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prettyboykatsuki · 6 months ago

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mindfuck. | sunday (hsr)

𖤓 tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, established d/s dynamic (implied to be 24/7), extremely submissive!reader, soft dom!sunday, mindfucking in a sense, extremely horny telepathic communication, sensation play (pain + pleasure), intesne, overstimulation, oral (f!recieving), penetration, misuse of aeonly abilities, very lovey-dovey in an insane way, lowk mutually codependent lol, 18+

𖤓 wc ; 4k. (this is.. wow)

𖤓 a/n ; this was not written with canon in mind. this was written with heart-eyes and wet pussy. if it does not make sense with his canon abilities, it is not my business !

everything in this dynamic is very consensual but sunday pushes reader a lot so it gets intense for them. they have aftercare !! but they are both insane so please be cautious!! i dont think it warrants dark content but it is . wild.

He won't put on airs in front of you.

Maybe it's because your lovers, as he describes it. Not partners because that implies equal control, not something so juvenile as your boyfriend. Lovers. Sunday refers to you unilaterally as his lover. As his.

As his lover, he remains ruthless. He doesn't lie though. He's frank with you to the point you wonder how he lies so easily with everyone else. He shows you the vulnerability of his grip strength, the intensity of his feelings for you. Sunday loves you. He won't put on airs about this.

Sunday loves you, so there's no need to worry about anything. Don't worry about the bed you sleep in, the clothes you wear, the things you eat. Sunday won't put on airs about wanting to let you have freedom. He doesn't even pretend like he'd be happy if something caused you to leave. He wouldn't tell you to find someone else should you grow sick of him.

Be with him. Let him love you. He'll carve something out of his heart and keep you there - conform to his ribs and listen to the sound of its beat. You're his lover. All his. Bone, blood, faith, religions - all his, always.

When Sunday is in a bad mood, you can always tell. Though his face remains indifferent - he's harder on you than he is usually. He's not often in a bad mood and the difference might look minor to anyone else. And identifying the source of his mood is arduous, because often it's him thinking himself into a corner. The worst of it comes when he convinces himself you want to leave him, even when you assure you have no such intentions.

Sunday is twisted. You know that. But you willingly handed him the chain to your leash. It's no doubt you're just as rotten.

His mood, though usually magnanimous - can become cold and ruthless and brutal on days like that.

There are three things that tell you that Sunday is in a bad mood when he visits your room today.

First, that he's meeting you in the real world and not in the dreamscape. Sunday doesn't like reality. If he's meeting you there - it means that he is wanting affirmation you are real despite everything, which is not a sign of him being very level-headed.

The second is that he's being affectionate. He comes to your door and kisses you on the lips before making you greet him. A deep kind of kiss, shared between average people. Lacking control and precision - all want.

The third is that he takes off his clothes when he closes the door behind. He makes you sit on the bed like always, but doesn't join you in his full attire. He doesn't make you get naked and come sit in his lap while he still has his suit on.

You have a routine about this after all. Sunday comes, makes you sit at his feet until he's pleased with your begging - makes you cum to the point of delirium than murmurs softly until you've sobered again. He'll talk to you afterwards. Lays in bed next to you and strokes your hair with absent fondness only after affording you pleasure. Only after paying him your worship.

But he skips the step entirely today and undresses. He's never undressed without you asking him. Always a reward.

You want to ask what exactly has him this desperate, but you're almost afraid to know. It's so unusual it jars you.

He has his back turned away from you on the bed where you sit. You're naked with the exception of a choker. Sunday is undressing in front of you, all without you asking. It feels like something you shouldn't look at, though he hasn't forbidden you from it explicitly.

You peek anyway, pushing away the guilt.

He undresses himself neatly. Slides the silk of his gloves off and lays them flat on the armchair nearby. He shrugs his white coat off, follows it. His fingers are beautiful and soft outside of their confines, and they unbutton his shirt dexterously. Off with his vest and his other attire - once his top half is bare he turns to you.

Despite yourself, you try to level your enthusiasm. You look down at the bed underneath you, only listening for his footsteps. Instead you find the hardness of your heartbeat, rising into your throat.

Your skin feels hot. He hasn't even touched you but you're wet, albeit afraid of what any of it means.

You feel your pulse quicken impossible when his hand brushes along your cheek. His fingers are long and slender, his nails as pristine as the rest of him.

"Look at me."

And so you do, picking your head up to gaze at him. His expression is unreadable, but different. "Is everything okay?"

That seems to shock him. He smiles that time, comfortably. "Everything is fine. Something came up. I thought I'd come see you."

"Oh well, I'm glad you came to see me," You say quickly and he smiles again even softer. "But, well. It's different."

"It is. Is that a problem?"

"No, no - I just. Are you upset?"

"Not with you," He's quick to assure. You love him, you think. It's things like that that make you love him. "Something annoyed me."

"Is that right," You look up at him and look closer. "Can I help you?"

You feel it then. There's a shift in his demeanor. He's pleased with the question, with your attitude. You feel his hand nearly tremble as he strokes you fondly. "You want to make me feel better?"

You feel strange. Skittish. "Y-yes. If that's alright."

"Aren't you very generous?" He replies. It sounds like praise, makes your stomach turn. "There's something I'd like to do with you. Will you allow me?"

You're not sure why he's asking. "You don't need to ask my permission for anything."

He shivers at that. You think he does. It's brief enough that you miss it. His eyes lid, thumb smoothing across your lower lip. "That's right. You're all mine, aren't you?"

You nod. "Uh-huh."

He smiles at you. Laughs, pleasant and warm and rich. It's an unfamiliar sound - almost carefree. It makes you happy to hear but you try not to let it show so he doesn't get conscious of it. Still, you smile. Stare down at the space underneath and glance at his naked torso and flush all over again.

"Then, allow me," He sits next to you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He grabs your hand tender and guides you into his lap. The amount of contact is so much unprepared, your knees feel weak. He allows you to straddle him, guides your arms around his neck. You can feel his gaze on you and you squirm but don't move.

"You're very nervous." He points out.

"You're," You feel like the Penacony will fall from underneath your feet "...touching me."

"You're so ruined already, over that?"

You nod. Of course you are. It's Sunday's body you're touching. He never allows you this much unless you've done something to please him greatly. Unless his mood is good. You're used to the silky cloth of his gloves even when he fucks you on his fingers, your cunt dripping onto his nice suit even when he's pleasuring you for hours. He reminds you of the miles between you doing that. A show of power.

So of course the sudden change in that distancing is alarming. Arousal keeps spiking every time you remember. It makes you feel stupid. You're touching his warm skin, seeing the sinew of his shoulders and the way he's built. His core soft and stable, everything dusted with rosy hues. He's slender and beautiful and elegant all over so of course you're wet between your legs, achy and unnerved by just how much your pussy seems to pine after his touch.

Your brain feels like it'll pour out of your ears, the words barely forming to speak.

"It's too much."

He doesn't say anything in reply. His fingers snake between your legs where you're stood on your knees - sliding down slick folds, tentative and amused. "You're so much wetter than usual," Then, with a breathlessness to his voice "Is it really making you feel this way to see me half naked?"

You lock eyes with him. You can't make yourself out in the reflection of his eyes but his face changes. It doesn't matter what you can see, because you know you look desperate. You can never hide how you feel from Sunday, but especially not like this. Vulnerable, you nod curtly - mouth fallen open.

"It's okay," He coos, which are not the words he normally chooses. He normally says that you'll be alright - which is different from this. Restlessness makes your skin prick. "Do you want to know why I'm in a bad mood?"

You nod.

"I thought of you running away," He says, which is typical. But it's too much for it to be just that so you wait. "Going back to your home planet to never return. It wasn't pleasant but I couldn't stop imagining it."

"...Was that really all?"

"Really all? Do you think there's something that would displease me more than that?"

"You really want me to stay with you." You say, less than ask.

"I treasure you," He murmurs, his voice is low. Cold, even - underneath layers of possession. "You are mine to treasure."

"Of course but," You want to look away from his eyes but you find that you cannot. "So much? Do you really?"

He smiles again. It doesn't reach his eyes. "More than you'll ever know." He reaches for your hand and holds them, smiles as you gasp. His lips brush along your knuckles. "So you'll trust me, won't you?"

"Yes. Whatever you want."

"Such dangerous words."

You don't ask he means by that. It wouldn't matter. Wouldn't make it any less true. The tight space that Sunday has carved for you is yours no matter how suffocating. It's yours and you would do so much to please him.

Sunday lets his fingers walk up the curve of your spine. You shiver, watching him. He's pleased somehow, and that's good you think. It's better than him being angry. His hand stops at the nape of your neck, cupping it and rubbing his thumb along your pulse.

"Let me in,"

You don't know what that means until you feel it. Two sensations press against you at the same time. Sunday's abilities - halovian and not. Your eyes close tight at the pressure in your skull, but Sunday's hand in the physical world soothes you. He's reaching you in two ways - two different ways. You know them now.

His powers feel different from his halovian abilities. His powers (or THEIR powers, you suppose) are piercing and needlepoint - never completely pleasant or intended to relieve. He uses them only occasion, and never for too long. The invocation is usually a test of some kind. Even as he mutters the words against your neck now, they illicit that kind of response. It makes your body pulsate. It's pain that only he can deliver and heal - pain that he gives to you, that is yours. It's not harsh enough to incapacitate.

But it's strong enough that the back of your teeth chatter. Your muscles pull, lurching forward to collapse in his arms. Like a hot iron searing your tongue - like a needle going through the softest part of it. Your first are closed into tightly as you allow him inside of your very being. Penetration that outweigh physical, violates you to the core and carves you out tenderly. You're awake and alive and ruined beyond whats mortal. It's not so intense usually. Allowing him to sink in the hollow blankness of your mind and dig his sharp claws into the soft matter. Jolts of electricity spatter along your insides - your mouth open with drool sliding down both end. HE is inside of you. HE intends to control you until he decides to stop.

You open your mouth to speak but the pressure is too strong. Another sensation follows you, then - just after you get used to the first. It's different. It's the gift he was born with, the pleasant throb of halovian telepathy.

You feel your jaw go slack at the overwhelming difference between pain. Complete, unyielding euphoria.

You moan. Your physical body reacts - your clit throbbing so hard it stings, making your entire lower body like it will melt off of you. With a shaky inhale, you feel the full breadth of Sunday's internal emotions. Possession and adoration knit themselves together and move like a caress over every inch of your body. Lightheaded from the pressure, your breathing strains.

There's not a single part of you Sunday is not touching intimately - fingers and palms and tongues. His physical hands, soft and placating rub your pussy and drive you to hysteria. His voice is whispering you words of comfort - to trust and hold on. His emotions twist and dominate yours and everything in you sings back in obedience. You want to cry. And you think you will after your adjusted enough to remember where you end and Sunday begins. If that ever happens. If it's possible experiencing the weight of this.

You're boneless underneath his touch. Your physical body and sensations reach heights far beyond and in true, utter desperation you call his name. You're not usually so spoiled but it's too much and you need him. "Sunday. Kiss me."

You can see yourself almost in third person. His laugh is smooth but breathy, as he lays you down on the mattress and leans over you. He kisses you as you've asked, long and deep - and doesn't pull away even as you lick desperately at his lips. Your nails are clenched into your hand, making them bleed.

He speaks to you clearly.

"You love me don't you?"

The words barely make it out of your mouth. Your heart is pounding. It's not like you can lie like this anyway, but you never would. "Yes. Yes, I love you."

He must feel it. Feels you as much as you feel him because he laughs near jovial and kisses you again. His soft lips slide against your shoulder, your collarbones. "Yes. I love you too. But you know that."

Yes. You do know. There's no way you couldn't.

Your entire body feels weak as Sunday lowers himself further and further. His mouth, warm and inviting - leaves open mouth kisses across the entire expanse of your body. Your nerves feel fried, like they're getting pulled like weeds and laid out.

You know what Sunday's mouth feels like well, but like this is too much. Too much to fast, your spine arches off the back of your bed as his breath ghosts over bare cunt. Gasping, you reach for the sheets behind you. No awareness of your surroundings can save you from it.

Ruthless as always, you feel his tongue slip against your folds and lose sight of the remaining threads of your consciousness. Sunday uses his abilities to stabilize you, says something about how you can't pass out yet. You whine at the back of throat but don't tell him to stop. He praises you for that with another long stripe against your clit.

Sunday is good at knowing your body. Pristine and precise to the point of being scary. He lays his tongue flat and latches himself on you, angular in leading you to your orgasm. Your body is so impossibly sensitive that he barely goes for a minute before you feel yourself shuddering in that familiar desperate way. His feelings come in a wave after that, a pink hue in your eyelids as he expresses his unending praise even after your incredibly premature orgasm.

"Sorry," You mutter, barely breathing as everything swirls inside of you. Your stomach flips. He puts his hand up to hold yours. "Didn't ask for permission."

He laughs at that, bright and pretty. He's pleased with you. You're practically vibrating from need. It's alright. You don't have to ask today."

"Are you...aah...sure?"

"Yes. It was polite of you to ask." He praises, and kisses the inside of your thigh. He licks your pussy again this time with deliberate slowness and you cry out his name. "You're so wet for me. So sweet. Should I use my hands at all or do you think you can take me as is, hm, my love?"

"Give it to me," You slur, unsure if you can hold out on it much longer. "Please, please, please."

"No need to beg. I do like to hear it though." He says, mostly to himself. He kisses you as another wave of sensation enraptures you and leave you limp. You feel it all again, strong to the point of feeling numb. Piercing pain followed by overwhelming, lovesick euphoria. Your body goes limp against the bed, fingers curling into the sheets.

Sunday coos at you. He guides your arms around his neck and guides your hands to his shoulders. "You can hurt me a little."

"Don't want to hurt you."

"I want you too," He says, and you think if you were sober enough it'd feel like a confession. "It's alright. You'll never be sharper than I can handle."

You whimper but concede, letting your nails dig into his flesh hard to keep yourself together. Sunday whispers praise against your neck as you go through the impossible motions of it. It's so much longer than he'd normally put you through his and your body is pushed to it's limits. You know that but he seems pleased with you. You want to please him.

"You're doing well." He praises, softer than ever. "A little more. Just a bit."

The world could be ending outside around you, but you would be completely clueless to it. The only thing, the only thought, the only consideration you can make towards Sunday. His adoration does not feel like the flicker of a candle, but like ball of light curling around itself. It is tight, and hot, and always at risk of exploding itself into something cosmic and unreachable. You wonder if it is possible to love too much, but tell yourself that isn't true.

Even as love makes a mess of you in the physical and metaphysical and all else. Even as it flays you open and guts you and licks you until you are all but hollow yearning, you don't think he loves you too much. You just think that he loves you. If Sunday is all the concentrated light in the universe, you are the eternal darkness meant to make him whole. Your love for him just as deep, like a void that never ends - certain, inevitable darkness.

Your tongue feels heave in your mouth as you kiss Sunday again. A lonesomeness comes every minute you spend apart, even brief. Sunday does not leave you alone for long.

Even as he prepares himself to feel you deeper, he whispers and talks to you. Placating praise leaves tears welling at the corners of your eyes but you nod and listen anyway. You wait for him.

"Take a deep breath." He tells you. He positions himself over you again - though you can barely see or understand as you open your eyes. You blink rapidly, trying to get a sense of his expression even as your mind is gripped at the corners and pulled taut at every edge. Color clouds your vision - hazy making your eyes glass over as you attempt to pry them open. Sunday appears before you like an Aeon in all their glory, beautiful and divine. You sniffle at the sight of him, whimpering at the sensation of his hands on your thighs.

"I love you," You whimper at the touch of his cool hands on your hot skin. "Love you,"

"I know," He says, sliding his cock along your folds with such unwavering affection it makes you gasp. The tip throbs along your clit, sticky with need and you whine. "Shh. I'm here."

You allow him whatever he wants. Your head feels full. Nodding, drunk and floating - you squeeze your eyes close as you feel the tip of Sunday's cock push through you. You wish you could see it better, though you've seen it before. Long and pretty, red tip and neat hair at the base. The sensation makes your tummy flutter, your hands up to his shoulders.

Your pussy weeps at the feeling of him finally entering you, something deep in your body begging for him. Your throat closes, eyes watering at the sensation of being so full as he starts to move. Slow but sure, not intended to pain you - restrained. Everything is full. Heart, body, mind - every inch of you harbors Sunday like he's made you in his image. Your lower half throbs and thrums, a euphoric outpour making your legs wrap around his waist. You don't want him to move. You want him to carve himself in you and stay forever.

Tears fall helplessly as he bottoms out. His waist is pretty, you think - as you see where his meets yours. You see his cock sheathed inside and your mouth drops open. Sunday grinds against you, hot as it touches your sweet spot. Never-ending in his chase to please you.

"Sunday," Your voice is hoarse as he moves his hands to rest between your bodies, thumb brushing along your clit. "I'll cum."

It's more than that. You think if you start, there's no way you're going to be able to stop. The thought frightens you almost. Sunday is quick to assure you.

"It's okay," He tells you, and keeps moving and touching to bring you to the very precipice without any mercy at all. "I know. Your body is mine and it's what I wanted. So," He glances up at you with as mile. "Give me what I ask of you."

Your lips form into a pout because you know you can't say no to that. You wonder why this is what he wants from you, but your brain is too scrambled to even try to deduce it.

Feeling an orgasm this way isn't something you've ever experienced in your life. You can't imagine you ever will again. That much pleasure and sensation, life-ruining - feels like falling through space with no assurance of when you'll crash. Just knowing it will come eventually. Your entire body lurches forward at the full sensation, bursting at the seams. Everything around you melts until you're left with nothing but hot white pleasure racketing along each of your exposed, frayed nerves. You fall away and into nothing. It feels so good you can't speak, can't think, can't do anything but let that nasty sob leave your lips in complete and utter ruin. You cry for Sunday - teary, snotty, pathetic, and you want to beg him for something though you aren't sure it's mercy.

He fucks you through it. The repetitive sensation of your body being fucked while you're lifeless makes your ears ring but Sunday fucks you anyway. Fucks you meaner than you though he was capable of, fucks you precise. Lets his cock fuck into you with such force your cunt is forced to remember him until death do you part. You can only feel Sunday. Every atom of you his, his his.

You spend so much time in that high, you barely know when it stops. Sunday fucks you to his own orgasm and you feel that inside of you too, which only makes you cry longer.

You know it's over when Sunday starts to pull away and you feel unimaginably hollow. Even though it was so hard on your body for the entire duration, you find yourself exhausted when you start to sober up and open your eyes. You see Sunday before closing them again. He is as beautiful as always.

You think you must pass out for a bit, because a breach of time comes where you see nothing but darkness. When you're awake - you're in a bath in the hotel bathroom.

Sunday has not left your side when you're awake again. He looks worried as he sits on the edge of the tub and waits for you.

The water is warm and comfortable. You are tired and very, very hungry. Sunday looks at you but doesn't realize you're awake even as you gaze at him. He seems sad and that saddens you.

"Sunday? Everything okay?"

His eyes open wide when he hears you speak. Your voice is barely there. He's still naked. You blink. "You're not wearing clothes."

He stares at you for a long, long time. And then, afterwards, his bare hand comes up to your cheek and cups your neck. He kisses you deeply, tenderly and it makes you sigh a little to feel. It's unusual. He laughs against your lips.

"I wanted to bathe with you," He says after a long while. You widen your eyes. "Is that okay?"

"Oh, uhm," You nod feeling self conscious. "That's fine."

"And," he holds your hand in the soapy water and lets his thumb smooth against your finger. "Let's eat together. After. Okay?"

You smile to yourself. "Uh-huh. Okay."

You love him you think. There's no such thing as too much. No matter how it would look to anyone else. You think Sunday loves you too. Enough to ruin you completely and put you back together again.

#sunday hsr x reader #sunday x reader #sunday hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #writing tag #ive gone completely insane #he is so complicated and i am so insane #they're so insane for each other HDFNJKFD

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yuan4i · 3 months ago

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FALSE GOD kinich x reader

SYNOPSIS you, a straight-A honours senior student at teyvat high, hoping to receive the teyvat academic medal. however ever since the year started, you’ve only scored second place to kinich. your relationship with kinich is a bit complex. rivals; that’s what you’d call your relationship with him. other than the fact that he’s oblivious to who you were… until a faux relationship between you two started?

STATUS 08/18/24, coming soon (planned after cod ends)

GENRE social media au, modern au, high school au

CONTENT WARNINGS one-sided rivalry, fake dating troupe, implied female reader (they/them prns), suggestive scenes, everyone’s a senior other than kachina, written during 5.0’s release, messy timestamps, will add more later! (☆) = written chapters

TAGLIST closed! please let me know if you changed your username.

CHARACTERS tba...

ACT I - "WE MIGHT JUST GET AWAY WITH THIS"

tba...

ACT II - "RELIGION IN YOUR LIPS..."

tba...

ACT III - "EVEN IF IT'S A FALSE GOD"

tba...

ACT IV - "WE'D STILL WORSHIP THIS LOVE"

tba...

TAGLIST @viannasthings @Imgayandshesanime @thegalaxyisunfolding @felisfuscqs @yae-lover @pneumosia @kiokiee @emiliona @kemireads19 @novasstar @3cst4syy @meigalaxy @sketcheeee @cherrybb-ily @kazumiku @ashyiiy @kazumiku @riminiscensce @uppuzstars @tighnariskobi @owoshiny @coorwe @lunavixia @scarasbaby @silverxyz0 @reisore @lobbitack @https-mika @xiaoderrrr @callistolol @lxkeeeeee @aethenawhosp @0407files @romyoia @yuu1105 @yuyuumi @lamcos @keiiqq @weilelian @runa1urmum @dazqa @rvoulte @ganertys @guineverewaves @bananasquash @3lectraheart @kunikame @lacunasweven @itsactuallylina @rilllvri @frosted-hyacinth @glitter-and-tears @fantasyhopperhea @queenof3ferrets @royalgoldenghost @animeobsessed56 @potteraep @fallenisded @manhdayyyy @vervainnnn @slvdsjjk @morgyyyyyyy @sands-worst-enemy @mccnology @eutopiastar @lulumallow @lamocs @x-hihihi-x @leralise @siomairice135 @sunturines @allenmqww @mitsuriscannongf @aeferkssr @vxcmx @kaoiyeva @samyayaya @yourmomssneakylink @scarlet-bluestar @chsyug @its-vante @darling-eos @faeryarchives @matchablossomsss @ellieloverrr @lyyzzei @yuminako @neuviloved @kinichieswife @pookiebearcave @marinson @anqelkoz @beverlyhillstapwater @simonisferal @theswordthatstabbedjouno @sliceofjai @liyue-harbour @ciel-solar @bobaducky

#˚₊‧ ა 𐙚 false god ꒰ kinich x reader ꒱#kinich #kinich x reader #kinich genshin #kinich smau #kinich x you #genshin smau #genshin impact smau #genshin x reader

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junkissed · 2 years ago

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leaning on the everlasting arms

member — childhood best friend! pastor's son!joshua x f reader genre — angst, smut, some fluff, bible college au word count — 10.3k (my first fic over 10k wowie!!) synopsis — as kids growing up in the same church, you and joshua were inseperable, until you got to an age where it was considered immoral for girls and boys to be friends. when you find him again just before graduation, he's different than you remember; but so are you. content warnings — female reader, she/her, reader is implied to be smaller (i'm sorry), discussion of gender roles & religion, no religion is mentioned by name but it's heavily implied to be a form of christianity, reader & shua are both seniors in college, reader wears skirts/dresses but not really by choice, this whole thing is pretty blasphemous oops smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, virgin!joshua x virgin!reader, mutual masturbation, phone sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (reader receiving), hints of a voice kink, size kink, praise, begging, really vanilla missionary but it's hot, nicknames (sweetheart, baby, angel) notes — although i am no longer religious, this is partially based off of my own experiences with the extremely traditional christian church i was raised in. however, please keep in mind that this is fiction and does not reflect my beliefs nor joshua's beliefs so don't take the plot too seriously. this piece is not meant to discuss whether certain religions are "right" or "wrong" so please do not comment/send me asks trying to start a debate! we're all just here for a little sexy time with shua it's not that deep note #2 — for those who aren't familiar, the title is the name of a hymn and i thought it was funny bc joshua big sexy arms hehehe

as far back as you could remember, joshua was your closest friend.

his father was the pastor of the church your family went to, and as luck would have it you were both in the same grade, so it wasn’t long before you became inseparable. you saw him at minimum three times a week: sunday morning, sunday evening, wednesday evening.

you spent most of your childhood together. sitting next to each other at every service, sharing your bibles with each other whenever one of you left them at home, sneaking donuts away from the box at the table outside the sermon hall that was supposed to only be for the adults.

you did everything together, and told each other everything. that is, until you reached middle school. boys and girls weren’t allowed to sit in the same services anymore, and you had to stay in separate buildings for every church camp and conference.

the worst part was you didn’t even understand why. what did they think you were gonna do with him? kiss him? no amount of money in the world could get you to do that! joshua was your best friend. who else were you supposed to climb trees and build forts and sneak donuts with? kissing was stupid.

when you asked your mom about it, she told you the same thing everyone else did: about how men of god had a different path and needed to hear different messages in order to grow up to lead their own churches one day. you thought it was stupid. what if a woman wanted to lead a church, why are men the ones that have to do it? but she would just shake her head and tell you it's just the way things work in the church, you'll understand when you're older.

you were allowed near him less and less until the only time you were able to see him was at the after-service brunch with his family, and even then that began to happen less and less as the years went on.

and of course it was church rules, so there was no arguing with them because that would mean arguing with god, and who were you to question his authority? there would be no special exception for you, no matter how much you protested to your mom that you would never, ever think about joshua like that. in a fit of anger one day you blew up at her, shouting that she had had friends of the opposite gender when she was in high school, so why couldn’t you? it wasn’t fair. but she had just sighed and stared out the window, clearly ending the conversation. many years passed before she finally told you about her life before she came to church, recalling all the times she had been hurt by men she had loved and trusted. you understood then why she had wanted to keep you sheltered and safe, but you still didn’t agree. but then again, if you had been allowed to do what you wanted then maybe things would never have ended up the way they did. perhaps you have her to thank.

back then, all you could do was hold on to the little time you had with him until eventually you stopped seeing him altogether.

more summers passed and you started spending all of your time memorizing bible verses with your fellow “women of christ”, missing the way you used to spend your time with your best friend.

but then you went off to bible college like had always been planned for you, and everything changed. instead of continuing to follow the strict schedule that was laid out for you, you finally got a little taste of freedom, and you realized what you’d been missing all this time. everything that you’d been taught was sinful, evil, wicked, was what brought you more pleasure than you’d ever known was possible.

you still had to pretend to be a good girl for the people around you, who, for reasons you couldn’t comprehend, were still dedicated to their life of purity. or at least they acted like it. maybe everyone was secretly just like you, hiding their sins behind a friendly smile and a firm handshake every sunday morning.

you weren’t hurting anyone with the things you did in private, and the feeling of rebellion was a kind of satisfaction you didn’t know you were allowed to feel. you were an adult, making your own choices now and facing whatever consequences that came with them.

there was only one consequence. for some reason, all the impure thoughts you had always centered around joshua. no matter what dirty books you read or videos you watched, the man you always pictured giving it to you was joshua.

you hated that after all these years, everything still came back to him. you fought it, tried imagining actors or celebrities in his place instead; characters from your books and movies and shows, anyone but him. you wanted to save whatever memories you had left of him, think of him in a good light like you used to when you were younger, but the way he plagued your mind was worse than the ones in the book of exodus.

but now, in your final year of college, you thought you had finally gotten yourself under control.

that is, until you were leaving one of your bible lectures and all the control you’d convinced yourself that you had crumbled away in mere seconds when you saw a startlingly familiar face standing by the door. a face you hadn’t seen in far too long.

“joshua?”

“hey,” he says with a smile, like no time has passed at all. like it’s been hours since you’ve seen each other, not years.

there are so many things you want to say, so many things you want to ask him, but you’re frozen in place. why is he here? where has he been? how did he find you again?

“it’s been a while,” he says with an awkward laugh when you don’t say anything.

you nod, still in a daze. “yeah. quite a while.”

he smiles. “well, anyway, i’ve got a meeting to go to in a bit, but… i just wanted to see you.”

“oh,” you say. what else is there to say? what can you say to make up for the years lost that you’ll never get back?

he looks at his watch, the conversation clearly coming to an end.

“can i give you my phone number?” he says. a deep shade of pink creeps into his cheeks but he either doesn’t notice or purposely doesn’t acknowledge it. “maybe we can talk sometime, catch up.”

“i– yeah,” you manage. god, it’s so good seeing him again. “yeah, that would be really nice.”

you’ve given up on homework for the night, spending your entire afternoon in a daze since you ran into joshua.

so many years, yet you still can’t get his smile out of your head.

you close your eyes, hand dipping below the waistband of your pajama pants automatically. it’s frightening how easily you’re able to bring up a picture of him in your mind, so much clearer than before now that you’ve seen what he looks like all grown up.

and grown up, he has. you had been too stunned to get a good look at him while he was in front of you, but the way he’d changed was immediately apparent and the image in your brain now feels almost unreal.

his hair was a little longer and a little darker, and he was much taller, with broad shoulders that looked way too perfect in a suit jacket. but his face hadn’t changed a bit. maybe his jaw was a little bit sharper and his smile lines were a little bit deeper, but his eyes were the same ones you had always known.

your hand slips lower and lower until you’re gently running the tips of your fingers over the panel of your underwear covering your pussy, moaning quietly when you feel how wet you are already.

no wonder it’s been so hard for you to focus all day. you’ve been too busy pushing away thoughts of joshua burying his fingers in your tight, wet cunt, cooing about how good you’re being for him and how long he’s waited for you.

automatically you feel your other hand grabbing for your phone, desperate to hear his voice again. you hadn’t said more than a few sentences to him earlier, but you feel like you’ll go crazy if you don’t hear him while you’re in this state. so needy for him and only him, and he doesn’t even know it.

your fingers shake as you press the buttons, knowing you’re about to get yourself into a whole world of trouble but not being able to stop yourself.

“hey.” he answers on the second ring. his tone is deep and husky, and your breath catches in your throat for a second, not used to hearing him talk like that; the last time you heard his voice was long before puberty, and you’re still navigating how to talk to this older, sexier joshua.

your first thought is to wonder if his morning voice sounds equally as sexy, but you’re immediately pushing it out of your head when you hear what sounds like him stifling a yawn.

“sorry, did i wake you? it– it’s not important,” you start, ashamed of how needy you are that you’d call him in the middle of the damn night, unprovoked, like some kind of bible group booty call.

the regret is already starting to set in. he probably hasn’t changed as much as you've built him up in your mind, probably still the obedient gentleman he was before. he’s probably already well on his way to being the head of a church, so of course he wouldn’t be thinking about you like that—

“no. it’s fine,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “always have time for you, sweetheart. what’s up?”

you shove down the butterflies that flutter up in your stomach at the name he calls you, a nickname he always called you when you were kids because he was taught it was always polite to talk sweet to a lady.

except it feels so much different now. talking sweet to a lady as kids was easy, innocent. but one wrong word now would completely change the meaning behind those pretty words of his, and you aren’t sure how to feel about it.

“i… just– it’s been so long, joshie,” you whisper, surprised at the sudden feeling of tears springing up behind your eyes. you didn’t mean for this to happen— you didn’t mean for any of it to happen. not back then, and certainly not now.

he lets the line go quiet, finally sighing into the phone after a long pause. “i missed you… so much.” he murmurs your name, and the way the rumble in his voice goes straight through you immediately reminds you why you called him in the first place.

your free hand toys with the hem of your underwear again, fighting to keep down the whimper that threatens to escape you. “missed you too,” you breathe out. god, you can’t believe you’re doing this. but for the first time in years, the man you’ve been picturing in your head is right here with you, fulfilling some of your fantasies that you never thought could ever come true.

somewhere deep in your stomach you feel guilty about it, getting off to the thought of him and he doesn’t even know it. would he want to know? would he be okay with it? would he hate you forever if he knew?

he clears his throat, snapping you back to attention and you realize you must’ve been silent for a while, thinking.

“um, so, what are you doing?” you ask, trying to seem casual, but it comes out as anything but. nobody calls anyone this late at night and asks what they’re doing without having a dirty reason for doing so.

all you can do is hope he’s either too innocent to pick up on it, or that he doesn’t believe you’re the type of person who would call for something like that. you wonder if he still thinks of you as that perfect little obedient church girl he grew up with.

“nothing, just–working on… stuff,” he replies awkwardly. clearly he doesn’t want to go into detail about what he’s doing, and you’re already afraid you’ve interrupted his sleep; you’re mentally kicking yourself for all the blunders you’ve made, and you haven’t even been on the phone for five minutes.

“what are you doing?” he asks back, and you freeze, trying to come up with some excuse, anything. fuck, think of something!

“h-homework,” you sputter out, attempting to hide your unconfident answer with a cough.

apparently it works, because he hums in response, the line falling quiet. you hear the rustling of papers on his end, and you press your fingers harder against your cunt, heartbeat racing in your ears.

your fingers brush against your clit a little rougher than you intend, and a little whine escapes your lips, catching you off guard. you slap a hand over your mouth, hoping it had been too quiet for him to hear and he hadn’t been paying attention.

“are you…?” he asks suddenly, and your cheeks flush, caught red-handed in your sinful act.

you clear your throat, praying (both metaphorically and literally) that he doesn’t notice anything off about you. “am i what?”

his silence on the other end of the phone speaks volumes.

“joshua, oh my god, no, i–”

“what did you just say?”

you freeze. “what… did i say?”

when he speaks again, his tone is even. “don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”

that nickname again, and now you know he’s doing it on purpose. innocent, pretty words, completely changed in a split second.

you let out a short laugh, scrambling to find a cover. “must’ve forgot then.”

he hums. “i remember you spent a whole month trying to memorize the ten commandments. we must’ve been what, eight or nine? you wouldn’t have forgotten. i may not have seen you since we were kids, but i’ve still known you most of my life.”

“it was an accident, you know how it is. just slips out. of course i remember them all.”

he tsks, and it feels like your heart stops. “did you forget that lying is a sin, too? you’re two for two now, wanna try for a third?”

damn him! damn his good memory and damn his stupid witty comebacks and damn the way he so quickly manages to unravel you.

you scowl and don’t respond to his question, your silence enough of an answer for joshua to know he’s right.

“why did you call me tonight?” he asks calmly.

you answer truthfully this time. “just wanted to hear your voice again. i really did miss you.”

the phone goes quiet again, and for a second you’re afraid he’s hung up, but then you hear him exhale. “it’s late. what are you doing?”

“i’m in bed, josh. don’t worry, father, i’m not staying up past my bedtime.”

he chooses to ignore your remark. “in bed doing what?”

you give him a half-suppressed laugh. “in bed laying down. what else would i be doing?”

“well, with the way you were trying to hide your moans earlier, i would’ve figured you were doing something more exciting. but if you’re just laying down, then i don't want to keep you long, might as well hang up…”

“no!” you squeak out, cutting him off. you swallow, trying to collect yourself as you repeat the word. “no. fine, whatever, you caught me. but– please, stay.” you can hear the plea in your voice and you know you should be embarrassed at how pathetic you sound, but you aren't. the only thing you can think about is joshua, joshua, joshua, and how good it feels to talk to him again.

“i’m here,” he says softly, and you let your eyes close with a sigh, relieved he’s not going to chastise you. but as much as you’ve both changed as you grew up, deep down you knew he wouldn’t. you figure you could do just about anything and he wouldn’t try to tell you what to do. he’d always been like that, and it’s what you’d loved about him; he never tried to control you or shame you for not acting like the perfect little angel everybody wanted you to be.

you couldn’t say the same about others in the church. maybe that’s why you’d started to drift away from them and why joshua’s friendship coming to an end had left you so devastated. he had been the one and only person you could always count on, and they had not.

“are you still there?” he asks gently, and you realize you’ve been quiet for too long thinking.

“yeah,” you say finally.

“are you still touching yourself?”

you pause, stifling a gasp, taken aback by his forwardness. hearing him say it out loud made everything seem so real, the realization setting in about what you’re actually doing. “n– no.”

and it’s true. your hand has long since dropped away from your pajama pants, too nervous about being discovered to continue.

“well, why not?” he says. “don’t stop on my account.”

your mouth falls open. “i–”

“clearly you wanted something from me when you called. what is it, sweetheart? i can’t help you if i don’t know what it is you want.”

your brain practically short circuits at that, and it takes a very long minute for you to collect your thoughts into a coherent sentence. you want a lot of things, but you don’t know what’s okay to say or not or if he even wants to keep going. which is a silly thought, because he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to know. it dawns on you that maybe… maybe he’s curious, maybe he’s thinking about you, too.

“what kind of help?” you ask, still testing the waters. you think you have an idea of what he means, but you ask anyway. you’ve never done anything like this with anyone else, only by yourself; not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t want it to be with someone who wasn’t joshua.

“you said you wanted to hear my voice,” he says, and you swear his tone has dropped an octave. “then let me talk to you.”

you whine a little, still holding back but not putting in as much effort to hide it. “m’kay.”

“would it make you feel better if i told you i’m hard right now?”

you suck in a breath. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he says. “just thinking about you.”

you feel a rush of emotion at his admittance. pride? satisfaction? whatever it is, it makes your cunt throb, knowing that just the thought of you can get him going.

finally you dare to slide your hand down your pants again, unsurprised when you find your underwear sticking to you with how wet you are. you’re soaking, and you haven’t even done anything yet.

“hold on,” you manage, putting the call on speaker as you set your phone on the table beside your bed, scrambling to shove your pants and ruined panties off and onto the floor.

once free, you pick up your phone and turn off the speaker, holding it to your ear with shaky hands.

“all ready now?” he asks softly, and it reminds you of what he used to say before you’d play pretend games together. always making sure you were ready. he was hot back then, too, and you mentally curse yourself for never realizing it sooner.

you hum. “mhm. comfortable.”

“good,” he says, and you can almost hear him smiling. “go ahead and do whatever you’d like. but i want you to tell me what you’re thinking about right now.”

you squirm a little on the bed as you start to circle your clit with your fingers. “thinking about you, joshua,” you sigh, finally beginning to feel relief.

“yeah?”

“yeah. you look even better than i thought you would,” you groan, picking up your pace a little as you slip your index finger inside your walls.

he chuckles. “oh, really?”

“mhm. god, i never thought i’d be doing this. especially not with you.”

“and why is that, baby?”

the name makes you shiver. you’d imagined him calling you it many times, but hearing him actually say it is completely different.

“because—” you whimper, losing your train of thought when your brain suddenly pictures his fingers inside you instead of your own. “i’m so close already, please—”

his tone is gentle but firm. “i want you to stop now.”

“but– ah, feels so good, shua,” you say, moans spilling out of you, finally letting him hear everything you’ve been holding back.

you hear him curse in that low voice through the phone, and your hand stills for a split second in shock, your eyes widening. as far as you knew, he never swore. but then again, there were a lot of things he never did that you're discovering about him now. looks like you weren’t the only one who changed over the years.

“that’s not my name.”

you sit up a little in confusion, pushing your phone closer to your ear to make sure you’re hearing him right. “huh?”

“my name is joshua. if you’re gonna moan like a sinner about how good it feels when i tell you how to touch yourself, you better use my name properly.” he sounds almost angry, but it only spurs you on even further.

you let his words sink for a second before responding. “yes, sir.”

“fuck,” he moans, he actually moans, and if you weren’t already so far gone you would’ve stopped to listen closer, to ingrain the noise in your brain so you never again forget how he sounds. “what did i just tell you?”

“what, you don’t like being called ‘sir’? thought you wanted to be a pastor, joshua,” you say with a smirk, and you know he hears the mischief in your voice, daring him to give you what you want.

it’s probably a good thing he’s not physically in the room with you, because there's no way you would have been able to muster up the courage to say something like that to his face. you wouldn’t have dared to even look him in the eyes, but being on the phone gives you a head rush. because with only his voice and not seeing his face, you can convince yourself that he still isn’t real, that this whole phone call and even your meeting earlier had just been an elaborate figment of your horny imagination, your denial being the only thing saving your last shred of dignity.

“didn’t realize you’d grow up to be even more of a brat than you were before,” he scoffs, and your cunt pulses.

“what are you doing right now?” you say, a little desperately. the change of subject isn’t very subtle but you don’t care. you won’t lie, you’ve been curious since the start of what he’s doing but he’s been so focused on you he hasn’t said anything about himself. you want to know everything about him— how he’s moving his hands, where he puts pressure, what he thinks about to get himself closer and closer.

he grunts unceremoniously. “i’m fucking my hand and pretending it’s you.”

“me too,” you whimper, closing your eyes as you focus on the movement of your fingers.

after a while he stops responding, and you can hear his heavy breaths over the line matching with your own gasps for air as you curl your fingers inside of you. you figure he must be getting close, but you ask him anyway, because you want to hear him say it.

“yeah– fuck, so close,” he chokes out, and the way his voice gets higher as he lets out a whimper is what finally makes you come undone.

with a moan of his name—his full name—you cum, clenching around your fingers as you struggle to keep your hand moving. your wrist is starting to cramp up a little from the position you’ve been in, but the pleasure coursing through you is more than worth it. it’s almost dizzying, more powerful than any orgasm you’ve had before and when you finally remove your fingers from your aching cunt your head is spinning and your heart is pounding.

you can hear a muffled string of curses through the phone and you know he’s right behind you. thoughts of him sitting on his bed run rampant in your head, imagining his stomach covered in milky cum and his pretty, pretty lips parted as he catches his breath.

the silence is heavy as you feel yourself come back down from your high. you struggle to find something to say after… whatever that just was, so you say the only thing that’s on your mind.

“i really did miss you, joshua,” you say quietly. unlike before, there’s not a hint of teasing in the way you say his name now.

and he sighs contentedly, finally hearing his name on your lips like he always wanted to. “i know. i missed you too.”

you both say your goodbyes and good nights quickly, still basking in enough of the remnants of your orgasms to not be too awkward about it. but after you’re settled in bed (for real, this time) and about to fall asleep, you can’t help but wonder if things between you and joshua will ever be anything but awkward.

a memory surfaces: you and joshua running around at the park behind the church after a sunday evening service, no older than kindergarteners, laughing and playing until you collapse on the grass. your mom called for you both to get ready to go home, and no you’re not allowed to have a sleepover because it’s a school night but maybe this weekend if his mom is okay with it. before you ran off, he thrust his pinky out towards you and you shook on it, making a pact to always be best friends, even when you can’t have sleepovers. it didn’t ever occur to either of you that there might come a day where you wouldn’t be best friends.

you don’t remember what prompted him to make the pinky promise, but you know he’s never broken it. and you can only hope that he hasn’t forgotten it.

it’s a few days later at one of your bible study groups when you see him next, and yet again you’re caught off-guard like a deer in headlights.

you’re sitting with a group of other ladies, annotating material for a test you couldn’t care less about when you hear your name called out– a familiar deep voice you can only pray doesn’t belong to who you think it belongs to.

oh, but it does belong to him, alright. it feels like you’ve gotten the wind knocked out of you when you turn around and see joshua standing behind you, a warm smile on his face that makes you doubt anything ever happened. maybe it really was all just a delirious dream, too many years of yearning built up into one intense wet dream.

he puts a hand on your shoulder lightly, turning you away from the rest of the ladies. “hey, can we talk somewhere?”

and oh shit it was definitely not a dream.

your cheeks burn as you excuse yourself from the table, packing up your bible and pens and shoving everything in your bag as quickly as you can. you can almost hear the snickering already, the gossips whispering to each other that you must have done something unspeakable if the top-student, pastor’s son, joshua hong has to speak with you privately. ah, if only they knew.

you only wish you could go back there and wipe the smirks off of all their faces and tell them about what the perfect little gentlemen they all pretend they don’t have crushes on was doing on the phone with you last night. you wouldn’t do that, not in a million years, but just the thought of it is satisfaction enough.

joshua leads you down the hall to a room that looks like an empty office. he opens the door for you, then closes it softly behind you.

“whose is this?” you ask, glancing around the room.

“it’s… mine,” he says almost shyly, gesturing idly to a little engraved nameplate on the desk. joshua hong, pastor’s assistant. because of fucking course he would be.

“oh.”

he clears his throat, and in that moment you realize he’s just as nervous as you are. “listen…” he starts, taking a pause. “about the other night–”

“are you gonna kick me out?” you interrupt.

his brows knit together in confusion. “what?”

“are you gonna expel me?”

“no?” he says, still looking at you, baffled. “why would i do that? i don’t even think i have the power to, even if i wanted. which, for the record, i don’t.”

you don’t reply, focusing your gaze on the carpet instead.

he frowns. “is that really how you think of me? that i just go around tattling to my dad? from that… conversation, i thought it was clear i’m not like that anymore.”

the tips of your ears are burning at the memory of all the things you said to each other over the phone. but it never occurred to you that maybe he was just as sinful as you had been.

you stay quiet, the silence stretching on as shame and embarrassment and a hundred other emotions swirl in your mind and you struggle to figure out what to say.

luckily for you he fills the silence himself. he exhales, looking down at a stack of papers on the desk. “god, you… you don’t know how much i missed you. i thought about you all the time.”

“so did i,” you manage to whisper. “in more ways than you know.”

he gives you a teasing smile. “oh, i have a feeling i do know.”

you hold back a cough and look away, focusing your attention on a painting of flowers on the wall. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“if that’s how you wanna play this, fine.”

your curiosity piques, and you look back at him. he motions to the seat in front of the desk, wordlessly asking you to sit. hesitantly you do, and he starts to sit down at the swivel chair behind the desk, but you clear your throat and he glances up.

“can– can you not sit over there?” you ask softly. “feels like i’m being scolded.”

his expression softens a little, and he rolls the chair back into place, opting to sit next to you instead. “of course.”

except maybe you shouldn’t have asked him to do that, because now he’s sitting toe to toe with you and the closeness is overwhelming. at least on the other side of the desk there was enough distance for you to shrink and hide behind, but here, sitting like this, he can see all of you. and you don’t particularly want to be seen right now.

the tension is palpable as he takes his seat, still watching you. you take the moment to study his features: the slope of his nose and the gentle curve of his lips, the way the light catches on his long eyelashes and the way his broad shoulders look in that perfectly tailored sunday morning service suit.

“i always liked you,” he starts, and your gaze shoots up to his eyes. you open your mouth to ask something, but he shakes his head and you immediately fall silent, letting him finish. “i was almost glad when they made us go to different sunday school classes, because i wouldn’t have to sit there and pretend i didn’t have the craziest crush on you.”

“joshua, i–” you trail off, not even knowing what to say.

he pauses, as if debating his next words. “and i know it’s wrong, but i couldn’t get you out of my head when i… y’know.” his cheeks are flushed but he doesn’t look away from you, eyes searching your own for any hesitance or any sign that you don’t want this.

it’s then that you realize that the boldness you had felt hiding behind your phone, he had felt it too. saying words alone in your room at night was easy. sitting in public, in the daylight, and saying those same words to his face was so much scarier. and knowing that you’re both feeling awkward and shy and a little uncertain of how to talk about it gives you the confidence to keep going.

“when you would what?” you pry. you already know the answer but you want to hear it come out of his mouth anyway. you’ve already heard him say it, but something about sitting in his office, in a church, speaking such filth ignites a spark in you that’s completely different from the spark you felt a few nights ago.

he clears his throat and looks you in the eye, maybe gaining a little bit of that confidence, too. “when i would jerk off i would always wish it was your sweet little mouth instead of my own hand.”

you inhale sharply, and that’s when he finally breaks eye contact, his guilt-ridden gaze shifting to the wall behind you as his cheeks burn redder. “i didn’t feel good about it. felt like i was doing it without your permission, and i didn’t want that. i–”

“yes,” you say hurriedly.

he stops short at your interruption, instantly looking back at you. “yes…?”

“yes, you have my permission. whatever you want, joshua, always.”

his eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly, but you recognize it. even after all these years, after so much has changed, you still know his tells. you wonder if he still knows yours.

he murmurs your name in response, almost like a warning. “don’t say stuff like that,” he says, letting out a shaky breath.

“why not?” you ask, feigning innocence. but you know exactly what you’re doing, and you know exactly how you affect him: the same way he affects you.

he looks up at you. “you really are just as much of a brat as you were back then, aren’t you?” he says with just a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“why don’t you find out?”

he groans, leaning back in his chair. “do you know how long i’ve wanted to kiss you?” he says finally.

“probably just as long as i’ve wanted to kiss you,” you counter, and he raises an eyebrow.

you both stand up at the same moment, closing the distance in less than a second.

you stare at his chest in front of you to avoid his eyes, until he brings up a hand and gently tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“are– you gonna get in trouble?” you breathe, heartbeat pounding in your ears as you stare at his perfect, perfect lips.

he hums, and it sends a shiver down your spine at the close proximity. “are you still giving me permission?” he asks, and you quickly shake your head yes.

“always.”

he smooths his thumb across your cheek. “then i won’t be in any trouble at all."

and then his hand moves to hold the back of your neck and he's tilting his head and bringing his lips towards yours and then finally, after years of dreaming about it and even more years of denying it, you're finally kissing joshua and there's so many things happening at once that you can't seem to focus on anything because your mind is so full of everything and nothing and joshua and it all just feels so right.

you’re melting in his arms and falling into his touch and enjoying every fucking second of it. your heart speeds up when his hands slide behind your back, wrapping around your body to pull you closer to him, pressed chest to chest.

he pulls away to kiss you again, and again, and again, and you decide you’d be content to be like this forever, standing in his office in the church building making out like you’re the only two people on earth.

but finally his lips leave yours, and he takes a tiny step backwards, heaving out a shaky breath as he looks you in the eyes. “what are we gonna do now?”

your heart plummets, doubts racing through your mind. did he not like it? does he not like you? did you really just ruin everything? why did he stop? why did he ask that—

but all your questions are answered in an instant when he coughs and you look down, finally noticing the prominent bulge in his dress pants. oh. that.

when you look back up at him his cheeks are flushed bright red, and he immediately begins to apologize.

“shua,” you call out to him, repeating his name the way you know he likes. “joshua. don’t worry about it. it’s fine.”

in fact, you find it incredibly flattering, that just a few kisses and gentle touches could get him this worked up. maybe it really has been you all along.

with a surge of confidence, you step back towards him, wrapping your arms around him and leaning to kiss him. “are you busy today?” you murmur, your cheek brushing against his.

he shudders, hands automatically finding your waist and pushing your hips against his own. “no. are you?”

you sigh, kissing the corner of his mouth. “not anymore.”

“fuck,” he curses, his grip on your body tightening “you really want to…?” he asks, almost shyly, as if he’s in denial this is really happening.

“absolutely,” you say, and you’ve never meant anything more in your life.

in a second he’s got you shoved against his desk, sending papers flying to the floor as he lifts you by your ass to sit you down on top of it. your kisses turn rougher and needier, your hands grabbing at anything you can reach to ground yourself: his hair, his shoulders, his back.

finally he breaks free, dropping to his knees in front of the desk. “please, let me eat you out.”

you moan out loud, probably too loudly for the thin walls of the office. but the visual of him on his knees to do anything other than pray drives you mad, and you need more of him, desperately. “joshua, please.”

he pushes your skirt up your thighs, moving it out of his way so he can stare eye to eye with your pussy. you whimper and instinctively try to hide your face in embarrassment, but something tells you he wouldn’t like that, so you resist, keeping your hands firmly planted on the edge of the desk.

“fuck, you’re soaking,” he says, his voice broken. “you’re so perfect.”

his hands reach up to tug at the hem of your underwear, and he looks up at you, silently asking for permission to continue. you nod eagerly, lifting your hips off the desk so he can slide them off of you, revealing your glistening entrance.

he whines at the sight, pretty lips parted in shock? awe? as if he can’t wait to taste you. he pushes his face into your pussy, gently at first, but when you moan and bring your hand up to his hair he dives deeper.

the moment he attaches his mouth to your clit, you jump, gasping as you try to shut your legs around his head but his large hands keep you held open. his tongue explores every inch of you, moving back and forth, up and down, mapping out your cunt with his mouth.

“fuck, never dreamed you’d taste so good,” he sighs against your pussy, leaning away to take a breath after what feels like forever.

your legs are shaking and your cunt is throbbing as you also try to catch your breath. you’re not used to being touched like this and you’re definitely not used to being touched by joshua. so many thoughts running through your head and not a single one of them coherent enough to put into words. all you can do is weakly whine out joshua’s name and tug on his hair, pleading for him to keep going. you need release, and you don’t want it from anyone but him.

he stands up, his pants wrinkled from kneeling on the floor but still tented with a bulge so uncomfortably large you feel dizzy just thinking about it. you don’t even know if he’s going to fuck you or even if he wants to, but god you want to see his cock so bad. too many restless nights spent thinking about it, and now you might finally have the chance to see it in front of your face.

your mouth waters at the thought, and you start to slide off the desk, but joshua stops you. “what are you…?”

you look up at him, eyes blown wide with lust and you don’t even attempt to hide your eagerness. “please let me suck your dick. joshua, please.”

he whines, running a hand through his hair. “god, i want that so bad, but… i don’t think i can last if you do, and i was really hoping to fuck you.”

you close your eyes and roll your head back, moaning at his vulgar confession. but he sighs, and he sounds almost defeated, and you look back at him quickly, afraid he’s suddenly changed his mind.

“i’m not—prepared,” he admits, and you tilt your head in confusion before it sinks in what he means.

“ah. don’t suppose you would have any condoms lying around, would you, mr. pastor’s assistant?” you ask playfully, and he shoots you a glare.

“brat,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear it, and your walls clench in response. “no, i don’t have any. not interested in anybody else, so… no reason to.” he looks like he has more to say, more serious things to say, but he keeps his mouth shut, his eyes searching your face nervously.

your stomach flips at his words, feeling your cheeks heating up. you hadn’t thought you would ever get this far, and especially not with him. because of the kind of school you were at, it wasn’t like the people here were doing the kind of things you’ve been doing—at least not publicly. even if you’d wanted to hook up with somebody (which you didn’t), everyone in your vicinity would shame you for even bringing it up. you may have experience with yourself, but anything with anyone else is completely new territory for you.

you fall silent, not sure how to continue the conversation as all your newfound confidence begins to crumble. what were you thinking? caught up in the heat of the moment, saying things you weren’t sure you meant. you were in love with him: that much you were sure of. but everything that comes after that is too new, too scary, at least for right now. you can barely even comprehend that he just went down on you, but you know you enjoyed it and honestly, you’d give anything for him to do it again. but there’s too much going on inside your head for you to even begin to process that right now.

he calls your name and you blink, looking back at him anxiously. “we… don’t have to. right now, or even at all,” he says gently. the tips of his ears are burning red but his voice is calm and steady.

“joshua, i want to,” you start, clasping your hands tightly together in your lap to give you something to focus on other than the way he’s watching you so intently. “but i– don’t know how.”

“neither do i, baby,” he says. the nickname makes you shiver; even though it’s not the first time he’s called you that, especially after the other night, you’re still not used to it. but somehow it’s comforting, and it makes you relax knowing that he’s still the same person you grew up with, the same person that knows almost everything about you. you’ve both changed so much, but deep down you haven’t changed at all.

he pauses when you don’t say anything back. “we’ll wait, then,” he says and wraps his arms around you, lightly at first but then squeezing when you don’t try to pull away. “we have all the time in the world. no need to rush.”

“we… do?” your voice is laced with uncertainty.

he smiles. “of course. i let you go once already, i’m not letting it happen again. never again.”

you turn your head away from him and hide your face, flustered by how sincere he sounds. he hums, and you can hear the pout in his tone so you fight your embarrassment and turn back towards him to ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind since you first saw him days ago. “this is gonna sound so stupid, but… shua, what are we?”

first you were childhood friends, you were best friends, and then you were nothing. right place, wrong time? and then you were… doing something on the phone together, whatever you could call that. and now you were just sitting on top of his desk, sweating from having almost had sex. how do you even begin to put a label on this?

“well, i’d like to be yours,” he says shyly, and just like that all your questions are answered with six small words. you realize it doesn’t matter what label you have; as long as you have him, that’s all that matters.

“yes,” you breathe, lifting your eyes to finally meet his and you see all the love in his eyes threatening to spill over.

he reaches up to brush a piece of your hair out of your face. “i’m just glad i finally have you back,” he says with a soft smile as he watches you. “we’ll go slow, we’ll wait— whatever you want. whatever it takes not to lose you again.”

you bury your face in his chest with a whine. you’re hiding again, but even the uncomfortable scratchiness of his dress shirt can’t pull you away from him.

“besides, i don’t want our first time together to be in my stupid little office,” he chuckles and holds you tighter against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head that makes your heart flutter. “you deserve better than that.”

you stay there for a long moment, hugging him like it's the last time you'll ever see him. but this time you know it won't be the last. it's the first, the first of hopefully many, many more.

when you feel like you've been standing there too long, you clear your throat and lean your head back to look at him. "so, um… now what?"

he pauses, those pretty lips turned up in a smile. "do you have plans for lunch?"

"no, i just had that study group you pulled me from. i'm free for the rest of the day."

his smile widens. "perfect. you still like grilled cheese, or did you grow out of that, too?"

you laugh, putting your chin on his shoulder as you hug him. "i haven't changed that much, shua."

after taking a while to collect yourselves (waiting for his erection to go back down so you can leave together without looking suspicious), you walk out of joshua’s office the happiest you've felt in years.

he'd wanted to hold your hand, too, but you were still anxious about anyone seeing you together that you'd refused him until you made it to his car. you were probably just being paranoid and no one would care about two responsible adults talking to each other, but all the time you'd spent hiding from your peers had put you on edge.

so, it wasn't until you were safely out of the church parking lot and in the driveway of his apartment complex that you let him touch you, kissing you over the cupholders with his hands gently holding your neck.

it took everything in you not to climb over the center console and sit on his lap in the driver's seat and kiss him as hard and as deeply as you really wanted, but you knew once you started you wouldn't be able to stop. and besides, he still didn't have any condoms. it didn't bother you either way, since you'd been taking birth control since high school to help with your periods, but if it was what he wanted you'd be more than fine with it.

you don't know what you'd been expecting the inside his apartment to look like; probably some tacky cross-stitch bible verses or a wooden cross hanging on the wall, but his apartment just looked like… a normal apartment. a very clean apartment, actually, though you weren't surprised. he'd always been a neat, organized kid, and it looked like that was one thing he hadn't grow out of.

you watch as he puts his keys on a hook by the door, following him into the kitchen and sitting at one of the chairs.

he grins at you as he opens his refrigerator, pulling out the ingredients for your lunch before taking out a pan.

"shua…" you interrupt him, standing up and walking towards him slowly. "you're not— really thinking about grilled cheese sandwiches right now, are you?"

he hums, eyes following your every movement as the pan sits cold and abandoned on the stove. "there are… other things on my mind, yeah."

"so why are you still trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches?"

by now you're close enough to stand toe to toe with him, and you're sure he can feel the heat radiating off your body when he wraps his hands around your waist, backing you against the kitchen counter. "because i wanna make you lunch. maybe i just wanna spoil my girl a little bit."

a shiver runs down your spine at the new name he calls you. never in a million years did you think this is where you'd end up.

"i think you have all the time in the world to spoil me later, joshua," you mumble, leaning in closer and closer until your lips touch.

in a flash he's hoisting you up and sitting you on the counter. his mouth never leaves yours as you slide your legs around his hips to drag him closer, kisses growing deeper and more desperate now that you can finally be alone together.

his hands slide down your body, tugging at the hem of your shirt and only breaking apart for a second to slide it over your head before his lips are crashing against yours again.

your hands find his hips, experimentally tugging on his belt to see his reaction. immediately he pulls away from you,

cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. "sweetheart, i still don't have any condoms. if you really want to now, then we gotta run to the store first."

“i’m on the pill,” you burst out, hoping he gets the message. maybe he has some other reason for wanting to, but you're too impatient to wait for who knows how long it'll take to go to the store, and you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off him for that long. you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off of him for even a few seconds.

his face goes blank as he processes your words, struggling to understand if you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. “you’d let me…?”

you grab onto his arms, a desperate attempt to pull him closer, to feel more of him. “raw, yes, joshua. just—please, i need you,” you beg him, cunt throbbing with neglect as you wait for him to answer.

he buries his face in your shoulder with a groan, gripping his hands underneath your thighs and sliding you off the counter.

with a shriek you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he starts to walk out of the kitchen carrying you. "joshua! what the hell are you doing?"

his face is still pressed against your shoulder, and you can feel his lips tickling your bare skin as he speaks. "i'll fuck you on my kitchen counter any day of the week, baby, but i want to have you for the first time in my bed, please?"

his voice is low and whiny, just as desperate for you as you are for him and it makes you moan with excitement.

he finds his way into his room, stumbling a little when he accidentally runs you into the wall instead of through the doorway, but you just giggle and kiss him harder until he finally drops you on his bed, immediately unbuttoning his shirt.

you run your hands along his chest as he leans over you, feeling the toned muscle that feels almost wrong to be seeing. his physical changes are much more obvious to you now that he's like this, and you know the image will fuel your fantasies for weeks.

your hands move to his belt again and this time he allows it, letting you unbuckle it and toss it away before slowly lowering the zipper. he's already hard again, and your heart races when you put a little bit of pressure on the seam and he lets out a guttural groan in response.

his arms flex as he reaches down to slide your skirt off, and you help him and kick the fabric away, leaving both of you in nothing but your underwear.

joshua pauses, letting his gaze wander your body as you look away shyly. he hums and you look back at him in confusion. "don't hide from me, sweetheart, please," he says, but it comes out more like a whine; not like he's asking, but like he's begging. it's honestly the hottest thing you've ever heard, and even with your nerves he makes it hard to resist.

"dreamt about this for fucking years. years," he moans as he leans over to kiss your chest, reaching behind your body to undo your bra and let it fall away. you whimper when he brings his hands up to cup your breasts, wrapping his mouth around one of your nipples as he starts to slowly grind against your clothed pussy. you can already feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you're sure he can feel it, too.

his hands are like nothing you've ever felt, and you roll your head back against his pillows, arching into him as he massages your breasts with his large hands. you'd noticed them before, but you hadn't realized just how big they were until they were on top of you and made your body seem almost tiny beneath his massive palms.

"shua…" you breathe, tentative hands reaching up to touch his shoulders.

he looks up at you, mouth covered in spit. "yes, angel?"

you whimper at the nickname. no angel you'd ever learned about in sunday school had acted like you are right now, begging a man to fuck you. and on top of that it was before marriage, too; surely if there was a god they would be extremely disappointed in you. but right now you didn't care if the entire universe was disappointed in you, as long as joshua hong wasn't.

it takes you a few more seconds to build up your courage, but finally you open your mouth and tell him, "joshua, please— fuck me."

he slides forward to kiss you again, before sitting back and repositioning himself between your legs. "anything you want, sweetheart."

he lines his cock up at your entrance, and just before you think he's about to push into you, he looks up at you instead.

"i love you, so much," he says, and you have to fight the urge to hide your face as you grin and giggle like a fucking schoolgirl; like the past version of you would have, if she'd had any sense and figured everything out sooner.

and, like always, he asks, "ready?", and you nod, and it's better than you could've ever imagined.

the whines that leave his mouth drive you close to the edge already as he begins to thrust into you, slowly, gently, just a little bit at a time but it still leaves you gasping from his size.

he keeps moving at a snail's pace until you reach up, fumbling to grab at his bicep as tears nearly spill out of your eyes and beg him, "joshua, more, please."

he leans over you, pressing his body flat against yours as he starts to rock his hips faster, and you cry out from so much pleasure and so much emotion hitting all at once.

"wanted you so fucking bad, for so long, and now you're finally here," he whispers, his thrusts never faltering despite how close in proximity he is to your face.

you whine as your hands claw at his back, digging in as you struggle to hold on and he curses again, pushing into you harder.

"you said i was better than you imagined," he groans, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. "but you're even better than i imagined. you're a fucking angel, so fucking beautiful."

you gasp his name, falling into your orgasm from his words alone as you clench impossibly tight around him. you always thought of him as the nice kid, the rule follower, but here he is, fucking you through the hardest orgasm of your life and saying such filthy things in between praises and compliments.

"jo-oshua, please!" is all you can manage, still struggling to recover before he crests into his own high with a whimper. his eyes scrunch up as he releases inside you, eyelashes fluttering and sweat dripping down his temples, and you think it's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen.

a constant stream of curses fall from his lips and you swallow them with yours, kissing him as if you're afraid he might disappear into thin air if you don't hold onto him tight enough.

his breaths are shallow when his mouth falls away from you, resting his forehead on your shoulder with a long exhale.

"god…" he starts, then stops and laughs, and you have to tug on his hair to make him face you again.

"what are you laughing at?" you say, cheeks growing hot when he looks at you with droopy, hooded eyes and a lopsided smile.

"nothing," he laughs. "just god. what a funny word."

"and why is that, baby?" you say as you try to hold back a smile, testing out the nickname.

he grins. "because it gave me you. or maybe it didn't. who knows?"

you finally laugh along with him, remembering what he'd said to you on the phone that feels like years ago. "don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”

the church is humming with activity as you make your way to the front pew, carrying two donuts in your hand. people greet you as they mingle about the hall, talking and laughing. some wave excitedly when they see you, others simply smile and offer their hand for you to shake with a friendly “good morning and god bless!”

being a pastor’s wife isn’t something you ever imagined yourself doing, but then again, a lot of things in your life you never imagined doing. you never imagined seeing joshua again, and you never imagined marrying him, either. you certainly didn’t imagine taking over your father-in-law’s church when he retired and decided it was time for joshua to take his place as head of the church. you always knew he would someday, whether he wanted to or not, but you’d be happy to spend the rest of your life by his side no matter where he was or what job he had.

you’d been almost nervous when you decided it was finally time to tell your parents you had been seeing each other, but to your surprise they had been overjoyed at the news. both his family and yours were “just so glad when it happened to be you!”, saying things like “we’d always known it would happen, back since you were children!”, and “so when are we going to get some beautiful little grandchildren to take to sunday school!”

it had been five long and happy years since that very first phone call, and every minute you spend with joshua has been the best of your life.

you walk up the steps to the stage where your husband is waiting, flipping through his notes for the morning’s sermon. you hand him his donut with a grin, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. he smirks at you, imperceptible to everyone else but you can tell what it truly means.

everybody in the congregation always talks you’re the perfect example of a happy, god-loving couple. such nice looking people, so well put together. but behind closed doors, they’d be horrified by the things you say and do together. wolf in sheep’s clothing, as is your husband’s favorite parable to preach.

it’s not the life you imagined, but it’s perfect to you and him.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging with tags or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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#1k #kflixnet #k-labels #[📌] — june.writes #[💟] — joshua #[❤️] — smut #[💙] — angst #joshua smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #joshua hong smut #joshua imagines #joshua x reader #joshua hong #svt imagines #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #joshua fanfic

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devourable · 2 years ago

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† church boy

[ sfw | tw : religion (not named but heavily implied), sacrilege, potential religious trauma? as well as general yandere content but it’s v tame ]

male yandere x gender neutral reader! only pronoun used for reader is ‘you’. i havent written like this in a very long time so i apologize if this is bad ;_;

abraham lived a simple life for the majority of his 21 years on this planet. he was born and raised in a religious household, the only son of a wealthy pastor, surrounded by typical bible-thumping folk who taught him that *** was above everything, above him, above the things he loved, and putting anything (or anyone) above his faith would surely result in his damnation. and his whole life, he believed that.

that was… until you entered his life.

it happened at a fundraiser he was volunteering at. it was any other day for the boy, handing out advertisements and chatting with everyone that came and went. an average, mundane event for him where he’d talk about the same things he did every day, smile, wave, everything that was expected of him.

after the last person in his line had left, he looked down to begin organizing his things so he could join the rest of the party. when he was shadowed by someone stepping in front of him again, he expected to see a familiar face — maybe someone that might’ve forgotten something? but when he looked up…

abraham’s breath caught in his throat. he swore the earth had stopped spinning the second your eyes locked.

whether if you were there because you shared the same religion, was dragged there by a friend/family member, or simply because there was free food, he had no clue - but it didn't matter. your looks, the way you moved, the sound of your voice — why was it all so... enchanting?

he couldn’t help the slight stutter in his words as he hastily offered you a pamphlet, quickly introducing himself and inquiring about you. what was your name? were you new to the church? why haven’t you met before?

the soft laugh you emitted as you spoke and the feeling of your skin grazing his felt like fire. and your name... oh, the poor boy didn’t even realize it, but he couldn’t help it — within moments of knowing you, he had grown totally enamored!

abraham found himself hovering by your side for the rest of the event. he was awkward, you’d quickly realize, but it was in that sort of sweet, inexperienced way. he was desperate to know you, to get closer to you, hoping that maybe if he could understand you, he’d figure out how to quell these intense feelings that had built within him — but to you and everyone else, he was simply making sure a new face wasn’t alone during the event. he was just being a good little pastor’s boy! that’s what he told himself too, over and over again.

he was being good by making you laugh. he was being good by giving you his number. and it was good that he grew elated by the idea of getting to see you again after this. he was a good person, so what if he was neglecting his duties to be around you? he did what he was supposed to all the time, surely he could be forgiven just this once.

right?

his obsession with you didn’t take long to blossom after that first meeting. you started to infiltrate every part of his life in one way or another. his prayers became tangled up with thoughts of you. rather than reading the bible, he’d reread the texts between the two of you while he waited for you to respond to them. when he went to church, he found himself scanning the pews in hopes of spotting you among the congregation rather than finding a seat right away. when service began, he couldn’t focus on the preaching taking place because he was too busy thinking of ways to see you again.

despite the utter adoration abraham had grown to feel for you.. at some point, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t help but wonder — was he becoming sinful? was he growing gluttonous for your attention? he couldn’t have been, he had been so devout his entire life! it was fine for him to miss a few services to see you as long as he made up for it later…

he couldn’t tell if you were an angel, as heaven-sent as he felt you to be, or if you were the embodiment of temptation, pulling him away from his faith and beckoning him to sin. were you both? could you be both? with the progression of his obsession with you, his conflicted feelings about his relationship with his faith grew alongside it.

maybe you just weren’t any good for him.

but your name and god seemed to always come up at the same time…

so maybe, it was a sign that he had someone new to worship.

#⛪️ abraham atkins #mine | fics #yandere #yandere boy #yandere x oc #yandere x you #yandere x reader #ive been writing this for so long and i still hate how it came out aaargh #so i give up

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bigtedbear · 1 month ago

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" 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 "

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

content warnings: nsfw content 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+, dom top male reader, bottom male character, mlm, gay sex, anal sex, anal penetration, implied mpreg, breeding kink, implied impregnation (there's existential dread washing over me as I write this wondering what my ancestors think), unsafe sex (i fear condoms don't exist yet), they're both virgins but blade definitely doesn't act like one, the reader on the other hand-, sub top reader kinda, dom bottom blade kinda hallelujah amen, they're basically just both horny losers, medieval alternate universe, monsterfucking, blade is a dragon, mating rituals, extremely brief mentions of religion/purity/chastity, i didn't tag this as yandere cause that's kinda just blade???, hey 🪷 anon,,, pov getting over blade's creepy tendencies because of his absolutely fatal face card

ADDED CONTENT WARNINGS: body piercings (nipple piercings), mentions of lactation (there's no real lactation sorry guys i have to stick to the timeline), HEAVY talk of mpreg like that's the whole premise of this part, nipple play, reader is a FREAK for his wife, it came out way softer than I meant it to????, blade is still emotionally constipated but less than usual because he's also a horny loser

" new contact noted! caller blade has been added to your phonebook! - love, operator t-19 "

NOTE: hey guys I forgot about blades pierced nipples, both my heart and the hearts of my audience were broken

the public has spoken, I'm adding on more smut that's probably gonna basically revolve around his tits will update when this has been amended 🫡

SECOND NOTE: the section has been added in, you can read it as part of the entirety of the post of just a single drabble on foreplay with blades tiddies and HEAVY discussion of mpreg

" welcome back caller 🪷! connecting your line as we speak..."

‘The atmosphere swam around you like fish in a bowl; dark, dank, musty.

The strange tension in the air pulled you into an equally strange trance. Dazed, your perception seemed to fade in and out, in and out. Fully alert one moment, your eyelids were drooping as a wave of fatigue overtook you the next. You did your best to still the shaky sense of being that rocked the environment like a cradle, opting to try and break down the situation using your individual senses.

Sight: the air was cloudy and gray, thick like a curtain. You couldn't see it, but you knew there was a fire somewhere. It was shielded by the cold stone walls and the glittering mountains of gold and jewels.

Sound: the crackle of the fire and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Ominously, the quiet “drip… drip… drip…” of an unknown source tickled your eardrums.

Smell: sulfur and smoke curled and singed the tips of your nose hairs. The unpleasantness almost completely shrouded the warmth of the smoldering firewood. Some other smell, however, also permeated the area… something strong but hidden beneath the smell of smog.

Taste: akin to bile and equally nauseating, it crawled up your throat and threatened to spill past your lips. Infused with the noteworthy copper tone, the flavor in your mouth was disgusting at best.

Touch: there was a considerable weight in your dominant hand. It drew your arm down, down, down. Metal coated every inch of your body, but you were already used to that as a knight.

You forced your arm up, revealing to yourself what you had been holding. Of course, it was your own aged, well-loved sword…

drip… drip… dripping crimson.’

As much as your body urged you to sit up straight the moment you were awake, your lackluster sleep kept your body flush against your equally lackluster bed. Thrown together with what little blankets you could manage to carry, it was too thin and too flexible to adequately support your body.

Still, despite the recurring nightmares and terrible moral dilemmas, you forced your impossibly heavy body to sit up. The tiny wisps of sunlight that peeked through the openings of your makeshift tent forced you to squint. .Calloused hands met your face, trying to wipe the tired crust out of your eyes and bring some kind of sensation to your skin.

How pathetic. A Xianzhou Luofu knight afraid of a little blood.

It was a wonder you managed to retain your position, nonetheless become the unspoken “Chosen One” among your ranks.

Sure, you were tall, imposing even, muscular and sharp-witted. But even then, all that qualified you to be a top-rank knight was equally balanced with factors that should've barred you from the position altogether.

A pacifist, an outlander, and more than just uninterested, you were not only an oddity, but an exception to many of the hiring requirements. It was a shame your chosen profession as a botanist became a long forgotten dream you only seemed to remember when you weren't patrolling (never).

Combing your fingers through your hair served as a self-soothing gesture when you became lost in your thoughts. It'd first been pointed out to you by the Arbiter General. However, as you found yourself traversing the narrow, winding passages of inner conflict, you found it impossible to get into a rhythm.

It was to be expected after a few weeks of traveling. Your body was coated in soil and your hair was no exception. It was starting to get matted and knotted, more than just difficult but near impossible to comb through.

Of course you'd washed yourself during the prior few weeks, but continual travel and no access to good soap stunted what could be washed off your body in cold streams or still ponds.

The mountains nearby actually were known for two things; natural hot springs and… that other thing. While you might have originally intended to climb the mountain for one, the other served a pleasant add-on.

…

…maybe a hot bath would help ease your mind just a little bit.

However, deciding to take a bath in a hot spring was one thing. Then came the question of how you'd find a hot spring to take a bath in. You turned the query over in your head a few times before you came to a final decision.

‘I mean, they're everywhere, aren't they? It shouldn't be too hard to find one around here.’

With the decision made, you made the effort to stumble through your usual morning routine. Making breakfast, packing up your tent, and pulling on your heavy suit of armor, you prepared for another long day scaling the mountain.

With nobody to talk to, the only voice that cut through the sounds of the mountain habitat was your internal monologue. Crushing the twigs and branches under foot, the sparsely marked path was all but forgotten as the imagery of the strange visions from your sleep dotted your vision.

It was only when you'd nearly fell into a hot spring that you seemed to wake the fuck up and stop thinking about the nonexistent blood staining your sword.

Carefully, you propped your pack on a nearby tree, shielded by some shrubbery for safe keeping. Piece by piece, you began to strip the heavy pieces of iron armor that weighed down your fatigue worn body. They dropped to the hard, arid soil.

They looked as though they were smeared with red.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes.

It was just the same armor you always donned. Free of blood, free of stains.

You chastised yourself mentally for being such a wimp. All it took to make you crack was a task and a little sleep deprivation.

When the final piece of armor hit the sparse grass, you were left in the thin shirt and worn pair of trousers. Carefully, you unlaced the drawstrings at your collar, hastily tugging your shirt off to lay on the dirt. You kicked off your shoes and peeled off your socks next. Despite being all alone in the mountains, for fear of being watched, you crept closer to the water before beginning to unbuckle your belt.

The warm water on your skin was a luxury you seldom had the fortune to indulge in; one you hadn't indulged in since leaving. Sinking into the depths of the tide, your eyes fluttered shut. Finally, what greeted you in the darkness of your mind wasn't the visage of murder scene.

Originally, you’d chosen to bask in the warmth of the natural hot spring to clear your mind. Your task and the blood that would be on your hands… it weighed heavy on your conscience.

Observing the abundance of flora that decorated the banks of the water, you managed to strangle an eerie serenity you’d thought you’d lost. Sitting against the rocks and letting the soft slosh of the waves wash the muck and mire off your body, the tension building in your muscles finally seemed to release just a little bit.

Still, when your hands shook while brushing through the knots in your hair. Something unsettling resting at the bottom of your stomach told you not to get too comfortable.

Why did it feel like someone was watching you?

It took a day and a half to find the entrance to the cave.

For holding such a strong, looming beast in its walls, the opening to the nest wasn’t nearly as imposing as you’d imagined it to be. It made sense, thinking about it objectively. It wasn’t as though the dragon was trying to be found…

Still, you considered that perhaps it would’ve wanted to set up some kind of deterrent to all those that dared to enter.

With a heavy heart, you laid your possessions off to the side of the opening in the stone, taking the first few lumbering steps into the opening.

It was more than just eerie how similar the inner workings of the dragon’s den were to the visions you'd been having. Like some kind of prophet, the sights, the smells, the sounds, even the weight of your sword in your hand from your dream were like they were ripped straight from this moment in time exactly.

It was difficult to be quiet. The spilling piles of metal trinkets and gold coins littered the floor and clinked against the pieces of armor that adorned your figure.

Still, creeping in deeper to the cave, you came to a strange realization.

The dragon’s den was empty.

Despite knowing you were afforded the unique opportunity to have the upperhand in enemy territory, it didn’t seem to calm your anxious heart in the slightest. Instead, a new anxiety wrapped your pulse like a parasite.

You didn’t know why.

Up until this point, you attributed your nerves to fear of inadequacy. You were a head taller than the rest of the Cloud Knights, you worked hard for your position, but hard work did not equal competence.

Patrols were worlds away from dragon slaying. The worst you’d had to deal with was the occasional thief, a dispute in the squares, you weren’t killing mythical beasts on the daily. Relatively speaking, you were still at the very beginning of your life as a long-life species. You were a novice—a baby–in comparison to any of your superiors.

Stalking up the mountain, the weight of your sword was perpetually heavy in your hands because you felt you hadn’t earned the right to wield it.

But now, here you were.

There was a golden opportunity served to you on a platter, an ambush. You could sneak up on the dragon, free its head from its shoulders and return from the mountain a hero.

So why were you suddenly even more scared than before?

Why could you not just appreciate this blessing bestowed upon your shoulders?

As more and more doubts started to cloud your mind, you could feel your breathing start to pick up.

Aeons, this entire thing was becoming far too real.

You could pretend you were just going on some other trip while you were hiking up the side of the mountain. You could pretend this was just some training exercise when you laid down in your makeshift shelter at night. But right now? Right now, it seemed like reality was starting to set in.

You were inside of the dragon’s lair. You were inside of the den.

The light from somewhere deeper in the stone maze flickered and tickled the underbelly of the smoke and smog that hung heavy in the air. The shiny piles of gold that seemed to decorate every wall were almost mockingly bright. Even when you closed your eyes, the outline of the giant glittering heaps of extravagance traced the darkness behind your eyelids.

Rather quickly you came to the conclusion that you were hyperventilating. The grip on your weapon became harder to maintain as the influx of breath caused your vision to swim.

Still, when you heard a noise at the other end of the cavern, you ceased at once.

The shoddy handle you had on your sword suddenly became bone crushingly tight. You cringed at the noise of steel handguards scraping the metal handhold.

Soon enough, the shrill screech was nothing but a distant memory as the room was swarmed with the curious sound of rushing air. The thick, dark smoke that hung like a cloud was suddenly moving in a frenzy, rushing about like it had somewhere to be. Instead of clearing up, it seemed the moving smoke only further clouded your vision.

Your free arm came up to try and keep it out of your eyes. You screwed your feet to the sticking plate, remaining in stance and trying to figure out what exactly you were hearing beyond the opening of the dragon’s den.

The pit of dread forming in your stomach took a steep turn for the worse when you realized exactly what you were hearing.

The flapping of giant wings drew closer to the entrance of the cave and suddenly your previous courage started to dissipate into nothingness. You might have seen the dragon from afar when it came to ambush the treasury before, but the sound it was making now made it seem as though it was the size of the entire castle.

Taking a much stronger liking to your former ambush plans, you shuffled to one of the few exposed walls in the ever winding corridors of stone.

Good gods, the sounds were getting even closer now.

Both hands gripped the handle of your rather large weapon, the shriek of metal against metal all but drowned out by the louder and louder beating of your heart against your eardrums.

‘THUD!’

Your heart jumped into your throat.

The smoke began to settle again.

You forced your breathing to do the same.

You waited…

…and waited…

…and waited some more…

…but curiously…

…you didn't hear anything.

You realized something was wrong, but it took you a few more breathing cycles to actually solidify your resolve to check.

‘One…

Two…

Three!’

Cautiously, you peeled your back off the wall as quietly as possible. Despite your best efforts, there was a just barely audible scrape of stone against the back of your metal shin guards. Your face twisted with displeasure.

Still, nothing.

Waiting for another moment, you finally turned the corner and peeped just beyond the wall and back to the entrance of the cave.

The beast heaved through its nose as evidenced by the smoke billowing out of its nostrils. Its wings curled into its sides, but with the uncanny angling of the bones, the posture they had taken was awkward and forced.

It was about then you noticed the glaringly obvious problem the dragon had been confronted with.

A comically oversized crossbow arrow lodged where its ribs should've been. Grimly, you recognized the arrow to belong to the Zhuming. A clawed foot rested over the injury, most likely trying to feel for a solution of some kind.

Based on its current predicament, it was failing miserably.

Before you could even process what you were seeing, there was a blinding flash of light that forced you to shield your eyes. When you finally lowered your arm, you had to blink a few times to process what you were seeing.

In the previous position of the dragon, sat a man.

…but he was also obviously the dragon?

Long curled horns atop the crown of his head, a long serpentine tail dragging behind him on the ground, he heaved the same smoke and cradled the same injury.

Despite your reservations, you approached.

Sword heavy in your hand, you dropped it clattering to the ground.

That was when the man locked eyes with you.

Dragons were slowly beginning to die out.

Of course, that was only natural when their usual courting rituals involved pissing off every other species known to man. The larger the stash of gold, the more desirable a dragon would be to another. The more valuable the gold, the harder it would be to steal.

One would think this wouldn’t apply to Blade, a dragon with little to no interest in settling down. However, at his core he was still a dragon and he still felt the need to build his own little stash of gold for peace of mind.

What little dragons were left in the world had exactly zero appeal to him. The proud, strong ones had all been eliminated by technology and weaponry far beyond the capabilities of a singular beast. The only ones that seemed to be left were those that took to hiding and settling for paltry sums that served more as a courtesy than something that would draw a potential match in naturally.

He frowned upon it entirely.

Blade seemed to be the only dragon left in the Xianzhou with the upright morals that made up the core belief system of the species as a whole. But because of his own steadfast values, he also seemed to be the only dragon that refused to form a bond with one of his own.

He had never known the comfort of another, never.

Yet when he awoke, he found himself atop a nest of soft blankets. Blinking away the fatigue from his eyelids, he was greeted with the visage of a man at rest.

Half stripped of armor, a few meters away from him, a knight polished his breastplate while watching something roasting over a fire. Completely at peace in the tranquility of the silence, (e/c) eyes sparkled in the low light against the dreary atmosphere of the cave.

The smell of meat stunk up the corridor with an aroma enticing enough for Blade’s mouth to water. His clawed hands searched for some kind of purchase against the fluff of the comforters you'd laid him on as piercing red eyes swept his cave.

Your sword was nowhere to be seen.

Why?

Blade would've asked if he wasn’t already in an extremely compromised position.

You hadn’t even done anything to him, he had been incapacitated in his own home without you having to so much as raise a finger. You had been sent to kill him, even if you had chosen to do the exact opposite as of now, he didn’t know if or when you would feel the need to go back on your silent promise not to hurt him.

As he went to lay his tousled hair back against the blankets you’d laid out on the cave floor, embarrassingly, he misjudged the stability of his arms. With an even more embarrassingly loud–but muted–thud, his clawed fingers slipped against the fabric and his face hit the comforter just a second later.

The noise cracked the little moment you were having by the fire roasting meat over the open flame. Your eyes trailed over to where he was laying, basically completely still. He hoped that if he played dead, you wouldn’t comment on him falling back onto the makeshift mattress. Unfortunately, his prayers went unanswered.

“Careful,” you admonished him gently, “I just stitched up the puncture, if you strain too much, I’ll have to do it again and you probably won’t be asleep this time.”

Still, instead of coddling him like a baby, you turned back to the shiny piece of metal in your lap reflecting the impassioned red hues of the fire. With a damp rag, you swept over each and every scratch and dent with a special precision and care Blade was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.

Still, despite the idea being completely foreign to him and the soft nausea that rocked his gut with the unfamiliar trepidation, he found it difficult to pry his eyes away from your hands.

You used your fingernail to pick at the larger pieces of dirt, otherwise pressing the pads of your fingertips to the rag to wipe and wipe until the heavy armor shined. This, Blade wasn’t unfamiliar with. The gleam of the metal mirrored the mounds of spoils he’d managed to snag from the surrounding kingdoms. After you finished with the breastplate, the rag and the plate were set to the side in favor of grabbing a dagger strapped to your thigh.

To this, the man sprawled on the sheets visibly seemed to cringe and crumple in on himself.

He was increasingly vulnerable: you knew this.

You really didn’t want to infantilize him, he was a feared predator and someone who far outmatched you in terms of experience and wisdom. You brandished the dagger as you would’ve any other times, but avoided making any sudden movements.

You cut into the rather large slab of meat carefully, observing the color of the meat and the feeling of the muscle under the edge of the knife.

Satisfied with the hue and smell of the meat, you stomped a boot onto the pile of leaves you’d used to establish the fire. The dragon was visibly alarmed by the sudden loud noise, but you paid him no mind. Instead, you removed the stake you’d been using to roast the meat from the precarious stand you’d painstakingly crafted.

Using the dagger once again, the goat meat you’d be salting and seasoning for a couple days slid off the stick you’d whittled down with ease. You dropped the generous flank steak in front of the observing party. You sheathed the dagger in its holster on your thigh once again, dropping back onto the stone you’d turned into a makeshift stool.

It took Blade a moment to realize that the portion of meat was for him. His mouth watered at the smell, especially since the hide had been pierced and the true aroma of the seasonings began to mingle with meat. He poked at it carefully with a taloned finger.

You watched him prod at the food, crossing your arms in front of your your chest as you observed.

“...”

Finally, the other man pulled himself to sit up. Dragging the meal into his lap, he began to eat.

Once again, you watched him with a nonchalance that sent the hairs on the back of Blade’s neck standing up.

After he finished eating, you seemed to turn away from him once again to give him his privacy. Instead, you picked up the next piece of dirty armor to start to scrub off the accumulated dirt.

“Why?”

Blade’s cheeks simmered a baby pink upon the realization his voice had cracked. Instead of pointing it out, you skipped over it entirely.

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

You shrugged.

He blinked.

“...”

You hummed, “Perhaps I’m not cut out to be a knight.”

He balked at your response.

You bit the inside of your cheek, “The entire time I was climbing the mountain, I thought I was scared I wouldn’t be able to kill you.” You chipped away at the building dirt on the surface of your shin guard, “I eventually realized it wasn’t that I couldn’t kill you.”

“...”

“...Then what’s stopping you?” His clawed fingers gripped at the plush material beneath him, “You need to kill me, so why don’t you?”

You sighed, sweeping off the chalky remains of a particularly rough mud stain, “I don’t want to. I really don’t want to kill you; I don’t want to kill anyone.” You held the rag tight in your offhand, “If I can, I really want to solve this in a way where you don’t die.”

“...”

You swallowed the building lump of spit at the back of your throat,

“So, name your price. What exactly do you need in order to stop attacking Xianzhou?”

What did Blade want in return for not attacking the Xianzhou Alliance?

He didn’t know.

He was honest in not knowing what he wanted in exchange. You appreciated it… to a certain extent. He was honest and he didn’t lie to you when he said he didn’t know, but his indecision also put you in the precarious position of not knowing whether or not he was stringing you along until he healed and could properly fight you.

You were half tempted to put a deadline on his decision, but every time you looked over at his pitiful body lounging around on your blankets in his loose drapery, you decided against it.

It was around this point you learned his name.

You had what you liked to believe was a gentleman’s agreement. Even with the lack of any verbal acknowledgement, you would stay here and oversee his healing process. Eventually, he would make a decision on what he wanted in exchange for peace. Even if he decided there really wasn’t anything you could provide for him, he would allow you to walk away from this alive if you ultimately came to the decision to not try to kill him.

It was a little bit awkward to start with, neither trusted the other.

You were worried he’d grow tired of you taking up the space in his cave and slaughter you in your sleep. He was worried you’d do the same if you eventually grew tired of his indecision or some kind of outside pressure from your commander came up. Still, that was an awkward conversation to bring up so you opted to avoid it entirely.

After a week or so, the two of you seemed to grow a lot more comfortable with each other. It was about then you were starting to run out of meat.

While Blade had been unconscious, you’d been making trips to and from the closest water source to get your hands on some water for stew. You boiled some of the rabbit bones you’d held onto for broth, pulled out some salt and leftover meat you dried to make him some soup. He couldn’t chew while he was awake so that was the best you could do for him.

When you started running out of those ingredients, you went out and brought back a mountain goat for meat. While in the process of cooking yourself a nice, juicy flank steak, Blade had woken up. It’d be rude to hold a big hunk of meat in front of him without giving him some of the spoils, especially since he hadn’t been eating anything but bland rabbit stew while he was out of it. For the next few days, you cooked up what remained of the goat and shared it between the two of you.

Goats were not an infinite source of magical forever meat though, so you ended up having to go out to get more food. You left and came back with another goat, started cooking it. Around the time you came back, it seemed Blade was waking up from a nap and he fully came around when the cooked meat was basically being dangled right in front of his nose.

Once again, there weren’t any words exchanged between the two of you but the air seemed to be a lot more relaxed than usual. He didn’t seem to be picking at every bite of food you served him and you weren’t watching him like a hawk while you were clearing your own plate. A few more days went by before you actually started talking over your food.

You’d been the one to initiate the conversation, asking if he’d been thinking about anything that could possibly convince him to stop adding to his ever growing treasure hoard. He responded he had, but he still hadn’t come to any conclusions.

You didn’t press any further.

The next day while eating, you asked him again. Once again, he answered in the negative. Again, you didn’t press any further.

The third day, when he answered in the negative, you decided to press him further. You asked him, “Why exactly do dragons create hoards?” It was a long talk about mating rituals and explanations later that he seemed satisfied with his answer. You, also, were satisfied with this answer.

A few more days of asking went by before you would run out of meat again. At this point in the year, summer was beginning to come to a close and the peaks of the mountains were becoming colder and colder.

Instead of venturing out in just your shirt and trousers, you’d decide to pull on your armor before venturing out of the cave. While it was definitely warm inside the stone walls of the dragon’s den, the air outside the cave couldn’t say the same. In order to preserve your body heat, putting on more layers was the best course of action, even if the layer was made completely out of metal.

It seemed, while you were suiting up in armor that Blade watched you with a special curiosity he had yet to display before. For the first time since you’d stitched up his wound, he made the effort to approach you first. He gave you a once over in your suit, eyes dragging over the shine of the metal in the light of the fire.

You didn’t know why he was looking at you, but you’d made a habit of not asking too many questions about things you didn’t understand. He seemed satisfied after a little bit, nodding his head and letting out a grunt of approval. You nodded in response, holstering your sword in your belt.

Eventually, you would return with another goat. It really was the only option for food seeing as two grown men needed a little more food than a few rabbits could provide. With the goat over your shoulders, you made the long trek back to the cave and back to the warmth that came with it.

When you eventually found your way back to the same stone walls, Blade was at attention waiting for you at the door. You dropped the fresh game onto the ground, the dragon watching intently. It made you uneasy, but what could you do about it?

As you went to strip yourself of your armor, it seemed something about your hunting trip had caused something to change inside what you believed to be your temporary companion. Your hands rested on top of the large steel helmet, but before you could tug it off, there were clawed fingers fumbling with the hooks on the inside of your shoulder plates.

You jumped, startled.

Quickly, the same talons retracted.

You turned your head to face him, chastise him for sneaking up on you like that and putting his hands on you. However, your complaints were promptly swallowed. His expression hadn’t changed in the slightest, but he still managed to look like a kicked puppy.

Despite the stone cold nature of his face, his fingers clasped close to his chest like he didn’t know what to do with them. The long draconic tail was tucked between his legs and his head was painted a bashful pink and lowered just the slightest bit to avoid eye contact.

Your brows furrowed, really wondering if you should be letting him do this. The longer you looked, the more moved your poor, weak heart was. In the end, you huffed through your nose before going back to removing your helmet and turning your back on him again.

Slowly this time, the hands crept up your shoulder to unhook the heavy plate from your bicep. You didn’t pay him any mind the second time around, undoing the buckle that kept your metal handguards flush against the back of your knuckles.

He was a quick learner, especially once he'd gotten into the groove of helping you take off the amalgam of pieces that clung to your clothing. Soon enough, you were back in your shirt and trousers, turning to start a fire so you could warm up.

He trailed back over to the little pile of blankets you'd laid out for him. His eyes lingered as you started to skin the goat you'd brought home.

His home.

Something clicked in his brain as he observed. Despite the piles of gold that covered every other square inch of the scenery, he couldn't take his eyes off of you. He didn't know why.

When you were in armor he could write it off as another innate attraction to something shiny for his hoard. But at the moment you were in plain clothes, doing something he'd seen you do before already. Still, he watched with what he could only describe as bated breath. Mesmerized by the simple movement of the dagger cutting through the layers of fat.

As he tapped his nails against the plush fabric, he seemed to realize something.

His fingers stopped moving.

He blinked a couple times

'Yes,' he concluded,

... perhaps he knew what he wanted.

It was quiet, as it usually was for the majority of the time you would be eating dinner. Usually, you’d be the one to initiate the same conversation every single day. It was monotonous and predictable to the point that you could recite word for word what the two of you would say, the tone, and in what order.

“Have you thought about my offer at all, today?”

“I have.”

“Have you come any closer to making a decision?”

“I have not.”

If nothing else, you could count on Blade to be reliable.

Tonight however, your mind wandered.

Instead of striking up the usual conversation the two of you would have over dinner, you found your thoughts drifting off to your life on the Luofu. The temporary situation you found yourself in wasn’t bad, not at all even. If you were to make any complaints, it would be about how lonely you felt.

Even if you had a dragon to keep you company day in and day out, the dragon wasn’t all that good at being company. He didn’t like to talk but he liked to watch. Instead of having someone to pass comfortable silence with, it felt more like you were being observed by a camera.

Again, you really didn’t mind. You enjoyed your solitude and alone time. Today specifically, you reminisced on your home, your garden, your coworkers. You missed the privacy that came with living alone, you missed quiet afternoons on your days off tending to a low maintenance garden. Even if your coworkers annoyed you most of the time, they still made the effort to make you feel included.

Adrift among the clouds of memory lane, it completely slipped your mind to start up your usual conversation. Not only did you not pick up normal conversation, it seemed you were somewhere else altogether. You didn’t even notice the nervous fidgeting across the makeshift fire pit.

Blade’s long nails tapped all but silently on the cushioned ground. The long tail that trailed behind him swished back and forth quicker than usual. Instead of the same lethargic, languid movement, scales brushed over the bed haphazardly like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

Tonight, he would be the one to initiate the conversation.

“I’ve thought about your offer.”

You blinked a couple times, taking a second to process what was being said.

“You have?”

Finally in the present moment, your hand reached forward for your own share of dinner laid out between the two of you. Absent-mindedly you raised the steak to your mouth, chewing and swallowing in the time it took for the other man to respond.

“I have.”

The tapping of his nails ceased, instead taking to poking and prodding his food.

You nodded, falling into the familiar lull of the conversation. “Have you come any closer to making a decision?”

“...”

A pause.

That was new.

“I have.”

“...”

That was newer.

You finally tore your gaze away from the slab of meat in front of you, making direct eye contact.

His expression was immovable and stone cold as before. At least, it appeared to be upon first glance. You were quick to notice the tension in his jaw and the tiny crease between his eyebrows. It seemed he was… nervous?

“...you have?”

Instead of responding verbally, he gave a curt nod of the head.

“...”

You tilted your head to the side, thoughts of eating all but abandoned the more and more the reality of the situation set in.

“What did you end up deciding?”

“...”

He folded his arms into his lap, swallowing the lump of spit at the back of his throat in the process. “I want you to stay here; permanently.”

“...”

You cocked your head to the side, “...as a companion?”

“...”

It took him a second to respond; his hand clenched around the hunk of flesh in his palm. Internally, you cringed at the noise his talons made tearing into the meat.

“...I suppose it'd be similar to that.”

You didn't grasp what he was trying to get at, still. “Similar? I… I'm getting the feeling that I'm not quite following.”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. You could feel a pang of anxiety nip at the corners of your pulse. Like always, it seemed he struggled to find the words to accurately articulate himself. He always paused before he said something, searching for exactly the right way to convey himself.

“Dragons collect hoards to draw in potential partners; I explained this to you a few nights ago.”

Then it clicked.

“...oh.”

Still, the man sitting across from you continued. “If I fulfilled the purpose of collecting a hoard, there wouldn’t be a need for me to continue visiting the Xianzhou.”

Your cheeks started to burn indignantly. “I-” you bit the inside of your cheek, “Wouldn’t you prefer help in finding a partner rather than just settling with the first person to enter the cave? It seems counterintuitive to collect such a… robust hoard and partner with someone such as myself. We wouldn't be able to produce any... offspring seeing as we're both men.”

Instead of his usual pause, Blade was quick to respond in the negative.

“I find you to be more than satisfactory.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but found it increasingly difficult to find the right words to say. “It’s just-” you stammered, “I’m not- I don’t-”

Your jaw snapped shut after a couple attempts to open a dialogue. Your brows crept down your face in an expression of exasperation. You flexed your hand into fists and then relaxed them again, trying to collect your thoughts.

Directly in front of you, the dragon sat with an unmoving expression.

You huffed a sigh, trying to ignore the painful flame across your cheekbones, “This would cause a few complications for me, is all. I’m unsure why you’re choosing this; I can’t seem to find the logic behind this and I’m frustrated. I want to confirm that this is truly what you want before I commit to fulfilling your request.”

Once again, he seemed to answer in the affirmative without a second thought.

“I am sure.”

You locked gazes with him. It almost seemed like you were challenging his resolve. Without any prompting he confirmed himself.

“I have thought on this matter for a period of time, I have confirmed this is the best option.”

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, seemingly going through the processes that would be required to actually fulfill the task set out in front of you. Without really thinking too much about your next words, you pondered to yourself aloud, “Isn't the purpose of mating to have children? You really wish to be married; married to me?”

The end of his tufted tail rattled in the air, seemingly amused, “Is that what the people of the Xianzhou call it? Aside from the issue of marriage, dragons have long evolved for both male presenting and female presenting partners to be able to carry children.” It was difficult to gauge what he was actually feeling, “...if that is the context you must view it in.”

Your face got impossibly redder, food completely forgotten by this point. “Well, that-” you made a gesture with your hands, “-That would require a ceremony–a wedding– because of my own pledges as a Knight.” Your hands fell into your lap, “I would need to assemble a dowry for a proper proposal, exchanging rings, vows…” In a much quieter voice, you all but whispered, “...and the expected traditions after the wedding…”

For the first time during the discussion, Blade’s expression shifted. His lips pressed into a thin line. There was an awkward silence that hung in the air.

“...”

Eventually, he sighed, “The Xianzhou complicates these matters too much for my own liking.”

You avoided eye contact, the flush on your face having long crept down your neck and up your ears. “...”

Once again, Blade’s expression changed. He closed his eyes to let out a sigh, raking a hand through his silky navy blue hair. “We can go through these rituals quickly, yes? I don’t see the need for a large affair, the agreement is between the two of us.”

You didn’t really have the mind to reject him, nodding your head slowly after a pause that felt a little bit too long,

“I suppose so.”

“I believe a fitting dowry would be your armor. You will be giving up your status as a knight to stay here with me, will you not?”

Despite the fact you’d already seen his upper torso unclothed in the process of stitching up the crossbow wound cutting across the bottom of his ribs, the new context of the situation made your face flush a bright red. Where there had been a deep puncture wound carved by arrow, lay a star-shaped imprint of the memory.

His dexterous fingers wound up your sides on top of your clothes, stopping when they came to grasp the draw strings keeping your collar closed.

You realized you could stop him from pulling on them any moment now, he even paused to make sure he wasn’t moving too quickly. Instead of grabbing his wrists to stop him, you laid your hands on his thin, lean waist. Leaning against the impossibly soft hug of the blankets he’d been sleeping on top of for weeks, you tried to stay grounded and slow down your breathing. While avoiding eye contact, your eyes trailed down to his chest.

They were pierced.

Ripping your eyes away, you suddenly were now very conscious of where you were putting your eyes. Instead of giving him any verbal encouragement, your hands gently squeezed his love handles.

His throat gave a pleased rumble, his hands pinching the ends of the drawstring not unsimilar to how one would undo the ribbon on a gift.

“I’ve amassed a plentiful amount of rings to choose from, pick two and we’ll exchange them now.”

With a healthy amount of trepidation, your hands found themselves tracing Blade’s waistband. The loose bottoms he usually wore were equally loose around his hips, displaying a navy blue trail of hair framing the center of his pale stomach.

Impatiently, he raised his hips so you could tug his pants off. You hesitated to follow suit, suddenly seized by a wave of anxiety. Still, it seemed Blade was less than happy with that outcome.

One of his hands moved from bracing his weight on your thighs to making a grab towards your chest. He leaned forward, all but hovering over your body. Despite being in such a compromising position, it was hard to not be a little intimidated by the constant look he had in his eyes. It was almost like he was constantly planning a murder.

With his non-verbal request to go a little bit faster, you finally pulled his waistband down below his knees.

“Vows aren’t a complicated matter, it’d be much easier to speed up the process here. We can say our vows while consummating the marriage, can’t we? I don't want to delay the mating rituals of my own kind either.”

Like he was following a rhythm, little huffs and panting fell past his open lips. His eyes were wrenched shut, hips falling back onto your lap with each little movement he made. His thighs shook as you tried your best to stretch him out. He wasn’t making it easy, long clawed fingers digging into your shoulder blades the deeper your fingers were reaching.

He let out a particularly loud whine as your fingertips just barely grazed the little spot inside him that made him see stars.

His grip on your shoulder tightened, hips shifting impatiently to inch closer to your knuckles. You hissed, feeling the very tips of the talons start to break the skin. You started to draw your fingers from his hole, chastising him for not being more gentle. “Careful, I’ll bleed if you squeeze that hard.”

When confronted with his lack of self-control, it seemed Blade retreated into himself. With the two of you sitting up at this point, it was difficult to shy away from your eyes. His face transitioned from a sweet pink to an embarrassed cherry red. He didn't answer your admonishment verbally, but it was clear he heard you.

He stopped squeezing your shoulders, winding his arms around your neck instead. Avoiding the shame burning up his skin, he hid his nose in the crook of your neck.

You tried to give him a little grace period, but your offer was entirely unwanted. A few short seconds passed before his sharp canines were nipping at your collarbones, painfully hard leaking cock grinding against your still clothed thigh.

No words were exchanged, but the things that needed to be said were clearly communicated.

His neck was right in front of your waiting lips, tempting you really. Before going back to stretching him open on your fingers, you laid an open mouthed kiss on his jawline, dripping with a sweet taste like honey. Still embarrassed, he bit back the whimper that threatened to spill forth from his lips.

He let out a shaky sigh as he could feel your fingers start to hollow him out again. Almost immediately you were jabbing at the little lump that was his prostate. He keened, pressing back onto your fingers with shaky legs while he balled up his fists. His long nails dug into his palms this time, leaving your shoulders unblemished. You were particularly aware of the movement with the way the cold metal nipple piercings rubbed against the front of your torso.

If he was this excited you reasoned, he was most likely ready for a third finger. Slowly, doing your best to be gentle, you finally added in the last finger. He let out a little groan of discomfort, but ultimately didn't make any moves to stop you.

You continued to try your best to make him feel comfortable, gentle and slow as you could manage. As another moan slipped past his lips, you curled your fingers against his insides for the last time before completely pulling your fingers out of him.

You didn't know how you could tell, but you could feel a brewing sense of frustration wafting off of Blade. Your suspicions were confirmed when he all but lunged for your belt buckle.

He fumbled with the leather for a moment before you grabbed his wrist, stammering, “Wait, wait-” You swallowed some spit to wet your dry throat, “We, We haven't said our vows yet. We haven't officially been married.”

The dragon situated on your lap didn't seem happy when he was stopped. Instead, he hesitated to let go of your belt for a few long, awkward seconds before finally sitting back on his burning loins.

“Go on, quickly.”

He stressed the last word adamantly. It was extremely clear the speed at which his patience waned.

You swallowed more spit for a second, trying to rack your brain for the typical contents of wedding vows. “I-”

He watched you expectantly, tufted tail whipping back and forth on the blankets expectantly.

“For- For as long as I live, I swear to love and to cherish you as my wife,” the memories seemed to roll just out of reach, your inner monologue desperately grasping at straws, “With the lord as my witness, be it for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part I will fulfill my duty to you as a husband. To protect and honor you until my final breath.”

You held your breath for a second, trying to think of anything you missed. On the other hand, the oh-so “bashful” bride seated on your lap gave a straightforward nod. The next second, his clawed fingers were flying towards your belt again.

Reflexively, you stopped him, only further agitating what little patience he had left. “Wait!”

“What is it now?” His hands rested on your thighs, pointer finger tapping on your leg indignantly. Despite the accusatory tone of his voice, it seemed his eyes were trained on what exactly was hidden underneath your hand.

“You…” you paused, “You haven't said your vows yet.”

His brows furrowed, the first change in his expression the entire night. He sighed, grip tightening as he did his best to ignore the aching weight of his erection on your leg. “Fine.”

He sat back on his thighs to restrain himself, pulling his grip to sit lower on your thighs.

“As your wife, I swear to…” he paused, trying to recall your own vows, “love and cherish you for as long as I live.” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what else to say. You had mentioned your duty as a husband, protecting and honoring him… what would his duties as a wife entail? Well, there was the obvious.

“I will fulfill my duty to you as a wife, bearing your children, honoring, and protecting you.”

“...”

He reached forward experimentally, testing to see if his own vows had been satisfactory.

You averted your gaze, moving your hand aside to give him full access to your belt buckle.

At this point in time, Blade was regretting his own lack of patience.

His thighs clenched with the exertion, flexing and unflexing while he tried to relax and sink a little bit further onto your dick. His breathing was labored, the flame of desire flickering and tickling at the bottom of his gut. You weren’t faring much better, fists gathering up the sheets in a vice grip. It took every fiber of determination in your body to not slam him down ass first onto your pelvis. Your jaw was tight, only breathing heavy out of your nose. You let out a particularly harsh breath the lower he managed to get. He was barely halfway down and you were already starting to see sounds. As a knight, you’d sworn yourself to abstinence your entire career. Was this really what you had been missing out on this entire time?

Without any warning, Blade’s legs completely seized up. His thighs squeezed together, clawed fingers suddenly scraping your skin. He braced himself on your chest, leaning his torso forward so you’d catch him. The change of angle didn’t seem to help him at all, a choked moan slipping out of his usually reserved lips the harder the tip of your dick prodded at his prostate. One of your hands moved from strangling the sheets to wrap snugly around his waist.

Despite your compulsions, your arm stayed draped around his midsection without applying any pressure. The sensations were overwhelming, so overwhelming you were struggling to keep any noises from sliding out. In the heat of the moment, you pushed yourself up from where you were leaning on your remaining arm to bury your face in the teal hair that framed his neck. Nuzzling your nose into his collarbone, you stifled what would’ve been a pathetic whine against his bare skin.

His hips nudged just a little bit lower, getting ever closer to bottoming out. Unlike yourself, he didn’t feel the need to try and be quiet. He pushed his neck up closer to your face, using a shaky hand to grasp the one you were still clutching the sheets with. He groaned, pulling your wrist to guide it onto his waist. You obliged him, fully cradling him between your large biceps. In return, his hands made their way up and around your neck.

They rested over your broad shoulders, still shaking when he finally managed to slide your dick in all the way to the hilt. He was breathless, feeling like he couldn’t breathe with how much room you were taking up in his guts. His core felt even hotter when you squeezed him tight in your arms, carving the imprint of your teeth into the side of his neck. He exhaled a shaky moan, hand trailing up the back of your neck to tangle his fingers in your hair.

In response, the clamp of your jaw drew tighter, a wave of heat surging over Blade’s entire body. Even with your impromptu gag, the sounds you were making were only further fueling his instincts. You huffed a raggedy breath through your nose, trying to hold back from bucking your hips up like an animal. You were a gentleman, you wanted your receiving partner to be the one to set the pace for fear of hurting him.

But you really were only human, and your blood was currently not rushing to your brain. Your heels dug into the mattress with how hard you were trying not to move, so it definitely wasn’t that you weren’t holding it in. But he was really warm and tight and sitting still was starting to get underwhelming and almost painful when you were this hard.

Blade let out a surprised noise when you pulled him in impossibly tighter, followed up by a punched out gasp when your hips involuntarily jerked upwards. Desperate at this point, you unlatched your teeth from the side of his neck, pressing feverish kisses up his jawline to his ear. In the process, you really couldn’t afford to try and mute any of your noises. Blade’s heart felt like it stopped when you whined directly in his ear. Suddenly very aware of his own dick rubbing up against the defined muscles of your abs.

You sounded like a kicked puppy when you whimpered into his ear, “Are you ready to move? Can I please move?”

Even if he tried to deny it, it seemed he wanted to move just as much as you did when a thick bead of precum dripped down your stomach.

Instead of immediately giving you the go ahead, though, he moved his arms from around your neck, grabbing at the hands wrapped around his waist. Pressing them back against the makeshift mattress, you took it as the go ahead to move, thrusting up slowly to start. He let out a drawn out moan, before putting his hand on your stomach, “Wait, wait-”

At this point, you could feel frustrated tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes but still, you stopped moving. You let him press his other hand on your chest, flexing and unflexing your hands to try and keep yourself from busting like a teenage boy seeing a pair of tits for the first time. You didn’t complain when he urged you to lay on your back, one of his hands bracing itself on your pecs, the other resting on the middle of your abdomen.

Experimentally, he rolled his hips. Instinctively, Blade bit down on his lower lip, feeling the delicious mix of pleasure and pain send an addictive shudder up his spine. Without even thinking, he rolled his hips again to get another taste.

And then another.

And another.

And then he couldn’t stop moving his hips, chin tilted up with his mouth hanging open. The movement was easy and the friction divine with the generous prep you’d done beforehand. The generous amount of precum sprouting from the end of his drooling tip made his dick slide across your stomach with ease, only encouraging Blade to move his hips even faster in search of euphoria. It really didn’t help his sanity when your large hands grappled his hips, serving to drag him up and down your length all while his legs seemed to grow weaker and weaker. It also didn’t help that it looked like you were equally lost in the fervor.

Saliva pooling in the back of your throat, you swallowed thickly when it seemed Blade’s arms gave out. He slumped against your chest, navy hair covering the lower half of his face awkwardly. Despite the harsh impact against your chest, you couldn’t seem to care less, finding a lot more frustration in the lack of movement. He used a shaky hand to brush the hair out of his face, chasing after your lips with his own. Before he could quite reach it, your hips seemed to develop a mind of their own, suddenly bucking up into his waiting insides.

The kiss ended up being teeth first, canines clacking against canines before your lips ended up locking. He let out a heavy groan when your hips still didn’t stop moving from behind. Combined with the new pressure on his dick from all sides, his piercings were dragging up and down the dips of your stomach every time you moved. His eyes fluttered open when the two of you finally parted for air, high-pitched whines rhythmically pushed out of him the harder your thighs hit his ass.

Drool trickled from the side of his mouth, leaking onto your shoulder before he tried to warn you, “Closer- agh~ really- mmmhmmnn close-” He really wanted to hold back for the sake of finishing at the same time, but the feeling of you rearranging his guts just about had him crying like a baby.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna- Ouhhghh~”

His talons broke the skin on your shoulders while his orgasm cut through him sharp and intense, an echoing squeal resounding through the room as sticky white cum shot out of his angry red tip onto both of your stomachs. With the way he clamped down around you, you only lasted for a few more thrusts before you were cumming basically in unison. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, tasting iron on your tongue.

For a moment, the two of you lay in a sweaty pile of limbs. Focused on breathing and recuperating your energy, you didn’t think to pull out. Eventually though, you’d gone soft and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears wasn’t as loud as your thoughts anymore. Slowly, you went to pull out so you could start clean-up–that’s what couples normally did, right?--but despite his numb legs, Blade pushed back onto your flaccid cock.

Blearily, you looked up at him, blinking away the fatigue that crept in at the corners of your vision.

“Did you think we were only going to have sex once?”

What he said didn’t compute in your tired brain.

“...huh?”

He hummed, you could hear disappointment in his tone.

“It’s customary for dragons to continue mating until pregnancy is guaranteed.”

"When you're pregnant, how exactly… will your body change?"

For the sake of Blade’s back and legs, the two of you decided a few rounds were enough to ensure he was actually pregnant. He lay splayed out on the thick stack of blankets, having made it his favorite place in the den long prior. He was on his stomach, resting his head on top of his crossed arms.

“Why? Did you not expect it to?”

You were a few feet away from him, sitting up cross-legged. Despite the two of you having been fucking minutes prior, you were still a little shy about sitting completely naked in the open expanse of the cave. For a bit of added modesty, you let your hands rest in your lap to cover up your dick at least a little bit.

“It’s not that I didn’t...” Your neck dropped at the miniscule creep of shame across your face. “I’m not versed in…” You fumbled with your words for a moment, rocking back and forth in an effort to get your blood from your dick back up to your brain.

“Pregnancy?”

You lagged for a second before nodding in agreement. “I haven’t spent much time around the women of the Xianzhou, usually it was with plants or other knights.” Your leg started bouncing when the air fell stagnant, “That isn’t to say I don’t know basic anatomy, it’s just… that I'm unfamiliar with some of the more intimate changes… not to mention, you’re also a man.”

To this, Blade raised an accusatory brow. “You say that as if you still don’t believe I can bear children.”

You held your hands up in front of your chest defensively, “That isn’t what I’m saying at all!”

Your partner let out a tired huff, not engaging in conversation further.

“...”

“I’m…just worried I’ll fail to support you properly while you’re carrying our child.”

Another silence hung, thickening into a kind of tension you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“...”

“...come here.”

Immediately, you perked up.

Dutifully, you shuffled over to where your spouse had beckoned you forward. Watching him push up on tired arms and a strained back, you couldn’t help but admire the sheen of shiny sweat that gleamed in the warm firelight. He always tended to show things better with actions rather than words, cuffing your wrist in one of his hands. You let him guide your hand to rest on his stomach.

“The most notable change will be weight gain.”

Immediately, you fervently nodded your head, completely at attention.

“The weight gain won’t just be my stomach,” he continued, “the rest of my body will start to swell. Simple tasks like walking and bending over will become difficult, especially in the later stages of pregnancy.”

You nodded a little bit slower.

“Physical illness is also possible, but my ancestors didn’t struggle with it as commonly as other draconic lines.” He positioned your hand at his hips, “During the first trimester, I’ll likely become more sensitive to smells. That can cause symptoms like vomiting.”

His grip eventually guided your hand to his back, all but tilting your body to drape over him. “The added weight will stress the back. I’ll be relying on you to do much of the heavy lifting.”

You nodded again, even slower than the last time.

Finally, he moved your hand to rest on his chest. The rush of cold from the silver piercing sent a rush of red hot flame to your cheeks. For the sake of paying attention to your pretty wife lecturing you about what would happen when he gets pregnant, you wrestled any nasty thoughts out of your mind.

“Based on genetics, the chest will begin swelling around the end of the second trimester.” With the minimal amount of light in the room, you could just barely make out the pink hue on the usual impassive features of the man in front of you. “I’ll be unusually sensitive, at times I could start lactating.”

“...lactating?”

Suddenly, all your efforts to be a gentleman were forgotten.

You repeated it again, this time a little bit louder. “Lactating?”

Blade didn’t respond.

Unintentionally, your grip on his tit got a little bit tighter.

He grunted, his own grip around your wrist tightening. “How else would I feed the child?”

This time, you didn't answer him. Your free hand was moving from your lap to tickle up his exposed side.

The higher up his side your touch danced on his skin, the darker he could feel the flush on his cheeks. Now, he was the one to avoid looking you in the eyes. Even in his embarrassment, he didn’t stop you from pushing him to lay flat on his back. He didn’t stop you when you kissed the underside of his jaw, he also didn’t stop you as you kissed a line down his jaw to his collarbones.

Most importantly, he still didn’t stop you when your teeth clacked against one of his piercings.

“How long will that take?”

In this position, there were two things that seemed to jump out to Blade in particular.

One, your breath was fanning hot against his chest and especially steamy over the nipple you were hovering over.

Two, your hard-on was starting to leak on his leg.

Much to your dismay his lips pressed into a tight line. However, even in the face of a roadblock, you didn’t relent. Experimentally, you licked a stripe up the exposed skin in between his pecs, drinking in the explosive shudder that ripped through his body.

Trembling fingers all of sudden were tangled in your hair, unsure whether or not to push your head away or pull it in closer. In the thick of it, you almost didn’t catch him muttering under his breath.

“...pervert.”

In retaliation, you tugged on one of the silver piercings with your teeth. He let out a strained whimper, suddenly pulling your hair away from his chest. You pinched the other nipple between two fingers, listening to the whine that was forced out of his throat. Eventually, you relented with a lewd click of enamel against metal and the even lewder noise created by the spit accumulating on his skin. “What was that?”

Even if your sudden burst of confidence was out of the blue (and starting to make him nervous), Blade’s own pride didn’t allow him to take anything back.

“Pervert.”

You cupped his pecs with both hands, sitting up on your elbows to make a point. “Ah, but last I checked you like this just as much as I do.” To punctuate your statement, you rutted against the inside of his thigh, all but pointing at his own excitement with your cock.

He looked away, closing his eyes shut with furrowed eyebrows.

An amused smile pulled at your features, suddenly emboldened by the surplus of blood rushing to your dick. “So tell me, how long will it take until you start producing milk?”

“...”

“...6 months.”

You frowned, groping his chest with both hands. Only a little groan managed to slip past Blade’s lips. “Ah… are you sure? Your chest already seems sensitive.”

He nodded his head, still refusing to make eye contact.

You rolled one of his nipples in your hand, positively ecstatic when his dick twitched in tandem. “You’ll start lactating because you’re pregnant, right?”

Thinking nothing of it, Blade gave a hum of affirmation.

There was your opening. “I think I should test to see if you’re actually pregnant then.”

Before he could process your words, your lips were already suctioned around one of his nipples. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, failing miserably to drown out the whine caught in the back of his throat. “That’s not- HnNg~”

Obviously, you didn’t neglect the other one. While your tongue laved over one, you pinched and pulled at the other with a pair of fingers. You groaned when his claws started to dig into the back of your head, the tight pressure only serving to add another layer of intimacy to the moment. He gave a particularly high-pitched whine when you started to thrust your cock against the inside of hip dip.

“Mmhgn~ Wait- ahn~ Wait-” he pleaded.

Insistently, you hooked your canines around the piercing and continued to suck on his chest. That was enough to have him rutting against your stomach. At this point, you finally pulled off of his chest with what one would call “a shit-eating grin”.

“Hm, nothing seemed to come out… maybe I’ll have better luck with the other one.”

The hand he was using to grapple the sheets flew up to your shoulder, trying to push your head back, “That isn’t how it works!”

Despite his complaints while you moved your head, they all seemed to get caught in his throat when your lips wrapped around his other nipple. His chest shook with the effort it took to breath through his nose without letting out any more pathetic whimpers. This time you got nasty with it. After a moment of suckling on his hardened bud until it turned a cherry red, you pulled back to spit on it.

At the same time, you flicked his other piercing with two fingers. Drool spilling past your lips at this point, you watched with satisfaction as his head fell back against the comforter. His thighs started to rub together as you flicked the nipple that wasn’t in your mouth again a little harder the second time around.

Feeling a little extra mean, you locked your teeth on the soft skin before pinching the other abused nub hard. He keened, nails scratching bloody lines into your upper back. Ultimately, you took your mouth off of his chest in favor of starting to kiss up the center of his chest in between his tits.

In between leaving sloppy wet kisses on his collarbones, you smiled, hands trailing back down to his sides before finally hooking the underside of his thighs. You looped one of his shins over your shoulder, watching with glee the panic interlaced in the way he whipped his head around to look you in the eyes.

You leaned over him, basically folding him in half to put a kiss on his lips.

“Nothing’s coming out… I’m not really sure you’re pregnant yet.”

You hooked his other thigh over your hip, blowing on his ear when your hand wrapped around your cock. Alarmed, his hands braced themselves on your shoulder. “What are you-”

You lined yourself up with his ass, biting on his earlobe. “Well, I thought maybe we’d go a couple more rounds to really make sure you’re pregnant.”

there's a note attached to the side of the phone booth, read it?

" you guys have to promise not to make fun of me for writing this after making a bit about how much mpreg terrifies me "

to my dearest anon for whom this was written:

i hope you're doing better SINCE YOU TOOK YOUR MEDICINE

YOU BETTER KEEP TAKING UR MEDICINE OR I'M NOT GONNA START ON UR SHORT REQUEST AFTER THIS ONE

to everyone else:

mentioned briefly in my little posts between updates, it's been so long since I've written smut I had to like take a break after every other word to look over my shoulder and make sure nobody was reading it from behind me or something (I am home alone with two cats)

one of the most humbling experiences is going back and editing your own smut, like damn what position are they in I've gotta go back and write in more details 🏃

as of now, i'm planning on having my update schedule consist of a lot more short requests than long requests since they're going to be a lot easier to update consistently with

now that college has rolled in I have a lot less time to write the longer form content my audience loves me for so expect drabbles most of the time

i'm still planning book content but as of right now, I'm struggling with concepting and figuring out ideas that I can consistently stay motivated for

I might scrap the book I'm planning right now and go with something else in its entirety, but we shall see

a big thank you to all the lovely supporters who have stayed by my side through my inactivity, you will be rewarded one day when I graduate promise

love all of you, also love blades titties <3

incoming shameless plug: if you guys were wondering about my next follower goal (238/300) follow for clear skin and part 3 ayato fic (mpreg edition)

269 notes · View notes

comfortless · 7 months ago

Note

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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mint-8 · 2 months ago

Text

Platonic Yandere Priest x Child! GN! Reader

Content/Trigger warning: Mentions of death, violence, religion, and implied miscarriages. Also, please read as completely platonic.

- Yandere Priest who is devoted to their religion. They lead their believers with a firm, yet gentle hand towards a better life. Organizing community projects to strengthen the bond between the residents, giving inspiring and passionate lectures in every single one of their sermons, guiding from the youngest of youths to the aging elders through a path of righteousness (at least, what they have been taught as ‘righteous’), and holding banquets and festivals to help the less fortunate are but one of their few notable accomplishments through their time as the local priest, working and maintaining influence and a bit of authority in between the local business owners and police force. They have dedicated their lives to the prosperity of their flock and wouldn’t have it any other way. Yet, there is something missing…

- Yandere Priest has always wished for a child of their own. Regardless of the holy scriptures that have dictated, practically their entire life, they never really were too fond of the idea of engaging in a romantic, nor sexual, relationship with others, or anyone really. Perhaps it was due to their devotion to their faith that always kept them occupied, or they were simply born without a particular need or desire for such urges, regardless of the reason, they still crave a close connection with someone. Preferably someone who they can use all of their educational knowledge and life experience on, to provide them with and guiding them into a better, fulfilling life. They have tried to adopt before, but no matter what they did, they were never accepted as a possible parent candidate. With such disappointment, and with the passing of the years, they gave up on the search for such a pupil to follow on their steps, and simply continued to focus on their growing community of loyal followers. Maybe if they were gifted with a second chance at life, they would be able to fill the hole in their heart.

- Yandere Priest who can’t help but notice that a new family has joined their town. It’s not uncommon to see new people come and go, especially when some of the young adults come back to settle down with their families after experiencing the busier city life and preferring to embrace their more rural roots. They were hoping for the new family to be pleasant and kind, already preparing a basket of local fruits and sweets to welcome them to the community, and to offer them an invitation to the weekend sermon. They wouldn’t dare to be too forceful though, they’ve learned their lesson from their previous teacher who had the inept belief of forcing newcomers into their religion would surely increase the church’s congregation (they are very happy they were able to ‘talk some sense’ into them).

- Yandere Priest who happily chats with the happy couple when they go to visit them and even offer their help with the moving, who amidst the conversation catch a glimpse of a tiny child, you. They can’t help but find you adorable as you shyly clutch your parent leg while peeking at them from behind. Your parents enthusiastically introduce you to them, of course, and explain that you aren’t very fond of strangers. However Yandere Priest doesn’t mind such display of nervousness, as they simply kneel with one leg while warmly smiling at you and introducing themselves.

“Pleasure to meet you, little one. I’m the local priest in this town”

“… Hi…”

“There’s no need to be afraid, young one. For I promise I wouldn’t dare to harm a single hair in your head”

“…”

- Yandere Priest realizes that they went a bit too far with the presentation, and politely excuses themselves from the talk, with your parents bidding them farewells and promising to assist to the weekend sermon. As they walk away and greet the rest of the neighbors, they can’t help but think about the new family, possible new additions to the congregation, and… you. You are an adorable, shy little thing, probably terribly scared from the new change of scenery and pretty much uprooting of your previous life into a completely new setting that, most likely, you’ve never heard off before. Their community is a tad far away from the major cities, so they wouldn’t be too surprised if you’ve ever only heard about your new home from memories from one of your parents.

- Yandere Priest who promises that they will be your guiding light into this new chapter of your life, whether you like it or not. Oh! Don’t worry too much about it! They have plenty of experience in subtly manipulating and getting their way by talking and stroking some egos. How did you think they were able to maintain their church and themselves with a high influence and status around the town? However they won’t take it too far, cutesy children like you only deserve the kindest, gentlest treatment ever, and they swear to their lord they will become your personal confidante and friend! They just need a few talks with you… =)

- Yandere Priest who is pleased to know that your parents fulfill their promise when they see you in their sermon. Your parents are actively socializing with the rest of the churchgoers (presumably to build some connections) and, just like when they first met you, you are shyly hiding behind your parent’s back, refusing to talk with the other children or adults. They understand your fear, it was difficult for them as well when they were first brought to the town when they were younger, their then teacher still forced them to toughen it up and interact with the townsfolk, but they are glad your parents won’t force you to interact with others if you do not wish to. They are so happy that they have something to bond over with you that they almost forgot to start their lecture on time!

- Yandere Priest whose lecture’s mainly focus on the struggle of the self when in a new and unknown situation. How the future might seen bleak or full of uncertainties, but how one can find solace within the support of those around them, accompanied by the desire of improving every day over the failures of the past. This, of course, being mostly centered around comforting and giving you hope in the face of the new life events you’ve suddenly been throw into, especially with the added knowledge that you can totally rely on them at any time, you know? Why, how could they dare to leave a lonely lamb alone among their new brethren? It’s their duty as the pastor to guide you to a more bright future.

- Yandere Priest who convinces your parents to sign you up to their weekly religion classes, which have existed since the very beginning and totally were not created on the spot as soon as the mass ended in order to get closer to you! They simply wish to help you grow into a more sensible and responsable person, and what better way than to learning about god and how important religion is? Yeah, Yandere Priest is so glad that your parents are very gullible and easy to sway with words alone, but they are more worried about you possibly inheriting such qualities and making you an easy target for con artists! It simply solidifies their ideal of nurturing you into a mature, capable adult, so as to not fuck your own life up!

- Yandere Priest who spends every week, plus some weekends whenever your parents are out on a date, simply getting to know you. They love hearing you talk about your interests, hobbies, favorite animals, favorite colors, foods, clothes, toys, and… pretty much anything you might or might not have an opinion on! They answer each and every one of your questions about their life, the town, their religion and the world with such calmness and eagerness to teach you, that you instinctively go to them whenever you have a doubt or question! They actively immerse you into the life of the town, either by helping or participating on the multiple events or projects they or the rest of the townsfolk cook up. They wish for you to have a vast and colorful upbringing, allowing you to interact safely with everyone in the community and broadening your horizons with each passing day.

- Yandere Priest who, outside of including you into any social event on the town, also enjoys small, quiet activities. From playing board games to simply reading books, any sort of bonding activity they or you can think of, they are more than happy to participate on. They just love you so much. They just want to crush your legs and make you a paraplegic so you can only rely on them for support! Oh, was that too extreme? No need to worry, that’s merely a fantasy, they would never act on such urges! Well, I mean, that could’ve been plan B if you happened to resist their efforts into getting to know you better from the very beginning. And about your parents? Do you remember how they have some authority over local police and the business owners? It wouldn’t be too hard to find some dirt on your parent’s past or to ask the landlord to raise rent or for the bank to mess up some of their finances… but like I said, they wouldn’t ever dare to do such a thing! Well, only if it was their last resort and your parents were… less than neighborly neighbors… Glad that isn’t the case, don’t you agree?

- Yandere Priest who will assert themselves as a stable support in your life against your will (not like you were willing to fight them, right?), especially when your parents ‘mysteriously’ go missing and are later found near the river as if a bear had mauled at them! They will also be there when, out of nowhere, loan sharks appear and start to demand compensation over some ‘gambling debts’ that your parent’s had ran away from years ago! But especially you will need them when you find the totally real letters and diary entries from your parents to the rest of your extended family about how they wished you were born dead or simply disappeared from their lives!

- Yandere Priest will always be there for you, even when everyone has left you. They will be your new guardian, so they can protect you from the corrupt foster care system of the country. They will become your teacher, trusted friend and loving parental figure so you’ll grow dependent on them for emotional support. They will make sure you love their hometown and consider it as your only place of residence from now on. Oh, how delighted they will be when you eventually succeed them as the new priest when they grow old and frail. But they know you’ll take care of them when such times come, and they know they will continue to protect you even in such a weakened state. It’s a promise, little angel =)

“I must give thanks to the lord for bringing me such a perfect child, whose kindness and beauty are akin to an angel, and who I’ll dutifully watch over for as long as my heart is able to beat. I’ll love you more than anything, my dear sunshine, so let’s finish today’s lessons, ok? =)”

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bumblesimagines · 4 months ago

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The Beasts of The North

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

Summary: While he's meant to be convincing the Wolf of the North to send his men to fight a war for his mother, Jace cannot help but grow enthralled by the love between Lord Cregan and Ser (Y/N).

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, mentions/implied homophobia/homophobic religion (The Faith), slight age gaps, slight suggestive content, Cregan and (Y/N) are head over heels, (Y/N) is not a stepfather he is the father that stepped up, bicurious Jace

I know I said I was gonna focus on UTM but my motivation left as quick as my dad did so here we are 🤷🏻‍♀️

~~~

A low, heavy sigh escaped Jace as he sank further into the tub, the heated water digging pleasantly into his skin and ridding it of the cold that'd sunk into him the moment he flew into the North. His head drooped back, the back of his neck resting along the wall of the tub as he slipped in further until the water brushed against his chin. His palms rubbed along his thighs, massaging away the soreness from riding Vermax for so long.

His eyes glided around his new room, taking in everything around him. It reminded him of his bedchambers in Dragonstone with the stone walls and smooth, warm floor but it was sadly where the similarities stopped. It lacked the salty smell of the sea breeze wafting in through the windows, the sound of the waves crashing with the rocky cliffs, the clinking of metal from guards walking around. Most of all.. it lacked his beloved family. It lacked his precious brothers... it lacked his beloved mother. His skin warmed from embarrassment. He was man-grown and the Crown Prince, yet he desperately wished to have his mother near so he could ask her what to say and do.

Jace pushed himself up and began washing himself, scrubbing his skin clean until he no longer smelled of leather and dragon. He remained in the tub for a while longer, soaking up the heat of the water until it became tepid, before rising from the tub and drying himself. His mind raced as he changed into new clothes, his thoughts surrounding Lord Cregan and what to make of him.

He'd flown to the Eyrie first to meet with Lady Jeyne Arryn and managed to garner her support through promises of protecting the Vale of Arryn with dragons, managed to sway the support of the Three Sisters in their favor through Lord Borrell, and arranged for Lord Desmond Manderly of the White Harbor's youngest daughter to one day wed little Joffery in exchange for his support. But what could he possibly offer Lord Cregan Stark to lessen the impact of his men undoubtedly dying once war finally began?

Jace had no younger sisters to offer as a potential bride to Rickon Stark; no lands or titles that could even amount to the lands of Winterfell and the title of Warden of the North; no dragons that'd be pleased to call the North home; no older female relatives to offer as the new Lady of Winterfell (and he certainly wouldn't wish to upset a Mormont); no riches or coin that'd be worth sending men to die. He had nothing to offer, nothing the lord would care for, at least.

His fingers buttoned his white undershirt, his legs leading him toward the window to peer out to the ground below where he had a perfect view of the training grounds. Ser (Y/N) stood by below, his eyes closely watching the squires and boys given to him for training and lips contorted into a frown. He looked older in certain lights, more mature than the age Jace presumed him to be. His lips quirked when Ser (Y/N) smacked the back of one of the squires with his wooden sword, the exasperated expression on his face reminding him of all the times he practiced with Luke and had to scold the boy.

His concerned, borderline anxious thoughts surrounding his host shifted, recalling the words Ser (Y/N) had spoken before he'd left. The Faith of the Seven viewed relations between those of the same sex to be a sin, something septas and maesters warned young children against. But Jace was no fool, nor was he blind or deaf. He'd heard plenty of rumors in court, seen lingering touches between a noblewoman and her favorite handmaiden or fleeting glances between a lord and his personal guard. His own father, Laenor Velaryon, had been said to enjoy the company of men over women; and looking back on his youth, Jace recalled the times he and Ser Qarl Correy often left together, smiling big and lovingly at each other.

Jace liked ladies, he'd be a fool not to with their beauty. But he'd be lying if he said he'd never looked at a lordling or knight and wondered what it'd be like to be with them. He often brushed those thoughts away and told himself it was simply admiration or envy but something in his heart had fluttered when he laid eyes on Lord Cregan and Ser (Y/N), something that blossomed when he witnessed the adoring exchange between the two.

Lovers.

Ser (Y/N) had said it so proudly, so sure of himself. Jace wondered how many times his father had dreamt of declaring his love for Ser Qarl, dreamt of being himself publically without facing the scrutiny and denial of everyone around him. He wondered then, if the longing stares exchanged between his mother and Queen Alicent meant something other than a desire to rekindle a long-lost friendship.

"Prince Jacaerys," He startled and turned away from the window, noticing Sara Snow lingering by the doorway. She smiled politely at him and entered the room, crossing the distance to stand beside him by the window as servants slipped in after her and drained the tub. The servants collected his discarded clothes and bowed before retreating, leaving the two in silence. Jace turned back to her and returned the smile with one of his own.

Snow. A bastard of the North, yet treated as if she were a full-blooded Stark; perhaps because she looked so much like one with her shoulder-length raven hair and those pale blue eyes that resembled Lord Cregan's. Jace couldn't help the prickle of envy that slipped into his veins. If he'd been born resembling his mother over his real father, nobody would've questioned his parentage nor brought insult to his mother and brother. He'd spent so many years fighting to prove himself to everyone around him that he was Targaryen, that he was meant to be Crown Prince. Everything would've proved much easier if he and Luke had been born with those striking violet eyes and silver locks.

"I hope you're settling in well," Sara's gentle voice pulled him of out his thoughts. She glanced toward what'd captivated his attention moments prior, the corners of her mouth lifting knowingly. His skin warmed, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason why. "I know my brother and (Y/N) can seem... standoffish. They were both raised to be guarded and suspicious, but I can assure you, once they've grown used to you they'll be kinder."

"I cannot fault them for their hesitance in welcoming me. I am the bearer of bad news; a symbol of war after so many years of peace." Jace straightened his shoulders and posture, clasping his hands behind his back as he spoke. He needed to be seen as princely as possible, needed to be someone worth paying attention to. "Lord Cregan's support would mean everything to us."

Her eyes crinkled and her head tilted to the side. There was a warmness to her presence that eased Jace into relaxation. "I could help you convince my brother as he does seek out my advice but (Y/N) is our master-at-arms and the one who trained many of our warriors in the past few years. He will need as much convincing as Cregan. The Starks have never broken an oath but it is better to have a willing commander over one who feels forced."

"I agree." Jace nodded, his eyes flickering back down toward the figure below, hearing the muffled groan that escaped the knight when a squire slipped and fell. "And... how would you suggest someone goes about that? He hardly seemed keen on showing me around." Was keen the right word? Ser (Y/N) had seemed outright distraught at the idea.

"How would you go about taming a bear?" The light, almost teasing tone in Sara's voice made him chuckle softly. "Cregan would know all about that, it seems. (Y/N) came here to Winterfell as a ward under our father many years ago. He and Cregan had been at odds then, bickering and fighting but under all that was the beginning of love."

"What of Lady Arra?" Jace asked. He'd heard how her death had brought much pain to Lord Cregan, how he'd mourned her for many months. Sara sighed softly at the mention and Jace winced, hoping he hadn't overstepped by asking.

"Cregan loved her as much as he loves (Y/N)," Sara told him softly, the glint in her eyes turning distant, her mind drifting back to the past. "Cregan was captivated by both of them, I remember. I was a child, hardly old enough to understand what was so charming about love, but even then I knew he cared for them both, even if (Y/N) occasionally brought out the worst in him. Arra forced them to become friends, for her sake, since she cared for them both. In the end, she brought them together both in life and death."

A comfortable silence settled over them, one that made Jace's thoughts flicker back to Baela. He cared for her, he had since they were mere children, but was it like the love between his father and Ser Qarl? The love between Ser (Y/N) and Lord Cregan? He hadn't minded when his mother announced her intent to marry them. He preferred an old friend over a stranger, and he certainly wouldn't mind having children with someone as passionate and caring as Baela. He believed he'd grow to love her, as many arranged couples eventually did, but what if his love for her remained... friendly?

"There'll be a feast in your honor later this evening. The boys should be in better moods by then." The boys. Jace almost snorted, his lips rolling into his mouth to prevent the noise. He wondered how long it took for little Sara to begin bossing them around, the image of her lecturing them as a child floating around in his mind.

"I look forward to learning more of the North." Jace smiled.

Sara returned it, though it held a hint of both mischief and pity. "And I hope you're a heavy sleeper, My Prince."

When dusk fell, the feast began with all kinds of lords, knights, ladies, and squires filling the Great Hall. A proper welcome to the North, if Jace had to admit, finding ale in his hand and delicious food on his plate that he happily ate. He spoke with those around him, his chest brimming with pride and relief whenever he enticed a hearty laugh from a northerner with a jest or a tale. They considered him a southerner, a boy prince who'd hardly fit in amongst the men who looked more like mountains and ladies who knew their way around axes. But with each laugh, grin, and approving nod, he cemented himself further amongst them.

However, Lord Cregan and Ser (Y/N) paid him little mind, allowing the others around to keep him entertained.

Jace watched them as he slowly ate some of his apple cake, the lovely flavor dancing on his tongue but his attention focused on the two despite the tale Russal, the castle's steward, recounted a tale of a hunt that had many leaning forward in anticipation. Jace had been among them until he'd caught sight of Ser (Y/N)'s vibrant and pleased grin at something his lover had said.

He watched with softened eyes as a fussy Rickon finally ceased his whining once Ser (Y/N) took him into his arms, settling the boy on his leg and sparing the briefly distracted Lord Cregan a glance before he scooped some honey cake onto his spoon and offered it to the boy. Rickon wiggled with delight, his small hands grasping (Y/N)'s wrist as he eagerly ate, accidentally smearing frosting over his top lip and just below his nose. Lord Cregan turned back to them and arched a brow at the mess on his son's face, an amused smile stretching across his lips.

"You know you mustn't have sweets before bed, Rickon." He gave his lover a knowing look, one that (Y/N) responded to with an innocent shrug. Rickon merely giggled and licked his lips, reaching for the spoon once more to lick it clean. He reminded Jace of Joffery, his little troublemaking brother who could sway anyone with just a few bats from his eyes and that toothy grin. Jace watched little Rickon, a longing for home forming in his heart once more.

The table erupted in loud laughter that snapped Jace out of his thoughts, flickering his gaze toward Russal as the man drank some ale and took in the hearty laughs and cackles his story received. He smiled and chuckled, the laughter of northerners amusing by itself, and took another gulp of his ale. When his eyes slid back to the couple, he found Ser (Y/N) watching him and nearly choked on his ale, managing to cover up the coughs with wheezy chuckles.

"Princeling," Ser (Y/N) pulled Rickon further against his chest so he could rest his chin on the boy's messy dark hair. The table largely quieted down, save for a few conversations here and there, most of the attention turning onto the prince and Ser (Y/N). Jace straightened his back instinctively with all eyes on him and gave him a nod to go on. "Tell us of dragons."

"Dagons!" Rickon cheered, drawing soft chuckles and coos from those around.

"Well, uhm," Jace cleared his throat, his mind flickering back to all the lessons he'd received through the years, primarily on the histories of his family. "There are different tales on how dragons came to be. Those who came from Old Valryia claim dragons came from the Fourteen Flames but there are tales that dragons were brought forth through blood magic used on wyverns. Regardless, Valyrians tamed and rode them. It was said Valyrians themselves were descendants of the beasts and were kin with those they rode. Many believe a dragon will accept anyone of Valyrian blood but it is simply not true. A rider does not choose its dragon, the dragon chooses its rider. They will not allow anyone else to ride them for as long as their rider lives and breathes."

"Your dragon chose you, then? It looks quite young." Ser (Y/N) tilted his head. Jace wondered what tales were told in the North about dragons, about his family. Lord Alaric Stark had hosted King Jaehaerys Targaryen and Queen Alysanne Targaryen at Winterfell once many years prior, surely leaving a good enough impression for things to remain amiable between the families. Jace could only hope to leave the same impression.

"The tradition started by Rhaena Targaryen where eggs are placed in the cradle of Targaryen babes allows for a bond to form in youth. Vermax hatched in my cradle so we were raised together as... brothers, in a way. The bond between a dragonrider and their dragon runs deep. It is said a dragon may feel everything its rider feels. They may grow restless when their rider falls ill or is gravely injured." Jace couldn't help the burst of pride in his chest at the curiosity and intrigue in the eyes of those around him. Velaryon blood never ran through his veins but it hadn't made him any less of a Targaryen.

"Interesting." Ser (Y/N) said flatly, and the pride died a little.

By the time night properly fell, the buzz in Jace's veins had been undeniable. Northerners liked their drinks strong, and Jace had never been one to back down when faced with challenging smirks and glints. Drinking their ale and beer had earned him many burning claps on his back and shoulders but as he stumbled through the halls and toward his bedchambers, he wondered if perhaps he should've paced himself. He almost tripped over his own foot and gave a soft giggle at his clumsiness before his eyes shifted to the streak of light pouring from a cracked open door. Against his better judgment, he approached it like a moth to a flame and raised his head to peek into the room.

"Byran thinks we ought to do a hunt soon. The hounds have grown restless, says they could use the exercise." He found Ser (Y/N) first, the many layers of clothing he'd once worn gone, leaving him in loose beige-colored sleepwear. The knight tilted his head up toward his lover, the warm candlelight and peaceful look on his face chipping away at the slight fear that'd gripped Jace's gut when he'd first seen him.

"Aye," Lord Cregan responded, and Jace's face warmed when he raked his gaze over his muscular back and strong-looking arms, a shirt pinched in his hands before the lord tossed it aside. His chest and pudgy stomach were covered in dark hairs, ones that Jace tracked until they disappeared beneath his pants. "We could take the princeling, then. Show him how the North works."

"And how does the North work, love?" Jace's veins bubbled when he heard Ser (Y/N)'s light laughter, when he watched Lord Cregan take a seat at the edge of the bed while Ser (Y/N) slid up behind him. His fingers dipped into Lord Cregan's hair, brushing and pulling back his dark strands gently, a gentleness he hadn't given those he'd been training. Ser (Y/N) tied his lover's hair back into a bun, some shorter strands slipping out and framing Lord Cregan's face.

"The North is... full of surprises." The older man murmured, tilting his head back and ghosting his lips over Ser (Y/N)'s cheek as the knight's arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. When their lips connected, Jace's stomach flipped with a new feeling of longing, surprised by the warmth and sweetness of the kiss.

Lord Cregan's body tiled and his arm moved, sliding around his lover's waist and dragging him onto his lap. Laughter and giggles freely fell from Ser (Y/N)'s lips, a wide smile on his face as he settled happily across Lord Cregan's thighs. They stared at each other, lips curled upward and eyes crinkled with delight before Lord Cregan pressed a kiss to Ser (Y/N)'s forehead and murmured something in his ear. When Lord Cregan's hand dipped into the knight's pants, Jace jerked back, a violent heat darting up his spine and spreading through his veins.

Despite his drunken mind, he staggered away from the door and toward his bedchambers, tossing the door open and slamming it shut behind him. His back pressed against the wood when his legs grew too wobbly to keep him up without help, a shaky exhale escaping him. It was hard to pinpoint what swirled around so violently in his stomach; too many emotions threatening to swallow him whole in a single gulp. He felt them prickling along his back.

Desire, want, longing, mortification, embarrassment.

He was the Crown Prince, Seven Hells! It was entirely unprincely to act no better than a peeping tom, even if the coils around his stomach and heart yearned to be under such an adoring gaze and needy hands. Jace groaned and brought a hand to his face, pushing himself off the door and stumbling toward the blanket and fur covered bed where he collapsed. He buried his face into one of the furs, feeling the soft strands brush against his skin soothingly. He prayed they hadn't taken notice, hadn't realized he'd been watching.

He was a guest in their home. A temporary guest who'd leave once he ensured he'd secured the North's loyalty and support... even if he had to withhold from indulging in his growing curiosity.

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ben-marco · 5 months ago

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I'm hoping no one here still sees Legion (legion.sys on TikTok) as a legitimate source of information, but just in case you do, you should probably know that they have recently:

Gone 100% down the radfem/TERF pipeline

Made fun of the male suicide rate and complained about Men's Mental Health Month (their excuse is that they don't want it to be during Pride Month, but considering they openly call themselves a "proud misandrist", I don't think it matters to them whether or not Men's Mental Health Month is in June)

Derailed conversations about the genocide in Gaza in order to rant and make bizarre accusations about Israel running a "multinational trafficking ring" in the United States and United Kingdom, decentering actual victims of genocide in order to talk about RAMCOA instead and imply that there are people in the US and UK who are "directly affected" by the genocide instead of, you know, the actual Palestinians being murdered; said that the genocide itself is RAMCOA

Said that surrogacy and adoption are both forms of human trafficking, referred to adoptive parents as "PIEs" or "parent-identified exploiters"

Posted islamophobic and anti-religious content; saying that "islam supports pedophilia" and that "all abrahamic religions" are misogynistic and that you cannot be feminist and religious simultaneously, and

Spread egregious misinformation about ME/CFS, its symptoms and its diagnostic criteria that is easily disproved with basic Google searches; specifically coming up with non-existent "levels" of ME/CFS and stating that ME/CFS results in the growth of white matter in the brain when it's actually associated with the opposite

#actually did #actually dissociative #ramcoa #ramcoa survivor #did osdd #did system #dissociation #dissociative identity disorder #dissociative system #osddid #legion #legionsys #legion sys #legion system

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carpkoinobori · 3 months ago

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[†] thursday girl — giselle x reader

[𖤐] 1/1 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

summary: you debut in SM’s newest girl group. The industry isn’t what you thought it’d be. It’ll be fine, right? or , more accurately: a girl’s guide to breaking all ten commandments.

pairing: giselle x aespa member!reader

to be honest the dynamic is more like the apple x the snake x eve

tags: angst, happy and open ending, literally just angst though, reader is raised catholic

wc: 7.3k

cw: dieting, eating disorders, religious trauma, catholic guilt, homophobia, internalized homophobia, comphet, mild implied sexual content, creepy variety show hosts and fans mentioned, the mortifying ordeal of being a girl

ex: not beta read, reader is third oldest/youngest - middle of five. reader’s stage name is Eve.

a/n: leaving this warning here. I was raised catholic. if you find negative mentions of organized religion upsetting, this one isn’t for you. NOT BETA READ ONCE AGAIN

psalm 32:1-5 Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the man whose sin the Lord does not count against him, and in whose spirit is no deceit. When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer. Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord’— and you forgave the guilt of my sin.

——————————————————————————————————— debut.

that’s what you’ve been working towards your entire life, what you hungered for, what you wanted.

since your early teen years, you’ve dreamed of debuting. You loved to perform, to sing, to dance— that’s why you were in your church’s choir group. The advent show, the way of the cross, everything— you were there.

did your parents approve of you being an idol? Absolutely not. They tried to convince you to settle down with one of the nice churchboys, the son of one of their friends. He was.. nice, okay looking. But you just didn’t like him. You dreamt of falling in love, being swept off your feet into happily ever after— but for most of your life, you had never even had a real crush! You must just not have found the right guy yet. It only counted when it was with a boy.

you auditioned for SM, and miraculously, you got in. Your days were spent training, dancing, weighing, singing, dancing, showcasing, singing, training, dancing, weighing— a cycle, really.

you met Yu Jimin and Kim Minjeong pretty early on, and you got along great with Jimin. She was catholic, and so were you! She wasn’t as dedicated as you, of course, but it was nice to have something in common.

you all didn’t get the chance to talk with Ning Yizhou a whole lot, even if she did share a dorm with minjeong. You dormed with jimin, but there was an empty bed.

that bed would be filled by one Aeri Uchinaga.

and from that day, your life would also be filled by aeri uchinaga.

The five of you were called to a meeting. You were a little worried, of course, clutching your silver cross chain and pressing the tip of it into your chest. A nervous habit.

“Hello girls,” the man began, the five of you sitting and fidgeting nervously.

“I have good news for you all. You five will be debuting as SM’s newest girl group, Aespa. Congratulations,” he smiled, and it felt like your world had just crumbled and rebuilt itself, three times over.

“We’ll begin thinking of your stage names soon, so feel free to give us some ideas. We’ll be waiting,” the man continued, and like that, the meeting ended.

you all had to celebrate, right?

The five of you met in your dorm, as minjeong didn’t want to bother the other trainee living there. You all begin thinking of stage names, and your eyes drifted to the figurine of Mary that sat on your nightstand. Jimin was thinking of using Katarina, her baptismal name, anyway! Your confirmation name could also work, but you weren’t sure.

“What if I used Mary?” You thought out loud, the other four girls turning their heads to glance at you, and the figure just behind you.

“Mary?” Jimin began. “Like, the Virgin Mary? Our Lady of Naju?” She questioned.

“Yes, I quite like the idea, don’t you?” The other girls knew you spoke a little formally, never really speaking in slang or impolitely in the slightest. It was your parents, after all. You had grown up in a secluded, small town in America, but your parents had taught you Korean, along with your own interest, reading books to perfect grammar. Sadly, that didn’t really teach you many informal words— not that your parents would allow that. You had to be a lady, of course.

“It seems a bit.. outdated, doesn’t it?” Aeri voiced, tentatively, and the other girls agreed with her. They began giving suggestions.

“What about Lily?” Jimin offered.

“Eden— no, maybe Eve?” minjeong hummed.

“Lilith!” Ning exclaimed, much to the amusement of the other girls.

“Ning, that’s similar to Lily, though, isn’t it?” Minjeong gave an amused half-smile.

“I guess so,” she sighed.

“I like Eve,” Aeri voiced, and the other girls all mostly agreed, although more name suggestions were given out, for everyone.

You debuted with the names Karina, Giselle, Eve, Winter, and Ningning.

you said a prayer every morning and every night, with the rosary that was around the figurine. A small Our Father, a Hail Mary, an Act of Contrition— no matter what, you never missed your morning and nightly prayers, no matter how small. You attended mass on Sunday, and while you usually couldn’t go in person, you’d try to listen to it in the morning, before it was time for practice, or at night, before bed— it didn’t matter how much sleep you gave up for it.

You were moved into a group dorms a bit after debut, Black Mamba being a sensational hit. You dormed with aeri, while ning and minjeong dormed together, karina having pulled the leader and oldest card to secure the single-room.

You and aeri weren’t exactly close. There was no animosity, of course, you two just never really got the chance to talk. It was definitely by chance. Not because she made your heart beat just a little faster, your steps a little more uncoordinated, your words fail. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t that at all.

you just admired the other girl. It didn’t help that you two had more than one language in common— aeri had gone to an international school, you were raised in america. You just hadn't gotten the chance to approach her, that was all.

well, the first night before the debut stage, you couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned, finally sitting up, when—

“Can’t sleep?” aeri’s voice was low with sleep, and she was speaking in english. You felt an uncomfortable skip in your heart.

“Oh, yes, I’m just a bit restless,” you laughed, definitely not nervously. “I am, too. Just a little,” she replied, making a pinching gesture with her fingers, and a smile.

“Why?” You asked, even if it was kind of a dumb question.

aeri was silent, for a beat. At one point, you started to wonder if she was even going to respond.

“I’m just kind of.. scared,” she admitted. “We’re gonna be on display to the whole world, and who knows what’ll happen?” She chuckled, throwing her arms up just a bit. “I’m just.. worried. And.. I mean obviously, I miss home,” she added.

you looked at her, slightly, turning your head just to glance at the dark haired girl. “I know,” you murmured. “I miss home too, even if it wasn’t.. the most exciting place. I just miss it,” you continued. You were just a little afraid you were speaking too quickly in english, but aeri seemed fine. “I mean, I understand. I miss my parents,” she agreed.

you wished you could say the same. It’s not that you didn’t love your parents, but they were a little.. much. They didn’t like the fact you hadn’t found a guy yet. They’d ask you if you.. liked girls. You denied it, you didn’t! You were steadfast in your faith, dedicated, you didn’t like girls. You couldn’t.

“I miss my friends, you know. Sometimes I worry I’ll forget english,” you admitted.

“Well,” aeri gave a grin. “I’ll talk to you in english all you want if you promise to talk to me in japanese,”

you didn’t even speak japanese, but for her? you’d learn.

You smiled. “Of course,”

the two of you tried your best to sleep, after that, but it was mostly you two continuing to talk about anything and everything.

You could tell aeri was going to be one of your best friends. A reminder of home, if anything.

the debut showcase went great, the song was a hit, everything was good.

you and aeri spoke before going to sleep every night— you’d even bought a book about japanese grammar, how to read, write and speak it. You tried your best, but aeri had a nice time correcting you. It was.. nice. You always loved to learn languages, and for some reason, having someone who spoke it already help you was.. a bit comforting, in a way.

you still prayed every night, and aeri would sometimes give you a look, but she never said anything.

everything was going great.

until the hate began

Every little thing you or your group did was criticized, nitpicked, blown out of proportion— and the stress was getting to you.

you had never handled stress very well. You didn’t have a reason to. There was really nothing for you to ever stress about— other than following god, of course, but that wasn’t stressful to you. You had no reason to be stressed about something like that! You were a good person, you hadn’t ever wanted to sin.

some of the comments were about your appearance. It started to chip away at you. The company was always happy when you lost weight, so why not just a little more? It’s not like it would kill you. you were three months into an eating disorder that you called a diet.

the second you got up, you’d pray as your sustenance, head to practice, do your schedules— the other girls would order lunch, you’d ask for a salad. No dressing, of course, you didn’t like the taste. then, as you’d all get to the dorm, again, if there was even an hour of free time, you’d head to the company gym. Sometimes, when you were just in a waiting room, or you couldn’t work out— you’d pace. Anything to keep moving, you just couldn’t sit still. It was taking over your mind.

you couldn’t even eat normally. Any food given to you on a variety show, any drink, anything— mentally, you were counting. You liked to be in the negatives, you liked to skip meals, anything to be better. This was for yourself, so people couldn’t comment on you. You started to come up with even more elaborate ways to prove you were okay, to be better, you practiced more, you stayed late, you slept in the practice room, at times. You begged the vocal coaches to tell you whether or not you were actually good, and as much as they said you were, you just couldn’t believe them.

it was starting to destroy you.

“y/n?” Aeri called, as you prayed right before bed. She stood by the open room door, looking at you with a concerned expression. Why would she be concerned?

“Yes?” You answered, setting down the rosary, putting it back around the statue of Mary that watched over you so carefully. Sometimes, you wondered if you’d made her proud. Maybe if you said the suffering was in the name of god, he’d forgive you. He’d forgive you for the things you had thought and done and wanted to do. He’d forgive you. You could punish yourself, already. You could pray for him to fix you quickly, maybe you could give up eating for lent entirely—

“You.. haven’t been sleeping here, lately. We haven’t gotten.. to talk,” aeri began, sitting down next to you, looking down at you from where she had sat on your bed, right next to where you knelt.

you had completely forgotten your promise. It had just slipped your mind, you never really were awake enough for it, lately, and—

“Are you okay? You’re kind of.. pale, and you have dark circles, and-“

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, quickly. “It’s just.. lent,” you lied, quickly. “All catholics fast and give something up for lent, don’t worry,” you assured, waving a hand dismissively. While it was true, it didn’t call for someone to starve themselves. You were lying. That’s a sin. But it’s just a white lie, so they won’t worry, right? It’s okay, you told yourself.

“We’re worried about you,” aeri frowned, putting a hand on your shoulder, the weight making you go from a kneeling position to sitting with your legs crossed. “I’m worried about you,”

god damn aeri, and her kind personality, and her need to care for others, and she was just so good- she was such a good person, and here you were, about to ruin her, damn her to hell. You were a horrible, filthy, disgusting person. For some reason, your eyes grew hot, but you couldn’t cry. You simply stared at her, with wide eyes, like seeing god’s light, it blinded you. You wished she didn’t care about you. You wouldn’t blame her. Vaguely, you remembered the first commandment.

the first commandment. Exodus 20:1 I am the Lord your God. You shall not have other gods beside me. You shall not make for yourself an idol or a likeness of anything in the heavens above or on the earth below or in the waters beneath the earth; you shall not bow down before them or serve them. For I, the Lord, your God, am a jealous God

“Aeri, I-” your voice cracked, and you were so determined not to cry, but you could feel your resolve breaking, because you were weak, you were weak to your vices and weak to aeri, you were so pathetic. The older girl let out a small sigh, sinking down onto the floor next to you, taking you into her arms. She was silent, for a bit, while you choked out words that were mostly incomprehensible. She ran a hand through your hair, and was a bit unsettled to feel how cold you were to the touch, but she pointedly ignored it.

“Y/n, you can’t let the words of those people get to you.. they won’t do you any good, and.. I know that’s hypocritical of me, I’m learning to ignore it too, but.. you can’t let it kill you like this,” she continued, voice soft. It made you sick how much you liked her comforting you. What would she do if she knew that you were so disgusting. You wanted aeri, you realized as you held her shirt, with some sense of finality hitting you. You didn’t want her to leave. You wanted her to hold you, and she wasn’t even aware of what you felt towards her. You were taking advantage of her. You were so disgusting.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked out, voice a little choked as you bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry,” “It’s okay,” she said, a little confused on why you were apologizing, look of worry on her face. Not that you could see it. You had your head in the crook of her neck.

that’s why you were apologizing, really.

you were sorry that you loved her. You were sorry she wanted to help you. You she couldn’t fix you, no one could. you were defective, and wrong, and oh so selfish. Aeri was such a good person.

the presence of the statue on your nightstand caught your eye from the corner. You turned away. She shouldn’t have to see this.

you could feel the tears stinging at your eyes, the shame, the guilt, the hate— it was all too much. You needed to push aeri away, to get as far away from her as possible, to save what little integrity and goodness you had left—

but you didn’t.

you clutched her shirt tighter, breathed her in desperately, and let out a choked sound. You wanted to cry, but you screwed your eyes shut and bit your lip. The blood was heavy and sharp in your mouth.

You woke up the next day beyond exhausted, but in your bed and off the floor. You surmised that aeri had put you there. You held your head, and got down on your knees in front of your bed. You prayed.

“Mary, mother of God, please guide me away from sin, as you have for so many others. Help me to continue being steadfast in my faith, and to follow all commandments well. Allow me to be worthy of your son, and continue to protect me from sin. These thoughts have been given to me by the devil, as a challenge of my faith. Guide me out of temptation, and forgive my actions, in the Lord’s name, I ask for this mercy,”

you stood up. Your knees ached. Aeri was up, sitting cross legged on her bed, watching you with a concerned expression. “Why are you praying to Mary?” aeri asked, voice light but expression still a bit worried, if not a tad curious.

“Catholics pray to saints as well. Especially depending on their patronage— I mean, if I lose something, I usually pray to Saint Anthony,” you chuckled, explaining the concept.

“What’s Mary the patron Saint of?” aeri asked, softly, curiously.

“Many different things, depending on which version of her you choose to pray to. Our Lady of Lourdes is Mary, but when she appeared in Lourdes. She’s the patron saint of the sick. There’s Our Lady of Loreto, the patron Saint of pilots,”

“Which one do you have, then?”

“Our Lady of Sorrows,” you murmured, glancing towards the figure on your nightstand. The rosary was draped around her carefully. Her downcast, frowning face, her hands clasped together, the feeling of her porcelain eyes boring into your back nearly burned.

“What’s she the patron Saint of?”

“Sinners,”

the second commandment. Exodus 20:1-7 You shall not invoke the name of the Lord, your God, in vain. For the Lord will not leave unpunished anyone who invokes his name in vain.

practice that day went on for a long while. You were all practicing for next level. At one point, you took a small break, drinking water— your heart had been beating quite fast, that day, and your throat had been dry the entire practice.

during the beat change, it was nearly impossible for you to keep your eyes off aeri- or should you start calling her giselle, now? maybe it would be best to separate the two.

you shouldn’t be looking at aeri like that— but giselle was an idol. giselle was not your friend— she was someone untouchable, unattainable. It was okay to like her, to find her pretty, to want- no, no. You didn’t. You just envied her appearance, was all.

Your eyes were glued to her, the way she moved, her expression, everything, it was-

“Oh my God,” you mumbled, eyes locked onto her movements, before you heard the instructor call for you to get up and were immediately snapped out of your haze. You didn’t even remember the event before you went to sleep.

the third commandment. Exodus 20:1-11 Remember the sabbath day—keep it holy. Six days you may labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of the Lord your God. You shall not do any work. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them; but on the seventh day he rested. That is why the Lord has blessed the sabbath day and made it holy.

It was Sunday. It was always a toss-up whether or not you’d have a schedule that day, and today you did not. You watched the six a.m. mass, while aeri slept a few feet away. You knelt when they knelt, stood when they stood, prayed when they prayed.

but you did not sing, no. That would wake aeri.

the girls usually used their rest days to sleep. You always woke up early. You were restless. You hated to sleep. In your dreams you’d see images of a life you could never live, of things you shouldn’t— couldn’t— do. You’d see aeri. No, not aeri— giselle. Aeri didn’t look your way on the stage, hold your gaze for a moment too long, send a wink. The company didn’t order aeri to hold you closer, smile at you more, intertwine your hands.

aeri would never look at you that way.

but giselle would.

you went to the practice room after you prayed. You rehearsed until you felt the world spin, your skin too hot- until you forgot about aeri, and giselle, and the figurine on your nightstand, and the pastor’s homilies, and the way your parents would never love you the same because of what you had done. You danced until your vision became blurry, so you couldn’t see your hands, so whatever or whoever you touched wasn’t your fault, so you couldn’t see their face. More likely, so you couldn’t see yourself, and the body you lived in. You danced until your ears rang, so you wouldn’t have to listen to the sounds, to how your members pleaded with you to stop doing this to yourself. Till you couldn’t hear the people telling you it wasn’t enough.

till you couldn’t hear yourself telling you it wasn’t enough.

till you couldn’t hear your parents words resounding in your head, the endless comments of it being unnatural, of being sent straight to the hellfire, to how it was the most hideous thing in the world.

till you didn’t hear the way fans leered after you, and your members— the stares they’d give you, as you walked, the way they’d clamber for you, so many hands reaching, reaching for you, to touch, to take. it ate you up inside, how badly you wanted to be pure. and how you knew, through it all, you never could be. they could imagine you any way, salivate, draw, take, write it in comments. They even had the confidence to say it out loud, passing comments on variety shows.

you danced till you could forget their words, their looks, what you knew so well that they thought, you danced till you thought your body would give out—

or, conversely, till the leader and main vocalist of red velvet opened the practice room door and rushed over to the the shaking body of their junior, nearly unable to breath, head in her hands and knees to her chest in the farthest corner of the room, brightly illuminated.

you wanted to assure them you were fine, but the cross chain you wore was too tight on your neck, the silver feeling like hot iron burning your throat. You swore if you looked down it would be burning into your skin, leaving a brand.

each breath felt like swallowing glass, and your eyes were unfocused, and your ears were ringing, and your body was screaming in protest of each movement, and your eyesight was blurring—

but you got up, bowed, apologized, assured them you were okay, thanked them, and left.

you had been lying a lot, lately. To your members, about how you were— to your managers, your staff, to your seniors, now. Lying was a sin. but you could excuse it, couldn’t you?

you hoped they wouldn’t mention it to your members.

the fourth commandment. Exodus 20:1-12 Honor your father and your mother, that you may have a long life in the land the Lord your God is giving you.

you rarely talked to your parents. You should call them, more. Or, more accurately, you should pick up their calls, more. Except, it was maddening. You hated talking to them. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself you didn’t, that they were your parents, and what they said was gospel, you couldn’t stand it. Their prying questions, asking how being an idol was, if you kept up with your faith, asking why the media would report on how “close” you were with your members— with Aeri. Asking why you had gotten so thin, and that you needed to gain weight. They would pick and pry at every little thing. You couldn’t stand it, you couldn’t-

the phone rang. Again. You picked up.

“Finally, you answer the phone, y/n,” the voice of your mother crackled, thousands of miles away.

“I’m sorry,” you respond, robotically, like a reflex. “I was in practice. We’re busy, since we’re preparing for a comeback,”

“You always have some excuse for us, don’t you? You can’t just talk to your parents? What a daughter, you are. We’re your parents, y/n, you should actually listen to us, more. I told you being an idol wouldn’t be good for you, and look at you now! Barely any respect for your parents, how horrible is that? I can’t believe you,” she ranted, going on and on about this and that and every failure and everything you should’ve done better.

“This is why I didn’t want you going away, I knew what it’d do to you.. we tried to fix you, but you are a sick, sick little girl,” she spat, accusingly. “You know what you did, you know what you did to this family— that I have to live with a daughter who’s-”

click.

You hung up.

her voice was so grating.

Your mother loved to spout silly little ideas, didn’t she? She was wrong. You didn’t do anything. You weren’t gay. You didn’t like girls, or a girl. They had just been confused. The reason you became an idol was because you loved to perform, not because it was your only way out— after they saw you with her. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kiss her. You didn’t, you’d never-

the truth was that you had left your hometown because of an incident. Yes, you loved to perform, and being an idol was always on your mind. But you never thought you’d do it, how could you leave?

You soon found out what it was like to live outcasted, alone, treated like something wrong and filthy and horrible. Your parents didn’t help. So, you did what anyone would do— you ran away, off to Korea, off to the harsh idol system

because anything

anything

would be better than living with the guilt and shame, with the knowing eyes and hateful stares. anything would be better than being stuck in that suffocating smalll town, where everyone knew everyone, and all your secrets were magnified.

she had moved away, anyway. Her parents protected her. you protected yourself. You had to run.

so you did.

you had to kill that part of yourself, bury her more than six feet deep, deep enough so that the world would never find her.

You died the day your parents opened your bedroom door and found you with the daughter of a deacon, who helped at the church, who your parents had invited over for dinner, who they had been invited by for dinner. When they found you with the daughter of their friends.

they didn’t know whether to say if she corrupted you or you corrupted her.

they chose the latter, of course, they got to it first. They drove them out of town, blaming that girl for your transgressions. For your sin.

she kissed you, after all.

you just sat there and took it.

it wasn’t your fault, they said to the town. It was hers. You’re just too trusting and naïve.

if only they knew, the rest of the people. Your parents certainly did.

they forbid you from having any friends that were girls over, again.

and you understood. You knew. And you took it.

You killed that part of yourself, that day. Buried her, and tried to forget. But there’s dirt and blood on your hands and you’re still hollow. There’s nothing left of you, from before. Bright smiles and eyes, a cheery demeanor, giggling in secret with her- there’s none of that left.

You’re not a little kid anymore, a teenager with a crush, no.

You grew up. You had to.

and that little girl is dead.

dead and buried, underground.

you wished Aeri knew you when you were younger.

she would’ve loved the softer you.

the fifth commandment. Exodus 20:1-13 You shall not kill.

You know, there’s a reason priests and nuns can’t get married.

it’s because, allegedly, they’re married to god.

so, in that case, is it wrong for you, married to god since birth, by your parents— that anything, anyone other than a boy, was wrong?

you tried to understand, but you couldn’t. What was the consensus?

you knew, deep down. What you were was wrong.

and yet, you couldn’t stop. You tried. But you were weak, at heart. A sinner, with no control.

that was your downfall, you thought.

or maybe salvation.

You and Aeri were the last two in the practice room— you were near obsessive with your need to perfect choreography, and Aeri asked you for help, so— you were here. You had already released Next Level, but the practicing never stopped, obviously. You had to perfect it, make it yours, make it the best— so that’s where you were, right now.

it was late, honestly. Already dark out, and your other three members had long since left. You regretted saying yes to Aeri— you knew the choreography for next level, obviously, you knew the way Giselle moved made you feel something wrong, something dark and wanting. You tried to push it down, though— you ran through the moves together, you fixed some posturing and some other small timing issues, really, it was nothing major. You watched her run through those parts, and clenched your jaw.

you felt hot, and your hands itched to reach out and touch her. You couldn’t be making this up, could you? She was looking at you through the mirror, your flushed face barely visible from the darker corner you were sitting at. You swore you could see a smirk on Giselle’s face, for a split second, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

you hated it, hated how Giselle made you feel out of control, made you feel wanting, made that dark thing in you, shoved deep down, squirm and claw. You felt sick. You wanted her.

“I’ll be back,” you said, abruptly standing up and turning the door of the practice room, practically scrambling out. “Bathroom,” was what you supplied as reasoning, before you got out the door, rushing through the empty halls. They were weirdly eerie, at night.

you walked into the bathroom, the sound of your shoes clicking on the ground far too loud, the yellowed glow of the SM building’s bathrooms surrounding you. You gripped the sink, turning on the water and splashing some on your face. You felt dirty, and wrong. Your skin crawled in the suffocating space, the sound of running water driving you insane, the sound of your breathing almost too much. It seems you were in there for longer than you thought, though, as you stated into the mirror, lost in thought, knuckles turning white with the bruising grip you kept on the sink counter.

“Y/n?” Aeri called, opening the door.

You snapped your head to her— she was wearing just some white tanktop and sweatpants, with a black sports bra, but god.

Giselle walked over to you, with a concerned expression. “Are you okay? You’re breathing pretty hard,” she asked, walking closer, putting a hand on your hip, other hand touching your arm.

your composure snapped. You moved your hands to her face, holding it in them, looking at her with wide eyes. “Giselle, I-”

“Why are you calling me Giselle? That’s my stage name, y/n, just call me Aeri?” she said, a little confused and a little irritated. Why the hell were you calling her by her stage name?

you held her face a little tighter, taking in a sharp breath, mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“Aeri,” you murmured, voice low. You leaned in, and her eyes widened, slightly. She didn’t push you away, in fact, she met you in the middle, holding you tighter, moving her other hand to your waist, squeezing your hip, where she could feel the outline of your hipbone. You hated how much you needed her, the kiss messy and desperate, filled with an underlying sense of want and need.

“G- Aeri,” you mumbled, out of breath, panting against her mouth. You couldn’t reconcile the two, easily. Giselle was the one who was making you do this, right? Not Aeri, you didn’t like Aeri, right?

no, that wasn’t true. You liked Aeri. A lot more than you’d admit. You wanted her. You needed her. You couldn’t stop, now.

“Aeri, please-” you murmured, between kisses. They were more desperate, now, wanting, as she pushed you against the cold bathroom wall, the light flickering once. Twice. Three times.

“Yeah? What do you want?” She asked, lowly, eyes dark and pupils blown wide as she looked down at you.

“Lock the door,” you muttered, grabbing her wrist, tightly, and moving her hand upwards.

the sixth commandment. Exodus 20:1-14 You shall not commit adultery.

you and aeri never spoke about it.

but it became a thing, now.

you needed her like a drug, constantly wanting and waiting for the next time you could have her.

you and giselle shared a room, after all. you were pretty sure everyone knew. and by everyone you meant your members, of course. the public could never know, they’d ruin both your career and hers, and you couldn’t do that to her. you weren’t evil, just weak. just horrible, but not evil. you could never hurt her. you loved her, didn’t you? the way a friend doesn’t hurt a friend.

deep down, you knew. It was so much worse than that.

they couldn’t know the way you put concealer on, before practice. the way you were strangely hot and cold, terrified of her touch, but how the both of you would disappear into your room, or somewhere, together, always appearing back, more than a few minutes later, though the tension was always still there.

the way you had become a shell.

you were ashamed, really.

you felt so disgusting, all the time. here you were, dirty, filthy, robbing someone else, sullying them, damning her, all for your own selfish needs, desires, wants.

you had always wanted, too much.

giselle was your temptation and aeri was the sin, the collateral to the damage.

it’s not like she protested, either, the way giselle’s hands lingered, a beat too longer to be friendly. the way her fists would clench on those stupid variety shows, when the hosts mentioned your appearance, saying you were so pretty.

she hated how they’d look at you.

but you couldn’t see that, really.

you hated yourself, and you had stolen aeri’s sanctity.

it was giselle’s fault, though, you would think, sometimes.

but deep down, you knew the truth.

it was your doing. Your fault. You ruined everything you touched, everything you wanted would die and burn because you were a sinner. All because you couldn’t control yourself.

eve ate the apple, too, you’d think. but maybe, the snake wasn’t just the creature, no, but the whispers of lilith, beckoning her away, promising her everything she’d wanted. forbidden knowledge, godhood, becoming better— and maybe, even herself.

was biting the apple an act of naivety, of greed?

or the blind, blissful ignorance of trust? of love?

someone you loved wouldn’t damn you, would they?

but oh, you knew better. You knew.

you had stolen both of your chances of sanctity and holiness.

out of blind, ignorant, nearly all encompassing love.

it was love.

the seventh commandment. Exodus 20:1-15 You shall not steal.

The weeks went by, in this strange commitment.

you had just arrived back from yet another variety show, and Giselle was obviously annoyed at something. It was late, and everyone wanted to sleep. You made your way back to your room, the door open a crack—

giselle was changing into some sleep clothes. You didn’t really care which. the glimpse of her back, of skin, made you nearly feel ill. You shut the door, quickly, feeling like you couldn’t breathe. It made you feel sick.

you entered about a minute later, to see her scrolling on her phone, with a bored expression. You, instead, went and knelt in front of the small Mary statue you kept.

“Mary, mother of God, please hear my prayer. I’m asking you to give me the strength to-”

your breath hitched as you felt giselle put her hands on your shoulders, leaning into your back, feeling her smirk press against your neck.

“y/n,” she called, a mischievous lilt to her voice like this was a fucking game.

“y-yes?” was the reply.

Her hands moved, pressing along your collarbone.

“You know, I hate variety shows, sometimes,” she hummed, voice so unbelievably distracting. “I don’t like the way they talk about you,” she continued.

“I- I agree, I do, it’s quite-”

her blunt nails dug into your shoulder, slightly, as she pulled you back, just a bit, your back pressed to her front. Her head craned forward, to murmur into your ear. “It pisses me off,” she added.

of course, you tended to her anger. You had to, as penance.

later, when you were laying beside her, panting with tears in your eyes, saying anything that came to mind—

“I love you,” you choked out, reverently, like a prayer.

god never responded to those, usually. aeri didn’t love you back.

there’s no way god loved you. and aeri didn’t, either.

the eighth commandment Exodus 20:1-16 You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

“Tell me not to,” you begged, clutching onto giselle like a lifeline, holding her arms. “Tell me no, tell me not to love you. I can’t, I shouldn’t, I don’t want-”

girls never hungered. They never want, like a boy.

“And what if it’s what I want!” She spat back, acidly, pushing you off. “I love you, and I don’t know why you can’t accept that! I love you, not like a friend, or coworker, or whatever else you think! I’m in love with you, why can’t you get that!?” she asked, sharply, voice far too loud.

you didn’t know how to explain that you loved her, too, that you wished you could love her. You always wanted, so badly, to like a boy, and to love him, so you could hold his hand in public, and kiss him, and introduce him to your parents and they wouldn’t say a word, to be able to love him without just that fact being controversial, to love someone without it absolutely ruining your career. Idols couldn’t date, yes, but they’d survive if they were rumored to be with a man.

god forbid it was a girl.

you couldn’t ruin her career, or yours. You couldn’t damn her more, you couldn’t ruin everything, like you always did-

“I can’t,” you cried, desperately. “I’ll ruin everything, I’ll ruin you, I’d-”

“I don’t care!” she retorted. “I don’t care! I want you, and I love you. Is it that you can’t, or you won’t? You’re just scared,” she accused, rightly so.

“I am,” you admitted, pathetically. “I’m scared.”

She scoffed, clenching her fists. She turned, sharply, turning the door handle, wiping her eyes and slamming the room’s door.

You were alone.

god abandoned you, long ago.

you don’t know why it hurt more the second time.

the ninth commandment Exodus 20:1-17 You shall not covet your neighbor’s house. You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.

it was a few days later, at night after an off day. You had been hiding in your room most of the day. Cowardly, yes, but the other members weren’t exactly thrilled with you. You couldn’t blame them. You were currently pretending to be asleep.

you heard aeri enter the room. She laid down, to sleep. The lights were off. It was dead silent. You turned.

“aeri,” you called. No response.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” you continued, after surmising she was asleep. “I love you. I really do. I’m just so, so scared. I don’t know how to let myself love you. I feel wrong. I’m sorry. I want to. I don’t know how to love you how you deserve, I don’t even know how to love myself. Im weak and pathetic, really. If you knew the real me, I think you’d hate me,” you chuckled, without humor. “As long as you’re happy, though. I’ll be okay,” you murmured, finally.

“Im not happy, actually,” she informed, suddenly, and you felt your heart leap into your throat. “I love you, y/n. I don’t care if it’ll make everything more difficult, or if you think I’ll hate you. I won’t, by the way,”

you didn’t know how to respond. aeri did it, for you.

she got up, walked over to your bed, and made you sit up.

“so can you stop being scared? I love you, and-“

you cut her off.

you clutched her face, and kissed her, desperately. You felt tears well in your eyes, and this time, they fell. You pulled back.

“aeri, I love you, I love you so much. I love you, please forgive me. I’ll try, I swear. Please, just-”

she kissed you, again. nothing was completely fixed, yet, but you both loved each other. You were still scared, of course, but aeri had seen you at your worst, already, and was still here. so maybe, it was okay.

the tenth commandment. Genesis 1:1-Revelation 22:21 Love thy neighbor as I have loved you.

The last few weeks had been.. different.

You had started eating again, or, more frequently, was a better way to put it.

it was mostly because aeri had taken up cooking, and you could never say no to her, and it was kind of nice, really, to see her happy when you told her you liked the food.

you started to ignore the comments online, not even bothering to read them most of the time. You called your parents less, if that was even possible, and started talking with aeri and your members more.

it was nice, to have friends. To have people that you knew cared about you. It was nice to know that people didn’t view you as disgusting, or filthy, or wrong.

you had a hard time viewing yourself, differently, but if someone like aeri, someone so good, could stand you, then maybe, you weren’t as bad as your parents said you were. They were wrong about a lot, you’d come to learn.

on one of your breaks, you had found another statue.

it was of Saint Maria.

you put it next to the statue of Our Lady. You thought it fit, in a way.

you didn’t attend sunday mass, or hear it. You didn’t pray much, anymore, either. but you kept the statues as a reminder, of sorts.

aespa had been doing very well, as well, and you didn’t practice late into the night, as much, anymore.

all of you were currently deciding what takeout to order, and trying to pick a move. no one could really come to a final decision, and you watched the bickering amusedly. You got up, heading to the kitchen, filling a glass with water. Aeri appeared behind you, a sly smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around your waist. “Hey, y/n,” she hummed.

“Yeah?” you replied, turning your head. she had a smirk on her face.

“I got you somethinggg,” she grinned, tilting her head, a mischievous expression on her face, her hands clasped behind her back.

“what is it?”

she handed you a gold necklace, with rose quartz in the shape of a heart at the end, a bashful expression beginning to take place at your silence. “I didn’t know if you would like it, but it reminded me of you, so-”

“It’s perfect,” you interrupted, a genuine smile on your face. “Can you put it on for me?”

aeri removed the silver cross necklace you had worn for years, and years, placing it on the counter. She clasped the new necklace, the gold sitting pleasantly on your skin.

you turned to her, holding her face before kissing her, smiling into it. You left the chain on the counter, a smile plastered near permanently your face. “It’s beautiful, aeri, thank you,”

“Of course,” she replied, with a very self-satisfied grin on her face.

“I love you,” you added, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“I love you too, you sap,” she rolled her eyes, good naturedly, but still held you, too. “Come on, let’s go back— i’m not letting them watch a disney movie for the millionth time,”

“So what, you can watch Deadpool?” You teased, with a grin.

“Maybe,” she replied.

it was definitely certain, now, with the silver chain thrown in the garbage, easily.

you loved aeri uchinaga

and you hoped, prayed, even, that the rest of your life would be filled by aeri uchinaga.

A/N: hi guys… so I love aeri uchinaga btw. uhmm so basically the catholic version of the Ten Commandments the ninth commandment is separated into nine “don’t covet your neighbors wife” and ten “don’t covet your neighbors goods” but technically all Ten Commandments can be followed by following the one big rule which is “love thy neighbor as I have loved you” and basically symbolism forever eve breaks all nine commandments but follows the one big one which is like love everyone which means she never actually sinned she just thought she did because she is doomed yuri ☝️🤓

I LOVE TOXIC YURI AND DOOMED YURI FOREVERR pleek send asks+reqs btw I need ideas

#carps works #carpmasterlist #aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #giselle x reader #aeri uchinaga x reader #aeri x reader #aespa giselle #aespa imagines #girl group imagines #giselle x fem reader #aeri uchinaga x fem reader #reader is the comphet religious guilt posterchild #aeri is lowk a little toxic and plays into it #reader is eve aeri is apple and giselle is the snake #in readers insane mind..#just 7k of projection #i love yuri

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alexisntedgy · 7 months ago

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controversial take but being a longtime ghosts fan over the past few months has just been watching the captain become increasingly more prevalent in tags and fan content to the point where almost no other character’s stories or personalities are explored and usually if they are, it’s in relation to the captain.

I’m gay, a lesbian, and the amount of fanbases I’ve seen fall to mostly straight women and become a whirlpool of one white, conventionally attractive gay man played by a straight man has been so disappointing. the captain is not the only character in ghosts. he is not the deepest or most tragic character in ghosts. it is a found family themed show. we, gay people, do not exist as tragic entertainment to be fetishised. the women in this show are rarely mentioned in comparison to the captain, Kitty had multiple scenes about her abusive sister, is implied to come from a horrific colonialist background and basically came out as asexual in season 5 and nobody talked about it, Mary died in a way that was so horrific they didn’t even show it on camera but havers had five minutes of screen time and he is everything now, apparently.

it’s to the point where you can’t escape it, no matter what tags related to the show you do or don’t follow. I’ve seen it before with the way the good omens fanbase changed from people who respected this incredible story criticising blind faith in religion with queer characters that inherently further that message into people calling them “uwu husbands” or whatever.

I’m not particularly angry, I’m just sad to see that the internet has turned into this again. I love the captain. I love ben, he’s a fantastic actor that I grew up admiring!!! but the captain is not the entire show and I think we need to think about why he takes up like. 85% of fan works.

#people writing entire thousands of word long fics about him and havers from five minutes of screen time #which is normal for fandoms and fine #but why does that not also happen with the other characters???#bbc ghosts #ghosts #six idiots #the captain #homophobia #tbh #the infantilising is wild #themthere

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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

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Right Kind of Wrong (16)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer is faced with a dangerous confrontation. wc: 3.4k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

A/n: this part went through so much editing until I was satisfied with it, also, can't believe this is ending soon!!

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

EVERYTHING FINALLY FELL INTO PLACE. Although it took longer than it normally did to solve a case, Spencer finally gathered every piece of information, every obscure clue, and every small detail he unfortunately missed before to make a clear profile.

Eric Adler—or Henry Wyatt as Garcia discovered through her meticulous sleuthing—was a master of disguise. He had concealed his identity under a different persona, changing his name the moment he packed his bags and left the town he grew up in. Oliver confirmed this discovery when Spencer visited the hospital the following day, once he had regained consciousness.

"Eric... he's a stranger to me," Oliver had said, his voice carrying a tinge of disbelief, a foreign look gleaming in his eyes. "Henry, on the other hand, was one of my closest friends."

"I'm assuming something happened for you to drift apart."

Oliver's gaze shifted. "We grew up in a very tight community. Religion was all we were taught," he began, his voice tinged with defiance and nostalgia. "I guess we became close from our rejection of those traditional values and practices."

Spencer acknowledged his words with a nod. "Your files showed there were a lot of crimes you committed in the past."

"I-I was very rebellious."

"I would say forcing yourself on a young, innocent girl was more than rebellious."

Oliver winced. "Listen, I'm not proud of my past," he confessed, his voice carrying a hint of regret. "But yes, my friends and I grew up doing things that were out of morals."

Spencer studied him. "What happened then?"

"A lot of pointing fingers," he admitted. "Our community leaders eventually found out and threatened us with severe punishment. From the outside, it was simply community service, but from the inside, it involved a lot of restraints and, well, whips."

Silence stretched between them. "It was how they punished the bad," Oliver explained further, his eyes searching Spencer's for comprehension. "They always say it whenever they were going to abuse us; 'The wicked will not go unpunished, but those who are righteous will go free.'"

"Proverbs 11:21," Spencer mumbled under his breath, recognizing the scriptural reference.

A hint of surprise flickered across Oliver's face. "Are you a religious person?"

He shook his head, implying a depth of knowledge that surpassed the boundaries of religious beliefs. "Was that what made you drift apart?"

"Partly, yes," Oliver answered with a sigh. "We didn't admit to it at first, but then under the pressure and the constant threat of punishment, I guess I became weak."

"Did you betray him?"

Oliver acknowledged the truth with a slow nod. "We were both punished, along with the others who were involved, but our leaders always wanted one name whom they could sacrifice, a name who held all responsibility. The initiator of all sins."

"So you put the blame on him," Spencer summarized, understanding the dynamics that had led to the fracture in their friendship.

"It was the only thing I thought of doing to save myself," he confessed. "He became a sacrifice. All the punishment turned onto him until he was cast out of the community. When his family didn't even try to interfere, he eventually left town. Never heard from him ever since."

"And then years later you saw him again."

His shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug.

"I didn't even recognize him at first. He had a different name, different hair, different style—he was practically a different person. When I realized who he actually was, I tried to confront him but he never acknowledged me." He then looked away, the emotion in his gaze concealed. "I just thought he didn't want to be associated with the past anymore."

It explained everything. The revelation about Eric's past and the harsh punishments he had to endure shed light on the motivations behind his actions. It explained why he felt compelled to punish people, as it was the only method deeply ingrained in his brain.

Their shared upbringing, the weight of betrayal, and the scars of their past had shaped his sense of justice, leading him down a dark path of vengeance. And with that new knowledge in mind, Spencer passed on the information he had discovered when he came to work the next day.

Everyone was gathered by the round table, an unusual thing to happen given that they were typically scattered in their assigned tasks, but all of them were present for once. Morgan leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing in contemplation after Spencer finished his thoughts. "So let me get this straight, Eric's vendetta against Oliver is personal. Goes beyond just catching a killer then."

"It's a cycle of betrayal." JJ, standing by the door with crossed arms, agreed aloud. "He attempted to shift the blame onto Oliver, something he also went through in the past."

Spencer nodded as he started to pace around the room. "Psychologically speaking, his actions seem to be rooted in a need for retribution, a manifestation of the punitive measures ingrained in his upbringing."

"So we're dealing with a man who sees himself as a guardian angel dispensing justice, even if it means resorting to extreme measures."

"A guardian angel while simultaneously executing his revenge," Emily mused from the other side, her words laced with a blend of contemplation and concern. "Very personal indeed."

Hotch crossed his arms as he stood by the table, and scrutinized his team with his usual detached and professional expression, devoid of any visible emotions. "We need to understand his patterns," he began. "If we can predict his next move, we might be able to intercept him."

"He clearly has a deep affection towards Y/n." Morgan offered, prompting Spencer to halt his pacing and turn his attention toward him at the mention of her name. "He probably has a list of people who he thinks have hurt her in the past."

Rossi studied everyone in the room, attentively listening to their thoughts. He tapped his finger against the wooden table, directing his focus on Morgan. "We should find out who might be on that list. It could give us insight into his next move."

Hotch agreed with a curt nod. "Morgan, Rossi, work on compiling a list of individuals connected to Y/n. Garcia, cross-reference it with Eric's history. Let's see if we can predict his next move based on the people he might target."

Garcia instinctively rose from her chair and nodded. "Yes, sir," and waltzed out of the room with determined steps, making her way to her office.

The others shifted from their spots, while Morgan, unlike the rest, kept his gaze on Spencer. He observed the frown stretching across his face and pondered whether to voice what he had in mind. He hesitated, acknowledging that Spencer's involvement with their witness wasn't strictly his business. Yet, considering the recent events, he felt compelled to express his thoughts.

"I don't want to be that kind of person to bear bad news, but I think—I think—there's a high chance that pretty boy here could be a target," Morgan declared. Spencer quickly met his gaze.

Everyone else, momentarily suspended in a collective pause, turned their attention toward him. He could feel their penetrating gaze, which started to make him uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. He didn't want to entertain that possibility, but it made sense. Considering Eric had been with her right after he had hurt her, he could very well be the next target.

JJ, breaking the silence, voiced what lingered in everyone's thoughts as she took a step closer to him. "We should keep you safe then. If you're a potential target, we can't afford to overlook any possibility."

Spencer glanced over at her, noting the concern in her eyes. He sensed a silent plea in the way she looked at him as if she were urging him to agree, to step back and act on what seemed to be the logical thing to do. However, despite that, the gears in his mind were turning. If he was a potential target, it could offer an easy opportunity to get closer to their Unsub.

"No," he said, a conviction in his voice. "You can use me as bait."

The room held its breath as his unexpected proposal hung in the air. The team, still processing the revelation of his potentially being a target, turned their focus to his daring suggestion.

JJ simply stared at him, dumbfounded by the audacity of the idea. "You're crazy."

"No, think about it." He turned towards Hotch, knowing the older man would at least consider his idea. "We can get to him by luring him in."

Hotch held his gaze. The weight of leadership rested on his shoulders as he considered the risky proposition. "Reid, it's too dangerous. We can't—"

"If Eric believes he has a score to settle with me, then let's use that to our advantage. We set up a controlled scenario, anticipate his moves, and ensure we have the upper hand."

Emily looked at him with worry, taking a step forward from the other side of the room. "Reid, it's too risky. We don't know how he'll react, we can't even guarantee your safety."

"Yes, you can. You'll keep an eye on me." His eyes traveled around the room, meeting each one of their concerned gaze. "It's not something we haven't done before; we've used this method to lure an Unsub, and right now, we have no clue where he is. The only way we can draw his attention is by using me."

Hotch's gaze shifted between Spencer and the rest of the team, weighing the potential outcomes of such a high-stakes plan. It was undeniably risky, but Spencer was right. This wouldn't be their first time baiting an Unsub, and given their past success, a part of him believed the outcome would work out according to plan.

After a moment, he slowly nodded. "Alright, but if we proceed with this, we have to ensure everyone's safety." He gave Spencer a pointed look. "Especially yours, Reid."

He quickly nodded as a moment of understanding passed between them. The room suddenly filled with noise, and amidst the bustling movements, he felt a desperate grip on his arm, pulling him away from the group.

"Spence." JJ's grip tightened as she voiced her concern. "You could be putting yourself in danger. What if this goes wrong?"

That was the thing. It was the nature of their job—there would always be different outcomes. There was no certainty about what could transpire. But with nothing else to do, Spencer was growing desperate for more answers, so he held her gaze, determination etched in his eyes.

"If it means stopping him and knowing her whereabouts, I'm willing to take any risk."

It was raining when it happened. It had been pouring for the past few days as they started to plan the operation. The team decided to elevate the stakes by choosing his apartment as the bait location, aiming to create a scenario that would be emotionally charged for Eric, potentially triggering a faster and more decisive response.

They studied Eric's patterns and behaviors, gathering insights into his actions and motivations. Garcia, constantly stationed at her desk, continued to monitor social media, public records, and any other available data to gauge Eric's movements. She had identified potential triggers that might prompt Eric to act, such as media coverage or public discussions related to Y/n.

In addition to electronic surveillance, Morgan and JJ conducted physical surveillance on locations connected to Y/n's past, anticipating that Eric might revisit places with emotional significance. They strategically placed themselves in key positions, ready to observe and intercept any suspicious activity.

And then the clock ticked away, the minutes stretched into an agonizing waiting game, every second pregnant with anticipation.

Until it finally came to that night.

Everything felt strange. His apartment. The weather. Himself. The rain outside continued its steady rhythm, and Spencer watched the raindrops hit his windowpanes from his couch.

Weeks ago, he sat in the same place where he was now. The only difference was that he was alone. There was no faint smell of chocolate or the sweet melody of laughter. She wasn't here, gracing him with her smile as she nestled on his lap. Her whispers of his name were absent, and the cruel thing was, he didn't even know where she was now.

He had never felt so much pain before, the ache of not knowing where someone was, all the while having to keep his head up high. It was a facade he learned to put on. Pretending that the hidden cameras strategically placed in his apartment didn't unsettle him, or the discreetly wired microphone, or the inconspicuous headpiece nestled in his ear. He had to act as though the looming potential danger didn't faze him.

But then it finally happened, a sudden shift in the atmosphere permeated the air—like the calm before the storm. And in an instant, Garcia's voice crackled over the communication devices, urgency lacing her words. "I've got movement. Eric's online activity just spiked."

Morgan and Prentiss, stationed discreetly around the apartment complex, receiving the signal, tightened their surveillance. The external cameras around his building captured a figure approaching, shrouded in the shadows of the rainy night.

Within the confines of his home, his senses heightened. The rain outside intensified. A streak of lighting flashed through the window. A loud sound of thunder echoed in the background. Spencer waited with bated breath, his gaze fixated on the front door. Then, with a creak, it slowly swung open, revealing a silhouette of a figure in the doorway.

Water dripped from his clothes, leaving a trail of wetness as he crossed the threshold. Their eyes briefly locked, and a smile played on Eric's lips as he observed the way Spencer scrutinized him, closing the door behind him.

"Dr. Reid," his sinister tone sliced through the silence, his words dripping with a twisted sense of satisfaction. "I see you've been waiting for me."

Spencer watched him, maintaining a composed exterior despite the tension in the air, and met his gaze with a steely resolve. "And I see you've been busy."

Eric cocked an eyebrow.

"Carving your path of justice one victim at a time."

His expression remained unyielding. Stepping further into the room, Eric left a trail of dirty shoe marks on the floor as his eyes observed the dimly lit apartment. "I'm just doing what needs to be done."

Spencer slowly rose from his seat. "And what is that?"

"Punishing those who have wronged her."

"You're not her savior. You're a vigilante with a distorted sense of righteousness."

"And that's where you're wrong. You don't know the pain she's been through. I'm the only one who can protect her."

Spencer silently watched as he continued to survey his apartment. Eric's eyes swept through all the framed certificates on his wall, his finger delicately tracing the edge of each frame. When he was met with silence, Eric turned back to him, narrowing the distance between them.

"You were always the one she trusted, weren't you?" He shook his head with disdain. "Yet you're the one who hurt her the most."

Aware that each word could either defuse or escalate the situation, Spencer continued to engage him. "I haven't hurt her," he responded carefully. "I've been trying to protect her from someone like you, someone who's lost sight of justice."

Eric let out a scoff. "You think I've lost sight? No, Dr. Reid, I've found clarity. I've seen the darkness that lurks in the hearts of those who pretend to be righteous."

"Your version of justice is a perversion. You've become the monster you claim to fight against."

The room crackled with tension as they held each other's gaze. "Do you even listen to yourself?" Eric retorted, his eyes narrowing with accusation. "You claim to protect her, yet she's left alone in the darkness you couldn't save her from."

The air in the room seemed to thicken as the weight of his words hung between them. His heart quickened its pace while he tried to maintain a calm facade. "Where is she?"

Eric's laughter cut through the air. "You think I'll tell you voluntarily?"

Spencer's gaze remained steady on him. "What do you want?"

The sinister grin on Eric's face revealed a gambit. "You." He took another step closer. "Come with me and I'll take you to her..."

There was definitely a but. It was never that easy, and the way he trailed off his words prompted Spencer to ask, "On what condition?"

He smiled, eyes narrowing as he conveyed a sense of menace while he delivered his proposition.

"Cut off all communication with your team."

Tension lingered around the room like an invisible web, each word contributing to the growing stakes. Eric's laughter, a haunting sound, followed the slightly alarmed look on Spencer's face.

"You think I didn't know?" he taunted. "Two of your agents are outside this building, and come on, you could've hidden that earpiece better than that." He pointed towards the device. "Your hair might be long, but it's not that long."

Eric then picked up a framed picture sitting on his shelf. It was a photo of him and his team casually smiling to the camera. He remembered that day, it was one of the many times they visited Rossi's house for dinner, and Garcia decided it was the perfect time to capture the moment. To preserve the happy times, she had said, and true to her words, he was happy that day.

His mind suddenly raced, considering the options and potential consequences of complying with his demand. He finally responded. "What if I refuse?"

"Then you'll never find her," Eric retorted, looking back at him. "It's a simple choice. Sacrifice your precious communication or lose her forever."

He wanted him to step into his trap willingly. It was a cruel choice, and it seemed he wasn't the only one who agreed. As Eric's demand hung in the air, the team's voices crackled urgently through his earpiece. Panic and concern infused their words as they frantically implored him to reconsider.

"Spence, step back!"

"Reid, don't do it."

"Stand down, Reid. We're coming through."

The chorus of concerned voices reverberated in his earpiece, each team member contributing to their worry. Despite the chaos of emotions echoing through the line, Spencer remained outwardly composed, his mind working swiftly to navigate the dangerous situation.

"Don't—" he urged, his gaze piercing on Eric while his voice pointed towards his team. "Stay where you are."

Eric watched him with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Seems like your team is in quite a frenzy there. Are you really willing to risk her safety for their voices in your ear?" He continued with a sinister grin, reveling the chaos he had stirred. "Strip away your lifeline, Spencer. The battle is between you and me."

Spencer stood there, calculating his next move. He weighed the possible outcomes of his choices and realized that nothing good would come from either of them. Eric, observing his contemplation, smirked with a twisted satisfaction.

"Come on, Dr. Reid, time is ticking." He tapped the watch around his wrist. "Make up your mind."

Spencer inhaled a sharp breath. Eric was right, there was no time to waste. The more he contemplated his answer, the more danger she was in. He needed her safe. He needed to see her. He needed to know where she was. And there was only one way to find out.

At the other end of the line, Garcia, stationed at her desk, watched Spencer through the screen with a growing sense of urgency. His gaze slowly swept over the room, and she could sense the critical decision looming. Her heart raced as his eyes fell on one of the hidden cameras.

"He's onto us," she muttered to herself, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She tried to maintain the connection as he walked over to the device and unplugged it.

Garcia cursed under her breath. "No—" She pressed on her intercom, her voice tinged with frustration. "I'm losing him."

One by one, the video feeds from the hidden cameras in his apartment turned black. The loss of visual contact with each camera felt like a punch to the gut. Her frustration mounted as the screens blinked out, leaving her staring at a grid of darkness.

"No, no, no," she muttered, fingers dancing over the keyboard in a desperate attempt to reestablish connection. But there was nothing else she could do.

The earpieces crackled with an ominous quiet before a sudden crash echoed through, the sharp sound of impact reverberating. A groan. A thud. A grunt. The team exchanged alarmed glances in their respective locations as the audio crackled with static, and their heart raced at the uncertainty hanging in the air.

Then, abruptly, there was nothing else but silence.

>> NEXT PART

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