowed by nature. It still stood strong, the outside a grotesque picture that did not reflect the inside. Oil lamps and lighting fixtures alike lit the space from the inside out. It warmed the walls, revealing the deep brown wood panelling that made up the older parts of the house. The stairs were still the original wood, a grand staircase that greeted no one, but him and you these days.

Many of the rooms upstairs had been closed off, sheets gently placed over the old furniture and doors closed forever. He had no need for such space, other vampires stopped visiting when hunters started lingering in your town. You had told him of your many encounters, most were smart enough to stay out the forest, but they still killed many of his kind. Finding them in their carriages amongst the cars rolling down the freshly paved roads. Horses killed along with whoever dwelled inside. They saw themselves as vigilantes, but you had told him most of your town considered them a nuisance. Urban men thinking they can save the more rural lands that bordered their great cities. Cities that forgot the magic that once thrived in places like the forest.

“Their thinking of building a highway through it, connecting us to other towns or one of the bigger cities.” You had explained one day, sitting in his lap and letting him hold you. He hummed, long fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. You placed your warm hand over his and leaned further into his chest. He asked you to let him hold you and you had obliged like always.

He kept those memories in mind, the soft questions he would extend your way and how you listened so dutifully. May I hold you? Will you lay with me? Come walk through the cellar? Can I drink your—

His fist slammed against his dinning room table, nearly snapping it in two as a crack ran jagged through the centre of the chestnut coloured wood. His fangs were out, nails morphed into claws dug into his skin and blood dripped into the crack. He stared at it, muscles in his face twitching as he waited for it to end. Waited for the creature in him to return to laying dormant and his own clear, sound mind to return. Though he supposed it was never very clear or sound anymore, not when you had burrowed inside of him and promised to never leave. And as if his thoughts beckoned you themselves, the old telephone in his study rang. It’s shrill scream echoed through the quiet house, though the ring was discordant, snapping in two halfway through its loop and screeching a pitch higher. The noise made his pointed ears twitch and with a swoop of his cloak he was in his study. He answered it on the normal ring, cutting it off right before it went off tone.

He held the phone to his ear, but waited to speak. “Hello?” You asked, your voice soft and worried. You’d never called him before—truthfully he had no idea this phone even worked.

“Hello my love.” He returned, and you breathed out a happy sigh.

“Oh my god, hi! I found this number in some old directory—phone book thing,” You explained with an airy giddiness that he wished to share, “I wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but…” You trailed off and he was smiling fondly into the receiver.

“I have missed you.”

“I miss you too, I hate this weather I can never get through the forest when its so rainy.”

“I know.”

“Maybe they should build a highway through it, I could hitchhike my way to see you.” You laughed, but he turned somber. Industrialization finally touching the sacred land of the forest didn’t sit right within him. It may be the great divider that kept him away from you, but it was his home. A highway felt like you were asking to be swept away, to a new town or bigger city that he could not adventure too. He could ask you to stay—he knew you’d oblige—but it was not his place to keep you here. “Is your phone one of those spin, dial ones?” You asked suddenly, breaking through the tension he hadn’t meant to create.

“A rotary phone?” He corrected with a ghost of a grin, “Yes it is.”

“I want to see it when I come over again.”

“And so you will.” It was quiet again and he hadn’t noticed the tears running down his face. He didn’t know he was able to cry anymore.

“I love you.” You whispered, holding your cellphone close, likely curled up in bed and staring out your window at the rain and the forest beyond it.

“I love you dearest.” His voice did not betray the sadness building in him. “Sleep beloved, I will see you soon.”

“Yes, I’m gonna come see you and your rotary phone.” You laughed, forced and watery.

“Soon.”

“Soon.” You repeated, and hung up. He kept the black phone, laced with intricate gold details, to his ear for a moment longer. He had heard your voice at least and could sleep. He moved through his home, snuffing out candles and flicking off switches before finding the one room without windows. A coffin laid on the floor, dark brown and glistening with the finish that had been applied centuries ago.

He supposed this was his true home, not the house he had kept himself locked in, but the wooden box with your picture in it. Dutifully kept under his pillow, bringing you to the land of dreams with him—if he could dream. It was a bitter punishment for the life he lived, the transgression—sin—he supposed would be held against the two of you. For how he wanted you more than anything, how he would tear whole cities to shreds at your behest and let the hunters who lurked in your town meet his fangs if you so desired.

It was gluttony, to take eternal life and still want more.

Though it was hard to think of such evil things when looking at your face, he had taken the photo while you were on the roof. Wind had wiped your clothes into a frenzy and you laughed as the night sky twinkled behind you. He had taken it and was surprised when you’d given it to him only a few days later. He had kept up with modern technology as well as he could, but there was always something so magical about photographs to him. He collected hundreds over his life time, faces he knew and others he didn’t. Organized neatly into a collection of books, which he’d let you look through on occasion. He showed you photos from the many lives he’s lived, something about them bringing warmth rushing to your face.

He was always so devastatingly beautiful, regal and hypnotic across all eras. Yet, he couldn’t focus on the kind words that bubbled from your lips as the rushing of the blood under your skin nearly shattered something inside of him. His fangs threatened to meet your skin, but with calculated focus he reigned in his hunger. It was hard at first—you were the only human he had been around in decades—but he did it for love.

Everything he did was for love, it was his reason for existence it seemed. You had other reasons for your claim to life, but to him? You were all he had, the only reason to not let the sun engulf him or let a hunter kill him. He could not break your heart until you broke his. He let that thought dwell in his mind as sleep overtook him just as the sun rose and the rain ended. Its incessant pitter patter had ceased and he somehow dreamt of you standing golden in the forest and beckoning him closer.

He woke up to your face—maybe it wasn’t a dream—as you crouched next to his coffin. Maybe he had finally died and you were welcoming him to where God decided to send him. If you were there it couldn’t be hell. Could it be?

“My love—“ Your hand pressed to his chest, keeping him still. “It’s still daytime, sleep okay?” You whispered, hand moving to his jaw and cradling his face in your palm for a moment. “I’ll be back in a sec okay, I just need to change.” He nodded against you, kissing your hand before you let him reside in darkness. He had caught a glimpse of your pants caked in mud and could smell the blood from your skinned palms. Despite the slick terrain it seemed you ventured through the forest to see him. It made his chest shudder and for a moment he thought you had actually restarted his heart.

It was only a few minutes later when you were carefully opening his coffin again, now dawning a loose fitting silk shirt that made his red eyes alight with something wild. You had cleaned your scrapes and mud off your skin, smelling faintly of rain water and the lavender soap you gifted him. You stepped over him, nestling against his side and letting him enclose the two of you. One of his arms wrapped around your shoulders as your head rested on his chest, knuckles grazing over your hair while you stretched an arm across his torso. Your legs intertwined with his long ones and you let out a breathy sigh.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, and while you likely couldn’t see as thing, he could see you perfectly. You shook your head no against his chest, yawning into the fabric of his shirt.

“I just wanted to see you.” You murmured, chin resting in his chest as you made hit best attempt at eye contact in the blackness. “I saw the dining room table, are you okay?” You asked, somehow staring through him in the darkness. He offered his hand instead of finding the words in his throat, slowly unravelling his fist to reveal a mark free palm. He wasn’t sure you understand what he meant or if your eyes adjusted enough yet, until you carefully closed it once again, kissing his knuckles and placed your hand over his. You both were silent for a moment, until you looked up at him again and breathed, “You’re all I want.”

“And you’re all I have.” He held you closer, watching a grin pull at the corner of your lips. He was sure it was that devotion, obsession even, with you that would bring about his downfall. Centuries old and all powerful, but reduced to nothing without you. His strength and knowledge meant nothing if he didn’t have you to share it with.

And you could not stand your stagnant life in a town full of people who wished his kind dead. You chose a trek through the forest during the twilight hours of the morning to see him, bringing him soft kisses and silk under his hands as you let your mouth meet his. You kissed him with all the exhaustion and lethargy wrapped up in the two of you, molasses slow kisses that were just as sweet. It was how you fell asleep, lips to his neck and head tucked under his chin before your warm breathed puffed across his pale skin. He fell asleep not long after, engulfing you in his embrace, his cloak draping over your frame as he decided home was where you asked him to be.

2K notes · View notes

asumofwords · 9 months

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies, I couldn't leave you on that cliffhanger for too long, I'm far too excited to pump out new chapters because I'm actually keen for us all to finish this series hehe! This one is a little longer because I combined two chapters into one and refuse to cut it down. Enjoy <3

Chapter 86: Favours in Shifting Tides

Lords and servants that morning were confused when they were greeted by the sight of the Princess, clad in only her robe, barefooted, storming through the corridors and halls of the Red Keep.

None approached you, watching as your hands were curled into tight fists as you stormed away from your wing of the castle.

You were furious, and a lot of the anger that kept curling its claws into your flesh was born from the dark whispers of fear in the back of your mind. Aemond was leaving you alone once again, and who was to say that Aegon wouldn't come back to your chambers once more?

Who was to say that he wouldn't come to redeem his ‘perhaps’?

What’s more, is that in your heated anger, you did not even ask Aemond for how long he would be gone. For how long he would be leaving you to protect yourself from his family, from his allies, from the court. From many people in the Keep who wished you harm. Who wished your family harm.

And now, to make matters worse, you were with child.

His child.

You found yourself at the Godswood, simmering with anger, and as your toes pressed into the dirt and grass beneath its roots, and your chest heaved angrily, a most spiteful and almost sickening thought came to your mind as you looked up into its bright crimson branches.

You wished you would lose the child.

To spite him.

To punish him.

But you knew, that it would be more of a punishment to yourself.

And yet still, that did not stop you thinking such a thought beneath the shade of the Godswood, wishing to hurt him. Wishing to punish him. Wishing to curse him with more losses than one.

More.

More than one.

And as if the Gods had heard your prayers, and your anger, and felt your rage, you remembered in your fury something that you had. Something that you could utilise. Something that you had been waiting for a chance to reach out and touch.

Something that came with risks.

But in this moment of hazed rage, it was worth it all.

You had an ally in the Keep.

It was not to the time nor the moment to use your star fruit pass to victory quite yet, but there were other means of helping yourself in the Keep. Others who were devoted to your cause. Others loyal to your Queen mother.

You thanked the Gods for hearing your anger, and moved away, storming back to the chambers, your steps faltering with uncertainty at the potential of Aemond still being in the chambers when you arrived.

But much to your delight, and also to your disgust, Aemond was nowhere to be seen.

He was gone to his whore.

Instead, there was a small piece of parchment, left atop the bare table for you, your name slopped in his rushed script. Angrily, you snatched the letter and stormed towards the fireplace, throwing it into the flames and watching in satisfaction as the fire devoured it.

You did not read it, nor did you wish to.

Fuck him.

You moved back towards the side table with great urgency, heat licking at the side of your face as you hastily grabbed the quill and ink pot, moving to sit down at the table. You laid the parchment flat, halving it in your hand with a satisfying rip.

Quill to paper, you wrote. And the more you wrote, the more anger you felt. The fire within was fuelled by Aemond's leave. By the pregnancy. By Aegon. By 'perhaps'.

By all.

You kept it short. You kept it sweet. And soon, you were blowing on the scratches of ink with impatient breaths, rolling it up and stuffing it into the pocket of your robe. You hastily moved the ink and quill to the side of the chambers, and tossed the unwritten piece of parchment that had been torn, into the fire.

There was to be no evidence of this letter.

When the maids came and brought breakfast for you, you had given them a tight lipped smile. It was tempting to ask for their help, but in reality, you did not wish to put either of the girls in more harms way than they already were. After they had dressed you and braided your hair, you had gently folded the robe against the chair beside the bed, waiting for the girls to leave.

And as soon as the door shut behind them, you had dug your hand into the pocket and stuffed the scroll into the breast of your dress, leaving your chambers with great haste as you set about your way back through the Keep.

Not once did you feel fear. Not once did you feel conflicted. Though there was trepidation as you came towards Lady Alicent Hightower’s chambers, Ser Criston Cole standing outside of her chambers.

The dark haired knight gazed at you in confusion as you made your way towards him, holding your hands delicately in front of you. You did your best to give him a sheepish and almost shy expression, playing up the act of embarrassment and nervousness.

You needed to look defenceless.

You needed to look doe-ish.

Innocent.

A weak woman.

“I need to speak with Alicent.” You spoke softly, twiddling with the ring upon your finger, spinning the dragon and ruby around in a circle in mock anxiety.

Ser Cole did not respond to your request, deep brown eyes still on you as you shifted from one foot to the other.

“Please,” You begged, the word feeling bitter on your tongue, “I don’t know who else to turn to.”

Look innocent.

Look lost.

Look weak.

Ser Cristons eyes roamed you again, clearly sizing you up for any potential of danger before he knocked upon her large wooden doors. A soft “enter” came from within, and the Ser Cole went in first, stepping through to announce you to the Dowager Queen.

You took a steadying breath, anger still beating in your heart like a drum as you took a step inside, looking down at the floor in a small bow. When you rose your head to meet her, you saw that she was seated at her own table, eating her breakfast.

“Princess,” Alicent looked surprised by your presence, “I was not expecting your company this morning.” She cocked her head, clearly uncertain of your visit.

You wrung your hands together in front of you as you looked down again shyly, “I’m sorry, Your Grace, I-“ You paused, “I wasn’t sure who to turn to.”

Alicent blinked at you, lifting her napkin to her lips delicately as she beckoned you over with a flick of her wrist. You turned your head to look at Ser Cole, who’s hand was on the pummel of his sword. Alicent stood from her spot at the table and moved to sit atop a large green chaise before her fire, another seated opposite, opening her arm to show you where to sit.

You moved across the room, glancing once more at Ser Cole shyly as you sat opposite her. You wrung your hands in your lap as you let the room bask in uncomfortable silence. Alicent dipped her head towards you, to show you that you may speak.

Bitch.

“You’re a mother.” You all but blurted, looking back at Ser Criston, who stood close by to Alicent.

The Dowager Queen looked at you oddly.

Swallowing, you placed a hand atop your belly, no real sign of life there besides the tiniest of bloating, “And I am to be a mother too.”

You played up the act by smiling down at your stomach, before you looked back up at Alicent, who seemed to have relaxed at your words. The older woman clearly knew where this conversation was about to go, though her guard was still up.

You sighed heavily, wringing your hands back in your lap again, falsely picking at the skin around your nails, in a way you had watched her do countless times, “I know that we have not seen eye to eye.” You paused, watching as her brow twitched, “Nor do I expect us to. But,” You took a pausing breath, watching as the room stilled with tension, “I don’t know who else to turn to.”

You looked back down into your lap as Alicent shifted, straightening, adjusting herself against the green and gold pillows that were propped behind her before leaning forward, her head cocked as she tried to catch your gaze.

“What is wrong, Princess?”

“I am- frightened.” You hesitated, pulling a piece of skin from the nail, watching a small bead of blood rise to the surface. You bit the inside of your cheek as you fought with the anger inside of you, trying to focus on your fingers instead.

The older woman said nothing as she allowed you to continue.

“It all seems so… foreign. I-“ You looked up at see Criston Cole’s brow furrow, standing behind Alicent as he watched the two of you.

Cunt.

You shifted in your seat, looking down and up more than once before you moved yourself to the edge of the chaise, leaning forward to whisper, “There are… changes in my body.”

Ser Cole’s eyes finally lifted away from you, his armour shifting as he suddenly felt uncomfortable. Alicent seemed to understand your unease, and even sympathise with it. She turned her head, her soft curls spilling over her shoulder as she looked to Ser Criston Cole, “Thank you Ser Criston. I think the Princess and I should have this talk in private.”

The knight looked at the both of you, before bowing his head, turning on his foot to leave the chambers, his white cape swaying with each step before it disappeared from sight, the door shutting behind him softly.

You did not know that getting Alicent alone would be quite so easy.

“Helaena came to me when she was first with child.” Alicent reminisced, “It is nothing to be feared.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, “I don’t know what to do or expect. The Septa had told me once, but nothing but tales of birthing, and pain, and,” You swallowed thickly, “Blood. But there are changes in my body, my bleed has not come for some time, and I find even my moods have changed.”

Alicent gave you a small nod, and even offered an even smaller smile, “When I carried Aegon inside of me, I found that my body knew almost immediately what to do. And whatever I did next was instinctual. The Seven will guide you, and you will know what to do.”

You nodded looking down at your hands, thinking of how to ask what you were here for all along.

Alicent however, spoke before you had the chance, “We should have the Maester take a look at you, just to be sure. Then we can figure out when we should be expecting the babe.”

She promoted it herself.

Stupid cunt.

You looked down shyly in your lap again and nodded, neck feeling as though it would snap from the amount of shy looks you had given your lap, and hoping the blush on your cheeks from your rage looked as though it was from meekness instead. Alicent stood and walked towards you, her presence towering and looming, almost threatening.

Was this what it was like for Helaena?

Then the Dowager Queen did something that you had not expected. Your mothers once closest friend, lifted an uneasy hand and placed it atop on your shoulder in an attempt of comfort. And you let her. You turned your head to look up at her and smiled. Alicent gave you a crooked one back before speaking again.

“Come, I will have one of the Maester’s sent to your chambers.”

But there were more than one Maester who served the Queen, and suddenly you began to panic.

“Please, Your Grace,” You grasped the hand that had not left your shoulder, before you took it away from her awkwardly, fingers twisting in your lap, “Can I have the Maester that tended to my wounds?”

Alicent’s once warm expression flittered and faded, and suddenly the Lady Alicent Hightower looked at you with suspicion.

You needed to think fast.

You looked down again, fiddling with your fingers, imitating her nervous habit as her eyes flickered down to watch them.

“He has seen me… compromised before. I don’t wish to have any more eyes upon my body than my husbands. After Aegon-“ You stopped yourself and breathed a shaky breath, which was not at all faked, “I know it is stupid-“

Delicate fingers squeezed reassuringly atop your shoulder, “Not stupid at all, sweet girl.” She reassured you with a soft voice. Though her face still looked unsure.

“My scars are hideous,” You spat softly, “I don’t want people to see what I am. I don’t want people to mock Aemond for my deformity at Court. I want to be good to him. I’m to have his child, and he has been good to me. So good to me, Alicent. It is more than I deserve.” Lie, “Our marriage is sacred, it was done under the eyes of the Seven and the Old Gods. I am his, just as he is mine. And I don’t want anyone else to see me but him, or those who have already. I know it is a lot to ask, Your Grace, but I want to respect my husband and the vows that we made to each other.”

The Dowager Queen smiled at you, her hand coming to brush against your cheek sweetly, as if proud or relived by your words, “Aemond would appreciate your devotion and duty to him. I will send for the Maester who attended to your wounds.”

You smiled at her softly, the wringing of your hands stopping, “Could you please ask him to bring me some more of that cream? I know my side has healed now, but sometimes it itches and twinges, and there was something in it that always soothed my skin.”

Alicent’s face relaxed and you felt yourself relax too.

“Of course. Now, let’s get you to your chambers.”

You were escorted to your chambers by Alicent as she sent Ser Criston to fetch the Maester, telling him to bring the old man to your chambers. As you walked with Alicent, you suddenly become nervous.

Was she to watch over this?

Was she to be in the room this whole time?

Alicent’s steps were slow yet determined, no rush in her pace and an air of authority that seemed to come to her forcefully. Likely due to being crowned Queen at such a young age. To have been tossed from Lady Hightower to Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. To have the Court and nobles shift their perception around you would have been a shock. But something that Alicent had carried well. For the most part.

Though she walked with you, she was a mere two paces ahead, she was leading you. There was no illusion that the two of you were equals, nor was there any illusion to the Lords and Ladies who passed you in the Halls that you were more than a Princess and her mother-in-law.

When you had arrived to your chambers, the knight at the door had straightened himself, more than you had ever seen, and reached for the door with a stiffness in his bones. Alicent had let herself into the chambers before you, and you had followed closely behind.

Joanna and Amala were in the room tidying, and at the sight of the Dowager Queen in your shared chambers, their eyes had widened and they had bowed at the hip to her, clearly not expecting such a visit. Alicent had dismissed them with a quiet, yet polite command, and both girls had bowed towards the two of you as they left the chambers.

The auburn haired woman looked about the chambers, her eyes roaming over the bed, to the table that was now stacked with a pile of tomes, to the side table where the quills and scrolls were sat. Her strides were purposeful as she moved across the chambers, seating herself atop the chaise where you usually sat as she waited.

An awkward sort of silence curled around both of you, the only sound the crackling fire behind her. You stood at the entrance of the chambers as she watched you expectantly. Taking the hint, you moved to sit beside her as you waited for the Maester to arrive.

“You said he has been good to you?” Alicent broke the silence.

He has fucked a bastard into his whore.

He has raped and defiled me.

He has humiliated me.

He killed my brother.

But he has been kind to me.

“Yes, Your Grace. He tends to my every need with unwavering devotion. You have done well to raise him as you have.”

With an anger that could scorch the world.

Jealousy that could kill.

You hoped.

Alicent gave a small nod, hands stiff in her lap as she thought of what next to say. As her mouth parted once more, the doors to the chambers opened and she swiftly shut her lips. The old Maester entered the chambers, a satchel at his side.

The man bowed as he looked at Alicent, “Your Grace, you have summoned me?”

Alicent stood, hands still at her front, “The Princess is with child.” The Maester’s eyes flicked to yours, a flash of disbelief moving across his face before it was schooled with a sterile expression of a Maester, “We need to ensure that all is well, and have you answer any questions that she might have.”

The grey man nodded as he came further into the chambers. He moved towards the table, shifting the pile of tomes to one side as he placed his satchel atop, slowly pulling out its contents. He did it with a slowness and precision that was well practised and almost instinctual.

“When was your last bleed?” The Maester asked, pulling out a chair at the table for you to sit at.

You stood and made your way across the chambers, Alicent following closely behind, “I’m unsure. Two? Maybe three moons ago?”

How long had it been?

The Maester hummed nodding his head as you moved to sit down, “And when did you notice the changes?”

You thought for a second.

When had you noticed the changes?

The library? When Aemond’s hands atop your breasts sparked pain?

When you noticed a swell of your breasts?

Your moods?

“Perhaps a moon ago? It’s hard to say. I wasn’t expecting-“ You stopped yourself, “I didn’t know what to expect.”

The Maester turned to face his back towards Alicent, his cool eyes dancing over you in concern, you gave him a small, reassuring smile.

“And have you had any changes to your appetite? Your moods? Desires?”

The last question caused you to grimace, your eyes flicking towards the Dowager Queen who shifted awkwardly atop her feet. You blushed heavily as you looked down into your lap.

You needed to get alone with the Maester.

“Were you trying frequently?” The Maester pressed, “Do you have an idea of when conception could have been?”

You looked at Alicent shyly, hands twisting in your lap visibly. Alicent stepped forward again, cheeks a rosy red like the bushes in the Gardens, or perhaps the leaves from the Godswood, and placed a hand atop your shoulder, “I will give you some privacy. I will be at the door if you need.” With a reassuring smile, she left the chambers for you to be alone with the Maester.

When the door shut closed, the Maester’s demeanour changed, and a sense of panic consumed him.

“Were you drinking the tea each day?” He whispered, eyes searching your face as he rifled through his satchel.

“Yes. I think. I don’t know.” You told him truthfully.

“If I was to give you another dose, it may not work now. It would have to be stronger than the small ones I had been giving you. They were supposed to be preventative, so it wouldn't harm you-“ He rambled, “Your mother is-“

“Please.” Your hand grasped his, stilling his movements and words, “It’s ok. I have made my peace with it. And so must you. Plus, they would become suspicious if I did not fall pregnant for much longer. Our time has come, and there is no running from it.”

The Maester breathed through his nose and nodded solemnly, removing his hand from the satchel and reexamining the ones he had brought out already. A familiar container seated atop the table.

“And what are your symptoms? Are you sure?”

You nodded your head, “I have not bled, and my breasts are sore and swelling.”

The older man let out a deep sigh, pushing towards you some bottles, “These may help you if you get any sickness. Some women become sick when with child. I have crushed ginger root, chamomile root and liquorice root, it can help settle any stomach ailments.”

You nodded your head as he began to explain the different vials and containers, all to assist you along and to use in case of any ailments and asking which ones you may think you might need. Though as he was explaining, and the longer he looked, he reached back into his satchel, ripping a tiny patch of material back that had been falsely stitched, and inside was a tiny glass tube.

A dark and long root, that was curled around itself sat inside the vial.

“‘The Herb of Grace’.” The Maester uttered, leaning forward to slip the vial up your sleeve, reminding you of the other hidden belonging in your gown, “Ruta is a powerful plant, if you wish to end what ails you, eat it all. I cannot guarantee your safety after, but it will kill the child.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, before pointing at the cream, “Is this for my scar?”

The old man nodded, handing it towards you.

“Does it still cause pain?” He asked, the Maester’s inquisitive and healing front coming back.

You nodded, “At times it twinges, more itch than not. But others it causes a striking pain, especially when touched or knocked.”

The man hummed, “That can be normal with scars like these. Aemond still feels phantom and ghostly pains, as I am sure you have figured out.”

You placed the tub on the table, looking to the door again, before back at the Maester in a hurry. You leant forward, hand coming up to the breast of your gown, digging your fingers beneath the surface as you fished the scroll from within.

The Maester watched you with furrowed brows as he nervously looked to the door and back.

“We don’t have much time, but you told me once I had allies, and now I need one more than ever.” You thrust the parchment into his hand, closing his fist around it hastily. His eyes searched yours, a moment of fear settling over the two of you.

“I don’t call for help here yet, but when the time comes, know that I have other means of gathering it. But this I must beg of you,” Your fingers tightened around his hand in a way you knew would be painful, your knuckles turning white, “Send a raven to my mother and father. Give them this.” You squeezed his hand.

You begged him with your eyes, pouring every ounce of desperation into you that you had. The Maester stayed quiet as he looked at you, hand still in yours, the parchment scrunched in his palm.

With a tension that did not leave his shoulders, he gave a small, almost missable nod, taking his hand back from yours as he tucked the paper into his belts, hidden away from sight. Relief washed over you, and you felt tears rise into your eyes.

You blinked them away quickly as you thought of how compromising it would be to be caught in such a way. You watched as he stood slowly, putting in unused vials back into his satchel, bringing it to his side. You stood to join him, looking into his eyes.

With a deep breath he spoke one last time, “Without a doubt, you are with child.” Another breath, and another hand atop your shoulder, once where Alicent’s had been, “I’m sorry.”

The Maester pulled away from you, moving towards the chamber doors as he pulled them open. Alicent thanked the Master at the door, the both of them discussing the care that would be needed as you moved to sit back at the table, looking at the many vials that he had left for you.

‘Sorry.’

But you weren’t.

Alicent had stayed with you for a moment more, as you told her of what the Maester had left you, pointing to the different vials and cannisters, carefully hiding the bulge in the wrist of your dress where a last and final, more sinister vial was hidden. By the time you were done, you felt fatigue bite at your heels, and so you begged to be excused, wishing to lay down. Alicent seemingly understanding the emotional upheaval of the day, left you to your privacy.

When the door shut behind her, you moved, and with gentle hands, you placed the tiny vial behind the large wooden wardrobe near the bed, wedging it between the wall and itself. Flopping yourself down, you laid atop the bed, a long smile winding on your cheeks.

On the piece of paper given to the Maester, was a letter written in High Valyrian.

‘Mother and father,

I am doing as good as I can be in this vipers nest, and the tides are beginning to shift. I ask of a favour, and one you must not refuse. There is a woman, Alys Rivers, a Strong bastard who resides in Harrenhal. She is a danger to us all. A witch, they say. And a paramour to my husband with child. A sure danger to me.

See to it that she is no longer.

Yours,

Zāldritsos.’

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

505 notes · View notes

fear-is-truth · 1 month

Text

LOVING HIM WAS NEVER ENOUGH ༄

─ kai anderson x gn!reader

tags: toxic relationship. codependency. abuse. mention of murder. kai is a warning himself

'𝐶𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼'𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑗𝑎𝑧𝑧 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟…

song: ULTRAVIOLENCE ⨾⁩ masterlist • taglist ࿐

a/n: not proofread very thoroughly due to school stuff.. plus english isn’t my first language sorry if there’s any mistakes!!

❦

ever since his encounter with pastor Charles, Kai saw the world through tainted lenses, his perception coloured by disgust as he regarded its occupants as lesser beings—pawns to be manipulated and discarded.

while Kai reveled in the fear and submission of his followers, you were the one soul he couldn't bring himself to despise. which was strange, considering that his primary emotions consisted of hatred and spite.

not you, though. you were a living paradox in his existence. the moment he laid eyes on you, Kai knew you were special. destined for greatness, just like him. yes, you had your flaws and vulnerabilities just like everyone else, but for once, his first thoughts weren't about how to exploit them to his advantage (he still did, just to a lesser extent).

you were his favorite project to work on— each post-meeting pinky power session serving as an opportunity to slowly chisel away at the layers of your soul. painstakingly, he hollowed you out, creating a space within you to pour himself in. Kai did all of these with such a fervour that bordered on obsession, for he was that desperate to make you his.

even though the act itself was tainted by his own selfish motives, Kai loved you. in his own toxic. fucked-up way, he truly loved you. each manipulation, each lie was a misguided attempt to shape you into the person he believed you should be, the person you deserved to be—

his equal.

and you did not disappoint him in the slightest. when you first crossed paths—orchestrated by Kai’s careful planning after months of observation, you were weak, timid. but now, you emerged from the ashes of your former self, reborn. you could point a gun at someone’s face and pull the trigger without batting an eye, the only thought crossing your mind as blood splattered across your cheek was being how divine ruler would be pleased that you completed the mission.

you were his creation; his magnum opus. and to Kai, there was nothing more beautiful than that.

❦

shy islands of desire began to emerge. morally destitute, Kai was spiritually ravenous, he craved to be drowned in your adoring gaze, voracious for every ounce of attention you were willing to bestow upon him. it wasn't the superficial adulation of his other followers that he sought. no, it was the way your fingers gently carded through his hair, the warmth of your touch searing into his skin, the way your laughter echoed in the shadowy crevices of his heart where light rarely touched.

he was addicted to you like he was to adderall, consuming you greedily, the bitter taste lingering on the tip of his tongue. in his mind, his attachment to you would be his ultimate downfall. you became a liability, a distraction from his path to greatness, and he couldn't afford to be tethered to anything that might pose a threat to his cause. Kai understood all too well the age-old adage— “since love and fear can hardly coexist, it is far safer to be feared than loved.”

Kai didn't need anyone, least of all you.

the tenderness he once bestowed upon you was replaced with a cold aloofness that left you feeling like a kicked puppy, bewildered by his sudden cruelty.

at times he would lash out, the sharp sting of his palm leaving you gasping for breath as you stumbled backward. even as you lay on the ground, the taste of blood on your lips and tears staining your cheeks, there was a perverse desire for more. more pain, more punishment, more of him. in those moments of brutality, it felt as though the violence itself was a form of intimacy, making you feel something, anything, even if it hurt.

panic attacks have become mere flutterings in your chest, mistaken for the butterflies of excitement that accompanied his touch, leaving you trembling with anticipation instead of justified dread.

❦

Kai wasn’t easy to like, much less to love. he was as thorny as a rose, beautiful yet unapproachable. every interaction with him left you bleeding with a million little stab wounds.

his touch was tender but cruel, always leaving you with bruises that bloomed across your skin like dark flowers. you wore them like badges of honour, some sort of sick proof that something existed between you. at times, when Kai was plotting away in the basement and you were left all alone, you traced the outlines of the scars with trembling fingers, pressing your lips against the tender flesh to feel the ghost of his touch. imagining that he was with you, his breath hot against your neck, his hands gentle yet possessive as they roamed your body.

“To live is to suffer, to suffer is to find meaning in that suffering,”

Kai was the cause of your suffering, the architect of your pain. his actions leaving behind an endless trail of tears and heartache in its wake.

but to you, Kai was also your meaning, the driving force behind every breath you took and every beat of your heart.

yet somehow, in some tragic, catastrophically romantic way, the two of you fit together.

as his lips sought yours, hungry and desperate, you surrendered yourself to him completely and knowing that for Kai, you'd ruin yourself a million times over.

for him, you'd be a martyr to his cause, bearing his sins upon your shoulders in the hopes of earning his affection. you’d be the sacrificial lamb at the altar of his ambitions, offering up pieces of yourself in exchange for his love.

❦

Kai resented the hold you have over him, the way you could make his insides go all soft and warm with just a smile. it grated against his pride and his need to be in control at all times.

and yet, he could never bring himself to give you up completely, even when he knew he should. every time he tried to wean you off, the withdrawal symptoms of your absence left him trembling for another hit.

the addiction ran too deep.

each night began with him, standing in front of your bedroom door and cursing himself for his lack of restraint, for allowing his feelings for you to cloud his judgment.

each night ended the same way, the two of you tangled in each other's arms, sweat-dampened skin pressed together as he curled behind you, pinky fingers linked. soft kisses gracing your shoulder.

as morning dawned, you would wake to find yourself alone in bed, the emptiness smothering you like a fog. it didn’t matter, because you knew he’d be back.

you both pretended that Kai was the one in control, the way he'd prefer it to be.

but in truth, it was you who held the reigns.

TAGLIST @acidbrainstorm @evanpetersmybf @alittlesil @kaiandersonsdevotedwife @ellaaaaa44 @newwavesylviaplath @warrenpikasgirlfriend @slvt4jamesmarch @kaismanwich @maddaline @evpeters87 @lacucarachapisser @howtobesasha @lissasharp @feefymo @night-prowler666 @nickrhodeslittledarling @bluerthanvelvet444 @r8ttenapples @nahoyasboyfriend @kai-slut @lak3cityqui3tpills @coentinim @doll3tt33 @taintandviolent @babygorewhore @babydollxxblood @stveharringtn @violet1737 @sukirosiac @slutforgarlogan @90sbr1descake // divider by @/v6que

173 notes · View notes

akutasoda · 1 month

Note

Hii can I request the obey me brothers with a teen mc who’s like bitter, rude and insults people for no reason and hates everyone with a passion. But then one day they just sneaked into the brothers rooms at night wanting comfort while at the edge of tears

even when words hurt

synopsis - even when you insult them, they'll offer you a shoulder

includes - lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, belphegor, beelzebub - all platonic

warnings - gn!teen!reader, fluff, angst with slight comfort, small mention of hurting reader, ooc?(mainly belphie), wc - 2k

lucifer ★↷

lucifer could never say he was impressed when he first met you. he was always one the fence per say with the whole student exchange program but went along with it because it was diavolo's insistence - and now the exchange student was extremely rude. he would begrudgingly admit that it was partly his fault for not reading through the files correctly.

by no means was he amused by how rude and blunt you were toward anyone and everyone, especially his brother's and the prince. it was rude of him to think and very wrong, but if you ever insulted the wrong demon and received consequences he wouldn't exactly feel any sympathy for you.

he would constantly nag you and tell you off for your rude remarks - to which always resulted in you insulting him as well. you really weren't a help to him as you would always drag yourself into trouble and he'd have to sort it out. he assumed this year was going to go extremely slow and he wondered what he had done to recieve you as a punishment.

however, as much as he seemed to be fed up with you there must've been atleast a small part of him that cared. otherwise why would he be conforting you in the middle of the night? he was finsihing paperwork formd diavolo and he had heard the creak of his door fron across the room, immediately assuming it was one of his brothers he told the figure to go away.

however he noticed the figure wasn't moving and he awears he could herlar sniffles. finally looking up from his paperwork he would recognise it as you even in the dim lighting. he was rather apprehensive and didn't quite know what you would want. but when he could in fact confirm you were crying he froze.

he wasn't exactly sure what to do in this situation and rather apprehensively offered you to come closer and tell him whats wrong. what really caught him off guard was when you immediately closed the distance and started sniffling more into his chest. if it were anyone else he'd push them off, but for some reason he let you stay as he offered you reassurance as you cried.

mammon ★↷

mammom really thought you were kind of annoying. he didn't like at how rude and blunt you were with everyone and would constantly snap back if you ever insulted him which would then lead to you and him getting into a complete argument of sorts. he wasn't looking forward to you staying the year as the exchange student.

whenever he caught you being rude to somebody he wouldn't interfere until afterwards when he could really complain how weird of a human you were. a part of him wanted to sympathise with your situation as the exchange student and perhaps you were just scared but you were incredibly spiteful to anyone - so he kind of hated you.

but that same sympathy would be the reason he wouldn't push you away when you sought him out for comfort. he wasn't exactly expecting to be shook awake in the middle of the night, at first he assumed it was lucifer who had caught on to one of his more recent schemes but when he opened his eyes he was met with your face.

he wanted to be snarky and demand you get out of his room but he could tell something was wrong. mainly because mammon knew that your rude persona wouldn't bring you into his room in the middle of the night. he would slowly sit up and before he could get a word out, you hugged him. and while you hugged him, he tell you were slowly starting to cry.

he froze immediately. he didn't exactly know what was wrong or why you had come to him of all people and so for a while he sat there awkwardly as you cried. eventually he would put aside how rude you had been to him and let you cry it out and then he'd get you to tell him what was wrong. so he could help.

leviathan ★↷

leviathan wasn't exactly open to talking to the human exchange student, especially when they were rude and had a passionate hatred for anyone. it really deterred him from talking to you as he didn't want to become a victim to your harsh tongue.

he would often avoid you, mainly because he spent alot of his time in his room, and only saw you in fleeting glances in hallways or at the dinner table. however he would hear from his brothers about how you insulted them or some random demon at RAD and that made him feel rather glad he stayed away from you, even though he felt cruel about that.

he couldn't of guessed in thousands of years that you'd seek him out for comfort. he barely interacted with you and actively avoided you but here you were standing in his doorway on the edge of tears. although he could guess his absence made you turn to him, you insulted everybody else and probably doubted they'd want to console you because of that.

he was sat in his tub, playing some game on his phone, when you abruptly opened his door and closed it behind you. he looked at you questionly and panicked a little when you quickly walked over to him. levi was scared you were going to insult him but quickly realised the that you were on the edge of tears and became clueless.

he didn't know how to console anyone let alone a human! so after a while of awkward silence he hesitantly asked if he could do anything and when he was met with no response - apart from some sniffles - he turned to one of his comforts. he handed you his phone and offered to show you how to play the gam, hoping that it would help you calm down and take your mind off things.

satan ★↷

satan absolutely despised how rude and bitter you were. you were the human exchange student, you should be grateful that things were out in place to ensure your safety and yet here you were insulting everyone and anyone that came near you. he would surprise himself with how much patience he had when it came to your rudeness.

he guessed a part of that came from the fact that he assumed you were simply going through a 'rebellious teenage phase'. but even so, surely you'd reason with yourself and tone it down with literal demons. this all did little to stop how angry he could get when you insulted him however.

he was the avatar of wrath. a being of pure anger, you're insults toward him would annoy him ten times more than anyone else. and yet he would still comfort you when you snuck your way into his room with tears in your eyes. he had heard someone open his door and immediately woke as he couldn't quite think who would be here.

he was almost angry. almost, but then he saw you peeking out from behind one of his many stacks of books. he could tell you were on the edge of tears and didn't push you away when you rushed over to him. he could understand you in that moment. he too was extremely rude and had a hatred for anyone ages ago but he had learnt how to deal with his emotions. perhaps you just needed someone to help you with yours.

asmodeus ★↷

asmodeus was really put off by how bitter you were. in a weird way, he was looking forward to seeing who the human exchange student was and at first he thought you were alright but then you started insulting everyone around you. he really didn't want to talk to you after that.

he doubted you could insult him but his ego was surprisingly fragile and thought it was better not to risk it. he really couldn't understand why you seemed to simply hate everyone, you'd never met any demons before and he could take a reasonable guess that you were like this to everybody, demon or not.

however he did worry for you. surely that rude persona was bad for you in many ways and so he had little problems when you came searching for him for comfort. when you shook him awake he was a little bit surprised and a bit annoyed that somebody ruined his sleep but when he saw your trembling face, he couldn't care less for his sleep.

he would immediately sit up and offer you a hug and if that was your breaking point for tears, he would've mind. he'd simply reassure you and let you cry before slowly coaxing you to talk about what bothered you and listening diligently.

beelzebub ★↷

beelzebub was a bit indifferent to your bitter, rude personality. on one hand you insulted his brothers and anyone else that came near you which he didn't like. but on the other he could try and think of reasons why you so quickly insukted people and he felt kind of bad for you - mainly down to the reasons of you being a teen and you being scared.

he really couldn't help but look out for you in the hallways at RAD, knowing you were prone to insulting people made him worry that you'd upset the wrong demon. he didn't really care when you insulted him. sure some of them stung but he really couldn't bring himself to feel offended or insulted by then.

and so would be another that has absolutely no issue offering you comfort. he had briefly nipped to the kitchen to have something to eat and when he got back he saw you sat on the edge of his bed and immediately got concerned. he quickly closed the gap and sat beside you and asking if you needed something.

if that was when you broke into tears, he'd give you a hug and let you cry it out. if not he'd listen to anything you'd have to say and try his best to offer you support and comfort.

belphegor ★↷

belphie also absolutely detested how rude and bitter you were. the absolute nerve of you, the human exchange student to be rude and insult all the demons that definitely wanted you dead. he had heard all the stories and complaints his brothers had from up in the attic and he was gald he was locked up there.

when you first ventured up into the attic, belphie opted to stay silent and let you pass. he did not want to deal with you as he already opposed to the whole human exchange student idea and now the exchange student was a bitter teen. he would wait until you left for sure before he even dared to move or make a sound.

the second time you ventured up into the attic, belpie opted to stay silent again. however he let his curiosity get the better of him as he could sense something was different, you didn't seem as snarky weirdly enough. and he was proven correct when he saw you huddled up in a corner as you curled in on yourself.

he was about to just let you be but then he heard sniffles and watched you make an attempt to wipe the tears that threatened to fall. he hated the human student exchange idea, he hated the human that was chosen but he called out to you with no malice intended. you were obviously startled and he simply asked what was wrong.

he would then proceed to listen to you rant to him and even let you stay up in the attic for as long as you wanted. belphie wanted to hate you. he wnated you out of devildom, especially because you were young, but yet he didn't mind you staying.

181 notes · View notes

myntrose · 1 year

Text

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊redemption𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

ft: Zhongli x gender neutral! Reader

cn: hurt no comfort :D, sagau/imposter au! , golden blood au! , mentions of blood and attack, attempted execution, use of Zhongli's archon name, slighty cultish theme, grammar

a/n: y'all the absolute CHOKEHOLD that sagau! has on me is insane (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) i wrote this with spite due to zhongli never coming home to me. y'all i've lost 50/50 to his all banners t-t

word count: 731

song on replay: Shinunoga E-Wa by Fujii Kaze

"...goodbye~ Oh don't you ever say bye bye, yeah"

He knows he doesn't have the right to be jealous. He knows that the the heaviness is heart is something he deserves, a sliver of punishment he must feel for causing you all the pain and suffering you endured.

To this day, months after the incident, he can still feel the blood, your golden blood, on his hands. It's ironic, really. Zhongli, or Morax, the God of Contracts, the God of War. Everything he did was in your name. As the oldest amongst gods and mortals, he always prided himself as your most loyal follower. He strived to protect your name against blasphemy.

In his nightmares he can still hear your voice. The tremble of your pleads. The shaking "please, spare me" and "mercy".

more utc!

This is just a dream, you told yourself. You were sending your day like you do most others. Following the same routine, passing by the same buildings and houses like every other day. Nothing seemed off, until you awoke from your sleep to realize that you were no longer in your world.

Maybe you would have felt excited. In Teyvat, you could have had a chance to meet all your favorites, all your comfort characters. After all, everyone treated the Traveler, an outsider from another world, well. What difference would it be as another outsider as yourself?

Your breath grew heavy, and your feet started to drag along the earth below you. How did you even get to this position? All you wanted was to find a friendly face, perhaps Amber or another one to the Knights of Favonius.

Running from Mondstadt to Liyue was no easy journey. While it was the people who were after your head, you could only thank whatever force allowed for the other creatures to stay away from your path. The hilicurls never seemed to notice you; the slimes would sometimes lead you towards places to hide.

You hoped the people of Liyue would give you a different welcome than those of Mondstadt. In a way, they did. In Monstadt, they gave you a chance to escape. Here, they didn't.

The ever so busy streets of Liyue were crowded once again, but now for a different reason. Zhongli happened to be amongst the crowed, when the Tianquan herself announced the situation before them.

"We have the traitor here, the one who dares impersonate the Divine Creator"

With that alone, Zhongli came out of hiding and announced himself once again as the Archon of Geo. How else was he, the creators most devoted acolyte, suppose to bring this traitor to justice?

His spear, the Vortex Vanquisher, the weapon you spent months saving up for, was pointed directly at your head. You've survived this long, all to die at the hands of the character you've cared for the most. Morax granted you the luxury of saying your final words. He expected you to cry out for mercy, but was met with something that left him frozen.

At this point there were no more tears for you left to cry. Tired and exhausted, you look up at him. Moving carefully, you lift your hands towards the weapon inches to your face. Even with such a weak grip, the spear cuts into your hand.

"I would rather die at your hands than that of a stranger"

Morax backs away from you, his polearm falling to his side. It was easy to mistake the gold color on the tip of his spear to be the shine of the sun illuminating the ore that made it. But Morax knew what the golden glint was.

Time may heal all wounds, but it doesn't erase the scars left behind. Zhongli has tried his best to redeem himself. He knows he is the least deserving to be at your every call. Even so, he feels that he's more fit to serve you than those fools from Sumeru.

He can't help but feel his heart drop whenever you dismiss him, when you tell him his services aren't needed. But what hurts him more is the visible fear in your eyes whenever he gets a bit to close.

No, he refuses to be the reason why you don't feel safe. He refuses to be the one you fear. He'll redeem himself, he swears. In one way or another, he'll show you that he deserves to be at your side.

zhongli bby pls come home

#zhongli x reader #zhongli x gn!reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli angst #genshin impact angst #genshin sagau #sagau #sagau angst #sagau zhongli #sagau x reader #self aware genshin au #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact sagau x reader #genshin imposter au #morax x reader #ZHONGLI BBY PLS COME HOME I SWEAR ILL TREAT YOU RIGHT #day 1/??? of writing zhongli angst until he comes home #*ੈ✩‧₊˚night's library*ੈ✩‧₊˚

1K notes · View notes

leviismybby · 10 months

Text

Nsfw 18+, mdni

You liked to tease Nanami about his ugly tie, it wasn't out of hatred or spite but because you knew what it would lead to....

Nanami has your face pressed against the door, his hands pinning your wrists behind your back as he thrusts into you. "You never listen, do you?" You moan against the tie that's in your mouth, cheek pressing further into the door. He gripped your wrists tighter, his thick cock pounding your cervix. "Or maybe you don't want to listen, maybe you want me to do this..."

Or when ties your arms above your head, his tongue laps at your cunt, your body wiggles from the intense pleasure. "Ken I can't again...I can't cum again.." Your legs shake but Nanami only sucks on your pussy harder, his jaw is starting to hurt at this point however that doesn't mean that he will stop. "You can and you will, darling. You seriously thought you can piss me off the whole day and not get punished? How bold of you." He slaps your thighs before his mouth closes around your clit.

Sometimes he is mad after a mission and fighting the cruises that he can't even wait until you get home but don't worry, there's always his car for that. Nanami is seated in the back of his car, you on top of him as you bounce on his cock. It feels like he is splitting you in half and there's nothing you can do about it because what he says is the law. "Good girl, now go slower." He pulls on his tie that is now tied around your neck, you do as he says, rolling your hips slowly. A whine escapes your lips, he's edging you, he knows your body like the back of his hand. Your warm pussy squeezes around him, navel tight, you're begging for release. "Please...move faster..." Your head drops onto his shoulder and Namami wraps his muscular arms around your body as he fucks his hips up into you. "You're so lucky I love you." He kisses your shoulder and takes your waist to set a faster pace. "I'll fill you up full, is that what you want my love?" Nanami gently rubs your sweaty back and a few minutes later, his cum fills you up. "....you know...even after all of this...I still think that that tie is ugly..." You say breathlessly. "Do you now? Good to know, just wait until we get back home, I'll ruin you."

#nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento #nanami x you #jjk nanami #nanami imagine #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen #nanami x reader smut #nanami x y/n #nanami x fem!reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader

1K notes · View notes

darling--angst-archived · 9 months

Note

hmm I hope I did this right :'D

- Where's My love, SYML w/ Dazai :o + romantic !

Where's My Love?

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x Gn! Reader

Type: Oneshot

Genre: Angst

Warnings: major character death, implied suicide, blood descriptions, mentions of death, cutting, implied death.

Synopsis: Dazai always tries to find his lover and when he sees them, he only says a 'hello' but never did he say his goodbye.

A/n: Thank you for requesting! Reader is refered to as 'them' or 'they'. Hope you'll like this! Dw you did it correct! Italic for flashbacks

Event // Ada.Masterlist // M.Masterlist

There was nothing he could feel, he held the cold and lifeless corpse of his lover; just as he did to his dear friend a few days ago. Cold pulse, it was the only thing he could find; coldness, just as who he was before he met them. How hard he tried to find the love they once held in their eyes. He didn't mind his bleeding hand, he could only focus on holding them. His bloodied hand was mostly theirs and a small mix of his. The tears that dripped to his scarred hand made it sting; just like a wound topped with salt. He tried to make their heart beat once again but it was hopeless, they only held him dearly—as if they were fine and smiled before their eyes completely shut; never to open again. He screamed their name at the top of his lungs before he slowly laid their body on the floor, just like they were resting. He walked away, numb tears escaping his hazel eyes. The room was illuminated by the warm sun they once loved, and the crimson blood was oozing out of the three bullet holes on their chest. He tightly clenched his hand, not minding how much it hurt from the wound. The rain started to pour while the bright and orange sunset was covered with dark, thundering storms. He walked away, turning his back on everything, the Port Mafia, Chūya, his crimes, Oda and you.

"Dazai-san? Are you there? Kunikida-san called me and told me to go to work with you." Atsushi knocked on a small apartment room owned by the Agency.

Dazai sat up and looks at his hand again. It was clean, no blood was leaving his body through a wound that once was. A mark was left there, a memoir that the day he got that wound was the one where he failed to save you.

"That dream again.."

A few tears escapes his eyes and landed itself on his hand, just as that day. He wiped them away after hearing Atsushi knock on the door again.

"Yeah I'm here Atsushi-kun!" He said through the door, trying to sound as cheerful as possible though his voice came out dry and hoarse.

"Are you okay Dazai-san? Are you sick?!" Atsushi asks, his tone full of worry and franty.

"Nop! I just woke up so please wait for me in a few minutes Atsushi-kun!" He said in his usual cheery tone making Atsushi sigh in relief. Dazai's words soon registered in his mind, and he began to panic.

"But Kunikida-san will scold both of us for being late!"

"It's fineee! Its just going to be the same old Kunikida!" He tried explaining while ramaging through his drawer, trying to find his bandages.

"But—"

"I'm gonna be quick Atsushi-kun, I'm just going to dress! You don't want me to go to the agency shirtless do you?" He said in a spiteful voice, wrapping his arms, hands, neck and torso with leftover bandages.

"eww no!"

"exactly" Dazai replied before wearing his shirt and vest. He glances at the scar again before opening the door and throwing in his overcoat.

"Let's go Atsushi-kun!"

He skipped to the agency with Atsushi behind him. They got scolded by Kunikida but it the end he was the one that took his hour long lecture and Dazai got punished by him.

The day passed again, and the moon showed in the midnight sky. Dazai was laying in his futon, staring at the dark ceiling, bottles of sake throws across the floor. He turned his head beside and saw them, a worried look was plastered on their face as they looked at him. He knew that his mind was playing games with him, despite that he came to caress their cheek to feel their warmth; but they disappeared, and his hand only met the cold and empty sheets beside. He clenched his fists tight before standing up and grabbing his overcoat and leaving his messy apartment. Walking in the dark streets lighted by the faint moonlight, was something both of them used to do. He gently smiled at the small memory before continuing to walk, he arrived at a small greeny fields in the outskirts of the city.

"Darling! Osamu! Wait up!" They said before panting.

"You really need to run faster my love!" He turned around and saw them with furrowed eyebrows. He chuckled before going to them.

"You're so unfair! I'm on my slippers because you called me and told me it was an emergency!" They pouted, taking his assistance and grabbing his hand for support.

"It is an emergency! I was bored and I missed you!" He pointed out.

"Haii.. whatever.. Don't you dare try to lie to me" They sighed shooting him a worried look before caressing his bruised cheek, and he leaned on her hand.

"What do you mean love?" He sent them a cheeky smile, trying to feign innocence and ignorance.

"Osamu." They said his name in a serious tone, and he only laid his head down.

"I-its nothing" He quietly muttered, getting closer to them, trying to feel their warmth.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here" The hand cupping his cheeks snaked it's way to the back of his head, as he leaned his head into their shoulder.

Their hand slowly and gently patted the back of his head while he hugged them. The silent crickets are the only thing that was heard. He felt scared, he didn't want them to know his line of job in fear that they would leave him. They were a civilian and he was a mafioso—no an executive of the Port Mafia, the rulers of the night. He needed comfort, he wanted to tell them how his friend betrayed them and now the other was dead; but he couldn't, he was afraid of them abandoning him too. Nobody spoke a word, they didn't bother to ask him more, they just waited for him to open up. They gently hummed a tune as they waited for him, their voice was like a lullaby that comforted a scared and crying child.

The event plays on his mind, seeing illusions of that day in the fields, he could not remember what happened afterwards. He put his hands on the pockets of his overcoat as his fingertips got colder and colder. Walking to a small cliff near the ocean, a name was carved in a rock just near the edge, beside it, was a fresh bouquet of roses. He leaned against the grave as he closed his eyes, reminiscing the old memories.

"Hello love... I missed you" He gently smiled, feeling the cold breeze pass.

A faint voice whispered comfort in his ear.

"I missed you too.. tell me.. is that little girl, the one you told me about—Kyoka, I think—is she okay?"

He felt his hair ruffle, as if someone was playing it just like they did. He wanted to open his eyes to know who it was, but he knew that they would disappear just as he looks behind. He knew that he was just thinking how they would respond but he didn't mind it.

"Mhm.. the conflict was over and the Moby Dick returned to the ocean... Kyoka's now home with the agency" He whispered, trying to feel their warm.

"That's good.. How is the agency treating you.?"

"hmm.. Atsushi-kun is as usually kind.—" he faintly smiled.

"—oh, Kunikida tied me to a chair earlier and beat me up because I was late, it hurt a lot. Ouch" He dramatically whispered and they faintly laughed in return. Silence once again came, the howling winds and the clashing waves are the only things that can be hear besides his lone heartbeat.

"Come back to me please.." His voice cracked. He heard no response, he opened his eyes and looked behind to see nothing but a view of the night sky and the dancing leaves. A part of the cloudy sky was clear, showing the moon perfectly, as if it made way for someone to go high above.

"I'll go to you soon love.. and if the heavens forbid it... I'll fight against God myself just to return to your embrace" He sat up and glanced at the grave once again before finally returning to his apartment.

He closed his door and muttered a small "I'm home" hoping for someone to respond. Taking off his shoes and overcoat, he took a blade from his bathroom drawer, and then made himself comfortable in the bathtub. He rolled up his sleeves and sat up, positioning the blade just perfectly on the veins in his wrist. With one quick and deep slash, blood started gushing out of his left wrist. He winced in pain, taking the blade once again, he slashed his right wrist; it was less deep than the cut in his other wrist but nonetheless, it was deep. Blood started to drip to his garments and bathtub, his vision started to blur and he leaned completely to the wall, closing his eyes. At the last moments of his life, he remembered what happened after that day.

"Hey... If you don't want to tell me it's okay, but don't ever try to hide your emotions from me.." They smiled at him, their fingers playing with his hair.

"What do you mean? I don't hide them—" He left their embrace and tried to put on a facade.

"Osamu. You don't need to hide them" They said, walking upfront, their voice was full of calmness, just like a lullaby. Their arms was behind them, their right hand holding their left arm

"Fine... But let me ask you this then." He looked at their back with a serious tone.

"Why did you come in the middle of the night to a cliff just because I told you to do so?" He asked, his gaze following them as they walked forward to the edge, admiring the moon. They continued to hum before they responded to his question.

"Because I love you" They turned around and smiled at him. They put a strand of hair behind their ear, as the wind passed by.

"mmm.." He opened his eyes to see their illusion planting a kiss on his forehead.

"I..finally..found..you...." His voice slowly faded into nothing but air.

It was as if time stopped for a mere second. The pain that engulfed him whole was now only faint. Their warmness returned to him and his vision completely faded to black, submitting to the sleepiness he held after hearing them hum his favorite tune...

537 notes · View notes

privitivium · 1 month

Note

Imagine this, motherly!yan is going through readers phone as always and he comes across a deleted chat, he finds a way to retrieve back the old chat and it shows the chat is recently deleted.. The more he scrolls the more agitated and jealous he becomes, when motherly!yan is prepares dinner, he puts in heavy aphrodisiac and drugs that will knock reader to be in a daze, punishing reader because in his eyes "it's only fair"

love this so much. PERVERT !!! DOM MOTHERLY YAN!!!

also something he would do. drugging you,,, just cuz you pissed him off or something ,,, w an aphrodisiac especially,,,, and mother doing nothing to help you as you rut against his thigh all helpless and instead gently pecks your lips instead of moving to ease you; whining against him, nearly combusting - "what? my kisses arent enough for you?" vaguely manipulative in a way that makes you feel bad and soon start tearing up cuz you just want relief from him and then after he deems youve suffered enough he helps you,,, anyway!!

motherly yan doing his daily phone sweep on ur cell,,, sometimes, skipping days just because he thinks ur doing sooo good and you would never mean to hurt him but also going through ur stuff just to do it. see what ur up to n all that... you were in the shower, taking a quick rinse before dinner, so mother had all the time in he world. surfing through all your messages... going through the trash of ur contacts after going through your socialsㅡfuck, his heart drops to his tummy,,, looks like you forgot to permanently delete a chat, huh? he was fuming.

AND !! it wasnt anything bad either. no sexting, no hating on mother... the occasional flirting from the other - one of your coworkers, he presumes... scoffing. there was no complaint from you to stop them from flirting with you - delusional mother obviously thinking that you encouraged it, no matter if you deleted the whole chat or whatever... so, out of spite, last minute adding to your plate of food when you were coming out of the shower; dry n ready to eat...

mother sitting at the other end of the table, stoic and slowly sipping on his glass of red wine as he carefully watches you eat... wasnt long before your fork was clattering against the plate with apologies falling from your lips out of surprise - not expecting yourself to be so clumsy before you feel a warm feeling pooling underneath ur belly,, soon leaning back and tugging your shirt up - feeling so hot n sweaty with an aching bulge in your pants - unable to think, only feel.

eyes glazed over as you push back, squirming to touch yourself ㅡ mother speedily jerking your hands away from your erection, so quickly manuvering around the table just to stop you from touching yourself-! "... none of that..." whilst guiding you up and forcing you to sit in his lap,,, "f-fuck, ma.,,, ma-mother." still coherent to call out his name in a plea as you push against him, trying so hard to force your hands from his squeezing grip,,, its ur punishment. he's a v jealous man!! he'll help you in a second... soak in the feeling of beeing a needy horny rabbit pleading for your mother,,,

#motherly yan!#x male reader #male reader

122 notes · View notes

astudyincontrasts · 6 months

Text

Penance IX (redux)

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A/N: Its my birthday! Last year everyone in this fandom and all the friends I have made because of it made today one of the most special birthdays I have had in a long time. I felt more loved and surrounded in celebration with sweet friends then I had in years, and the cup of that happiness has not stopped running over. There are not enough ways to express my love and gratitude for everyone I've had the joy of meeting here.

So this year, I wanted to offer a gift to all of you. Everyone has been exceedingly patient about my writing struggles to continue Penance, so I'd like to give you the alternate Penance XI chapter- blood I have managed to wring from that stone of writers block. The fate of the continuation of this story may still be up in the air until inspiration comes knocking again, but at least I can share this with you today.

To all my fandom friends, and everyone who has been so supportive of this silly little smutty story. You have my heart.

This picks up after Chapter VIII

“Girl, are you listening?”

Sister Marta’s sharply scolding voice brought you back down to earth with a little jerk, blinking as you turned attention back to the tall, thin, sallow faced nun to meet the exasperated gaze of her cataract-hazed grey eyes.

“Sorry Sister.” You mumbled, casting about for a context clue of whatever it was she might have been speaking about while you’d been off daydreaming about the priest of her parish. Nothing jumped out at you in the dusty old store room of the basement where you both stood in the dim light of one naked and straining lightbulb still swinging gently upon its cord from the nun’s yank of its chain a moment before.

You hadn’t meant to drift off, but it had been four days since you’d seen Father Silco last and that painful, sweet contrition you’d done across the desk of his office was still fresh in your mind as if it had just happened. You ought to have been angry at the fact he’d left you such an unsatisfied mess, and the fact he’d spanked you like a wicked child, in spite of his promise he’d never hurt you as they had back in school.

Truly, he had not. Those sharp little slaps of his open hand were nothing compared to the cruelty of a sharp ruler across knuckles or the backs of thighs delivered by an angry, bitter nun. You smiled faintly at Sister Marta’s increasingly irritated, withered old face and privately thought perhaps she could teach the Father a few things about corporal punishment.

“The candles, girl!” Sister Marta exhorted at last, the thin limit of her patience snapping.

Unlike the ‘my child’ diminutive that the other nuns like Sister Eleanor or Sister Angelica were so fond of using with you and other parishioners, Sister Marta had no use for any such hollow faithful endearments. You hadn’t yet made up your mind if it was an honest gruffness about her you liked, or an insulting mein you did not. You had the notion it would have hardly mattered to the old woman either way.

She nudged one of the pair of low boxes with the toe of her sensible black shoe from under her long, dark habit.

“Take them to the Father to be blessed and then kindly refill the votive stands. You can remove the spent ones and toss them.” She explained, slower this time as if she was speaking to a simpleton.

You bore it with a tight little smile and bent to lift the box on top, surprised by the weight of it, staggering a bit upon rising only to catch a smugly satisfied look on the wrinkled old pucker of a face before Sister Marta reached up to pull the chain of the light and leave you to struggle out the door of the closet and back up the rickety old stairs of the basement in the dark, save for the light from the open door at the top of the steps.

Quietly you wondered if you accidentally fell and broke your neck, if the church would have their endowment free of the burden of your presence that came with it.

Cold comfort, knowing you’d crush the brittle bird-boned old woman climbing up, wheezing softly behind you, and take her with you if you did pitch backward down the steps.

The real trial wasn’t making it to the top of the stairs with the heavy box full of candles, though. No, that one still lay ahead once you’d reached the top without incident. The real trial lay in taking that armload into the rectory to face Father Silco once more and ask his blessing.

You’d thought you’d be safe if you came on a Thursday. You’d avoided the parish planning committee on Monday, as well as your usual Wednesday session with the Father. You’d hardly doubted you’d be missed at the planning meeting, and Wednesday, well. You’d chosen to skip it half in a little act of spite, half just to see what might happen. When no scolding phone call or visit had been forthcoming after shirking both of those commitments the victory felt hollow.

Turning up to make yourself useful to the nuns on Thursday seemed like a good way to cover for your failed gambit and to keep from looking as if you were avoiding the church. Foolishly, you’d thought perhaps you’d manage to skim by with just catching a glimpse of Father Silco in passing.

Unsure if it was because you wanted to see him, or wanted him to see you.

You’d been on rocky footing ever since your little transgression in the confessional, and you knew it.

The door to the rectory lay open just across from the basement door in the open nave of the large narthex, and you waited until Sister Marta crested the steps behind you and shut the basement door to hobble off heavily upon her cane, before you started the slow walk toward his office. You didn’t let yourself hesitate in the doorway, and didn’t have a free hand to knock on the open door with anyway. Instead, summoning all the calm composure you could muster, you simply walked in and paused before his desk.

He sat there, scribbling away in an open book, papers and letters and other books opened in a slightly scattered mess about his work, dark head bent and eyepatch on. He left you standing there until he’d finished what he was writing. Until your elbows and wrists had begun to ache a little from the weight of the box you held. Only then he sat back, letting his pen drop upon the desk as elbows found the armrests of his tall-backed chair and he turned the cool glint of that duplicitously calm ocean colored eye upward.

The thin, scarred cut of his mouth tugged a hint of a smile at one corner.

“Lamb.” He stated mildly, as if unsurprised in the least to see you there and only half interested as to what you might want with him.

Infuriating, how badly you liked hearing that little endearment again. How flustered it made you feel to get hooked on the edge of that smile.

The box shifted heavily in your hands as you juggled its weight and stepped forward to set it upon his desk. Damn his paperwork.

“Sister Marta asked if you’d bless these candles so I could put them in the votive holders.” Your attempt to keep your voice as even and disaffected as possible only resulted in it coming out far softer than you’d meant for it to be.

Leaning forward a touch, Silco flipped one of the flaps of the cardboard lid back to glance at the candles inside with a little hum. One by one he folded each of the other three flaps back and rose to his feet. Elegant fingers stroked absently along the edge of one packaging dividers hashed between the votives within before he plucked a single candle out and set it aside.

Letting that cool eye of his drift shut he made the sign of the cross over the open box of remaining candles before opening both hands before himself, palms cupped upward.

“Lord Jesus Christ, true light that enlightens every man who comes into this world, bestow thy blessing upon these candles, and sanctify them with the light of thy grace. As these tapers burn with visible fire and dispel the darkness of night, so may our hearts with the help of thy grace be enlightened by the invisible fire of the splendor of the Holy Ghost, and may be free from all blindness of sin.”

His eye opened and fell upon you, and suddenly you were profoundly aware of how you just stood there, staring at the tall, lean lines of him in that dark cassock, soaking in the sound of his voice and very obviously not with your hands folded in reverent prayer or eyes downcast as they ought to have been. Something entirely ungodly flickered at the edge of Father Silco’s mouth as he continued on, holding your immobilized gaze.

“Clarify the eyes of our minds that we may see what is pleasing to thee and conducive to our salvation. After the dark perils of this life let us be worthy to reach the eternal light.” His eye closed once more and again he made the sign of the cross over the box as he finished, “Through thee, Jesus Christ, Savior of the world, who in perfect Trinity livest and reignest, God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

His hands lowered, one coming to settle over the glass edge of the candle he’d set to one side, and he considered you as you crossed yourself hastily and reached forward to gather the box back up again. He stopped you lifting it with a touch of the fingertips to its lid.

“When you are through with these, perhaps you’d come back here?” Couched so carefully as a question, yet all you could hear was the quiet order in it. Come back here. Your head was nodding before he even finished speaking and the thin, dark brow not covered by his eyepatch quirked slightly.

“Yes, Father.” Your correction of yourself came nearly automatically.

Another little humming assent and with a slow blink he removed the touch that had stopped you lifting the box, resuming his seat. You hoped he’d resume his work as well, but instead he sat there, watching you go, fingertips drumming thoughtfully upon the little glass votive.

You took your time with the candles, mostly because your hands were shaking and the very last thing you wanted to do was drop one of the blessed things and have it shatter across the church floor. But also, to give you time to scrape yourself together, collect calm and poise. It was no good, heart hammering anticipation equal parts nervousness and excitement. The part of yourself that had wanted so badly to keep up this little charade of wishing to avoid him had succumbed without so much as a whimper.

Again thoughts drifted back to Sunday. To the stinging warmth of skin under his hand, to how he’d teased you to a sodden mess without once slipping fingers beneath the barrier of cotton that had separated you. To how he’d left you wanting and writhing and nearly in tears. A perfect act of contrition, indeed.

It was a struggle not to let yourself wonder what next punishment he could possibly have in store for you.

Spent votives replaced with fresh ones, and the box filled with the clatter of the empty candleholders, you made your way back to his office. Dropping the detritus of other people’s prayers off in the dumpster out back could wait. You had your own worship to attend to.

Father Silco’s desk was far less littered with papers when you returned, open books stacked neatly to one side now and everything else put away save for the book he was still writing in. And that little candle he’d taken. His dark head didn’t even lift as you set the softly clattering box down upon the settee against the wall.

“Office hours are over.” He intoned flatly as you wiped palms nervously over the skirt of the dress covering your thighs.

It froze you, cold like ice water suddenly filling the pit of your belly. Had he just dismissed you after ordering you to return?

“...Father?” It came out a strangled little question and you almost hated how needy the note of your voice made that singular word.

He glanced up and you realized with a start that he’d removed that eyepatch, the hellish orange-red fire of his darkened eye a constant little shock every single time. Ruined eye and teal flicked from you to the door and back again as if in blatant explanation.

“Lock the door.” He elaborated.

It should not have been a matter of pride that you managed to turn and do his bidding without falling all over yourself or scrambling in an embarrassing rush of eagerness, and yet. Far more collected than you felt within, you managed to push the door shut soundlessly and throw the latch, pausing for a moment with your back to him, safely sheltered in the little alcove of the doorway, to breathe through the easing of that sudden cold panic that had surfaced at your earlier misunderstanding.

When you returned to him he’d shut his notebook and set it aside atop the others, and reached to slide that pilfered votive candle before himself as he watched you sidle up to his desk. Watched you stop, smooth the skirt of your dress only to fist it again in fitful hands, watched the tight little press of thighs as he drew out the silence.

“Do you know what these are called?” He asked, nudging the little candle forward with the press of one elegant fingertip before rising from his seat.

“Devotionaries.” You answered, and watched him cross to the wall to the right of you, to a tall coat stand that stood near the door to his quarters.

“Very good.”

A child could have answered that question, but it did not stop the little smile of pleasure that tugged at the corners of your mouth. His praise as euphoric as a drug and twice as addictive, even for the smallest of successes.

Your mouth went dry however, as he turned profile to you, tugged a button or two open upon the throat of his cassock, and then turned his back to undo the rest before shrugging out of the long, dark cloth to hang it upon the coat stand. The black fabric fell in a long and shapeless mass without him, hem puddling ever so slightly on the floor.

It put you in mind of Peter Pan hanging up his shadow, or it would have done, had you not been so preoccupied with the shape of him divested of the dark habit. Of that petulant posture and taut lovely lines, proud set of shoulders and careless, dangerous beauty in how he moved. It was patently unfair that a man sporting licks of sliver at his temples and etched crows feet at the outset edges of his eye should have the lithe shape of youth the way he did.

Devoid of the cassock, he was left instead in the black roman-collared linen shirt and dark, sharply pleated trousers he wore beneath.

He turned back to you and came wandering back toward the desk, unbuttoning the cuffs at his wrists.

“Do you have a lighter?” The question was so casual it caught you off guard and you had to shake your head, tugging at the pocketless skirt of your dress on either side of thighs by way of explanation.

His mouth twisted the merest fraction of a smile as he tucked the cuff of one of his sleeves back, began rolling it neatly toward his elbow. Lean hips turned a fraction as he stepped closer.

“Left pocket.” He instructed, helpfully.

Hesitation grasped you but a moment before you inched forward, stepped into his space and paused. Glancing upward, you found his attention fixed upon meticulously still folding his sleeves back, crisp turn by turn. The focus of those mismatched eyes not even flickering to you, to how every fine hair upon your bare arms stood on end like they were aching toward him, toward that magnetic draw of snapping static thrumming in the air between you both.

Easing half behind him, you reached for the little gap of the pocket and slowly slid fingers into the warmth of its silken confines. Over the bone of his hip and down, wrist deep until you hit the bottom of the pocket and touched the smooth, rectangular shape of the lighter within. Metal heated to body temperature from where it nestled.

Fingers curled around it before you stopped. Let it go, and moved just a little closer, pressed fingers flat to that join between hip and thigh his pocket lay against. Pushed the delve of that pocket just a little deeper and felt his stomach tense beneath your fingertips as your cheek brushed the outside of his upper arm.

“The lighter, lamb. If you please.” His tone was darkly amused at least, though if you kept pushing your luck it would be at your own cost. That much was clear.

You scooped up the lighter once more, but withdrew your hand slow, knuckles grazing softly along the cut of muscle you could feel running from his hip inward and down. Air felt unwelcomely cold against your skin once you pulled your hand free, and before you could step back, he moved away for you. Walked away to resume his seat behind the desk as he finished doing up his other cuff to just below his right elbow.

A small push of his foot made space between the seat and the desk, and you only needed the flick of his eyes from you to the room he’d made to set you in motion to come and stand before him, his lighter clenched tight in your closed fist, unwilling to relinquish the little bit of his heat you held in your palm.

Gazing up at you, his attention licked over the details of your dress, your posture, your hesitant composure, as he tugged at the give of trousers a little at the bend of thigh and hip and settled himself more comfortably.

“You weren’t here yesterday.” He observed as he relaxed back against the tall chair, a flicker of a blink over that oceanic eye. You held your tongue and his gaze fell to the candle upon the desk just beside where you stood, and you wondered if your absence had made him angry, filled him with regret, or perhaps just left him lonesome. You wished there was a way to tell, any little crack in that stoic mask of scarred features and sharpness to let the truth of what he was thinking seep out. Nothing there though but that calculating, penetrating gaze and a subtle shrug of broad, lean shoulders, “I suppose we might make up for lost time, then. Contrition may be an important facet of faith, but so is devotion.”

He reached forward to scoop into fingers the loose end of the bow that tied the wrap of your dress shut beside your waist. His good eye narrowed, the fine lines of crowsfoot deepening. He’d seen that dress before, yes– the same one you’d worn to catch him by surprise in the confessional.

You allowed yourself the most innocent little smile you could manage when those mismatched eyes flicked sharply to your face, and willed breath to stay even, slow, no matter how skin had begun to sing his name in soft coursing waves of prickling goosebumps.

“I don’t suppose you have your rosary?” He asked archly, letting the ribbon of the bow drop from his open hand as he sat back once more.

He’d every right to ask it of you so dryly, given your lack of pockets. And you had every right to feel as smug as you did when you lifted a hand, reached into the low, criss-crossed neckline of your dress and drew out the strand of little purple beads from the nestle of your bra.

The war between shock, dark delight, the struggle to keep his poker face, and perhaps even a hint of righteous outrage that overtook the sharply handsome ruin of his features was nothing short of spectacular. You’d replay it, over and over again at night. Reveling in how well you toppled the high and mighty cold ivory pillar he so often perched upon.

Out and out you drew the beads until the little cross popped free and the rosary hung, swinging, upon your forefinger.

His hand, resting upon his knee, tightened, fingers twitching slightly, before it stilled, then lifted, palm open in demand.

You dropped that little holy object into his hand and watched his fist close around it, knowing full well he now held a little piece of your heat as surely as you held his within your other hand. There was a slight softening to the creases where thin brows met over that sharp nose that told you he felt it, too.

“Good girl.” He murmured, and the flush that crept up to warm your ears was nearly as delicious as the thrill that both chased up your spine and tugged at the backs of your knees to fold, to kneel. You rested the heel of your palm upon the desk behind you and let it take your weight so that you did not cave.

By the time he turned his face back up to you he’d mastered his expression once more, beatific calm singed at its hard edges.

“Turn around,” He instructed, making the simple order sound heavy, dangerous. Bringing thighs together from their slight sprawl, he patted the top of one, “Have a seat.”

Heart thudded hard in your ears as you did as you were bade, turning to sink onto his lap carefully, perched upon his knees. He sucked chipped teeth softly at it.

“Have a seat,” That grit velvet voice scolded gently from behind you as both his hands curled about your waist and urged you backward, until you sat comfortably fully upon him, back fitted to his front.

A hand upon your hip skimmed over stomach and waist, back to the bow of your dress.

“Why do we say devotions?” He asked, and you could feel the question purring through his chest against your back as he claimed the thick ribbon of the bow and tugged. The knot gave with no resistance, and the part of it he held served nicely to pull the cross of your dress open, just enough to part the skirt of it and leave you bare from stomach to thighs.

The shudder that overtook you was sweet and slow, wringing from core to limbs, leaving a little shivering tingle rising over scalp and curling toes, that familiar little throbbing ache back with a hot and hungry vengeance. Hips shifted in your seat as his fingertips ghosted skin to part fabric and push it aside, leaving your lower half bare save for the dark, smooth satin of underwear in the same shade of inky black as his habit.

“To remember the dead?” You chanced, feeling halfway there yourself, pulse racing erratically.

“Sometimes,” He agreed, and you swore you felt the whisper of scarred lips at your neck. Certainly felt the wash of warm breath plume over skin, “More generally devotions are an act of prayer or private worship. Remembrance is one act, as are service, reflection, beseeching, prostration… your rosary, for example, is considered a devotion.”

His hands slid along your arms, touch warm, bringing your hands together to press in prayer before he began to wind the beaded strings around your wrists again to bind them together.

“I thought that was a penance.” You exhaled in a shuddering little rasp.

“It can be, but not today.” The tip of his sharp nose drew a long, slow line against the rise of your spine, above the neckline of your dress between shoulder blades and to the base of your skull, “although that can be a devotion too.”

The heel of his foot caught the floor and pulled the seat with you both in it forward towards his desk, so that he could reach around you and lift the candle from where it sat before pushing you both back again. He held the votive before you.

“Light it,” he asked, free arm curling about you, fingers trailing the soft of your stomach from navel on down, “I owe you a devotion, lamb.”

Fingers bound in prayer fumbled with the thick golden rectangle of the lighter as you struggled not to simply sink back against him with a little shiver and beg that he stroke that little path across vulnerable skin once more. A flick of your thumb sent the hinged lid open and the circular little flint struck on the second attempt, hot flame bursting to life. Silco turned the candle so that you could light it and then pulled it away as you flicked the lighter shut and slipped it back between folded hands.

“Do you know the devotional prayer?” He asked, hand holding the candle coming to settle upon an armrest as his lap shifted beneath you, lean legs pressing together beneath your own and lifting before spreading wide, the hook of his knees beneath your thighs opening them in an indecent slow splay.

It set you writhing; the kissing chill of the air of the room contrasting sharply with the heat of him beneath you, so very bare, bound in his lap, spread open like an invitation. The door was locked, yes, you’d made sure of it but what if you were wrong? What if someone had a key? There’d be no explanation for the position you found yourself in, no way to hide.

The thrill of that little licking fear warred with the light caress of his free hand as it curled over the top of one thigh and smoothed toward your knee, only to hook it better in its drape over his own before it began the slow teasing, lazy circles that drew it back toward the little throbbing want hidden beneath the black satin gusset of thin panties.

“Bare legs.” He murmured, and you gave another little squirm, folded hands pressing together tighter. You’d not worn what you were coming to suspect was his favorite item of your clothing because you’d not expected to see him, and also to spite him if you did. The move seemed to have backfired spectacularly. When you had no excuse or answer, Father Silco simply carried on, a note of pleased amusement in his tone, “The prayer?”

“N-no. That is, no I don’t know it.”

“Hmn.” His little hum of disapproval at the gaps still existing in your liturgical knowledge colored your cheeks, and you could only hope that from his position he could not see the frustration that joined the embarrassment upon your face.

You watched him lift the candle slowly from where he’d held it at your side, bring it to hover over your open lap. His hand upon your thigh stilled its toying little strokes and instead closed in a taut grip of your leg, soft skin denting tenderly beneath his fingers.

“That’s alright,” he reassured you quietly, and you could hear the dark little smile in it, “This is my devotion anyhow.”

The flickering little candle he held hovering before you began to tilt, turn, and the inward gasp of breath caught in your throat as the clear melted wax welled at the lip of the red glass before spilling over, heat spattering in a little drip against the sensitive skin of your knee.

He paused, and you could feel him shift under your restless hips, feel the little roll of his own and the way his breath strained ever so slightly for just a moment.

“Does that hurt?” Low and velvet that voice mumbled up against the skin behind the fold of your ear and again he tipped a little burning drop of wax onto waiting skin.

Your knee jumped the barest fraction, reflexive little jerk at the soft scalding that faded quickly into gentle warmth, and you nodded, folded hands pressing the knuckles of forefingers tight to your lips.

“A little.” You breathed, raggedly.

“Enough to stop?” He pressed, and the soft moan of a sigh that broke from you when the warmth of his mouth touched to the hard thrum of your pulse answered well enough for you before your shattered little ‘no’ eked out.

His fingers had strayed far up the leg they’d been casually toying across, toward the heat that he had to feel absolutely radiating from the apex of thighs. One long forefinger drew a tracing line around the triangle of slippery black satin, up both edges and across your lower stomach slowly.

Air seized in your throat as his fingertips plucked at the smooth waistband.

“Lord, may this candle which I light illuminate all my difficulties and decisions.” Silco began, waiting to feel the tension stringing through you begin to ease before he spilled another dollop of wax, and then a second and third a bit further up each time. The soft sting of it had you writhing, the little shock of burning heat fading to a warm tickle as the wax rolled down in heavy drips, cooling against your skin.

Behind you, Silco’s breath caught in a little huff once more, a soft whistle between clenched chipped teeth on the inhale.

“May this candle be a fire,” He continued after a beat, spreading the warm little shocks and sudden pinching stings to the tender inner thigh of your other leg, “that burns away all my pride, selfishness…”

Writhing and shifting, you struggled in his lap, not wanting to escape yet fighting the way every fibre of you recoiled from the spattering searing sting of the wax in a reflexive, uncontrollable urge. Several of these squirming jerks of your hips and the hand teasing at the edge of your panties caught suddenly in a taut cup between your legs as you felt Silco’s own hips give a hard little shove upward.

Stilling breathlessly, he kept you waiting a long moment while he seemed to struggle to master himself, the fingers cupping you picking up an almost absent little up and down stroke over the satin covering the shape of your sex, unerringly finding the cleft between lips.

Cooling wax flexed and tugged at skin as you tried to spread a bit further for him, to press into his touch, scared if you were to beg for more with words that it might stop the tease entirely, as it had the last time he’d had his hand between your thighs. God, how he’d tormented you, brought you so terribly close… Hips rolled hard and slow against him in retaliation as you relived your humiliation.

As if reading your mind, his touch skimmed higher, and fingertips tucked themselves beneath the satin confines of the upper edge of panties, teasing little strokes at skin that tensed and trembled beneath his touch before they began to slip lower, “and all my other sins.”

Wax was flowing freely, dripping to punctuate each word, taking his sweet time as you wriggled and bucked in his lap, swallowing little gasps and hisses as your skin sang.

At least one shift of your hips must have caught him just right because for a moment you could hear him choke on his words, feel him tense beneath you again. Determined to give as good as you got you did it again and felt the rush of his breath fan against your neck.

His free hand tensed where it lay, fingertips so tremulously close to the cleft of lips, and delved to catch a second taut grip over the shape of your bare sex. The sudden hard grasp of naked contact had you spiraling, arching hard back against him. He was hard beneath you, you could feel it, and caught between his hand and that hint of hardness digging into the soft of your bottom you rocked slowly, only to be rewarded with a long pour of hot wax up your thigh that turned the gentle motion of hips to a wild little ride.

“May this candle be a flame,” He continued, and the broken rasp of his voice was nearly, nearly as sweet as the single slow caress of his finger that found the slick part of your folds and pressed between slippery skin to drag upward. Unerringly found the proud, eager little swell of your clit and sent your lower back into a hard strung arch with one little nudge, “that warms my heart and incites me to love.” He concluded, raggedly, and you swore you felt the graze of chipped teeth scrape over your shoulder.

Riding the light touch of his fingertip and behind you, the hard press of his cock through his pants and your open dress, you sprawled redolently back against him, let your neck find a home in a comfortable arch over his shoulder before turning your head, nestling forehead in the hollow of his throat before shifting to tuck a begging little kiss to the sharp of his jaw.

“Amen.” You finished for him, and felt the sting of wax hit your hip and then your stomach that made you hiss and buck hips once more. Your reward a groan of breath from him and another lingering stroke of his fingertips through soaked folds to flick caressingly at the sweet throbbing ache of your clit.

How long, how many bitter nights now had you wished for this, how many feverish and filthy dreams had you endured, just longing to feel his bare touch? It had become so much worse after your last meeting, all that sharp longing redoubled after his heartless punishing teasing.

No more, no more thin cotton or sheer lace or anything at all between his touch and you. The heat of his hand was nothing to the splashes of searing wax you’d endured, yet it was so much sweeter. That little flicking touch came ghosting over the sensitive little nub of your clit and you writhed unashamedly, trying every which way to force his touch more, closer, deeper.

The prayer was far too short for your liking. What good were hollow words meant to convey something as strong and fervent an ideal as devotion if they were over in mere minutes? Grumbling a little whinging protest you pushed back against him with a hard roll of hips.

“Father…” You objected, voice cracked with pleading.

“Who?” The grit dark velvet of his voice asked at your ear, delighted and tormented as the devil himself.

“Daddy.” The word was out before you could even think it, like it teetered perpetually on the edge of your teeth ever since the first time he prised it out of you, “P-please, please, daddy…”

The sharp blade of his nose shoved hard behind your ear, his ragged breathing a hushed tickling whuffle from narrow nostrils, and any further pleading you were on the verge of was stifled with a squealed little gasp as he spread the sodden petals of your pussy with the splay of three fingers, and the center one of those long, elegant digits found its way down between slicking folds, delving deep into the welcoming clenching grip of your want… only to withdraw his entire hand in a long, slow drag, tracing a line of accusatory wet all the way up to the dip of your navel.

It left you sobbing tearlessly, gasping and gulping and lifting hips in a wordless eagerness that only earned you another splattering of scalding wax across the strain of thighs.

Father Silco ignored your plight as steadfastly as any man of the cloth could ignore temptation, and began a new prayer.

“Earnestly I seek you;

I thirst for you,

my whole being longs for you,

in a dry and parched land

where there is no water.”

The psalm he recited washed over you like a slow caress while you squirmed fitfully on his lap and watched his hand lift, middle finger glossed to its base with your wet. Vanishing in your periphery, the sound of him sucking that long digit thoughtfully clean acted perfect punctuation to the sacrilege of his misappropriated prayer.

Guilt spiced the edge of half-denied pleasure and soft pain. As his hand slid back down your skin and toward the clenching, shivering yearning of your core, you’d never felt so debased, so deeply wicked and wrong. Burning wax hit your thigh once more in heavy, rolling drops and you arched, straining, hissing between clenched teeth; become more serpent in the garden of Eden than Eve.

“I have seen you in the sanctuary

and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life,

my lips will glorify you.”

He teased the upper edge of soaked panties once more, tracing the pucker of their hem, slipping fingertips just beneath them, savoring the softness of skin and the way the taut of your stomach quivered beneath his touch. Desire welled like a dark stone filling your throat, heart coated in the sticky sap of filthy blasphemous sin as his scarred mouth tickled at the hook of your jaw and tender line of your throat. This was wrong, so wrong, so deliciously perfectly throbbingly wrong.

Heat flooded your face as you crushed the press of prayer folded hands to your forehead, eyes shut tight against the rushing high of mortifying lust. Forbidden, taboo, illicit; whatever you wanted to call that gut-deep and undisputed knowledge that this was unforgivably wrong, it excited you in a way nothing else ever had.

He could see it in you, you knew he could. He saw how horrible your deepest darkest thoughts could be and he just kept dragging them out into the light, smiling as he let you dirty yourself with the honesty of your predilections.

The line of his arm tightened against your side as he reached to slip fingers back into your heat, another lazy circling tease to against clit that left you wrung out and breathless before he delved back inside of you and let you ride the slow pumping slide of one long finger.

“I will praise you as long as I live,

and in your name I will lift up my hands.

I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;

with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

Your head rocked as he butted his forehead gently to your temple, words a warm, seeping whisper at your cheek, that stern, gravel worn seduction of his voice undoing you, taking you apart at the seams until you felt sure you’d fall open there in his lap like a ragdoll with the sin-like sawdust spilled out.

Inside of you, he was inside of you- and just that knowledge, just the wretchedly wonderful wrongness of it made the whole of you jerk in a taut little shiver of surrender. That slender artful finger kept up its torment like he had no notion of your mortal struggle; curling, thrusting, buried deep. It had you in a tailspin, hips working devoid of conscious thought, all sensation dialed down to the hard, hot, fluttering building to a crescendo within. Greed, gluttony, lust… were they called deadly sins because you felt fit to die if you did not satisfy each one right this moment?

The stinging pain of the wax he kept dripping in erratic little patterns jerked you from the sinking, seeping pit of ecstatic bliss over and over again, a cruel and wonderful see-saw that kept you gripping white-knuckled on the sharp edge of insensible pleasure.

“On my bed I remember you;

I think of you through the watches of the night.

Because you are my help,

I sing in the shadow of your wings.

I cling to you;

your right hand upholds me.”

His right hand was all that stood between you and heaven; the grinding press of the heel of his palm to the throb of your clit, the smooth slow fucking his single finger was giving you, all of it an overwhelming agony of delight but just shy of what you needed to crest the rising wave of tense bliss he was intent on drowning you with.

Head tossed back, you groaned that little, broken, sordid version of his holy title once more, hands bound at the wrists with your rosary clenched in fervent prayer to your chest that he’d let you come, please God just let you come...

And with that one word, beneath you Father Silco went suddenly still and rigid, something like a strangled gasp caught in his throat as hips pinned under your writhing ones jerked their own stilted thrust upward… and held for a long and breathless moment before you felt him sag with a rushing, panting release. His hand cupped to you had gone quite still, and you could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Had he… had he just…? You shifted hips experimentally and heard him hiss a wordless scolding as his hand gripped the shape of your pussy hard. Stilling obediently, you had to struggle not to smile sinful bliss.

Just a little touch of you combined with the friction of your hips working in his lap and he’d cum those dark, well tailored pants of his.

In spite of being robbed of your own relief, for the moment you felt nothing but powerful, smug and heady with the evidence of how your infatuation was not one-sided, just as you had in the confessional, and it made you foolishly proud.

Proud, right up to the point when he withdrew his finger from within you and in the space of a half second, just before your mouth could open in complaint, caught a little pinch of your clit between thumb and middle finger only to assault that overstimulated cluster of slick nerves with his forefinger in such lashing that you pitched clean into the waiting arms of your release.

It was hard and fast, unmerciful, the lovely strain nearly ruined by how long he’d kept you waiting and how hard he’d teased you up to it.

“Amen.” He was purring in your ear, voice near drowned out by the hard thrumming pound of blood rushing in your brain. Thighs shivered in their hook over top of his own, gone weak as every ounce of tension bled out of you, leaving you lolling, warmly pliant and sighing devoutness far more fervent than any stale saint could have possibly understood.

There was a little click of glass as he set the remains of the candle back upon his desk and turned your face toward himself where your head lay back upon his shoulder. Fingers traced the curve of your cheek, and when he licked at the open part of your lips the faint taste of yourself mingled with him lingered. Bless me father, for I have sinned.

Profane and perfect, you felt his smile stretch against your mouth.

“Do you doubt my devotion, lamb?” He asked quietly, hands smoothing away the cooled and peeling wax in long strokes that left gently welted and red splotched skin stinging sweetly.

Your head shook infinitesimally, not wanting to break the scant contact of his mouth to your own.

“Do you pray for me, Father?” The urge to know felt crushing, the weight of guilt creeping in to gnaw at the edges of sordid bliss.

“Oh lamb. You’re the only thing I pray for anymore.”

#penance #silco #father silco #priest silco #silco au #arcane au #silco x reader #silco arcane x reader #no y/n #more penance at last! rejoice!#my birthday gift to you

244 notes · View notes