#hunger... a fate worse than death

[valeskafics]

"Dance For Me" - Feyd Rautha x Reader

a/n: combined a request for reader whose planet is colonized by the harkonnen with one where feyd makes reader where the slave girl bikini heheheheh 🩷

Summary: Feyd adds a new concubine to his menagerie after the Harkonnen colonize Chusuk. However, you have a talent that the others do not.

TW: dubcon, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, master/slave dynamic, idk but like reader is a concubine now? what's the tw for that?, slave girl leia bikini, perv feyd, dom!feyd, kitten play, pet play, collaring, oral m receiving, boot humping, breeding kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex, ink pie, choking

Word Count: 2,500

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Chusuk is known as the music planet not only because of the quality of its instruments, but for the beauty of its dancers. Your mother often said you learned to dance before you learned to walk, that little songs poured forth from your lips long before you learned to speak. Music has always been a part of your life, a huge part of it. You earn your living as a dancer in the planet’s most prestigious company, living a charmed life where you get to make money while doing something you love dearly. Everything is as it should be.

That is, until the Harkonnen come with the sole intent of colonizing your peaceful planet. They destroy everything in their path, leaving Chusuk in shambles, your king deposed. Baron Vladimir’s heir, na-Baron Feyd Rautha is granted control of the planet, named as its new regent. He’s left behind with his three concubines, known as the Harpies, and appears to be interested in adding to his menagerie. At least, that’s if his demand for every woman between the ages of eighteen and thirty to come forth is any indication of his intentions.

The na-Baron is formidable, tall and pale with sharp eyes, examining each and every one of you. Chusuk is known for its bevy of beautiful women, but he seems entirely unimpressed. That is until he stops in front of you. Instead of giving him the charming smile that the rest of the women do, your expression remains angry as you glare up at him, teeth bared in something akin to a grimace. This seems to amuse Feyd Rautha, as he points at you, gesturing for one of his Harpies to pull you out of the lineup.

They push you before him, making you stumble slightly. Feyd stares at you, his gaze moving along your body, scrutinizing you, examining you.

Finally, he speaks, his hand moving to grip your chin, “What’s your name, pet?” You remain silent, glowering at him with a fury that surprises even you. He chuckles, digging his fingers into your jaw just enough to cause you discomfort, “Now, if you’re unable to speak, pet, I wonder what exactly you’re good for. Cooking? Cleaning?” A wicked smile curls at the corner of his lips as he leans in close, whispering in your ear, “Breeding?”

“This one was a dancer, Lord Feyd,” one of his concubines informs him, baring her darkened teeth as she grins, “She’d make an excellent pet for you.”

“A dancer?” Feyd’s eyes light up at the idea, a hunger in them that would make even the bravest woman shudder with fear.

“You ought to send me to mine spice on Arrakis with the others,” you declare, holding his gaze, doing your best not to allow your voice to falter, “My dancing will be of no interest to you, na-Baron.”

Feyd remains silent for a long moment. And you wonder if, perhaps, now he intends to kill you. After all, you’ve spoken out of turn. However, when he chuckles, a low throaty sound, it sends a chill through you. You know a fate far worse than death awaits you at the hand of this Harkonnen. His hand moves to your neck, caressing your throat.

“So you can speak,” he rasps, leaning in and inhaling the scent of your hair, “You’re quite striking, pet. You’d be wasted if I sent you away to Arrakis. Your dances will please me. And so will all the other things you’ll do for me.” Feyd loosens his grip on you before shoving you toward the Harpies with a cruel grin, “Make her perfect for me. Don’t you think I deserve the best?”

You’re dragged away, scrubbed clean, stripped of the clothes you wear, your hair pulled back into a braid. They paint your lips red, line your eyes with kohl. You eye the clothing they’ve set out for you to put on with thinly veiled disdain. A copper brassiere, the neckline curved and plunging so deep that you wonder if it’ll serve to cover your breasts at all, tied at the back with a flimsy string. A small triangular copper plate to cover you in the front and one for the back, covered by a flimsy loincloth made of red silk. And to add to the indignity of it all, there’s a collar for you to wear, one that indicates Feyd Rautha’s ownership of you. You scowl as they clothe you.

“I won’t wear the collar. I refuse.”

“You’ve got spirit, pet,” one of them remarks, almost with admiration, “But don’t forget who you are. You belong to Feyd now.”

“I belong to no one but myself!” You insist defiantly.

She just laughs at you, shaking her head and grabbing you by the chin, much as Feyd did before, “You truly are naive, aren’t you, precious? You belong to Feyd. Do your best to please him. And in turn, he’ll treat you well. I like you, girl. Do as I say and you might survive this.”

Feyd sits on the throne that was once occupied by the Chusuk king. And you hate to admit it, but it suits him. He sits with his chin resting on his hand, waiting for your arrival, watching as his concubines push you toward him, shoving you to the floor in front of him.

“Here she is, my lord.”

He chuckles, admiring the way you scramble to your feet, refusing to remain vulnerable in front of him. You retain the defiance in your gaze as you stare up at him, your jaw set firmly as his eyes wander over your body, drinking in every curve, every bit of bared skin, all on display for him and him alone. Feyd rubs his chin, clearly pleased with what he sees.

“Pretty little thing,” he mutters, “She is quite pleasing to look at, isn’t she, girls?”

They nod, feeling satisfied with their handiwork, leaving when he waves them away, wanting to be alone with you, disappearing from sight.  Feyd leans back against his throne, unblinking as he stares at you, beckoning you closer with a curved finger. You resist the urge to spit at his feet, instead just standing still, glaring at him.

“I said come here,” Feyd says coldly, “Don’t make me come and get you. I promise, kitten, you won’t like the consequences.”

What you truly don’t like is the way your stomach twists at the way he calls you kitten. Pet. Precious. He’s vile, he’s taken over your homeworld, slaughtered so many innocents. And yet, you take step after shaky step toward him, your legs trembling. He demands that you kneel before him and you do just that. Feyd leans forward, grabbing your face, squeezing your cheeks together and admiring how pouty your lips look like this. Enjoying the power he has over you. He runs his thumb over your lower lip, pressing down, and watching it puff back up when he releases it. He hooks a chain to your collar, nodding with satisfaction as he makes sure there is no escape for you from him.

“Good little pet.” You wince slightly when his hand moves to thread through your hair, scalp burning as he tugs harshly, “Ah, what a pretty face you make when you experience a bit of pain, kitten.” He stands, his form towering over yours as he yanks you up, making you stand in front of him, his breath raspy, “You know what I want from you, don’t you, pet?”

You nod slowly, muttering in a bitter tone, “You want me to dance for you.”

Feyd chuckles darkly, letting go of your hair to grab your wrist, yanking you close to him, “That’s exactly what I want you to do, pet. You’re such a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Now dance for me. Dance for my pleasure.”

And you do. Music filters into the room, Feyd having had the musicians kept outside so only he can admire you. You sway your hips to the beat, losing yourself in the rhythm of the song, trying your best to forget that he’s there, watching you like a hawk. Feyd licks his lips, watching you intently, the way your body twists and turns in an almost serpentine fashion, your chain clinking as you continue to dance. You shake your hips, your breasts straining against the brassiere with every breath you take, and he hopes that the thing just gives way. His gaze never once leaves you, analyzing each and every movement you make. Studying you and savoring every moment.

You realize your best bet is to keep the man pleased, and so you dance as though your life depends on it, your arms moving, body swaying, legs carrying you around the room as you do your best to keep him focused on you. And it works. By the time the song comes to an end, there’s a noticeable bulge in his pants, his cock straining against his pants as he palms at it, a dirty, wicked smirk on his face as you gaze up at him, his eyes lingering on the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to catch your breath.

Feyd claps slowly, gaze never moving away from you, “That was exquisite, pet.” You shift uncomfortably as he walks toward you, his hand brushing against the chain that binds you to his throne. He approaches you like an apex predator, and you? His helpless prey. He circles you, examining you from every angle before stopping so that he faces you, “Such an innocent, pretty face. And such an alluring body.” His hand trails down the bare skin of your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake as he muses, “A man could lose his mind trying to imagine what wonders lie beneath these clothes…”

You whimper slightly as he tugs you in by the chain, his hand flying to your throat, squeezing just hard enough to restrict your airflow, “My lord?”

“Remember this,” he says, his voice low and threatening, practically a growl, “Every breath you draw, every beat of your heart. It is mine. And mine alone.” You follow after him when he gestures for you to do so, obeying his command, “Drop down on your knees, pet. I want to see how skilled that pretty mouth of yours is.”

You hate yourself for the way your body grows hot at his words. Your hands move to undo his pants, stroking his long, pale cock, your hand hardly able to fit around it with how girthy and thick it is. You press down on the vein that runs along the underside of it, earning a low hiss of pleasure from your master. Feyd watches as you give little kitten licks to the tip, teasing him as you grind yourself against his boot.

“Such an eager little thing you are,” he groans, his hand knotting in your hair as you take him into your hot, wet mouth, your lips wrapping around him as he holds your gaze, “Fuck, you look so pretty like this, kitten. That’s right, rub your sweet little cunt against my boot like the desperate thing you are.”

You move to undo the plates that cover your lower body, placing them aside, leaving just the loincloth, your bare cunt rubbing against the leather of his boot, whining as me moves it in tandem with you. His cock is so big that you feel like you can barely breathe, feeling him hit the back of your throat, holding your head in place as he ruts against your mouth. It’s filthy and yet you can’t help but think how this is the most exciting encounter you’ve had in your life. And Feyd knows it, judging by the smug way he stares down at you, watching your eyes fill with tears, watching them drip down your cheeks as you choke on his cock.

It doesn’t take long before you reach your peak, moaning against him as you spill yourself, pressing your thighs together, feeling somewhat ashamed by the fact that his cock in your mouth and his boot against your cunt were enough to make you come. But Feyd just pulls your mouth off of him with a lewd popping noise, pulling you into his lap.

“Beg your master for his cock, little one. I want to hear how pretty you beg, pet.”

“Please, Master,” you whisper hoarsely, “My lord Feyd… Please give me your cock. I need it.”

He clicks his tongue mockingly, hand wrapping around your throat once again, squeezing, “No, you can do better than that, pet.” You feel his free hand land a slap against your cunt, making you whimper, “Beg.”

“Please, my lord. Master. I beg you, give me your cock. Want you to breed me, fill me with your seed. Want you to keep me by your side…”

“That’s much better, kitten,” he nods in approval, lifting you up by the hips and letting you sink down onto his length, splitting you open. He’s by far the biggest you’ve ever had, and he can tell you’re struggling to accommodate his size, your face twisting in pleasure as you begin to bounce up and down on his cock, “Fuck, little one, it’s like you were made for me. Made to be bred by me, fucked by me…”

You’re surprised when he moves to hold your hips in place and begins bucking his own up against you, your tits bouncing against the metal of the brassiere, his lips capturing yours in a hot, messy kiss, exerting his dominance over you in a way you can’t help but enjoy. You gasp as he chokes you harder, your vision blurring as he steals the breath from your lungs with every kiss, his cock hitting spots inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. He’s so fucking big, filling you so perfectly with every thrust that it isn’t long before you’re crying out as you soak him with the evidence of your arousal.

Feyd fucks you through your climax, his thrusts growing sloppier, faster, almost to the point of being violent as you squeeze around him. Feyd knows the child you bear him will be strong, beautiful. There’s a spark in you that the others don’t have, something about you that he knows will keep him coming back for more. He can feel you getting close again and knows his own end is approaching, his balls tightening as he spills himself inside you, his hot, black seed coating your womb, your own orgasm following soon after.

You slump against him exhaustedly, your face buried in the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around your waist, “Rest now, pet. You’ve impressed me.”

Feyd orders one of the servants to run a bath for you, demanding you be brought to his chambers immediately after for a private dinner and be given the finest clothing.

Perhaps the Harkonnen taking over Chusuk wasn’t the worst thing to happen after all…

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x you #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune x reader #dune x you #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd oneshot #my writing

[shisurus]

okay but did you think about the fact laios already feels responsible for taking her last breath... this story started with falin sacrificing her life for him, dying in front of his eyes- so that "worst case scenario" already happened. at the beginning he thought all he had to do to fix things is simply bring her back to life like they had done before, but then it was his decision that led her to a fate arguably even worse than death; a reality where the very reason he wanted to save her was erased from her mind, with her becoming a chimera puppet. a reality where he is forced to fight a monster in the form of his sister.

for that reason, his choice to kill falin on his own isn't about saving everyone else from the horror of this "possible" outcome as much as it is him finally facing his own guilt for all he had done: from abandoning her during their childhood to bringing her with him to the island and living a life of hunger and danger at the cost of the safe future she could've had without him, eventually resulting in her dying while being all alone. but unlike his choice to leave their village, this time she was the one forcing him to leave her behind- an act that was not only done out of pure love but was also the result of a lifetime of internalizing the notion that everyone she loves always takes priority over herself.

so when it came to that point in chapter 67, killing her was his way of not abandoning her anymore. taking her last breath to carry alone, so he can never let go of her again. even if they wouldn't have succeeded in resurrecting her, then at least he gave her one last precious memory, at least he didn't let her sleep starving again- which is in direct contrast with her death at the beginning of the series that was caused by their hunger and its effects. but more, or perhaps even most importantly, at least he didn't let her die alone this time- having her most beloved person experiencing the horrors of her death with her while her dear friends are witnessing her suffering that she was trying so hard to shield them from until now.

and in those moments, it was without a doubt falin struggling against him along with the dragon. because of her brother forcing her to make a choice once more, she finally revealed her most raw, selfish and intrinsic side by fighting him back, scratching and pushing and screaming and harming the person she always put first instead of quietly giving up her own life. dying by the hands of love instead of dying for love. in choosing herself this time, it might be what gave her soul the strength to choose living by the end of the series- living a life of her own. and for laios, this was just as essential to his personal growth as well as the first step in his atonement: redoing it "the right way".

#this chapter did something irreversible to my brain #the “sibling fight” we didnt want but needed #anyways this is me replying to my own post from 3 years ago. haha... #dungeon meshi #laios touden #falin touden

[phoward89]

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: When Coriolanus signs you out of the hospital to bring you to his Corso penthouse, you see a glimpse of his dark side. Will that glimpse make you run away from him or to him?

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Mentions of death, Mentions of planning murder, Mentions of cheating/infidelity (not on reader), Mentions of poison, Large age gap/difference (Coriolanus is 33 while reader is 18), Manipulation, Groping, Slapping, um...trying to think of anything else.

Here's the 2nd part of Forever & Ever, My Darling Rose. I gave the Reader a last name, Halvir, in this just to make some scenarios etc a bit easier to write. But the Readers first name is up to you lovely and wonderful readers to come up with.

Story Masterlist

Chapter 2:

Coriolanus marched towards the nurses’ station with a haughty airs to him. He gave off an entitled, but dangerous aurora that had the nurses shaking in their white nursing hats. He'd threatened to kill every single one of their loved ones (friends, family, pets, estranged family, etc) if something happened to you and the nurses were terrified that he'd make good on that promise. Considering you went out of your mind with a nightmare and cornered yourself into your room, resulting in him being called there to calm you down, the nurses were fearful.

The nurses quickly grabbed their charts and scurried off, excuses that they had to check on patients echoed into the air, as the head gamemaker got closer to the front desk. Patients that are most likely asleep since it was nearly 3 in the morning. Yes, the nurses left their charge nurse behind to deal with the wrath of Coriolanus Snow. The nurse assigned to you was the first to bolt.

“I'm signing Y/N Halvir out since your staff is too incompetent to properly care for a victor.” Coriolanus firminly told the charge nurse as he came to a stop right at the desk she was sitting behind, all by herself since the staff abandoned her to face a fate worse than death alone.

The charge nurse refused to meet Coriolanus’ eye while tentatively informing him, “Head Gamemaker Snow, sir, it's ill advised to sign her out. She hasn't been checked by a doctor and she seems to be dealing with some post traumatic stress.”

Wrong Answer. Coriolanus was outraged that some old nurse had the gall to tell him that he couldn't do what he felt best for his, HIS, darling rose. What did that old hag know? If it wasn't for her calling him, you would've hyperventilated and passed out from sheer fear in the corner of your room.

A private room that he was footing the bill for, by the way.

Well, looks like he'll just have to make the charge nurse’s loved ones disappear for her lack of skills tending to you. He'll also find out who was your assigned nurse, make that useless twit disappear along with her loved ones. Well, the Citadel could always use some more lab rats to conduct mutt experiments on.

“It may be ill advised, but I assure you that I am signing Y/N Halvir out of this hospital and taking her with me, where she'll be properly cared for.” He calmly told the nurse as his cold blue eyes cut her down. Leaning down over the desk, causing him to be face to face with the old nurse, Coriolanus hissed, “Your insubordination has won your son, a doctor, and his family a transfer to District 6. Seems like the hospitals there are in need of more doctors due to the rise in morphling addiction amongst the district citizens. It's such a shame that both of your grandchildren, a boy and a girl, will now be eligible for the Hunger Games as District 6 citizens.”

The charge nurse shook with fear as she pleaded, “Please, Head Gamemaker Snow, don't do that. Please, don't be so harsh.” Quickly, she worked on her computer while adding in, “I'm printing out the discharge paperwork now, just don't send my family away to District 6.”

Coriolanus just stood up straight, his full height of 6’0 towering over the charge nurse as she sat at the desk, typing and clicking away at the computer. He didn't say a word to her, just stared her down with cold, dead, blue eyes. 

The charge nurse swallowed down a sick feeling that was welling up while rising from her seat to scurry over to the printer. She silently prayed to the printer, which was growling louder than a feral animal, to hurry up and spit out the paperwork for your discharge. 

Coriolanus grew bored waiting for the necessary paperwork for your release. So bored that he was tapping his shiny black shoes against the linoleum floor. 

Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click-

“Here’s that paperwork for you to sign.” The charge nurse told Coriolanus while hurrying over to him. Quickly she placed the paperwork on the desk before grabbing a pen from the cup on top of the desk. “And here's a pen, sir.” She practically threw the pen at him.

“Thank you, but your family's still headed to 6.” He simply said while signing and initialing the stack of paperwork he was given. It seemed a bit of an overkill in his opinion.

The nurse turned as white as a sheet upon hearing Coriolanus’ words, but she didn't dare try to fight him on it. Her family's fate was sealed by the sadistic head gamemaker, a man whose temperament was worse than his father, the late General Crassus Snow.

Once Coriolanus was finished with your paperwork, he left the front desk without so much as a thank you or a goodnight to the nurse, and returned to your room. You were sitting on the bed watching some late night rerun on Capitol tv whenever he entered your room. Looking between you and the tv, he chuckled, “You like the god awful cooking show where the chef curses out his potential staff?”

“We only get 3 channels on our tv back home in District 12 and this is one of the channels.” You explained to him while he made his way further into the room. Truthfully, you were lucky to even have a tv since you lived in the Seam. Your brother Rein and his girlfriend, Ashlie, had scrimped and saved for years to be able to buy the thing. It was small and second hand; only picked up 3 channels. The Capitol News, Capitol Movie Classics, and Capitol Channel 3. You wished there were more channels, but you were grateful for the ones you had. Most people in the Seam didn't even have that. You know that your neighbor, Corbin, and his Auntie (a mining widow) didn't even have a tv. 

As Coriolanus placed your paperwork down on your side table, you stared right at the tv (as the top chef called one of his potential staff a stupid fucking donkey for burning a risotto) and honestly revealed, “Plus watching all of these chefs get cursed out and treated horribly by their potential boss reminds me that somebody out there has it worse than me. Even though I live in the Seam with my coal miner brother and his girlfriend, who's a local barmaid at the hob, nobody's ever treated me as horribly and rudely as that award winning chef treats the people competing on his show for a job in his restaurant.”

“Hmmm…” Coriolanus hummed. Standing by your side, he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear while asking, “And what of your mother?”

“I haven't seen her since she ran off when I was 5 and Rein was 15.” You flatly remarked.

“I see.” The platinum blonde man nodded. He felt rage boil in his cold, icy veins. How could somebody leave you as a child? You were so perfect, so innocent. You didn't deserve to be willingly abandoned by your mother. Oh, if he ever got a hold of that useless bitch she was dead. He'd make sure that she died a torturous death too.

“You signed me out AMA?” You asked, glancing over the form that was on your side table 

“Yes, I signed you out against medical advice because the staff here is doing you, my darling rose, more harm then good. They're too incompetent to care for my Victor and you, Y/N, deserve nothing but the best care.” Moving to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, he told you, “I had your reaping dress cleaned and brought here for you when you were admitted. I thought you'd feel more comfortable in that than your uniform from the arena.”

“Thank you, Head Gam-Coriolanus. I appreciate it.” You thanked him, a bit nervous about what name to call him. In the end you decided to just call him Coriolanus, but it still felt heavy and wrong on your tongue.

“Please, just call me Coryo.” He countered while crossing the room with your simple cotton floral dress in hand. “Now let's get you out of your hospital gown and into your pretty dress so we can go home.” He suggested while coming to a stop right at your bedside.

Instead of standing and stripping naked like Coriolanus thought you'd do, you arched a brow at him instead only to ask, “Home? But I thought you were taking me to a penthouse here in the Capitol?” 

“I am taking you to the Corso penthouse which is now your new home, my darling rose.” He slowly explained to you, as if you were a small child, while placing your dress down on the bed. Shaking his head, he grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to stand up. 

“What the hell are you doing, Coriolanus?!” You shrieked, pulling away from him as he started to untie your hospital gown. 

Grabbing you roughly by the upper arms and turning you to look at him, he stared down at you with cold, icy eyes. “I'm tired and want to go home and get some sleep. You will be a good girl and let me help you change.” 

You tried to break his hold while assuring him, “I can get changed myself. You can go wait in the hall, Coriolanus.”

“No, my darling rose, you can't. Now, be a good girl and let me help you so we can get out of here.” He told you in a tone that was sickeningly sweet.

“Corio-” You began to protest, only for him to slap you across the face. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as your hand automatically flew up to cradle your stinging cheek.

“I told you to be a good girl and let me help you, Y/N.” He sighed. 

“You hit me…” You trailed off in shock as tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Oh, my darling rose, I didn't mean to hurt you.” The pretty platinum blonde man cooed while prying your hand away from the cheek that he’d struck in his frustrated anger. His blue eyes raked over your cheek, which was raw and red from the slap. Seeing your tears rolling hotly down your cheeks turned him on, as horrible as that sounded. Brushing his knuckles along your puffy cheekbone, that would surely bruise within an hour or so, he softly said, “I don't like brats and backtalk, Y/N. If only you were a good girl then I wouldn't have slapped you.”

His words left your mind going a mile a minute. So, wait, it was your fault he slapped you? All because you didn't want his help changing? That didn't make sense. Should it make sense?

You were drawn out of your mental musings whenever you felt Coriolanus’ tongue lap up the tears along your cheek. Your breath hitched at the action. Your felt a tightness in your chest and a fluttering in your lower belly as he tilted your face to lick the tears of your untouched cheek. 

As his tongue traced your cheekbone, lapping up the salty tear stains on your skin, you felt a tingle in your core. Oh no. You can't have this reaction to him. It's wrong; he’s a married man and older than you. Hell, he's even older than your older brother.

Even though you knew being turned on by him was wrong, it didn't stop you from rubbing your thighs together.

When he pulled away from you, he gave you a lined smile and suggested, “Now that we have an understanding, let's get you in your pretty dress so we can go home.”

Your head was fuzzy with want and you had a slight ache in between your legs, so you were in no shape to protest or fight back. “Okay.” Your breath was shaky as you nodded. “Okay.”

“Seems like I have quite the effect on you, my darling rose.” Coriolanus smirked as his nose ran along your jawline. Your heartbeat was beating quickly, perhaps too quickly, while you felt heat pool in between your legs. Oh god, you've never felt like this before (yea, you've been turned on before, but not to the point where you felt uncomfortable and wanted to rip your hair out) and it both startled and excited you. 

He licked the shell of your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “I must confess, Y/N, that you also have quite the effect on me.” He whispered into your ear before pulling away and leaving you to stare up at him with shock all over your face. “Don't look so shocked, my darling. You’re very beautiful and you're resilient; a victor.” 

Turning you around, he gently untied your hospital gown as if he was untying the bows to his favorite piece of lingerie. When he was done, he spun you around, nearly knocking you off balance and slid the gown off your shoulders. Your eyes darted to the floor as your breasts were exposed to him. You felt so small under his gaze and towering form as he slid the gown the rest of the way off you. 

“You have such nice tits.” Coriolanus smiled in awe, lust shining in his eyes, as he began to palm your nice tits.

“Coriolanus-” You started, only for him to cut you off with the request of, “Coryo, call me Coryo.”, as he began to run his thumbs over your nipples while cupping your tits in his large, calloused hands.

“Coryo, we can't do this here. We're in my hospital room.” You told him despite his actions causing you to get even wetter then you already were between your legs.

“It's a private room, my darling rose. I paid enough for it, so I don't see the harm in us getting my money's worth.”

What the hell did he mean by that? Did he seriously want to mess around in your hospital room? Oh no. No, no, no. No. You're drawing that line at that. 

Your hands wrapped around his wrist as you told him, “I just want to get out of here, Coryo. You promised to take me home, remember?”

You prayed that your words knocked some sense into him because you didn't want your first time doing sexual things to be in a hospital room, where a nurse could walk in at any time, with him (he was a married man for God's sakes!).

His demeanor deflated and he sighed, “Yes, my darling rose, I did promise you that didn't I?”, while pulling away from you. He grabbed your dress from the bed and motioned for you to lift up your hands.

“What about my underwear?” You asked, feeling a bit exposed as Coryo looked you up and down with a hungry glint in his eye. It was as if he was a starving man and you were a juicy steak ready to eat.

“You don't need them, darling. Once we get to our penthouse you'll be changing into a shirt to sleep in anyways.” He explained while motioning, once again, for you to lift your arms. This time you obeyed him and he pulled your best floral dress over your head. He smoothed it out, only to press a kiss to your forehead and smile. “You're all ready to go, my Victor.”

The car ride to the luxury penthouse seemed to take ages. You were alone with Coriolanus since he was driving and it made you feel a bit uncomfortable. After what happened in your hospital room (him stripping you and groping your boobs) you didn't think it was a good idea to be alone with him. He was married and you didn't want to lose your innocence, all of your firsts, your virginity to a man that would never be yours no matter the chemistry or effect you had on each other.

You were staring aimlessly out the window when Coryo startled you by placing a hand on your thigh. You didn't say a word, just sighed uncomfortably.

Looking over at you with a worried expression, Coriolanus asked, “What's wrong, Y/N? You seem troubled.”

Pulling your eyes off the window, you snapped your head to look at the platinum blonde in the driver's seat and honestly told him how you felt. “You shouldn't be resting your hand on my thigh, Coryo. You’re married.”

The gold ring on his finger mocked him as it shines against the red and cream floral fabric of your dress. He never had anyone turn him down because of that thin gold band he was branded with by saying ‘I do’ to Livia Cardew, well that is until now. Coriolanus knew that you were young and innocent from District 12 so the thought of being a mistress would horrify you. He knew that he had to ease your worries, so he simply told you, “Don't worry about my wife, darling. I’m taking care of everything; she won't be my wife much longer.”

“I wasn't aware ya’ll were having marriage problems. The Capitol gossip rags make it seem like the marriage is a happy one.”

“Things aren't always as they seem here in the Capitol, my darling rose.” He told you before correcting your grammar with a stern, “And it's I wasn't aware that you were having marital problems.” Patting you on the thigh as he switched lanes, he explained, “You're not in District 12 anymore and since you'll be staying here in the Capitol for a while it's best that you learn how to speak properly; like a Capitol citizen.”

You didn't say a word, just numbly nodded. You never thought that staying in the Capitol while Victor’s Village and your house was constructed meant changing how you talked. You never thought you talked strange, well until now. “Do I sound weird when I talk, Coryo?” You asked, staring at the side of his face as he drove.

“No.” He shook his head. “We just need to work on some small grammar errors here and there, but no, darling, you sound just fine when you talk.”

“Oh…” You trailed off, turning your attention back to looking out your window. 

He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, “You're a rose that just needs some extra pruning and tender care, but fortunately for you I'm an excellent gardener that favors white roses.” His thumb grazed your thigh as he explained, “White roses are the perfect symbol of purity and perfection.” As he pulled up to a large building, his baritone heavily hung in the air with the meaningful words of, “Unblemished; untouched, just like you, my darling rose.”

But how long would you be Unblemished and untouched? Would he take your innocence as soon as you entered the penthouse or would he wait until he was free from his wife? The bigger question was did you even want him to take your innocence? To give you all of your first experiences with a man? Now that was the million dollar question you didn't have an answer for. Or maybe you did, but didn't want to acknowledge it.

AN: Did anyone catch the tv show easter egg I threw in there?

Tags: @kuroosbby001 , @purriteen , @poppyflower-22 , @meetmeatyourworst , @whipwhoops , @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #coryo snow x reader #coryo x reader #coryo snow fanfiction #coryo snow #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #tom blyth #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games x reader

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

One thing I feel like we don't talk about enough is the fact that Haymitch was 16 when he won the Second Quarter Quell, against 47 other children, 12 Careers among them.

We often see him portrayed as a drunk and a lazy bastard, but the amount of skill and cunning it takes to survive THE HARDEST HUNGER GAMES IN HISTORY. No one understands how he's managed to survive an arena with twice the tributes, or even figure out how the poison works. But Haymitch just doesn't trust the excess, the berries, the green. And he's lived with hunger before. He can take it for a while. When he finds his first body in the arena, the perfectly brown nuts still in his hands, he decides not to eat anything but what's in his backpack. Then, after killing two Careers and being saved from death by Maysilee, they team up and figure out a system to safely drink the rainwater and kill other tributes and scavenge from their backpacks, to make sure that they don't die from poisoning. And being skilled enough at fighting to pressure the Career into throwing her ax at him. Even with half his guts hanging out she apperently wanted none of the smoke. And not only understanding from previous Games, apperently, that the arena ends somewhere, but using it to his advantage. It is astounding.

Then he comes back and the Capitol kills everyone he cares about. This 16 year old boy is surviving the most brutal onslaught in the history of the Games and comes home, traumatized, hurt beyond belief, both mentally and physically - seeing an ally and friend die in his arms, almost dying from taking an axe to the stomach, having to kill no less than 3 Careers - only to see his family and girlfriend murdered.

And as if that isn't enough, he has to spend the next 24 years watching his tributes, all of them the same age he was or younger, die in the arena, all alone. There is no one else to help him shoulder that grief. He has the worst district, where no one ever wins, so he sees 2 children he mentors die every year, and the mother of the girl who saved his life in the arena is still around.

But wait! It gets worse! After Peeta and Katniss show fighting spirit and a desire to come back home alive, he has to choose which tribute he will try to help. He puts his money on Katniss, which is understandable, but still heartbreaking.

Then, they somehow both make it out alive. Notwithstanding the roller coaster of emotions Haymitch must have been on when they pulled that last stunt with the berries - getting them both back, then maybe getting neither back- he has no time to grieve for the 23 children who died, but must immediately go to Katniss to try and save her from the same fate he encountered for his own stunt with the force field.

Then he hears about the Third Quarter Quell, which involves Katniss and either him Peeta or having to fight all his friends. And with Katniss begging him to take Peeta's place when they reap him, all the trauma must've come flooding back.

He is also set to lose the two people he cares about - Peeta and Katniss - to the regime, after snatching them from the jaws of death. When he finally has someone else to share the burden of being a mentor, the Capitol immediately takes that from him, forcing him to watch his comrades die one by one trying to protect Katniss and Peeta to keep them alive, all to give Haymitch a chance to pull them out.

We sort of forget about him a little in the third book, but Haymitch loses absolutely everything he has to the regime. Everything. His innocence, his family, his home, and Katniss and Peeta. He has to topple an entire regime and is a member of a far-reaching conspiracy while he can barely function from all the ( additional ) trauma.

I feel like Susanne Collins used him as a mirror to reflect just how gruesome the Games are, and how this spectacle ultimately damages people so badly they become a shell of themselves. Anyone else thinking about celeberty culture?

When looking at him differently, one cannot escape the notion that he resembles a war veteran, too, forced to kill people to come back and then being lauded, but not helped. Especially him saying "there are no victors, only survivors" and the mind numbing substance abuse in order to avoid dealing with the death of two innocent children every year and everything he went through in the arena.

But not only that; he still has the strenght to fight back, organize a coup, be a mentor. Presented with the first real chance he gets to pull someone through the hell of the Games and come back out, he jumps. Even though that means reliving the horrible games again.

Haymitch deserves a lot more praise, and I think Collins presented him really well as an idea of just how evil the Capitol really is. And how wickedly smart Haymitch Albernathy can be, if he chooses to.

I am honestly suprised that he's still alive and in generally okay condition, despite being a raging alcoholic. Him raising geese and looking after Katniss after they come back from District 13 gives me a little peace.

#haymitch abernathy #hunger games #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #hunger games movie

[iberiantalesif-game]

Genres: Heavy romance, Fall of your entire culture, Ancient history slice of life, Found family

Rating : 16+ for depictions of violence, mature themes and language. (List to be expanded on)

Summary

Life was once tranquil on the isolated coast of your city, surrounded by a loving family and promising prospects for success in your societal position. However, tranquility shattered when the Romans emerged victorious in the Punic War against Carthage, signaling the impending demise of the Iberian people.

As flames engulf your city, escape becomes the only viable option, if luck favors you enough to evade the soldiers blocking your path that is.

Yet, amidst the chaos, you realize that the existence of a stray and that of a Roman slave may not be so disparate.

If the gods truly have a plan for you, their track record thus far suggests they're not worthy of your trust either. But when a fate worse than death is upon your door, you really cant get picky can't you?

Features!

Assume the role of a member of an Iberian civilization dwelling along the coast.

Customize your protagonist's background as a warrior, priest, or noble, shaping both personality and appearance.

Flee from the Romans (or choose otherwise) and embark on a quest to find a new place to call home.

Reconnect with or forge new bonds to create your newfound family, if circumstances allow.

Decide between preserving your culture from extinction or embracing the dawn of new societal norms, and confront the repercussions of your choices.

Engage in romantic pursuits with one of the available romance options. (Witch will be expanding as the game develops and progresses)

The RO´s Cast

Theodosius (Theo) Aurelius [He/Him]

Theo resembles his father´s features, tall, blond and with eyes coloured by the sea. He also has a cold temperament and a tendency to keep people at arm's length.

But being a powerful Roman family heir might make him a good ally. The truth is that you have no option but to please him or his father who bought you, all in hopes of a change of fortune. Or so you tell yourself, as the cold man shows you a mercy not proper of Romans. Maybe they are not as beastly as you thought after all?

Tropes: Snow Prince with warm heart, Fake love to Soulmates.

Eon[He/Him]

Eon is a huge man, with signature red hair, heavily tanned skin and a green stare. So is his entire family, a mercenary group from the northern city of Numantine.

With a world of differences in between and a war that has shaken the safety of the entire peninsula, he is as good a bet on survival as it gets. But when the times can't seem rougher, this giant man offers a sweetness that you have rarely known amidst despair, maybe one strong enough to survive hunger?

Tropes: Buffed fluff/could kill and is a cinnamon roll.

#if game #interactive novel #if wip #interactive game #choicescript #dashingdon

[noisycroissant]

"It's you..."

Astarion x Reader

She was one of those marks that broke his chipped heart. The trusting ones, the doe-eyed ones who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. It hurt every minute he spent with her knowing that he was simply leading her to a fate worse than death.

He remembered the look in her eyes when they took her away with the others at the party where they lured all their marks to once a month. He dreamed of that look for years only to wake up to find himself shaking, face wet with tears. He didn't want to keep doing this, but another year of being confined and tortured and starved with no hopes of escape, freedom or otherwise...no, he couldn't survive that. Not again.

But then, he saw her again. He was sure it was his fragile mind playing tricks on him. Constant torture can do that you, y'know. But then he saw her again. The same hair. Skin paler though. And then he heard her voice.

"Astarion?"

When he heard his name in that voice again, his heart dropped to the pits of his stomach. He'd do anything, beg at her feet, grovel for forgiveness, anything to not hear that tone in her voice.

"I am angry for what you did to me. To my life. But I also understand why... I've had to do it myself."

I've had to do it myself.

If he ever had thoughts of murdering Cazador in the darkest ways possible, those thoughts just became a million times darker.

"Where you here all these years? I never saw you. I thought I knew every turned spawn in the palace."

"I was locked up for "lack of respect" and "till I learnt what was good for me "."

He knew what that meant. Lashes, pliers, blood, pain, hunger, tears.

Desperate prayers falling on deaf ears.

"I'm.. I don't deserve to say sorry. You'd have been... anywhere but here..if it weren't for me."

"I know. But you did what you did to survive. I don't begrudge you for that. I had enough time in that cell to know that choice does not live in these walls."

*******

And that's how it began. That was how hope came back into two people's lives. How it grew and bloomed with each passing look, each time fingers brushed while walking across hallways, each time a secret letter was found under a pillow.

After 150 years, Astarion dared to dream.

He would always curse himself when he remembered that night. It had taken them almost a year to plan, another year to talk courage into themselves to go through with it.

He remembered how soft her hands were when he held them as they ran through shadows.

Freedom. It was so close. Just a breath away.

And in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

Of course. What had he been thinking? They'd never be free. Not as long as that monster had a leash on them.

"Don't let them see each other, Godey. But make sure they hear."

Astarion remembers the day his heart finally crumbled to ash.

*******

Decades later, when he was finally let out again, the very first night he goes to the highest roof he could find in Baldur's Gate. And he sat there. Waiting for the sun. The only way he could be free of this hellish life. The only way he could forget the sins.

His skin prickled and he cried as the sky turned pink.

The next thing he remembers is waking up on a beach with a unholy squirming in his eye. A crashed ship, fire and smoke bellowing. Intellect devourers running amok. But he was out in the sun and it didn't burn. It didn't hurt.

The confusion was enough to drive him mad. 200 years of rage and pain, and he finally had a chance to end it. But even that was taken from him.

He heard footsteps and chatter. Hand goes to his dagger naturally. But then he hears a voice.

Her voice.

This must be the tenth circle of hell, he tells himself. This is where depraved sinners like him go to. Where they're tortured for eternity with the things they'll never see again.

Like the sun.

Or her.

But hope survives in the darkest of hells.

And it had found him again.

"Astarion?"

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #bg3 cazador #cazador szarr #astarion smut #astarion spoilers #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #astarion x fem reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader

[fastlikealambo]

Connubium.|| Coriolanus Snow x Black Fem Reader Chapter Three

table of contents.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Summary: Stealing from The Capitol is a deadly offense, yet you’ve done it more times than you can count but when you do something you should not have done, Volumnia Gaul decides a fate for you that might just be worse than death.

Notes: This takes place post The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes and Coryo is in his last year at The University, studying under Dr. Gaul. This will not follow canon, I’m not an expert on all the lore so I apologize if I get things wrong.

Disclaimer: You know Coriolanus is a POS, I know Coriolanus is a POS, please don’t yell at me because this is just a fun little story, something for thee hotties, and  if you feel that strongly against President Snow, please let me know if you’d like me to sign you up for tessarae.

Warnings: Violence against Reader, murder, some gore.

Thanks for the love on chapter two! If you want to see chapter four, comment or reblog, feedback makes me want to continue!

To Coriolanus’ immense relief, Grandma’am wasn’t home. 

He would have had to explain why he much preferred to stay with The Plinths these days, his exquisite guest, and why he had outright rejected her last match for him.

Her wealth was inadequate, the one before her smiled too much, and the one before that liked to sing.

No singers, ever.

 “What a lovely home, did you grow up here?” You asked him as he sat you down on a comfortable chair gently. You looked around, relieved that this was not one of the homes you had stolen from in the past as that would have made things a little awkward.

   “Since before the war, I’m surprised we’ve never met before, I thought I knew everyone my age in The Corso.” Coryo said over his shoulder as he searched through the cabinets for supplies.

  “My father was hurt during the war and in his fragility became rather overprotective. I’ve had private tutors since childhood and now that he and my mother have passed on, my priorities have changed and my desire for exploration has grown.  Although, after today, perhaps exploration while reading is not the best idea.” You said, the well practiced lie flowing from your lips like water.  

Thanks to a tutor Dr. Gaul blindfolded and threatened, all traces of your district dialect were gone in three days, home no longer on your tongue or in the calluses scrubbed from your fingers.

The girl from District 6 was dead.

   “Perhaps you just need another pair of eyes. You read and I’ll look out for cars, how does that sound to you?” He asked, sitting down on a chair opposite you and lifted your leg onto a pillow on his lap.

  “University student, crossing guard, Capitol tour guide. What don’t you do, Coriolanus Snow?” You asked, a small smile that he returned with ease before looking down at your ankle.

   “Unfortunately I don’t sew as I think I’m going to have to cut your stocking off.” He said, scissors poised to cut the silk  but a soft hand on his stopped him.

   “I think this might be easier.” You said, lifting the edge of your dress to expose a sliver of the garter belt and suspenders that kept your stockings up. With an audible click, you unhooked the stocking, careful to let out a slightly pained breath trying to roll the stocking down and keep your leg still.

You weren’t sure if Coriolanus was still breathing.

“Let me help.” He said, voice rough, and you didn’t need to be told twice to remove your hands as Coriolanus put both hands on your warm thigh and slower than he’d thought you’d notice, rolled the stocking down and carefully over your swollen ankle, blue eyes never leaving yours.

Capitol or District, the look of wanton hunger in the eyes of men when they wanted something so badly was universal.

A door opening broke you both from the scene, the click clack of heels made Coriolanus straighten in his chair and you pulled your dress back into place as a tall blonde came into view.

  “Grandma’am, I’m home! Oh, Coryo, I wasn’t expecting you so soon! Who’s this? ” The bright smile on the pretty blonde’s widened as Coriolanus introduced you.

  “This is my cousin, Tigris. We had a bit of an incident on the street so I brought her here to get cleaned up, hope that’s alright. ” Coriolanus explained.

“Oh you poor thing! It’s nice to meet one of Coryo’s friends, despite the circumstances, that looks like it hurts.” She said without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

Only warmth radiated off Tigris Snow as you chatted, Tigris immediately going to work to fix a rip in your coat while Coriolanus finished wrapping your ankle.

  “Would you like to stay for dinner? We haven’t had guests in such a long time and I know Grandma’am would just love to meet you.” Tigris asked and Coriolanus was astounded and disgusted by the way his heart raced as he waited for your answer.

What was this?

Where were the jokes about district scum?

Why did you actually want to stay for dinner?

“Thank you but I’ve taken up so much of your cousin’s time already, I should be on my way.” You said and Coriolanus’ attempt to disguise his displeasure did not go unseen by you as he helped you up.

“Well then, we’ll have tea soon enough, I demand it.” Tigris said with a gentle smile.

“I look forward to it.”

The first true thing you had said about yourself all day.

A car was waiting for you when you and Coriolanus emerged from the penthouse, letting him take most of your weight.

“Well Mr. Snow, thank you and your cousin for everything, I don’t know how to repay you.”

Coriolanus did.

“My friends, The Plinths, are having dinner tomorrow, half of The Capitol is invited. Would you like to go with me?” Coryo asked.

 President Ravinstill would be in attendance and Coriolanus needed to be seen as a contender for Panem’s political future and none of the matches Grandma’am had attempted to make would be able to convey that image. 

Coriolanus didn’t need a date, he needed a brand.

He needed you.

“I’d love nothing more, Coriolanus.”

Coriolanus watched as your car disappeared around the corner before continuing on in the direction of The Plinth residence, satisfied that stopping that car from hitting you had produced a fruitful opportunity just as he predicted. With you at his side tomorrow evening, nothing would go against him.

As he walked, Coriolanus reached into his pocket and pulled out the silk stocking he had conveniently forgotten to return to you.

He’d hold onto it, of course, for safekeeping.

His intentions were as pure as the driven snow.

There’s no way you were going to get through a dinner full of Panem’s finest without making a fool of yourself.

Tonight you would sneak into Gaul’s lab and find out where she was keeping your parents, peacekeepers be damned.

You were formulating a plan as the car pulled up to where Gaul had settled you, limping towards the door when someone yanked you into the shadows and slammed you into a wall.

A man in a wrinkled suit held you by the shoulders, the smell of Morphling on his breath made you want to vomit.

“I knew I recognized you! You picked my pocket a month ago and you’ve come crawling back for more, haven’t you? District trash just can’t help themselves.” He said with a hollow laugh, yellowed eyes attempting to focus on you as he tightened his grip.

“Let me go or I’ll scream.”

“ For who? A peacekeeper? I’ll get one myself but before that, I’d like a kiss. Give us a kiss, you know you want to-”

The morphling didn’t finish his sentence due to the fact the heel of your shoe you somehow managed not to drop was driven into the side of his neck, blood soaking your face and coat as you pushed his limp and gurgling body off you.

A chuckle behind you made you turn and there stood Dr. Gaul, applauding you with fervor.

“Red looks good on you, little thief.”

You were right, the girl from District 6 was dead.

But the woman from The Capitol would be much harder to kill.

That’s chapter 3! If you’d like this story to continue, please comment, reblog, give me feedback! Let me know what you think about this story! Thank you for reading.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x black!reader #coriolanus x you

[astarionconsort]

Ascendant Astarion was driven by fear, but can you really blame him?

Okay so I just read the newest interview that mentioned Astarion reasoning behind his ascension was driven by fear and I thought it made sense?

Tho I don't believe that fear was the only force behind the reason of his decision to ascend, there's a longing to be alive again to enjoy everything that the world has to offer, the need for certainty and also to protect his loved ones (when he has a love interest)

But let's talk about this fear part, there are people (even the companions) who expected that 'he should have known better' or 'shouldnt even think about ascension' and sees this fear in the recent interview as something that is so horrid but here's the thing.

"You are right to be afraid." I mean DUH obviously it makes sense. Astarion lives in a very dangerous world where countless undead risen from their graves thanks to necromancer toying with life and death, there are bandits everywhere, monsters, evil gods who never failed to make life even more miserable than ever and even the supposedly good aligned god can be so awful at times, etc etc.

The party that he traveled with and himself were infected with worms that would eat their brain and transformed them into a living husk, the absolute cult and the dead three were on their tail, angry devils, Cazador wanted him back and not to mention the Githyanki and their lich queen wanted them dead as well for what happened with the prism

Even during act 3 where they were supposedly close to victory. The victory was not set in stone yet, nothing is certain and something could have gone wrong. They could have died or even worse!

Not to mention he's a man who was tormented for 200 hundred years. He was stripped of everything that he had and even his own reflection, reduced to catched rats to sustain himself.

Can you really blame him for wanting to seek a way out from Cazador's torment, the hunger for blood and the indignity that he suffered for so long?

Also it would be harder to convince him to not ascend if Tav or Durge romanced him. Because now he's not just afraid for his own safety and his future but also his lover. The only person whom he ever love and genuinely love him back in 200 years (also not ending up as a victim for Cazador)

Most people would have killed him when they found that he's a vampire and infected with an Illithid parasite. Most people would have abandoned him

Tav/Durge was the only light in his life after years of living in darkness and torment, you can't really blame him for wanting to keep this light from being snuffed out by untimely death

And if that means sacrificed 7000 souls that he already damned anyway (undead like vampire wouldn't be accepted by good aligned gods in the after life, not sure about evil gods but most deities most won't accept them) so be it

I don't see this fear behind his decision as something that is objectively awful? I mean it is a natural respond anyone would have if they were in his shoes

Then you might ask "If Astarion loves Tav or Durge that much why he insisted on turning them into a vampire? And break up if they refused?"

Because he was overwhelmed by his beating heart/ his renewed sense, the high from his power and he's also insecure. At that point in act 3 he expected Tav and Durge to stand by his side no matter what

Because they were the only person who didn't kill the parasite infested vampire spawn at the beach, who loves him anyway despite the face he was a man with nothing to his name, who were willing to sacrifice 7000 souls and killed the Gur for him!

Ascended Astarion didn't want THAT special person to be taken by early death or a fate worse than death

He needed the reassurance that his love would be safe and no gods nor fate will take them away

If they refused to be an immortal vampire then they were as good as sealed their fate to death. Astarion didn't want to face that heartbreak

The thing that I don't agree with the interview is that the interpretation that ascension sent him to a horrible place? It was kinda vague? Like worse place when? During or after the ascension? Because this cannot apply after the ascension since I have taken so many screenshot and recording of ascendant astarion and I didn't see him feeling miserable about his fate. He was happy that the hunger gone and he could see his reflection again

Post final battle? The epilogue? After the epilogue party? This cannot be applied to all people, all route, all Tav/Durge and Astarion in general because there's variations. I mean you might see ascended Astarion as a bit lonely because he doesn't end up with anyone but in my Tav's universe he has a consort who stay by his side and their relationship is still going strong because my Tav is aligned with him

#astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 analysis #bg3 meta #bg3 discourse #ascendant astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x dark urge #astarion x tav #ascended astarion

[eldritch-spouse]

What would Vesper do if his queen were to suddenly, I don't know, disappear for a few days because she's off having "fun"?

Btw, I love the stories and the individual characters! I constantly reread them cause they're so amazing!

[I'm assuming "fun" means you're fucking around in the streets of Lust? If not, then I'm sorry, I can't really guess. Thenk you!! <3 That's super sweet of you.]

Putting aside the massive scare he gets when he realizes you're missing, he's about ready to crack Lacai's spine like fucking bubble wrapper for letting you just waltz off when the imp is able to get a desperate breath in and explain why he didn't intervene.

You were out getting "acquainted" with the denizens of the Ring.

The first thing he feels is absurd disappointment. That he wasn't invited. Really now, you could have told him about your sudden burst of hunger, Vesper would help arrange something fun!

It's safe to say the King will slide most non-priority tasks of the day into a shelf and follow after your trail outside. And believe him, it won't take long to find you. Because having the Queen of Lust just stroll around in the open definitely draws a sizable, loud crowd... He's farily confident that you wouldn't get hurt- Not only would the twats that hurt you be fated to something worse than death by his hands, the Ring loves you dearly. It's much more likely you're getting followed by demons begging you to fuck them or trying to show off with each other.

Vesper nearly shudders when he senses so much sexual energy condensed in one location, it's like a hit of dopamine snorted up his nose and rattling directly across his brain cells. He finds you in the state he expected to, honestly. Babbling, dripping slick and cum, too fried on pheromones to tell left from right but still coherent enough to beckon the next horny fool into one of your holes.

Such pride he feels in you.

However, he's not too keen on you getting overwhelmed enough to risk damage. As is, you're likely already going to be out of it for a week or so, raised libido, accelerated metabolism, emotional swings- The whole nine yards he'll have to prepare for.

Vesper cuts through the crowd and collects you from the mass of horny bodies delighting themselves with yours, creating a balance as he chooses to take care of most, and gradually decreases the number of partners you take at once, sometimes snarling at them viciously to stall their intensity. If someone disrespects his orders (probably due to rampant excitement at getting to fuck the Queen), then they'll be broken in two and tossed aside. You're likely too fucked out too notice or care.

At some point, you're no longer having sex but being lovingly fondled and soothed by the more self-controlled demons of the Ring, who are getting their rocks off just from seeing the state you're in.

Vesper decides when you've had enough and gives you a sweet, longing kiss before summoning Lacai and some guards to remove you from the premises, back to home where you will be bathed and properly grounded after such a fuckfest. The demonlord plans to lightly chastise you about the dangers of tossing yourself to the streets without caution. You are human, and even if his power flows through your organism, these things need to be eased into.

Vesper remains outside however, never afraid to sate his residents and take everything they toss at him. It's likely he'll overeat and toss himself into a rut, which his subjects are all too happy to deal with.

By the time he comes back, truly spent, the King just wants to faceplant on his bed with you.

#Vesper oc

[dottores]

ONWARD & UPWARD

pairings: cyno x fem!reader x tighnari, tartaglia x fem!reader

summary: the last thing you were supposed to do was fall in love. now a decision must be made—one that you are not yet prepared to deal with the consequences of.

genre: antagonist!reader, fatui!reader, canon divergence, strangers to lovers to enemies (cyno & tighnari), lowkey enemies/rivals to lovers to enemies (cyno), khaenri’ahn royal!reader (diamond pupil), childhood friends to fwb (tartaglia), right person wrong time (tartaglia), un(?)requited love (tartaglia), obsessive and v lowkey yandere behavior (tartaglia)

chapter specific warnings: semi-graphic descriptions of blood/violence. mentions of hunger/starvation, neglect, manipulation, near death experience, character death (no main characters).

— featured characters (chapter): kaeya alberich and his parents, “gold”, pierro.

notes: i’m so excited for this y’all you have no idea, a short prologue before we get heavy into the plot and characters. almost all worldbuilding will be done in the fic itself for my readers not familiar w genshin. as always reblogs for boost very much appreciated <3.

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

PROLOGUE. MEMENTO VIVERE

“Please do not send him away.”

Your vision blurred as you rested on your knees in front of the man, body folded into a bow, eyes squeezed shut to try to force the tears away. Around you, the few survivors that made up your group whispered and you knew they had nothing good to say--the last surviving member of the Eclipse Dynasty on her hands and knees in front of a lesser family, begging and pleading with them to listen to you… 

You hated that they still put so much weight on your blood, your should-be station. They called you ‘princess’, looked at you to lead them--but you were a princess of a kingdom that had long been destroyed, and you were only a child. The world around you crumbled and burned, poison seeped through the land and monsters roamed, starving and viscous, the sun never rose and you were meant to be salvation--the one to lead them from the darkness, to a livable world. 

Sometimes you wished that they had never found you outside of the ruins of the Tungl palace after your father had passed, you wished that they had let the rifthounds tear you to pieces, you wished they had let the draugr devour you. You wondered if you would be better off dead than forced into a role that you knew you were not meant for. 

Except the dead did not die in Khaenri’ah, you reminded yourself, they rose again without mind, hungrier, savage. Was that really the fate you would have preferred? 

You did not have time to linger on the question. Aina Alberich was tugging at your bicep, trying to force you to your feet. You did not rise, remaining in the bent over, kneeling position. Your hands shook against the ground, chest heaving. 

“Do not send him away.”

A pair of boots shifted in front of you, and you flinched as a hand came atop of your shoulder.

“Look at me,” the heavy voice of Osmin Alberich met your ears, and you forced yourself to look up, unable to blink away the tears before they began spilling down your cheeks. “We must take advantage of the passage to Teyvat. We cannot survive he-”

“I will go,” you interrupted loudly. “I will go to Teyvat.” 

“That is not an option,” Osmin shook his head, brows furrowed deep. “We do not know what Teyvat is like, how dangerous it will be-”

“So instead you send your son?” you cried out, rising to your feet. “To an unknown continent, with dangers we’ve never seen before? For all we know, it could be worse than our current situation.”

“And such is the duty of the Alberich clan,” Osmin said firmly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye, unable to stand the cold and unmoving look in them. Instead, you dragged your gaze to Kaeya, who stood behind his father doing his best to stand strong but you could see the fear hidden beneath his eyes. “We’ve stood at the side of the Eclipse Dynasty for millenia, protecting and serving. Kaeya will travel to Teyvat and he will make sure the land is safe. Once he confirms it, we will follow.”

“Why don’t you go?” you accused, finally looking back at Osmin. “You are an adult, a seasoned warrior, and yet-”

“Someone needs to stay back and protect the group, to protect you,” Osmin didn’t let you finish, and you faltered, eyes darting around to the rest of the group--the elderly, the crippled, a pregnant woman and her infant son. No one strong enough to defend against an attack from a pack of rifthounds or the draugr. 

“Princess,” Osmin knelt in front of you, voice quiet so no one else could overhear. “I do not want to send my son to a foreign land but I must put our people first. Always. He will return, and we will see brighter days. Have faith.”

You swallowed thickly, your fingers trembled as you nodded. You inhaled sharply, straightening your shoulders as you stepped around Osmin to stand in front of Kaeya. 

“May-” your voice cracked, you exhaled and closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. You rose your right hand and began again. “May you be given the knowledge to follow your path, may you be granted the strength and courage to complete your journey, and may you find your way back home at the end of your travels.”

You fumbled to unpin the Inteyvat flower from your top, to signal the completion of the ancient rite of blessings that the Eclipse Dynasty bestowed on Khanerians traveling to foreign lands--a rite that had not been performed since before the Cataclysm. Your ears rung as you listened to Osmin and Aina murmur to each other in the background. 

“I will bring him to the passage,” Aina said. “I would like to be the one to see him off, you stay with the princess and the others.”

Your fingers trembled as you pinned the flower onto Kaeya’s shirt, clasping his hands in yours as you looked him in the eye.

“We will meet again.”

---

Blood stained your hands and your face, your body shook like a leaf as you knelt at the corpse of Siriana, who had shielded you from the claws of a rifthound whelp that had appeared from behind the group. 

It was supposed to be safe. You felt sick as you tried to hold pressure on the wound, even though you knew deep down that Sirana had passed. The path to the palace was supposed to be safe. 

“Princess!” you could hear Osmin roaring your name, fighting through the pack of hounds to get to you. “Princess, move.”

You looked up, lips wobbly and vision teary as you tried to spot Osmin but you were only met with the slaughter that had taken place surrounding you--the bodies of your companions torn to pieces by the rifthound whelps, the gore strewn across the dark ground, the blood fertilizing the dead earth. 

Everyone was dead. 

A particularly loud shrieking noise came from behind you, a whoosh of air, and your eyes widened as you spun, coming face to face with an adult rifthound, electricity crackling around its body as it swiped at you. You couldn’t move, from all of the training that Osmin had given you, now faced with an actual enemy you were frozen in place, waiting for death to fall upon you.

Except it didn’t. 

Someone slammed into you from behind, sending you careening toward the cold, damp ground. A sharp cry came from above you and you scrambled back to your feet, fear tugging at your chest as you tried to figure out what happened. “Osmin!” you cried out, watching the rifthound claw into his chest, a damning blow. “No!” 

Osmin was undeterred, driving his sword through the rifthound and forcing it to portal away. He didn’t hesitate as he reached for you, grabbing you by the arm and hauling you up, half-carrying, half-dragging you away from the remaining rifthounds and the massacre. Your gaze trained on the blood dripping down his chest, the armor that was shredded by the rifthound--the skin was already rotting around it.

“Osmin,” your voice came out as weak and wary, but the man didn’t care, stopping behind a crumbled pillar, grabbing you by the face and forcing you to look at him. 

“You must run to the palace,” his voice was hoarse and harsh. “The rifthounds will not follow you in.”

“Osmin, come with me,” you were trying to bite back your tears. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I will not survive,” the words were bitter to your ears, a scraping noise that made you want to cover your ears and run, “and it’s only a matter of time before the others return. You have to be long gone by then.”

“Osmin, I’m not ready to be alone,” you gasped, the fear and panic finally starting to hit you. You had been alone once, for weeks after your father’s death--you couldn’t survive that again. “Osmin, don’t leave me.”

His grip on your face tightened, “You must focus, princess,” he said sharply. “Run to the palace, take refuge there. Remember that you must live.” 

You wanted to shake your head, you wanted to refuse, but Osmin was pushing you away, in the distance, through a crumbled arch, you watched as Sirana’s arm jerked.

“Go,” he said, drawing his sword to turn around. When you didn’t move, his voice sharpened, “Go!”

With a sob at your lips, you took off in the direction of the palace, shaking, refusing to look back as the sound of Osmin’s blade clashing against the claws of another rifthound whelp met your ears. Your lungs burned against the cold air, like knives scraping your insides--each breath you took tore against your throat, your feet slammed against the ground so hard it sent shocks up your shins to your knees.

You could see the palace in the distance through your blurry gaze--the crumbling white and gold walls, the large silver arch. 

You would make it, you realized, hope blooming in your chest. You would make it.

But even as the words drifted through your head, there was a strange whooshing noise from behind you. You turned on your heel, eyes wide as you spun around to figure out what had appeared behind you.

A rifthound? 

You realized too late, you were too slow to bring your hands up to block the blow to your face, one of its claws coming down to catch your forehead, dragging down through your right eye to your cheekbone. You let out a terrible shriek, hands flying to your face, blood dripped through your fingers as you tried to scramble away. It burned, your head spun as the pain began to envelop you.

Your breath was sharp and ragged, nails digging into the dirt to try to push yourself up, Osmin’s plea for you to live ringing through your head on repeat, but the skin that was slowly rotting around your eye was a death sentence. You couldn’t bite back the next sob, the pain beginning to be too much for your body to handle. You pressed your hand to the right side of your face harder, trying to stop the bleeding but your hand only slipped against the skin. You looked up and you swore everything around you slowed as the rifthound twisted in the air to come back and finish you off.

You tried to move, you did, but your arms and legs were too weak, and the pain was clouding your head. You were unable to look away as it came down on you but right before its claws made contact with your neck, it was being sucked back into a vortex.

Your breath shuddered, your good eye widened. Osmin? Did he survive and come back to help? Hope bloomed in your chest as you tried to figure out who had sent the rifthound away. But it was not Osmin whom your eyes landed on.

A woman with long hair, a dark cloak and golden eyes that burned bright against the darkness of Khaenri’ah. Her gaze was curious as she drew closer to you, standing above where you were crumpled on the ground.

“A child of the Eclipse dynasty, how fascinating,” she murmured, kneeling down in front of you to grab your chin and tilt your face up toward her, swiping away the hand you had covering your wounded eye. “I had been under the impression your entire bloodline had died out.”

“Who are you?” your voice shook as you asked her the question, trying to push away the pain that was exhausting all of your senses. The woman smiled at your question.

“You may call me Gold.”

--

“The Eclipse Dynasty was known for its proficiency in the Art of Khemia prior to the Cataclysm. When Khaenri’ah fell, the form of alchemy was all but lost to the world.”

“I will do better,” your voice shook as you stared down at another failed experiment. You could feel the judging eyes of Gold bearing down on your back. You forced your shoulders not to shake as you took in another breath. “Next time will be a success.”

“Once we teach you to harness the power of Khemia, I will take you from this place--bring you into the Order that will overthrow the rule of the gods that led to the fall of our home.”

“There will be no next time.”

Gold’s words were harsh and cold, knives dragging down your bones. You froze, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to look at her, even as you heard her packing up her tools. 

“What?”

“Do not fail me.”

“The Abyss Order has no room for failures, I told you this in the beginning. I gave you many chances, more than what I would give others.”

She spoke so matter of factly that your arguments dissolved--that even as you rose to shaky feet, you weren’t sure you knew what to say. You caught sight of yourself in the broken mirror across from yourself, faltering at the scar cutting across your eye. It had healed for the most part, thanks to Gold’s alchemic abilities, but right above your eyelid and below your eye was stubborn, it wouldn’t fade away, and your vision would never properly heal, Gold had claimed--haunted by blurs and shadows for the rest of your life. 

You forced yourself to look away, turning to face Gold, whose back was already turned to you as she finished packing up her things. 

“I will not fail next time,” you told her, voice pleading as she began to walk away from you. You chased after, tears pooling in your eyes. “I won’t fail, I was close, I felt it this time. I’ll get it, don’t leave me.”

It was a lie, and you knew Gold knew it. This time had felt no different than the last time she had tried to teach simple Khemiac alchemy to you. It had been nearly a year since she had taken you under her wing and you had made no progress.

Could you blame her for giving up?

A sob bubbled in your chest, you tried to bite it back--Gold despised signs of weakness. You couldn’t blame her. You had heard her talk about the Abyss Order and its grand plans, and she had been wasting time in the ruins of Khaenri’ah trying to teach you the Art of Khemia when she should have been planning with the other executives of the Order. 

But why can’t she take you with her? Leaving you here…

“Take me with you,” you begged as she stepped outside of the ruins of the palace, “Take me with you.”

… it was a death sentence. 

Gold turned on her heel, chin raised, expression hard and you froze where you were standing on the steps of the palace. You knew what her answer would be before she even spoke. Your heart sunk deep in your chest, your body trembled, you bit down on your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. 

“There is no room for failures in the Abyss Order,” she repeated, “blood of the old dynasty or not. We do not have the resources to spare and even if we did…”

Even if we did, failures were not welcomed.

“Give me one more chance,” your voice was little over a whisper, and Gold ignored you. You watched as a portal formed behind her, you watched as she stepped into it. Your panic rose, invading all of your senses as you chased after her. You stumbled down the steps, tripping over debris on the bottom one and falling to your hands and knees. 

“Don’t leave me here!” the desperate shrill of a cry escaped your lips just as the vortex shut behind her.

The following silence was cold and empty, a heavy realization weighed on your shoulders as the distant howls of rifthounds and savage cries of the draugr met your ear--you were alone. 

--

You weren’t sure how long you had remained in that spot wasting away. The rifthounds and draugr had begun to gather, stopped only by the old enchantments that protected the palace--as long as the blood of the Eclipse Dynasty remained, they would not be able to break through… but they were waiting, they knew you were on death’s doorstep, they knew it was only a matter of time before the enchantments fell.

You were hungry, and you were cold, and you weren’t sure why you were cold because the city around the palace was the only place in Khaenri’ah that burned eternally--remnants of the old war that would not fade.

You could feel yourself dying, you could feel the way your body weakened with each passing second, the way ice spread through your veins and your skin felt numb to the touch. Osmin’s words rang through your head: “remember you must live.”

But you didn’t think you’d be able to rise to your feet even if you wanted to--and a part of you wondered what the point would even be. You were trapped in Khaenri’ah, surrounded by rifthounds and draugr, you were out of food and you were out of willpower. You would die here, you were certain of it.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even hear the commotion coming from the courtyard, not until the head of a draugr rolled to the ground in front of you. You could barely bring yourself to look up, your head felt light at the movement, it strained your neck.

A man, you recognized in the distance, drawing closer to you. In your state of half delusion, you could almost imagine Osmin rushing toward you, cursing the gods for having let him be separated from you for so long, promising that he would take you from this wretched place to go find Kaeya. 

Almost. 

The man was not Osmin. Osmin was dead, likely a draugr prowling the ruins of Khaenri’ah by this point unless another group of survivors had managed to stumble across him and put him out of his misery, free him from the husk he’d spend the rest of eternity as otherwise. 

You didn’t recognize the older man even as he kneeled in front of you, pulling his cloak off and laying it across your shoulders. You could not feel the warmth. He laid a hand against your cheek, lips twisting down.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, eyes searching your face momentarily before recognition swept through his face, you couldn’t gather the strength to respond. “You are-”

He cut himself off, swallowing as he let his head drop into a bow. “Princess,” he murmured, and you swore that if you could cry, you would have--you couldn’t stand the cursed title and all of the misfortune it had brought you. “I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

He didn’t wait for a response, scooping you into his arms as he rose to his feet. Your head rested against his bicep as you looked up at him. His gaze drifted around the ruins of the palace in a way that was nothing short of longing, as if he were reminiscing old memories.

“Who are you?” your voice was weak and scratchy, and you wondered if he hadn’t heard you because he didn’t acknowledge your words. After a few moments, he let his eyes fall back down to you, and your eyes widened as you recognized the diamond-shaped pupil of his left eye. 

“Pierro. I go by Pierro.”

--

wordcount: 3.3k

RB FOR BOOST AND FEEDBACK APPRECIATED

-- pls do not nitpick tiny mistakes or stuff like that, i'd like feedback on plot/characterization & eventually character development

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #cyno x reader #cyno smut #tighnari x reader #tighnari smut #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe smut #tartaglia smut #genshin impact smut #cyno x you #tighnari x you #childe x you #tartaglia x you

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 11, MDNI

Sleep, once a comforting respite, has now become an enemy you avoid at all costs. Each time the weight of your heavy eyelids becomes unbearable, and you finally succumb to slumber, a terrifying, all-consuming darkness engulfs your mind like a voracious black hole. It’s within this abyss, deep and unfathomable, that you’re left alone with your tormenting thoughts. Your brother, his face etched deep into the recesses of your memory, is a constant presence. His eyes, his laugh, his voice - all imprinted on your mind like a haunting melody.

And then there’s your mother. The man’s chilling words echo in the caverns of your head. They are a cruel reminder of the gruesome end he claims she met - a knife plunged into her skull. But the tormenting question that gnaws at your sanity is - what if he lied? What if your mother had survived, only to be condemned to a fate worse than death? The thought of one day stumbling upon her, changed and unrecognisable, transformed into one of the mindless biters, is more terrifying than your darkest of nightmares. The possibility of seeing her among the swarm of the dead is an image so horrific, so unnerving, that it’s something you can’t even begin to comprehend or accept.

Eating has turned into a chore that you’ve begun to neglect often, too. At first, the intense, gnawing pangs of hunger feel as if a multitude of sharp knives are stabbing at your empty stomach. But, as time wears on, your body learns to adapt. The pain has subsided, and you are left with only mild discomfort. With food supplies dwindling at an alarming rate, you convince yourself that you’re doing the right thing by not forcing yourself to eat. The only time you put something in your mouth is when the edges of your vision blur and dizziness washes over you.

Speaking has also become a luxury you deny yourself. Your mind is a battleground, scarred and scorched, where thoughts, emotions, and unspoken words swirl like a violent storm. Every time you muster the courage to part your lips, Simon’s gaze lands on you. His eyes, piercing and intense, render you mute. Unable to withstand the weight of his gaze, the unspoken questions in his eyes, you turn away. Words get swallowed, lost in the dark cavern of your throat. You don’t want to burden him with your despair. All the pain, all your suffering, is something you believe you must bear alone.

You find it impossible to fathom Simon’s unyielding determination to keep alive the man responsible for your mother’s death. The stranger remains bound with thick ropes to a rickety wooden chair, left in the dark basement with his mouth taped shut to prevent any cries for mercy. Each time you gather the courage to broach the topic, each instance when you muster the strength to insinuate that he should slice that jerk’s throat, Simon assures you with a solemn nod that he will, but not yet. Simon tries to explain to you that he can’t be making any harsh decisions. The man might still have vital information, and until you leave, Simon wants to keep him alive.

Simon’s concern for your behaviour is palpable, much like a thick, ominous fog that clings to everything in its path. You can see it the way his eyes follow you around whenever you enter the room, the way he tiptoes around you as if you are made of glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. He chooses his words with great caution, contemplating his thoughts before uttering them. He wants to help you, to ease the burden of pain you carry on your shoulders, to provide a distraction that would make you focus on something else. Yet Simon is at a loss for what to do. You seem closed off to his attempts at communication; sometimes—he feels as if he is trying to talk with a brick wall.

There are many times when Simon catches you trying to sneak down into the basement. A knife clutched in your hand. You want to do what you believe is right. However, he is always there to stop you in your tracks, always there to escort you back upstairs to your bedroom before you can even turn the doorknob to open the door.

“I just want to have a conversation with him,” you lie one time when Simon blocks the door. His broad shoulders and towering height serve as an unyielding barrier between you and the man in the basement. He crosses his arms over his chest. The fabric of his shirt stretches over his muscles like a tight canvas over a robust frame. His gaze, heavy as a falling stone, drops towards your hand. The only sound that dares to disrupt the tense silence that has settled between you two is the rhythmic clicking of his teeth.

“So, what’s the knife for, then?” He probes with a question, lifting his gaze to meet your eyes. Simon is far from gullible; he is aware of your intentions. As he peers into your eyes, a sense of realisation washes over him. Simon can’t let you into the basement. The stranger deserves retribution. But you don’t deserve to stain your hands with his blood. Simon questions whether you have the emotional strength to deal with the consequences that will follow your proposed actions. You have killed the dead before. Yet driving a knife into a man’s skull is different - it’s like comparing a gentle stream to a raging river.

In a tense standoff, Simon remains as immovable as a granite statue, refusing to budge an inch. You groan and push the knife into his chest. But when he doesn’t unwind his arms to take it, you let the blade fall to the ground. Rolling your eyes at him, you mutter a string of curse words under your breath. After glaring at him one last time, you walk away.

Simon can’t help but notice that this isn’t the first time you have tried to bypass him. As a result, he begins to keep a much closer eye on you. His worry ballooning to new heights. His fears aren’t born from paranoia; they are driven by the thoughts of you trying to slip away from him when he’s not paying attention. So, from early morning till late night, he trails behind you like an ever-present shadow. Always lurking, always watching. He’s trying to predict your next move, to stay one step ahead. But deep down, you know that all his efforts are in vain.

Simon is undoubtedly smart, quick on his feet, and physically strong. But there’s one thing he didn’t account for - his growing feelings for you. And though it might be buried deep beneath layers of denial and fear, you, too, are falling in love with him. Yet your heart’s focus isn’t on him. Instead, your attention is riveted on your burning desire for revenge. You know that given enough time and a few more lies, you’ll be able to outwit Simon.

One night, enveloped by the weight of your fatigue, you confess to Simon that you’ve hit your breaking point. With a hint of despair creeping into your voice, you admit you can no longer sustain the draining cycle of spending countless sleepless nights curled up on the worn-out couch, anxiously waiting for the moment he succumbs to slumber before you can even think about doing something.

You can see the hesitation flicker in his eyes, the disbelief that you’ve finally spoken up. But you had already anticipated this reaction. Simon takes your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. He pulls you up the stairs and into your bedroom. As you step inside the room, he takes a moment to lean against the doorway. His posture is relaxed yet filled with unspoken tension. His eyes never stray from you.

You kick off your shoes, watching as they tumble under the bed. Then, you pull a sweater over your head. Its fabric grazes against your skin. As you climb onto the bed, slipping under the covers, you turn to Simon.

“Can you stay with me?”

The house is secure. No biters can crawl in. The stranger is still tied up and gagged in the basement. Simon checks on him at least three times a day when he thinks you are not watching, and ensures that the man is still breathing, still bound to a chair. Simon bites the inside of his cheek, tapping his index finger against the blade he holds in his hand. He would love nothing more than to get in bed with you, but someone must stay awake and keep watch. Yet, as he looks into your drowsy eyes, an irresistible force grips him, pulling him towards the bed.

“Fine, I’ll keep you company till you fall asleep,” Simon gives in, letting out a sigh. He convinces himself that if he can just get you to fall asleep, that would be one less thing for him to worry about as he stays up through the night.

Simon doesn’t bother removing his shoes or undressing. But he does place his knife on the nightstand before climbing on top of the covers and squeezing himself into the narrow, empty space on the mattress. The bed is small, barely enough for one, let alone two. So, to make it somewhat more comfortable, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his embrace. He holds you close as you basically lay on top of him.

Thirty minutes pass.

You are nestled against Simon. His muscular arms are still coiled around your small frame. His broad chest, a solid wall of warmth, is pressed against your back. You are curled into a tight ball, refusing to close your eyes. His tiredness is palpable, but Simon tries to fight the drowsiness, knowing he can’t fall asleep. Yet cuddling you, combined with the tantalising temptation of shutting his weary eyes, eventually overpowers his resistance, and he succumbs to the inviting embrace of slumber.

You can sense the soft puff of his warm breath on the nape of your neck, causing a light tickle each time he exhales. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the even tempo of his breathing serve as proof that he is asleep. Out like a light.

The desire to remain in Simon’s arms overwhelms you. You wish time would freeze, so you could stay curled in his embrace a little longer. But you can’t because there are things you need to do. And this is your only opportunity to sneak away from him. Slowly, you unwrap his arms from your waist. His hands slide off your frame and, with a soft thud, fall onto the mattress. After sitting up, you turn to look at him. Simon’s lips are parted, and his hair is dishevelled. You sweep your fingers through his tousled locks. Your fingertips trace his jaw as you dip your head, lean in, and press your lips to his cheek.

As you traverse the ominous corridors of the dark house, your heart begins to pound in rhythm with your mounting dread. The barely audible whisper of your footsteps is the only sound that accompanies you in this chilling silence. As you approach the door leading to the basement, the faint, unsettling noises emanating from its depths seem to grow louder, assaulting your already frayed nerves.

The basement door creaks open, revealing an abyss swallowed by an impenetrable darkness that seems to devour any trace of light. For a singular, heart-stopping moment, the thought of retreating, of slamming the door shut and fleeing from this terror, is tempting. But, with a firm grip on the railing and a deep breath to steel your resolve, you force yourself to take the first step inside.

The air becomes denser and heavier as you near the bottom of the staircase. Every shallow breath you take feels like a struggle. The palpable fear is suffocating. Yet you press on, your steps leading you to an old table shrouded in darkness. You extend your hand, allowing your fingers to trace the rough surface of the table. Your fingertips finally brush against a solitary object - a candle. Retrieving a matchbook from your pocket, you strike a match. The sudden burst of light cuts through the darkness, illuminating your surroundings.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the man. His intense gaze, piercing like a laser, seems to bore holes into your very soul. As he shifts into the chair, causing it to creak and wobble, you notice his futile attempts to spit out the dirty, ragged piece of fabric that has been shoved into his mouth. The sight of the deep cuts crisscrossing his body, his torn shirt revealing the extent of his injuries, and his bloody, battered face forces you to look away. A wave of nausea washes over you. After taking a few deep breaths to regain your composure, you gather the courage to walk closer to him. As your trembling hands reach out, you pull the rag out of his mouth, letting it fall onto his lap.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” The stranger asks, his eyes darting around. He attempts to manoeuvre his bound arms behind his back. The rough texture of the rope is biting into his skin. He knows he has little chance of convincing Simon to let him go. Yet he dares to foolishly hope that he can manipulate you.

“Shut up,” you snap back, your voice icy and devoid of any mercy. Your lips press into a tight, thin line, a clear sign of your annoyance and frustration. You try to clear your head, to focus on the task at hand, but it proves to be a difficult feat. His incessant babbling is like a nagging buzz in your ear, making it challenging for you to concentrate on anything else now.

“Fine, fine. Sorry.” He leans back in his chair, his eyes moving up and down your body. “Why are you here, anyway? I was under the impression the basement is off-limits to you.” A smirk appears on his face.

You’ve had many fights with Simon in the past few weeks. The arguments usually escalate, turning into heated exchanges that end with raised voices and harsh words. So, it’s not a surprise that the stranger is aware of what’s going on upstairs, even if he’s stuck in the basement.

“I won’t be staying long,” you utter, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your grip on the knife you are holding tightens, knuckles turning white. Your body quivers. A physical manifestation of fear and anxiety that threatens to overtake you. Doubts begin to creep into your mind, making you second-guess your decision.

“Have you ever taken a life before? I bet not. You, sweetheart, with your innocent eyes and dazed expression, don’t strike me as someone capable of murder.”

You try your best to ignore him, to block out his chatter, but his words have a way of invading your thoughts, prying open your mind like an unwelcome visitor. Each syllable is like a chisel, slowly chipping away at your resolve. He notices your hesitation, a momentary falter in your hardened gaze, and seizes the opportunity. With a grunt, he tries to sit up straight, straining against the rough ropes. But his body is weak, worn down by the hours of confinement. He slumps back down. Simon tied him up with an unyielding tightness, leaving no room for even the slightest movement.

“Listen, we can help each other,” he pleads, nervousness seeping into his voice. He starts speaking faster. Words tumble out in a hurried mess because he doesn’t know how much time he has until you decide to shut him up. The uncertainty, the fear of the unknown, fuels his desperation. “If you cut these ropes, if you let me go... I promise, I will take you to your brother.”

When he states this, it’s as if a magnet pulls your attention back towards him. Had he chosen to stop talking at that moment, you would have undoubtedly struck a mutually beneficial deal with him. Yet, he doesn’t. Instead, he continues. His words flow like a river, and with each uttered syllable, you take a hesitant step back.

“Free me, let me deal with Ghost, and we can go.”

The mention of Simon is like a punch to your gut. He shouldn’t have brought Simon into the equation. You want to find your brother. But the thought of sacrificing Simon to achieve this end twists your stomach into knots. You aren’t willing to pay such a hefty price for what you want.

Unaware of your actions, you draw nearer. You avert your gaze, unwilling to witness the deed you’re committing. The knife plunges into his chest. The jarring sensation of the blade piercing through his flesh makes you recoil inwardly. Your entire body freezes in place. The blade slips from your trembling hands, thudding heavily as it hits the ground. Your muscles lock in immobility. The pungent scent of fresh blood assaults your nostrils. Staggering away from the stranger, you finally open your eyes, only to witness the man choking on his own blood. The world spins in a disorienting whirl. You teeter precariously on the precipice of unconsciousness.

At a rapid pace, you run out of the dreary basement. The cold and damp air clinging onto your skin. You quickly approach the front door. It screeches as you swing it open with all the force you can muster. As you step on the porch, you feel your knees buckle under the weight of the terror you’ve been carrying. You fall to cold, hard ground, the impact sending a jolt of pain through your body.

You attempt to take a deep, steadying breath. But it feels as if the outside world is devoid of any air as if all life has been sucked out of it. You gasp, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your lungs craving the oxygen they so desperately need. As you lift your hands to your face, the dim moonlight reveals a horrifying sight. They are covered in a thick layer of red – blood. The sight alone is enough to make you feel sick. Your stomach churns violently at the realisation. You open your mouth, your body instinctively trying to expel what isn’t there. But because you haven’t eaten in a couple of days, instead of vomiting, you just retch painfully. The dry heaving wracks your body, each spasm more agonising than the last. The taste of bile fills your mouth. Yet there’s nothing to throw up. The empty pit of your stomach is a constant reminder of the days you’ve spent without food.

In your mind, the vivid reel of the past five minutes keeps playing on repeat. You attempt to wipe it clean, but it clings, haunting you with the gruesome image of plunging the knife into the man’s chest. The scene replays. The metallic tang of fear fills your nostrils, and the sound of your rapid heartbeat echoes in your ears. Regret floods your senses as you realise you should have heeded Simon’s advice. You should have stayed far away from the basement and the stranger and entrusted him to handle it all.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69 , @browtfyoudoing , @yelenassafeplace, @itsthealice, @naxxsstuff, @lotionlamp If you want to be added, let me know!

#simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cod #writing #simon riley x reader #call of duty #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost #cod ghost #cod x reader #cod fanfic #fem!reader #ap2 #zombie apocalypse #apocalypse

[cod-z]

| Ch. 2 | How to catch a Spider?

Your media consumption isn’t my responsibility | TW: inaccuracy of things, ooc(?).

Pairing(s): Poly!141 x Mafia!Reader

| Masterlist | Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 | WC: 3.7k

Price paced in his office as he goes over through the plans that sprawled on his desk, he had been talking to his planner since the day he and his boys came back from your casino. It had been 2 weeks since you had given them a temp-ban from entering, they don't know how long this ban will last but they needed the information now. You knew who the guy they were chasing after, you knew intel that could lead to their next step but you're stubborn to not give it.

Price kept a vice grip on his phone as he awaited news from his friend, they had been organising to break into your casino, from the interior design when they had first visited, it was well guarded, cameras at different locations, even ones where there shouldn't be. Your casino, your palace was a minefield of security.

The double door entrance for people to walk in and out were guarded by two bouncers, both heavily guarded with weapons at the ready, pistols in holster that's hidden behind them while the rifles sat idly in their strong mitts, they were trained. Trained than the average bouncer, Price assumes at least, perhaps they were veterans or you had trained them yourself?

The guards that you hired around to protect the peace were also highly trained to his understanding, when the brawl had spread throughout the casino, they were quick, precise in their movement just as you were when you had taken down Ghost. They were all alert, highly active even when some of them seemed to be relaxed on their breaks, meerkats, they were. Satellite their surroundings, waiting for any danger to come crawling about in their establishment.

Then there was you, the brains, the beauty, the mystery behind all of this operation, the Queen of the Web, the Temptress of Gambles, the Master of Fate.

You were the eyes and ears of everything in that building, those eagle eyes watching down below your casino, behind the darkened screen of where your nest is, sipping on a glass of champagne. Eyes watching the unfortunate souls that dare to enter your cave and be eaten by the hosts that awaited their presence just like you had with the Task Force 141. You had known of their arrival, you had waited for them to enter your den and you took a bite out of them, their ego and pride laid damage when they had left.

Whatever this sick and twisted game you play of the cat and mouse had them quivering in their knees.

Price had to deal with the horrors of the battlefield, had dealt with enemies worse than you, had grazed death's doorstep, and not once had he ever felt fear. Not until he met you.

You weren't a foe nor a friend, yet that sickening feeling of fear made his throat hitch, gagging on nothing, nauseas, felt goosebumps spread throughout his body, the hair on his neck rising as if he were staring at a beast that looked at them with hunger. That sweet, false smile plastered onto your face reminded him of that crazy cat in Alice in Wonderland or that pale faced Creepypasta he saw on the internet that one time. Hated the eternal smiles because anything could be hidden through the fake innocence of a smile.

Something about false innocence irked Price to the bones. Whenever someone acts too sweet and kind, later showing the true intentions scared him. The fact that you can smile while doing something so inhumane, so cruel and corrupting, never settled right with him. Sure, he has done a lot of things beyond humane, but he never smiled about it, occasionally relinquishing through anger or burying it deep into his soul, and uses stoicism like Ghost, to hide it all. But a smile? It showed something more unstable within that person.

Insanity.

Price felt a shiver crawl up his spine at the thought of evils that you hid behind that sadistic smile, that mentally broken mind of yours and what you had done to deserve so much fearful respect, that your clienteles didn't utter a single word when you had exterminated that man. During the execution he glanced at you for the quick second, he found nothing but a pair of eyes that held no colour, no emotions, no remorse, just a steel wall that couldn't be penetrated. A story that had yet to see the light of day, guarded by a monster that gorges on fear and screams.

A high pitched ring echoed throughout the room, Price's thoughts being interrupted by the sudden noise as he jolts where he stood. His hands bolted towards his phone before clicking the green button, answering and placing it between his right shoulder and ear, sitting back down on his seat while grabbing the plans and documents.

"Price."

"Leonardo."

"Don't call me that, old man."

Price lets out a hefty chuckle at the nickname, he's heard it from the others, especially Soap but hearing it from an old friend felt rejuvenating, familiar.

"Status?"

"I'm not your soldiers, Price, but sad to say there's not much we can gather," Price groans quietly, irritated, nothing again. "Whoever you're after Price, whatever ties you have with them, better sever it."

"If only. Need intel from 'em."

"Laswell still got nothin'?"

"No."

Throughout their investigation, the only other valuable information that they've understood was that, all, your clients were hidden under your hand. Names and occupations only showed just the same as yours, every client, regulars, some who don't visit often. Hidden. Their lives disappear as if they never existed in the planes of existence, their names being the only fragment that indicated that they had even existed. It was unusual to say the least, it left Price and Laswell baffled.

Why these people?

Why were they kept secret?

Is it all of your clients that entered the casino?

The last question being answered. A list of thousands if not, millions of people, filled their screens. Many millionaires and billionaires on that list, people who were in higher status, famous people. They were all connected to you in some way, the opulents were connected through casinos throughout the world. People who had seniority, connected through rented or purchased buildings that you had owned. Luminaries were stationed at villas and radio broadcasts signed by your father's name in which now in your name.

The Queen's Web.

You were global. You knew who people were. You know people's lives. And yet, no one knows you. You hide behind shadows, watching your subjects draw in new prey. Watching your minions fight amongst each other, brainwashed by the circular, golden metal, or the lushed, green, paper that you dangle in front of their faces - waiting - for them to take a bite, before lunging at them with your own fangs, injecting them with toxins that corrupts them into doing your bidding.

Price scratches at the table, the thought of what you were capable of scared him, the amount of people you knew was vast and at your command.

He's seen it, heard it, from you.

That sickening giggle ruptured from your throat while you held down Ghost, him, lying on his stomach, his arm twisted around his back while you hold his wrist above him, your foot pressed upon his right shoulder, pinning him down and immobilising him. Your eyes held no false sweetness from before as you mockingly cackle at his pathetic form, the feared Ghost, is now under your mercy. You hadn't broken his arm, no, you weren't after physical damage, Price noticed.

You wanted to squish the pride that Ghost held inside him, extinguish that flame inside him along with his ego, leave him to be a more broken man because he was defeated by someone more fragile than he was.

Your smile flattening into a line as your eyes squinted and became cold, glaring down at Ghost before looking at the other three in the room, the glare sending a chill down their backs for the third time that night.

"Is this really it? Task Force 141?"

The mockery hidden behind the seriousness of your tone, the degradation that you spat out at them through your tinted, red lips. No one dares to say anything, they didn't even give you a glare, they just stared at you with shock and fear. It fueled you and they could tell, they mentally battled to stop acting out of character but they couldn't.

"Pathetic."

It stung. That word stung. Just as before, they didn't know why your words made them feel like they were nothing but dirt, like gum that was stuck underneath your shoe, it damaged their pride, their ego, their confidence. Mixed with your distasteful glare, it didn't help, it made their throat dry, hoarse.

They didn't say anything. Not even when you had told them that they were temporarily banned from entering your casino, the reasoning that you spouted out were muffled by their own thoughts while they stared at Ghost. Battered, bruised, small bits of blood on his body and mask. Their silence being the last thing before you had kicked them out with the help of your guards.

That single click of your figure, embedded into Price's brain, the way they mindlessly obey your order through a sound and the nod of your head. The guards were much bulkier, stronger, taller than you were and yet they didn't question your commands, were they afraid of you? No, they respected you but why?

Price continued to pace in his office, his hands brushing through his messy hair, he had been pulling, ruffling, plucking out of stress and anger, unable to decipher you or the security walls on his screen.

He had another profile up, another random regular that you know, that you had interacted with before - he hopes - that maybe the outcome would be different, a mess-up that you had forgot to put up a security wall on it. To his dismay, the same result, another security that he was unable to breach, not even Laswell or her team could bypass it, not Gaz either.

He slams that laptop shut before yelling out in his office, the tea on his desk long gone cold, papers scattered around his office, the pin board fueled with pinned information and pictures gathered in different areas, the pins scattered with aligning threads indicating that they linked. Except for the thread in Price's hand, unbeknownst to him it was your favourite colour.

He had yet to link you to the colourful mess of his pin board, none of the details making you fit in, the little knowledge that surrounded your picture was only your name and the occupation that you had given along with the fact that you're worldwide business, even that doesn't quite fit you. You didn't act or seem like the part that you're a business woman.

You were adamant on giving documentation, you didn't care for your casino like an owner would, sure, you'd watched what was going on but you didn't do anything to stop it. Though the only time you did interfere was because you had guests.

Price lets out a hefty sigh, murmuring underneath his breath before falling onto his chair, the chair squeaking at the sudden impact and swaying a little as he adjusts himself into a more comfortable position. He swivels his chair to face his desk, placing his elbows on the rough surface before leaning forward, his hands bawled and his forehead rests against them.

"Price, you solid?"

Right, he was on a call.

"I'm solid."

"You still in?"

In? What was Leonardo talking about? Was Price that out of it?

"Sorry, repeat."

A sigh, could be heard through the phone before the sound of papers being moved, the sound of shuffling and the scrapping sound of a chair being moved forward.

"Listen, I'll help out," Price perks a little. "But..."

"But what?"

"This person that you're dealing with, they're..."

"What Leon?" Price was agitated as it is, he needed answers, he needed information. Secrets and the unknown is still foreign to him even with his line of work.

"I think they're part of the mafia."

The room was silent. Air suffocating as they wait. Price stood at the head of the table, Ghost sat to his right and Gaz to his left, Soap sat left next to Ghost. The three of them felt uneasy at the sudden briefing, no one had been informed of Price's findings, Leon's findings, before being summoned to the room with nothing but their casual wear. Ghost returning from the gym, Gaz coming from the rec room and Soap who came out of his room from a nap.

"Why are we here? We got nae info," Soap mutters, rubbing his eyes while he yawned, still trying to wake himself from his small nap.

"We do now."

The double doors open, Laswell and Price's companion walked through. The man was above 6ft, brown hair stylised in a soft undercut, though there was a streak of grey mainly on the left side, his balbo beard matching the same, he also wore a rectangular shaped, black glasses. However his ragged clothes mismatched his facial appearance, dressed up like Price when he's gone on a fishing trip, minus the fishing gear and the hat.

"The names Leonardo."

Soap opens his mouth, quickly being shutted up.

"Not Leonardo DiCaprio," Leon pinches the ridge of his nose. His glasses being pushed up by his index and thumb as his massages the ridge, the annoyed sigh making Price bite back a chuckle earning a glare from his friend. Laswell already earned herself a headache, clears her throat, the room being silence once more.

Ruffled papers being slapped down onto the table, Laswell’s hand graces through them spreading them out separately. Profiles being shown to the people in the room, her body leaning over the desk as she goes over what Leonardo had discovered through his findings.

“How can we know this is legit?”

Leonardo scoffs at Gaz’s question, his arms folded across his chest while holding a small grin, he pushes the middle of his glasses, the shine being reflected.

“I’ve been following a lead, trying to see when or how new people get into the system,” he throws a few photos in front of the group, one of a snooty, old hag and another of a handsome, young lad about in his 30s at least.

“These two are new in town, fresh meat for the taking. Both are very wealthy, narcissistic, though they have… a partnership, illegal business running underground,” Leon pulls another photo out of a warehouse. “Suppliers of guns and weaponry, imported illegally. Manufacturers, unknown.”

“From what we’ve gathered, the weapons that they hold are rather powerful. Bombs and grenades, having more impact than military standard, guns that are designed to be more lethal, brutal but easier to handle and travel with and rumours are flying that they have rockets, missiles located on innominate islands, close enough to have quick hits but far enough that it won’t be picked up on radar or found by the government,” Leon fired out polaroids after polaroids, mainly in black and white, hefty amounts of them were blurred, some were decipherable but the rest, useless.

Gaz grabs a polaroid. The weapons laid across the table, it seemed ordinary enough, nothing out of the usual, a basic rifle. His brows furrow the more he stared at it, unscrambling the puzzles that were in front of him, the same being said with his team.

“Why them?” Surely there were better suppliers out there and with the amount of connections that you had, could’ve went straight to the source. Yet you didn’t.

“That— we don’t know,” Leon sighs heavily, staring at all the pictures, documents, the reasoning has yet to be found. A moment of silence lingers in the room, everyone rifling through the documentation that was on the table, rooting it into their minds.

"So what's the plan?"

All of their gaze lands on Ghost, the skull-faced man staring at Price, Laswell and Leonardo. Leon's brows furrowed as he takes a deep breath in before rounding up the papers and pictures on the table, putting them in a specific order and organising them, his eyes focused intensely as he analysis each one, remembering which puzzle piece fits with which.

"I've tried to find blueprints for the casino to no avail, keeping that as a secret too," he takes out an A2 piece of paper, draping over carefully at the top of the desk. Completed and faded lines scattered throughout the piece of paper, a map that's uncompleted. "I tried to go by what you've seen, what you told me, what I've seen through the pictures and such, and this is all I got so far."

Leonardo grabs out a black marker, the tip touching the page as he starts lining some of them up to give a clearer picture, his eyes and brain trying to work together to complete the missing blank areas. The others trying to help with their own knowledge, what others haven't seen when they haven't paid attention, somehow, a miracle that they managed to have a decent enough - guessed - blueprint of your casino. If this was any other situation they wouldn't have gone with it, but this entire ordeal was strange and new, the unknown was something that they never get to deal with head on. Always a back-up, an insight of what the unknown could have, yet you had hid everything from everyone, from them. A void that truly defines risk.

The six of them work overtime, planning to enter your casino. Taking them 2 more weeks to plan outcomes that are more likely to happen, going off on nothing but guesses and memories. So foreign to them, feeling like they're more of spies than a Task Force for the SAS, sure they had stake-outs, lurking in the shadows but this was something else.

The impression that you had left on them made them delusional and overthink the scenarios. Your strength and speed to take down Ghost, the amount of guards and security unknown to them, the regulars that enter your casino could be a liability.

Soap lays slumped against the sofa armrest, his hand rubbing against the temple of his head from the restless nights and from the planning, thinking of the break-in.

"Ah swear, if this is all for nothin' ah'm gonna shoot myself."

Gaz chuckles as he pries his eyes off the screen of his laptop, the blue hue emphasising the black bags underneath his eyes, clearly from the lack of sleep that he suffers with the others.

"For once, I agree with you," the Scotsman glances towards his friend with a small, tired grin etched onto his face. Both of them seemed more pale, messier, dragged from everything that was happening during the two weeks. "Then we can all just, relax."

Silence.

The two of them laugh at the idea to relax, their work of line never allowing that piece of paradise even during the night where their minds were fueled with nightmares of the battlefield and things that they have seen. Soap heaves out as his laughs stutter into a sigh, using a finger to wipe away the tear that built up.

"Nice one, Garrick," Soap grabs a beer bottle next to the sofa and tosses one to Gaz which he caught. "But really tho' I hope this is all worth it, tha' bonnie really got us runnin' for our money."

"Information."

"Ye ken what I mean," Soap opened his own beer before taking a sip of it, the slight burn going down his throat as he pulled away with a satisfied groan.

"'ope we're not celebrating yet, boys," Leon leans against the doorframe with a tired looking Price behind him. Price rubbing his temples from the lightning and the same reason why everyone was tired.

"Nae, just a wee break before the mission," Soap nods, raising the bottle in his hand.

"Fuck it, pass me one."

Sooner or later everyone was in the rec room finalising the plan as they drank, staying sober but keeping their blood pumping with the alcohol. The next day, early in the morning they gather their resources and equipment, securing everything into place, going it over once again even with the slight buzz in their head from the night before as well with the minor sleep that they had from passing out.

During the night they head towards the casino through a rental, burrowed from close relatives of Soap's, parking a few blocks down to your casino. Eyes focused on the bright colours of your sign as it flashed off and on, watching the regulars entering, hearing the chatter and gossips.

Price grumbles as he tucks away the small mic into his suit. "Ready boys?" he asks before stepping out of the car.

Ghost stands on the balcony over the poker tables, adjusting his cuffs, turning and twisting it as he hides a weapon underneath the sleeves before reaching over his face and presses down a fake brunette moustache and slicks back the wig. "Rog."

Gaz entered inside the building with a bald cap, a fake, black handlebar moustache, matching with a pointy, tipped beard, his attire of silver, silk suit and a black tie. "Landed in."

"Why do ah have to wear a dress?" Soap grumbles through the comms. Gaz huffs out a strained chuckle, Ghost leaned over the balcony to compose himself quickly before hearing Price stifle a laugh.

"We needed one female," Leon states over comms.

"Shouldn' Gaz be in this instead? He's more petite than ah."

"HEY!"

"Well, he said 'not it' first," Leon chuckles, making Soap grumble as he enters through the side exits. The navy blue dress loosely hanging around the back as the ruffles cover the cleavage area.

"The corset is killin' me, this is why I never question my sisters when they dress so pretty like," Soap whines more as he adjusts the front, the heels digging into his ankles, knowing those were going to chafe. The blonde wig he wore already irritated his scalp. In his 'best' female voice, answers; "Lass on duty."

"Pfft- Eyes and Ears at your beck and call," Leon answered for him and Laswell. Everyone stared at the interiors, marking their plans, seeing exits for emergencies as they enter your den.

Mission: Capture the Spider, is a go.

A/N: *wheeze* I am cacklin'-

Taglist(s): @chickennn-soupp, @ghostlythots, @kaoyamamegami, @ocyeanicc, @hxnneydew

#cod-z #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #cod mw x reader #cod x you #task force 141 x reader #modern warfare x reader #141 x reader #cod fanfic #poly tf 141 #poly 141 x reader #mafia au #mafia!reader #mafia!141 #call of duty fanfic #call of duty #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #poly tf141 #task force 141 #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod #task force x reader #cod x y/n #tf141 x reader

[delta-pavonis]

OKAY. OKAY.

HEAR ME OUT.

Hellknight!Hob wearing this. Chest hair and tiddies out, full happy trail, all of it...

Of course, I think about that, and that inspires a ficlet. And then that ficlet turns dark. So... *shrug* *shoves new baby out in the world*

Rated T

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time Hob sees Dream is when the latter has the audacity to enter the Morningstar's realm. He watches as the Dream King intimidates Squatterbloat into bringing him to the Palace. The demon is stupid and gullible, easily swayed, and Hob has a mind to bury his morningstar in the moron's fleshy head, but he would rather observe the visitor and his raven from the shadows.

Hob trails them, the straps of his armor expanding and morphing to cover his body with the mottled charcoals and midnights that are the palette of Hell. Squatterbloat leads the King in a circuitous route to their destination, passing a cell whose occupant not only commands the attention of the sovereign of the Dreaming, but whose pleading pains him. Curious.

He follows the pair of black figures beyond their guided tour, all the way into Lucifer's Hall, sliding unnoticed through the crack in the main doors. Hob is good at his job. He hadn't been successful at being a bandit and cutthroat in life for nothing.

Hob takes a place in the long shadows of one of the pillars and observes.

Apparently the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares is here in Hell to retrieve his helm, one of his important symbols of office. And of course it is some overly ripe idiot like Choronzon who has it. Sometimes Hob just wants to kill them all and promote new individuals to the positions of power, sometimes the house can't be cleaned, it needs to be razed and rebuilt.

But what is truly awe-inspiring is watching the battle between Dream and the Morningstar themself. The Dream King wins, although not handily. It makes the victory even more impressive. Hope. Of fucking course. Hob is quite sure that he has never seen the Lord of Hell so visibly angry in all his 600 plus years in the underworld.

Helm secured and confidence restored, the Lord of the Dreaming is proud and... well, he is incredibly beautiful. He is sharp angles in soft greys and blacks, luminous white skin draped in flowing ink, spikes of hair wafting against gravity.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Hob follows Lord Morpheus and his raven back outside. They walk slowly through the barren, twisted landscape, calculated and careful. Imperious.

Hunger ripples down Hob's spine. He wants.

The Lord stops, body going more still than death. "I am here in my official capacity as King of Dreams and Nightmares. You have followed me for long enough. Show yourself, fiend."

The Dream King's voice is so much deeper and darker than Hob expected and now it is directed at him and it goes directly to his cock. He decides to drop any pretense all at once.

Hob has no shame as he steps out from hiding, the shadow-plates sliding back and leaving him in what really amounts to a series of leather straps and a loincloth, buckled to accentuate the triangle of his torso and the strength in his chest, with sleeves from biceps to palms. The Knights of Hell need no metal protection - they shield themselves in darkness and guile - and so Lucifer Morningstar gives them intangible weapons: the ability to inspire lust and envy as much as wrath. He drops his physical weapon and holds his hands out to his sides.

"Dream King," Hob inclines his head. "I am not here to harm, nor am I here at the behest of my Lord, the Lightbringer." He meets the King's piercing blue eyes and has to grit his teeth to hold in a gasp at how sharply they cut into his breast.

That look trails from Hob's head to his toes slowly, then back up. Judging. Assessing. "So why do you dog my steps, Hellknight?"

He shrugs and takes a step forward. There is no reason for Hob to not be bold. He has long been dead. He has been a resident of Hell and served the Devil themself, has lived that fate worse than death, for almost seven centuries. He has, quite literally, nothing to lose.

So Hob nudges a the magic at his disposal into the cant of his hips, the tilt of his head, the purse of his lips. He lowers his eyelids and takes another step towards the luminous being of black and white before him. "I merely wish to look my fill before I can no longer."

"Bossss..." The raven flies a nervously tight circle above them. He is summarily ignored.

"You wish to more than look, Hellknight, for I can taste your dreams." The Lord of Nightmares snarls as he takes multiple steps to get into Hob's personal space. "You dare-"

Hob laughs loud enough to interrupt him and those ice shards widen in shock. "Oh, yes. I dare." He steps up once more and now their faces are within inches of each other. "How do you think the Morningstar trains their knights? Do you think there is anything you could do to me that would be worse than 700 years of this?"

The resonant chuckle that curls across Hob's skin should probably worry him, but he cannot muster such sense when he is watching the pupils of the Dream King's eyes bleed black outwards, eclipsing his eyes entirely, and wholly captivating Hob. "Lucifer Morningstar's sins often get in the way of their... creativity."

A pale hand shoots towards him and Hob braces for impact, for pain.

He gets nothing of the sort.

Fingers that are the coolness of a lake in summer skate with hedonistic gentleness across Hob's cheek. The palm cups Hob's jaw sweetly. Honeyed breath caresses Hobs lips before they are pressed together. Then he is being kissed with the fondness and warmth of a dear lover.

And that is when Hob realizes that he has vastly miscalculated.

Against his better judgement, Hob is lost to the tide of it. The softest touch of tongues morphs into lazy familiar licks, mapping Hob's mouth as if to memorize, immortalize.

The King of Dreams pulls away and Hob is left panting and hazy.

"I touch you, I kiss you, as I would a lover, as I would my beloved." The King whispers it like a benediction. Hob gasps at the horror that settles into the marrow of his bones. "And never will you feel it again."

And then he is gone.

Hob watches, frozen, as each stride the King takes covers miles. It is only when they have disappeared over the horizon, both Lord and Raven, that Hob realizes tears are streaming down his face.

#dreamling #tag epilogue #Wiping the tears away Hob continues to watch the horizon. #He doesn't know how long he stands there #building his resolve #turning plans over in his head #considering every avenue #every possible route #Because the Dream King has it all wrong #Hob WILL have that kiss again #Hob will steal will maim will kill to have that kiss again #and not even the Devil themself will stop him from taking it #pavonis writes #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #the sandman AU #the sandman fanfic #dream x hob #Hellknight Hob

[maripr]

Of all the fantastic player characters in fear and hunger termina (with more to come) I just HAD to fall in love with the one guy who's fate worse than death is donning a fursuit

#daan #fear and hunger #fear and hunger 2 termina #pocketcat #i still don't understand how the dirty degenerate furry line is canon #what does it meannn #why is that scene so well animatrd

[dark-and-kawaii]

What about Raphael finding out Haarlep has caught feelings for Tav and Raphael forces Haarlep to drain tavs soul. Happy or sad ending up to you. Maybe tav lives maybe tav dies

༺ 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒫𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 ༻

Haarlep

Notes: oooooh more angst, gimmie gimmie!!! Sorry this took a long time to get to!!! This was so hard to write because Haarlep is my baby and I don’t wanna hurt them (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) but at the same time I do!!! Ahhh!!!! Enjoy ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

Added Note: I’ll be replying to my ask box tomorrow!! I just wanted to crank out some stories I had written first!!!

Pairings: Haarlep x f!Tav/Reader

Angst - Tragic Love - Character Death - Slight NSFW

Your secret rendezvous with Haarlep did not go unnoticed. Raphael's wrath was as chilling as the void between stars. "Haarlep, how disappointing. Didn’t your mother teach you not to put your hands on someone else’s property?" His voice echoed through the dimly lit boudoir, "You forget that I can feel every last thing you do in my form, even when you shift out of it.”

Haarlep's face scrunched, their heart racing as they faced their enraged master, "An incubus has its needs, and you’ve been oh so busy out there collecting souls.” Their facial expression changed into delight, “I thought it wouldn't be too much trouble if I just took a bite out of your lovely new little treasure.”

Raphael's eyes narrowed,”Is that so?”

He watched as his incubus sauntered over to him, their tail curling up as their hips waved side to side, “I figured, you’d love to be able to use Tav when she isn't around. I now possess the body of your little mouse, does that not please you?”

You could only watch as you clung the sheets to your chest…

Before Haarlep could move in for a kiss, Raphael grabs their face, his grip tightening so that his nails digs into their cheek. A grin curling upon his lips. "You are sworn to me and you underestimate the power I hold over you. You are bound to me, body and soul. Your purpose is to seduce and drain the essence of mortals, not to fall in love with them. Especially when they are already mine.” Raphael threw Haarlep’s head to the side, “To make you understand your role once more you will do as I command."

Haarlep knew they had no choice but to obey Raphael's demand, whatever it may be. If they didn’t keep Mephistopheles son in check, rather keep him satisfied, there’d be a far worse punishment awaiting in Cania.

“You will embrace your role as an incubus, Haarlep. Use your seductive powers to ravage my mouse until she is naught but a wisp of her former glory.” A cruel smile traced upon Raphael's lips. "You will obey, Haarlep. I will not tolerate disobedience."

Haarlep needn’t say it, their eyes told you, ‘Forgive me.’

Your reply was a breathy, despairing acknowledgment of your fate, "it’s okay.”… You nod to them.

Reaching up, Haarlep could feel their hands trembling as they traced the contours of your body… Their lips hovering over yours…

With each thrust of their cock, each moment of forced passion, Haarlep could feel your life force diminishing. Your spirit waned, your vibrancy ebbing away with every kiss, your soul slipping away so it could feed them. Despite the rip in their chest, thanks to Haarlep being an incubus the vile demand was a mix of pleasure and torment, desire and despair, as they surrendered to Raphael’s twisted will.

Your moans only fueled the insatiable hunger within Haarlep, it almost left a bitter taste upon their tongue. Lost in the moment, their incubi ways began to take control. Closing their eyes, Haarlep basked in your pleasure.

Raphael watched from side of the bed, “Marvelous- Drink from her pleasure Haarlep, consume every last bit of her until she is nothing more than a doll for our amusement.”

As the dreadful finale arose, Haarlep felt you clench around them, both your final breath and climax approaching, a cruel harvest for their own sustenance. But you, even in the throes of fading, you mustered a weak smile, a gesture of forgiveness.

“Haarlep," you gasped, your voice a mere shadow of itself, "It’s- it’s not your fault." You reached out, touching Haarlep's cheek, a tear slipping down your own. "It’s… okay…" And with those last words, your hand fell, and the light of your soul was extinguished, leaving nothing but the empty shell of what once was a living being.

Raphael's laughter filled the boudoir, a cacophony of cruelty, "How unfortunate, I did quite like this one, but you see Haarlep? This is the consequence of an incubus delving too deeply into the folly of love. You consume every ounce of it, greedily, uncontrollably, until there is nothing left."

Raphael vanished, satisfied with the night's cruel entertainment, as Haarlep lay there, cradling your lifeless form. Left alone with the bitter knowledge that their nature had been both their greatest weapon and their most tragic flaw.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 Raphael #raphael bg3 #tav #haarlep #haarlep bg3 #haarlep x tav #raphael the cambion

[twstunes]

AU where the real reason the Great Seven are interpreted so differently from how they really are is bc they were the result of people getting isekai'd into Twisted Wonderland as those characters. Like in a "they existed as they were in canon before abruptly getting hit w/ memories from a past life" sorta way.

They all keep their original memories that shaped them into the classic villains we know, but gaining a whole extra lifetime worth of memories causes more than a bit of an unavoidable personality shift…and, save for the Queen of Hearts, they all want to avoid their scripted deaths. (Or fate worse than death, in Hades' case.)

Most of them choose to play it safe, simply live out their lives without making the same disastrous power bids as in their canon stories. If they happen to be a little nicer too, well, maybe they just happened to have a change of heart as of late. It's really no big deal if Ursula does some simpler requests pro-bono, or if the Queen of Hearts is just a smidgen less trigger-happy about punishments, right? No one's complaining about the changes, that's for sure. Scar and Jafar are both more ambitious, successfully accomplishing their goals without falling prey to their original characters' flaws; Scar is more present as a political entity, Jafar reigns in his hunger for ultimate power.

This started off as a joke but man. Even with all of them dodging their respective fates, Maleficent and Hades would still outlive the rest by a long shot. Idk what would be worse: watching the few people who remember your old world slowly die off one by one, only learning they had memories of your old world after their deaths, or never knowing you weren't so alone. Personally I'm leaning towards the first one—save for Ursula, they're all political figures who have reason to come into contact with each other at some point. (And for Ursula, well, maybe the Sea Witch misses walking around on land every now and then. Who knew she'd run into an important so-and-so while on a jog one day?)

But yeah I'm just picturing Maleficent hearing about how her grandson has befriended a student from another world and immediately calling up Hades like "homeboy you're not gonna BELIEVE this." Both of them brainstorm how to go meet this kid without drawing unnecessary attention in the process. Yuu winds up with the two remaining members of the Great Seven as quasi-guardian figures bc Yuu is the only one that gets their other-world pop culture references.

Everyone's already shocked to see the Thorn Fairy and King of the Underworld strolling the town streets of Sage's Island, but…who's that kid with them? And what's that cat-like thing the kid is carrying…? (They're having their biweekly hangout. Their schedules simply don't match up well enough to hang out more often, unfortunately. Grim demanded to come with his hench-human, and is having fun even if he doesn't really understand what the other 3 are talking about.)

#listen. i like the idea of yuu not being the only person dealing with The Isekai Nonsense gfhjfgjhfg #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland au #twst isekai legacy au #twisted rambling