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xxspringmelodyxx · 2 months

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Never Doubt How Much I Love You~

Husband!Gojo Satoru x Reader

When he has a nightmare about you

As Satoru lay asleep beside you, his normally calm and confident demeanor dissolved into one of vulnerability. His usually composed expression contorted with anguish, and his gentle snores were replaced by the sounds of distress. As Satoru’s distress escalated, the sound of his groans and mumbled words stirred you from your own slumber. Your eyes fluttered open as you felt his grip around your waist tighten. The sight of him, caught in the throes of his nightmare, pierced through the haze of sleep, igniting a surge of concern within you.

In the dim light filtering through the curtains, you could see the faint glisten of tears on his cheeks, evidence of the turmoil plaguing his dreams. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, compelling you to reach out and comfort him, even if it meant stepping into the realm of his nightmares.

Gently, you reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your touch feather-light against his skin. "Satoru," you whispered softly, hoping to rouse him from the grips of his unsettling dream. But he remained ensnared, his troubled murmurs growing louder with each passing moment.

As Satoru continued to mumble incoherent words, you strained to make sense of his fragmented utterances. Amidst the jumble of syllables, a few phrases stood out with startling clarity.

“Y/n…Don’t leave me, please,” he whispered, his voice laced with desperation. His voice began to waver as the nightmare went on, each moment feeling painfully real.

“I…I need you.” He continued.

You quickly reached out to him, your hand finding his in the darkness, offering him the reassurance of your presence.

Feeling a sense of urgency, you shifted closer to him, wrapping your arms around his trembling form. "Hey, come on. Wake up, Satoru," you urged, your voice laced with concern.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. “I didn’t mean to make you go….”

But in his dream, his pleas fell on deaf ears. No matter how much he begged, you remained resolute, your departure leaving him stranded in a world devoid of light and warmth.

You continued to gently shake him, pressing gentle kisses against his forehead, hoping to anchor him to the present and pull him away from the darkness of his subconscious.

”Come on, Toru. Wake up. I’m right here.” You spoke gently, your voice laced with worry.

After a couple more seconds, his sobs stopped suddenly as he realized it was all a nightmare.

Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes clouded with lingering traces of fear. He blinked owlishly, confusion evident on his features as he struggled to orient himself in the wake of his nightmare.

“Y…Y/n?” He asked with hesitation, not sure if this was all a dream or not. It pained you to see him in such distress, and you vowed to do everything in your power to soothe his troubled mind.

"It’s okay, I’m right here." you murmured reassuringly, your words a comforting balm against his frayed nerves. You continued to hold him close, offering him the solace of your embrace as he gradually emerged from the depths of his troubled sleep.

As the last vestiges of his nightmare faded away, he turned to you, his gaze searching yours for solace. "I... I had a nightmare," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. His vulnerability pierced through the facade of invincibility he usually wore, laying bare the depths of his inner turmoil.

You pressed a tender kiss against his cheek, a silent gesture of reassurance and support. "Do you want to tell me about it?" you asked gently, your voice a steady anchor in the tumult of his emotions.

Satoru’s breath caught in his throat, his gaze distant as he struggled to find the words to articulate the horrors that had plagued his dreams. “It was…,” he began, his voice faltering as he grappled with the memories that still lingered in the recesses of his mind. “It felt so real.”

His grip around you tightened, as if he was scared you would disappear if he let you go.

“It was… it was about us,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

You listened intently, your heart aching for him as he recounted the nightmarish scenes that had unfolded in his subconscious. “We… we got into a heated argument,” Satoru whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “It was the dumbest argument ever… yet in the moment, it felt like it was all that mattered.”

Satoru brows furrowing as he tried to recall the specifics of the dream that had left him so shaken. “I can’t even remember what it was about,” he admitted, a small chuckle leaving his mouth. “It was like… like everything was amplified, and nothing else existed except for the anger and frustration between us.”

Listening to him, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of him going through such a tumultuous moment, even in his dreams. “And then what happened?” you prompted gently, urging him to continue.

“But… after we finished,” he continued, his voice wavering with emotion, “you… you just left.”

The heaviness of his words hung in the air, weighing down on both of you. In his dream, you had become the embodiment of his deepest fears, the person he loved most turning away from him in his moment of need.

“I begged you to stay,” he whispered, his voice cracking with sorrow. “I pleaded with you to rethink, to give us another chance. But no matter how much I begged, you wouldn’t listen.”

“You even threw off your wedding ring and told me it was over.” He finished, grabbing your left hand to play with the golden band around your ring finger.

”I felt so…lost. So hopeless…” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It was like… like I had lost the most important person in my life,” he admitted, his voice cracking with sorrow. “And no matter how much I begged and pleaded, I couldn’t change the outcome. I was powerless to stop you from leaving.”

After he finished, he chuckled a bit due to the relief of it all just being a nightmare. Suddenly, you felt a surge of determination welling up within you. “Satoru,” you began, your voice unwavering as you met his gaze. You placed your hand on his cheek, softly caressing it and placing soft kisses on his nose and cheeks, “I want you to know that I will never leave you, no matter what happens. I love you more than you will ever be able to understand.”

His eyes widened a bit in surprise at your declaration, his features softening as he took in your words. “Really? Even when I am super annoying and bug you to no end?” he asked, his voice tinged with a bit of playfulness.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips at his playful tone, the warmth of his presence filling the room. "Even then," you replied, chuckling softly. "Because even when you're annoying, you're still the person I love more than anything in this world."

Satoru's eyes sparkled with amusement, his playful demeanor melting away any lingering traces of tension. "Well, in that case, I guess I'll just have to work extra hard to be less annoying to make things easier for you," he teased, his voice laced with affection.

You laughed, the sound light and carefree, as you leaned in to press a tender kiss against his forehead. "Just promise me one thing," you said, your voice soft but firm.

"What's that?" he asked, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

"That you'll never doubt how much I love you," you replied, your gaze unwavering as you met his eyes. "Because no matter what happens, my love for you will always remain steadfast and true."

Satoru's smile softened, a look of gratitude shining in his eyes as he pulled you close. "I promise," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "And I love you more than words can ever express."

As the playful banter faded into the background, you and Satoru found yourselves drawn to each other, seeking comfort in the warmth of each other's embrace. With a contented sigh, you nestled closer to him, the familiar feel of his arms around you enveloping you in a sense of security.

Your fingers traced delicate paths through the silken strands of his white hair, a gesture born of tenderness and affection. As you combed through his hair with gentle strokes, you felt his body relax as he quickly felt a sense of tranquility. It was a small gesture, perhaps, but in that moment, it spoke volumes of the depth of your love for him.

Satoru's touch was gentle and full of love as well, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back as you melted into his embrace. In the quiet of the room, the only sound that filled the air was the steady rhythm of your breaths, a comforting melody that echoed the depth of your connection.

With a soft smile, you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, the warmth of his eyes reflecting the love and adoration that filled your heart. Without a word, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a tender yet passionate kiss that sent shivers down your spine.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourselves in each other, the world fading away until there was nothing left but the two of you, bound together by the unbreakable bond of love and devotion.

As you both finally pulled away, breathless and filled with a sense of peace, you two snuggled in together, seeking the comforting embrace of sleep. The world around you faded into obscurity as you surrendered to the tranquility of the moment, letting the wonderful deep slumber take over. Wrapped in each other’s warmth, you found consolation and serenity, drifting into the realm of dreams with contented hearts and intertwined souls.

_____________________

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kaynothanks · 3 months

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The Bargain Store

Pairing: Loki x goddess!reader

Summary: You, a goddess hiding on Earth, encounter Loki, who eons ago vowed to kill you. Loki never was one to keep his word.

Warnings: (18+ mdni) loki, what else? the smut just happened, i don’t even know how (yes, I do), oral (f receiving), loki has ulterior motives, mention of blood (lip), unprotected p in v, vaginal fingering

Word-Count: 6.5 k

Nobody suspected anything. Never had. For the past few decades, you had been the owner of your little shop, after spending many centuries on the run.

Throughout centuries, there had been wars and revolutions, plagues and remedies. You had stood witness to them all. Watched from the distance as civilizations went into ruin and new ones emerged. You had made sure not to get too involved. It wasn’t your place; not your planet and not your people. Still, you had been on earth for a big part of your lifespan. In your world, you weren’t anything special, a sheep in a broad herd. And you had had enough of it. So, you had left. Ran from your responsibilities, bid no goodbyes and settled for something less.

Centuries had woven themselves into the very fabric of your being, each era a thread in the intricate tapestry of your existence. You had been many things: a whisper in the wind, a shadow in the twilight, a force as ancient and unyielding as the stars themselves. Yet, for the last few decades, you had chosen a far simpler, more unassuming role—a shopkeeper, tending to a quaint little establishment nestled on a serene street, far removed from the cacophony of the bustling city that surrounded it.

Your shop was a sanctuary, not just for you, but for all who sought refuge within its walls. From the outside, it appeared no different from any other boutique that dealt in herbs, teas, and the occasional curious trinket. However, its essence was imbued with something far more ancient, a magic that hummed quietly beneath the surface, perceptible only to those who truly believed or those who, like you, were of another world entirely.

This little shop was your haven, a place where you could be both less and more than what you were. Here, you were not the goddess who had danced among the stars, who had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, who had fled from a war that threatened to consume her very soul. Here, you were simply the keeper of secrets, of remedies both mundane and magical, offering solace to the weary and the lost.

Your reasons for choosing this existence were manifold, but at their core lay a desire for peace, for a semblance of normalcy in a life that had been anything but. You had grown weary of the endless conflicts that had defined your existence, of the power struggles that had torn apart realms and ravaged worlds. Earth, with all its simplicity and complexity, offered a respite, a place where you could hide in plain sight among its inhabitants, who remained blissfully unaware of the greater cosmos that swirled around them.

The shop became a reflection of your desire for tranquility. Its walls were lined with shelves laden with jars and bottles, each containing herbs and potions that held whispers of your old world. You delighted in the mundane tasks of tending to your plants, mixing herbs, and brewing teas, finding a sense of purpose in the healing and comfort your creations provided. Your customers, none the wiser to the true nature of your being, were drawn to your shop by an inexplicable pull, leaving with remedies for their ailments and, sometimes, a lighter heart.

For years, this life had been enough. You had convinced yourself that you could forget, that you could move beyond the past and forge a new existence among the humans you had come to cherish. But the past, as it often does, refused to remain buried. It came for you on an unremarkable day, shattering the peace you had so carefully built with the ringing of the shop's bell and the entrance of a figure from a life you had tried to leave behind.

Loki's arrival was a storm on the horizon, a harbinger of chaos that threatened to upend the world you had created. The God of Mischief, with his piercing gaze and sly grin, embodied everything you had fled from: the power, the destruction, the endless machinations of gods and men. His presence in your shop, a place that had been untouched by the affairs of gods for so long, was a stark reminder that one could never truly escape their nature or their past.

The last time you had seen Loki, it was on the battlefield. You had been on opposing sides, and his last words to you were a vow of death. Yet, here he stood, looking around your shop with a curious gleam in his eyes, not having recognized you yet. Or had he? With Loki, one could never be too sure. You steadied yourself, the mask of the shopkeeper sliding effortlessly into place. "Can I help you find anything?" Your voice was calm, betraying none of the turmoil inside.

Loki turned his attention to you, his green eyes piercing. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of recognition, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "I'm looking for something unique," he declared, the silk of his voice wrapping around you like a familiar shroud. His steps were measured as he approached, the predator within barely leashed. "A gift for someone who values... rare items."

You couldn't help but wonder who Loki would consider worthy of a gift. Your curiosity, however, was a dangerous thing, especially around him. "I have a few rare herbs and special tea blends. If you're looking for something more unique, perhaps a potion or two? Depending on what you wish to achieve." You kept your tone neutral, professional.

It was a game of cat and mouse, and you both knew it. Loki's lips twitched into a smile, and he moved closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "And what would you recommend for someone seeking... forgiveness?"

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, the mask slipped. Loki was asking for forgiveness? From whom? The thought that it might be you crossed your mind, but you dismissed it just as quickly. "Forgiveness is not easily obtained by potions alone. It requires sincerity and action. But," you paused, turning to fetch a small, unassuming bottle from a shelf behind you, "this may aid in opening the heart to forgiveness, making it more receptive."

He took the bottle, examining it with a thoughtful expression. "And what do you seek, shopkeeper? What would you have me pay for this aid?"

"Peace," the word slipped out before you could stop it. It was the truth, however. Peace was all you had sought by coming to Earth, peace from your past, from the endless battles and politics of gods.

"A tall order," Loki mused, placing the bottle down and stepping closer, invading your personal space. "But perhaps not impossible."

The tension between you was palpable, a dance of curiosity, old grudges, and unspoken questions. "Why are you here, Loki?" you dared to ask, needing to know his purpose. Your heart raced, not just from surprise but from a resurgence of a darker thrill you thought you had buried deep within. The life you had led before, filled with power plays and destruction, beckoned with a seductive finger through Loki's emerald gaze. As Loki dared to step closer, crossing the invisible boundary you had mentally drawn around yourself, a surge of defiance ignited within you. Your heart raced, not solely with fear but with the resurgence of a power you had long kept dormant. With a thought as sharp as a whispered incantation, you summoned a dagger into existence. It materialized in your hand, its golden blade gleaming with a light that spoke of ancient magics and forgotten realms. This was no mere weapon but a relic of your divine heritage, a testament to the might you once wielded freely.

You didn't hesitate. The years had taught you caution, yes, but they had also honed your instincts, sharpened them into lethal points. As Loki advanced, a smile playing on his lips as if he were merely a predator toying with his prey, you struck. The movement was fluid, a dance you had performed countless times across the battlegrounds of the stars. The blade sliced through the air, aimed with deadly precision at the figure before you.

But the strike met no resistance. Instead, the dagger sliced through the illusion, the projection of Loki dissipating into nothingness, leaving behind only the faintest traces of his magic in the air. It was a trick, a mere sleight of hand from the God of Mischief, and you had fallen for it. A cold realization washed over you, a reminder of Loki's cunning, of the depths of his power which, it seemed, had only grown over the years.

Before you could recover, before you could even curse your own folly, arms enveloped you from behind. It was an embrace as familiar as it was unexpected, one that spoke of countless lifetimes and entwined destinies. His hand snaked around your waist, securing you against him with an intimacy that belied the years of separation and the shadow of past betrayals. The other hand, firm and unyielding, gripped hold of your wrist, effortlessly disarming you of the dagger you had conjured. Its golden light flickered and died, leaving you exposed, vulnerable in a way that went beyond the physical.

Loki's breath was warm against your neck, his presence a cloak of inevitability you found yourself powerless to resist. "How I have missed you, darling," he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin, a mix of threat and endearment. In that moment, with Loki's arms around you and his voice weaving spells of its own, you were transported back across the aeons, to a time when love and war were intermingled, and your fate was inseparably tied to the whims of gods.

The realization that the figure you had attacked was but a projection, a mere echo of Loki's true self, sank in with a weight that was almost suffocating. It was a reminder of his mastery over illusions, over the realities he could weave with a mere thought. Yet, the arms that held you, the breath that teased the hairs at the nape of your neck, they were undeniably real. This was no illusion but the god himself, in flesh and blood, as tangible as the tumultuous history you shared.

The conflict within you, a storm of emotions and memories, raged with renewed intensity. Loki's proximity, his touch, it reignited flames you thought had long since turned to ash. But this was not the time for reminiscences, for getting lost in what had been. The immediate truth was that Loki, the very being who had once vowed your destruction, now held you within his grasp, not as an enemy, but with a possessiveness that spoke of deeper, more complex intentions.

As his hand released your wrist, letting the vanished dagger be forgotten, you were left to grapple with the reality of his return. His words, laden with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher, echoed in the silence that followed. Was it a declaration, a manipulation, or something in between? With Loki, the lines were always blurred, the truth as shifting as the sands of time. The shop around you, once a sanctuary of peace, now felt like a stage set for a confrontation centuries in the making. The tranquility you had so carefully cultivated was shattered, replaced by the crackling energy of a storm about to break. Loki's presence, both familiar and foreboding, promised nothing and everything, a paradox that was his very essence.

Still ensnared in Loki's unexpected embrace, his words lingering in the air between you, a whirlwind of emotions battled within you. Anger, betrayal, and a flicker of something dangerously akin to longing. His presence, his closeness, was overwhelming, yet you found the clarity to make a choice. You would play his game, match his deceit with your own cunning, even as thoughts of vengeance danced just beneath the surface of your composed exterior.

Turning your head to face him, you allowed the moment to stretch, to teeter on the edge of something neither of you could fully grasp. Your lips hovered so close to his, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, a tantalizing promise of what could be. "Have you now, my love?" The words slipped from your lips, laced with a venom sweetened by the honeyed guise of affection. It was a challenge, a provocation, delivered with the precision of one who knew just how to stir the god of mischief.

Loki responded not with words, but with action. He hummed, a sound that vibrated with a multitude of unspoken thoughts and desires, before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. It was a bold move, one that sought to bridge centuries of separation and silence with the intimacy of a moment. The kiss was a fusion of past and present, a clash of wills and desires, as complex and enigmatic as Loki himself.

Yet, as his lips moved against yours, a part of you recoiled, a reminder of the chasm that lay between what was and what could never be. With a resolve as cold and sharp as a blade, your hand found its way into the silk of his dark locks. You allowed yourself a brief second, a heartbeat, to feel the warmth of him, to breathe in the scent that was undeniably Loki, before your fingers curled into a fist, gripping tightly.

With a swift, decisive motion, you pulled him away, breaking the kiss, severing the illusion of reconciliation and intimacy. "I don't believe you for a second," you hissed, the words dark and laden with all the unspoken truths and lies that had accumulated over the years. It was a declaration of war as much as it was a rejection, a line drawn in the sand that marked the boundary between past affections and present distrust.

Loki, taken aback by the suddenness of your rejection, the intensity of your grip, could only stare, the mask of charm and seduction slipping to reveal a glimpse of the genuine surprise and, perhaps, a flicker of a bruised ego beneath his mask. The god of mischief, so accustomed to being the orchestrator of deceit, found himself momentarily at a loss, caught in the web of his own making. The air between you crackled with tension, charged with the electricity of a storm on the horizon. In that moment, with the remnants of the kiss still lingering like a phantom touch upon your lips, the complexity of your relationship with Loki was laid bare. It was a tapestry woven with threads of love and hatred, betrayal and longing, each stitch a testament to the turbulent history you shared.

Your defiance, your refusal to succumb to the seduction of a momentary weakness, set the stage for what was to come. It was a declaration that you were no longer the deity who had fled, who had sought refuge in the shadows of anonymity. You were a force to be reckoned with, a player in the game of gods, and Loki would do well to remember that.

Loki's response to your defiance was as swift as it was unpredictable. His initial surprise at your resistance melted away into that all-too-familiar grin, a mischievous curve of his lips that had always heralded trouble. The atmosphere shifted palpably, charged with a tension that was as much about power as it was about the unresolved history simmering between you. He advanced, the godly aura that clung to him making the air around you thrum with energy. His approach was deliberate, each step calculated to intimidate and enthrall in equal measure. You found yourself retreating until the solid form of the front desk halted your escape, the mundane reality of your shop a stark contrast to the unfolding drama.

Loki's fingers, cool and assertive, found the hem of your clothes, tugging with a playful yet disapproving frown. "I must confess, I find myself at odds with your choice of attire," he remarked, his voice a low purr that vibrated with an undercurrent of something darker. "These... mundane garments do not suit you. I miss the dresses of old, the ones that whispered secrets against your skin, the ones I could remove with but a thought." His words were a deliberate provocation, designed to unnerve and reminisce a past intimacy that had once been.

Before you could muster a retort or push him away, he lifted you with an ease that spoke of his godly strength, sitting you atop the counter with a possessive certainty. The action was bold, an invasion of personal space that he seemed to relish, watching for your reaction, gauging how far he could push before you snapped. His behavior, this blend of familiarity and threat, placed you at a crossroads. Part of you, the part hardened by centuries of hiding and surviving, screamed for caution, for you to summon your powers and push him away, to reinforce the boundaries he so blatantly disregarded. Yet, another part, perhaps the part that had once known him more intimately, that remembered the complexity of his character, urged you to wait, to use this proximity to your advantage.

The realization dawned on you then, amid the tension and the charged air, that Loki's tactics had shifted because he needed something from you. His words, his actions, were part of a larger game, one that involved merely his goal, and by extension, you. It was a game of manipulation, of old affections twisted into new strategies, but it was also a game you could play.

"So, you miss the past," you found yourself saying, voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within you. Your eyes locked with his, a challenge laid bare. "But the past is a realm even you cannot return to, Loki. We are not who we once were, and desires... desires can be as fleeting as they are dangerous." It was a gamble, invoking both your shared history and the undeniable tension of the present. You sought to remind him that you were not the same deity he had once known, that you had grown and changed, just as he had. In this dance of words and wills, you were not just the prey he might have assumed you to be; you were a player in your own right, with your own cards yet to be revealed.

The next move was his, and the air between you crackled with the anticipation of it.

Loki's gaze, a maelstrom of green, held yours with an intensity that bordered on the palpable, each flicker of emotion a testament to the centuries that had shaped him. His response, when it came, was threaded with the weight of ages and the depth of a god's desires.

"My yearning for you," he began, his voice a low thrum that seemed to echo with the gravitas of eons passed, "has never been of the fleeting kind. It is as enduring as the stars that light our skies, as unyielding as the fabric of reality itself. To suggest otherwise is to misunderstand the very nature of my being."

With these words, he sank to his knees before you, an act so filled with symbolic surrender and yet charged with an undercurrent of strategy. In this position, Loki, the god of mischief, the architect of chaos, positioned himself in a posture of fealty—or so it seemed. Yet, you knew better than to take the gesture at face value. Loki was many things, but straightforward was not one of them. Every action, every word, was laced with layers of meaning, designed to manipulate and coax the desired response from those he engaged with.

His move was bold, a calculated risk meant to disarm and perhaps to remind you of the dynamics that had once defined your interactions. It was an acknowledgment of your power, your importance in this intricate game he was playing. Yet, it was also unmistakably a ploy, a way to close the distance between you, to weave a narrative of shared history and unresolved tension.

The air around you seemed charged, thick with the history and the palpable tension of the moment. Loki, on his knees, looking up at you with an intensity that spoke of genuine desire mixed with the ever-present calculation, presented a picture of vulnerability. Yet, you were not so easily swayed. You knew the depths of his cunning, the lengths he would go to achieve his ends. His admission, cloaked in the grandiosity of his age and station, left you with a choice. To engage, to allow yourself to be drawn back into the orbit of his world, his plans, or to hold firm, to remember the reasons for your distance, for the life you had chosen away from the machinations of gods and their games.

The moment stretched, a tableau of tension and possibility, as you weighed your response, acutely aware of the stakes, of the game that was afoot, and of Loki, who knelt before you, a god cloaked in the guise of a supplicant, yet undeniably dangerous, undeniably compelling.

As Loki knelt before you, the atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken words, you made a decision. Lifting your leg, the black of your heeled shoes catching the light and glinting ominously, you pushed against his shoulder. It was a gesture meant to distance, to assert your autonomy against his sudden show of vulnerability or manipulation—whichever it truly was. Your voice, when it came, was laced with a mixture of resolve and undeniable truth, a reflection of the complex dance that had always defined your interactions.

"Your desire for me," you began, your words deliberate, "could never hope to keep pace with your lust for your myriad schemes and machinations, my love." The term of endearment, spoken so, carried a weight of irony, a nod to the past entanglements and the understanding that, for Loki, the pursuit of his goals often overshadowed everything else.

Yet, instead of acquiescing to the push, of allowing himself to be dismissed so easily, Loki's reaction was to tighten his grasp on the situation—quite literally. His hands, those instruments of mischief and manipulation, found your leg, his touch bold as he held you in place. Then, with an audacity that was quintessentially Loki, he pressed his lips against your calf in a kiss that was as shocking as it was calculated. It was an act of defiance, a refusal to be pushed away, and a statement of his intent all at once.

This gesture, so intimate and yet so brazen, served multiple purposes. It was a challenge to your autonomy, a test of your boundaries, and an undeniable declaration of his continued interest. Yet, it was also unmistakably Loki—crossing lines, blurring boundaries, and always, always pushing for more than what was offered. The action left you momentarily stunned, grappling with the rush of emotions it elicited. Anger, irritation, an unwelcome surge of something more confusing, all mingled together. It was a reminder of the power he wielded, not just through his magic, but through his very presence, his ability to unnerve and to provoke.

In that moment, the complexity of your relationship with Loki was laid bare once more. It was a tangled web of attraction and repulsion, of history and the potential for future conflicts. His refusal to be dismissed, to be pushed aside, was both infuriating and intriguing. It was Loki in all his complexity, challenging you to respond, to engage, to once again become entangled in the endless cycle of push and pull that had always defined you.

The next move was yours to make, and the shop, once a place of mundane tranquility, had become a battleground of wills, a stage upon which the next act of your shared story would unfold. With a flick of your fingers, reality within the confines of your shop twisted and shifted, unfurling like the petals of a flower under the first light of dawn. The mundane guise that had cloaked the truth from prying eyes dissolved, revealing the hidden splendor that no ordinary human could perceive. The illusion you had meticulously maintained for years now peeled away, and the floor beneath your feet transformed, paths of gold unfurling like rivers through the space. Artifacts, their origins as ancient and varied as the stars themselves, now adorned the walls—each piece a testament to histories untold and powers unimaginable.

But the transformation did not stop with the shop. It enveloped you as well, the very essence of your being responding to the unspoken command. The simple, mundane dress that had draped your form vanished, replaced by attire that echoed Loki's wistful remembrance. What materialized was reminiscent of your homeland's attire, designed for the relentless heat and the unyielding brightness of your realm. It was barely more than a tunic, the silk woven in patterns that spoke of ancient craftsmanship and royal decree, clinging to your form in a way that left little to the imagination. The hem flirted with the very brink of decency, the rump of your body barely shielded by the delicate fabric, a bold declaration of your heritage and status.

In this transformation, you reclaimed a fragment of your past self, the visage you had donned before you sought refuge and anonymity amongst the mortals of Earth. The change was not merely physical but symbolic, a shedding of the facade you had adopted to navigate the complexities of a world not your own. Standing there, in the true appearance of your being, you confronted Loki not as the unassuming shopkeeper he had encountered moments before, but as the goddess you truly were—powerful, formidable, and undeniably yourself. You stood before him not as an adversary to be underestimated, but as an equal, a being of immense power and depth, whose true nature was as complex and as potent as his own.

The shop, now a reflection of truths long concealed, served as the perfect backdrop for the unfolding confrontation. The artifacts that lined the walls, each bearing witness to the ages and the stories they contained, stood as silent sentinels to the encounter between two beings who transcended the mundane, whose histories were intertwined with the very fabric of the cosmos.

In this moment, the illusion shattered, the truth laid bare, you awaited Loki's response, the air thick with anticipation and the weight of unspoken challenges. The game, it seemed, had shifted, and the rules were being rewritten with each passing second. As the golden light settled and the true form of your shop shimmered into existence around you, Loki's initial reaction was a momentary flicker of surprise that quickly morphed into an appreciative smirk. His gaze swept over the transformed space, taking in the ancient artifacts and the streams of gold that ran like rivers across the floor. But it was the change in you that held his attention captive. The way the silk of your tunic clung to your form, the bold declaration of your divine heritage—it was as if he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

Loki breathed, his voice a blend of admiration and something darker, more primal. "This," Loki's voice wove through the air with an echo of ancient power, "is the true essence of you that lingers in my memory.” His eyes, alight with a mischievous and predatory gleam, never left your form as he slowly circled you, taking in every detail. "Hiding in plain sight, were we?" he mused, his tone teasing yet laced with an edge that hinted at the complexity of your shared past.

Despite the tension crackling in the air between you, you stood your ground, your posture radiating confidence and power. "And what of it, Loki?" you countered, your voice steady and imbued with strength. "Did you expect to find me cowering? Diminished?"

Loki's circling came to a halt, and he faced you, the distance between you charged with an electric anticipation. "On the contrary," he replied, his voice soft yet carrying an undeniable weight, as his fingers went forward, pulling at one of the strings keeping your body hidden from his gaze. "I've always known your strength, your... resilience. It's what makes this game so exhilarating."

The word 'game' hung between you, a reminder of the countless layers and facades both of you had navigated over the eons. This moment, however, stripped away those layers, revealing the raw essence beneath. It was a confrontation, yes, but also a recognition of the profound connection that had always existed between you—a connection fraught with complexity and contradictions.

"Are you certain you wish to engage in another game, Loki?" Your voice, steady and imbued with a quiet power, cut through the charged silence, even as you felt him unbuckle your shoes, his fingers deftly and slowly slipping them from your feet. "I seem to recall your rather... unfortunate defeat last time." The words hung in the air, a challenge and a reminder of past encounters where the balance of power had shifted, leaving Loki on the losing end.

Loki's hands stilled momentarily as he lifted his gaze to yours, a cunning glint sparkling within those deep green eyes. "Ah, but my dear, to dwell on a solitary defeat is to overlook the endless expanse of the game," he mused with a sly, almost serpentine smile. "The allure for me lies not in the victory or the loss, but in the exquisite complexity of the play itself. The interplay of strategy, the artful dance of minds. And," his voice dropped, a velvet caress against the tension hanging in the air, "the delicious possibility of reversing fortunes, which, I assure you, is a prospect I find most... exhilarating."

As he spoke, his fingers slid underneath your heel, leading your leg to rest over his shoulder with a care and precision that contradicted the levity in his voice. Loki laid another feathery touch to your thighs, gripping them tighter as he wedged his face between them, while you held fast to the edge of the counter. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your core.

There was no need to harbor affection for the man to appreciate the artistry his mouth provided. His tongue grazed the surface of your clit and you felt a tremor coursing through your very bones. He delved deeper, his taste encompassing the entirety of your core. As he did, your legs seemed to tighten inadvertently around him, though it posed no barrier to his indulgence. Your cunt clenched and you were swept away as his fingers dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pulling you closer onto his awaiting tongue. The surge of familiar emotions within you was overpowering, far too intense for your unprepared body. Your head fell back with a moan as you gave yourself to him in your entirety and Loki groaned, his tongue honing in on your bud as he chased your orgasm. He refused to relent until the heat had filled you whole, filled your soul. You writhed underneath him, hips helplessly buckling. Loki chuckled, a melodic blend of amusement and triumph, resonating with an undercurrent of sly cunning.

“That’s it, darling,” he coaxed as a surge of desire blossomed within you, enough to part your lips into a broken cry. His dark hair peeked between your fingers and his tongue snuck out to lick his lips while his gaze was set on you above him. His hand wandered to your tunic and yanked it away. His thumb grazed your nipple when he returned his mouth to your center, two of his fingers slowly dipping into your glistening heat.

“Loki,” you whimpered, tightening the hold on his hair—he matched your movements, arm securing you to him so forcefully no might on Earth and beyond could have parted you from his lips. He curled his fingers, rubbing that special spot inside of you and your stomach twitched. You felt him grin against your heat, teeth gracing over your sensitive bud, as a tremor ran through your body.

“My tempest darling,” he sighed when he finally pulled his fingers from you, leaving behind such an agonizing feeling of emptiness. You were about to retaliate, when he stood, bringing your body this his, hand running along the length of your thigh before he hoisted it against his hip. “Even if doubt shadows your heart, my dear, believe me, the absence of your taste on my tongue has been an ache most persistent,” Loki declared, his voice weaving together assurance and playful sincerity. One of his hands made quick work of undoing the dress pants of the black suit he was clad in, the other clutching your thigh close—so terribly tight you were certain even the skin of gods could be bruised by his hungry fingers. His lips found yours, softly at first, though through the looming desire burning within, Loki’s control appeared to stray when you bit into his lip, drawing blood. A groan tore from his throat, eyes darkening as he looked down at you, refusing to part from your gaze even as he entered you. Your mouth fell open against his, a silent moan slipping from your lips, his forehead dropping onto yours. He moved then, pulling out barely before he pushed back in so deeply it shook you. Loki had always been the embodiment of wickedness wrapped in the guise of charm; an enigma whose very presence stirred a vicious blend of temptation and sin, drawing all who encounter him into a dance with the devilishly divine.

“How I’ve missed you,” he whispered against the heated skin of your neck, traveling downward to softly kiss along your bared collarbones. His voice was a divinity, dark and rich and soaked with the sweetest of all sins. The emerald green within his eyes reflected the gold surrounding you. One of your hands cradled the back of his neck, fingers catching loose strands of raven hair that had grown so long in the centuries you hadn’t laid your sights on him. Loki held your thigh in a fierce grip, fingers digging further into your flesh with every stroke of his throbbing cock with your heat.

“You swore to kill me, my love,” you gasped as he delivered another harsh thrust, your head fell forward against his shoulder a searing pleasure built within you.

As his teeth grazed the delicate skin of your neck, savoring the salty essence of your being, Loki’s hand traveled from the curve of your thigh, securing you firmly against him at your waist, moving you against him in a refined rhythm. Against the warmth of your skin, he murmured, “To kill you, my little deity, would be akin to consigning a part of my own soul into the abyss.”

A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you deeper than before and you collapsed against him, coming with a cry of relief. He continued thrusting into you, arm keeping you secured against him as though you were about to vanish as you had done all those years ago. He lifted your chin, his mouth capturing yours when you felt him jerk inside of you. You felt his warmth spilling into you, his shameless groans filling your ears as he emptied himself within you. Breath mixing with his, you stayed there for a moment—in which the world seemed to narrow down to the space between the two of you, to the silent conversation spoken through glances and the slight tremors in your lungs.

Loki stole another kiss, then, as if breaking from a spell, his expression shifted, his early devotion to you giving way to a more serious, contemplative mien. “Business with you, my tempest darling, had always been a delight most exquisite,” Loki said, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that bordered on violence. “I trust you’re familiar with the tales of the Celestial Compass, aren’t you?” he continued, referring to an artifact of immense power and ancient origin, rumored to guide its holder to whatever they sought most in the universe. It was an object that you had kept hidden away, its location known only to you.

The mention of the compass sliced through the tension, a stark reminder of the stakes at play. Loki's presence in your shop, the transformation of your surroundings, the exchange of words—all were mere preludes to this moment.

"Why, Loki?" you asked, your voice a mix of curiosity and defiance as you fixed the tunic he had so carelessly pulled aside. "Why seek the compass now? What is it you desire so fervently to find?"

Loki's smile then was enigmatic, a mask that offered no clear answers. "Ah, but revealing one's desires so openly is a dangerous game, my dear. Let's just say... I seek something that has long eluded me." The ambiguity of his response left you wary, aware that Loki's desires were seldom straightforward and often entwined with greater schemes and hidden agendas. Yet, the acknowledgment of this quest, of his need for the compass, revealed a vulnerability in Loki—a crack in the armor he so carefully maintained.

As Loki awaited your response, the weight of centuries and the anticipation of what was to come hung heavily in the air. The next move was yours to make, in a game that was as much about uncovering truths as it was about concealing them. In response to his inquiry, your reply came not in words, but in the form of a serene smile, a silent echo of your shared past. With a casual flick of your fingers, you vanished into the ether, just as you had done countless centuries before, leaving Loki alone in the confines of what now appeared to be a decrepit shop. Its once vibrant essence faded, reflecting the sudden void your departure had created.

Loki, momentarily taken aback, quickly regained his composure. A laugh, rich with both amusement and a tinge of admiration, escaped him as he reached out to snatch a golden letter materializing out of thin air. The letter, simple yet profound in its message. The words, though brief, carried the weight of eons, a testament to the enduring dance between you two. Loki's gaze lingered on the golden script, a smirk playing on his lips, already plotting his next move in the timeless game between you.

“Farewell, my love.”

#loki series #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki #loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki x y/n #loki x you

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praisethegabs · 7 months

Text

B.D.S.M

Leon Kennedy x F!Mistress!Reader

synopsis: leon has a guilty pleasure, which is a deep secret no one knows. every time after a stressful mission, leon goes to this particular place to release his tension. you're too familiar with the man, already knowing what he loves. he's your favorite customer. you're his favorite mistress.

warnings: PURE SMUT. bdsm on its edge. degradation kink, praise kink, shibari, use of pet names, sex toys, sub!leon and dom!reader, handjob, edging, spanking, gaging, spanking, flogging, role-playing.

word count: 3735k

a/n: sub!leon always comes to my mind for unknown reasons. he's so fucking cute and awkward. sometimes, I don't see him as the dominant one, I think he's more of a switch. anyway, I wrote this bc I thought it would be funny to change sides (since the last smut I wrote was with dom!leon)

Leon's footsteps echoed through the corridor as he made his way back home. His mind was still reeling from the stress of the mission he had just completed. The weight of the world seemed to press down on his shoulders, and he yearned for a way to escape the constant tension that plagued him.

It was almost three in the morning, but he didn't care. Due to the nature of his job, Leon had a highly irregular schedule. His timing was inconsistent, and he did not have a set time to return home. It could be morning, afternoon, evening, or the middle of the night. Although his busy schedule demanded most of his time, Leon still had something that couldn't be postponed.

As he entered his apartment, he casually threw his leather jacket onto a chair and ran his hand through his tousled hair. The peaceful solitude of his home only intensified the profound loneliness that had settled deep within him. He needed a release, a way to forget the horrors he had witnessed. With a sigh, he reached for his phone and dialed a number that he had carefully stored in his contacts. The screen lit up, and he waited for it to ring. He felt a mixture of anticipation and relief when the call was answered.

"Hello," a sultry voice purred on the other end of the line. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Leon's voice was filled with a mixture of longing and vulnerability as he replied, "I need to see you, Mistress."

A wicked smile played on your lips as you spoke on the other end of the line. "Of course, darling. I have just the thing to help you forget about your troubles. How soon can you come to my dungeon?"

Leon quickly checked his schedule. "I can be there in an hour," he replied.

"Perfect," you purred. "Prepare yourself and don't keep me waiting. We have much to explore, and I promise you that by the time we're done, all your worries will be left far behind."

As the call ended, Leon felt a renewed sense of anticipation and excitement. Your dungeon provides a sanctuary from the outside world, a place where he can relinquish control and seek solace in the pain and pleasure you provide. It was his escape, a way to let go of the burden he carried, if only for a few precious hours.

As Leon sipped a glass of wine, he gazed out of the window, his thoughts in turmoil. His work demanded discipline, control, and unwavering focus. Yet, it was in the realm of submission and surrender that he found the release he craved - an escape from the relentless pressure of his responsibilities.

Leon had always been a man of contradictions, and his desire for you was no exception. He wondered if his fascination with you was a reflection of his own internal struggles, a means to delve into the depths of his own desires and vulnerabilities. Guilt gnawed at him as he thought about the secrets he kept and the double life he led.

But as he replayed the memories of their encounters in his mind, he couldn't deny the intoxicating allure of your power and the blissful release it provided. It was a guilty pleasure he couldn't resist, a secret aspect of his life that provided him with a sense of liberation he couldn't find anywhere else.

You knew absolutely nothing about Leon, except for his preferences.

He always liked the rough style. As a skilled dominatrix, you know how to please a man. Since he discovered you, he has requested to become your exclusive client, and the payment he has provided is sufficient to reserve your availability exclusively for him. Fortunately, you were familiar with his schedule, so you began working mostly at night, which suited him perfectly.

You have set up an entire dungeon in your basement. It was the perfect place to meet his needs exactly as he wanted it.

At first, seeing his physique made you think he would be a great dominant. However, you eventually found out that he was more of a submissive man. Completely bent over your knees, ready to obey your commands without hesitation. Most dungeons do not permit sexual intercourse between dominants and submissives, but for him, this dynamic does not adhere to such restrictions. Since you have a dungeon in your own home, you have decided to make some slight modifications to the rules.

Obviously, you have never had sex with him, but other aspects of your relationship work just fine.

Leon's footsteps echoed through the garden as he made his way towards the entrance of his hidden sanctuary. Each step was a solemn reminder of the mission that had just been concluded. The scent of leather and candle wax hung in the air, familiar and comforting. He pushed open the unassuming door at the end of the hallway, revealing a hidden secret world beyond.

The dungeon served as a sanctuary for him, a place where he could escape the burdens of his perilous existence. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting, and there you were, dressed in black leather, waiting for him in the center of the room. Your presence commands attention; your aura is a captivating blend of power and sensuality.

"Welcome back, Kennedy," you purred, your lips curling into a mischievous grin. "You're not late; you arrived just in time."

Leon's tense shoulders relaxed as he stepped further into the dungeon, the door clicking shut behind him. He locked eyes with you, and a silent understanding passed between the two of you. He shed his jacket, the leather creaking as he tossed it aside, revealing the tension that had built up in his muscles during the mission.

You moved towards him, the sound of your heels clicking against the cold stone floor, with a devious glint in your eyes. "You look like you've had a rough day, my dear," you said, as your fingers lightly traced the contours of his jaw. "But, you know, I'm here to take care of you."

"Yes, Mistress," he nodded, closing his eyes to savor your touch and emitting a slight moan.

"Strip now," you ordered him, and stepped back to prepare the rest of the room and your toys.

The words were both a promise and a command, and Leon nodded in agreement. He needed this - the sensation of control slipping away from his grasp, the catharsis of pain and pleasure intertwined. You led him to the St. Andrew's Cross, a symbol of his shared desire for submission and domination.

With practiced ease, you secured his wrists and ankles to the cross, using leather restraints to keep him in place. Leon's heart raced, his mind focused solely on the anticipation of what would come next. The room seemed to shrink, closing in around him, leaving only the two of them and the palpable tension in the air.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his earlobe. "What would you like today, darling?" You whispered, asking your question.

"Take me to the edge, Mistress," Leon said, gazing at you with unwavering confidence.

"Very well," you nodded in agreement. "Remember the safe word, just in case."

Leon nodded once more and prepared himself for what was about to begin. He was waiting for the first strike to experience pleasure, but nothing happened. His eyes met yours, and he felt a shiver down his spine when he noticed the smile on your face.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" You approached him seductively, holding a flogger in your hands, your nails digging into his flesh.

"I forgot my collar, Mistress," he said, his breath heavy with the sudden realization that he had forgotten the only item he was permitted to wear. "I'm sorry, Mistress."

"Oh, bunny, you know we don't accept apologies," you said, biting his earlobe. "And do you know what this means?"

Leon nodded, biting his lip. He felt the first whip strike him hard, causing him to emit a loud moan. He tightly grips the leather restraints on his wrists, and the second blow leaves a red mark on his stomach. The third strike narrowly missed his cock and you can see him trembling as each blow compels him to seek relief from the agony of your flogging.

"Please, Mistress, forgive me," Leon begs, as you continue to flog him. Another strike, another groan.

"Have you learned your lesson, bunny?" You asked, delivering another whip to him, striking harder.

“Yes, Mistress. I did” Leon almost yelled, trying helplessly to avoid your strikes. His body was already red from the flogging. "Please, I won't forget it anymore."

You stopped, letting the flog aside. You took a leather collar from the drawer and placed it around his neck. His breath was heavy, and his entire body was shaking. He was indeed enjoying the anticipation of the punishment, although he had no idea what was about to happen. You untied him from the St. Andrews Cross, and he stood there, waiting for your next command.

"Stand in the center of the room," you commanded, holding a remote. He nods, walking with his naked, red body to the center of the dungeon.

You threw a silver spreader bar in his direction, and you didn't have to say it twice. Leon secured his ankles in the spreader bar, and once he was done, he glanced at you again. Silently, you pressed the button and then shackled his wrists to a drop-down ceiling bar. Pressing the button again, he stretched his arms in the air. The bondage dungeon is filled with furniture that enables you to attach him to any object in whichever manner you please.

Now he stands completely naked, with his ankles spread apart by a spreader bar and his arms stretched in the air, wearing nothing but his collar.

You stand before him, wearing a devilish smile on your lips. Suddenly, you firmly grasp his erect penis and apply pressure. You can see tears welling up in his sapphire-blue eyes as he bites his lip and tightly grips the shackles above his head. You squeeze it harder, and he gasps, yelping in pain. You paused for a moment, observing him. Another intense squeeze, another wave of pain, and he screams out loud. You finally release his cock and he exhales with relief, tears still streaming down his cheek.

"You're nothing but a sex toy. Look at you, so miserable," you said, as you walked around him and slapped his ass. "Such a naughty boy, desperate to be humiliated, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," his voice trembles as you slap his ass.

"Your purpose is to provide fuckings, am I right?" You asked again, delivering another slap to him, causing his body to jerk.

"Yes, Mistress," Leon nods again, his body jerking with each slap against his sensitive skin.

"Who owns you, fuckboy?" You stepped closer, gripping his hair firmly, causing him to emit a soft groan.

"You do, Mistress," he quickly replies, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly up and down.

"Do I own your cock as well?" You asked again, leaving love bites on his skin.

"Yes, Mistress, you do."

You take his cock again, smacking it harder and making him yelp again. Tears were already rolling down his cheeks once more. You walk to your box of instruments and retrieve the manuscript clips. You take one clamp, gently open it, and place it over his left nipple. Carefully close the clamp, ensuring that it does not cause any pain. He tries to hold his breath and keep his mouth shut while you repeat the same process on his right nipple.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll bear it all night," you wink at him, and he nods silently.

Then, your hand reached his cock again and you started to masturbate him. You can see his hands tightly gripping the shackles, and his breath growing heavier with each passing second. Leon began moaning, with each moan growing louder as you continued to stimulate him with your hands. And you keep masturbating him until you know he's close.

And then, you come to a complete stop, causing him to whine out loud.

"Bad boys don't get rewarded," you said, and pressed the button to lower the ceiling bar. "Kneel."

He obeys by kneeling down. The ceiling is high enough for him to stretch his arms in the air, and you are sitting directly in front of him. You don't have to say anything; he already knows what to do. Leon crawls between your legs and opens his mouth. He bends forward, his arms stretching upward before him. The restraints are not sufficient to allow him to approach you, and observing him beg for your pussy amuses you.

"Please, Mistress, allow me to pleasure you in my mouth” he begs, his voice filled with desperation as he fights back tears, inching closer to you.

His cock twitches and aches. He's desperate to be released, to ejaculate all over his body, longing to feel your touch. You keep teasing him by not allowing him to get closer to you, making him see your wide pussy open in front of him, yet denying him the ability to touch or engage with you.

"Please, I'm begging, Mistress," he pleads again, desperately trying to reach you.

"Such a pathetic, whining boy," you said, tightly gripping his jaw in your hands.

You released his wrists and ankles, instructing him to walk towards the bondage horse. He silently obeys you and walks straight to the corner of the room. With red ropes, you tied his arms and hands behind his back. Its shape is that of a half barrel with wide ledges and wings, covered in black leather. Leon positions his knees on each wing, and you proceed to shackle him once more, ensuring that he is securely locked on the edge of the frame. His collar is attached by chains on both sides to the ceiling bar, keeping his head up and facing forward.

"What do you deserve?" you ask, as you walk around the room and pick up your flogger once more.

"To be punished, Mistress," he responds, his eyes locked on the wall in front of him.

"Why?" you asked before striking him hard.

"Because I am a bad man," Leon says, his body jerking again with the whimpering.

You smiled, satisfied, and started to whip him until his entire back was red. When you're done with his back, you move to face him, squeezing his cock again. Leon is on the verge of tears, gasping and unable to control himself. In an instant, without your command, he ejaculates onto your hand. His entire face turns red.

"Did I say you could cum?" you asked him, squeezing his sensitive cock, causing him to whine in pain once more.

"No, Mistress. I'm sorry," he begs, tears falling down his face once more.

"Privilege revoked," you hissed, walking towards your torment box. Leon is visually impaired, but he sheds tears when he senses something cold around his cock. He knows what it is. "You'll come only when I say so."

You walk back to the corner of the room after locking the chastity cage on him. When you return, Leon flinches slightly as he feels your thumb pressing against him from behind. You uses oil and you're smearing it around his anus. A finger slips, then your thumb. Another finger, he already knows what's coming.

He feels the rubber sliding inside, and he moans again. He feels the initial pain, but he's okay with it. You slide it further, allowing the oil to lubricate him internally. You pull back the toy and gently begin a rhythmic back-and-forth fucking of his ass. You have precision and an obvious regular rhythm. Leon moans, closing his eyes and feeling the helplessness of his submission. You insert the toy into him, and he can hear you pressing a button.

It starts to vibrate inside his hole.

To keep him quiet, you place a ball gag in his mouth and leave him in his current state. He is tormented by a dildo in his anus, restrained by shackles and ropes, rendering him unable to move, resist, or voice any complaints. You sit, playing with the remote control of the device in your hands, adjusting the intensity to elicit either loud moans or soft whines from him.

The cock cage on him is painful, and he is aware of it. With his already aroused state, it becomes nearly impossible for him to cum without your consent, and he is aware that this is precisely what you desire. He is unable to move, but the vibration in his ass makes his flesh to ripple. It makes him shake his body. Leon moans again, whether from the pain caused by the cage or the vibration inside his ass. He shakes his head, the only movement he can make.

You press the button, and he sighs with relief, but not completely. You pump him again a few times and stop. You thrust into him quickly and forcefully, causing him to groan and moan. After some time, there is a final push, a powerful thrust that is enough to rock the bondage horse. He moans aloud again. You walk around the corner again and gently push something metallic, cold, and smooth inside his ass. Leon feels the object and thinks it's large, expanding inside him. Then, it pops in, causing a painful stretch that makes him scream again.

"Clean it," you tell him, pointing to his white semen on the leather bondage material. You unshackle his collar from the ceiling bar and his ankles from the restraints, but keep his arms tied with the ropes.

He obediently leans over from his waist until his tongue reaches the black leather. He licks it in wide swaths, gathering all his juices from his previous unauthorized release, leaving only his saliva behind.

You can see the color of his cock. He's so hard and sensitive. When Leon finishes cleaning the bondage horse, he kneels in front of you, waiting patiently. He is clearly struggling to hold back his orgasm, but at the same time, he is on the brink of climax.

"Desperate to cum, huh?” you teased, gently stimulating his sensitive nipples, eliciting another groan from him.

"Yes, Mistress," he says, his voice shaking once more.

You sat in an armchair in front of him, your legs spread apart, offering a tantalizing view of your glistening arousal. He doesn't move, but when he sees you nod, he knows what to do. He leans closer, and you can feel his tongue on your wet, sensitive, and swollen clit. He sucks you, savoring your taste, and moaning from the pleasure mixed with the slight pain he feels on his cock. You moan and grip his hair tightly, urging him to continue sucking you.

And when you reach your orgasm, Leon has to force himself to calm down, feeling your cunt on his face. His cock is hurting and you decide to please him in the appropriate manner.

“Color” you ask him, playfully tweaking his nipple.

"Green, Mistress," he says, trembling. He's lying.

"What color is it, bunny?" you asked him again, gripping the metal of his collar.

"Yellow, Mistress," Leon shakes. The pain in his cock is excruciating.

You released his cock from the cage, and he sighed with relief, only to gasp at your touch. He was very sensitive, and you started to masturbate him again. You took your magic wand and placed it under his dick, vibrating with intense power, while your other hand moved up and down on him. Leon can't last long. He's already too close to reaching orgasm. You, on the other hand, don't care. You continue to deliberate, his rhythm becoming tense.

"Go on, be a good boy and cum for your Mistress," you said, increasing your pace on him.

The words are enough. It emanates from his core and bursts out. His thighs and red belly shuddered first, as if he were being electrocuted. Then, it surged upward, causing his entire chest to shake as he let out a guttural moan, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Afterward, you removed the clips from his nipples, and he yelped and cried again. You also removed the plug from his anus, leaving it elsewhere.

Now, you have him standing at the end of the bondage horse again, and you instruct him to bend over and protrude his ass out. You tied him with the red ropes in a different manner, and he obeys you. This time, you take a flogger to his ass, almost caressing his cheeks with its sleek leather strands. Then, it comes out of nowhere.

The brutal spank of the cane striking his ass. He screams.

You cane him again, this time on his right ass cheek. He screams again and sobs. The third strike goes again. Leon yells.

You guide him to a nearby mirror and compel him to observe the three red marks on his ass.

He's crying. You had successfully led him to his edge, but you knew when to stop. You removed the gag from his mouth and untied the ropes that had left his arms almost purple. Then, you placed a robe on him. Aftercare is important, even in this type of situation.

"Are you okay?" you asked, leading him to the sofa in the opposite corner. "I know you wanted to be on the edge, but this is dangerous. Did something happen?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Leon says softly, although his entire body is in pain. "Just... don't worry, okay? I like it when you get rough with me."

"I'm not complaining, but are you sure you're okay?" you asked, embracing him and allowing his head to rest on your chest.

"I'm fine, trust me," he chuckles.

There is a moment of silence. Usually, he doesn't stay for aftercare. He gets what he wants and then leaves, but there's something different this time. You don't say anything, you decide to give him some space. This night was heavily different from the others, and you're not sure he's really alright.

“Can we do it again?” He lifts his head so he can see you. “But this time, can you blindfold me?”

You smirk. It's time for another round.

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angxlofvenus · 10 months

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A Shoulder To Cry On

Requested By: @saturnsapothecary Genre: Hurt/comfort Ship: The brothers x reader TW: Mentions of crying, distressed reader, physical contact, Undisclosed stressful situation, soft characters, angst tbh Word count: 1,107 An: Hi! What you are about to read is probably the most angsty thing I have written thus far. I joke a lot in my other writings but in this one I went with a more somber approach, mostly bc I listened to Mitski while writing this entire thing, Anyway, Heed the TW, and Happy reading ♥️

Pt. 2 can be found here (Dateables+Luke edition!)

It had been a rough week, 'Thankfully it's Friday' You thought, Climbing up The HoL staircase as you felt yourself start to break, By the time you had reached your room- all you could do was walk in, close the door, and start crying, collapsing onto the floor, Not hearing the door reopen and a certain demon pop his head inside...

Lucifer

Immediate concern, What has happened?

He makes a bee-line toward you, kneeling infront of you.

Will rub soft and slow circles into your back as you start to calm down

Once he knows nothing is currently threatening you in any way, He would lead you to his bedroom (Not like that, get your head out of the gutter)

Will offer you a beverage as you sit on his bed, You don’t have to talk to him but…He is here for you and he needs you to know that.

If you want physical comfort, He will sit on his bed, gather you up into his arms and start to rock the two of you, His body crashed against yours like gentle waves, Pulling you in and then pushing you back out.

If you don’t wish to be touched, He absolutely understands either way. He hopes his soft-spoken words of comfort will help you.

He gets it, He feels nonstop worry and exhaustion from his many duties, He strives to make the Devildom a happy place for you but he knows he can not always insure that, But let him try to fix what has plagued you.

Mammon

When he finds you crying he feels horrendous and angry, Not at you of course! Just-

He’s supposed to be your first man, The guy you can find solace in no matter what! But looking at your tear-stained face he can’t help but feel like he’s failed you in a way

He will do everything in his power to help you though, He may have not been there to stop this all from happening but that doesn’t mean you have to go through this alone!

Ask and you shall receive, No complaints! Anything you want that will make your grief lessen, He’d do it for you.

He isn’t the best speaker but he’ll start shooting off at the mouth about how much he cares about you and how he hates seeing you like this- Please let him help, In any way he can.

Levi

Panic, He can barely handle himself- Let alone another person!

With shaky hands he will put a hand on your shoulder before looking at your reaction,

If you want Physical comfort, he will slot himself beside you, not outwardly touching you, just kind of leaning onto you

If not, His hand retracts rapidly as he instead sits across from you

Either way, He’ll quietly ask if you want to talk about it, After your done talking/You tell him no- He will invite you to his room where you all spend the rest of the night watching your favorite animes/series

He knows he can’t take away all of your pain, But he hopes he can atleast put some nicer things in your mind

Satan

Brows furrowed, He takes quick but cautious steps toward you, almost like he would a cat.

The first thing that comes to his mind is anger, “Are you okay? Who did this?” He will ask you as softly as he could.

When he finds out what has happened, He will feel the surge of anger come back to him, Not at you- never at you, But at the world. He hates how powerless he feels in these moments, knowing there is nothing for him to solve.

So instead he does what he knows how to do, He takes you through breathing exercises and ways to help you calm down, He has spent centuries managing his anger so he has learned a thing or two-

Will talk you through your worries if you wanted before walking off, Only to then bring back your favorite book with him. He reads to you in the same soft voice you have grown to love, He knows he is only one demon but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to take the weight off your shoulders.

Asmo

His first thought is to swarm you, Asking questions, giving hugs, wiping away your tears- the whole nine yards

But he won’t. He knows how to respect boundaries no matter what, So he pushes down the feeling, instead dropping to his knees infront of you and asking what’s wrong.

If you want a hug or a shoulder to cry on he is their the second it comes out of your mouth, You don’t have to pretend with him, not ever- He won’t think badly of you for anything you vent to him about- He is there for you no matter what, Through thick and thin.

Only if your feeling up to it ofcourse, He’ll lead you to his room and bring out his ‘self care box’ The ice mask he lays across your face washes away the remnants of your tears as his hand cards through your hair

Beel

Drops all of his snacks in a flurry to get to you.

Unlike the others, He is looking for injuries- So your personal bubble is feeling a little violated

Once you tell him you are physically fine, His shoulders relax some and he takes a step away from you and says that he’s sorry for running up on you like that.

Gentle giant mode activated, Is gonna talk to you like he does Belphie, Asking what’s wrong and how he can help.

He feels so much responsibility for you, As he does all of his family, And is so crushed that he can’t go back in time and help you

He starts to think about what makes him cheer up and asks if you’d want to go to Madame Screams with him, If yes then he would put in all of his effort to making you forget all of your troubles

If no, He get’s it! Sometimes he doesn’t wanna go out either, He’ll just offer to go and pick up whatever you like from anywhere, No matter what!

He wishes he could do more but sharing a dessert with you sounds like a good start.

Belphie

Blinks twice, Trying to see if he was seeing things right

Will make his way over to you in confusion, “Hey what’s wrong?”

You decide whether you actually tell him or not, he’s chill either way- He understands why you would and wouldn’t want to talk to him about it

He isn’t the best at comforting but he does what he can, He’ll move y’all to your bed and will even give you his special cow pillow

Will start talking about random things, anything and everything- Letting his voice will you to sleep, Making sure that all of your dreams are nothing but happy days, Days he’d hope to make a reality soon.

Hey! Fancy seeing you here, I get that this post was a little heavy on the feelings, I just wanted everyone out there to know that You are not alone- No matter what you are going through and that my Dms and inbox are always open if you need to vent or just to talk in general, My blog is a safe space to anybody who needs it 🖤

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aroaceleovaldez · 1 month

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Any headcannons about Will Solace? he's an underrated bby (I think?) and I personally hc that he used to be a very moody kid but then decided to turn off all of his negaive emotions (most of the time)

oh i have SO many Will Solace headcanons built up from writing him on Deadangelos so much. Below the cut cause this is very long (and tumblr started glitching about the list format so manual it is):

- His roles at CHB are basically "Every possible medical personnel Ever™." He's camp medic, physician, surgeon, pediatrician, pharmacist, psychiatrist, therapist, dentist, optometrist, veterinarian, etc etc etc. Technically Chiron is also All Of That, but ever since Will joined camp most of the responsibility falls to him (at least in part because campers generally feel a bit more comfortable dealing with somebody their own age versus an immortal centaur), and Chiron just mentors him on it (unless they're running low on hands, in which case Chiron does pitch in, and sometimes the other Apollo kids help staff the infirmary if Will needs. In the past though it was usually just Chiron and whichever camper he pulled in that week to do first aid training with. Mr. D only really handles therapy stuff if Will isn't able to for one reason or another. Will gets very individualized training and has has own schedule separate from the rest of his cabin to account for all of that. Chiron basically personally took Will in under his wing as his apprentice and a not insignificant portion of Will's personal training is gross anatomy lessons with Chiron in the camp morgue. Will does not question where Chiron procures the cadavers for that. He probably should. They aren't campers. They are sometimes demigods, but not always. Most of the rest of camp doesn't even know there's a morgue, let alone that Will does gross anatomy dissection. It's not technically a camp "secret," Will isn't secret about it at all, but most campers treat it like it is and like to use it to try and spook new campers. The ones who find out about the gross anatomy portion and that there is exactly zero information about how Chiron is procuring cadavers are Mildly Concerned.

- Photokinesis and plague powers Will are both extremely fun. I love making him a son of Apollo Smintheus specifically and giving him pet rats and/or the ability to talk to rats and mice. He thinks they're soooo cute and is definitely the type to brag about how intelligent rats are. I also like to think he maybe had a pet snake at one point, like a big ol' boa. Will with a sunglow boa or something? yes? (I also just in general love the idea of Will's house back in Texas being a cute little ranch cause Naomi is rich and also a cowgirl and Will having a ton of different animals over the years. He probably originally wanted to be a veterinarian before he settled more on medic.)

- I just generally love playing with Will (not-so) subtly being the exact opposite of what people would expect from an Apollo kid. Initially he looks like the gold standard for an Apollo kid - sunny, friendly, chill, medic/healer, interest in science/arts/fandom, etc etc. Then you speak to him for more than 20 minutes and find out he loves snakes and rats and guts and gore and is fascinated by disease and mold. He takes gross anatomy classes taught by Chiron. One of his favorite hobbies is just dissecting stuff. He's into vulture culture. His idea of a perfect date is holding hands over a cadaver he is actively cutting into and passing the other person cool stuff he's fishing out. Also he's very vocal about thinking monsters are hot and the combo of all of that is exactly why he's into Nico. Everybody else thinks Nico's inherently cursed or something? Will doesn't mind being cursed - in fact he wants to be cursed, for science. He's swooning over the idea of Nico sacrificing him for some dark ritual in the middle of the night. He daydreams about Nico being a vampire that's gonna romantically kill him. The rest of camp is waiting for the day Will does something stupid and gets himself killed like, flirting with a monster (or the Hades kid) or something. Nico just generally doesn't know how to feel about the whole situation but is? (hesitantly) flattered?? that somebody is enthusiastic about him while recognizing and appreciating his Underworld aspects. Will is out-weirding him, somehow, and Nico never knew this was a thing that could happen.

- Related to that - I have a whole headcanon about "Bad Omen" demigods, which are basically the other main CHB cabin's versions of Hephaestus kids with fire powers being bad luck. For Apollo kids their "bad luck omen" super rare power is a plague-powers kid, and Will showed up during the Titan War, just a couple months before the Battle for Manhattan when nearly all his cabin died. He is very acutely aware of this superstition and fully believes he is a bad luck charm for the cabin and feels SUUUUPER guilty about it and so hides his plague powers. It's not that he feels bad about his plague powers specifically - he thinks plague stuff is really fascinating and his powers are cool and can be used for healing too! - he's just really concerned about how others will view him. (Very strong parallel dynamics between how Will views his plague powers vs the stigma around them & how Nico views his Underworld powers vs the stigma around them. They are handshake emoji).

- TTC implies that Apollo kids are more often than not summer-only campers, and I think it's fun to have Will's backstory being: He may or may not have "accidentally" caused a plague/pest outbreak at his old school early into the year and between that school having to shut down for a couple of months because of that and his mom maybe going on tour, they decided it was time for him to move to CHB and go there year-round. Except he goes from Texas to New York in the middle of winter and he's a son of Apollo, so he gets there and it's like sleet and slush and all cold and he's the only Apollo kid at camp and he hates it so bad. He eventually gets used to it but it is awkward when all his siblings come back in the spring/summer to find they have a new youngest sibling who's just been chilling all by himself for a couple of months. But then Austin and Kayla join so at least he's not the newest/youngest Apollo kid. (But then nearly all of Cabin 7 immediately dies in TLO and Will's right back to being in a mostly empty cabin and being in charge.)

- He definitely puts on an approachable/friendly, or at the very least calm, face 99% of the time, partially because it's expected of him and it's also maybe a little bit masking (it's a lot masking) cause he knows he can be a bit much. He is 100% the type of guy who feels like he has to solve all his problems himself and can't let anybody else know he has problems, and also that he has to help everybody else with their problems because that's his job, right? So he's constantly stressing himself out to the point of breakdown. He also half lives in the infirmary (which he totally has his own little office in) and he'll just shut himself in and spend like, a couple of days straight in there and probably not sleep. He's a workaholic just as bad as Nico and a total hypocrite about it/about overexerting one's self but he's working on it. Nico's too much of a take-no-shit kind of guy (and also him and Will are way too similar) so usually when Will nags Nico about that kind of thing it turns into Will looking in a mirror or Nico turning it back around on him and Will going "ah shit i need to take my own advice >:T"

- He's best friends with Drew Tanaka and he lets out his bitchy side when he's hanging out with her. they are bitching friends. they love to bitch. It's a great venting environment for him cause he knows Drew loves to hear him complain and talk shit so he can just let out all his pent-up frustrations and she'll just enthusiastically eat it all up. The two of them will gossip endlessly. Drew is mildly concerned about Will's romantic tastes though (again: monsters. cryptids. the Addams family. evils from the shadows. the guy from The Shape Of Water. Nico) and keeps trying to talk him out of flirting with things that might kill him. He does not listen to her.

- His only normal crush is Paolo but everyone is waiting for the other shoe to drop about how Will could possibly be weird about this one (there's an ongoing camp bet with different theories). He also dated Drew for like, all of a week but they both decided they totally hated it and preferred to stay just besties (bonus points: That was what Drew considered as her passing the whole Aphrodite-kids-breaking-hearts thing. literally neither of them cared).

- I know his full name is William but it's really funny if he lies about that and his full name is actually Wilhelm, named after the scream.

- ...He is a Swiftie. He's been a Swiftie since he was younger back with like, OG-era country music Taylor Swift and he's just stuck with it.

- Trans!Will is fun and I love it lots. Drew helping him with transition stuff is also very near and dear to me.

- His crush on Nico originates from them meeting for the first time during the Battle for Manhattan. Nico's attempt at flirting with Percy misfired and hit Will instead lmao. Nico parts the Titan Army in cool thematic armor and with three gods in tow, says a dramatic one-liner, and then is super badass in battle and Will is head-over-heels for him immediately. He then proceeds to spend the next year obsessing over Nico and being tormented by Nico never being at camp and never being able to talk with him. Ergo why when Nico shows up in BoO, Will is immediately like "HOLD MY HANDS. THREE DAYS IN THE INFIRMARY. HANG OUT WITH ME PLEASEEEE-" (and that's why Will was under the assumption that Nico was actively avoiding people rather than being ostracized, cause he had heart-eyes tunnel vision). Him in BoO though really is just seeing his crush and losing all his cool.

- For some reason he is just an absolute magnet for chthonic demigods. Nico, Lou Ellen, Cecil (who i hc is a chthonic Hermes kid), etc etc. He thinks Underworld stuff is super cool though (again, see: Will being super into spooky/gory stuff/etc). Also all the ex-Titan army kids decided they were his personal body guards immediately after the war cause he was nice to them.

- He is a HUUUUGE nerd. Specifically a sci-fi and disney nerd. They're his hyperfixations (/special interests if you lean more autistic!Will) <3 His favorite franchises are Star Wars and Avatar (the blue one). He loves conceptual alien biology/ecology and could go on about it endlessly. He will also very enthusiastically infodump about Disney history (both the art/animation side and theme parks side) and other sci-fi series. Ask him about Doctor Who (you will be there for several hours).

- Will being a micro-celebrity cause of his mom is very fun to me. He's been on talk shows and stuff before cause people love how snarky this country star's kid is. He has an extremely popular Instagram and Austin uses him as clickbait in his Youtube videos extremely often (including forcing him to guest-star or do like react content and stuff) (Will is more than happy to indulge him though cause he finds it funny).

- I also love the idea that Will and Piper have actually known each other since they were little, from Tristan and Naomi meeting at some point and realizing they had kids the same age and encouraging them to be pen-pals. Once social media becomes more of a like, Proper Thing™ they become mutuals on Instagram but just use it to periodically send each other silly memes (Piper's instagram is private and basically all she uses it for is dm'ing people). It takes them a solid week of being at CHB together to realize "WAIT, YOU'RE THAT [PIPER/WILL]?!" One of their hobbies is going into the city and seeing if people will recognize them/if paparazzi will see them and making games out of it (who can ruin the most photos, what types of fake gossip can we get them trying to circulate, etc etc).

- I am a firm believer that Will is an extremely loud out-and-proud type of guy and has been for awhile (again see: him being a micro-celebrity) and he spearheads or runs a lot of pride stuff at CHB ever since he joined. If there is a pride parade/event at CHB he helps organize it. If there's a GSA club at CHB he is the head of it. He keeps pamphlets in the infirmary of queer educational material and guides to different identities and stuff and is very passionate about making people feel welcomed and comfortable. Because of this, when he found out Nico was from the 1930s and severely not up-to-date on terminology and stuff, he considered getting Nico up-to-date his greatest challenge yet. It was a personal quest for him. There was also definitely at least a week before that where Will thought Nico might be homophobic or something and was going "I CAN FIX HIM" before Nico managed to explain that no, he's... very supportive (muffled coughing coming from closet), he's just also extremely behind and doesn't know what any of those words mean, thanks. Will set up the most extensive queer crash course possible for him and poor Nico was just going "slow down please,,,," the entire time. Will gets him up mostly up to speed eventually. I just love Will being that type of guy who will start explaining misc queer history with citations at the drop of a hat. It is probably another hyperfixation of his.

- Will and Annabeth both consider Chiron an adoptive father-figure and joke about being siblings and which of them is the favorite child, cause they both know they're definitely Chiron's favorite campers. They both get him father's day cards/gifts.

#pjo #riordanverse #will solace #headcanon #headcanons #ask #Anonymous

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iamrizaka · 8 months

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Apollo cabin is know for its archers, musicians and healers.

Every kid gets claimed within three days. No one is born during summer. Apollo meets his mortal lovers during summer, and their kids are born max in May.

Being a healer means you sing an anthem for your father and use your energy. You almost never miss.

Lee Fletcher was the best archer and could shoot ten arrows at once, never missing the target. He could play piano, guitar and violin. He was known for being one of the most caring people in the Camp. He looked a lot like Apollo, with blond curls and green eyes.

Michael Yew was different. Along with Lee, he was also the best archer, having to compete with the former multiple times. Unlike Lee, he could play only one instrument, but he still held the title of being the head of infirmary. He was hot-headed, but still kind.

Will Solace is Apollo's every gift and every fear. Will can't use a bow to save a life and has a voice of a dying seagull. He gets easily annoyed, he spent too much time with Hermes cabin and the Stolls and Luke, and is convinced that he would be a bad counselor.

He fights with a sword, with a knife and with his fists and everything in him. He fights fiercely, looking at the opponent with a smirk and Python-like look in his eyes. He definitely feels himself like one, when he knows he's won.

He looks a lot like Apollo, so it was easy to understand why Lee always watched over him. Watching Luke look out for the boy was okay, too, since Will was in his cabin for a long time and also the youngest camper at that time. But when Clarisse decided that yeah, she likes this guy, the Camp fell into a panic mode.

Will was claimed a year later after his arrival, so people were of course confused on what took Apollo so long. In the end, Cabin 7 was happy for their new little brother.

Unlike his many siblings, his birthday was on the last day of summer.

He excelled in medicine, being the best healer in three hundred years on Chiron's memory. The healers were rare, but the ones who could heal without their parent's help was unheard of.

He also, as it turned out much, much later, has a power to glow and to cause plagues of various types. Another interesting thing - he was causing plagues way before he was healing anyone.

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #cabin 7 #will solace #lee fletcher #michael yew #sort of an au #some of it are hcs but everything else is more like an au #we definitely were robbed of will fighting #he is from texas. he knows how to hold a gun and fire it. he owns a gun.#ghosty has something to say

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thanatoss-favorite-demigod · 2 months

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CAMERON FLUX VS THE GODS

Full Name: Cameron Flux

Nickname(s): Cam

Pronouns: they/he/she

Gender Identity: trans masc + gender fluid

Sexuality: Bisexual

Mortal Parent: Unknown, missing

Godly Parent: Apollo

Direct Family: One sister, Rhedyn “Rhey” Flux, Daughter of Apollo, Hunter of Artemis. Not that nice to Cam. All the rest of Cam’s family has died.

Tag: #cam’s talking

Powers:

FROM HIS FATHER, APOLLO

Light bending: The ability to control or bend light.

Sun manipulation: Heat & light from the Sun, tends to transfer into metal when enraged, angry, or simply just having a lot of emotions.

Glowing: You get the idea. He glows.

Music manipulation: can make music sound beautiful, understands instruments, and can even make people hear music even if it’s not really there—tends to drive people insane or schizophrenic.

Art: He’s just really good at making art and stuff.

Healing: Can heal people easily, works best with singing (in which he has a great voice).

Plague: Can give people plague and diseases that are incurable or deadly, mainly does this to enemies or those how wrong him.

HEBE YOUTH CURSE

Lasted: 1745–2024

How it happened: Hebe cursed Cam around the age of 3-4, right after his mother went missing.

What it did: Made Cam age 1 year for every 20 years

Broken: 3 years after Cam turned biologically 14

THANATOS IMMORTALITY CURSE

Lasted: 1744–Present day

How it happened: Thanatos came to Cam’s aid when his mother went missing

What it does: Makes Cam immortal, instantly heals him from a green crystal necklace that can’t break nor come off of Cam. If it does he dies.

Unbroken

ARES PATRON

Ares saw Cam’s pure rage, and decided to become his patron. Now, Cam is extremely successful in war and combat.

+ BONUS

Feral. He raised himself on the streets for years, what did you expect?

Speaks a bit of French & Spanish, better in English.

Hispanic descent, 2nd generation.

KEY

[if i talk like this, it’s a recorder/writing-in-my-sketchbook-journal-thing/side-note. they’re just for fun.]

(like this is an action! or whatever they’re called.)

Everyone!

@will-solace-aaaaa half-brother. treats me like an incompetent little sister.

@nico-di-angelo-aaaaa pretty cool. not much to say, other than he’s a son of Hades.

@leo-valdez-graaa Leo. annoying as shit but whatever, he’s super smart

@annabeth-in-your-chase Annabeth! showed me camp when I got here [i’m totally not crushing on her.]

@jason-graceeeeee buff guy. dating Leo. son of Jupiter, i think.

@frank-zhang-skreee i’ve never met him, but what Leo describes him as he seems nice! dating Hazel, last i checked.

@hazel-is-confused Hazel! super nice. daughter of Pluto. [i’m definitely not crushing on her either.]

@piper-mclean-raaa prettiest. woman. alive. 10/10, love her sm she’s like the best older sister ever

@apollos-favorite-child kayla ! super nice, super fun. sometimes makes fun of me [affectionately]

@superbstarlightsheep we get wendy’s together. basically my best friend 🫶

@moththecabin7kid moth ‼️

@yes-im-a-daughter-of-hades SEL‼️‼️‼️❤️

@travis-stollllllllll trav 🤛

@that-dam-daughter-of-poseidon lucy 💙

@genesis-ends-it-all geni the squirtle lover

@bill-son-of-boreas really cute i want to violently kiss him on the mouth haha what who said that

more, coming soon! [when people interact with me and when i remember everyone else]

#cam’s talking #bisexual

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wholoveseggs · 1 month

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~Series♡~ {<- masterlist}

18+

Smut ~ Graphic Violence ~ Drug Use ~ Fluff ~ Angst

Warmth - Part One {5k} --- It's your wedding day, but it feels more like being sold off than a celebration. You're about to marry into the most powerful family in history, but it's not by choice—it's all politics. All you can do is hope that the guy waiting for you at the altar is decent and that somehow, you'll survive whatever comes after "I do." Warmth - Part Two {6k} --- Its day two of your unexpected honeymoon, as trust begins to blossom, the question lingers—will he exceed your expectations or leave you longing for more? Warmth - Part Three {8k} --- Back in the vibrant streets of New Orleans, relishing in your newfound freedom. Life takes an unexpected turn as the shadows of your past life loom large, pulling you back into the life you just escaped. Yet, amidst the haunting echoes, you find strength in a partner who is ready to go to any lengths for you.

Extraordinary - Part One {5k} --- Just a quick little ménage à trois with the boys. Extra-Extraordinary - Part Two {7k} --- Just a quick little ménage à trois with the boys... but its round two. Extra-Extra-Extraordinary {Holiday Special} - Part Three {8.5k} --- Just a quick little ménage à trois with the boys... but its round three & under the mistletoe.

Indulgences - Part One {3k} --- Elijah's red door is cracked open and his heart broken, so naturally Klaus takes him to a strip club to cheer him up. Indulgences - Part Two {3.5k} --- Elijah returns to the club, seeking solace in the dimly lit corners. You navigate the allure of his wealth and charm while trapped in the grip of your possessive boyfriend. Indulgences - Part Three {5.5k} --- As your relationship with Elijah deepens, conflict arises and you are put in an impossible situation. Indulgences - Part Four {7k} --- In the aftermath of violence, you forge new connections and leave behind all the pain that has plagued you for so long.

Pop Quiz - Part One {7k} --- How can you possibly pay attention in history class when your professor is that hot? Let's hope you don't fail your exam...

Pop Quiz - Part Two {9.5k} --- Its been a few weeks since you last saw your professor, and you are feeling insecure about the nature of your relationship. You decide to make a grand gesture to capture his attention. Hopefully it doesn't blow up in your face...

Mine- Part One {5k} --- A drunken hookup with Klaus complicates your friendship with Elijah, leading to an awkward morning after. Mine- Part Two {5k} --- Rebekah talks some sense into you and you aim to repair your relationship with Elijah.

Crimson Frost- Part One {6k} --- You are to be wed to Niklaus of the Mikaelson clan, but when tragedy strikes and blood is shed in the snowy night, the true strength of family bonds and the power of love are put to the ultimate test.

Crimson Frost- Part Two {5.5k} --- After the raid on your village you are separated from your little sister and your betrothed Niklaus, not knowing if they are alive or dead. Holed up in a hut with Elijah during a raging snowstorm, you train and prepare to hunt down the Blackthornes. Meanwhile, Niklaus, Kol and Rebekah have found safe haven in a nearby village, the leader Ansel provides all he can.

Crimson Frost- Part Three {6k} --- Things heat up between you and Elijah as you prepare to rescue Gerda and Henrik. In the pursuit of your sister things get bloody and an unexpected warrior comes to your aid.

Crimson Frost- Part Four {5.5k} --- Your reunion with Nikaus and Elijah doesn't go as planned and betrayals are revealed. Threatening the peace and safety you fought so hard for.

Moonlight {60k} --- As Emma navigates a life filled with abuse and darkness, a chance encounter with Klaus and Elijah, who she believes to be demons, sets in motion a tale of forbidden desires, ancient pacts, and the struggle between light and darkness. Will Emma succumb to the darkness or find liberation?

#lissa responds #lissas masterlist #lissas series #the originals #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson smut #elijah mikaelson smut #the vampire diaries #tvdu #ao3 #fan fiction #elijah mikaelson masterlist #masterlist #tvd

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justagray · 6 days

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nightmare part 3 (how long should I actually make this?)

Will didn't know what to do anymore, he basically just gave someone the worst fever of their life and then ran. He hadn't even realized he was crying until he stopped running, funny isn't it? He wasn't supposed to cry, he's meant to be the role model of the Apollo cabin, the best healer in camp. Not someone who can't even control his own power and emotions....

Can he even look Nico in the eye after this?

#nico di angelo #percy jackson fandom #will solace #percy series #solangelo #dark will solace #will solace has plague powers

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a-french-coconut · 23 days

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Part 1 (Will Solace)

Will's dad, Apollo, is the god of a lot of things.

Music, archery, poetry, masculine beauty, knowledge, arts, medicine, sun, light, prophecy, logic and the list goes on.

He has mostly inherited the healing part with some musical and light abilities like his supersonic wisthle and light tricks. He's not good with bows and arrows, he is average with any instruments or singing, does not have prophetic dreams and does not have the same artistic sensibility as his siblings.

He deems himself a healer and only a healer (Aren't you cute ? Trying to deny my very existence ?). His role on the battlefield is not to shed blood but to prevent it from happening. His hands are made for knitting skin back together and glow golden when he sings hymns to his father (oh but they could do so much more...) .

"Shut up".

Will is really happy he's alone right now. Even for demigods, talking to no one is strange. Granted, being alone when he is deep in the woods with no weapon and maybe a little lost is not the best situation he's ever been in, but it is the one he prefers when she decides to invade his mind again.

"I don't understand why you keep trying to convince me."

(Well, there is not much to do except bothering you Will. And who knows ? One day your patience will be running thin and that day...)

"Not happening."

(Ugh, can you at least get me out of your mind ?)

He hesitates. As good as it sounds to have her out of him, he is still wary of letting her roam free. Last time he lost control...

(Oh Will, there is nothing of interest here.)

He is still hesitating, his control slips a little and he feels her getting out, materialising in front of him.

Should any dryad melt from their tree at this instant, they would see a tall blond boy looking sternly at a little girl.

"Gods I had forgotten my Lord's touch on my skin ! How much time did you keep me prisoner in your mind ?" asks the girl basking in the sun.

"Ten years, more or less." Will answers curtly, advancing deeper in the woods. It's not wise but he is not going to take the chance of meeting a camper and explaining why he is talking to a five years old girl.

"I remember when you were five ! Such a cute little child, bright blue eyes, golden locks... well you didn't change that much."

"Just go wander in the woods or something. I didn't let you out of my mind just for you to stay with me."

"As you command."

She disappears quickly, enjoying her short liberty.

Once again alone, Will sits behind a tree and close his eyes, enjoying this rare moment of silence. She had been with him ever since he created her when he was five. Every little child has his imaginary friend that vanish as they grow out of childhood. Except Will's friend who just wormed a place in his mind and became tangible. Her name is Raz. He still loves Rapunzel as much as when he was a kid.

But where Rapunzel heals with her hair, Raz wilts with a touch of her hand.

See, Apollo is the god of many good things but he is a pharmakon, both healer and destroyer. As he is the one who heals, he is also the one who strikes sickness and plague.

And maybe that Will isn't just a healer. Maybe he's a little more than that. Maybe he is as his father is, medicine in one hand and poison in the other.

He doesn't exactly know how it works but he thinks that Raz is the physical representation of his plague powers. When she walks the earth, Will doesn't feel that part of him anymore. Maybe he could do the same with his healing powers ? Manifest them in a human form or something else.

Well for that he'll have to remember how he created Raz in the first place. It surely has to do with what happened after she appeared for the first time but Will isn't very fond of remembering what happened that night.

Giving pneumonia to his very mortal uncle, almost killing him in the process, because he let Raz "have fun" is not something he thinks about with a smile on his face.

Especially when she won't explain why she did it. Since then, Kaz mostly stayed in Will's mind without too much complaints.

He always wondered if his uncle did something to him or those he cares about. It's the only explanation he has. That or he is a sociopath who lashed out under the form of a little girl a deadly sickness on his uncle for fun.

He is going to stick to the former hypothesis.

There have been times where Raz begged him to unleash her if not without restraints, at least through him and he refused, scared of what she would do, of what he would do.

When Lee's head was caved in.

When his siblings died one by one in Manhattan.

Could he have save them ?

Better not dwell on what ifs too long.

Point is, Raz is an everlasting reminder of the monster inside him, a wretched creature who could kill anyone with a simple touch.

He is afraid of her, he is afraid of himself .

Will hears branch snapping and the crunching sound of someone walking on leaves. Raz must have gotten bored.

He sighes, goodbye beloved peace, you will be missed, and gets up. The sun is setting and if he doesn't get back quickly, he'll have to run from the harpies again. He does not want to run right now.

Raz still haven't show her face.

"Come on I know you're there, I heard you."

More rustling but still no little girl.

"Please Raz, I have to get back-"

His words die when from the bushes emerge a hellhound as big as Mrs O'Leary but definitely not as cute as her.

Running doesn't so bad after all.

Branches slap him in the face as he runs in what he thinks is the general direction of Camp. He just have to reach the border and Peleus will protect him. He just need to outpace the hellhound until then, not attract any other monsters on the way back and find Raz.

He hears the growling beast getting closer and forces his legs to go even faster. He'll have to thank his father for beating the god of speed at racing and passing him those godly genes.

Raz, I don't where you are but you need to come back right now !

He never tried contacting her by telepathy before, never wanted to, but this a desperate situation that requires a desperate solution. It's not that he particularly want to hear her whispering in his head again but Will has come to learn that he can't ignore her for too long without feeling like there's a hole, a void waiting to be fill again. It's very hard to function when your very being is incomplete.

A branch hits him hard in the face, causing to fall on the ground. Demigods reflexes mixed with years of training save his life, Will shifting just in time for the hellhound to claw the ground he was laying on a second ago.

A well-aimed kick in the ribs allows him a few more seconds to get up but there isn't time to flee. Here he is, the woods getting darker and darker, battling a monster without weapon because he evidently inherited the logic side of his dad.

As Will readies himself to dodge, the hellhound stars to whimper and blood erupts from his eyes and nose until he is covered in the red liquid. The beast gives one last painful cry before exploding in golden dust.

Behind him stand a proud and smiling Raz, eyes glowing green and tendrils of dark smoke swirling around her.

The way the creature suffered... Will shivers.

He really really does not like that part of himself. He is meant to heal not to butcher.

(Raz's smile disappears, sadness glaze her eyes now a normal brown and with a flick of the wrist, the smoke evaporates.)

Without a word, she goes back to Will's mind, nesting herself in a corner and doesn't utter a word.

Will just shrugs and hastily return to his cabin.

(Do you hate me Will ?)

Her voice is small, insecure, not the arrogant and easygoing one he is used to. The question makes him freeze in his bed.

Does he hates himself ?

"No." he murmurs in the silence of Cabin 7.

There's a legend that says that no lie can be pronounced within walls of the one who does not lie.

Will used to believe it until now.

part 2, 3 and 4 posted !

#will solace has plague powers #plague will #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #will solace

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echo-stimmingrose · 5 months

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Thinking about that one head cannon I saw where Will Solace has powers over plague but only discovers it mid battle after accidentally setting a plague on everyone who's fighting and has no idea how to reverse it.

#fics i need to write #pjo headcanon #pjo angst #pjo hoo toa #will solace #nico di angelo #trials of apollo #percy jackson and the olympians #apollo #apollo pjo

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dovrt · 2 months

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Rosekiller one shot

Tw: death

Barty goes to war, he doesn't have the money nor the influence like Evan does to avoid it forever. He has to.

He goes kicking and screaming and fighting the whole way but he has to go.

When they were younger, not yet directly touched by the conflicts between countries , Barty told Evan about his fear, his only fear . Death.

He never understood his father's points about fighting for honror or dying for their country. He was a child and like a child, he was scared of dying. What would come after it? How would hsi loved ones react? What would he leave behind? Why would any higher power take young lives anyway?

Questions plagued him and Evan didnt have the answers to any.

And now hes in an active war zone, death at his doorstep.

Honestly, Barty doesn't give a shit about either country, doesnt give a shit about his fellow soldiers or his fathers orders to make him porud.

He'd much rather be next to Evan, with the boy's hand in his hair. Evan would drag his fingers across Barty's skin in a manner he deemed utterly sinful.

Even now if he closed his eyes he could pretend the taller boy was in front of him.

Evan was older, although just by a few months. He was all wide shoulders, lazy grins and shy smiles. And his hands, arguably Bartys favourite part of him. They could caress and hold, they could mend and take care but they could also wield an axe and a gun, they could make Bartys mind forget everything and anything, dragging low groans from his throat. They could make him whine and beg, they could steady him or bruise him.

Its these things he thought of late at night under the cover of darkness. Evan.

Just the man, just the name.

Somehow it was always Evan he thought of when things got difficult.

Barty writes to him, for his own sanity. The longer he stays there, the more he loses it.

War is no place for him. Its too bloody, too noisy, too scary. He wants Evan.

He wants to be held, strong arms pulling him close. He wants to be safe. He wants to laugh at Evan's stupid jokes. He wants to kiss Evan, to touch him, to hear his voice.

His body and heart aches with longing.

He doesn't care for the other soldiers who laugh too loud and never sound like Evan. They're terrified of him, of the way he takes life after life in the warzone.

But violence was never his first choice, it was love.

So he writes and he writes and he writes. He never had a liking for literature like his friend Regulus, but he manages fine.

"My only solace is that you're untocuhed by Bellona, by the bloodshed of Mars" He writes. "Although, darling, you'd look divine covered in crimson"

Fuck he loves Evan. And he misses him so much his bones echo with desire.

"I think of you everyday, sunrise to sunset and take a break for dusk, only for you to be in my dreams"

He addresses them to E, his E. Thats all his fellow soldiers know Evan as. "That crazy one's darling E"

Barty hears them wondering about E's name, about how someone could have won Barty's cold heart.

Eloise, perhaps? or Elizabeth? Eleanor, Edith, Ella, Emilia, Emma, Eliza, Elliana, Ellie, Emily, Evelyn, Eden, Esther.

Evan.

Evan Rosier.

They wouldn't suggest a man's name.

Its a cruel, cruel world they live in, and Barty has never liked it. But Evan always managed to drag out the optimist in him, the mischief and sarcasm he thought he left in his childhood.

"Most of all, its boring, my darling" he writes, "So fucking boring. We barely fight and when we do, we win. Mostly. You'd call me a narcissist and egotistical, but I know my worth. The rest of these soldiers don't know their left from their right"

He tells Evan everything, even if he doesn't always get letters back. Mail gets lost on the way a lot. Sometimes Barty gets upset when Evan doesnt respond only to descover the ship went down. Sometimes Evan writes strong words about scaring him because Barty never replied to his letter, and Barty sends back a response about how he never got it in the first place.

"Really hope the ship doesnt go down again. Such a nuisance, catching you up on everything again" He scribbles down, imagining the expression on his lover's face when he reads it.

War is brutal and unyielding. It stretches on forever. Barty doesn't see himself getting out of it, not now, not ever. But he doesn't tell Evan that.

"We'll go watch a movie when I'm back" he makes false promises, "and kiss in the rain, your lip between my teeth. Just the way you like it. I'll kiss you in front of my father, I dont care"

War is brutal. it takes and it takes and it takes. Are there really winners and losers when the only ones losing seem to be the soldiers that lose their lives?

"My dearest E, I miss you like the sea misses the earth. The water shaking with anticipation in clouds, desperate to return to the ground as rain"

Barty is going to die, he knows it.

There's only way out of this war and its by taking Thanatos' hand.

"Regulus sent me a summary of his reading again" Barty writes, "Some old man a hundred years ago wrote about a man and a woman in love and somehow Regulus made it my problem. Try to punch some sense into him. But don't tell him I might be hooked onto what happens next. Its a guilty pleasure"

Barty doesn't have many guilty pleasures.

You could argue Evan was one of them, but he's not. Barty has never once been guilty about loving Evan, never.

"Regulus wrote to me, telling me Melpomene is the muse of tragedy" Barty could have been jealous of his friends, the ones who didn't have to come to war, didn't have everything stripped from them. But he's glad he's the one suffering because that means Evan doesn't have to and Regulus can keep reading his little stories. He'd die in war a thousand times over if his friends stayed safe. "Melpomene must have gotten quite the story from us"

Evan fills him in on gossip, Dorcas in love with someone, Pandora and her new inventions, Barty wishes he could be there for it all.

Evan can't draw for shit, but his stick figures could rival Michaelangelo for all Barty cares.

Evan, Evan, Evan, Evan. Its all he thinks about, like a broken record spinning and repeating the name. Evan.

He's so much more than a lover. He's a part of Barty. He's seen the good bad and the ugly. He's stuck around for it all.

"Im angry most of the time" He scribbles one night, shaking from barely contained fury after a mission gone wrong. "Angry because my father is the biggest piece of shit to ever grace the earth. Angry because I want you I need you in my hand, in my arms, in my bed bext to me. I'm angry because the world was never kind to us. I'm angry because I wish I could kiss you now. I would. I'd kiss you in front of the world, grab you by the jaw and not let go. I want to taste you, I want you to linger on my tongue, to ruin my life. I'm angry because..." because I'm scared.

Barty never lets anyone see the letters Evan sends, scowling at anyone who ever tries to peek. He's got quite the reputation now. He'd cut off a finger or two before he let anyone have a taste of Evan's words. They're for him. Just for him.

"Come back" Evan writes, "Come back or I'll publish your writing for the world. Let everyone see how embarrassingly in love you are. Regulus alone would have a field day with the poem you once attempted"

Barty laughs because he can't help it. Its so on brand for Evan to threaten him with that.

"My writing is scacred, how dare you?" He writes back. "Maybe that would help the world understand us, though. Maybe one day there would be a world free of war and hate. And just us, together, kissing in front of my father as I flip him off"

"You'd look sharp in a suit on our wedding day" Evan writes back. "I'd love to see you in it. I'd love to take it off"

Fuck.

"Darling, I'd wear a wedding dress if you wanted. I'd do anything for you (and if it pissed my father off)" Barty scrawls with a rare smile on his face.

The last letter Evan Rosier ever got from Barty Crouch Jr was about wearing a dress to their hypothetical wedding.

Decades in the future, when they're all well and gone, buried so they're only dust and bones, their letters are found again.

Love letters from wars always fill people with a sad and romantic feeling. They always remind people that love is eternal, the only constant in the world of destruction and tragedy. No matter how it ended, at least the love was there.

Historians scratch their heads over who the "Darling E" was. Some say Eloise or Elizabeth? Eleanor, Edith, Ella, Emilia, Emma, Eliza, Elliana, Ellie, Emily, Evelyn, Eden, Esther.

Evan, says one.

Evan Rosier. Barty Crouch Jr. Decades after theyre gone, their love makes headlines. Flirty and sweet, cute and filthy, rebellious and devoted, they call the pair.

Barty Crouch Jr died at war, bleeding out in pain, supposedly with his eyes wide in fear and fingers digging into the earth, desperate to live.

Evan Rosier died not long after, peacefully in his bed. Heartbreak, the doctors said.

Their letters were found in a house that used to belong to their mutual friend, Regulus Black.

#inspired heavily by Gilbert Bradley and Gordon Bowsher's letters #barty crouch junior #rosekiller #angst #in my feels #regulus black #evan rosier #marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #the marauders #one shot

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