#or his wretched assistant
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♡₊˚🥀₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 ♡₊˚🥀₊✧
: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king x concubine 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 normal form sukuna (sorry yall but next time ill do his big boy one) 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his darling 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 breeding (!!!!) 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut
: ̗̀➛ words: 8.8k
: ̗̀➛ notes: this took a whole WEEK to edit. im so obsessed with this story. it's my favourite thing ive written because i love period movies and dramas and really got to challenge my writing skills to give it more a fantasy-esque element. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.
The diligent hands of Lord Sukuna Ryomen’s palace attendants scrubbed away the grime that clung to every inch of your weary form. There were no traces of tears in your eyes, despite the discomfort of the cleansing process.
Perhaps it was the residue of gratitude for an escape from a foster family who saw fit to barter you away for a pittance to fuel their vices.
The water surrounding you had transformed into a murky haze, carrying away the evidence of your former life's hardships.
Yet, amidst this cleansing ritual, you couldn’t shake the puzzling thought of why the guards had singled you out from the other young women within the household. Uraume, the overseer of palace affairs, had arrived alongside them, their presence looming over the proceedings with an air of mystery.
That morning, you were subjected to abuse in front of everyone at the central market, longing for someone to stand up for you. And someone did. They offered you an escape from that hellhole and into a world of luxury.
You weren’t going to complain now that you had accepted this new fate of yours.
“Ya’ got too many scars, girl,” remarked one of the elderly attendants, gently assisting you out of the steaming bath, her hands wrapping a towel around your shivering form. “Our powders will struggle to conceal ’em all. How did ya’ come by such marks?”
“From my foster family,” you murmured, gaze fixed upon your toes as if they held the weight of your past. The plush carpet beneath your feet offered a small comfort, a luxury unfamiliar to your upbringing.
Memories of their harsh discipline flooded back—the blistering gravel underfoot as punishment for daring to voice dissent. It was a brutal introduction to a world where obedience was paramount.
“A wretched lot,” the attendant muttered sympathetically.
Enveloped in a silk robe, she led you into a chamber shared by a cohort of women, a realm far removed from the confines of your previous abode. Here, space was ample—the expanse excessive, with beds lining the walls and a high ceiling adorned with a single chandelier.
As you entered, a symphony of pretty faces and inquisitive gazes greeted you. Women of all colours and shapes reclined luxuriously in plain robes, their hair intricately braided or cascading freely down their backs. Conversations paused, curiosity piqued by your arrival, as all eyes turned to welcome you into their midst.
Beneath the weight of their scrutinising stares, you found yourself shrinking. These women, draped in silk and adorned with jewels, were the king's favoured concubines, a fact repeatedly emphasised during your journey to the palace and even in the fragrant confines of the bathhouse.
Every instinct urged you to rebel, to refuse to be just another ornament in the king’s harem, but you understood the value placed on purity by the monarch.
Unfortunately, your innocence had been cruelly stolen from you by your foster father, leaving you tarnished in body and spirit. Lord Sukuna would have no use for a damaged flower in his garden of perfection.
In truth, you couldn’t even imagine an image of his face in your mind. His Lordship remained a mystery to those beyond the palace walls.
“Here ya’ are.” The attendant guided you to your bed. “That vanity there’s yours to use.” She gestured toward the communal area by the window, where two other young women were preparing themselves. “Once your hair dries, one of my girls will assist ya’ in preparin’ for your audience with His Lordship.” Her touch was gentle as she caressed your cheek. “Rest assured, dear, ya’ safe now.”
You attempted a smile, though the effort seemed Herculean amidst your weariness.
As the attendant departed, her scolding to the rowdy girls fading into the background, you nestled into the comforting embrace of your soft bedding, ignoring the hushed criticisms trailing in your wake.
She’s feeble.
Her hair lacks refinement.
The king would never entertain a lowly pauper.
She’ll be gone by tomorrow.
Their words, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air.
Amidst their degradation, you succumbed to exhaustion.
But your slumber was interrupted by the bustling commotion of handmaidens assembling around you.
Disoriented and scarcely given a moment to collect your thoughts, you found yourself swiftly escorted to the vanity, where the clamour of girls jostling for space filled the air.
They manipulated your locks, weaving intricate patterns into your hair, fashioning a crown braid atop your head while allowing the remaining tresses to cascade freely down your back.
Meanwhile, other attendants removed your robe, their hands moving with practised efficiency as they anointed your skin with fragrant oils, infusing it with the delicate essence of lavender.
Between the flurry of activity, the whispers of your fellow concubines hung in the air like a veil of awe and trepidation. Their eyes were drawn to the scars marring your skin, as they speculated about how the king would perceive your imperfections as repulsive.
Good.
You craved precisely that outcome.
If the king recoiled at your sight, it meant he wouldn’t desire you to bear his heir. If the tales circulating in the town about his monstrous nature held any truth, then he’d likely offer you death as a reprieve—and you’d welcome it with open arms.
Before facing the king, you stole a glance at your reflection, the final moments of solitude before your fate was decided. The powder concealed the imperfections of your skin, rendering it smooth and flawless. Your cheeks and lips bore a muted hue reminiscent of crushed cherries. Delicate white blossoms adorned your hair, woven into your braids by nimble fingers.
As you stood, the other women adorned you in a robe of silky fabric, its floral pattern draping over your form, cinched at the waist to accentuate your curves. Barefoot, you followed them out, the chill of the floor beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of anticipation and trepidation swirling within you.
“Good luck, pauper,” taunted one of the concubines, her voice dripping with disdain, echoed by a cacophony of mocking laughter.
Palms clammy with nerves, you shifted your gaze to the opulence of the palace corridors. Adorned with countless chandeliers and swathes of velvet drapery, they offered a stark contrast to the blooming back garden. Memories of tending to the earth and nurturing life back at your foster family’s home flooded your mind.
“Quickly now,” one of the maids urged, her voice tinged with urgency. “His Lordship detests tardiness.”
“I apologise.” You hastened your steps to keep pace with the group of attendants.
She halted before a grand set of double doors, guarded by imposing sentinels clad in formidable armour. With a flick of her wrist, the guards swung the doors open. She gently nudged you forward, and only as you crossed the threshold did the doors seal shut behind you.
You blinked, adjusting to the dimness within, scanning the chamber until your gaze alighted upon a pair of crimson glimmers opposite you. “My Lord?” You inclined your head and took hesitant steps toward the source of those fiery eyes.
“Come closer,” his command echoed through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine. The low resonance of His Highness Sukuna Ryomen’s voice was unexpectedly rich and velvety. You had envisioned a voice tinged with age, but instead, it possessed a rough texture that awoken something within you.
With hesitant steps, you approached until you stood at the edge of his bed, your fingertips grazing the diaphanous curtains that enveloped him in a cocoon of privacy.
“Closer,” he urged, coaxing you to unveil the enigma lying beyond the veil.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, parting the curtains and gracefully crawled onto the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets were a blatant contrast to the roughness of your foster house’s. A pang of guilt tugged at your conscience as you realized the irony of finding solace in this luxurious confinement of being his concubine.
“Enough.” His abrupt order halted your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment.
As commanded, you obediently settled into your posture, folding your legs beneath you in the dimness. Within his shadowed realm, only the luminous crimson irises pierced through the gloom, studying you with an intensity that made your belly churn. Despite the curiosity burning within you, you restrained the impulse to voice your questions. Instead, you settled in the tranquillity that crowded the space between you.
“What is your name?” His inquiry cut through the hushed air.
“Y/N, my Lord.”
As your name slipped from your lips, he captured it delicately, repeating it like a sacred prayer. Each syllable danced on his tongue, imprinting itself upon the very essence of his being. In that moment, you observed a subtle shift—the shadows that had cloaked the chamber seemed to dissipate.
A soft, golden luminescence filtered through the parted curtains, cascading across half of Sukuna’s face.
You blinked in astonishment.
He appeared . . . young?
The age difference between you and him was not a chasm of decades, but rather a modest gap of no less than five years.
Physically, at least.
His appearance was striking, with locks of hair dyed a subdued pink hue, contrasting with a streak of darker shade beneath. His hair was styled into rugged spikes, lending an air of defiance. Intricate black markings adorned his features, tracing a path from his cheekbones down to his chin, while similar patterns wove across his strong shoulder, cascading over his defined pectoral muscles and sculpted abdomen.
As your eyes fell upon him, your heart quickened its pace, each beat a vicious drumming against your ribs. Gone was the expectation of a lord showing the signs of wisdom, with wrinkles upon his brow and a body marked by the passage of time. Instead, before you stood a vision of breathtaking beauty, defying your preconceived notions and leaving you breathless in awe.
With a graceful gesture, he swept aside the curtains, allowing them to unveil his entirety.
The same markings mirrored the other side of his face and cascaded down the length of his body, a mesmerising display of symmetry. Dark bands encircled his wrists, and his nails bore the same deep hue.
Poised against the headboard, he reclined with an air of effortless elegance, one knee raised as his elbow found a comfortable perch, while the other leg extended out. Though he was unclothed, a veil of silk sheets cloaked the lower half of his form.
“Remarkable,” you unknowingly whispered. Your hand clapped over your mouth. “I apologise, my Lord.”
Sukuna’s lips curved into a sinister grin, his flawless teeth gleaming in the golden light. While many would flee at the sight, you remained rooted in place, unable to tear your gaze away. A delicate flush spread across your cheeks, betraying the undeniable attraction simmering between your legs. He was absolutely divine, and the path of being his concubine suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.
Yet, the reality of sharing Sukuna with ten other women loomed over your thoughts like a shadow. The thought of him spreading his affections among so many others kindled a small flame of jealousy within you, mingled with confusion. Why hadn’t he impregnated at least one of them with the promise of an heir?
“Have you not been schooled in the art of lowering your gaze in the presence of nobility, Y/N?”
Your lashes fluttered as you registered your lapse in decorum, hastily averting your gaze. “Forgive me, my Lord, if my oversight has caused offence.” Surely, he wouldn’t punish you for a momentary lapse of admiration.
Would he?
A gentle touch beneath your chin guided your face upward. His fingers spread across your cheek, the warmth nearly forcing you to curve into his touch. Despite the temptation, your eyes remained obediently downward.
“Look at me.”
Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the delicate patterns etched over his cheek, the fiery hue of his irises, the elegant contour of his nose, and the soft curvature of his lips. Never before had you felt such a rousing desire towards any man. Yet fate had chosen to ensnare your heart with the one most forbidden to you.
“You bear a sadness that weighs heavily in your eyes,” he noted softly, his hand descending to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. A low, melodic sound produced from his throat. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”
“It does not, my Lord. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me,” you declared with quiet resolve. “You’re quite . . . beautiful.”
Sukuna’s gaze sparked with a mixture of surprise and intrigue at your response.
Suppressing a nervous gulp, you silently reprimanded yourself for speaking so boldly to one of noble rank. Back in the confines of your former life, such defiance would have earned you swift punishment, yet here, in the presence of royalty, it could lead to your demise.
As you prepared to avert your gaze, ready to accept whatever consequences may come, Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense air before you could retreat.
“Don’t.”
In that moment, you found yourself questioning your instincts.
Why did you not cower in fear? Why did your body not tremble in the presence of a man who had slaughtered the lives of his enemies without hesitation? And most perplexing of all, how could you maintain unwavering eye contact with a figure of such formidable power?
“Remove your robe.” His grip remained firm around your throat, his thumb delicately tracing your pulse. “And do not stray your gaze elsewhere.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Your fingers loosened the fabric’s bindings, allowing it to cascade down your frame. The robe slipped from your shoulders, revealing the soft curvature of your form beneath. As it pooled around your lap, your breasts stood exposed to his scrutiny.
A shiver danced across your skin as his eyes traced the contours of your body, a faint smirk teasing his lips.
He brushed back strands of your hair, his touch trailing down your vertebrate. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, brows knitted together in contemplation, fingers repeatedly tracing the ridges of your scars.
“Turn around.”
The dreaded discovery that sent ripples of revulsion through the concubines had finally come to pass. Your scars lay exposed before the gaze of a powerful lord. Not only would he slit your throat, but also those of the maids who had tended to your needs, and perhaps even Uruame, who had brokered your purchase from the bastards responsible for your imperfections.
“Never before have I been compelled to repeat myself for a concubine.” His voice carried a lethal edge as he increased his grip around your throat. “Turn the fuck around.”
Your compliance came in slow, measured movements as you turned away, presenting your back to him in a gesture of submission. His hands gathered the strands of your hair, lifting them aside to reveal the raw truth etched into your skin. His fingers traced the jagged remnants of whip lashes, the seared imprints of cigars, and the cruel reminders of knife wounds inflicted by a foster father turned tormentor.
Silent tears traced a path down your cheeks, as you sat in a state of numbness, your gaze fixed upon the closed door of Sukuna’s chamber.
A tender sensation, soft and moist, grazed your back, prompting a reflexive twitch in your left shoulder.
Turning slightly, you beheld Sukuna pressing his lips against the scar that marred your shoulder blades.
“My Lord—”
“I did not ask you to speak,” he murmured over your skin, sending a tremor through your frame. “Rise onto your knees.”
Obeying his command, you ascended onto your knees, feeling the weight of his hands settle upon your waist. His lips trailed a path of reverence, bestowing kisses upon each mark that scarred your skin, from your marrow to your nape.
Your breath caught in a delicate dance of exhales, a whispered symphony escaping your parted lips. The wet caress of his tongue sent ripples of sensation coursing through your being.
His arm circled your waist, drawing you into the sanctuary of his embrace. A fleeting kiss graced the nape of your neck, followed by the suction of his lips upon the tender side of your neck. His soft hands possessively held the curve of your breasts, cradling their weight.
Your head reclined against his strong shoulder.
With his gaze fixed upon you, his lips glistened with a hint of moisture, while his crimson eyes locked onto your own human-like ones. You dared not divert your gaze as he previously ordered. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, sending lightning strikes through your frame.
Unlike the non-consensual encounter of the past, there was no hint of agony; only a tantalising blend of pleasure that left you breathless, without a protest or helpless whimper. Instead, a sigh of pure rapture escaped your lips, encompassing your body in an embrace.
Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he had stumbled upon a long-sought treasure.
His fingertips skated down your torso, gliding toward your centre. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth. Holding his gaze became a daunting challenge as he skillfully teased your sensitive nub, causing your breath to quicken and your chest to rise and fall with each exhilarating sensation.
Sukuna slid his middle finger into you. “You’re incredibly tight, Sad Eyes,” he murmured, the endearment he had bestowed upon you almost provoking a smile. His lips grazed your ear as he continued. “Perhaps I should stretch you out”—he pushed in his ring finger, forcing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat and an involuntary arch of your body against his chest—“so that your cunt is able to welcome my cock.”
You stifled the knot rising in your throat as Sukuna plunged his fingers into you. Such profound bliss seemed inconceivable with mere digits alone.
“My Lord.” Your breath caught as he increased his tempo. “My—” Each thrust intensified the knot in your stomach, threatening to unravel you entirely. You teetered on the brink, dangerously close to staining his fingers with your release. A sharp gasp choked out of you as he struck a wondrous chord deep within. “Please, my Lord. I beg of you—I will soil your hand if you persist—” But your plea dissolved into a cry of ecstasy before you could utter another word.
Sukuna’s laughter danced teasingly in the hollow of your ear, leaving you utterly spellbound.
You were overheated, overstimulated, overridden by the explosive undoing of his fingers. Breathless and consumed by lust, your world spun as he seized your jaw and crushed his lips to yours.
In that electrifying moment, his tongue invaded your mouth, initially startling you, yet you surrendered to the rhythm.
Sukuna leaned back slightly after planting a tender peck on your lips. Exhaling softly, he threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his lips met yours once more, gentler this time, your hand ventured to trace the contours of his adorned chest.
“You are quite the vixen.” A playful glint danced in his eyes. “How valiant of you to seduce a lord into bestowing kisses upon his concubine.” A broad smile graced his lips, leaving you uncertain whether his words were playful jest or genuine admiration.
“Do you not bestow your kisses upon all your concubines, my Lord?”
“I do not pleasure their cunts, either.”
His speech carried the brashness of a tempest, a departure from the expected decorum one associated with royalty. Sukuna Ryomen defied conventions. It was a trait uncommon among lords, yet one that intrigued you deeply. His demeanour, both in battle and in the intimate confines of the bedchamber, lacked the softening. But you found yourself drawn to his unfiltered honesty, appreciating the absence of cryptic speech.
As you sat before him, considering your next words carefully, a surge of courage emboldened you to reveal your truth.
“My Lord,” you began, your voice quivering with uncertainty, “I . . . I am not pure.”
“Given the sounds you were drawing out,” he quipped with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t have surmised otherwise.” He assisted you in rising from where you rested against his chest, positioning you before him. Observing your solemn expression, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Was your satisfaction not fulfilled?”
“Indeed, my Lord, it surpassed any expectation,” you confessed, worrying your lip as he sighed impatiently. “But I must disclose . . . I am not chaste.”
Sukuna’s response was subdued, save for the faint twitch in his jaw. He averted his gaze from yours momentarily, reaching for the decanter on his bedside table and pouring himself a measure of spirits.
“Speak,” he instructed, his tone clipped.
“It occurred before I reached maturity,” you murmured softly, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. “My foster father—” Your words faltered as Sukuna raised a hand, a silent acknowledgment of his comprehension of your unspoken anguish.
“I need not hear more.” He swiftly consumed the crimson liquid in a single gulp. “You are dismissed for the night.”
“But my Lord’s desires remain unmet—”
“Leave,” he commanded, his tone final and unwavering.
With a gulp, you hastily gathered your robe around your form, delicately extricating yourself from his expansive bed.
Just as you thought to retreat, a firm hand seized your wrist, drawing you back into Sukuna’s embrace. His lips melded with yours in an intoxicating kiss, causing both your gazes to flutter open when he pulled away. A faint smirk played upon his lips as he adjusted the robe over your shoulder.
“Next time,” he murmured, plucking a flower from the adornments in your hair and placing it upon his bedside, “you shall grace my chambers without such distracting embellishments upon yourself.”
“As you wish, my Lord,” you replied with a respectful bow of your head, awaiting his dismissal until he gestured for you to depart with a casual wave of his hand.
In the shared chambers, your fellow concubines swirled around your bed, eager to hear of your inaugural encounter with Lord Sukuna.
Each girl shared their own vivid tales, painting scenes of ecstasy under the cloak of darkness, where the king’s touch invoked sensations akin to celestial bodies colliding, or where unfamiliar pleasures erased the boundaries of their throat—whatever that latter entailed.
Though a twinge of jealousy flickered within you, it was swiftly overshadowed by a swell of pride. The concubines pleasured Sukuna in darkness, the same darkness you had willingly entered, before his touch had set ablaze a world of gold for you.
They were merely beautiful means of physical gratification for their lord, devoid of the intimacy you shared—his fingers delving deep into your core. And never had any of them spoken of kisses exchanged. Sukuna had spoken true when you questioned if others received similar treatment.
But why you?
Why, after a mere span of ten hours within the palace walls, did you find yourself, dare you entertain the notion, as his favoured? What magic did you possess that drew him to you, and how had you managed to seduce his lips, his fingers, to meet yours in such an intimate embrace?
“Did he spend himself inside you?” one of the girls whispered, prodding your knee to rouse you from your silence.
“No.”
“Aye, he never does,” remarked a golden-haired girl with a resigned sigh. “He sees to it that we consume some berries afterward, claiming they prevent conception. Strange, isn’t it? Especially if he’s so eager for an heir.”
Another girl hushed her, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. “Did he take you from behind? That’s his favoured position, you know. He’s had us all that way.”
You stumbled over your words, unsure how to respond.
“And did you savour his taste?” came the next question. “It’s quite rich in sodium—”
“Girls!” A booming voice echoed from the doorway of the bedroom, startling you and the other concubines into immediate attention. You caught sight of the elderly attendant who oversaw your care, hands planted firmly on her hips as she observed the chaotic scene before her.
With a disapproving huff, she pivoted sharply on her heel and departed, leaving a lingering sense of reprimand in her wake.
As the frenzied chatter about Sukuna’s body attributes gradually dissolved into the quietude of sleep, morning arrived with its routine of communal showerings.
Throughout the shared bath, you silently scrubbed away the remnants of the night, indulging your fellow concubines about your previous life in town.
Upon drying off and exiting the bathing chamber, you were met with an unexpected sight: a gathering of the girls clustered around your bed.
Navigating through the throng, you reached your space to discover a resplendent scarlet silk robe embroidered with intricate black floral patterns.
Gingerly lifting the note placed atop the fabric, you read Sukuna’s precise handwriting. Curious glances from the other concubines peered over your shoulders in anticipation.
No distracting embellishments, Sad Eyes.
“What does that mean?” a curious whisper floated through the air, followed by murmurs of intrigue from the other girls. “Why does he call you ‘sad eyes’?”
You clutched the letter to your chest, suppressing a grin as you ignored the questions, the mockery, and the jostling of bodies around you. Your attention was fixated on the magnificent robe gifted to you by His Lordship.
For the remainder of the evening, you slept without any interruptions, seeking to compensate for the countless nights spent battling insomnia within the confines of your foster home.
You observed with a keen eye that none of the other girls were ushered to Sukuna’s chambers; their time seemed to veer toward strolls in the back garden or spent in the dormitory, indulging in wine-fueled scandals about the palace staff, as was their custom.
As the clock struck eight in the evening, a troupe of maids entered the chamber bearing dinner trays. A wave of anticipation swept through the room as the other girls eagerly accepted their meals and accompanying pitchers of water. Your own stomach rumbled in hunger, awaiting your own turn.
But that moment never arrived.
Instead, the maid bypassed your bed entirely, moving on to the next. A surge of apprehension rippled through you as a handmaiden approached, guiding you away from the mattress and toward the vanity.
“What about my dinner?” you asked as the attendants groomed your hair.
“His Lordship has extended an invitation for you to dine with him tonight,” came the reply.
The room fell into a sudden hush.
Dine with him?
The notion sent a flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.
Before you could process further, you found yourself pulled upright, your garments removed to be replaced by the scarlet robe.
Envy flickered in the eyes of the other concubines as they observed, their resentment palpable as they stabbed at their food with exaggerated aggression. It wasn’t your doing that Sukuna had taken an unexpected interest in you.
With no adornments save for a dab of crushed cherry paste upon your lips, you were escorted to Sukuna’s chambers.
Once more, the imposing doors swung open, and you found yourself gently ushered into the chamber. As they sealed shut behind you, the room was flooded with light. Sukuna’s figure stared out at the moonlit gardens outside, clad in a billowing white silk robe.
“My Lord,” you greeted respectfully, inclining your head in deference.
“Draw near.”
Complying with his directive, you approached and stood at his side. His presence loomed over you, his stature commanding and formidable, capable of engulfing you entirely with a single embrace. Not that such thoughts dared to linger in your mind.
“Why is your face flushed?” he asked, his gaze penetrating.
You blinked, attempting to dismiss the telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, my Lo—”
Before you could finish, Sukuna turned your chin towards him, his palm coming to rest against your forehead. A nervous swallow traced its way down your throat at his touch, his eyes trailing down your form, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as they settled upon you in your robe.
“Thank you for your gracious gift,” you murmured, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.
His fingers trailed through your hair, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. “I anticipate nothing less than thoroughly enjoying the privilege of removing it off of you.”
You blushed deeper at his statement.
“Come now. I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He took your hand in his with a tug, guiding you towards a doorway. With a simple flick of his fingers, the door parted, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.
Your gaze widened in astonishment. “How did you do that, my Lord?”
“Do what?”
“You opened the door without laying a hand on it.”
Sukuna’s striking blood-coloured eyes cut to you. “There is much about me that will be unveiled in due course, my love. What you perceive is but a guise for my true nature.” His smile, oddly childlike, sent a chill down your spine.
Was he some sort of sorcerer? You’d only heard whispers of human anomalies lurking beneath the earth’s surface or sealed within vessels, but historical accounts weren't exactly your cup of tea.
“I ventured into town today,” he said.
“Oh.” You swallowed hard, recovering from his previous statement. “I hope it was a fruitful trip.”
“Indeed, quite fruitful.”
In the soft glow of the distant hallway, Sukuna’s face came into view, casting a spell of trepidation upon your heart. His features were drawn into a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of warmth, and his lips pressed into a firm line, jaw rigid with tension.
Parting the curtains, Sukuna drew you near, his arm sweeping out to reveal a horrifying sight: your foster father, bound to a chair with chains, bearing the cruel marks of torture.
His face marred by countless wounds, an eye cruelly absent, and teeth scattered at his feet. His dignity stripped away, his vulnerability laid bare in his nakedness, and his manhood amputated.
The sickening lurch in your stomach threatened to betray your composure. “F-Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but is he . . . is he dead?”
Sukuna’s response was a gilded dagger from within his robe, its handle decorated with a jewel reminiscent of your own captivating eyes. Nestled within the hilt was the very flower he had plucked from your hair. Upon the blade, your name was inscribed.
“Do as you wish, my beloved,” he whispered, his voice stained with dark fascination, offering you the instrument of your foster father’s fate with a chilling sense of detachment.
You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to commit such a heinous act.
Despite the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon you by the bastard, the idea of taking another’s life filled you with a trembling dread.
Yet, the itch to end the torment, to rid the world of such a vile presence, simmered just beneath the surface as you stood before him, his life slipping away.
A hand trailed down the back of your head, guiding your trembling fingers to grasp the dagger tightly.
Looking up, you met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression hollow, his features obscured by shadows. This was the face of the Devil that cursed his enemies on their knees and had them willingly submit to death.
With a push from behind, you stumbled forward, drawing closer to your step-father’s prone form.
Glancing back at Sukuna, you were met with an incongruously bright smile. Quite a twisted paradox, His Lordship.
Your step-father sat unconscious, the stench of his bodily fluids assaulting your senses. His wounds oozed with a sickening mixture of blood and pus, his laboured breaths the only indication of life remaining within him. The scene was painfully familiar, a mirror image of the torment you had endured countless times before.
But now, someone had intervened, offering you a chance at liberation, a chance to end the cycle of abuse once and for all.
You glanced back again.
Until Sukuna.
Your gaze reluctantly returned to the true embodiment of cruelty before you. With a steady hand, you raised your arm, wielding the dagger with purpose.
It found its mark in your foster-father’s chest, a chilling silence punctuated only by the sound of steel meeting flesh. Ignoring the strangled cry that erupted from him, you withdrew the blade, then drove it back into his heart.
Out.
In.
Out.
In.
His lifeblood painted your face and stained your pristine garments, mingling with the fabric in a macabre dance of crimson. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for a mere splash of vibrant colour upon your robe.
No one would dare suspect the truth.
No one would dare come near if they knew of your sin.
No one, except Sukuna.
Once the monster over your bed was consigned to the depths of hell, his guts spilling onto the floor around your bare feet, you allowed yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.
With a contemptuous snarl, you spat upon him, a visceral response to the years of degradation he had inflicted upon you for every misstep.
A comforting warmth touched your back.
Startled by the sudden contact, you tensed before easing at the sight of Sukuna’s faint smile.
As he reached to caress your cheek, you instinctively recoiled, lowering your gaze in deference.
“Forgive me, my Lord,” you murmured, “but I cannot permit you to spoil your hands with the blood of this man.”
Sukuna’s shoes entered your line of sight as he tilted your chin upward, his moon-white sleeve wiping away the traces of blood from your mouth and its vicinity. “You appear rather exquisite painted in blood, Sad Eyes. Perhaps I ought to designate you as my prized assassin instead of a mere concubine.”
“I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I cannot partake in killing . . . again.”
“You need not worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he drew near. “I will defend you from any who cast their gaze upon you, let alone lay a hand upon your delicate form. Those who dare cross that line will face my wrath, their very existence extinguished before your eyes. Not a single tear shall stain your cheeks.” His lips brushed against yours. “From this moment forward, fear shall not reside within you. By my side, you shall command fear itself, my love.”
That night, Sukuna bathed you in the sanctuary of his chambers, washing away the traces of blood from your skin as you gazed at him with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t the superficial admiration the other concubines whispered about—it was a profound affection blossoming within you, nurtured by power and protection.
He draped you in the luxurious folds of one of his silk robes, summoning servants to prepare dinner. Seated upon his lap, he fed you spoonfuls of rice and chicken, even as your stomach protested its fullness. Soft kisses peppered your neck like a sweet dessert, culminating in one upon your lips before he reluctantly released you to retire to your dormitory.
In the ensuing weeks, Sukuna would consistently send a crafted robe ahead of each meeting—in the serene seclusion of his chambers, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows upon the walls as you dined together.
Over the course of these intimate dinners, he eagerly absorbed your musings, whether they revolved around the narratives of books discovered within the palace library or your adeptness with herbs and plants, nurtured by your profound knowledge.
On occasion, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Sukuna would summon you for a stroll in the haven of the back garden. Woven between the fragrant blooms, you’d dance about with childlike enthusiasm, identifying various flowers and tracing their lineage.
Ever the attentive listener, Sukuna trailed behind you, his gaze fixed upon your animated figure. He would only speak when you fell silent, demanding you to continue sharing the familial ties between apples, plums, and the roses they stemmed from.
Within the crevice of your soul, the once withered garden of affection had flourished into a lush wilderness, blossoming with untamed wildflowers and clouds that spelled out his name.
Sukuna inhabited your every waking thought, his intoxicating mouth that worshipped your body left you giggling in delight behind your hands.
Yet, each encounter with a fellow concubine, flushed and eager with tales of their rendezvous with him, felt like thorns piercing your tender heart. Jealousy, like ivy creeping upon stone, entwined itself around your every plagued thought. Your gaze often strayed to the bedside drawer where the dagger lay dormant. The mere mention of his physique by the other women tormented your soul relentlessly.
Why hadn’t Sukuna taken you as he had with every other concubine? You had grown accustomed to his presence, even eager to reciprocate the pleasure he gifted you every evening. You had offered yourself willingly, aching for the intimacy that would bind you even closer to him. But he had not claimed you in the same manner, not entered you fully, not seeded his legacy within you.
Did he question your worthiness? Did he see you merely as a transient pleasure? Were you destined to remain just a concubine, forever denied the honour of carrying his child?
“Why do you remain silent?” Sukuna asked, turning the pages of the book you had suggested to him; he was already half-way through.
You were seated snugly between his legs upon the bed, your back rested against his chest, fingers idly toying with the strands of your hair. “I find myself devoid of words this evening.”
“Hmm.” Sukuna took a leisurely sip of his drink before placing it aside. “Surely you can conjure something. You know well enough that I cannot endure your silence.”
With an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “Well, I apologise for failing to provide you with amusement, my Lord.”
Sukuna snapped the book shut.
You instinctively pressed your lips together, silently chiding yourself for the unintended sharpness in your voice.
With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to maintaining your composure, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Deep down, you believed that he wouldn’t inflict harm upon you or cast you out of his chambers. But the nagging thought chewed at you.
This was Sukuna Ryomen, and you . . . well, you were merely a shadow in comparison.
“If you crave my touch,” he breathed softly into your ear, “all you need to do is utter the request.”
With a determined resolve, you turned to face him, settling yourself upon his lap. Sukuna regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, a quiet acknowledgment of your unconventional audacity.
“I do crave your touch, my Lord,” you confessed, your voice a hushed plea, “but not only with your hands or lips. I long to feel you in a different manner.” Your gaze drifted down to his pelvis, the unspoken appetite evident in your eyes. “I crave that.”
Sukuna exhaled heavily, his gaze piercing as he addressed you. “So, you’ve been withholding your words simply because I haven’t fed you my cock?"
Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt proclamation, though you had grown accustomed to his coarse mannerisms over time.
“Yes, my . . . Lord.” Your voice carried a mixture of embarrassment. “I’ve endured three long months of anticipation, patiently waiting to share in the pleasures enjoyed by your other consorts. Yet, with the arrival of autumn, I find myself still untouched by the experiences they so openly boast about.”
His lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me to bed you merely for the purpose of becoming a notch in your bragging rights?”
“Never, my Lord!” you protested vehemently, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes. “I would never demean you with such vulgar talk in public. I’ve spun tales to the others, concealing the truth of our encounters. They remain oblivious to the pleasures you’ve granted me.” Your fingers traced the intricate markings on his chiselled abdominal muscles. “If my spoiled state displeases you, if I am deemed unworthy of your touch, pray, inform me now. Regardless, my sole wish is to fulfil His Lordship’s needs.”
Sukuna disentangled your hands from his chest, a gesture that caused a fissure to form within your heart, forcing your body to instinctively withdraw from his touch.
Just as you began to pull away, he swiftly encircled his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto his lap with a firm grip. Before you could utter a single word, his lips descended upon yours, silencing any protest with a passionate kiss.
With a purposeful touch, he skillfully divested you of your robe, revealing the curves of your form beneath. His hands, warm and adept, began to massage your supple breasts, kindling soft gasps from your lips. His own trailed a wet path downward, leaving a bridge of feverish kisses along the expanse of your throat, lingering over the rapid pulse beneath your skin.
As his lips found purchase on the tender flesh of your neck, his actions became more urgent, his touch more demanding. A pinch at your pebbled nipples sent a shiver of sensation coursing through you, followed by the heat of an open-mouthed kiss.
Your gaze drifted downwards, enchanted by the sight of his tongue encircling the sensitive spots, suckling on the swollen buds like a babe. Already, heat was building within the depths of your being, igniting a flame that spread between your legs.
Sukuna laid you back, relishing the delicate flavour of your lips as his fingers skillfully sought out your throbbing clit, stimulating it with unhurried circles.
With practised ease, he slipped two fingers inside you, quickening his rhythm without preamble. Your hand instinctively traced down to his chest, undoing the fastenings of his robe.
“Take it,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Satisfy your lord, my love.”
Your fingers curled around his pulsating cock, the very object of desire that the other girls had passionately recounted. The knowledge of their previous intimacies with him only stoked the flames of envy within you, spurring you to intensify your ministrations.
With a surge of determination, you quickened the pace of your caresses, applying pressure with your thumb upon his sensitive tip while fondling his sacs.
Sukuna’s grin widened against your lips as he reciprocated with equal zeal, slipping a third finger into your slick heat until he was fully engulfed by your swollen core.
Together, you sailed upon the waves of raw carnal desire, locked in a lecherous race to reach your climax, each vying to be the first to cross the finish line—
Sukuna’s low, guttural moans resonated throughout the chamber.
You had achieved victory.
His essence spilled forth into your waiting hands, his cock convulsing with the intensity of his release. Moments later, you succumbed to your own climax, a soft cry escaping your lips.
With care, Sukuna withdrew his hand from your centre, and you instinctively examined your palm, noting the striking resemblance of his essence to your own.
You tentatively brought your fingers to your lips, savouring the taste of him.
“I did not instruct you to do that,” he growled, his gaze blazing as you tasted him. “But I suppose I’ll permit it.”
“It is salty,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you women incapable of discussing anything besides my cock?” he exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.
You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension dissipating as he cleaned his fingers with his tongue before tenderly cradling the back of your head, drawing you to sit upon his lap. Your laughter softened into chuckles, a smile playing upon your lips.
“Did I please you, my Lo—”
“Sukuna,” he interrupted firmly. “Only you may address me by my given name.”
“My L—”
“I command it.” His tone left no room for argument.
You affirmed your agreement with a nod.
He was Sukuna.
Your Sukuna.
“Very well, Sukuna.” You felt a subtle shift in the air between you. His chuckle rumbled softly. “Shall I turn around for you?”
“And why do you deem such an unnecessary act necessary?”
“Because—” You suppressed the urge to divulge the whispers of the other concubines regarding his favoured position. “Never mind. How would you prefer me to present myself to you?”
“As you are,” Sukuna answered, his grip tightening around himself. “How you managed to have me spend by your hand in under five minutes is a marvel beyond my comprehension.”
Internally, you gave yourself a congratulatory pat on the back.
“Now, my love,” he said, inclining his chin towards his erection, “will you do my cock the honour of sitting on it?”
Licking the grin of your lips, you nodded, rising to your knees. With nimble fingers, you positioned his hardened length at your entrance, gradually lowering yourself onto him.
A sharp intake of breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, his hands instinctively grasping your hips. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, enduring the initial sting of penetration. Perhaps every touch of his fingers had been a meticulous groundwork for this pinnacle moment.
As you settled into your seat upon him, you granted yourself a minute to acclimate to the sheer magnitude of him stretching and filling your tight, supple walls.
Sukuna tilted his head back, impatience evident in his eyes. “Will you begin moving at a pace befitting this century, Sad Eyes?”
“Just a moment,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.
“Unfortunately, the sight of your leaking cunt is testing my patience,” he remarked, his gaze lingering provocatively on your flushed form.
Collecting yourself, you affirmed your resolve with a nod before subtly adjusting your position, and swaying your hips forward. His strong hands guided you, aiding your movements as you sought a rhythm. “Gods, you’re—you’re quite large. It’s rather discomforting.”
“Ah, where has the enthusiasm to please your lord vanished, my love?” His laughter echoes through the chamber as he leaned back, amused by your scowl. “I must confess, your defiance is perhaps your most alluring trait. It has crossed my mind more than once during moments of handling myself in the bath.”
Your brow furrowed in dismay.
It was evident that the other concubines possessed far greater expertise in pleasuring him than you ever could. All you could manage was to feign enthusiasm, your movements faltering and disjointed, as you struggled to produce even a fraction of the satisfaction they effortlessly blessed him with. His laughter, which wasn’t helping your cause, bore an uncanny resemblance to the mocking tones of the girls who had taunted you in the past.
You no longer wished to endure this charade.
You halted in your tracks, unable to muster the courage to meet his gaze, your eyes fixated instead on his throat. “It appears . . . that I may not be adequately versed in fulfilling your needs. I shall endeavour to educate myself further before making another attempt. For now, I request permission to retire for the evening, my Lord.”
Sukuna’s grip tightened as he seized your jaw, compelling you to meet his gaze. “You dare to defy my command to address me by my given name?” His smile remained wicked as he drew your face closer to his own. “Remember, my love, there is a boundary to which I tolerate your rebellion. Do not allow my affections to cloud your judgement. I remain your Lord, above all else. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” you managed to gasp out.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Sukuna,” you replied, your voice trembling with uncertainty.
With a swift motion, he released your sore jaw, and before you could even consider easing the ache, his lips crashed against yours.
In that moment, control slipped from your grasp entirely. His hands gripped the flesh of your buttocks possessively, guiding your movements as he claimed you with a primal savageness that left you shaking in his embrace.
“Does it pain you, my beloved?” Sukuna growled, his fingers curling around your nape possessively. “Do you feel the strain of my cock as I breach your tender walls?”
You whimpered softly, your head nodding against the curve of his neck.
“Fear not, my darling. I will diligently train this cunt of yours to accommodate every inch of me, dusk, dawn, and twilight. Your throat, too, shall be honed to fulfil my every whim, wherever and whenever I demand.” With a swift motion, he tugged your hair, forcing you to meet his glare. “And should you dare to entertain thoughts of defiance with any other man beyond the confines of my chamber, rest assured, there will be consequences.”
“Sukuna,” was all you gasped, eyes rolling back as his tip probed the depths of your womb. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your throat before shoving into your mouth, drawing out your own to suckle on. In the heat of the moment, your hands roamed aimlessly, torn between grasping at his waist, clutching his shoulders, or caressing his cheeks.
“Oh, how I love the sight of your breasts greeting me in my face.” Sukuna tightened his hold on each of them with a deadly grasp, savouring the melodious cry that escaped your lips. He lowered his head and teethed each nipple, drawing it out and relishing in the masochism of your sharp nails clawing down his back. “Deeper, my darling. You alone hold the privilege of marking my flesh. Let my scars mirror yours.”
With caution, you shifted your hands to rest upon his firm pectoral muscles before you could accidentally claw out his spinal cord.
Sukuna’s touch drifted from your bruised breasts to cradle your face, guiding your gaze to meet his crimson one.
Encouraged by his comforting presence, you arched your hips forward with newfound confidence. His fingers swept through your hair, pushing it away as he offered reassuring nods.
Now, the reins rested firmly within your grasp.
“Fuck . . .” Leaning back against the headboard, he released soft sighs. Warm breaths escaped his parted lips as you continued increasing your ministrations. Your gaze momentarily flickered to your favourite book resting on his bedside table before returning to his face.
Suddenly seized by an impulse, you leaned forward to plant a tender kiss upon his lips, trailing upward to gently brush against his cheekbones, tracing the intricate markings lining his skin.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Someone must play the role of the tender one between us, Sukuna,” you answered, mirroring the attention he had given your scars during your initial encounter. With each kiss, you felt his eyes tracing your movements, following the path of your lips as they journeyed across his face, landing upon his nose or the pulse of his neck.
“My beloved,” Sukuna’s voice caressed your ears, drawing your focus entirely to him, “listen closely to my words.”
You halted your movements, a curious expression dancing in your eyes. “What troubles you?”
With a deliberate motion, he guided your hips forward, his gaze unwavering. “Throughout the night, I will fill your womb ceaselessly, and in mere weeks, you shall carry my legacy within you.” Your heart leaped into your throat, fluttering with an overwhelming rush of emotion. “Peril will shadow your every step. Those who oppose us will stop at nothing to eliminate your life and the life of our child. Do you comprehend the gravity of our situation?”
You blinked back the tears, resigning yourself to the inevitable.
“But I vow upon my honour, such an atrocity shall never come to pass. I will sever entire bloodlines if even a single strand of your precious hair were harmed.” His movements quickened as he thrusted into you.
Your grip tightened on his shoulders again, gasping for breath between erratic pants.
“At dawn’s light, all concubines shall be reassigned to palace duties. You need only point out those who have dared to trouble you, though their transgressions are already known to me.” His motions became more intense as he pressed you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. “And when the sun graces the horizon, you, my beloved, shall be proclaimed as my queen.”
Your voice wailed through the chamber as you cried out his name, drowning in the waves of scorching pleasure never before experienced.
Instead of seeing celestial bodies colliding, your gaze met the deep crimson of his irises, those same eyes that had captivated you on that very first night.
“Sukuna . . . ”
With a smile mirroring his own, you tilted your head upward, silently beckoning him to seal the moment with a kiss. As he obliged, his cock pulsed within you, filling you with his warmth until every fibre of your being was tethered with his.
But he didn’t withdraw. Just as he had promised, he intended to keep you close throughout the night, to claim you as his own.
And in that moment, as you laid with him, you welcomed the dawn of a new chapter standing beside him, prepared to reign as Sukuna Ryomen’s queen.
#sukuna ryoumen x reader#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x reader#sukuna imagine#sukuna x female reader#sukuna smut#jujutsu kaisen x female reader#sukuna x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x you#jjk x female reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x y/n#zaraswriting#sukuna x concubine
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𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐄𝐑
(𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚!𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑑!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑥 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑛)
𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗱, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗱𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗳, 𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲... 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹.
𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮: 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 (18+), 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬, 𝑭!𝑺𝑼𝑩, 𝑴!𝑫𝑶𝑴, 𝑷𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑿, 𝑶𝑹𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑬𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮), 𝑺𝑷𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑼𝑵𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑺𝑨𝑭𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑿 𝑰𝑺 𝑮𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑬𝑿, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑷𝑷𝑳!), 𝑺𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑯𝑨𝑰𝑹 𝑷𝑼𝑳𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑼𝑪𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑪𝑳𝑰𝑻 𝑹𝑼𝑩𝑩𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑷𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑺𝑬, 𝑫𝑬𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵, 𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑰𝑻𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑼𝑺𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 "𝑺𝑰𝑹", 𝑫𝑼𝑩𝑪𝑶𝑵???
ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 2,253
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
The two of you snapped out of it at the deep, accusatory voice of Felix coming from the doorway. At the sound of his voice, Oliver took hold of your hair and pulled your lips away from his cock, making you look up at the man at the doorway, your spit coating your lips.
"Sir, I... I am so, so sorry... Sir Oliver said that he needed my assistance." you told him quietly, looking down with a shameful expression painting over your features. Oliver just sat there, not moving an inch, and the slightest bit of pride showed on his face.
Felix looked at the two of you, clearly not amused at this sight, "Oh, and this "assistance" just happens to involve your mouth on his cock? You're a maid, not some classless whore."
The more that he spoke, the more ashamed you felt, and the more ashamed you felt, admittedly, the more aroused you were.
"Felix, why do you seem so angry? Aren't you glad I found a way to put your sweet, little maid to good use? She's just such a good helper, aren't you, darling?" Oliver finally interjected, still holding onto your hair and stroking your cheek.
You nodded, still too embarrassed and ashamed to say a word. You could practically feel Felix's eyes burning into you as his gaze flicked back and forth between you and Oliver. Oliver still looked at him proudly, clearly not caring about how he was presenting himself in front of the other young man.
"And you," Felix then looked over at him, shaking his head, "I always knew you were some sort of perverted creep, but to have one of the maids come and suck you off while I'm just down the hall is sickening..."
Once again, you felt wretched for even doing this in the first place. All you were trying to do was do your job well, but never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that you would be here, on your knees while a man used your mouth as his own personal fleshlight.
"Please," you pleaded with Felix, "Please, Sir Felix, please don't terminate my employment here... I'll do anything, I swear on the Lord's name."
At this, the other young man's eyebrow seemed to quirk upwards in a mixture of both curiosity and amusement. Oh, god. This is the part where he fires you on the spot. Just as you began to brace yourself for whatever you were going to hear from his mouth next, you became shocked at what you finally did hear from him.
"Then get the hell over here and suck my cock, too. I mean, since you want to be a greedy slut, you might as well take all that you can get, yeah?" he told you, beckoning you over with a singular finger.
The mere thought of it sent a shiver down your spine, and you immediately got onto your hands and knees before crawling over to Felix. He watched you intently, studying every inch of your body, every curve, every hair, every freckle, every mole... The way he looked at you intimidated you a little bit but at the same time, it left you feeling aroused and secretly quite desperate.
"Well, go on now, love. Take these trousers off... I won't bite, yet." Felix told you, tilting your gaze up so that he could properly make eye contact with you.
With a hand now lacing through your hair, he wasted no time in practically shoving his cock so far down your throat that you nearly choked. As you gagged while your throat stretched to accommodate the size, you could hear the sound of him groaning from the pleasure that he was receiving from you.
While you sucked on Felix's cock leisurely, you heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind you before feeling a pair of hands on you. It was Oliver, who had finally decided to join in and make his presence known to the both of you.
"Look at him," you heard his voice in your ear, soft enough for you to hear, but firm enough for you to understand the meaning of it, "Look up at him while you suck him nice and well, sweet girl. You can be good, can't you?"
You nodded before inhaling deeply and taking him in down your throat as far as you could before you coughed and sputtered again, your eyes now flickering up to meet his, which in turn made his grip tighter on your hair and let out another grunt of ecstasy. As your mouth kept at work, you moved your hands up to join your mouth, moving up and down on his cock rhythmically, the slick sound of his precum and your saliva that coated the length of his cock now making itself prevalent in the room.
"Fuck... Who knew a maid's mouth could feel wetter than any cunt I've ever had?" Felix pondered aloud as he watched you continue with your duties. With another groan, he pulled you off of the floor, only to lead you to the bed, pushing you down so that your upper body lay against the freshly made mattress, bent over the length of the bed.
"Sir F-Felix, I-I-" you tried to speak, only for him to reach over from behind you and push his fingers past your lips and into your mouth, gagging you and letting the saliva run down from your mouth to his hand, eventually his wrist, while your mouth made a choked sound from the considerable fill his appendages made down your throat.
"I'm going to fuck you, now, and if you do not shut the fuck up, I'll make sure to keep my fingers down your throat until you pass out from the oxygen loss." Felix threatened you, and while, yes, it was definitely meant to be in a menacing manner, it just further aided your arousal.
You then squeaked when you felt his hand traveling up the back of your thigh before reaching for your skirt, flipping it up, and revealing your underwear, much to your chagrin. You heard the two young men chuckle as they caught a glimpse of the fabric of your panties.
"Look at that, her panties have little flowers on them. How cute." Felix tells Oliver before pulling his now wet fingers out of your mouth and pulling the underwear down with one swift motion. You then shivered at the feeling of cool air now washing over your body and settling over the wetness of your cunt.
Without another word to you or Oliver, you felt the thick, heavy tip of his cock slide over your asscheek before finally brushing over your cunt, sliding through the slickness of your folds, making you shiver and him groan once again.
"Fuck... I can already tell you'll be so warm wrapped around me... Let's see if you are as tight as you are warm." He then finally pushes his way inside of you, making you gasp from the sheer size of his cock, moaning as you felt every inch, every minuscule detail of his cock as he slowly slid into you, making the two of you fit together like the pieces to a puzzle.
"S-Sir Felix, I-I- oh... You... You're so deep..." You whined softly, pressing your cheek into the mattress below you.
After a while, you had finally managed to adjust to the size of his cock and this opened up the doorway for Felix to begin thrusting, his hips meeting your ass with each movement. As he fucked you, you could still feel Oliver's eyes studying the both of you, and the mere thought of him being present in the room with you, watching as Felix fucked you with ease, made you wetter than any fantasy you had ever had.
"God, Ollie... I wish you could feel her. She's like... a fuckdoll, but real. Her cunt is so, so fucking tight." he laughed, now thrusting in harder, his hips now colliding with the plump, supple flesh of your ass while he reached up, wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling you closer, the sensation restricting your breathing ever-so-slightly. The now-sudden change of pace and rhythm made you practically shriek from the pure, raw pleasure you were subjected to.
And then, he stopped.
Just as you were about to whine at the loss of movement on his end, you felt his large hands grip you by the hips before pulling you off of the bed and positioning you onto your knees, kneeling on the floor in front of Oliver again.
"Now, you're going to be a good maid and clean. Clean him up, alright? Suck him dry." Felix tells you, but the tone of voice he uses with you makes you realize that it is more of an order than a request. You looked up at Oliver nervously before wrapping your hands around the base of his cock.
"Yes, sir..." Was all you could manage to reply before you leaned in and began to press kisses against the flaccid head of his cock before placing your hand out in front of it, spitting into your palm, and beginning to massage the length of his cock with both your hands, the sounds of his low groans and the wetness echoing throughout the room.
"Did you listen to anything that I just said? I didn't say give him a handjob. Suck. Him. Dry." he snapped, pushing your face towards Oliver's cock. With a heavy breath, you opened your mouth before taking his cock into your mouth and back down your throat, this time controlling your breathing so you wouldn't choke as much as the last time.
Oliver groaned when he felt you move your tongue against the length of his cock, the tip of your tongue tracing every ridge and vein that you could find. You then felt his hand on your hair, burying into your scalp and pushing you down further onto his cock and making you gag once more. You looked up at him to find that he was already looking down at you, and you could've sworn that he had the slightest hint of a grin on his face.
"Fuck, Felix... Christ, I might need to keep this maid of yours all to myself. She's just too sweet and too fucking pretty to let go..." He laughed, his attention now focused back on you as you choked again.
Soon enough, you could tell that he was getting closer to his orgasm, judging by how he began to grasp onto the back of your hair and how his grunts became an octave louder. And, yes, you were correct, as not even a moment later, you felt him tug at your hair once again before you heard him groan and the warm, sticky sensation of his cum going down your throat.
Once you swallowed it, Oliver then pulled away from you, allowing Felix to have a turn with you. You watched the taller boy with intrigue and arousal as you watched him wrap his hand around the thick base of his cock, jerking himself off and gasping softly as he looked back into your eyes.
"Oh, fucking hell... Keep looking at me like that, sweet girl. Yeah, just like that." He groaned finally before he threw his head back, his moans now echoing through the room as he finally reached his climax, his eyes rolling back as his cum now painted your face.
Once the two of them had become spent, you were about to get up and leave before you saw Oliver go over and sit on the bed, beckoning you over with a singular finger. You then slowly came over to him, only for him to pull you close and have you sit on his lap, spreading your legs wide and far enough for him to reach down and begin massaging your sensitive clit, causing you to let out a whine.
"Oh! Oh, my god!" you practically sobbed as he picked up the pace before you heard him chuckle from behind you.
"I'm Oliver, not God, darling. But, I appreciate the sentiment." he teased you, putting more pressure behind your fingers and rubbing harder. You gasped, your thighs beginning to quaver as you reached closer and closer to your climax.
You then sighed softly as he leaned into you, whispering in your ear, "Can you do me a favor, love? Look up at Felix for me, please. Let him see that beautiful face of yours when I make you come."
You nodded, your eyes now shifting upwards to meet Felix's gaze, whimpering quietly as you felt his penetrating stare, gasping as you got closer and closer.
"It's okay, my darling. Be a really good girl and come for the both of us."
With those words and a bit more pressure being applied to your aching clit, you practically burst into tears from the pleasure as you came, your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks, your back arching up and off his chest.
"Good... Good girl. Such a good little helper, aren't you?" He whispered, kissing your forehead, making you nod in your dazed state. Felix then leaned down and kissed you, too.
"We're so proud of you, love. You did great. What a sweet little maid you are." He tells you, stroking his fingers along your forehead almost lovingly.
#oliver quick#oliver quick smut#oliver quick x reader#felix catton#saltburn#emerald fennell#felix catton x reader#felix catton smut
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could you tell us more about the gift? :D
Oh, sure! I can stick some of my Gift drawing backlog in here while I'm at it~
The Gift is an unruly creature whose presence begets chewed wires and headaches wherever it goes. It's spunky and mischievous with a penchant for violence, and it revels in its job: to kill as much rot as it can without getting eaten by it first.
It exists only in an alternate universe where Pebbles is stopped before Moon collapses. Moon is damaged but alive - and after many long talks, Pebbles begrudgingly allows the other iterators to assist him with his rot.
The Gift's campaign uses the points system with an emphasis on rot kills. The gross cyan mixture on its spears is - via interacting with their stomach, in true slugcat fashion - weird altered barf. On contact with targets, "immunospears" explode like a spore puff and damage everything Five Pebbles related within their radius. This means you can kill even Mother Long Legs with good aim and enough food pips. Unfortunately, this does also kill neurons and inspectors, so the Gift has to be a little bit careful on its path of carnage.
Notably, Gift's goal isn't to eradicate the rot, just to help control it. If there's a way to cure the rot, this one silly creature can't do it for a whole superstructure.
It's been specially made (with love and care) by the other iterators so that Pebbles' inspectors don't target it. This is also why Pebbles won't murder it unless it shows direct violence towards him. His local group worked hard on this wretched being and they'll be very upset with him if he kills it. Plus it is actually good at its intended purpose. He just has to count the days until it keels over on its own.
Gift probably has some scavenger in there somewhere too, and maybe a bit of lizard. They're strong, but outside of fighting, I wouldn't say they're the smartest slugcat...
I've also played with the possibility of Arti and Spearmaster existing in this timeline. It ends as well as you'd expect. (I thought it would be funny if you could team up with Spearmaster and piggyback them around as your living spear generator though.)
There's some other stuff to the idea, such as a repeatable campaign where your strength and food requirement goes up every time you replay it, and a random pool of pearls you spawn with addressed to either Moon or Pebbles. I might go ahead and post that old campaign writeup still, so there'll be more in that!
#I feel like some of this would be a headache to code in an actual campaign#But I would have no way of knowing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#flickerdoodles#rain world#art#ask#anon#text#long post#the gift#ocs
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The Way to His Heart [8]
Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader
AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)
Word Count: 3.6k
Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.
Part 7 | Fic Masterlist | Part 9
"Sir, the dressmaker has arrived with the mistress' first batch of clothes. Should I send him directly to the House of Lotus?" Jongho asked tentatively from the entrance of his master's study.
Removing his hands from his head, Seonghwa looked up and shook his head miserably, "Lord, no. Send him to me first," The assistant bowed and went to do as he was told, "Right away, sir."
Hongjoong entered the study without bothering to knock, hands propped on his hip as he stared at your husband, unamused, "Would you mind explaining why I'm here instead of presenting the new clothes to your wife, Park Seonghwa?"
"I need advice, Hongjoong." The general croaked, feeling quite lost for once. He had rarely ever been in such a situation; who knew all it took was one woman to put him in such misery. Not even the most vicious enemies he had fought in war could have ever fazed him this much.
He returned from work the day before, enthusiastically sharing his plans for the grand wedding he wanted to give you. However, things went south when he dropped the bomb about the visit to your old home, foolishly believing you would express joy at the prospect of flaunting your newfound happiness to your wicked family. Instead, you were gripped with fear at the idea. You ended up retiring to your quarters early and refused to come out ever since.
Goddamnit, I'm the biggest moron ever.
The dressmaker raised an amused brow, having never seen Seonghwa like this before. He went over to sit down across from his friend, "Hmm, I didn't think you'd be having trouble in paradise this soon. Let's hear it; we'll see if there's anything I can do for you and that lovely wife of yours."
Taking a deep breath, your husband started from the beginning, recounting every single thing that happened from the start of your arranged marriage until the present.
"Wait, you're taking her back to that wretched place? No wonder she's upset, you idiot! You said it yourself; she suffered so badly being caged in there all her life. I mean, sure, your cause is very noble—wanting to make her family pay for what they've done with this plan of yours. But you'd been so focused on that, you forgot how traumatising it could be for her, huh? You really didn't think that one through, my friend."
Letting out a groan, the general pulled at his hair, "Yes, thank you for repeating it all to me like I didn't already know what I did wrong. Now, tell me what exactly it is that I can do to make it all better."
"You're welcome. Oh, I'll tell you what to do, all right. You best keep your dumbass seated here while I talk to her," instructed Hongjoong, watching expectantly as your husband frowned, "What? Why should you talk to her? It's my mess; I should be the one to clean it up."
Sighing, the dressmaker explained, "Look, we all know the only way for you to make things better is to not take her back to the damn house at all. But you do have a point, okay? You've come this far with your plan, and as much as it sucks, she must go there with you in order for this to work out. So, you stay put, and let me convince her to go willingly with you, got it?"
Seonghwa nodded reluctantly, realising his friend was right. As much as he hated how charming Hongjoong was and how persuasive he could be, he would have to rely on those skills to help you see things in the bigger picture. Sure, you were not privy to any details about the revenge, but hopefully, he will be able to make you at least want to stand up to your family for once.
"Lady Park, it's Hongjoong. I've brought your first batch of clothing. May I have permission to enter?" Blinking in surprise, you straightened up, not expecting to hear the dressmaker's voice, "O-okay, please come in."
Despite the anxious state you'd been in since the revelation your husband had dropped upon you the night before, you couldn't help but smile at the unusually colourful outfit of your visitor. Eunsook followed behind him with a group of servants filing in to deliver the precious cargo into your quarters.
The head maid felt relieved to see you smiling again, even if it was only a little. She had been concerned about you after witnessing your retreat into your old shell the previous night, as the fear you demonstrated reminded everyone of your initial arrival.
In an effort to distract you from your upsetting thoughts, the dressmaker quickly pulled out a few designs he thought you'd love, "Come, take a look at this! I made it the way you preferred and added a little touch of my magic. What do you think?"
Fortunately, his strategy worked like a charm, and you immediately moved over to him with sparkly eyes, marvelling at some of the most beautiful hanboks you'd ever seen, even prettier than the ones he had displayed in his shop.
As you admired the clothes in front of you, Hongjoong exchanged a knowing look with the elderly woman. Nodding, she quietly exited your room along with the rest of the servants, leaving you alone with your husband's old friend.
But you weren't entirely alone, of course.
Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa was right outside, listening intently. He didn't spare any of his servants a glance as they all passed by him with a deep bow, waving his hand carelessly in a gesture to ask them to leave quickly.
"Hey, you haven't answered me. Do you like them, Lady Park?" The dressmaker asked, a teasing smile on his face as he found your endearing shyness adorable.
You nodded quickly, "Yes, I do. I love them. They're all perfect. I just... don't know if I deserve to wear any of these." The general felt his heart clench at your response, realising you were still far from being able to love yourself.
With a scoff, Hongjoong moved to stand beside you, "I'll have you know I only make dresses for people I deem worthy of them. Not just anyone can wear my designs, you know. And you, by far, are probably my favourite client. So that says a lot."
Your husband silently agreed with those words, resisting the urge to rush in there and hold you tight, to tell you that you deserved only the best, that you deserved everything good in the world.
Lowering your head, you fiddled with your fingers before replying in a small voice, "You're only saying that because I'm the general's wife..."
Sighing lightly, the dressmaker turned to face you, "You're not wrong... but that's exactly because not just anyone can be Lady Park. Many women before you tried to be in your position. Regardless of their efforts, he never would have given them the time of day. Yet, he wholeheartedly accepted you."
Recognising the doubt in your eyes, he further explained, "I understand if you think these are just words. But that's probably because you don't know the general like I do. We've known each other since joining the military in our teens. Back then, the Seonghwa I knew would never bat an eyelash at any woman."
As you slowly looked up to meet his kind eyes, intrigued to learn more about your husband's past, he continued, "Those rumours about him being the cold-blooded general were not lies. He really was as merciless as they say. He still is, just not to you. When I saw him again for the first time after years that day, I couldn't believe the man in front of me was the same friend I once knew. He's different around you; he's different because of you."
"It's evident that you're special to him, that you mean something to him. He cares so much about you; do you realise that?"
Tears welled up in your eyes, and you hurriedly blinked them back. The thought of someone genuinely caring for you still seemed surreal despite the amount of care that had been shown to you since living here. However, you were starting to understand that he was right.
Hongjoong grinned, seeing the effectiveness of his words, "You're the first and only woman who can tame Park Seonghwa, so you are beyond worthy of my dresses."
Before you could even attempt to protest, he held up a hand, "And don't bother telling me I'm wrong because I'm never wrong."
You couldn't help but giggle at his sassy words, and he smiled sincerely at you, saying, "So don't you dare question whether you deserve these clothes. You're the only one who deserves them because these are made only for you, do you understand?"
This time, you nodded with a wide smile.
"I want you to wear my dresses proudly and show the world who you are: the great Lady Park, the only woman General Park wants as his wife. No one will dare disrespect or look down on you again."
Feeling as if he knew exactly what had been worrying you, you felt touched. He was right; you were not who you used to be. You had no reason to cower from your family, recalling their belittling assumptions about your survival in this marriage. Now was your chance to prove them wrong.
With newfound determination, you nodded firmly, "You're right, I will. Thank you, Hongjoong. You're a good friend; Seonghwa is lucky to have you."
He crossed his arms over his chest cheekily, "I sure am. That fool hasn't a clue how fortunate he is."
Mission accomplished.
Pumping his fists in victory, your husband silently cheered outside, brushing off the playful taunts from his friend. Just this once, he would forgive Kim Hongjoong.
"Are you ready, my dear?"
The general turned to you as your carriage came to a stop, marking your arrival at what you assumed to be the Jang estate, your former prison. With a resolute nod, you smiled up at him, "I am."
As you moved to exit the vehicle, your husband halted you. Cupping your face in his hands, he gazed reassuringly into your eyes, "Remember, whatever happens, I'm here with you. You're not alone from now on; I'll always be here to protect you."
"I know, Seonghwa. I believe in you."
His heart melted at those words, and he couldn't resist pressing a lingering kiss onto your forehead. You fluttered your eyes closed, holding onto his wrists, cherishing the warmth he was providing.
"Alright, let's go." Leaving one final peck on your cheek, he got out of the carriage and swiftly helped you down, his strong arm securely wrapped around your waist. Eunsook stood there, mouth agape, that was initially meant to be her responsibility but she realised her assistance was no longer needed at the moment.
Jongho grinned, nudging the elderly woman on the shoulder as they followed their master and mistress into the minister's estate, "Come on, we've got work to do."
Taking a deep breath, you surveyed the familiar surroundings that once made you feel small. Feeling a reassuring squeeze on your hand, you found comfort in your husband's presence.
Yes, he's here with you now.
Nothing bad will happen.
His grip on your hand tightened, and his warm smile, reserved only for you, vanished when a few of your father's servants nervously stumbled out, bowing deeply before both of you, "Good morning, General Park. Welcome to the Jang estate."
The brave front you had put on seemed to falter slightly as you realised the servants here remained the same, showing no acknowledgement despite you no longer being their prisoner. Seonghwa, glaring at the maids in front of him, growled in a low voice, "You've left out Lady Park. Will you not greet my wife?"
Gulping on behalf of the servants, you witnessed the return of the general's intimidating demeanour. Hongjoong was right; he was still terrifying, just not to you.
The maids bowed deeper, "B-but sir—"
"What is going on here?" That voice resonated across the courtyard, causing your heart to plummet to the lowest pit of your stomach. Perhaps you weren't ready to face them at all. Your father emerged from the main hall, wearing an expression that was far from pleased.
You pressed closer to your husband, and instinctively, he wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you close. The minister's eyebrow raised in surprise at your refined appearance; he nearly did not recognise you. You were even more stunning than on the day you left this place, seemingly given a complete makeover.
Aside from that, he realised the general had meant his words when he had spoken so highly of you during assembly. Witnessing the intimacy between the two of you, there was undeniable evidence of shared affection. Your father began to question whether marrying you to his enemy was a mistake in the first place.
Seonghwa smirked, "Ahh, Minister Jang, it seems your servants do not know proper manners. They did not greet my wife, and that, to me, is punishable."
The old man felt his eye twitch at the general's satisfied grin before responding, "Well, I'm their master, so I decide what is punishable, General Park."
"Right, well, I'm just looking out for you. Wouldn't want people to find out what rotten-mannered staff my father-in-law has in his estate, not knowing how to show respect to even the general's wife."
"You do realise that before she became your wife, she's my daughter first." Your father sneered, and you felt sick at that, to be called his daughter when you've never once been treated as such.
Remaining unfazed, your husband retorted, "All the more reasons for them to show respect to their eldest miss then, no?"
Jongho and Eunsook bowed their heads in an effort to hide their snickers at the minister's red face flushing in embarrassment. He should have known better than to think he could win the general in an argument, "R-right. What are you fools standing around for? Show Lady Park some bloody respect!"
The line of servants bowed all the way down pathetically, "Yes, master! Good morning, General Park and Lady Park! Welcome to the Jang estate!" They chanted loudly, enough to bring about the rest of your family, coming out to witness what all the fuss was about.
"Very well, let us head in then." With a bored expression, Seonghwa walked into the hall with you, moving right past your stepmother and stepsisters intentionally, paying them no mind as he helped you into a seat before settling down beside you.
All four of the women standing in the main hall were rooted to their spots, eyes bulging as they took in the sight of you and your husband. First of all, you were nearly unrecognisable. If they thought you looked pretty on the day you got married, you were now almost a hundred times more beautiful, though they would rather die than ever admit it out loud.
Beyond your enhanced appearance, they were more taken aback by the general's beauty. He was nothing like they had imagined; he must have been one of the most attractive men ever, or at least the most handsome one they had seen so far.
Suddenly, your stepsisters were even angrier than they were upon learning about your stupid grand wedding. They were now furious with their father for never having told them about how good-looking General Park truly was. If only they knew, they would have volunteered to marry him themselves.
But what if there was still hope for them?
What if they had a chance?
After all, you hadn't officially wed Seonghwa yet and were merely here to discuss plans for the upcoming ceremony. Perhaps, with enough effort, they could still win him over. If a peasant like you could seduce the general, why couldn't any of them? With this determination in mind, the three stepsisters promptly began adjusting their appearances as you all gathered around the main hall.
You didn't appreciate the way your stepsisters were eyeing your husband, although you understood their motives. Sensing your discomfort, Seonghwa moved closer to you in his seat, whispering in your ear, "Are you feeling alright, my dear?"
Nodding lightly, you looked up with a small smile, "I am, as long as you're with me," He couldn't resist smiling at your words as he gave you a gentle peck on the head, "Good."
That should be me!
The three stepsisters clenched their fists, their fury intensifying as they witnessed the handsome general being affectionate with you. It should have been them; the title of the general's wife was more befitting a noblewoman like them, not a rat like you. How dare you sit there in their place as if you deserved it?
In an attempt to break the silence, Jinah cleared her throat and made her move, "Have you been well, unnie? I missed you so much! Did you know how worried I was about you? You must have had such a hard time, especially after you adamantly refused to marry General Park."
Seonghwa raised a brow in amusement, while you remained quiet, unsure how to respond to such a blatant lie. Jinjoo scoffed at your lack of response, "Unnie! Will you really not answer Jinah at all? You've always been like that, so ungrateful when we care so much about you!"
"Really? My wife being ungrateful? That's wild. I cannot imagine her like that at all." Your husband chuckled, holding you close when he felt you begin to tremble.
Jinhee's fists shook with envy as she nodded pitifully, "Yes, that's because you haven't known her well enough, my lord. She can be so scary when she's mad, you know how the eldest usually are."
Minister Jang rubbed a tired hand over his head when he realised what his stepdaughters were trying to do. Of course, these foolish girls would easily be blinded by the general's appearance. Even his own wife, seated beside him, found it difficult to take her eyes off the gorgeous young man.
Jongho and Eunsook, positioned behind you and their master, were making every effort to contain the irritation they felt. The audacity of these women to feign innocence after what they've put you through all these years. They were once again thankful not to have any of these conniving foxes as their mistress.
Rubbing his thumbs over your hands, Seonghwa laughed sarcastically in disbelief, "I'm sorry, I just find that so hard to believe. Are you sure you're not all talking about yourselves?" In an instant, his smile dropped, and he sent your stepsisters a death stare as if daring them to continue spouting more ridiculous lies about you.
Left in stunned silence, they blinked nervously and avoided his eyes, unprepared for his questioning. It was clear that they hadn't planned their silly little act thoroughly.
Damn it, how did that worthless thing manage to gain his favour?
"That's enough." The minister declared firmly, not wanting his stepdaughters to continue embarrassing themselves. All he wanted was to get the general out of his house as soon as possible. Every moment that Seonghwa remained felt like a threat; your father was walking on eggshells around him.
Pushing himself off his seat, the old man addressed your husband, "You mentioned wanting to see the environment your wife grew up in, right? Let's proceed with that before we delve into discussions about your wedding arrangements. I don't have all day."
"Sure, can't wait." Seonghwa responded smugly, standing up with your hand securely in his. A sense of unease washed over you as you wondered what kind of deception your father would employ. Surely, they wouldn't be stupid enough to reveal your actual room to the general. Dread filled you, and you longed to return home.
Your real home, not this nightmare.
« Preview of Part 9 »
As you all followed the minister around the estate while he showed the general what was supposed to be your old room, Jongho exchanged a glance with the private investigator who was still posing as a staff member in the estate.
"This is unnie's room; she has the biggest and nicest one out of all of us. She's so lucky and doesn't even know it. I'm the youngest and I have the smallest room; I'd honestly be happy to have anything at all." Jinjoo said innocently, playing with a strand of hair as she batted her eyelashes at Seonghwa.
You stared blankly at the room supposedly designated as yours. It was merely a guest room rearranged with some of your stepsisters' belongings to create the illusion of long-term habitation. Sensing Jinah and Jinhee's intense gazes on you, you turned to find them glaring daggers at you as if daring you to speak up and disclose the truth to your husband.
If you voiced your denial, who would believe you? It was your entire family against you alone. Would there even be a point in trying?
Just as doubt started to creep in, Seonghwa wrapped an arm around you, reminding you of his support, "Is that true, my dear? Is this your room? It doesn't really seem to be your style at all."
Everyone held their breath, awaiting your response, but you remained silent, fixing your gaze on the familiar space where you spent your entire life, now masquerading as a storeroom.
"What is it that you're staring at so intently, hm? Let's go take a look."
Oh, crap.
Shit will go down in the next part, I assure you. Patience, my dearest readers, patience HAHA this part was focused more on setting the stage for the main event.😈
Also, I've created a mood board for this fic. If you haven't already checked it out, go take a look! I might consider making another one that depicts Seonghwa's estate if I'm able to find the right images.
As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3
Tag list (1/3): @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @ssrnghwa @yunnieo @sunnyhokyu @lynnsqueendom @frobin4ever @chwesuh-imnida @thunderous-wolf @itstheghostofmypast @professormingisglasses @deltamoon666 @avantalem @famishalll @yungilia @soobiverse @joongified @scuzmunkie @http-gyu @mentoslol @atinyreads @angel-hyuckie @anxiousskylar @onedumbho3 @narashii @ddaeing @sanstreasure0305 @sohnfile @scarfac3 @dreamingofyeo @puppyminnnie @tinyteezer @vantediary @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @aliona124754 @bts-army380 @lilactangerine @atinyniki @pay13 @1117promises @xoxkii @st4rcig4r @hikarii02 @nescaffei @xdolls-crownx @ashrocker123 @skzline @minkiflwr @starssongs98 @baeksofty @skz1-4-3 @kawaiikels @madnpan @maoyueze @en-happiness @cheolliehugs @persnyako @startinystay @chngbnwf @fatspecimen @christinerose380 @stfu-rina @kyukyustar @taytayy178
Tag list (cont.): see comment/reply section
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#edenesth#the way to this heart#ateez#ateez fanfic#ateez fanfiction#park seonghwa#ateez seonghwa#arranged marriage au#joseon era#seonghwa x reader#seonghwa x you#ateez fic#historical au
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No Need to Pledge, Just Drink.
Thanks for the Warm Response! Here's a shorter piece - Occam
It’s definitely not normal that they invited me to this party. It was a direct invite too, obviously. I wouldn’t show up unless someone explicitly asked. From what I understand frat parties don’t usually have a guest list, but I am not one to just wander in.
Judging by how unpleasant this is so far I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have accepted Derek’s invitation at all. I start to look around for the nearest exits which is when Derek finally shows his face, approaching me with two drinks in hand.
“Sup bruh! I’m so stoked you could make it! This party is gonna be absolutely killer soon so I hope you can stick around!”
“Ah, well I was-”
“I brought you a little drink broski! I know shit like this isn’t your cup of tea so I figured you’d take the assist, this stuff’ll loosen you right up.”
I take the cup from him and just avoid wretching from fumes of alcohol coming from the cup now in my hand. I assumed it was just a beer but it looks like some horrible mixed drink.
“It’s Everclear and Hawaiian Punch bro! As soon as you get past the first taste you barely notice the burn!”
He continues to stand there as I fail to brainstorm a way out of at least trying this. I see a potted plant across the room and know my next move. I’ll give the drink one chance to get Derek off my back and dump it as soon as he turns his.
It’s honestly not as bad as I thought it would be, it doesn’t even seem alcoholic actually? It’s just sweet? Almost to a sickly degree. I don’t really taste the punch either, it's just…
I start to take another sip before noticing that impossibly, my cup is already empty. I only took a sip though? Something, something is not right. I start to freeze up before Derek starts shaking me, his hand holding a second cup of the punch high above his head shouting, “Brooo! You just demolished that! Fuck! I’ve gotta see that again!” He shoves the second cup into my hand and begins to push his way back towards the punch bowl “Everyone outta the way! This nerd has got to have more to drink!”
I watch him longer than I should have, dumbfounded holding this drink that I didn’t want. Don’t want? My vision gets blurry as I watch him maneuver his massive body through the crowd. Woah, I guess this is what alcohol does? I feel myself start to grin watching him struggle to fill a two-liter with whatever that punch is. Jungle juice? Oh Shit? Is he bringing that to me?
The DJ switches playlists and I feel excitement quickly start to build in my chest. I fuckin’ love this song! I start to inch towards the crowd before I’m elbowed in the face and my glasses fall directly into my cup.
“Hey dude! I need those to fuc- I need those to see” I instinctively shout as I look to see my glasses just peeking out of my cup. Before picking them out though, I notice that my vision is actually better now? Which briefly starts to set my veins afire once more, why have I been going to a fucking optometrist for years I start to think, clenching my jaw before I look closer into my cup.
This alcohol must really be getting to me or Derek is pulling another prank on me or something. My hair looks so stupid up like that. I start to move my hand to fix it before seeing my arm reflected.
Or is that even my arm? It shouldn’t be? It’s the size of my head. I shouldn't be able to life something that size if I wanted to. I need to get some fresh air, or just some quiet space. I need to get out. I need-
“Party king coming through! Sorry bro I couldn’t get the bottle to fuckin work so I hope two more cups will do” I see two cups clenched in massive hairy, may as well be, paws starting to pass back through the dance floor. My own hand flexes and I drop my drink, spilling it all over my shoes as I bolt to find a bathroom. Cheers of “Party Foul” ring out as I dash, completely ditching my glasses without a second thought.
I weasel my way through the crowd feeling less agile than usual. Finding it much easier to shove these pipsqueaks out of the way than to squeeze between them before I find peace in the second floor restroom, miraculously without a line outside. I don’t question why I suddenly know the layout of this house as I slam the door and take a deep breath. Music still comes through the door as I reach for the light and prepare to look in the mirror.
The haircut was the least of my concerns. I look like a beast as I start to hyperventilate. I feel the music outside the room quicken matching my heartbeat, my newly 20/20 eyes stare into themselves as they turn from blue to a deep brown and visibly lose acuity. I feel my biceps pressing against the sleeves of my t-shirt narrowly avoiding a deliberate flex to rip the shirt apart.
I notice a stink other than jungle juice coming up from my feet as I feel them beginning to push against the tongue of my shoe. I collapse to the floor and quickly struggle to untie my laces before squeezing my feet out. Immediately apparent are drastically rattier socks than I remember putting on to get ready for this party. Full of holes and stains, I dread knowing whose socks these are and what is happening before recognizing them as my own. Or really they could be any of my bros socks but who cares.
As soon as this thought pushes its way into my head a pit drops into my stomach. I am an only child, I don’t have any bros, or well, I have a house full of bros now right? Getting up off the floor I again glance into the mirror. My jaw is wider, my stubble itches but just like it always does, right? I put my face in my hands creating enough strain in my small shirt to force a tear down the back. Why am I wearing such tiny tiny clothes anyway? Must be Derek hazing me again huh. I think holding in a guffaw, I wonder how he got me in these?
I tear the rest of my shirt away before doing the same to my pants which is when I learn that I have apparently been going commando this whole time. Now free of these nerdy-ass clothes I flex in the mirror. Pecs popping like always, my bros always say the hair hides my pump but who cares bro I want to look like a man. I briefly shake my cock at myself in the mirror smirking and see laid out behind me are a change of clothes that Derek must have laid out for me.
There are a pair of slides, some athletic shorts and a massive stringer that says “Party Prince” Bro! He must have made us matching shirts!
I quickly start to change to match with my Bro and see cologne on the counter. I’m sure bro won't mind if I use it. Each spritz I feel myself fill out my tank even more, veins beginning to peak out down my arms and my package becomes even harder to miss in my shorts. I do a few more poses in the mirror before hearing a knock at the bathroom door.
“Bro you in there? The party’s dying without you bro!”
Hearing my big bros’ cry for help I get my head in the game. I’ve got to bring it tonight. I kick the locked door open, completely shattering the door frame as I cry out- “Who’s ready to drink tonight,” tossing the awaiting cup of jungle juice into the air over the crowd.
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Divine Touch
Requested by: Anon!
Request: That would be so good if there would be kink series(some aren't tho)! Good thing someone asked for it l'm shy I have a list on mind Imao: Roleplay, breeding kink, Exhibitionism, scene play, age play or ddig, praise kink?, cockwarm?, threesome with peter b parker prob, lactation kink, phone sex?, mirror sex?, dacryphilia, oh maybe like an au where the reader is pregnant n Miguel just get turned on by that LMAO
A/N: I completely adore this request, it's literally the inspiration for the kink series so thank you so much anon! I hope you enjoy the your first one! ❤🧡
🧡staring: Deity!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Maiden Reader
🏺preview:
“I must keep the balance in Nueva Yorkhaven or chaos would go rampant upon our lands.” He said, keeping his crimson eyes on you. “So if I take a life…
I must replace it…”
⚔️summary: After being coerced by your mother into a marriage with a man you didn't love, who treated you poorly, you believed your life was over. It wasn't until you remembered one last divine solution that could possibly help alleviate your wretched situation.
🥟tw/cw: Big Dick Miguel, Breeding Kink, Clit Stimulation, Doggystyle, Grinding, Historical Era, Mythology-Based, Orgasms, P in V, Power Difference, Praising, Unprotected Sex, etc…
🍵Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Pequeñita (Little one), Querida (Dear)
⛩️Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I
🧡 Word Count: 12.3k
(I do not own any of the photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)
(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)
(This oneshot contains Breeding do not read, if you are not comfortable)
Breeding kink - The sexual desire to be impregnated or to impregnant another.
**YOU'VE BEEN WARNED**
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the beautiful village of Nueva Yorkhaven and bringing upon the covering of night, you, a fair maiden of the town, traversed during the dark hours down the cobblestone pathways. The gentle glow of lanterns that adorned every trail served as a guide towards your desired destination.
You clenched your black cloak tightly to your body, attempting to hide all traces of your being and the basket that you carried. With frantic, cautious eyes, you swiftly flicked them around, trying to detect any lingering presence in your path; but upon finding none, you quickened your pace.
On your covert journey, you passed cottages with ivy-covered walls and huge trees with dew-kissed leaves that danced in the moonlight, welcoming the night.
Your feet, adorned in black Astrids, carried you through the winding routes of the village, leading out into the quiet meadow that surrounded it. You left behind the dreamscape facade of your village to tread warily into the forest.
Following a dirt path that looked to be used before by countless others, it led you deeper into the meadow. Fireflies wove trails of light along the dark road, while the distant hooting of an owl echoed through the woods, making you jump. Your hand landed on your chest, feeling how harshly your heart was pounding.
You knew the consequences if you were caught, but it didn’t matter.
Things had gone too far, and you needed assistance.-
Divine assistance.
The forest was painstakingly quiet. Every rustling of leaves, cracking of wood, along with your timid footsteps, seemed to reverberate through the trees. A gentle breeze brushed past you, filled with the scent of pine and wildflowers, yet a subtle unease clung to the air like sticky sap on tree bark.
With every step, a voice in your mind told you to turn back, to stop.
You soon realized it to be your mother’s.
Her pestering and nagging words clouded your head the deeper you entered the woods.
‘You know traversing the forest in the dead of night isn’t fit for a young lady. Turn back now!’
‘What would Sir Hawthorne think of you?’
‘Turn back now or you would be seen as a disgrace to your father!!’
Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, a shaky exhale passing your lips. Even though it was your own head, your mother’s pestering sounded almost too real; it shook you to your very core and even had you contemplating returning back the way you came when the silhouette of an ancient structure emerged in the distance, causing your worried thoughts to halt.
With a soft gasp, the idea of leaving left you as you hurried along, a sense of relief washing over you. You left behind the unsettling forest and looked upon the worn, yet sturdy stones that held up the quiet sanctuary of your town’s guardian. The large entrance was framed by weathered gray columns, adorned with two flickering torches that casted a soft glow of red-orange into the dark space. The air carried a new sense of otherworldly, different from the feeling of unease you felt before.
You gazed up at the olden engraving of letters, etched into the stone above the massive doors, reading under your breath:
Sanctuary Of Miguel O’Hara Guardian of Nueva Yorkhaven
Just uttering the deity’s name felt ancient and heavy upon your tongue. A huge grin spread across your lips, reading the name of the divine structure once more.
You did it. You actually did it.
You were here…
The harsh grip you had on your basket loosened; anxiety and fear that clung to your being like leeches faded away. You felt an overwhelming sensation of safety and security as you approached the ancient doors.
Despite the feeling of disbelief at your success, you set down your basket and placed both hands onto the ringed doorknobs. The doors were heavy, and it took all of your strength to hear the satisfying creak and soon feel the stone doors move out of their rooted place. You were only able to open them a little, but it was big enough for you to slip through, entering into the sanctuary of your village's infamous guardian.
Instantly a rush of cool air brushed along your body, making you hug your black cloak closer to you. The room was dimly lit with torches and candles as your feet walked along cool ancient stone, guiding you to the heart of the shrine. Respectfully, you drew down the hood of your black cloak, your eyes unable to take in the magnificent sights before you due to astonishment.
You had always heard stories and legends about the great Miguel O’Hara. How he saved your village from many horrific storms, dreadful winters, and blazing droughts. How, with his divine might, he crumbled armies and men who dared to harm his people.
Miguel protected your town and watched over every villager. He was there to pick you and your people up when you fell, whether that was with love, wealth, or glory.
The villagers of Nueva Yorkhaven looked to Miguel for needed support, and he was known to answer your calls of need every time…
Standing and gazing upon your protector's sanctuary, it resembled the great deity perfectly.
The room was styled lavishly in warm reds and muted yellows and oranges, granting a sense of protection to those who entered. Tall pillars rose at each corner, stabilizing the grand building, and the walls were decorated with sacred symbols—images of laurel leaves and celestial patterns that showed Miguel’s guardianship and lasting connection between the divine and mortal realm.
As you move further into the sanctuary, your eyes instantly are drawn to what lies in the center. On an elevated platform adorned with laurel wreaths and symbols of protection was your Guardian’s majestic stone throne, and in front of the throne was an intricately designed altar. The sacred surface was covered with offerings of fruits, flowers, prepared dishes, and tokens of gratitude that were carefully arranged. Candles flickered softly around the tributes as your feet led you towards it.
Nervously, you bit your lip.
You couldn't remember the last time you’d done this.
Before, your family would visit your great deity’s sanctuary once a month, dress his altar with beautiful gifts, and pray for protection until the next month when you’d return once more.
After your arranged marriage to Alden Hawthorne, a man who traveled to your village in search of a wife to betroth, your family stopped visiting.
Sir Hawthorne lacked all youthfulness in his appearance. His facial features showed his age, and he wasn’t a suitor who set hearts aflutter either; instead of his looks doing the speaking for him, his wealth did.
His stature and wealth led many fair maidens of your village to toss themselves at the older male in his late 40s in an attempt to get a grab at his riches.
Of course, without seeking consent, your mother had already given your hand to the salt and pepper-haired male, who, with one glance at you, agreed almost immediately.
You were the most beautiful in your village. A rose that bloomed gloriously amongst ordinary flowers. Due to the poor conditions of your household, your mother sought for more. After your father’s death, she became adamant on finding a living, so she used you to do so.
With the betrothal to Sir Hawthorne in place, from then on, only pesters and nags left the lips of your mother, demanding perfection and a great image. “You will be the wife of Sir Hawthorne, after all. You’ll have to act like it as well, dear," she'll tell you countless times until that dreadful day.
Vows that weren’t written by your hand and said by your heart were read aloud, expensive, lavish rings were exchanged, and the most atrocious kiss was shared.
You didn’t think your life could get any worse until after your wedding when your mother pulled you to the side. With a huge grin and beaming face, she told you what was to occur during your honeymoon.
Something so very abysmal it almost made you retch.
“During that time, the breeding of children will be had. You remember the drawings I’ve done for you—that is to occur.” She said with a smile. “All you must worry about is laying back, spreading your legs, and not being a little pest to him. Got it!?” She spat harshly, proceeding to speak of being a grandmother and having grandchildren to take care of and fill her day, not at all concerned for her daughter who was real and right before her.
And as you anticipated, that night was horrific and excruciating…
It was laden with weeps of sorrow and agony. The booming voice of your mother, that told you repeatedly to not be a pest and to not protest, filled your head while a pain that struck you like a hammer upon a nail hit you over and over again…
It’s a memory you try to efface from your mind.
After the dreadful honeymoon, you, sadly, had to live with him. Sir Hawthorne had a house built in your village, Nueva Yorkhaven, one so grand and modernized that it contrasted greatly with the usual dreamscape cottages.
You hated your life there as every day in the lavish halls of your new home, you were worried about only one thing.
Did Alden’s advances work?
Would you bear him a child?
You would weep every time the idea crossed your mind. After two months had passed, Sir Hawthorne hired doctors to come to your home. You weren't showing any signs of pregnancy and that worried your ‘husband’ to death.
Finally, after what felt like forever, you breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in your marriage when the doctors told the two of you about the failure of Sir Hawthorne's advances. It appeared to have been a failed impregnation, but one on Sir Hawthorne’s part.
Your ‘husband's’ inability to produce an heir angered him immensely.
After the doctor visit, the facade of your marriage crumbled, and Sir Hawthorne revealed a side of himself that you had feared—he turned abusive—mentally and emotionally.
Every word that left your mouth was seen as an irritation. He demeaned and belittled you and constantly criticized your appearance.
Sir Hawthorne isolated you from villagers, housekeepers, your mother, and forbade you from having friends. He even halted your use and access to his riches—although it wasn't like you used it anyway.
As a sign of punishment, he forced you to assist in keeping up the house. He had housekeepers that worked alongside you, but he purposely gave you higher expectations than the normal help.
Despite the stress of your new job, you found solace in it.
It reminded you of the peaceful times back in your home cottage when things were right.
A time when your father and mother were together, your mother wasn't so cruel, and where you were loved.
It was a memory that always came when hanging clothes to dry or harvesting produce.
It wasn't until Sir Hawthorne discovered your contentment with your punishment that he made things even worse for you. He gave you harsher tasks, such as washing every window of his grand house to sparkle in the sun, redecorating rooms over and over again to his liking, and being made to work even in the dead of night.
The physical labor had become too much as he even denied you access to necessities like food and proper clothing.
You felt trapped.
Stuck in this cycle of degrading and forced labor that felt endless.
Many times you thought of running away, but to where? You didn’t have anywhere to go.
You didn’t have friends; he forbade it.
Your neighbors in Nueva Yorkhaven adored Alden. They’ll think you were the crazy one if you came to them with your troubles.
And you definitely couldn't go back to your mother; she’ll send you back.
It felt hopeless…
Like a blossomed well-kept garden, suddenly, an idea came to mind. One that after all these years, you've completely forgotten was the solution to any villager of Nueva Yorkhaven's debacles.
Miguel O’Hara.
The protector of your village, the guardian of every mortal being born and raised in Nueva Yorkhaven.
He was your refuge, your solution to this mess.
But standing before his altar, inside of his sanctuary, you’ve never felt so disconnected from him.
With shaky hands, you set your basket down upon the stone tiles and untied the black cloak from around your body, laying it down gently onto the stone floor to create a small cushion. You descended upon your knees, a neutral-colored bodice with short sleeves adorning your figure. Aimlessly, your eyes wandered the altar, trying to remember how your family did it before.
When you were all together…
Father, Mother, and you…
It felt so long ago.
You pushed back the urge to cry as your gaze landed on the throne, a feeling of strength overwhelming you. You lowered your head, closed your eyes, and began to speak and recollect the words your father uttered all those years ago.
“‘O’ Mighty deity of protector and strength. I…I call upon you on this night to ask for your presence.”
You declared with a shaky voice. After a moment, only silence followed and filled the quiet sanctuary.
Fear and worry filled your being. After your father said those words, you remembered feeling a warmth, a rush, a feeling, something!
The only thing you felt was the heat from the candles and the excruciating silence that seemed to span on forever. Your lips trembled, tears beginning to slide down your cheeks.
Did your deity turn his back on you?
Was that why he wasn’t listening?
The thought only made you sob even harder. You lowered your head to the ground, placing your forehead against your cloak.
P-Please…Miguel. I-I need you.”
You cried, the sound of your weeping being the only thing heard after your desperate words.
It felt hopeless…
It felt like you could feel his presence, but he just wasn’t answering.
Like he was just…
There…
Watching…
In the midst of your sobs, a strong hand cupped your chin, lifting it up.
In alarm, your eyes snapped open coming face-to-face with what you deemed utterly impossible.
“Lift your head mortal. You have shed enough tears.”
The booming voice of your deity said, his crimson eyes holding its divine blend of stoicness and softness as he gazed down at you.
You were unable to speak, only capable of staring back in shock.
Your mighty protector smirked, stroking your tear-stained cheek with his thumb before pulling away. The mere action sent a wave of heat throughout your body, the urge to cry and the sensation of sadness melted from your being.
Unable to keep your eyes off his mighty figure, you watched him walk away from you, his majestic scarlet robe trailing behind him whilst he walked up the steps of the stone platform to take a seat in his throne.
You still couldn’t believe he was here, blinking once, twice, thrice to make sure you weren't mistaking the sight.
Miguel O’Hara, your town’s powerful and divine guardian was, indeed, before you. Your eyes traveled to his seated being, taking in every part of him.
In the dimly lit sanctuary, the great deity sat on his throne. His tanned muscular frame exuded strength, a declaration of his divine might. His dark hair cascaded in waves, framed a chiseled face of stoicness. Crimson eyes stared down at you, the dancing fire of candles and torches reflecting off his red orbs.
Draped in celestial attire, Miguel wore a flowing robe of deep scarlet, adorned with intricate golden patterns. Atop his head, a circlet of gold laurel leaves styled his thick brow and around his neck hung a pendant, both signifying guardianship. To complete the divine being's attire, golden sandals that were crafted with celestial elegance dressed his feet.
Despite the times you came here with your family, Miguel’s appearance was a first.
There were legends and rumors that drifted through the village of his presence gracing the eyes of mortals, but many believed it untrue—but here he was, before you, sitting in his throne with a posture so perfectly regal and straight it was astonishing.
You didn’t know what to do or what to say; his previous touch seemed to be burned into your cheek. With a stunned expression, you stared up at the mighty deity who returned your shocked look with a stern gaze that shook you to your very core.
He then raised a thick eyebrow, his eyes still locked on you. “You appear surprised, yet you summoned me, mortal.” His deep voice seemed to echo inside the small space. You exhaled, breathing out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“Y-Yes, mighty deity. I-I did call upon you.” You stammered, not knowing what to do and hastily lowering your head in a bow while remaining in your kneeled position.
You thought you were dreaming. That this was all just a moment occurring in your time of slumber, but the thunderous voice heard before you said otherwise.
“Lift your head and state your reasoning for summoning me, mortal.” He said in a gravelly tone, one that contrasted greatly with his previous touch and soft gaze.
Like the mighty being ordered, you lifted your head, meeting eyes with the deity once more, and instantly you lost the ability to speak. All thoughts escaped your mind as you gazed up at him.
He was majestic just like he was described, painted, and sculpted by mortals; yet, standing before him in the flesh surpassed every interpretation drawn by man.
His tanned skin seemed so radiant and flawless, and his body looked taut and perfect. It didn’t help your stunned state that he was very attractive, despite his face being completely hardened and cold.
“Human. State your reason.”
He repeated, knocking you from your trance. Your lips quivered, trying to find the words, and when you did, you held onto them tightly, not letting them go.
“M-My name is Y/N. I’ve resided in Nueva Yorkhaven since my birth and I-I need your divine assistance, great deity.” You muttered with a voice of little confidence. Deep down, you were still shaken up at the fact that he was here before you, in all of his greatness.
Although the belief of him making an appearance to villagers was thought to be untrue in Nueva Yorkhaven, it was said if he did appear, you were special.
So were you…
Special?
You didn’t feel like it.
The celestial being grunted in disapproval at your words. “Y/N…it’s been ages since I’ve seen you here at my sanctuary, yet you ask for my assistance.” He stated in a rumbling voice that unsettled you like an earthquake.
Your lips trembled, shame visible upon your facial features. “Y-Yes. I-It’s, indeed, been a while since I’ve come to g-glorify you, mighty protector.” You said, tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes due to worry about how this interaction would go.
“I see…” He uttered, his piercing crimson eyes still trained on your small being before his altar and throne. “I hope you have brought a tribute along with your presence, Pequeñita.”
Hastily you nodded, opening the case of your basket and taking out the many offerings you had brought for your divine protector— apples picked from Sir Hawthorne’s garden, a woven beaded necklace made by your mother from your youth, cooked empanadas that you knew were the deity’s favorite, and something that you cherished deeply— the last letter written by your deceased father.
You placed each item in a neat arrangement upon the surface of the altar. “I hope you accept my offerings, ‘O’ great one.” You whispered, your voice carrying a blend of hope and reverence.
Miguel’s eyes lingered upon the sacred surface, taking in your tributes from his throne to settle his gaze upon the cooked meal. “Hmm, empanadas.” He uttered, his voice holding satisfaction at the sight of the delicacies. “You know your deity.” He chuckled, giving you a brief glimpse of his sharp fangs that gave a formidable aura before he turned his gaze back onto you.
“Wonderful choice of offerings, Cariño. I'm deeply pleased.” The great being said, filling you with relief. “As well, I am happy that you have come back to me after all this time.” He said, a comforting smile spreading across his tanned lips that brought a sense of warmth inside.
You placed a hand on your heart, giving your deity a deep bow once more. “I am grateful for your comforting words, mighty deity.” You said, a satisfied grunt leaving your protector’s lips at your appreciation.
“Now, tell me, mortal. How can I assist you?” He asked, his crimson eyes seeming to draw you in as well as his fanged smirk. You gulped, apprehension filling your being at his anticipated question.
You were aware of the reason you sought the great deity, but you didn’t know what other way for your life to be fixed if not for the dreadful request you were about to utter.
“Great deity, I…I need you to…
Get rid of my husband.”
You said in a trembling voice. A deafening silence filled the sanctuary after your shocking request, one that even seemed to surprise the great being.
His thick eyebrows rose on his face, his regal posture faltering upon his seat. “You want me to…get rid of your husband?” He inquired, his powerful voice demanding clarification and certainty, bringing you to nod.
You’ve heard of the great being ridding your village of bad people, of individuals like murderers, thieves, and outlawed criminals who came to seek refuge, but he’d done it of his own free will.
There wasn’t a story where a villager asked for the assistance of the protector to eradicate anyone, so it felt odd and a little scary to be the first.
Miguel hummed, his crimson eyes roaming over your being before returning to your face. “Pequeñita, I cannot lie - your request surprises me.” He said, studying you as he spoke. “Your husband is Alden Hawthorne, is that correct?”
Your eyes widened at your mighty protector’s knowledge of your husband, but you should have known - he watched over the villagers of Nueva Yorkhaven, after all.
“Y-Yes, protector. Alden Hawthorne is my…husband.” You replied, finding it hard to prevent yourself from speaking in disdain at the role the horrible male had in your life. While you spoke you kept your head lowered in a way that still showed respect but attentiveness to your great deity.
Miguel hummed at your agreement, shifting to rest his elbow on the armrest of his stone throne and placing his chin onto the knuckles of his divine hand that was covered with golden bands. The change caused his scarlet robe to ripple with his movement and the light to bounce off his circlet golden laurel leaves that sat upon his head.
“Alden Hawthorne.” He scoffed. “The foreigner who has entered my lands and who hasn’t even come to meet me?” He asked in disdain—it seemed Sir Hawthorne hasn’t made a good impression with your villager’s mighty guardian.
“Great deity, y-you are correct. Sir Hawthorne, i-isn’t from Nueva Yorkhaven. He comes from New England.” You said. “Sir Hawthorne also doesn't know of your divine presence upon our lands.” You explained to him in a shaky voice. A surprising fanged smirk spread across his tanned lips at your explanation. “You do not have to be formal when it comes to him, Pequeñita.
It’s just you and me.”
His words made your heart flutter. At your guardian’s request, you realized what you’ve been saying. Alden and your mother had taught you to always speak of your ‘husband’ in such a way—to always address him formally. It had become such a normal thing for you that despite despising your husband, you still did it.
Even now before your great deity, you were speaking such a foul name.
You bowed your head once more in appreciation. “O-Of course. I-I will not be formal when addressing him, ‘O’ great one.” You said, a little too delighted at the thought of deserting such a name that gave you a sense of freedom from your dreadful husband.
“As well as me.”
The divine being added with a small smile. Your eyebrows furrowed, not believing what your great deity just said. You looked up at him to see his crimson eyes gazing back at you, still holding their sternness but now a hint of tenderness was found.
It felt odd for him to ask you, a mere mortal, to abandon the formal names that were meant to be used to glorify and show his divinity. It was hard to abide by such a surprising request, but for your great protector, you would attempt to.
“I-I will try my best, M-Miguel.” You whispered, his name still holding the same weight when you read it upon the sanctuary entrance.
Miguel smirked proudly, leaning back in his seat and resting both of his hands on the armrests, using his thick finger to trace patterns into the stone of his throne as his scarlet eyes never left you. “Good mortal. Now, this…Alden.” The divine being said, returning back to your request at hand.
“I knew of him to be a problem when he first stepped into the village of Nueva Yorkhaven.” He said with a disapproving head shake. “No good comes from mortals who think of themselves as gods.” He growled, his lips turning up into a scowl. He looked at you once more, his crimson eyes settling on your kneeled being before him. “Tell me, what problems has this mortal caused in my lands?” Miguel inquired, his face hardening.
You wetted your lips, preparing the words that you were to tell to your mighty guardian. “Alden Hawthorne shows little interest in knowing your divine greatness upon our lands.” You began. “He…built a home by taking down the sacred trees of the village, and he uses others to serve him… l-like a deity.” At your words, Miguel’s thick eyebrows narrowed, his crimson eyes seeming to darken. “This mortal is living off the backs of people - My people?”
“Y-Yes, Miguel.” You confirmed causing him to snarl, his eyes wandering the room in rage before settling on you.
He looked to be sensing something, his crimson orbs glowing for a second, while his finger tapped the armrest of his throne in steady, thunderous beats, all the while keeping his intense gaze on you.
It was rather unnerving…
“But that isn’t why you want him gone…Is that right, Y/N?”
His surprising question struck you right in the heart. Every cutthroat word, demand, and task that Alden had given to you came rushing back in an instant.
“Y-You are right. T-The words I previously spoke i-isn’t the reason I want Alden gone.” You sniffled, trying to hold back tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks. Miguel’s eyes softened, his attention drawn to your trembling being. “Speak to me, pequeñita. What has this…foreigner done to you?”
His question only made the harsh memories flood back to you like a tidal wave. You shakingly exhaled, blinking back tears. “Frankly, if I were to recollect every wrongdoing that Alden has ever done to me, I’m afraid, you’ll be here forever, Miguel.” You confessed sadly, just remembering everything Alden had done to you was like an endless web of thorns, each holding a prickling reminder of the pain he has caused; some greater than others.
“Then forever, I shall be.”
Miguel’s deep voice filled your ears, brimming with comfort and warmth that instantly soothed your broken heart. Meeting his eyes, you found his enchanting red orbs holding love. “Tell me, Cariño,” he urged. “I might already know what you will say, but I want to hear it from your beautiful lips—if you may, my dear.” Your heart fluttered at your deity’s compliments and endearing names.
You knew speaking of this would only make you more emotional, but you knew you must.
For your deity you’ll do anything…
Before you spoke, Miguel gave you a small smile. “And if you may, will you come closer? I want to see you before me.” He asked, his request leaving you stunned once again. No one was ever to transverse further than the altar, but at your divine protector’s wishes, you rose to your feet.
Your bodice trailed behind you as you walked up the stone steps of his platform to step directly in front of him. His divinity seemed to radiate from him. One could instantly feel Miguel’s superiority and it made you want to kneel and glorify him.
You kept your eyes on your feet as even when he was sitting, Miguel still towered over you. A small chuckle passed his lips when you felt his divine fingers take hold of your chin, lifting it up to meet his gaze.
“Are you ready to begin, pequeñita?” He inquired, his intense gaze causing your legs to tremble slightly. You wet your lips, nodding slowly. “Y-Yes, Miguel.” You whispered. He gave you a fanged smile and released you to settle his hands on his armrest, giving you a nod to begin. You took a deep breath before starting from the beginning.
“M-My mother married me off t-to Alden two years ago.” You said, trying to hold back the agonizing desire to burst into tears. “I never liked Alden, ever since I casted my eyes upon him for the first time - he was prideful, egotistical, and a womanizer.” You explained.
“O-Our marriage wasn’t consensual from the start and as time passed I felt like I was losing control of everything. M-My mother led my life like it was her own, driving me to seal my dreadful fate with Alden in the spring.” You said in a trembling voice, a tear beginning to stream down your cheek at the recollection.
You couldn’t meet your great deity’s eyes, certain you’ll break down into a fit of tears; so you pressed on without casting him a glance. “A-After the wedding, t-the honeymoon occurred…” You trailed off, that horrific night coming back to you. A shaky exhale passed your lips, the trembling of your body only intensifying.
A large, rough hand was placed on your waist, the tremors instantly coming to a halt. “You do not have to dwell on details if it pains you so.” Miguel voiced calmly, stroking your waist with his mighty thumb.
With a small sniffle, you nodded slowly, deciding to continue, bypassing that painful night. “I-I was forced to live with him afterward, a-and he was hoping that I would bear a child for him.” Your voice quivering as you spoke. Miguel’s face remained unshaken, but the subtle tightening of his fingers against your waist revealed his inner turmoil.
Once you caught your bearings you continued. “I-I couldn’t help but be a little relieved when I discovered that I-I wouldn’t. T-The doctors were trying to be modest when they spoke to us, but we discovered that Alden couldn’t bear himself a child even if tried.” You said.
“H-His body couldn’t will it.”
To your surprise, a small smirk spread across Miguel’s lips at your words. “Ah, you see everything must be balanced, Cariño.” Miguel uttered. “Alden constantly took from the world, in turn, his ability to reproduce was taken from him.” He said so wisely with a voice of might. A greater burst of relief and satisfaction filled your being at your deity’s words.
“I-I’m grateful for that occurrence, Miguel. Very much.” You said very appreciative, recalling the many days and nights you spent stressing and worrying. Miguel caressed your skin through your beige and black bodice, the mere touch making your body burn up. “You are welcome, pequeñita, and you may continue.”
With a nod, you proceeded. “Because of his inability to create, Alden became angry at everyone and everything, but especially me.” You sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “He began to treat me unwell, such as demeaning and speaking vulgarly to me in such a ridiculing manner.” You tried to explain in a stable voice, but failed miserably. Miguel listened intently, his mythical eyes never leaving your being as you spoke.
“Alden Hawthorne made me into his personal servant, and when he saw that wasn’t a harsh enough punishment; h-he made things worse by giving me impossible tasks to complete and dehumanizing me.” Your lips trembling horribly as you recalled the terrible memories. “A-And for two years, I've lived this horrific cycle of degradation a-and harsh labor and…
I just wish to be free…”
You said sadly, allowing your final words to fill the air. When you looked up at your great protector, he was fuming. Miguel’s eyes were darkened and anger could clearly be seen in his facial features despite his attempt to keep a hardened face.
You’ve never seen your deity so furious, even the flames upon the candles and torches inside of the sanctuary seemed to intensify with his growing rage. “He’s really done these things to you, pequeñita?” He inquired through gritted teeth and sadly, you nodded.
He growled, baring his fangs in fury. “So this useless leech believes he can come to my lands, live upon it and use and hurt my people?” Miguel hissed, his hand continuing to caress your waist in a soothing manner despite his palpable rage.
You didn’t know if to be scared or appreciative of his shared disdain for Alden. Your divine protector’s anger was causing the entire room to heat up, the flames of the lights to burn larger with his rising fury. His narrowed crimson eyes moved in thought, his large hand lifting from your waist to settle on the armrest of his stone chair.
Miguel's stern gaze landed on you, a deep exhale passing his tanned lips, causing the raging fire of the torches to settle.
“Allow me to consider your request…”
He said as you hastily lowered to your knees before him, casting your eyes to the ground.
During judgment, the great being would go into a state of complete thought. Like you've read in your youth, during this time, he'll become knowledgeable of the outcomes of his choices and if the human before him is worthy to be graced with their request…
And depending on their request, they could be struck down by Miguel himself in the place they stand…
You chewed your shaky lip, anxiety overwhelming you like an overflowing well. Being the first villager with the request of eradicating a human, it could be seen as murder, a disruption in the land of Nueva Yorkhaven.
Your mind raced of what would occur.
Would Miguel deny you your request, send you back to your life of torment and anguish by Alden, or strike you dead where you stand?
But there could be a possibility he does neither…
That he'll grant your request and you could finally be graced with the peace and freedom that you've yearned for…
However, you didn't want to get your hopes up…
If living by your mother's cruel words and residing with Alden Hawthrone has taught you anything is that hope strikes the heart deeper than any weapon when used carelessly.
And right now, you couldn't be careless to believe you'll reach the light at the end of the dark path.
It'll only wound you even more if you do…
So, with a pounding heart, you awaited your great deity's next words, chewing your bottom lip raw and clenching your bodice so tightly that your knuckles turned white as you waited…
…
..
.
“I've come to a decision, mortal.”
Your heart dropped, harshly gulping. Shakingly, you looked up to meet your deity's piercing crimson eyes, his face completely devoid of emotion. Giving him a curt nod to show your attentiveness, you prepared yourself for the worse—that he would reject your request and even worse, punish you for asking him such a thing.
You were shaking in fear, full of anxiousness of what he decided that your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
“With the request that you've traveled to ask me Y/N, I've come to the decision to…
Complete it…”
Your eyes widened, everything seeming to have come to a stop. You were certain you had stopped breathing. “W-what?” You stammered breathlessly, looking up at Miguel’s stoic face in surprise. “I’ll rid the world of your husband, like you asked.” He said, your heart skipping a beat at his clarification.
But before you can utter your astonished appreciation, his next words made you freeze.
“But, you must do something for me in return.”
With furrowed eyebrows, your shock face turned into full of worry as you gazed up at your deity. You wanted Alden gone, but you were a little concerned at what the price you’ll have to pay to do so;
However, your desire outweighed your fear.
Hastily, you bowed your head once more, pressing your forehead onto the stone tile before his mighty feet. “W-whatever you need, Miguel. I-I’ll satisfy it.��� You declared in a voice full of desperation.
A hum left Miguel’s lips, before he ran his fingers through your hair, the action causing you to look at him. His piercing crimson eyes instantly meeting your poignant ones.
“Don’t agree until you know my terms, Cariño.”
He uttered mysteriously causing a knot of anxiety to build inside of your belly. You nodded slowly, chewing your bottom lip. Miguel leaned back in his seat, his eyes still on your kneeled being before him. “I spoke previously about a balance. You do remember that, right pequeñita?” He inquired, causing you to nod. “Y-Yes, I remember.” You told him, a little worried about how the balance of life was important when it came to your request; it didn’t help that Miguel’s face gave no hints on what he could possibly mean, making you even more nervous.
“I’ve never had one of my people request to take the life of the living. Due to this wish being from a mortal, I must demand something in return.” He explained, tapping his finger against his stone armrest. You wet your lips, looking from his large hands that were decorated with gold rings to up at his mighty tanned face. “And…w-what do you require, Miguel?” You asked, feeling your heart quicken. Your great deity’s eyes narrowed, his face turning completely stern.
“I must keep the balance in Nueva Yorkhaven or chaos would go rampant upon our lands.” He said, keeping his crimson eyes on you. “So if I take a life…
I must replace it…”
Miguel trailed off, his words repeating themselves over and over in your mind, yet you were still puzzled about what he needed in return. “Miguel…I-I do not understand.” You honestly said to your great deity, and Miguel didn’t hesitate to tell you.
“If I am to kill Alden Hawthorne, you must bear me a child to replace the life taken, Y/N.”
His voice seemed to echo and bounce off the walls of your mind, repeating itself for eternity, but you still couldn't believe what your great deity needed from you.
“Y-you want me to bear a child for you? In return for Alden being…gone?” You asked in astonishment. Miguel grunted in agreement, only making you even more baffled.
“But…a-a deity mating with a human is forbidden.” You reminded the great being even though you already knew his knowledge of the ancient laws. Miguel nodded at your words. “Indeed, but when it comes to…circumstances such as this, the laws are allowed to be bent.” He stated, his words causing a wave of heat to fill your being.
“So, Y/N…will you accept my terms in exchange for Alden Hawthorne to be eradicated or leave my sanctuary without my divine assistance?” The great deity inquired, his crimson eyes trained on your kneeled being before him. You could feel his gaze traveling along your body as you pondered your decision.
‘If I agree, Alden will be gone, things can go back to the way they were before his appearance into my life…but I'll have to bear the child of my great protector — and not just any child, a demigod!’ You thought in disbelief, chewing your bottom lip.
‘But if I do not, I'll return back to my dreadful life of sorrow being a mere servant to a man who I'm to call my ‘husband.’’ You pondered, trying to discover which choice would be better.
The thought of returning back to Alden was a nightmare, but you couldn't help the uncertainty that was bubbling inside your stomach like a potion being brewed by the village doctor at the thought of bearing such a mighty being. It felt like a huge responsibility, one that you weren't confident you would be able to handle.
You lowered your head in respect, gripping the fabric of your neutral-colored bodice in your fists. “M-Miguel, I…do not believe I-I’m the right person for this task.” Sincerely you told him in a trembling voice. “I-I want A-Alden gone, but I’m afraid of disappointing you.” Your words of ambiguity reverberating off the walls of the ancient sanctuary before fading into silence.
The feeling of Miguel’s piercing gaze upon you was intense as he grunted in understanding. “I comprehend your reluctance to agree to my terms, but without me, your fate will be jeopardized, my dear.” The divine being said, his deep voice causing you to lift your head and meet his perfectly chiseled facial features once more. His face still held its stoicness, but his eyes, like before, held a look of tenderness that made you warm inside.
Miguel leaned towards you, the scarlet robe shifting slightly to give you a glimpse of his toned pec underneath as he cupped your face in his mighty hand. “With my child, you would grow stronger.” He said, his eyes wandering your face whilst his fingers held your cheek with such gentleness. “This child shall heal all the wounds of your heart and return the joy you’ve lost back into your life, Cariño.” He explained, his expressions full of love and compassion, the most emotion you’ve seen since his appearance.
“This baby is your refuge— your solution if you wish to live in peace and happiness once more, Y/N.” He cajoled, the more he spoke, the more enticing his deal was…
Miguel, of course, was right…
The thought of having a demigod, a mighty being, a child would, indeed, help everything…
Before departing from your dreadful mother, she spoke heavily about you bearing a child—one that she could care for and love.
During that time, you didn’t understand her reasoning, only seeing it as her not loving you anymore and wishing to replace you, but it wasn’t that at all.
Your mother was wishing for something to fill the hole in her heart that was created when her husband, your father, passed away. She yearned for a grandchild that could help her mend her sadness and grief, which her desires blinded her from the pain she was causing you. This revelation changed your view of your mother. Over the years, you’ve grown to despise her when really, she was broken just like you.
Perhaps, like your great protector has said, this child could fix everything. With their mere divine presence, they can restore the good in your life and return it to how it was before…
Your mother, back to her happy and loving self.
Alden Hawthorne gone.
And lastly, peace and joy being restored to your life.
If this child was to impact your life this greatly, you couldn’t help but want to agree to these terms.
It seemed as if it was your last hope.
Your last chance to make things right…
Miguel stroked your cheek with his thumb, drawing you from your thoughts and back to the grand decision beforehand. “So what will it be, Cariño?” The divine being asked, his eyes seemed to glow with hope and reverence, the look rather foreign on the great protector. After thinking it over, you knew your answer, causing you to give him a hesitant nod.
“I-I agree…” You uttered sincerely. “I’ll bear your child and bestow upon it the love that I could only have wished for in my years of being with Alden.” You affirmed, keeping your eyes on the deity and holding the confidence in your voice.
At your declaration, Miguel gave you a warm, fanged smile. “I’m delighted to hear your acceptance of my terms, querida.” He said, caressing your cheek with his mighty fingers before pulling away.
"But may I confess something in return?"
He inquired, returning to his regal posture with his arms positioning themselves upon the stoned rests of his throne. You were intrigued, yet worried about what his confession could be.
Was it about the child?
Your fate?
What secrets could possibly be shared from a divine being to a mere mortal?
It was a troubling thought...
Giving him your approval with a nod, you shifted on your knees into a comfortable position, awaiting the deity’s confession.
Miguel smiled, keeping his crimson eyes on you. "I’m known as a being of protection, a divinity that is to guard the people of Nueva Yorkhaven, but that is my only role— it’s what I was created to do." His deep voice echoed off the walls of the sanctuary and blended well with the flickering of candles and torches inside; but to your surprise, the deity’s usual stern expression suddenly saddened.
"But recently I’ve grown to want more…"
He uttered, silence following his words. You were stunned at his confession, never wondering from the great protector’s perspective that possibly he could desire something other than being a guardian.
You felt sympathy for him…
"What is it that you want?" You asked with a compassionate voice, one that seemed to be new to the great being. His thick eyebrows furrowed and his posture faltered. Miguel tilted his head at you, confusion found in his usually stoic facial features. "I’ve…never had someone ask me such a thing." Miguel admitted, a soft and uncertain chuckle passing his lips. The mere question of his desires seemed to cause him to be unsettled.
"M-My apologies." You began. "It’s just…humans always come to you with requests and desires, and you consult them each and every time." The words being pulled from your being as your mouth continued to move. "Yes, we bring you offerings and tributes to thank you, but what is it that you truly want, Miguel? What is it that you seek but believe it’s too far away that even you cannot seem to grasp?" You sincerely asked.
Miguel’s crimson eyes widened, his defined Adam's apple moving with a hesitant gulp "What I desire sounds rather silly, but it’s a mortal want, something as a deity I find to be impossible to obtain." He said with a small laugh, the riddle troubling you. Miguel smirked, taking in your confused expression.
"I desire love, little one."
Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. You weren’t expecting that to be what he wanted from the world. Like he had stated, it sounded like a human desire rather than from a great being that has lived upon the world for many, many years.
Miguel took in your face as he shook his head, a snicker passing his tanned lips. "I know, a silly desire from a great being as myself, but I want to love like you, humans." He said once more, his expression turning into one of deep thought.
"I do not mean love as in worship, but intimacy and connection…I want to experience what it is that causes mortals, such as your mother, to not be able to live on without the presence of their loved one." Miguel said, looking off whilst he spoke.
"I want to feel the beating of the heart and the flutter of the stomach that you humans write of in stories and tales. I desire a love that drives and strengthens me; one that courses through my being and is the reason I breathe." He admitted so vividly that it could be seen as he turned his red orbs back to you. His eyes seemed to slightly glow a bright red hue.
"But that isn’t what I wish to confess to you, Cariño."
You were even more surprised than you were before at his words. "W-What is it that you'll l-like to share, Miguel?" You muttered with a voice stained with anxiousness. You were nervous to ask what he really wished to reveal that was even more shocking than what he stated before.
Miguel’s entire face hardened, his stern eyes trailing along your being, taking in every part of you—the aged bodice that framed your figure perfectly, the dark circles under your beautiful eyes, and the failed effort of taming the unkempt hair upon your head.
Even in this state, something was happening and it troubled the great being immensely.
"You’ve…done something to me."
He simply stated, causing your breath to become stuck in your throat. "W-what?" You asked in confusion and fear, not understanding what he could mean. "You’ve done something to me, human." He repeated, his piercing gaze never faltering from your kneeled being.
Your eyebrows furrowed in perplexity, his statement leaving you completely bewildered. Despite how troubled you were by his words, you kept silent, looking down at your lap as Miguel's thunderous voice filled the sanctuary once more.
"When you arrived and called out to me in tears, I couldn’t stop myself from appearing before you," he stated. "When you told me your request of wanting your husband gone and your reasoning, it made my heart behave…oddly, especially when you did what no human has ever done and asked me what I desired." He tried to explain; however, his gravelly voice was laced with rigor and disarray.
Your heart dropped at his explanation of these "odd" feelings he was experiencing.
‘He’s not feeling what I think he’s feeling, is he?”
You pondered, biting your lip and rising slowly to your feet. “M-Miguel, I do not wish to speak out of turn or assume incorrectly, but is it perhaps that you are experiencing what you desire…?
Love?”
As if a lantern was sparked inside of a dark forest, Miguel’s eyes widened. “It…It’s possible.” He replied in a suspicious voice while his gaze roamed along your figure once more before settling on your face. “To be honest, I’ve found you captivating since I first saw you in my sanctuary, Y/N.” He confessed with a small smile. “But it did sadden me to hear the debacles in your life.
I would’ve eradicated Alden sooner to prevent them.”
His tone was completely cold and serious as he looked at you, but your heart fluttered at his natural protectiveness, something you wished you had alongside you in the years of being Alden’s wife-servant. “But…with your help, we can fix them now.” You whispered, remembering the terms of your agreement with the great being that brought a smile to his lips.
“Indeed…” He replied in a tone that he, perhaps, didn’t mean to sound erotic but made your cheeks burn nonetheless. You gulped, trying to regain your composure. “And…how would this be done?” You inquired, believing it to be a divine touch of his hands upon your belly would magically create a baby into your womb.
But this was far from a fairy tale…
“To seal our terms, we must perform it in connection to one another.” He explained.
“As one.”
You suddenly felt like fainting. The thought of experiencing that, with the great protector, shocked you more than anything you’ve heard in your time in the sanctuary.
Completely stunned, you could only look at him with an agape mouth and widened eyes. Miguel laughed. “Don’t be so surprised, human.” He chuckled, suddenly taking your hand and pulling you onto his lap.
With a gasp, you found yourself upon his thick thighs, your legs resting upon the taut muscles. Your cheeks reddened as instantly you were aware of how close the two of you were—the divine silk of his scarlet robe and your bodice being the only obstacles between the two of you.
You gulped, the action not helping your rapidly beating heart like you hoped. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Miguel cupped your cheek in his large hand, caressing your skin with his thumb as his crimson eyes roamed along your face.
“I know your first time was…painful,” He said sympathetically, continuing to stroke your cheek soothingly.
“But I’ll be sure to replace that memory to be something truly wonderful.”
He promised, his other hand moving along your side, feeling your body through your bodice. A shaky exhale passed your lips, eyes fluttering at the sudden intensity of sensations that were coursing through your being. You believed that due to his divinity, it was causing everything to be more heightened, every touch seeming to linger and burn into the surface of your skin despite fabric blocking his bare touch.
You couldn’t help but nod in approval, craving his divine touch. Miguel smiled, drifting his hands down to run along your legs, disappearing under your bodice to bring your housekeeper dress up and over your head. He dropped the neutral colored bodice on the ground beside his throne, revealing the white chemise that covered your bare body underneath.
He sucked in a breath at the sight, caressing your thighs and rear. “So beautiful, little one.” He purred, placing a hand to the back of your head and pulling you in for a kiss. You instantly gasped as he kissed you passionately, massaging your chewed lips with his tongue before entering your mouth to taste you.
You’ve never experienced intimacy in this manner, allowing him to take the lead and bashfully returning the kiss. Miguel’s arms wrapped around your body, pulling you flush against him whilst he continued to kiss you. Every part of his being wasn't left unnoticed.
It was impossible.
It was hard to ignore how his pecs pressed into your peaked chest through both of your clothing, his burly arms and muscles that held you snug against him, and his thick thighs that flexed underneath your legs; even the intensity of his body heat was causing your core to throb in desire, a feeling you’ve never felt before. Everything about your deity was slowly blinding you, like a heavy fog was briskly clouding your mind with the only light source being him.
You wanted him, needed him to be able to see clearly again, and Miguel, like always, was there to cure your debacle.
He pulled away from your lips, the lingering buzz and taste of him still on your tongue and mouth. “Are you ready?” He asked, caressing your bare thighs soothingly, his suggestive question causing a pit of uncertainty and fear to fill your being. The memory of your dreadful honeymoon with Alden rushed to the surface along with the excruciating pain, sorrow, and the suffocating feeling of helplessness that followed.
Miguel instantly saw the fear that grew upon your face, bringing him to take your chin in his powerful fingers, his eye contact with you, unshakeable. “What occurred with Alden will never happen again,” he sternly said, his crimson eyes roaming your face, taking in every expression.
“If you are worried, the pain will not exist with me; your body will be too consumed with…other feelings that it will not allow it.” Miguel reassured, stroking your cheek. “And if, by chance, the pain does occur, don’t hesitate to speak—to tell me to cease, and I will. Do you understand me, querida?” The great protector inquired.
With trembling lips, you couldn’t help but nod, wholeheartedly believing his words of assurance. In Miguel’s arms, you’ve never felt safer, and you trusted that he would make this intimate experience with you enjoyable.
The deity gave you a smile, reaching down to undo his robe and drawing back the scarlet fabric to reveal his perfectly defined olive pecs, abs, stomach, and thighs; but what instantly got your attention was the enormity that sprung up from the red fabric to rest against your belly.
In all of your life, you’ve only seen the male’s intimate part once, and it was with Alden; but his was nothing compared to the great being’s.
Miguel’s tanned member was large and thick with a bulging vein and an angry mahogany tip. It pointed up to the ceiling, perfectly erect and hard. The sight intimidated and aroused you as you looked up at Miguel with stunned eyes. Miguel chuckled at your astonished expression, running his fingers through your hair. “We will take it slow,” he said, consoling you once more.
You bit your lip, looking back down at the size of his length, trying to imagine how it’ll possibly fit.
It seemed incredulous.
Your eyes snapped up at Miguel at the feeling of his hand beginning to draw your white chemise up, revealing your bare rear underneath. A heavy blush spread across your cheeks at being exposed in front of your mighty protector, drawing a laugh to rumble from his chest at your flustered state.
His crimson eyes looked down at your exposed crotch and up at you. “Do you mind if I touch it?” He asked, his tone sweet and not wanting to overstep. “I just need to see if you are…
Ready.”
Miguel explained, but you didn’t understand what he meant. Your mother had never gone into thorough detail when it came to intimacy, only stating this was how babies were born and what occurred, other than that, you were lost.
Nevertheless, you placed your trust into your mighty protector, giving him a nod. You assisted him by lifting your chemise to your stomach, allowing him more access to your sensitive area whilst you nervously awaited for his touch.
Miguel looked pleased at your approval, moving his ringed fingers between your thighs to run the pads of them along your folds. You sucked in a breath, eyes instantly becoming hazy at his divine touch. Miguel clicked his tongue at your lack of saturation before pulling away. He looked up at you, meeting your flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes. “You aren’t…wet enough.” He stated, causing your eyebrows to furrow as he continued. “We’ll have to get there before we begin.”
Despite your perplexity, you followed his every word absentmindedly. Miguel placed his hands on your waist and slightly lifted you upon the girth of his cock. He groaned softly, his length laying against his stomach while your folds rested on the base of it. You moaned softly at the feeling of his warmth and hardness in between your folds.
Miguel looked up at you, a fanged smirk on his lips as he rocked you against him. The most unlady-like sounds began to be pulled from your throat at the sudden bursts of pleasure; his cock sliding between your folds and pressing into your sensitive bud with each push and pull of your hips upon him.
The great being grunted and groaned, his crimson eyes looking between the grinding of your pussy along his cock and up at you. “How does it feel?” He inquired, but you were unable to speak.
The pleasure was so intense and foreign, a tingling sensation seeming to sprout from your core and throughout your body. With clouded ears and dazed eyes, you noticed the divine being snicker softly, satisfied that you were enjoying it.
He gripped your hips tightly with his large hands, grinding your body along his cock with much force and speed causing your heavy gasps to change to loud moans in an instant. A wetness began to spill from your core, coating your thighs and his cock with each nudge of his base and tip into your swollen bud.
In all of your life, you’ve never felt this blissful. Naturally, you overheard the many housekeepers at Alden’s mansion speak of this type of intimacy with their husbands and lovers—of euphoric feelings that were so addicting, one could become entranced by the activity.
At the time, you couldn’t understand…
Your time with Alden Hawthorne was anything but enjoyable and euphoric as the ladies spoke of, but now…
You understood what they meant…
Everything about this moment was what they described—euphoric, blissful, and most of all, addicting.
Your hands landed upon his broad shoulders, a heat pooling at your stomach as you took control, sliding your hips forward and pressing your core along his base with each grind. Miguel’s large hand held your lower back to steady you, but his attempt in holding in his groans was intensifying the feeling.
“Just like that, pequeñita.” Miguel moaned softly, meeting your dazed gaze. “You know how to please me.” He chuckled between his heavy breathing, the praise only making your stomach tighten like the thread of a spinning wheel about to snap.
“M-Miguel…” His name fell from your lips in a whine as your thighs began to tremble and still. You were feeling like you were about to burst with each ongoing friction upon your sensitive bud.
“I can’t…Something’s c-coming.” You whimpered, gripping his shoulders tightly, blunt nails piercing the skin, but it didn’t seem to bother the divine being. At your words, you felt Miguel’s massive length twitch against your core, and a soft groan to escape his lips. “Can you hold it for me, pequeñita?” He inquired in a stable voice, despite being so aroused. The tension in your belly only heightened at his request, however, you bit your lip, nodding.
Miguel grinned at your willingness and obedience, soon effortlessly lifting your body and standing from his throne. You gasped at his suddenness, his large hands holding your bare thighs and pressing you closely to his muscular body. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your white chemise fell down your body to cover his large hands that rested upon your legs.
When you met the great being’s face, the look he held was different and very unexpected. His crimson eyes were brimming with love and affection, but something that you’ve only hoped your true lover would cast upon you. The sight made your heart skip a beat and your stomach flutter.
The thought of a great being such as him feeling this way towards you, despite all that you’ve been through, made you feel profoundly grateful and touched. Everything about him felt heavenly, like this moment was the world apologizing for what it had put you through, and you couldn’t have been more thankful…
He walked to the side of his throne, lowering you to the floor without breaking eye contact with you. Your white chemise covered your figure once more, whilst Miguel’s hands were placed upon your waist to turn you around. You followed along with his wishes, giving him full control. He gently laid you across the armrest of his stone throne and pulled your chemise up to rest on your hips once more, revealing your bare bottom.
You bit your lip in anticipation, feeling a wetness sliding down your thighs at the longing for the addicting pleasure he could bestow upon you. A contented groan left the lips of your protector at the sight of your rear, his massive, ringed hands moving to roam the soft skin of your bottom. You moaned softly, the need to release was still evident in your belly, but only intensified with every divine touch of his hands upon your body.
You suddenly became aware of how massive and close the deity of protection was. His body heat was like a furnace on a cold winter night, his mere presence being able to warm you in an instant. His toned pecs and abs were palpable against your back through your chemise as he leaned over your body. The great protector’s hard cock poked against the back of your thigh causing your wet core to drip along your legs. Miguel’s lips grazed along your ear, the feeling sending a wave of heat to sprout through your body.
“Are you ready for me, Querida?”
He asked, seeking clarification in case of you regretting your decision; but you could sense he hoped you didn’t.
The many fearful and anxious thoughts overwhelmed your senses once more, but his sweet kisses along your ear and cheek were causing them to fade. “Y-Yes.” You replied hesitantly, still nervous about performing such intimacy that always terrified you after Alden.
Miguel was relieved but still sensed your hesitance. His large hand caressed your stomach through your white chemise and continued his soothing kisses in hopes of calming you. “Trust me.” He whispered into your ear. “I promise, it would not feel how it was with Alden. It’ll be better.
I’ll make sure of it…”
You always found the traits of the great beings fascinating, one of them being their inability to deceive. The deities could only speak the truth which only made you believe his words even more.
“O-Okay.” You replied, taking the hem of your chemise in your hands to cope with your anxiousness but to also grant him better access. The sight only made Miguel smile, thankful that his words were able to settle your troubled thoughts. He pressed a final kiss to your cheek before pulling away.
Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest as you felt him slide his tip along your soppy folds, the squelching filling the room. “Take a deep breath for me,” Miguel told you, stroking your hips.
You took a deep breath, inhaling deeply, and upon exhaling, he pushed his length inside. A loud moan erupted from your throat, fingers gripping the chair at the intensity of your stretched core.
“G-Goodness, you are…so tight.” Miguel groaned into your ear, his grip tightening on your waist. His enormity filled you up completely, and to your surprise, you didn’t feel pain as you thought, only pleasure that only heightened when he bottomed out. He groaned, kissing along your neck. “How do you feel?” He asked, his voice full of lust and desire, his hips stilled to allow you to adjust to his massive length.
You could only frantically nod, your stuffed core quivering in delight at how wonderful the sensations felt. Miguel smirked, pulling out to the tip before slamming back in, causing you to release a choked moan. It was as if an avalanche of pleasure crashed into you and overwhelmed your every sense with the suffocating emotion. At your wonderous response, the great deity began to slowly thrust into you, dragging his massive length into you and sliding out.
In all of your life, you’ve never felt something so good and addicting. Your unkempt hair spilled over his throne whilst the most unladylike sounds were pulled from your lips with every smack of his hips against your rear. “Such pretty sounds you are making for me, Cariño.” Miguel cooed behind you, wrapping an arm around your stomach to hold you close.
The great protector kissed along your neck, nipping softly and grazing his fangs along the skin. It wasn’t long before the tension in your stomach returned. You whimpered and moaned, the improper sounds of skin and squelching bouncing off the walls of his sanctuary as the divine being took you to your blissful end.
“M-Miguel, I- something’s coming.” You whined through body tremors and the clenching of your walls. “You may let go, querida. Give it to me.” Miguel moaned breathlessly into your ear, aiming his rhythmic thrusts to attack your sensitive spot over and over.
Unable to hold it any longer, with a loud cry, you released the pent-up pleasure that was building in your stomach. Your eyes rolled, body shaking horribly in Miguel’s arms. Suddenly a rush of euphoria overcame you, making you weightless, like a feather being drifted off into the wind.
Miguel’s hips never ceased their movement, rutting into you as his grunts louden against your ear. "Are you ready to be mine, querida? To bear our child?" He asked, his pace quickening.
The blood rushing to your ears and the pounding of your own heart made his words faint, but nevertheless, you heard him. Frantically you nodded. "Y-Yes. I'm...ready." You told him through breathless gasps and the slapping of his hips against your rear.
At your final approval, a guttural groan escaped his lips as he burrowed his length deep inside you and released his warm, hot essence into your womb. You could feel his thighs tensing up against your legs and his toned chest heaving on your back whilst he filled you; granting you a child and fulfilling the terms...
The sanctuary was now laden with both of your heavy pants and the small flickering of fire upon the torches and candles. A comfortable silence fell upon the two of you as Miguel slowly pulled out, leaving you empty and longing for him once more.
The great being kept you in his arms, seeming to not be able to let you go…
Not like you wanted him to anyway.
It felt like forever since you were loved, and in Miguel’s arms was where you were cherished.
But like all good things, they must come to an end…
“Your request will be completed, Y/N,” Miguel promised against your backside, caressing your stomach through your white chemise. In your moment of pure bliss, you’ve forgotten the reasoning behind the shared passion between the great being and yourself.
His words brought you back to the harsh reality that you’ll have to eventually leave him…
He pulled away, fixing the scarlet robe upon his mighty, chiseled body whilst you also got dressed, drawing down your chemise and adorning your neutral-colored bodice once more. When you were finished, you turned to look at Miguel to see he was already staring back at you, his crimson eyes holding adoration in them.
He walked up to you, his divine body towering over your form. “Y/N…” He said your name upon his mighty tongue, making your heart flutter. You looked up at him, trying to calm the desire to avert your eyes due to how intense his gaze was. “Y-Yes?” The inquiry leaves your lips in a timid voice. Miguel gave you a small smile, cupping your face in his large hand and stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I need you to promise me something.” The great being uttered, his words greatly intriguing you. “W-what is it?” You asked, willing to do anything for him.
The divine being’s eyes roamed over your face, taking in your every facial feature. “In all of my years that I’ve traversed this world, I’ve never experienced something like this.” He confessed, tracing his fingers along your jaw. “You’ve done something that no human has ever done, Cariño.” He whispered, leaning closer to you, so close that his breath fanned against your lips.
“You’ve fulfilled the wish of a deity and have set my heart ablaze.”
You sharply inhaled, staring at the great being with widened eyes. You wanted to believe that his words were false, that the great protector of Nueva Yorkhaven had mistaken his feelings of love for you as something else; but the truth of the most alluring trait about the deities continuously filled your head.
He couldn’t lie.
He was created unable to…
His words of adoration and affection were all real. The great being loved you out of all mortals and that thought only made you even more confounded.
You wet your lips, meeting the red-eyed protector, and taking in everything about him: his morals, values, greatness, natural will to protect his people, and even his physical appearance with his perfectly sculpted body, chiseled face, dark wavy hair, and beautiful, scarlet eyes.
In all your life, you’ve never fallen deeply in love, you were never given the chance to—being forced into marriage with Alden severed your ability to find love for yourself, however, after all this time, you believed you’ve succeeded.
You’ve fallen in love with your divine protector...
“I…love you too.” You said, the words leaving your mouth before you could even think about it. Miguel’s thick eyebrows rose briefly in shock to soon settle once more. He hastily pulled you into a kiss, his plush lips interlocking with your own in a passionate entanglement that seemed to go on forever.
When he finally pulled away, he kept you snug against him, his arms protectively wrapped around your body. “I want you to promise me you’ll never love another—that your heart will always burn for me as mine does for you,” he uttered, his deep voice filling the small space between you and adding to the tender moment even more.
Unbeknownst to him, his promise was an easy one...
In the pit of your stomach, you knew from this moment onward, things would never be the same, and you were content with that.
When you first pressed your lips against the great protector’s, it was as if you were being reborn, your wretched life leaving you as a new one welcomed you.
Once you leave this sanctuary, Alden Hawthorne would be like a terrible nightmare that never occurred. Your mother and yourself could mend the relationship between the two of you, and you would always have a piece of Miguel with you even if he wasn’t there physically, holding you in his mighty arms.
And you were satisfied with that…
Like the sun emerging to dispel away the shadows from a long, dark night and bring light across the lands, goodness was being revived into your life all because of the might of Nueva Yorkhaven’s great protector—Miguel O'Hara.
Looking up at Miguel with glossy eyes, you smiled at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a loving embrace.
“I promise.
I’ll love you till my last breath.”
A/N: Thanks so much for reading my oneshot! Shoutout to the wonderful anon who gave me the request, there is still more to come for you, but I hope you enjoyed it!
Make sure to like, comment, reblog and follow! If you would like to add a request to the kink series or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask! ❤️
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(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)
#miguel o'hara#spider man 2099#across the spiderverse#the blue panther#miguel ohara#miguel#miguel spiderman#miguel spiderverse#miguel smut#miguel x fem!reader#miguel o hara#atsv miguel#miguel atsv#astv miguel#miguel 2099#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara fanfiction#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara x you#miguel x y/n#miguel x you#miguel x reader#spiderman 2099
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A New Dawn (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)
descriptions of injuries, descriptions of violence, tentacle murder, tentacle affection, yeah that's a thing, shared shower, wesker lives au | Fic Directory
You found him by sheer luck.
That rock he’d crawled onto could’ve simply crumbled. The volatile lava could’ve risen higher and submerged him completely. Despite the odds being stacked so incredibly high against any hope of recovering Wesker, you managed to pull his legs from the impossibly hot liquid with the help of a small rescue team and loaded his charred body into a helicopter for what was arguably the worst moment of your life.
All you can do is stare at what he’s become– at the autonomous slithering of tentacles that, by some miracle, contained themselves to their host and did not spread to your shaking hands. His lower body is marred entirely with burns and blisters so severe that you’re unsure if taking him out of there was even humane. If, perhaps, letting him be swallowed by the earth would’ve been kinder than putting him through whatever is to come next.
Once he’s placed in a containment room, you call in every favor you’ve ever known him to be owed. But it’s all for nothing.
The first attempt to prick his skin with an IV catheter results in bloodshed. The entire team of medics stood stock still as the head doctor was impaled and dangled overhead by a mass of black, oozing tentacles emerging from Wesker’s body. It happened so fast that you only realized it once the blood hit the observation glass.
Such would be the result of any attempts to address his injuries. Not even a blanket was able to be laid over his bare form without retaliation. It was like the mass of tendrils had a mind of their own, geared only toward protecting their host– though it raises the question of why the initial recovery of his body hadn’t produced the same response. Regardless, you wager they’re the only reason that Wesker is still alive.
For that, you’re thankful.
You talk to him through the intercom regularly. You tell him about the BSAA’s seizure of Tricell and its assets, of how you’ve turned one of his hidden facilities into something livable for when he wakes. That you’ll be there when he does, and how excited you are for the day. That you hope he can hear you but feel none of the pain.
You pray he doesn’t.
At the end of the first week, you come to the realization that the tendrils are slowly engulfing his body. Every day, more seem to appear until his legs are cocooned.
You take notes and photos of everything as best as you can, just as you know he’d want you to. After all, this is his creation in action. The seed for his perfect world that was now seemingly consuming yours whole.
By the fourth week, they’ve risen as high as his clavicle.
By the fifth, you feel as if you’re losing your sanity. Alone in a massive underground facility, having not seen the sun for weeks on end, eating only MREs and having what little sleep you get plagued by stress and worst case scenario nightmares…
You crack.
“I don’t know how to make it better, Al…” You whisper brokenly, forehead pressed to the glass. “I can’t– I don’t know how to help you.”
Any assistance you could have possibly had turned their backs the moment the danger far outweighed the payment– which had been the case from the very start. Though you can’t find it in yourself to fault them. If it wasn’t for the fact your heart was lying on that table, you’d have probably followed. The threat of death can be very convincing.
When the tendrils creep onto his face, you break containment. And why not? Why shouldn’t you go in? You helped make this mess. You helped create the organism consuming him. For years, you worked alongside him to perfect the cure to humanity’s wretches– to cull the species destroying this planet and dragging the rest down.
Perhaps you deserved the same fate for sharing in his endeavors– for even having goals so similar and selfish. But was it really? Was it so selfish to want better for humanity?
You drag your swivel chair behind you as you tread over dried blood smears and dehydrated viscera.
“You always did like making me do things the hard way,” you jest as you approach him. But you’re not in there to take notes or vitals.
You set foot inside to relieve your madness.
Your hand quakes as it hovers above his forehead. You’re unsure if you should even touch him due to the blistering and ripplings of infection marring his skin. The burns have healed a tad since bringing him in, but not nearly as much as they should’ve. Then again, it’s been weeks since he’s had a dose of suppressant to keep his strength balanced.
You lower the back of your hand toward his nose, relieved to feel the faintest tickling of air.
“Thank god,” you whisper tightly. “I really miss you...”
Which was the honest truth. You miss your mundane nights with him, sitting near as you both worked independently. Stacks of paper, the clicking of keyboards, endless hours in the laboratories spent refining mere dreams into reality. You miss his cold affections and strange ways of expressing that he, too, had been infected with that parasite known as love.
You let your hand rest shakily over a section of his hair that hadn’t been burnt down to the scalp. You hold your breath and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
You are not added to the stains of violence on the walls, nor are you impaled in the blink of an eye.
But you are greeted with a much thinner tendril creeping up over his brow and forehead to inspect you. It nudges your thumb and your whole body goes tense, veins chilling as if your blood had turned to ice. It slithers over the bumps of your knuckles, leaving a thin layer of ooze over every inch of skin it touches as it trails to wrap around your wrist. For a brief second, you’re petrified of it taking hold of you like that. Would it try to bind with you? What if it did to you what it had done to your precious Albert? What if it rejected you?
And if it did, how would you continue to try to help him?
But it doesn’t. It does nothing of the sort, just simply continues snaking up the length of your arm. The tip rests atop your shoulder in a strangely… docile manner. You cease petting Wesker’s hair for but a moment to calm yourself, and then you feel it do something odd.
The head of the tendril lifts itself and plops back down on your shoulder, stroking backward little more than an inch before repeating the process. You watch with wide eyes, both fascinated and terrified.
It’s mimicking you.
You pet Wesker’s hair once more and it ceases its movements.
You stop; it begins again.
Was Uroboros itself doing such an act? Could it?
A flicker of hope flashes in your mind and tears prick at your eyes. It’s so fucking unlikely– nearly impossible even. And yet–
“Is that you?” You ask softly, inching just a little closer to him. You can see the way his eyes dart around beneath his eyelids– an entirely new development. Was he dreaming?
The tendril wraps the slightest bit tighter around your arm.
“Can you hear me?”
The head of it lifts and falls against you once more.
It couldn’t be… but, at the same time, it had to be. The tears you’ve fought against so hard fall and you grin from ear to ear. All of that fear fades away, the desperation, the depression and hopelessness– it’s all gone.
You lean forward and press a kiss to his brow, suppressing your silent cries as you revel in the joy that your love is still in there. This is no mere corpse kept alive by the resilience of a virus. The tendril wraps tighter the second your lips brush his skin, and you know in your heart that it’s how he’s able to reciprocate.
“We're going to figure this out,” you promise him. “I love you.”
Two weeks pass before his flesh starts to peek from between those slithering lengths. You’d almost lost hope again.
It’s his lower body that starts to emerge first, bit by bit, starting from the feet up. Flesh that was once marred an angry red, blistered and scorched beyond recognition, was now a scarred pink. Amazingly, some patches seemed to have healed flawlessly, as if he’d never submerged in the fires of the earth to begin with.
Notes and photos. Tests where possible. Anything you could do to make sure Albert had every scrap of information possible about his otherworldly creation.
Uroboros works.
Not only that, but it can bring its host back from the brink of death– if not perform a complete resurrection.
Day by day, more of him is revealed until the pink line at his waist shows you just how deep he’d been submerged. There are splatter patterns elsewhere, you notice. Tiny specks of scarring from where lava had touched him long enough to burn through the dermal layers.
You decide to finally attempt to cover his body again. A simple blanket, but hopefully one that’s warmth would not go unappreciated in the chill of the sterile room.
When his hands are freed, you hold and press countless kisses to them. You rest your cheek in his palm, telling him about your findings– that he’s almost healed and that you’re so goddamn excited.
“Uroboros is a success, my love. You’re proof of it.”
The most fascinating of all, though, is the amber-like formation embedded in his chest. From what you can tell, it is from this that the tentacles on his body are emerging.
You dare not touch it. Not yet, anyway.
Six days later, you find yourself kicking around in the barren kitchen of the complex. There’s nothing but crumbs, and you’re miserable. You haven’t left since arriving, and these compounds of his were never meant to be more than a brief hideaway.
You drag your feet as you make your way back to the bedroom. Seems there’s little more to do than throw yourself in the shower to start your day, so you do exactly that. Though not with any degree of enthusiasm. Instead you sit on the ground and hug your knees, eyes shut as you ignore the complaints of your stomach.
You’ll have to find transportation to and from the nearest town– if there even was one. It’d be lucky if you spoke the language or could even find the currency, but you’ll figure it out. You have no choice.
In the absence of your awareness, coupled with the white noise of the shower, you fail to hear the door creak open. Not even the disoriented shuffling against the tile floor rouses you.
Suddenly, the shower curtain is ripped open, and you startle– damn near knocking your head off the floor as you slip around like a fool. But you clamber to your knees in an instant, arms flinging around the intruder who had fallen to your level.
You can’t help but weep.
“Al?! Oh my god!” you exclaim through the tightness of your throat. Your hand strokes at the nape of his neck. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry.”
You should’ve been there when he woke up. You should’ve fucking been there.
He shouldn’t have had to find you.
You move back and cup his face in your hands, pressing a smiling kiss to his lips despite the torrent of emotion rocking you to your core. You pull away and find that he looks exhausted. Completely and utterly drained. His eyes are hooded, but the blue irises peeking out from under his lashes confirm that he is, in fact, exactly that. The formerly bright formation on his chest is dimmed nearly black. All of his energy had gone into merely surviving. Your poor, sweet love looked death in the eye for a second time and emerged victorious.
You help him get under the stream of water where you sit and hold him close. You’ve never seen him like this before. Vulnerable was an understatement.
He’s quieter than ever, staring straight ahead at the wall. Shame, you surmise. Humiliation. He was defeated again– maybe even flat out killed. His pride has always been its own Tower of Babel, built high enough to reach heaven and godhood. But now it was truly shattered. Crumbled to bits and buried in the sands of his failure.
There are no words to say. Not yet, anyway. He’s already heard them all. Instead, there is shampoo to massage into his scalp and soap to trail over his body. You may not be able to fix his pain, but you can wash away the remnants of volcanic ash and ooze tarnishing him. The burden of grime is at least gone by the time the water runs cold.
You dry him with a towel, taking note of how his hands shake and how he balls them into fists to hide it. You wonder if he still hurts, but you know he’d never admit to it even if he was truly in pain. Even wincing was out of the question, so you pretend not to hear it when he does. You pretend like he doesn’t lean on you for support as you walk him to the bed, like he doesn’t need your help to lift his legs high enough to settle in.
He lets you hold him while he sleeps, something so out of the ordinary it leaves you blinking in confusion the second his head lays upon your chest. Nevertheless, you do it anyway. You pet through his hair, even occasionally running your fingertips over the healed sections of his scalp. Normally he would stir if you so much as shifted, but he doesn’t even groan in his slumber.
You hold him as though he's made of ceramic, basking in the tenderness of hope until your own eyelids grow heavy. The world can wait. Rebuilding can wait. Hell, even revenge can wait. All that matters is this– is him. Your precious Albert, safe and very much alive in your arms, is more than you could ever ask for.
For the first time in weeks, your eyes flutter shut without fear of tomorrow.
#albert wesker#albert wesker x reader#albert wesker fanfiction#albert wesker x you#wesker#wesker x reader#wesker x you#resident evil#dead by daylight#dbd#resident evil wesker
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new religion part 2
Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Description: AU- Things have gone too far between you and Astarion and he's not sure he'd ever be able to give you what you truly want.
Rating: M (18+ minors DNI)
Word count: 1,804
Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav
━─━────༺༻────━─━
Luxurious fur blessed your fingertips, stroking absently at the feline across your lap. You hummed a sweet tune as you continued your project. Astarion had the finest oil paints in Faerûn imported to nourish your new hobby. Looking at the canvas, well, it was very much a mess of colors. So much so that he would not have been able to make out what the picture was intended to be if he had not known. He would praise you all the same regardless. As a token of thanks, you had requested he sit for you in the garden while you paint him.
“You will be the first to have an original Tav piece. You can show it off when I’m a famous painter.” You joked as he assisted with setting up the easel.
The kitten that purred against your touch was also a gift. One comment was made about how you had always wanted a cat but never had the room for one; it was just another opportunity to shower you with all of the gifts you had so deserved. The joy on your face when he presented you with the tiny feline made his heart swoon. Astarion would admit he had yet to think that offering through, though. When you were not present, which was most of the time, he had to care for the wretched little thing. His feigned attitude towards the kitten, which you had so ominously named Georgie, was a facade. He had grown to find comfort in the furball curling up to him in bed in your absence. He even caught himself cooing to the blasted little creature on occasion.
Astarion sat in the wrought iron chair across from you, a forgotten book propped open on his forearm as he admired the tenacity on your face, tongue jutting ever-so-slightly from between succulent lips as you struggled to work with the paints. How could you be so blissfully oblivious to the beauty you are? He wondered, his head resting in the palm of his unoccupied hand. He had a burning fire in his chest, demanding he show you not only your beauty but that you deserved much more than the small cottage you shared with seven other occupants. Your rightful position was right next to him in his palace. You deserved to have everybody else waiting at your beck and call, not the other way around. You insisted you could not leave your family, nevertheless.
-
“Stay here with me. I promise I’ll make it worth your while, my pet.” The two of you lay bare, entangled in silk sheets and each other’s arms. Astarion stroked the delicate pink skin of your cheek with the careful tips of his fingers, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. His words caused you to let out an amused giggle at his bequest. His eyebrows knitted together, and a slight frown played at the edges of his lips. He was serious.
Your smile dropped, and an apologetic look graced your features. “Oh, Astarion.” You sighed wistfully. “I just can’t. Not right now. Papa’s not doing well; I can’t just abandon him. Lillian needs a lot of guidance at this time, and with Alan having just moved into his own home now that he’s married, there’s no one to take care of our younger sisters.” You sputtered out. Astarion noted the stress that marred your face and decided to drop the matter for now.
“Sh, my treasure.” He coaxed, pulling your head into his chest. “We can address it later.”
-
Astarion pondered on when he had gone so soft, for lack of better words. Before you, there was no hesitation to steal what he wanted. Much easier it would have been to just bite you, keeping you to himself for all of eternity. He had thought about it when the disdain of being apart grew too great. This was after you, though. You had brought a bright light into his world of darkness, and he knew you would never be the same if he made such a decision on your behalf.
Guilt regularly gnawed at a conscious he wasn’t even aware he’d had. He still hadn’t found the courage to tell you of his true nature. You often called the raised tissue on his neck his vampire bite, and he’d always panic at the joke, wondering if he’d been found out. Inwardly, of course, he ensured he remained calm and collected on appearance. Soon, he told himself. He’d let you enjoy the normalcy of your current relationship for just a while longer.
Your groan fractured him from his thoughts. “Okay, it’s actually terrible. Please don’t laugh at me.” You pouted.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling.” Astarion assured, setting his book down on the table before him, pushing back his chair, and standing up. He bent down to get a better look at the canvas. “My, that’s a beautifully eclectic rendition of yours truly.” He hums, resting his hands on your shoulders, squeezing in encouragement. He meant it. It was something you had created; of course he would love it.
“Okay, you are officially the biggest liar I know.” You grinned, patting his hand softly as he shifted away. Georgie stretched in your lap. You placed him down, smiling as he hurried away into the open door of the manor.
“Your words wound me.” He holds his hands to his chest dramatically. “I’ll display it in the foyer.” His finger reaches to tap the tip of your nose playfully.
“I guess it must truly be Astarion approved then.” You hummed, recalling how tumultuous he had acted when replacing the art in his foyer. It must be perfect, he had said; first impressions are everything, my dear. “I don’t think your guests would be in agreeance with you.” At this point, you had stood on your tip-toes, planting a sweet kiss on his lips.
He dismissed your presumption with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense, my love. You question my tastes? When I’ve got you on my arm? I’ve already won.” His index finger taps the underside of your chin, encouraging your mouth to his. You oblige, and Astarion lets out a delighted laugh against your lips. He would never grow tired of how easily you unraveled for him and him only. Without breaking contact, he reaches down to grip the backs of your thighs, lifting you from the ground and setting you on the garden table.
Your breathing hitched as his hands wrought at the bottom of your dress, pushing the hem up until it pooled around your waist. His fingers brushed your mound over already-soaked underwear. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “So ready for me already, pet? I’ve barely touched you.” Spoken like a purr, causing goosebumps to bloom over your skin. He buried his nose into your neck and breathed your scent in deeply. Chamomile and lavender had become distinctively you. His eyes close as your fingers tread over his scalp, hooking into his hair. “Keep touching me like that, treasure. I’ll fuck you right here.”
“Please. It’s been too long.” You murmur. It had indeed, he thought. This was your first day together after being apart for ten long, agonizing days. His fingers push your underwear to the side, the tips hardly swiping over your drenched core. The contact motivated your body further against him. Your breasts pressed to his firm chest, and he brought his unoccupied hand to sit atop them, thumb stroking delicious skin.
Greedy hands moved to the front of his trousers and at the feeling of his bulge, you ached to feel him inside of you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and tenderly pushed your hands away. Your expression was one of rejection that panged Astarion’s undead heart, but his demeanor was one of significance. He took your hands in his as he stared deeply into your eyes. “Stay with me, Tav. The manor has never been this airy without you. I mean- I understand you have responsibilities you believe are your own, but I could give you everything.”
With a furrowed brow, you sluggishly pull away from him. “These responsibilities are my own. This is my family, Astarion.” You pursed your lips, looking everywhere but at the man before you.
“Pet, don’t be silly. They are holding you back. I recognize you love them, but you cannot put your needs on hold to protect them forever.” He reaches out to brush the hair from your face, but you quickly dodge the touch, pressing him aside so you can stand from your position on the table. His jaw clenches in annoyance, but he allows you your space.
“So, what? My father will be buried beside my mother soon, and you are so selfish that you can’t even give me the grace to spend his last days with him.” He had never seen the fire on your face; your usual demeanor dissolved.
Astarion’s jaw slackens, and he shakes his head in response. “I’m just thinking big picture. Where will your sisters go when the time comes, Tav? Are you to give your entire life to them? How is it fair to you?”
“If that is what must be done, then so be it.” Astarion noted how heavy your chest heaved, your body shaking from anger. You were angry with him.
“And what of me?” He was mindful of how needy and, as you said, selfish he sounded but couldn’t hold back. “What do you want with me if not forever?” Indeed, you couldn’t expect him to house the entire cavalry that was your family.
You froze and gulped in a large breath to calm your nerves. Maybe you have been negligent of his feelings as things grew more serious between you two. “I want you, Astarion. I want everything with you. I want to take your last name. I want to bear your children. I want to care for you until we’re both old and gray.” There’s a crack in your voice as you stifle back tears. Astarion’s stare softens, his stomach plunging at the knowledge of only ever being able to gift you one of those things. “I’ve always dreamt of creating a family of my own. Of being a mother to children created with the man I love.” You pause to swipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. “But I can’t leave my sisters to fend for themselves. I won’t.”
Astarion observes you as you collect your shawl, exiting the garden without another word. He’d let things go too far. He’d led you to believe this future you dreamed of could be achieved with him and even encouraged the delusions in his own way. Perhaps you would be better off if this relationship came to a close.
#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#ascended astarion#ascended!astarion x reader#ascended!astarion x tav#astarion#bg3#x reader#tav#reader
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hey! question/something you could turn into a concept if you wish. do you think yandere scaramouche (fatui era) would act differently than yandere wanderer? or do you think they'd act generally the same? it's so interesting to see peoples interpretations of different versions of scara lol :3
ah this was such a fun concept, i could talk endlessly about the differences between them but i kept it short and sweet for now! i hope you enjoy :D
Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including verbal abuse, scaramouche being a douche, delusional behaviors, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!
There are very noticeable differences between Scaramouche and Wanderer and some that only those close would pick up on. For one, Scaramouche always walked with confidence, drawing attention to himself and commanding everyone’s eyes, Wanderer now prefers a different approach, lingering on the sidelines and watching others, observing.
Scaramouche’s porcelain was pristine, his cracks repaired and his joints flawless. Wanderer is rougher, some small hairline fractures and other larger chunks missing from different parts of him, patched over with bandages for the time being. His joints are no better, with him always in the forest he’s prone to getting dirt and rocks in them, making it not only difficult but also painful to move them. He often has to get assistance in cleaning them.
Those are some of the more noticeable ones, but less noticeable ones are how they would speak to a darling. Scaramouche is rough, standoffish to ensure he isn’t abandoned once more, left behind and forgotten again. Wanderer is snarky, a bit rude, but there’s less of an edge to it. He’s snippy to maintain a facade, not wanting others to see how soft he’s gone despite him being wiped from everyone’s memory.
“You disgusting waste of space, you should be grateful I even spare you a minute of my time. Honestly, what purpose do you serve aside from keeping my bed warm? Pathetic.” Scaramouche doesn’t even look at you as he scoffs out insult after insult, his focus on himself in the mirror as he looks over a crack he’d recently gotten. He’d have to go to that wretched doctor to get it fixed, couldn’t go around looking broken, looking weak.
“You’re in my way, move before I make you.” The crossing of his arms and the annoyed, melodramatic tone of his voice are enough to move you away from the bookcase. Your eyes are wide, an apology caught in your throat as he huffs, grabs a book off the shelf without even pausing to look before stalking off again. It was like he’d done this before. As he walks off though, you can’t help but notice the strange way he moves, his left leg swings strangely, like there was something stopping it from bending all the way when he lifts it. Strange.
Neither are particularly nice or sweet, but you’re more likely to get Wanderer to warm up to you than Scaramouche. The cold-hearted puppet that was a Fatui member didn’t need anyone, nor did he want them, he only wanted power, wanted to be recognized for what he was and what he could do. Wanderer isn’t after that, he’s looking for himself in the trees, hoping that by rescuing another lost child, eliminating a camp of bandits, freeing one more Rishboland tiger from an illegal trap will tell him something. Will give him some hint or clue as to what he was really made for.
Scaramouche works best with a willing darling who is ok with being pushed around, ignored, and verbally degraded. He won’t ever say he loves you, won’t coddle you when you cry or get hurt, won’t buy you gifts or make things for you. But he always returns to bed with you at night, laying beside you as he watches you sleep. He’s above it, but there’s a comfort in watching you sleep, a time where he can just shut his mind down and pretend he’s nothing and no one.
Wanderer works best with a darling who is a little more forceful in asserting themselves, showing up at the bookstore he frequents, following him into the forest to see what he’s up to, asking around about him until word gets back to him and he confronts you about it. It takes a long time for him to open up to you, even more so before he starts to seek you out himself, but slowly he grows to become as much a part of your life as you have his. And he doesn’t entirely hate it.
#genshin x reader#genshin x male reader#yandere genshin x reader#yandere genshin x male reader#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche x male reader#yandere scaramouche x reader#yandere scaramouche x male reader#wanderer x reader#wanderer x male reader#yandere wanderer x reader#yandere wanderer x male reader#yandere genshin#yandere wanderer#yandere scaramouche
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Would you be open to doing a Dad!Husk with daughter reader but nobody knows (except Alastor ofc) until she gets drunk with Angel after seeing a similar scene from episode 5 with Husk and Alastor and starts crying because she’s afraid of losing her dad, and everyone puts the pieces together when Husk starts comforting her? Sorry that it’s super specific 😅
First off, oh my gosh, thank you for your request!!!
It’s all good! I love this prompt! I know that you said reader ends up getting drunk but the story took a bit of a different turn and you just end up going to the bar sober.
I hope that I still did this fic justice though! 🖤
rating: PG
genre: angst and fluff
characters: Dad!Husk x Reader
warnings: abuse, soul owning, panic attack from reader
You knew that being in Hell came with a price. Your dad had tried to shield you from the more… fucked up parts of Hell. But he couldn’t save you from everything, which is why when you were younger he made you promise to never tell anyone you were his daughter. So, you were a kid he found and was taking care of, his assistant, apprentice, a bar back when he was bartending. Which was how you ended up at the hotel.
You knew that your father’s soul was owned by Alastor, who had been nothing but pleasant to you, but there was still a bitterness in your mouth when you looked at him or talked to him. It was at the point where you could forget the fact that Alastor owned Husk’s soul. There were times you were reminded though and reality crashed upon you rudely. Like when both you and Husk were summoned to the hotel to help, and you became a trusty bar back and bartender in training, keeping the secret of Husk’s relationship to you.
This night though, your dad had gone off to find Alastor and Angel had been at the bar asking about different drinks. You couldn’t remember what actually went into Angel’s drink and neither did he saying, “It’s something Husk makes… special. Ya know?”
You sighed and just explained you’d go find Husk and get the ingredients, muttering about getting a recipe book for the bar. You were walking the halls when the lights started flickering. You ran to the hall where it was the worse, seeing Alastor conjure the chain that wrapped around your dad’s neck. Watching as the Radio Demon transformed into his demonic figure and your dad crouched on the ground.
“If this happens again, I’ll make sure you and every other disrespectful wretch knows exactly who they are messing with. Understood?” Alastor says, his voice low.
“Understood.” Husk said as Alastor went back to his normal self.
“Good man.” Alastor whistled as he walked away and you stood there around the corner clutching your chest. Your breathing too quick and tears in your eyes.
‘He wouldn’t actually kill dad, would he?’ you thought to yourself, the reality of Alastor owning Husk’s soul crashing down upon you. You quickly leave the hallway, not wanting your dad to see that you had been there, as you got back to the bar. Still trying to calm your breathing, Angel’s words asking if you got the recipe sounded like they were underwater. You nodded your head to whatever he said, and tried to start making his drink with whatever you thought went into it. Thinking you were doing a pretty good job at not showing how close you were to breaking. Until Angel came behind the bar, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you around to face him. His eyes widened.
“What’s wrong toots?” He asked, his hands gliding over your arms comfortingly and giving you a once over to make sure you weren’t hurt.
“I-I-He-And I-“ And sobs just crashed against your lips as you fell against Angel. Angel freezes in shock, and holds you, trying to calm you down. Charlie and Vaggie hear and come over seeing you a wreck. Your sobs not quieting and now all three are consoling you and attempting to get you to calm down enough to actually understand what’s wrong.
Husk finally comes down stairs, sighing and sees a crowd around the bar, normally crowds and bars are synonymous but not at this hotel. He walks over, his ears picking up your cries, automatically going into protection mode. He brushes through everyone and sees Angel consoling you.
“What’s going on?” He asks and before Angel can answer, you launch yourself at Husk. Still crying, but settling down as you feel him in your arms. Your hand going to his wrist where you could feel his heartbeat and feeling that calms you down further.
“What happened?” He murmurs to you, his arms and wings wrapped around you.
“Angel’s drink-And I didn’t know th’ ingredien’s-Went to find you. And saw you and-and-Al…” You trailed off and buried yourself in Husk’s chest.
“Oh sweetheart.” He murmured. His head dropping to rest on top of yours. “I’m so sorry.”
Angel, Charlie, and Vaggie all look at each other.
“So, that’s not just some bar back, bartender in training you got off the street?” Vaggie asks.
“Yeah, you’s both seem a little familiar with each other.” Angel adds. Husk sighs.
“‘m sorry.” You say lifting yourself off Husk.
“You don’t have anything ta be sorry for. I should be the one apologizin’.” Husk says, his hand on your cheek.
“Not at all.” You shake your head at him.
“Oh shit.” Angel says now looking at you both. “Is that your daughter Husk?” You look wide eyed at Angel and then your dad.
“Yes, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, meet my daughter, Y/N.” Husk says, gesturing to you.
“Hi!” You say waving, looking a bit sheepish. “I’m so sorry we didn’t say anything before. It was just safer this way because-“ Husk interrupts you.
“I’m sure they understand, sweetheart.” Husk looks at all of them and all nod. “And I’m sure this isn’t information that will be getting out either.” Husk looks at all of them again. Again everyone nods.
“On my word, this will stay between us.” Charlie promises.
“Not a word.” Vaggie says. Angel just makes the motion of his lips being zipped and throwing away the key.
“Now, who was wanting a drink?” Husk says, stepping behind the bar.
“Oh, that was me!” Angel pipes up and sits down.
“O’ course it was.” Husk mutters as he starts making the drink and Charlie steps forward more.
“Can we ask questions? I have so many.” She says, looking at Husk then you. You look back at your dad and he motions you forward. You smile and sit next to Angel as Charlie and Vaggie sit down too.
“What do you want to know?” you ask.
The rest of the night was spent around the bar as Charlie, Vaggie and Angel got to know you outside of what you had just been telling them and you had fun poking fun at your dad at times, recounting times like how he taught you to count with poker chips. The laughter bled into the night and marked one of the happier nights that you could remember and for the first time, you were happy to be at the Hazbin Hotel.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel husk#dad!husk#husk x reader#hazbin hotel husk x reader#dad!husk x reader#hazbin hotel angst#hazbin hotel fluff
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"Can you be my Date?"
Lucifer Morningstar x Human! Reader (Female)
ao3 Link
To keep up is image and discourage the hellish media from knowing about Lucifer's divorce, Lucifer finds a random human, you, to pose as his date at one of his aristocratic parties.
5,588 Words
Upon entry into Hell, the usual sinner would learn a few things very quickly.
They were absolutely stuck in this wretched place, that much was certain, but this wretched place seemed a lot less inhumane than the books say it was. Sure, it was still Hell , but it was more of a corporate America type of Hell than a damned for all eternity type. The place had a monarch installed, but the ruler seemed to do very little, barely showing his face and making laws very less. It was as if he weren’t even there.
But he was, oh Lucifer was there. The denizens over the years remembered less and less about the king, but they knew two things for certain. He had a wife, and he had a daughter.
His daughter, Charlie, she would self-proclaim to any and every news outlet who interviewed her, was a relaxed, care-free, and unnecessarily happy demon. She ran a hotel that was less than appealing to most folk and the princess was pretty much seen as an absolute joke.
Lucifer’s wife however, a look that's now been centuries forgotten under lies and trickery, was never in the spotlight anymore. Had the two not had a daughter, most new sinners would likely assume Lucifer was lying about his so-called significant other.
And frankly? He kind of was.
Lucifer sat alone on one of the loveseats, the fire in the fireplace slowly burning out after having been on for so long. Occasionally would he flick his wrist and reset the flame to full blaze, but he was too engulfed in his own mind to do it once more.
Every century the Sins would hold a get-together to commemorate themselves– Lucifer, a prideful man had thought of this first and proposed to the others– and keep spirits high and tensions away from the Rings. Typically each Sin would bring along a guest to the rendezvous, adding to the sea of important people invited every year. More often than not it would be their significant other– Asmodeus would bring Fizzarolli, Beelzebub would bring Vortex, Mammon would bring… Well, admittedly his guest would change every time to the point the Sin of Pride was never sure who hell that greedy bastard was dating. And Lucifer would bring Lilith.
Lucifer glanced down at the wedding ring he still had looped around his finger. He pulled the piece of metal off, inspecting it with a sigh.
Beelzebub and Asmodeus knew about his divorce first, both of which explained it to the other sins so Lucifer didn’t need to repeat the story another four times, but it was still a complicated moment now. Lilith wasn’t public about the divorce, and Lucifer never mentioned it to anyone besides his daughter after the fact, so it wasn’t common knowledge to anyone else that he was single. At this point he was mostly over it– but the thought of having the media drag him and reopen the wounds again was daunting.
That's when Beelzebub came up with an idea. People knew Lucifer’s wife was a human, so she had suggested maybe Lucifer find a human willing to pose as his wife for the night. That way, the media and fellow royalty attending the event would be none the wiser. In another century, they were sure Lucifer would be healed enough to spill the beans.
The idea seemed simple enough. There had to be at least one human willing enough to assist him, and maybe if he offered some sort of wealth or immortality he could sway them to his side. Surely any human he took down to Hell would be stuck with that future, but the percentage of humans that ended up down here was enough to confirm Lucifer didn’t have to worry about changing their fate. The only issue was how . How was Lucifer going to find someone? Should he hold an event? Stalk some people on the streets? Where would he even go, Earth was unnecessarily huge and overpopulated. He thought on it for hours that night and into the next morning, but eventually, he settled on the simplest solution. Snapping his fingers, Lucifer opened up a portal and walked through it.
It was a boring morning as you were lounging on your couch, a shitty television show playing in the background as you scrolled on your phone. It was a lazy day– you had the bowl of popcorn and two half empty bottles of soda sitting on the coffee table to prove it. Your boss gave you a few days off of work, and there wasn’t much to do when your friends were all stuck working their one dead-end nine to fives. You tossed your phone down onto the cushion beside you, letting out a frustrated groan followed by a yawn.
It was only half fast four pm, there was no way you’d let yourself sleep. Just because you had nowhere to be tomorrow, didn’t mean you wanted to be awake all night because of a terrible decision from the day before. But a few moments of shut-eye wouldn't hurt, right? You let your eyes close, leaning your head back.
“Are you awake?”
You let out a little hum of confirmation, your brain not fully catching up. You sunk a little deeper into the couch, trying to convey to your roommate you didn’t want to do anything. As you did though, something hit you.
Your roommate was out of the country.
And your roommate definitely did not sound like a man.
Your eyes shot open, staring in the direction ahead to see a man standing in front of you.
“What the FUCK ,” You sat up quickly before trying to crawl over the back of your couch to get away from the person, flopping down on the ground hard as your did. That didn’t deter you though, as you quickly scooted back all the way to your kitchen table, freely reaching on it until your hands came in contact with the plastic butter knife you left on it earlier. You pointed it at the stranger.
Meanwhile, the stranger just looked at you blankly. As the two of you stared at each other, you were able to take in more of the appearance of him. He was awfully pale on his face, save for a pink, round dot on both of his cheeks. His hair was light blond, and he was wearing some pink and white striped shirt. If you looked closer at his arms, you could tell the blackness was more skin like than a long glove. His pants were as white as his skin, and his boots were awfully tall. He kind of looked like a cosplayer, you determined.
“Who– Who the fuck are you!” You stuttered, your hand with the butter knife shaking. The man just gave you a grin, slowly walking over to you with his hands held in front of himself as a show he means no harm.
Once he was only a few feet in front of you, he gave you a slight bow.
“Lucifer Morningstar, darling!”
You blinked at him.
“Uh. Are you trying to rob me?” You cocked your head to the side. You haven’t been robbed before, but you were pretty sure this isn’t how robberies work. “No, you’re doing it wrong if you are. Are you a Jehovah witness? I told you guys to stop breaking in !”
“Er,” The man reached forward and pushed on your butter knife, lowering your weapon. It wasn’t something he was particularly afraid of, but he didn’t want to find out if he should be. “Quite the opposite actually– wait, they’ve broken into your house before?”
You let the butter knife fall to the ground. “They used to do it like once a month.” You pointed to a window behind the man. “That’s why that window is boarded up.”
The man did an ‘O’ shape with his mouth, looking over to the window in question. This would be a perfect opportunity to try and stab the man, but you were too curious and if he was being nice now , you mise well savor it. You should really call the cops though.
“Who are you?”
“I already told you my name–”
“I have my doubts that’s your name.”
The man looked almost offended, crossing his arm over his chest and huffing.
“It is!”
“You sound like a cultist.” You commented. You pushed yourself off the ground, standing with the supposed ‘Lucifer’. You noticed quickly you had a few inches on him, but otherwise he seemed like a semi-normal man.
“I’m more-so the Devil.” He replied. Lucifer started tapping his foot on the ground, a bit of impatience creeping up on him.
“Ah, yes, the Devil himself broke into my house. How believable .”
“You’re being difficult.”
You raised an eyebrow at the man, leaning back against the table behind you.
“You don’t look like the Devil, Lucifer.”
As you said that, the tv flashed an image of Good Omen’s version of Satan on the screen. You gestured for Lucifer to look at it. There was a sour look on his face as he did.
“You humans' depictions of me get weirder and weirder,” He muttered, shaking his head at the sight. He turned back to you with a look of determination. “How about I prove it to you?”
With a flick of his wrist, the two of you seemed to be teleported to a different room, the walls covered in large windows and decorated in tacky wallpaper everywhere else. You were sitting at a table, a teacup in front of you. Slightly above it was a levitating teapot, pouring its contents into the cup before moving to pour into another cup, this one sat in front of Lucifer. He had a more businesslike suit on. You looked down at yourself, seeing a red dress on you instead of your normal lounge-wear. There were two more chairs at the table, both with a unique rubber duck sitting on each.
“How– how did you do that? Am I dreaming?”
Lucifer made a jazz hands motion. “Magic! You are awake.”
What looked to be a clone of Lucifer walked over and grabbed the teapot from the table, but before he walked away, he gave you a hard pinch on your shoulder.
“ Ow !”
The clone snickered, then disappeared.
Lucifer then snapped his fingers, the entire scenery disappearing around you. Your clothes were reverted back to normal, as was his, but now the two of you were sitting on your couch. Lucifer handed a cold, full can of soda over to you.
“You, you’re–”
“The Devil himself, yes!” Lucifer took a sip out of the teacup he seemed to still have, sticking his tongue out a bit and the hotness of it that he wasn’t expecting. You noticed it was forked, adding onto the absurdity.
You set the offered soda on the coffee table before scooting a bit to the side away from Lucifer. As you did this, you gripped at your forearms, trying to close yourself off from the man. He paid no mind to your movements, and kept talking.
“I need a favor,” Lucifer stated, figuring that beating around the shrubs would put him more into a time constraint than he already was. Lucifer set his tea down on the table next to your own drink. He turned his body towards you.
“A favor?” You squinted at him. You were still convinced this was some awful dream. That you would wake up on your couch in a few moments, no Devil sitting next to you and the streetlights shining in reminding you that you slept for too long. But when none of that happened, you just decided to hear the Devil out.
“I have a slight issue, and I was hoping you’d be able to help me.”
“If you’re asking to have sex with me, I’m going to have to decline–”
“No,” Lucifer cut you off, looking mildly disturbed. “No no no, no. Not that. Oh Satan no .”
“Did you just–”
“Different guy! I don’t want to fuck you.” Lucifer looked you up and down, before shaking his head. “I need to date you!”
“Ehm– Usually I prefer being taken to dinner out first?”
Lucifer stood up. He brushed down his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles. He looked down at you and rolled his eyes.
“I need someone to pose as my date tomorrow night. Just for a night.”
“Your date? For what?”
“The Sins and I– Uh, we have a party every once in a while. To celebrate another century of Hell not having collapsed on itself.”
You gave Lucifer a nod, before glancing down at his hands. There was a golden band on his ring finger.
“Shouldn’t you take your wife to this event?”
Lucifer looked down at the ring on his hand. A small blush appeared on his face as he moved the hand behind his back.
“We’re divorced.”
You raised an eyebrow. Definitely a can of worms you didn’t want to deal with. You stood up alongside Lucifer, crossing your arms and tilting your head at him.
“Look, I don’t really know a whole lot about the religious lore you come from, but aren’t there other people who live in Hell? Couldn’t you ask them?”
“My ex-wife,” Lucifer started, an annoyed tone creeping back up his throat, “Was a human. There’s no humans in Hell.”
You gave him a little hum. “Wouldn’t your sin-ly friends notice you have another woman with you?”
“They already know about the divorce, it's the media that assumes I’m still married, and I’d prefer it to stay that way.”
“I’ve never met your wife, but I’m pretty sure I don’t look like her, Lucifer.”
“Sure you do!” Lucifer raised one of his hands to the top of your head, comparing the high difference between the two of you. He stuck his tongue out as he thought. Lucifer then held a piece of your hair in his hands. “You’re about the same height. If anyone asks, I’ll just say you dyed your hair.”
“You don’t even know who I am. Why are you asking me? Why not ask some woman from the cults that follow you?”
“Those people are nuts! Besides, you seem nice enough. Haven’t stabbed me at all, that's pretty much all I can ask from a wife.”
“How did you even find me?”
“Well,” Lucifer clasped his hands together in an awkward manor, his cheeks reddening. “I kind of opened the portal right inside your little house here,”
“Apartment.”
“Apartment. You should really upgrade this. But uh, by the looks of your calendar over there,” Lucifer pointed towards the kitchen, his sights on the calendar you had hanging on your fridge. “You happen to be free tomorrow night.”
“How– How long have you been in here?”
Lucifer counted a few fingers on his hand. “Maybe three hours?”
You gaped at him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Sighing, you let yourself fall back down onto the couch. You rubbed your face with one of your hands.
“You know what, Lucifer? I’m feeling generous.” You stated, taking the hand off your face to look back up at Lucifer. He grinned at your words. “But! I know about you demons and your little deal things. What am I getting out of this?”
Lucifer chuckled. “Of course I wouldn’t ask you this without something in return.” Lucifer held his hand out towards you. Angelic energy seemed to dissipate off of it at the motion. “A favor from me at any time of your choosing. You get to fully keep your soul, too! The favor can be anything.”
Despite the skeptical look on your face, you decided hey, why not? What was the worst that could happen, anyways? You die? You weren’t fond of death, but now knowing the afterworld did actually exist, the fear you originally had dissipated with every second that went by. You grasped Lucifer’s hand with your own. The grin re-appeared across his face, looking almost creepier this time as the room around you seemed to glitch and turn red and gold. A rush of air passed you two, and you were able to make out the symbol of a star below where you stood.
Lucifer let go of your hand, the room around you turning back to normal.
“It’s a deal! I’ll pick you up at 8,” Lucifer turned to the side, flicking his wrist and opening a golden-ringed portal beside him. As he stepped though, he let you know one last thing. “There’s a purple dress in your closet for you!”
And the dress was there. This whole thing seemed ridiculous. After Lucifer left the day before, you passed out on your couch for the night. Thinking it was a dream, you almost weren’t going to bother reminding yourself to get ready, but you felt a weird tugging sensation, convincing yourself to take a peep in your closet for that supposed purple dress. It was on a hanger, a yellow sticky note on it saying ‘don't forget!’ with a little doodle of a rubber duck. It took you a couple minutes of fumbling to get the outfit on properly, but once you did you were quick to put on some simple makeup and black heels, finally getting the chance to take a good look at yourself in your roommate’s full length mirror a few minutes before Lucifer was supposed to pick you up.
Almost like he sensed you were ready, a golden portal much like yesterday appeared besides you. You watched as Lucifer stepped out of it. Instead of the shirt he wore yesterday, the man had on a white dress shirt with matching white pants. He was wearing the same black boots from yesterday, his hair pushed back in the same way but with a top-hat resting on it. You noticed a snake was wrapped around it, as well as an apple pinned to the side next to his pseudo crown. The snake blinked at you.
Lucifer’s eyes widened as he looked at you, and he almost dropped the cane that he was holding. A slight blush spread across his face. “You look nice,” he stuttered out.
You gave him a little smile. “You do too.”
Nice wasn’t even the beginning of it. He looked hot, the sight in front of you bringing an all new meaning to the phrase ‘devilishly handsome’. You had to bite your bottom lip to make sure your jaw wasn’t hanging open.
Lucifer seemed to snap out of his own daze. He held a hand out towards you, a grin reappearing on his face.
“Shall we?”
You took his hand. You let Lucifer walk you through the portal– the sensation was weird, like your skin was being pricked in every spot, your stomach dropping much like how it would on a rollercoaster. The feeling disappeared as soon as it came, and you were presented with the sight of a tall, long hallway. Tiny, impish creatures were rushing back and forth, a few carrying trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Others were holding what looked to be last minute party decorations. Despite their frantic running, none bumped into the two of you as you walked down the hallway.
Lucifer leaned his head towards yours. “You don’t have to speak at all if you don't want to,” he whispered. “But fair warning, no one else down here looks as human as I do.”
You nodded, turning your head slightly to look over at him.
“How long will this last?” You questioned. You didn’t have anywhere to be, but you were curious to know if this was an all night party or not.”
“Not as long as you think,” he replied. “If you need to abandon ship at any time, let me know.”
The two of you came to a stop. You turned back in front of you, and you were presented with the sight of a large ballroom. It looked similar to the one from the movie the Beauty and the Beast, but this room was filled with various different creatures, each of wildly different heights and features. Some of them looked like the imps you saw in the hallway, but others had the features of birds, sharks, and any other animal you could think of, there was at least one of them. They all looked classy, making you feel out of place. You started to shrink in on yourself, before feeling one of Lucifer’s hands firmly on your back, helping you keep your composure. You saw him smile up at you.
“Lucifer!” A deep voice cut you out of your moment, and you turned to see an exceptionally large man with a big puff of hair. You were able to make out two different faces in the hair, one resembling a ram and the other a bull. He had a blue suit on, and next to him was a creature like the imps, but he looked much more robotic than the rest.
“I was wondering when you would show up!” The man placed a hang on Lucifer’s shoulder, giving him a friendly shake before he looked over to you.
“ Lilith .” He winked. His voice was loud enough to attract the attention of others, who were muttering to each other, a few pointing at you. Lucifer explained that the other Sins knew he was divorced, but the rest of Hell’s population didn’t. Lilith must've been the name of his ex-wife.
Lucifer’s hand slid down to your waist, pulling you in closer to his body.
“Asmodeus, it’s very good to see you. Have you seen Beelzebub?”
Asmodeus nodded, then tilted his head to an area on the other side of the room. “Last I saw her she was at the snack table.”
Asmodeus then leaned in closer to the two of you, his voice lowering so only you two could hear him.
“She looks very similar to Lilith.” Asmodeus commented, looking over at you a bit more intensely. You could almost feel the demonic aura he gave off.
“Do you think anyone will notice?” Lucifer’s voice was laced with fear. Asmodeus chuckled.
“When I saw you two walk in, I thought you somehow convinced Lilith to attend.” Asmodeus gave him a reassuring smile. Lucifer returned it. Asmodeus gave Lucifer a pat on the back, before standing up straighter like he was before. The Sin put his hand on the shoulder of the people with him.
“It was wonderful to see you two again,” his voice was as loud as it was before. He nudged the person with him, signaling for the two of them to take their leave. “Hopefully we can catch up more later!”
With that, they disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Lucifer alone together once again. Lucifer let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
“Thank Lucifer that worked,” He huffed, planning a hand on his chest dramatically. You patted him on the back, before pushing him to walk with you.
“Save the theatrics for later, maybe?” You suggested. “He said Beelzebub was at the snack table.”
“Yes! Thank you,” Lucifer pulled you with him, making your way across the floor. You were about halfway there before the lights dimmed. Music started to play, echoing across the walls to the point where you were unsure of where it was coming from. A spotlight lit up on the middle of the floor, right over where you and Lucifer were standing. The other demons around you backed up out of the light, leaving the two of you alone.
Lucifer gave you a sheepish grin, leaning in by your ear.
“I thought there would be a little more time.” He whispered, before leaning back and holding his hand out towards you.
“Care for a quick dance, my love?”
The light on his pale skin did the opposite of washing him out– It seemed like it enhanced his features. The suit was a creamier white than it looked earlier in your bedroom. The golden wedding band was still on his hand, reflecting the light off of it to who knows where. The snake was asleep now, too. You were able to see the stray pieces of hair sticking out in random directions, and you were able to see the tiny scars that adorned his face from years of living. It only made him look more handsome, you quickly decided.
You took his hand, allowing him to swing it across his shoulder, his other hand nudging your other arm to join in. His hands rested on your hips, pulling you closer to his body. The two of you started to sway along with the music. Lucifer led you into a classic waltz, going slowly to gage how comfortable you were with it, and once you got a handle on the movements, you dancing picked up speed. The room around you was devoid of chatter, and all eyes were on the pair in the middle. You were sure you saw Asmodeus smiling out of the corner of your eye, but you were too focused on Lucifer in front of you. His expression was soft, full of admiration and love. You felt Lucifer twirl the two of you together, before grabbing onto one of your hands and pushing you into an assisted spin. As you stumbled to the side, Lucifer gracefully brought you down into a dip, holding you gently by your waist as he looked down at you with a smile. You stared back up at him, the pounding of your heart drowning out the music around you. Lucifer was about to speak, but was cut off by you stumbling out of his grip, backing up with a look of panic on your face.
“I– I need to use the restroom,” you stuttered out, before rushing out of the spotlight and pushing through the crowd to the direction you assumed was the bathroom.
Slipping through the doors, you let out a tiny cry as you slid down the wall next to you. You hugged our knees to yourself, your breath ragged. You could feel yourself start to cry. I barely know the guy , you thought as you tried to stop yourself from making noise.
“I can’t be upset, this is just for show.” You berated yourself. “You don’t like him. He’s just a hot, kind guy who needed help! It doesn’t– it doesn’t matter how lovingly he looked at you. He’s probably pissed at you for running away,” Your voice kept getting cut off by your own hiccups.
“Stupid!” You barely heard the door to the bathroom creaking open.
“Is someone in– Oh my Satan , girl, are you okay?”
You looked up, your face stained with tears and mascara. The girl closed the door behind her, locking it before turning to face you fully again. Her skin was yellow and blackish, reminding you of a bee. But unlike a bee, she had dog-like and fox-like features adorning her body and very colorful hair with a matching tail. She also had four arms, compared to the two a lot of demons in the place had. The girl kneeled down on the ground m, reaching a hand out and gently resting it on your shoulder.
“I’m okay,” you sniffled. You let go of your knees, letting your legs droop down to the floor. The girl properly sat down next to you. She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a little packet of tissues.
“Your face says otherwise,” despite her joking, her voice was soft and full of concern.
“I’m Beelzebub. My friends call me Bee, you can call me Bee,” She grinned. You returned a weak smile to her. This was the Beelzebub Lucifer needed to talk to, you determined. You hoped she wouldn’t try harming you for the stunt you just pulled, but she seemed way too nice to hurt even a fly.
“I uh– I saw you run from Lucifer,” She gave you a little punch on the shoulder. “Need me to rough him up for you?”
You snorted. She definitely didn’t want to kill you.
“I panicked,” You offered. You looked at the wall across from you. It had some trashy, 90s era wallpaper on it.
“Tell me bitch,” Beelzebub poked at your head. “What's going on in there?”
“He’s kind of cute?” You confessed, playing with your fingers. You felt Beelzebub shake beside you, trying to hold back a laugh.
“So you dipped? Girl, I get it,” Beelzebub let out a sigh. “Reminds me of the first time I went out with Tex.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You– You ran away?”
“To a whole different ring, baby! But you know what I did?” You tilted your head at her, questioning.
“I went back, decided hey , Why the fuck not? It can only go somewhere if you let it,” Beelzebub winked at you. She pulled you into a hug with all of her arms. It was comforting, and helped you fully ground yourself. You wiped a few stray tears off your face.
Beelzebub helped you up off the ground. She pulled out a little makeup kit from her purse, and after a little fumbling around she was able to help you replace the mascara that was smeared all across your face. Once she determined you looked pretty enough to return to the party, she guided you out of the bathroom. With one shove towards the direction you assumed Lucifer was in, Beelzebub winked at you again.
“Go get ‘em, tiger,”
You made your way into the crowd, pushing past clusters of people as you looked around for Lucifer. You were tempted to shout for his name, but the moment you opened your mouth you were yanked to the side, a squeak coming out instead. You felt yourself being pulled into another room, though before you could let out a scream, a hand was placed over your mouth.
“It’s just me,” You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the new lighting. Lucifer was standing in front of you. He released his hand from your mouth, rubbing the back of his neck with his other.
“I didn’t–”
“I’m sorry!” You blurted out, cutting him off. “I didn’t mean to run away,” your voice got quieter as you spoke. Lucifer looked onto you with worry.
“It’s okay! I’m not mad– Did I make you uncomfortable?” He backed up a little bit, letting you have a little personal space.
“No, you didn’t. I just,” You looked everywhere but Lucifer’s eyes, unsure of what to say. Should you tell the truth? Should you like and say you just really needed to use the restroom? But when your eyes fell back onto Lucifer’s gaze, you were compelled to let him know the real reason.
“I panicked,” You confessed, mirroring what you told Beelzebub.
“Why?” His voice was soft. He leaned back into your personal space, his hands slightly in the air as if he wanted to check and see if you were fully alright.
“Did you not want to dance with me? You could’ve said so, dear,”
There he was with the endearments again. “No, I loved it,”
Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows. “Did someone scare you? I can go take care of them if you point them out–”
You tuned out Lucifer’s voice, too focused on his face and how it moved as he spoke. It was enticing, really, seeing his lips open and close with every word he spoke. You couldn’t stop yourself as you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his.
It only happens for a few seconds, before you yanked yourself away in fear of what you just did. You started stuttering out apologies, pushing yourself against the wall behind you and gripping your forearms. You shut your eyes tightly. This is it, you thought, this is where he kills me .
You felt a hand on your face. It was soft, unharming as it pushed you. You opened your eyes to see Lucifer, eyes lidded and face softened. His hand properly cupped your cheek, pulling you back to his face as he kissed you in return. You gasped, returning the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer. You felt him snake an arm across your waist, holding you in place in case you tried to back away from him again.
This kiss was over too soon, Lucifer leaning back and resting his forehead against your own. He had a blush across his face. His breath was as heavy as yours was, and you could hear two different heartbeats racing in the room.
“Let’s get you home,” Lucifer spoke softly, removing his hand from your cheek. He was about to snap his fingers before you stopped him.
“Wait, Lucifer?” Lucifer hmm, leaning in and placing a kiss upon your cheek.
“Can I cash in that favor you owe me?”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow at you.
“Whatever did you want, my love?”
“I want to stay with you.” You bit your bottom lip, your blush turning darker as you spoke. “I think I like you.”
“That’s hardly a favor.” Lucifer kissed you on the lips again. “I wasn’t going to stand by and let you leave me so soon.”
Lucifer pulled your body flush against him, and next thing you know the two of you were falling backwards into a portal, heading to a place that didn’t matter to you as long as Lucifer was with you.
#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin hotel#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer x reader
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Rolan deserves to get pegged. Someone needs to come fuck the brat out of him.
i will take this sacrifice for us all. i will fuck the brat completely out of Rolan. you are all welcome!
but in all seriousness. i had so much fun writing this. i know this wasn't a request per se but 3,000 words later and here we are. our boy just really needed someone to fuck him with the magical strap (that we are all going to pretend is a very real thing that exists in his world. along with the magical bottle of oil/lube).
it doesn't really work anyway
i couldn't think what to name this monster so excuse the stupid title, it fits into like on tiny part but it made me laugh so. yeah.
Now I Know My ABCs
Rolan x Reader
“You could have just fixed it, you know? You don’t have to be an insufferable prick about every little mistake you notice.”
“Maybe if you didn’t make so many mistakes, I wouldn’t have anything to comment on.”
Tags: Explicit Sexual Content MDNI/18+, Pegging, Anal Fingering
Word Count: 3,028 | [Read on AO3]
Okay, so, in hindsight, calling Rolan “the biggest fucking brat to ever grace the mortal realm” probably wasn’t your finest move. But gods if it wasn’t completely fucking accurate.
All day he was wondering around the tower, nit picking the work you so graciously volunteered as you both tried to organize the mess Lorroakan left behind after his completely deserved demise.
“Oh, this is interesting come look at this,” Rolan ushered you over to the shelf you had been working on before lunch. You walked over, brow furrowed as you looked at the tomes he pointed to: a copy of Illusionary Arcana: A Complete Study and Illusion: A Spellcaster’s Guide to the Unreal. “I had no idea the Common language had changed recently, did you?”
“Here we fucking go.”
“Surely that must have been the case, otherwise this book would have been placed before Illusionary Arcana, yes?” You wanted to smack the disingenuous look of confusion off his smug face.
“You could have just fixed it, you know? You don’t have to be an insufferable prick about every little mistake you notice.” You flipped the position of the books.
“Maybe if you didn’t make so many mistakes, I wouldn’t have anything to comment on,” he offered back, facing the books with a matter-of-fact expression as though they were discussing breakfast plans or the weather.
“Maybe, you should find someone else who is willing to put up with your contemptible drivel so-”
“I’m surprised someone who does not know their alphabet knows what contemptible means.”
Your hands balled into fists at your sides and your nostrils flared. You were doing this for free. It would be a cold day in the Hells before you continued to let him talk to you like that.
Without saying a word, you turned scanning the room for where you laid your things. This caught Rolan’s attention; he eyed you over his shoulder as he continued to fiddle with the row of books.
“What are you doing?” he asked, unphased.
“Leaving.” This at least elicited some sort of reaction, his head whipping around to watch you grab your things.
“Why? You said you would assist me. And we still have two more cases to go today if we are to remain on track.” His face scrunched in frustration. He couldn’t honestly expect you to just continue on as though he hadn’t just acted like a complete son of a bitch, right?
“Are you serious- ‘Why?’ Because Rolan, today you have been-” well, you know what came next. He didn’t take it lightly.
“I- you- you insolent little witch! I’d rather be a brat than being a classless degenerate like you!” He took an angry step towards you.
“Classless? You arrogant, pretentious arsehole!”
“Indolent, mindless fool!” Then another.
“Hateful wretch!”
“Talentless hack!” He was so close now that you could feel his breath on your face as he stared down the length of his nose at you. It was a shame he was such a knob head, because he was so nice to look at, even from this angle.
“You-” you paused, trying to think of the most poetic way to tell him that he could take every book in his big fancy tower and shove it right up his ass.
But something else came to mind.
With a scowl, you sank your hands into the front of his robes and yanked him downward, forcing his lips against your own. Much to your surprise, and delight if you wanted to be completely honest, he relented, allowing himself to be kissed with an almost bruising intensity.
You tore your lips away. The look on Rolan’s face at the loss of contact would have made you laugh if you weren’t so fucking fed up with him. His chest was heaving as though he had just ran a mile around the tower, and the way your stomach twisted at the sight made you even more frustrated. Stupid wizard with his handsome face and pretty lips.
You pushed him back against the nearest bookcase, hard enough that a book tumbled from its home high above you. Rolan’s eyes were fire and hunger as he glared at you, silently urging you to continue what you started. You pressed yourself flush to his chest, noses touching, lips barely a hair apart.
He craned his neck lower to try and catch you in a kiss, but you were quicker, fueled by an intense need to see this man squirm.
“Now now, Rolan. Where are your manners?” You chastised with a click of your tongue. “Say please.”
He swallowed thickly and grit his teeth. The room fell silent as seconds ticked by, Rolan seemingly weighing his words.
Just as you thought he was going to end whatever this was, too proud to continue, he muttered out, almost unintelligibly, “Please.”
You smiled sweetly, and then you were slotting your mouth over his, kissing with as much force as before. Your hand snaked into his hair, dragging your nails roughly against his scalp, tugging at the roots. The sound he made in response was nothing short of a growl. Oh did it spur you on.
Your free hand squeezed between your bodies to palm over the erection pinned against his thigh. Even under his robes and trousers you could tell he was hot, long, and so very hard. You pet his cock with a firm touch through several layers of clothes, Rolan forcing his hips forward in response.
After a few tentative strokes, you removed your hand completely – pulling yourself backwards slightly so that he had nothing to grind himself against. He whined in frustration.
“Mmm, I don’t think you deserve that yet, do you?” You pressed your lips to his ear, your tongue slipping out to follow the outer shell. Rolan shivered. “You’ve been a little brat today, Rolan. I don’t think you deserve to be touched yet.”
For the first time since you met him, Rolan had nothing to say. His head hung low, almost hitting your shoulder as he clenched his jaw.
“You think you’re so clever, with that sharp tongue. But I'm going to make you forget how to speak, pretty little wizard.” His breath hitched, stopped dead in his throat. “Only if you’re good, though. Okay?” Rolan nodded eagerly, eyes closed, and brow furrowed. “Okay. Now, go be a dear and take your clothes off for me, hmm?”
Rolan fumbled forward as you stepped away from the bookcase. His hands shook as he undressed, clumsily unlacing his trousers to slide them off, along with his underclothes. You walked over to sit on the edge of his desk and watched as he pulled his robes from his shoulders. He murmured something to himself that you couldn’t quite discern, but you didn’t care enough to push. Because with everything discarded to the floor, Rolan stood completely bare, cock jutting upwards from a dark swatch of hair on his groin. It was already leaking with excitement.
He looked up to find you staring, leering at his lithe form in appreciation. It must have been written on your face because the bastard’s lips quirked up in a smug grin. That wouldn’t do. You needed to wipe that smirk off of his face.
You hopped off the desk’s edge and pointed towards it. Rolan eyed you with suspicion but acquiesced, moving so that he stood between you and it. Raising a hand to your mouth, you spit into your palm, eyes fixed on his. Your hand found his erection, spreading your saliva down his length in one motion.
Rolan’s chest heaved with a moan, thrusting into your hand for more. He knew as soon as it happened that he had made a mistake; you removed your hand from him and gave him a pointed look.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I’ll be still, I promise.”
You had to bite back a smile as how desperate he sounded from just a few touches. But an apology did sound good on his lips. So, you began stroking him again, fisting over his shaft with a tight grip. Rolan’s thighs shook with the exertion needed to keep himself still and little whimpers left his mouth with every pass of your hand.
And then you stop, completely removing your hand from him. Before he could even make a sound in protest, though, you grabbed his hips and spun him in place so that his rear was pressed to your front. One hand smoothed its way up his spine, settling between his shoulder blades. And with a firm shove, you urged him to bend so that his chest lay on the cool wood of the desk.
Your free hand circled his ass, caressing the smooth, plump skin. A sharp thwack echoed through the room as your hand lifted and then connected with his rear. Rolan yelped, jolting forward slightly, but didn’t complain – in fact you were almost positive his hips canted against the desk in a desperate grind for friction. You repeated the action again, bringing your hand down to smack him with enough force to leave a darkened handprint. Rolan’s moan was high pitched and needy as he braced himself for another smack that didn’t come.
Both hands now groped at his cheeks spreading him so that you could see all of him – every last inch of his red skin heated in desire as he keened below you. Leaning forward, you reached around to press two fingers to his lips and Rolan accepted them greedily. His hot tongue laved over your digits, coating them in his saliva. You pulled them out with a pop to tease at his hole, the wetness of his spit making him slick enough to dip a finger in to the second knuckle.
Gods he looked so good taking you, back arched to offer himself more fully, desperate whines slipping from his lips. You worked your finger in and out as he rocked his hips against the desk. For a moment you thought about stopping – chastising him for seeking his pleasure without your permission. But you most certainly did not have the willpower to do so as you watched him take your finger down to the last knuckle. You were only mortal after all.
“Think you can take another?” you asked, tone sultry and low, though your question was sincere; you wanted to make sure you weren’t overstepping. He responded with an eager, shaky nod and a soft gasp.
Mumbling a spell under your breath, a small vial of oil appeared in your palm out of thin air. You uncorked it with your teeth and, with a very disappointed whine from Rolan, removed yourself from inside him to slather some of the liquid over your fingers.
The noise he made when you returned them to prod at his hole was nothing short of debauched – for a moment you thought he may cum right there. But he took the added stretch in stride, panting as you began to set a rhythm.
You were satisfied with your work, the man beneath you squirming and gasping and not saying a godsdamned word.
That is, until he turned his head to the side, peering at you from the corner of his eye to beg, “More.”
That wouldn’t do. He was still able to form a coherent thought and that just wasn’t going to work for you.
You slipped both fingers from his ass in one quick motion. Rolan, although quivering and breathless, looked as though he was going to object, to say something that surely would make your blood pressure rise. Your free hand tangled into his hair to force his head back down to the desk.
“Not a word, or else I’ll leave right now,” you hissed. You had never seen Rolan behave so easily, relaxing back against the wood as he waited for you to make the next move.
Another muted spell left your lips, the room slightly tinged with the crackle of your magic. The summoned object was heavier than you anticipated, but oh did that make it even more exciting. Commanding Rolan to keep his head down, you stepped into the harness of the conjured strap-on and pulled it up to fasten around your groin snuggly. You spilled the rest of the oil bottle over the thick base of the strap and spread it around with a loose fist.
Rolan wiggled with impatience, still obeying your orders to keep down and not look. So, without further delay, you notched the tip against him then slid the length over his entrance. His body tensed with understanding as he rocked against you ardently, his tail wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.
You teased his rim with the head of your strap, providing just enough pressure to have him writhing for more but not enough to actually enter him. He groaned in frustration as he tried desperately to force himself back to satisfy his need for more.
“Oh? Is this what you want? You want me to fuck you Master Rolan?” His moan was high and keen – more pathetic than you had ever heard him before. It was music to your ears. “I didn’t hear you. What did you say?” The tip of your strap pushed into him ever so slightly more, enough to spread his entrance in preparation. Dangerously close to where he wanted you most but still so very far away.
“Mmf- ye- ah- yes!” It seemed forming words was proving to be especially difficult for the erudite wizard. Perfect.
And then you gave in; your hands gripped his hips as you slid the thick length of the strap into him slowly. Rolan’s head hung low, forehead pressed to the cool wood of the desk. He sighed in relief, finally feeling the fullness he craved.
With an iron grip, you held his hips still, slowly pulling out of him. Then, without warning, you thrusted forward to sheath the strap’s entire length inside him with perhaps maybe a touch too much vigor. Rolan jolted forward by the force of it, gasping as he adjusted. You repeated the movement again. And again. And again.
Soon, you had set a punishing pace, clothed hips smacking the back of his bare thighs as you drove as deep as he could take you. Every thrust had Rolan whimpering, words dying on his tongue before they were fully formed. It didn’t take long to find that perfect spot that had him stuffing his fist in his mouth to muffle his shouts. Oh you liked that spot.
You weren’t gentle, overcome by an intense need to fuck him until every bratty thought was emptied from his mind through his cock. You raised your hand to roughly slap his ass where your handprint had formed from before. Rolan cried out as the pleasure of you inside him mixed with the pain from your hand.
“I’m- ah. So-” Every syllable was cut off by a garbled sound as though he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to scream or laugh or cry. The only thing he seemed to know was that he wanted more. “Fu- yes there right there-”
You stopped with the strap buried completely inside him. Rolan nearly screamed, the sudden lack of motion bringing tears to his eyes. He craned his neck to look at you; he was absolutely furious. You leaned over so that you could press your lips to his ear.
“Now. Did you want to say something about how you spoke to me earlier?” Your hips caged his, keeping him from seeking his own pleasure.
“Fuck y-” You began to pull out. “No no no, sorry- I'm sorry, I apologize. Whatever you want to hear I’ll say it.”
While you weren’t exactly pleased that he had the mental wherewithal to form a complete sentence, you certainly preened at his desperation. “Is that it?” You pulled out even further.
“Fuck! I was a stupid fucking brat, I’m sorry! Okay? Is that what you wanted? Will you please just-”
He didn’t get the chance to finish as you thrusted forward as quickly as possible, immediately establishing a pace faster than before. Rolan’s legs shook as though they were ready to give out and you thought for a moment they might if not for the desk under him.
It only took a couple deep thrusts against his most sensitive spot before he came. His orgasm was a rough avalanche of pleasure; his hips ground against the wood beneath him as his whole body seemed to tremble at the almost violent intensity of his release. You couldn’t quite understand what he was saying – or more like chanting – repeating the garbled word over and over again like he was trying to memorize the sound.
You realized with pride that it was your name, almost unrecognizable through the fist he still bit down on.
Your hand ghosted over the red mark on his ass – your own apology for perhaps being too rough. The conjured strap on disappeared as soon as you removed it from him, leaving behind the faint feeling of the Weave.
Hushed sounds from the shop below you started to filter into the room, and you realized that somewhere along the way Rolan had cast a modified form of silence. The cheeky bastard. You’d definitely remember that for next time.
It took him longer than he would ever admit to finally stand up, legs still unsteady and wobbly. Both the desk and his stomach were painted white with cum, and you had to admit, it was quite the sight. You brought a finger dangerously close to where his cock stood, still softening, and whisked a drop of his spend from his skin. Rolan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as you took the finger into your mouth to taste him.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke, “You truly are a degenerate.” Despite his words, he was smiling.
“And here I thought you were done being a brat?”
“Well, maybe perhaps your little lesson didn’t have the intended effect, hm?”
You eyed the mess on his desk with a smug smile. “Oh, I think it worked out just as intended.”
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The Assistant 13
Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, cheating, creep behaviour, violence, anger. These warnings are not exhaustive and some triggers may not be specified for plot reasons.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: As an assistant at the Daily Planet, you’re rarely noticed. Until you are.
Characters: Clark Kent
Note: We came back.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖
🖊🖊🖊
Your new life is more of a death. The old you is dead and can never be again. Not quite a true death, it’s a purgatory you’re slogging through, waiting for the ultimate end.
Your first days are bleak. The house is filled with a stagnant pall as you wile away the hours playing your role. It’s easier when you pretend you're a character in a book, just like you did as a girl. When you became Elizabeth Bennet or one of the Pevensie kids. You escape in your mind because there is no other way out.
A routine quickly falls into place. You wake up, though sleep is sparse and hewn in wretched nightmares that mirror reality, and wait until Clark stirs. He never rouses very long after you. You open yourself to him, laying on your back, legs splayed as he grunts and ruts.
Tender, you dress in one of the thin dresses he collected for you and you go to work. You cook him breakfast. Sometimes, he takes you back to bed after he eats. Others, he pins you to the counter or the table. Then you clean up; the table, the dishes, and yourself.
When he stays, he sits and reads. You hover around him, busying yourself with a broom or just watching him, weighing the minutes. Not yet, not yet.
Lunch comes and you take care of that too. Then him. His appetite never wavers. The heavy pain sticks in your pelvis but he can’t think the limp is from anything more than the chain tugging at your ankle.
You pace, restless and wait. That’s all you do. Wait. For the first chance or his next whim. Whichever comes before the other.
You stand at the window and watch the wildlife. You feel him watching you in kind. When he leaves, he closes the shutters, latching them tight on the outside. Locking you in like a toy in a chest. A doll he can pick up to play with whenever he likes.
Dinnertime. Another meal. You’re not very hungry but you make yourself eat. If he lets you have a bath, you can puke it back up when he goes to get a towel. That is the last marker of time before bedtime…
Sleep is not won without a final surrender.
That day, as you wrap potatoes to cook in the oven, all noise seems louder, every movement more strenuous. The staleness in the air is suffocating. Your ears buzz from the constant silence. You crinkle the foil around a potato and drop it, rubbing your lobes.
You keep your hands on your ears and stare at the counter. You could scoop out your brains with a spoon. Are you going crazy? Your head feels itchy on the inside and you would be all to happy to scratch right through the bone.
“Honey?” Clark’s voice ripples through the air. “Is something wrong?”
You close your eyes and cringe. You drag your hands away and wrap the other potato, wincing at the aluminum's raucous wrinkle. He stands and you shudder. He’s coming close.
“It’s too quiet,” you say at last.
He nears and looms beside you. You put the potatoes aside and drag over the pan of marinating steak. His large hand rests on the counter.
“Can I help?” He offers. You shake your head.
“No, thanks, I got it, honey,” you reach to touch his hand. You just want him to back off. Sweat stains your skin as his proximity sets you on fire.
He leans in to kiss your crown, his hand dancing down your back. He gropes your ass and growls. His hand lingers and you brace yourself. It isn’t unlike him to interrupt.
“Love you,” he grits before he draws away.
You let your breath out in short spurts. You don’t want him to hear the relief in you. Your thighs quiver, bruised and raw. You carry on without pause. Keep yourself busy and he’ll let you be. For now.
🖊
The next day, Clark leaves you. You don’t know what he does when he isn’t there. Sometimes he brings back groceries or little things he’s forgotten. Others, he’s gone for hours and returns only with stress in his shoulders. You try not to think too much about what happens outside these walls, that only makes them close in tighter.
When he comes back, just around lunch time, he presents you a radio. An orange and black radio you’ve seen used by those in remote regions. He sets it on the counter as he flicks it on and adjusts the knob, searching for a station through the crackle. You cross your arms as you watch around his elbow.
The stringy tune comes through and warbles against the static. The music soothes you. You only realise then, you’d never thought you’d hear it again. Clark turns to you as you stare at the speakers.
“Do you like it?” He asks.
You nod and unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, “yes, thank you.”
Is this all you have? A radio?
“Do you… wanna dance?” He murmurs shyly.
You look at him. You reach for his hand in acceptance. Nothing he gives comes without a price. He takes you into his arms wordlessly, his face brightening as he leads you into a slow shuffle.
‘I bless the day I found you
I want to stay around you
And so I beg you
Let it be me’
The song is older. You’re not sure who it is. By your guess, it’s even older than your parents… you know you won’t see them again. Even if you do get your chance, you can never go back to the life before this.
“I remember the first day I saw you,” Clark says as he pulls your head to rest against his chest, “you were wearing that little pink plaid dress…”
His words hang in the air. You remember the day too. The day you thought you’d figure it all out. You’d pay your dues as an assistant, work your way up to a writer one day, and maybe, in your wildest dreams, an editor…
“I love you, honey,” he pets your head.
“Love you too,” you eke out.
He pulls back to look down at you. You gaze up as he brings his fingertips under your chin. He leans in to kiss you and draws away reluctantly. He hums as his other hand closes around yours.
“Let’s take a bath,” he lets go of you and follows the chain to its end, unhooking it from the loop in the floor. He tugs you after him as he lets the radio play.
You let him take you into the bathroom. He’s intent on his mission. He drops the chain, the links hitting the floor heavily. You stare at it, just for a second, not too long for your heart to spike.
He bends over the tub and cranks the faucet. You watch him, fingers tingling, as he puts in the stop and holds his hand under the water’s flow. Stay calm.
You move closer to him as he undresses. You help him lift his shirt and you pet the soft hair along his torso. He turns to you, that foggy look in his eyes. You bring your hands to his pants and undo them, biting your lip as you hold his gaze.
You pull down his pants and let them fall down his thick legs. You tilt your head at the sudden thought, tweaking your ear towards the music. He reaches to stroke your chin.
“What is it, honey?” He snarls.
“This song,” you stop and listen to The Ronettes' iconic beat, “can I turn it up?”
He rolls his thumb across your chin and exhales, “sure, honey. I like this one too.”
You smile and shift your head, taking his thumb into your mouth. His eyes round as you swirl your tongue around his salty fingertip. You pop your lips off as he sighs.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Mmm, baby,” he breathes.
You turn slowly, measuring your steps and your heartbeat. You go out into the kitchen, the chain rattling with each step. You peer around, taking in the place. You hear the water swish as he lowers himself into the tub. You peek over as the end of the chain trails just outside the bathroom.
You stop by the radio and glance over your shoulder. Now. You turn up the radio, just loud enough. You bend and tug the chain inch by inch towards you, the noise disguised by the drumbeat. You coil it around your hand, allowing enough for you to walk.
You peer over at the bathroom doorway.
“I’ll bring towels,” you call over the music.
“Hurry,” he booms back as he lets out another gritty sigh, “baby, I need you.”
You turn without hesitation. This is it. You march into the front room and to the front door. Of course he wouldn’t lock it, not with the cuff on your ankle hooked to the loop. You glance over at the hook in the floor and steel yourself.
You open the door, lifting it on the hinges to keep it quiet. The radio drones behind you as you let yourself out into the cool air. You take one step, then the other, each one quicker than the last. You approach the trees and take a breath.
It’s now or never.
You plunge into the woods, your gait uneven as you run with the chain yank with each step. You don’t know where you’re going or where to go, you just need to get far away from here. You can’t live like this. You can’t die like this.
Your feet hit the forest floor, unfeeling to the jab of sharp rocks and the scratch of twigs. Don’t look back, just go, just go. You sprint until your lungs burn, until your mouth is parched and scratchy, until your limbs ache.
You stumble onto the ground and gulp. You can’t go any further. You’re too weak.
You shake on your hands and knees, fighting to catch your breath, trying to urge yourself on.
Then you hear it. A giggle. A chirpish yelp and the splash of water. People? You crawl forward towards the noise. You lift yourself to look over the overturned trunk at the edge of the incline. There’s a lake below, there’s bodies splashing through the waters, screaming and laughing.
Oh, god! You stand and throw your hand up, mustering your strength to cry out. Help!
As you open your mouth, your voice shrivels up as your throat is clamped in a vice. You're dragged back away from the drop off and turned to face your villain. Clark stands naked amid the trees, seeming as towering and thick as any of them, as he grips your neck. He lifts you off your feet, your toes dangling above the ground.
You claw at his forearm as you wheezes. Your eyes well as he glares at you, shaking with rage. The chain falls from your hand and hits the floor, weighing on your ankle. He bears his teeth and hisses.
“Why would you do this?”
You can’t speak. Your head throbs as you reach to bat at his chest, begging silently for him to release you. ‘Sorry…’ you mouth, ‘sorry…’
“I love you, sweetie, I love you so much,” his voice quakes as he squeezes tighter, “why did you do this?”
Your lips open and close as your head swells violently. Your arms feel heavy as you grasp at him desperately. I can do better, I can do better. Just one more chance, honey. Please.
“You’re the one, you’re the one,” he chants tearfully, “I never loved anyone like I love you.”
“Cl-Clark,” you force out, “ple-ease—”
“No,” he crushes your throat so not a single wisp can get through, “I will never… love anyone that way I love you. Never…”
Your cheek twitches as your lashes glazes with tears. Your heart pounds in your chest as your mind swirls. His eyes fill with red light, glowing hotter and hotter. You see yourself in the scarlet glare; you in your tub, reading your favourite novel, that first day at the office when you nervously introduced yourself, your days in school, running between classes, your high school graduation, the little girl dancing in the fields, a princess out of time.
You see it all behind you and you see the emptiness ahead of you. You shake your head above his grip and use the last of your effort to mouth the words to him. The truth.
‘I….’ you make certain the movement is clear, even as your eyes threaten to roll into your skull, ‘hate.’ Your lips twist in a cruel smirk, ‘you.’
Your head lolls and you stare into his glowing irises. You’re ready. This is ever after.
The world is consumed in a red flash and a striking heat. It sears to the bone and ends just as quickly. All is black and gone. A life burnt to cinder.
Stayed tuned for the epilogue
#clark kent#dark clark kent#dark!clark kent#clark kent x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#the assistant#dc#dcu#superman
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I'm always fascinated by Sceleritas telling Durge that they always struggled to function without his assistance (and Orin seems to agree). I've seen it interpreted as Durge struggling with their instincts, but I'm not so sure (Gortash describes them as being in control of themselves, and I'm inclined to agree with his interpretation).
Naturally all this applies to my Durge not necessarily Durge in general, but: My first impression on my first playthrough (and the one I kept for my Durge) was that it was more of a mental health thing. So far I'd seen Durge suffering signs of illness caused by lack of death and violence, which causes euphoria. It looked like addiction and withdrawal symptoms (which, to be fair, it is). The way they talk about themselves and their body (wretched thing, rotten skull, contemptible blood pervert, unlovable carcass, a rabid dirty dog that bites) indicated a lot of self-hatred...
Honestly, my take on it is that pre-amnesia Durge was extremely depressed and basically a functional addict (with the rush Bhaal gives them for killing being their fix). They have no interest in the "artistry" of killing, much to Orin's annoyance, they're just phoning it in and avoiding thinking about their lives as much as possible. Bhaal gets death; Durge gets Daddy to pay attention and love them for five seconds and ecstasy enough to forget their misery for a bit. That's all that matters, fussing around with corpse dioramas and dressing up your kills doesn't get you extra points (well, Bhaal never paid attention when they did it, anyway).
Eventually they'll wrap up their purpose on this "vile" world (ie the apocalypse, (followed by repopulating the world with Bhaalspawn, by the look of it?)) and then they can finally fuck off and die.
#Vel is a clash of godlike hubris and utter self-loathing#One's a coping mechanism for the other#He's a funky little paradox like that#Then there's what that fix apparently is according to the scriptures you find and everything gets SO much worse#durge#edgelord hours#OCs#Vel#babbling
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Montreal, Canada – Abdallah Alhamadni knows the clock is ticking.
Every day, the 51-year-old Palestinian father of three checks to see whether his efforts to bring his relatives in Gaza to safety have advanced. [...]
"We feel paralysed, depressed, frustrated, crying,” he told Al Jazeera. “Sometimes we feel we need to be strong to support them because we are the only hope for them. It’s a lot of things coming together, and we are alone.”
Originally from the Jabalia refugee camp in northern Gaza, Alhamadni is trying to bring 61 relatives, including 27 children, to Canada through a new temporary visa programme for Palestinians affected by Israel’s military offensive. [...]
Continue Reading.
Tagging: @politicsofcanada, @allthegeopolitics, @vague-humanoid
Note from the poster @el-shab-hussein: So if it wasn't disgusting enough that they left Ahmed Kouta and countless other Palestinian-Canadians stranded in Ghazzah with no assistance WHILE THEY SEND THEIR TROOPS TO TAKE PART IN THEIR GENOCIDE. They want to cut off the funding to the means of survival not just of the Palestinians in Ghazzah but all the wretched segregated enclaves that everyone forced us into outside of our own land, they want to slowly kill and starve 6 million Palestinians. And now THIS? How many Indigenous populations does Canada want to wipe out?? Once a settler colony, always a settler colony.
#how am I supposed to stay sane when the entire Western world is wiping us out#cdnpoli#foreign policy#zionist occupation of Palestine#genocide#ethnic cleansing#western imperialism
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Your Ulquiorra plans are very intriguing, he may be one of my faves from the og- How does he survive exactly and how does he end up in the court guard?
Do they let him roam and leave him be like the crow problem or do they eventually have dedicated arrancar babysitters? What is Ulqui the most curious about, is there certain squads he hangs around in more than others? Does his social awareness get better or does he try obliterating some poor sod because they stood in the middle of the hallway for too long? Does he manage to make some friends?
He do be a blorbo fr
Asking for a friend obvs and not for a Squad 9 ficlet at all *clears throat*
...so he actually ends up in the Royal Realm, not the court guard.
Specifically, when everyone else finally manages to subdue Aizen, Gin yoinks him off to the Royal Realm to be fed to the Life Machine, Ulquiorra zips through the portal after them, because he's determined to finish actually kicking Aizen's ass.
Instead, Ulquiorra ends up inside the Actual Soul King Palace, with exactly no supervision.
Being as the total population of the royal realm is 5 super-captains, a couple dozen assistants of dubious autonomy, and Gin, it's not hard for Ulquiorra to go do whatever the hell he wants undetected for several weeks, and when people do start noticing that things are amiss-
Kirinji is having a deeply paranoid reaction to the sudden appearance of masses of black hair in the drains of some of his hot springs.
At first he thinks he’s going bald, but then he begins to suspect the other guards… and then that this is, somehow, a message from Tama. The Kodoku is almost done, isn’t it?
Not wanting anyone to learn his secret, he tells no-one.
Hikifune notices that some of her food is missing- high protein, fat and iron stuff like pork belly and calf liver, but also candies and fruits.
At first she thinks there’s rats again, but then realizes- This is what someone used to starving takes. She prepares a more nutritionally balanced care package for him, along with a note that he’s welcome at her table any time.
...Hikifune didn’t kill the Mod Konpaku- she smuggled as many as possible into the royal realm with her as sous-chefs, but she couldn’t get all of them, and some still shuffle in, drawn to their mother. She hopes her lost children will all come home soon.
Not wanting to jeapordize the safety of her children, she tells no-one.
-Senjumaru is initially *pissed* that SOMEONE not only stole a pair of denim short pants from her latest collection, they used her good fabric shears to CUT HAIR, but then she gets a better look at the black fur and WOW this is terrific long fringe stuff what is it it’s too soft to be horsehair, too long to be rabbit and there’s LOTS of it???
Well.
She supposes they can have a pair of Jorts in exchange. She leaves him a note to make an appointment next time, she’ll make him something that fits instead of whatever is on the rack.
Not wanting to lose her position or the possibility of a new friend, she tells no-one.
Ichibe gets up in the middle of the night because he’s feeling restless- something is nagging him, trivial but irritating, like a pea irritates a princess, and goes into his studio to practice strokes and katas to soothe himself.
But in the middle of the studio, standing over the good paper, is some sort of DEMON with glowing green eyes and horns and terrible bat wings and… jorts? He’s so startled he doesn’t immediately strike the wretched thing down OR read it’s name and it scrambles away, the tail knocking over everything in the middle shelf of his inkstand and splattering it *everywhere* before it jumps out the window and flies away.
Ichibe curses and gnashes his teeth- everything is MESS, and FURTHERMORE, The Damn Thing has used up his good hot press paper and written the most AWFUL poetry… in unfortunately extremely good calligraphy.
Deeply embarrassed, he tells no-one.
...They're all WAAAAAY too paranoid and secretive to actually *tell* any of their colleagues that something weird is going on.
Except Oetsu, who assumes Ulquiorra is a Zanpaktou spirit that's crawled out out the pit from which all spirits he builds swords for emerge, and that absolutely nothing unusual is going on at all!
Sure, Batboy is a little bit weird and talks like a Bryonic protagonist, but it's nice to have somebody to actually *talk* to for once.
Oetsu has never actually *been* to spirit world for any extended period of time, and is maybe a little iffy on some of the specifics of some of the latest happenings of the last 2,000ish years.
Like that Arrancar exist.
Sure, Batboy's got a weird hole in his chest, but Oetsu does not immediately associate weird negative space in a dude's torso with him being a hollow. He deals with MUCH weirder-looking spirts all the time!
Eventually, Gin realizes Ulqiorra followed him into The Royal Realm, but he doesn’t seem particularly bent on Destruction.
If anything, he seems to have gotten a good bath, filled out a little bit, gotten a sword, some MUCH better-looking trousers and some mysterious ink stains and overall calmed down and looks better.
...Good for him!
But Gin’s got a lot of work to do, so Ulquiorra is now his intern!
Ulquiorra: What’s an Intern?
Gin Uh. An intern is a guy who lives in the office closet who brings you snacks!
Ulquiorra: …That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about internships to dispute it.
Gin: Whatever, just bring me a rat or something.
Ulquiorra: …How about some ham?
Gin: That’d be great actually.
Ulquiorra: Get hammed, idiot. *throws ham at Gin but he catches it in his mouth like a dog catching a frisbee*
Ulqiorra, after a few minutes of watching Aizen get taffy’d: So what’s all this… for?
Gin: *Explains The Life machine, and it’s subsequent befuckening*
Ulquiorra: We should ask Orihime to do this. She’s the smartest person I know.
Gin: You know like four people, and the other three are the SOB in the taffy puller, a cat, and me. That ain’t a high bar.
Gin: …she is still smarter than both of us though. Hm.
Ulquiorra spends a few months like this- wandering around exploring, visiting and gradually getting better at deciding to do things on his own initiative, and to just... enjoy existing.
Meanwhile, Orihime has been working on working out the math behind how Kido Spells are composed, and cracked into the language of Soul King and The Life machine.
She’s worked out that there’s something squiffy about some of the spells- two kinds of logic, like there are two authors. (One is the Life machine’s original programming, the other is Soul King’s edits to Reality to improve the wheel). The second logic makes more sense for how reality actually operates, but isn’t as complete. -She’s puzzling over this discrepancy when Shiro wanders over and makes a bad “Maybe he’s Dead?” joke
Orihime: ...that would explain a lot actually. See this line right here? It’s like. Half of a new spell. And also the most recent change I could find. It’s like whoever was writing this got interrupted halfway through and just. Never came back to it.
Shiro: Oh.
Shiro: …Can you finish it?
Orihime: ...I think I can, actually, but. Well, I can’t figure out how he was making the edits stick? Like? Where was he inputting this that the spell actually changes reality?
Ichigo: Aizen was trying to go to the Royal Realm where the Soul King lives, right? Maybe the terminal to edit the mainframe is up there?
Orihime: ...
Orihime: Oh my god. I think you’re right.
Orihime: Well, the universe didn’t implode so I'm pretty sure Aizen isn’t editing there, but…
Orihime: *Takes out Matsumoto’s old spirit phone which she stole along with Hitsugaya's when she got kidnapped to Las Noches, frowns at it for a while, then dials a number on it*
Ichigo, shiro: ??
Orihime: *Holds up a finger to indicate she’s on an important call and they need to be quiet.
Someone answers
Orihime: Ulquiorra?
Ulquiorra: Bwah?
Ichigo and Shiro: BWAH??
Orihime: We have a lot to talk about, but I need you to answer a few questions for me, please?
Ulquiorra: ok???
Orihime: Where are you, right now?
--
Ulquiorra is in Hikifune’s kitchen, snitching food again.
Ulquiorra: …A Kitchen.
Orihime: in broader terms. Living world? Hueco mundo? Soul Society?
Ulquiorra: uhhhhh… none of the above?
Orihime: is it an additional plane of reality?
Ulquiorra: yeah?
Orihime: Is there a large palace or something like that in it?
Ulquiorra, worried: Yeah??
Orihime: is there, anywhere in that plane, but probably in the palace, a place with a lot of math text in it, like I was writing on the walls of Las Noches?
Ulquiorra, alarmed: Yeah???
Orihime: Oh, good!
Ulquiorra: It is?
Orihime: Well, yes, but listen- Listen, okay? UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU, OR ANYONE ELSE, TOUCH **ANY** PART OF THAT WRITING.
Ulquiorra: Why?
Orihime: the universe might end.
Ulquiorra: …I’m gonna go lock that room real fast.
Orihime: Thank you. Call me back when you can and we’ll talk, okay?
Ulquiorra: Yes Ma’am! *Hangs up*
--
Ichigo: WHAT
Shiro: YEAH, WHAT
Orihime: Good news! Nothing broke yet!
Both: Yet?
Orihime: I uh. I’m pretty sure. That nothing broke. And that Ulquiorra is kind of technically guarding the place where God edits the computer code that makes up reality.
Both: …
Shiro, despairing: THAT FUCKING MORON??
Ichigo: yeah, that’s not “Good” news.
Orihime: It’s fine! Just so long as nobody breaks in there, it’ll be fine!
Anyway, I hope that helps, and it's GRIMMJOW that ends up drafted into the Court Guards :)
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