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pellucid-constellations · 4 months

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Of Oblivious Minds

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Pining, yearning, idiots in love?? (an angsty moment as well)

a/n: What am I doing!! I don't know!! This is part one and there will be one or two more parts :) Thank you for reading ily ♡

Part 2

You were having an epiphany—of that you were certain.

Sitting in the main room of the townhouse, a glass of wine spinning in your hand, many things were beginning to make sense to you. It was ridiculous that you hadn’t come to this realization before. All of the hints were right in front of you.

You leaned back in the armchair, a scrutinizing gaze pointed toward the corner of the room. You took a sip of your wine—a contemplative sip—and then ran through the facts in your head. Yes, it made perfect sense.

You wanted to kick yourself for not noticing before.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking so hard.” Cassian’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. You blinked up at him as he took a seat on the arm of your chair. “Want to share why you’re staring a hole into the wall?”

“I was just… noticing something,” you murmured over the rim of your glass, voice low.

“And what’s that?”

You paused, pursing your lips. It would sound silly if you were wrong. But Cassian looked at you expectantly, so you simply whispered, “I think Az is in love with Elain.”

The sudden, rumbling laugh bouncing off the walls set your cheeks ablaze. The entire room halted their conversations to look at Cassian as he doubled over, holding his stomach with no signs of letting up. You stared up at him, mortified, and smacked his arm as his laughs lowered into senseless chuckles.

“Cassian, quit it. It’s not that funny—stop it or I’ll hit you again.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Sorry, that was just… that was a good one, y/n.”

“What’d she say?” Rhys asked, perking up from the other side of the fireplace.

“Nothing to warrant that reaction,” you grumbled, sinking lower into your seat.

Fighting back the vibrations in his chest, Cassian took a deep breath. “Inside joke, Rhys. You wouldn’t get it.”

Rhys huffed out an offended breath, quirking a brow at his antics. He looked to Mor and Feyre to garner some support, but they only giggled back at him.

“Maybe we would.”

Azriel’s gravelly tone only made you collapse further into the armchair. If you’d known there would be consequences to sharing your epiphany with Cassian, you would have kept your mouth shut. Cassian was usually wonderful at keeping secrets.

“Oh, brother, you’d find it funny as well, surely,” Cassian shared, heaving up from the chair. “But, alas, I have to go. No inside jokes for the room.”

“Well that’s not fair. You don’t get to cause a riot and then leave,” Mor whined, her cheeks rosy and her eyes glassy. Clearly, she had been having her own drinks throughout the night.

“Lovely. Now you want to know? Where was that attitude while you were giggling with my mate?” Rhys accused.

Feyre jumped in this time, pinching the high lord’s cheek and cooing, “Oh, you big Illyrian baby.”

The focus was no longer on you and your apparently laughable realization. Cassian’s reaction did little to deter you from the thought, however, and you were still quite resolute in your observations. Looking over at the couple in question only solidified that.

They were huddled close, Elain’s knees pressed against Azriel’s thigh as they spoke in low tones. Azriel would occasionally take a glance around the room, lingering on you as he went, but that was natural for the shadowsinger. His shadows were gone, where they went you had no idea, and his wings were held tightly behind his back.

And he stared at her—intently—as she nodded her head and answered whatever it was he had asked.

He had to be in love with her.

You were usually quite good at reading these types of things.

“I’m taking you home now,” Cassian spoke, holding out his hand. “We’ll walk.”

“What if I don’t want to go home?” you asked, taking his hand and following him despite your words.

“After all that nonsense, I think it’s clear you need a good night’s rest. Plus, you and I are in the ring bright and early tomorrow morning.”

You groaned, knocking your head back at the reminder of your obligations. It always sounded like such a good idea over breakfast. Cassian had clearly learned that you would only say yes to early morning trainings when you were half-asleep.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go, sweetheart.”

You let him yank you to the door, your feet dragging behind you, when a warmth encased your shoulders. You recognized the material of your coat instantly and turned to see Azriel smoothing it down over your arms.

“For your walk,” Azriel quietly explained. “You left it on the back of my chair.”

“Oh!” you chirped, feeling the early licks of embarrassment barrage your chest. It’s not like he heard you talking about him, right? “Thanks, Az. I almost forgot.”

He offered you one of his soft, rare smiles. “I know. I remembered.”

He nodded over your head to Cassian after that, and you heard Cassian’s low, I got her, Az, only because you strained your ears.

You ended up being extremely grateful for Azriel’s forethought to grab your jacket. It was freezing outside. You could have winnowed home instead, but Cassian hadn’t really given you the option and no one ever let you winnow after you’d had something to drink.

You landed in Summer Court one time and suddenly everyone treated you like a hazard.

Your shoes scuffed against dark cobblestone as you walked. It was really dark, now that you looked at it. Maybe it had rained? Or a merchant had dumped their excess water?

Or maybe it was nighttime and you were a little drunk.

It was then that you noticed the silence. When Cassian walked you home, especially when Cassian was tipsy and he walked you home, he never shut up. So this was unusual. You squinted as you looked up at him, but he gave nothing away, keeping his gaze forward and his steps in steady pace with your own.

“Okay, out with it,” you accused, crossing your arms over your chest. “What was so funny earlier? And why are you walking me home all stoic?”

“I’m always stoic. Adds to my charm.”

“Liar.”

Cassian smirked, shaking his head, and then schooled his expression into one that was a touch more serious. “You really think Az likes Elain?”

You watched your breath puff out white. “Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.”

You shot him a skeptical glance. “Well, then you’re wrong. I’m good at picking these things out. I knew Feyre was Rhys’s made before the rest of you figured it out, didn’t I?”

“It was pretty obvious, y/n,” Cassian scoffed. He took a fleeting glance down to the ground beneath your feet. “Honestly, I’d wager that you’re actually the worst at picking these things out.”

You gaped at him, bringing your coat closer to your body in a ploy to protect your damaged pride. Cassian only shook his head—again—and then flung an arm over your shoulder.

“Don’t take that the wrong way. Just…take a second look, maybe.”

“A second look at what? She was practically sitting in his lap tonight.”

“If you say so,” Cassian hummed.

“Stop being cryptic and buy me a snack on the way.”

The following days were… strange to say the least.

Everywhere you went, Elain of all people was sure to follow.

And she spoke of Azriel. A lot.

Azriel did this and Az is so sweet isn’t he and oh, did I mention that…

Obviously, she was just as in love with Azriel as he was with her.

You were so, so right.

There was something off-putting about that truth, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. After a few days of hearing the younger girl rave about the shadowsinger, you chalked it up to the novelty of it all. You had known Azriel for over a century, and things were changing. Of course a serious love interest in his life would make you feel strange.

Azriel had had lovers in the past, but—now that you thought about it—you hadn’t heard him talk about another woman in months, much less seen him with one.

Well, other than Elain.

Perhaps it wasn’t healthy, nor productive, to be so caught up in Azriel’s love life. He was plenty capable of managing it on his own, and it’s not like you had that much of an interest, anyway.

You blinked, shaking your head and attempting to focus back in on the book you were reading. Elain had followed you into the library under the house, but thanks to the priestesses and their admonishing looks, she kept quiet. She flipped through her own book as you continued your research assignment from Rhys. It wasn’t very interesting, which was clearly the most plausible explanation for your mind drifting to Azriel.

Boring texts were the leading cause of nosiness.

“Do you have dinner plans?” Elain whispered after an hour of silence.

You sent her a small smile, looking up from the archaic book. “No, are you inviting me out?”

“Perhaps. I was thinking of asking Azriel.”

A suffocating sort of pressure clawed at your skin. “Oh?”

That was new.

“Yes, but I would really appreciate it if you came,” Elain continued, eyes downcast. “It could be fun.”

You bit into your bottom lip until the pain was uncomfortable. This was no different than her talking about Azriel all week. And you already figured that they liked each other—that they loved each other. You had relished in the discovery just a few nights ago.

So why did it suddenly feel so different?

“I wouldn't want to intrude,” you whispered. “I think a dinner with just the two of you would be nice. Azriel would surely agree.”

Elain shook her head. “I think he would be more inclined if he knew you were coming.”

As a buffer. She was asking you to come to displace any awkwardness that would arise on a first date. You had done it before for Cassian. You’d done it plenty of times for Mor—even making it a double date with random men you never spoke to again. But you’d never done it for Azriel.

Something about it felt… wrong.

“I could come,” you found yourself saying anyway, words tumbling out before you could catch them. “But I really do think he would love a dinner alone. I might be a bit of an outlier.”

Elain gave the closest thing to a smirk you’d seen on her face. “I somehow doubt that.”

“What does that—”

The ground was shaking. The faelights began violently flickering and the ground began shaking with even more vigor. You pressed down on the book in front of you and braced yourself as the air grew frenzied. The priestesses ran down the many stairs of the library as panic began setting into your bones. The last time something like this happened…

You shuddered at the thought.

This couldn't be an attack on Velaris.

Elain called your name. You answered with wide eyes.

“Get under the tables!”

You both dove beneath your table at the call, clutching at the legs with shaking hands. There was a commotion as books fell from shelves and lights popped, but there were no screams. No one was hurt. There was no attack.

Realization coursed through you, but it did little to quell your fear as the shaking continued.

“It’s an earthquake!” you shouted to Elain. “It’s okay, we’re going to be fine!”

Velaris hadn’t been struck by an earthquake of this magnitude in many, many years. The last one was centuries ago, and it had led to many rebuilding efforts and a handful of injuries. You hoped this wasn’t on the same scale. Or at least that Rhys’ magic was enough to abate the worst of the damages.

After another moment, the shaking ceased. You let the panic and adrenaline run its course as you caught your breath, Elain right beside you. It didn’t seem so bad now that it was over and the building had stayed intact. With a hand at your chest, you shook your head in disbelief.

“By the cauldron, that was unexpected.”

Elain let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt an earthquake before.”

You offered your own breathy laugh as you both got to your feet. “Well, you have plenty of time to get The Mother scared out of you and experience another.”

She opened her mouth to reply but was abruptly cut off as shadows materialized. Heavy footsteps rushed up stairs and it was only another beat before Azriel was upon you. Scarred hands cradled your face, turning it back and forth as hazel eyes took in every inch of your skin. Light became sparse as wings flared out behind him, shielding you from nothing.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, voice still low despite the urgency. “Were you covered?”

“Azriel? What are you—How did you know we were down here?”

“Are you hurt?”

You attempted to reconcile the chaotic present with the very calm, very expected past. Sitting in the library with a boring relic in front of you and a new reading partner compared to an earthquake and a frazzled shadowsinger clutching at your face.

Gripping his wrists, you answered him with a slow and confused, “I’m fine.”

He closed his eyes as he let out a long breath. “Good…. good.”

When he released your face, he ran his hands along your hair. And then your shoulders and your arms. It wasn’t until he had touched most of you that he took a step back and ran a hand through his own hair. It was then that he seemed to remember Elain.

“And are you alright?” he asked, far more composed than he had been a moment ago.

“A bit overwhelmed, but I am fine as well,” she sighed out.

Azriel didn’t touch her as he nodded in relief.

“Was it as bad as the last one? Is everyone okay?” you cut in.

Azriel, who had gone back to unnecessarily looking you over, furrowed his brows. “What?”

You mirrored his expression. “The earthquake. Do you remember the last one? Was this one that bad?”

“Oh. No. Not as bad.”

“And how is everyone else?”

“I’m not sure.”

Azriel was typically short with his answers, but right now he was being particularly short. And he was never one to not have information. Ever.

“Are you okay?” you asked instead.

“I am now.”

You left the library wondering why Azriel had run to you and not Elain—why that moment felt so monumental in the face of all others.

Maybe being right wasn’t what you wanted anymore.

But maybe that wasn’t your decision to make.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #azriel #a court of thorns and roses

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colourstreakgryffin · 2 months

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Hiiiii can you do a jealous Alastor but not of anyone but his own shadows bc his wifey takes a liking on one of his shadows.

Oooh! I like this quite a lot! It’s very interesting and unique! Once again, beloved hubby Alastor! Another one I want to explore hubby of is Blitz. I think Blitz would make a good hubby

Alastor- Picking Favourites

Alastor’s furious, steaming from his deer-like ears so hot that it’s basically boiling him… did somebody hurt his ego? No. Did Angel Dust sexually advance on him again? No. Did his breakfast get interrupted by the Hotel Manager? NO. Nothing has inconvenienced him but something awful has been happening, day by day, that he can barely keep his composure

Hitting your laughter directed at something else feels like a hit that would form a bruise, but knowing your laughter is directed at his mere sentient shadow basically gutted him in the stomach with a sharp butcher knife. You’re his wife, his lady, his realm, the woman he has been fawning over for so long and you’re hitting it up with his sentient silent shadow, and not him?!

Of course, Alastor’s fascinating lively shadow is just being nice to it’s master’s recently wedded wife, and is trying to get you accustom to being around so much Voodoo magic and the weirdness that is Alastor himself so it’s being all caring and leading you around, showing you items and reaching you Alastor’s favourite foods

But that doesn’t mean Alastor isn’t jealous… because he is, he’s really jealous

Whilst he reads through a interesting crime fiction novel, Alastor’s tall fluffy deer-like ears flick up at the sound of your voice. He can’t sense his voodoo-magic induced shadow, meaning that it’s wondered off to you and as he suspected, you enter your husband’s soothingly silent fireplace-warmed accompanied by Alastor’s sentient shadow. It cant really talk but it makes all kinds of humming and echoey noises. It almost seems like you understand it…

Alastor’s patience, throughout every time he hears this, has finally shattered to pieces as his claws dig into the book in his hand, snapping his fingers. The shadow directly mirroring your husband’s look, fades away into thin air as if it was a big fire and a bucket of water was dumped on the top of it, rising up into streams of smoke. It’s gone and you’re confused on why it disappeared

“Darling. Why are you getting so handsy with my friend?”

Alastor almost growls out with his deep scowl… this is possibly the first ever time you and Hell will ever see Alastor frown and frown so deeply he is… it’s kinda unnatural to look at but when Alastor willingly frowns and can’t pull himself to smile, it means he is more than pissed off… you didn’t think just being polite and going along with your husband’s voodoo magic shadow being would ever cause a problem

It’s just that Alastor’s love for you is so strong that it causes jealousy to concur and even jealousy over just some magic creating a shadowy being. Something that is sentient but mainly tied to it’s owner, to Alastor and he is jealous of his own creation

Approaching your beloved husband, the Radio Demon, you lean over, pushing back his somewhat messy crimson red bangs and kisses directly over the pale red almost bullet-sized ‘x’ on the flesh of his forehead. That ‘x’ is the biggest weak spot on Alastor, a symbol of his shame and where his pride can be hurt the most but he doesn’t mind showing off all his weaknesses and vulnerabilities to you… he had already told you about his human life

What’s one little kiss on that ‘x’ going to do?

Pulling back. It’s almost like the single kiss had melted away all his anger and Alastor is now just a soft innocent fluffy little fawn with his crimson red eyes almost sparkling at the affection. He didn’t suspect that, he suspected this’d turn into some big fight but you’re not going to argue, you’re going to explain yourself

“Alastor… Al, my love. I wasn’t replacing you with your shadow buddy. He was just trying to help me get accustom to being your wife. I’ve never been married before and being married to the Radio Demon… it’s. It requires a lot of adjusting so he was just trying to help”

Alastor couldn’t help but feel a bit bad about his half temper tantrum. Of course, why would his shadow even care about having a spouse of its own? It doesn’t, it cares about you being the best wife for its master so it’s trying to help and get you more comfortable. Yes, he is still jealous that you didn’t come to him and go to a shadow… but he does really appreciate all the effort and the wish to not rely on him in order to impress him

After taking a deep breath whilst placing his bigger clawed hand on the smaller clawed hand of yours over his cheek, gently fondling the soft skin over his face. Alastor rhythmically brushes his own fingers over the smooth skin of your hand briefly. Controlling himself, controlling his emotions and then finally saying whilst opening his eyes again to meet yours

Just… such beautiful eyes

“My dear… I appreciate the efforts but please, don’t think you can’t come to me to learn. We’re husband and wife, we work together. You don’t need to go to my friends for that advice”

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scoutswritingcorner · 2 months

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Formal Disappearance

Alastor x GN!Reader

TW: None

Song(s) I was listening to: Head Over Heels/Broken by Tears for Fears

A/N: I want more flustered Alastor guys. If I have to make it so be- Let me fluster the deer man.

Alastor looked around the room as Charlie explained her new “bonding exercise”, his gaze sweeping over the crew that was all here..Something was missing- No, someone was missing from the gathering. His sweet Doe was missing, how did he not notice this earlier? In fact he hasn’t seen you all day. The last time he saw you was last night when you were hiding your reddened face as you laughed at his joke. His ever wandering eyes snapping towards Husk causing the old tom cat to flinch and bristle up causing his smile to flicker for a second, before grinning wider. Oh, he knew something. “Husker, my dearest friend, do you have something to share with me?” Alastor tilted his head as he turned to face the bartender.

“Me? Nope, I don’t have anything to say.” Husk responded not meeting his eyes. Alastor’s eye twitched as his ears fell back against his head, his clawed finger tapping on his cane. His patience was running thin, he hated being apart from you for this long. But he would never mutter it out to a soul, his pride was far too big for that. “Know what?” Charlie asked, smiling tensely, she hoped this wouldn’t turn into a whole thing. Alastor glanced at her but didn’t answer her as Husk flinched from his sharp gaze. “They had to go do something for their job.” Husk answered quickly causing Angel to smirk, “They looked smoking, Smiles. You should’ve seen them before they left.” The comment made Alastor snap his neck back towards Angel Dust who flinched and backed away muttering an apology.

“Oh! They had a huge formal event for their job today, that’s why they aren’t here right now. They had left early in the morning while you were doing a broadcast. They didn’t want to bother you but they said they left a note in your room.” Charlie explained clapping her hands together causing Alastor to hum loudly, so that’s what the note was for this morning. Well, what’s a few more hours without you by his side? He wasn’t desperate for your attention,

~~~~~

It had been four hours (possibly even more) since you had been gone and Alastor was struggling to even be near the others, his temper was getting to him and he missed you oh so dearly. He missed your smile and how your voice seemed to travel through the hotel like one of his favorite songs. He couldn’t even focus on the paper in front of him, what was keeping you this long at this so called formal event? He let out a soft growl watching as his own shadow pulled his focus on the wall in front of him. A lovestruck smile on the pesky shadow as it pointed towards the foyer of the Hotel. He stared at the shadow with an eyebrow raised confused on why his own shadow was acting like this.

Then like a siren song piercing through the silence he heard your voice echo, “I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t expect it to take that long. I thought it would be an hour or two at best.” Your voice echoed down to the parlor causing him to immediately stand up from his spot on the armchair in front of the fireplace. His ears happily flickering as he heard your precious laughter echo after a few seconds of soft whispers. He hurriedly made his way towards the front foyer of the Hotel ignoring how his Shadow dashed after his long strides. If his undead heart could beat, it would surely be racing at this point just at the thought of seeing you after hours, his tense smile now becoming relaxed at hearing your voice.

Looking up from the bottle of water in your hand at the shadow of your boyfriend curling around your own before. “Dearest!~ There you are and here I thought you had run away fro-” His voice stopped suddenly like a broken record as he gazed at your form. How absolutely darling you looked all dressed up. How your outfit clung to you from the necklace you were wearing (specifically the one he had gotten you a few weeks back) complimented your whole outfit perfectly.

A dark red blush creeped up his neck to his cheeks as his ears laid back on his head. Noticing how you stared at him, a small smirk on your lips as you tilted your head. “What’s wrong, Dear? Don’t you like my outfit?” You teased, causing him to look away with a dark blush coating his cheeks and glaring at the wall as if it offended him. Angel snickered and turned his gaze back to Husk, “I think Smiles adores it a little too much, Toots.” An almost feral snarl leaving your Beau’s lips at hearing Angel point that out. You walked closer, holding your hand out to him. “Don’t worry, Dear. I saved one last dance for you.”

Alastor looked down at you, blush still prominent on his cheeks but he grabbed your hand and leaned down to kiss your knuckles, “Only if you’d have me, Cher.” He whispered out only for you to hear. A soft smile gracing your lips, you nodded at his request. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Dear.” He swore his tail was about to create a hole in his jacket from the way it wagged so fast, linking your arms together he walked you to another part of the hotel to dance the night away.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine

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illyrianbitch · 2 months

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Worth It

Pairing: Reader x Bat Boys

Summary: It can be hard to remember why you’ve put up with your best friends for centuries-- until they remind you why they're worth it.

Warnings: irritation cause of males? perhaps? friendship fluff. boys being boys aka bat boys are immature male dummies and reader is fed up.

Word Count: 3.4k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“Are you guys idiots?”

Your voice was a loud bellow as you made your way into Rhysand’s office. From the look on your face, the three males quickly realized that their dirty little secret had been exposed– something that they were all expecting, Azriel being the first to mention that they hadn’t done a great job at hiding it.

Sure, it was a silly idea for them to keep an ancient cursed object. Rhysand didn’t think it was real, when Cassian came running home and claiming he won it in a bet. The person seemed awfully enthusiastic to get rid of it, Cass had said, told me that it would change my life forever. Weird guy. It only took one interaction for Azriel’s shadows to instantly skitter from the small gold thing, whispering into Azriel’s ears like scared children. Cursed, old, evil, run.

Rhysand was going to tell you that they kept it, to get a better idea of it, that's all, and that it just so happened to be sitting on the table near your room. He was. At least, he planned on it.

It was Cassian who made the first move, leaning to the side and lowering his head slightly to Rhysand. “This feels like a trick question,” he attempted to whisper, but the sound was loud enough to carry through the room.

You ignored him, instead glaring at the violet eyes that held your gaze.

“You didn’t think to tell me about something this dangerous?”

“I just thought-”

“Thought what?” You asked him, mouth agape, “That you’d just lie to me about living with a deadly object?”

“We didn’t lie, we just didn’t tell you,” Cassian clarified innocently. He regretted his input once your stare met his and he quickly muttered out a small apology, looking to become as small as he could make his large form to be.

“And thats better?”

Rhysand let out a deep breath.

“Y/n, just calm down.”

Your head snapped to face him at a force that made him question how you hadn’t broken it. Rhysand’s eyes widened as they met yours, a sense of rage now flickering in your gaze. Azriel instantly grimaced at the words of his brother, his gaze meeting Cassian’s, whose eyes were wide as his mouth formed a small “oh.” Both males took a cautionary step backwards.

“Calm down?” you repeated, slowly stalking towards Rhysand with an icy calmness that made him instantly shrink.

“Well,” he started putting one palm out towards you, “I just mean that we should sit down and think rationally about this.”

“Think rationally?”

Rhysand looked over his shoulders in an attempt to seek some backup, but Cassian averted his gaze and Azriel simply shook his head. You’ve done it now, was what Azriel’s gaze seemed to say. His shadows curled around him, slithering up his body until they were peeking over his shoulders, alert and ready to watch— in amusement, it would seem.

Rhys nervously laughed.

“Can we start over?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Compared to the others, your bedroom was extremely large, adorned with its own fireplace and seating area. But with the three Illyrian males standing around you, it felt quite cramped. You watched as they wandered around your room, picking up your stuff and throwing it to each other. This was your fault, of course, since you’d specifically asked for them to come.

“Guys,” you said, “can we focus, please.”

The three males turned around to face you, all looking at you with wide stares and raised brows, as if they had been caught doing something they weren't supposed to be doing.

“Right,” Rhysand said as he balanced a small porcelain heart in his hand, a Solstice gift from Mor. He quickly glanced down at the object, eyes widening slightly before he turned his head and threw it in the air, effectively tossing it off to Cassian, who caught it with parted lips.

“Dude.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you walked forward.“Give me that,” you said as you ripped the item out of the males large, calloused hands.

“I need one of you to help me make Landon jealous.”

“Not it,” Rhys said, the words quickly tumbling out of his mouth as his hands flew up in surrender.

You stared at him blankly, your lips forming into a tight line.

“What?”

The line quickly turned into a scowl as you held his stare, a look of innocence on his beautiful features.

“Am I truly that hideous you don’t want to help me out?”

“Oh, please,” Rhysand said with a dramatic scoff, “You know you’re hot. We know you’re hot. But It’s not my fault you can’t flirt normally. This is a perfect night for me to get some, so, I can’t.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms carefully, the porcelain heart safely in your grasp.

“Were the two guys from last night not enough?”

Instantly, a smug grin found its way onto Rhysand’s face.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, his voice low and sultry. A sense of pride clung to him. “I’m a growing male, I have a healthy appetite.”

From beside him, Cassian nodded with a grin, putting his knuckles out for Rhys to give him a fist bump. Azriel simply let out a small laugh and shook his head, eyes trained on you as you grimaced, your nose crinkled with a frown.

“You make it sound like you're eating them.”

Somehow, the grin grew, his pearly white teeth gleaming at you.

“Aren’t I?”

“You’re gross,” you responded, “I don’t want your help anyways.”

Rhysand let his mouth fall open in feign offense and you seized the moment to flip him off– a vulgar gesture that he instantly returned. Azriel and Cassian exchanged a glance.

“I got you, Y/n,” Cass finally said, walking up to you to wrap his arm around your shoulder. He pulled you into his embrace, looking down at you with a large, wolfish grin. You held his eyes for a moment, thinking about how well Cassian fit into your plans. A subtle sense of doubt crept into you, and once Cassian wiggled his eyebrows, you were done for. Your eyes instantly flickered to the last of your best friends.

“Az?” Your voice was a soft plea, accompanied by a small, unsure smile that had Azriel sigh in defeat.

Cassian scoffed, pulling apart from you in an effort to see your entire face. “What? Why him?”

You gave a sheepish smile, your gaze bouncing between the three males before settling on him once more. “I love you, Cassian, but you won’t make him jealous.”

“And why not?”

It was Azriel who responded with a small snicker, “Because you’re easy.”

Cassian’s mouth was open in shock as he registered the statement, his eyelids falling in soft blinks before he let out another scoff.

“Well now I’m offended.”

“Don’t be,” Rhys said from across the room as he fell down on your couch, propping up his legs on the arms of it. “It means you’ve got a good game. Think about how many people you’ve fucked thats gotten you such a title. I mean the amount of puss-”

You let out a loud groan, pushing Cassian off you with a soft shove.

“Oh my Gods, we get it. You guys are slutty. Can we get back to me now? Please?”

Your words were only met with a round of laughter.

“And get your dirty shoes off my couch, Rhys.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“What the fuck happened to my cake?” You seethed, the words coming out bitter and sharp. The door slammed behind you as it collided with the wall, the impact of your entrance causing a dent in the surface.

The boys visibly recoiled, Cassian flinching at the roughness of your voice, a voice that was usually comforting and soft. The three males exchanged wary glances, and then Rhysand was lifting his chin.

“I-” he started, only to be interrupted by a cough from Cassian, “We don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“My powdered sugar pound cake, Rhysand. I know you guys did something. Where is it? Did you eat it? Destroy it?”

Another beat of silence. You were sure your teeth were bound to break with the force of your clenched jaw, your teeth gritting harder with every minute spent looking at their avoiding eyes.

“We didn’t touch your cake, Y/n.”

You glared at Rhys, the apparent dedicated spokesmen of the three, and let out a harsh exhale.

“There is powdered sugar on your hands!” You said, shoving an accusatory finger at them. "Right now!”

The males all simultaneously looked down at their hands, Cassian gasping in feign surprise– a sound so exaggerated you resisted the urge to hit him on the side of the head for the act alone. Rhysand was a bit more subtle, bringing his hands up to his face, examining them, and then tossing a casual shrug your way.

“This is completely unrelated powdered sugar.”

With a flare of your nostrils, you turned your head to face Azriel, who met your gaze with a small smirk on his face, of all things.

“And what's your excuse, Az?”

He shook his head. “Don’t have one.”

“So you admit you guys ate it?”

“I didn’t admit anything.”

You clenched your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms.

“Yes you did.”

Azriel’s eyebrow quirked, and then he was narrowing his eyes at you.

“Did I?”

“Yeah, Y/n, did he?” Cassian echoed, putting his hands on his hips.

Your nostrils flared as your gaze bounced between the three males. You wanted to take all three of their heads and knock them together, hope that one of them would produce a module of maturity.

They braced themselves for an outburst, for you to run up to one of them and hit them in the face, if anything, but nothing came. Instead you looked away and shook your head.

“Fuck you, guys. You suck. Gods.”

And you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You came to a halt as you turned the corner, now staring into the living room where your best friends stood shirtless next to one another, a determined look on their faces.

"What the hell are you guys doing?"

Rhys looked up with a grin. "We're settling a debate," he said, gesturing to the tape measure in his grip. "Gonna find out who's got the biggest wingspan."

You raised an eyebrow, bringing your finger up to your lips as you laughed.

"Want to place a bet?" Azriel said as he rolled his back, a small smirk on his lips.

Cassian flexed his wings behind him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he shook loose pieces of hair out of his face. "I'm pretty sure it's me," he boasted.

Rhys shook his head, his wings unfolding slightly as he stood up taller. "Not a chance," he countered. "I think you'll find mine's larger."

"What does wingspan really determine?" You asked incredulously.

You watched as all three males blinked, staring at you as if you had spoken in a tongue different than your own.

"Uh," Cass said, lifting a finger, "Absolutely everything, my dear, Y/n."

You rolled your eyes at him, but began walking to them in spite of yourself. When you found yourself in front of Rhysand, you looked up and put your palm out.

Rhys frowned, eyebrows furrowing at the outstretched hand.

"Well?" You said, raising your eyebrows. "For a proper assessment, you need a fair judge."

He grinned, enthusiastically shoving the tape measure into your palm.

"Alright boys," Rhys said, turning around to face his brothers, stretching his hands out as his wings extended behind him-- almost hitting you in the face. "Let's settle this."

One by one, your friends approached you, Rhysand with a grin, Azriel with a smirk, shadows pointed at the edge of his wings, and Cassian with a cheeky wink.

After all three had been measured, you stepped back, trying to hide your grin. "Looks like we have a winner."

Cassian puffed out his chest triumphantly. "I knew it!"

You raised an eyebrow. "Actually, Azriel's wingspan is slightly larger."

Cassian's face fell as Az let out a loud laugh in victory, shadows surrounding Cass like a mocking audience. He swatted them away with his hands.

Rhys chuckled, clapping Cassian on the back. "Looks like you'll have to concede this one, Cass. Being last place isn't so bad."

Cassian frowned. "Azriel cheated! His shadows held his wings up, I swear."

A snicker in response.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a sore loser."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

"Why do you look like that?"

You gasped in surprise, your hand flying to your heart as you turned to the source of the voice. Cassian stood in your doorway, casually leaning against the doorframe as he bit into an apple.

"Cassian!" You scolded, pushing your hair off your shoulder as you walked towards him. "You can't just come into my room and scare me like that!"

"Why not?" He said, mouth filled to brim with chewed apple bits.

You stared at his mouth with a frown, lifting your hand so that your nail could slightly scrape off a piece stuck to the stubble on his chin. Cassian gave you a smile as he finished chewing, wiping off his mouth with his free hand.

"Gross," you muttered. You shook off your hand before looking at him again, "And you just can't."

"Well I'm here, so, seems like I can."

You rolled your eyes, but Cass only smiled at the reaction.

"So why are you dressed like that?"

You frowned. "Like what?"

"Good. Like, hot.”

"Gee, thanks," you deadpanned, your head tilting to the side as you gave him a blank stare "You sure know how to make me feel confident."

Cassian let out a laugh, placing a soft, large hand on your forearm. "No, no, you always look good. But where ya going?"

You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, but before you could respond, Rhys appeared behind Cassian, curiosity written all over his face.

"What's happening?" He said as walked in, throwing himself onto your bed. He frowned as his eyes scanned you. "You look pretty. What's going on?"

You let out an exasperated sigh, realizing you were about to have an audience.

"Guys, get out," you said firmly. "I'm going on a date."

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a quick glance before both of the males broke out into large grins.

"Ooooh, a date?" Cassian teased, brushing past you to sit next to Rhysand on your bed.

"Yes, now get out."

You walked towards them, attempting to grab their hands and pull them up with the sheer force of will. Between your futile attempts, Azriel's voice sounded from the doorway. "What are we all doing in your room?"

You let out a loud groan. "Where do you guys keep coming from?"

You turned around to face him, hands on your hips and an annoyed frown on your lips. Just as his brothers did, Azriel's eyes scanned your appearance.

"You look good," he said. His shadows curled around his body, a few around his ear as the corners of his lips turned upwards. "You're going on a date?"

From behind you, Cassian and Rhysand broke out into a sound that you could only describe as a giggle, the grown males turning to one another to make theatrical kissing sounds.

"You guys are so annoying. Get out."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

There was a soft knock at your door.

You groaned, slipping yourself further into your covers.

The knock came once more and you closed your eyes, hitting the back of your head against your pillow. "Leave me alone!"

Much to your dismay, your protest was met with the sound of your door opening and a heavy set of footsteps approaching your bed. It only took a few seconds before your beige covers were being lifted off your face. You squinted at the light that met your eyes.

"Well, look who's alive."

You scowled as your eyes met Rhysand's violet ones, a large smile on his face as he hovered over you. There was a softness in his eyes that made you feel guilty for the expression, and the scowl quickly turned into a small frown.

As you pulled yourself upright, Rhysand made himself comfortable at the edge of your bed. "How you feeling?"

Your knew your eyes were puffy and sensitive from the crying you'd done all night. You were grateful it was Rhysand who sat in front of you, someone you weren't embarrassed to be seen in such a state with.

"I just got cheated on,” you murmured, rubbing your face with your hands. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

He sighed, a small frown on his lips as he urged you to scoot farther into the bed, making room for him to situate himself next to you. As he maneuvered, you caught sight of your bedside table, now decorated with a large bouquet of multicolored flowers, delicately wrapped in with a white bow. Next to it sat a small bear, its fur a white and blue pattern that perfectly matched that of the ceramic heart gifted to you from Mor.

"Are those for me?"

Rhysand quickly glanced over before giving you a nod.

"Yeah," he said, "The florist gave me a whole explanation for every flower. I told her that I wanted to g-"

Rhys stopped as he noticed your staring, eyes wide as you looked at him, lips curled down. "What?" he asked.

You felt your lip quiver, a small burn in your chest as you looked at him. Realization quickly flickered in his eyes--- realization that you were about to start sobbing.

"Don't make it a thing," Rhys said, staring at you blankly. But as your eyes began to well with tears, his facade quickly broke and he sighed, putting an arm around you and pulling you in. "I had to take care of my best girl, okay?"

Your nose tickled as the corners of your eyesight became blurry, a sudden pool of tears now at the corners of your eyes. "Thank you," you told him, as you burrowed yourself further into his embrace.

You closed your eyes, taking a moment to bathe in the comfortable silence. But a second quickly passed, and both you and Rhysand jerked at the sound of your door slamming into the wall.

"I'm here!" Cassian's voice boomed.

You blinked at the sight in front of you, Cassian's hair messily tied together atop of his head, his hands barely containing a pile of food assortments. His chin rested against 2 tubs of ice cream haphazardly stacked on top one another, his palms desperately grabbing onto a variety of chocolates, candies, bags of chips, and fruits.

His eyes met yours, instantly softening at your appearance. He gave you a smile. "Hey, beautiful. Nice to see ya."

"What you got there, Cass?" Rhys said, his head tilting as he closely scanned the pile his brother clutched to his chest.

"I got everything," he responded, eyes darting between you and Rhys. They settled on you as he continued, "I didn't know what you'd want."

You let out a laugh, your cheeks suddenly straining from the impact of your smile. Your face fell as you examined his haul, your brows furrowing as you pointed to a small plastic bag.

"Are those... pads?"

Cassian attempted to look down, but the ice cream containers beneath his chin constricted his movements. "I'm not sure, the lady at the store said you probably needed them with everything I was buying."

Rhysand let out a snort at this, his hand affectionately rubbing up and down your bicep. You smiled as Cassian shuffled to your couch, carefully dropping the ideas on your cushions, and then moving to place the rest on the table.

"Hey," you said with a frown, "Wheres Az?"

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a glance.

"What?" You asked, looking between the two males. "Where is he?"

Cassian gave you a sheepish smile and then Rhys was laughing, a deep sound that you felt as his chest moved beneath you.

"Where do you think? He's beating the shit out of Landon."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

oh how nice it would be to live with the batboys with the vibes of new girl 😌 (until they do something stupid)

a/n: i’m slowly getting all my drafts and requests out 🫶🏻

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zqcky01 · 3 months

Text

Morning Tea.

Alastor x Reader

In which, you and Alastor enjoy having tea and morning talks.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Ah! Good morning Alastor!” You said, smiling, carrying a tray of hot tea. It was about seven in the morning. Alastor was sitting in the chair near the fireplace. “Ah! Good morning, my sweet angel.” Alastor cheered with his huge grin. You went over and gently placed the tray on the small coffee table. Placing down the teacups, pouring the tea into the cups. “Sugar?” “Yes please.”

“You always make the sweetest tea, angel. It's just as sweet as you.” Alastor said, sipping his tea as he signed. The soft crickets in the background from the swamp in his room. “I always make it special for you.” You giggled, stirring your tea. “I feel honored, my sweet.”

“Alastor, I wonder, where do you sleep?” You asked, picking up a small macaroon and nibbling on it. “Hm? Ah—it's simple, I don't sleep,” Alastor said, his smile as he tilted his head to the side. “It doesn't matter.” Alastor sipped his tea. “Everyone needs sleep.” You spoke up, placing down your teacup. Wiping your mouth gently. “I suppose, but I'm never tired,” Alastor said, shrugging his shoulders, letting out a low hum of static.

“Ah—that—makes sense. Maybe since you are so powerful you don't get tired.” You giggle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair. “Perhaps!”

“What are your plans today?” You asked, looking over at him, smiling. Alastor sighed, his smile slightly dropping. “I have a few appointments today. Then I promised Charlie I would help her with a few more small details about the hotel.” Alastor said, his eyebrows furrow. “You don't seem too happy to do so. Even with a smile.” You said, frowning, leaning forward. “It's what I chose to do,” Alastor said, a small glitchy static escaping from his lips.

“You could always, take a break. Even if it's just for a day, Alastor.” You said, a small smile graced your lips. “It wouldn't hurt.” “I suppose, I hope that the day will come when I can finally sit down and take a breath,” Alastor said, his eyes glancing down at his lap for a moment. Still smiling, he looked back up at him. “I apologize for getting deep! Tell me, what you are planning to do today, my dear?”

You frowned. “I promised Husk that I would help him with the bar. Along with a few shipments of alcohol.” You said, sipping your forgotten tea. “Ah—Husk.” Alastor’s eye twitched.

Both of you talked until eight o’clock. You could already hear Charlie singing a ‘good morning song’. “I can already hear the music..” You muttered, sighing. “Well—I suppose this is where we end things this morning,” Alastor said, placing his finished tea onto the tray. “Be a doll and put it away?” Alastor smiled before he suddenly disappeared into the shadows. “See you later!-” You said, blinking as you watched him dissolve into the shadows.

“I didn't even see him finish his tea.” You muttered, picking up the trey and leaving his room.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A/N: hey!! Just to let you know, this is my first time wiring for Alastor. So I apologize if this is out of character for him! Also, my requests are open.😵‍💫

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor #morning tea #alastor hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor x y/n #x y/n #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader

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quietly-by-myself · 1 year

Text

Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 33 (FINALE)

Masterlist

Well, it's been a long journey here, huh? I hope you have all enjoyed this story as much as I have. I've loved writing this, seeing all of your reactions and love for the story. Just, thank you all for your support.

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for elevating this series through her beta reading. And for cheering me on and helping make good decisions.

Thank you to the following people for cheering me on: 🐘 anon, @flowersarefreetherapy, @oddsconvert, @whumpsday, @pumpkin-spice-whump, and @verkja. Y'all are awesome

CW: none

===

The car ride was long back to Hope. New York was never a big state in Cyril’s head. He was from a small town not far outside Oswego - not far from the United States-Canada border, not far from Lake Ontario, and not too far from New York City. It was easy to forget the expanse that was New York State in that small town, in that small cabin.

Trees blended into one and the conversation between Sacha and his parents was hopeful. Sacha and Cyril had both said that they didn’t really want to talk about what happened, so his family did the talking. They couldn’t stop telling Sacha about everything he’d missed while he was gone, how happy they were to have him back. Soon, the conversation changed to what they wanted to do for his birthday. Cyril would chip in when asked or when he thought of something to say, but he mostly stayed quiet.

Finally, they arrived at Hope. The sun had started to set, but that was only natural - it was winter after all. They’d driven through snow-covered trees in the Upstate.

Sacha’s home wasn’t big. In fact, it reminded Cyril of his cabin more than the houses he saw when he worked in Syracuse. It was a ranch with a dirty door and windows, but the garden in the front was netted - probably for the deer. Cyril recognized the tomato plants. It must’ve been a dormant vegetable garden.

Sacha’s mother hurried to open the door to welcome the two of them in. “I’m sorry for the mess. We didn’t really have time to clean,” she said with a chuckle.

Cyril chuckled, too. The house was almost perfectly clean inside and smelled of vanilla.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

Sacha’s mother led them all to the living room, while Sacha’s father brought over four bottles of craft beer.

He smiled at Sacha. “You’re finally old enough to drink.”

Sacha chuckled a little. Cyril thought over any medication that Sacha might be taking, but then remembered that Sacha wasn’t taking anything more than acetaminophen and ibuprofen. He chuckled a little to himself, which drew a look from Sacha. Cyril was quick to wave his hand dismissively.

“I just remembered something.”

Sacha nodded and accepted the beer from his father. The four of them toasted then all took a sip of their beers. Cyril hummed a little. He missed craft beer, all those years in the mountains.

After a little beat of happy, content silence, Sacha’s mother spoke. “I’m headed to go make dinner.” She looked at Cyril. “Don’t you dare ask to help. This is for us to do for you.”

Cyril laughed a little. “How’d you figure it out?”

“You just seem like the type,” Sacha’s mother said with a laugh.

Sacha and his father got talking about different things. Apparently the Buffalo Bills were getting a lot better recently. Cyril wouldn’t know. He wasn’t into sports. However, to see Sacha’s face light up and for him to talk, actually talk, excitedly without hesitation made Cyril smile widely.

However, after a while, a thought started to hang around in Cyril’s head. One that bothered him and needed to get out.

He stood up politely and said he was going to talk to Sacha’s mother. Clementine - if Cyril remembered correctly.

Cyril knocked a little on the door frame. “Mrs. Matisse?”

Sacha’s mother smiled and looked back at Cyril. She was chopping up yellow potatoes and garlic.

“You aren’t asking to help, right?”

Cyril cracked a smile. “No, I’m not, Mrs. Matisse.”

Sacha’s mother waved her hand. “Call me Clementine.”

“Clementine, then. I, um, pardon. I’m not the best at talking.”

“Neither was Sacha. It… it took him a long time to climb out of his shell.”

Cyril swallowed a little. “I’m a doctor.”

Suddenly, he has Clementine’s attention. “Did he-?”

Cyril shook his head. “I left medicine for personal reasons a few years ago. I found him half-dead in the forest near where I live. I know the house he came from, now, but I wanted you to know that the man who kept him captive is dead. He died of an infection. Sacha almost did, too, but I healed him.”

Clementine’s knife fell and she turned to look at him. In fact, she didn’t just look at him, she came and hugged him.

“You, a total stranger, saved my son?” There were tears in her eyes. In the other room, the TV was on a football game and Sacha and his father were watching happily. “Even after you left medicine, you saved him?”

Cyril nodded. “I guess so.”

Clementine hugged him tighter. “Thank you. Thank you for being my son’s guardian angel.”

Gently, Cyril rubbed her back as she cried a little into him. “Was it bad? The condition he was in?”

“It was bad, yes.”

She went quiet again. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I will never be able to repay you, but thank you. Know that if you need anything, you can come to me.”

Cyril took a breath. “About that, I had a question.”

“Anything,” Clementine breathed.

“I’d like to come practice here,” Cyril blurted. He took a moment in the silence that followed to put his thoughts together. “I know you hardly know me but I wanted to ask your permission. Sacha would say yes no matter what, but that doesn’t mean I’m wanted, you know?” He took a breath. “I can’t imagine living away from him anymore. He’s become like a little brother to me. I took care of him. I helped him break out of his shell and…” Made him ready to live in society again.

Clementine nodded her understanding, taking a step back with a warm smile that created peaks and valleys on her face. “We would love to have you. It’s a long drive to the nearest doctor out here.”

Cyril’s heart sang. “Are you sure?”

Clementine laughed. “Just make sure you get vetted as a Medicaid provider. There’s a lot of people out here on Medicaid and the nearest doctor doesn’t even take it.”

Cyril nodded, smiling. He’d intended to, anyway. “Thank you. I cannot put into words how much I owe you for that.”

“We owe you more, I guarantee that. I just have to ask, don’t you have any family or anything? Anyone who would miss you up there?”

Cyril shook his head, looking a little sad. “I was a foster kid, never adopted. Didn’t really get to know many people. My only real friend died maybe five years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” Clementine gave him a kind look. “You can stay with us until you’re set up.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Clementine laughed a little. “Go with the other boys and watch some football. Even if you don’t like it.”

Cyril laughed a little. “Never did.”

Clementine laughed heartily. “I never did either.”

—

One month after Sacha’s homecoming…

Each breath that Sacha breathed let out a puff of white steam into the air. The Lake was just starting to ice over as Cyril and Sacha were sitting, feet hanging off the edge, looking out onto the water. They’d cleared a small area for themselves and brought two cushions.

The sky was dark and filled with stars. So far out from the city, you might even see the Milky Way if the night allowed. It was getting late and Sacha was getting tired, but it was tradition to stay up until midnight to open their presents. It was a long-standing tradition in his family for Christmas.

“Sacha,” Cyril began, turning to look at him. The two had hot chocolate warming their hands through their gloves. The winds were always cold on the Lake.

“Yeah?”

“This is the first Christmas I’m celebrating since Oliver died. I… um, I used to celebrate with his family, but his family stopped wanting to see me after he died.”

Sacha nodded quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Eventually, after an awkwardly long silence, Cyril spoke. “I’m really glad that I found you, Sacha. You’re my family now. Your family has been wonderful to me. Even standing up for me when the cops came to check me out.”

Both of them knew what Cyril was referring to. When news surfaced that the long-missing Sacha Matisse had returned home, the FBI had come to investigate. Upon looking at Emery Abberton’s mansion, they found the bodies of three other victims, victims like Sacha. Sacha was his sole survivor.

Emery’s mother had been covering for him and spilled the whole truth. After that and a quick investigation into Cyril’s connections, Cyril’s name had been cleared, in part because of the way that Sacha’s family stood up for him.

“I never imagined that I’d get out alive.”

Cyril patted him on the back. “None of that matters now. You’re a survivor. Now, you’re home.”

Sacha laughed a little. “I just don’t know what the hell I’m going to do now.”

Cyril got serious. “Study. Learn something. There’s got to be a community college close to here.”

“But what would I study?”

Cyril shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s up to you. You could become a therapist, a social worker. I can see you as a woodworker.”

The two of them sat in silence for a little while longer. “I was thinking about marine health. Something like environmental science but for the Lakes.”

Cyril smiled and laughed. “That suits you. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”

Sacha laughed a little too. “I guess it does.”

Sacha’s phone began to buzz in his pocket. He always kept it on do not disturb except for certain family members, one of which was his mother.

Sacha picked up his phone, only to see the time was 11:55pm.

“Where are you two?” Sacha’s mom sounded panicked, afraid almost. Sacha and Cyril had simply lost track of time, but Sacha was sure that it reminded her all too much of the night that her son disappeared.

“It’s okay, Maman. We’re at the dock. We’ll be there soon.”

Sacha’s mom took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. We’ll see you soon.”

It was a ten-minute walk back to Sacha’s house from the dock, but once they got inside, they were hit with warmth and the twinkling of the Christmas tree.

Sacha’s mom was smiling warmly at the both of them. “Sacha, Cyril, we want you to open your presents first.”

Sacha smiled and nudged Cyril who was a little in shock.

Sacha’s father handed Sacha and Cyril each a box. They motioned for Cyril and Sacha to open it at the same time, which they obliged. Inside, there was matching carved goldfish made from wood, hand-finished and painted. Each one was almost the same, except for those little details that hand-finishing made.

Sacha’s mom was the one that spoke to Sacha first. “We wanted to welcome you both into the family. Sacha, we’re welcoming you back. We want you to know that we’ll always love you, no matter what. Okay? We’re just happy to have you home.”

“And Cyril,” Sacha’s father said next, not giving Sacha even a moment to absorb what had been said, “The goldfish is a symbol of our family. We wanted you to have one that matched Sacha’s. You’re a part of this family now. You saved our son. If ever you need a place to go, we’ll always be here for you. Regardless. Okay?”

Cyril bit his lip, tears forming in his eyes. Though Sacha had heard the speech about loving him unconditionally many times over the past month, Cyril was being welcomed for the first time. Cyril nodded a bit, struggling to absorb the information.

“Th-” his voice broke a bit. “Thank you. This means so much to me. Thank you.”

Sacha’s mom looked upon Cyril with kind eyes. “Of course. You’re always welcome here.”

Cyril nodded, but the disbelief was palpable.

“Let’s move onto your other presents.”

For Cyril - all new gardening tools, scented lotion for his hands, and an invitation to work on the garden in front of Sacha’s house. Again, Cyril was emotional. After all, now he had two gardens - Sacha’s and his own.

For Sacha - a new, thick blanket and bed sheets for his room, a Buffalo Bills jersey, signed by a star player that even Sacha didn’t recognize but knew was important from his father’s pride, and a new cat tower for his room for Amber.

Sacha didn’t have money to buy his mom and dad gifts, but Cyril had given them each $100 in cash, explaining that he didn’t know them well enough to buy them presents quite yet.

The two understood. Of course they did.

As the night wound down and the tiredness set in, Cyril went to the guest room and Sacha went to his bedroom that hadn’t changed much since he’d disappeared.

Lying there, Sacha felt warm and loved in a way he hadn’t before. His mind went to Emery, but he quickly thought of the goldfish, of Cyril, of his parents, and of the content feeling that now rested in his chest. The image of Emery didn’t belong there anymore.

Sacha didn’t just own himself.

He was his own person now, with a brother and parents. He was happy. But, most importantly, Sacha was at peace.

That peace was worth more than gold and tasted sweeter than any nectar from the heavens.

===

Taglist: @whumpsday @i-can-even-burn-salad @pigeonwhumps @darkthingshappen @pumpkin-spice-whump @darlingwhump @maracujatangerine @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @flowersarefreetherapy @octopus-reactivated @quietshae @whump-blog @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @whumpkinz @roblingoblin285

#shadow by my fireplace #whump #whumpblr #whump fic #whump writing #completed whump work #whump work #whump community #sacha #cyril #happy ending #recovery whump

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myfictionaldreams · 4 months

Text

Merry Christmas // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was a simple question: Have you been naughty or nice this year?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dom/sub, costumes/roleplay, rough oral (f and m receiving), rough sex, size kink, praise kink, choking, sir kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, subspace, aftercare

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry, it's been a while since I've posted; I promise to get back to requests at some point. Until then, I just wanted to post a little something and to say Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and Happy Holidays to everyone else!

Words: 2.8k

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Winter was one of your utterly favourite months just for moments like the one you were currently experiencing. The snow layered thickly against the outside of your home, causing a darkened shadow on the inside, which only meant that the blazing fire lit the sitting area in beautiful deep orange and red. The sweet smell of hot cocoa wafted from the kitchen, only making your smile grow as you pulled the fluffy blanket further up your body until the only exposed part of you was your face.

Your back nuzzled further into the soft cushions of the coach you were waiting patiently on, watching the movie with half interest as the comfort of the moment had you wanting to drift into sleep. What’s more was that the meetings that had been planned for later in the evening had inevitably been cancelled due to the freezing weather, which meant that you knew you could sit in with your two boyfriends without the fear of them being out on the dangerous roads, just to attend a threatening meeting.

They were home. Safe. With you.

Blinking open an eye and looking around the room, it dawned on you that they’d been gone from your side for so long that the parts of the cushions they’d been sitting on had turned cold. You’d been drifting between sleep and trying to cuddle closer to them for an hour when Bucky shifted, causing a groan to burst from your throat.

He’d simply kissed your temple tenderly, earning a much-deserved smile in return as he explained that he would make the three of you hot cocoa. Steve had then mumbled something about helping him, but you were too busy trying to reposition your body and get used to not having them squishing either side of you.

Sitting up slightly on the couch, you glanced briefly over the back towards where the kitchen was to see if you could spot either Steve or Bucky, but neither were in sight.

“What’s taking you both so long? I’m getting so cold and lonely out here without you”, you shouted idly with a hint of a whine for emphasis. As you stared up at the TV attached to the wall above the fireplace, you contemplated what film the three of you could watch tonight when you became distracted by the footsteps coming from the kitchen. Frowning, you began to shout, “What took you both so … long?”

Any words you were thinking of asking were swiftly forgotten as your view of the TV was replaced by both of your boyfriends, each standing in oversized Santa trousers, each held up by black suspenders over their shoulders. The red velvet material that covered their strong legs was cuffed with thick white fluff around the ankles and waistline. However, your attention wasn’t forced on this as your eyes squinted, not quite believing the detail; “Have you oiled your chests?” you asked quietly, throat suddenly thick with saliva.

Bucky smirked, tensing his pecs so that you could see the oil's gleam better in the fire's orange light. In any other situation, you might have laughed at the fact that they looked like wannabe Santa strippers, but your pussy was being a traitor with the deep pulse that had your thighs clenching with the desperate need to find some relief.

The baby oil that covered the top half of their naked body seemed to extenuate the god-like bodies they both had, the muscles over their arms and abs flexing with the subtle movements they were both making. Even Bucky’s metal arm was oiled, causing the silver shade to shimmer and gleam.

Your head swivelled between admiring the both of them, unsure what to say or how to act. Thankfully, Steve was the first to speak, his thumbs hooking into the base of the black suspenders as he asked in a deep, gravely voice, “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

Your lips automatically flicked up at the corners to a teasing smile, but the single eyebrow raised by Steve had you falling right into the trap. All the thoughts that had crossed your mind to laugh and joke with them had quickly melted into the submissive, needy girlfriend that they both wanted.

“Um, nice - I think, " you respond before biting your lower lip, a move that had both Steve and Bucky reaching forward, but the latter made first contact, his metal thump gently easing out the lip from between your teeth.

“Nice huh? You sure about that, Doll?” Bucky asked, his fingers firmly holding your chin so you could not look away from him.

You shivered as Steve eased away the blanket, and even though the room wasn’t cold, the sensations pulsing through your core had your body overreacting. Your eyes had drifted over to Steve, who had squatted to be closer to your height, but a sharp tug on your chin from Bucky had your attention back on him as you tried to form the words to respond to him. “Ye-yes. Yes, I’ve been nice”.

A sharp gasp left your mouth as a quick tug of your nipple from Steve had your body shifting upright. With your arousal building, your nipples had pebbled beneath the thin, oversized top that you wore. Bucky’s eyes seemed to darken as he watched your reaction, the subtle way your hips ground on the couch.

“Really? Because from what I’ve seen, it looks like you’re being a very naughty girl right now. Tell me, Sweetheart, what do you want for Christmas?”

“You”, your response was instantaneous, and it seemed to be the correct answer with the way Bucky smiled down at you before releasing your chin.

“Well, it still remains to be seen if you’ve really been a good girl”, Bucky emphasised the last two words, knowing just how those words stroke the deep praise kink that further warmed your pussy, your wetness beginning to coat your lips and drench your shorts.

“Pl-please let me prove it. I want to be both of yours, good girl.” You look between where Bucky still stood above you, and Steve knelt at your side.

“That’s the thing, Sweetheart. The boss down there seems to agree with you. He thinks you’ve been a good girl all year round for his treats, but me? I’m not convinced; I think I need you to show me just how good you can be”, Bucky explains with darkness lacing his words. “Stand up”, he orders, full of authority. You do, being careful not to knock into Steve as you stand with enough speed that you are somewhat lightheaded. Both of their hands were on you in a split second. Steve grabbed the waistline of your shorts, and Bucky pulled the shirt up and over your head until the two of them had you standing completely bare.

Ungracefully, Bucky pushed against your shoulder, forcing you to sit back onto the warm cushions, looking up at him with wide eyes. A gentle tremor was pulsing through your body with anticipation of what was to come. Your cunt would have been soaked just from the way they were both acting, but with the outfits as well, you were near feral with need.

Bucky’s warm hand gently wrapped around your throat, his thumb and forefinger on either side of your neck, feeling the galloping pace of your heartbeat as you stared up at him. “Will you do everything I say?” he asks with a more gentler tone than before.

“Yes, sir”, you say, voice laced with desperation.

“Good, then I need you to ignore everything that Boss is going to do to you. The only thing I want you to do is to keep your eyes on me”.

“Yes, sir”.

With great ease, Bucky pushed against your neck, forcing you to sit back correctly against the cushions as he began to stand on the couch, just as Steve moved between your legs on the floor, lifting them until your legs lay over his shoulders.

With the oil, your legs wanted to slip off, so his massive hands had to grip onto the flesh of your thighs, keeping them thoroughly in place as he lowered his face to the heat and wetness that was begging for his touch.

As his tongue caressed the length of your pussy, drinking down the juices you’d seeped in the moments of seeing them in the outfits, your moan was cut off by the light squeeze around your throat from Bucky as he subtly reminded you of his demand. Your eyes moved away from Steve and up to the tall, foreboding figure above you as Bucky’s metal hand drifted to his suspenders, pushing them off each shoulder.

“Remember what I said. I want you to ignore him down there and keep your eyes on me. Now, why don’t you prove to me why you should be on the nice list?”.

You were unsure if, by ignoring, he meant for you not to moan or react to Steve’s tongue as it circled your swollen bundle of nerves, but it was damn near impossible to be silent as the waves of toe-curling pleasure sparked through your core. However, your mouth was now salivating for another reason as Bucky pushed the red velvet material down his hips until midthigh, and the thick, veined cock of your boyfriend was throbbing in the air before your face.

Resting your hands on Bucky’s thicks and licking your lips whilst also trying not to crush Steve with your thighs, you willed Bucky to come closer with a pathetic squeak. Thankfully, he removed his hand from your throat and rested it on the back of the couch, using it to lower his body and directing his cock to your mouth. You didn’t waste a second before licking around the tip, gathering all the precum into your mouth before swallowing the salty goodness down, swiftly followed by a few inches of his hard length.

Bucky’s sigh was praise enough to have you feeling sated and happy as you began to pleasure him with your tongue and mouth, almost matching the movements of Steve between your legs.

“That’s it, just a little more; I know you can take it”, Bucky encouraged with a firm hand on the back of your head. As his cock reached the back of your throat and the overwhelming urge to gag overcame you, you attempted to relax your throat to take him deeper, which thankfully worked, ignoring the tears that now lined your eyes from the stimulation.

It didn’t help matters that your throat kept spasming with the moans and whines from Steve’s treatment of your pussy. He was eating you like the man was starved. Devouring is the best way to describe the way he was licking you out. His tongue changed from delving into the depths of your soaking cunt, twisting and turning to stimulate all the nerves within, just to then pull out and his teeth to gently graze your clit, causing a throb from your walls which was the gently eased by his tongue once more.

It took almost no time at all before you were cumming into his mouth with a flush of heat and added wetness that coated his chin and cheeks. Steve didn’t stop, though, and used your overstimulation post-orgasm to draw you closer to a second orgasm.

Your nails digging into the soft material of Bucky’s Santa trousers helped to keep your ground and not drown in the overwhelming length that was still forcing down your throat. With all the time you’d been with Steve and Bucky, you’d thankfully been able to train your throat to be fucked and take more of their length compared to when you were first with Steve.

This feat was a minor miracle because when Bucky began to take control of the situation and gyrated his hips so that he was now just straight-up, fucking your throat, it meant that you were able to breathe through your nose at the correct times without panicking.

Saliva had filled your mouth from the fucking and was steadily dripping down your chin, causing obscene sloppy noises to come from you, but this only added more praising groans from Bucky as you knew he loved a sloppy blowjob.

“Fuck, you’re being such a good girl, Doll. Remember what I said, eyes on me only”. You tried to nod, but the cock in your mouth hindered your movements as your eyes remained focused on the buzz-cut brunette standing over you.

This became more difficult as you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye as you came for the third time. Steve was beginning to straighten his height but remained on his knees; however, your legs were lowered until wrestling around his waist, but his grip remained tight and firm, keeping them in place.

Without warning, immense pressure and stretching of your cunt began to contort your body as Steve began to fuck into your cunt. Thankfully Bucky pulled out enough that you could gasp without his cock filtering the noise as your eyes clenched shut from the welcomed intrusion. Inch after inch filled your empty hole until his hips were flush against yours.

As you and Steve both released a relieved sigh, the dominating hand on the back of your head began to firmly tug your lips closer to Bucky’s cock once more until you were full with both of them.

The two worked together like they did in every aspect of the word. One of them remained in your body as the other pulled out. In out, in out, they fucked you until you were a trembling, wet mess.

Thankfully, now, they were both heavily praising you, which was like sweet music to your ears.

“Taking my cock so well”.

“Fuck, you always make me feel so good. Yes, just like that”.

“Such a good girl, Doll. I know you wanna cum on Steve’s cock; do it. Cum for him”.

You did. Many times, in fact. Steve had you cuming so many times that you’d lost count as a sweet warmth wrapped around your brain, leaving you feeling like you weren’t in your mundane house anymore but amongst the clouds, floating endlessly in pleasure. Your hands had dropped to your side as all of your energy was now being reserved for sucking Bucky’s cock and taking the punishing pace of Steve’s.

Eventually, Steve was the first to cum with a harsh grunt and snap of his hips as heat and thick wetness flooded into your cunt. He remained in place, holding your legs around his waist as his cock began to soften.

Bucky’s chest was now glistening with both sweat and oil as his eyebrows pinched together, his cheeks rosy with a flush as he groaned deeply, “I’m cumming, holy shit-”. You did gag this time as his entire cock bulged into your throat, the whisps of trimmed hair on his pubic mount tickling your nose as he came.

You worked hard to swallow every drop of him down until your lungs were burning for breath, and he gently eased out of your aching jaw. Your mouth tingled as you licked your swollen lips, sure that if you tried to talk now, all that you’d be able to achieve is a dreadful, deep, gravely voice.

Bucky leapt off the couch, disappearing into another direction you were too tired to follow. Thankfully, Steve remained with you as he carefully repositioned the two of you so that he now sat in the middle of the seat and had you sitting in his lap. Your head felt heavy as it lulled against his slipped chest, but you still hummed in contentment as he kissed your forehead sweetly whilst wrapping his strong hands around your shoulders.

“Hey, Sweetheart, I need you to drink some of this; it’ll help your throat”, Bucky encouraged a few moments later as he sat next to the two of you with a mug of steaming hot cocoa. Steve helped lift your head as Bucky held the drink out, tipping it slightly so that you could drink a couple of sips, moaning at the chocolatey sweet taste and the warmth that did soothe your sore throat.

“Well done, just a little more”, Steve whispered against your cheek as he lay delicate kisses against your sensitive skin.

Finally, with the drink gone, Bucky leaned closer to you, giving your lips a much-deserved kiss before pulling away with a cheeky glint in his eye. “So, do you like the outfits? They were Nat’s idea. Pretty sure she meant it as a joke”, he wondered out loud, but your giggle and nod recaptured his attention.

“I loved them”, you whispered with a voice thick with tiredness and evidence from being thoroughly fucked.

“Good, because I can’t wait to see what you’ll look like in the outfit we bought you. We think you’d be the perfect match to be Mrs Clause, but I must admit, there was significantly less material”, Steve explained as his fingers massaged into your still aching legs.

“I can’t wait, but maybe tomorrow”, you admit tiredly, relaxing further into the arms of both of them.

#mafia au #mafia stucky #mafia!stucky #mafia steve rogers #mafia bucky #stucky x reader #stucky smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #bucky smut #bucky x reader #marvel smut #mine*#steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky #stucky

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kaleldobrev · 7 months

Text

I Want Them To Hear

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ben wants to make sure Hughie knows what it actually sounds like when the two of you have sex. In other words, Ben makes damn sure Hughie gets yet another night of no sleep because of the two of you.

Original Prompt: Requested by @k-slla | I loved your last post (poor, poor Hughie 😂). I would love to read a sequel, where SB& reader DO keep everyone up, for other reasons 😏 (if you're up to it 😊) x Kerly

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Cursing (23x), Smut (Oral - M&F receiving, Fingering, Unprotected Sex - P in V), Implied p*rn watching, Hughie getting scarred for life (again), Semi-Public sex (living room)

Authors Note: Before you read this make sure you read A Simple Misunderstanding first | I think 23 curse words is a new record for curse words for me (21 out of them are the same too) | I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you all enjoy it! | 18+ only please | MDNI | If you want to request something, just send me a message! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You looked over at the clock that was above the fireplace in the living room, and it was almost midnight, and you weren’t the least bit surprised that you weren’t even tired. Although you didn’t have a good sleep schedule before you joined the Boys (as you were a full-time college student when you joined the group), your sleep schedule somehow became even more jacked when you joined; something you didn’t think was even remotely possible. You had found yourself going to sleep at three, four, sometimes five in the morning, or not even going to sleep at all – a constant flow of energy drinks and coffee to keep you going.

The last couple of days though were unusually uneventful, verging on normal, like there wasn’t some kind of revenge war going on. The closest thing that had been kind of eventful was Hughie’s outburst this morning over breakfast, accusing you and Ben of having sex which kept him up – something that actually didn’t happen between you and Ben even though it was something that you did want to happen last night. Due to his little outburst though, the rest of the day was filled with a consistent flow of jokes (mainly at your best friend’s expense) that seemed to put everyone in a great mood (except Hughie of course). In a way, you did feel bad for him, but at the same time, his outburst this morning was unnecessary.

Your legs were currently in Ben’s lap, one of his arms draped over them as his other hand was lying on the arm of the couch with a remote in hand; the only source of light in the room coming from the television. As Ben flipped through channel after channel, you couldn’t help but stare at him as the shadows on his face changed with every single flip trying to find something to watch. “How is there so many channels and nothing to watch?” He asked, not even looking at you.

You shrugged your shoulders and he turned to face you. “I found plenty of things I’d watch. It’s not my fault you’re picky.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not picky. TV just sucks now.” He began, and you already knew where this conversation was going. It was about to turn into a ‘back in my day’ rant that you had heard practically every single day since you had met him. “Back in my day, TV was actually good.” Before you could interject he continued. “We didn’t have stupid reality shows about people who are famous for nothing.” You couldn’t help but agree with him on that one. “There’s 400 channels and only two of them are watchable.”

“And which channels does the almighty Soldier Boy deem watchable?” You asked, emphasizing the nickname.

“ESPN and TCM.” He answered without hesitation. You simply just rolled your eyes.

“Of course those would be the only two channels.” You mumbled, even though you knew he could hear you; there was no use in mumbling around him. “I love ESPN and TCM too, but there are other channels that are watchable Ben. How about FoodNetwork and HGTV?”

Ben scoffed. “Sometimes they’re watchable.”

“Okay. How about…” You thought for a moment, trying to think of a channel that Ben would possibly enjoy; then it hit you, causing a smirk to form on your face. “How about Skinamax?”

He looked at you with a confused expression. “What the fuck is Skinamax?” You let out a slight laugh, causing him to raise a brow. “What?”

“You don’t know what Skinamax is?” You asked. “Honestly, I’m slightly surprised.” You held out your hand. “Hand me the remote and I’ll show you.”

“Why can’t you just fucking tell me?” He asked, his facial expression annoyed.

“Because Ben, it’d be more fun to show you.” Your lips turned into a smirk. “Don’t you trust me?”

Again, your response earned yet another eyeroll from him. Of course I fucking trust you, he thought. What kind of stupid question is that? “Fine.” He said, handing you the remote.

“Okay, and why couldn’t you of just told me it was just fucking porn?” He asked, his tone sounding a little annoyed with you.

“Because, I thought it would be much more fun to show you.” You turned away from the television and looked at him. “You’ve watched porn before though right? Like, I’m assuming you have cause well…you’re…well you.”

He looked at you briefly before looking back at the screen again. “Have you watched porn before?” He mumbled, mocking your tone. “Of course I fucking have.” He said, a tad louder and a bit more annoyed sounding. He turned back to face you. “Who hasn’t watched porn before?”

You shrugged. “Fair point.” You said. “You know…” you began, as you started inching your way closer to him. “As much as I’d love to continue watching this…interesting movie. There is something I’d much rather be doing.”

He smirked, his full attention on you now. “And what’s that Sweetheart?”

“Well, you did make me a promise this morning.” Your voice was low, your hand inching closer to the hem of his pants.

“I made you a lot of promises this morning.” His voice was low, but not nearly as low as yours.

“But there was one in particular.” Your fingers started slipping into the waistband of his pants as you maintained complete eye contact with him.

“You going to tell me or is it more fun to show me?” He asked, your hand made contact with his cock and you gently wrapped your hand around him. Ben slightly groaned at the contact.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “I think you know the answer.” You whispered.

Without a second to waste, he pulled his sweats down giving you slightly better access as you started moving your hand up and down. You went slow, knowing that it was killing him inside with the pace that you were going at. As he was about to open up his mouth to protest the slow pace, your head went down and you started sucking him off; a slight taste of pre-cum on your tongue. Your hand and mouth started going in tandem with each other; no longer focused on his face, but focusing on what you were doing. “Fuck,” he groaned, and he threw his head back into the couch, enjoying the feeling of your mouth and hands wrapped around him, a feeling that he’d wanted since the moment he laid his eyes on you – despite him knowing how much you hated him at first.

You released him with a pop for a moment; your hand still going. But the loss of your mouth on him caused him to open his eye to look at you. “Ben, you need to be quiet. I don’t want the whole house to hear.” You stated.

Your words gave Ben an idea, and a smirk grew on his face. “Princess, I want them to hear.”

“You…you want them to hear?” Your voice a whisper. “Why?”

“Cause I want your little friend to know what it actually sounds like when the two of us fuck.” His words made you audibly gulp, and you barely even knew how to respond. Weirdly, the thought turned you on.

“Okay.” Your reply hesitant. Despite the slight hesitation, you wrapped your lips around his cock again; your mouth and hand working in tandem again.

As you worked, the sounds that were coming out of Ben’s mouth weren’t remotely quiet; a mixture of groaning and moaning. His hand gripped your hair slightly, pulling at it gently, messing it up. Between him basically playing with your hair as you blew him, and the sounds that he was making; it encouraged you to pick up the pace a little, and you yourself felt yourself starting to get increasingly more wet. “God, your fucking mouth.” He groaned. He bucked up a little, and when he did that he let himself go; releasing himself into your mouth and down your throat. You usually weren’t a swallower but for him, you made the exception.

Once you helped him ride out his orgasm, you released him with a pop; the two of you making eye contact again. “Lay down Princess,” he demanded, “and spread those legs of yours,” he grinned.

“Yes Sir.” You said, probably a little bit too loud.

The nickname you gave him just made him grin even wider, slightly more evil looking. “Can’t wait to wreck this pussy of yours.” He said, completely pulling your shorts down in one swift movement. He eyed your bare pussy for a moment before smirking up at you, cocking a brow. “Went commando today uh?” You bit your bottom lip, nodding. “Sweetheart, if I would have known, I would have fucked you on the kitchen table this morning just to prove a point.”

“Be-” before you could speak, his point finger started to slowly dip inside of you. “Fuck.” You moaned, slightly whispering.

“You’re fucking soaked Princess.” He said, smugness in his voice. “All this just from blowing me uh?” He added a second finger as they both started going into you a bit deeper, a slight curve to them.

“Y-yes.” You moaned out; his two fingers starting to move slowly in and out of you, a similar pace you had done earlier on him.

“So, tell me this Sweetheart. Are you generally just a cock slut, or are you just a slut for my cock?”

The pace of his fingers started to pick up gingerly; no words were forming in your brain to even respond to his question. He was barely doing anything to you, and you were slightly embarrassed by the way your body was reacting to his touch, but at the same time, he actually knew what he was doing – hitting you in all the right spots. “Just…Fuck…Just for yours.”

“Just for mine what?” He added a third finger, curling them inside of you. All you could do was moan; verging on the sound of pornographic. “Need you to use your words Princess. I know how much you like to talk, don’t hold back on me now.”

“Fuck me…” you mumbled, feeling a heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m only a slut for your cock Ben.”

He clicked his tongue a few times, seeming unsatisfied with your answer. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite hear you.” The smugness in his voice returned, knowing that he could hear you. You knew what he really meant: your friends couldn’t hear you.

With a small groan, you spoke just a tad louder, hoping it would be loud enough to satisfy him. “I’m only a slut for you cock Ben.”

He grinned. “There it is.” He sounded so proud of himself.

“Ben I’m about to –” you came, not even finishing your sentence, your orgasm practically exploding out of you. Despite the amount of times you’ve had sex, this was the first time you could actually say that you had a mind-blowing orgasm. He continued to move his fingers in and out of you rapidly as you rid out your orgasm.

“Fucking beautiful,” he praised. “I’ll never get fucking tired of seeing a woman cum.”

As soon as you came down from your high, he removed his fingers from you, licking them clean; and you already hated the feeling of not having his fingers inside of you. “Fuck.” You breathed out, your chest rising up and down as you tried catching your breath.

Ben chuckled. “You good there Sweetheart?” He sounded amused.

“Yeah…So…Good…” your voice trailed off.

“Good, cause I’m not done with you just yet.” Before you had the chance to respond, he pulled you by your ankles, sliding you across the couch. Pulling you into his lap, both of your hands rested on his chest, slight heat radiating from it, which strangely felt good against your palms.

Your legs were spread open wide enough that you were able to straddle him; your knees on either side of his thighs resting on the couch. Without any kind of direction from him, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head, tossing it to the side, leaving you completely naked; you felt even more vulnerable somehow than you did before. You leaned in, your hands on either side of his face now and kissed him; his hands automatically gripping your hips. Based on the tightness of the grip you knew you’d have bruises, and honestly – you couldn’t care less, you wanted him to leave marks.

The both of you moaned into the kiss, and you started rocking your hips gently, trying to obtain some kind of friction. He smirked against your lips. “Someone’s a little needy.” He teased. “You just came Sweetheart.”

“Yeah but…” You kissed his neck, and leaned in close to his ear, “that was on your fingers, not on your cock.”

“And you say I have the dirty mouth.” He laughed a little, removing his hands from your hips. You sat back on his thighs as he took one of his hands and wrapped it around himself, pumping it in his hand a few times. “Going to fill that pussy right up.”

“Please.” Your tone slightly begging.

“So cute when you beg.” He said, his tip teasing your entrance. “You ready for me Sweetheart?” You nodded and placed your hands on his shoulders, almost as if you were bracing yourself. As he started pushing himself inside of you, you let out a long moan, shutting your eyes. “Fucking love your moans.” He complicated, as he watched your face slightly contort. “Taking me so well too.” He chuckled. “Really are a cock slut uh?”

“Only for you.” You breathed, his cock almost fully inside of you.

“Damn right only for me.” His voice sounded slightly possessive; and the tone turned you on more than you thought it would, and he felt you clench around him. “You like that uh?” You nodded in response. “Good.”

As you started moving your hips, Ben started placing kisses between your breasts, every so often taking one of your nipples into his mouth. The noises you were making were pornographic sounding again; no words really escaping your lips, just moans. Your hand gripped the back of his head, clutching at his hair. “Ben,” you moaned, shutting your eyes as you continued to rock your hips.

He attached his lips to your neck now, slightly nipping and sucking on the skin. Not only were there going to be marks on your hips, there were going to be marks on your neck now too. “Mine,” you heard him mumble; but you weren’t entirely sure if you heard him properly.

You opened your eyes and looked at him, and he removed his lips from your neck. “You heard me,” his voice possessive again. “You’re mine now.” He said. You weren’t sure if this was bedroom talk or he actually did mean that you were his, and his alone. Either way, you loved the sound of being his – despite the slight alpha/misogynistic undertone to it.

“All yours.” You agreed. He took two of his fingers and started rubbing your clit, trying to get you closer and closer to the edge. You felt the pressure start to build, and you were insanely close to coming again. “I’m so close.”

“Can’t wait to cum inside of you Princess.” His fingers started picking up the pace, and his hip movements were starting to get erratic – he was close too.

“Fuck.” You mumbled, your own movements matching his erratic ones. “I’m about to –” as you started to cum, his lips latched onto yours, and you moaned into his mouth.

“I’m right there with you.” He said, coming closely after you. The kiss deepened as the two of you rid out your orgasms; his fingers working lazily on your clit.

“Holy shit.” You said, essentially collapsing onto him. Your forehead rested on his shoulder as your chests were pressed up against each other; his arms wrapped around your lower back, his clock still buried inside of you.

“You alright there Sweetheart?” He asked, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah just…” you started breathing a little heavy again. “Don’t have your stamina.” You laughed a little. “I’ll be okay.”

“Good. Cause I can’t have you dyin’ on me.” His tone was joking, but you knew that he would be devastated if anything were to ever happen to you. Because over the course of time he had known you, he had grown to deeply care about you; and it was something that surprised the both of you – hell, it even surprised the rest of the group.

"What the fuck!" You and Ben both turned and saw Hughie standing in the doorway of the living room; his facial expression looked as though he was about to blow a gasket.

Ben rolled his eyes out of annoyance. "Do you mind?" You gently lifted yourself off of him, grabbing a nearby blanket and quickly covered yourself and Ben, although the damage was probably already done.

"Yes! Matter of fact I do mind! This is the second night in a row that I woke up because of the two of you!" He yelled; and you could of sworn you saw a vain bulging from his neck. He was pissed.

Ben laughed, amused by Hughie's reaction. "Now you know what it actually sounds like when the two of us fuck. Should of kept your mouth shut this morning kid." He grinned, and gave him a wink.

"Seriously? You guys were loud because of what I said this morning?" Hughie's voice was now annoyed. Ben simply just shrugged at his question. "You are such an asshole."

Ben shrugged again. "Worse has been said."

“Hughie I –” you began, but Ben cut you off.

"But, I can promise you this," he got up from the couch, pulling up his pants in the process as he made his way toward Hughie. He placed a hand on his shoulder, looking him directly in the eyes, grinning. "You better get used to not fucking sleeping cause your friend has one hell of a pussy and mouth on her." You didn't need to see his face to know the absolute pleasure he had saying that to your best friend.

Tag List: @jackles010378 @syrma-sensei @k-slla @zombie-freak If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys one shot #ben x reader #ben x you #the boys amazon #reader insert #female reader

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koenigami · 5 months

Text

COLD HANDS, WARM HEART.

wriothesley x fem!reader summary : spending your night far away from everything and everyone with your lover in a cabin on a cold night, you finally uttered your deepest wish to him. wc : 3k tags : +18, smut, fluff, established relationship, talks about children, marking, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, wrio about to unleash his breeding kink

The fire casted shadows along the walls as it danced in the fireplace, the warmth and crackling of burning wood creating a cosy ambience that could have made you fall asleep right then and there on the floor. Cold winters in Fontaine weren’t unusual yet you could not remember the last time you had seen thick layers of snow like the ones that currently covered the meadows and mountains of your homeland like large fluffy clouds.

A cold breeze rushed inside the little wooden cabin and made you shiver when Wriothesley slipped inside, nudging the door shut with his foot while carrying piled up pieces of wood in his arms. You smiled at the sight of his reddened nose and cheeks, flakes of snow sprinkled all over his hair and slowly melting away, leaving back a trace of slightly damp curls.

“Hope this will be enough for the night.” He sighed, neatly stacking the wood in the little basket beside the fireplace before he joined you on the woven carpet. “Good thing you stayed inside. It’s so damn cold.”

“‘Course, otherwise I would have turned into an icicle.” You smirked, remembering how Wriothesley earlier had threatened to tie you to the bed because you had begged him to let you accompany him outside to get the wood. Apparently, wanting to watch your handsome boyfriend use his astonishing strength to chop wood had been too much to ask for. However, the shriek that you let out when his bare hands touched your neck was proof enough that staying inside had not been such a bad idea.

“Shared sorrow is half the sorrow.” You grabbed his wrists, liberating yourself from the frosty feeling on your skin, and instead tried to gently envelop his hands in your smaller and especially warmer ones. Wriothesley studied you with curious eyes as your thumbs traced tender circles along the back of his hands while warming them up with your warm breath.

“You don’t need to do that.” Your movements halted, and you looked up at him befuddled. He went out by himself in that freezing cold, the least you could do was make sure that he was warm and- “Share my sorrows.”

Bearing others burdens on his own shoulders was a piece of cake for Wriothesley, because somehow he always managed to take care of them very easily. Yet the melancholic smile that he would shoot you every time you stated the desire to help him was a clear sign of a deeply rooted self-destructive habit. And despite knowing that it was only a way to keep you away from any further unnecessary trouble, in some situations it felt more like a brick wall that he cemented between the both of you.

“You’re right.” You stated matter-of-factly, leaning over to ruffle his hair and ridding him of the residue snowflakes. “But I want to. And the next time you threaten to tie me to a piece of furniture, I’ll simply handcuff you to the bed.”

“Threatening me with a good time, huh? Sweetheart, you should really work on your bargaining strategies.” His smug smirk turned into a lighthearted chuckle when he saw you scoff and turn your head away from him in annoyance. Though your body did not resist even an ounce when one of his arms encircled your waist and pulled you closer against him into a tight embrace. You instinctively snuggled into his side, the knitted pullover that he was wearing making him look tamer and more cuddlesome than his usual dress shirt and tie.

Coming here was a good idea. Far away from Wriothesley’s duties as well as your own work, no court cases or due dates for your reports; you were grateful for some uninterrupted shared time with him even if only for a few days. It’s what you both were in need of. Especially since there were matters that had somehow been lingering on your mind and soul for a while now-

Soft tender touches were shared as the snowfall outside the window slowly started to get heavier. His hands along your hips and waist, sliding underneath your pullover to caress and feel the heat of your skin, your lips on his jaw and cheeks, feeling the light stubble on his face. Slow and teasing movements that made your skin tingle and heart do somersaults, the awareness of how happy this man’s presence was making you, bringing a genuine smile to your lips.

“Want me to make some tea?” You eventually asked when you detached yourselves from each other for a moment. Tilting your head slightly, you looked at him. The fire casted an orangish light over the side of his face, the flame reflecting and swirling in the deep blue of his eyes and risking hypnotising you if you wouldn’t stop staring right into them.

“Nah, maybe later.”

“Did you just deny an offer of tea? Are you sick?” You giggled and watched his own lips form into a wolfish grin. In the blink of an eye, you were tackled and pinned to the carpet while Wriothesley’s body now loomed over yours and caged you between his arms. “I see so now it’s sex over tea?”

With nothing but the fire illuminating the cosy bedroom, you looked so ethereal. Your hair was sprawled around your head like a halo, and your skin felt so soft and warm as he glided his fingertips along your cheek and further down to your neck where he started littering light fleeting kisses. “Of course not, my love. It’s you over tea.” He spoke between each kiss. “You over everything.”

A gasp escaped you when the sweet kisses turned into teasing bites, heat already pooling between your legs at the way he sucked on your skin, finishing his markings with light traces of his tongue. Your legs instinctively spread, letting him slot himself between them as he kept assaulting your neck, tasting you, inhaling you in such a fervent way that he made it seem like you have been separated from each other for months. And in some kind of way, it truly felt so. One tiring day after another had led to the both of you being so exhausted and depleted of energy that your shared bed had solely served as a way to recharge your batteries before the next same draining day would arrive with the same taxing work and tasks to be completed.

His breath hitched when your hands slid into his hair, and with the tight grip you had on his strands, you noticed him lower his body, his hips grinding against yours and letting you feel the prominent growing bulge in his pants.

“Mr. Wriothesley.” You suppressed a wince once you noticed that your attempted comment did not sound as teasing as you had hoped it would when you were so out of breath and desperate for him. “Don’t tell me we’re about to have sex on the floor when there’s a king size bed right next to us.”

“Oh, shut up.” Blindly reaching to his side, Wriothesley tore the soft blanket off the bed, the both of you spreading it properly before you hurriedly settled on top of it. “There, better now?”

Though in all honesty, you could not care less about whether the ground beneath you was cushioned or not, whether you did it on the floor or in a thousands of mora expensive bed, as long as it was him that your hands got to touch, as long as it was him that got under your skin and never let go of you. His patience was slowly crumbling to the ground and disappearing into nothingness as much as yours was. His touches became more eager, with rough hands groping your chest, and lips nearly devouring you, licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue- It was so easy for him to make a mess out of you.

The fabric of your jumper was soon bunched up, and your bra pulled further down to let the fat of your tits spill out of it. The warmth of his lips wrapped around your nipples as he started sucking on one while his thumb and forefinger played with the other, the corners of his mouth turning upwards when he noticed you arching your back. “Fuck, missed these tits so much.” He rasped, drunk on your body and the way it felt beneath his hands. His tongue slid around your areolas, sucking and biting at the plump flesh of your breasts until they glistened with his saliva.

Once you two finally pulled back to completely rid yourselves of the clothes and fabrics that created a barrier between you, you were almost astonished at the light shake in your hands and breath, adrenaline and hormones having riled you up like a desperate teenager. Breathless chuckles and giggles echoed through the dimly lit room while you hopelessly struggled to undo buttons here, unclasp a bra there, and unzip and tear off legs of pants. Wriothesley hissed in pain when you harshly tugged the thick woollen pullover over his head, his helix getting caught in the fabric before you yanked it off him a little too harshly.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He spoke nonchalantly, rubbing over the apex of his ears to soothe the sting, and settled back between your legs which you deliberately wrapped around his waist. Digging your heels into his lower back, you pulled him almost impossibly closer as if any space left between your bodies would physically hurt you. With a hushed sorry, you trailed your mouth along the shell of his pierced ear, hearing and feeling his laboured exhales brush across your face when the pads of his fingers finally stroked along your already soaked folds. He played with you. Smearing your arousal over your clit, the circles he drew on the erected little bud made you let out the sweetest noises, his cock twitching in anticipation while he could barely wait any longer to hear you moan once he was inside you.

Wriothesley carefully drove his thick middle finger inside you, so painfully slow that you keened needily, tightly gripping the blanket underneath you in your clenched fists, knuckles white. Though his exterior seemed far more composed than you were, the hard cock that you caught a glimpse of as it hung heavily between his legs with the irritated and glistening tip, the weight of it brushing against your thigh; your pussy unconsciously clenched around nothing, the empty and aching feeling inside you only getting stronger.

“Oh my god-” You nodded mindlessly with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, pouty lips slightly open in a silent moan when he finally added a second finger, filling you further up. Though you were far away from satisfied, and at the way your fluttering and pulsing walls gripped his fingers he too could tell that you needed more. The indecent squelching sound of his palm slapping against your wet pussy with each thrust was so loud, he couldn’t help but groan knowing that you were in such a desperate need for him, that you needed him to fill you up to the brim and satisfy you over and over again.

“Let me see that pretty tongue.” You felt something in your stomach flutter at the sight of his satisfied smile once you obediently stretched your tongue out, letting him brush his soaked fingers on the pink muscle before dipping them into your mouth. With swirling movements, you made sure to lick them clean, the light suction of your lips making his breath hitch undeniably as he relished the sight in front of him, your pretty doe eyes glistening with moisture as the flame of the fire flickered inside them. “My gorgeous girl, always so good for me.”

“Wriothesley.” You croaked when he retracted his hand, a dribble of saliva running down the side of your mouth while the taste of your own arousal still lingered on your tongue. As you reached down between your bodies to take his cock in your palm, brushing it along your folds to cover him in your juices, you involuntarily sunk your teeth into your lip, gnawing at the raw kissed flesh. No matter how many times you took him, he always made sure you were nice and ready for him, wanting to make this as pleasurable for you as possible. Yet something about the brief burn when your walls stretched around him, the way it sent shivers down your spine and made your toes curl until your body accommodated to his size; you could never get enough of it. “Just fuck me already.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t hurt yourself.” His chest vibrated with a deep airy chuckle when he witnessed your eagerness, his big hand taking a hold of yours to place it beside your head, fingers weaving through yours and giving it a tight squeeze when his free hand guided his leaking tip to your entrance. “Going to fuck my darling real’ good, yeah?”

“Yeah, oh-” The warm mushroom tip entered you, as Wriothesley slowly started fucking himself deeper into you. Inch after inch, he sank deeper, stretching you further before pulling back out, and leaving you a whimpering mess. The hand he had placed on top of your stomach to keep you in place, involuntarily grounded you and you wondered whether he could feel himself in your guts. Because with each thrust that he sank deeper into your dripping wet hole, you swore you could feel him in your throat. “Baby-”

“I know, I know.” He breathed heavily against your ear when he eventually buried himself to the hilt, his balls flush against your skin, and tight walls gripping him like a vice, constantly clenching and unclenching. “Taking me so well. Always so… fuck-”

Wriothesley’s voice died down when he felt you fuck yourself against him as if you were in heat, moaning and gasping every time you lifted your hips off the floor. Your legs were shaking by the time he moved his hand to your sex, thumb quickly brushing back and forth over your clit and making you topper over the edge. Your entire body turned rigid when you came, the intensity of your orgasm would have scared you if it weren’t for Wriothesley’s roaming hands, caressing and reassuring you. You had not even realised the tears running down your temples until he kissed them away, letting you taste the salty liquid when he slotted his lips against yours. “That’s it, I’ve got you, love. Ha, squeezing me so fucking tight.” He mumbled against your mouth. “Don’t think I’ll last much longer like this.”

“Then don’t.” Regaining some control over your body, you were finally able to speak up though with a hoarse voice, and weak legs which you desperately tried to wrap back around his waist. Clasping his neck with your arms and holding onto him as if he was your life line, you moved your hips against his with a frail push, wanting to spur him on. “Wanna see you cum too. Want you to fill me up.”

“W-what?” His own thrusts stuttered when he caught your last sentence, letting your words sink in like honey on a burning wound.

“Want you to cum inside me.” By the expression on his face and slowed movements, you could clearly tell that Wriothesley probably thought that your words were stemming from a spur-of-the-moment decision. Brain fried by pleasure and oxytocin, all words that left your mouth should be taken by a grain of salt, though right now in this moment, there was not a single thing that you were more sure of than the thought and wish that had been occupying your mind for weeks. A small being incorporating the love that you and Wriothesley held for each other. Crawling and toddling around your house, filling it with sweet laughter and cries, while looking just like him. His eyes, his nose, his kind heart.. “Y/n, we can’t just-”

“Been meaning to tell you this for a while now.” The pads of your fingers brushed against his flushed cheeks as you cupped his face in the softness of your palms. His deep blue eyes had taken on a darker shade, staring right into your soul, and you swore that if there was a way to drown into that ocean of blue, you would do it instantly. “Wriothesley, I love you so much. I-I can’t imagine a life without you.”

Another stream of tears followed that made his eyebrows furrow before he gently wiped them away. Of course he had already had similar thoughts. How could he not when you were everything he had ever wanted in his life. Images of a little girl with the same sweet smile as yours, same hair, same attitude-

“Wanna give you a baby.”

“Are you sure about that?” His gaze zeroed in on you, looking for something, just anything that could tell him that you were not being serious, that all of this was nothing but an awful joke, some terrible dirty talk. Though all he could find while gazing into your eyes was nothing but pure love and warmth as you nodded at him. Warmth that seeped into the deepest parts of his body, spreading and filling his heart to the brim with affection for a woman he would always be ready to do anything for. “Sweetheart, you’re-”

You choked with wide blown eyes when his hips all of a sudden snapped against yours, his cock diving into your deepest parts and about to make you fall apart again. “You’re going to be the death of me, ya know that?” His voice quivered the slightest bit as he buried his face in your neck, and with his chest flush against yours, you could feel the rapid beat of his heart as it pounded only for you.

The fire had dimmed by now, the dark red flame covered by ash and residue parts of scorched wood fighting for its last ounce of oxygen, while the heavy snowfall outside had calmed. However, when you let your nails scrape down Wriothesley’s back, leaving red marks beside the already residing scars along his skin, while his body eventually tensed up, fingers digging into the fat of your hips and cock pulsing, coating the walls of your insides in white- You knew that your night had barely even started yet.

“Shit- Can’t wait to see you all round and swollen with my kid inside you, darling.”

#wriothesley #wriothesley genshin impact #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact wriothesley

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peachesofteal · 2 months

Text

The Lethe

An Ichor Veil masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 7.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Greek mythology au, modern retelling. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Smut, M/M/F, loss of virginity. Praise kink. Breath play. Pain play. Feelings of fear, jealousy, and anxiety. Mention of abuse by reader's mother.

The next morning, you wake alone.

You lay alone too, dread swirling in the cosmos, a thick, uneasy tension swooping over the palace where you linger, the protracted creep of corroded hanging moss, a thick curtain of dying green.

Memory is sharp. It’s fickle. It has a hold on you, your mind, your body, and your legs shift restlessly in bed, thighs pressing together.

Cerberus snores on the rug in front of the fireplace, lean and lissome and stretched long.

They open their eyes as soon as your feet touch the floor, shaking off their stupor and trotting over to rest all three heads on top of your thigh.

Pet me.

How could you say no?

“I really have to use the bathroom.” You whisper after giving each ear a good scratch, stretching tall, bones and muscle all stringent, but not sore. Almost nothing feels tender, you realize, and when you inspect yourself in the bathroom mirror, there’s no evidence of last night.

No raw, punished skin.

No puncture wounds.

You’re relieved, the impending doom-like feeling that plagued you the moment you opened eyes lessens, and-

A small shard of disappointment settles in its place.

Did you desire to wear their mark? To have them on your skin, by choice?

Your back is an ugly crisscross of fine golden lines, all remnants of the Whip.

These, you did not choose. These, you do not wear proudly, or at all. You hide them. You’d rip them from your skin if you could. Pull them out from tip to tail, scratch yourself raw.

You’ve already tried.

Your fingers find the faintest remnant of last night, a small dip in your skin the circumference of a tooth. Everything comes flooding back, the sting of your palm against the John’s cheek, the indulgent dig of the cuffs in your wrists.

They stole you.

Do you care?

You expect to feel more unsettled. More enraged, but it only trickles through like a summer’s spring, barely bubbling up through cracks in the earth. You feel betrayed by their thievery of you, but something else lurks beneath the surface, something soft and beautiful, threatening to drag you in with it.

It’s dangerous here, but not in the way you were expecting.

Maybe it is the separation from the wildest part of your being that has cooled your temperament, somewhat.

Only somewhat.

After all, you did hit John in a fit of rage, did you not?

A loud knock rattles the door. Cerberus whines.

“My lady.” A Naiad stands on the threshold of the room, your room, you suppose, her black clothes, nearly white hair both ethereally sleek, hands clasped in front of her waist.

“Um…”

“Your presence has been requested, if you are…” she pauses, delicately, jaw tilting with a shadow, eyes narrowing into slits. “Awake.” She sweeps over you, performing an inspection for something from head to toe, and you find yourself studying her ears, their needle pointed tips accentuated by such symmetrical bone structure, she nearly looks like a cat.

She regards you like one too. Aloof. Holier than thou.

Bitchy.

“I am.”

“Wonderful.” But it doesn’t feel wonderful, the word overflowing with acid. Who is this female?

“I’m sorry, who…”

“I am Minthe, my lady.” Why is everyone calling you that? All the time? You frown.

“Like the plant?” Cerberus shifts at your side, rising on their haunches just so, and she glares at them.

“Yes, my lady. Like the… plant, as you say.” Her teeth shine into a smile, forced and uncomfortable.

Something is wrong here.

“Will you be joining us, or shall I inform them you deign to continue resting?” Us?

“No, I’m well rested, thank you.” She inclines her head, graceful movement elongating her already supple neck. You study her, cataloging her razor-sharp fingernails, polished heels, chin length bob. She seems like an assistant of sorts, heavy black book tucked under arm.

“Very well. I will wait for you here.”

“My Kings. The lady Persephone.” Gross. Minthe announces you, stepping to the side to allow you entrance from behind, the removal of her in your path revealing a large office, two dark stained wood desks with two very handsome gods seated behind them. Bookshelves blanket the walls, and in the middle of the room, a magic made map of the cosmos glows, gold and blue light dancing across the black marble floor. There’s a giant leather armchair in the corner, wide enough for two, and a soft blanket folded over the back. It’s cozy, homey, a welcome surprise.

Your body aches. Desire simmers in the bottom of the stomach, skin prickling with a shiver.

How is it two beings you hardly know are so capable of making you so crazy?

“Darling.” John croons, rising from his chair. There’s a sharp intake of breath to your side, barely audible, stifled. “How did ye sleep?” He’s close now, close enough that you could reach out and touch him, if you were so bold.

A magnet draws you closer.

A collar. A leash.

Hades holding the end of it.

“Fine, thank you.”

“That will be all, thank you Minthe.” Simon dismisses her, still focused on you. She steps away in silence, and when the door clicks closed- John is on you.

He presses close, arm snug at the small of your back, forehead dipping down to rest gently against yours.

“Sweet Persephone.” He murmurs, thumb tracing the apple of your cheek. “Are ye well?”

��Yes.” You breathe. You welcome his touch, this affection, and it feeds a sapling, roots trying to take hold, trying to survive. To grow. To bloom.

His lips lay above your brow, long kiss freezing into a slow moment, and Simon watches with a satisfied smile, a loving glance exchanged between the two as John pulls away. “Have ye eaten?”

“No, she, Mint, brought me right here.” He holds a laugh at bay. “Who is she, anyway?”

“Minthe was once our consort, now she works as an assistant of sorts.” Simon says the slowly, and the room darkens, shadows building in the corners, flooding the cracks and crevices of the bookshelves.

Well, that explains just about everything, then.

“Your consort.”

“Aye. But ye dinnae have to worry, we’ve not been with her in quite some time. We’ve been waitin’ for-“

“Johnny.” Simon stands, moving into your space. It’s only his name, and still so much more is communicated within those two syllables.

Waiting for what?

“Would you like breakfast?” He’s smooth with the disruption, steering and redirecting the train of thought.

“We hoped ye would want to take breakfast in here, with us.” John explains softly, and you nod. A simple request.

“Sure.” You pause, considering. “Could I…” Would they still have them? Is it rude to ask? You’re not quite sure how it works. Is there a kitchen?

“You can have whatever you like, darling.” Simon encourages.

“Portokalopita?” Johnny chuckles, tugging you a little closer, mouth to your temple.

“Of course.”

The orange cakes arrive with a fragrant pot of coffee and some Greek yogurt, slivered almonds on the side. Your usual breakfast. You blink, suspicious for a half second before remembering-

“Why were you watching me?” Simon tenses. “I mean, it’s obvious, now, that meeting John outside of Hebe’s was not coincidental, was it?”

“It was not.” You tuck your feet up into the chair, shifting on your side with a steaming cup in your lap. “We have been… curious about you.” Your blood runs cold. The marks on your back begin to sting, a phantom pain you know does not exist, but still plagues you. Hurts you.

“Curious.” You croak. “Why?”

“We have heard stories. It is rare that we find ourselves so… fascinated by one who dwells in Olympus. John and I, we felt… a desire, to learn what we could.” John smiles, turning fully to face you, reaching for one of your hands.

You do not give it. You’re uneasy, like there’s a direness lurking in the darkness of the room, waiting to pounce. It’s an overwhelming inclination of trepidation, of misanthropy… much like the rivers spilling from this land.

“So, you spied on me.”

“We did.”

“And… you don’t see an issue with that?”

“I… understand how this may be unsettling to you.” Unsettling? More like a set up?

“I don’t…” You sip your coffee, trying to pick through a smattering of words. You must choose them carefully, you’ve come to realize, to get answers. “I don’t understand, why go to such great lengths? There are dozens of other goddesses, more beautiful, more composed, more worthy of your attention than… me.” You, Demeter’s daughter. Demeter’s failure. You, the goddess who rarely leaves her temple, the one who does not engage in socialite events or associate with the more powerful Golden ones in the city.

You, who talks to plants.

“I mean, look at Hebe, or Artemis, one of the Pleiades, they’re all-“

“No.” Simon cuts to the quick. “We do not care for other goddesses, sweet Persephone. We only care for you.” An undercurrent of power ripples, shuddering between the three of you. “Our affection, our care… is only true for you.”

“Me.” Because they do not know you. If they did, the affection would certainly wane. How long would it be, before Minthe was warming their bed once more?

“You, darling. It’s why we brought you here. To know you, as you are. Not as your mother intended, or how chatter portrays.” You look between them, slow eyes finding solemn faces, dogmatic in their assurance. “We had hope you might… enjoy our company, as we believed we would enjoy yours.” John shifts. It’s a fractured movement, barely perceived, but unsettled, and he cocks his head afterwards, gaze thick and focused on you.

“I told ye, we’d never hurt ye.”

“I know.” You whisper. You believe it now, to an extent. A pool of guilt tugs you into its current, an apology bubbling up over your tongue. “I’m sorry… about… striking you, last night. It was unbecoming of me.”

“I know ye are.” He soothes, and Simon interjects.

“The next time you feel an overwhelming urge like that, you tell us. We’ll take care of you.” His smile drips with a predatory gleam, and you’re suddenly inside a memory, the feeling of ichor sliding over your skin, spilling down around your fluttering rim, his finger pushing inside your body where you’ve never been touched by another. His mouth, covered in it. Golden lifeblood smeared across his lips, John’s cum spilling down your throat, molten earth, burning you anew.

What started it all? The idea that they locked your magic away? That they took you?

That they trapped you.

“I felt…” You tap over your heart, signifying the part of you that’s missing, and he nods in acknowledgement.

“I understand. It’s a difficult thing, we’ve asked of you, and you’ve done so well.” Your hands tremble, fighting the urge to preen like a raven beneath the praise.

It encourages you. Urges you to talk, spill secrets, let go of weights holding you at the bottom of the sea, where you cannot breathe.

“My- my mother. She used to do something similar. When she felt like I was out of control. When I became… too much. It’s a familiar feeling.” They exchange a long glance, and then John kneels, a hand on your knee, the other stroking deft circles into your thigh.

“Persephone. The scars,” Your eyes slam shut. “on yer back. They were made with a magical object. Did Demeter do that?” He demands, and you inch away, trying to create space, trying to escape this- this conversation, this vivisection.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You whisper. “Please.” His eyes are so blue. Like the Aegean, a venetian, crystalline color that deepens when he frowns, his emotions worn so plainly for both you and Simon to see. He’s distressed, like he wants to scoop you up, carry you away. They’re both staring at you with… pity. “Do not pity me.” You snarl, hackles rising.

“It is not pity you see, darling.” Simon shakes his head. “We do not pity you, or your strength. The story of your temple is known far and wide, even to those down here. It is sadness that we feel. With you.” The lump in the back of your throat is thick, too thick, and it threatens to derail your composure.

You push past everything else. The assurance you could come to them, when you felt like you were going to explode, detonate across the world, when everything turns white and you need your pain, your pleasure.

You’re only here for a day longer.

The rest of your breakfast is put aside, and you stand between the two with an open palm.

“Well, then. What’s on the agenda for my last day?”

There are many places in the Underworld that hold you captive, but Hecate’s piece of it, a forest of dew dropped trees with gnarled trunks and lavender flowers, vibrant mosses shuddering beneath your feet, a hollow thrumming with the wildest of magics, leaves you breathless. The goddess is just as striking, tall and elegant, deep black hair that swings at her hips, emerald eyes and pointed nose perfectly set in her face. Her skin glows, a sepia drenched harvest moon, and when she reaches for your hand, you swear you hear the barking of a dog.

“My lady.” She gives you a graceful squeeze before she releases and bows her head. “You are more lovely than the rumors credit.”

“Oh.” Your face heats. “Thank you.”

“The rumors say ye’re as fair as Aphrodite.” John teases, and your eyes go wide.

“Surely not.” You brush it off, but the tingle across your skin remains, flattery nestling in your heart. “Your home… is beautiful.” You try to give it back, deflect it upon her, and she watches you with knowing eyes.

“Thank you. It was born from me, as I’ve heard your temple was from you?”

“Yes.” She motions to a winding path that disappears into the thick of the trees, and you oblige, soaking in the sparkle of the wood. The magic is dense here, heavy, like water, flowing through all things, the roots, the leaves, the crows adorning the branches, following you from perch to perch. You don’t notice, when John and Simon start talking, asking Hecate a question about… something, too transfixed on the multitude of colors flourishing at the tops of the canopy, leaves and petals fanning out like a muted rainbow.

Again, you’re struck with a confusing consideration.

How is it the Underworld is capable of such life?

Hecate’s piece of this realm is alive, lush and untamed, resonant magic oozing from every spiral and cell in the moss, in the bark, in the air. Amethyst leaves ranging in size from head to hand fall from the sky like the changing of seasons, and the entire hollow breathes with it, power pulsing in a light breeze all around you.

Even the crows are thriving, living things. Part magic, part bird.

You frown.

“Persephone?” Simon questions, gentle hand on your back. It’s warm, and firm, pulling you into the touch, butterflies in your belly slowly cracking their eyes opening, greeting the day with a flutter of wings.

“Sorry, it’s just… the crows, they’re… alive?” Hecate laughs.

“Yes, they live. They’re my own murder, traveling as I do, between the Underworld and Olympus.” She holds out a hand and an iridescent, onyx feathered companion lands gracefully in her palm, preening. “There are many corvids here, now. Magpies, jays, treepies. They’re supposed to stay confined to the hollow, but I suspect some of them have made friends in Asphodel Meadows.”

“Now? Were they not here before?”

“No birds lived in the Underworld, before Hecate’s residency.”

“Hades allowed me a home,” she smiles at them, gentle appreciation aglow on her face, and then turns back to you. “a gift in itself, and so, I give them one in return.”

“You are more than generous.” John says. He walks close, hand lax at his side, fingers occasionally grazing yours. The touch is hardly a moment, fleeting, but it burns you through, muscle, soul, and bone shivering in response.

“Hades is benevolent, though they’d never let Olympus know it.” She murmurs, raven black hair catching in the wind.

“I’m starting to see that.”

“This is the Lethe.” Simon gestures to the rushing river before you. It’s not a river of hopelessness, like the Acheron, but something else. Something different.

It’s a river of loss.

“What… what is it?”

“The Lethe is the river of oblivion. She takes memories from souls, freeing them from past torments, or pleasures.” John is gentle, grasping your elbow, keeping you close at his side. You don’t resist, sinking into the warmth of his body, letting his steady comfort guide you away from where you stood at the edge, entranced by the low rumble of the water, the melodic call echoing from the rocks below.

“Or it serves as a punishment.” Simon warns at your back. The chorus rises, song reverberating, and you tip forward, away from John, straining to hear who it calls, the repeated exhalation of your own name.

“Persephone.” He warns, heavy magic blanketing the ground, cypress and white poplar drifting on the breeze, thick with the weight of his magic. “If the Lethe were to take you, there would be no returning to Olympus, or your memories. She is a power even we do not control.” She.

“She? What do you mean?”

“She was, is, a goddess in her own right.” Your eyes widen, the river hissing and crooning to you, desperate vibrato just on the cusp of her song, a sound sharper than a banshee’s wail. “Of all the rivers in the Underworld, she is the one to be feared. We can free a soul from the Acheron, or the Pyriphlegethon, we can forbid a crossing of the Styx, but we cannot return memories taken by the Lethe.” Simon draws you away, arm around your waist. “Come.”

John drags you back to the meadow.

He cradles you in his arms, opposite Simon, who sits silently, eyes half lidded, reclined on his elbows.

“Do ye like it here?”

“It’s beautiful.” You trace the fragile petals, white velvet smooth and soft, canary yellow pistils shimmering in the afternoon sun. “I love narcissus.” Simon’s mouth quirks to the side, turbulent sea settling after a storm when you look his way, and John tucks your back into his chest, heavy arm across your shoulders.

“The Underworld agrees with you. It is not every day the Narcissus sing for a soul.” His mouth is on your cheek. You press, pushing skin between teeth, and he obliges with a nibble, not enough to sting, but with enough pressure you feel the edge of his incisors, vicious points of his canines.

“It’s… not what I expected.” This is easy to concede. Easy to close your eyes and slip away in the web of them, their hold, their touch. Easy to pretend they didn’t steal you outright, they haven’t locked your magic away, they haven’t taken you from your only home.

“Would ye come back? To visit with us?” Your eyes are still closed, and you hold them there, fingers sliding through the lithe growth of grass, stroking across stems and petals, feeling for the pulse of their power, the magical force of nature existing the same in a tiny blade of greenery, as it does in every fiber of your goddess hood.

“Yes, I think I would.”

They lay you down in a crux of a hill, legs spread upon a bed of Narcissus, fragile blooms crushed beneath sacred weight, a cacophony of power joining together.

Your mouths meet, again and again, limbs and tongues and teeth joining together in a rapturous haze, a firestorm brewing inside you, a swell of power so strong you can feel it tearing at your skin, glorious and brazen, clawing at the cage. It is wild in your heart, in your mind, and only burning brighter as Simon tugs you close, a hand over your heart, his mouth on your breast, teeth grazing your nipple atop muslin, an insatiable god devouring at a mystical altar.

When he bites down, your legs fall wide, and John kneels in prayer.

There are many names for it, you know, but in this moment, it’s as if time is old, a god’s back bowed for you, his mouth on your cunt, sacrosanct promises running free like the rivers of this land, like the spring bubbling up from the depths of your temple, pulled from the land like John pulls pleasure from you.

Ichor runs. It paints you in gold, drips from Simon’s mouth and between your legs, mixing with the slick and spit swirled by Johnny’s tongue, the cusp of a cliff’s edge growing closer and closer-

But not close enough.

A gilded hand fits your throat, a collar made of divinity, and he squeezes, enough to make your vision spot, fingers digging into the dirt and roots and stems of flowers long crushed. John does not relent, only pushes you farther and farther against the edge, sanctifying the bond stitching between the three of you each breath you draw, the spool of Fate spinning long woven threads stretching to the end and beginning of time, knitting you into the patchwork of their lives, their eternal existence.

Their goddess.

Your Hades.

“Come, Persephone. Come for us.” Light explodes, forcing your eyes shut, and you tremble between them, crying out their names in near hysteria, celestial light bleeding from your skin like a star in the sky.

John gasps.

Simon tips his chin to the sky, and laughs.

Their room is quiet. Dark in the daylight, an empty burrow dug by a fox, pitch black emptiness as far as one can see.

“I’ve never…”

“We know.”

They hold you like treasure, like glass. Gentle words and touch, John cradles you in the cove of his body, magic zinging across your skin, sparks flying in the room.

Simon kisses the inside of your knee, arranging you carefully between John’s spread legs. He’s hard at your back, heavy cock throbbing hot on your skin, but he only grabs your hand to hold it when you reach for him, tucking you gently back into his cradle with his lips on your neck.

Is this what it feels like? Love?

“What do you want darling?”

“You. Both of you.” Simon, aglow in the flickering fire light, smiles at you and John, pride and glory, divinity still fresh between his teeth.

“Let us care you for tonight.”

You nod, and clothes vanish. John’s cock weeps in the cleft of your ass, his body trembling with effort to hold himself still, and you turn your face to his, letting him work his tongue into your mouth as Simon stretches you a finger, tiny explosions of pleasure imploding with each stroke.

Hands, teeth, tongue- a tangled mess of divinity.

Powerful gods, together mightier than Zeus, worshipping between your legs, glory abound in the sound of your moans. Simon gives you more, languid touch turning fevered, adding another finger to your soaked entrance, and you gasp, spine quivering in pleasure.

The gods kiss. Simon cups John’s cheek, holding him steady, exploring, deep and true. You can only watch, mouth ajar, taking in every lavish touch exchanged, Simon’s bicep flexing as he pumps John’s cock, a crease in his eyebrows when there’s a huff and moan.

“Darling.” Simon murmurs, thumb and forefinger holding your chin. John presses his lips to your neck again, nipping and sucking your skin, fingers ghosting over your belly and breasts. It makes you squirm, insatiable hunger rising in your throat, in your soul, and you yearn for them, for this, for it to culminate and flower.

Bloom.

“Please.”

“Ye dinnae need to ask.” John hums, delicately lifting one of your knees, exposing you like a spring blossom. “Look at ye, already desperate for him.” He strums through the wet mess between your legs, fingertips lifting to his mouth, lashes fluttering as he licks.

You want to correct him. Want to tell him it’s not only for Simon, but for him too. That everything is for both, a balance of scales, pain and pleasure and passion all revolving around the two of them, with you in orbit.

But your words fail, and John looks at you with eyes full of stars, endless night dotted in endless nova, like you’re the one being orbited, being loved, being worshipped on consecrated ground.

“You give us a great gift, little goddess.” Simon’s palm rests on your thigh, thick, swollen cock leaking against your skin. He’s big, bigger than you’re sure will be comfortable, a little bit of fear starting to pique as you shift, and he leans, an elbow near your shoulder, face above yours, level with John’s. Everything slows, Olympus stopped in its tracks, the Underworld holding its breath, and the three of you breathe, magic tugging and tearing at your souls, dragging you closer to the cusp of something unknown.

You can feel it.

“We’ll go slow.” He strokes your cheek. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much, yes?”

“Yes.” There’s a softness in him, intimidating edges all worn gentle, and his eyes are heavy, focused as he pushes into your body, fire and flood making your fingers dig into John’s thigh.

It burns.

It hurts.

It’s good.

The agony is decadence, sharp tinged pain morphing into fiery pleasure, burning in your soul and your veins. You moan, and John presses his thumb to your tongue, holding your jaw firm as Simon begins to move, carefully working you open with gentle strokes, gritted restraint clear in his jaw.

“F-fuck.” You hiss around the digit in your mouth, and they both watch, observing, waiting for a safe word or a warning sign.

Nothing comes.

Only pain.

Only pleasure.

“More.” You croak, and Simon noses your cheek, lips drawing a line up Johnny’s forearm as he strokes, hips swinging to meet yours, body trying to fold in half when he seats himself so deep you swear you can feel him in your belly. “Oh gods.” Your eyes roll back in your head.

You’re on fire. Burning in the pits of Tartarus, crammed between the gods of death, exalted through mounting pleasure and pain, twisted together in veneration.

Simon shoves deeper, up through your cunt to your throat, through your magic and out your mouth, insanity leaking from your lips like you drip around his cock. It’s obscene, the way he batters into his body, the lap of John’s tongue in your mouth, his finger against your clit, how you light up beneath them like a supernova.

“There it is.” Simon’s eyes glow, observing and inspecting, watching the way you take his cock, celestial light spilling from your pores. You cling to them, shiny like a pearl, iridescent and wild, groaning with each thrust.

They split you open, crack your very soul wide, broken cypress beneath an axe.

It’s an unrelenting pace, an lewd show of slick and tears and sweat- ichor that runs down your throat when John pinches your clit, inside of your cheek crunching between your molars like a meal.

“Ahh, please- please.” You’re rambling. Begging.

More. More. More.

“Sweet little thing.” Simon spits, cadence transforming into something slow, the subtle rock of a boat on the sea, nudged up against your cervix. “Perfect little pussy, made for your gods.” Plural. Like they’re both housed in one, experiencing together, breathing and fucking and biting, as one.

John pushes his nose under your jaw, iron grip lashed across your waist, holding you steady, keeping you in place over the reverberation in your chest of screams and moans, noises unlike a goddess and more like an animal, a tiger, a bird-

Simon slams into you. The pain is shocking, and you scramble, reaching for purchase, clinging to him, to John, explosion of stars illuminating your vision.

When he rains a hand down across your flank, your eyes roll back, slipping beneath the swell of pleasure and pain, a war raging between the two.

“Good girl-“ Simon grits, and you pulse around him, greedily, squeezing with another strike against your flesh, fingers dug into your hip. There’s a glimmer of darkness in the room, ebbing cruelty lingering in the corners, watching in wait, bidings its time, knowing it needs the right moment, the perfect crescendo in order to strike.

“Look a’ him.” John marvels. “Makin’ a mess of ye.” You blink up at them both, lashes webbed with tears. They’re beautiful, etched from marble, perfectly cast in the image of ultimate power, dark and decadent, decay and hope, sculpted together.

They will break you.

“Please-“ the plea breaks off in a gasp.

“We know, darling. We know.” John soothes, syrupy and smooth, a hand running over your ass with another whip of his fingers. He probes at your rim, lightly testing before pushing in, stretching, exploring, and you keen, curling around them, muscles burning red like hot coals. It sears. It nearly pushes you over the edge.

You want to fall with them, into them. You want them to take everything, to give you pain and pleasure until you’re not sure who or where you are, remake you in the image of these emotions, this wildness flowing between the three of you.

John pushes a second finger in beside his first, and you see stars. Three become one, bursting into light and bathing the room, touching over the bed and walls and gods, casting opalescence across their faces.

“Fuck!” you gasp, and Simon’s lips curve on your skin, voice low and rough when he speaks.

“Ours.” He vows, chokes, guttural. “Our goddess." He fucks you deep, relentlessly, firm hand gripping you flesh. "You can take it, show us your light.” He’s lost himself in you, and you in them, crying out as they throw you over the precipice. “Come, darling.” It takes no urging. You’re already there, praise and agony and explosions of nerves imploding, throwing you into an orgasm that has your legs locking in place around Simon, your fingers tangling in John’s hair.

You become light. Divine incarnate. Celestial dawn, touching the peaks of existence for the first time. It flows and flows from you, overpowers your senses, drowns you in a sea of exhalation.

Simon shouts something. His mouth finds yours, but you’re lost in the waves of your own pleasure, still holding tight to both, anchoring yourself through the erratic thrusts of Simon’s body, his hips jerking as he fills you with his own gift, a touch of divinity lodged where he ends and you begin, his hand wrapped around John’s cock and stroking until he’s spilling. Simon’s tongue on yours, on John’s, open mouths and wet faces bent together to make one, hallowed, consecrated temple, the planes of your bodies twisted together in the depths of the Underworld.

Your light shines and shines until you think your heart may give out.

Maybe it does. Maybe it bursts into stardust. Maybe it becomes theirs.

“Will ye have dinner with us? A last meal?” John presses a kiss to your shoulder, decadent and sweet. You’d forgotten about your need to leave, forgotten about Olympus, and the reality is somber. Still in their arms, and you already long for them, mourn them, dread the lugubrious return to your own realm, where your life awaits.

“The door.” You murmur, fingertips tracing over Simon’s chest, the hallowed ground where your head lays, where you listen to the steady thump of his heart. “Will you show me?”

“After dinner. Please.” John murmurs it into your skin, and though it’s a shattered promise waiting in the wings, there is nothing in you deciding to protest or say no, not when he tugs you free, rolling you onto your back so Simon can tuck you into his arms. “After dinner, we’ll show you.”

He spreads your legs, stroking a finger through the seam of your cunt, watching lazily with heavy lids as you whimper.

An offering he will give.

An offering you will receive.

“After dinner, then.”

You wake to an empty bed, much like this morning.

“John? Simon?” The sheets are soft against your skin, but there’s bitterness in the air, magic like death lingering in the room.

It feels like rot.

The door is ajar, barely. It allows light to spill in across black marble, the faint, sharpened pitch of an argument echoing down the hall.

You sit up.

What’s happening?

There’s a wine-red robe draped over the edge of the bed, and you don it, quickly, quietly slipping down the onyx halls, straining to listen.

“The Fates decided, and they chose benevolently. We are honored by such a gift.” The Fates decided what? There’s a strangled, indignant laugh. A female’s.

Power snaps, rough and wild.

“You cannot possibly mean to make this… this goddess of spring your Queen.” What? Acid brews in the pit of your stomach, swirling together and forcing you forward, desperation on the balls of your feet. Is that Minthe? Is she talking about you?

“Persephone is to be our wife; ye will speak of her with respect or not at all.” John snaps. You’re what?!

“We have waited, and would wait centuries more, to receive her. Her presence brings an eternal season, to us, to all who would love her, here in the Underworld.”

“But you do not truly care for her.” You tremble. A sea devours you, pulls you beyond the black water, down into the trenches, far deeper than anyone ever knew existed. There, it tosses you side to side, virulent rage and sorrow rising beneath your feet, pushing you back up to where you break the surface.

And break free.

The agony in your heart shatters the strongest magic, draws your own power back into yourself, twists it together to become something more, something wicked, something villainous.

Ungovernable Persephone.

“It is more than care. It is devotion, an all-consuming passion. One you would not understand.”

“But she’s a freak! A shut in li-“ Minthe’s words do not continue. They flail in her throat, the same way her soul does as you appear around the corner and twist it, making it malleable, ripping and tearing until it grows anew, sprouting with vigor into a new form.

The ground shakes. John shouts something at you, but you’re far past reason, far past explanation, and now there is only Demeter’s vengeful daughter, a wicked soul.

Rotten to the core.

Your magic swells. The palace trembles, and you feel the flow of life, Hecate’s grotto, the souls, Asphodel meadows. Every bloom and blossom cry out with you, and you scream your rage into a terrible power, one with thorns and vitriol. They surge together, and you draw from them like drinking from a river, pulling and pulling until you can no longer see, or hear, lost in the wind, the bliss of your wicked soul, your weaponized magic.

“Persephone.” A gentle voice calls, Hands cradle your face, a thumb smoothing your brow. “She cannot hurt you, Persephone. Stop this. Now.” A demand, sweeter than primrose and lily, drips like nectar against the will of your rage. “It’s alright. There is nothing to fear.” He murmurs, empyreal restraints tightening at your wrists, harnessing your power, redirecting it into the ether, commanding it still and steady.

When your vision clears, it’s horror you face.

Horror of your own doing.

You stumble away, clutching the robe to your chest, mouth agape.

On the floor between you and the Kings of the Underworld, is a small mint plant. It sprouts from a tiny clump of dirt, timid and frail.

It harbors a soul.

It harbors your wrath.

You are a monster.

“No, darling-“ John tries to reach for you, but Simon stops him, an arm out, catching him at the waist. There is sadness on one face, aloof calm on another.

Are these really the gods you gave yourself to? The ones you believed would care for you?

You are a fool.

You turn for the door and run.

You’re sprinting towards a river.

In the dark, you can’t be sure which it is. You’re not sure of anything, in these moments, these shattered clips that fracture your heart, the confusion that ricochets inside your brain, a silver pinball bouncing off walls with lights and noises exploding in the silence. Everything competes with the rush of a river, roaring swell crashing against rock, humming alive in the dead of night.

Their wife.

They brought you here to be their wife.

You laugh out loud to the cool, crisp air.

A fool.

Fate’s tool.

They weren’t interested in you. You aren’t special. You’re only a sanctimonious fortune from the The Moirai. Something promised. Something they feel you deserve.

Something you have no choice in, again.

But would you choose it?

Simon’s words ring in your ears.

“Persephone is to be our wife; you will speak of her with respect or not at all.”

“We have waited, and would wait centuries more,”

“It is more than care. It is devotion, an all-consuming passion. One you would not understand.”

The Fates.

The Fates decided.

The Fates decided to honor them… with a gift.

A gift.

You laugh again. It catches, hysterically, building and building into an explosion, a wild streak of pain taking root in your heart, and beneath your feet, Narcissus blooms. Even at a full sprint, the rage in your voice is palpable, and it breaks, cracking your chest wide with a sob.

They were never going to let you go.

They do not care for you. They only care for what has been bestowed to them. Their gift.

Not you. Not Persephone.

“Persephone!” A shout in the distance echoes over the valley, and only urges you faster, feet flying through a meadow. No flowers grace your shins, only grey grass, silvered in the moonlight.

Another voice calls to you.

The promise of oblivion. Of freedom. Memories laid to waste in her path, scars and agony and heartbreak all put to rest, buried beneath a mountain built of abeyance, weightless in the face of true nirvana.

Freedom.

Freedom from this truth, this betrayal. Freedom from your own stupidity, your foolishness washed away, soul wiped clean. Freedom, from the crack of your mother’s Whip, a magical object sculpted from the breadth of her power, built to hurt only you, for eternity.

You stand at the water’s edge. She’s too strong, and you cannot pull away, feet glued to the riverbank, fixed upon the rage of her waters, the power behind the swell.

Would it be so terrible?

You see Hebe. Melia. Nell. Their light, their laughter. The way their smiles sculpt their faces, how their power tastes when it infects the air. Your friends, forgotten.

But still she calls. She lashes her power to your own, strips of bark laid against your soul, binding you to her, tugging you closer and closer to the water.

You dig in your heels. The cacophony thunders, drowning everything else out, the scream of your name, the haunting in your heart.

You fight.

You fall.

Simon has never felt such terror.

Ichor turns cold in his chest, fear and panic rising into a tidal wave, an epic monster of emotion, filling his lungs with leaded salt water, choking out his last breath.

“Simon!” John shouts. He pushes his power into the river, cutting the current effectively in half, slowing its pace to a trickle. It will be enough, to find you.

It won’t be enough to save you.

Simon stands motionless. He cannot see anything, except the memory of your fall. Slipping into the river, disappearing beneath the water that will take your mind, your memories. The intricate pieces that make you, you.

He does not deny he had considered it. Allowed it to darken his mind, disrupt his intentions. He discussed it at length even. Argued with Johnny about bathing you in the water, bringing it in through a spring, disguising it as something it was not. Something safe.

“If she bathes in the Lethe, we will be all she has ever known, Johnny. She will no longer hold the pain, the torment from her mother’s hand, she will not carry the grief, the guilt of leaving Olympus behind. She will be ours. Wholly.”

“Ye’re talking about erasing who she is. The things that make her ours. Without them… what is she? An empty soul. A husk. Ye know what they’re like after they bathe in the Lethe. Ye cannae possibly want that for our wife.”

Johnny was right, of course. A million little pieces made up the goddess that you were, and Simon was a selfish being. He wanted every single one.

But now…

Johnny finds you in the bend of the river, limp and unmoving.

You’re almost gone. Simon knows it, can see it, can taste it. He can hear the realm, weeping for you. Your meadow, covered in Narcissus, each flower’s face wet with tears for you.

“Open yer eyes, Persephone.” John shakes you roughly, grip tight with panic, and then cradles your head to his chest like a babe, rocking back and forth. “Come on, little goddess. I’m here, we’re right here. We’ve got ye.” You’re silent. Near death, eyes and skin a thin membrane, everything washed away in the Lethe.

You’re gone. They’ve lost you.

Your heart slows. Your breathing stutters.

He’s been here before. He knows this feeling all too well. The frightening emptiness that even he, Hades, cannot combat.

“Simon.” John snaps. His hand hovers over your diaphragm, more magic, more power releasing into your body, filling you with all that he can give, all that you will take.

They’ve lost you. Before they even had a chance.

Too proud. Too arrogant. A monster on a throne.

He caused this.

“She is not gone, Simon. Help me.” John hisses, tenacious and hopeful. Strong. Simon’s compass in the dark. The brightest star in his sky. Forever buoyant.

Unstoppable John MacTavish.

Ungovernable Persephone.

And… him.

Your skin is cold, ice, and you’re so delicate in John’s arms, so broken, that Simon considers falling into the Lethe himself, just for a moment. “We need to get her inside.” John rocks you, cooing above your ear, trying to soothe the radiating distress, the rattle of your chest. “Sh-sh-shhh. Ye’re safe. We’ve got ye.”

Simon tugs all his power around you and Johnny like a jacket, a blanket tucked snug on your shoulders. It warms you, easing the shivering and jerking, and he holds it there, unleashing the untouched depths of his power, of Johnny’s, of this realm, forcing it into your soul the only way he knows how.

An idea blossoms in his heart. One born of midnight flower, bat orchid and hellebore, black dahlia and elderberry. Framed by the flowering vines that cover the outside of your chambers.

It’s an idea blooming from the very essence of your magic, your goddess-hood.

It’s reactionary. It’s wicked.

Rebirth.

Split your soul, and theirs, again. Merge their power, and yours.

Wed you.

“Johnny.” He whispers. He steps closer, hovering, a hand strong on the back of his neck, the other cupping your cheek.

“We shouldnae.” He shakes his head. “I cannae do it.”

“We must.”

“She will ne’er forgive us.” He cradles you tighter, almost defensively. You moan, the sound wretched and pained, and Johnny pales.

“The Lethe has taken her from us. She is fading, I know you can feel it.” Johnny slams his eyes shut, brow quivering. “Look at me.”

“Si.”

“This is our only option.” For every protest, he has an answer. For every reason why not, he provides an alternative. It snakes forward, through John’s rebuttal, through the time it takes for Simon to pull both him and you into his arms, on the banks of the Lethe in one moment, in the din of their bedroom another.

“She might remember, one day.” John lays you on their bed, the rasp of your lungs only increasing with each moment. “Her magic is strong.”

“Then we will beg for forgiveness and hope her vengeful spirit gentles.”

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